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Quotes from "Journeys Out of the Body", by Robert Monroe

Chapter 5, page 44:

In Locale II (the astral plane), reality is composed of deepest desires and most frantic fears. Thought is action, and no hiding layers of conditioning or inhibition shield the inner you from others, where honesty is the best policy because there can be nothing less.

Under the basic standards described above, existence is indeed different. It is this difference that creates the great problems of adjustment even when attempting to visit there while in the Second Body. The raw emotion so carefully repressed in our physical civilization is unleashed in full force. To say that it is overwhelming at first is a massive understatement. In conscious physical life, this condition would be considered psychotic.

My first visits to Locale II brought out all the repressed emotional patterns I even remotely considered I had, plus many I didn't know existed. They so dominated my actions that I returned completely abashed and embarrassed at their enormity and my inability to control them. Fear was the dominant theme-- fear of the unknown, of strange beings (non-physical), of "death," of God, of rule-breaking, of discovery, and of pain, to name only a few. Such fears were stronger than the sexual drive for union, which, as noted elsewhere, was in itself a tremendous obstacle.

One by one, painfully and laboriously, the exploding uncontrollable emotional patterns had to be harnessed. Until this was accomplished, no rational thought was possible. Without rigorous consistency, they begin to return. It is much like a slow learning from unsanity to calm objective reasoning. An infant learns to be "civilized" in its growth through childhood to adult status. I suspect the same thing occurs all over again in the adaptation to Locale II. If it doesn't happen during physical life, it becomes the first order of business upon death.

Chapter 8, page 67:

At times, in visiting Locale II, a very unusual event periodically occurs. It makes no difference where in Locale II, the event is the same.

In the midst of normal activity, whatever it may be, there is a distant Signal, almost like heraldic trumpets. Everyone takes the Signal calmly, and with it, everyone stops speaking or whatever he may be doing. It is the Signal that He (or They) is coming through His Kingdom. There is no awestruck prostration or falling down on one's knees. Rather, the attitude is most matter-of-fact It is an occurrence to which all are accustomed and to comply takes absolute precedence over everything. There are no exceptions.

At the Signal, each living thing lies down-- my impression is on their backs, bodies arched to expose the abdomen (not the genitals), with head turned to one side so that one does not see Him as He passes by. The purpose seems to be to form a living road over which He can travel. I have gleaned the idea that occasionally He will select someone from this living bridge, and that person is never seen or heard from again. The purpose of the abdominal exposure is an expression of faith and complete submissiveness, the abdomen being the most vulnerable part of the body or the area that can suffer damage most easily. There is no movement, not even thought, as He passes by. Everything has come to a momentary standstill, full and complete, while He passes. In the several times that I have experienced this, I lay down with the others. At the time, the thought of doing otherwise was inconceivable.

As He passes, there is a soaring musical sound and a feeling of radiant, irresistible living force of ultimate power that peaks overhead and fades in the distance. I remember wondering once what would happen to me if He discovered my presence, as a temporary visitor. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

After His passing, everyone gets up again and resumes their activities. There is no comment or mention of the incident, no further thought of it. There is complete acceptance of the event as an ordinary part of their lives, and this is the great yet subtle difference. It is an action as casual as halting for a traffic light at a busy intersection, or waiting at the railroad crossing when the signal indicates that a train is coming; you are unconcerned and yet feel unspoken respect for the power represented in the passing train. The event is also impersonal.

Chapter 9, page 68:

Three times I have "gone" to a place that I cannot find words to describe accurately. To me, it was a place or condition of pure peace, yet exquisite emotion. It was as if you were floating in warm soft clouds where there is no up or down, where nothing exists as a separate piece of matter. The warmth is not merely around you, it is of you and through you. Your perception is dazzled and overwhelmed by the Perfect Environment. The cloud in which you float is swept by rays of light in shapes and hues that are constantly changing, and each is good as you bathe in them as they pass over you. Ruby-red rays of light, or something beyond what we know as light, because no light ever felt this meaningful. All the colors of the spectrum come and go constantly, never harshly, and each brings a different soothing or restful happiness. It is as if you are within and a part of the clouds surrounding an eternally glowing sunset, and with every changing pattern of living color, you also change. You respond and drink into you the eternity of the blues, yellows, greens, and reds, and the complexities of the intermediates. All are familiar to you. This is where you belong. This is Home.

As you move slowly and effortlessly through the cloud, there is music around you. It is not something of which you become aware. It is there all the time, and you vibrate in harmony with the Music. Again, this is more than the music you knew back there. It is only those harmonies, the delicate and dynamic melodic passages, the multivoiced counterpoint, the poignant overtones-- it is only those that have evoked in you the deep, incoherent emotion back there. The mundane is missing. Choirs of human-sounding voices echo in wordless song. Infinite patterns of strings in all shades of subtle harmony interweave in cyclical yet developing themes, and you resonate with them. There is no source from which the Music comes. It is there, all around you, in you, you are a part of it, and it is you.

