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…

Of Gravity and Burning Flesh.

An insomniac
morning dawns
as I awaken out
of a nightmare’s

Images censored,
hiding behind a wall
swaying like a tease
at the tip
of my mental tongue.

terror lingering, fed
by the prospects
of the day. No exit,
nowhere to go
but down

into this frigid well,
but I’m going to try
and fly across the hungry
void anyway.

To survive,
I divide inside.
So confusing
trying to understand
why, I know.

Is it the spark
of that stubborn part
of you always fighting
the impulse

to get
your hopes
up, rising against,
lifting, carrying
yourself all the way?

forever: gravity
is god here.
What goes up
must inevitably

bow down, looking
up with wide, hungry
and obedient,
blowjob sort of eyes

before the feet
that make the greater
distortion in space,
that which pulled you in,
attracted you.

somehow you have thus
far managed to dodge
that fate.

Predictably, you find
a path across the chasm,
never to hit
the ground, a smooth,
lateral sway to land

on warm earth,
proceed on forward
confidence with caution:

after all,
this may be a trick,
some grim illusion seducing
you into letting
your guard down,

relaxing defenses,
believing just to postpone
and further pack the punch

behind the inevitable
enlightenment, true
and bright and burning
your fucking flesh away,

hardens and cools
your soul

until you become the enemy:
a greedy
sadist void of all empathy.

Lapis Encaged.

… but photographs, illusions
and ideas are the waves
that shape the stone
of the person,

the lapis,
soul, the ego,
the inner self:
an agent of memory.

Ego is the summary,
the collective prototype,
the facial composite

of the self,
the original face
sketched, fleshed out
based on the witnessed
and molded

by each and every
one of the blind hands
provided by the available
senses, holding

jumbled, spinning,
dancing shards

(trembling fingers curl,
barring all from the quaking,
otherwise open palms)

of narrowed spectra
in a soup of bias,
in distorted perceptions.

Who I Have Always Been.

If one fancies me insane I would hope, at the very least, that they give me this: my fantasies are not ones consciously manufactured, nor are they ones that serve to uphold the ego. Take the apparent past life memories, for instance: first an alien on a dying world, then an orphan priest “unhappy” with his “work” and who seemed to have ended his life by means of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to head at what he considered a great age, then a man born in the fifties that died in poverty inside a mall in Florida.

Not exactly a high ranking official of Atlantis or a highly-evolved member of Ashtar Command or whatever, not in any incarnation.

Being an alien might be considered exotic, but given the apparent circumstances it was a species with issues exceeding that of present-day humanity, so not exactly a steroid injection into the ego inspiring some sense of relative superiority. I am no fucking god incarnate or a famous and successful person working out his karmic debt in a shit life and cesspool fast food employment. This is just a manifestation of the same old underling shit. I am who I have always been, for better or worse. Context only changes the particular manifestation, not the underlying patterns of dismal habituation. I am my cause, I am my effect, I am my freedom and responsibility, drawn to relations and circumstances with whom and in which I bear affinity.


It won’t be that bad.

These are just extremes
for you to push against,
so you might
push away
from them both
at equal distance,

find the right place
dead in the eye
between the counterpoints,

find yourself blooming
in the volatile heart called,
the tension in,
the living spark of

the centerpoint.

Rock sinks,
all as waters collide,
kissing deep.
Not a mere
fluid exchange,

with oneself.

Polarities tweaked
to maintain healthy balance.

Dualities reconciled.

A Reason to Fight.

I cannot be
like you, for that
would impede
upon my individual
to be true

to myself and, by extension,
impede upon
my responsibility to feed
the diversity
that keeps the fires of life
as a whole

To be anything less
than who I am
would be to dishonor
life from all conceivable
directions, so I am afraid

I must decline
your invitation, as it does
not resonate
with my inner core.

Push me? I push you.
You crossed
the line, I am just guiding
you back.

Don’t make
me have to violently
increase the distance,
or, in an animalistic
manner pluralize
your existence,
your precise
location in time
and space.

