By John Herlosky
Follow the fascinating story of one man’s journey into the realm of the fantastic.
The CIA sponsored psychic spies. They trained extra-sensory perception “remote viewers” with the ability to extend their consciousness to accurately describe targets not only half a world away, but to look into the future or the past as well. It all sounded like science fiction to John Herlosky after reading an expose by former member of the CIA’s Project Stargate, Dr. David Morehouse. Two years later, skeptical but intrigued by the possibilities implied, Herlosky entered the classroom of Dr. Morehouse to find out the truth.
And never looked back.
Thus started a five year odyssey of exciting adventures and sometimes terrifying journeys into “The Matrix of all Creation,” the psychological space-time of ESP. As Dr. Morehouse’s apprentice, the author learned the arcane but scientifically validated methodology and protocols of military remote viewing - the same technology that allowed the remote viewers of Project Stargate to secretly spy on the Soviet Union during the Cold War and discover secrets that could not be gleaned by any other technologies.
The author takes you on a journey from the crushing depths and pathos of the wreck of the Titanic and the fate of a downed pilot in the First Gulf War, to incredible journeys to far off worlds and alternate universes. Witness the personal turmoil as the author’s long held beliefs clash with the powerful implications of his experiences. This book is not only an engrossing story of adventure but also a look into what it is to be truly human.
Introduction: 96 Hours
It was a typically beautiful Southern California day, warm and sunny, as I walked into the Katy Geissert Library in Torrance, California. It was Friday and for the past several months, I had been coming here regularly to use the computer lab.
I was working on an experiment in Associative Remote Viewing (ARV) for a company called Physics Intuition Applications. The president of the company, a congenial man named Marty Rosenblatt, was doing research into remote viewing. A mathematical physicist by trade, Marty and I had met while attending a Coordinate Remote Viewing (CRV) conference in El Paso, Texas that previous June. His presentation at the conference was on using remote viewing to predict the stock market. At that conference, we had a chance to discuss ideas and begin a strong friendship and working relationship that would lead to a startling event-an event that would one day come back to haunt me.
Associative remote viewing isn't a viewing technique. It's a targeting protocol that allows a viewer to access information that might normally be difficult to perceive using standard remote viewing methodologies.
Marty's program was set up to forecast the movement of a particular stock index two days in advance. The computer would choose two pictures at random from a photo pool. One photo would be assigned to an outcome of 'stock index up at the end of the trading day' versus the previous day’s closing price. The other photo would be assigned to a down outcome.
For example, a picture of a mountain would be assigned to the stock index moving up, and a photo of a waterfall would be assigned to the index being down. A remote viewer would look forward two trading days to see what picture would be given him for feedback. In two days depending on the outcome of that trading day, the program would show one of the pictures to the viewer. If the index was up, the program would show the photo of the mountain, if down, the picture of the waterfall. Today’s session happened to be a Friday, and since there was no trading on the weekend, I would get my results on Tuesday.
On that Friday afternoon I chose a console away from the other library patrons in order to minimize noise and distractions. I sat down with pen and paper handy, and wondered what the people here in the library would think if they knew what I was doing.
I logged on to the computer and went to Marty's web site. Typing quickly, I pulled up the P5 protocol prediction and scoring program. Marty had numerous viewers using the protocols. After logging on to Marty's website, I began the cool down process. After so many CRV sessions it only took me several deep breaths to enter an alpha state. I no longer used the cool down CD that I had trained on to achieve it. Now I needed to quiet the inner turmoil. The signal I would be tuning in to could be lost in as little as a stray thought.
Once relaxed, I opened my eyes and wrote down the heading at the top of the first page of the paper that I would use to record my impressions during the session. Once the session was complete, I would enter the data in the computer. Since I would allow myself only ten minutes for each viewing session, I would try to access as much information as possible in only the first stages.
