I’m a planer. I move between the physical and the transitional planes, usually to help other souls along the path of becoming. That’s our way of saying moving along the path of life, because everyone is always becoming something—some are becoming physical beings, others astral beings, but we’re all becoming something different than what we are at this moment.
I live in the physical plane, but as a planer, I spend a great deal of time in the transitional plane—mostly at night while my body’s sleeping.
As a planer, I’m more than just a “traffic cop” for souls. I’m also an advisor, guide, and magician. I say magician because as I help other souls on their way to becoming, I create “worlds” and situations in the transitional plane for them. These worlds or situations help ease the transition (hence the name transitional plane) between the astral and the physical or between the physical and the astral. For instance, if someone is shifting from life in the physical (or as you all so quaintly put it—dying) and they expect to see all their family waiting for them (mother, father, grandmother, etc.), then I create that for them.
You see most of the time, the souls they are expecting to be waiting to greet them on the “other side” have already moved on to other things. I mean, just because you’re no longer physical doesn’t mean there aren’t other things to do and see, so most souls don’t just hang around waiting for other family member to join them; it just doesn’t work that way.
Anyway, it’s up to us planers to make sure that the transitions from one existence to another is relatively easy, so many times that means creating “worlds” or situations or even realistic entities (family and friends). Sometimes I even have to transform myself, taking on the image of someone who is still Earthbound or is extremely special to the soul that is transitioning.
Whatever it is they need, I weave my planal magic and create for them. It’s what I do. I do the same for those moving from the astral to the physical. Only in those cases, I usually create a way for them to see and hear their soon-to-be new family. This helps them become comfortable with the personalities of the family they will soon be joining, and helps ease the transition between astral and physical.
So, I’m a planer, and last night I crossed over to the transitional plane to meet with a “client”, but instead, I ran into my old “friend”, Death. I’ve been very careful about crossing the lines since he tricked me into marrying him (see Death is a Polygamist), but my luck ran out last night.
When I turned to greet the person I thought was my client, I found myself facing Death instead. I told him I was in a hurry and didn’t have time for a chat, but he wasn’t put off. He gave me his sly smile, and held out his hand waiting for me to put mine into it.
“You can spare a moment for a light supper, can’t you?”, he said softly.
I may know some magic, but he lives in the transitional plane. He can do things I’ve never even imagined. Knowing I wasn’t going to be able to evade him, I sighed and reluctantly placed my hand in his.
Suddenly, we were in a fantasy evening. We stood in the entryway of a ritzy, lush restaurant at the top of a towering building overlooking a twinkling cityscape. The stars and city lights were like sparkling gems. As we stepped down into the restaurant proper, the subdued lighting and quiet atmosphere surrounded us. The plush carpeting, and ring of crystal and china spoke of luxury.
I glanced down and realized that I was no longer in the jeans and t-shirt that I had arrived in the transitional plane wearing. Instead, I now had on a midnight blue Dior gown with a gilding of gold and diamonds glittering at my neck. And on my feet were the most comfortable high-heeled sandals I had ever worn.
As we strolled to a table near the edge of the dance floor, I realized that there was something missing from this fantasy “date”. It was cold—not the temperature of the room—but in the overall feeling of the place and people in it. It felt sterile and without warmth. I realized that while he had created a beautiful fantasy, he had no way to add any emotional warmth, which what was needed to give it life—but then, he was Death, not Life.
At the table, he ordered for both of us, then insisted on dancing while we waited. The band was excellent, playing mostly music from the 1940’s and 1950’s. And while I do enjoy dancing, the remoteness and the sterility of the atmosphere began to wear on me, and I was relieved when we finally returned to the table.
Death is actually quite personable, and, if given half a chance, quite witty. However, when all is said and done, even charm is nothing but illusion and eventually all charm palls. So, it was with great relief when the evening drew to a close.
As we again stood on the threshold of the restaurant, Death asked if he could take me home. I knew what he was really asking, and I shook my head while mouthing the word “No.”
I turned to leave and he darted his head forward and snatched a kiss. His lips were rough, almost chapped feeling, but as lifeless as he was. I pulled back, and pushed him away. He laughed, and shivers ran down my spine at the sound.
I pushed through the door and found myself back in my t-shirt and jeans standing exactly where I had been when Death first approached me. Shaking my head, I realized that I had only a few moments before my client arrived. As I waited, I rubbed a finger across my lips where Death had kissed me, and I knew I much preferred the kisses I received from my physical life husband. The warmth, the love, the life they conveyed was much more fulfilling than anything that Death had to offer.