Atkinson THE INNER SECRET - That something within (Annotated)

Enriched Edition. The Journey of Self-Discovery
1. Auflage 2016
ISBN: 978-80-268-4881-3
Verlag: e-artnow
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 225 Seiten

This carefully crafted ebook: 'THE INNER SECRET - That something within' is formatted for your eReader with a functional and detailed table of contents. 'Looking backward over the space of nearly sixty years, and reconstructing in my memory the thoughts and incidents of my boyhood from the age of ten until I was well advanced into my 'teens', I can now see that I was always a seeker after a something but dimly defined in my mind but which represented a distinct 'want' of my nature. That something so early sought after may be said to have been of the nature of an 'Inner Secret' of successful achievement and personal power. just why I should have come to the conclusion that there really existed an Inner Secret of Success and Personal Power-a something which when once known enabled one to achieve successful results in whatever was undertaken by him-I do not know. Perhaps it was the manifestation of an intuition; perhaps it was the result of a suggestion which I had absorbed from reading. At any rate I now see that the idea had become fixed in my consciousness, and that it colored all my youthful thought.' - THE QUEST, The Inner Secret William Walker Atkinson (1862-1932) was a prolific writer. His works treat themes related to the mental world, occultism, divination, psychic reality, and mankind's nature. They constitute a basis for what Atkinson called 'New Psychology' or 'New Thought'.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Atkinson, William Walker

E-Artnow

Weitere Mitwirkende

Graybourne, Reid

Leseproben

II
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER

Table of Content

What has been related in the preceding pages is merely the prelude to my story. The story itself really begins with the account of my meeting with that remarkable individual whom I at first, half-lightly but still half-earnestly, thought of as "the mysterious stranger". This wonderful individual came into my life apparently by chance, but I now know that I had attracted him to myself, and that I had been attracted to him, by the operation of that strange and potent law of Nature known as "The Law of Attraction".

How little does the average person realize that this wonderful law is constantly manifesting in and concerning him. He notes from time to time that "things happen" in strange ways, bringing remarkable results; but he usually thinks that this is but the operation of Chance, never realizing that it is the logical result of a fixed law proceeding with an unerring and inevitable rule of action, bringing results in strict accordance with its nature—results mathematically exact and logically per- feet. Chance, in the sense of the manifestation of uncaused effects, does not exist. Chance, in the light of strict logical reasoning, is seen to be but the operation of causes unknown, and perhaps beyond knowledge, but nevertheless actually and certainly existent and operative.

* * * * *

I had journeyed to a far-distant city, where, unknown and a stranger, I was endeavoring to start life anew, hoping eventually to obtain a foothold in the business world by means of which I might by hard work and diligent endeavor finally again mount the ladder of success. I was frightfully handicapped, however, by my state of ill-health which had resulted from my financial, social, and mental troubles. The physicians consulted by me gave me but little encouragement; they warned me against overwork, and seemed to regard me as one who had but scant chance of ever again becoming efficient and vigorous.

I was filling a subordinate position, receiving but a nominal recompense for my work, and the opportunities for my advancement were but slight. The memory of my former position in the business world acted as a weight around my neck, rather than as an encouraging factor. Often I was tempted to rash action which would have ended it all—for at times the fight seemed almost hopeless, the odds all against me.

Looking back in memory to that time, I now sometimes wonder how and why I made the effort at all. It now seems to me that the tiny spark of that Something Within must have even then been glowing brightly, though hidden by the rubbish of the outer self, and that its radiations penetrated through the encumbering accumulation and inspired me with at least a glimmer of faith and of hope—I must have had an unconscious or subconscious intuition of the Truth even then. It is hard to smother with rubbish, or to quench with the water of discouragment, this tiny spark of the Real Self when once it has been kindled into superconscious awareness of itself, its powers, and its destiny.

I was living in a small "court room" in an unpretentious boarding house which sought dignity by assuming the title of a "family hotel". The establishment consisted of several large, once-fashionable, dwelling houses which had been thrown into one by means of the cutting of doors between the several houses. The neighborhood, though still respectable, was now "run down", its former fashionable occupants having long since removed much farther up-town. The whole atmosphere of the hotel was that of "has been" —even the guests occupying the larger and more pretentious of its rooms or suites being those who "had been used to better things".

