Von Braschler - Time Shifts: Experiences of Slipping into the Past and Future

TIME SHIFTS

Von Braschler is back with THE book the paranormal world has been waiting for! Braschler walks us through a world of possibilities and tests the paradigms of what we think we know while examining what mysteries of our human experience are still waiting to be revealed.

DAVE SCHRADER, HOST OFDARKNESS RADIO AND TRAVEL CHANNELS THE HOLZER FILES

Time Shifts is a remarkable book, full of thought-provoking stories, fascinating information on how time travel works, and valuable exercises to help you experiment with alternate realities. Like all of Von Braschlers books, Time Shifts is well researched and contains a wealth of practical information. Highly recommended.

RICHARD WEBSTER, AUTHOR OFLLEWELLYNS COMPLETE BOOK OF DIVINATION

More people should step out of their black-and-white world and dare to explore the gray areas. Thats where the adventures begin. Time slips and time travel are real, and crossing the threshold between what was, the now, and the upcoming are experiences we are all capable of. Von Braschlers Time Shifts is a wonderfully interesting and informative way to understand time travel and learn how to break the barriers and experience time shifts firsthand. Passports are not required.

MARLA BROOKS, HOST OFSTIRRING THE CAULDRON PODCAST ON PARA-X RADIO NETWORK AND AUTHOR OF WORKPLACE SPELLS

Fascinating book. Time Shifts provides specific exercises that can teach readers how to experience this time shift or quick switch. Highly recommended.

ALBERT AMOA SORIA, PH.D., AUTHOR OF AWAKEN THE POWER WITHIN

Foreword

I n early spring 1990, Larry Miller and his wife, Claire, were driving from Alsip, a South Chicago suburb, to visit relatives in New Mexico. While traveling through a southwestern area of Missouri, they discovered that Interstate 44 was closed, so Larry exited an off-ramp, following signs to a detour. The midafternoon was clear, and the Millers enjoyed their unhurried ride over rolling countryside and broad pastureland. Perhaps fifteen minutes after leaving the expressway they arrived at a charming town with small shops and a friendly looking diner, like the one in the famous Edward Hopper painting Night Hawks. It featured big glass windows and a quietly inviting atmosphere. On the street, traffic was light, the sidewalks not crowded. A young redheaded woman was pushing a baby buggy around the park, and some kids were playing hopscotch there. There was little other activity.

The main square was dominated by an attractive vintage city hall building that appeared well preserved. It featured a tall brick clock tower. It had apparently been constructed sometime during the late 1800s. Today it appears surrounded by a broad, well-manicured public park. Claire observed that the big illuminated clock face with Roman numerals showed the wrong time. Its Victorian hands had stopped at 1:30, whereas her watch read 3:00. After pausing momentarily at a few stoplights, the Millers drove out of town and were back on the road, headed toward the detour. Or so they assumed. As before, they went speeding across the indistinguishably repetitive landscape of endless farmlands. Again the posted speed limit dropped as they approached another small town. It seemed remarkably similar to the one they had left behind only ten minutes earlier.

All these places look alike, Larry said with a trace of boredom. But as they arrived at the town center, on the left they passed the very same diner with its big glass windows and the same few customers. Still more surprising, the old town square with its high brick clock tower stood as before on their right.

How about that? Larry observed. They made an exact duplicate of that other place we came through!

Yeah, Claire agreed uncertainly. But the clock is different here. In the other town, it said 1:30. Here, its 1:00. Before her husband could respond, she exclaimed, This is the same town! You must have driven in a circle. Look! Theres that same lady pushing a stroller and those kids playing in the park we saw last time.

Larry was confused. But how can that be? We drove in a straight line.

It just seemed that way. Pay more attention to the road next time, she scolded him.

As before, they followed the main street out of town, this time in silence. Larry was careful this time, never missing a road sign. He conscientiously avoided all turns and followed a posted detour back to Interstate 44. About ten minutes later, the speed limit dropped again at the approach to another town.

Its not possible, Larry almost shouted as he pulled over to a curb in the same town theyd passed through twice before. Claire crouched in grim silence, gazing out her window at the all too familiar street while her husband intently consulted a road map. Maybe we should ask somebody, he suggested.

No! she insisted. Lets just get out of here!

Larry pulled out into light traffic. Almost immediately, the classic diner occupied by the same customers reappeared on their left, followed shortly thereafter by the main square with its old public building. The red-haired woman was still walking around the park behind her baby buggy while the same children hopscotched as before.

But when Claire looked up at the clock tower, she screamed. It read 12:30. With every pass they made through town, all of its details had been identically repeated, save for the clock face. Each time it showed a time precisely thirty minutes earlier. Lets get out of here! she pleaded again, now on the verge of tears. Im scared! Im real scared. Go! Go! Just go!

Unnerved, Larry put the pedal to the metal. Their car raced through the last two stoplights, luckily avoiding any collisions. Out of town and on the open road again, Larry did not let up on the accelerator. While endeavoring to keep his speeding car under control, he tried to calm his wife. She was shuddering and weeping, but he soon ran out of words. His chest seemed to tighten with growing panic, and his breath came hard and fast. But his anxiety began to slowly subside the greater the distance he put between themselves and the town.

Claire, he finally said with a self-assurance he actually lacked, weve been driving about eighty miles an hour for more than fifteen minutes. We should have arrived back at that town by now, but were still on the road. She stopped crying long enough to look uncertainly at the uniformly similar farmlands blurring past her window. Maybe her husband was right.

But no! Suddenly there appeared the same signs, the same town. Larry slowed down only enough to maneuver through the two-lane streets and miss hitting anyone. He was still doing fifty in thirty-fivemph zones.

Within moments, the glassy restaurant containing its same diners was on their left again. The parks red-haired mother and baby buggy and hopscotching kids had not changed. Only the high brick clock tower was different. Both of its immense black hands pointed straight up to high noon.

As the careening car sped by the park, the brazen lungs of the old clock rang out like a doomsday toll seemingly directed at Larry and Claire. It called after them as they lurched at top speed out of town. Both Larry and his wife were filling the inside of their car with screams.

Larry did not care who or what he might crash into. A collision would at least terminate this endless horror. His speedometer passed one hundred miles per hour, while the ominous echoes of the big clock faded by degrees in the distance. Larry was determined to fly through the town at full speed next time. Hatred for whatever it was that had so terrified them had unhinged his rational mind.