Having taken out the translation notes, he mentally put together everything that was fragmentarily set out about true vision in the book. It is also called spiritual, because it allows you to see the third principle or Skias Onap, the astral body. The structure of the soul and body itself was described very interestingly and was extremely reminiscent of the Indian one with its chakras. If you believe it, then a person has from six to seven principles or shells of the soul, here is what Lerakh writes about this:
The First Principle is the physical body. According to tradition, it is also included in the general list, and this is the only one of the Principles, the existence of which no one tries to dispute. It can be seen and touched, measured and weighed. It can be dismembered into parts without the help of magic or technology. But this is by no means the most important Principle.
The Second Principle is vital energy, it is also prana, it is also Jiva, Nefeshu-Zayini or Koaha-Gafu. Terminology does not matter. Prana permeates every cell of the physical body, allowing the being to live, breathe, move, eat, reproduce. Complete loss or decay of prana means the death of the physical body.
The Third Principle. It is visible to some extent - it is what magicians scan when examining the aura. The Third Principle ensures life after death, it is what produces ba-khion and allows travel in the subtle spheres. The astral body copies the physical one - that is why spirits and ghosts usually look the same as they did in life. Not only people have their own Skias Onap, but also animals, plants, even inanimate beings - very primitive, but still there. That is why there can be ghost ships, ghost houses, ghost weapons, ghost clothes ... in fact, almost every material body casts such an "astral shadow".
Together, prana and the astral body make up Anochton - the unconscious part of the soul.
The Fourth Beginning — Atman — is the central core to which all other Shells are "attached". This is the most important part of all. The only part of the soul that is ABSOLUTELY impossible to destroy. After reincarnation, only the core with the information encoded in it remains from the soul… although sometimes shreds of other Shells cling to it.
The Fifth Beginning — Oumos — is the sensual spirit. This is the personality. Character. Emotions. Feelings. It is this Shell that is usually understood as the soul in fairy tales — a creature deprived of the Fifth Beginning becomes like a soulless machine.
The Sixth Beginning — Frenes — is the thinking spirit. This is the mind. Memory. Reason. Intellect. This Shell is concentrated in the cells of the brain — the rest of the body is of little interest to it. It is thanks to the Sixth Beginning that the spirit retains the ability to think and remember after death, despite the loss of the brain.
The Seventh Beginning — Nous — is the magical spirit. This Shell serves to absorb and store mana. It is this that allows one to cast spells and read incantations. In ordinary people, the Seventh Principle is in a "dormant" state, and only in the body of a properly trained magician does it blossom in all its glory.
Oumos, Frenes and Nous make up the conscious part of the soul - Nous Kai Logos.
The Eighth Principle is the immortal spirit. This Shell grants its owner an unlimited life, and people, of course, do not have it. Only eternally living beings like celestials, demons, genies and some others can boast the presence of the Eighth Principle in their souls.
The Ninth Principle is the divine spirit. Only gods have this Shell.
I agree that it sounds logical, meaningful and quite entertaining. However, like all religions and occult teachings, this one has the same problem - the impossibility of confirming in practice the dogmas set forth in them. I am probably the only idiot who, having smoked marijuana taken from Jack, sits in the lotus position and strains like a constipated person, trying to open this very vision. If it doesn't work, then I'll just give up this crap and continue translating what I was paid a lot of crispy bills for. As it was written, a person has true vision from birth, but then does not lose this ability, no, he himself forces the brain "not to see". Therefore, this is not learning a skill, but, as it were, rediscovering it anew, an attempt to deceive the mind and see what you already see. A strange explanation, but so be it. This is better than the description of miracles, gods and demons, at least more logical. Gradually, I calmed down and entered some strange state of non-existence. It was as if I was thinking and not thinking at the same time, seeing and not seeing, hearing and not hearing. It was at that moment that something clicked in my head and I saw in front of me... something. All the objects began to shimmer with different kinds of aura, like a swaying colored haze from a fire. Some auras were calmer, for example, a table in the living room or a sofa, and some blossomed with a riot of colors, like a dove and a tree in the window. This shocked me so much that I immediately fell out of this beautiful state. A couple of hours later I was able to enter it again, but this time it was much easier for me. Now I knew that I had a rather convenient form of true vision, because it can manifest itself in any sense - smell, sight, hearing, smell and even touch. Although, as for me, the most convenient is sight. I don't want to smell the aura. And then I stopped myself: did I believe it so easily? Maybe these are hallucinations from drugs?
