Telepathy and Eye Contact.

“When eye contact between two people is initiated and maintained, an invisible energetic circuit is established between the two participants, dissolving the barriers that ordinarily separate them from each other, drawing them ever closer into a shared awareness of union.”
— Will Johnson, The Spiritual Practices of Rumi: Radical Techniques for Beholding the Divine.

“Portal sits deep within the eye.
The eye of yin’s severity
rewards understanding.”
— Mudvayne, Mercy, Severity.

In addition to my personal experiences, parapsychological research suggests that not only is eye gazing unnecessary for telepathy to occur, but distance between the subjects in question ultimately makes no difference, either. Despite this, eyes certainly hold a particular and peculiar power for me and I continue my struggle to understand why. It doesn’t help matters that aside from the alien abduction literature in general and my own experiences in particular I have only heard of experiences of “ocular telepathy” through two other sources.

Years ago, when I found Koda on the net, he had yet to write his 2004 book Instant Enlightenment: Metaphysical Fast Food, which I have since purchased. His interest in metaphysics was first sparked as a teenager in the early 1970s after experimenting with psychedelics. Since then he has explored the paranormal through conversation and tested out various techniques on his own.

His first attempt at telepathy occurred when he and a friend were alone, smoking hashish, and the technique was a rather basic one: Koda tried to focus on and “send” a letter as his friend tried to “receive” it. After visualizing a letter for about five minutes, his frustration grew and he screamed to himself mentally, at which time his friend screamed it quite verbally. They tried to repeat it several times that day and failed, but now that he had confirmed telepathy to his satisfaction he decided to see what other questions in this area he could lay to rest.

After attempting and accomplishing two other paranormal feats while alone in his bedroom that evening, as he explained it, “My ego was glowing profusely.” Upon going to the local coffee shop and telling some of his friends and classmates, however, he was met with only disbelief and ridicule. Frustrated, he was immediately set on revenge, and he stumbled upon the means some weeks later at that very coffee shop.

They often held staring contests and one girl always seemed to be better than the rest. Whenever he challenged her he would be doing fine for a short while before he cracked a grin and lost the game. He finally thought he would try thinking of a joke during their staring and telepathically “send” it to her to see if he could get her to laugh. It worked, even during the rematch she demanded. When she asked how he had done it and he told her, she confessed to using the same technique.

He then began practicing telepathy far more blatantly — and with a certain vengeance. He would begin the process using cold reading, approaching a friend, looking in their eyes and saying,”Let me see if I can read your mind.” Judging from their facial expressions he could easily determine that they thought he was full of shit, so he told them just that. They would confess it was so but maintained that it proved nothing. Then he would declare that they were now trying to think of something more specific and less obvious. Then he would tell them that they were beginning to wonder if he really could read their mind after all given his accuracy this far. At this point he began to generate fear in them, which as a consequence made them focus all the more intensely on whatever they were thinking about.

Up to this point, it was all cold reading, but it became, in this way, effective foreplay for telepathy. He slowly and systematically built up fear in them that he could read their minds and once that emotional component achieved sufficient intensity — typically when he went one step further and accused them of being terrified that he might be capable of knowing their deepest, darkest secrets — their focus became so locked on their specific, sustained thoughts that, as he put it, they essentially broadcasted their thoughts to him. He would then tell them what they were thinking, which by this point was something very specific, and they would confess that he could do it after all.

He did this daily for two weeks and got quite proficient at it before deciding he had had enough. Not only did he finally feel that he gotten even with them, he could no longer deal with the feelings of absolute terror he generated in them in the process. To make matters worse, even after making it known that he had stopped, people still avoided him for roughly two months.

It was two years before he started investigating telepathy again, this time with the intent of teaching others how to do it. In time he developed what he came to call the “Psychic Window Technique” in which two people engage in prolonged staring or mutual gazing at a short distance. According to Koda, this technique has a few effects.

In the midst of prolonged eye-gazing he would perceive strange illusions in his partner’s face: areas would often appear blurry, darker, or become more pronounced. Sometimes these distortions gave way to full-blown hallucinatory shape-shifting into the faces of strangers, animals, and even stranger things. His partner, it turned out, would see the same illusions, simultaneously and with equal intensity on his own face. He came to call this effect “visual telepathy,” and it is essentially this that first brought him to my attention. It helped explain an incident I’d had on December 15, 2001.

For some time I had been working at a particular fast food restaurant where I also often spent a considerable and embarrassing amount of my time off. A few hours before work I would come in, get my free and essentially bottomless cup of coffee, sit in my booth in the smoking section and spend my free time writing, reading, thinking and, in my idle time, people-watching. It was one of the few unofficial benefits of the job.

On the day in question a guy I had briefly worked with at another fast food job saw me, took a seat at the opposite end of my booth and we engaged in a short conversation. He was there with some guy, perhaps a brother, who had a young kid with him. After we concluded our conversation, he got up and left. I went back to my writing, lost in my own personal trance, having assumed that was the end of it. I could not have been more mistaken. As I have previously written:

“I was jolted… by the sound of something hitting the far end of my booth. Startled and curious, I looked up to find a dome of blond hair poking out from just beyond the end of the table. It was the upper hemisphere of a toddler’s head. One hand of his was grabbing a hold of the end of the table; in the other, he held his cup with the sippy-top. He was looking dead at me, and instead of meeting his eyes I just sort of laughed under my breath, turned my head back down, placed the pen to the page and continued my writing. My eyes didn’t even reach my notebook before I heard it again. Looking back up, I immediately locked eyes with the kid and found myself imprisoned there. The gateways to my mind were being held hostage.

My peripheral vision was suddenly enshrouded in this dark, blurry overcast. While the eyes at the end of the tunnel shared the shadowy opaqueness, it was also possessed with a hyper-vivid quality. This sense of pressure built in my head, as if energy from his eyes were literally pushing into my mind, as if breaking and entering the mind and scanning and downloading personal files. A virtual form of search and seizure or, in this case, a telepathic analogue.

After a moment, he seemed satisfied and strangely amused, looking at me in a creepy way, as if he knew a “dark secret,” as I had later phrased it, that somehow connected him and I. The edges of his lips then curled slowly upward to an unnatural height, almost as if this surreal Cheshire Cat grin belonged somewhere in the twilight betwixt reality and cartoon.

Soon he walked away slowly with who I presume to be my ex-coworker’s friend holding his hand, but my line of sight was still ensnared by his eyes. He held me in his ocular tractor beam until he was out of my line of sight, at which time I felt him release my mind from his psychic grip.

Sinking down into the booth, I was cold and trembling, heart pumping wildly beneath gooseflesh. My eyes felt a strange, widened sort of pain, and it felt as if I could still feel the residual feeling of him being inside my head. I tried to look intensely out into nowhere, to “stare” the feeling out of me as if I were trying to flush out the psychic lines or something.”

According to Koda, this mutuality of experience does not end with visual illusions and hallucinations of the face, either, but extends to emotional states and physical sensations. One can even play a game, he suggests, in which one takes on the role of the blind receiver as the other intentionally generates and attempts to communicate a specific emotion or sensation.

This brings us to the 1998 book, Dancing Naked in the Mind Field, by Kary Mullis, a biochemist who won the Nobel Prize for his invention of the polymerase chain reaction (PCR) in 1983. Despite his accomplishments and credentials he is, to put it mildly, a controversial figure and an interesting character with even more interesting personal anecdotes to relate. In a chapter entitled, “Intervention on the Astral Plane,” he recounts his experience with a woman he introduces as Katherine O’Keefe who had astounding abilities — though I will focus on a single instance he cited which occurred on the day he met her “in the flesh,” in December of 1978. They met first at a Bakery and she then followed him home:

“We talked briefly about nothing much in kitchen and then made love before I knew anything more than her name. She looked deep into my eyes and did something to me with her mind that was ecstatic. It seemed to me as if a little tentacle had reached into my mid-brain and tickled my hypothalamus” (p 93).

In 2002, while I still worked at the fast food restaurant previously mentioned, I had met Angela, a beautiful girl that had some strange experiences of her own. When we worked nights together she used to get up real close to my face and stare at me in the eyes, which I always enjoyed. At one point, while staring at me in that way, she did something akin to what Mullis described. I received this intense, joyous, almost orgasmic high that reached a fever pitch, overwhelming me and causing my field of perception to ripple like the surface of a disturbed body of water.

I had experienced such perceptual distortions before, to be certain, though the emotional component had never before achieved such intensity. One of the first occasions this happened, I was attending a dance with my girlfriend at the time at her school. In passing, as I was walking behind her through a crowded room, I happened to lock eyes with a random girl and the same thing occurred: a rising high with rippling vision. And she had done it at some distance, too.

Koda also writes about telepathically transmitting and receiving emotionally-charged imagery. Having read it for the first time in the process of writing this, it made me think of two experiences of mine.

