A spirit-life’s journey to the Land of Remorse is undertaken voluntarily and shortens the pathway of progression.
In the Land of Remorse, the true nature of your earthly-life and its mistakes are clearly realised, and prove a great means of progression for your soul.
Here you see your past actions displayed in all their nakedness.
Few who come over from earth-life realise the true motives, which prompt their actions, and many go on for years―some even for centuries―before this knowledge comes to them.
In this land, your life is stored up as pictures, which mirrored in the spiritual atmosphere reflect the reasons of your many failures and show the subtle causes at work, which have shaped your life.
Each passes through a severe and keen self-examination―a bitter experience of your own nature―your own self, but though bitter, it is a salutary medicine and goes far to heal your soul of those maladies, which hang about it like a miasma.
Those whose errors have been merely trivial―daily weaknesses such as are common to us all do not pass through it―there are other means to enlighten them to the source of their mistakes.
This land is particularly useful to individuals who recognise readily and admit freely their wrong, and so rise to better things.
Like a strong tonic, this circle of the sphere would be too much for weak erring spirit-lives who would only be crushed and overwhelmed and disheartened by the too rapid and vivid realisation of all their sins―these must be taught slowly―step-by-step―a little at a time―while those of strong heart and courage are able to rise more rapidly the sooner they see and recognise the nature of those fetters, which have bound their soul.
In the spirit world where time is not reckoned by days―or weeks―or counted by hours, spirit-lives judge how long an event takes―or when an occurrence happens by seeing how near―or how far away they appear and also by observing whether the shadow cast by the coming event touches the earth―or is yet distant from it―they judge what its corresponding time will be as measured by earthly standards, but even the wisest may not always be able to do this with perfect correctness since many things may intervene to delay it.
Spirit Franchezzo found his progress slow, for he had taken on the full burden of his past sins, and it weighed him down, making his movements very slow and laborious.
Like a pilgrim, he was dressed in a coarse grey robe, his feet were bare and his head uncovered, for in the spirit world the condition of your mind forms your clothing and surroundings, and his feelings were as though he wore sackcloth and had put dust and ashes on his head.
He came to a wide sandy plain―a great desert―in which he saw the barren sands of his earthly-life scattered.
There was no tree―no shrub―no green thing―no water.
There was no shade for his tired limbs―his life had been barren of true, unselfish affection and self-denial, which alone could make the desert blossom.
He descended and took a narrow path, which seemed to lead to the hills on the other side.
The load he carried had become almost intolerable and he longed to lay it down, but he could not detach it.
The hot sand seemed to blister his feet as he walked, and each step was painful.
As he passed slowly, pictures of his past floated in the atmosphere like mirages.
Like dissolving views, they appeared to melt into one another and gave place to fresh scenes.
A thousand hard unworthy thoughts and selfish action of his past long thrust aside and forgotten―or excused―all rise up before him―picture after picture―until he was so overwhelmed that he broke down, and casting his pride to the winds, he bowed himself in the dust and wept bitter tears of shame and sorrow.
And where his tears fell on the hot dry sand, little flowers like white stars sprang up around him―each little waxy blossom bearing a drop of dew so that the place he had sunk down on became a little oasis of beauty in those plains of repentance.
He plucked a few of those tiny blossoms and placed them in his bosom as a memorial of that spot and rose to go on again.
To his surprise the pictures were no longer visible, but he saw a woman carrying a little child whose weight seemed too much for her strength and it was wailing with weariness and fear.
Spirit Franchezzo hurried up to them and offered to carry the poor little one, for he was touched by the sight of its poor little frightened face and weary drooping head.
The woman stared at him for a moment and put the little one in his arms.
As he covered him over with a part of his robe, the poor tired little creature sank into a quiet sleep.
The woman told him the child was hers, but she had not felt much affection for it during its earth-life.
In fact, she said, I did not want a child at all.
I do not care for children, and when this one came I was annoyed and neglected it.
As it grew older and was naughty and troublesome―or so I thought, I used to beat and shut it up in dark rooms and was otherwise hard and unkind.
When it was five years old it died―I died not long afterwards of the same fever.
