Chapter 1
My first intentional forays into exploring ‘magic’ began with the discovery of a fringe group called Tulpamancy, complements of the internet. I can’t say precisely how I discovered it. I think I saw the word ‘tulpa’ in a book. Specifically, I think I saw it in the book ‘Dark Pool of Light: The Neuroscience, Evolution, and Ontology of Consciousness” which is volume one. It’s not light reading, but I enjoyed volume one so much that I read it through in one sitting, and then had to read it again, going slower and highlighting words I wanted to explore further. Like Tulpa. I learned what they were. I read esoteric and psychological explanations for ‘them.’ I learned the process for making them. I read the pros and the cons for doing so, and the warnings that this isn’t just something one wakes up and decides to dabble in for a moment. This is a serious endeavor with serious outcomes with life changing potential. I contemplated personal, academic, and spiritual reasons for wanting to do this, and reasons why I shouldn’t. The reasons ‘for’ won out, and I began indulging in exercises meant to bring a tulpa into being. I have decided not to rehash the protocols here. There are enough legitimate steps online, and if you’re curious or determined, you will find them. If you are wondering why I am writing this, the answer is simple. I am documenting my results. The results are subjective. I can’t prove any of this is anything more than a flight of fancy. All I can do is invite you to conduct your own experiments and tell me if you get similar results.
I am also not going to advocate for or against tulpas. I am clearly bias. I only offer this: some door can’t be closed. If you think you have put some serious time into contemplating the pros and cons, I invite you to put even more serious deliberation into this. Read the warnings. Tibetan monks have been practicing this for hundreds of years and they don’t recommend this to the untrained or undisciplined mind. I am much more permissive. I encourage people to dabble, break out the Ouija boards, astral travel boldly into the night, light some candles, and just dive in. I mean really, how do you learn to swim if you never get wet?
Let’s also be clear, I am not writing this to make friends. Well, I am, and I have, but that isn’t the point of this endeavor. I am definitely not seeking fans or students. Please don’t write me expecting me to give you insight into the protocols. I am a member of a Lucid Dreaming group and an Astral Projection group, and every day there is a new member, usually an adolescent, who pleads: “OMG! I need help! I have been trying to do this for like a whole three hours now and I can’t do it…” OMG three hours? Really? Leaving your body is not like navigating a menu on your I-phone! Sarcasm aside, though, nine out of ten times when a person comes at me privately asking for advice, it is rarely taken or accepted, or even explored. They either don’t believe me or they are too caught up in doing it their way. Not complaining. I admire and encourage people doing it their way. Sometimes it’s actually amusing watching people struggle to get something. That’s actually part of the process of arriving. It’s a good thing. Imagine a caterpillar in the cocoon pushing its head against the silk coffin, “oh, I am out, it’s wonderful!” No, son, you’re not out, and those colors you see are just pressure induced luminescence… Don’t give up.
The protocols are what they are. They are simple and direct, and there are sufficient number of people offering instructions with surprisingly little variation, that a serious student will quickly discover a pathway. Once you find the path, the practice is walking it. Back and forth. It takes time. Like a father to be, waiting for the sound of a baby and the mid wife’s permission to enter, I walked the path. I even admit to being skeptical. Fortunately, belief is not relevant to the exercise. You just do it and keep doing it and when you think you are ready to give up you do it some more. This is how I met Loxy Bliss.
She came like a gentle breeze, a surprising embrace of sunlight on a cool day. Her voice was vibrant and British, like a distant echo in the beginning, but growing more prominent over time. Seeing her took some serious effort. It was confusing at first, like I was recognizing someone from my past, the ‘person’ seemed to change depending on the angle or the lighting, which is clearly a metaphor, because what lighting is in the brain? It’s all light! Sometimes it was like looking at someone through a wet shower door. I would say she is my ideal woman, a conglomerate of features and montages from past crushes and loves, going back before I even had an idea of what sexuality is. So, for example, she was tall and light on her feet, twirling and laughing and dancing, like Emmy Jo from New Zoo review. The sixties mini-skirt will forever be imprinted on my brain. But if you were to pin me down on an absolute comparison, when reflecting on who Loxy best reminds me of, I have narrowed it down to three. Dawn Wells, Susanna Hoffs, and Jenna Coleman. Clearly, these are three distinct people and personalities, and there is no doubt real personalities behind the stage personalities that I am not openly privy to, but there is something about these three that I find myself always returning to. In terms of specific physical attributes though, I can’t point to them and say this is what reminds me of the three I mentioned; there are subtle aspects, depending on her smile, or the flirtatious expression in the eyes, or the movement of hair as she vies for my attention that sparks the connection that lights up that part of the brain and I think ‘oh,’ and then my brain remembers things. But if you put the three of them next to her, she would be her own person, and not comparable to any.