The first happened during high school sometime after the flashbacks. I was in English class and we were all in our seats working on our papers independently and the teacher was walking up and down the isles, observing us as we worked. Occasionally she would stop and talk to a student in whispered tones. She walked up to my desk, leaned down to talk to me and as I looked up I happened to look her directly in the eyes. It was as if I was sucked into the vortex of her pupils. Inside, I saw things rotting, dripping with a venomous, sewage-like substance, absolutely grotesque, ill and deprived of life. And in an instant I broke the link, looking away from her, totally confused as to what had just happened.

Years later, the same sort of thing happened to me with a kid on April 8, 2002 as I was in a booth at work talking with a Tess, a co-worker and passing romantic interest:

“As her and I spoke, I found myself a bit distracted when this family of four came in. There was a curly-haired brunette lady who I presumed to be the mother; a tall, dark-haired man who’s face I never saw, and two kids. There was a younger one who had blond hair and blue eyes and looked rather frail-looking. His head was kind of big, too. The other was older with dark hair. The mother sat down in the booth behind my friend – booth number five – with the frail boy between her and the wall. Across from her and back-to-back with my friend was the tall man. Across from the blond haired kid and tall man sat the dark-haired boy.

It was the blond that first caught my attention. He was a cute little kid with bright blue eyes, but something about him made me uneasy. Though I was quick to attribute it to paranoia, for a few moments I watched him closely just to be sure. As I was scrutinizing, both kids stood up at once, leaned towards one another from across their table and placed themselves forehead to forehead, like playful bucks locked in a duel, staring dead into one another’s eyes. The mother lightly backhanded the blond kid and told them both to stop.

My attention slipped back to Tess, who was still talking. I had absolutely no fucking clue what the hell she had been saying, and even what she was saying at present seemed to be empty words lost in a jumble. I was getting really, really uncomfortable, and I had no idea why. It all seemed very odd. Somehow, something just didn’t feel right.

Then I looked back up over her shoulder. The dark-haired kid seemed to sense my eyes on him, and he suddenly turned around and looked dead at me and have me a Cheshire Cat grin. When I meet his eyes his pupils grow large, darker-than-dark, and it suddenly it feels as if I’m violently dragged forward and right into them. It’s like we’re in this foggy bubble where we’re only eyes and mind, and only him and I exist, and the rest of the world grows blurred and distorted. It was definitely visual — he looked magnified, abstract and surreal, and I could still see that Cheshire grin, wide and cartoon-like. It certainly wasn’t limited to image, though. It was as if our eye contact had merged us mentally, fused us. I felt as though I was in his mind, or that he was in mine, or that we now shared a mind.

I looked away. It took me a few seconds or so of staring at the table in front of me to realize just what the hell had happened. I knew I wasn’t sleeping, so I couldn’t be dreaming. I wasn’t on drugs. Tess was still talking, but when she looked up at me she did a double-take and then stopped dead in her tracks. I imagine the look on my face must have been about as fucked up as I was feeling. She studied me another moment before asking what was wrong.

Looking at her, staring deep into her eyes, I found that nothing happened. If this was in my head, I wondered, wouldn’t looking into her eyes do the same thing? I looked back at the kid, thinking this might have been something I’d imagined — half hoping, as a matter of fact, that it had truly been something that I’d imagined. Then it all happened again. He goes into my head, grinning again, almost as if he’s a fucking cartoon. If I focused at all, I feared I might be locked there forever; that I might be trapped there and the rest of reality might fade away.

He looks away. While I’m sitting there pale as a ghost and freaking out, he’s sitting there amused. It’s almost as if he thought it was funny that he could do this. He leaned over the table again and whispered to the blond haired kid. Then he turns back to me and does it again, grinning that wide and freaky Cheshire cat grin, eyes as big and black as universes.”

Koda ultimately experienced something far more extreme than me in this respect, however. In the summer of 1984 he writes how he was practicing the technique with a friend of his in a coffee shop when, for roughly six seconds, they both suddenly saw the same detailed scene from the same perspective:

“I was looking directly at a very pretty blond girl about nineteen-years-old. She was perhaps six feet away, facing slightly toward my left as she sat in front of an old-fashion chest of drawers topped with a large, ornate mirror. Her dress was bright yellow, laced up the front and had a white, ruffled collar. She was brushing her long blond hair with very slow strokes, looking rather absent minded, as if she were daydreaming about some hoped-for future. To the left of the dresser was the closed bedroom door. Without knowing why, I was certain there was a hallway on the other side of the door. I knew that toward the right the hall lead to the back door and the barn area, while on the left the hall opened into the living room. On the other side of the hall from the bedroom was the kitchen. I knew where all the pots and pans and lanterns were hung, that the road came in from west in front of the house and most of the fields were in that direction. I knew everything about the place as quickly as my mind could scan the area, including the ‘fact’ that I was in a farmhouse in Southern California in the late 1800s” (p 18).

In rare instances, he says, even thoughts can be communicated — as exemplified to some degree in his initial experience with his friend on hashish and his subsequent mind-reading of his friends and classmates. It also brings us back to Mullis. In a chapter of the aforementioned book entitled, “My Evening With Harry,” Mullis recounts an experience he had in 1978 in San Francisco.

He was sitting at his kitchen table with his friend, Harry, a fellow chemist, who he had not seen in some time. They both drank some beer and Harry smoked a joint. After explaining that he wanted to show him something, he turned to Mullis with wide eyes and asked him to stare into his eyes and do his best not to blink or react if his face happened to change. As Mullis goes on to explain:

“His face did change. It was still Harry, but varieties of Harry I had not seen. Different faces appeared out of the familiar flesh, which now wasn’t so familiar. Some of them were humans I didn’t know, some were not human at all. They were animal. They were all Harry in some way I couldn’t explain. I was seeing things in him that were him but not a part of the life we had shared. It was a little scary, but Harry was somehow underneath it smiling that confident smile” (p 86).

(p 86)

They both admitted to being inside each other’s minds (“the front room — the reception area,” Mullis explained) and then Mullis broke it off for a moment, grabbed two pens and some index cards.

“We were being scientists. We both wrote down a word and then showed each other our cards. It was the same word. Just a word, nothing cosmic, but it was the same, and we knew it would be. We did it again and again, and we knew every time it would be the same. We were watching something — always present but usually dormany — from a privileged position that we had created by putting ourselves together in some way. It was absolutely normal and yet it wasn’t” (p 87).

Recently I came upon some articles regarding eye-gazing experiments that inspired me to try researching the subject again, hoping to find something. While I found no further personal anecdotes, I did happen upon some interesting and relevant studies. In a video by The Liberators International they invited strangers to publicly engage in eye contact for one, whole, psychologically-juicy minute. After the predictable awkwardness produced at the onset, participants reported the very heights of elation. This predominantly emotional experience may have been overshadowed by some haunting hallucinatory phenomena if ocular engagement had continued for ten minutes, however, at least according to experiments conducted by Giovanni B. Caputo, a psychologist at the University of Urbino in Italy.

I was first introduced to Caputo’s work through an article regarding his studies on mirror-gazing in which he found that after perhaps no more than a minute of staring at one’s reflection subjects experienced what he called the Strange-Face-in-the-Mirror Illusion. Features would darken or become more pronounced; people would see, instead of their own faces, those of strangers, animals, or monstrous beings. In further experiments in which he explored the effects of what has been variously referred to as interpersonal, intersubjective or mutual eye-gazing, he found that the same basic manifestations emerged.

In a paper entitled, “Dissociation and hallucinations in dyads engaged through interpersonal gazing,” Caputo described an experiment in which he paired off 20 people (15 women, 5 men) and had them sit facing each other at a distance of roughly three feet in a dimly-lit room where they were instructed to gaze into one another’s eyes for ten minutes. There was also a control group of 20 placed in more or less the same conditions, though in this case they were instructed to gaze at a blank wall. Each group then completed three questionnaires relating to their experience. The initial dealt with dissociative states, the remaining two focused on their experience of the point of focus — the control group’s wall or the face of your partner. The results were astonishing:

“The participants in the eye-staring group said they’d had a compelling experience unlike anything they’d felt before. They also scored higher on all three questionnaires than the control group. On the dissociative states test, they gave the strongest ratings to items related to reduced colour intensity, sounds seeming quieter or louder than expected, becoming spaced out, and time seeming to drag on. On the strange-face questionnaire, 90 per cent of the eye-staring group agreed that they’d seen some deformed facial traits, 75 per cent said they’d seen a monster, 50 per cent said they saw aspects of their own face in their partner’s face, and 15 per cent said they’d seen a relative’s face.”

As explained elsewhere, a cocktail of neural adaptation, psychological projection and facial recognition would explain the surreal effects that can manifest during mirror-gazing; the same would appear to be true for mutual gazing. This would not, at least so obviously, explain why interpersonal gazing would constitute the more intense experience of the two — nor would it begin to explain the seemingly telepathic effects. There are, however, at least two separate studies that may offer some insight. One was conducted by psychologists from the University of Stirling involving 20 five-year-old children. It concluded that those who averted eye contact in order to consider how they would answer questions were more apt to answer correctly than those who maintained their gaze. In another study conducted at Kyoto University in Japan (the results of which were published as “When we cannot speak: Eye contact disrupts resources available to cognitive control processes during verb generation”) participants played word association games of varying complexity while looking at a variety of faces that were either staring or looking away. During eye contact, they did more poorly during the most complex questions.

