CHAPTER　XVIII
  Suspended　animation　is　nothing　new；　not　alone　in　the　vegetable　world
  and　in　the　lower　forms　of　animal　life；　but　in　the　highly　evolved；
  complex　organism　of　man　himself。　　A　cataleptic　trance　is　a
  cataleptic　trance；　no　matter　how　induced。　　From　time　immemorial　the
  fakir　of　India　has　been　able　voluntarily　to　induce　such　states　in
  himself。　　It　is　an　old　trick　of　the　fakirs　to　have　themselves　buried
  alive。　　Other　men；　in　similar　trances；　have　misled　the　physicians；
  who　pronounced　them　dead　and　gave　the　orders　that　put　them　alive
  under　the　ground。
  As　my　jacket　experiences　in　San　Quentin　continued　I　dwelt　not　a
  little　on　this　problem　of　suspended　animation。　　I　remembered　having
  read　that　the　far　northern　Siberian　peasants　made　a　practice　of
  hibernating　through　the　long　winters　just　as　bears　and　other　wild
  animals　do。　　Some　scientist　studied　these　peasants　and　found　that
  during　these　periods　of　the　〃long　sleep〃　respiration　and　digestion
  practically　ceased；　and　that　the　heart　was　at　so　low　tension　as　to
  defy　detection　by　ordinary　layman's　examination。
  In　such　a　trance　the　bodily　processes　are　so　near　to　absolute
  suspension　that　the　air　and　food　consumed　are　practically
  negligible。　　On　this　reasoning；　partly；　was　based　my　defiance　of
  Warden　Atherton　and　Doctor　Jackson。　　It　was　thus　that　I　dared
  challenge　them　to　give　me　a　hundred　days　in　the　jacket。　　And　they
  did　not　dare　accept　my　challenge。
  Nevertheless　I　did　manage　to　do　without　water；　as　well　as　food；
  during　my　ten…days'　bouts。　　I　found　it　an　intolerable　nuisance；　in
  the　deeps　of　dream　across　space　and　time；　to　be　haled　back　to　the
  sordid　present　by　a　despicable　prison　doctor　pressing　water　to　my
  lips。　　So　I　warned　Doctor　Jackson；　first；　that　I　intended　doing
  without　water　while　in　the　jacket；　and　next；　that　I　would　resist　any
  efforts　to　compel　me　to　drink。
  Of　course　we　had　our　little　struggle；　but　after　several　attempts
  Doctor　Jackson　gave　it　up。　　Thereafter　the　space　occupied　in　Darrell
  Standing's　life　by　a　jacket…bout　was　scarcely　more　than　a　few　ticks
  of　the　clock。　　Immediately　I　was　laced　I　devoted　myself　to　inducing
  the　little　death。　　From　practice　it　became　simple　and　easy。　　I
  suspended　animation　and　consciousness　so　quickly　that　I　escaped　the
  really　terrible　suffering　consequent　upon　suspending　circulation。
  Most　quickly　came　the　dark。　　And　the　next　I；　Darrell　Standing；　knew
  was　the　light　again；　the　faces　bending　over　me　as　I　was　unlaced；　and
  the　knowledge　that　ten　days　had　passed　in　the　twinkling　of　an　eye。
  But　oh；　the　wonder　and　the　glory　of　those　ten　days　spent　by　me
  elsewhere！　　The　journeys　through　the　long　chain　of　existences！　　The
  long　darks；　the　growings　of　nebulous　lights；　and　the　fluttering
  apparitional　selves　that　dawned　through　the　growing　light！
  Much　have　I　pondered　upon　the　relation　of　these　other　selves　to　me；
  and　of　the　relation　of　the　total　experience　to　the　modern　doctrine
  of　evolution。　　I　can　truly　say　that　my　experience　is　in　complete
  accord　with　our　conclusions　of　evolution。
  I；　like　any　man；　am　a　growth。　　I　did　not　begin　when　I　was　born　nor
  when　I　was　conceived。　　I　have　been　growing；　developing；　through
  incalculable　myriads　of　millenniums。　　All　these　experiences　of　all
  these　lives；　and　of　countless　other　lives；　have　gone　to　the　making
  of　the　soul…stuff　or　the　spirit…stuff　that　is　I。　　Don't　you　see？
  They　are　the　stuff　of　me。　　Matter　does　not　remember；　for　spirit　is
  memory。　　I　am　this　spirit　compounded　of　the　memories　of　my　endless
  incarnations。
  Whence　came　in　me；　Darrell　Standing；　the　red　pulse　of　wrath　that　has
  wrecked　my　life　and　put　me　in　the　condemned　cells？　　Surely　it　did
  not　come　into　being；　was　not　created；　when　the　babe　that　was　to　be
  Darrell　Standing　was　conceived。　　That　old　red　wrath　is　far　older
  than　my　mother；　far　older　than　the　oldest　and　first　mother　of　men。
  My　mother；　at　my　inception；　did　not　create　that　passionate　lack　of
  fear　that　is　mine。　　Not　all　the　mothers　of　the　whole　evolution　of
  men　manufactured　fear　or　fearlessness　in　men。　　Far　back　beyond　the
  first　men　were　fear　and　fearlessness；　love；　hatred；　anger；　all　the
  emotions；　growing；　developing；　becoming　the　stuff　that　was　to　become
  men。
  I　am　all　of　my　past；　as　every　protagonist　of　the　Mendelian　law　must
  agree。　　All　my　previous　selves　have　their　voices；　echoes；　promptings
  in　me。　　My　every　mode　of　action；　heat　of　passion；　flicker　of　thought
