No idea how nothing moves.
Field Notes 20260724 - Friday
Today my mind has been preoccupied with completing the last of the pre-trip maintenance on our travel trailer. I’m taking our family to the Central Coast this Sunday to spend some needed time away from the Central Valley heat, even if for a couple nights.
Our usual summer family trip, sometime before school starts, takes us to the Sierra, which is a special mountain range for both Kim and me. This time we’re doing something a little different. The oldest boy probably doesn’t remember the last time he was at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and the youngest has yet to experience it (or the ocean). Needless to say, Kim and I are pretty excited about this one.
Today’s Field Notes illustration:
The Hanged Man (XII). Today’s illustration is my rendition of the Hanged Man from the Rider-Waite-Smith tarot, after Pamela Colman Smith. The canonical card hangs a young man upside down by his right ankle from a living T-cross of wood, left leg tucked behind the right to form a figure four, arms folded behind his back, a halo radiating around a face that is entirely at peace. Nothing binds him there but his own consent, and that is the whole teaching: the card speaks to surrender as a method, the willing suspension that trades control for a view no upright posture can offer. In practice it is the moment you stop steering: hang in the state, let the reversal itself be the instruction. What carries you when you quit piloting knows the way better than you do.
The adventure coincides with my week off from career and physical training, so that means more immersive altered states in the early mornings and long afternoon meditation sessions once we get back.
Until then, this entry will be the one and only Field Notes for the week followed by a Retrospective, which will publish at the regular time on Monday morning. Having said that, today wasn’t as fruitful as I would have liked concerning altered states, but earlier this week I did have something worth sitting with.
Wednesday 20260722
For about half an hour, I meditated in a simple F12 (expanded awareness) state on clearing my field and doing basic chakra balancing. It went well in the sense that I did all that I set out to do. There were bumps in the road with spacing out here and there, but each time I snapped out of it and continued where I left off.
After the meditation I closed my eyes for a bit without setting my intention to project. As I was falling asleep, I habitually repeated, “now I am out of my body.” Sure enough: after a minute I skipped the threshold, skipped the dream, and went straight into projection.
I snapped to sitting on the floor where the physical body was very much asleep. During my work days, I meditate on the floor; it’s faster that way and lets me do small doses of training while in less-than-ideal conditions for this kind of practice.
I looked around the room; I did not see myself lying there, but I did notice that the office door and the blinds were still shut just like I had them in waking time. I remember stating, “Wow, it’s literally the same again, except all the lights are on.” Lights were off in the physical. I sat there for a bit longer than I normally would and observed all of this.
Note: I did not detect any form of self, absolutely nothing. No hands, no arms, no shoulders, not anything resembling a body part from any point in my field of view.
I got up and started to float about the office. The closer I got to the office window, the more my travel through the space would speed up without any intention for it to. When I’d get to the closed door, the same would happen. When I’d get up to the ceiling, I couldn’t just get through; I’d go halfway up and see only darkness and then back down to the brightly lit office.
With every movement close to the window, ceiling, door, I’d speed up and begin to lose control and slide or glide like so many times before. Eventually I wasn’t in control of any of that anymore; I could slow down if I wanted to, but I just let the uncontrolled travel do whatever.
This kind of surrender brings on the end of the experience for me, and the following inevitably happens: fast travel back to waking, soft click into the physical body while already perceiving the physical mid-transition or near end of it.
That last part is always interesting because of the variation in how these projections start and end for me:
- Start:
physical -> projection- hard cut between states. - End:
projection -> transition -> transition/physical -> physical- there’s usually “travel” back through a tunnel and gentle “refitting” into the physical; the states bleed into each other until the physical layer settles.
If it’s not obvious by now, I am still working on gaining control once in the projection itself. It feels like I am piloting a vehicle that has three gears: 0, 120 mph, and FTL. Do something not quite right or second-guess myself? Tokyo Drift sets in real fast on top of it all.
I believe it’s in my perception of “the vehicle.” I do not have a “body” 90% of the time when I project. I am more like a point of consciousness flying around like a confused fly who suddenly found itself trapped in a house when mistakenly coming in from outside: just wild “omg wtf wtf” but without the emotion or ego involved… because, as stated, most of the time there isn’t anything to identify with.
There is a test I haven’t done yet, and I think it will help stabilize movement in non-physical for me. The goal is to not just sit still and observe but also look at my hands (where they should be at least) periodically between taking it all in, before initiating any movement.
Perhaps I need to build this vehicle I keep talking about. It is strange though: every piece of literature I’ve consumed on this topic always speaks of an energy body double of sorts. It might not be exactly like what you’re wearing or look like, but close enough and there for you nonetheless. Then on top of that, practitioners such as Monroe and Buhlman write about dissolving this perception of a body on purpose, or it just happens, after gaining substantial experience.
Meanwhile, your boy Anton over here pops out of the body as nothing, has no idea how nothing moves or if that’s even possible, then reenacts what a panicked common house fly deals with on a daily basis.
It’s not a complaint, it’s amusing and quite frankly fun.