Looking at the computer screen to see the coordinates for the first target, I took a deep breath and prepared to enter the Matrix. Like the fabled Kwisatz Haderach from the science fiction masterpiece Dune who could be many places at once, I prepared to leap ahead in time and space to see what feedback picture would be chosen by the computer.
This was where I wanted to be, where I needed to be. I felt like I was going home to the true Reality beyond the world of sensory perceptions. It had many names, the holographic universe, the collective unconscious, the Akashic record, the Matrix of all Creation.
The Matrix was the name that the creator of Coordinate Remote Viewing, Ingo Swann, coined for this level of reality. It wasn’t a physical reality but rather a storehouse of all knowledge. Technically it could be considered, in the words of physicist Dr. Elizabeth Rauscher, as part of an 8th dimensional complex Minkowski manifold. It consists of our regular 4 dimensional space-time and a complex component in 4 dimensional space-time contiguous to it. The doorway to this M4 manifold in imaginary time and space called the Matrix is the unconscious. The problem is, the unconscious doesn’t understand words and numbers. It understands pictures and feelings. It understands allegory. So how do you pull the information from the Matrix? That was the genius behind the work done by Ingo Swann, under the direction of the CIA, at the Stanford Research Institute. He set up a multi-stage methodology that allowed someone to access the Matrix and bring back usable data. It was a two part process, one part detect, the other part, decode. This process was done in an altered state of consciousness known as an alpha state. An alpha state of consciousness is a brain state of relaxed alertness. It is here that the remote viewer detects data floating up from his unconscious mind, and then decodes it using the multi-stage methodology.
Following that methodology, I wrote the six digit number assigned to this session across the top of the page. Writing the last digit on the page, I allowed the first kinesthetic contact with the target to pull my pen across the paper. The resulting scrawl was the ideogram, the first graphic representation of the gestalt of the target. What the scrawl looked like was unimportant. It was the feeling that you felt as the pen moved across the paper that was important, what Swann called the 'feeling motion.' The numbers across the top of the page meant nothing and had no real significance; they are randomly generated. I could have used letters or numbers and letters. They are only used for record keeping and as a point of focus for the remote viewer.
Touching my pen to the ideogram, I entered the first stage of the Matrix. From the sharp right angle and hard flat feel of the ideogram, I knew I would be looking at something man made, most likely a structure or structures. I wrote down the information on my paper. Then once again I touched the tip of my pen to the center of the page and closed my eyes. The pen acted like an antenna for the signal line, the hypothetical conduit of data from the unconscious mind. The afterimage of the white paper blotted out my visual field. I expected that and calmly continued to breathe in a relaxed manner, letting the muscles in my body loosen. Moments later the afterimage faded and the twilight world of the Matrix appeared.
Every remote viewer experiences the Matrix differently. For me, it was like standing in a dark room surrounded by dense mists or fog. The fog was colored purple, magenta, gray and black and swirled around me like clouds. Sometimes there would be a flash of light deep in the background, like heat lightning on a summer’s evening. It was this fog that would begin to take form and shape. It was the canvas that my unconscious mind would weave into pictures.
As I sat there quiescent, I knew that Stage two sensory impressions would be next. Stage twos are colors, sounds, smells, tastes, textures, and dimensionals. Dimensionals are the physical aspects of the target; it’s height, width, and mass.
Ill-defined forms that moved and morphed began to seep into my visual field. They seemed to float up behind my closed eyelids. I mentally tried to move with the image, focusing on it and trying to get a clearer picture. I wasn’t trying to analyze what I was seeing as I struggled to increase the quality of the signal line. It wasn’t my job to analyze; my job was to simply record data. I took a few moments to get a section of data, and then I stopped and described on my paper what I experienced. Then I touched pen to paper again and recorded another section of data. Back and forth, moving with a practiced rhythm.
I had the feeling of height; a sense of a sheer drop. The shapes were taking on the form of structures. What I was seeing seemed to be an urban scene. There was water, because I sensed a boat nearby. The dimensional aspect of the target was strongly vertical.
