Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 2.

 The Threshold Astral.

This field log feels like a manifestation of classic sleep paralysis, or is it a threshold-crossing architecture, where the mundane safety of a bedroom becomes the battleground for ancient archetypes.

The contrast here is incredibly sharp—the stark, structural reality of a white-panelled bedroom wall directly juxtaposed with a clash of pure light and pure shadow.

Is this the space where the physical waking world (your actual bed and blankets) fractures, letting the entities of the lower and higher astral planes collide right at the foot of your bed?

The story arc.

I awoke.

In the dream.

In a familiar bedroom.

At the foot of the bed. A huge demonic face loomed.

Not speaking. 

Just looking. 

The room reeked of a dark supernatural presence.

I was frozen.

Unable to move.

The face just stared. The intensity was getting overwhelming.

A way to combat the darkness I've always known is prayer.

So I prayed, and suddenly this being appeared in a bright light.

It fluttered next to the huge face.

Said something I had never heard, and lo and behold.

The demonic face vanished, and a calmer vibe appeared.

The angel in the light looked at me for a split second, then vanished. 

Yes, it was scary.

What would you do if you saw this face at the foot of your bed?

Is my gift a curse or a blessing? 

For I see so many things. 

Dark and light. 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Documenting the Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms

 

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms

A new concept in design for the upcoming website. 

For as long as I can remember, the act of falling asleep hasn't been a descent into unconsciousness. 

It is a crossing. 

Every single night, I wake up inside my dreams with full lucidity, stepping directly into an expansive, alternate plane of existence. 

What I have come to call The Great In-Between.

Historically, the biggest frustration of a lucid dreamer is the return.

You witness impossible architecture, feel physics that don't exist waking up, and look into the eyes of entities that possess terrifying conviction. 

Yet, when you wake, those vivid astral landscapes begin to evaporate, leaving behind only fragmented words in a journal that fail to capture the raw, visceral reality of what was actually there.

Until now.

This new direction in this blog is a field guide to those realms. 

By combining detailed, immediate notes taken upon waking with advanced generative intelligence, I am finally able to act as a cartographer for the astral plane. 

A painter of the most striking moments I see. 

The AI does not invent these scenes; it acts as the camera lens, developing the raw film I bring back from the dark.

Mapping the Coordinates

The architecture and inhabitants of the Great In-Between do not follow a single narrative.

They shift between high-stakes urban anomalies and primal, ancient survival. 

To give you a glimpse of the horizons I am charting, look at the first two field logs brought back to the waking world:

• The Urban Astral: 

A high-altitude, first-person perspective of flying as an interloper over a sprawling, neon-drenched metropolis. 

Below, an angry crowd shouts with raised arms, while a man with black hair and a thick moustache clings desperately to my ankle, his eyes ablaze with terrifying conviction.

The dream story arc. 

I appeared in a place. Sprawling with people who sensed I didn't belong. 

A crazy crowd gathered to catch me. 

But in the Astral Realms, I can fly, so I flew above the crowd. 

They grew more agitated. 

I felt safe doing this until this strange man appeared who could jump so high. 

After several attempts, he grabbed my ankle and wouldn't let go. The crowd roared. 

His eyes were blazing with such anger. He seemed proud to have caught the interloper.

 I smiled at him and ended the dream. 

He probably fell as I vanished. 

• The Sylvan Astral: 

A low-to-the-ground, silent survival sequence set in a midnight countryside wood.

Under the stark light of a full moon slicing through dead trees, a distorted, four-legged hog-wolf hybrid stalks through tall, yellow grass near a line of broken fences.

The dream story arc.

I appeared in a dark wood and had the inclination to repair a fence. 

As I was replacing a fence panel, I put down my 5-foot steel bar.

Picked up a strange-looking fence panel with a grounding spike at the bottom. 

As I started to pick it up, I heard a rustling sound. 

Briefly saw this strange beast as it move with supernatural speed. 

I immediately shouted as it charged at me. 

It veered off and hid in the yellow grass. 

I felt like a bigger one was coming. 

Coming to see who was in their hunting territory. 

So I quickly ended the dream. 

The Methodology of Astral Photography

Every piece of art featured in this new direction on this blog follows a strict rule of authenticity to the dream state:

1. First-Person Grounding: 

Wherever possible, the perspective mimics the exact viewpoint of my dream avatar, capturing the disorientation and scale of the realm.

2. Mundane Textures in Impossible Spaces:

Rather than generic fantasy tropes, the focus is on the strange juxtaposition of the ordinary. 

Like wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt while defying gravity. 

Which defines true dream logic.

