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Author's Preface
I am at the end of my unfathomable journey into the immaterial -- oops! -- the non-
material plane. Furthermore, I've decided once and for all to go back to the real regular
world. This despite all the inconsistencies, suffering and bullshit that exists therein. I do
leave this manuscript for the sake of recording what I have experienced and what I have
made of it in my own mind. Of course, to underpin my decision to return to the material
plane, I made a point of creating amat eri al manuscript, although for practical purposes
actual parchment and a quill were unavailable due to my current noncorporeality.
There exist two possibilities for who you as the reader might be. The first possibility is an
inhabitant of the material plane, in which case most fortunate are you! Or perhaps
unfortunate -- it's not for me to judge. I imagine that you will probably consider this text
an excellent source for some exotic form of clinical psychosis: after all, it's in the first
person! What non-material plane? you might ask, how could this be? and two very
legitimate questions these are. However I certainly do not ask for anyone to suspend their
disbelief, let alone actually believe me or anything like that. For reasons that will become
clear, it may be better for you to consider my work as the raving of a lunatic. It would
still be of enormous interest, I think, in terms of questioning how you look at the material
world. If you do come to Realise, then I guess it's all the better, for you have the chance
of seeing many of my troubles and pre-empting them lest they become yours too. The
second possible type of reader is an inhabitant of the Otherly realm. If this is you, you'll
definitely have no trouble believing me. It is empathy and understanding that you are
likely to lack. After all, my departure will probably be remembered for a long time. Why
did she leave? will be asked. I want this lenthy epistle of mine to be an explanation -- not
a defence for I need not defend myself against anyone or anything -- as to why I left and
as to why you may perhaps raise the very same questions about your plane of existence
that I raise. And perhaps opt for change.
I'm shit scared. I'm scared of what may happen. I know there won't be total amnesia -- it's
not like the Matrix or some simplistic scenario where I can just take the red pill or be
neatly placed into the "real" world. It will be more gradual and painful. My memory of
my experience won't be erased completely (and I don't want it to be), but that 'twill fade
is a certainty. I hope it won't combine with wherever I end up in life to develop into a
jadedness, because this is NOT why I'm leaving. Mine is a positive step, not away from
the horror of spiritualism and eternal life but towards the blessed promise of down-to-
earthness. With a hint of nihilism thrown in for fun.
I'm also scared of the loose ends of my life. Pesky, practical stuff. There's the necessity of
leaving my dear husband once I return into his arms. I'll still remember him, and
obviously he me. What will that do? And what about my memory of Greg? I know I had
a plan to manage it but things could still go wrong. But I get ahead of myself and
digress... To put a personal reference to the way I'm feeling now, the scriptorium is cold
and my thumb aches. That I have currently no body with which to be cold nor any place
to be cold in, (nor a thumb for that matter) matters not, for I feel it as intensely as can be
experienced.
I apologise for the defects of the writing. This is neither a philosophical dialogue nor a
scientific explanation nor an account of my feelings and relationships because my
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