Return to the Botanical Gardens: An Astral Journey

For a preliminary definition of the Astral Botanical World

In my book *Travelling Parallel Worlds: The Hidden Reality Beyond the Physical Dimension*—published and available on Amazon.Com with a link provided here on my website—I dedicated a chapter to what I have termed "The Botanical Gardens," a name derived from my numerous astral projections.

I provided very clear descriptions of my journeys, the animals I encountered, and the flora I observed—all organic components of a world situated somewhere in a universe other than our own, and, without a doubt, a better world than ours.

The Botanical Gardens are spaces where the flora and fauna possess their own language and their own distinct existence. Unlike life on Earth, life within the Botanical Gardens is governed by its own internal organization, free from the influence of any external power.

What became apparent to me, over the course of the astral journeys that took me there, is that the types of animals are similar to those found on our planet Earth—yet their colors, physical features, language, and consciousness are significantly more evolved than those of the animals and plants in our current world.

The animals communicate with us intuitively and are deeply connected to their environment. Beyond their spectacular size, they possess striking, often fantastical colors, as well as spiritual powers that are visible in their eyes—in the very way they look at you.

When you are there, you feel as though you have stepped into a magical realm—a fable or a fantasy—a unique universe governed by principles entirely foreign to the human mind as we know it on Earth. Every being carries its own mysteries within.

And yet, it is very real.

The memories I retain from these astral journeys are so vivid that they remain present for a long time—as do the details of these extraordinary excursions, which unfold like a story experienced in another universe or world. They involve specific events, followed by teachings and insights that permeate one’s consciousness—meant to be brought back to our planet Earth, where many animal species are currently facing extinction.

Here is the account of the astral journey as it unfolded... A truly unforgettable experience, much like those from my previous journeys.

 

A School within a botanical space

 

I found myself in a vast garden filled with gigantic, emerald-green trees—a shade of green with a radiance unique to this place.

The intensity of the color is felt deep within, as if it permeates one’s very being while present there—as though the greenery exists within the self, and the self, in turn, is the greenery. An alchemical magic is at work, transforming the consciousness of the traveler who receives the waves, frequencies, and energies radiated by these trees through their vivid hue. The connection felt is so profound that one’s presence in this realm seems entirely natural—as if it were an intrinsic part of one’s own being. There is no distinction between the trees—their color, leaves, and branches—and the rest of the landscape, just as there is no distinction between the wildlife and the traveler. Yet, it is a place of deep stillness, devoid of any particular sounds; there are no songs of birds or cries of other animals.

All communication is complex, yet at the same time telepathic. We understand one another through touch, a glance, the movement of bodies... The complexity of this world reveals itself through its clear subtlety, its vibrant, colorful magic, and its inner strength. The traveler has the opportunity to sense all of this and to experience the benefits it brings to the evolution of their consciousness.

In this garden, I was not alone. Two traveling companions were with me. We were all young students from the Botanical School Garden—all three of us around 18 years of age. We had gathered here—reuniting after long periods apart, during which we had each taken different paths—to study the local fauna. We had heard reports of a newly emerged species of hare, and we intended to observe them firsthand in their natural habitat.

I was with one of my two fellow students; we decided to sleep in the garden the entire time so that we might catch the animal by surprise without scaring it. We needed to record everything using a highly sophisticated device—resembling a form of advanced, hyper-connected intelligence—into which we could input data using a specific, all-encompassing code, including logs of the hare’s appearances, images, and so on.

I woke up when it was my turn to take watch, leaving my companion to sleep. He had light-brown hair and very pale, honey-colored eyes. He was a humanoid from another reality—a world that was technologically far more advanced than our own. He had no name, yet we knew each other very well. I had a strong impression—a deep-seated feeling—that I knew him intimately and that this was not the first time we had met.

The other companion resembled him, even though they were two distinct individuals. What struck me was their clear reluctance to take on this mission; they would have much preferred to be elsewhere, rather than having to chase after a large blue-and-white hare that kept fleeing from us every time we managed to track it down. It could sense our presence from afar—and, even more strangely, it knew we were there to study it, a prospect it categorically rejected, making its feelings known in its own unique language. We could understand this from the way it looked at us with its large, violet eyes, flecked with golden ripples.

So, I approached the animal’s hiding spot cautiously. It was standing in a small meadow surrounded by gigantic trees and flowers, looking around; its domain seemed to expand across the very fabric of space-time. It could vanish into a tree or slip away through an opening in space itself. I observed its form—standing over 90 centimeters tall on its hind legs. It had very long ears—blue on the outside and white on the inside, with hints of pinkish-violet—along with bright, violet eyes. Its thick, vibrant fur made it truly beautiful.

