Traditional clockwork “reality” represents a box. When framed in this manner, the opening quote a few pages earlier infers that quantum theory and the paranormal shatter the parameters of these boxes.
In this regard, the book you’re about to read exists completely outside the confines of any consensus reality box—not only content-wise, but also visually and stylistically.
As you’ll soon discover, Pineal Eye Rising stands as an uncharted ride into the unknown. So, it’s important to describe what transpired in putting this book together. As the subtitle suggests (The Self-Hypnosis/Scrying Sessions), I engaged in a series of self-hypnosis and scrying [mirror gazing] sessions to derive information not normally available via more standard or typical forms of research.
The first element that needs to be clarified is the idea of hypnosis itself. When considering this notion, many people picture hypnosis as someone zonked-out in a zombie trance or flapping their arms like a chicken during professional stage shows. Neither of these characterizations even remotely applies to what I did in this book.
Instead, to induce myself into a hypnotic state, I’d read aloud two different scripts. Upon completing these scripts, I entered a state of self-hypnosis that exists as an alternate form of consciousness. By personally writing these scripts, I was able to steer each session in a specific direction in order to derive certain information. Therefore, self-hypnosis became an active endeavor where I intentionally pursued a goal. This point is vital, especially in comparison to hallucinogens like LSD or DMT. The consumption of these drugs generally leads to passive journeys in that they assume the role of primary moving agent.
Consequently, recipients merely hang on for the ride. Hypnosis thereby allowed me entrance into other dimensions. As described in my Machine Elves book, the setting consisted of 12 candles positioned atop a rectangular glass table that was covered by a red velvet cloth. Set and setting can never be overlooked when embarking on such pursuits.
At any rate, I began dabbling with self-hypnosis about two years ago, and even conducted a session that was included at the end of Machine Elves. During this initial foray, I not only saw my reflection disappear from a huge mirror that I stared into, but in its absence an array of ghastly images appeared. Oddly enough, the most predominant “face” that I viewed possessed an eerie resemblance to Edgar Allan Poe.
When beginning the self-hypnosis/scrying sessions for this book, I attempted to reestablish contact with a messenger—or messengers—that represented entities known as “The Others.” As you’ll see, the initial two sessions I conducted were a combination of self-hypnosis and scrying. During these first sessions, I waited for the messenger to provide me with a prompt that began our communications.
A note on the structure of this book: each of the messenger’s “deliverances” to me is identified by a specific symbol.
My questions and responses are indicated by a different symbol. As a result of not being quite sure where this experiment would lead, sessions one and two meandered in an unfocused manner as I tried to discern the identity of this messenger. After being instructed not to place so much importance on his identity, each of the subsequent 15 sessions was strictly self-hypnosis oriented. During the final session, I returned to the dual function of self-hypnosis and scrying.
Before proceeding, I feel it’s necessary to once again address the subject of psychedelic substances. I’ve been entirely drug-free for nearly 17 years, yet still harbor fond memories of my nine different LSD trips that occurred between the late 1970s and early 1990s. During the first one in 1978, I experienced a mind-boggling out-of-body experience (OBE) inside a movie theater where I exited my physical body and hovered at least 30’ in the air over the filmgoers. It was an extraordinary sensation. In the summer of 1980 during another trip, I delved into a realm of pure utopian ecstasy. Existence could never have been more pure, blissful and perfect.
With that said, I know all about blowout psychedelic experiences, which leads us to a drug known as DMT. Although I’ve never personally indulged, I’ve spoken with people who have taken this drug, not to mention reading books such as Dr. Rick Strassman’s MT: The Spirit Molecule.
Anyway, a pal of mine depicted DMT in the following terms. “If the peak of an LSD trip lasts about six hours, imagine condensing the entirety of that trip down to an explosive six minutes. That’s what DMT’s like.”
Obviously, despite its volcanic mind-bending potential, DMT wouldn’t serve my purposes for these experiments. The reason is evident: DMT is akin to strapping in for a thrill ride at Space Mountain. The passenger hangs on while his or her vehicle—DMT—transports them to the furthest reaches of alternate dimensions.
DMT thus places each user in a passive role. This drug contains such intensity that those under its control--and that’s the proper word, by the way: control—can’t really decipher the particulars of what they’re experiencing. Moreover, the duration of each voyage is relatively short, and considering their sensory overload and visual cornucopia, users admit to facing difficulties in relaying specifics to others. They know it was an extreme adventure, but limitations associated with our language don’t permit them to accurately convey what they perceived.
To a lesser extent, the same rationale applies to LSD and ayahuasca. With these substances, users can’t control the experience or entirely steer it in a direction they want to go. Of course, that’s one of the attractions to this form of tripping. Yet, for the purpose of direct relatable investigations, DMT, LSD or ayahuasca wouldn’t suffice in regard to what I sought.
