Exploring Uncharted Legions of the Mind

IMG_0123

View of the grounds at TMI in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia

How brave are you really? Would you dare to enter the uncharted legions and depths of your mind?

I did. Repeatedly. I’ve always been interested in how the human mind works; I should have been a psychologist. Through my personal studies, though, I’ve discovered that truly NOTHING is impossible. Whatever the mind can conceive, it can achieve–or–if you can imagine it, you can make it happen.

I just completed a six-day program at The Monroe Institute (TMI) in Virginia, called “Timeline”, which focuses on the exploration of past, present, and future lives and how they influence our current lives. Fascinating stuff.

This painting by Salvador Dali pretty much sums up the sort of things I’ve experienced during programs at TMI:

Salvador Dali

Wait–you don’t get it? No, no drugs are involved. Let me attempt to explain.

You spend most of your time in your CHEC unit (Controlled Holistic Environmental Chamber), which is more or less a bed that’s enclosed on all sides except for an opening, which allows you to crawl in and out. A heavy black drape covers the opening so that the entire unit is completely dark to minimize external sensory distractions and maximize internal focus. Through headphones, you listen to recorded exercises, which are similar to guided meditations with the incorporation of Hemi-Sync® binaural beats. (More about this later.)

CHEC Unit

CHEC Unit

IMG_0149

The founder, Robert Monroe’s home, where the “Timeline” program took place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What does it feel like to enter another dimension of consciousness?

(Please keep in mind that these are my personal experiences—those of others may vary.)

After a series of mental steps to help you feel comfortable and safe during your “excursion,” you are then guided to different levels of consciousness which are referred to by number, i.e. C-1 represents full, waking consciousness, followed by F10, F12, F15, F21, F27 and so on. The “F” stands for “Focus Level.” F10, for instance, indicates the state of “mind awake/body asleep” and in F10, you feel as if you’re on the verge of falling asleep, but you can still feel your body lying on the bed and you’re fully aware that you’re in a room and what you’re doing there. In F12, (the state of expanded awareness) you begin to let go a bit more, and when I “arrive” in F12, I often “see” someone waiting for me there. Sometimes it’s someone I know in my current life, or sometimes it’s someone I’m familiar with but don’t know personally. It appears that these “people” always have a personal message for me, something I’ve been ignoring and need to address because they seem to get immediately in my face and are generally very insistent.

Often the images I encounter in the different levels of consciousness are symbolic or metaphors for something in my waking life and sometimes I know exactly what they mean; other times I never seem to figure them out. So far, the meaning of the images I encounter immediately upon my arrival in F12 are pretty easy to decipher, because it’s always a person (as opposed to an inanimate object, or a sound or a feeling) and he or she instantly moves toward me as if we’re opposite magnets.

Throughout any focus level, I am always in complete control of what I’m experiencing, and I have the ability to end the session or ask for clarification on anything at any time I choose. This is extremely important, because before my initial sessions at TMI, I was afraid that I would somehow relinquish control of my mind. But this is NOT the case. Ever. I always have control, but sometimes I have to remind myself of that fact! Just like in my everyday life.

galaxy-379213_640 Most of the Timeline program took place in F15, the state of consciousness where time doesn’t exist. It is a very deep, meditative state and there’s a feeling of floating. During my first experiences in F15, I found it a bit difficult to breathe; it felt as if my “surroundings”, for lack of a better word, were thick and intense, as if I was floating in a substance as dense as ketchup. Once I became more familiar with it, though, I told myself to relax, told myself that I could breathe easily, and that knowledge allowed me to float effortlessly and allow experiences or realizations to come to me. It’s like having a dream, where you’re in the REM state and you’re not aware of your physical body.

What I’m attempting to relate is nearly impossible to describe in words, because I experienced a richness to my sessions, where my visuals were accompanied by feelings and the use of all (or most of) my senses, but in a much more heightened manner. My perception also varied from one session to the next. (Sometimes I would simply “click out” or fall asleep, and experience nothing! This isn’t uncommon.)