Since I came to the spirit-world that child has seemed to haunt me and I was advised to take this journey, carrying him with me since I cannot rid myself of his presence.
And do you even yet feel no love for the poor little thing?
Well, no!
I cannot say I have come to love it―perhaps I will never really love it as some mothers do―the maternal instinct is quite wanting in me.
I do not love the child, but I am sorry now that I was not kinder to him, and I can see that what I thought was a sense of duty urging me to bring him up properly and correct his faults was only an excuse for my own temper and the irritation his care caused.
I can see I have done wrong and why I did so, but I cannot say I have much love for this child.
And are you to take him with you through all your journey, Spirit Franchezzo asked, feeling so sorry for the poor little unloved thing that he bent over him and kissed him, his own eyes growing dim as he did so, for he thought of his beloved on earth, and what a treasure she would have deemed such a child, and how tender she would have been to it.
And as he kissesd him, the little child put his arms around his neck and smiled up at him in a half-asleep way that should have gone straight to the woman’s heart.
Even as it was, her face relaxed a little and she said more graciously than she had yet spoken―
I am only to carry him a little farther, and then he will be taken to a sphere where there are many children like him whose parents do not care about them and who are taken care of by spirits who are fond of children.
I am glad to think that, Spirit Franchezzo said, and they trudged on together for a bit farther until they reached a small group of rocks where there was a little pool of water beside which they sat down to rest.
Presently he fell asleep, and when he awoke, the woman and the child had gone.
Spirit Franchezzo got up, and resumed his way, and shortly after arrived at the foot of the mountains.
The pathway across them was hard, rocky and precipitous with scarce foothold to help him on, and often it seemed as though these rocks proved too difficult to surmount.
As Spirit Franchezzo climbed, he recognised what share he had had in building them―what atoms his pride had sent to swell these difficulties he now encountered.
Few of us know the secrets of our own hearts.
Spirit Franchezzo looked back on his past with shame, as he recognised one great rock after another to be the spiritual emblems of the stumbling blocks, which he had placed in the path of his feebler brothers, and he longed to have his life lived over again that he might do better with it, and encourage where he had once condemned, help where he had crushed.
He had been so hard on himself―so eager to attain to the highest possible excellence that he had never been satisfied with any of his own efforts―even when the applause of his fellows was ringing in his ears―even when he had carried off the highest prizes from all competitors―so he had thought himself entitled to exact as high a standard from all who sought to study his beautiful art.
He could see no merit in the efforts of the poor stragglers who were as infants beside the great master minds.
Talent―genius―he could cordially admire, frankly appreciate, but with complacent mediocrity he had no sympathy―no desire to help.
He was ignorant then that those feeble powers were like tiny seeds, which though they would never develop into anything of value on earth would yet blossom into the perfect flower in the great Hereafter.
In his early days, when success was his, and before he had made shipwreck of his life, he had been full of the wildest, most ambitious dreams, and though in later years when sorrow and disappointments had taught him somewhat of pity for the struggles of others, yet he could not learn to feel true cordial sympathy with mediocrity and its struggles, and now he recognised that it was the want of such sympathy, which had piled up high these rocks so typical of his arrogance.
In his sorrow and remorse at this discovery, Spirit Franchezzo looked around to see if there might be anyone near whom he might assist on his path―
He saw a young man almost spent and much exhausted with his effort to climb the hard rocks, which family pride and an ambition to rank with the noble and wealthy had piled up for him―a pride to which he had sacrificed all those who should have been most dear.
He was clinging to a jutting-out portion of rock and was so spent and exhausted he seemed almost ready to let go and fall.
Spirit Franchezzo shouted to him to hold on, and soon climbed up to where he was, and with some difficulty succeeded in dragging him up to the summit of these rocks.
His strength being evidently double his, Spirit Franchezzo was only too ready to help him as some relief to the remorse he now felt at thinking how many feeble minds he had crushed in the past.
When they reached the top and set down to rest, Spirit Franchezzo found himself much bruised and torn by the sharp stones over which he had stumbled.
