gordon phinn
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toronto, canada
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Friends: These contacts are a good example of how retrieval can be not an immediate option for the would-be retriever, of how trust has to be built and obsessive needs catered to, and finally, how every soul's post-mortem agenda is as valid as any other's and must be honoured by the sincere helper.
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Hunter S. Thompson: contact Feb23/05
Getting focused while listening to a hemi-sync tape, I put a call out by shouting his name over and over, only to hear Spirit reply that I'd contacted him the night before while sleeping/obe and that I should use 'state specific memory' to bring the experience back into focus. This I then do.
Hey Hunter how's it goin'?
Just fine, my friend, just fine. I figured it'd be fun, but not this much fun.
Were you depressed, was that what brought it on?
Nah, more bored, and sick of the bullshit. Watching the Bush-Cheney gang was like wayching a bad rerun of Nixon's wrecking crew and seeing they were nver gonna be busted by those wimpass Democrats or anyone else. So I figured it was time to check out. I guess I got tired waiting for those end times to actually end.
But you ain't cancelled your subscription to the resurrection I see. Here you are.
Actually I did cancel, years back, but they kept sending me the forms anyway. Don't know about this being resurrection exactly. But I'm still here alrighty. Mighty pleased too.
Well it's my idea of resurrection, but hey, I wouldn't try to shove my belief system at ya. Got too much respect. You been flyin' yet?
Yeah, once I got shed of that body obsession stuff. Lookin' down on old Hunter was even stranger than being out of my head on dope. Amazing how many are out here floating around. They're everywhere. Space ain't empty, that's for sure. And who are you exactly? Dead, demented, divine, or maybe all three?
I'm just a guy out of his sleeping body for a spin about the astral planes.
Do that regularly do you?
Pretty much. Lot to see and do around these parts.
Suicides no problem for you?
Nah, couldn't care less. What you do with your body is your business. I got a strict non-interference policy.
So if I told ya to bug off you would?
Sure. Feel like some down time on your own, just say the word.
Awfully magnanimous of you friend. No lectures or smarmy talk?
Nope, I'm not selling anything.
The what are you here for young man? Haven't you got better things to do than to spin your wheels with an old reprobate?
Well actually a couple of your fans emailed me and asked if I might stop in and see how you were doing? Plus I did kinda wonder myself.
Tell them the going has gotten truly weird.
And that I'm gonna help yout turn pro?
(He smiles) Got some tricks up your sleeve have you? I'll warn you this here's one very old dog.
You've been flying through the Rockies already haven't you?
I did find myself hovering there. You're not some kind of guardian angel are you?
Hell no. I find the whole thing morally repellant. (He laughs) What most folk need at a time like this is a playmate.
Oh, I met a couple of them already.
To your liking were they?
Bit on the gooey side for my taste. Wanted to show me a good time. What I wanted was a fast time.
Have you tried rushing at the mountainsides and stopping inches from the face? It really puts the iron back in your blood.
(I show him how to fly at dizzying speeds towarda mountain face and suddenly come to a halt inches away. The experience energizes him out of his Hunter Thompson persona and he begins to bubble over with enthusiasm. Sensing that this excitement is enough for one encounter and that he has a lot of earthly stuff to work through, I leave witha brief, casual farewell, never having mentioned focus 27 or the magnetic draw to funerals, and other post-mortem tips I regularly pass on to others. Very much a 'guy-talk' kind of contact, but that's what a lot of men really need at first.)
Contact2/April7
After focusing, I call his name and am immediately drawn 'down' from focus 27 to focus 23, the realm of the recently deceased and earthbound. He appears in front of me. I offer my hand and introduce myself. He shakes it diffidently and asks if perhaps he has not had the pleasure of my company before? His manner is a tease of my correct gentlemanly approach, which is, in itself, a bit of a pose. I mention my earlier contact with him, assuming that there's been several since and he might not recall. Those flying stunts were fun, he says, he resorts to them when he's a bit bored. How is that guns keep appearing in his hand?
Because, I answer, your your thought of them automatically produces them, and since they were a big part of your life, they are almost always somewhere just below the surface of your thoughts, ready to pop up.
