The Lives of the Dead

Some of the most interesting people I meet are dead…

Archive for the category “Astral Projection”

Gen

Originally published  April 18, 2014

 Woke up this morning with a “story” in my head, demanding to get out. I “wasn’t allowed” to eat or get dressed or turn on my computer until I’d written this down, long-hand, in the notebook beside my bed.  I’m still not sure if I’m “writing” or “channeling” them. Either way, I have decided to keep a journal as they come to me.

The nature of the stories is changing. Previously,  I was shown a scene and was imparted with information about how the person died.   Now, I am getting feelings and translating them into words.

Most of these “narrators” do not tell me their names, and I don’t ask.  I like the idea that they could have lived almost anywhere in the worldThis makes their stories more universal.  However,  going forward,  in order to be able to distinguish  one narrator from another,   I have given each a one or two syllable name.  I have made the names purposefully vague and cryptic so they do not imply any geography or ethnicity.   They are indicative of nothing.  Please do not read anything into them.

From time to time, however, I am given a name or other identifying information. In those cases,  I include that with their story.

*******

argueing couple

Gen 

I debated writing down my feelings when he finally left me and the boys, but by that point, I had no feelings left.

I suppose if I felt anything, it was relief. I was exhausted from trying to make it work. Years and years of forgiveness and sacrificing my own needs to the needs of the relationship. I knew it was going to be a long, hard slog, raising two young boys on my own, but at least we’d all be pulling as one unit, in the same direction,   instead of working against each other, draining each other of happiness, sucking each other dry.

In the long run, the boys would be happier, too.  Br was an angry and selfish man. The boys saw him in the clear pure way that children always see the obvious truth. Their dad was an insecure bully and though the kids had no respect for him, he was their father and he still had the power to hurt them. He wasn’t worthy of their respect, but they still wanted his. They thought, in their innocent way, that if he could just stop the anger in his head long enough to really see them for the terrific little people they were, he’d realize what he stood to lose. Then he’d change and everything would be OK.

Maybe I hoped for that, too.

Br  was very good with words. He was a real poet when it came to asking for forgiveness. An irresistible force. But no matter how many times he promised to do better for us, no matter how many times I reached deeper into my soul to find a little more love for him, he would invariably disappoint us and hurt us again.

It was better apart. He would no longer have to face, on a daily basis, what an utter failure he was as a husband, as a father, as a functional human being. He just didn’t have the energy any more to try and be someone better.  I thought my love, our love, would be enough to change him,  but none of it did any good.

The kindest, most loving thing he ever did was to leave us so we could forge the bonds of love, stronger, among the three of us.

And so we did. We were bound in a way that I suppose many single-parent families are.

I could now devote my full emotional attention to my boys. They’d always craved more of me. They were happy and relieved to finally have it. They healed me, they did, with their humor and insight and childlike wisdom that so often brought things into perspective when I felt as if I were spinning out of control.

When my youngest was in the second grade, I forgot to attend his school play.  I knew it was coming up, but forgot about it the day of.  I was overwhelmed at work. I’d been working 12 hr days for the previous few weeks and had barely gotten to see the kids. My mom sometimes watched them. Some nights, they went home with friends. Sometimes I paid for a babysitter — a girl who lived down the street.

When I came home that evening and realized what I’d done, I was horrified, sick and full of shame. I could barely look at myself in the mirror.

The play was on a Friday afternoon. Saturday morning, I came down to breakfast, eyes swollen from crying at the mess I was making raising my kids; feeling sorry for myself because of all the pressure on me.

I sat my baby down with the intention of begging forgiveness, as his daddy had done of me so many times. It was a scene that my kids had witnessed too often in their short lives.

“I’m soooo sorry, baby…” I began.

And in the sweetest, most loving voice, that little boy said to me, “It’s OK, Mommy. I know you feel bad about my play. I know you are worried that I think you don’t love me, but I do know how much you love us because I can see how hard you work to take care of us. A school play is just one day but a job is every day.”

I can barely describe the relief and love I felt at that moment! Just seven years old and he already had more love, more understanding, more wisdom than most adults.

Maybe that’s a stereotype – kids of divorced parents growing up, emotionally, very quickly.  It’s a kind of Hollywood trope that such kids are preternaturally wise beyond their years. But it does seem to happen that way in real life quite a lot. Now I know the reason why.

They are literally old souls, or perhaps more accurately “more connected souls”,  born to people like me who need some spiritual guidance. They are the spiritual adult to their biological parent.

In those days, I had no time to think about spiritual matters. I was working long hours, topped off by parental responsibilities. In the very early days, there was the additional stress and nastiness of a messy divorce.