Its a form of rape.

I know revenge
is just an attempt
forced empathy.

I will never do
what you do to me.
You, you’ll never get it.

Freedom, truth,
is everything,
and among
you, it all dies.

A reason to fight?

Fuck yes,
that is enough for me.

Self-Contempt and Better Masques.

Nietzsche spoke about these moments of great self-contempt when you are above yourself, looking down, disgusted at yourself, shameful of this reject little ape you are.

This, I suppose, was a step towards self-overcoming — but it is not self-overcoming itself, of course. Not only do you have to hold that self-contempt but you must use it as an inspiration for action, to work towards making that self less contemptible, if nothing else.

What is it about this self-contempt that makes it such a launch pad? The self you see, the one which you are above and looking down upon, is clearly apart from you, so despite the fact that you’ve been parading around through your life playing that role, that isn’t you. The eye cannot see itself, but must rely on reflection — too often in the form of representation — or on a convincing lie to which it naively comes to identify. As you now recognize yourself as distinct from the contemptible imago, the object of your “self” contempt brings you to this self-realization. By process of elimination the self for whom you hold contempt is not you, so change things so that it becomes a masque more fitting for the face forced to bleed and receive through it.

Quest for the Original Face.

There are countless good reasons to take up a daily meditation practice. In my experience, the more you look into it, the fewer excuses you can come up with as to why meditation might not be a profitable pursuit. It takes as little as ten minutes to half an hour a day if you want to be stingy about it, after all, and despite that the rewards are allegedly astounding.

It has been found effective in various clinical applications, among them Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR), Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy (MBCT), Dialectic Behavior Therapy (DBT) and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT). It has been shown to increase the capacity to concentrate, stabilize emotions, reduce rumination, increase pain tolerance and enhance compassion towards the self and others. In the East, meditation was adopted as a means of spiritual advancement, of activating the psi abilities referred to as siddhis and leading one, ultimately, to the very heights of enlightenment.

My interest in “mindfulness” meditation began when I learned of its capacity to reduce anxiety and depression and enhance the ability to focus. I even experimented here and there with it, but never committed myself. When I began reading about the Witness, however, I was sold. This was what I needed to achieve.

I’ve traced it back to a dream I had back in high school. I remembered sitting near a water fountain at night near some trees, desperately trying to get my off-again, on-again girlfriend, Claire, to understand how we all wore masks. Since the time of the dream, the concept has stuck with me. Who one thinks one is, who others think one is has no necessary relevance to who one really is. Behind this false self is where the true inner eye hides. Call it the higher or true Self, what others have often referred to as the spirit or soul, what in Zen they call the “original face” you had before you were born.

The question has always been how we become that true, inner self, and meditation appears to provide a remedy. As it strengthens your capacity to hold your attention on a single target, you also learn to objectify distractions — all your sensations, fantasies, memories, thoughts and emotions. You detach from them, sever identification with them, cease interaction with them, observe them with non-attachment. You experience them as distinct from your sense of self, discovering amidst this process that of elimination that you are not this, not that, spiraling ever inward. Like peeling an onion, you cast off the layers of skin through self-inquiry, getting closer and closer to the true, inner self residing at the core, psychologically stripping yourself down to that naked, attending awareness until you finally find yourself looking out the deep, inner eye of the Witness.

That’s worth at least twenty minutes a day.

Of Incidental Personas & Dual Shadows.

When I began really reading into Carl Jung’s work in my late teens, his concepts of the ego and shadow made immediate sense to me, but the persona and anima ultimately caused confusion.

The persona or social mask would not be simply a hand-picked extension of certain characteristics of the ego, or self image, in which case it would merely constitute what I let them see of me. Nor would it appear to be merely how I think they see me, which remains frustratingly outside by ability to control. As we do not believe we are capable of knowing and controlling who we are directly, we constantly seek the validation of others and a pleasing reflection of ourselves in their eyes — but even the reflections we use to tweak our behavior are not our persona. We only see how we think they see us, which can be very different from how they actually see us.

