dick.richardson @ ymail.com
By Asa - - William A. Taylor-Fraser
[As you read this please forgive the typos and grammatical errors for I surely wasn't trying to proof this as I was writing it. I think for a first time attempt I probably did okay. Don't get me wrong I don't intend to ever do this again but just to let you know that I have never either orally or in writing put this together for anyone else on or not on this planet.]
Well Merlin of Exmoor, master conjurer, it is time that I take you on a trip but I am not strong enough to share this through the groups so I will direct it only to you. I have been preparing for this for days. I will be traveling back over a road that is going to be wrought with pain and hurt while for you the observer is shall be an unwinding story. I will be revealing to you secrets that no other person, as in humanoid, has ever heard. Stories so fantastic that no one in their right mind would ever believe them but yet I KNOW them to be real. To begin I must go back to a time before my existence in this material realm.
My parents were married on March 12, 1941 not much one would think remarkable about except that my mother when she married my father had committed an unforgivable act in the eyes of the people of the time. She was not only a divorcee but a divorcee with a child from a previous marriage.
So the family I would be created into would have within it a sister, borne March 19, 1937, that would be only a half-sister in blood. However, she was without a doubt much more than any sister could ever be by blood. The first child that was born to my parents was a son that was born on November 18, 1942. I was next being born Palm Sunday March 21, 1948 and the last was a son born October 5, 1954. All neatly wrapped up in six-year increments.
Since my older brother was six when I was born and had been the center of attention until I came along some of my earliest memories of merciless teasing and ridicule being dished out by my older brother with me as the focus of that teasing and ridicule. My early life seemed normal enough with the exception of the relentless torture that was inflicted by my brother until I reached late in my fourth year. I became quite lethargic and didn't want to do much of anything even to just be outside. Of course my parents especially my mother didn't think this was not acceptable so I was hauled off to various doctors for testing such as it was in those days.
Well the diagnosis was for something that was called "Bright's disease" which referred to an inflammation of the kidneys. It turns out that the type I had was diagnosed as chronic. After a stay in the hospital for treatment, I was basically sent home with some medications to help ease some of the symptoms and placed on a very strict salt free diet. The gist of the view of the future, which they did their best to hide from me, was that the disease would over time become worse and eventually leading to my death.
A death that would be brought on by a buildup of toxins and fluids in my systems until the heart would be caused to fail. By this point I was about five and needless to say I didn't think they had gotten quite right. I had already discovered just by shear raw intelligence that within were far greater capabilities than anyone had ever grasped was possible. So every day I would reach deep inside with all the focus and concentration that I could muster and would will my body to heal itself. This went on multiple times a day for several weeks then came that faithful day when I decided today is the day. Today I will make this disease go away. On that day I was alone isolated in a different part of the house from my mother. I took time to prepare and then grabbed hold of the sides of a table mustered absolutely every bit on mental energy I could accumulate and sent it directly to my kidneys and held it for as long as I was able. When I finally could hold it no longer I let go of the table and literally dropped to the floor.
On my very next visit to the doctor the routine tests they ran to track the progress of the disease came back absolutely normal. Needless to say there was one surprised doctor. Like all good doctors he couldn't believe the first results so I had to eventually go back over the several months twice more for tests and they all came back absolutely perfect. After the third clear test, I was allowed to stop the medication, come off the gawd awful diet, and other than telling my mother to watch me closely for signs of it coming back I was given a completely clean bill of health. Right up to the day I left home my mother would always be on my case about watching how much salt I ate and to be careful because I had had kidney disease. Guess I showed them.
Just before all of this came about my sister went out on a date one Saturday night and didn't come home. My Dad was livid. Turns out she and her boyfriend had eloped to the next state where she could get married under age. I thought Dad was going to blow a gasket but it all turned out well in the end. The guy she married turned out to be a really great guy, ignored Dad's demands that he never set foot in his house again and basically just won his arse over.
As I have previously related to you I had made rather remarkable progress before I ever started school. During the time when I was pretty restricted in what I was able to do I learned to read and write quite well. By the time I started first grade at the age of six I could already write cursive and was reading at about a fourth grade level. This was not a good thing because it made me different and because I was different I not only wasn't accept by all the other kids I was treated as a pariah. Being an outcast was accompanied by relentless teasing by the other kids.
You once talked about developing a suit of armor well I haven't ever been able to do that. The best I have been able to do is to develop a shell which deflects some but not all of what comes my way. There is no way I can even begin to determine the number of days I would come home from school and go and hide in my room and cry for hours from the hurt and pain that was inflicted while I was at school. One would think that it would have gotten better as I got older but that wasn't the case.