Br had started drinking again, in earnest now and without brakes. When we were together, he would fall off the wagon from time to time, and that was bad enough, but now he wasn’t even trying to stay sober. On several occasions, he didn’t make it to the lawyer’s office for meetings. When he did, he was usually at least partly drunk or hung over.

Whereas in the past, I might have tried to reach in and “save” him or at least make the effort to understand the psychic pain he was trying to self-medicate away, I no longer felt him as a part of me. He wasn’t my emotional responsibility anymore. If he drank himself to an early grave, I wasn’t even sure I’d feel sorry.  I simply had no emotional energy left for him. He’d frittered away all my concern and love for him.  If and when he ever needed it again, there would be nothing left in reserve.

Ironically, when I died years later, he was still alive, albeit not doing so well. The boys were already grown. My oldest was married with a new baby girl, who I was so happy to get to meet before I passed.

My husband came to my funeral and sat in the back. He was sober then, but years of alcoholism had taken their toll. He looked 87 not 57.

Our youngest child was the first to speak to him.  He was moved by his father’s genuine tears.

“Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he told him. “but I wasn’t good enough for her. I had to leave, otherwise I would have destroyed all of you.”

He was right of course, and I was glad that he understood it.   My boy nodded and gave his dad a hug, because he knew it, too.

 

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

A Note from Me…

In rereading the origins of this project,  it occurs to me that even years later, these stories and surroundings are as vivid to me as if I had experienced them myself and seen them with my own eyes.

I’ve been a writer pretty much all my life and I do not recall the details in my own stories as clearly as the details of these. In some cases, I might find something I wrote a while ago on my computer or in a pile of old papers,  and I barely recall having written it.   You might think that something from my own imagination would be MORE vivid.

My point is that these narratives feel much more real to me than something I’ve made up out of whole cloth.

Of course, this hardly proves that these tales are, indeed, from the Great Beyond,  but it seems relevant to mention how they feel to me,  how I perceive them, and how they come to me.  As I mentioned in a previous post,  if I try to steer a story in certain direction (as I might if I were writing it myself),  it strongly resists.  Occasionally, if I want more detail,  or if I think I know where it’s going, I might make suggestions.  When they are wrong, I definitely get push back;  I can FEEL when they’re not the narrator’s own words.

Certainly, as a writer, I could just create stories out of my own head.  It would provide a lot more regular content for the blog. I would never to that however, because a) it would be dishonest to my readers,  but b) it would be a betrayal to those on the other side who’ve entrusted me to share their stories.

Thus, I can only share with you what has been shared with me, and if it’s longer between new stories,  well,  so be it.  I hope you understand why…

-Adrienne


Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog, please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days). When you think of others who might enjoy it too, it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media. Email a particularly apt link to a friend. Even better, talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also, I have just started a discussion group on Facebook, for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts. Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself. I would love get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

The Weirdness Continues

First published April 12, 2018

My husband, M, is already awake and having breakfast.  As usual, I’ve lingered in bed, drifting in and out of dreams.  But this is not a dream. Or, if it is, it’s an extremely lucid one. It feels more like “imagining” and “seeing” than dreaming.

I am in the very musty attic of an old house somewhere in northern Europe; maybe Bruges or Antwerp or Groningen. A small window under the eaves looks out onto the street. I can make out the other houses across the way, looking as I imagine they have for hundreds of years.

The footprint of the room is fairly large but without a lot of usable space. The roof is low and steeply canted; parts of it are even too low for a small child to be able to stand up.   There is a strong smell of mildew and rot. It is quite dark inside  — the only light is coming from that tiny window. Still, I can just make out some kind of old broken discarded wooden equipment off to the side – perhaps a  spinning wheel or loom.  I can’t tell.

The room is not only unused but hasn’t been entered in a very long time. Decades at least. Maybe much longer. The people who now occupy the house below don’t seem know this room exists, but I don’t understand how that can be. The small window should be clearly visible from the street.  Most of the other houses are built roughly to the same plan,. They all must have attics. Wouldn’t the current owners assume this house has one, too?

I sense that at some time in the past, access has been sealed off and the doorway plastered over, in a very purposeful way. Still, with real estate everywhere being at such a premium, I find it strange that none of owners since, were curious enough to do some exploring. I cycle though possible logical explanations why that might be, but none make sense.

And then I start to get a story about this room. It pops into my head as fully-formed knowledge.

A long time ago a servant girl lived up here.  She was very young when she same to work, maybe 8 or 9.  She slept in a corner, on a mattress made of ratty ticking which had been taken from an old bed downstairs. It was stuffed with leaves, rags, old horsehair from discarded family mattresses – anything she could find or they would spare. It barely kept her tiny body off the cold floor. The roof leaked and her bedding was damp, smelly, moldy and very lumpy.

Another servant — an older female — was put in charge of her training, and taught her the basics of housework; instructed her in low-level chores such as cleaning, fetching firewood and coal, washing dishes.   The younger girl almost never interacted with the family. They left the managing of the girl to the older maid, who abused her charge.

