The closest I’ve been to time travel or the telling of an event not from this realm is via The B-Theory of time. A Séance can induce & mesh with not a paradox but with a constant value, that time has no past, present or future. We are in an on-going process of mathematics, physics & alchemy. Would I be lying to you if I were to tell you time travel is possible? Could a classic tale of a mad scientist inventing the machine, that alters space & time be true? Well, this isn’t the case of a scientist or creation of man. Astral Time Travel is not a thing of fiction. One of my first encounters as revealed in my upcoming novel Red Eyes See Red Stars:
Myself, a Time Machine Poet. Cursive curtains of RED to cement myself; I do not travel for pleasure… no first class ticket to Bermuda for myself. Visualization; that’s it. I don’t see the world-line pertaining to the past, present and future, this is called the “B-Theorist.” Words replace memories, I arrange these “words” or “memories” into a world-line, thus poetry-in-motion at its most literal persuasion.
A Time Poet initiates life.
Example A: Bob is a regular fella, he sits on a couch and watches TV. Inside the wallpaper of the house – hair follicles left over from the 1987 renovation; a memory of a carpenter, a life force of 1987. Was it Bob? No, it wasn’t Bob’s hair follicle. Bob couldn’t even switch over a breaker that Thanksgiving in 1987. That’s when a thunderstorm helped carry on the tradition of his family’s candle-lit dinner they were to have at 8:PM sharp that night. Bob was old-fashioned, but Bob was never a handyman, not in any way or form.
The man the hair belonged to went by the name of “Ernest Wallings” his hair crusted within the spectrum of the drywall. Leftover for times’ benefit. Ernest had taken the renovation job for extra cash. The holidays were burning a hole in the savings of him and his dried-up wife; she had produced six children and each one had an appetite of a mule. They had a mule, two of them, one was given to Ernest as payment on a roof he patched up for a local farmer. The other they purchased at an auction to accompany the other mule, a thoughtful gesture from a tumbling fella.
Example B: Susie attends her first day of High School. A Time Poet masters a memory. Bricks from the school dilute modern era and lay forward a new foundation. 1864, a livery is the school, the school is a livery. Ball caps exchanged for Cow-skinned hats. Example B is the mastering of a time and space, using no current DNA to engage the travel. Deriving fallen memories without substance. Pure skill. There was no proof that the livery existed, letters fell from the bricks, unraveling languages, commanding a plot and story. Humans view life through a second-story window, never paying attention to what takes motion underneath their feet. Myself, a limbless facilitator of time and space. I am that motion. And just to let you know… I did find a memory underneath a piece of wallpaper once, it peeled into a capability of everlasting motion.
January, 11th, I found myself searching for myself. Airplanes and automatic writing never mix, but on this particular passage myself made an exception. Da Vinci-stylization. A modern-day jumbo jet, all the seats were empty, red seats as the image transformed into a UFO of sorts; I say UFO because it happened quickly with a snap of a flash added into the mix. The illustration was not floating, nor in a state of projection. An image I took without the I. Mage. Red face-lifts, the ego-death of all surrounding persons, no identities are given, and my automatic writing becomes another kingdom.
As the red filter dissolves, a middle-aged man of India descent had an approach of words to engage in. The seat next to me couldn’t possibly be large enough to contain his self-absorption, yet he maintained a sitting-manner in which no disruptions were observed.
“Your stance is all wrong,” he said without processing emotion. “What is your reason for India?” The first statement was still fresh in my zone, but I answered his second.
When you spend time outside of your normal realm, things become more blurred than normal. I do not recommend Astral Traveling at this depth if you’re not up-to-par with the basics of astral projection. Days will tend to disappear. The Moberly-Jourdain incident is a good example of this. They did not induce nor did they astral project. They were simply in a time-lapse of sorts. To self-induce this sort of travel one could utilize the formal structure of astral projection, for others, more is needed. If you do not care for tarot cards or an ouija board…. a Water Séance could be the way to go. This includes simple household items. This is not recommended without proper consideration.
Influenced by the Ancestors in Espiritismo (Santeria). It’s a channeling of working with spirits, your Ancestors of blood, spirit animals, guides & masters. Spiritual, elevation is the concept for this practice. Maintaining a stable prayer while assisting in spirits that are trapped or lost in this realm. This is where the white light, prayer, and communication with the spirits.
This is an official PROJECT ASTRAL article.
– Raphael Baldaya