Date: January 19, 1909
Location: New Smyrna, Florida
Prof. James,
Dear Sir:—
Seven years ago in the Castle grounds at Marburg an old student of yours, during conversation, remarked, “I don’t want to die, I want to be alive.” I looked at him in amazement (he was studying theology) and replied: “Why, don’t you know that you are far more alive when you are dead than you are now?” and related to him the following incident in my life.
At the close he said, “That ought to be on record; you ought to write that to Prof. James, of Harvard.”
Only the fear that the letter would be an intrusion, or the contents of no interest to you has prevented me from doing so. Mrs. L___ is Professor of Psychology in Mich. S. N. College, and I think no one would question my word, although I am well aware that most people would smile at the following story—probably think I dreamed it; perhaps I did—only, I myself, cannot understand that explanation.
I must tell you first how very ill I was in one of our largest hospitals. I remembered afterwards that for a day or two I had forgotten that my only child and husband ever were in existence. But to my mind no thought of death came. It was if I had never heard of death. For the first few days I was always thinking, “I will be better tomorrow.” Then I was not so sure it would be “tomorrow,” it might be two or three days later, but,— I was going to be better. That was positive knowledge to me.
When I became too weak to speak much—it seemed the same as being upon a road. When I reached the end where there was an invisible wall, I should come back. There was no other way. One day the house physician said, “Yours is one of the most exceptional cases we have upon record.” Sunday the nurse tried to impress upon my mind that I must do a certain thing. I whispered “I can’t.” She replied, “you must—you simply must, it is the last thing on earth we can ever do for anyone.” Still not the faintest thought even of death. That evening the house physician clasped my foot—and so on up to my knee, and I thought “What in the world does he do that for,” and wondered at his manner, it was so utterly careless, and devoid of any touch of humanity even—and he had always been perfect kindness before. But I could not speak.
Monday morning my first consciousness was that the crisis was past. I was coming back, but I could not move an eyelash or a finger. I felt a hand touch my chin and heard my Dr.’s voice say “smile a little.” I was perfectly motionless, but I exerted every atom of will power I had to keep my teeth from chattering, for I thought if the Dr. Saw that he would know the intense agony he had caused me, and it would kill him. To me then it was impossible anyone could live, knowing that they had caused such agony.
I felt as if all the bones of my head were slipping out, as bones fall out of overdone meat. Several days later the lady who had been at the head of the training school of nurses eighteen years, came in two different days and said, “Mrs. L., you are a very remarkable women to me—remarkable to be alive at all,” and again, “You must have a very strong constitution,—there is nothing else on this earth that could ever have pulled you through,” and every word was so empathetic. I wished so much to talk with her, but could not. My nurse said, “None of us can understand it, it is simply a miracle, that is all.”
The long preamble is ended.
I could never remember when I first remembered this—I was so very weak—but it was not before that Monday—every incident of those days is clear to me. My first consciousness, (it was merely consciousness of being, no knowledge of personality or place) was of rising slightly, as mist rises from the ground, and moving to the foot of the bed. Then I was conscious of size, (this sounds ridiculous, but I am simply telling you the experience) about as large as my head, then instantly, rising, I was myself. Poised in the air at the foot of the bed. And yet seeing myself lying upon the bed. If you were to look up this instant and see yourself sitting in the chair opposite, and yet you know you are in your present position, can you imagine your amazement? Knowing both things are true.
Neither can I tell you mine, when I saw myself lying so white and still, and that stillness filled me with awe unspeakable. I saw my Dr. standing by the bed, his hand on my pulse, and I knew, intuitively, that at that moment there was nothing else on earth to him, but watching for the next pulsation. Beyond the Dr. there was a dark shadow, taller than the Dr. I always wondered who that was, as everyone else I saw just the same as I see people now. I turned, and against the wall was a table. I had the impression of something white in it. I say “in it” because there was a rim around the table.
It was like an inverted box cover, and I had never seen or heard of such a table before; there were three nurses bending over it. One at either side and one in front. I thought, “They are working with the rapidity of lightning obeying the Dr.’s orders.”