This girl was terribly lonely. She had no friends, no family. The only person she came into contact with on a regular basis was the abusive maid. She hadn’t had much love in her own home, but this was so much worse; never a kind word or comforting gesture. She was too numb to cry. What was the point, anyway? Nobody was going to help her. This was her life now.

She was fed once a day, a paltry meal of negligible sustenance. Sometimes, she managed to grab a scrap or two before it went to the dogs. In the summer, the attic was brutally hot and stuffy, and when the autumn came, it was cold and raw. There was a small stove in the corner of her room, but she was barely allowed any wood or coal. By the winter, the attic was freezing. Her breath plumed out in grayish puffs.

She died before spring came, from a disease which could have been easily prevented or cured if she’d been fed properly and kept warm through the brutal northern February.

***

Had I made the whole story up or had I been channeling something from The Great Beyond?  I honestly did/do not know.  I can only say that it did not feel like a normal daydream, nor was it anything like the process of creating a written story.   I felt, I saw, I  smelled that room.  I can still see it clearly in my head.

As a writer, I am happy to take inspiration from wherever it comes, so I wrote it down, then went to eat breakfast.  I assumed it was just a one-time experience.  Boy, was I wrong!

—-

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

Imagine What I Could Save on Airfare!

First post of this blog, originally published August 23, 2014

Astral-Travel

 

About six months ago, I picked up working on a novel I’d started writing about ten years ago. In it, the main character has spontaneous Out of Body Experiences (OBEs).  In order to write about them in more depth and with greater understanding, I began to research the subject.

The notion of astral projection has long fascinated me. Imagine! Being able to leave your body at will and travel anywhere in the world you want to go!   Screw you, American Airlines, with your $25 per bag handling fee!

Over my lifetime, I’ve had several extremely detailed dreams in which I visited places which seemed and felt entirely real.   In a few cases, I later found myself in these places and recognized them from my dreams.  Had they been spontaneous OBEs?

Back in junior high, I dreamed about a lake in the mountains. Overhead,  was an impossibly clear, high,  cerulean sky. Lavender-colored mountains, ringed with mossy green,  spilled into the purest aqua water!  The colors were so vivid, they were surreal; I’d even say emotional.  When I awoke  I felt compelled to sketch it out, in full color pastel chalks (which didn’t at all do it  justice. No artist’s medium could have captured the intensity.)  My drawing remained in my desk drawer for years as a “snapshot” of my trip.  (It may even still be with my old papers.)  I felt I had absolutely been there and seen it with my own eyes, even though I didn’t believe such a perfectly beautiful, beautifully perfect place could actually exist on this planet.

After college, I traveled for eight months around Europe and lived for a while with a man in Athens.  When I got home, we remained in touch, sending letters back and forth across the Atlantic (this was long before email.)   Initially, the letters were weekly, then dwindled in frequency to monthly,  until finally, it had been nearly nine months since I’d heard from him.

One night, in a dream, I went to visit him in the tiny apartment in the Ano Ilisia section where we’d lived together.  I was “informed by neighbors”  he no longer lived there;  that he’d moved to a different neighborhood – an area where several of his friends lived and which we’d visited together on a couple of occasions.   I “flew” to the new neighb and tried to find him, without luck.

The very next day, I received a letter from him telling me he’d moved from Ano Ilisia to a new apartment, in the very area where I’d been looking for him in my dream!

In my mid-30’s, I traveled for a while in Tibet.   Most of the roads there are carved into the sides of mountains, with  a precipitous drop off the other  side.   One afternoon,  the bus I was traveling on came to a stop behind a long line of traffic. Way ahead of us, a truck had fallen halfway off the mountain. Other drivers (who seemed used to this kind of thing) had attached thick ropes to it, and were attempting to pull it back onto the road before it tumbled into the abyss.

Clearly, this was going to take several hours, so I (and others) got out of the bus to stretch our legs and have a little walk-about.  And there, just ahead, around a bend, was my lake, just as I’d pictured it!  In the thin air of the high altitude,  the colors shimmered with the same intense clarity they had in my dream! It was very literally, a mystical experience because of the dream, because of my own journey, because of where I was (in the Himalaya, for dog’s sake!!!) and because of the incredible intensity of the color.   The intensity was made even more jarring and poignant, by my having just spent half a week bouncing across the bleak, colorless landscape of the Tibetan plain. This lake was like a miraculous view of heaven; as if I’d been blind and suddenly was able to see again!

yamdrok-lake-tibet-scenery

I have always accepted these and other similar dreams as spontaneous OBEs but of course, I had no control over my itinerary.