 

I don’t know how I managed to locate and spot it, and then record data about it on my device—but I did. However, I needed the report from my mission partner, who was fast asleep inside a hollowed-out tree trunk we used as a base during our excursions in the botanical gardens.

I made my way to the spot that served as our hub for research, work, and rest. I woke him; he had been in such a deep slumber—as if his consciousness had already departed for his home planet—that he wasn’t exactly pleased to return, though the mission left him no choice. I told him the hare was nearby, not far from our research center, and that he needed to complete his portion of the report before we could transmit it via our touchscreens.

He then followed me, observed the hare, and quickly jotted down some notes—just before the animal darted away at full speed, vanishing completely from our sight through a sort of transparent bubble, as if it were traveling through time and space. This bubble served as its sanctuary—a space where it could find protection and move about freely, undetected. Perhaps it was also a way of signaling that it belonged to an entirely new species of animal—one of those nearly invisible beings inhabiting these Botanical Gardens, which our notes would likely never be able to fully capture. It kept its secret well, maintaining it throughout the entire time we had caught it by surprise.

My other companion was with a humanoid woman—a teacher and therapist with an extensive knowledge of the trees that make up these Eden-like gardens. She was perched on a sturdy, high-reaching branch, appearing to heal it with a device she held in her hands.

Our companion, standing at the base of the tree, kept watch while observing her actions; he held a device in his hand, noting down and adding data. He, too, had his own task—a mission running parallel to ours. He appeared deeply absorbed in his note-taking, his gaze fixed on the woman as she worked intently on the trunks of the ailing tree. Using a specialized tool, she injected a liquid into the trunks; perched high above, she moved with ease, yet remained hyper-focused on the task at hand.

Once all the liquid had been injected, the trunk instantly regained its vigor. We could see it grow stronger and expand in volume, its color deepening into a more brilliant emerald. It began to sway ever so slightly, as if stirred by a gentle breeze. In that silent, secluded world—a realm apart—we witnessed life taking, and reclaiming, its form in a single, fleeting moment.

The School could be seen from any point within the gardens. It was a space that we could open up at will into smaller, distinct areas, allowing us to reach specific locations throughout the gardens. Much like the hare, we too were connected to spaces that remained invisible at first glance—spaces that would reveal themselves whenever we sought to enter them for our research into the planet’s flora and fauna. These areas were rendered invisible solely to protect their essence and their development; yet, in their fundamental form, they appeared to exist beyond the constraints of physical evolution—as an eternal, self-contained existence.

 

Dreaming the World of Tomorrow

 

These astral excursions are merely echoes of worlds that truly exist, offering us insights into the purpose of our presence here on Earth. What we encounter within these "botanical gardens" is an extraordinary process of learning—a transmission of knowledge experienced through consciousness—that provides a glimpse into life on a dimensional plane distinct from the one inhabited by humans on Earth.

To me, these magical realms from other worlds should serve as an inspiration for how we protect planet Earth, ensuring its evolution unfolds naturally, free from the destructive interference of contemporary humanity.

One might call them "Gardens of Eden"—places where everything exists, yet devoid of the human-like consciousness we are familiar with. They bear no resemblance to the grand gardens crafted by humans on Earth; these gardens possess their own consciousness and flourish independently. From time to time, interventions—such as tending to ancient trees, cataloging new species of flora and fauna, or simply ensuring the well-being of the environment—are carried out by souls tasked with this specific mission, who arrive via journeys across space and time.

Their existence offers us insight into the nature of the world and its constituent elements. In reality, the invisible dimension of nature on Earth is profoundly present. There are, in fact, subtle connections between botanical gardens and the forests of our planet—realms whose spirit works to provide the oxygen essential for life.

Astral travel to these extraordinary places allows for a deeper understanding of the interdependence of various universes and worlds, as well as their independence from one another; while they are complementary, each functions in its own distinct way.

These mysterious beings—such as elves—and the wise spirits of our terrestrial forests are, in truth, entities endowed with a superior constitution, tasked with restoring order and harmony to our planet.

This is not mere mythology—a product of the imagination layered over a kernel of reality—but an actual existence that can be perceived through conscious awareness, for the well-being of humanity and the world we inhabit for a time.

 

NB : Art by Henda Zaghouani, "Sacred birds" 2023