A Lesson in Orbit | An Out-of-Body Experience

My eyes move back and forth beneath their lids as noise fills my ears.

The commotion of a large crowd. Coins tinkling upon concrete as they spill out of a pouch. Wind rushing through my hair—no, through the cells of my very body!—as I travel through the open air…

Then, suddenly, the sensation of my stomach dropping as if I were on a rollercoaster, but instead of plummeting down I know, without a doubt, that I’m barreling up. I begin to move faster and faster, further away from the ground, which means I must be ascending through the atmosphere. The gravitational pressure continues to increase as the sound of the wind grows to a roar and my senses begin to scream that it’s too much, too much… TOO MUCH!

Everything stops.

I feel my consciousness perched on something solid. A very slight, calm breeze moves through the empty spaces between my cells, crisp and clear. I perceive the soft laughter of children some distance away.

Stillness centers me.

My consciousness molds its gravity into an echo of my physical body and its perceptions filter back into the five physical human senses and the sixth sense of knowledge. But before the cells solidify in their shape I scan my form for traces of fear, coax the dark tendrils to a single point in my chest, and reach my right hand into the space between my ribcage. My still-solidifying fingers close around the flailing ball of black, tar-like mass and firmly pull it out. No longer within me and feeding off the energy of my thoughts, it dissolves into nothingness, melting away as if it had never existed in the first place.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I relax my shoulders and wash away all tension from my echo before looking around.

My vision cracks open and takes in the cool, silvery metal walls of an empty hallway. Slowly, I take in a bit more of my surroundings and walk over to the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. They display the most magnificent panorama: Earth.

In an instant I acknowledge that I’m aboard a craft orbiting the planet.

I breathe deeply again and find my center. It tells me that I’ve been here before, that this is nothing new, and that I have somewhere to be within these halls. The sense of knowing becomes stronger, rooting my consciousness firmly into the experience and maintaining a foothold.

My face breaks out into a grin. I’m on a craft looking down at the planet I call home and it is absolutely breathtaking.

I remember that I’m here to learn. I’m enrolled in a class that can’t be taught on Earth and the instructor is waiting.

My echo moves of its own volition as my consciousness trusts that I know where to go. I don’t think about the path ahead, the route to get to the classroom, I simply move forward and intuit my direction within each present moment.

The hallway curves toward the inner sections of the craft, moving away from the glistening starlight of the outer windows to the warmly-lit spaces further within. An ornate archway decorated with gold-plated symbols from a thousand realms triggers a sense of familiarity as I pass under it. The organic blue light of a corridor lined with bioluminescent sconces sparks a sense of admiration as I wander by. But it is the great, moss-covered tree in the center of the ship that I resonate with the most. Its ancient roots anchor deep into a large plot of stone-encircled soil in the middle of the ship’s atrium.

Full of vegetation from a hundred different worlds, the ship’s center serves as both a habitat laboratory and an interstellar refuge. It is a gathering place for deep space travelers seeking respite from their sterile environment in the rich, earthy aromas that remind them of their homes.

I enter the atrium and make my way along a familiar moss-covered track leading to the base of the great tree. My classmates stand in the middle of the circle murmuring excitedly at something on the ground at the foot of the trunk. They smile and greet me as I approach and part their ranks to reveal a wooden box sitting in the dirt. It is unremarkable except for a small brass lock on its front but we all know that it holds something special—something for today’s lesson.

A sense of knowing ripples through our echoes. We all turn in one smooth, coherent motion to acknowledge our Instructor, Wisp, as he approaches.

His natural form is a seventh-dimension pure consciousness, known as a Vapor, from one of Rigel’s many planets. There are only a few of his kind here in the Terran system, having received a direct invitation to partake in Earth’s quickening.

Such an opportunity is an honor anywhere in the universe. Assisting in a planet’s quickening can be incredibly rewarding but it also comes with great risk. Participation not only offers a way to directly participate in the Great Purpose and establish a deeper connection to Source, but also presents an accelerated pathway for furthering one’s own evolution. However, an assisting soul risks becoming embroiled in the fate of the planet, being pulled into its karmic cycle and forced to incarnate again and again until the soul once again learns how to free itself. For the experience-seeking Rigelans it is no surprise that several Vapors volunteered to assist.

Several decades ago, Wisp accepted the invitation and joined a coalition of consciousnesses from Rigel. They emerged in the Terran system like a thin cloud of nebulous mist from the interconnected web of dark matter linking all star systems throughout the universe. After adjusting to the gravitational difference in our pocket of space, he followed the call of his soul to this craft and began to teach.

Though he has no third-dimensional form, the commander of this craft created a synthetic human mold for him to better interact with us. It is easier to retain more from our studies by avoiding the unnecessary mental strain of processing the conceptual language of the unembodied.

Wisp walks toward us slowly and reaches for the box. He grasps the sides and lifts it up onto a stone bench for all of us to see. Reaching directly into his forehead, the synthetic skin gives way and he pulls forth a still-materializing small brass key before placing it into the lock. He twists the key left twice, right once, and then left again.

Click.

Silence falls around the base of the tree as the hinges creak open ever so slightly and the lesson begins.

The eyes of my echo feel as heavy as lead. I see Wisp pull something out of the box but static is all I can perceive. At the same time I know that my eyes are closed, moving back and forth beneath their lids far, far below me.

No, I shout within my mind, please, I want to remember!

But gravitational pressure condenses around me, plummeting my consciousness into the physical densities contained below the craft. I emerge beneath the troposphere. Wind rushes through the spaces between every cell of my being as I travel through the open air—wait, no longer open!—suddenly enclosed, sheltered.

The sound of hot liquid pouring into a ceramic mug hums through the door. Birds chirp outside my window… my window.

My eyes gently part as the noises filter into the background of my perception. I lie still for just a few moments more, savoring the experience, before sitting up and reaching for my journal.

The pieces are falling into place. I remember more and more but the lessons that cannot be taught on Earth cannot be recalled either. Still, I can feel the knowledge within me.

Whatever I am learning upon the craft, it is a part of my human experience. I just can’t remember which part.