As you walk along the street in autumn deep in thought, dead leaves drift by you. You are conscious of them, but they are of no importance. So I was conscious of the above, but what was so perfactly [sp.] wonderful was this knowledge, “Why I can go up to those girls, I can put my arms around them, I can lay my head upon their shoulders, and they won’t know it.”
Then I turned and passed out of the room as a cloud appears to us to move. There was no other motion or exertion. I passed through the empty hall and on down the broad front steps. The streets were bright as day, but empty. And then I was filled with the most ineffable bliss—those words express nothing. One could have all the wealth and fame and honor, all the love and joy of earth, never knowing a sorrow, or pain, and still they would have absolutely not the faintest knowledge of the joy, happiness, perfect blessedness, that I that instant knew. There are no words with which to tell. Everything was absolutely perfect in this world, everywhere. I have only one child left me, yet at that instant, or if I could always be in that condition of mind, what you will, there is not one thing that could come to her in life that could grieve me, because nothing could come that would not be perfect for her. It was as if the whole world were in the hands of infinite love, and infinite wisdom. There was nothing wrong. Everything was perfect for every creature, and of the joy of that perfect knowledge, of the perfect guidance for everyone, I can tell you nothing. Really, I feel as if I had been trying to write a sermon, and yet I have not given you a glimpse of the truth.
That was all. I lost consciousness there. I cannot explain. I cannot tell what to think. If a dream, what about the table with a top like an inverted box cover?
I was so weak when I left the hospital and could not have talked with strangers anyway abut such an experience—that I asked no questions, but I always knew that sometime I should return to the city, to find out if there were really such tables in existence. Three years later a nurse from that hospital had a case in the home of a friend of mine. I called, described the size of the table and top, and asked “Are there such tables made, and do you use them in your hospital?” She looked at me curiously and slowly replied, “Yes, we have such tables, to hold appliances, to wheel in and out of rooms in cases of emergency.” To me the memory of these things is a wonderful comfort.
I hope I have not troubled you unduly by writing what you will possibly consider nothing but hallucinations.
I am very sincerely,
Mrs. S. B. L1
New York, March 22, 1909.
Dr. Carstens,
My Dear Sir:—
A Mrs. L___, who seems to have had an operation at Harper Hospital, in Detroit, in 1898, writes me of some of her experiences while she was unconscious. As you are said to have been the physician on the occasion I should be pleased to know if you can recall anything interesting or striking about her case. It seems that she was very different to bring back to consciousness. I should be glad to have from you any statement that would serve to corroborate her story, as she remembers it.
Very sincerely,
James H. Hyslop2
620 Woodward Ave., Detroit, Mich., March 24, 1909.
Dr. James H. Hyslop, Secretary
Dear Doctor:—
In answer to your letter will say that Mrs. S.B.L._ was operated upon by me July 13, 1897, for lacerations of the cervix. She was a very nervous, hysterical patient and we thought the trouble might be caused by the scar tissue, as it so often is.
During the operation, however, I detected an enlargement of the ovary, a tumor, but did not feel justified to remove it without her knowledge and consent. She improved some and returned home to Lansing and her family physician, Dr. Campbell, took care of her. Her nervous symptoms again became worse and she returned to me. I operated August 17, 1898, removing her left ovary. Nothing special occurred during the operation of recovery, nor when under the anæsthetic, or when bringing her to. She would not know it even if it was so. But she was a very hysterical patient, simple hysteria as we find in so many. It took hard work to maker her get up and be about. She always claimed she could not. She had all kinds of symptoms, as such cases always have.
She finally returned home and I have not heard from her for ten years until I received your letter. Looking up the records I recall the case very well. There is nothing special about her case, but like plenty others, with what we call hysterical, a little weak mentally, that is, lack of will power or something else that makes up an evenly balanced mind.
Hoping this will help you, I remain,
Yours truly,
J.H. Carstens3
Union Theological Seminary, New York City,
Librarian’s Office, March 26, 1907.
