Doorways Out

In my sessions (RV or other psi sorts) I have a loose ‘process’ I go through. One point that has evolved (or devolved) over time is what I call the ‘foreview’, or 4/ for short in my session notes.

This arose from often finding that when I got to the point of doing a session, it seemed like my mind had something it wanted to share with me, “Now that I was finally quiet and still and paying attention.” This may or may not have anything to do with the session. But in the high hopes of preventing my body/mind from needing to interfere with my session in order to communicate with me, I’ve started to make a habit of ‘opening up the floor’ just prior to starting the session.

Sometimes information comes through, sometimes not. Sometimes a guide or an emotion. Sometimes info relates to the following session, but usually not.

Last night in 4/ a young man showed up, and called me with his hand and beckoned me down a short hall and through a doorway. I followed him curiously, and found myself in a bit of a diff world. Walking across an odd landscape of bare planetary surface, reminding me vaguely of the RedCairo blog background I’d just set up, I called “Guides!” and willed Brin and Stet (my two closest) to show up for me, which they promptly did. “Is he trying to hurt me?” I asked them. They considered. “No,” was their slightly delayed conclusion. “OK. Ride with me, in me invisibly, please, so I’m not alone,” I requested, and they vanished into me like I was luggage. I continued my trek.

He took me into this offbeat area; we went down stairs, and under something, and through something, all the typical archetypal symbols of going through dimensions, different levels of frequency, whatever you want to call it (all the labels sound idiotic, but that doesn’t stop the experience from being ok). I could feel we were getting far deeper into the inside of something and I was starting to wonder how easy it would be to get back out.

“Guides!” I demanded again, having an overlay of Heinlein’s ‘Jubal’ yelling Front! They appeared promptly. “Is this part of the target?” I asked them. They shook their heads no. “Is this guy distracting me like an inorganic?” I asked suspiciously. They said, “Yes.” I almost sputtered in indignation. “Well why didn’t you say so?!” I demanded.

“You didn’t ask,” said Stet. “He wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

I sighed in exasperation. I didn’t ask! Oh brother!  “But he is trying to get me to a place where he can lock in a range of frequency and feed off that energy!” I snapped. “I can sense that; all of my proximity and ‘be wary’ bells are going off. Now maybe YOU don’t think that’s a form of harm, but I do!” They both shrugged at me.

“It’s your choice,” said Brin, sounding reasonable, and sounding as if he didn’t think I was being very much of that. “He didn’t make you come here. We don’t interfere in your decisions.” I just stared at them for about 5 seconds, thinking, oh for godssakes…!

I marshalled my will and pulled myself superfast back through the way I’d come until I was back in the 4/ grounds and the scout who looked like the young man was standing over by the door again. I understood why he looked like that. I have an innocent-distant though intense affair of the heart with a younger man; indistinct visage, but the basics of my assumptions were there… it had taken what was in me, for form. Not unusual, but it’s been so long since I’ve had experiences as spontaneous visions and guides and entities and so on, that I’ve forgotten to be alert. He looked at me from the doorway and I almost felt my heart aching for him; I totally understand why he’d want some of that energy, who wouldn’t. I didn’t take it personally.

So, back in foreview, the grounds were empty. I sighed and got on with my session.

Which although it had target contact (most have at least some), was typically lousy of late. I can’t wait till this slump passes.


  1. Red Cairo, is the “inorganic” you mentioned in this post the same as the inorganic beings talked about in Carlos Castaneda’s The Art of Dreaming?

  2. Yes. Actually when I read the Art of Dreaming it was late 1995, and I had just come from a whole series of experiences I chronicled at and although I’d not been much into CC’s work prior, I felt that book, amazingly to me, literally addressed many of the exact experiences I’d been having. He gave me a ‘term’ for those identities, the “Inorganics.”Personally I think we are “conglomerate identities” and parts of us “are” inorganics as well. For example the voice I call “the Narrator,” which sounds amazingly like Seth but seems unique to each individual (a friend jokes we should call him “The Dictator” since he talks ‘at’ us more than ‘with’ us), I think that may actually be a part of us that occupies a primary focal frequency that we’d call an inorganic. I think we are “symbiotes” in some respects and we can get more use out of them but it requires some… trade. Not one that would trap us (they ARE us), but whatever energy/attention we trade, is essentially theirs. It’s a complicated subject and I don’t expect I know all of it.

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