In both cases, then, it was suggested that cognitive effort and eye contact interfered with one another. While neither study so much as references hypnosis, the conclusions of both appear to resonate well with hypnotist Scott Jansen’s allegation, which is that sustained eye contact generates “psychological pressure” that diminishes conscious thinking. Subliminal or unconscious thought then rushes in to compensate, heightening one’s suggestibility. In other words, eye contact could be seen as the most basic form of the most typical of induction techniques used by hypnotists both on and off the stage: what is variously known as the direct gaze, fixed gaze or fixation method of hypnotic induction. Though this can be used to refer to the subject’s fixation on nearly anything — a candle’s flame, a finger, a swinging watch — among the objects of potential focus are the hypnotist’s eyes. The issue here is that inducing hypnosis does not alone explain the seemingly telepathic effect, as there are no clearly no overt, hypnotic suggestions to follow in the midst of silent, mutual gazing — and they would prove difficult to deliver, too, perhaps, given the interference it evidently has with respect to cognition.

There may very well be nonverbal hypnotic suggestions at play here, however. Consider that eyes are essentially extensions of the brain that not only receive external signals as sense organs but can also transmit the brain’s own signals to other pairs of eyes. When you engage in eye contact with another person you pick up on the expressions on their face and, of course, the movements of their own eyes. While you can consciously perceive the eye movements known as saccades, such as when the person looks back and forth, there are various forms of subtler, involuntary movements that occur even when those eyes remain fixed on your own, and they may also communicate nonverbal information regarding their inner state. By picking up on these external, nonverbal reactions to their own minds we may instinctively decode those signals and replicate the other person’s inner state within ourselves. Hypnotic trance through silent, prolonged mutual gaze would only amplify such effects.

Those effects are certainly there, too, whatever the cause. In a 2015 study published in the journal Neuroimage, 96 volunteers were split into pairs and proceeded to engage in mutual gazing under the watchful eye of fMRIs. It was found that not only did the pairs begin blinking in unison, their brain activity synchronized in the area of the right inferior frontal gyrus. The remaining question is whether these mundane processes are enough to explain the effects of what I, perhaps lamely, have referred to for some time as ocular telepathy. To put it more plainly: if through prolonged mutual gazing you are capable of sharing or exchanging hallucinations, emotions, mental images and even thoughts with your partner, does it remain a viable hypothesis that the aforementioned normal — as opposed to paranormal — processes are the culprit?

Taken as a whole, it seems a stretch. To break it down in specific bits: being capable, in the midst of locked gaze, of reading emotional states through nonverbals and experiencing them as your own — or experiencing them as emotions from an external source, namely that of your partner — is a hypothesis that would be relatively easy for me to accept, especially given what we know regarding our inherent capacity to subliminally and automatically translate body language. When it comes to sharing hallucinations and subjective imagery, however, I am far more skeptical, and when it comes to communicating thoughts — say in the fashion of Mullis and Harry at the kitchen table exchanging those index cards — it seems absolutely absurd.

So how might one explain this?

We know that ordinary sense perception exists. Our mundane senses do not operate in isolation, however, but are in constant concert, influencing one another with the aim of delivering a seemingly seamless sensory experience to consciousness. Smell, for instance, affects taste, as anyone who has had nasal congestion can attest to. Wine tasters swirl the fluid in the glass, take a hearty whiff, and then sip, utilizing all relevant senses as they contribute to a more holistic, mindful experience of the taste.

There is sufficient data in parapsychological studies to suggest that extrasensory perception exists. While we accept the community or senses as a factor for clear reception with respect to the clarity of reception provided by any singular, ordinary sense, we are for whatever reason suddenly prone to amnesia when it comes to exploring the extra-sensorium. Here, frustration and discouragement overwhelm us when we learn that, for instance, telepathy is difficult to isolate with any certainty from other senses — or potential extrasenses — in the laboratory setting. When we do manage to fashion experiments that isolate specific psi, we are frustrated and discouraged when the effect, though exceeding chance, is relatively weak. We fail to consider the fact that in their natural environment, so-to-speak, they may complement and be similarly influenced by a community of extrasenses just as ordinary senses are.

Not only that, but we should expect these two distinct sensory systems to influence one another as well, which would certainly serve to complicate matters. Assuming this is the case, it could go some way to explain what many interpret as a failure in parapsychology, which is to say that any detectable effects are prone to being relatively weak in nature. After all, when we take average individuals and subject them to parapsychological studies with rigid controls meant to remove any evidence of sensory (if not other extrasensory) influence, we are in effect removing their given extrasense (telepathy, in this case) from its natural context and placing it in an isolated, alien environment in which it is not only virgin but necessarily abandoned by its typical support system. We should be astounded that parapsychological experiments reveal any psi influence at all.

Perhaps the coupling of mutual eye-gazing, subliminal cold-reading and telepathy could better explain the phenomena experienced as ocular telepathy. It works so well, its effects are so predictable, immediate and intense in comparison to telepathy as it is ordinarily explored, simply because it utilizes the parapsychological in tandem with the psychological and biological.

No doubt a relevant form of training might help discipline our natural ability to conjure such capacities through the Psychic Window Technique, and the literature which I have referenced in quotes in this article already provide some clues as to what training might be optimal. Consider, for instance, the conversation between Mullis and O’Keefe following the incident in which she seemed, according to him, to have tickled his hypothalamus:

“I asked her what the hell she had done to me.

She replied, ‘You’ve been playing with your mind, but you don’t know anything yet. No one has ever properly taught you.’

I was excited. ‘Will you show me how to do that? What you did?’

‘You already know. You just need to practice'” (p 93).

Though Mullis reported that she did indeed teach him to practice, he gave few details, in the end only offering the reader her diagnosis of his condition. “She told me that I had abilities that I hadn’t tapped into and that I had to learn to quiet myself inside,” he wrote. “I had to learn not to think so much.” Though she never said it outright so far has Mullis himself has conveyed, it seems clear to me that she was talking about meditation — something akin to the Theravada and Tibetan Buddhist practices of samatha and vipassana, which cultivate the power of attention.

There was also a detailed practice offered by Koda, however: the aforementioned “The Psychic Window Technique.” He suggests that you and your partner sit down and face one another at a distance of perhaps two to three feet, sure to maintain “open” body language devoid of defensive barriers like crossed arms or legs in the process. Both of you then decide which mutual “side” will hold your attentions when you stare at one another: either you focus your eyes on your partner’s right eye as they focus on your left or vice versa. It is of vital importance, I think, to focus mutual attention on a mutual “side,” as it makes certain you are both focusing on the eye of the other that is focusing on you. This would also make it indistinguishable from samatha meditation.

Once the “side” is established, you both stare into one another’s eyes unwaveringly, without blinking, all the while trying to expand your field of clear perception to encapsulate the entirety of the face: then the weirdness begins…

Seven Phases & Frog Soup for the UFO.

OF STEPS & PHASES.

I first heard of the Seven Steps to Contact when it was referenced in 5 Things That Will Happen When Aliens Arrive, a Strange Mysteries video on YouTube. It made me tilt my head like a confused dog and lift a brow, too, for despite my obsession and rather thorough research on the subject I had never heard of it, not once. When a subsequent Google search only provided a few articles about it (none of which offered additional information) I began to suspect that I had never heard of it for the simple fact that it was bullshit that someone had relatively recently pulled out of their anal cavity.

I was wrong, however. Kind of.

It is really called the Seven Phases to Contact and it was first reported in the 1967 book, Flying Saucers — Here and Now! by Frank Edwards and later discussed in Xenology: An Introduction to the Scientific Study of Extraterrestrial Life, Intelligence and Civilization, a 1979 book by Robert Freitas. Allegedly it was among the subjects of a joint Army-Navy briefing regarding UFOs held in Washington DC during the summer of 1950. It was meant to provide an outline for how we might approach an extraterrestrial intelligence (ETI) upon our discovery of it. By extension, it may also explain how an ETI might approach our own species. Though potentially bunk, the content of the Seven Phases is interesting nonetheless and well-worth consideration.

PHASE ONE.

We might regard the first phase as one of remote detection and surveillance. The way Edwards described it in his book, this “would take place before we knew whether the planet was inhabited” and “would consist of a cautious and careful surveillance from a distance considered safe.” From earth and our orbiting satellites we might ascertain not only the presence, age and habitability of a distant exoplanet but even detect the signature of life through spectroscopic analysis of the atmosphere. SETI may even detect radio signals from the exoplanet.

PHASE TWO.

Given the star system was a relatively nearby neighbor and/or we had warp technology or access to wormholes, we would move onto the next phase and send out covert probes that would take up orbit around the exoplanet to gather further intelligence. If there were any natural moons, we might make manned bases there as well, ensuring they could not detect our presence.