It is the purity of a truth of which you have had only a glimpse. This is the feast, and the tiny tidbits you tasted before, back there, had made you hope for the existence of the Whole. The nameless emotion, longing, nostalgia, sense of destiny that you felt back there when you stared at the cloud-layered sunset in Hawaii, when you stood quietly among the tall, waving trees in the silent forest, when a musical selection, passage, or song recalled memories of the past or brought forth a longing for which there was no associated memory, when you longed for the place where you belonged, whether city, town, country,nation, or family-- these are now fulfilled. You are Home. You are where you belong. Where you always should have been. Most important, you are not alone. With you, beside you, interlocked in you are others. They do not have names, nor are you aware of them as shapes, but you know them and you are bonded to them with a great single knowledge. They are exactly like you, they are you, and like you, they are Home. You feel with them, like gentle waves of electricity passing between you, a completeness of love, of which all the facets you have experienced are but segments and incomplete portions. Only here, the emotion is without need of intense display or demonstration. You give and receive as an automatic action, with no deliberate effort. It is not something you need or that needs you. The "reaching out" is gone. The interchange flows naturally. You are unaware of differences in sex, you yourself as a part of the whole are both male and female, positive and negative, electron and proton. Man-woman love moves to you and from you, parent-child-sibling-idol and idyll and ideal-all interplay in soft waves about you, in you, and through you. You are in perfect balance because you are where you belong. You are Home. Within all of this, yet not a part of it, you are aware of the source of the entire span of your experience, of you, of the vastness beyond your ability to perceive and/or imagine. Here, you know and easily accept the existence of the Father. Your true Father. The Father, the Creator of all that is or was. You are one of His countless creations. How or why, you do not know. This is not important. You are happy simply because you are in your Right Place, where you truly belong.

Each of the three times I went There, I did not return voluntarily. I came back sadly, reluctantly. Someone helped me return. Each time after I returned, I suffered intense nostalgia and loneliness for days. I felt as an alien might among strangers in a land where things were not "right," where everything and everyone was so different and so "wrong" when compared with where you belonged. Acute loneliness, nostalgia, and something akin to homesickness. So great was it that I have not tried to go There again.

Quotes from Far Journeys:

Chapter 7, page 50:

One of the principal examples came one night when I rolled out of the physical, and before I could release from the second body (the etheric double), an overwhelming drive for sexual union rose in me. I was about to employ my usual not-now-but-later cooling technique when I moved away sharply with a sudden shift. The movement was fast and short. When I was able to perceive, I found I was standing a few feet away from an enormous pile of writhing forms. It reached up, slanting back as high as I could see. In each direction, right and left, it swept off into the distance. It reminded me of nothing so much as the interweaving of huge fishing worms in the bottom of a can after being left there overnight. The motion was continuous, thousands upon thousands, each wet slippery form wiggling in and out among the others in the pile, searching, trying to do something . . . but never achieving satisfaction.

Three perceptive shocks hit me simultaneously. The forms were not worms, they were human! Second, the incredible, staggering radiation of sexuality, both male and female, that emanated from the seething mass. Third, they all were physically dead. I wanted to turn and run, but some other part of me held me in place. I finally calmed down enough to become analytical. Did I want to join in? My whole being shuddered in rejection. No vestige remained of the sexual drive I found so important moments before. I had the strong percept that it would come again, but never where it would control wholly what I thought or did.

With this flash of knowing, another emotion washed through me— intense compassion for those trapped in the undulating mass, so focused and intent on seeking sexual satisfaction they were unaware of any other existence— anger at a system that could so inhibit, repress, and distort as to create the situation in front of me. Were these the castoffs of the human process, to remain so throughout eternity?

I moved forward slowly and stopped close to the edge of the pile. The moving bodies were male and female, of all shapes and sizes, glistening with wetness. A bare hairy leg thrust momentarily from the pile, and I grabbed it by the foot and pulled. . . . The leg pushed out blindly, trying to move more deeply back into the pulsating mass. I pulled harder, trying to keep my grip on the sweat-covered ankle. Slowly, I was able to pull the rest of the body clear of the pile. It was a man, small in stature, dark-haired, fine-featured, of indeterminate age. He lay there on his belly, his arms and legs moving crablike, attempting to pull himself back into the pile, totally oblivious to the fact that I was holding on to his foot and preventing him from doing so.

I easily held him in place, bent over, and shouted in his ear, (Hey, I want to talk to you. Hold still for a moment!)

There was not the slightest indication that he heard me. His face was fixed, a gleam of anticipation spread across it. He kept trying to move back and I held him in place, wondering what to do next. I tried another approach. (It's the cops, the police, they're raiding the joint! Gotta get out!) I waited for some response, but there was none. I couldn't provide him with the radiation that would get his attention. I released his foot, and he crawled back into the mass and was swallowed up in the movement. I turned away sadly and stretched for my physical ident, and returned without incident.