3. Atmospheric Frequency: 

Prioritising the heavy, specific "vibe" of the space. 

The precise shade of pink neon or the exact quality of moonlight—over artificial perfection.

This space is an open archive. 

A gallery of places that exist only when the eyes are closed, documented by someone who goes there wide awake.

Welcome to the Great In-Between. Let’s see what the next night brings.

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

The Whisperer

 

Blessed be 

Velumbound 

(A lone voice whispers) 

I am that which sends darkness running

The flood and spark of all things walking through life's many forests

The flaming sword that never runs cold

To pierce and warm your heart when you grow old

The Toll keeper and Soul Reaper 

Masters of pagan ceremonies chant my name

Hidden in old woods

As you will too

When all is understood 

When your unexplored places radiate in my visitations' afterglow 

For I'm the Above and Below 

The Great Harvest, that needs to be sowed to be collected 

I see you at birth and feel your presence 

Anywhere on Earth 

 

So if you're hearing this and know my name 

Never feel rejected or neglected 

For I send blessings like soft raindrops to soothe your soul

To light up your heart and to manifest self-belief 

As these few words are invoked with magic 

To bring relief from this screen 

Whenever they are released 

By me 

 

One of the Great Masters

Always watching 

In the Great In-Between

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

The letter after the argument

 

Blessed be 

Velumbound. 

A transmission that explicitly rejects the idea that love must be a flawless, epic fantasy.

Instead, "true heavenly revelations" are discovered in ordinary, chaotic moments. 

Casual dialogue, minor disagreements, and nighttime reconciliations.

Do you agree? 

(A lone voice whispers) 

Even though we loved so deeply and fought so many petty wars

Those invisible tears still stain our faces

Marked by emotional scars which bear our flaws

I know one day we'll meet again as friends 

For true love never ends

And as long as our hearts still beat

There's still time to achieve this feat

But if there ever comes a time when Charon's Obol arrives 

And you survive, as I sail by

Just know now

Some men are just mundane fools to fall in love

But with you

I fell in love a thousand times, with a gift bestowed from so high Above

For true heavenly revelations 

Sometimes lie scattered within small moments, of casual conversations and petty fights

To then make up at night 

As two embraces last years' New Year's resolutions of

"This year will be the making of us."

And it's why my love

You'll live forever 

For even when I lay with Charon's cold silver Obol

I'll sing to you

My life's only love song, as my final absolution 

For loving you was never wrong

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Have you seen Corruption too

 

Blessed be 

Velumbound 

Have you seen Corruption too? 

(A lone voice whispers)

For many years I have seen your world get darker, be it by brooks or society's underground streams.

I've wandered through dreams with Morpheus.

Saw political hungry eyes gleam.

Free from light but dark, beside brooks or underground streams.

Just know this.

From I Camael

A beast hides its face, amongst those where it sows its seeds of greed and disgrace.

As it's welcomed willingly into corrupt places.

By eyes that gleam.

Berifit of any God's grace.

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Camael is the Archangel of Love, War, Justice, Strength, Courage, Fortitude, and Protection. 

 

The Philosopher

 

Blessed be. 

Velumbound. 

(A lone voice whispers)

In 2026

It's good to still see someone who loves that mysterious thing called poetry

For like astrology

Reading or being consumed by it can help reveal answers 

We all might silently yearn for it to help us through personal disasters 

A chance to embrace the fluctuations we endure daily 

With people or situations, as we walk out of our door

And even more so 

Pay homage to those experiences as we explore and grow

On this planet, we live on

It's great to see the intricate and delicate

The visceral

Sensuous and ravenous themes 

Used to lay works by its followers upon its altars

As they bare their souls

Their sacredness 

For to do so, in the stillness of day or night

I know they too will feel the tranquillity and shades of holiness, of being alive 

In a wild world of living broken things

The never-ending opportunities for showcasing their insights, using social media 

As a bridge

A sort of PDF file

The transformation and attachment to the Seen 

The Unseen and creating connection points

Like a docking way station

For travellers to be able to pause and look within, a carefully created abyss 

As they look back and reminisce

For with you, the writer 

It might help bring peace to those seeking a light 

From that which burns in your candle holder

As you let that poetic lantern go

And for you, the listener who reads on 

Throughout the four seasons, for whatever reasons

It can help summon emancipation through liberation 

The beholders of all things good

As they stand

Shoulder to shoulder, as you get older

From the servitude of seeking to be always good, in all things

Trying to find freedom under the rising sun

As well as avoiding the temptation and bondage of evil, for a gilded chain 

Since a golden chain can be as much a chain as an iron one

(C)

Copyright John Duffy   

Alberto's Dreams.