There have been consistent rumors of an extraterrestrial “black knight satellite” orbiting earth as well as some curious moon anomalies that would be consistent with the notion that we are under such surveillance ourselves.

PHASE THREE.

If intelligence procured from the former two phases provided justification we would then engage in covert contact, deploying maneuverable, manned craft in order “to check the performance characteristics of vehicles belonging to the planetary inhabitants — to test their speed, types of propulsion, and maneuverability as compared to our own.” This is not unlike what UFOs started doing in the second World War as documented in Keith Chester’s 2010 book, Strange Company, and continue to do today, which is essentially antagonizing and play-fighting with commercial and military aircraft — as if to test their capabilities.

PHASE FOUR.

Next we would direct our craft to “make near approaches to determine whether the alien beings are hostile” as well as to “check radar locations and locations of military centers” so as to assess their degree of hostility and weapon capabilities. This is akin to the behavior of UFOs post-1947, where they began invading our airspace, focusing on our military bases and buzzing — and in a few unnerving instances, interfering — with our nuclear arsenals.

PHASE FIVE.

Finally, we would land, though Edwards states that this would be limited to “brief touchdowns in isolated areas to secure specimens of plants, animals, and (if possible) specimens of the intelligent beings themselves.” Freitas explains that xenologists (those who study extraterrestrial life) refer to this as “the snatch.” Of course, it also explains what is generally known as UFO or alien abduction. Alien beings have been observed taking plants as well as animals such as dogs, elk and, last but not least, human beings.

PHASE SIX.

With respect to the next potential phase, one which we might call the “presentation” phase, Edwards explains:

If we have been successful in acquiring the information we needed by the preceding steps, we must now decide on the basis of that knowledge whether to abandon the project as too risky or otherwise undesirable — or whether to put into effect the sixth phase of the program. If we decide that the evidence seems to warrant some kind of eventual contact, direct or indirect, then phase six would consist of landings and low-level approaches where our craft and their operators could be seen — but not reached. These approaches would be made where they could be witnessed by the greatest possible number of inhabitants. If carried out successfully, this phase would demonstrate our existence and our non-hostile nature.

PHASE SEVEN.

If the intelligence gathered from the former six phases suggested it was advisable we would then make overt contact, communicating and interacting with the ETI in person.

Referred to by our briefing officers as the ‘Overt Contact’ phase. This would be the deliberate, carefully planned and executed final step in the program. Contact would not be attempted unless we had excellent reason to believe that it would not be disastrous to either of the races involved. There are some good reasons why it might never come to pass — even though results of the first six phases might have indicated that it could be physically possible.

QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, REFLECTIONS.

Though not noted by either of the authors so far as I am aware, it seems clear to me that these seven phases — aside from the fifth phase, for some reason — could be grouped into pairs: phases one and two deal with covert surveillance; phases three and four deal with assessing their potential threat (their degree of hostility plus their technological capability); phases six and seven deal with incrementally conditioning them to our presence until overt contact can be safely initiated.

Phases six and seven also operate on what we could call the frog soup scenario. If you boil up the pot of water and then throw in the amphibious, ribbiting fuck, he’s going to hop out. So what you do instead is put him in a pot of room-temperature water and slowly crank up the heat. The change will be so gradual that he’ll never know what’s happening to him.

In his book UFOs, JFK, and Elvis, Richard Belzer quotes Jim Marrs, who described the process in what, to my mind, seems to be a far less ominous fashion:

Back in the 1970s, scientists discovered what appeared to be a Stone Age tribe living in a remote area of the Philippines. For the first time, instead of just rushing in with cloths and tools and Bibles and everything and saying, ‘Here, get civilized,’ we finally showed a little bit of smarts and quarantined the whole area. Then we sent in a pool of scientists who would condition these people — actually get them used to the reality of modern human beings — so they could accept the researchers as a normal part of their lives.

For the first week or so, the researchers would simply sit within the villagers’ view, but at a distance. The next week, they would move slightly closer — not close enough to interact, but within the villagers’ notice. In a few days, perhaps they would move to a clearing. Some time after that, they might start to smile and wave, and so on. After a while the tribesmen began to get acclimatized to the scientists’ presence. And they began to realize, Okay… These people are here. And by the time the scientists finally made contact, the villagers knew their visitors were neither enemies nor a threat.

This process is known as a gradual disclosure or leaky embargo, and it is certainly one way to explain the behavior of UFOs both collectively and in individual sightings and encounters.

As a whole, UFO sightings come in waves. There will be troughs nearly void of UFO sightings or encounters that will occasionally be broken by unpredictable spurts of activity. At some indeterminate point and at varying speeds and intensities this activity will increase, leading to a cluster of sightings and encounters, the frequency and intensity of which reaches a fever pitch until the wave crashes, leaving you in a trough once again. Just when the public seems to have forgotten about the UFO phenomenon, however, the surreal tide rises yet again.

Waves are only a general characteristic of their pattern of activity, however. When they speak about UFO flaps, they typically mean that UFO waves are centered around a specific, geographical area. UFO hot spots are meant to denote geographical areas in which activity seems both concentrated and enduring, as in Gulf Breeze, Florida, or in the aftermath of the videotaped sightings in Mexico during the solar eclipse of July 11, 1991.

When cases are examined individually, one finds that there seems to be an increasing proximity between witnesses and UFOs over time — or, in the very least, an increasing awareness of their proximity. At first there were only distant sightings of daylight discs and nocturnal lights and unnervingly validating radar-visual cases. Then there were Close Encounters of the First Kind, where UFOs were close enough that witnesses could clearly see that they were manufactured machines. There are countless individual reports but most notable are the sort of slow, low-level parades and mass sightings of large craft seen by thousands of people over New York and Connecticut beginning in 1983, in Phoenix, Arizona and Sonora, Mexico on March 13, 1997 and in Stephenville, Texas on January 8th, 2008.

Reinforcement for the objective reality of UFOs came in cases of the Second Kind, where the craft in question would appear to cause blackouts, stall cars and otherwise manipulate and often enough burn earth, vegetation as well as witnesses. During Close Encounters of the Third Kind they may see and even interact with occupants.

Are the aliens — a convenient term for the intelligence behind the UFO and abduction phenomenon — slowly conditioning us, acclimating us to not only their existence but their real-time presence? If we would approach an ETI in such a way, as suggested by the alleged Seven Phases of Contact, is it not at least conceivable that an ETI would approach us in an analogous fashion? And is there not suggestion in the form of the UFO phenomenon as a whole that we are currently in the seventh phase of the process?

Aliens, UFOs and Abnormal Psychology.

Dismissing myself as crazy has been my convenient go-to, a default triggered when my strange experiences and their apparent implications become too overwhelming. When this surreal aspect of my life comes to face the giggle factor, meets the laughter curtain and exceeds my boggle threshold, the barrier beyond which I am no longer able to suspend disbelief, I endure a sort of nausea of the mind so intense that I, for a time, submit to it. Declaring myself crazy by no means makes me feel better — to the contrary, I always feel worse — but condemning myself in this fashion requires less energy than continuing my efforts to actually understand my experiences. The issue is that once I get beyond the emotional devastation of labeling myself crazy and subject this self-diagnosis to analysis I ultimately come to realize it really doesn’t constitute a diagnosis at all. “Crazy” is just a buzzword, dismissive in spirit and entirely devoid of true explanation.

So early on, back in high school, I found myself trying to identify a more specific self-diagnosis by reading through books on psychology, even an Abnormal Psychology college textbook I got from a friend. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified when I found that no single condition I read about seemed to cover the crazy shit that I had been experiencing. No umbrella terms appeared to be available. When I began seeing a psychologist shortly thereafter, and one that I had quickly developed a respect for, I explained how I had tried diagnosing myself and failed, as no disorder seemed to encompass it all. In my memory, he retorted, stating that I was wrong, and when I pressed him he fumbled and mentioned schizophrenia. The fact that he immediately seemed to backpedal when he saw my reaction only made my terror increase. The moment hung with me and I fell back on it when the weirdness weighed me down. At one point I remember finding a page on the net that described traits of the schizophrenic and the schizoid personality that seemed to fit me perfectly.  I scotch taped it to my bedroom door.

In 2002, when I came back to him after an intense cluster of experiences and casually acknowledged in our session that I was fully aware that I was schizophrenic, he immediately asked me, with a skeptical look on his face, who it was that had given me that diagnosis. When I stated that it had been him, he was emphatic that this could not have been the case. After explaining to me that the term schizophrenia was essentially a dumping ground for what may turn out to be various disorders, he took on this proposed diagnosis directly.

“If you’re a schizophrenic,” he told me, “you’re certainly a highly-functioning one.”

I found the notion that I, a twenty-something living at home yet again and working fast food, could be described as “highly functioning” by any measure to be ludicrous, but he was, after all, the goddamned professional. Though he predicted that I had particular abnormalities in certain regions of my brain and called my experiences “perceptual anomalies,” he never gave me a diagnosis.