Actually, it got worse by the time I reached sixth grade it was not only the kids that I knew in my grade but it had spread to kids I didn't even know. Is it no wonder that [Dick you're not going to believe any of this. Crap I know it to be true because I lived it and I have trouble believing it. I just went through one of those "Oh, my gods". I'll come to what caused it in due course.] I turned to devouring learning as an escape from the misery that was my life?
Since I was an outcast at school, I developed some different habits from what most kids would have developed. The typically kid in school when he becomes bored usually will cash away some time in daydreaming. Looking out the window and dreaming about being out playing ball or just running around playing tag, just about anything kids normally would do. Not me, daydreaming didn't interest me so I developed something I thought was better. I would pick a tiny spot on the wall, on an item on the teacher's desk, the screwhead of the screw holding the blackboard to the wall, then I would focus my entire attention on this spot. The game was to see if I could focus my concentration hard enough to make only that spot appear to exist. If I could concentrate my focus to the point that the rest of the classroom, the teacher, the other students all seemed to not exist I was successful. I got good enough at it that I could shut out even the teacher's and anyone else's voice completely out. Yeah, I got in a hellava of a lot of trouble on many occasions when the teacher would realize that I wasn't with them and would call on me. There were a whole bunch of times where she actually had to come over and slam a door down on my desk to break my concentration and get my attention. But boy wasn't it fun.
Tracking right along side of this segment of my life was my religious indoctrination. As I have previously espoused I was raised in what I like to refer to as a fire and brimstone church. From the time I was a babe in the arms of my mother I was exposed to this particular religion. I think my first indication that something might be amiss must have been about the time I was nine or ten. We had a preacher who would give some the most heated sermons on the wickedness of various sins. One that struck me in particular was a sermon he did on the evils of drink.
Well, I was raised out in what would be considered farm country. Out there in those days there wasn't any regular trash pick up. Just some old 55 gallon drums that had holes cut in the bottom to keep water from building up in them where the trash would be burned a couple of times a week. Eventually, the drums would get full of stuff that wouldn't burn and then someone would load those drums up and take out and dispose of the trash that remained in them. Since the preacher lived in a house that belonged to the church when it came time to empty the drums several of the men and boys would help lift the drums up into the back of a truck after Sunday services.
When I was about nine or ten the week after that hell raising sermon on the evils of drink I ran over to help lift the drums up into the back of the truck [my first time I was able to get there without getting caught and told not to because I'd get my clothes dirty] I almost fell over backwards when I happened to look inside one of the drums and it was almost half full of liquor bottles. Now surely either the preacher or his wife had one heck of a drinking problem. From that moment on I started questioning everything that I heard. As I have said several times already this questioning led me to read the KJV from cover to cover not like reading a story but reading to try to decipher exactly what it was trying to say. That led, as you know, to me asking all kinds of questions of those that were the "deacons" and those that should know. Those questions resulted in my going my way and organized religion going its way and to a forty year search for answers.
I'm only up to being a pre-teen yet and I've already started into my third page. Now we should be up to about the early 60's. Since I was such a prolific reader and had a bent toward all kinds of weird and usual stuff I did a lot of reading about things psychic, ESP, mystic (not your kind, the kind associated with Eastern religions), and that matters of that sort. This led me into experimenting to see if I could manage to do some of the stuff I had been writing about. One thing in particular that seem to draw my rapt attention was something referred to as Astral Projection.
If you're not familiar with Astral Projection it is the ability to reach a state where one's consciousness can be projected outside of the body and then travel across space and sometimes time to be able to view and observe events at some other place. I grew up in a two story wooden farmhouse. Upstairs were only two bedrooms. When you reached the top of the stairs if you turned right you would enter into one of the bedrooms and if you did a kind of U turn to the right you would be facing a closet at the end of the landing and on the left and up a bit was the door to the other bedroom. By this time my room was the one to the left when you reached the top of the stairs because that was the only one that had any heat of any kind.
The living room was just below that bedroom and Daddy had a vent installed in the floor whose other side was in the ceiling of the living room. Every evening after supper I'd go up to that room stretch out on the bed and try putting myself into as deep a concentrative state as possible. Well this week on every night for weeks then one night I suddenly realized I was looking down at myself on the bed. I thought hey this is great. Then I remember thinking wouldn't it be great if I go over to see somebody I knew fairly well but that didn't live close by at all.