Professor James H. Hyslop,
My Dear Sir:—
In the winter of 1901-1902 Mrs. L._, of Ypsilanti, was in Marburg, Germany, and told me some story of an experience of psychological interest. I did not record it, nor can I remember what it was. Doubtless I told her to send it to Professor James, under whom I once studied a little psychology and cosmology.
Mrs. L___ impressed me as a level-headed woman, and I should not discount her experiences unduly. Too bad the record is not contemporaneous with the facts.
Very truly yours,
Wm. Walker Rockwell4
New Smyrna, Fla., Jan. 30, 1909.
Prof. J.H. Hyslop
Dear Sir:—
Prof. James write me that he has forwarded my letter to you and you make think best to publish parts of it.
If it makes no difference I would rather you did not give my name on account of the notoriety it would cause in Mich., where, through Mr. L___’s work, we are everywhere known.
It is very strange. Ever since I remembered that experience I have known that, if we could only be in the faintest degree in the same condition of happiness I was in before I lost consciousness, death would only bring the greatest joy, instead of the deepest grief to those who are left. It seemed to me then that one must clap their hands and sing for joy continually to think their loved ones had gone to that life. In no way could they possibly express their gladness. And I know by experience of what I speak.
Very truly,
Mrs. S. B. L.5
New Smyrna, Fla., Mar. 16, 1909.
Dr. James H. Hyslop,
Dear Sir:—
The student of Prof. James was W.W. Rockwell. Two or three years ago he was Prof. or Assistant Prof. of Church History at Andover—I think—at least it was a Theological College in Mass. of which there was talk of moving it to Cambridge and incorporating it with Harvard. If the above does not find him I can get his address through his cousin, with whom my daughter was acquainted at Mr. Holyoke.
I was at Harper Hospital, Detroit, Mich., first or second week of Aug., 1898. Dr. Carstens, Woodward Ave., Detroit, also head of Harper, was physician.
I do not remember name of nurse, bet the records would probably show.
The lady at head of Training School for nurses was Mrs. Gretter, still of Detroit, but not now connected with Harper.
I think the same address would reach her, however; or I can get it after I reach home. Whether those people will remember me after so many years, when they have so many patients, I do not know. Mrs. Gretter might. I shall never forget how impressively she spoke to me those two different days, when I was still too weak to talk. I have never seen anyone from Harper since I left there, except that one nurse whome I asked about the table, and she was a stranger to me.
I saw the Dr. and the three nurses by the table, just the same as I should see you, if you were here now. But, question 4: “Who was it that was standing by the Dr.?”
If you were in a dimly lighted room and could go behind the door and cut out a form from the deeper shadow, then place it in a brightly lighted room, that was what I saw.
It was a head or more taller than the Dr., who is a very short man. When I first remembered this experience, that dark shadow, (I very much dislike the word, but no other seems applicable) was someone interest in me, standing there in that dark undefined form, watching me upon the bed; and as I wrote before, I was always wondering who it could be. My first thought was of my physician from home. But then I knew he was larger than that form, that he was not in the city at the time, and that if he had been there he would have looked as he was, the same as the Dr. and the nurses.
I cannot explain it, but even today I can no more put away the knowledge, or memory, of that being an actual somebody, let us say, than I can put away the memory of any friend of the past and say, “There never was any such person.”
I was only conscious where I was at the foot of the bed, poised, as one may say, in the air, my form about a foot from the floor, and I was just as conscious of being myself as I am conscious of being myself here now writing to you.
I was looking at my body just as I would look at the body of a stranger today, only my body and myself, if I may speak, had been one for over forty years, and to instantly know yourself to be in one place, and to see what you had recognized as long as yourself, lying white and still in another place, gives one an unthinkable shock of wonder and amazement.
In writing this I comfort myself with the thought that it is merely the record of a remembered something, otherwise you would surely think me not in my right mind.
Do you think it could have been a dream? Could things we could never imagine in our waking hours come to us in dreams; things we have never known? the table, for instance.
Very truly,
Mrs. S.B.L.6
The Katabasis Project 
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