The Seven Purposes by Margaret Cameron 1867 - 1947




UP to this time the messages, while frequently impersonal in tenor, had seemed entirely personal in direction. It happened, fortunately, that both Mrs. Gaylord and Mr. Kendal were more interested in the wide meaning and purpose of life than in the narrow, individual details of its conduct, and to that interest chiefly those nearest them on the next plane had addressed themselves. The rapidity with which these communications came, and their surprising volume, was attributed to the fact that in both cases the time in which they could be given through me was limited.


Aside from the attendant nervous strain—which has been less, on the whole, than one would expect, probably because these efforts have been followed by such sound and refreshing sleep as I had not known before in years the manual labor involved in taking these long messages, and in typewriting them afterward, has been excessive. Assuming, however, that this flood of disclosure would be diminished





when the necessity for immediate expression passed, I looked forward to leisure and opportunity for some long talks with Mary K., which should be more detailed and personal than our somewhat fragmentary intercourse thus far had been.


This was briefly delayed by requests to establish interplane communication for one or two other friends, whose need was more imperative than my own, when significant and beautiful messages—not to be quoted here—were obtained. One of these slightly elaborated the now familiar idea of the close and intimate relation of certain persons to one another, because of their union in a common and eternal purpose. In a letter to Mr. Kendal I mentioned this, adding: "It begins to look like a gospel, doesn't it?"


Finally, however, my own opportunity came, on Thursday, March 21st, but instead of permitting me to propound any of the many questions I had in mind, Mary K. delivered a detailed message of instruction that left me astounded and incredulous. Most of this is too personal to repeat, but some of it must be quoted, in view of what followed.


"… We have much to tell, and few through whom to tell it. You have the sensitiveness to receive and the power to convince. When you





have fully grasped the meaning of what we have to tell, you must make it known, but not before we give you the whole of it. You will get the truth slowly, through helping many people, but keep the full knowledge frankly back until it is all told…. Let them know you are withholding it, but do not let them have it in fragments."


"You mean they are not to be told of the division of original purpose into individual life?"


"No, they must have that to build on. But there will be more given to you in fragments. Piece it together for yourself, but do not give it to any one as long as you are still receiving it…. The light is breaking, and you are the aces… accustomed…"—later she returned, to write "accredited" over this word. I think neither was what she tried for. Perhaps accessible?—"… force to make the meaning clear…. It is what we have long sought and just found. That is the reason we are giving you things never told before. You are to pass them on when the time comes…. This is your work, your contribution to the great purpose, which will be revealed to you little by little. Keep clear of disturbing contacts, as you have done, and keep your purpose true. You have already recognized this as a gospel.





It is more. It is a faith. Be true to it and it will save many from suffering. That is the reason I am here now and shall remain. I am the force used by greater forces to reach the world through you. We have always been the same purpose, and I can reach you freely." After an allusion to mental purpose, she defined it thus: "Mental purpose is the force that convinces men. Moral purpose is that which persuades them. We prefer conviction. It lasts, whore persuasion fades. Nothing more now, but this is only the beginning. Mary K."


After the first phrase, save for one or two brief pauses, this long communication was so rapidly written that I could not follow it with my left hand, though I made several attempts, as my right arm became greatly fatigued. At no time had I the slightest impression of what was to be said, and during most of it I was too bewildered to think clearly, my mind being filled with blank wonder and vague questioning, scarcely formulated, yet immediately answered.


The next day she resumed her exhortation.


"… This is war work. It is going to make the war seem what it is, a reawakening of the souls of men. There is no higher duty than





to make a man know his own soul and the souls of his fellows. The war will be justified only if this result is obtained. We work for that here, and we ask you to help us. There can be no victory unless this is accomplished…. Be true to your purpose and ours, and help us build for light and progress, against the forces of doubt and disintegration."


To an inquiry about Germany, apropos of her mention of the war, she replied: "Germany is the united purpose of fear. It is her weapon and her weakness, and it is to defeat the force she symbolizes that we all work…. There you have the real war, the battle that has gone on from the beginning. This is one of the crises of eternity."


Here I thought of certain past wars, when the victorious barbarians set civilization back.


"Sometimes the forces of disintegration have won, sometimes we. But their victory is never permanent, because they are negative and we are positive. They delay us, but we Eve and work. We shall win in the end, but that is far away. We call you to fight with the forces of life and light. You can do more with us than you can alone."


The following day found me still incredulous, and she said: "… Tell them that you are doing the





people's work, under secret orders, and that they will perhaps know presently what it is. They will all recognize it when it is given to them, except those souls not mentally free from fear."


From this she passed immediately into the first of that remarkable series of communications which she has called Lessons. Again the writing was so rapid that my arm ached to the shoulder, long before she had finished, from the incessant movement to and fro across the table, and again my mind was filled with blank amazement.


Perhaps it should be stated that, although I have written more or less light fiction during the past fifteen years, literary composition is to me a slow and laborious exercise. Especially is this true of opening paragraphs, which generally require many hours of work. Unfortunately, the time consumed in writing one of these Lessons was never noted, but with one or two exceptions, when I was too tired to receive readily, they were done without hesitation and with extraordinary rapidity. Also, while in personal messages the mental impression is sometimes given to me a little before the physical movement occurs, never during the writing of the Lessons had I the slightest inkling of what was to follow. One




by one the words were revealed by the moving pencil, my principal sensations being wonder and incredulity. Until frequent repetition had accustomed me to this experience, I felt as if I must be dreaming.