Living in the Moment
Receive, view, look through other eyes, share feelings, and experience other lives, all in the present moment along the space-time continuum
By Richard Knight | © 2026 Aquarian Media
I. Remote Viewing: The Records Beneath the Sphinx
Remote viewing, as most people know it, serves government agencies that use it to observe situations and listen to conversations in other countries around the world. The practice begins with quieting the mind and body, allowing a shift of conscious focus onto another level of conscious expression. No one detects it, because no human being stands there to be seen, felt, or heard while the eavesdropping goes on.
Case in point: I shifted my consciousness into the catacombs beneath the Sphinx in Egypt along with two other women, one older than I am and one younger. The older woman served as our guardian. The younger transcribed events. Our mission gave back to Source, the Creators of all Creation, a refresher course on the history of mankind, the overview from both a public and an esoteric level, drawn from events in numerous places around the world and preserved in numerous forms across several levels beneath the Sphinx.
At first the exploration ran very short, until we three grew used to each other’s conscious energy forms and trusted each other enough to rely on one another as we explored. Fifteen or twenty minutes stretched to a half hour, then to an hour, and eventually our sessions lasted six hours or longer. This continued for at least a few weeks, until we submitted every record for review. A detailed account appears in an upcoming book.
II. Shifting Into Past Selves: The Captain in the Valley
The second capacity shifts present consciousness into past selves in past lives. You share the full consciousness of the person you were at a different point in time in your own past, or in ongoing history in other places, planets, universes, realities, cultures, and other life forms. Awareness expands and then focuses on all of yourself across all timelines, dimensions, vibrations, frequencies, and life experiences.
Case in point: I have lived again, in full, portions of my last life here as a doctor and a Confederate captain in the Civil War in West Virginia. I practiced as a general MD, a country doctor, until a general in the South solicited me to join the rebel cause and defend our southern way of life against northern invaders who would gladly tell us how to live by invading, regulating, and controlling those lives. I took the rank of Captain at once and received a company of thirty soldiers: a couple of lieutenants, sergeants, scouts, a few snipers, and infantrymen for the rest.
Word came down that the Union Army marched to invade the state capital. To reach it, they had to cross a large river, a few small hills, a minor mountain, and a very large valley ringed by woods. We approached that valley with a couple of hills at our backs and an uncovered field of grass ahead of us, ground we had to cross to take cover in the woods on the far side.
The day before, I sent out six scouts to gather information on the location and movement of the Union Army. The following morning, four returned, so I presumed the enemy had discovered and killed the other two, or worse, tortured them for information first. The loss worried me. It cut into how accurately I could plot strategy and make the best use of our numbers and arms, which included one cannon drawn by horses, followed by a wagon carrying cannonballs, dynamite, and sundry rounds of ammunition for muskets, sidearms, and long rifles.
I had no way to know what would come that afternoon. To put it bluntly: as we crossed the deep grasses toward the woods, Union soldiers had already scoped out our position, and what followed was an absolute massacre in cold blood.
The Union had entrenched in the trees, and they opened fire as we came up the slight incline toward cover. I gave the order to retreat, and cannon fire and rifle shots drowned it out. About ten men turned tail and ran full out, while the majority of my men fell prey to the onslaught. They died in place, few of them even able to return fire.
My men died all around me as I ducked and zigzagged the best I could through the hail of bullets that whistled past on every side. I caught sight of one of my sergeants weaving back and forth ahead of me. He took one round and then another and went down to his knees. I reached him, bent down, scooped him up in my arms, gazed into his eyes, and said, “Buckle up, soldier. We are going to make it out of here.” He gurgled his agreement.
I stood up slowly with him in my arms, cradling him to my chest, the doctor in me coming to the fore. Three steps in, a blazing heat opened in my lower back and told me a bullet had found me. I reeled from the impact and staggered forward with my wounded patient still in my arms, determined that another thirty or forty feet would carry us clear of enemy range. Onward I trod, staggering in earnest now, when a second round caught me in the middle of the back. I lost my grip and laid my patient in the tall grass as gently as I could manage. He mumbled, “Goodbye, Doc,” and died. I reached across and closed his eyes. As I began to stand, a third and final round caught me in the chest. I fell to my knees a couple of feet from my dead sergeant, felt the blood fill my lungs, and pitched forward face down into the grass. I left that body for the light.
III. The Other Me on Lyra
Now for a head-spinning turnaround. I knew for a fact when I entered this body that another me lived on the planet Lyra, in a blue body, in a culture and an environment free of care and stress, under an entirely different oxygen-rich atmosphere. That world stands clear of disease, clear of evil, clear of dominion. All beings there hold equal rank, and each one does what comes natural to their gifts. Eating and sleeping arrive as pleasures rather than as needs.
On rare occasions, my male counterpart uses a highly sophisticated device to tune in and view me and whatever happens to me down here on Earth. At the same moment I become acutely aware of what happens with him there. These occurrences come seldom, yet when they do, each of us catches a brief glimpse into the other’s life. We could know any and every detail about each other, past histories included, if we so chose. His last words always arrive with a shake of his head and the perpetual question: why did you decide to go there? Then our realities on our separate planets take back over our bodies, hearts, and minds.
I hold lucid memories of other times, places, galaxies, and universes, and of other dimensions that far surpass this one. Even Lyra sits in the eighth dimension, with vibration, frequency, and musical tone as the only things that separate one dimension from the next. Creation is an extraordinary symphony.
Glimpses come of many more past lives here, in different centuries, epochs, cultures, and countries. Sometimes male, sometimes female, sometimes kings, sometimes peasants, a long stream of at least hundreds if not thousands of former lives. In the life before the Civil War, I worked as a philosopher, a mage, a wizard, and a sorcerer. For me at least, a hundred years or more seem to pass between each life here. Call it a blessing, though someone could argue it a curse.
IV. What the Traveling Teaches
Keep in mind that every spirit here determines how close we stand to our true spiritual nature and how tightly we entwine with our Creators. Each of us makes millions of decisions before incarnating here. Most forget who they truly are and spend lifetimes trying to remember, while others come in knowing. I surmise that the more knowing, the fewer lessons to learn, and the less knowing, the more lessons to learn.
Keep in mind as well that we all stand as equals in the eyes and perceptions of our Creators. So who are we to judge?
RTK, August 7, 2026
