Page 415

[Alexandr Korol]

realm is something entirely different, something incredibly intriguing — it is the eighth angle, the matrix itself, the “corridor,” the eighth angle. The seven visible colors of the rainbow represent the worlds of people, and these worlds are divided into three main groups, then further categorized depending on seasons and moods. I will explain that part in more detail later. But this is why — imagine this — I am sitting in the eighth angle, and before me are seven angles. One of them, let’s say, is blue — the third angle, for example, is blue. Now, when a person is connected to the third angle, meaning they exist within that angle, the first thing you must understand is this: they cannot know they are in that angle because they are inside it — they can no longer see it. Keep that in mind. That is why a person never knows where they truly are. Beyond that, if they are in a particular angle, they perceive everything from within that perspective, through that filter. And this is the essence of it — people live in different angles. And when you are in the eighth angle, you can see all seven angles, you see all these worlds from the outside, you are in the position of an observer, like a ghost, while the people in the other seven angles are immersed in those realities. They are fully absorbed in the multiverses of emotions that are transmitted to them, in the thoughts that are transmitted to them — they live there. This is why the number eight appears everywhere in my various projects. I wrote about this in my early books when I was 20, 21, 22 years old. I always wrote that I was waiting for the eighth day, that the number 8 was crucial. And now, you see, I even found that eighth angle in the matrix, explaining why the one who is seated is surrounded by seven lamps—why exactly like that? This is very important. Even the music I listened to — I didn’t know the lyrics, but they were all about this, about the otherworldly realm. Simply put, I’ll say it in another way: there are people who make films or music, and they exist in the fourth dimension — they are dead, but they just don’t know it.
And again, the question arises — who am I, and who are the small percentage of readers who read my books and feel something similar, as if everything resonates within them, as if they carry the same feelings, the same perception of the world? Some have felt this since childhood, others only after certain critical events, and for me, it was the same. So, who are we? If we assume this is the fourth dimension, fine. If we assume we exist in this otherworldly realm, then what would need to happen for everyone to enter it?