Robert A. Monroe

When I panicked, screamed, and prayed against the barrier on my way back, no help came. When I was being teased and tormented by the entities, no help came. When I was attacked by the beings so savagely, no help came. More accurately, if it did, I was not aware of it.

On a sunny afternoon, you start off. Naturally, you rise high in the air so as to avoid obstacles of trees, buildings, etc. Uncertain, you don't go too high. You want to be able to recognize landmarks which might be difficult to see from five thousand feet. Therefore, you stay low, about a hundred feet off the ground. Now, which way to go. You look for points of familiarity. It is at that moment you realize you have a problem. You don't have a compass course to George's house, and it wouldn't do you any good if you did. You don't have a compass. Undaunted, you decide to cut across the city, using the familiar buildings and streets as guideposts. You have driven the route many times, so you should find your way easily.

In these worlds where thoughts are not only things, but are everything, including you, your poison or perfection is of your own making. If you are a remorseless killer, you may end up in that part of Locale II where all are of the same design. This truly would be hell for such people, for there would be no innocent, defenseless victims. Project this outward, and you can begin to perceive the myriad variations. Your destination in the heaven or hell of Locale II seems to be grounded completely within the framework of your deepest constant (and perhaps non-conscious) motivations, emotions, and personality drives. The most consistent and strongest of these act as your "homing" device when you enter this realm. I am sure of this because it always works this way when I have traveled non-physically in Locale II. It works this way whether I want it to or not. The least stray desire at the wrong time, or a deep-seated emotion I wasn't aware of, diverts my trip in that 'like" direction. Some of the resulting destinations have had all the aspects of hell to me. Others might possibly be construed as heaven...

In my visit to Agnew Bahnson in Locale II, someone held me in position to see him. The feeling of gentle but firm hands on each side of me was very strong. The same hands, turning me around to leave, much as one steers a blind person, could not have been more vivid. It was another case of a helper responding to a specific desire on my part.

As reported elsewhere, I was certain that these experiences were dreams or hallucinations for a long period in the early stages. They were seriously considered as something more only when evidential data began to accumulate.

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.

Here, the pattern changed somewhat. About half stated their willingness to participate. Oddly, in this group were some of those who were most skeptical of the reality of such experiences. Of course, this gave me the opportunity to nudge gently those who were in favor of continued experiments.

As you think, so you are. In this environment, no mechanical supplements are found. No cars, boats, airplanes, or rockets are needed for transportation. You think movement, and it is fact. No telephones, radio, television, and other communication aids have value. Communication is instantaneous. No farms, gardens, cattle ranches, processing plants, or retail outlets are in evidence. In all experimental visits, no food energy needs were indicated. How energy is replaced—if it is truly spent—is not known. "Mere" thought is the force that supplies any need or desire, and what you think is the matrix of your action, situation, and position in this greater reality. This is essentially the message that religion and philosophy have been attempting to convey throughout the ages, although perhaps less bluntly and often distorted.

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. Was this heaven?

The common bond or cause that draws them together is simple. All have a belief that (1) man's Inner Self is neither understood nor fully expressed in our contemporary society; and (2) this Inner Self has capabilities to act and perform mentally and materially to a degree unknown and unrecognized by modem science.

In the Eastern religions I found more acceptance of the idea, as Dr. Bradshaw had indicated. There was much talk of the existence of a non-physical body. Again, such a condition of being was the product of great spiritual development Only Masters, Gurus, and other long-trained Holy Men had the ability to leave their physical bodies temporarily to achieve indescribable mystical insights. There were no details, and no pragmatic explanation of what was meant by spiritual development. Implied was that in the practices of secret cults, sects, lamaseries, etc., such details were common knowledge. If this were true, what or who was I? Certainly too old to start life anew in Tibetan monastery. The loneliness became acute. Evidently, there were no answers. Not in our culture.

Even after I had determined that there was no physiological cause, and that I was no more insane than most of my fellow men, the fears persisted. It was a defect, illness, or deformity that had to be hidden from "normal" people.