At various times in my life, I’d made half-hearted attempts at astral projection without success, but finally, I felt I was spiritually mature enough to re-tackle my goal.

I read books and articles,  visited websites,  and I listened to recordings embedded with binaural tones at specific frequencies which were supposed to facilitate OBEs.  I spent many hours, over the course of a couple of months, attempting to fling my consciousness out of my corporeal form and into the ether.   I usually got as far as the pre-flight indicators — vibrations along my entire body; heart palpitations; a sense that my limbs were in different positions than they physically were —  but I don’t believe I ever achieved lift off.   Anything I saw or felt in that condition could easily have been explained as a fantasy or a dream or self-hypnosis.

On several occasions, while listening those recordings, it felt as if my conscious mind were separating from my body, but I could never get it to go anywhere.  Every time I tried to turn around and look back at myself on the bed, I still felt my consciousness inside my own head.   (No doubt I wasn’t separating at all but just in an hypnotic state.)

What I was expecting —  what I wanted –– was for my mind to travel at will, with control.  I wanted to visit a place far from home and witness things  which could later be verified (as had happened during my spontaneous travels).  Although I very much wanted to have a “real”  OBE,  my criterion for judging whether I’d actually had one was (and continues to be) very high.  If my experience  can be explained in a simple, logical, scientific or psychological way,  I am always inclined to accept this versus some mystical justification.  Still, I was always hoping for the mystical; hoping to have an experience which I could not explain in another way.

After a couple of months without lift-off, I gave up further attempts at OBE.  I assumed that would be the end of it.

But then some strange things began to happen…

 

_____

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

Beautiful Dreamer…

 

A scene at the docks in New York City, New York, New York, circa 1920. (Photo by Underwood & Underwood/Underwood Archives/Getty Images)

 

NEW

As regular readers know, I’ve been trying to astrally project for years now — with full consciousness and control — but haven’t had much success – at least not the way most of the literature describes these “trips.”

I have, however, had lucid dreams most of my life. When I’m in the midst of such a dream, I can direct the action and/or rewind anything I don’t like and change the scenario. These dreams can go on, literally, for hours.

Sleep scientists say dreams don’t really last that long – you only THINK they do — but in my case I know that’s not true. I have frequently awakened in the middle of one, checked the time, gone back to sleep, and continued with the same dream. From time to time, I’ll wake up from a vivid dream well before dawn, go to the bathroom, crawl back into bed, and pick up where I left off (as long as I don’t turn on the lights and wake myself up too much). I might still be in the same dream when I wake up at 9 or 10 in the morning. However, these types of dreams rarely have an emotional aspect to them. There’s a level of detachment. It’s as if I’m directing/writing a play or film.

For example, last week I had one of those long, detailed mega-dreams. In it, I’d been kidnapped by a couple of white nationalists. [I consume wayyyyy too much news!] The leader was just about to hit me, but I used my best Eriksonian hypnosis techniques to convince him that his problem was not with me, but rather with his own inability to express his emotions. If he only had the emotional vocabulary (and I could help him with that) his life would be much happier. [in other words, he would no longer have to live the life of a hateful, violent incel.] I have to say, my induction techniques were spot on. They may well have worked in real life.

Eventually, we got into a long personal conversation and he softened up and became less threatening.  He mentioned that although he didn’t like Jews in general, he did like Howard Stern and listened to his radio show all the time. [I know he isn’t doing radio anymore. It was a dream.] I mentioned that I’d gone to camp and college with Howard [true].  My captor told me if I could get him on his show, he would set me free and renounce his white supremacy.

I explained that I had not seen Howie [as we used to call him] in nearly 45 years and in any case, we’d never been friends; we’d been on the periphery of the same crowd and knew lots of people in common. [i.e.I almost lost my virginity to his freshman year roommate. Dodged a bullet on that!] I didn’t even know how to get a hold of him. But White Supremacist Guy was not taking no for an answer. Finally, I figured that if I sent an email to someone at his radio station, they might pass it on to him if they saw that it was both personal and urgent. So, I composed a long letter with lots of references to/updates on mutual friends/acquaintances [the letter was all very lucid and true. I could not have written a better one had I been awake.] I explained the situation clearly, and mentioned that together we might just be able to turn this guy around, and maybe he, in turn, would turn others around. I was fairly certain if he saw the email, he would respond. Alas, I awakened before he got back to me.

All in all, the dream must have lasted about three hours. Now, I would consider that a lucid dream because I was able to come out of it and go back into it, and while in it, I could think logically and solve problems successfully.

That’s how my lucid dreams usually went.  And then,  a couple of weeks ago,  I experienced a totally different kind of lucid dream which is much more fun!