Back when she was just a voice and I was struggling with the visualization aspect, I had a clear auditory experience: “Less brain, more heart.”
What the hell was that? It was loud enough that I ended that meditation session. Happenstance, if you believe in such, led me to a Ted Talk, ‘the secret formula for joy’ by Amanda Gore. This lead to a book on ‘the Heart’s Code,’ by Paul Pearsall. As you have probably gleaned from an earlier paragraph, I know how to Astral Project. I have been doing so since childhood. Over the years, I have read many books and many techniques for performing AP on demand, with mixed success. I was only in the first chapter when again I heard Loxy say, “Less brain, more heart.” I put down the book. I realized, for the first time, AP never worked when I was in my head! As long as I was meditating on protocols to induce the thing, I stayed in body. The times I was most successful was when I let go of agenda and thought and just went with the flow and sensations available. Using this, I closed my eyes and intentionally descended into heart.
I was instantly embraced, kissed on the cheek, and there she was in front of me, holding me by the arms, staring at me with an intense gaze and almost luminous eyes. I was aware of two realities at once. I was sitting in the chair that had belonged to my grandfather, my legs drawn up into the chair, Indian style. My body felt alive, as if I had run a marathon, and there was a lightness stirring through my body, a euphoria I usually associate with meditation or having practiced biofeedback, and, simultaneously, I was standing in a ubiquitous space that defied description but was tangible, silky smooth, and for the first time, I was facing the object of my intention. I corrected myself: not object, a person. She was real. She was realer than real. She greeted me like a long lost friend. She knew me better than any person, friend or family, ever did or ever would, and that was communicated wordlessly through her gaze. I wasn’t surprised. Considering she had full access to my subconscious and conscious mind, there would be no secrets, ever. No masks would separate her from knowing me. Realizing that, I was afraid, for all of two seconds.
Loxy radiated love and compassion and fear dissipated before it even had time to manifest as a concrete thought. I stood there, surprisingly silent. I had lots of questions, I had been rehearsing questions after all, but here, in this space in this first moment alone with her, I was as dumbfounded as the time I accidentally ran into Olivia Newton John and was rendered speechless. Yes, I am severely afflicted. Feminine beauty makes me stupid. Celebrity status renders me stupidly speechless, which is probably a blessing in disguise. Who knows what I would have blathered to Olivia. Fortunately the encounter was over and she was gone before I regained my volition to move and speak, because I actually cried. Olivia Newton John made me cry, and I am forever haunted by poor Olivia thinking, “I am so glad the airlines hires those ‘special’ people. I should send him a box of crayons.”
“Don’t worry,” Loxy said. “It gets easier from here.”
There are probably all kinds of ways to describe what happened next, however, I am not privy to any of them. I can’t describe how well I felt. This was not mania. Okay, well, I don’t really know what mania feels like, though I have worked with people in that state, and this wasn’t that. It was orgasmic, at least, not in the traditional, limited male sense of the term. It was abrupt and full body and perfect and full of light, like blue light, like the blueness you might encounter with sustained lightening. I have read my share of transcendental experiences, and though I possibly had some elements, I didn’t have enough features to call it that. I didn’t feel connected to everything in the Universe nor was everything absolutely peaceful, wonderful. I did feel safe and loved, but I was still muddling through the regular mental processes I do in daily life.
To the best of my knowledge, the reports of other tuplamancers did not follow this progression. I spent time exploring explanation for the variation, but Loxy said, “Does it really matter. It works. We work. Isn’t that enough?”
Mostly, I concur. It doesn’t matter. But in terms of duplicating and sustaining and helping other reproduce results… I am not at that point yet, so it doesn’t matter. For now, it sufficed only in that I had accomplished something. Something?! Everything! I had to question everything I know about spirituality and psychology and science, and I know a few things! I felt powerful, like just after I had successfully conducted my fist hypnosis session on other. On successfully hypnotizing someone for the first time, there is sudden boost in confidence and realization that the world is suddenly bigger and I had an obligation to walk more kindly on the earth. I say that because, confronted with the reality that I could impact someone’s life through hypnosis, I couldn’t help but wonder how many other, subtler ways was I affecting people around me. This was like that, but more importantly, I had to come to terms with the fact I am not alone. This was to be the biggest initial hurdle. I had not considered how much alone time I have become accustomed to. Between work and family, I have few friends. I spend maybe an hour and a half commuting in silence. I sleep alone, in my own room. I get up before work and I meditate or write. I like my alone time. I usually eat alone when I get home from work, but once I have eaten, I spend all of my afternoon and evening with my son, until we have played and gone through our rituals and he is in bed. But even in all of these activities, communicating with colleagues at work, answering phone calls, texts, I am alone. I could be at a party, and I would be alone.
