would wave a scarf of the same color as the flag of our Kingdom at that times. However, it turned out that at least half of the Christmas party participants agreed on the same conventional sign. I felt sorry for my mother and decided to give her a gift – to go outside the first. I walked along the wide road to the magic circle, far apart from the main crowd. I don’t know how I managed that. I entered the circle and heard the joyful and excited exclamations of parents, «They are coming!» And I also heard them whispering, «God, who is so lucky? Whose child is this?» Then I saw my mother. She was smiling. Me too.
After my mother’s death, I often found myself in an unpleasant dimension, in a tense space with «gummy» time, where an inexplicable vacuum of something was felt. You leave almost all your energy there and come back completely exhausted. I usually passed into the World of the Dead (or rather, of those stuck between Here and There for some reason), where various entities live, including gray-wax ghosts, through a huge screen similar to a mirror, in a dream. My mother got stuck There, and we took turns visiting each other, she came to me Here, then I went to her There. The boundaries of spaces (dimensions?) became thinner even in grandma’s old flat, and There turned out to be right Here. First, the Door to Another Reality opens slightly, then you physically feel another space flowing into your local one, and almost immediately you hear Its sounds and, less often, see It.
Having adapted, I wasn’t afraid of drafts. However, due to the specific ability to take with me into Another Reality those nearby when the Door was opening, I was afraid for my son. I purposefully didn’t read him bedtime stories about Another Reality, tying him to the Earthly one. Once, when we were falling asleep and the Door creaked, I pretended that nothing was happening, but my son looked me in the eyes and asked in a whisper, «Have you heard that, mom? These sounds, what are they? Who is there? Tell me that you hear them too!»
I went to the child to say goodnight.
«Once I died, and then I was born,» the son suddenly said. «And then, when I die again and am born again, I will have a different mother.»
«Not necessary. Souls can meet in subsequent lives, but they don’t always recognize each other in their new bodies.»
«No, mom, we won’t meet again.»
«Why?» I was surprised.
«You will never be born again. I feel so. I know, they will let you stay There. And I began to see also a Man in Black. Who is he?»
«How do you see him?» I tried to keep calm, because after my mother’s death I had often seen the Man in Black; all wrapped in black cloth, he looked like a monk and, standing at the window, silently looked at me.
«He comes to me. Sometimes in a dream, and recently in the room, at the window. He always appears unexpectedly. I’m afraid of him. He’s all in black. Like monks. In some kind of cloth. I don’t know. I can’t see his eyes, but he looks at me in silence. I’m scared. Why does he come?»
«Ask him who he is. The next time he comes. Don’t be afraid, just ask what he wants.»
«It’s easy for you to say, you’ve never seen him! It’s more difficult in a dream. When I begin to understand that it’s a dream, I wake up.»
I saw my son several years before his birth. I knew how he would look like on Earth. He was born an unusual child, preferred solitude and violently showed dissatisfaction when he was picked up or surrounded by calf tenderness. My son didn’t allow anyone to feed him with a spoon. His first word wasn’t «mom» or «dad», but «me myself!»
Before he started speaking, he often had nightmares and screamed heart-rending. I used to enter his room, turn on the light and observe horror pictures – he was fighting off someone invisible and didn’t react to me at all. I hardly managed to wake him up, but when he woke up and remembered where he was, he instantly calmed down and smiled.
In early childhood, my son had a favorite game with balloons. We used to come to the park, he asked me to buy him at least one, so I did. He took it and, as if unnoticed by me, released it into the sky. Then he turned to me and, looking plaintively into my eyes, asked me to buy another one. That could go on ad infinitum. It seemed to me that my son was teaching himself in advance to let go of everything earthly he really liked, just as in smart adult books we are taught to get rid of idealizations and attachments.
Later he began to talk in his sleep, very clearly and absolutely seriously, in an adult way, perhaps with his Teacher. «I can’t do this now,» my seven-year-old son once said in his sleep. And I was afraid that he wouldn’t become a Warrior of Light.
The MWWN disappeared… For several days, I clearly felt my astral body moving further and further away from the physical one. When one leaves, this starts about seven days before, the physical pain disappears a couple of hours before… I know this from my own experience. However, that time I wasn’t leaving, at least in the way people do because of illness, nothing hurt, just the other day I had received several bad news at once, cutting me without a knife. Not unexpected, I had a premonition of them for a long time. Anyhow, even if you feel and know that it’s impossible to change anything, you hope for a miracle until the last moment. No miracle happened. I didn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone, except for Him. I sent Him a spell about me standing on the windowsill by the open window. He replied that standing on the windowsill in February was quite cool, at least for people, but I was a spell-caster, so it was even good for me to clear my head with fresh air a little. I wrote, I didn’t want to live and asked Him not to disappear.
«Don’t be sad, or wrinkles will appear…» He answered and disappeared again.
After exiting thought the window, I found myself in an area that looked like a large, light corridor located in close proximity to the Earth. The Voice, neither good nor evil, absolutely impartial, guided me. Nobody condemned me for anything. We communicated mentally.
«Remember what you see to tell people,» the Voice said.
I visualized a sheet of paper and a pen and tried to write down, but almost immediately I realized the futility of the idea, I wouldn’t be able to take my notes out of There. The paper obediently disappeared into the air along with the pen. I waved my hand and looked around, closely examining the details.
The Voice led me along an intermediate state – corridor, where there were those who had just «died». They were slowly floating in the distance. On the way, each of them looked through some pictures of the earthly life, as an exam. At the beginning of the corridor, everyone was shown the same pictures, a standard set revealing the Soul’s reaction to what was viewed, depending on which its further fate was determined. The deceased women were shown women with newborn children. Some souls began to rush about, being drawn to Earth to give birth to the babies they had killed in the womb. I was absolutely calm, so was the Voice, as if it knew that the subject didn’t concern me. I saw murderers, and then drug addicts, who were shown the places where they could quench their thirst. Tormented by the realization that nothing like that existed in Heavens, their souls felt an incredible attraction to Earth. I still remained absolutely calm. I remembered the «Tibetan Book of the Dead» and the books of a famous psychologist about idealizations and attachments. One needs to get rid of them, still being alive in the body in order to die in a state no longer experiencing any attachments, i.e. unfulfilled earthly desires, otherwise one won’t be able to reach to the end of the corridor.
«Now look,» the Voice said calmly.
I stopped
