OBE PRACTICE TRIP PART ONE


Tonight, I realized I had an Advanced OBE with special music in my pack of CD’s from the course by Steve Jones.

Since I have already OBE’d once via the vibration method, and I have OBE’d often using the mind-phasing method, I thought I might qualify to try out the Advanced OBE CD for a change.

I settled into my newly washed and fluffed up bedcovers. My pillows smell  of the outdoors, having aired for hours yesterday. My cat and dog settle down beside me for the night. The only light was from the tv screen.

This is one of those rare nights when my soul comes alive, a night too seldom experienced. Tonight the west coast of Vancouver Island is experiencing high storms, loud winds that rattle down my chimney, whisper around the corners of the house, and make raindrops spatter distinctly against window panes.

Like so many others, I am a child of the storm, whatever that means. When I was young, if I woke in the night deep in the woods of Whiskey Creek in the early 60’s, and found that a storm was howling, rain was lashing and high winds were bending the cedar trees surrounding our isolated farm, I would sit up in bed, thrilled to the core. Slipping silently out of my bed, alone in the kitchen of the big farmhouse, I would quietly open the front door and step out onto the porch in the absolute privacy of the storm-filled woods.

Then, bare feet slapping on the mud path, I flew out the front gate and into the field outside our house, wind whipping my pyjamas and hair, an insane grin on my young face, and I would begin to dance into the storm, allowing its arms to embrace me, lift me up, make me fly. Around and around I whirled, laughing silently as the darkness kissed me and the rain soaked my clothes, losing every sense of limitation, doubt or fear as the much-loved wind whirled me around on this secret, saturnian dance floor.

These very rare and much-remembered night-time dances, unknown to anyone in my family – not even my mother, not ever – made up, as the years passed, for the fact that I cannot dance, that I freeze up if someone moves me onto the dance floor and expects me to follow them. Never mind, my mind whispers, never mind. You dance where no one else dances, ever. You danced on the wood of these floors before they were hewn or polished; you danced on them when they were hundred foot cedars and firs, lashing in the high night winds long ago. They belong to you.

As I lie there in my bed half a century later, listening to the CD’s incredibly compelling, soothing music I smile, recalling the last time my spirit thrummed in circles in the darkened woods of Whiskey Creek.

Then I am aware that there are other presences nearby, friendly, benevolent, here in my bedroom, my room that smells so fresh from my weekly housecleaning.

I decide to reach out to these entities, shining in the dark, as the wind howls around my house. They shine, they beckon, there are four or five of them. My daughter is one. There are others, known to her but not to me.

I rise from my body through my brow chakra, third eye center. As I approach the brow from within, I push my arms and hands together, out from my forehead, pushing out through the chakra, which is now tingling mightily, and easily connect with the shining group around me.

Then, a small epiphany: as I stand among them, I am aware of a magnificent huge figure standing apart from us, over to my left, against the backdrop of the dark sky and rushing pale clouds, lit from above by a full moon.

I recognize this figure. Three years ago, when visiting McLean’s Mill during the Forest Fest, I had wandered over to listen to a fantastic gospel choir from the U.S.

I forget where they came from – somewhere in the south, I think. Maybe Louisiana? The choir performed out in the open air beneath a sun/cloud sky, tall white cumulus towers building and wisping away as the stratospheric winds moved them.

As the old, much loved hymns rose in the wood-scented air and the crowds around stood in silence, bathed in the melody, I felt my soul stir and that rush of joy begin that always follows the sound of joined human voices raised in united worship of any idea, being, or hope.

While I am no longer a Christian, the sound of pure gospel choir music can still knock me sideways. Oh, the relief, the restfulness, of turning our attention for a moment to the Perfect, the Still, the Source. No matter what you want to call It. Exhausted, the mind reaches out to Presence and exhales…thank Goodness, you’re here! It’s about time!

And as I stood enmeshed in Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah, unable to move, the sounds rising and rising forever to the towers above, I looked up.

High above us a cumulus figure had formed among the clouds, the figure of an Angel, wings outspread for a hundred miles in the high reaches of Earth-Sky. I watched stunned as it grew and grew, wings outspread further yet, as the gospel music flooded the forest and filled the heavens. I looked around and realized that no one else was looking up: I alone saw the Angel. Tears ran down my face and I was glad I stood where the crowd could not see me. I gasped for breath in the sheer loveliness of that scene.

And standing here, in my dark bedroom, five shining figures around me, I watched in awe as the Angel once more stood afar off, looking at us, this little band of glowing souls, one still mere human, and the others graduates of this school, come back to instruct and share to help me along my weary road.

I relied on my daughter’s presence, and reached out to her hands. She took both my hands and we suddenly all were far out in space, looking back at Earth, moving slowly in its endless circuit. The love we all felt for this planet stirred all our hearts. I could feel the group emotion toward Mother Earth and could feel the responsive bond moving between herself and our little shining group, far away in space.

Then, an interruption.

I knew, without anyone saying anything, that I had to pause in communication with this loving group, and they would wait for me while I carried out a task.

My young brother, who I have not heard from for a long time. I felt the need to go OBE to his house, and was instantly in his kitchen. Their house was darkened for the night, the kitchen lights out. I sensed he was sitting in a room nearby, reading, in his bathrobe. Quickly I moved there and stood before him, saying, “Come on out, let’s go for a trip.”

I reached for his hands and he willingly reached for mine. Together we flew back to The Park, where several of my family members now live in the Afterlife on Earth Two. Where would we be directed to? Instantly we were standing outside my older brother’s house overlooking the Valley of Horses, where the herd he cares for roam. My older brother is waiting for us in his living room and immediately invites us in. He embraces his younger brother and pushes a chair forward.

“Sit!” he offers. He turns to me. “I’ll get him home safe, don’t worry. You can go now.” I wave goodbye, glad to get back to my spirit friends. I wonder what agenda has drawn my two brothers together this night. No doubt, I shall never know. It’s their secret.

Reaching the waiting group again, I find myself saying to them, “Can we go look at Tahrir Square? I want to see the people there.”

(Tune in tomorrow to continue with us on this OBE flight.)

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About gentlenurse

Blogging is not only a pleasure, it is a basic necessity...I don't know how I have lived so much of my life without a blog. It gives me a place to write, a motivation to write, lots of reasons for reading lots of mind-expanding and challenging books, plenty to think about and be happy about. It has become a centerpiece of my retirement life along with my friends and pets, my faith and my afterlife journeys.
This entry was posted in Afterlife Contact, AFTERLIFE EXPLORATION, Creating Reality, Out of Body Practice and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to OBE PRACTICE TRIP PART ONE

  1. Pharmb299 says:

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