I have already created many programs, and people play and develop their superpowers — SIMULTANEOUSLY!
But today, a breakthrough!!!
EVERYTHING IS FREE.
Cool?
So how can you use my VR programs completely free of charge?
Like this:
1. Position
Hold the phone in your hands 20–30 cm from your eyes.
Keep your back straight. Breathe calmly.
Turn on my program on your smartphone. My programs are free!
2. Adjusting your gaze
Look through the screen, not at it.
Gently bring your eyes together until:
→ the two images
→ merge into one
→ and depth appears.
Fix this state.
3. Immersion
Maintain the depth for 10–30 seconds.
Do not strain your eyes.
If it disappears, calmly bring it back.
4. Movement IMPORTANT:
This is not a headset.
With a headset:
→ you move your head.
Here:
→ you move your body.
Turn:
your shoulders
your chest
your whole body
Your head remains almost motionless.
This is very important!
Learn to move your body while maintaining the split-eye view, as when viewing a stereogram.
5. Difference from a headset
Of course, this is the most primitive VR imaginable.
But it works perfectly well.
So, you have already watched the program about leaving the body, as well as the program about out-of-body experiences.
Therefore, this OBE may resonate with you:
PART ONE
My name is Dr. Linda Kramer. In May 2001, I experienced an out-of-body experience with cardiac arrest lasting approximately 40 minutes or more.
I believe I spent five years in heaven—five full years. I know that sounds impossible. I know it contradicts all logic and scientific understanding of time. But that is exactly what happened. Time there works differently from time here. It is nonlinear. It cannot be measured in the same way. That is why I wrote this book. That is why I included my medical records, the diagrams I drew, and all the evidence I was able to gather. Not to prove how I died, but to share what happened while I was dead.
The importance of this experience lies not in the medical circumstances that led to my death. It lies in what I saw, what I learned, and what I experienced on the other side. Many people want to know the grim details: how it happened, why, where I was. These questions are natural, but they are secondary.
What truly matters is the journey itself. What happens when we leave our bodies, where we go, what we learn, and how we change. This is the story of that journey—the five years I spent in heaven and the truths that were revealed to me.
But while all this was happening, on the physical plane I was somewhere entirely different. My five-year journey in heaven was just beginning. And it began precisely where my physical body was—at home.
I have physical evidence of what happened. These are not merely memories or subjective impressions. They are official medical documents. My medical reports from North Carolina record 45 minutes. A full 45 minutes of documented fibrillation. This time is recorded on paper in the official records.
After the incident, I fell into a coma. My body was here, but I myself was not. I was somewhere else, living through an experience that felt to me like five years.
Suddenly, I found myself floating—not in the bathroom where my body had collapsed. I was in the living room. I could see everything from above. I watched all the people moving below: my partner, the paramedics, the emergency response team entering and leaving the house.
I could hear every conversation about what was happening perfectly. Every word, every medical instruction, every concerned remark. Everything reached me with crystal clarity.
My memory of these events is absolutely clear. These are not vague fragments or blurred images. They are solid, lucid memories, as if I had been watching a high-definition film.
What struck me most was my emotional state. Complete calm. No fear, no panic, no anxiety. All earthly concerns simply disappeared. Bills that needed to be paid. Dogs that needed to be cared for. Everyday responsibilities. None of it mattered anymore.
It was as though all of it belonged to another life, another person.
I describe this transition as a very natural process. It was not shocking. It was not traumatic. It was smooth and organic, like moving from one room to another.
I watched as they finally carried me out of the house. I saw them carry the stretcher. I looked down and saw my own body lying there, covered, being transported.
And I felt absolutely nothing. Not the slightest emotional connection. That body could have belonged to anyone. It was merely a shell I had used, but which no longer mattered. I was no longer that body. I was something much greater.
Everyone left the house. The door closed. I remained there, floating in the empty living room, completely alone.
And then I felt something—a touch on my shoulder.
I turned around, but I could not clearly see who it was. From the feeling of the presence, I assumed it was a woman. There was something feminine about this energy.
She spoke. Her voice was clear and gentle:
—You must go now.
I asked a question mentally, without using physical words:
—Where are we going?
I received no verbal answer, but I knew I would find out soon.
I describe what happened next as a teleportation phase. It lasted only a few seconds, but was completely different from anything I had experienced before.
Everything became dark.
It was as though I had closed my eyes, although I had no physical eyes that could be closed. The darkness was complete and all-encompassing, but not frightening.
I felt no movement. There was no sense of traveling, floating, or being transported. I simply remained in that darkness for those brief seconds.
Then, as though I had opened my eyes again, I found myself in another place, completely different.
The transition was instantaneous and complete. There was no tunnel of light, as many people describe. There was no sense of speed or movement through space. There was only darkness for the briefest moment.
And then I was already there—in a place unlike anything on Earth, a place where time functioned entirely differently, a place where my five-year journey was beginning.
PART TWO
But before I could explore this new world, something important had to happen first.
