Chapter XXXI

Astral projection is the ability to journey to other realms of existence where worlds such as: the heavens, hell, the Underworld, the Otherworld, Summerland, and other spheres of existence reside. Aligning with this plane of existence allows the individual to gain access to visions of the past, present, and future through the Akashic Records because the space time continuum that is experienced in the physical realm does not exist here. These realms are populated by beautiful, horrific, and neutral entities possessing agendas and desires independent from that of humanity. The part or layer of a human being that journeys and experiences these realms is the second doyen or the astral body. This doyen, as are all doyens, is ephemeral; but the second doyen grows and develops as the physical body does. It is an etherical duplicate of the physical body.

The Astral realm is parallel to the physical realm. It is the substance of etherical energy and works in cooperation with all other realms of existence as the bridge between matter and energy, transmitting the energy waves from the Mental realm to the Physical realm. The Astral realm is where the second doyen resonates when an individual intentionally astral projects and what the fifth doyen or ego reaches entrainment with after physical death of the body. When individuals contemplate and discuss the idea of “crossing into the light” or “parting the veil”, it is the Astral realm that is being referred to as the destination.

Aligning with the Astral realm can be achieved intentionally through deep meditation, but is often done unintentionally when dreaming. The consciousness and physical body must be comfortable and completely relaxed allowing the consciousness to shift focus from the physical vessel and surrounding environment to the non-physical realm and vibrational frequencies that every human being is continuously connected to, but are usually unaware of. Because it is impossible for the consciousness to actually leave a physical body without the vessel experiencing brain death or biological death, Astral projection would be more accurately described as a “phasing into” or “resonating with” another realm of existence or vibrational energy instead of the more common description of “out-of-body experience”.

The physical vessel is not protected from physical harm, injury, or death while Astral projecting and will react as it normally does when the consciousness is fully engaged with the body. If the physical body is disturbed, the doyen would be yanked back into the body in order to protect it from the threat of danger, propelling the consciousness back into resonance with the energetic vibration of the physical realm.

“The ancient occult teachings have taught that the disappearance from sight of a flame does not imply its actual extinction. The flame has only passed from the visible spectrum of sight to the invisible realm, and thus may be perceived by the inner sense of vision, which is designed to sense things of that realm and the more authentic cosmos. This same rule applies to physical matter. Because physical matter vibrates at the specific degree of motion, rate, and manner necessary for manifestation, an adept whose interior senses have been developed can take the energetic vibrational frequency of that matter and sense its presence in the astral realm. The adept requires no wires, gauges, or sensors; his will-power is all-sufficient.”
– page 178, Sacred Magick

 I closed my favorite book, as I glanced at the digital clock on my nightstand; six twenty-one. I allowed the heavy book to drop next to me on my bed. Three hours had passed since I had pulled Aunt Rachel from the vortex and I desperately wanted to speak with her. I had numerous questions requiring answers that only she could provide me, but it was because I honestly cared about her that I didn’t bombard her with them as soon as she opened her eyes. Mr. Stokes urged me to give her some time to recover from her ordeal before I began questioning her and though I wanted to remain compassionate, I was deeply concerned that the longer we waited, the greater the chances of Aunt Rachel’s memory fading or of her forgetting the details of her experience and those details are what I wanted most to hear.

Why did the Ancestors want her to remain where she was … and where the hell was she? Had she been on the Astral Plane? The Elemental Plane? Did she even know where she was? Was it the Ancestors who created the vortex? And if it was, why did they do it? Was it my fault that they trapped her? Was her ordeal the cost that Syn threatened I’d have to pay for my “grave mistake”? Or did it have to do with that feeling of sorrow concerning my cousin, Christian, that I experienced from her when I was trying to free her from that place? And these questions were just the beginning. I knew Aunt Rachel knew more about occult things than she had ever suggested to me before and I wasn’t going to allow her to distract me from learning about what knowledge she possessed.

I was anxious to speak with her and with determination I stood, crossed the room with only a casual glance out my bedroom window, and exited my sanctuary, resolute to uncover the elusive answers to all the questions that relentlessly bombarded my brain. I imagined that the answers Aunt Rachel would provide me would allow me to put my mind at ease and give me a deeper understanding of the true nature of who I was, where I came from, and why I was born with such a debilitating mental illness, that according to my parents and others in positions of authority, required medication to regulate.

I swiftly navigated passed Mother’s numerous antique curio cabinets positioned in the upstairs hallway, pausing only when I approached the opened door of the guest room where Aunt Rachel sat silently on the unmade bed; the bottom of her bare feet just scarcely touching the Ushake carpet. Just for a moment I stood in bafflement. Aunt Rachel appeared to have reversed time, shedding years from her physical appearance. She sat alone in the bedroom, gently rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around herself; an occasional sniffle breaking the otherwise silence that permeated the house. My determination to interrogate her eroded as I mutely watched her from the threshold. Not wanting to intrude, but concerned for her overall well-being, I softly knocked on the opened door.