Later, I realized that this is not so. Everything is as it was written in the book - I not only saw people's auras, I could understand from it whether they were lying or not, what emotions they were experiencing at the moment and ... their magical potential. Yes, magicians were much brighter in my vision, and I accidentally saw a couple in the city center. If ordinary people were like moths, then they were like a fire. And the most interesting thing is that the magicians were dressed in strange clothes in the form of ancient robes, which no one except me paid attention to. Even then, I realized that my client was definitely a magician. Who else could bring a magic book in such clothes? Having followed them, I ... simply lost them. They went around the corner of the house and simply evaporated. Teleportation? Illusion? Or something else? However, this did not disappoint me, on the contrary, I realized that magicians are hiding among ordinary people. And because on the same street I met three more in two hours, there are quite a few of them, at least not just one. And it was precisely this trio, although they were separate, who all went into the same shabby and old bar in the style of the seventeenth century, "The Leaky Cauldron". Moreover, ordinary people seemed not to notice it, passing by.
"Good afternoon, are you going to order something, are you looking for acquaintances or do you just need to go to Diagon Alley?" the elderly bartender, wiping a cloudy mug with a rag, addressed me when he saw that I stood rooted to the spot, looking at the back door, where one of those I followed disappeared. Inside, everything turned out to be even worse than outside. If I were looking for a short description, the first thing that would come to my mind was a medieval tavern. And not the kind of establishment described in fantasy novels, but rather real cheap taverns, adjusted for age. However, the bartender created a neat and friendly appearance, was this really the "style" of the establishment? And the premises themselves, unlike their style, were clean and neat, which could not be said about their customers. Such was the dissonance.
"Yes, I need to go to the alley," I smiled, pretending to understand what alley he was talking about. "Could you help me?"
"Did you forget your wand?" the bartender nodded understandingly, inviting me to follow him into the back yard through the back door. "Or did the kid need something in Hogwarts?"
- My son, - I quickly got my bearings, seeing the expectation of an answer.
- Oh, a son is good, he will be an heir. My blockhead, Tom, went into the seventh year last year, his wife greets every letter from him as a holiday. Women, - the bartender told me about his personal life, tapping a stick pulled from his bosom on certain bricks on the wall. At that time, I was memorizing the order, just in case, it might come in handy.
- Women, - I nodded. - It's hard with them, and without them, you can hang yourself.
- Ha-ha-ha, you're right. How many times have I been convinced that these prudes are wrong in their views. Take you, for example - you're a squib or a muggle, but you're one of our own. Well, bye! If anything, come over for a glass of beer. By the way, my name is Tom, - I shook the outstretched hand.
- Vlad, - I shortened my name in advance. - Wait, is your name like my son's?
— Yes, and like my father, and my grandfather and great-grandfather, it is a family tradition that the firstborn and heir to the family business takes his father's name, — the man left, and I almost opened my mouth in surprise, seeing how the bricks themselves moved apart, opening a passage. When I went out onto the street itself, I thought that I was still not over the marijuana. However, I was glassy as a sober person, the street itself was built as if by drunk builders with Parkinson's syndrome, because there was almost not a single right angle in it. And the only answer I can find to the question of why everything here has not collapsed yet is magic.
Having turned on true vision, I almost went blind from the brightness and quantity of colors. However, now there was not only a haze, but also various kinds of tricky weaves and runes, Scandinavian, it seems, woven into the walls of houses, into windows, the clothes of passing magicians and even the pavement. I came to my senses only when a young lady bumped into me.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," I apologized immediately.
"Pff, a dirty... Muggle-blood!" a richly dressed brunette in an expensive-looking long black dress with silver embroidery looked at me with disgust and immediately left, haughtily raising her nose, without turning around. What the hell is this? I have pure blood and my mother and father are married! But I didn't start a scandal, not understanding, especially, the level of danger of wizards. Therefore, I was looking for someone to ask how to get to the library, and the problem resolved itself when I saw a bookstore called Flourish and Blotts. There they greeted me normally and did not call me names, apparently they understand that a client is a client - and it doesn't matter who he is. However, they refused to accept pounds, sending me to a bank called Gringotts, where I almost shit myself, seeing ugly short people. True, compared to the description of demons in Lerakh's book, they are simply cuties and handsome. It was only later that I learned that they are called goblins.
- So you say you need books for someone who doesn't know about the world of wizards? Well, it's commendable that you're trying to learn about our world. I have a set of books on history, etiquette, law, and the theory of magic. I can also offer a set for the first year of Hogwarts, you'll have to buy them anyway, - apparently the seller couldn't even imagine that I was interested purely for myself. Which is also good, less suspicion.
- Yes, let's do it, - I agreed. - You can wrap them up for the second year as well.
- I wouldn't advise it, the program often changes due to the policy of the Ministry of Magic and the preferences of teachers, so I'm afraid you'll have to buy more later, - the seller, a young man with curly hair, warned me.