I found myself standing on a pier along the water in dream version of NYC. It looked the way Manhattan did maybe a hundred years ago, with wooden warehouses along the docks that were right up against the river. I stood on a pier with a warehouse behind me. Looking into the harbor, I could see islands with what seemed to be old castles on them. [In fact, there actually IS an island in the Hudson with an old “castle” — Bannerman Castle – but it’s up near Peekskill, about an hour north of the city.]

Although I was definitely dreaming, there was a sense of almost hyper-reality as if I were awake, even though it was somewhat surreal. Everything was sharp and clear, with no fuzziness around the edges. I could turn in any direction and look around, and the details, even far into the distance, were readily apparent, as in real life. The experience was somewhat like virtual reality — awake within a different existence.

As I stood on the dock, looking out onto harbor, and I was suddenly filled with the most joyous realization that, hey, I am dreaming and that I’m AWARE that I’m dreaming; fully asleep and yet completely conscious. I was euphoric realizing that I had control, a sense of free will within the dream.  The feeling of being aware and “conscious” within the dream was thrilling, as if I’d discovered the secret entrance to a time tunnel or intergalactic worm hole.

I walked to the edge of the wooden dock and thought, OK…here I go. I stepped off but rather than falling into the water, I took off into the air, flying easily, gracefully, over to one of the castles. Inside, there was a theater with a play going on which I watched from beginning to end. It was fantastic! After the curtain, the playwright/director walked onto the stage to a standing ovation. I thought to myself, “that was a great play! If I write it down, and try to publish it, it wouldn’t be plagiarism since it was in my dream, which means technically, I wrote it.”  Unfortunately, upon awakening, I could not recall a single thing about it.

After that experience, I couldn’t wait to do it again! I started again to use the lucid dreaming binaural beats (found on YouTube). It took another few days to have another one.

Rather than just hoping for something to happen, I tried an experiment. I imagined myself relaxing in a comfortable lounge chair at the end of the dock, from where I’d previously launched.  I focused on relaxation, keeping my mind clear, and allowed the dream to pull me back into it. To my amazement, this worked. Once again, I found myself in that same joyous state of consciousness within a dream.

The scenario was similar, but this time, I was in a row boat on a large lake, again with castles all around the shoreline. Being in control, I was able to direct the boat just by thinking where I wanted to go.

I arrived at one of the castles and went inside. What a disappointment! Turned out, they were better at a distance. Most had been turned into cheap tourist hotels which hadn’t been renovated since the 1950s or 60s. They were decorated with cheesy, functional Eastern European-style furnishings. It was a place for working families to spend a few weeks.

The only person I saw was a little boy in the lobby. I stopped to play with him, [as is my habit when I meet children in real life.] I asked him if he knew the song, “The Wheels on the Bus”. He did, so we sang it together, making up some silly lyrics of our own.

And then it was over.

Now I can’t wait to go to sleep at night.  It’s pretty sad that my unconscious mind in a dream state is having more fun than my waking self.

-aeg

——————
Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

Yoo-Hoo! Lou! ‘Zat you?

Lou Reeds?

 

A revisiting of my astral experimentations from last year.  As most regular readers know,  this was about the end of my deep dives into this stuff because shortly thereafter we sold our apartment and I was crazed with packing,  looking for a new place, finding a new place, moving,  unpacking,  setting up, etc etc.  I’m only just now,  a year later,  feeling semi-settled enough to get back into it  (although the vivid hypnogogic images never abated, and still, sometimes make it hard to fall asleep,)

Some other news!  My husband and I have found office space in Kingston, NY in which to see clients.  While I can certainly do regular hypnosis for a variety of issues (anxiety, smoke cessation, weight loss),  I plan on specializing in Past Life Regression.  So… if you’re in the area and would like to schedule a session,  give me a shout!

First published May 18, 2018

I think I’m finally getting somewhere. Maybe literally. While I still don’t feel as if I’m leaving my body and walking around outside of it , there are some new developments.  First, when I go into my meditative state, I’m feeling a sensation that I would describe as a  slight shift of my energy which sort of “flickers” away from me and then snaps back. It’s like one of those lenticular “winky” pictures that you’d get in a box of Cracker Jack. Or that slight difference in perspective when you put your glasses on, then take them off, then put them on, then take them off.  I guess you could call it a vibration in that it’s cyclical energy, but it’s not the tingly feeling along my nerves which I’ve experienced before. It’s less a physical sensation than a perceptive one.

Also, the vivid hypnogogic images are coming almost as soon as I close my eyes, and they keep coming fast as long they remain closed. The other night, I was finding it difficult to fall asleep because they were so intense and frequent. As always, they are not particularly interesting by themselves. For example, the other Saturday evening after yoga, during my shavasana, I saw clearly a stand of high and bushy grasses with white feathery tops in a narrow patch along the side of a road. They were being sprayed,  possibly with water so the area would not be dry and flammable, or maybe with insecticide or herbicide.  I could not see who or what was doing the spraying.  If I were going to imagine something,  I’d like to think I’d imagine something considerably more interesting.   Yet it was as if I were standing right there, looking at it.

