Part 1

VISITS INTO THE REAL REALITY Writing 4

3. FRIENDS

Suddenly, Wisdom stood next to me, after I made my exit from the house of what I probably can call, my newly-found friends.

"You have seen an aspect of what actually happens in the real reality", he commented.

I felt grateful and satisfied. I told him that, and also that I liked that the focus had not so much been on me but that I had been able to just observe this, for me, so strange world.

This happened on my third visit. Before I opened the door, the Presence, or as I rather say, I AM, had assured me that the door was just a symbol. On my deepest spirit level is no barrier between my earthly self and the real universe. All reality, also my life with its three levels, takes place within and through I AM. Therefore, I am able to step into the real world without needing something symbolic like a door in a wall. However, my access to the full reality is limited because, He/She said, I still am handicapped by my mutilated mental and physical features. Those are inherent to all that exists in the zone of displacement, in the pseudo-world of the Negative State; in my situation, in other words.

So I entered the other world and noticed that, as far as I could see, everything was full of life. I heard sounds and saw movements everywhere. It all was colored in shades and nuances of an unusual light blue. I got the impression that the whole area was one huge marketplace where people strolled, met, bought stuff and had a good time.

I didn't know what to do, but Wisdom, who had joined me, said that I could just observe in general and not force myself to focus on anything in particular.

I tried to figure out if the crowds consisted of men and women but had difficulty in establishing that. I think both genders were there.

Then, a man broke away from a group he stood with, came straight up to me and stopped in front of me. Everything about him was very distinct: the style and colors of his clothes, his tanned face and his strong sparkling eyes. My first impression was that he was middle aged and Euro-Asian. His dress looked like a fancy outfit of the ancient culture there. On his head he wore a colorful turban. He just stood there, calmly looking at me.

I asked who he was and if he wanted something of me. No answer came. I did not feel too comfortable, as I had not the faintest idea what he was up to. I looked at Wisdom, who warmly smiled at me, bent over and kissed my forehead.

"I leave you two alone", he said and vanished.

The man asked in a non-committal voice, "Do you want to come with me?"

I nodded and followed him as he headed towards one of the centers of activity where we mingled with the crowd.

"Is it too crowded for you?" he asked.

I shook my head, because however impossible it seemed to not constantly bump into people, I did not feel closed in. The people around me were at ease; nobody paid attention to me.

Finally I said, "Do I know you?"

He smiled but did not answer. After a while he said, "I know you" and asked if I wanted to go to a quieter place.

I told him I did.

Without any physical movement or sensation we suddenly were alone, somewhere in a completely empty space.

"Let's walk a bit," he suggested. He must have noticed my bewilderment about suddenly being transported, because he explained that I could compare what just happened with what I knew as changing channels on a radio dial. This quiet plane and the busyness a moment ago take place on different frequencies in the same space. He said that we can at will change environments.

To that 'we' I took exception in my mind. But first I asked some, to me, logical questions: "Why for goodness sake did you pick me to go with you? Who are you? What do you want from me? If you know me, as you say, is that from earth? Did you live there?"

He answered that he had intuited that someone was waiting for him. Seeing me, he knew I was the one. He had followed up on it.

I was not aware that I had wanted to meet a person like him, but evidently he 'fits the bill' for what I wanted to experience.

He said that, indeed, he had lived on earth, but some centuries ago, in Western Asia, and that he had been quite a wild character, with little or no concern for other people.

"Let me tell you what happens when people on earth die", he offered.

I corrected him, "No, talk about yourself. What happened to you when you died."

"Ever the therapist," he laughed.

I asked him how he knew that I worked in that profession.

He replied that when he knew he was going to meet with me, he did, what I would call, a fast reading-up on me. With mental means, that is. He said that in his mind he was able to access my whole life story.

This did not sit well with me. "Does it mean I don't have any privacy? Can everybody here read about my doings and know my private thoughts?" What an awful idea!

He shook his head. "Don't worry. What you do not want to be public knowledge or what you want to keep to yourself will remain so. It automatically will be respected."

He then continued with what he clearly wanted to tell me.

"As a youngster and later, I was 'all over the place'. I lacked any introspection. I did whatever I wished and got away with it. But after I died, I got in touch with a layer in me I didn't know was there and by consequence was never cultivated, so to speak. Things like consideration for others or figuring out my impact on them were beyond me. I had no interest whatsoever in spiritual or philosophical issues.

