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drugs.
I see here a question which actually we have already
answered. Perhaps I had better answer it again. The ques-
tion is, How did the misconception occur that occultists
cannot charge for their services?
The answer is not far to seek. In the Far East most people
are desperately poor, they do not have televisions and cars
and private aircraft and split level homes. Sometimes they
just have food and a few clothes, sometimes people of the
Far East do not see money during the whole of their lifetime.
Instead they make their purchases by barter, they exchange
produce, eggs and all that, or even labor, for the things they
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want. So if a peasant wants the services of an occultist the
peasant will not think of giving money to the occultist be-
cause he doesn't have any, so instead he will provide the
occultist with food, grain for example or fruit, and again, if
he doesn't have any eggs or grain or fruit to spare, then he
will do work for the occultist, mend his robes for example,
carve a new bowl. If he had accommodation then the
peasant will clean his accommodation. It may be a cave in
the hillside and in that case the person who has used the
occultist's service will clean the cave so many times, will
sweep up the old grass and strew the floor with fresh grass.
He will provide firewood and will do all necessary work.
It's still payment, though, isn't it? If he gives food, if he
gives labor, it's still payment. But actually the warning
against payment was a different matter altogether because
the warning is against unscrupulous Westerners who ad-
vertise services they cannot really perform, and who are just
out to make unreasonable charges. Some of the adver-
tisements I have seen are truly too fantastic to be believed. It
strikes me as most hilarious to think of a fellow packing his
brief case and perhaps an overnight case and dashing off
into the astral to read somebody's Akashic Record, always of
course, for a high fee. Such things are impossible, they are
quite impossible because there is a very strict occult law to
the effect that no person can see the Akashic Record of
another person who is alive. If you want to know what
happened five hundred years ago, then that is a different
matter, that is history and you can consult the Akashic
Record in that case just as you can go to film libraries and
pick out historical films. But just as many things are
classified nowadays, you cannot report the speed of a certain
plane or you cannot say how fast a certain shell goes, well, in
much the same way you just cannot see or discuss the Aka-
shic Record of a living person. After all, the Spirit World,
you know, doesn't exist solely for some of these cranky ad-
vertisers; think of that when you read some of the adver-
tisements, and have a laugh with me, will you?
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Injure others and you injure
yourself.
The day had been very pleasant, a clear blue sky and a
warmer temperature than had been during the past few
weeks. There were signs that the winter had ended and that
spring was really thinking about peeping around the corner
of the calendar and bringing warmth and sunshine and new
life to those jaded and defeated by the frigid winters of
Canada.
In the valleys snow was still thick and would remain so for
perhaps a few weeks more, but in the higher ground exposed
to the warming rays of the sun the snows were fast melting
and trickling riverlets came rushing down to swell the Saint
John River.
The day had seen many birds flying by, signs that spring
was coming, birds returning to their old haunts; a whole
covey of ducks went by, soon after a huge black-back seagull
had come sweeping in from the sea to land on the roof and to
peer about and utter raucous cries.
The evening had turned chilly. There was a hint of snow
in the air. Suddenly, unexpectedly there came the drum-
ming of hailstones beating rapidly upon the windows, bounc-
ing off the balconies, and, for a few moments, carpeting the
road with a white icy sheen.
The Old Man thought, Oh, poor Mr. Robichaud, he'll
have to get busy again in the morning! During the day Mr.
Robichaud had been very busy sweeping aside puddles of
melting snow, brushing away gravel thrown down by city
trucks in an attempt to provide traction for motor traffic.
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But now the hail had come driving fresh gravel into the
front of the building and adding to the work of an already
much overworked man.
The evening sped by and lights in the city went out one by
one. In the Hospital the lights were ever on, always ready for
emergencies, always ready by day and by night.
The Old Man turned his head and looked out of the
window over the balcony; down in the Harbor there was
still activity. The Russian ship loading grain for Russia was
still a blaze of light. There was the clank of machinery and
the hissing of high pressure steam.
Closer there was the terrible blare, and blare, and blare
again as one of the Canadian National infernal diesel engines
clattered along the rails over the level crossing, hooting and
blaring as if the world had gone mad. I wonder that no one
has told the engineer that there are signal lights on the cross-
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