Perceptives hear sounds and words, fleeting noises or huge din that do not exist, say the doctors. It is not because non-perceptive people do not hear them that they do not exist. Perceptive people have access to a larger world. A more real world than that of normal people.
What is real? A manufactured, denatured, imprisoned world or an infinite world? Perceiving these two worlds is a great satisfaction and a constant source of concern. I regret that sounds inaudible to non-perceptive are in no way distinguished from so-called normal sounds. Worried? Did I hear the roof fly off? I live on the coast of Brittany. These things happen in storms. But no, after checking, it was a subtle sound.
The world before was a subtle one. Blacks were the masters idolized by whites. Mothers came there before fathers. To name her, they said Baba, the great, powerful and saint. The father did not count, because he had very little subtle power. We called him Peut-pas.can not Baba became Mama and Peut-pas is PapaDad.
I live in another world. It bears no resemblance to yours, people from here. With great effort, I join yours to buy my food. That’s all. The rest of my life is spent in the astral universe. I am a case that doctors call BPH. Bound to Psy Hospital. When the case is hopeless, hosto-psyPsy hospital spells autopsy.
What unique god? They are all kinds. Back then, they used to say the gods. And shamans speak to spirits, not to the Spirit. The perceptives are surrounded by a crowd of invisibles that for them are visible. It is the so-called real world that becomes invisible. Unworthy of attention. Or maybe nature, alone with me. Wild landscapes filled our arms that we pierced into the soul with the eyes of the heart.
Long walks in the wilderness, the old buildings, the fence walls, those that remain, and the isolated cabins. The hills too. Eminences emerged from a calm and flat landscape, or gently undulating one, in which the emergence of a giant moth can only be human.
In this kind of dry field, we discover virgins as children grow. Not medieval though, much earlier. Do not see the Virgin Mary but the Great Goddess of the Pre-Celtic faith, black giants of previous humanity, the fourth. They are the former gods. They were as numerous as us… if not more.
There have been several reactions after the experience of real dreams. This scalar adventure, which took place not long ago, received mixed reactions.
The readers reacted with enthusiasm. The process of the real dream fascinated them. Surprised. Dismounted. The reactions of the participants had the same effect on me. They fascinated me. Surprised. Disassembled. I would have been without them, because this experience turned me on like a sock.
In summary, someone wrote me this: “1 The theme is odious. 2 I have nothing to do with it. 3 This is the historical period that I hate the most.” I couldn’t have said it better. I was the first to be confused when the theme came out of the mists. I also hate Nazism.
I hate torture and violent death. My current life is the opposite of these horrors. I have always refused to study this garbage at school. That I hate, loathes, abomin, vomit.
The participants are the most surprised. They mainly ask me to explain how it works. I’ll tell you what I know. As for the rest, I’m like you, I don’t know. Do I try to explain what I can’t understand? It’s a novel.French: roman I prefer gothic.
Remember, I asked for your help with my surgical operation. You granted it to me, really. And yet! Yet there was no mention of that at all. Instead of sobbing and complaining to this audience of volunteers, I met you on the astral every night, tirelessly, watching out for your epic adventures through a truncated sentence, a subliminal message that I love spotting… So one after the other, I watched you in order to be able to translate your dressing of the alarm clock.
Honestly, could I have expected to come across the Second World War, Nazism, or occupied France? You tell me that you hate this period, and so I do! My grandfather died in Verdun. My father was a prisoner in Germany for 7 years. Two escape attempts he never told us about, and of which I am the only one that Mom has put in confidence. I have always been very close to her, and I accompanied her at the end of her life in a retirement home.
This is to tell you that I did not deliberately choose the subject that brought us together. It was imposed on me as it was on you. I will go further: our meeting through the channel of this site is not a coincidence. Karmic necessity obliges, she was programmed for a long time. Without knowing it, we found ourselves in a mess spinning past memories in the drum of the washing machine.
We met in that life, just before this one as far as I am concerned. And perhaps we found ourselves in other lives, other bodies, other countries? I know from daily experience that chance does not exist. It’s another name for destiny. We deserve all our encounters. They have a meaning, an impact all the greater the more timely they are.
This world in its astral version is infinite. Infinitely accessible. We go there every night. We unfold hundreds, thousands of dreams that last at most the space of a flash. But when you wake up and tell the story, it could fill three episodes of a TV soap opera. “There is no time,” said Einstein. It’s an illusion. Like space, by the way.
In his founding equation for all of his physics, E = MC², there is neither time nor space.
Whence one conceives an infinite energy, which is why Einstein joins Castaneda.
Whom he has undoubtedly never read… but chance does not exist.
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