ON TARGET HOME PAGE

JULY-AUGUST 2002

Yee Ha!
2002 IRVA CONFERENCE---TEXAS

By Stu Frakes

This year's International Remote Viewing Association Conference was held in Austin, Texas . . . in June. Hell in July was booked, so they settled.

Remote viewing turns 30 this year, and when I saw Ingo Swann would be on hand to help mark the occassion I swore I'd be there. So, for a deal, Hotwire got me out of Reagan on a Thursday at 6:30am. This meant my friend and I had to wake up at 4 to get there by 5. Two flights later and I'm wrestling with a Grand Caravan (all they had) in an Austin city traffic jam. I finally find my motel, then my room, then I collapse.

Later, I awake fully rejuvenated, and with the conference a day off I head for Austin's famed 6th Street. Woo-hoo! It doesn't disappoint. Endless entertainment of every variety is just crankin' from one club after the next. Rockabilly, a rollicking piano sing-a-long, instrumental fusion that just won't quit (grad students I bet). In one club I watch couples slow dance ballroom style to delicate guitar and clarinet jazz numbers. Every single act is great and it feels like the whole damn town is a jam.

A cigar lady working the streets sells me a stogey. The police block off traffic for 3 or 4 blocks and the crowds obligingly spill forth. For a mere three bucks I settle into a comedy club, guzzle sodawater 'n lime, and laugh the night away to a parade of stand-ups. In fact, I have so much fun this night that I never return. I'm simply afraid of being overwhelmed.

Friday dawns; what the hell am I here for? IRVA conference - - - right. It's just a block down I-35 and so I man the Caravan to hop on over, but the Texas freeway system frightens and confuses me, and every ten minutes or so the conference hotel passes me by. First on the left, then on the right, but eventually I dock.

This is my second conference. I've been viewing for a few years and listen to all the Rense and Bell RV interviews. They're all good people and I can't help but feel a kinship with them, in a benign non-stalker kind of way . . . honest. But, I do want pictures, and autographs.

I walk through the Hotel lobby and down a hall. There's Mel Riley. I'm in the right place. The hallway opens into a common room lined with tables stacked with books on everything from remote viewing to conspiracy theories, and the Babylonian reign of the UFO Siamese kitty-people. There are even some T-shirts with the IRVA logo boldly plastered on the front and some pithy quote on the back like, "I am not an animal," or "I heart remote viewing." I forget.

Next, I spy Paul Smith. We exchange blank stares. Lyn Buchanan surprises me when I state my name for registration. "Frakes, eh?" booms a voice beside me. "Any relation to Jonathan Frakes from Star Trek?" "Probably," I say. Then he's gone. For all their apparent accessibility at this conference the main players all seem on the run or are deeply engaged in tight one-on-ones. If you want their attention you have to be assertive.

I Shanghai Mel Riley and ask, "Mr. Riley, in Psychic Spy, David Moorehouse makes it sound like you guys are chuggin' coffee all day when you're viewing. Can you really drink coffee and remote view?"

"I sometimes drink two cups before, two cups after, and even sip it while I'm viewing," Mel states matter-of-factly. Damn, this guy really is my hero now. I drink more than one cup in the morning and all I view are sparkles.

"On Jeff Rense you described how Ed Dames sent you into the Roman Colosseum. You looked around and saw it was thumbs down and it was you they were judging. If you materialized, does this mean we might be able to remote influence across time?"

"I don't know," Mel replies. "In situations like that I never hung around to find out."

Hmm.

"So when's the book coming out, Mr. Riley?" I ask.

"When we sit down and get it all together," a voice pipes up (his ghost writer?).

Wow! I'm excited.

I pass off my camera and coax out a shot of me and Mel. There's a flash and Mel splits.

I head over to one of the vending tables. A TV is showing a video. Jim Schnoble listens to Lyn Buchanan's sincere recollection of the long-suppressed memory of his alien abduction. At one point, he recalls, the little feller lets him fly the ship around. The controls were on a panel and Lyn's hands press the air in mock flight demo.

