Exercise 11 Retrieval and visit.
The point of the final exercise was for us to bring back information that could be validated right there. Bruce accomplished this by having us each write on a slip of paper the name of someone we knew who was deceased. We then each drew a slip and went to visit that person. While we did this, Bruce, in the background, gave us questions to ask and suggestions as to what kinds of distinctions to look for. At the end of the exercise, when we each in turn reported what we got, we did not tell the name until after Bruce asked, “does that sound familiar to anybody?”
[recreated from notes made with eyes closed during the exercise]
Immediately, almost before the exercise began, I had an impression of being in some city, among tall red brick buildings. Some kind of arch was involved. Bruce’s visualization has us walking through dark woods, but my own goes its stubborn separate way, and I’m walking in sunlight though a field at the edge of the woods, with the trees to my right. Strong impressions of green and moistness.
My helper, standing to my left, is Simon, who appears to be English, middle-aged. I tell him what I am there to do, and give him the name.
“I know him. Let’s go.” And with that we’re back in that same city scene, standing on the sidewalk of the street by those same buildings, with traffic going by.
There’s a man standing there. We shake hands. He is young – 30s? – vigorous, very definite. Strong, like a working-man. I use the words in my mind “bluff, downright.” He is a very direct person, humorous, matter-of-fact. Sort of easy-going, not temperamental. He is not in a suit, not in coveralls. Casually dressed, without much concern over what he’s wearing.
Twinkling eyes. Compact, vigorous. Healthy.
It isn’t a cold day, but not blazing hot either.
He seems to know who I am and why I’m there. He knows the guide, too. He is playing along with us, casual, amused. He knows he is dead, and it’s okay. He died worn out somehow, like a long sickness but not quite. Worn out. His heart gave out. He was older when he died, but he likes this age. I wonder if he was an architect, and this one of his buildings.
He liked bricks, and boats. Building things? Sailing around in motor boats?
Bruce asked us to get some memory that the submitter of the name would remember. I got a composite of things: outdoors. backpacking. Riding horses? The person is much younger, related to him.
Bruce asked us to get a favorite thing that he liked to do. I got, growing things. A favorite thing was flower window pots, flower boxes.
Bruce asked us to get a lifetime scene that the submitter of the name was in and would remember. I got an impression of lake, trees, mountains, horses. Campfire? Sleeping bags?
Bruce asked us to get evidence for the reality of the visit. I got a square glass fishbowl with one fish, on an orange shelf. [This turned out to refer to another submitter’s target.]
Bruce asked us to get a message. I got “Granite. Take it for granite,” which I took to be perhaps an inside joke.
I tried again, and got “you can camp and ride forever if you wish.”
The proof of the visit was to be an address, either 16 or 133 College Street, perhaps in Massachusetts.
As you can see, these were very definite impressions, that could very easily have been wrong. When Bruce asked if the description were familiar to anyone, one participant said it was his brother, and listed the reasons why. And indeed, that was the name I had drawn. He was very pleased, and so was I. I’d say eight of the ten participants got enough detail for the submitter to identify the contact. In a couple of cases, the amount of details reported was striking.
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I had submitted a request that someone visit my mother. As it happened, not only did the person who drew her name report, but another woman (who I knew ahead of time would be the one to contact mom) returned a report that sounded very much like mom and apparently not a lot like the name she had drawn.
The woman who had drawn mom’s name seemed to me to have missed the target. None of this sounded like my mother except the part about not liking loud noises. She said the helper was a Mexican man. Bright colors. Cheerful. Southwest US, desert-like. A house on a hill. Seated on a rocker on a porch. Older, hair grey and in a bun. Longish blue dress. An impression of a really high bridge. She didn’t speak. Peaceful. Didn’t like loud noises. Was by herself. Her hobby was rocks.
The woman who I had expected to report on mom found that the helper was a black man named Joe.
Kind of a round person. Short, curly red hair. Blue eyes. On a swing, younger. Her legs hurt. Diabetes. Maybe had a couple of toes amputated? An impression of a fish pond and white butterflies. She liked gardening and cooking. Laughed a lot, wore a dress with white ruffles. An impression that she shared joked with the submitter. Had a secret love of gambling.
Several hits here: Red hair, liked gardening and cooking, laughed a lot. I don’t know about the butterflies, but I know she had a fishpond by the house she grew up in, and that was a very happy household, i gather. Her legs would have hurt, and at the end, if she had lived, they would have had to take off her foot. But If she had a secret love of gambling, it was a well-kept secret!
In all, a great and productive workshop.
👍🏼😀👍🏼