  is　shaded；　toned；　infinitesimally　shaded　and　toned；　by　that　vast
  array　of　other　selves　that　preceded　me　and　went　into　the　making　of
  me。
  The　stuff　of　life　is　plastic。　　At　the　same　time　this　stuff　never
  forgets。　　Mould　it　as　you　will；　the　old　memories　persist。　　All
  manner　of　horses；　from　ton　Shires　to　dwarf　Shetlands；　have　been　bred
  up　and　down　from　those　first　wild　ponies　domesticated　by　primitive
  man。　　Yet　to　this　day　man　has　not　bred　out　the　kick　of　the　horse。
  And　I；　who　am　composed　of　those　first　horse…tamers；　have　not　had
  their　red　anger　bred　out　of　me。
  I　am　man　born　of　woman。　　My　days　are　few；　but　the　stuff　of　me　is
  indestructible。　　I　have　been　woman　born　of　woman。　　I　have　been　a
  woman　and　borne　my　children。　　And　I　shall　be　born　again。　　Oh；
  incalculable　times　again　shall　I　be　born；　and　yet　the　stupid　dolts
  about　me　think　that　by　stretching　my　neck　with　a　rope　they　will　make
  me　cease。
  Yes；　I　shall　be　hanged　。　。　。　soon。　　This　is　the　end　of　June。　　In　a
  little　while　they　will　try　to　befool　me。　　They　will　take　me　from
  this　cell　to　the　bath；　according　to　the　prison　custom　of　the　weekly
  bath。　　But　I　shall　not　be　brought　back　to　this　cell。　　I　shall　be
  dressed　outright　in　fresh　clothes　and　be　taken　to　the　death…cell。
  There　they　will　place　the　death…watch　on　me。　　Night　or　day；　waking
  or　sleeping；　I　shall　be　watched。　　I　shall　not　be　permitted　to　put　my
  head　under　the　blankets　for　fear　I　may　anticipate　the　State　by
  choking　myself。
  Always　bright　light　will　blaze　upon　me。　　And　then；　when　they　have
  well　wearied　me；　they　will　lead　me　out　one　morning　in　a　shirt
  without　a　collar　and　drop　me　through　the　trap。　　Oh；　I　know。　　The
  rope　they　will　do　it　with　is　well…stretched。　　For　many　a　month　now
  the　hangman　of　Folsom　has　been　stretching　it　with　heavy　weights　so
  as　to　take　the　spring　out　of　it。
  Yes；　I　shall　drop　far。　　They　have　cunning　tables　of　calculations；
  like　interest　tables；　that　show　the　distance　of　the　drop　in　relation
  to　the　victim's　weight。　　I　am　so　emaciated　that　they　will　have　to
  drop　me　far　in　order　to　break　my　neck。　　And　then　the　onlookers　will
  take　their　hats　off；　and　as　I　swing　the　doctors　will　press　their
  ears　to　my　chest　to　count　my　fading　heartbeats；　and　at　last　they
  will　say　that　I　am　dead。
  It　is　grotesque。　　It　is　the　ridiculous　effrontery　of　men…maggots　who
  think　they　can　kill　me。　　I　cannot　die。　　I　am　immortal；　as　they　are
  immortal；　the　difference　is　that　I　know　it　and　they　do　not　know　it。
  Pah！　　I　was　once　a　hangman；　or　an　executioner；　rather。　　Well　I
  remember　it！　　I　used　the　sword；　not　the　rope。　　The　sword　is　the
  braver　way；　although　all　ways　are　equally　inefficacious。　　Forsooth；
  as　if　spirit　could　be　thrust　through　with　steel　or　throttled　by　a
  rope！
  CHAPTER　XIX
  Next　to　Oppenheimer　and　Morrell；　who　rotted　with　me　through　the
  years　of　darkness；　I　was　considered　the　most　dangerous　prisoner　in
  San　Quentin。　　On　the　other　hand　I　was　considered　the　toughest
  tougher　even　than　Oppenheimer　and　Morrell。　　Of　course　by　toughness　I
  mean　enduringness。　　Terrible　as　were　the　attempts　to　break　them　in
  body　and　in　spirit；　more　terrible　were　the　attempts　to　break　me。
  And　I　endured。　　Dynamite　or　curtains　had　been　Warden　Atherton's
  ultimatum。　　And　in　the　end　it　was　neither。　　I　could　not　produce　the
  dynamite；　and　Warden　Atherton　could　not　induce　the　curtains。
  It　was　not　because　my　body　was　enduring；　but　because　my　spirit　was
  enduring。　　And　it　was　because；　in　earlier　existences；　my　spirit　had
  been　wrought　to　steel…hardness　by　steel…hard　experiences。　　There　was
  one　experience　that　for　long　was　a　sort　of　nightmare　to　me。　　It　had
  neither　beginning　nor　end。　　Always　I　found　myself　on　a　rocky；　surge…
  battered　islet　so　low　that　in　storms　the　salt　spray　swept　over　its
  highest　point。　　It　rained　much。　　I　lived　in　a　lair　and　suffered
  greatly；　for　I　was　without　fire　and　lived　on　uncooked　meat。
  Always　I　suffered。　　It　was　the　middle　of　some　experience　to　which　I
  could　get　no　clue。　　And　since；　when　I　went　into　the　little　death　I
  had　no　power　of　directing　my　journeys；　I　often　found　myself　reliving
  this　particularly　detestable　experience。　　My　only　happy　moments　were
  when　the　sun　shone；　at　which　times　I　basked　on　the　rocks　and　thawed
  out　the　almost　perpetual　chill　I　suffered。
  My　one　diversion　was　an　oar　and　a　jackknife。　　Upon　this　oar　I　spent
  much　time；　carving　minute　letters　and　cutting　a　notch　for　each　week
  that　passed。　　There　were　many　notches。　　I　sh