For a time, specifically after reading Dr. Marlene Steinberg’s book, The Stranger in the Mirror: Dissociation — The Hidden Epidemic, I also explored the notion that I might suffer from a dissociative disorder, perhaps even Dissociative Identity Disorder. Without doubt I experience what has been labeled dissociative symptoms. In addition, my memories and experiences may in part be due to some alternate personality or “alter” and there appears to be evidence of its beginnings in my childhood. My initial rush of memories and the flashbacks that followed might represent a previously compartmentalized sector of my mind, one belonging to this alter, colliding with my conscious personality and merging. My experience with the ideomotor response in my use of the Ouija board, in my spontaneous artwork and writing, as well as during the hypnosis session, all may have represented the alter gaining slow and localized control over my body. The entity I encountered during my “astral projections” might be one manifestation of an alternate personality or alter as well — perhaps after sharing previously isolated memories the separate aspects of mind we have governed over blended further, giving rise to shared lucid dreams I took to be “astral projections.” Maybe the incidents between June and August of 1995, climaxing in the incident at the java juicer, represented transient periods where the alter took control of my body entirely.  

The issue is that this degree of dissociation is typically associated with intense physical and psychological trauma. On the surface, at least, this presents itself to me as an utterly insane proposition. As I imagine is the case with anyone, I have my share of complaints and grievances with respect to how I grew up. My mother favored my sisters over me and I had endless power-struggles with her over the course of my childhood. It hurt and enraged me, and I continue in my attempts to deal with those issues. Even so, I recognize that I was one lucky little asshole. My parents never physically abused us kids. I was certainly never sexually abused. Our harshest punishments as children, which I faced often enough, involved either staring at a corner for a length of time measured by my mother’s oven timer or being under “room arrest,” confined to my bedroom until further notice. Without doubt this nonviolent discipline is what made the abuse I witnessed at Jimmy’s house all the more traumatizing — and indeed, that was all certainly traumatizing from the position of a witness as well, but that it might provide the fuel for alien encounters seemed far more ludicrous to me than the thought that, well, I might have legitimately had alien encounters.

It isn’t just trauma and mental disorders that can allegedly produce these alien encounters, however. People have linked alien abduction experiences with various drugs such as Salvia Divinorum, Ketamine, and psilocybin, but most often DMT. All are classified as psychedelics, I believe, aside from ketamine, which is a dissociative, but unless you’re willing to concede that each of these chemicals constitute different rabbit holes leading to the same parallel universe, all are psychedelic in the true sense of the term, which is to say that they are “mind-revealing.” In other words, these drugs draw back the egoic curtain and let you take a peek beyond the veil of mundane consciousness, bringing you can deal more directly with the more subliminal aspects of the mind — just as psychosis can.

Some believe sleep paralysis alone can produce the abduction experience, which I find ridiculous for several reasons. Even among the popularized abduction cases one can see that bedrooms are not the only place encounters occur and that often enough the people involved are not asleep at the time of the event. They might be fishing or driving, for instance, and be among others who are taken along with them. In addition, I have had sleep paralysis myself and the earliest such experience is the succubus experience mentioned early in the book. Even at the time of the experience I did not interpret it as an alien breaking into my dark room, crawling atop my bed, straddling my immobilized body and proceeding to dry-hump rape me. Instead, I assumed it was a disembodied entity doing something analogous or — more likely, I supposed — this was all a hallucinatory experience brought on by one-part sleep deprivation and one-part prescription medication.

So I have explored the Psychological Hypothesis (PH), which alleges that while it may require activation through trauma, drugs, mental disorders or the peculiar circumstance in which your mind wakes up before your body does, the abduction experience is purely a product of human psychology. There is no external intelligence at work here, only my own. It’s all in my head. A related school of thought I explored posits what I’ll call the Psi Hypothesis (PsiH), and it attempts to compensate for the failure of the PH to account for physical evidence by bringing parapsychology into the fold — specifically, the psi capabilities of the human mind.

My train of thought ultimately ran along this track: if one finds the PH absurd and instead accepts abductions as nuts-and-bolts physical experiences, these physical experiences require you to accept the existence of paranormal phenomena. It is simply a given. After all, a cursory glance at abduction reports should make it clear that telepathy and moving through walls, for instance, is by no means rare in abduction events. To the contrary, paranormal phenomena is pretty fucking standard — and not just during these events, either, but in the wake of them. There is the matter of the “paranormal afterglow” that manifests in my life during these experiences, and while some investigators fail to mention them, personal reports from abductees reveal that I am by no means alone. Others also experience spontaneous telepathic experiences, poltergeist activity, vivid dreams that seem like awakening in a parallel reality, odd coincidences and other strange events.

As this paranormal afterglow runs the full spectrum of psi, stretches on indiscriminately into the gamut of the strange, it seems natural to wonder if the aliens themselves, rather than extraterrestrials, might just be another manifestation. In other words, it could very well still be that the phenomenon is purely psychological at the roots, that it is governed by compartmentalized aspects of my mind that influence me subliminally, that this is truly my conspiracy against myself. Maybe it also branched out into physicality utilizing psi abilities, however: powers which for whatever convenient reason I cannot wield consciously.
This would by necessity be a form of poltergeist. In this view, the phenomenon of poltergeists is explained as a living individual who is experiencing recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis; the psychokinetic activity is the result of subconscious and involuntary acting-out of the focus individual.

For a clearer picture of how this might work we might first turn to a series of parapsychological experiments that have been conducted since 1972. These experiments sought to demonstrate that the display of psi phenomena often attributed to deceased individuals could manifest without them, and so such phenomena were not necessarily evidence for life after death. In the beginning, which in this case was 1972, there was Philip Aylesford, the child of eight members of the Toronto Society for Psychical Research. He was a fictional character they developed with an elaborate backstory regarding his birth, life, and eventual death. They collectively meditated on him before attempting to communicate with him in the style of a Spiritualist seance. Participants reported not only communications but manifestations — they not only saw and heard things, in other words, but poltergeist phenomena also manifested. Other groups conducted similar experiments, reporting that they had successfully created and then conjured Lilith, a World War II French Canadian spy, Sebastian, an alchemist from medieval times and finally Axel, who was from the future.

As expected, results of these experiments were disputed — as were the tales regarding the more extreme manifestation of what has typically been called the tulpa in Western culture and which is also variously known as an egregore or a thought-form. It is often conceived as an imaginary entity that achieves, through ritual intent of its creator, a physical manifestation — according to some, an intentional and advanced rendition of your typical poltergeist.

Though the notion is reasonably dispersed across the collective consciousness at this point, methinks, the only alleged personal account I have come across is the one told by Alexandra David-Neel. In her journey through Tibet, she became interested in tulpas. Having elected to make one herself, she decided on a friendly, pudgy monk, and was eventually able to visualize him as a hallucination in her visual field. Over time the hallucination gained clarity, and eventually she found it indistinguishable from a living, breathing, physical being.

The frightening aspect of her little experiment soon became apparent, however, when the monk began appearing when she hadn’t conjured it, and then began behaving in ways it had not been programmed by her to behave. The monk also seemed to be losing weight and had taken on a distinctly malicious appearance. Nothing was as shocking, however, as when an individual she knew, who knew nothing of her practices, began questioning her about the stranger that had been meandering about in her tent. She reports that it took half a year, but she was eventually able to abolish the creature through other Tibetan techniques.

Though in both of these cases the entities were intentionally generated, in both cases they reportedly also exceed their programming and seemed to take on a life of their own, independent of the conscious aspect of the mind: essentially, a spiritual form of artificial intelligence. It also fits the profile of a dissociative identity state, an alternate personality. They are essentially intentionally-generated alters that can manifest physically.

An interesting aspect of the Philip experiment was that none of the eight involved were gifted psychically. Nonetheless, they were apparently capable of creating and programming a spiritual entity that could communicate in a way that was consistent with that personality and, most important and amazing of all, producing psychokinetic effects. David-Neel seemed to be at least moderately gifted psychically and have some degree of discipline as well; despite being a lone individual, she was able to produce a creature that could be seen by her and others. The entity was also able to become independent of its creators, functioning autonomously. Naturally, this might lead one to wonder what kind of effects a large group of psychically-gifted individuals might be capable of producing.

All the people I know that have had experiences similar to mine seem to have no knowledge of the UFO or abduction phenomenon beyond the superficial reports that the media regurgitates every now and then. Despite this, correlations between our narratives are plentiful right down to unanticipated details. From the way one friend described the shadows of the beings from outside her tent during a formative experience while camping as a child to the way another friend described the manner in which one of the creatures in his encounter ran, there are correlations even in the details littering our experience that I cannot in good conscience deny. This extends to many of those of whom I have read and read about in blogs, articles and books and seen through interviews and documentaries. Could the answer really be that our collective unconscious is conspiring against us, utilizing telepathy to share a narrative and RSPK to bring that narrative to life?

