Time Traveller

Many of you ask me how the journey in time is concretely practiced. It is true that I have tackled this fascinating question only in one article, Timeline, which obviously is not enough for you. It is therefore with the greatest pleasure that I come back here.

Fantastic literature loves time travel. We know Back to the future, we know Edgar P. Jacobs’ The Diabolical Trap, or other books on this theme. But movie or novel, whatever the author, invariably, a machine is involved. Time travel is only possible with this machine straight out of the brain of a great inventor. I have to disagree with this bias. Not only is every machine useless, but it would be a major handicap. If you can travel as you please in the past or future, you would be hard-pressed to bring your physical body, your clothes or any object, a machine a fortiori. Do not be fooled by the image that opens this article, Stef Kervormy infographist loves to tease me.

To travel back and forth in time, there’s no need for a neon-shaped tight-fitting suit, nor need helmet, magic potion, spell, incantatory rites, sulphurous invocations, secret formulas patiently deciphered in an old grimoire, nor the intervention of a genius straight out of his oil lamp, nor the intercession of St. Michael the Archangel, St. John the Baptist, St. Cosmas and Damian, St. Hegesippus, St. Adélard, St Ladislas, Saint Chinian, Saint Estèphe, St Barbe, St Mustache, St Mary Mother of God, Saintes Maries de la Mer, St Frusquin and all the Saints, no need for priests, monks, archpriests, rabbis, imams, muftis, rimpoches, poached eggs, pouches, pom-pits or so, just need you to really want it. And that’s enough. I say. Yes.

The gates of time

How’s it going ? Most simply indeed. We all have a door of time in our head and two in our body. All you need is to push, they are always open. The door in the head is called memory. Oh yes. All that you have lived, felt, experienced, everything that you have seen, read, heard, perceived, every little thing is accessible this way. We do not think about it. Isn’t it a pity? All we need is in us since birth. We only have one thing to learn: how to use all this stuff that we lug around?

Other main doors – at least two – are located in different parts of the body. They are unknown to the ordinary self, only the higher self can give access to it. The candidate for the journey must soften his superior self, his double, his inner god, the child who sleeps deep inside him to find these doors. The most incredible subtle powers sleep there, quiet and unknown, at the end of the docile branches of our five senses. Those who dream of lightning, cosmic hurricanes and spectacular earthquakes have to change their mind. Simple as hello, clear as rock water. Magic is the reach of children, they excel. For them, a box of packing is a car, a tank, a house, a rocket, a submarine or a chronoscaphe, according to their mood, the film that they have just seen or their favourite video game.

The memory is the base and the starting point of the journey in time. When a buried memory rises to the surface, do not let it slip like a fart on a oilcloth. Hang it up, visit it, search every nook, every smell, every music in it, until all the details are as familiar to you as if you had them in front of you. By dint of forcing you, it becomes natural. Observation becomes your true nature. You see everything at first glance, a circular look is enough for you to assess the situation, identify potential hazards, note all possible resources of a place. This is, you understood me, an exercise, a simulation, a training. To know how to do it without being wrong when the situation arises. And it can save lives.

In any case, the trip starts like this. Each of our conscious or sleepy memories can serve as a landing strip. Welcome to the past. For fifteen I practiced regressions in infancy, intrauterine life, between-two-lives, so-called previous lives. I opened the doors of many candidates for the trip. Everyone has plunged into their mythical past, or into their parallel lives.

The path of engram

Engrams, even more than memories, are royal ways of access to the past more or less distant. It is they who allow the time tracker to discover the periods before his present life, through the exploration of his past lives. Once he has the opportunity to capture a relived, he clings to the legs of the bird of freedom. These precious relics just want to reveal forgotten slices of the past. Careful exploration of these sequences can lead the temporal traveler far beyond the strict framework of the engram. He has access to all the time in question and not only in the country or countries where his previous life took place.

The memory conquest gains ground according to the progression of a stain of oil on a cloth. The fibers of the temporal fabric are imbued with the conscious presence of the explorer. Each new spot, each new era conquered with great struggle becomes the starting point of other explorations, which in turn will open other temporal spaces.

When my benefactor J-Cl. Flornoy made me pass my arcane XIII, I found more than twenty lives said earlier. It’s a lot. Usually, during deep trances, the petulant finds memories of a few lives, rarely more than half a dozen. Subsequently, I gave back to others what Flornoy had given me. I have audited many candidates for initiation to the mysteries of Isis, or small mysteries, also called Arcanum XIII. I was a smuggler, I’m passing. I will never forget any of these encounters, nor any of the candidates I helped pass through the needle hole.

They allowed me to explore the corridors of time a little more. The past of our planet, as well as its future, have become my garden. These multiple sessions served me as intensive training. The repetition has borne fruit. The mechanism of returning to the past or jumping into the future has become fluid. The whole life line is accessible to me. Mine, and others too. Beyond the lines of life is the timeline, which brings them all together. I spend most of my time chez Temporel.

 

I believe in the force of spirit and I will not leave you.
François Mitterrand