So I wonder,  are these just “brain regurgitations” of things I’ve seen before which my conscious mind has forgotten, or is it distance viewing?  I have no idea.

Also,  the other evening, while in this state, I saw flashes of light with my eyes closed.  It wasn’t actual light (i.e. not lightning or a car outside) but rather a kind of explosion of light in my head.  Very intense. Very brief.

I am just reporting my experiences.  I am truly not sure if they are “woo” or if there is a physiological explanation.

If I am, indeed, distant viewing, at the moment, I have no control over what I’m looking at so once again, as superpowers go, it’s a lame one.  (I seem to be the Queen of Lame Superpowers.)

But here’s a nifty little thing that happened on Mother’s Day:  somebody I follow on Twitter mentioned that he set his music system on random and asked for a message via music from his mother. The song that came on had specific meaning for him. I mentioned that I think Lou Reed spoke to me in the same way,  and I posted the link to the story.  The moment I posted it,  Lou’s New York Conversation immediately came on MY randomized music system!  “I am calling, yes I’m calling, just to speak to you…”  That’s twice.  I suppose it could be a coincidence but hey, maybe Lou IS trying to communicate with me, if only because I am open to listening.  Perhaps I should talk back?  (Now I have this image of Maureen Stapleton in the original movie version of  Bye-Bye Birdie trying to communicate with her dead husband, Lou, by shouting at the ceiling.  “Ya hear me, Lou?”)

I suppose it’s also possible that I’m losing my mind.  But given our current political situation,  it’s not so bad to let go of reality for a couple of hours now and then. It might, in fact, be the only thing that’s keeping me sane.

++++

Addendum:  The original post from last year featured news about my book with an image of the cover.  When updating, I edited that out and looked for another image.   When trying to decide what photo to use with this post, I thought,  maybe the image of the reeds.  Only after I dropped it into this post did  get the connection:  Reeds/Lou Reed.  Significant? Coincidence? Subliminal?   Your guess is as good as mine.

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

Fly Me to the Moon

First published January 24, 2018

 

As promised,  an update on my attempt to hurl my psyche into the ether:

I’ve been reading quite a lot on the subject of Out of Body Experiences (OOBEs), but I’ve come to realize that what I need more than books is time to practice so I can figure out my own mechanism for separation.

Here’s where I’m at,  if anyone wants to play along:  First, I am still experimenting with binaural beats, such as THIS ONE   I’ve also used some verbal meditations I’ve discovered on line, but generally I find them more distracting than helpful.  (FYI, I am a trained hypnotist although I don’t have a practice, and rarely use it on others).  I am quite adept at going into a deep trance on my own.  The key in this case,  I think, is to develop my own set of suggestions and techniques.. (Some teachers suggest  reaching up with an astral hand, or attempting to roll the astral body out of bed,  or pulling the astral form up a rope ladder.  I’ve tried them all, alas, to no avail.)

According to the theory,  astral projection is about changing the energy vibration of the consciousness. (Heavy,  man…I know!)    To that end, I have visualized being filled with and/or surrounded by white light.  I have felt the full body vibrations,  intense heat from head to toe,  and a strange  sense of sexual arousal (even though my body was sleep paralyzed) — all of which are said to be precursors of liftoff.  But as of yet,  I have not been able to separate while conscious.

One of the keys is remaining awake even though the body is in sleep paralysis.  This has been a challenge for me, probably because I always make these attempts when I  get into bed at night and usually end up falling asleep.  (This is why most teachers recommend attempting OOBEs after about four hours of sleep, and somewhere other than one’s own bed.)  That said,  after such deep trances, I have had quite a few extremely vivid and interesting dreams which I was able to recall in fine detail, even days later. Nevertheless, these were obviously dreams (vs. OOBEs)  because they had a surreal and/or psychological quality to them.

If you read the initial posts of this blog, you know that I’ve had a few astral dreams in which it felt as if my consciousness had left my body and traveled to another location.  These dreams had no psychological or emotional aspects attached to them.  I simply felt as if I were flying over a different place on the planet, able to see around me with great clarity, but without much  control (perhaps because I didn’t realize at the time I could will myself to have any.)    In one such instance,  I actually had proof that I’d traveled to such a place because I was able to ask questions and get answers, which were later proven to be true.  In another instance,  I saw a beautiful mountain lake so vividly, I remembered it for years, and many decades later found myself in that place (in Tibet.)    These experiences have demonstrated to me that it is possible.  The challenge is to do it on demand.  I believe that if I can accomplish this once, I will be able to do it again and again, at will.  I believe it’s about finding the method that works for me.

