[exodus]

De wetenschap beschrijft in feite maar een kleine niche van een veel grotere realiteit. Zonder die grotere realiteit in acht te nemen kan wetenschap nooit volledig "correct" zijn. In dezelfde ruimte dat u en ik zijn zijn er andere dimensies die ook bewoond zijn door leven.

Hier een beschrijving van een grotere realiteit gespiegeld aan een alledaagse scene door Robert Monroe, Journeys out of the Body:

I homed in on the one place that I knew would give him a strong rote on how distortion could accumulate. Ident New York, center of Manhattan, start with West Forty-second Street. The movement was quite short, and we came in at sidewalk level. The usual evening human composites were crowding one another, jostling, strolling, hurrying, and loitering.

[..]

I reached and stretched, headed
for the lowest of the cycling rings, staying just out of phase with the
physical. This was the part that was the rough stuff but I was sure we
would be ignored and unmolested if we stayed just on the upper
fringes. I didn't look forward to it. For purposes of comparison, I used
the same Forty-second Street ident in New York. It was a short run and
we came out fifty feet over the street. BB was beside
me.
He smoothed. (Back here again. No difference, except a big mass more
of humans.)
(Focus on the ones that you perceive best.)

BB opened, and evidently the change in the superimposed mass was
apparent to him. The man rushing out from the curb to flag a taxi and
running through it, and stopping bewildered as car after car passed
through the space he seemed to occupy. The thin young male in long hair,
who looked to be no more than eighteen, trying to get the attention of the
young group leaning against a parked car, asking for a hit from the joint
being passed around but unable to get their attention because they can't
see or hear him. The burly policeman in full uniform swinging his nightstick,
strolling along the storefronts totally unaware that he is unobserved.
The smartly dressed woman of indeterminate age trying to find a coin for
a newspaper in her purse as she unknowingly walks through the side of a
nearby building. The older man trying to buy the offerings of two young
hookers standing by a doorway leading upstairs, angry because they don't
know he exists, watches as a physical man steps up, waves a double sawbuck

in one girl's face as she turns and leads him up the stairs; the first
man following. The old woman walking slowly along the street, oblivious
to everything around her, reaching down occasionally to the sidewalk and
attempting to pick up a half-smoked cigarette snipe, but her hand passes
through it. The dark-skinned man standing defiantly in the middle of the
passing crowds, intense hate on his face and knife in hand, slashing
through each passerby without realizing he is damaging or hurting no one.
The unshaven old man at the open bar across the street, trying to pick up
and toss down every drink set in front of a customer, then climbing on a
customer's back to try and get the taste and effect of the drink as the
customer feels it, unnoticed and to no avail. I turned to BB. (Had
enough?) He flickered strongly. (What's the matter with them?) (They've
died physically and they don't know it. All they remember is human
physical existence and they're trying to hang on. That's all they got, they
think.)