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By Basil King

...Berkeley Noone, troubled with the incurable Hutchinson's disorder, has accredited the truth that he needs to die. part eagerly, part anxiously he waits for dying, merely to adventure no demise; in its place, come to a translation right into a greater, fuller type of existence, during which new values sunrise, and into wich there seems a brand new radiant imaginative and prescient of God...Abraham's Bosom is a gorgeous and comforting little philosophy of religion and will be extra convincing to many readers than a few summary treatises at the topic.

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Sample text

When he tried to formulate his hope it was brokenly. " A pause preceded the next words, like a pause of reflection. "'The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life,'" the unseen companion quoted. "There have been few for whom John didn't write the book of his Revelation quite in vain. It has been the conviction of the Man of Dust that if he didn't see a reflection turned upside down on the retina of Dust he didn't see at all. " "Oh, but I haven't been always seeing Him," Berkeley Noone began to plead.

The floor became a sense of the solidity of his new condition; and the wall a guaranty of privacy, of independence, of a place for him as an individual in an infinite world of work. Whatever had been matter he saw as thought; but thought which, nevertheless, projected a new type of objectivity. The rugs were thoughts; the pictures were thoughts; each tiny trifle, useful or useless, as the case might be, represented some eternal, indestructible idea. A few rows of books, some of which he had not taken from their shelves for years, were a thronging variety of thoughts, glowing, glorious, crowding one another, and yet making room for one another, like jewels in a treasury or flowers in a field.

Had he not known that he couldn't really be better, he would have been tempted to say he was well. He would have been able to get up; only that it was so delicious to lie there seemingly free--he reminded himself that it could be no more than seemingly free--from torture, and with his mental burdens gone. What had dispelled them he didn't know; but it was a fact that they had rolled away. " he murmured to himself. " He was not surprised at the voice. Familiar with the fancies of the dying, he knew to what to ascribe it.

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