‘I’ take my place, the zone of comfort from which I cruise. ‘I’ sink into the moment, the now of the room, and prepare to evacuate the form of the body. ‘I’ move into the mind, or that share of it allotted to the ‘me’ of identity and biography, and feel the vibrations of thought energy quickening the pulse of my being.
Then ‘I’ am next to ‘me’, observing that familiar other who carries the burden from dawn past dusk while I cavort, feather like and fancy free. I know him well, him me less so, as he forgets much of what I bring to the table every morning before waking. It lodges in the recesses of his consciousness, filed yet available should he care to unearth. But he is busy with the body, society and their demands, and inspections are rare and often relegated to ‘later’. ‘I’, of course, am the astral body, the projection from ‘him’ the physical body, born of woman.
I depart the room to fly over the nearby lake, its being engulfs and I pass through it gladly, skimming the waters and zooming at the city, soaring up suddenly as I near the skyscrapers. A familiar thrill, but one I never tire of. Does he, the other, seated and breathing, feel my exhilaration? I believe this time he does. He follows, at a distance, taking notes.
The life of the city: I feel it vibrating, a giant cloud of crosscurrents, an aura of almost infinite complexity. After years of feeling magnetized by some quality of vibration or another and being sucked into the vortex of its location and practice, I have recognized all my Achillies’ heels and can observe the ghost of the draw at my leisure. The habits which obsess much of the population no longer have a hold on this ‘me’. No longer tempted, I have emerged from the egg of innocence and desire. Or maybe, in my adventure, I have merely ascended to another level whose subtle allures have yet to be unmasked? Only the astral equivalent of time, which is definitely not time as you know it, will tell.
Ghosts at work and play: you meet a lot of them in this line. Or at least you can if you so wish. Service, as such, is merely one option. You can, in fact, do anything and go anywhere if you so wish. It takes some unfolding of experience to realize this, as one’s mental blinders and traditional sense of what’s possible gradually disintegrate. Whether it’s the surface of the moon, the inaccessible areas of the Vatican library, the bottom of the Pacific ocean or the breathing heart of the Solar Logos, you can have that ‘access all areas’ pass if you (a), understand that it’s there and (b), allow yourself the privilege. Not surprisingly, timidity and low self-esteem can often prevent this, and many astral beings much like myself but minus my confidence habituate the levels and spheres of the cultural and religious comfort zones.
For example, rain forest natives of the spirit world will rarely be seen in the museums and concert halls of the spirit world cities. And dead bus drivers will not quickly be seen in the company of dead CEO’s.
As much for Gordon’s note-taking self as anything, I move from Versailles to a lower astral hell realm, where a dead tyrant of my acquaintance is holed up in a ruined villa with the still frightened remnants of his earthly retinue. Hell realms have their fair share of ruined villas, some of them dating from Greek and Roman times. Although decay is definitely a factor here, it is not quite so relentless as on Earth.
On my way to his preferred lair I pass a couple of servants shuffling by, eyes down, terrified that contact may offend. I come and go as I please and therefore am suspicious. The tyrant sits in his carved throne-like chair, making notes or plans on the papers in front of him. Land and power are to be regained in the next offensive, that I can sense. He dismisses me with a wave without looking up. I prepare to harass him as I have done before. Disrupting the comfort zone of his denials and paranoias with well placed barbs is my specialty, all in the hopes of loosening his grip on himself and those around him so they all can ascend out of their bondages and into spheres of light and joy. He’s dissed my Christian do-gooderism many times and will likely do so again, but I can feel that every visit helps lubricate the rusty locks on his determination. The lower astrals have many willful bullies like him, scattered about in various landscapes and structures, trying to maintain their illusions of belief and control. This one was/is Columbian, but they come from all cultures and epochs, as time and space are no longer at a premium in spirit.
As I take my leave, walking conventionally rather than the puff-of-smoke magic act I tried the last time, a servant girl sidles up and asks to come along. This time there is no guard to prevent her and I whisk her off to the Catholic South American mid-astral where her community, with whatever number of her soul family members have settled. It’s an almost instant transfer and someone, as always, is there to greet us. Someone she is comfortable with. In such a manner, repeated attempts by astral travelers like myself, are the lower realms depopulated. At least that’s what we like to think as we ply our liberating trade. The newly dead are always arriving, and some of them, shaped by fear and ignorance, replenish the stocks.
All the planes have a rotating population, souls coming and going, ascending towards the formless and descending into incarnation. The recently deceased, settled in their comfort zones of community, ethnicity and religion, are slow to realize this. The more knowledgeable among us could be more proactive in encouraging growth, but they have adopted a more passive, wait-and-see approach. Questions are answered, but they must first be asked. Courses, classes and seminars are available and advertised for this purpose, but those who are perfectly happy in their paradise rarely attend. Yet a surfeit of pleasure can, and often does, lead to curiosity. The type of curiosity which finally wonders how the universe actually works and whether God exists or cares.
Gordon has long recalled his participation in such ‘night classes’ and assumes, correctly, that his physical plane teaching and facilitating was inspired by such. Readers of his books will already know this, as they may know something of their own nightly adventures, but readers of his blog may not. Many incarnate souls, in all cultures, travel nightly, most often for the fun of flying in the virtually gravity-free astral body and secondly, to visit with their dear departed, where joyous reunions contrast markedly with the separation and sadness in the physical. Such strong emotions, anywhere on the spectrum, are the bond which holds the physical and astral planes so close, even when they seem distant. They are both predominantly worlds of emotion, where the heart learns its full repertoire of songs. As one ascends the planes become the products and playthings of thought and creative energy, and how one ‘feels’ about anything is pushed to the background.
Gordon wants me to venture through the heaven worlds and so I go there, the invisible guest at various prayers, rituals and meditations covering the gamut of major world religions. The vibrations of devotion and worship are all too palpable here, or rather in all these heres, the longing and straining to access divinity from the island of individuality apparent everywhere. At least to ‘me’, the me that is conducting this experience that Gordon might construct an educative narrative out of his partial memories and scribbled notes. Together we soak up the vibrations of spiritual yearning, with its various shades of celebratory glory, religiosity, piety and pride in achievement. Souls unfolding from their identities, as Gordon notes. Unfolding into the nothingness of consciousness without form, he continues. Moving into knowing and seeing that knowing is the boundary of omniscience, its outer layer as it were. And understanding that omniscience is one of the garments of God, her cloak of infinite colours perhaps. With these many worshipers, sharing their devotions, we see the limits of their understanding etched in by their educations and religious traditions and know that is what is holding them back from embracing divinity. Ultimately one has to disappear into it, surrendering both ones precious identity and pride in accomplishment, not the easiest leap for an evolved individual.
From here I know Gordon wants to plunge to one of the pleasure centers, the holiday resorts of spirit, where the recently deceased pursue the sensual fulfilment and fleeting joys either denied them or indulged in to habit-forming status on earth. We roam an astral hotel in astral Caribbean, taking in the sights and sounds. Here there’s singing and dancing, there there’s sighing and groaning, and there there’s eating and imbibing. Out there are sports, the exercise and exhibition of beautiful bodies, and the hints of empty hearts and satiated desires. Endless pleasure, endless fun, children choking on cake and ice cream. Gordon feels we need not say more.
Perhaps he’s right; for now, anyway.