TMI logo photo by Baja Rock PatFor instance, I interacted with energies that were clearly not human, but whom seemed to know me and (often) love me unconditionally, and the words “alien” or “angel” or “spirit” or whatever familiar term one might attach to it, does not adequately describe what I thought, felt, saw, or heard. The terms alien, angel, or spirit are relative terms anyway–they mean something different to each of us. TMI refers to them as “other energies or other energy systems,” a more appropriate description, because these “individuals” weren’t made of flesh like you and me, but of vibration, or energy, or thought. And just because they weren’t in human form didn’t mean they were more intelligent or advanced than we are. Now isn’t that an interesting concept?

walnut half During several sessions, I received a “knowing” that where I had requested to go (you set an intention for each exercise) required me to leave my physical body behind, and I worked very hard to make this happen. (That was my first mistake–“working very hard.” I now know that by trying to force things, it only hindered me–again, just like life.) In F15, my body felt heavy and “crispy,” and like a walnut shell that’s cracked in half, if you scoop out the nut, the empty shell remains the same shape it was in before you removed the nut, so too, my body retained its shape, but it was as if the top part had been removed, and my “insides” were rather gelatinous and began to “slosh” back and forth horizontally from head to toe like when you shake a bowl of jello. This gelatinous part of me then began to vibrate as it attempted to float upward, but it never got “out” completely. It rose up about three or four inches, but something kept it attached to my crispy shell (body).

Many who have experienced the out-of-body state, describe a vibration feeling that happens just before they leave their bodies, but some describe leaving their bodies without that feeling. I think my focusing too much on trying to achieve the out-of-body state may have been the very thing that kept me tethered at times. And although during the entire 6-day program, I never got the feeling that I completely went out-of-body, I’m certain that it happened many times without my ever realizing it, because there were times I knew I was completely immersed in another dimension of consciousness without regard to how I got there (because “how I got there” wasn’t important at the time; I wasn’t focusing on that aspect). My body felt paralyzed, in a sense, but my mind went jaunting off into other “territories”.

In addition to being limited by words to describe such experiences, another challenge is that there is no empirical proof whether the things one has experienced are real or imagined; but perhaps a more important question is: “If I just imagined all this, why did I imagine this particular scene and not something else?” The mind is a powerful tool, and when you let go of trying to control your environment, and simply allow things to come to you, amazing things happen. This isn’t just true for TMI sessions, it is true for one’s everyday waking state as well.

meditation-389700_640 The Timeline program reinforced in me that I am much more than my physical body, and that “I” do not end with death. In several sessions, I actually experienced the dying process of my physical body in previous lifetimes, although I did not allow myself to feel the pain associated with it. I realize this sounds frightening, but I learned so very much from these exercises. What I experienced was a separation of spirit and body, a release similar to my being given an epidural during the births of my children, and the moment the drug took effect, the pain vanished instantly. The death experiences felt similar to that–the moment the spirit left the body, there was instant relief from pain, combined with a release from mental anguish as well. This was completely unexpected, and the “I” who was witnessing the whole scene, was surprised at the tremendous sense of relief and release.

In 2003, I had an out-of-body experience (OBE) in the middle of Sammy Hagar‘s concert, and that moment changed my life. While in the out-of-body state, I “saw” landscapes that were clearly not earth, and beings that were not human. Thousands of them. I wrote about this in Dance of the Electric Hummingbird. At the time, I assumed they were representations of alien worlds that exist beyond human comprehension. Now, after the things I experienced at TMI, I wonder if they were glimpses of previous lives that I had lived, or future lives, because there is a school of thought that considers that we may indeed, be living all of our lives simultaneously, similar to the space-time continuum theory in physics. With this theory in mind, some say that just as each of our cells makes up different parts of us, all these other lives are merely different aspects or parts of us–each being integral to the whole. And ultimately, just as these different aspects of us make up one whole that we think of as the “self”, we too, are all different aspects of what we call God–each of us connected to form one consciousness that is God.

I can certainly see now, how this could very well be possible.

I also saw that since “I” exist far beyond the constraints of my physical body and that since the boundaries of what I call “me” overlap and merge with other living and non-living beings, what I do to others (or to the earth), I also do to myself.

Too, it’s important for me to realize the blessing of existing here, right now, in this physical body, for there are aspects of spiritual growth that cannot be learned by any other means. Therefore, I shouldn’t squander my life fretting over “the small things,” because every moment is meant to be enjoyed with every fiber of my being.

wave-64170_640 I learned that if I look closely enough, and with the eyes of a child (Zen calls this “Beginner’s Mind”), I can actually see my entire essence—the very essence of life itself, in a drop of rain, the veins of a single leaf, in a freckle on a stranger’s face, the song of a cardinal, and in every being—living and non-living. All of these things are me and they, like me, since we are all fibers of God, are infinite. Time is merely an illusion; it’s something humans created to make sense of and feel in control of our environment.

