“Is that how you want the chair?” Kathleen asked.
“I don’t know if I want the damned thing lying back, sitting up, straight, or jacked up higher than the table. Where the hell should it be?”
Kathleen laughed. “Just make it comfortable. Make it high enough that your arm rests lightly on the table. That will help you with your ideogram.”
As I fumbled with the chair, Kathleen placed a stack of white paper near me. She pulled one sheet off and carefully centered it directly in front of me.
I dimmed the lights slightly.
As Mel had explained, I would be given a set of coordinates—random numbers assigned to the target. When I received the numbers I would write them down as they were given, and after I had written down the numbers my hand would produce what we called an ideogram. An ideogram was nothing more than an autonomic response to the target in the matrix. In other words, the ideogram came from the unconscious mind and was somehow descriptive of the target. How this worked was all part of Riley’s lengthy and cumbersome lectures.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Kathleen said.
“How will I know when I’m ready? I mean, I feel ready now.”
“You’ll know you are ready when you feel a peacefulness, a warmth come over you. When you feel that, place the tip of your pen to the paper, and I’ll read the coordinates to you. Got that?”
“I’ve got it. Thanks.” I tried to count down in my head, as I had been taught. I closed my eyes and relaxed. The audible tones of the biofeedback machine sounded, rapidly at first, then slowing, slowing … changing tone to alpha waves. Slower … slower … slower … finally, the flat tone indicating theta waves. Within seconds, I felt as if I had no arms, no legs; it was a centered and peaceful feeling. I was aware of nothing in the room, only Kathleen’s breathing. I heard her heart beating, and the blood coursing through her veins. My head dropped forward and my hand slowly lowered the tip of the pen to the paper. As soon as it touched, Kathleen announced my first set of coordinates. I repeated them to her as I wrote them. As I reached the last digit, I waited … and waited … and waited.
“Dammit.” I tossed the pen to the table in disgust. “Why didn’t it happen? Why wasn’t there a response?” I hoped Kathleen had an answer.
“It’s all right, you’ll get it. Just don’t panic. Let’s take a break and get some fresh air. Write the word ‘break’ on your paper, and put the time down next to it.”
I did as I was told, but I didn’t want a break; I wanted something to happen. Unplugging from the console, I followed Kathleen out of the room and into the sunlight.
“I don’t understand it.” I sighed. “I was right where I wanted to be; it should have happened, I should have gotten an ideogram.”
“David,” Kathleen said calmly, “you can’t force the ideogram. You did exactly right; if it doesn’t come, you simply declare a miss and ask for the coordinates again, or take a break like we’re doing now. It’ll happen, trust me.”
“I guess I expected something more overt to happen. Maybe I thought something would grab my hand and drag it across the paper.”
“Don’t be disappointed. Look, here is what’s going on. Your unconscious mind is trying to figure out how to talk to your conscious mind. You have to remember that there has been little or no conversation between the two for your entire life.” She hesitated. “Physical life, that is. The two minds need to learn to communicate. That’s what training is all about. Now, let’s get back in there and give it another shot, what do you say?”
Back in the room, I sat down and adjusted the chair again. Kathleen said, “Now, I want you to write ‘resume’ on the paper directly underneath the word ‘break.’ Include the time there as well. Let me know when you’re ready.”
I began counting down again, feeling myself slip deeper and deeper until I reached the altered state again. I noticed that it happened much more quickly this time. When my pen touched the paper, Kathleen gave me the coordinates again.
My body seemed to move sluggishly, almost in slow motion. As I wrote down the last coordinate my hand quickly skipped several inches across the paper.
I looked up, half dazed. “An ideogram!”
Kathleen didn’t smile; she simply asked, “Is it manmade or natural?”
I tried to focus on her question. From somewhere deep inside my mind, pictures began to push through the darkness, as if someone were flipping a light switch. Briefly, I felt as though I were falling in a bright tunnel; then the sensation ended abruptly. It came and went over and over, the images always following it. Faint images of a white sparkling substance, brown jagged objects, and a greenish circular star—no, snowflakelike things. The images passed by me as though I were flying and looking down from maybe inches above the surface of something. I felt cold on my face and warmth on my back. Looking up, I thought I briefly saw a brilliant light like the sun, but I returned my attention to the surface. Now I knew the answer.
“No, no … it’s not manmade.”
“What is it, David?”
“It’s rising up sharply. It’s natural.” I was just verbalizing my perceptions of the images passing before me. “Definitely natural.”
“Trace the ideogram and describe it to me.”
“Rising up sharply, peaking, dropping sharply … it’s natural,” My mind assembled the pieces of the puzzle. The white sparkling cold substance—snow, perhaps? The brown, jagged objects and the green snowflakes—lichen-covered rocks? “It’s a mountain!” I called out, astonished at the revelation. “It’s a mountain, isn’t it?”
Kathleen made a few notes on her paper without looking up; then she reached behind her to the target podium and retrieved the folder containing the feedback. “I’m supposed to make you do your summary before seeing this, but I’m going to violate the protocol just this once.” She tossed the envelope across the table to me.
