Night Travels, Part 1

Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Crimes to the Third Degree.

Let me state right out that I don’t do drugs. Maybe this kind of thing would be easier; maybe not. But since I don’t do drugs and I’m right now having the first glass of wine I’ve had in….three? months, I don’t do a lot of alcohol either. I’m not under the influence of anything except my attempts to experiment further with field theory and energetic exchanges.

Flying By Night novelEach time I meditate and attempt to “astral,” I seem to get a little farther. It’s like exercising a muscle that’s been seldom used or only just discovered. But I don’t really have any control of this and sometimes it’s—I don’t know—other dimensions and other times.

I’ve gotten to the point now that I relax, meditate, then I’m off and away within a very few minutes. I feel a slight separation and ease and then…gone. But then I often fall asleep and forget it all. Maybe I shouldn’t be trying this at 2 a.m. when I’m exhausted and have to be up in 4.5 hours. Not that that stops anything.

On this particular night, I relax and think maybe I’ll try to go someplace in particular or check in on loved ones. I’ve tried before and the best I’ve done is to see ducks playing in sprinkler puddles in the street or a congested intersection on a weekend night.

I’m not ready to even try to “go” anywhere and then—whoa! Poof! I’m gone!

This is the oddest feeling. I’ve never known anything like this. I’m just suddenly in…Jeaneen’s kitchen at 2 a.m. with the house eerily quiet and nothing on but the light over the stove.

How did this happen? And why Jeaneen’s kitchen 20 miles away? I wasn’t thinking of her. Actually I’m a little to the side of her kitchen, in the hallway area between kitchen and table, in the area where something very powerful energetically took place a long while ago and I was part of it. Maybe that’s what this is. A marker I could find. There was a portal open there, in this spot where I…stand…or…um, where I am.

I created the portal there, using crystals and a sacred circle consecrated for a particular purpose, and I suppose the portal remains open. I wonder if she’s aware of it—I haven’t talked to her in many months. All I know is that it was an incredibly powerful experience for me, and that while everyone else in the room was covering up with blankets, I could have sworn it was 115 degrees in the room—for over two hours. I was putting off some major energy and damned near glowing with it. Intense!

Okay, so that’s why I went there. Marker. Portal. Yes.

But even odder is this strange feeling of dual consciousness. I am wholly aware of my body lying calmly in bed, on my back, breathing, darkness around, that if I open my eyes, I’ll see the neighbor’s porch light through my window. I am not asleep. I am aware…twice over.

I’m also very much aware of being in Jeaneen’s house, uninvited, in the wee hours of the morning. I am aware of other people somewhere in the house. Sleeping. I do not want to disturb anyone.

I don’t exactly walk around, but there’s…movement. I can go down the hall a little to where the aquarium’s purple light used to cast a pretty glow. I can turn and face the living room. But I’m not walking anywhere. I’m just present, a presence, wider than my body.

Where else can I go? I don’t want to intrude here.
I think of Kat’s house down the road and don’t know how I’ll get out of Jeaneen’s house and through the walls and doors, but I’m suddenly out along the drive and at the pasture gate. I’m moving along above the dirt road. I take a right, then gently whoosh along the road, twisting and turning with it. I’m not aware of my feet or whether they’re bare. I’m not in bodily form. But, even though I feel my body breathing and calm and all okay back in my bedroom, I am also very much here on this dirt road.

I see Kathy’s house. It’s dark. Only thinly waxing moonlight outside to light the grounds. I don’t go in. I’m not invited. But I do swirl past the house, to the left where I parked my car a few times, and around into the back yard. I give a nod to the music studio where the band played last Memorial Day in the rain, but it’s dark tonight and feels desolate. No guitars or drums to warm my heart. A lot’s happened since then, and I wonder…I wonder where else I might go if I can come here, 20 miles apart from where I feel myself breathing and fully awake.

But instead of going elsewhere, I feel myself pulled back to my room.