First, others may know parts of your shadow, which is all of you that you deny — parts that you are not consciously acquainted with and which you see no evidence of in the reflections their eyes offer. They can pick up shadow aspects in our behavior that we are blind to.

James Fallon only became enlightened to his psychopathy after a brain scan, for instance, and Mark Vonnegut, son of Kurt Vonnegut, discovered his condition — schizophrenia or bipolar disorder — only after it reached a boiling point. Afterwards, they both discovered that those closest to them had always suspected their condition but had never told them — and they never suspected it, never picked up on these perceptions others had of them. Their unique circumstances led to revelations that were common knowledge to their friends and family — how many of us might be left in the dark regarding aspects of our character? It’s disturbing to consider.

Second, the persona also includes those qualities which others project upon us, as we can be forced into the role of scapegoat or savior, leader or slave. So the persona, in the broadest sense, is not a hand-fashioned masque but one subject to and ultimately fashioned by forces that, while they may not be immune to influence, are ultimately beyond our control. The persona is incidental and out of reach.

Abandoning all concern for it may threaten survival, as your intentions do provide influence, but making it the primary concern, the primary sense of self, is only a waste of precious time and energy. Identifying the persona as your primary self places the locus of control outside of you, in the hands of the herd, and no calm focus, no still mind can be cultivated from that position. It is a costly fight of futility.

While the persona seems irrelevant to the ego, the man’s anima or woman’s animus ultimately seems synonymous with the shadow, and the shadow synonymous with the personal unconscious in general. We are angry, afraid or disgusted by what we are thinking, feeling, and so push away. We see others that remind us of those aspects and we react the same way; they become an external representation of the mental object of aversion and their behavior towards it, as a result, represents the parallel inner process. Much as what we cling to collectively constitutes the ego, what we push away from collects in an anti-ego figure that Carl Jung and others refer to as the shadow. It is the polar opposite of the self-image, of all we associate with our sense of self. It is supervillain to our superhero, antagonist to our protagonist. It thinks all you do but fear to, feels all that you feel but deny, attends to all you actively ignore and remembers all you have striven to forget.

If the ego is who we think we are, the shadow is all we define ourselves against or contrast ourselves with; it is what compensates or compliments for the ego. The tension between them feed the polarities, embolden the duality.

We are afraid of ourselves. We hate ourselves. We disgust ourselves.

By projecting our shadow aspects and assigning them to external targets, we get to categorize our projections and the respective shadow-parts they contain, often in a ready-made format inherited culturally. It is found in our projections on members of the opposite sex. It seems that the anima may not so much constitute a different aspect of our minds best distinguished from the shadow as it does the androgenous nature of our shadows — with certain shadow-parts hanging off of each of the genitles, you might say.

Kriya, Anima & the Rabbit Hole.

If I remember correctly, it first came to my attention while watching the Haylee videos on YouTube, back when I was still living in the old apartment. I had a lot of approach and retreat with respect to watching her videos; I’m uncertain as to how far along I was at the time, or perhaps where I fell along her conditioning schedule.

In any case, in the midst of a Hypnotic Haylee marathon I suddenly snapped into a state of consciousness in which it distinctly felt as though two of me were there. By this I don’t mean me-as-body and me-as-mind, but rather that there were two distinct aspects of consciousness active and present in my body at once, like one subtle form superimposed on my own.

My feeling was that this was indeed a part of me and not “something else” in a sense of an intruding spirit or whatever, only a compartmentalized and evidently autonomous part. I could not anticipate how he would move; again, which is to say that I observed myself making movements without deliberately making those movements. The movements were not anything major or complex and seemed rather stiff and robotic-like. The background mood at the time was of a calm, charged, trancey, blissful kind of feeling. The feeling was no doubt induced by both the fact I was high on cannabis and her vast array of clever hypnotic techniques — yet were the movements also programmed by her covertly, subliminally, or was this arising all on its own?