After providing these impressions, the next issue revolves around precisely what type of exercises I engaged in. Some people wondered whether I was partaking in channeling or automatic writing. The answer to both would be no. Channeling implies that a specific external being was the source of information, sort of like Jane Roberts’ book Seth Speaks.
Since I’m not certain of the source—or even if it existed entirely outside of my Self—I’d rule out channeling. Similarly, automatic writing is reminiscent of Aleister Crowley’s claims in relation to how he wrote his Book of the Law.
I definitely didn’t engage in automatic writing, especially since I posed direct questions, awaited a “response,” and then frantically scribbled the “answers.” Plus, since particular scripts were utilized—along with a great deal of prior intentionality—my part in this process was purposefully active, not passive. If compelled to describe these experiments, I liken them to imprinting, or downloading information, with my pen acting as a conduit for the messages. Or, perhaps, a comparison could even be made to Edgar Cayce’s readings, although the particulars certainly vary between what he and I did.
So, to reiterate, I didn’t technically partake in any type of “channeling” per se.
Taken a step further, I viewed my role in dual terms. First, my self-hypnosis scripts promoted the establishment of a “receiver” or antenna to access external information. Secondly, each script also advocated the creation of “probes” (depth charges) that explored the deepest recesses of my unconscious mind.
On top of this two-pronged approach, I also insured that there would be no distractions whatsoever during each session. That means both telephones were unhooked, along with the television, radio and computer.
Since I don’t own a cell phone or use Skype, these factors were also eliminated. Other nuisances such as traffic, coworkers or family members didn’t enter into the equation.
By taking these steps, I guaranteed that each self-hypnosis session would be conducted in utter isolation. Operating almost in a state of sensory deprivation, any external or internal message delivered to me wouldn’t get lost in the “noise” that bombards all of us in our techno-cyber world. Even when walking in the woods, I’m still somewhat affected by my dog Midas, scurrying animals, other hikers, or automobile sounds emanating from a nearby expressway.
Ultimately, then, what is the source of the material contained in this book? I’d reply: (a) some of it originated extraneous to me, (b) part of the information was extracted from my unconscious mind, while (c) a certain percentage can be directly attributed to my conscious mind.
To clarify, let me put it this way. Even if these messages emanated entirely from a source alien to me, the information would still have to be processed through my conscious mind. Needless to say, nobody—including me—could be immune from inherent biases, prejudices, or the brain’s function as a gatekeeper. Thus, regardless of the material’s source, I can’t deny the ever-present subjective influence of my mind which somehow influenced it (whether to a large or small degree). Admittedly, this is clearly depicted in some of the writings, especially in regard to quantum theory and numerology.
Another prominent item must be noted: while hypnotized, oftentimes the incoming messages were delivered in the form of visual images: i.e., archetypal universal symbols derived from magick, mythology and various religions. The importance of this matter cannot be overemphasized because many messages obviously weren’t intended to be taken literally.
Rather, they functioned as metaphors, allusions, allegories or symbols. We’re talking about a higher form of communication.
At its most basic, these sessions reflect—more than anything else I’ve ever written—the inner workings of my unconscious mind. For better or worse, if a micro-video camera were able to snake inside my unconscious mind, these writings would serve as a fitting snapshot of what occurs within its most remote areas.
What was most peculiar about these sessions involved the after-effects. For starters, all sense of time vanished. Whereas it seemed like I’d been under hypnosis for a mere 20 minutes, it actually turned out to be closer to an hour-and-a-half (or more). Upon “awakening,” in many instances a feeling of invigoration and accomplishment washed over me.
Fully alert, my senses were significantly heightened afterward, most noticeably my hearing. It was as if I could hear electricity buzzing through the walls. To a lesser extent, my vision became more acute and vibrant. All other senses—touch, taste and smell—weren’t impacted, whereas an increased heart rate frequently caused an intense pumping of blood through my veins.
Conversely, following other marathon sessions, I emerged depleted: a condition akin to what we used to call “LSD burnout.” Or, my depleted adrenaline-energy state was reminiscent of Edgar Cayce’s complaints of being drained after giving his readings.
Maybe strangest of all, though, was a phenomenon where the so-called antenna that I erected during these sessions remained intact even after the hypnosis ended. For whatever reason, the scripts that I wrote allowed my unconscious mind to be more readily in-tune with messages external to my Self at all times. Whether it actualized as premonitions, synchronicities or other triggers, I’m convinced that these self-hypnosis exercises have permitted me a great degree of extra-sensory perception in every aspect of life.