Can Hypnosis tap Reincarnational Experiences?


Hypnotic Age Regression: A Neglected Area of Human Potential
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I recently wrote an article on my use of hypnosis and possible reincarnation. My experimental goal was to enhance the subject’s ESP, but her intense imagery interfered. I use an almost non-directive hypnotic technique. Here is an excerpt that some might find interesting.
“At our next session, she slipped into a deep hypnotic state more rapidly and easier. Her eye movements became more active, as if she were actively processing the visual image.
I asked where she was.
“In a cave,” she answered. “An ice cave.”
I reviewed non-leading questions I could ask her without knowing where, when, or who she was. I suggested she look down to examine if she wore any garments. If there were, she was to describe them.
Under her lids, her eyes looked down. “Fur. I’m wearing some kind of fur.”
Filled with uncertainty, I searched my thoughts for the next questions. She needed to see herself, to describe her clothing in more detail. “Look around the cave,” I said. “Is there anything shiny? Something that could reflect your image?”
She looked about, then said, “A pool of water.”
“Good,” I replied. “Look at yourself and tell me what you see.”
She tilted her head forward again, then said with faint surprise, “Oh. I’m a man.”
Asked to give more detail, she said her skin was dark and that s/he had long, coarse unkempt hair.
I had never encountered anything like this before. Was this a fantasy or, possibly, a reincarnational being? What practical use would this be and how could I ever verify it? I didn’t know that in a few minutes Mallory would unwittingly offer a form of proof.
I decided to end the session and took every precaution to bring Mallory out of hypnosis safely. Afterwards, we spoke for a while. She remembered every aspect of the experience and was as puzzled about it as I.
She put on her coat. As we talked near the door, I noticed that she rubbed her right arm occasionally. After a few minutes, it was obvious.
She added more details, continuing to massage the arm through her coat sleeve.
My suspicions were aroused. I asked if her arm bothered her. As she was a nurse, I thought she might have strained it that day.
However, that wasn’t the case. My intuition urged me to stay a while longer. I asked her to remove her coat and recline again. She agreed.
Because we had explored three time periods that day, I was unsure when her arm began to bother her. She slipped into a deep hypnotic state again. I gave her an open suggestion: to go to “wherever” she was when the arm felt different.
She became quiet.
Exhausted, I waited silently. I’d worked with patients all day; it was now near midnight. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes awaiting her response.
After a few minutes, I felt a sharp chill, real enough to cause me to open my eyes. I examined the drapes on the window over her, but felt no draft. Then, I asked, “Where are you?”
I was bewildered. How was it that, in my fatigue and in a closed office, I could feel that sudden chill, as if a cold breeze wafted over me?
“I’m in the ice cave,” she answered.
“Look down at your arm and tell me what you see,” I said.
Under her lids, her eyes looked down and towards her right arm. Then she answered in the same untroubled tone: “Oh. I don’t have one.”
Surprised, I asked what had happened to the arm. “A bear,” she replied. “A white bear.”
A dark-skinned man wearing furs; an ice cave; a change in gender. All these things led me to suspect that, if there was any truth to this, he was possibly out of the past, perhaps prehistoric. However, my frame of reference may have been wrong. Instead, if this was a true reincarnational memory, it suggested a possible Inuit living closer to the present. Still, there was no way to verify the experience.
My immediate problem was clinical, not research! Somehow, she carried the injury–fantasy or reincarnation–into the present. What could I do? My education and experience offered no answer to this problem. I reasoned that if her body image had changed while she was the man, I might alter it back to the original. I rubbed her arm, suggesting that it was like pliable taffy, capable of stretching to reach her fingertips. After a few minutes, I asked if there was improvement. She said that there was.
When Mallory was brought out of hypnosis again. The sensation was gone, vanished, and she was left with no aftereffects only the memory of strange feelings in her arm.
What transpired in this curious event? Apparently, something quite astonishing. According to the Journal of Trauma (2008), “phantom pain and phantom sensations are often long-term consequences of amputation. Amputees experience phantom sensations and phantom pain within 1 month after amputation, a second peak occurs 12 months after amputation.” Phantom limbs typically decrease and disappear over time.
Mallory’s experience was clinically significant because she did not report the missing arm during or after her “visit” to that time period, even after coming out of hypnosis. Oddly, the “ice man” had already adapted to the missing arm—or the change in his body image. This adaptation to the loss of an arm carried over into Mallory’s experience somewhere beyond her normal conscious state.
This suggests that, if this was an authentic reincarnational memory, we tapped into it at least one year after the man’s injury, when his body image had adjusted to the missing arm.”