I think he understands, but there's a residual feeling of being witha man who isn't comfortable being told something he doesn't already know. But then, a lot of men are like that, on earth or in spirit.
I sense that he's hovering about his property in Colorado. Out of love for the place generally, the trees, the hills, the creeks, the creatures, and his wife, who seems to still live there. I mention the fine appreciation/memorial issue Rolling Stone published in his honour. He snorts, semi-derisively. Seems he feels they have portrayed him as a has-been, a star in decline. I beg to differ, saying it was more than he had any right to expect. He warms up to me immediately. I suspect he likes a guy who stands his ground and does not grovel before reputations.
I ask him how he's feeling. Not bad for a dead guy apparently. There's more, I can feel it, but he's, well, reticent to expose his feelings. I sense the guilt and shame of a suicide, but they're not overwhelming him. He feels his action was, if not exactly justified, then at least an expression of free will. A refusal to bow down and be taken prisoner by aging, a defiant assertion in the face of the bourgeois value of 'growing old gracefully'. I say as much in words. F**king right there my friend, and hands me a bottle of Wild Turkey which has just appeared in his hand. You've learned how to manifest I see, I say grinning and taking a sip.
You are a traveller in these parts then? He asks. I certainly am, I reply.
I then make it plain to him that I could show him around, if he so desires, but that I feel he has further business right here. He nods. It's plain to me that he wishes to help his living wife in any way he can with fans, lawyers, agents, publishers, as there is much outstanding business connected to his estate ( movies are being amde of his books for example), and he's also been aropund his son and grandson, either as they visit 'here' (Woody Creek CO) or return to their own home.
(This may seem an obvious choice for the recently dead, but my experience in this sort of work
has shown me that there can be many obstacles to such a course of action. Feelings of anger, resentment, unworthiness, and plain old ignorance can easily cloud or devour the dead one's aspiration to family contact. Again this is further complicated by the living's grief magnetising the deceased, an attraction offten as powerful as gravity. The astral body, in which the deceased move and have their being, is a veritable raft in seas of desire and emotion, being tugged this way and that by sudden and invisible currents.)
You like your astral body then? Nice and light huh?
A fine piece of equipment. They'll market it someday. For extreme sports plus.
I smile and tell him that the next time he comes back to earth, it'll be way more like the astral plane than anyone now would ever believe. He asks if I mean all that flying stuff. Yeah, that and more. Then he asks if he has to come back. Right now it's the last thing he feels like doing. I tell him I understand, but assure him that after some decades in heaven he'll be up for it. He's still not sure he likes the idea. I tell him, no sweat, he doesn't have to trouble himself about it now. We're still taking swigs from the Wild Turkey by the way. He seesm to eb mellowing under its influence. But that's his expectation.. For me, I know it's a thought form whose reality and effectiveness is determined byt he perceiver's desire/need, and although I'm quite the whisky fancier on earth, here I'm vibrating so fast, much closeer to the blissful state, its liquid fire is but a memory, although a sweet one at that. But I act the part, as I would for others with different needs.
Thompson, an anarchic, creative nature, seems a natural for focus27, that's the one where no-one plays by the rules because they're aren't any, other than the 'golden' one - love your neighbour as yourself/treat others as you would be treated - but it's obvious he's not ready to move on yet. I suspect he;ll be sufficiently patient and loving to learn the art of subtly communicating with the semi- or sub-conscious levels of his loved ones, especially his wife, who appears to my perceptions to be yearning for his input on estate matters. I could give him some advice on how he might provide the energetic assistance that would enable her to more effectively move out of her sleeping body and into a communicative state, but I sense the issue is still a private one and not to be interfered with as yet. Perhaps another time. We chat aimiably for a while longer, during which time I mention how much I enjoyed his political journalism of the seventies, and how influential; his irreverence in the face of duplicity was to my emerging writer's consciousness. He waves this off, as he has doubtlessly done many times before.
A final swig and I declare that 'I'll be off then'. He raises the bottle in greeting and I disappear, a little touch of what appears to beb tarditional magic, and is often quite effective in building a relationship of awe-inspired trust. Well, sometimes. We'll see.
(this second contact had its fair share of male bonding chit-chat, which I have trimmed for the sake of brevity)
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