I’m calling it. Quarantine has officially overstayed her welcome.
At first, there was something a little bit exciting, even romantic, about the idea of sheltering in place. Those first few weeks, I enthusiastically stepped up to the challenge, napping often, marathoning BoJack Horseman, and glaring at anyone gathered in a group when I left the apartment to pick up a to-go order.
Astral projection is the practice of untethering your “astral body” (aka soul, consciousness, etc.) from its earthly constraints.
But eventually, the thrill wore off. I desperately missed the comforts of the outside world: my favorite vegan sushi restaurant, Shizen; singing along to classic Disney movies at the Castro Theatre; making fun of the hipsters passing by Patricia’s Green in Hayes Valley.
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With no end in sight to humanity’s collective state of house arrest, I found myself dying for an escape, even if only imaginary. It was in this desperate state of mind, dear reader, that I signed up for a workshop to have an out-of-body experience that would allow me to travel throughout the universe.
At least, that’s what the description said about the virtual astral projection course I stumbled across, hosted by an eccentric acquaintance of a friend.
For those of you unfamiliar with the term, astral projection is the practice of untethering your “astral body” (aka soul, consciousness, etc.) from its earthly constraints, often via meditation, allowing it to travel anywhere throughout time and space. Ordinarily, I don’t buy much into New Age mysticism. (Not that I have anything against it. I just view it much like doing CrossFit or owning a cat — great for some people, just not for me.) But with an ever-increasing sense of restlessness and a craving for novelty, I figured there was no reason for me not to try it. So, with the assistance of a couple 2.5-milligram sour cherry edibles and some mood lighting, I clicked on the Zoom link and began mentally preparing myself to unlock the mysteries of the universe.
Moments later, our astral tour guide appeared on the screen. The fact that his ceiling appeared to be covered in tinfoil did not inspire much confidence, but his tie-dye attire, wooden beads, and gentle manner of speaking gave him a disarming aura.
We began with some Astral Projection 101. Apparently, it’s a skill, just like playing the piano or learning another language — one that takes time to improve with regular practice. The goal is to first separate your astral body (or your energy) from your physical body, typically through Zen meditation.
All of the same rules as in your yoga class apply: Practice in a quiet location with no distractions, focus on the present, and enter with a positive, loving mindset. And, of course, you can’t forget about safety. When your astral body leaves this dimension, our guide explained, your physical body is left in a more vulnerable state, so astral projecting with somebody well versed in protective magic is recommended.
Fortunately, our instructor assured us that he would be telepathically checking in on us to make sure all was well. As he said this, I made a mental note to suppress any thoughts I had about this workshop possibly being the entryway to a cult.
Our guide suggested we could even visit a parallel universe where a cure for the coronavirus had already been found and distributed.
The instructor said astral projection exists on a spectrum. It can involve as little as passively viewing what’s unfolding around you or as much as entering the “quantum dimension in order to manipulate time, space, and reality itself,” which I imagined would resemble that Simpsons Halloween special where Homer is transported to a Tron-esque representation of the third dimension.
Our guide suggested we could even visit a parallel universe where a cure for the coronavirus had already been found and distributed. The more people gather behind a particular intention, the more likely it was that we could will it into being in our own world — studies have proven it, he said, although I had a distinct feeling these weren’t too scientific.
Before I could get too hung up on my skepticism, we were off to the races.
The exercise began as a fairly standard meditation, like the ones on Headspace that I keep telling myself I’ll regularly practice one day. As we progressed, however, things got a bit more esoteric. He instructed us to breathe in purple light through our third eye (the space between your eyes), then radiate it out in all directions throughout the country, then the world, then a number of different universes and timelines — something that would probably have been much more difficult for me to visualize if the edibles hadn’t just started kicking in.
The first universe that our instructor guided us through — and I am quoting his description nearly verbatim here — was full of giant purple clouds of roller-skating dinosaurs swinging on vines made of purple banana leaves with eyeballs crying chocolate tears of joy that, upon falling to the ground, took wing and flew to the sky.
At that point, I was certain he was fucking with us, until he earnestly suggested that with an infinite amount of timelines, every situation was a reality somewhere, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.
But we couldn’t let ourselves get sidetracked by dinosaurs and chocolate tears — we were on a mission, dammit.
As we worked our ways through different layers of reality and dimensions, encountering angels, gods, and goddesses along the way, we stopped at one timeline where people were once again healthy, walking down crowded streets, gathering in community hubs, and laughing. It was so familiar, yet frustratingly out of reach.
“It’s as accessible as it feels,” the instructor told us.
After a quick trip to the sun in order to gather additional energy, we traveled back to the earth in the form of a ray of light, as one does.
As a warmup, we found a fretful mother glued to a 24/7 broadcast of coronavirus gloom and doom. We encouraged her to get up, turn it off, and instead choose to play a game with her children. Then it was time for the main event.
We envisioned a Covid-19 cure going through trials, securing approval, being manufactured, and finally distributed widely to the people.
We traveled to “the most promising laboratory” currently working on a solution to the coronavirus pandemic, which was filled with scientists and doctors working themselves to the bone but losing steam as the long hours and stress began to take a toll on their bodies and minds. We approached them and slowly breathed out “green sparkles” of love, motivation, strength, and spiritual insight.
“I am here for you. You are not alone. You can do this,” we told them.
Suddenly, their spines straightened and their eyes lit up. “I figured it out,” they said, according to our guide.
We envisioned a Covid-19 cure going through trials, securing approval, being manufactured, and finally distributed widely to the people. We sent out waves of healing and stability throughout the world (and adjacent timelines) with a message that all was well. And with that, our expedition came to a close.
“There’s an infinite continuum of how you can apply your ability to shape reality as a divine being,” our instructor told us.
Then, after a brief Q&A where he claimed (among other things) to have healed broken bones twice as fast as Stanford surgeons thought possible, showed off some of his magical gear, and pitched his online subscription-based wizarding school, the workshop came to a close. And with a gentle utterance of “Blessings, blessings, salad dressings,” our intrepid leader signed off into the ether.
Do I really believe that our group played a role in solving the coronavirus pandemic? No, not at all (although if any of you scientists out there recently received some mysterious green sparkles of love and words of encouragement, please let me know). But it did keep me entertained for a good hour and a half, and regardless of whether or not we manipulated reality, I found it quite soothing.
For a brief moment, I was able to escape to a world where I wasn’t constantly being inundated with nightmare-inducing headlines but was instead reassured by the calm, steady voice of a self-proclaimed sorcerer, able to control my own scenarios.
But I don’t think my opinion really matters here. If people find comfort in virtually gathering together and envisioning a better world in the hopes that it might come true, who am I to scoff at them? If there’s anything I’ve learned over the past couple months, it’s that the universe throws unexpected, sometimes terrifying, curveballs at the human race, and maybe we’re better off believing we have some agency over the outcome.
And while I didn’t quite experience being able to move freely about as I could in the old days, I did take comfort in one constant: Even when shut down under quarantine, San Francisco can and will stay weird.