The SHIVA Syndrome: One of the most engaging, thought provoking and genuinely entertaining books you’re likely to read this year


A  mind bending, philosophical, science fiction thriller, The SHIVA Syndrome (click on red quill at left bottom to support SHIVA) is the début release from author Alan Joshua and it’s sure to grab your attention. Books like this don’t find their way onto the shelves very often and when they do they tend to stand out because they don’t fit the usual genre paradigms and people take notice. Joshua’s release is certainly in that vein. With rich narrative threads that he exploits to the fullest it’s riveting from the start, whilst Beau Walker is one of those eclectic protagonists who readily resonates with the reader. Pace and plot feel exactly right, which given the scope of his theme is quite an achievement, and when the last page is turned it’s likely to leave you deep in thought. More importantly there’s a wholly pervading sense of authenticity which in the main comes from Joshua’s exacting eye for detail. He revels in the complexity of his tale as he weaves converging plot lines together, but every piece of information is there and flawlessly meshes together as he leads us toward a powerful and well-crafted denouement that will linger in the memory for days to come.

One of the most engaging, thought provoking and  genuinely entertaining books you’re likely to read this year, The Shiva Syndrome is a must read for fans of this ever popular genre. More importantly though, it heralds the arrival of Alan Joshua and raises high expectations for his future releases. It is recommended without reservation.

The SHIVA Syndrome in Kirkus Reviews


Kirkus Indie Editors selected The SHIVA Syndrome review to be featured in Kirkus Reviews 3/15 issue (p. 141). One of only 35 reviews in the Indie section, it is sent out to over 5,200 industry professionals (librarians, distributors, publishers, agents, etc.).

Less than 10% of Indie reviews are chosen, so this is a great honor indeed.

Their review follows:
A professor and parapsychology researcher discovers a key to mankind’s evolution or destruction in this debut thriller.

Beau Walker is a man without a field. Teaching at a backwater university after being dismissed from a government project because of his ethical concerns and bureaucratic maneuvers on the part of a one-time friend, Walker is an academic pariah until two soldiers appear one day. His former friend needs Walker’s expertise, and the professor—who is haunted by both his empathic abilities and the memory of the one time they failed him—has little choice but to cooperate. In the Russian city of Podol’sk, a project partially based on Walker’s work has gone horribly awry, killing thousands and leaving traces of mysteries that threaten humanity’s scientific understanding. Discovering what occurred, and how to prevent it from happening again, falls on Walker and his new friends, who are initially perplexed (in a meeting, Walker confesses, “There’s something I can’t grasp, like trying to grab a slippery ball in a swimming pool. Always just out of reach”). But as secrets and revelations accumulate, the team’s combined knowledge and abilities may be inadequate to stop what’s coming. Throughout the investigation, Walker, a complex intellectual, struggles with the duality of his heritage—African-American mother, Mohawk father—as well as the divide between the rigorous scientific experiments in neurophysiology and psychopharmacology and the intuitive, imaginative aspects of his psychological and cultural studies. Joshua writes with a sure hand, managing to squeeze in many discussions and esoteric concepts, ranging from mythic structures to neuropsychology to remote viewing, while keeping the dialogue realistic and sharp. Although the author leans on slang a bit heavily at times…the pace rarely flags, and Joshua allows the surfeit of information to proceed naturally from the characters’ words and thoughts.
Because of this fluidity, the characters react in believable ways even when the plot developments, which borrow from quantum physics, anthropology, and psychology, inspire incredulity. In addition, Joshua has crafted an appealing protagonist in Walker. Short-tempered, kind, thoughtful, yet impulsive, he is a flawed but ultimately heroic character and serves as a narrative linchpin throughout this absorbing story.
Deft dialogue, crisp plotting, and a likable central figure make this multidisciplinary scientific adventure an exuberant and involving read.

Now a finalist in the 2016 EPIC science fiction award competition.

Available at Amazon, B&N, KOBO and others in eBook and paper formats.

I’m in the future!



After hours of exploring possible past lives, I decided to “push the envelope.” Mary, now easily slipping into a deep hypnotic state, was guided to move further into the past. Moments of my encouragement were punctuated by periods of silent waiting as she adjusted to her ever-deepening state of consciousness.

Then, to my surprise, Mary said, “Whoops! I’ve gone too far around the circle. I’m in the future!”

What circle? The future? What could she mean?

Following her pronouncement and making the situation even more provocative and anxious,  Mary would (or could) not speak. She continued to show signs of being deeply entranced, but she didn’t reply to my questions.

I considered what I might do, then asked if she could write. Eyes closed, she nodded.

But what could I ask? Heart pounding, Mary and I were in unexplored territory. Then it occurred to me: Her name. She’d demonstrated other, possibly past personalities. Now, unbidden, she was about to reveal a possible future personage.

I placed paper on her chest and a pencil in her hand. “Would you write your name,” I asked.

Unfamiliar with the change in communication, she gripped the pencil and, without looking, wrote Rishah Shaelum.

Later, I looked up the name. She didn’t have enough time to process it, so I was very interested in seeing if it bore any relationship to past or present names.

There it was. In Strong’s Concordance, Rishah (the original word in Hebrew was רִאשֹׁת) meant beginning time, early time. It was a feminine noun phonetically spelled ree-shaw’ and derived from rosh, or head.

But Mary was an Italian and a Roman Catholic. Where could she have come up a Hebrew name?

I still had to investigate Shaelum.