But he also found that in his struggles to ascend, his burden of selfish pride had fallen from him, and as he looked back over the path, he clothed himself anew in the sackcloth and ashes of humility, and resolved he would go back to earth and seek to help some of those feebler ones to a full understanding of his art.
He would seek as far as he could to give them the help of his higher knowledge.
Where he had crushed the timid aspiring soul, he would now encourage―where his sharp tongue and keen wit have wounded, he would strive to heal.
He knew now that none should dare despise his weaker brother―or crush out his hopes because they seem small and trivial.
Spirit Franchezzo sat long on that mountain thinking of these things―the young man whom he had helped going on without him.
At last, he got up and wended his way slowly through a deep ravine spanned by a broken bridge, and approached by a high gate at which many spirits were waiting and trying by various means to open it so that they might pass through.
Some tried force―others tried to climb over―others again sought to find some secret spring, and when one after another tried and failed, some of the others sought to console the disappointed ones.
As he drew near six―or seven spirits who still hovered about the gate, they drew back, curious to see what he would do.
It was a great gate and looked to him like sheets of iron though Spirit Franchezzo did not know its real nature.
It was so high―so smooth―no one could climb it―so solid―so fast shut there appeared no chance of opening it.
Spirit Franchezzo stood in front of it in despair, wondering what he should do now when he saw a poor woman near him weeping bitterly with disappointment―she had been there some time and had tried in vain to open the gate.
Spirit Franchezzo did his best to comfort her, and while he was doing so, the gate before them melted away, and they passed through.
Then, as suddenly, he saw it rise again behind him, while the woman had vanished, and beside the bridge stood a feeble old man bent nearly double.
As he was still wondering about the gate, a voice said to him―
That is the gate of kind deeds and kind thoughts.
Those who are on the other side must wait until their kind thoughts and kind acts for others are heavy enough to weigh the gate down when it will open for them as it did for you who have tried so hard to help your fellows.
Spirit Franchezzo now advanced to the bridge where the old man was standing, poking about with his stick as if feeling his way and groaning over his helplessness.
He was so afraid he would fall through the broken part without seeing it that Spirit Franchezzo rushed impulsively forward and offered to help him over.
But he shook his head―
No! No, young man.
The bridge is so rotten it will never bear your weight and mine.
Go on yourself and leave me here to do the best I can.
Not so, you are feeble and old enough to be my grandfather, and if I leave you, you will likely drop through the broken place.
Now I am active and strong, and it will go hard with us if I do not contrive somehow to get us both across.
Without waiting for his reply, Spirit Franchezzo took hold of him and hoisted him onto his back, and telling him to hold tight by his shoulders, he started to cross the bridge.
Spirit Franchezzo feared that they would both tumble into the chasm below, and the old man kept imploring him not to drop him.
Spirit Franchezzo struggled on, holding with his hands as well as he could, and crawling on all-fours when they reached the worst part.
When he got to the middle, there was a great ragged hole, and only the broken ends of the two great beams to catch hold of.
Here Spirit Franchezzo did feel it a difficulty.
He felt certain he could have swung himself across, but it was a different thing with that heavy old man clinging to him, and half-choking him, and a thought did cross his mind that he might have done better to leave the old man alone, but he made up his mind to risk it.
The poor old man gave a great sigh when he saw how matters stood, and said―
You had better abandon me after all.
I am too helpless to get across, and you will only spoil your own chance by trying.
Leave me here and go on alone.
His tone was so dejected― so miserable, Spirit Franchezzo could never have so left him, and he thought to make a desperate effort for them both―
So, telling him to hold on tight, he grasped the broken beam with one hand, and making a great leap, he swung himself over the chasm with such a will, they seemed to fly across, and alighted on the other side unharmed.
As he looked back to see what they had escaped, Spirit Franchezzo cried out in astonishment, for there was no break in the bridge at all, and by his side stood not a feeble old man, but his spiritual guide himself―Ahrinziman―laughing at his astonishment.
Ahrinziman put his hand on Spirit Franchezzo's shoulder, and said―
Franchezzo, my son, that was a little trial to test if you would be unselfish enough to burden yourself with a heavy old man when your own chance seemed so small.
