Walking Together in a Small German Town
The following OBE/dream account was captured on 01.07.2019 at 4:38am. The accounts have been edited from their original format, captured via speech recognition on my iPhone.
Since September 2018, I have been regularly capturing my dreams. I had recorded my dreams on and off in the past, but since returning to school, I thought it imperative to consistently start capturing my nocturnal experiences. At first, I went about recording my dreams as I always have, in my journal, but I've noticed that as I've gotten older, recollecting my dreams, spiritual visitations, and OBEs have become more ephemeral and difficult to recall. Sitting upright and turning on the light are enough to wipe away the experiences. Now, I grab my phone, return to the last position in bed before I awoke and speak into the microphone, groggy and stumbling over my words as the speech recognition does its best to decipher my 4 AM mumblings.
Nocturnal Visitations from Hans
I don't need to dream to encounter Hans's paranormal interactions. He's been an ongoing paranormal encounter since day-one, making sure that I am aware of his ghostly presence. This kind of activity has caused some of my friends and family members to label him as demonic for the simple reason that "only demons behave this brazenly," one of them once warned, indoctrinated by a fear-based faith that closes all other possibilities and explanations. Truth be told, I, too, was terrified at first.
His words and speech get swallowed up by the amnesic consequence of sleep.
Having been a nonbeliever and lacking any sense of spiritual practice (I will delve into this in other posts), the thought of an active ghost in my house did not sit well. I even slept for a couple of days at a neighbor's house when all of this first started in 2010. It was there that Hans began to "pull" me out of my body to communicate with me (although I did not know it at the time, the first astral visitation with Hans actually occurred in 1993 shortly after he had died in his most recent past life. This "dream" as I used to call it is what Kelly Bulkeley believes to be a "big dream" because the experience was so impactful that to this day I remember it clear with such clarity).
Since he revealed his true identity (on my birthday in 2018), he has been more consistent in visiting me during sleep. Our reunions are always filled with affection, often we are both loquacious—eager to exchange ideas, experiences, etc. Sometimes, he appears to tell me about his most recent past life in Germany, other times he is near me but communicating through letter writing. His words and speech get swallowed up by the amnesic consequence of sleep, although Hans has also taken accountability for intercepting my recollections, keeping the transmissions below the radar for various reasons.
You stop walking and say to me, "I love your floral-patterned dress the most, the one with the little pink flowers. Trage es wieder für mich, wear it again for me."
The Dream Account
I meet up with you again. We are walking together in the recently tilled muddy fields. The farmland goes on forever and the sky is overcast. At first, I am uncertain of where we are. Then it dawns on me. This is your hometown in Germany from your most recent past life. I turn to look at you and notice that you have appeared to me as a young man in your early 20s. Then you begin to cycle through your years from adolescence to old age as we walk. We ceaselessly talk about things that remain unclear and inaudible.
You stop walking and say to me, "I love your floral-patterned dress the most, the one with the little pink flowers. Trage es wieder für mich, wear it again for me." This is the only thing I remember you saying for the duration of our walk.
I am standing in front of my closet that looks nothing like the closet in waking life searching for my flowery dress. I remember that I had gotten rid of it and I am crushed by this realization. I put on a pink floral-patterned skirt and a gray tank top.
We are walking together again and you are old, in your late 60s. We leave the field and begin to walk the streets of your village as I admire the buildings of where you once had lived and died.
We are standing in front of your house. You glance over at the windows of your house, shifting your stance several times. Your wife (who is also deceased) is inside the house.
You look at me with downturned eyes. "I have to go, Jacqui. We are hosting a party." I glance over at your front door that is framed by block glass, then turn back to look at you, but you are gone. I feel a pain in my chest, then settle into my aloneness.
I am now standing in the annex of your living room while you, your wife, and your friends are congregating a short distance away. The whole time that I am in your house I keep wanting you to notice me, but at the same time I am worried it will upset you when you realize that I am there. I can sense you sensing me, but you decide to keep your distance for the duration of the dream.
Another life beyond the one with me
This is a gathering of ghosts. You didn’t summon me to join you tonight, I found my way to you unannounced, working my way into your domain, a crasher of afterlife parties.
Below, is a poem I wrote, inspired from my accounts of the astral visitation with Hans on January 7, 2019.
Another life beyond the one with me
The recently tilled fields are muddy.
You have arrived as a young man in your early twenties,
then you cycle through your ages from adolescence to old age.
We walk without purpose, and
talk about things that are muffled, inaudible.
You stop walking
and latch your eyes onto mine with devotion
(or is it lust?).
You take my hand and say,
"I love your floral-patterned dress--
Trage es wieder für mich,”
Wear it for me again.
For the duration of the walk, you remain
an old man sporting a beguiling gaze that
collides with nostalgia in the small German town
where you had lived and died.
Standing before your house,
you glance over at the windows,
shifting in your stance several times.
You look at me with downturned eyes.
"I have to go, Jacqui. We are hosting a party,"
You say, heart decaying beneath a button-down shirt.
And just like that, you are gone.
I settle into my aloneness that feels eternal--
(a hyperbole for a man of understatements)
Dearest twin of a fiercely independent disposition,
You are half intact like me.
I am now in the annex of your living room.
You, your wife, and your friends
congregate a short distance away.
See me, see me, I telepathically hurl your way.
Then I understand.
This is a gathering of ghosts.
You didn’t summon me to join you tonight,
I found my way to you unannounced,
working my way into your domain,
crasher of afterlife parties.
I sense you sensing me,
impressed that I have figured it out.
Kiss me, kiss me! I shoot another thought to you,
drunk on your presence,
but you keep your distance.
You have another life
Beyond the one with me,
so I exit your airy world
and return to the firmness of my bed.