The next thing I know I'm looking down at this person having a conversation with someone else. I was able to make out clearly exactly what they were saying. At this point I thought whoa this is too much for me. Then in the next instant I'm back on the bed opening my eyes to look at the ceiling. I'm thinking yeah, sure, what a hell of a dream. Next morning I asked my mother in as nonchalant attitude as possible if she thought people could projected themselves out of their body. She was very sweet about it but you could tell she really thought it was a pretty stupid question.
Her response basically was 'ain't possible' and if anyone thinks they may have done something like that it would be nothing but either pure imagination or a dream. So I shrugged, yeah she's probably right, and let it go for then. A couple of days later I ran into one of the people I had observed having the conversation. Being who I am with the curiosity that I have I managed to get into the conversation a question about whether such a conversation had taken place and to my amazement I got an affirmative answer to my question. So I pushed the envelope by then asking them if, and I quoted it exactly, they had said this to the other person. Holly get up, what I then got was a barrage of did so and so tell all about our conversation, when did they tell you this, etc. I did as fast a back step out of there as quickly as I could before I was placed into a position where I would have to do more explaining. The only person I talked to about this occurrence was someone I thought of as a best friend. When they stopped laughing their attitude was "are you out of your ever loving mind?" Needless to say I didn't go ahead sharing this with anyone else.
Since I did it once I decided to try it again. Something on the order of the pinch concept, you know where you're told to pinch yourself to make sure you're awake. I never have figured out what that was supposed to prove. Well, anyway, after several more weeks of the same pattern as before, just like before I suddenly discover I'm looking down at myself again. This time I thought about a particular girl that I liked and wouldn't you know it there I am observing her this time. I watched while she was talking with her younger sister and heard everything that was said.
After a time I began to feel uneasy about the whole thing like I was ease dropping or intruding into someone's personal space and just as before I found myself back on the bed looking up at the ceiling. This time I thought I had it all figured. A few days later while we were at school I grabbed my best friend, the one that had laughed his fool head off before, and went to find this girl thinking that if he was there when she answered my questions he couldn't help but see that it really happened. So sure enough we found her and asked her about the conversation I had seen and asked if she said what I had heard. She was really nice and said the conversation had taken place and yes she had said what I had heard. Right about then I thought that before she got suspicious I'd better make an exit so I said that I had to go. When we got a little ways off I turned to my buddy and said "see". Yeah, sure did miss what came next. His reply so, what kind of fool do you take me to be. All you did was set this up before hand. Well, so much for that method.
Being a daring young kid, I figured what the heck I'd try it again, however, this time it didn't go quite as smoothly as did the first two times. After going through the same scenario of every evening going into my room and going into as deep a relaxed state as possible, remember I had for years trained to sharply focus my concentration something happened. I suddenly found myself in this place of blackness, there was no up, no down, no inside, no outside, I wasn't awake but I wasn't asleep either, I wasn't conscious as one knows consciousness but I wasn't unconscious either, it terrified me.
All my religious indoctrination came crashing in on me, I must be dying, I don't want to die, that's when I came back. After that incident I never tried anything like that again. As a matter of fact I have stayed as far away from concentration training and relaxation/meditation as possible until recently. After this final event I rationalized about how stupid I must have been. The thread that kept my WHATEVER attached to that body on the bed must have been ultra fine. I kept asking myself what would have happened if that thread snapped. As you can probably imagine that was a well learned lesson.
Around the middle of 1963 during a routine exam at the doctor's office a lump was discovered in one of her breasts. After a biopsy was performed it was confirmed as cancerous. Near the end of that summer when under went a radical mastectomy on the right breast which was followed by radiation therapy. That was the extent of treatment in those days but we thought we were lucky because at the end of the radiation therapy not signs of any cancer could be found. The doctor told her and us that if the cancer didn't reappear in the first five years then she would probably be one of the survivors. This put a lot of pressure on the entire family but we seemed to make it through okay.
The days of the relentless teasing and ridiculing ended when I was ten as my older brother quit school as soon as he could at 16, left home, and began to do construction work so about the only time I had to put up with that from him was when he came home to visit. I still caught quite a bit at school up until I smartened up in High School and finally found a modicum of acceptance. How did that come about? I just stopped getting really good grades and started getting average to above average grades. It wasn't hard. You just had to miss a few questions on exams that you knew the answer to and made sure that your other always had just enough errors in them to keep them from getting the top grades.
