Out of Body Experience

People talk about out of body experiences in both waking and dreaming life. I’ve read about people giving birth or experiencing some trauma where they felt like a “fly on the wall watching myself”. People have dreams of astral projection, or sleep paralysis experiences having various out of body phenomenon. Some people even seek to activate these phenomenon through practices like sensory deprivation and meditation. Regardless of their intensity or cause, every one of us has felt disembodied in one way or another in our time on this planet. The following experience is one such experience that has yet to be paralleled in my life.

As I slept one night, a figure came to me and pulled me from my body. This figure had no form. At least, that I could perceive or remember. It spoke, and guided, and knew, but when I try to remember what exactly was guiding me, all I see is the empty dream space. Regardless, I doubt I could have found these places on my own.

“I’ve pulled you out of your timeline so I can show you.” The form said with little more explanation. As it spoke, I started to take in my surroundings. My room and body were gone, and I found myself standing on top of a large bookshelf easily two or three stories high, and the width of a wide sidewalk. As I leaned over the edge, I saw that there was an endless library stretching in all directions, bookshelves fit together in patterns like an endless maze, and I was lucky enough to be walking on the walls.

Between the bookshelves, a river ran deep and swift. It turned from shelf to shelf and coursed off into the distance as well. As I gazed at the water the presence said “The river is the life I have pulled you from. Come, now you need to see what lies beyond.” My spirit reeled with this implication. Was I on the boundaries of life? Not the edge of the universe, no. Maybe causality? If the river was life, what were the bookshelves? I followed to edge of the shelf to find out more.

The presence guided me through vaulted mosaics depicting incomprehensible histories, jumped from shelf to shelf, and slowly, led me to a side room. At the entrance to the room there was another pause. “What I am about to show you are two deities of your modern world.” That was all he said, though the comprehension that followed was far more telling.

As I stepped through the door, all the light went out. As my eyes adjusted, I slowly became aware of a small room. The room had no windows, features or color to speak of. Only smooth surfaces and a threadbare carpeted floor all lit by the familiar glow of computer screens.

This light was coming from two monitors placed on the floor of the room. One monitor was in the back right hand corner of the room and the second was in the front left hand corner, both facing the center. This made a strange “yin-yang” of fuzzy blue light across each half of the room. In front of each screen was a thin, pale, wight of a boy wearing nothing but tidy-whities. Around each boy were scattered balled up tissue papers and all of the implications those tissues brought. They squatted in front of their respective monitors and stared, unblinking and unmoving.

The moment all the features became clear I was captivated by a wave of pity, sympathetic disgust, and anxiety for the power these deities seemed to hold. There was no gold, or prayer, or glory, only the steady fuzzy blue light that sustained them. That, and total complete solitude simultaneous with being at the center of energy. So integral, and so detached.

Suddenly, the vision broke and I was back on the bookshelf where I started. This time the presence sounded concerned. “I have done much to pull you out of your timeline. In order to return to where I claimed you, you must experience the same death that sent you to that body.” Before I could ask any questions, the dream snapped again.

I found myself in a small weapons closet of feudal Japan. My heart was pounding with the thrill of what I had found. In the small closet, there were weapons lining every inch of the walls. Bows, swords, helmet breakers, all very fine and new. As I filled my arms with all I could carry, I heard the guard bell toll. Panicked I began to dash from the closet, dropped weapons trailing behind me. Then there was the yell.

A bellow of a battle cry came from down the hall. There, in blood red armor was a samurai, sword held high. I had just enough time to take in his figure to realize he was already running at me. Then the sword fell.

I woke with a crash as if my body had just fallen ten feet into my bed. Gasping and sweating, I felt where the sword had taken my life apparently so many years ago. Naturally, one question echoed through my mind for the rest of the day: “What life would I have woken up to if that samurai hadn’t killed me?”