I had been living in this place a few months when I first heard a mention of this "mysterious stranger" of whom I have spoken. It came about in the following way. One evening I was sitting in the basement smoking-room and men's lounging place which was one of the most popular features of the place and which was really quite comfortable, all things considered. I heard one of the "old timers" among the guests say to another: "Well,'I hear that Colonel Forbes is coming back from Washington". The other replied: "Is that so? Queer old dick, the Colonel is, to my notion. That man has had an interesting past, if I'm any guesser".

The first guest rejoined: "Yes, I guess you're right. He's an odd one, all right; but he's far from being a fool. In fact, he is one of the keenest observers, and most practical thinkers I have ever run across; yet, at times, he seems to be but an idle dreamer. I wouldn't wonder but what he has been a somebody in his time, but that the hot sun and the climate of India touched him and made him a little off on some subjects".

"Yes", said the other, "but one time when a fellow in the house was sneering at some writer whom he called 'a mystic', the Colonel said with considerable force and earnestness, 'A practical mystic is a man to be reckoned with in any walk of life—he is a dreamer who has found out how to make his dreams come true, and who is able to make his ideals become real'. I have ,since thought at times that that is just what the Colonel himself is—a 'practical mystic', though I am not quite sure just what that may be. At any rate, that man certainly is no fool, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn that he had been a somebody in his time, and that he could tell some interesting' tales if he had a mind to—but we have never been able to get him to talk about himself or his past, nor, for that matter, of his present affairs".

"Yes", said the first speaker, "he is like a clam when it comes to talking about himself, though he talks freely about everything else. Still, he's an Englishman, and Englishmen of his type don't talk much of themselves; besides which, he lived in India many years, I understand, and that often makes men reticent, at least so I have heard. I heard a woman once say that the' Colonel reminded her of Marion Crawford's 'Mr. Isaacs' in his story of that name. A man who heard her said that his thoughts had been running along the same lines, only, to his mind, the Colonel was like 'Lurgan Sahib', in Kipling's story, "Kim'. I haven't read either story, however, so can't say just how that is. But, for all that, I believe that a good writer, who could draw out of the Colonel some of the facts of his past life, could build up an exciting tale by using the material which the old man could furnish if he only would open up a little. Gee Whiz! wouldn't that be a cracking good title for a novel?—'Colonel Forbes, of Simla' "! And both of them laughed at the suggestion.

What I had heard of the discussion interested me. I inquired of the two men, and later of others in the house, concerning this person who had proved such an interesting topic of conversation. From them I learned that Colonel Forbes was a retired English army-officer who had served many years in India, living at Simla during the latter years of his service and after his retirement; he was now visiting America on matters of personal business of some unknown nature, and he intended returning to England, and later to Simla, before very long.

He was said to be a cultured, refined individual of very quiet tastes, and was believed to have chosen that hotel as his place of sojourn because of his distaste for the more pretentious houses, rather than from the usual reasons of economy or of limited means. All those consulted seemed to like and to respect him, but to all of them he seemed "somewhat different", odd, and "a little queer", though, as the old guest had mentioned, "far from being a fool". All agreed, also, that "he knows a whole lot, but you can't get him to tell it to you". Evidently a very interesting personality, thought I.

About ten days later, I had my first sight of Colonel Forbes. I was sitting with the others in the smoking-room when the door opened and the Colonel entered. I was conscious from the first that I was in the presence of a remarkable personage. Again, I was distinctly aware that he had that unmistakable, though indefinable, characteristic known as "personal atmosphere". That is to say, when he entered a room you "felt" that he was present; moreover, when and where he was present that "atmosphere" manifested itself in some subtle manner in the direction of causing a change in the general mental atmosphere of the place. I noticed that after his entrance to the smoking-room the tone of the conversation changed for the better, and the mental atmosphere became clearer and cleaner. This without any apparent effort on his part, and without any conscious desire to please him manifested by the occupants of the room. He "raised the vibrations", as it were; that's all.

Do not gather from this that the Colonel was a prig, or a puritan-no one could have thought of applying those terms to him. He was rather a refined, cultured, thorough "man of the world". Apparently, nothing in life was alien to him, and, like the sun, he had evidently gazed upon the good and the bad, alike. But there was an essential and fundamental cleanness about his mind—you could feel that. He would freely discuss matters which ordinarily are the subject of ribald jest, but which to him seemed to be but facts of scientific interest—his mind was as clean as that of a surgeon or a mathematician engaged in his chosen work. While he showed an intimate knowledge of all phases of life, many strange phases for that matter, yet there was always the implication of a curious detachment therefrom—a strange impersonal view concerning them.

Well, to get back to my story: I gazed with interested attention upon Colonel Forbes as he entered the smoking-room of the...