Meanwhile, I have asked a friend in Italy to place a piece of paper with a single random word on his nightstand so that if I can manage to travel astrally, I can go to his room and read the note, thus providing evidence of my trip.  (LA, is the note still there? 🙂 )

 

–aeg

 

 

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

Wonder and Curiosity

First published Jan 17, 2015
 
books
Me:  When this narrator first came to me,  I  was walking on the street,  heading to the subway.  He popped into my head “speaking” in a very strong accent (Russian? Eastern European?) Normally,  when I receive these stories, they come to me almost as memories —  a combination of  images, thoughts,  feelings  and  written words.  This one  however was somewhat different.  It was as if he (or she, but probably he) was literally speaking to me in my head,  telling me the story in his own voice. I did not get any of the images or feelings,  just the narration.
The voice was so compelling,  however, I  dug out my phone and started dictating, speaking his words in his accent,  as if he were speaking through me; as if I were merely a receiver.    Alas,  there was too much street noise to get a good recording  (and I wasn’t going to do this while sitting on the subway!)  The voice, however, still remains very clear in my head, so I have re-recorded the first paragraph so you can hear it. (Click the link below the post.)  I honestly have no idea what kind of accent this is, or if it’s even a “real” accent.  I’m simply presenting this narrator as he  came to me.

Ko

The course of my last life was driven by two primary states of being which worked in conjunction with and in opposition to each other. They were: wonder and curiosity.   A sunset is beautiful. But why is it beautiful?   If humans are descended from apes, by what mechanism did we become us and they become them? Light is faster than sound. What is different about them that makes that so?

As a child, my curiosity quickly surpassed my parents’ and teachers’ abilities to answer my questions. Sometimes, if they had the patience and were curious enough themselves, they might look up the answer in books. I found amazing the notion of such a store of knowledge was available to anyone who could read.

Since I was so curious and filled with so many questions, my elders didn’t always have time or ability to explain things to me. Often, my questions were very complex. I realized that if I wanted answers or more information to fill out my understanding of a subject, I would have to learn how to read and calculate.

While my contemporaries were struggling to learn basic skills, I was far above my age level. Some teachers called me a genius but I never thought of myself as precocious. From my perspective, it was a necessity; it was the only way my thirst for knowledge could be slaked.   So I thought.

I consumed books on a wide variety of subjects but the more I learned, the more curious I became; the more questions I had, the more I directed my energy to finding answers. I was fortunate that my family had the means and the connections to send me to university. There, the questions became larger and wider and deeper, and sometimes, even the smartest of the professors didn’t know the answer. If I wanted to get to the nut, down to the marrow, I would have to ask new questions. I would have to look in places theretofore unsearched. I would have to look at facts in new ways in the hopes that I would find what others had missed. I would have to explore and seek and observe.

This is when my life’s work began.

I was happy and proud to contribute to the stores of human understanding, to see my own name in books; to see my ideas incorporated into known science. I was gratified to know that those who came after me would not have to wonder about these things, but would be able to use my knowledge to see even further than I.

But humans can learn only so much in each lifetime. And so, while it appeared that I knew so very much, in fact, in some of the most important things, I knew very little

As a child, I was socially at odds with my peers. I was so beyond them intellectually, I had nothing to say to them. Neither they, nor their petty childhood games held any fascination. I spend most of my early years sniffing out understanding from the pages of books or conversing with grownups or trying my own experiments.   Other children had nothing to teach me. By the time I grew into my own intellect, I had no idea how to behave among people my own age.   Yes, many of my colleagues were misfits as well, much none so much as me.

Human emotion seemed to me a colossal waste of time. Feelings could not be revealed or understood by the scientific method, and thus they did not interest me. They took the mind away from study, siphoned off energy better spent on more important things.

While I was always chasing knowledge about the world, I never bothered pursuing self-knowledge. That, too, seemed a waste of time. More navel-gazing would have been less time to work, fewer contributions to human advancement.

There are, of course, many kinds of knowledge; more lessons to be learned than there are stars in the skies.. All are ultimately necessary to ascend. Each lifetime, however, offers the opportunity to learn only a few

For all I knew and for all I discoveries I made, this is what I did not learn: I did not learn to be a friend. I did not learn to laugh at myself. I did not learn relax. I did not learn to simply BE. I did not learn to love.

 

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

The Case of the Missing Drishti

As my regular readers probably have noticed, I haven’t been posting any new narrators.  I am really missing being able to channel.  It requires at least an hour of intense focus/mind clearing which I’ve been finding extremely difficult these past 6-8 months or so, given the big move.  Life is still a chaotic mess (slowly unpacking boxes as hubby finishes our built-ins. He’s doing an amazing job but it’s time-consuming. My office desk and bookcases were only finished this week. My fabulous day bed is still in pieces in the garage so I have no place to sit and chill.)  And of course, one would have to be brain dead not to feel anxious and distracted by our current political situation.  These days, I have the attention span of a fruit fly, my thoughts fluttering about and rarely landing on any one thing long enough to extract meaning or delve to any depth.  (Except politically, where all my thoughts tend to roll, like loose marbles in a tilted box.)