At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I believe that my initial OBE during the rock concert, planted a kind of “seed” in my subconscious. This seed continues to grow the more I feed it spiritual wisdom, the sort of wisdom I uncover during TMI sessions, because these sessions put me in contact with—and enhance—dimensions of my mind (that are also in contact with higher levels of consciousness) that I previously never knew existed.

Bob Monroe's Cabin photo by Baja Rock Pat

Robert Monroe’s cabin, where he wrote most of his books on his many out-of-body experiences and the exploration of altered states of consciousness

Why is any of this important when there are people starving in the world and so many other important things one could be focusing on?

The exploration of the mind and its capabilities can give us insight into the reasons we behave the way we do, help us achieve personal goals, and give us tools to teach others, thereby healing the world by first healing ourselves. Visiting some of my other lives not only explained the roles certain people play in my current life, it also showed me how and why I adopted some of my limiting beliefs. Knowledge, then, is power—the power to change and to better myself. I shall continue to explore the power of my mind and spirit, for there is much to learn, and that, I believe, is the meaning of our lives—to grow and to experience emotion in its many forms–the greatest and most important of these–is love.

TMI by Baja Rock Pat

Giant crystal on the property

(To read about my first experience at TMI, please click here: Gateway to Altered States of Consciousness)

**TMI is dedicated to exploring human consciousness and peak human performance with the use of Hemi-Sync® audio technology, which uses the scientifically adapted method of binaural beats to induce the meditative state and bring both left and right hemispheres of the brain into balance. The balanced brain then, is much more capable of achieving things of which it may not have previously been capable, thereby providing a tool to help listeners achieve goals such as weight loss, quitting smoking, improved concentration, stress or pain relief, and many other areas of self-improvement. For more information, please visit http://www.monroeinstitute.org/resources/hemi-sync

Angels Among Us

Rain in Australian Rainforest

I get very attached to people. People are the most important things in my life. And when special people leave my life, it creates a hole where something wonderful used to be.

Yesterday, I said goodbye to a man who took care of me for more than 30 years, a man who enriched my life in ways I can never come close to repaying. He knew every inch of my body on an intimate level; he delivered my babies, performed surgeries on me, and became my primary care physician as well. And my friend.

At first glance, this post might seem silly, but 30 years is a long time, and to have someone you can trust, someone who made you feel like you mattered—is a precious thing. Especially in a world where a lot of doctors treat their patients as if they’re just a number. Or worse—a nuisance they’re forced to deal with so that they can buy that new Ferrari. Yes, I’ve had doctors like that.

A few weeks ago, I received a letter notifying me that Dr. H. was moving to another city. He had been my OB/GYN when I lived in Denver and after I moved to Northern Colorado 18 years ago, I continued to drive two hours each way just to go to him. And I never regretted it.

But now an important chapter in my life was coming to an end. You see, Dr. H. was not your ordinary doctor; he helped me through some very tough times in my life—from births to deaths to cancer-scares and everything in between. I couldn’t let someone like that just slip away without letting him know how much he meant to me, so I phoned his office to make an appointment. “All his patients want to see him one more time,” the receptionist informed me. “There’s nothing available, but you can send him a letter.”

My heart sank down into my shoes, into the floor, and into the earth beneath the floor. No, I need to see him, I thought. I need to look into his eyes and thank him, in person, for everything he did for me. Even if I can’t get an appointment, I’m going down there just to say goodbye.

I explained my situation to the receptionist and she squeezed me in.

In the meantime, I decided that I wanted to give Dr. H. something to let him know how much he meant to me. Thirty years is a long time. How did you thank someone for giving you the gift of good health? My husband would say, “You pay him LOTS of money; you don’t need to give him anything—he already has everything money can buy.”

But there are some things money can’t buy—like making a person feel that they’re important—that they matter, easing another person’s fears and assuring them that everything is going to be alright. How do you thank someone for that? How do you thank someone for really caring?