In the early summer of 1965 which was between my junior and senior years in high school my father had to undergo gall bladder surgery. He was a diabetic and also had a heart condition which meant they had to take him off his anti-coagulant medication for the surgery. The surgery went perfect he came home was back to being his normal self within days of the surgery but because they needed to make sure that the incisions had healed thoroughly they didn't put him back on his heart medicine right away.
By this period Dad had expanded the farming operation into several different agricultural related areas and he had bought a small country grocery store about a mile or so from the old house where I had grown up. When he bought the store in 1964 he decided that the old house was too far gone to be repaired so he and Mama bought a mobile home and then had it setup in the field next to the store. In mid June Dad and I got into a real donnybrook at the store one afternoon, now I don't even remember what it was over. I was seventeen going on about 170 so I stormed off went into the mobile home threw some clothes into a small bag marched out the door to the side of the highway.
We were located right on a major highway so there was always plenty of traffic. Stuck out my thumb and the very first car stopped and gave me a ride. I had the driver drop me off in the nearest good sized town which was about 6 miles from the store. Found a job at a local gas station washing cars, changing oil and lubing cars, and doing some just general light mechanic work. Growing up on a farm you learn real early how to fix things and keep them running. The guy who owned the station offered me a room at his place, so I figured I was pretty much on my own. I didn't call or have any contact with either of my folks for about two weeks. Finally, Dad found out where I was working and arranged to have my mother's car dropped off to be washed on a Saturday afternoon.
The station owner had promised him that he'd have someone deliver back to them-wouldn't you know when it came time to take it back there wasn't anybody to do it but me. I needed the job so I begrudgingly agreed. I showed with the car and Dad cornered me and we had probably the first real talk we had ever had. He convinced me I needed to come home and I agreed and that I'd go pick up my clothes the next day. I had arranged to meet some of the other kids that night and Dad just handed me the keys to my car back. When I walked out I didn't want anything that had to do with him so I had left behind a car that he had bought for me when I turned sixteen. He was probably the happiest I think that I have ever seen that man. Well, I got cleaned up told my Mama that I'd see her later and took off for my appointment. That night when it came time for bed, my Dad did the strangest thing he went over to my mother gave her a kiss on the check and said "Puss you coming to bed soon?" [Puss was his pet name for my mother but he hadn't used it in years] She said she was and followed him to bed shortly after. I arrived home about 11:30 that night and my father had suffered a massive heart attack and died about 45 minutes before I got home. As a matter of fact, I met the hearse about a mile from the mobile home as I was coming in. It was ironic that it happened when it did as he was one day from going back on his heart medicines.
His death threw the family into a tail spin. He died on July 3rd right at the beginning of the harvest season for all of the crops. At the time he died he operated one of the largest farming operations in the county and that meant a tremendous amount of responsibility into trying to make sure that all of the crops were harvested timely. My older brother by now had joined the National Guard to avoid the draft and was undergoing basic training in Alabama. Mother with the help of a wonderful phone operator was able to contact him and let him know what had happened. With the assistance of the Red Cross he was released from active duty so that he could come home and help with the crops. It turned out that when all was said and done Dad had about $200,000 more in debts than we had in assets so Mama wound up losing it all but the forty acres that they had bought from her folks when she and Daddy got started. [Today I own twenty of those forty acres, my sister owns ten and my older brother owns ten.]
For as long as I can remember I have had dreams or visions or what ever you want to call them. Some of these whatevers are very repetitive and just keep coming back and back and back until they leave an indelible memory of them. Others I may remember vaguely shortly after they occur some I don't even know that I remember until the memories are keyed. Let me give you an example, in 1966 I kept having this recurring dream,(if you will, since they occur at night when I'm sleeping I think [sleeping that is]) that at the time made no sense at all. I was lying in a bunk bed on the lower bed in a dark room but not so dark that you couldn't make out that it was a room full of metal bunk beds.
Now, I had encountered these kinds of bunk beds when in my early teens I went off to summer camp and the cabins were outfitted with these metal bunk beds. But the room in the dream/vision wasn't a cabin such too big and there were multiple rows of bunk beds. As I lying there suddenly a light appears swinging back and forth checking each bunk as it goes by as it is headed toward me. I realize that the light is a flashlight and when it reaches me in my bunk I would always wake up. Craziest thing you've ever seen.
This was the year I graduated from high school and during that summer I had a job working on a survey crew surveying a government damage system in a neighboring county so I didn't think too much about it as these things happened off and on anyway.
