6.4 Astral Projection

On another occasion, he looked down on earth to see him lying lifelessly in bed with that white sheet of blanket neatly tucked on his body.

Have no fear, let it go!

Cherry sat on the chair and observed the glow of light elevated horizontally below the ceiling and ten feet high. The ethereal code connected from his forehead to the crown of his projection. It has its own elasticity that can expand to infinity. It’s delicate. In the awakening, this code pulls back the projection into the body. In a sudden shock incident, it could break and separate the soul from its vessel. That means death.

As she watched this illuminated glow like dense cloudy matter reflected in contribution of the radiating sulphur, it began to fall gradually, hovered in mid-air for a few seconds and dropped eventually. He wasn’t yielding to let it go.

Macabre…the fear of death.

Another morning, she was not even there taking a nap in her bedroom, when it occurred to him travelling through the pines in a forest in the foothills. He let go the fear. He was carried further into the woods, in levitation, at an elevation of ten feet, passing through the intricate branches of the beech trees at rapid speed. His ethereal made a breakthrough. It was like a childhood dream.

Cherry came to pause at the door to see a beam of light rising straight up to the ceiling from his forehead. She folded her arms and waited patiently to observe. In about twelve minutes, she had a visual of his astral slowly returning to bury in the vessel and woke him up.

On 14^th Wednesday, Tyler Friesen took a flight to a distant world with a gracious river flowing in a gorge and a small settlement of houses standing by the cliff of the outcrop. When he caught a visual, he was descending from above over the fast-flowing green water meandering its way up and down without any coordinates. Brushes of trees aligned on the banks in blend of purplish and green colours. When he saw the water breaking around the tiny rocks, he wished not to touch. On the riverbeds, those sea buckthorn trees gave no space to land. So, he ascended as he wished and touched down on the grass beside the shelters of the sleeping village and smoke rising from the chimneys.

It was daybreak and close to sunrise, foggy and cold in the environment. Gulls and geese, crows and birds making sounds, roosters crowing and dogs barking. And there was no sign of a soul. He walked on grass that crept on the roadsides and the walls. Wildflowers of all kinds – Lilium, Ribes, Hypericum, Althaea, Phelipanche, Liontice, Allium, Rhaponticoides, Astragalus and thousands more in the spring bloom.

Suddenly, he heard those chopping rotors and caught a bird in sky hovering over the shelters and slowly descending. People rushed out of the houses as the noise grew louder. They were mostly men in their underwear. Unbelievably, the hovering drone dropped hand grenades and the villagers ran to take cover under the trees, fleeing for their lives. Bombs exploded at their heels, disrupting black earth thrown in the faces. He could feel the shakes. He ran to take cover.

In the next instance, the aircraft landed in a clear area stopping its nose in front of him. It shaped more like a double-decker bus. The sun was rising and the rays hit its white fuselage with orange and blue stripes. He could clearly see two of the pilots behind the windshield. They were American.

On the ground, a small militia carrying Škorpion vz 61 Czech-made machine guns, wearing guerrilla-style uniforms, advanced cornering the villagers from escape. That was the ugliest-looking weapon in any stock. That round reddish guy stuck it under his arm like a toy and grabbed a guy by his collar from the rear. They demanded the rustics to serve as serfs. A mercenary with a scratchy beard and a scar on his face ordered a captive to repair a bicycle. That was Miloš.

A staircase came down from the aircraft and two frontrunners climbed down. The militia leader was Jair Sivils. The other man was a captain in the Blue Shade 84 uniform of the USAF.

Tyler Friesen had studied those faces and he did recognise them precisely but not the captain. It occurred instantly to his mind that it was Robert D Maxwell. Tyler Friesen had never seen that face before. Who was he?

The situation was getting worse and narrowing in his face. He could not stand there hiding behind a tree and this place was not thickly wooded. He could be easily spotted. The sun had risen and the rays lit the fuselage in orange. At that point he decided to take a break, sneak behind a wall and get out of the place. He did just that.

Tyler reached the edge of the cliff and looked at the stream hundred feet below. He had no choice but to dive. He dived. Miraculously, he glided over the stream to the other side of the river and floated towards the valley of Tsaghkadzor over the slope.

And then there were two kids, one with a stick, running after him to tackle on his feet. He was caught in an exciting sensation like a ‘catch-me-if-you-can’ feeling and rose higher to avoid touch. He did. He got an aptitude to glide over the grass and flowers of the forget-me-nots, poppies, arrowheads, tulips, daisies and irises. Tyle knew that he possessed this ability of levitation and only a very few could do. Those kids were at it again as he dropped to ten feet above ground. He grazed the grass and applied his technique that made him rise one more time. He still got the talent. Although this time the elevation was lower and ultimately, he lost the ability to fly and descended to the ground gradually.

Tyler couldn’t definitely identify the destination of his teleported journey. He was bearing south but his mind set to go north to Georgia. Cherry said, “Follow your heart.”