Despite finding the concepts of both the PH and PsiH fascinating, I have, in the end, always choked in my attempts to swallow. Those who have posited that poltergeist activity is the unconscious product of an individual note the similarities in individuals around which the alleged recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis (RSPK) manifests. In cases of alien abduction, on the other hand, it is clear that these experiences are shared by people from all walks of life, people all across the spectrum — racial, religious, cultural, class, education — as well as people of wildly different constitutions who react to these shared experiences in very individual ways. This sounds less like a psychological disorder — with or without psi effects — and more like an actual, nuts-and-bolts experience.

Crazy.

Sometimes I think I’m crazy. Sometimes I know I’m not.

— Stone Sour.

Always and forever, that question rears its ugly head once again, popping back up like some dreaded, stubborn Cheerio of Doom in the cereal bowl of my life: am I crazy?

I mean, I’m plagued with anxiety, experience periods of depression and bouts of blinding rage: does that alone make me crazy? Or is it the whole alien thing coupled with the seemingly paranormal phenomena that makes me so damned qualified?

Probably the alien thing, right?

Its rather stupid, too, I must admit, as I’m treating the “crazy” label as if it in itself might be an answer, but what does it explain, really? What the bloody fuck does it even mean?

Nothing.

It’s just a dismissive word. Calling someone crazy is a thought-stopper, not unlike saying “god did it.” It’s an easy out because you don’t have to question their motivations, their influences, the inner workings of their mind and heart. You need not understand a single thing. Crazy means empathy is unnecessary, even dangerous.

If my unusual experiences are little more than a mesh of waking dreams and hallucinations supported by delusions, that still leaves a lot open to question. For me, anyway. I know I’m not consciously and deliberately imagining these things and yet the experiences can be so sensory-rich, lifelike, structured — and totally governed by subliminal, autonomous processes. My battles against them are battles against some aspect if myself, but that makes it no less of a battle, makes them no more under my control.

And if I am crazy, does that mean the people I have met throughout my life who have had similar experiences — who have seen aliens, experienced paranormal phenomena for themselves — are also crazy? It would stand to reason. So I am not merely judging and dismissing myself but many of those who are dearest to me.

I may not be crazy, then, but calling myself crazy might make me a dick.

Diagnosing the Alien Lab Monkey.

In her 1999 book The Stranger in the Mirror: Dissociation — The Hidden Epidemic, Marlene Steinberg, MD
notes that “[a]bductees have the same dissociative symptoms as the trauma survivors I see in my psychiatric practice.” From this she extrapolates that alien abduction experiences must be screen memories for sexual or physical abuse. 

Similarly, according a February 17, 2003 article in New Scientist entitled, “Memories of alien ‘abduction’ cause physical effects,” by Shaoni Bhattacharya, a Harvard University discovered that the ten abductees they studied suffered from physiological effects consistent with PTSD. 

They could be distinguished by those with “genuine” traumatic experiences by means of asking the question, “Do you wish this had never happened?” The abductees responded in the negative, asserting that despite the pain they felt that the experience was somehow beneficial to them spiritually.

I have been able to find only one study so far that examines the psychology of alleged alien abductees without the presumption that the experience is imaginary, hallucinatory, or due to false memories.

In 1983, Dr. Elizabeth Slater conducted a blind study of nine abductees (5 male, 4 female) which she published in “The Final Report on the Psychological Testing of UFO ‘Abductees.’” The nine were subject to a psychometric evaluation using psychological projection tests and the Wechler Adult Intelligence Scale for the purposes of ascertaining “similarities and differences in personality structure, as well as psychological strengths and weaknesses”. While she found them all to be diverse in character, they nonetheless shared certain underlying commonalities. Aside from an above average intelligence, they had “a certain richness of inner life that can operate favorably in terms of creativity or disadvantageously to the extent that it can be overwhelming” and a “relative weakness in the sense of identity, especially sexual identity”.  

They also have a sense of vulnerability, a heightened sensitivity in the realm of intimacy and are generally wary of involving themselves in interpersonal relationships. “Such modest elevations mean that we are not dealing with blatant paranoid symptomology,” she writes, “but rather over-sensitivity, defensiveness and fear of criticism and susceptibility to feeling pressured.”

Importantly, methinks, Slater and the other examiners were kept in the dark regarding the fact that all nine subjects recalled alien abduction experiences. After Slater was informed that these subjects were alleged alien abductees, she wrote an addendum to the report in which she states: “The first and most critical question is whether our subjects’ reported experiences could be accounted for strictly on the basis of psychopathy, i.e., mental disorder. The answer is a firm no.” She added that “while testing can do nothing to prove the veracity of the UFO abduction reports, one can conclude that the test findings are not inconsistent with the possibility that reported UFO abductions have, in fact, occurred. In other words, there is no apparent psychological explanation for their reports.”

In his article, “A Brief Review of Issues Relating to the Reality of the Abduction Phenomenon,” John Mack concludes: “It is true that abduction experiencers do show some of the symptoms associated with post-traumatic states, but these symptoms appear to be the result, not the cause, of what the experiencers have undergone.”

When we exhibit behavior such as that described by abductees of their captors — when we abduct animals from their native environment, examine them and involve them in experiments only to later return them to their native environment — we are conducting what is known as a longitudinal study or survey. In the human execution of such studies, we are often charting the natural development of individuals within a species. Sometimes we do this in order to study how individual animals change over time. Other forms of a longitudinal study can deal with studying the long-term consequences of certain changes we made in an organism. We do this by “catching” the same animals out of their native environment throughout their lives and examining them locally, in the controlled environment of our laboratories, only to “release” them again. We also subject them to remote surveillance through the tags or remote monitoring devices we have implanted in their bodies. While most of these studies have thus far been of a single generation of selected individuals, there are also intergenerational studies, and these are what resonates with the abduction phenomenon.

Given that the abduction experience suggests a higher intelligence using us as we use life forms on our own planet, perhaps we should look at the effects of experimentation on them.

In her April 2, 2013 article in Scientific American, “Psychiatry Tries to Aid Traumatized Chimps in Captivity,” Kelly Servick does just that. She introduces us to Martin Brüne, a psychiatrist at the University Hospital in Bochum, Germany, who is interested in the similarities between the minds of humans and their ancestors, chimpanzees. This interest only grew when an Austrian primatologist had him study a group of retired lab chimps. After the projects of which they were originally a part, many animals are recycled, reused in other research projects — much like was depicted in the 1987 film, Project X — and are later retired to sanctuaries. Here, Brüne found the chimps to exhibit recognizable symptoms of depression, aggression, self-mutilation, anxiety and Posttraumatic Stress Disorder.

Might it be that the alien encounters are real and the abduction experience is traumatic in its own right — that the sense of anxiety, alienation, paranoia, lack of trust among them make sense in this context? Could dissociation serve as a defense mechanism against the stress of repeated abductions?

To Mentally Maim.

So again,
they descend
upon the zoo,

pluck out
their pet projects,
examine, test
and tweak
from mind to skin.

All those questions,
all those nightmares,
every hope and fear
attacks

me viciously
like shot arrows, alive,
hungry for me.

Expected this.
No surprise.
Better fucking luck next time.

Go ahead,
insist it was all a dream,
wipe the subjects’ minds clean.
Now just give them space
to feel it out,

explore their black-and-white
options: to dissociate
or embrace…

Subliminal influence
will keep you in line.

Train your brain,
follow your heart
and in time
we shall meet
again, predictably
in this very same place.

Chapter ends.
It moves
on, be patient…

Despite those ever-cautious
expectations
of yours, even in the light
of your diverse and rich disillusion,
your cautious nature
clearly now called
into question, answers
will trickle in, bleed,
leak like a sieve,

stain you,
mentally maim you,

a virus that replicates,
breeds like bunnies,
evolves a cultural bowel movement
into a goddamned revolution.

Our keynote flood.

Security Lite.

While it is certainly embarrassing to be in my mid-thirties and still sleep with the lights on, obsessively lock and bolt the door, prefer to sit in corners and typically keep my windows closed and latched with shades drawn, I think I have at least come to some level of understanding as to why. It perplexed me for some time that this would provide any sense of security for me — assuming the whole alien thing is the cause, of course. After all, on more than one occasion during my flashbacks I’ve seen them walk through solid matter — in one case, a wall; in another, a door.

This seems inconsistent with my conscious attitude, at least on the surface. Personally, I would chose to have awareness of my vulnerabilities over a false sense of security. The reason seems obvious: a false sense of security leaves you blind and unprepared; you postpone the stress until danger proves your lack of safety, and by then its too late.

Know yourself. Know your enemy.

Awareness of your vulnerabilities can certainly breed paranoia, but it can also provide you with the foresight and vigilance required to build true security. Forewarning is forearming.

Drawn window shades and deadbolts clearly do not provide the necessary protection and I still jolt at every sound, so why develop this ridiculous ritual?