 

Ultimately, "Alberto's Dreams" captures the universal human anxiety of the unlived life. 

Alberto is a battle-weary traveler who has survived the "four winds" of existence, yet his final, most profound battle is entirely internal. 

He dies or fades away, wondering if he should have crossed a sacred threshold with the one who got away, leaving the reader suspended in his final, haunting question. 

(A lone voice whispers)

As I lie nightly in my bed of metaphorical red roses, and as my soul flickers in the encroaching darkness

A midnight battle commences within my mind 

Do I chase that mesmerising handmaiden just beyond my sight, bestowed by fate

Or was our preconceived time in the Master of all Ceremonies great book done, and now it's too late

As I breathe in as the pain eases and the wheezing stops

I can feel her lullabies and needs reaching out

Like the long-lost look Edith gave Lot in Sodom and Gomorrah 

Before she too turned into a pillar of salt

As I sit in this darkness consuming this twenty-five-year-old malt whiskey 

I wonder where she is 

as my inner mind, filled with thoughts of ever-swirling prose, goes misty

I once walked in the Land of the Shadows 

Walked knee-deep in the primordial sludge upon secretive moors, serenaded by echoes from a light-giving Arkenstone 

I fought the four winds

Maelstroms and dark mysteries to find my own battle-weary path home 

But when I pause for a quiet moment and I look back 

Across the many memories of my own tapestries and deep tributaries 

Stretched here before me from here to my birth 

I always wonder

What would happen if I caught her soft hands

And carried her willing and wide-eyed 

Across that sacred threshold

Into my Red Church 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Have you had the Blues

 

(A lone voice whispers) 

As the silvery midnight sun rose

I drank my wet, velvety smooth whiskey

Tasting exquisitely

My Life's Blues

I looked to the faraway sparkling stars

Wondering 

Where do those lost really go

The mother's

Fathers 

Sisters and brothers 

After this mortal show

Is it to alabaster halls and reunions with old family and friends

Warm conversations, endless soft music and priceless red wine

Or somewhere else

Cocooned between this world and the divine

Just relentlessly exchanging stories and fond memories

For there is no longer any time

Will they still remember us and send us a sign

A soft kiss on the cheek

A red robin

A white feather

To always remind us

They still wait, love-drunk

In all weathers

Longing for an embrace

Like a drop of spiritual moonshine

Will we ever see them again 

Or are they simply lost forever

No matter how hard we pray and mutter amen

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Who's your muse?

 Blessed be 

Velumbound. 

This piece is a gothic, psychological exploration of creativity, trauma, and the subconscious mind. 

It frames the "muse" not as a traditional, idealised figure of inspiration, but as a collective of repressed emotions, memories, and fears waiting to be processed.

(A lone voice whispers) 

Who's your hidden or known muse?

Muses come in many forms, and this relates to all those emotional tributaries. 

You consciously or unconsciously carry.

In mental interdimensional abstracts

Which wait patiently to flow rapidly, only to make you perspire when you dream. 

From fear, love and all things broken in-between 

Do they all stand knee-deep, huddled together in quiet conversations, until you dream?

Then agree which one will enter your mind-eyes, fast-flowing streams?

To greet you in the deep recesses of your mind 

As so many others watch

Waiting their turn to cross over from their compartmentalised tombs

To be the muse

Standing within Amygdala's darkened rooms

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy 

Are you being hunted?

 

Blessed be. 

Velumbound. 

Beneath the supernatural imagery, this transmission is a sharp critique of modern adult life. 

The speaker argues that as we "grow older," the "insidious manipulation of society" forces us to compromise our values.

We take on stress, greed, and moral compromises (chains and baggage), which ultimately weakens our spiritual core. 

Sleep, which should be a sanctuary, becomes the danger zone because our subconscious is forced to confront the corruption we tolerate during the day.

Visions from The Great

 In-Between

(A lone voice whispers)

Did you know that demons prowl like a clan of hyenas while you sleep? 

They come close, creeping in from the dark shadows and sniffing for the odour of your soul. 

Their presence may signal that you are becoming increasingly corrupted by the insidious manipulation of society as you grow older. 

They seek the sweet smell of cabbage, a feast to collect, much like Jacob Marley, as your soul grows weak.

As you carry more and more unnecessary chains and baggage. 

So the question is: 

Will you pray to your God of choice to strengthen your soul? 

For when you sleep, the night dwellers come prowling, creeping in 

To seek you as their ultimate goal. 

For they look for corrupted souls who are drawn to all things wicked, linked to defilement.

For them to use soul metastasis to help their wickedness grow

Like falling black snow. 

(C) Copyright John Duffy