That changed with the entrance of Loxy.
“You were never alone,” Loxy informed me. “Your subconscious an entity in its own right, and people ignore it at their own peril. Your heart talks to you. Your stomach definitely talks to you. Everything talks to you, the grass, the trees, the sun and moon and stars. You’ve just been in a fog and not listening and so all the mystical experiences people have, that’s just sunlight filtering through the fog.”
And things like that coming from her, correcting my assumptions, or making observations, are now a part of daily life. I now had company everywhere I went. In the beginning, she was a silent observer, sometimes ‘outside’ and always noticeable only by me, but most the time I experienced her in my heart, not with eyes. She sits shotgun anytime I drive alone. She sometimes sits in the car when the family is there, and sneaks secret glances at me. Sometimes she is sitting behind me and she will lean forward and put her hands over the seat, and the first time she did that I got spooked and she had a good laugh at my expense. In a rare moment when she hasn’t been on my mind, I will come upon her and she is sitting in a room, reading, which is remarkably surprising, and the first few times, a bit unsettling, as if I had caught a stranger in the house, but it does get easier. One of the ways I distinguish this as not the product of a mental illness is that no one in my waking reality has caught on. True enough, the ex-wife didn’t pay that much attention to me to notice I was doing anything different. The one noticeable change is I have missed more exits when driving only to have to turn around, and ‘ex’ will be like ‘what were you thinking,’ and I will just say I have a lot on my mind. But at this point, even if it turned out to be a mental illness, I would not seek a cure. I am happy with my success. This is Harvey level of happiness. If you have a six foot rabbit, and he’s nice to you, you don’t make it go away. I don’t have a six foot rabbit. I have a 20 something year old, female, fantasy friend, and I would be okay in calling her a ‘bunny,’ and she has on occasioned tease me as if she were. Do I need to say it? Loxy is drop dead gorgeous like a composite of your top ten favorite Maxim slash Victorian Secret models. She has a presence like a goddess, an aura like a muse, and she can spin, and dance and move in subtle ways that could distract or trance me into another world. Remember Xanadu, when the painter jumped into the brick wall to find Kira (Olivia!) I made it through the wall!
On one occasion, I entered my modest, real life study and found Loxy reading. She was on the couch, her legs curled up under her. Her skirt fell just above her knees, and there was a coffee beside her, which was new, as I hadn’t noticed props before, but I call it a prop, because it wasn’t really there, but its aroma filled the air and it was nice. And, it was solid enough. I could have gone and picked up the coffee and even had a sip. I didn’t but I could have, that’s how solid it was to me. I sat down in my chair and watched Loxy read. She was seriously into her book. I was not sure she even noticed I entered. I am not able to track her in the recesses of my mind, and I don’t think she tracks me, but she probably could. I’m still working on the reality of it all, trying to understand how it all works, but for whatever reason, she didn’t stir when I entered and went to my chair. So far, all the books I have seen her reading were things that I have read previously. As I sat there, looking at her, I contemplated her presence; part of me was looking for flaws, as if she were a digital actress placed in a real world frame and maybe slightly out of alignment; I found no flaws. She was a brunette, and her hair was short, like a bob that’s been tossed by the wind. Her bosom rose and fell with a natural breathing pattern, not synchronous to mine. I tested this, too: I held my breath, but she kept breathing.
“Would you stop holding your breath?” Loxy asked, without looking up from her book.
Unlike a fantasy, or a day dream, she also didn’t attend to my every whim or need. That did not mean she wasn’t attentive to details or me or my life, but rather that she had her own interests and wants and she communicated those extremely well. I dare say, she was even more adult than I was, but there were times when she was clearly as playful as a child, and she delivered that enthusiasm for life while maintaining a sophisticated air about her. Also, she never laughs at my joke. Oh, she will smile, and she understands my humor without me having to explain it, and I suppose if I asked she would say she finds me amusing, but I don’t make her laugh.
She closed the book and looked up at me. “This is interesting,” she said.