When the darkness cleared, I found myself in a field full of flowers. Millions of flowers covered the gently sloping ground all the way to the horizon, as far as I could see. In the distance I saw mountains, but they were unusual mountains. They were colossal, impossible, ten times higher than Everest. Their grandeur defied all earthly comparison.
Thousands of people were around me. They were all radiant, happy, and glowing. Each existed within its own visible energy field, as if in a soft bubble of light surrounding them.
I began walking across the field and then noticed something astonishing. The flowers moved—gently, softly. They bent aside so as not to be crushed by my steps. It was as though they possessed consciousness, as though they were showing respect. They did this because they understood that I still felt as though I had a body, even though I had no actual physical weight.
The flowers recognized my subjective perception and responded to it.
I began examining the flowers more closely. Energy emanated from the edges of their petals. It pulsed gently, creating glowing halos around each flower. The colors were indescribable, utterly unlike any colors I had ever seen on Earth. They were not simply brighter versions of red, blue, or yellow. They were entirely new colors for which no names exist in human language.
And then I understood something fundamental. On Earth, we see only five percent of the color spectrum—only a tiny fraction of what actually exists. There I saw the entire spectrum for the first time. It was beauty beyond beauty itself.
Soon I understood one fundamental principle of that place: what we think about, we become. What we think about, we create. This was not a metaphor. It was literal, completely literal.
If I thought about having long, straight black hair, it appeared instantly. There was no need to wait, no need to do anything. A single thought was enough. The hair changed at the very moment the intention arose.
If I thought about being in the mountains I saw in the distance, I found myself there instantly. There was no path between the two places. One moment I was in the flower field, and the next I was at the foot of the colossal mountains.
I could even choose how I wanted to experience what was happening. If I wanted to experience climbing—to be at the foot and ascend gradually—all I needed was that intention. I would find myself there, beginning the ascent, feeling every step of the journey. Or I could simply want to be at the summit—and I would be there instantly, viewing everything from above.
The choice was entirely mine. Intentions and desires determined instantaneous creation.
It was liberating in a way that cannot be adequately described. On Earth, we are accustomed to limitations—physical, temporal, and spatial. We want something and must work to attain it. We want to be somewhere and must travel there.
Those limitations did not exist there.
Thought was creation. Desire was manifestation. Will was reality.
That was how it was always meant to be. That was how we were created to function: pure consciousness, creating freely without any limitations.
But this freedom carried responsibility, and I would soon learn more about it.
Throughout the entire time I was there, music played—constant, enveloping, ever-present.
It was not a complex melody with many instruments. It was a repeated chant. A single musical phrase that repeated continuously, creating a hypnotic and soothing pattern.
The music was calm and deeply comforting. It did not tire or irritate me, even as it repeated endlessly. On the contrary, it brought an ever-deeper sense of peace.
The most astonishing thing was its source. The music did not come from any particular place. There were no heavenly speakers, no visible choir singing.
The music came from everywhere around me: from the flowers, from the mountains, from the air itself—if it could even be called air. And it came from me as well.
I was part of the music, and the music was part of me.
It was omnipresent in the most literal sense of the word. It was everywhere at once because everything was created from it.
But there was another wonder here. If I did not like this music, I could change it just like that. It was like changing the channel or creating another playlist.
If I preferred something more energetic, all I had to do was think of it. If I wanted complete silence, I could have it. If I wished to hear a complex symphony, it would manifest immediately.
This was another expression of the fundamental principle: we create what we want. Even the soundscape of existence was our choice.
But I liked this repeated chant. There was something about it that resonated deeply with me, something that connected me to everything around me. So I allowed the music to continue, enveloping me in its endless silence and peace.
I decided to explore.
There was so much to see, so much to experience. I began walking along a powerful road that stretched out before me.
The stones were unusual. Each radiated its own soft glow, creating a luminous path through the landscape.
I passed through magnificent valleys. Each was unique, each filled with beauty that made my heart overflow with joy. The geography itself seemed alive, aware, welcoming.
Along the way I encountered lakes and rivers. The water was unlike water on Earth: more transparent, more radiant, and somehow more alive. I could feel its energy without even touching it.
I walked through the colossal mountains I had seen in the distance, climbing their impossible peaks. The view from above was indescribable. I could see everything stretching endlessly in every direction.
Then I descended into a city—beautiful beyond words.
The buildings defied all earthly architecture. The structures seemed to be made of frozen light and crystallized energy.
How long did this journey take? Thousands of kilometers were traversed. Approximately a year and a half. Perhaps more. Definitely not less.
Throughout this time I interacted with other people. We existed together, observed together, shared experiences. Every encounter had meaning. Every conversation revealed new truths.
Time there was unlike earthly time. There was no hurry, no deadlines. There was only a pure form of being—endless exploration, continuous discovery.
And there was still so much ahead to discover.
The journey had only just begun.
PART THREE
The city was impressive. Everything in it was made of pure energy. The buildings and structures all glowed with inner light. They were built from something resembling bricks, but these were unusual bricks. Each was more than ten meters long. Enormous blocks of crystallized energy formed colossal structures.