I hesitated, and then tore open the envelope. A chill ran up my spine as I stared at the photograph inside. “Mount Fuji!”
“And you were just there; how about that?” Kathleen was grinning from ear to ear now. “Okay, give me the folder back and you go and write your summary. Levy will want to see it before the day is out. You did great! I’ve never seen anyone get the images you did—that was excellent!”
Kathleen left the building and headed for the office, but I sat in the room for a long time, thinking. Finally, shaking my head, I muttered to myself: “It’s got to be just luck. How could it be anything else?”
“No such thing as luck in this business!” I’d forgotten Mel was in the monitor room. “Don’t forget, someone’s always listening, so keep your comments to yourself. Hey! Great fucking session. I’ll see you in the office.” And he was gone, just like that. Never pick your nose in here, I told myself.
I felt as if a moment ago the world had opened its darkest secret to me. As I stood alone in the room, I stared at the ideogram and remembered the sensation I’d felt. Bill Levy was right; my life would never be the same.
I hadn’t completely escaped Mel’s lectures; I found myself in a mix of classroom and viewing room over the next three weeks. It seemed Levy was experimenting on me, trying new protocols and combinations of procedures to see if he could expedite the training process. It was July 1988, and I’d been in training for almost six months now, with about twenty-five CRV sessions under my belt. Kathleen and Mel were excellent viewers, and their skill rubbed off; I was getting better all the time. There was still a great deal I didn’t understand; so far I hadn’t been expected to converse with the monitors, and I was also not able to move in the target area. Many of the lectures concerned those issues.
I’d had a few more nightmares, but nothing as hideous as the one involving the family, and I was feeling pretty sure of myself at this point. Yeah, I still had my doubts about how and why this stuff worked, but one thing was certain: work, it did.
“You gonna be ready in ten or fifteen minutes?” Mel asked.
“Forgot to
check the board. What time am I supposed to be viewing?”
“You’re on for 0900 hours; I’ll monitor and Kathleen will take the monitor room. Did you happen to notice the target designator on the board? Oh, that’s right—you didn’t bother to look, did you?”
I ran for the board. There it was, the big blue “O” staring me right in the face.
“All right! Operational! The real thing!”
Mel smiled. “I knew that, but you didn’t. Next time make sure you look at the board. See you over there at a quarter of for hookup and prep.”
In the viewing room, Mel set up the target folder and slid me a sheet of paper. I adjusted my chair, dimmed the lights, and began. Off the biofeedback monitor now, I had to get to the desired brainwave frequency on my own. It didn’t take long these days; in a few minutes I was ready. I picked up the pen and my eyes closed. My head dropped as I fell deep into an altered state.
“When you’re ready, Dave,” Mel said. As soon as my pen touched the paper, he read the coordinates: “Zero one four three one one … one one three two one one.”1 1
My hand jumped across the paper, leaving an ideogram behind.
“Decode it.”
I turned my head, cracking my neck as I put the pen back on the ideogram. I methodically probed it slipping deeper and deeper into the ether. Time had nearly stopped. I felt myself rising into darkness, away from the table and the room. Up, up … I tried to gain some sense of what and where I was. There was a rushing sound in my ears, like a cold wind passing. I felt blind, lost, helpless, and cold. Pinholes of light came into focus, like stars in a black fog.
Am I in space? I’ve got to get to the target. I can’t miss the target.
The “stars” suddenly blurred into horizontal streaks of light. I felt myself accelerating, faster and faster, falling toward the target as if through a tunnel of light. My speed began to create heat around me, and I closed my eyes and fists, expecting to burn; but I didn’t. I looked in the direction of my descent, and there, looming at the end of the tunnel, was a moving field of dark blue mist. I struck it full force and punched through into something else. The air was warmer now, and I felt more in control. Without warning, a voice invaded my sanctuary.
“David?” It was Riley.
At first I choked, trying to find a way to speak with this phantomlike body. And then it came, as if I’d been doing it all my life. “Mel, this is very strange. Damn, did you hear that—I talked!”
“I know it’s strange, Dave, but you’re doing fine. Try to stabilize yourself and tell me what you see.”
“Stabilize myself? Hell, what am I supposed to do, hang on to something?” Warm air rushed around me; a white haze crept in, blocking my vision.
“Just relax, Dave. Get a sense of where you are. Let yourself find the target. Just think about the target.” My friend was doing his best to guide me and help me keep control.
“This is unbelievable, Mel,” Kathleen said over the intercom. “He bilocated within seconds of receiving the coordinates. Nobody’s ever done it that fast before.”
Mel replied: “Let’s hope it isn’t just beginner’s luck. He’s floundering around out there, you know, trying to figure out how everything works, but I think I can get him on target fairly soon.” He turned his attention back to me. “What do you see, Dave?”
“Ahh, the haze is going away … . I’ve got all kinds of visuals coming in … . I think I’m outside some kind of building.”
“Describe it to me.”
I was struggling to remain stable, but I kept moving involuntarily around what I thought was the target. “It’s still hard to see; there’s a lot of stuff coming and going out here. It’s kind of confusing.”
“That’s just visual noise. Pay no attention to it. Just focus on the target.”
