Tapping into the net — revisited

Reader Dave Stephens posted a long reply to my “Tapping Into the Cosmic Internet” entry, and  asked questions that were sufficiently interesting that I asked, and got, his permission to post them here as a separate post, since not everybody reads the comments people send.

I started to reply, then realized that I didn’t know what to say. Of course, the obvious answer was to let the guys speak for themselves, so that’s what I will do, with my initial comments inserted within brackets [like this], and theirs at the end.

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Conversations September 5, 2010

Sunday, September 5, 2010

5:50 AM. Thinking, for some reason, of “The Search For Spock” and the TV episodes of Star Trek that I have been watching (the complete set of VCRs, the gift of a friend uncluttering so as to be able to accumulate new clutter, as do we all). Watching so many TV shows of the same program, essentially one after another, makes so clear how the formula runs, and shows the central flaw in it as drama. If, every time it’s time for a commercial, it looks like it’s curtains for Kirk or Spock or the Enterprise — in order to build enough suspense to force or entice the audience to sit through the commercials and not change channels — and then of course it turns out to be (big surprise) not curtains after all…

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Conversations July 22, 2010

Thursday, July 22, 2010

5:30 AM. Yesterday, as I was very aware, was Hemingway’s birthday. Who would have thought he would come to be so much to me? Finished Reynolds’ volume 1, and started re-reading [Jeffrey] Meyers, slowly, which is more interesting this time than the first time. Have not moved in Baker, waiting to get my questions [to Hemingway] in.

As I have talked to people about what I am doing, the question about certainty has presented itself, or rather, my old knowledge that certainty isn’t possible, only resonance. It’s still conceivable that I’m making all this up, regardless how convincing the contacts feel. And just as I could never prove it to anyone else, neither could I prove it to myself. I am left with Jesus’ test — by their fruits you will know them. So far the fruits are joy as I come to each day’s task, enthusiasm and joy, and insight. Or so it seems. But of course I am aware of the danger of leading myself and others astray.

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Conversations July 4 2010

Sunday, July 4, 2010

4 AM. Going to bed ever earlier, anticipating this exchange, and getting up earlier as well. I’ll lap the day if I’m not careful.

So we’re a long way before daylight, and the fruit stand is open early. Who and why?

Nothing. All right, let’s talk, papa. What is the rule, here? Sometimes I can scarcely get a word in and somebody’s off and running. Other times, as now, there’s a blankness, a waiting for me to decide what to broach.

Your question contains your answer. That is what’s going on, a gradual transfer of the initiative. And that’s worth a few words.

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Out on a Limb, long ago

It was, if I had only known it, the beginning, finally.

It was 1987. I was 40 years old. I was writing editorials for the Norfolk Virginian-Pilot, a  job that paid well and had rescued me from the world of computer programming. But my primary interest in life, besides writing, was psychic exploration, if I could ever figure out how to do it.

For reasons I have set forth in my book Muddy Tracks, suddenly there I was, attending the first of Shirley MacLaine’s Higher Self Seminars in nearby Virginia Beach. When I came home, I wrote up a piece about it, which appeared in the Commentary section of the largest newspaper in Virginia on Sunday, February 1.

This article turned out to be the end of some things and the beginning of many others, including my chance to participate in the creation and growth of Hampton Roads Publishing Company. What Shirley MacLaine did was a good thing. The sentiments I expressed at the end of the article remain true today.

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The world’s invisible Internet (1)



So here I am, more than 60 years old, and I am talking to people who are not in bodies. Some have been dead a few years, some for decades, or centuries. It doesn’t seem to make any difference how long they have been gone or how famous they were or weren’t. Apparently I may talk to nearly anyone I wish to, provided that I have a reason to do so. I seem to have tapped into the invisible world’s Internet.

If this were merely my own experience or my own delusion, it wouldn’t be very important to anyone but me. But since it appears to be a skill that anyone can develop, I propose to tell you how to do the same thing I’m doing. To do so, I need to sketch out how I got to this point, but you don’t need to follow my path. In fact, you couldn’t if you wished to. You have your own path, whatever it is, and it’s the only one for you.

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