Ok, I thought. My feedback picture is going to be some sort of cityscape. I was only halfway through the session and I was thinking I might have enough, but just to make sure, I continued into stage three.
Stage three is where the viewer finds that the information he is receiving in the form of sensory verbal data begins to diminish and sketches became dominant. The sketches are usually crude at that point of the process but it doesn’t matter. Stage three sketches of the target gave me an advantage in deciding which picture was the correct one.
A shape swam up from the depths of the Matrix. It was long, cylindrical in form, and had a row of small windows along the side. It reminded me at first of a train because the front end was flat. Its dimensionals were curved, smooth, and elongated.
Strangely, there were no wheels or tracks. I sketched it on the page and first labeled it as an AOL, or analytical overlay, of a train. Analytic overlay is simply my mind’s attempt to place a label on what I was seeing. However, there was no guarantee that the shape actually was a train. It could be something entirely different that was similar to a train. There was only one way to find out. I took my pen and probed the sketch, trying to gain more insight into what it might be. The thought came to me that it could be the fuselage of a commercial jet, although it had no wings or tail, and of course, the strangely flat nose.
Again I turned inward with several deep breaths. Detect and decode. View and write. I followed the mantra of the coordinate remote viewer. But the images that materialized in the visual field behind my eyelids seemed to have no connection to what I had just seen.
These first images resolved into a crater, no...two craters. They reminded me of craters on the moon, except for the spired, jagged edges around the rim.
I reminded myself, it wasn't my job to analyze data; my job was to observe and record. Dealing with results was the job of the analyst.
I took a slow, measured breath and held it. Touching my pen to the paper again to pick up the signal line, I waited expectantly for the next images to form. And they did.
Dogs, lots of dogs. German Shepherds, or wolves, and Labs and dogs I didn't recognize. Dogs.
Dutifully, I wrote the information down, but frustration was now threatening to get the better of me. I took a quick glance at my chronometer. The countdown timer showed 90 seconds remaining of the original ten minutes. Just as well, I sighed. I thought some dirty words and then suprisingly, something in the back of my mind said, one more time.
There was a time when I would have ignored that little voice. A time when I would have laughed even at the suggestion that any of this was even possible. That time was four years and a dozen miracles in the past. I took one last deep breath, held it on a four count. Then I exhaled and touched pen to paper for one last college try.
Now I saw great clouds of billowing white snow or maybe dust or ash. I couldn't tell which. It reminded me of the near whiteouts of upstate New York winters I lived through as a teenager.
With a start, I realized that my chronometer alarm had gone off, signaling the end of the time I had allotted for the session. I wrote 'end session' at the bottom of the page and the end time in the heading on the first page.
I'll see what the computer shows me before I get too disappointed.
I typed the results into the computer and then went to the judgement page. Here, the computer would show me the two pictures chosen at random.
The computer flashed the first picture up on the screen. It was a rural wooded scene. It had no correspondence to anything I had seen. Whew, I thought with relief. No lunar landscape! No billowing clouds.
I hit the key for the other choice and smiled when I saw what flashed up on the screen. It was of a city skyline at night, seen from across a river. There was a large suspension bridge in the foreground with a full moon in the sky. In the background was the skyline of a large metro area. Two monolithic skyscrapers dominated the skyline, one with a tall radio tower on the roof. It looked vaguely familiar, maybe Chicago or New York. There were boats on the river in the background - The water and boats I had seen in the ether.
It was so obvious that this was the photo that I would be shown in the future that I didn't hesitate. I keyed it into the computer as my choice.
The computer accepted my choice and the graphics flashing across the screen read: YOU HAVE CHOSEN PHOTO X AS YOUR CHOICE FOR TARGET COORDINATES 535 645. Then the computer continued:
FEEDBACK FOR THIS SESSION WILL BE AVAILABLE AFTER 2PM, TUESDAY...
I looked at the date the computer displayed, not knowing that the mysteries of this session would become devastatingly clear, in 96 hours.
...SEPTEMBER 11, 2001.
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