I decided to write Dr. H. a letter telling him how his compassion, kindness and expertise effected my life. Maybe someday he would look back on it and realize what a huge difference he made in the world–and not just in my life, but in the lives of thousands of others.

Through my tears, I remembered how he took care of me during my pregnancies—the last one in which, when I waddled in for my weekly checkup, well past my due date, hugely pregnant and miserable, and complaining, “Dr. H., has anyone ever died from terminal pregnancy?” He laughed and said, “Not that I know of!” “Well, I think I’m going to be the first, then,” I moaned. A few hours later, I went into labor.

I told him how much it meant to me that whenever I was giving birth, and in that cold and unfamiliar place—the hospital delivery room—surrounded by all that sterile equipment and tiled walls and being poked and prodded and examined by doctors and nurses in masks, and salespeople and janitors (just kidding about the salespeople and janitors, but it sure felt that way at the time) the moment I saw his kind and familiar eyes, my entire being relaxed because I knew that now everything would be just fine.

Close up of baby's foot in mother's handI told him that I had pictures of him from 27 years ago in the delivery room suctioning out my newborn son’s nose and mouth because he had swallowed a lot of amniotic fluid during his entrance into the world, and I truly think it was Dr. H.’s knowledge and quick thinking that day, that saved my son from what could have been severe complications.

And when I went to see him for a follow-up after my hysterectomy, he chuckled as he told me that during the surgery, I “woke up” and reminded him not once or twice, but numerous times, “Don’t forget to leave my ovaries in, Dr. H.!”

When I went to see him the year after my parents died, I told him how much it meant to me to see his familiar face again—it felt like it had been ages after all I’d been through—but his compassion in listening to what I had to say was like a light in the darkness that day and it gave me something I so desperately needed—hope and the strength to carry on.

And when I was terrified upon finding lumps in my breasts, he made sure that I got the best care available with the best surgeons and facilities in Denver and he stood by me every step of the way to calm my fears and keep me healthy.

I wrote that in his care, I always knew that everything would be alright. And it always was. And that, right there, is something undeniably rare and priceless.

I put the letter into my purse and went for my appointment.

It was weird, because when I got there, the waiting room was empty; usually the chairs were filled with women in various stages of pregnancy or juggling newborns in car seats, or elderly ladies waiting to see their doctors. Not today. I proceeded to sign in but the receptionist told me not to bother.

A strange feeling erupted in the pit of my stomach; I felt like I was in a place I shouldn’t be.

There were wooden carts in the hallways and behind the great reception desk filled with rows and rows of manila file folders covered with sheets, each folder representing one woman’s medical history—a sad reminder that someone who had been there a very long time was getting ready to leave—someone who was obviously very well-loved because there were a lot of carts with a lot of folders. I had to squeeze past them to get to the examining room.

When Dr. H. came in, his face was tanned and his shirt impeccably pressed. His once-dark hair was dyed a light brown, and he was sporting a grey goatee, which seemed an attempt to hide the sagging skin on his neck, but his brown eyes were as soft and kind as usual. He asked if I’d gotten his letter announcing his move. I said that I had and I fought back tears as I handed him my letter.

After the exam, we talked for a few minutes and shared some memories. Once again, his warm and gentle demeanor reassured me that even though he was moving away, everything would be just fine, and that if I still wanted to come see him, I was more than welcome. He handed me his business card and said that if I was in the area, to let him know, and that “If there is ever anything you need, you just call, ok?” Then he hugged me. I don’t think there is another human being on this planet who could have gotten away with hugging me while I was dressed in a paper drape like that!

When he walked out of the room, I could hear him talking into his little voice recorder as he always did—saying my name and noting the results of my check-up. But things were no longer going to be as they’d always been; this would be the last time he would speak into his recorder about me.

I got dressed and walked out into the hallway. Dr. H. was waiting there for me and he gave me another hug. My heart felt like it was dissolving into liquid—tears. Then he went in to see his next patient.

This was not a physical or romantic-type of relationship I had with my doctor; it was personal on a different level–and based on respect and unwavering trust for a professional who continuously went above and beyond stipulated job duties to make me feel like I mattered. I am a better person for having known him.

He once told me about the time he accidentally killed a fish in a lake with a bright orange, Pinnacle golf ball when he was golfing and that someday he was going to buy himself a Harley. And last year, I gave him a copy of my book because he said he was interested in reading it… Thirty years is a long time…