However, after I had died, I realized that, if I wanted to, I could explore the stirrings of unknown aspects in me. And I did. I started to see my narrow approach to life. It dawned upon me there had been other options all along. I was asked if I would like someone to tell and teach me about them. I did and that person showed and explained everything. It was fantastic that I could see the whole picture and could change my attitude. It prepared me for entering the real world. Eventually I did that. Everything began to fall in place: why I was born, my mission, the negative forces, oneness, love and true reality; all those things your 'Writings' talk about."

I almost shouted, "You know that, too, that I wrote those?"

"Of course!" he laughed. "I am curious about someone who is my friend."

I asked him if he still thought about his time on earth.

"Hardly," he answered.

"Were you married and did you have children?"

"Oh, yes."

"Do you still know them? Is she here? Do you meet at all?"

When he said 'yes', I questioned him about how, when and where.

He explained. "You know, when you are perfectly happy, which I am, and see my wife perfectly happy, which she is, it is always a festive occasion when we meet. Life is so good for both of us. Yet we have nothing to give each other like we did on earth. Well, I did the taking there, even if I may have responded to certain needs in her, like wanting children. But now we both are glasses filled to the brim with the joy of unencumbered living. How could we add to that? It is the same with my children from earth."

I asked him to tell me about his time on earth, but he declined.

"I am not avoiding thinking about it, but it is such another world now, so 'old', that it holds nothing of interest to me personally. You would learn nothing from me telling you stories about it. It was a temporary situation anyway, living there. The whole Negative State is."

(I experienced a sort of overload in my brain. So much new information to process. Plus that I wanted to apply it to myself. While I continued to walk, I felt like sleeping and momentarily may have blacked out. But soon I was back with him.)

I asked some practical questions. "Where and how do you live; how do you spend your time; what do you do for a living, as we say; and what about your personal life here?"

He answered, "When I had gone through the 'debriefing', cleansing, learning, adjusting, rejoining, I was asked what I would like to do. Well, in my country, weaving textiles, tapestry was the main industry. I always thought it beneath me to bother with it, but then I realized I wouldn't mind getting involved in it. Here, this is a product of what I do."

He took off his multicolored jacket that had intriguing embroidery designs. He handed it to me. "Put it on!"

I did. We were of the same size. It felt light, comfortable, just the right fit. I knew it must look good on me.

He evidently read my mind because he said, "It is a reminder for you that all that touches you wants to please. For the jacket, being worn is a gesture of love. It indeed caresses you."

I flashed back to the experience with the rocks and the ground.

He continued, "Material and fabric here function so differently than on earth. When I come up with ideas about patterns, styles, decorations, colors, etc., the materials are actively involved in the production. I cooperate with them. They, as it were, 'talk' to me and I can 'hear' what they suggest. I had to learn that. I am still working on it, because there is no end to the richness and variety any tissue can offer. Actually, perhaps my countrymen way back had some of this affinity and were able to somehow communicate with their material."

I mentioned that he must have a place where he worked on his creations.

He confirmed that and said, "As a matter of fact, I would like you to come with me to my house. You can also meet my wife there."

It surprised me."You have a wife, again? Children, too?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "She is the most beautiful creature you have ever seen; well, that's what I think. But, please, I warn you, don't operate with your ideas of what a marriage is. For us, literally everything in our relationship is coming from the joy and the desire to be together. We have no obligations whatsoever. Our marriage is wonderfully exciting and creative. Let's go."

I felt a slight rush, like in a state-of-the-art elevator. But there we were! In his house. Or better, villa. I looked around. Dome-like forms, mosaics, open spaces, verandas, cushions; nothing of it cluttered.

I thought it was about time I knew his name. I asked him.

"If you want," he said, "you can call me Achmed. But you must realize that identifying me with a particular name, a label so to speak, obscures the total of who I am. It puts a confining frame around me in your mind. Well, all earthly words have that problem. They never express the full truth. We have better ways of communicating here."

(What he said was another reason for me to not bother telling him my name; which, of course, he knew anyway. Darn!)

He asked if I wanted something to eat.

I said yes, but questioned him first about how it is possible to eat food without having our body 'forcefully' digesting it and leaving waste.

