Marvels: Letters from an Elder, Part 2
From an upcoming book called Marvels: Letters from an Elder by Tobias Green:
Letter # 1 16th February 1948 (continued)
So let us assume that you are in possession of senses which are currently dormant or latent. Why should they be in such a state? Leaving aside any decision you might have been involved in to restrict your own perceptions — such matters are best left until later in this correspondence— we can tackle this from the perspective that your unused senses are weak and hidden from you because they have atrophied through lack of use.
Analogies are always incredibly useful: if we regard ‘sensory fitness’ as the full and rigorous activation of your entire range of perceptions, then, like an athlete who ceases to train, such apparatus slowly declines and becomes weaker and weaker, until, in extreme cases, it withers away to nothing. Such might be the position with regard to your original senses: you haven’t used them, haven’t exercised them, haven’t placed any kind of demand upon them, and so they have withered away.
One of the reasons why you haven’t used them is because the culture which surrounds you neglects to place any emphasis upon them at all. From an early age, you are taught that you have five physical senses, and these are utilised every day in some way — but other, invisible senses, which, as a child you are more apt to use instinctively and regularly, because they are given less emphasis, fall by the wayside.
Many parents report their very young children apparently being aware of other people in the room, not discernible to the adults present: mysterious ‘conversations’ with absent figures, interchanges and smiles and giggles with invisible people, and so on. Usually these interchanges are short (as far as you know); sometimes they are unobserved and only reported some time afterward; usually they are unpredictable. If questioned, the child (if capable of verbalisation) will say that they were chatting with a deceased grandparent or other relative no longer physically operating on your plane. They will look at a particular point in the room, indicate with their face or hands where the person is standing or sitting, but the accompanying adult will ‘see’ nothing and not be aware of any kind of ‘presence’ at all. Easily dismissed as ‘childish imaginings’, these incidents are not so easy to set aside when one realises how common they are.
But as the child grows up, as they begin to be able to verbalise their experiences, and as their attention is put upon material things and responsibilities — eating, walking, dressing, sleeping, talking with people who are physically present, and so forth— these uncategorisable experiences tend to fade, as do those mysterious recollections, too many to discount, of children remembering past lives, complete with names and locations, often verifiable by independent enquiry. It all drifts into the background, in the same way that candle flames fade in brightness when taken into daylight: the flames a