This has happened since, both on occasions while high and during meditation, and at least once while both high and meditating. My eyes will pop open and I will move my head, often robotically, to the left and right and face forward, a sense of curiosity often the reaction I feel from the animating force. I get the residual sense of staring out of my own eyes through an entirely distinct state of mind in which all appears foreign and interesting. When I’m high I also occasionally find myself ashing my cigarette without deliberately doing so, which is distinct from doing so absent-mindedly, for instance.

The only reference I can find that even vaguely fits this experience is what is known as “spontaneous kriya.” From the Sanskrit, kriya can translate to action, much like karma, which has the same root. Though it is often used to refer to intentional movements used during yoga in order to put the peddle to the metal with respect to spiritual evolution, kriya is also a word often used to refer to the reverse. Rather than movements used to spawn such evolution, spiritual evolution — the awakening kundalini — spontaneously spawns such movements in an involuntary way, as a kinetic manifestation, during meditation.

However nice it would be able to see the movements I made during meditation to be symptoms of psycho-spiritual progress, kriya as described seems to refer to more random movements ranging from slight jerks and twitches to full-blown, ants-in-the-pants attacks resembling seizures. In some cases, people can allegedly twist themselves into a pretzel like a yoga master, or like those who are possessed are said to do, and may even make involuntary sounds. In essence, it sounds like the Eastern equivalent of speaking in tongues and flopping around in the floor like a fish out of water because you’re “possessed by the holy spirit.”

Kriya could be seen as a form of instinctive displacement, perhaps: the involuntary act of discharging unblocked energy in movements, either random or perhaps in a manifestation bearing patterns characterizing the blocked energy in question. It may be a broader manifestation of what are often called ideomotor responses (subliminal movements such as during hypnosis or when using a Ouija board, for instance).

Or might the “holy spirit” in this case be the energy-working hypnodomme, the seductively psychic hypnotist, mentalist; the puppetry of that luscious, insatiably dark mistress Haylee — she who teases you into trance, makes surrender a fix and obedience an addiction.

Terrifying. Yet alluring. Oh, my trust issues…

Why does she appear to be the more likely source of the two? Mostly due to the fact that the movements appear deliberate, not random or rhythmic, as described across the net and shown in several unconvincing (to put it kindly) YouTube videos allegedly depicting the phenomenon.

Since I stopped listening and watching her for some time, I have felt the desire creeping up to watch her again. When I finally relinquished to the pull, I wrote about it. It was written in third person limited as part of my effort to try out a little experiment in self-talk, a literary manifestation of my approach to this behavior with mindfulness at the suggestion of that guy, who has some interesting videos and viewpoints that I have enjoyed chewing on and experimenting with. He said to be mindful of your behavior, but rather than interfering with it just take up an observer position and “follow through.” So I did. I attempted to watch her again twice since picking up daily meditation, I dipped out and masturbated halfway through on both occasions.

And tonight, I return again, feeling high, lonely, horny and typically lost in a world I have never felt I belong. Seeking comfort. Wanting to feel that other side of me again, knowing I may just end up damning myself by the time I woke up that evening for my third shift, I look up Haylee on my laptop.

Beginning at 6:40 AM on March 5, 2015, I watch two or three videos until deciding to get higher and watch some more. I then had a cigarette, but as I wanted to finish it rather than have it burn down to the filter as I became transfixed, I decided to “read her words” on her website. As I looked, I saw a video to the right — Haylee’s guided meditation. No fucking way, I thought. I had been listening to some Kabat-Zinn videos and other guided meditations at night sometimes in addition to my daily meditation. Just the other day I had tried Googling for such guided meditation tapes with a sexy female voice — something with the power of Hypnotic Haylee but without the fears of some hypnotic army agenda — and here it was. Found when I stopped looking. I couldn’t resist. I plugged my ear buds first into my laptop, then into my ears and pressed play.

Magnificent. Like an answer to my telepathic plea.