When summer ended I took a shot at going to college, lasted one semester before I got booted because of grades. Seems that for the first time in my life I was around people that weren't predisposed to thinking down about me so I took advantage of it. I had a heck of a great time, didn't do much studying but learned to play bridge and just really got to know people. After I got dumped unceremoniously from college I worked a number of jobs not really settling into any of them.
I worked for a while in a phosphate mine, worked in a factory as a welder building truck bodies [two different stints with this one], worked for a week at the local yarn mill in the dying room [walked out and didn't go back when one of the huge steam dying vats blew and severely scalded one of the other guys], drove a truck delivering bread, and worked as a mechanic on a construction site. All of this I did from January 1967 until the end of the summer of 1968. During this time I met my first wife and for some reason unknown to man or anybody we ran off one weekend and got married.
We got married in the Spring of 1968 [on my sister's birthday] and this was the final year of the draft here in the states. During the final years to make it less prone to criticism they reverted to a lottery system where each day of the year was drawn and the order in which the date came up was the order that young men would be drafted. Well my number was a relatively low number. After I graduated I had managed to be kicked around for deferral for a couple of years so I'm no longer 18 I'm 20 and just now coming open for the draft.
During the ensuing two years between graduation and then I had attended the funerals of a couple of the guys I knew from high school who had already been drafted into the Army and wound up coming home in body bags plus I knew a number more than had gone that route and come home holes where there shouldn't have been any. I figured that the better part of intelligence would be to see what alternatives might be available so I started checking out the recruiters.
My first choice was the Air Force and that guy was really hot to have me come in but there was at least a six month waiting list and being on the list didn't stop them from drafting you. Next I checked out the Navy but somehow nine months to a year on board a huge flippin' boat in the middle of the ocean didn't turn me on. So at that time the only one I thought was left was the Marine Corps [although some years later I ran into one of the other guys who went into the Coast Guard-crap had I thought about it I know where I'd have gone too as he never got further than 60 miles from home].
So I trotted my young self right over to see the Recruiting Sgt and he made no bones about the deal. He'd guarantee me a bus ticket to boot camp and not a blessed thing else. I figured what the hell do I have to lose, if I don't make it though boot camp it would take me out of the draft and if I do who knows it might do me good. After reviewing all of the different jobs I could be given and the minimum enlistment it would take to qualify for each one, I enlisted for four years. So in September 1968 I left for basic training at Parris Island, South Carolina with the Marines.
Boot camp at that time was supposed to be eight weeks, well, didn't turn out that way for me. When I arrived at boot camp there weren't any drill instructors available to take on training my platoon so I had about a week and a half wait until we got picked up. We got marched from the receiving barracks to the company area and then were told to fall out and to go stand at attention at the ends of the bunks. Now, I'm saying this very nicely but let me tell you something the conditions weren't anything that I'd want to try to describe in this.
Within an hour and a half , one of the guys in the platoon who the DI's were really hard on broke, went nuts, grabbed a bayonet and tried to take out two of the DI's. They managed to wrestle him to the ground and literally the guys with the straight jacket came and got him. This led to this set of DI's being relieved. We got a temporary set for a few days until a new set were assigned. The next set we got lasted almost three weeks. One of this set was absolutely nuts, genuinely nuts. What got him relieved was somebody pissed him off and he took us out before breakfast and started running us around the parade field. At breakfast time we were made to run over to the mess hall, go in the in door through the line while having them put food on the trays, straight to the out door, dumping the food in the waste cans on the way by and back to running around the parade field this literally went on all day and into the night with only a few breaks throughout the day.
A colonel came by at seven at night while we were running around the parade field went to a meeting and came back by at quarter to nine and we were still running. He stopped his jeep walked over and made the DI stop, relieved him of duty right there on the spot, and had an MP slow walk us back to our barracks. I have never in my life been so glad to see somebody sane in my life. We only had five guys drop out the entire day-the rest of us were too damn scared to do anything but keep running. We finally got our last set of DI's that took us through the completion of our training, they were hard but fair. All told it took twelve weeks to complete an eight week basic training. During the time I was there I got a letter from home letting me know that Mama's cancer had returned with a vengeance. Just as a reminder note I got my draft notice while I was in boot camp.
From boot camp I was shipped up to where I was only about sixty miles from home for what was referred to as AIT [Advanced Infantry Training-in the Marines everyone whether cook, electrician, clerk, all are traded first in the basics of infantry then in whatever job they might need]. I pulled all of my advanced training but due to timing the holidays of 1968 broke it into two pieces so my company completed one part before Thanksgiving and the last three weeks of it after Christmas.
