Written @ 7:49 p.m. on 2007-10-17
Regression 1
The other night I did a past life regression for B. He has been begging me to put him under hypnosis for a while, and finally I relented. I haven't regressed anyone in years, and I feel tremendous responsibility when I do. It is sort of like dropping acid. Usually harmless in small doses, but better done in a safe place with a trusted guide.
B. went under surprisingly easily. I did a relaxation exercise with him laying on the bed with his head in my lap. I told him to tense one body part at a time, and then visualize all the stress leaving his body as he relaxed that part. First the head, the neck, the chest...etc, etc. Inhale white light, exhale red negativity, stress, and junk.
I told him he was on a beach, described the beach, and then took his soul on a journey while his body lay safely on the beach. I spent an hour getting him deeply enough into hypnosis where I felt I could regress him. It was his first time, and I didn't want him to be discouraged by not being under deep enough.
I took his soul on a journey in the clouds, and allowed him to come down into any place and time that he thought would assist him with his current situation.
Then we began the decent. We climbed down stairs, counting the stairs as we went. We climbed down flight after flight.
Then I asked him what he was wearing on his feet.
b-"Brown boots."
h-"and what else?"
b-"jeans and a white shirt."
h-"and what do you see?"
b-"nothing"
h-"what color do you see?"
b-"blackness"
Ok, not under, I thought, and I took him down, down, down further.
Turns out he was being quite accurate in his descriptions, and he was dead on.
B. began to describe being in an underground tunnel with dirt walls, and wooden braces, like a mine shaft. Hanging from the ceiling were electric lights, and the only other thing in the tunnel were filing cabinets. The tunnels went in all directions, in the form of a grid system. He was wearing boots, jeans, a white shirt, and a black peacoat. He carried a gun. His hair was black, close on the sides, and long and slicked back with grease in the front. His eyes, he said, were angry. People were chasing him, and he didn't understand why, because he had only done what they had told them.
h- what country are you in?
b-The United States
h-which city?
b- it doesn't matter, they are all the same
B began to tell me the story of a boy born in 1939, the son of a military officer, and a women with dark hair that curled around her ears. On his fifth birthday, he wore a cowboy hat, and a holster with toy guns.
When he was eight, in 1947, some people came to his school and told him that his parents had been killed in a car crash. They took him to a military base, and there he became a subject for drug testing for the government, and was trained to be killing machine. There was no car crash. His father believed that giving his son to this program was a tremendous honor, saving the world from Communists.
h-what is your name?
b- I don't have a name.
h- what was your name, before?
b-it doesn't matter.
h-what was your father's name?
b-I'm not supposed to remember. I'm not allowed.
h- they must have called you something. If someone wanted you to speak in class, what did they call you?
b- they just pointed
h- did you have a number?
b-917. They called me 917.
h- who took care of you at the base?
b-doctors, they gave me medicine and checked me every day.
h-did they ever hug you?
b-no
h-what did you study?
b-anatomy
h-oh really? what is your favorite part of the body?
b-the neck
h-the neck? that's funny, why the neck?
b-because if you disable the neck, you disable the whole body.
h-where there other children there?
b-teenagers
h-how many?
b-12
h-but you were only 8
b- I was the youngest, in the begining
h-what did they feed you?
b-food is not important
h-well, what do you eat?
b-it's like oatmeal, but it's not oatmeal. it's not important
h-and what were you training to do?
b-do what I'm told
h-what were you told to do?
b-take care of problems
h-what kind of problems
b-when someone becomes a liability, I take care of them. I only do what I'm told. Why? why? I only did what I was told! why?
h-why what?
b-why are they after me? where am I supposed to go?
h- I'm sorry, I don't know.
b-why?
At this point, I wanted to lift him above the situation, to take the viewpoint of an observer. He was getting scared and emotional, he seemed annoyed by my questions that weren't helping him out of his tight spot.
h-ok, we are going to lift above this situation. Detach from the issues in the tunnels and observe..
b-no!
h-yes.
b-no! why are they after me? I can't go until I find out!
I had never encountered this before. No one had ever resisted my suggestions while under hypnosis.
I insisted firmly, and I decided to pull all the way out, instead of take the stance of the observer.
Up and out we went, exactly in the same path as our decent. We went up the stairs, travelled on the cloud, travelled to the beach, and reentered the body. Slowly, carefully, I woke B. up.
The first thing he says is,"I don't think I did that right..."
"Oh yes you did!" I said.
B. slowly got up, and he began to talk. In hypnosis, he only gave one word, maybe one syllable, answers, but now he was back in the personality of B, and he spewed forth information.
"There was no car crash! His father was a high ranking official, with medals and pins all over his chest, and he GAVE me to them. "
"That is fucking sick!" I said. "Torturing children!"
"It was an honor. A necessary evil."
"My god," I said.
"I was erased off of the map. I had no name, no connections. I had no family, no friends, because in interrogation an enemy would use those connections against you...try to get to your family, your children. I had nothing. I had no social security number. I was not recorded anywhere on paper. I was a machine."
"Where were you?"
"I don't know. Underground somewhere. Locations could not be discussed, but it was in the US."
"Did you die there? Did the catch you?"
"I don't think so. I looked like Keanu Reeves. Black hair, slicked back like they did in the fifties."
"Didn't they make you cut it?"
"No, they didn't want me to look like the military. I was not in the military. I was above the military."
"That is some scary shit."
"Hold on. Do you know how to shoot someone if they are chasing you?"
"Um, obviously not?"
"You duck into a door, and then you get on the ground, like this...."he got on the ground." You shoot from the ground, because they will be looking for you at eye level. And there was this other thing....stand up, in front of me."
"I'm afraid. You aren't going to kill me, are you?"
"No, no, of course not. It's this thing..." B made some movements with his arms, trying to work out a dance.
"You hold the knife upside down. You have more control that way. Oh! Ok, I remember...you slice the throat at the vocal cords, then their arm is up to protect themselves, so you slice the tendons in the arm here, then in the same motion you puncture the lungs. It is all one movement, see?"
"How the fuck do you know that!?"
"I don't know! Gosh, that is creepy!"
"And the first thing you said is,'I don't think I did it right.' Fucking A you did it right! I'm so sorry that happened to you. You were just a kid. So sad. Were there a lot of kids like that?"
"I don't think so. I think it was just at that time, fighting communists. We always hear little bits of the experiments they deny doing, and then later halfway admit to doing."
"It sounds like some Nazi stuff I've heard of."
"Yeah, but this was America."
"And using our own people."
B. is eager to go under again and find out more. I told him to wait a week. Going under too often can be dangerous. We agreed to take notes on everything.