Though I may not have much control over the circumstances, this ritual serves as the optimal means to ensuring some basic sense of comfort and some fundamental psychological preparedness. Walls, locked doors, latched windows: they at least provide barriers that perhaps obscure their sight or slow them down. Having the lights already on, however, would remove the barrier of darkness that would otherwise serve to confuse me or slow me down. In the very least, I would see them coming, I would know what hit me, and I would have the best opportunity given the circumstances to defend myself. I could die or be defeated on my feet with my eyes wide open as opposed to stumbling around in the dark or, worse still, be taken before I awakened.

Aliens & the Nested Universe.

Rather than extraterrestrials, some have speculated that the creatures from UFO abduction accounts may be of extradimensional, interdimensional or ultraterrestrial origin. These aliens originate not from outer space, in other words, but from what is generally known as hyperspace, which gives them room to move in and out of our three-dimensional (3D) space in directions we cannot even point to. While they could be both hyperspatial beings as well as extraterrestrial, there is also the possibility that they may exist alongside us on earth, though chiefly in extradimensional space that remains invisible to us.

In an effort to explore the notion that this exotic hyperspace is the true home of what we typically call aliens, I decided to make my best laymen’s attempt at exploring the concept. Hyperspace is a complex world, however, and I can only hope that what I offer here are signs that I have finally gained some clarity with respect to it.

There are, so far as I can tell, three general forms that hyperspace may take: that of a nested universe, a parallel universe or the wacky world of the Many Worlds Interpretation. The notion of a nested universe seems like the right place to start.

Currently it seems to be the consensus that we live in a geometrically flat, indefinitely-stretching existential fabric of 4D spacetime. Our space is comprised of three symmetrical spatial dimensions, allowing movement along three axes (arbitrarily labeled x,y,z) in any of the six cardinal directions they make accessible to us (east-west; north-south; up-down). Each of these spatial dimensions are an orthogonal extension of the other. A line is a one-dimensional object, its single axis providing length stretching in two directions; though its arbitrary, let us say that its length is in width and it can move east and west. If we extend a line into two dimensions, we get a square. Its two dimensional axis would provide length in width as well as depth and provide, alongside the directions of east and west, north and south as well. Extend a square into three dimensions, you get a cube that could then be measured in terms of its height, width and depth and move north, south, east, west, up and down.

Bound to these three dimensions of space is one dimension of time. Given the coordinate axis t, this temporal dimension is distinguished from our spatial triad in its unique, asymmetrical nature — which is to say it flows only “forward,” unidirectionally, pushing us away from the past and towards the future in the vessel of the omnipresent now. As both space and time are part of a continuum, they are inseparable strands the fabric of spacetime. One is always moving at varying speeds through spacetime with the upper limit on linear acceleration set at 671 million miles per hour.

When one speaks of any number of spatial dimensions in addition to the standard three, this is known as hyperspace. Assuming the existence of just one additional spatial dimension, then, we would extend a cube at right angles into the fourth dimension it becomes a hypercube known as a tesseract. It has length not only in height, width and depth but in spissitude. It can move not only in the aforementioned cardinal directions but also along the 4D axis, providing the bonus directions known as ana and kata.

Unfortunately, such nifty names fail to help one attempting to conceptualize hyperspace. Much of what you read online and in books when you’re struggling to understand the concept of extra spatial dimensions references Edwin Abbott’s 1884 work, Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, and adopts its use of dimension-down analogies.

Imagine, first, that I have an office. Now imagine that I walk into my office, sit down at my desk and look down upon what I first mistake for a sheet of paper with various shapes drawn upon it. Soon I notice that the shapes are moving about on the surface, however, which is kind of trippy, and that they are not drawn on so much as embedded within this 2D Flatland. No matter how close I bring my face to Flatland, for instance, they cannot see me, for they only know of north, south, east and west. Up and down simply do not exist for them.

If we now extend my position to some hyperspatial entity, some hyperbeing, our geometrically flat 3D Spaceland would have to be a universe nested within a greater Hyperspace much as Flatland is nested in Spaceland, specifically on the desk in my nonexistent office. This is because, judging from our lack of immediate and recognizable evidence of it, we can at least typically avoid interaction with this hypothetical hyperspace. Like Flatlanders unable to wrap their mind around our notions of up and down, us Spacelanders would be at a loss trying to conceive of ana and kata. Just as I am effectively invisible to the Flatlanders as I study them, so would a hyperbeing looking “down” (kata?) upon Spaceland, closely tracking and monitoring me.

The kind of perceptual range available to a higher-dimensional creature is also interesting to consider.

As I watch the Flatlanders, one square comes upon another square. It strikes me that not only am I invisible to them both, but that I can perceive them with a degree of totality that they would never be able to achieve in their own realm. Embedded in their plane, each of the squares might understand one another as squares, but they would only be capable of seeing one of the four lines of the other at once. Only by use of depth perception or by moving around the other square and seeing its other faces in seamless succession would its two-dimensionality be suggested. As a 3D Spacelander, of course, I see the two squares as wholes — that is, I see all sides, all four lines at once, adding up to one square “face” framing what it experiences as it’s inside.

Similar to the Flatlanders, however, I only catch suggestion of the 3D nature of a cube by means of my depth perception or seeing one of the cube’s six square faces. A tesseract would have 24 square faces — it would be comprised of eight cubes. A hyperbeing would see each of the 6-sided cubes as it rotated its tesseract just as I see each of the one-sided squares of the cube I’m moving around in my hands.

A hyperbeing would perceive me and the cube in my hand as I see the squares embedded on Flatland. Casually glancing my way, it would see all of my insides at every angle framed by every angle of my skin simultaneously. It would see the bald-spotted top, bottom, back and sides of my head along with my face, all pasty caucasian-colored surface packaging for the skull, eyes, brains, tongue and coffee-stained teeth. In this same way it would see me digesting my lunch. I could run from it, sure, but I would be a fool to think I could escape the all-seeing. There would be nowhere to hide. No matter how secure, how thick the walls, as it peers with its hyperdimensional eyes upon Spaceland it would easily see inside any locked building, any safe, and determine my location no matter how deep underground or high in the sky I am. There would be no privacy. It could track and monitor me from every angle at once and remain entirely undetectable.

The NSA has shit on a hyperbeing.

Despite this apparent perceptual boundary between a nested universe and its extradimensional space, direct interactions between them and their inhabitants are often a focal point in the literature. All examples take for granted the ease with which a higher-dimensional being would be capable of penetrating a lower dimensional plane and effecting its inhabitants. This strikes me as strange given that, as previously described, the shapes are embedded into the fabric of Flatland. Not only do they have no perception of up and down, they are inseparable from and therefore intrinsically bound to their nested, 2D space. They are drawn “in” rather than “on” that sheet-of-paper universe on my desk. You and I and everything else in our Spaceland is embedded within our 3D space, too — we are not resting “on” it. Even so, it could also be a matter of having the necessary technology to penetrate the nested universe.

It may be possible that rather than penetrating the nested universe a higher-dimensional entity would need what we could call “surrogates” or “avatars”. One could adopt an existing lower-dimensional being and utilize them as a medium. They may also adopt the style often attributed to the poltergeist: they could draw and manipulate energy in order to create an “avatar” to work through. Alternatively, one could inspire the members of the lower-dimensional space to construct a tulpa or egregore for them to work through.

Regardless as to whether they are direct contacts or ones accomplished through lesser-dimensional mediums, particular characteristics of their manifestations, if recognized for what they are, may betray their higher-dimensional nature to lesser-dimensional witnesses.

One such characteristic may be the seamless nature of their constructs. If I turn my attention to a group of circles constructing a square house on Flatland, I find that they do this by bringing together countless “dots” to form a square. However laborious this process is for them, I do not have to go through the same, tedious process. All I have to do is grab the interdimensional Sharpie on the table nearby and draw a seamless square. Even so, my square is also composed of countless dots, each of which are composed of dots, and so on, though all dots comprise and constitute the continuous lines that make up the circle. By extension, we would need to gather material to form a sphere — material ultimately composed of countless points called atoms, composed of points called electrons, protons and neutrons, made up of still smaller points, all of which are at once continuous waves that comprise and constitute the sphere. Still, my circle is cooler because it’s seamless and, without breaking a sweat, I could construct it in a jiffy.

By extension, however, it should be just as easy, natural and sensible for a hyperbeing to draw a seamless globe through an analogous process. Creating seamless objects would be as natural a consequence of their hyperspatial nature as the capacity for drawing a seamless circle would be for us. This may help explain the frequently-described seamless nature of both the exterior and interior of the alien craft, strangely devoid of sharp corners to the extreme that the chairs and tables seem molded into the floors. The same logic would apply to the seamless clothing they are often reported to be wearing.

Just as I could step in, or given its size perhaps just poke my finger into the center of the circle I had drawn, a hyperbeing could “step” in and out of their craft or their clothing — or even step through them. Walking through walls and other solid matter would be no more difficult for them than it would be for a basketball to roll through a square drawn in colored chalk on the pavement.

