The Dead Are Alive: They Can and Do Communicate With You!($7.99Value)

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In case after amazing case, you'll listen to the actual voices of the dead--contrary, lyrical entrancing. You'll explore the meaning of out-of-body experiences and learn how spirits of the dead can be seen as well as heard. You'll also discover how YOU can communicate with the dead--and capture their voices on an ordinary tape recorder! In case after amazing case, you'll listen to the actual voices of the dead--contrary, lyrical entrancing. You'll explore the meaning of out-of-body experiences and learn how spirits of the dead can be seen as well as heard. You'll also discover how YOU can communicate with the dead--and capture their voices on an ordinary tape recorder! In case after amazing case, you'll listen to the actual voices of the dead--contrary, lyrical entrancing. You'll explore the meaning of out-of-body experiences and learn how spirits of the dead can be seen as well as heard. You'll also discover how YOU can communicate with the dead--and capture their voices on an ordinary tape recorder! What is Death?   Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was. There is absolutely unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?   I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well.   Harry Scott Holland 1847–1918 Canon of St. Paul’s Cathedral.   Chapter 1     HOW IT BEGAN   On December 10, 1974, Wilma Plimpton left this life. She had been unconscious for 72 hours before passing. At least this is what doctors and nurses clinically thought. But Wilma told her husband, A.J., a year or so later after he had established two-way communication with her, that she had been out of her body, in her spirit form, trying to tell him she was still alive, and knew what was going on.   When death of the physical body occurred, said Wilma, she had blacked out, and when she returned to consciousness, she found herself in what appeared to be an almost endless hospital ward with rows of occupied beds and white-attired attendants. Her first thoughts were that A.J. had had her moved to another hospital, until she saw her formerly deceased father and mother standing beside the bed, smiling down at her.   Then, for the first time, the thought struck her: “I must have died! If I’m dead, where am I?” Her parents, sensing her thoughts, explained that she was in what might be called a Rest Home, one of many which exist around the earth, where most people are transported at death, to remain for longer or shorter periods, until they become adapted to the new conditions.   As Wilma became more and more aware of her surroundings, which seemed to be as real and substantial as her earth existence had been, she was almost overwhelmed by the emotional pull of A.J.’s grief upon her.   The effect on Wilma was such that, while she didn’t know how it could be done, she felt she had to respond to A.J.’s mental call and return to earth and try to assure him that she was still alive—that there was a life after death, in which he had not believed—and that they, one day, could be re-united.   As Wilma had these thoughts, she suddenly found herself in the Plimpton home in Oklahoma, and in the physical presence of A.J. who was, at that moment, gazing fixedly at her photograph. She heard her own voice speaking to him but was frustrated to observe that he didn’t hear it. She followed him about the rest of the day, in his car, wherever he went, trying to embrace him, to comfort him, to catch his attention in one way or another—and her fruitless efforts continued until night when A.J. finally retired, and went to sleep, calling her name.   It was then that Wilma intercepted his thought and sensed that he was contemplating suicide, since he felt he could not go on without her.      In January of 1975, a little more than a month after Wilma’s demise, a despondent A.J. still intent on doing away with himself, passed a newsstand and was challenged by a paperback book title, YOU LIVE AFTER DEATH by Harold Sherman. He bought it on impulse, wondering skeptically if he could have been wrong, if there could be a form of continuing life after death. In any event, he decided that he would see what this writer had to say.   I, of course, was the author of this book. It had first been published in 1949, and after a number of editions in hard cover, had gone into paperback with Fawcett Publications, now known as CBS-F