What Dreams May Come

What Dreams May Come Page 13

I KNEW HE was right and, in spite of continuing anxiety, tried to put it from my mind. "Is walking your only means of transportation here?" I asked to change the subject.

"By no means," Albert said. "Each of us possesses our own personal method of rapid transit."

"What's that?"

"Since there are no space limitations," he answered, "travel can be instantaneous. You saw how I came to you when you called my name. I did it by thinking of my house."

"Does everyone travel that way?" I asked in surprise.

"Those who wish to," he said, "and can conceive of it."

"I don't follow you."

"Everything is mental, Chris," he told me. "Never forget mat. Those who believe that transportation is confined to cars and bicycles will travel that way. Those who feel that walking is the only way to get around will walk. There's a vast difference, here, you see, between what people think is necessary and what really is. If you look around enough, you'll find vehicles, greenhouses, stores, factories, et cetera. None of which are needed, yet all of which exist because someone believes they are needed."

"Can you teach me to travel by thought?" I asked. "Certainly. It's just a matter of imagination. Visualize yourself ten yards ahead of where you are."

"That's all?"

He nodded. "Try it."

I closed my eyes and did. I sensed a feeling of vibration; then, abruptly, felt myself glide forward in a leaning posture. Startled, I opened my eyes and looked around. Albert was about six feet behind me, Katie running to my side, tail wagging.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You stopped yourself," he said. "Try again. You don't have to close your eyes."

"It wasn't instantaneous," I said. "I felt myself moving."

"That's because it's new to you," he told me. "After you get used to it, it will be instantaneous. Try again."

I looked at a spot beneath a birch tree some twenty yards away and visualized myself standing there.

The movement was so rapid, I couldn't follow it. I cried out in surprise as I tumbled to the ground. There was no pain. I looked around to see Katie running toward me, barking.

Albert was beside me before she was; I didn't see how he did it. "You're trying too hard," he said with a laugh.

My smile was sheepish. "Well, at least it didn't hurt," I said.

"It will never hurt," he replied. "Our bodies are impervious to injury."

I got on my knees and patted Katie as she reached me. "Does it frighten her?" I asked.

"No, no, she knows what's happening."

I stood up, thinking how Ann would enjoy it. Imagining the look on her face the first time she tried it. She always loved new, exciting things; loved to share them with me.

Before my sense of apprehension could return, I chose a hilltop several hundred yards away and visualized myself standing there. A feeling of vibration again; I should say altering vibration. I blinked and I was there.

No, I wasn't. I looked around in confusion. Albert and Katie were nowhere in sight. What had I done wrong now?

A flash of light appeared in front of me, then Albert's voice said, "You went too far."

I looked around for him. In between the blinking of my eyes, he was in front of me, holding Katie in his arms.

"What was that flash of light?" I asked as he set her down.

"My thought," he said. "They can be transported too."

"Can I send my thoughts to Ann then?" I asked quickly.

"If she were receptive to them, she might get something," he answered. "As it is, sending thoughts to her would be extremely difficult if not impossible."

Again, I willed away the deep uneasiness which thoughts of Ann produced in me. I had to have faith in Albert's words. "Could I travel to England by thought?" I said, asking the first question to occur to me. "I mean England here, of course; I presume there is one."

"There is indeed," he said. "And you could travel there because you did in life, and know what to visualize."

"What exactly are we?" I asked.

"In a counterpart of the United States," he told me. "One naturally gravitates to the wave length of his own country and people. Not that you couldn't live where you chose. As long as you were comfortable there."

"There's an equivalent, here, to every country on earth then?"

"At this level," Albert answered. "In higher realms, national consciousness ceases to exist."

"Higher realms?" I was confused again.

"My father's house has many mansions, Chris," he said. "For instance, you'll find, in the hereafter, the particular heaven of each theology."

"Which is right then?" I asked, completely baffled now.

"All of them," he said, "and none. Buddhist, Hindu, Moslem, Christian, Jew--each has an after-life experience which reflects his own beliefs. The Viking had his Valhalla, the American Indian his Happy Hunting Ground, the zealot his City of Gold. All are real. Each is a portion of the overall reality.

"You'll even find, here, those who claim that survival is nonsense," he said. "They bang their nonmaterial tables with their nonmaterial fists and sneer at any suggestion of a life beyond matter. It's the ultimate irony of delusion.

"Remember this," he finished. "For everything in life, there's a counterpart in afterlife. This includes the most beautiful as well as the ugliest of phenomena."

I felt a chilling sensation as he said that; I didn't know why and, somehow, didn't want to know. Hastily, I changed the subject. "I feel awkward in this outfit now," I said. I spoke impulsively but, having done so, realized that I had spoken the truth.

Albert sounded concerned as he asked, "I haven't made you feel that way, have I?"

"Not at all. I just--" I shrugged. "Well, how do I change?"

"The way you changed locations."

"With imagination; mind?"

He nodded. "Always with mind, Chris. That can't be emphasized enough."

"Right." I closed my eyes and visualized myself wearing a robe like Albert's. Instantly, I felt that "altering" sensation again, this time something like a thousand butterflies fluttering around me for an instant. The description is inexact but I can do no better.

"Is it done?" I asked.

"Look," he told me.

I opened my eyes and looked down. I had to laugh. I'd often worn a long, velour caftan around the house but it had been nothing like what I wore at that moment. I felt somewhat guilty to be so amused but couldn't help myself.

"It's all right," Albert told me, smiling. "A lot of people laugh the first time they see their robes."

"It's not like yours," I said. Mine was white, without a sash.

"It will alter in time as you do," he told me.

"How is it made?"

"By the imposition of mental imagery on the ideoplastic medium of your aura."

"Come again?"

He chuckled. "Let's just say that, while on earth, clothes may make the man, here the process is definitely reversed. The atmosphere around us is malleable. It, literally, reproduces the image of any sustained thought. It's like a mold waiting for imprints. Except for our bodies, no form is stable unless concentrated thought makes it so."

I could only shake my head again. "Incredible."

"Not really, Chris," he said. "Extremely credible, in fact. On earth, before anything is created materially, it has to be created mentally, doesn't it? When matter is put aside, all creation becomes exclusively mental, that's all. You'll come, in time, to adopt the power of mind."