Because of regulations unless you have completed AIT in its entirety you can't get time off so we were going to be stuck there over the holidays without getting to go home. Because Mama's condition was growing worse, an Uncle who had been in the Navy for thirty years made some phone calls and I got special leave to be home for the holidays with Mama. After the holidays I returned back to complete the AIT and just as I was being shipped out from the AIT training to San Diego for basic electronics training Mama had to be hospitalized. I arrived at San Diego and was placed in the transit barracks. The transit barracks is a big room with rows of metal bunks where they put up incoming until they are assigned a permanent bunk in one of the housing units.
My first night there I'm lying on a bottom bunk in semi-darkness trying to sleep but it will only come in fitful snatches when I see a light entered the other end of the barracks. It's swinging back forth as it passes each bunk. I recognize it's a flashlight and I know where it's going to stop. It comes to my bunk the messenger looks down and says "Private Taylor?" I answer "Yes". He says "the duty officer needs to see you right away". I didn't need to go see the duty officer for I knew what he was going to tell me but I went anyway. The news he had for me was that they had been notified by my sister that my Mama had passed away. Emergency leave was arranged and I caught a flight back home for the funeral. From that point on home was never the same.
I have had those kinds of visions and/or dreams all my life up until about five or six years ago and then they seemed to stop. That is until recently, I had one just a few days ago so they're back. Now for an explanation of the earlier My God, as I was typing those words just as clear as day came back an image from one I had some years back. It was this very story that I have been telling appearing on a pad letter by letter as if being typed by an invisible typewriter. As you can see Dick the things that have happened to me are beyond belief and I ask nor expected anyone to believe it. For some reason I feel safe in telling it to you, even if you think I am the absolutely craziest person you've ever had the misfortune to meet, you won't ridicule me or degrade me for it. I thank you for that.
By the way, that older brother that gave me so much hell had an industrial accident while cutting timber. He got hit in the face when a tree split and it led to him having some mini strokes that has affected his mind. Not so much so that he can't function just so that it makes him do weird stuff. When Mama died she had the forty acres surveyed and cut up into ten acre parcels, one for each of us kids. Since she knew that my older brother and I couldn't get along she put my sister's piece between my piece and his. My younger who was thirteen when my mother died was raised by my sister and he got the piece that had the old house on it and Mama's trailer. When he got into some financial problems a few years back I was able to come up with the money to buy his piece. My sister now has a mobile home on that piece with a lifetime lease for her and her husband for a $1.
One of her sons lives on her piece and mine is still empty and probably will remain that way until I pass it on. My brother because of his accident has gone after my sister and nephew to the point that they had to go to court to get an injunction against him. The last letter I got from him years ago accused me poisoning the neighbor's minds against him. I live 3000 miles away and only get back maybe once every three to four years. He ended the letter saying he never wanted to see or hear from me ever again. I have honored his wishes, even though I have been back there and visiting my sister and barely ¼ mile from his home I have had nothing whatsoever to do with him.
His wife is suffering from terminal MS and he needs help now just to be able to get a meal or take his medications correctly. It is so sad but the last time I sent a feeler out to him a couple of years ago through my younger brother he stills wanted nothing to do with me.
There you have the complete story the only pieces missing are the ones from very recently when for some unknown reason it became a driving need to try to find some answers. You pretty much have been given that part already, except for the straight forward story of how can I KNOW when I haven't been there. As you are aware a lot of these Gnostic groups are based on meditation. After reading a substantial amount in the, shall we say, source documents that seems to under lie these groups I identified a continuing theme. A theme that parallels your experience with the only difference being that the writers of these works seem to think that if the proper conditions are available then it is possible for the experience to occur.
That thread runs across a number of different sources from Kabbalah to the Gnostic Gospels. However, unlike your openness one must be astute in reading these other works to just catch a reference or glimmer about which they are directing others. Once I got onto this thread I started using various types of meditation to try to obtain a relaxed state and as I have already related to you I again experienced the blackness but this time I didn't panic it was outside disturbances that brought me home.
I know from the life I've led that what you say is true. I don't need to see it or experience it to KNOW that where you were and what you experienced is the answer. The only other thing lies in your story, there is something beyond and above or greater than, or how ever you want to try to describe it for it can't be described, the place where you were. There is that from which the evolution of creation emanated and began it's unfolding, which continues right up to this moment and will continue on beyond this moment. Whatever IT is cannot be fathomed either in the material existence or within the realm, plane, sphere, dimension that you visited. It is beyond all comprehension and description but it does exist and I KNOW it.