the challenge of hypnosis

Hypnosis is a source of bitter contention within the UFO community. One faction would see it as vital in abduction research, while the other would dismiss anything gained through hypnosis as useless—or destructive. 

In early November of 2017, I was invited to a home in New Hampshire where a small group of experiencers were planning to gather for a pot luck on a Saturday evening. Seven of the people expected to attend had let me share their stories in my books, so I was eager to make the long drive to join them. 

Abduction researcher Mary Rodwell was part of the gathering, and I had emailed her to arrange a hypnosis session while I was there. We scheduled it for Sunday morning, so I brought a sleeping bag and pad and spent the night in a room used as an office. I awoke at dawn to the hooting of a barred owl out the window. 

That morning, Mary and I spent almost two hours in an empty bedroom. She hypnotized me in hopes of finding the source of my fears in connection with my UFO experiences, and the story that emerged really shook me up. I cried a lot during the session, and Mary dried my tears.

What came through was jumbled and emotional, and I didn’t know what to make of it. The story was remarkable, and much of it matched with what I had read in abduction accounts. I shared the details with a few friends, but was cautious to treat it as a memory of a real event.

  this is a long post - read more below  

______________________________________________________________

moody streetlight

From Wed October 17 2018

A few nights ago I was talking on the phone with Suzanne Chancellor. Our mutual friend Kelly just experienced another close up owl sighting, and Suzanne was filling me in on what had happened. Kelly was featured in the final chapter of Stories from The Messengers, her account involved getting some close-up pictures of a beautiful barred owl while on a hike.

I've since spoken with Kelly, and there’ll soon be a blog post about her experience—with pictures!

It was a beautiful autumn night, and I walked around outside as I spoke with Suzanne. It was one of those conversations where every thread seemed tangled up with everything else. Elements of Kelly's story were reflected back at both of us. It seemed like every little detail was somehow connected to a frenetic web of synchro-weirdness.

We spoke as I walked around the dark driveway of the old inn where Andrea and I live. It's a narrow dirt lane that curves through a dense forest. There is a streetlight at the bottom of the driveway where it joins the asphalt street. The light is usually on at night, but it seemed to flicker as I made my way down the driveway. It slowly turned on and stayed on as I passed under it and walked down the paved road. There was no traffic, and I headed toward an apple tree alongside the quiet road. It was dark and I managed to find an apple, but it was too sour to eat.

While walking back to the driveway, I told Suzanne how it all seemed so cinematic. The eerie way the lone streetlamp lit the road was like something out of a Steven Spielberg movie. I tried to describe the mood of the dramatic lighting as I walked.

I got to the pool of light under the street light and looked up. The lamp wasn't very bright, it’s color seemed a muted amber so I could stare right up into the bulb.

I carefully tried to position myself directly under the light above me. I moved a little to the left, then a bit the right. It only took a few seconds, but when I was positioned exactly under the the light—it went off!

I had just walked along that road for about a hundred yards, and the entire time I was talking about that light, praising its mood as I approached.

As silly as it sounds, it felt like the light clicked off as a playful thank you for my attention and appreciation.

______________________________________