“Aunt Rachel?”

“Hey, Angie,” she said, as she glanced toward the opened door, hastily wiping the tears from her cheeks with the fingers of both her hands. “Come in, sit.”

I walked into the room and over to her, sitting in the spot she indicated by patting with her left palm. She looked different to me, though I wasn’t exactly certain what it was that shifted in her physical appearance, it was more than just the change of clothing that profoundly affected me as I sat next to her. The long skirt and blouse, which had been stained by the blood from her nose, was replaced by a pair of comfortable looking wide legged pants and an embroidered tee shirt.

“Are you feeling alright?” I didn’t want to cause her more distress, but I was curious as to what she was feeling and thinking.

“I’m okay, Angie,” she smiled weakly, pulling her hair back from her face and into a low pony tail. “What about you? Are you feeling alright?”

“Me?” I couldn’t fathom that she was concerned about me with what she had just experienced. The confusion must have been evident on my face, because she reached out with her hand and placed it over my own, which had been lying motionless in my lap. The prickling heat radiating from her palm felt comforting on my skin.

“You are my niece, Angie. And I worry about you, probably more than you realize,” she stared into my eyes as she continued, “I know how special you are and even if your parents are honestly unaware or if they refuse to acknowledge your,” she paused as she chose her next word, “talent? Gift? Ability? I’m not even sure which word is most appropriate here … but regardless, I am aware. I acknowledge it and I think I can understand it, which is why I tend to be concerned about you.”

I felt myself smile, then impulsively reached over and embraced her. I felt her wrapped her arms around me and squeeze. This was the first time that anyone vocally acknowledged to me that they believed that I was different in a way that wasn’t unhealthy. Aunt Rachel didn’t refer to me as delusional or paranoid or mentally ill. She didn’t suggest that I possessed an overactive imagination or that I had lost touch with reality. She didn’t refer to me as anything but special and not in a way that made me feel guilty or ashamed or badly about who I was.

“Thank you,” I whispered. Her words were a gift; they gave me an inner strength that radiated deep within my center of being that I didn’t ever remember feeling before. She validated the belief I had that she was the only family member who valued me as an individual person with ideas and thoughts. I loved her more in that moment than I would ever love another person. I gently pulled myself from her embrace. “What happened to you?”

“Oh Angie,” she frowned and shook her head. “I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t know how much you know or understand about …,” she spread her arms wide and gestured to the space around her. “All of it. And it’s really not my place to explain it to you.”

“Oh …”

I was disappointed. I thought we shared a moment and had an understanding with each other. I falsely believed that she would reveal to me what had happened, that she and I would be able to discuss the things that no one wanted to acknowledge or discuss with me because they thought my ideas and perceptions were just symptoms of my paranoid schizophrenia. Apparently I was mistaken about our connection.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Angie. Please do not think for a moment that I don’t want to tell you everything I know and show you some truly wondrous things, but I have deep respect for my brother, your father, and I can’t blindly ignore his decision about his family, about you, even if I believe that his choices are the wrong ones to make,” she paused. “I owe your father my life.” She did not use the words to exaggerate or emphasize a point, as many others commonly did; no, her words held meaningful weight. It was clear that my aunt and Dad shared a history full of experiences that bonded them beyond usual sibling rapport. This was understandably the root of the close relationship they shared. “So, you see, I’m caught in the middle of something that I’m not entirely sure how to navigate through. I see what your Dad’s poor judgement is doing to you and I’ve spoken with him numerous times about the consequences of his actions, but he’s obstinate. He doesn’t listen to my advice.”

I nodded. “He’s stubborn.”

I wondered if this was why Aunt Rachel was a constant visitor and in regular communication with my Dad. Were all their conversations about me? The realization brought with it a wave of anxiety that left me uncomfortable.

“And he’s afraid,” she explained. “He’s afraid for you, Angie. He doesn’t want any harm to come to you and he believes that his choices will ensure your safety, but I think, and tell me if you agree with me, that you have long passed beyond the point where he has any ability to protect you.”

I studied her face attempting to determine how much she knew about my ability, what I could do, what I had already done, and if she, too, held that same power within her. She was blood of my blood, which according to the knowledge given to me by The Ancestors meant that Aunt Rachel held the power within her even if she hadn’t yet found it or harnessed it. I wondered if it manifested within her the same way it did within me. Did she hear the voices of The Ancestors within music as I did? Did they show her the power that the Williams women of Salem held within them since ancient times? Could she trap souls on the Astral Plane through music as I did? Or … or perhaps her medium wasn’t music at all, perhaps it was something else.

I decided that even if Aunt Rachel couldn’t share with me what she knew because of her respect for my Dad, it would be nice for me to have someone to share my thoughts and experiences with, someone who didn’t dismiss them as fantasies or delusions, and someone who understood what I was sharing even if they didn’t personally experience it.

“Yes, I agree,” I nodded. “Dad has no way of protecting me, and honestly, I don’t think he ever could.”