These buildings stretched thousands upon thousands of meters upward, toward the sky. Skyscrapers beside which Earth’s tallest buildings seemed tiny.
I noticed something curious. There were no elevators. They simply were not necessary. For those who wanted the experience of physically moving from floor to floor, there were stairs. You could climb step by step, feel the movement, and enjoy the journey itself.
But there was another option—the one most people chose. It was enough to think, “I want to be on the twelfth floor.” And in that same instant, you were already there—with no waiting and no perceptible movement. Only intention turned into reality.
This was another expression of the principle of absolute freedom that governed that place. There is always a choice. There are always possibilities. We are never limited to a single way of doing anything.
If we want the physical experience of climbing stairs, we can have it. If we simply want to arrive at our destination, that is possible too. What we think about, we create. Always.
I spent so much time exploring this city, so much time interacting with its other inhabitants, so much time simply existing in this impossible beauty—approximately a year and a half, perhaps more, in this particular place.
But time there did not have the same weight as on Earth. It flowed, expanded, and was infinite. And there was still so much ahead to discover.
And then I felt that touch on my shoulder again. The same soft, gentle touch as before.
I quickly turned around, but I could not see the entity. It remained invisible to my eyes even there. But I knew it was a woman. I clearly sensed her feminine presence.
I believe it was the same entity that had touched me earlier, when I was preparing to leave my home.
This time she did not say a word. She simply silently guided me toward our next destination.
And then I saw a cathedral.
The towers rose a thousand meters high. It was impossible to see their tops. They simply disappeared somewhere in the heights.
I approached the entrance door. It opened, revealing a central aisle stretching far ahead. I went inside.
Benches stood on both sides, as in a church. But these benches were extraordinary. Each was about ten meters long. And each was made from a single solid piece of wood. No seams, no joints—solid wood carved with impossible perfection.
The floor appeared to be made of sandstone, but not ordinary sandstone. Huge blocks, each covering about eighteen square meters. And each block was solid. One gigantic stone, perfectly cut and laid.
Then I looked up and saw the stained-glass windows.
They rose endlessly upward. Enormous panels of colored glass created images of transcendent beauty. Light passed through them, casting patterns of impossible colors across the cathedral floor.
I began walking slowly down the aisle, admiring each stained-glass window. Each told a story. Each revealed profound truths through images and symbols.
I knew I was not there by chance. There was a reason I had to be in that place.
At the end of the corridor, I was introduced to three great beings.
They were not physical. They had no bodies in the way we ordinarily understand them. They were pure, conscious energy.
Their energies rotated in an extraordinary way. They moved in two directions simultaneously—left to right and right to left—at the same time. It was physically impossible, but it happened.
Energy rose from the floor where they stood. It flowed upward like an inverted waterfall, toward what could be called their heads. Radiant, powerful, alive.
I stood before them, small against their grandeur.
They showed me a box.
Energy emanated from it, pulsing gently.
And then I received a clear message transmitted directly into my consciousness:
“We are not here to judge.”
I instantly understood what I had to do. I needed to open this box, relive and process every memory inside it, and heal everything that needed healing.
And I opened it.
PART FOUR
More than five thousand memories burst before me. My entire life—every significant moment, every choice, every action, every word. Each memory lasted from forty-five minutes to an hour and a half. The duration varied depending on the seriousness of the experiences that needed to be processed.
I went through them one by one, reliving, understanding, and healing. It was not simply a viewing. I was inside each moment again. I felt everything I had felt then, but at the same time I saw the situation from a different perspective—broader, deeper, more honest.
I saw the consequences of my words, my actions, and my thoughts. I saw how they affected other people, how they rippled farther than I could ever have imagined. Nothing was hidden. Nothing was judged. There was only complete, unconditional understanding.
A total of approximately a year and a half was spent simply reviewing my earthly life. It was intense. Sometimes painful. Sometimes liberating. But necessary. Absolutely necessary.
When I had finally processed the last memory, I felt that familiar touch on my shoulder again. I turned around. I knew what it meant. It was time to go. The next phase was already waiting for me.
Suddenly, I found myself in a completely white space. There were no walls. No ceiling. No windows. Only pure whiteness stretched infinitely in every direction.
I looked down. I could see my feet, but there was no floor beneath them. I was simply there, suspended in absolute whiteness.
The silence was complete. The heavenly music had stopped. Everything was in perfect stillness.
Then I saw someone in the distance. A figure was walking toward me through the endless whiteness. The person approached slowly.
When they came close enough to speak, I heard their words clearly:
—Linda, you should not be here. You must return to Earth, from which you came.
There was no argument. No further explanation. The words were final. Unequivocal.
And then everything changed.
I do not remember the transition itself. I do not remember returning through the mist. I do not remember descending from the mountains, passing through the city, or crossing the flower field. All I remember after those words is waking up.
I woke up in a hospital. Tubes were being pulled from my throat. I felt them being removed, and it was uncomfortable. I felt my body again—heavy, limited, so different from the freedom I had experienced.
My eyes opened beneath the hospital’s fluorescent lights.
