(continued from p. 11)

and inoperative when the enemy attack came.
War equipment seems to rust away, to break up,
to disintegrate almost before one's eyes -- for
it is equipment of HATE, built for the injury
and destruction of human beings.

Destructive and creative action are diametrically opposed. One is of HATE; the other
is of LOVE. This is the simple but infallible
test of creative action; does it reflect concern for the welfare of others? Does it comprise caring for others? If so, it is a good
and creative action.

This, too, is the touchstone whereby one
flay test the sincerity of the healer.

The bonafide healer -- whether he be a medical doctor, a chiropractor, a naturopath, a
psychiatrist, a psychologist, a physical therapist, or a lay analyst -- the sincere healer is
engaged in the work that he performs because
he cares for the welfare of other human beings. His work, as he intends it, is a work of
love. He genuinely wishes, consciously and
subconsciously, to heal the sick. (The "sick"
in this context always means both the physically ill and the psychically troubled.)

And here is the last, the final important
"secret" of creative image therapy.

No matter from what school he comes, let
the healer, as he ministers to a patient,
create psychic image patterns in his awn mind
of the patient as now be n healed and made
whole.

The healer does not visualize, cannot
visualize the patient as healed an'. made whole
in the vague future. The psychical images the
healer ought to create are of the patient
being healed and made whole HERE AND NOW!

This is the thesis of this therapy: first
the image, then the event -- but the image is
one of realization NOW.

The patient's own

(Continued on P. 14)

TITLE

By RUTH O. YERKS

WE'RE ALL familiar with "guardian angels",
as Arthur J. Burks testified in a recent
article in The ABERREE. We've read and
heard about them since we were children --
how they walk beside us, shove automobiles out
of our paths, and sit on our bedposts at night,
and maybe, when we were babies, they kept the
cat from smothering us in our sleep, bless 'em!

They are accredited with spending our
entire lives keeping us out of mischief, but
sometimes I think they fall down on the job,
are out to lunch, or asleep on duty. You read
in the papers every day where people are getting killed by falling down stairs, in airplane
crashes, car wrecks, or get burned -- and such
horrible things. Makes one wonder just where
those angels are keeping themselves at such
crucial moments.

I figured if Mr. Burks could meet his
angels, or monitors, maybe I, too, could open
contact with mine. I wanted to meet those
guys who are supposed to be strewing roses in
my path. The only way I knew to go about it
was to first go into a self-imposed trance,
which is easier than skidding on greased ice,
in order that I could contact the Almighty
Knower, from Whom all life stems, including my
own humble self.

Managed to get through all right, and met
His Majesty pronto.

"Sir," said I, "here I stand thus, naked
of soul before Thy Almighty Presence. I want
to meet my guardian angels about whom I've
read so many valiant deeds."

The All Knower answered: "That's understandable. We've been expecting you. Your
visit is preordained on Page umpteen billion
trillion ninety-nine, in small print at the
bottom of the page."

Sure enough. I saw it with my own eyes!
I had a date with the Guy Upstairs on this
particular day at this particular hour!

Then, he introduced me to my guardian
angel. I expected, of course, to meet one or
more radiant beings, strolling with godly majesty toward me, heads haloed, and glowing
angelic wings tucked snugly at the shoulder
blades.

But, coming toward me in a typical sloppy
gait and slovenly appearance, was none other
than myself -- or a reasonable facsimile thereof. I was disgusted, but figured I might as
well face it and get the facts.

As my other self approached, she grinned.
"Hi, Old Fruit," she hailed. "You didn't expect to meet ME here, did you?"

"Hell no," I said, very politely. "You'd
be the LAST one I'd want to meet here."

"Ha!" my other self said. "You've got a
lot to learn. Didn't you know you were your
own guardian angel?"

"Oh, yeah?" I said, using a phrase I'd
found useful when I was hard put for
better to say. "Then how come I don't have
wings?"

My other self just laughed in my face.
"Before you dismiss me, don't you reckon it'd
be kind of foolish for the Almighty Knower to
send you out as a soul to Earth to live in a
perfectly normal physical body, to manifest
His intelligence, and then have to send along
a couple heavenly emissaries to do your thinking for you? The Almighty has a lot more for
His angels to do than have them trailing humans to keep them out of trouble. Remember the
time you were a little shaver and you put your
hands on the burning gas jets in your mother's
kitchen?"

"Sure," I said. "And I've still got the
scars to prove it!"

"Well," continued my other self, "there
weren't any heavenly angels there to pull your
paddies out of the fire. You did it yourself,
and by so doing, you were learning to be your
own guardian angel."

I scratched my head. "Maybe it was instinct," I said.

My other self shrugged. "If you want to
imagine that your intuition or instinct of
self-preservation are guardian angels in that
sense they are -- minus the halos and wings. But
that way you are breaking down your own personality into several personalities."

"O.K.," I said. "I didn't exactly hanker
to be trailed about all my life anyway. There
are times a gal wants to be alone. For example: when she's being courted byher best beau,
or robbing her grandmother of her. life savings,
or someone else's grandmother..." My other
self was fading, and I was talking to not much
of anything.

But it's kind of nice to know that it's
up to ME to take care of the body in which I
am housed, to keep it clean behind the ears,
to feed it properly, and to give it sufficient
rest, and to look both ways when I want to
cross the street. I was given eyes with which
to perceive impending dangers, hands to feel,
arms to reach with, ears to hear with, feet to
carry me forward in life, and a head that can
look forward and backward by turning to see
where I've been, where I am now, and where I'm
going. And I guess that makes ME my guardian
angel.

Who's yours?