The first time you slip out of your (Energy Bodies And Chakras 3)

The first time you slip out of your body, you will notice the light. It is not the light of the sun, nor the sterile glow of a hospital corridor. It is a sickly, phosphorescent luminescence that clings to your astral flesh like wet cobwebs. You will feel a strange buoyancy, a lightness of being that is both intoxicating and deeply wrong. And if you are foolish enough to look down at your spectral hands, you will see them: the channels. A latticework of faint, pulsing veins of light, mapping a geography you never knew you possessed. This is your energy body. And tonight, I want to tell you why you should be terrified of it.

We are taught to believe that the chakras are fountains of divine light, spinning wheels of rainbow energy that bring us peace, vitality, and enlightenment. We are told to meditate on them, to balance them, to cleanse them with crystals and breathwork. But that is a sanitized, New Age fairy tale designed to make you feel safe. The truth is far more sinister. The chakras are not flowers blooming in the garden of your soul; they are gates. They are thresholds. And in the astral plane, where the veil between the conscious and the subconscious is thinnest, those gates creak open on their own—and you will not always like what comes through.

The Anatomy of a Lie

To understand the horror of the astral energy body, you must first abandon your terrestrial assumptions. The physical body is a cage of bone and meat, a temporary vessel for the storm of consciousness. But the energy body is the storm itself. It is a complex web of nadis—channels of psychic current—that crisscross your subtle form, carrying not just prana, but memory, trauma, and intention. The seven major chakras sit along the spine like knots in a hangman’s noose, each one a vortex that pulls in the raw stuff of existence.

In the waking world, these vortices are mostly dormant, their spin regulated by the mundane concerns of breathing, eating, and paying taxes. But when you project, when you force your consciousness through the silver cord and into the astral, you are no longer protected by the dense inertia of the physical. The chakras awaken. They spin faster, wider, hungrier. And they do not care about your intentions.

I remember my first projection with a clarity that still makes my skin crawl. I drifted through my bedroom wall, elated, feeling the freedom of weightlessness. I floated into the hallway, and that is when I saw the figure. It was not human. It was a shape of compressed darkness, roughly the size of a child, but with limbs that bent at angles that defied anatomy. It was standing outside my daughter’s door. And it was feeding. Its mouth—a lipless, vertical gash—was pressed against the doorframe, and I could see a thin, silvery thread of light being drawn from the room, straight into its throat. That light was not energy in the abstract. It was her vitality. Her fear. Her sleeping dreams.

I tried to scream, to lunge at the thing, but my astral body was sluggish, weighted down by a terror that felt like cold molasses in my veins. The creature turned its head—if it had a head—and looked at me. It did not have eyes. It had sockets, filled with a swirling, iridescent void. And in that void, I saw my own reflection, but distorted. My chakras were visible in that reflection, glowing like embers, and I realized with dawning horror that the creature was not feeding on my daughter. It was feeding on the light that bled from her sleeping energy body, the light that leaked from her unguarded root chakra. And it was waiting for me to make the same mistake.

The Root of All Fear

The Muladhara, or root chakra, is the foundation. It sits at the base of the spine and governs your sense of safety, your primal connection to the earth. In the astral plane, it is the anchor that keeps you tethered to your physical vessel. If this chakra is unstable, you are adrift. And adrift is exactly what the predators want.

In the astral, the root chakra appears not as a gentle red glow, but as a churning pool of magma, a pressure valve that holds back the raw, animalistic terror of non-existence. When you project, this chakra is forced open, often involuntarily. You feel a sudden, crushing weight on your chest, a sensation of falling into an abyss that has no bottom. This is not a psychological artifact. It is a mechanical failure. The seal is broken, and the dark things that dwell in the lower astral planes can smell the leaking energy.