- No big deal, at least we'll know what to expect, - I answered. I would buy for all the courses, but I just don't have enough money, the books in the world of magic are too expensive.
- That'll be twenty galleons, that's what I was talking about, one galleon is three pounds. That is, I've just spent a fifth of my salary. With a sigh, I parted with the gold circles and took the kindly packed bundle with me, refusing to shrink it, whatever it was. After all, how can I unpack the shrunken thing if I'm not a magician?
I almost ran home, and when I came and started reading books on the history of magic, and especially on its legislation, my inspired face began to become darker and darker until it turned into a frozen mask. And this is not because magicians, afraid of the Inquisition, went underground and now observe the Statute of Secrecy adopted in 1689, not at all. I mean that an ordinary person for a magician is a zero without a wand, literally and figuratively. Yes, yes, I was also surprised that wizards now use miniature magical capacitors, and not staves or wands, as in ancient times. But that's not the point now, because if a wizard kills a Muggle, as wizards call us, ordinary people, then nothing will happen to them for it. At most, they will issue a fine and send Obliviators, wizards - memory erasers, so that everyone forgets about the victim. Unless the Unforgivable Curses were used, then the conversation is different. But even when I ran into a rude lady, I had some thoughts about this. True, she confused me with a Muggle-born - a wizard who was born from two ordinary people, and mudblood is an offensive name for them. There are also half-bloods, they also do not always avoid such a nickname, and purebloods, with one and two wizard parents, respectively. Now I realized that I am in complete and irreversible ass. A wizard wouldn't let some dirty Muggle have the knowledge from a grimoire. At best, he'd erase his memory, at worst, he'd kill him, and the more I thought about it, the more panic I felt. I didn't think the tale would be so scary, and that wizards would be such Nazis. They even consider intelligent magical creatures to be cattle and keep them in reservations.
Somehow I calmed down and continued reading, reaching the most famous magical families, both existing and extinct, and it was here that I came across a mention of the Gaunt family. Terrible adherents of blood purity, even by the standards of the most ardent Nazis of the magic world. If I had any hope that I would get away with it and that my client would turn out to be an honest and law-abiding magician, now they have completely fallen away, like dried leaves in autumn. I only have about a month and a half left until Moira's scissors end up at my thread of fate. And now I have two eternal questions, as my grandmother used to say: "Who is to blame?" and "What to do?" And if I know a clear answer to the first question, then to the second... Run? It's very funny, if Gaunt has even a tenth of the skills mentioned in the book, then I'm finished - there is also voltovanie, which allows you to cast a curse using the smallest part of the body, even dandruff. There is also demonology, which allows you to summon the most terrible creatures from other worlds and send them after the fugitive. There is also the magic of names, which allows you to do terrible things if you know the true name. I am not even talking about such things as blood magic, search and clairvoyance. If escape is not an option, then what, fight? Very funny! I am not even a magician yet, because I have not awakened my nous - the seventh shell responsible for magic. Firearms are useless against any more or less strong shield like steel armor, spirit armor, power cocoon, and I am not even talking about personal protection, which can protect once, but from EVERYTHING. Do today's magicians have the magic of Sumer? And why not? If people have developed so much in five thousand years, it is difficult to imagine the achievements of magicians in their field. No, maybe not everyone has access to this knowledge, but the heir of the Gonts should definitely be able to do this, or I do not understand something in this world. Surrender? That's even worse, because there are many things worse than death, like torture, soul-snatching, or becoming a lifelong slave. So all I can do now is continue translating the book and hope that it will contain at least some acceptable way out.
***
"Mr. Johnson, where is Mr. Pierce, I haven't seen him for a long time," the intern asked the director, noticing that there was one less museum employee.
"He's currently vacationing on the shores of the Indian Ocean," an elderly man with long, gray hair pulled back into a ponytail answered enviously. "I wish I could go with him, oh. My old bones are tortured by the London weather, and it would be nice to warm them up."
"So he's on vacation? It's kind of sudden," Karl nodded, agreeing that warming up his bones on the beach was a good thing. Especially with a beautiful girl.
- I was surprised too, but he really hadn't had a rest for a long time, so I wrote him a vacation for two months at once. Rest is as important as work. I don't need any mistakes from fatigue here. - He raised his finger admonishingly. - And you haven't earned it yet, so get to work, or you'll get all pricked up.
- Yes, sir! - the short minute of rest was over, it was time to call it a day.
And at that time Vladimir, who, as his colleagues and friends thought, should be resting, with eyes red from lack of sleep, finally slammed the ill-fated tome shut and said in the silence of the room, littered with crumpled and written sheets:
- Finally, I'm done.