“I think I see it … . It looks like an older building, made of stone, maybe. Yeah, stone. I can see windows and—Wait a minute!”
“What?”
I laughed. “I still can’t get the hang of this. One second I’m standing still and the next I’m two inches off the ground, staring at the sidewalk.”
“You’ll get the hang of it. Just concentrate on righting yourself and getting back to the mission.”
Riley and I worked until, by focusing my thoughts into visual patterns, I could control my movements in this phantom state. If I wanted to stand, I visualized myself standing; similarly, if I wanted to move left or right, I pictured myself turning that way.
“Mel! I got it! This is like a platform diver visualizing the dive before it’s executed—he basically moves from place to place visually.”
“Exactly. And there is no other way for us to teach it to you than for you to experience it like this.”
“Fascinating!” Experimenting, I shot straight up in the air till I was about a hundred feet above the building. “I’m above the building now; how do I get in?”
“The same way you did everything else.”
“Do I use the door, or what?”
“No, just punch through the roof and describe the interior of the building to me.”
I stared at the rooftop and concentrated briefly; my phantom body hurled itself down. I flinched as the roof passed by, but it felt like nothing more than a soft puff of air, like a mild aftershock or blast concussion.
Inside the building I found a puzzling scene. “I see a lot of junk.” My emotions began to clash with what I was sensing. “Mel?” I called. “Mel?”
“Yeah, Dave.”
“I’m a little confused again. I can describe the room for you, but I’m getting something deeper, something emotional.”
“Tell me about the building first; then we’ll move on to other aspects.”
I slowly turned full circle in the center of the room. “I see wooden floors, and cases and boxes covered in glass. I think there are weapons here. Yes, that’s it, I’m surrounded by weapons.”
Riley smiled, and kept jotting notes.
“There are smaller rooms off this one. This appears to be the central room in the building. There’s a lot of wood and metal objects—mixed construction, not separate.”
“Explain that.”
“I mean the objects are made of both wood and metal.”
“Are these the large objects you described earlier, the ones with glass on top? Or are they related to those objects in any way?” -
I struggled to answer. “They’re related … . One goes inside the other, but I don’t understand how or why.”
“What else can you tell me about the site?”
“Well, there’s this emotional thing.”
“Okay, let’s explore that. What’s so strong that it keeps punching through to you on an emotional level?”
I closed my eyes and tried to absorb the unseen aspects of the site. The images and emotions came in a trickle at first, and then suddenly flooded me. “Jesus! That hurts!”
“Hurts?”
“Well, no, it doesn’t hurt. I guess it’s making me sick to my stomach more than anything.”
“Tell me what you sense, Dave.”
My phantom body dropped to its knees, while my physical body uncontrollably slumped onto the table. “This place is fraught with death,” I sobbed. “Everything in here smells and tastes of death.”
“Touch one of the objects and tell me what you feel and see inside yourself.”
I reached for an object near me. “I see a man walking. He is filthy, covered in smoke and blood. He smells like an animal! His hair is long, and so is his beard; he’s moving in a line with a lot of other men just like him.” I paused. “He’s a soldier.”
“What kind of soldier?”
“I don’t know. I think he’s old. His—his time is gone. He’s gone … gone away. I’m seeing something past, aren’t I?” .
Riley sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. “Okay, Dave, I want you to come back. Let everything go now, and come back.”
I began to breathe rapidly; small beads o
f sweat formed on my forehead and arms. My muscles twitched and jerked involuntarily as my phantom body fell through the tunnel of light again.
I could see Mel through eyes I couldn’t control. It was frightening, like the horrible nightmare I’d had months ago, to look at Mel through someone else’s eyes. But in a few minutes, I was able to raise my head and focus my eyes. As my vision cleared I saw Mel sitting in front of me and smiling.
“Have fun?”
I rubbed my eyes and wiped my face on my shirtsleeve. “Oh, great fun! Where was I, anyway? And why did I feel like I was looking through another set of eyes?”
“That’s for you to tell me. I want you to go into the garden room and do your summary for me. Kathleen and I’ll be in there in about twenty minutes. Okay?”
I nodded, but when I stood up I started to sway. I had to grab the table for support. “Damn!”
“You’ll be all right in a minute or two. That was your first real bilocation. They tend to take a bit out of you at first—actually, they always take a bit out of you. Twenty minutes in the garden room.” Riley walked out of the room.
“Okay.” I felt awful, as if I had a hangover or maybe the flu. My legs wobbled and my stomach was queasy. I could hear Kathleen and Riley congratulating one another in the monitor’s room down the hall, but I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.
In the garden room, Kathleen and Mel sat on opposite sides of the table and looked intently at me. I had the urge to say, “I didn’t do it!” Whatever “it” was.
“So, give us your perceptions,” said Riley.
I gave my notes and sketches a quick glance and began reading. “The site has aspects of both old and new. It’s a stone building that houses many objects. These objects—they’re definitely weapons of some sort—have a military value. Most of them are made of wood and metal. There is a great deal of glass in the building, plus wooden floors, carpets, -old furniture, and so on. The site has an almost domestic appearance.”
Psychic Warrior Page 14