Another suggestion of their higher-dimensional nature may be their shadows. Though they could not see me directly, if I turned on the lamp behind me and let it cast my shadow across Flatland, would they see it? Would they see a 2D shadow betraying the presence of 3D me? Say that I held up a transparent cube near Flatland and shined a light behind it: the Flatlanders would see two boxes superimposed over one another, each of their corners connected by lines — what we would call a Necker cube. If I wanted to get them to grasp what I was and where I came from, that might be one way to do it. If all of this could be extended to our relations with hyperspace, we would then see the 3D shadow of 4D hyperbeing as it observes us from hyperspace. We could even be an audience for a 3D shadow-puppet show, I suppose. Could there be a strange logic behind the reports of “shadow people”? We would see the shadows of a transparent hypercube as a cube within a cube, attached to one another by lines at all corresponding corners. In either case, a rotating cube or hypercube may give the lower-dimensional being a better chance of getting the message, as it would be executing strange behavior.

Another possibility is having them walk on the 2D surfaces of a 3D object. For instance, if I were to rest a cube upon Flatland, they would only see a square — only the 1D faces of it, actually. And while they could not perceive the fact that they were walking upward at a right angle, they could nonetheless travel across all six 2D faces of it. That is to say that if they walked at this square they would not slam into it but rather travel up the face they had been unable to directly perceive, and ultimately all five of them. In this case, our analogous experience with a hypercube might be easier to understand directly. Imagine that a house in the form of 4D hypercube were brought down upon Spaceland. We would just see a regular house, but upon walking into the house we would find it composed of eight rooms, each as large as the house appeared to be from the outside. This may tie in with a pattern in abduction cases reported to various researchers in which the inside of the craft is reportedly bigger than the outside.

If the squares had covered all six faces of the cube I embedded on their plane several times, finally exiting and returning to familiar territory, we could go a step further in trying to help them conceptualize our higher-dimensional space. As they stare at the visible square face of the cube from outside of it, they are of course perplexed: how could that single house contain six times the space as implied by the size of it from the outside? Before their very eyes I could then unfold the cube into its 2D components, the single house manifesting, one by one, identical houses that served as “additions” to it in a cross-shaped formation of six squares. With respect to the 4D hypercube, if it were unfolded I would see the aforementioned house as the base for a fucked up looking skyscraper composed of seven other sections of equal size. It is stacked four houses high, with the third floor accompanied by four additional sections attached to it at all sides.

I could then go on to make more direct contact, and this is typically described as being accomplished in one of three fashions. First is by means of cross-sections. It is generally imagined that if a 3D object somehow managed to penetrate Flatland, the shapes would experience the object in essentially the same way they would an object native to their 2D environment, which is to say they would only see its 1D faces. That said, the object would appear to have bizarre qualities. If I took my two hands and punctured my ten fingers into Flatland, for example, the living shapes would see ten fleshy circles (in line-face) appear out of nowhere in two roughly-symmetrical formations of five.

Now imagine how curious Flatlanders in the vicinity might experiment with this strange phenomenon they are observing and how they might interpret the results. If a triangle poked one of the fleshy circles, for instance, it might notice how all ten of them immediately moved in unison, as if jointly reacting with surprise. What affected one, it seemed, affected them all. Communication between them was impossibly immediate and operated through an unknown medium. The fleshy circles seemed to be able to pop in and out of existence at will as I dipped my fingers in and out of their 2D plane. Imagine now that I dig my fingers of one hand in even deeper, until first my knuckles penetrated the plane, then my wrists. What would the Flatlanders see? Five fleshy, pasty, bony Caucasian circles — or 1D faces of them — slowly growing, then merging into one fleshly, bony oval, then shrinking, growing a bit, shrinking again. I’m kind of hairy, and that would doubtlessly fuck with them, too.

Hyperspatial objects and entities may then appear to us as multilocational, shapeshifting, growing and shrinking, splitting and merging, appearing and disappearing ambiguous 3D forms that offer no real suggestion as to their actual, hyperspatial nature. While this may not explain the reported aliens very well, it certainly does provide an explanation for some of the more peculiar phenomena exhibited by their craft, which have often appeared and disappeared, split and merged before eyewitnesses.

Second is by means of “peeling”. Typically it is described how I, for instance, could be expected to just casually peel a square off of Flatland despite the fact that it is embedded in its surface. Michio Kaku echoes the ease with which the process is typically described in his analogy regarding picking up a fish out of a pond. By extension, the suggestion would be that I could be just as easily peeled off Spaceland by a hyperbeing, vanishing into thin air before the eyes of any fellow Spacelander that might be looking. Psychic surgery would be simple: see a tumor, pluck it out. If the tumor was neglected, an autopsy would be unnecessary. For them our knots would not be. Childbirth would be an extradimensional breeze, requiring neither cesarean nor parting of the meat drapes.

Third, there are folds (or warps) and wormholes. Imagine I were able to pick Flatland up off my desk and fold it so that two areas a considerable distance across come to touch: would a Flatlander be able to cross the crease of the fold and, in the eyes of its fellow Flatlanders, move a great distance in a single moment, having disappeared from one place and reappeared in another? This would be a “warp” to the extreme and would constitute what is typically referred to as teleportation.

More popularly, a similar process is conceived in which the space is not only folded but a hole is punctured through both sides, allowing a Flatlander to walk through a circle and emerge out of another circle some distance away. This is usually called a wormhole, though more popularly both “mouths” or circles are described as being connected by a “neck.” Although this tube does not offer instantaneous travel to your destination, it takes the Flatlander traversing it a much shorter time to reach the other side than it would if it were to travel in typical linear mode. A wormhole in Spaceland would be not a circle, as the movie Interstellar depicted, but a sphere.

Folds and wormholes could also be utilized as a means of transporting a Flatlander not to a different location on their plane, but to another surface altogether. In other words, to parallel universes…

SOURCES:

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, Edwin Abbott (1884).
Rob Bryanton, “Imagining 10 Dimensions” (YouTube).
Jim Dekorne, “The Out-of-Body Experience as Dimensional Translocation,” (New Dawn magazine No. 74, Sept-Oct. 2002).
Hyperspace: A Scientific Odyssey Through Parallel Universes, Time Warps and the 10th Dimension, by Michio Kaku (1994).
Thad Roberts, “Visualizing Eleven Dimensions” (YouTube, TEDxBoulder).

Attentive in the Trough.

All the weirdness of my life happens in clusters, akin to the wave-like characteristics of UFO sightings, particularly as they were described by Jacques Vallee. More or less he described these waves as periods of inactivity broken by periods of intense activity — always following an altogether unpredictable pattern.

These waves have piques of unknown heights and troughs of uncertain depth. When riding the wave, drifting closer to the alien eye of the surreal, paranormal, psychotic cyclone, I mostly just document. During the silence of the troughs I keep trying to put it together, to determine with as most certainty as possible what they are and why this happens.

The reason is simple, really. It’s as if they wait until I have finally convinced myself that none of it ever happened, that it was all a really bad dream, that I could forget about them because they were never coming back, never really there to begin with and, bam, they return and I get to watch and feel as my life crumbles to dust all over again.

Perhaps my family of the strange and I truly are being conditioned.

To fight the recurring shock value of their return, I try and face them constantly, because the moment I turn my back and fall asleep with both eyes confidently, naively closed, I know its going to bite me on my ass.

Just Another Animal.

Eleven years ago, I woke up in the midst of it again. My eyes were cloudy, my head was spinning as I held it in my hands, pacing in that circular, white-gray room. You stood in the center, motionless, like some surreal, bug-eyed statue, just watching me as I lost my mind, ignoring my questions. Was I stuck in some wicked dream? Are you real or some manifestation of my mind? You never thought a word to me, but you did show me what was going on outside the windows on that curved wall, far down below us, way down on the surface of the earth. One, then another, and perhaps three explosions in all rocked the earth. Flames bellowing outward, consuming, blossoming up towards the sky. I felt so many die. This was war. Human war. Species suicide in action. My heart, my mind, my body filled to the brim, wracked with guilt, with one overarching, sinking feeling expressed in my mind with the words: Too late. It’s too late now. They’re all dead. It’s all over with.

It took me until then to confront you directly and you simply ignored me, as if I have no right to know what all this is about, as if it’s your duty to show me all this death and destruction and make me feel responsible without ever having given me the vaguest clue as to how I might be able to do better, to stop this, and why you — if you exist — are somehow exempt from this guilt, this responsibility, hiding up here so high as you watch a naive species kill itself. There are no gods. No space brothers in the sky. Just judgmental aliens — or plaguing, sadistic nightmares with a mind of their own. Leaving me feeling hopeless, worthless.

Fuck you and the spaceship you rode in on. Humans might be stupid, but how better are you? You’re just another animal. Another ghost in another meat machine. You seem to see us as one rather than individuals. Well, if we’re all in this together, why are you black-eyed gray little fucks just standing on the sidelines so covertly, hypnotizing us with sightings, carrying some of us off and returning us time after time, all throughout our wasted lives?

I’m so sick of feeling insane, and on top of that feeling powerless.

I want answers.