I look over the items on the table and see some stuff by Jim Mars. "I'd like to ask him about this one," I say pointing to a tape.

"Well why don't you, he's right over there," came an answer.

"What? Jim Mars is here?" Wow, special conference bonus!

Jim really is a helluva guy. Short, loud and happy; he's all Texan. He had the first comprehensive scoop on remote viewing when it was still classified, only Random House squashed the book deal, probably as a matter of spin control. Eventually I find myself with him, his cameraman, and some newspeople hoistin' a few down at the ol' Double Tree lounge.

"Jim," I say at one point. "In Rule By Secrecy you describe how global influence is wielded primarily by a small power elite. Do you think these guys are in turn controlled to some degree by, er, extraterrestrials?"

Jim squints. There's a pause. "Yep. Probably so."

Jeeze, I think to myself, if they're not probing us, they're trashing the planet. I head back to the show.

Master of Ceremonies this year is a Robin Williams look-alike, Kent Johnson, (see "Good Will Hunting"). Dressed for the part, and sharp as a tack, Kent's energy, showmanship and good humor keep the joint jumpin. It's exactly what this conference needs and I hope he returns.

On Saturday Ingo Swann takes the podium before a crowd of about 250. He's up in years - - - pushing 70 - - - but once in the spotlight he begins to glow. He's happy to be here, and despite his gentle, retiring personality, his presentation is interactive. It's a question and answer forum, and Ingo wants some answers. With mild-mannered precision he proceeds with his lecture, pausing regularly to ellicit feedback.

We, the audience, on the other hand sit simi-paralyzed in fear and awe before the master. It takes a while, but inevitably, Ingo's penetrating presence and gentle gibes manage to warm up the house, and soon we're all giving it up for the Swann Meister, Arnold Horseshack-style. "Oh, oh, oh. I know, Ingo, I know!"

Nudging us forward, Ingo steadily builds the case that our severely limited perceptions are the stumbling block to the development of superhuman faculties. For all the information we are exposed to - - - visual, auditory, etc. - - - at every passing moment, what we actually process is pitiably minuscule, and what little does come through is not projected onto our brains in the movie house fashion we once thought. No, those signals are instead scrambled and reassembled to create some third-rate facsimile that we claim as reality.

In other words, we loosely reconstruct what little we perceive, at which point we further shape and mold this information based on our own individual belief systems. Et voila, the reality box. Terminally limited, drastically removed, and custom-tailored for misperception, it's a miracle we can even dress ourselves.

But, like a rabbit out of a hat, it's the very nature of these perceptions, Ingo goes on to say, that will usher in the mainstream acceptance of remote viewing.

Get out.

It's true. There's a groundswell of interest in human perceptions currently growing among mainstream scientists, and their research is on a direct collision course with psi. Ha!

So . . . who are these people, and what exactly are their fields of study? Why, electro-chemical physiology; neurobiology, neurophysiology and neuropsychology, bioradiation studies, hormonal transmission research, chemical signal research, bioelectric research, advanced brainwave research, bioelectric information transfer research fields, biomagnetic navigation research, and pheromone transfer research, of course, just to name a few.

These are all accepted scientific disciplines currently studying subtle human perceptions, and according to Mr. Swann, in 15 to sayyy 30 years, these areas and psi studies are destined to merge, which in turn will make remote viewing about as common as khakis.

Ingo Swann's appearance at the conference is indeed a great attraction, but as it turns out, he's just one of the many luminaries here to celebrate 30 years of remote viewing. Another jaw-dropper is the appearance of Hal Putoff himself, who at long last returns to the RV fold, lecturing today on the history of remote viewing research at SRI. Charming and easy-going, with a silky smooth delivery, Hal is one cool cat. What's more, his presence here completes the reunion of the original SRI power trio of Putoff, Targ, and Swann. Could the audience ask for more?