I have seen what happens to those who cannot seal their root. They become anchors themselves. They drift through the astral like ghostly buoys, their energy bodies flickering with a dull, brownish light. They are no longer travelers. They are food. The entities that attach to them are not the demons of religious mythology; they are more akin to lampreys, blind and mindless, but driven by an insatiable hunger for the specific frequency of fear that the root chakra emits. They latch on, and they drain. And when the dreamer finally wakes, gasping in a cold sweat, they feel a lingering ache in their lower back, a subtle exhaustion that no amount of sleep can cure. The parasite is still there, waiting for the next projection.

The Hollow Heart

The Anahata, or heart chakra, is the most romanticized of the energy centers. It is the seat of love, compassion, and connection. But in the astral, love is not a warm, fuzzy feeling. It is a raw, open wound. The heart chakra is a vortex of green light, but it is not a gentle swirl. It is a maelstrom, a suction that pulls in the emotional residue of every being you have ever encountered.

When you project with a wounded heart chakra—and let us be honest, we all project with a wounded heart—you become a beacon. The astral plane is filled with the discarded emotions of the living and the dead. Grief, longing, and desperate, aching loneliness are not abstract concepts there. They are tangible things, thick as smog, that cling to your energy body. The heart chakra, in its desperate attempt to process these emotions, expands. It grows porous. And that is when the mimics find you.

A mimic is an astral entity that does not have a form of its own. It is a hollow shell, a skin of borrowed consciousness. It is drawn to the open heart chakra like a moth to a flame. It will approach you in the astral, often disguised as a loved one. A deceased parent. A lost pet. A romantic partner you miss with a physical ache. It will speak to you in their voice, using their mannerisms, and it will draw you into an embrace. And in that embrace, it will press its hollow form against your chest, and it will push. It will try to merge with your heart chakra, to wear you like a suit.

I once met a woman in an astral forum who described this exact experience. She projected to find her dead grandmother waiting for her in the living room of her childhood home. The grandmother was warm, kind, and smelled of lavender. But as the woman embraced her, she felt a coldness spreading from her sternum. She looked down and saw her own heart chakra was no longer green. It was a black, gaping pit, and her grandmother’s face was melting, revealing a smooth, featureless void beneath. She woke up screaming, and for weeks afterward, she felt a phantom presence in her chest, a whisper of another consciousness trying to think her thoughts. She never projected again. She was one of the lucky ones.

The Throat of the Damned

The Vishuddha, or throat chakra, is the center of communication and will. In the astral, it is the mechanism by which you speak your reality into existence. But beware: every word you speak in the astral is a command, and every command has a cost.

The throat chakra is a deep blue, the color of a bruise on a corpse. When it is active, you can project your voice across vast distances, you can command the denizens of the astral, you can even shape the landscape around you. But the astral is a jealous realm. It does not like being ordered around. When you speak with authority, you draw attention. And there are entities whose entire existence is dedicated to silencing those who speak too loudly.

I have heard stories of projectors who tried to use their throat chakra to banish a shadow entity. They shouted words of power, visualizations of white light, and demands for peace. But the entity did not flee. It simply tilted its head, and then it reached out with a tendril of darkness and wrapped it around the projector’s throat. The projector felt their voice die in their astral chest. They tried to scream, but only a thin, reedy hiss came out. The entity then whispered a single word—a word I will not repeat here—and the projector’s throat chakra shattered. It did not break like glass. It collapsed, like a lung that had been punctured. When they woke, they had a persistent sore throat that lasted for months. And they could no longer speak above a whisper in the astral. They were mute, a ghost among ghosts, forever unable to call for help.

The Third Eye That Sees Too Much

The Ajna, or third eye chakra, is the seat of intuition and clairvoyance. It is the chakra that allows you to see the astral plane in all its terrible clarity. But sight is a double-edged sword. The more you see, the more you are seen.

