Tempo:
7. POST MORTEM
Any acknowledgment of the existence of the Second Body immediately
demands the question mankind has pondered since the day he learned to
think: Do we live on? Is there life beyond the grave? Our religions say
believe, have faith. This is not quite enough for the syllogistic thinker who
seeks valid premises that are clear-cut, leading to an inescapable conclusion.
All I can do is be as reportorial and objective as one can be in a basically
subjective experience. Perhaps my premises will be valid to you as you read
them.
I first met Doctor Richard Gordon in 1942, in New York. He was an M.D., a
specialist in internal medicine. We became friends, and he became our family
doctor. He had a very successful practice, built up over the years, and
possessed a rare cynical-sarcastic sense of humor. He was a down-to-earth
realist with the wisdom of experience. He was in his fifties when we first met,
so I never knew him as a young man. He was short and thin, with straight
white hair, tending to baldness.
Doctor Gordon had two conspicuous mannerisms. He had decided to live a long
time, evidently, and so paced himself very carefully. He walked deliberately in
a slow, careful stride.
He hurried only when absolutely necessary. More correctly, he strolled when
he walked, with studied casualness.
Second, when someone visited him in his office, he would glance out from
the inner doorway and stare intently. He did not say "hello" or nod or wave. He
simply stared as if he were saying, "Now what in hell's the matter with him!"
Without ever having spoken of it, Doctor Gordon and I had a very warm and
close rapport. It was one of those things that happen without explanation,
with no logical reason. We had not too much in common, other than the fact
of going going through a life experience at nearly the same moment in
history.
In the spring of 1961 visited Doctor Gordon at his office and had lunch with him
there, cooked over a Bunsen burner by his long-time nurse. He looked tired
and preoccupied and I commented about it.
"I haven't been feeling too well," he replied, and then flared up into his usual
self. "What's the matter, can't a doctor get sick once in a while!"
I laughed, and suggested he do something about it, such as seeing his family
physician,
Any acknowledgment of the existence of the Second Body immediately
demands the question mankind has pondered since the day he learned to
think: Do we live on? Is there life beyond the grave? Our religions say
believe, have faith. This is not quite enough for the syllogistic thinker who
seeks valid premises that are clear-cut, leading to an inescapable conclusion.
All I can do is be as reportorial and objective as one can be in a basically
subjective experience. Perhaps my premises will be valid to you as you read
them.
I first met Doctor Richard Gordon in 1942, in New York. He was an M.D., a
specialist in internal medicine. We became friends, and he became our family
doctor. He had a very successful practice, built up over the years, and
possessed a rare cynical-sarcastic sense of humor. He was a down-to-earth
realist with the wisdom of experience. He was in his fifties when we first met,
so I never knew him as a young man. He was short and thin, with straight
white hair, tending to baldness.
Doctor Gordon had two conspicuous mannerisms. He had decided to live a long
time, evidently, and so paced himself very carefully. He walked deliberately in
a slow, careful stride.
He hurried only when absolutely necessary. More correctly, he strolled when
he walked, with studied casualness.
Second, when someone visited him in his office, he would glance out from
the inner doorway and stare intently. He did not say "hello" or nod or wave. He
simply stared as if he were saying, "Now what in hell's the matter with him!"
Without ever having spoken of it, Doctor Gordon and I had a very warm and
close rapport. It was one of those things that happen without explanation,
with no logical reason. We had not too much in common, other than the fact
of going going through a life experience at nearly the same moment in
history.
In the spring of 1961 visited Doctor Gordon at his office and had lunch with him
there, cooked over a Bunsen burner by his long-time nurse. He looked tired
and preoccupied and I commented about it.
"I haven't been feeling too well," he replied, and then flared up into his usual
self. "What's the matter, can't a doctor get sick once in a while!"
I laughed, and suggested he do something about it, such as seeing his family
physician,
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