John Huntley

About five years ago I woke from sleep to find “myself” clean out of the body, as the kernel of a nut comes out of its shell. I was conscious in two places—in a feeble degree, in the body which was lying in bed on its left side; and to a far greater degree, away from the body (far away, it seemed), surrounded by white opaque light, and in a state of absolute happiness and security (a curious expression, but one which best conveys the feeling).

The whole of my personality lay “out there,” even to the replica of the body—which like the body, lay also on its left side. I was not conscious of leaving the body, but woke up out of it. It was not a dream, for the consciousness was an enhanced one, as superior to the ordinary waking state as that is to the dream state. Indeed, I thought to myself, “This cannot be a dream,” so I willed “out there” (there was no volition in the body), and as my spirit self moved so the body moved in bed.

I did not continue this movement. I was far too happy to risk shortening the experience. After lying in this healing and blessed light I became conscious of what, for want of a better term, I must call music; gentle and sweet it was as the tinkling of dropping water in a rocky pool, and it seemed to be all about me. I saw no figure, nor wished to; the contentment was supreme. The effect of these sounds was unutterably sweet, and I said to myself, “This must be the Voice of God.” I could not endure the happiness, but lost consciousness there, and returned unconscious to the body, and woke next morning as though nothing had happened.

I had been passing through a period of mental and spiritual stress at the time, but had not been indulging in psychism, had never attended a séance or similar phenomenon, had not, as I remember, been reading anything to act by way of suggestion. I am in no doubt whatever—so vivid was the happening—that had the feeble thread between soul and body been severed “I” should have remained intact, the grosser body being sloughed off for a finer and one fitted for a lighter and happier consciousness, for “life more abundant,” in fact.

I am afraid my letter is a very long one, and perhaps the experience is not a very wonderful one after all. Doubtless you are acquainted with many similar and more remarkable.

I feel, however, I would like to make it known in such times as these; and, apart from its scientific aspect, if it conveys any personal comfort the trouble is repaid indeed.

John Huntley

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Arthur Hill, Man is a Spirit: A Collection of Spontaneous Cases of Dreams, Vision and Ecstasy (New York: George H. Doran Company, 1918), p. 71 – 74.