He evidently knew I already drank water here, because he referred to it; also to my not breathing the air while, yet, having it touch each pore of my body, giving me the sensation that every cell in my body gets nurtured, energized and inspired that way.

He explained that there is no elimination. "Food and fluids merge with what our body consists of. It does not add to any tissue or replaces anything but it transfers its specific uniqueness to what it touches. The life force we consist of is enriched that way, and it makes them and us 'more' as we both experience renewal and strengthening. Eating is a form of being touched by I AM. It confirms in a most pleasurable way belonging, closeness, being alive. The same goes for the 'air' refreshing our cells."

I had to muster some courage to ask, "Does everybody here live in a gorgeous place like this? What about all the billions and billions of people who lived and died on earth, do they get housing like this?"

(My doubt about the legitimacy of all this had risen sky-high again. Whatever it was I experienced, it must be some creative activity of my mind and senses but could have no relevance to any verifiable concrete other reality, I thought.)

"Of course not," he laughed. "Not everyone lives like this. If they want, they can. But there are, to use your numbers, billions of human beings here who are what you would call homeless."

He lost me. I told him so.

He reminded me of what I had seen yesterday, the mass of people to my right who produced music. "Those people have no homes like this one, or any other for that matter. They have no houses. Why not? Because they do not want or need them. They are their own home. Each of them alone and they together. They do not just make music but, in a way, consist of music. It is their choice. And it does not require a physical home."

"Mind you," - he must again have read my thoughts - "we have no problems like climate, space or sleeping needs. For the musicians, the sounds they make are 'visible' - or if you want - 'concrete' around them. If they so desire, those provide them with a private sphere to dwell in."

(How words fail to convey what they are supposed to, indeed, I thought. His explanation did not make any sense.)

Another issue bothered me. I told him that it was great that he acted as a sort of guide for me. But take only the millions of people who die this month, do they get a treatment or an introduction as I do? Again, he laughed. "Of course! You think we have not enough people here to 'adopt' them? Think about the masses you saw yesterday. But I am teasing you. Yes, all humans after having been exposed to life on earth, to the Negative State as you call it, will get all the help they need to make the change back to normalcy."

Then he added, "Your case is different, though. You can be here, to a point at least, because you consciously desired 'to take a look'. You worked for it. And in addition to that, you are going to, as you did with the other 'Writings', write down your observations in a way that may enlighten people on earth in case they want to know the truth."

He interrupted himself. "Ah, here is my wife."

The woman (of his age I think) who came in, radiated a happy, immediately catching liveliness. She looked beautiful, sexy, self-assured and was very friendly. When I paid her a compliment, she just smiled; quite seductively, I thought.

Achmed said: "I know she is beautiful. I love it. I love her."

She took my hand and then hugged me. It felt sensuous. I was instantly at ease with her and although she hadn't spoken a word yet, to me she was a wonderful friend.

He told me that she greatly inspired him in his work. When they were working alone they always felt each other's stimulating presence.

I asked her what specifically she did.

She answered that she selects much of the material he works with; she oversees the production and supervises the distribution. She called herself a busy lady, as she also has her own business which she promised to show me later. She then emphatically stressed the importance of me knowing that both she and her husband could change their occupation, relationship or even age when so desired and, being a couple, when they mutually agreed upon it.

She must have seen I did not get what she meant.

"Well," she said, "when we merge, I experience the person he is; I become one with him for that moment. He experiences the person I am. Not only that, but I could be him if I wanted to."

She laughed, hugged Achmed and said, "Not that I want that. It would mean I duplicate him - and isn't one of him enough? Repeating anything is weird, anyway. You should know that."

She looked me in the eyes when she said, "Good man, do know that intimacy, being wedded, closeness between people and loving each other has no boundaries in any direction here. As individual persons we have none. I do not have any. I could become a man if I wanted to, or", she threw up her arms, laughing again, "anything, for that matter."

She then put one arm around me and the other around her husband. And without thinking about it I put my arms around both of them.

I have no words for the profound beauty of that moment. All of space seemed to condense into this little circle we formed. But at the same time I realized, to my dismay, that my walk was almost done.

"You now have friends here. You are always welcome," he said. She nodded and said something similar.

Then Wisdom was there, as I mentioned at the beginning of the report of this visit.