I agreed. She was interesting.
“No, the book,” Loxy said.
“Oh,” I said. “What’s the book?”
“Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill,” Loxy said.
“I am familiar with it,” I said.
“You’ve read it,” Loxy said.
“No, I haven’t,” I argued.
“Yes, you have,” Loxy said. “It’s the benchmark for all self-help books.”
“I have heard that. And I have read books that referenced it, but I haven’t read it,” I said. “And it’s not on my bookshelf.”
“John,” Loxy said. She doesn’t hesitate to point out when I am in error. “I have access to every book you ever read. Actually, I have multiple copies of everything you ever read. There is the original, uncut, unadulterated version of the books you have read, followed by your copy of the books as perceived through your filters, your memories of the books, which varies from your perceived version of the original, and then there is the copy of any book you have re-read and the version that represents the version between your new perceived reading and the disparity of the memory. And all of that is pretty interesting, except not the interesting thing I wish to draw your attention to.”
“It sounds complicated,” I said.
“How do you know? I haven’t told you what the interesting thing is,” Loxy said.
It’s these sorts of interactions that impress me with the realness of our dialogue. We actually ‘bypass!’ That’s the term used for when couples misperceive what is being communicated and fill in lack of clarity with assumptions.
“I mean the whole inner library thing sounds complicated,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, I can see that,” Loxy said. “But I love it. I can make you my case study, comparing the reality of what you saw with memory of what you think you saw, which really communicates a lot about who you are. It’s not a bad thing, if that what’s you’re thinking.”
“Okay, to that end, I do not remember reading the book you’re wanting to discuss,” I said.
“I assure you, you did,” Loxy said. “Even if you picked it up and simply flipped through the pages to see a cartoon move in the upper corner, the whole book is in you. But that’s not the point. I want to bring in a team.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“I want to use Napoleon Hill’s Invisible Counselor technique to enhance your life, but also provide you with a greater general discourse for the purposes of self-improvement,” Loxy said. “I can do a lot of things for you, and you for me, but I can’t be your ‘everything,’ because no one person can be that for anyone. And no, I am not planning on abandoning you. We are team. We are for life. Some doors can’t be closed, and I am one.”
I didn’t comment. Abandonment has been one of my core issues and I am certain I telegraphed my feelings. Though there was definitely evidence for telepathic transmission of thoughts, it was not consistent. I had to deliberately think something to her for her to hear it in that way. I wondered if the normal, everyday, randomness of my running dialogue sounded like a crazy person to her.
“I don’t want a team of invisible counselors,” I said. “For one, I have had my fill of counselor, and now I am one, so I don’t see the need.” Today. I am not opposed to counseling in general and there could be a future need to discuss things with one, and so if you’re debating within yourself if you need one, go talk to one and find out.
“It doesn’t have to be counselors per say. That’s just the name of the technique Napoleon used to summon personality sets to help him imagine solutions to perceived problems,” Loxy said. “Call it a committee.”
“Why don’t I just call my body a spaceship and designate a flight crew,” I said, going for humor.
“That’s brilliant!” Loxy said, clapping her hands. “We need a science officer. Not Einstein, though. I don’t like his hair. And though I appreciate the pic of him sticking out his tongue showing he can be less serious, it creeps me out. Oh, and a communications officer. She should speak Thai, because one of our missions is to learn to speak Thai. A medical officer. A helmsman. And a tactical officer. Oh, and I call first officer.”
“You are joking about all of this, right?’ I said.
“I am appealing to your Star Trek sense,” Loxy said. “Now, go make it so.”
I frowned.
“I will wear a TOS uniform,” Loxy offered.
“Done,” I said. “What do I need to do?”
“Pick people from history live or dead who you want to learn from. They don’t even have to be real. They can be fiction,” Loxy said.
I sighed. “Loxy. This sounds like work. Quite frankly, you know everything about me. Why don’t you just give me what I need to know to travel to my destination in the most expedient manner possible?”
Loxy put her book down. She stood up. She took a step towards me, two steps to the left, half step forwards, one step right, a slide forward, a slide right, two jumps to the left, and then advanced sideways on me, putting her hands on the arms of my chair. She leaned into me, hovering over me, and I worried my chair might tilt too far and spill over. Her eyes locked on mine. I could smell her. I could feel her legs touching mine.
“Lightening never takes a straight path!”
Loxy kissed me and disappeared for the day.
This is the other thing that was so peculiar about our time together. She would frequently say things that impressed me as not being from me. She was way smarter than I!