This is a Catch-22 source of anxiety for me, because even when I find myself able to focus on my drishti for 30 seconds,  I immediately start to worry that I’m not going to be able to hold my focus. Or I think,  “Hey!  Look at me!  I’m focusing!”  And that destroys my focus.  (It’s like when you can’t sleep and you finally feel yourself drifting off and a part of your waking brain thinks, “Yay! I’m falling asleep!”  and that wakes you right up again.)

But I think I have finally turned a corner.  A new “friend” has come into my head to help me.  I would not deny that this entity is a figment of my imagination,  but as long as I can attribute certain qualities to it,  it seems to be helping.   The form of this entity is a general outline of a human body but within the outline,  I can see beyond it into the universe.  Emanating from the outline, is a sort of halo…. rather like this:

This entity has the persona of a coach.  Together we do this exercise where it pushes positive white energy at me,  which I inhale deeply and allow it to course through my body,  and then slowly return the energy back.  This mimics yogic breathing,  with the long inhale,  a long hold,  slow exhale, long hold when empty.  If I start to mentally drift away, the entity scolds me lovingly. “Hey!  Focus! Look at me! Come on!  Three more times! You can do this!”

I asked this entity its name and it said it didn’t have one; I could call it anything I liked.  Then it said, “How about Truman, because you can look ‘tru’  me.” (It’s funny, too!)   And I said, “And you also give me Truth.”  So we agreed that name was as good as any other.

It’s been a couple of days and Truman’s coaching has really helped.  Hopefully this will bring me back to channeling.

Again,  I fully recognize this is a creation of my own imagination — I haven’t fully lost my mind… yet — but it’s helping so I’m going with it.   I’ve also ratcheted back on social media.  It just jacks my nervous system. Keeps me from my happy place.  🙂

The Innocent Prisoner

First published June 14, 2014

prison Denver-DUI-Lawyers1

Ott

First let me say, I was innocent and I never stopped saying so until the very end. Of course, nobody believed me. Eventually, not even myself. That’s just the way it was. They weren’t going to take me at my word. I was hardly the only one proclaiming innocence in that place! Some of the men in there had worked so hard to convince others of their blamelessness, they eventually believed it themselves. I guess it was the only way they could come to terms with what they’d done.

But I had done nothing wrong. At least not anything worthy of a life (and death) in prison.

I don’t even know if I was wrongly identified or if the police and prosecutors were too lazy or overwhelmed to bother looking for the real guy. And who was I to them, anyway? If I hadn’t done that particular crime, surely I had done another for which I’d not been caught. And if I hadn’t done another, certainly, eventually I would. Any which way they looked at it, they were doing society a favor.

I was put in too young, too poor, too stupid to even know what kind of life I’d missed. Maybe they were right. Maybe, eventually, if left on my own, I would have committed a crime to land me in jail. It’s not as if I had a lot of options.

So that was my life. Endless petty dramas. Insane acts of violence. Cruelty for the pure pleasure of it. Vengeance and spite. Tiny hopes, inevitably shattered. Lessons no man should have to learn.

After a while, even though I still proclaimed my innocence, I forgot to care that I’d been wrongly imprisoned. Prison was the only world I knew. I hadn’t functioned very well outside before I was arrested, but I was savvy enough to know there was no way I could function out there after so many years behind bars.   I had no clue how to live in freedom. We all talked tough about what we would do on the outside, what we eat, who we would fuck, how great our lives would be if and when we ever got out, but guys like me? We were more scared of being released than of dying in jail.  We just didn’t know the territory out there.

Eventually, unlike the others who self-denied their own guilt, I began to self-deny my own innocence. All the detailed stories they told at my trial; the way they said I’d done it; hell, maybe I really had. I could barely remember anymore what was true and what wasn’t. Maybe I was just like those other guys who had absolutely done the crime, and had absolutely convinced themselves they hadn’t.   Maybe my memory was playing tricks on me.

But anyway, what did it matter? After a while, you just abandon any hope of justice and just accept injustice as your lot.   I suppose it’s one of the lessons we all have to learn eventually, but there sure  seems to be a lot of people learning it all at the same time, living that same pain over and over.

Maybe we need to experience it again and again because each time around, we miss the fundamental lesson. Maybe we have to experience it for a thousand lifetimes before we understand that injustice is a basic element of the human condition. And maybe, only then, in absolute irony, we will no longer need to suffer any more lifetimes of injustice.

 

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

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