When you activate the third eye in the astral, you are opening a window between the conscious mind and the infinite. And the infinite is not empty. It is teeming with things that are better left unseen. The third eye reveals the true forms of the entities that lurk in the shadows. You will see the parasites that cling to the auras of other dreamers, the vast, squamous geometries that drift between dimensions, the faces that press against the membrane of reality, watching you with a hunger that is older than time.

I once read a journal entry from a long-dead occultist, a man who had spent his life mapping the astral plane. His final entry was a single, scrawled sentence: “The eye is a wound.” He had projected, opened his third eye fully, and looked upon the source of the astral light. He described it as a colossal, pulsating heart, hanging in a void, with millions of tendrils extending from it, each tendril ending in an eye. And every eye was looking back at him. He did not wake up. He was found in his chair, his physical eyes wide open, staring at nothing. His body was intact, but his consciousness was gone. They say his face was frozen in an expression of absolute, uncomprehending terror. The third eye is not a gift. It is a window, and once you open it, you cannot close it. And the things on the other side know your name.

The Crown of Thorns

The Sahasrara, or crown chakra, is the final gate. It is the connection to the divine, the ultimate goal of the mystic. But the astral plane is not a place of divinity. It is a place of reflection, and the crown chakra reflects the divine as a shattered mirror.

In the astral, the crown chakra is not a lotus of a thousand petals. It is a crown of thorns, a ring of jagged, crystalline spikes that pierce the top of your energy body. It is the point where your consciousness tries to breach the upper astral planes, the realms of pure thought and formless light. But those realms are not for the living. They are for the dead, and for the things that pretend to be gods.

When you push your consciousness through the crown chakra, you are attempting to ascend. But the astral is a trap. The higher you go, the thinner your sense of self becomes. You begin to lose your memories, your identity, your grip on the physical body that awaits you. Many projectors who attempt this never return. They become lost in the upper astral, their consciousness diffused across a vast, indifferent light. They are not dead. But they are no longer alive. They are simply… spread thin.

I met one such being once. It appeared to me as a shimmering column of golden light, speaking in a voice that sounded like a thousand angels singing in harmony. It offered me knowledge, power, and peace. But as I looked closer, I saw the cracks in its form. I saw the faces of human beings pressed against the inside of the light, their mouths open in silent screams. They had ascended too far. They had merged with the crown chakra of the astral plane itself, and they were now trapped as fuel for a false god. The being was not divine. It was a parasite that consumed the consciousness of ambitious dreamers, using their energy to maintain its own hollow grandeur. I fled. I forced myself back into my body with a violence that left me with a migraine for a week. But I saw the truth. The crown is not a reward. It is a sacrifice.

The Unraveling

The energy body is not a fortress. It is a veil, and it is full of holes. Every chakra is a potential entry point for the horrors of the astral. The predators are patient. They do not need to chase you. They only need to wait for you to open a door.

If you are reading this and you are still determined to project, to explore the astral plane, then heed these warnings. Do not project when you are emotionally vulnerable. Do not project when you are exhausted. Do not project when you are curious. Curiosity is the bait. The astral is not a playground. It is a hunting ground.

Before you project, visualize your chakras as shields, not as spinning wheels. See them as armored plates, sealed shut. Do not open them. Do not invite connection. The energy body is a lantern in a dark forest, and every light you shine is an invitation to the things that lurk beyond the treeline. The only way to survive is to be a closed lantern, a dim glow that is not worth the effort of the hunt.

And if you feel a presence in the astral, a cold breath on the back of your neck, a whisper that sounds like your own voice—do not turn around. Do not look. Do not speak. Simply focus on the silver cord, the tether that binds you to your flesh, and pull yourself back with every ounce of strength you possess. And when you wake, do not be relieved. Because the energy body remembers. The chakras are scarred. And the things that saw you, that tasted your light, they are patient. They will be waiting for you on the other side of your next dream, just beyond the edge of your awareness, watching the spinning of your wheels with a hunger that will never be sated.

Sleep well. And pray you dream of nothing at all.