Well, of course. And we get it. Perhaps the most vivacious presentation is delivered by the affable, 79-year-old legend, Cleve Baxter, who began experimenting on plants in the 1960's, testing for their electromagnetic responses to various external stimuli. You know, where the plant is hooked up to a polygraph and you think mean thoughts and the graph goes haywire? I like the one where you chop a head of cabbage in two and the plant just freaks. Then you leave the room and a series of people enter one by one as the plant grows bored until you, the cabbage chopper, renter the room whereby the plant loses it again, "Cabbage chopper, cabbage chopper!!!", thus demonstrating a form of plant recall.

In a similar observation, Cleve tells us of one plant's registered distress at the incidental opening of a yogurt cup. Evidently, it was determined, the impending doom of the bacteria in the yogurt was enough to upset the plant, illustrating once again the truly delicate interconnectedness of all living things.

The talk is a hit and Cleve's books at once sell out. I grab him during the after-talk book signing. "Mr. Baxter," I interrupt, "your plants get excited when someone close by wants to, say, set them on fire. But, how do they respond to love?"

"Not too well, I'm afraid," Cleve laments, "for a scientist, that is. Love tends to calm them down, and so their wave patterns become very smooth. If we're looking for a reaction, we really hope to see a spike on the graph."

Cleve's advice for staying young? "Keep active in the things you really like, in the things that truly spark your interest." I pass out the camera and share a smile.

Later that night desserts are served and I find myself at the same table with Ingo Swann. I choke down a few bites of cheesecake and turn toward "the man." "So, Ingo," I mumble. "One of your central themes is that all of us, everyone in this room," I sweep my hand for effect, "harbors the same abilities as you, only you seem to be the one potentiated. How do we get what you've got?"

"Expand your reality box. The reality box within each human body," Ingo answers.

"Oh." I pass out the camera.

It's the final day of the conference and Nick Seferlis is successfully demonstrating remote influencing by healing a woman's damaged knee, on stage, in front of everyone! (She had a torn metamusil something or other.) We're all so amazed that our volley of questions has to be halted by Kent Johnson, MC, IRVA. "This is something almost anyone can do, " Nick explains as he strolls out of sight.

Later, Prudence Calabrese, in a tasteful, 20's style full-length, goes into greater detail on exactly how to remote heal. For the aspiring ARV millionaire, Marty Rosenblat has little news of encouragement to report, and later Paul Smith delineates further the troubles with pictures as targets. On the bright side, though, with these problems put in their place, Paul reports completing a series of trials with a hit record of 13 out of 14 with one pass. That ought to keep the ARVers shredding "National Geographics" for a while.

For the dozen or so other speakers I either miss or fail to mention, I salute each and every one of them for their part in the unqualified success of this year's conference. And as the sun slowly sets on the festivities, I snag a few final autographs and photo ops, hop in the Caravan and hit the highway heading south.

In Texas for only a few more days, I'm eager to see The Alamo where hundreds of men sacrificed their lives to keep the Mexicans out of Texas. Once in San Antonio, it takes no less than five locals to direct me to it, all of whom are Latinos, the last being an incredibly sexy policewoman. Viva la Revolucion!

Two days later and I'm here, back in Dogtown, Va., a.k.a. Richmond, where I run to the nearest one-hour-photo shop, keeping the development of my prized pictures close at hand, and before long I'm staring at ten or so shots of me with the world's most famous remote viewers. But there's a problem. Every head has been cut off at the top, each photo reminding me of the final scene from "Hannibal" where the agent's skull has been painlessly removed about half-way up, and the guy just smiles and smiles. I freak like a plant.

Oh, well. Maybe next year I'll sell my own T-shirts with these pictures on the front, and on the back it can say "Damn it, Jim. I'm a remote viewer, not a photographer!" Either way, I'm sure I'll be there. Even if it's in Alaska . . . in February.
  



Return to Home Page


Privacy Statement

Copyright © 2002, H.R.V.G.
All rights reserved.