Chapter 15: Montauk

When I first came to Long Island, New York, in May of 1993, I knew nothing of the various experiments that had gone on at the increasingly notorious Montauk radar station, formerly known as Fort Hero, and supposedly abandoned years ago. Shirley Holly, my student of three months, and I, had traveled there because a former client named Danise who lived in the area, had helped us to set up one of the three-day workshops that I gave around the country, and increasingly around the world.

Unbeknownst to me, Shirley had been told by her Higher Self that there were lost souls around Montauk who she could help. I agreed to come along to hold a space for whatever she felt she had to do, and so one night after we finished with our lectures and our clients, we left our respective lodgings and drove out to the Montauk lighthouse, three hours away.

The lost souls that Shirley was thinking of were the island's native american population, most of whom were extirpated by white settlers and smallpox, as well as the 126 victims of the Spanish-American civil war who died of yellow fever at the island's Camp Wikoff in the 1890's.

She also had in mind all the uncounted sailors who perished with a "mouthful of sand" in the pounding surf under the roving compassionless eye of the Montauk Point lighthouse.

I had seen six clients on the day that Shirley had chosen to visit the lighthouse, and by the time we rolled into the deserted parking lot it was close to 1:00 a.m. The lighthouse, built in 1790, had been completely automated for years. A light fog had rolled in off of the heaving shoulders of the Atlantic, and I could hear the mournful bleating of a fog horn like a lost sheep somewhere out in the void beyond the reach of the probing searchlight high above us. It was about as foreboding a place that I can imagine physically visiting. Before I had time to have second thoughts, Shirley had already bolted the car, intent on her mission. She had reconnoitered the area at sunrise, three days earlier and, unlike me, knew the lay of the land.

I bailed out after her and took up a station behind her, on a rock embankment in front of the lighthouse. I had found over the years that the key to learning about a place was to simply become a part of it, and on this particular occasion I decided to be the lighthouse. Shirley sat down on a narrow strip of sand about thirty feet away from me. As I held my arms out from my sides, turning back and forth in time with the lighthouse, I relaxed, emptied my mind and concentrated only on holding a space for Shirley's work.

I slipped further and further into being the lighthouse, perfectly matching my physical movements to the sweep of the lighthouse beam, and admiring the way the light sparkled off the drops of water that the fog held suspended in the air. Something's here, I thought to myself. I turned with the searchlight and saw something out of the corner of my eye. Shirley's eyes were fixed upon it. It was a man. He was tall, over 6 feet, wearing a dark navy jacket, dark pants, and the kind of cap that sailors often wear.

I looked down at Shirley, still sweeping my arms back and forth in time with the lighthouse. The man stood between us. My first thought was that he must have been a park ranger, come to tell us that the park was closed, but he wore no uniform. There had been no cars, no headlights, nothing to presage his appearance at all.

The man was now standing three feet in front of Shirley, staring intently at her. A rock dislodged under my foot and clattered down the embankment I was standing on. Instantly, the figure whirled and saw me for the first time. At the same moment the beam of the lighthouse swung directly behind me, silhouetting me and illuminating him.

We stared at each other for a long moment that seemed to last for an eternity. I could sense that suddenly becoming aware of me had unnerved him. Shirley sat on the ground behind him, her pale face tilted up toward us as she observed our silent, eerie confrontation. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, the mysterious stranger spun on his heel and walked away. A steep cliff rose up like a wall behind Shirley. The man walked straight into the cliff and disappeared. I stared after him, all of the hairs on my neck standing on end. He had vanished without a trace.

It was a little harder to be a lighthouse after that. Nevertheless, I continued my slow sweeps until Shirley had finished her releasement process, which took about five minutes. We linked up on the path back up to the car, the ocean and the shore hissing reproachfully behind us.

Both of us had seen exactly the same thing. The enigmatic dark figure had simply dematerialized, like he had walked through an invisible door. "Let's follow him," Shirley whispered. I shot her an incredulous look and shook my head, firmly. There was no way that I was going to follow some military phantom who could appear and disappear at will. My unconscious mind had other ideas. Part of me went ahead and followed him anyway. The same thing happened to Shirley. The end result was that a fragment of each of us would remain marooned at some kind of interdimensional military base on Mars until we retrieved them during a session two years later.

We conferred further back at the car, with the engine running and the doors locked. The figure that we had both seen was identical. We both had heard footsteps which meant that he was physically present. Whoever or whatever he was, we theorized, he was probably drawn to us by Shirley's intent and purpose. Since I had no intent, he hadn't seen me until my concern for Shirley made me visible again. Two years later, in 1995, we would work with a Montauk "survivor" who would tell us that the lighthouse was regularly patrolled by members of something he called "Delta Force" and that we had been lucky to escape with our lives. At the time we didn't know that we had just had a narrow scrape. It was simply surreal.

By then it was close to 2:00 a.m. in the morning and I was ready for bed. Shirley, disappointed that we hadn't followed the curious phantom, had other ideas. She pointed out that the gate to the Montauk radar station was on our way home, and only five minutes away from the lighthouse. I sighed. Instead of going back to the safety of the warm beds that awaited each of us, we drove to the gate of the Montauk radar station, where Shirley felt she had more work to do. I listened incredulously as she breathlessly told me her plan. She was going to sneak through a hole in the six foot metal fence around the facility to inspect the base itself. I looked around at the dark somber buildings, the radar antenna against the sky like a black spider web, and all of the signs that said: "Absolutely No Admittance." I looked back at Shirley in disbelief, as she eyed the base with a reckless gleam inher eyes.

"Are you crazy?" I sputtered. My counterproposal was that we use the main gate to access the memories of the place, rather than risk our necks poking around an abandoned military installation in the dark. Reluctantly, she agreed to my plan.

I waded through the tall dry grass, wrapped my fingers around the chain-link fence and moved into the silence. Very quickly the fence melted away, to be replaced by alternating patterns of white and dark swirling energy. My body fell away. I was inside some type of vortex or tunnel. Almost as soon as I knew this, I felt the opening to the tunnel closing behind me like the mouth of a snake. It was a trap, like the forty foot deep pits that rotted trees left in sand dunes. They called them devil's sinkholes. I had blundered blindly into the multidimensional equivalent.

I shifted my intent to keeping the door of the tunnel open. As soon as I held that focus, I felt a powerful surge of potential energy, as if a bolt of lightning was about to strike and then thousands of souls rose upwards, passing me like a huge flock of migrating birds. I glimpsed men in black military uniforms and combat fatigues, some in long-sleeved blue jumpsuits and many children, mostly boys. The children were naked, and very frightened. I also saw thin, frail alien life forms, far less of them than there were humans. They had huge oversized eyes without pupils. As the last of this strange parade of beings flew past me, their collective pain, fear and suffering washed over me like the wake of a freighter over a dugout canoe.

Flashes of everything that had ever happened on the base flickered through my awareness like I was a VCR running at one hundred times normal speed. I saw trucks coming and going under cover of night, rooms full of glowing electronic equipment, miles of underground tunnels, chicken wire compartments where children were kenneled like dogs, a buried spaceship, and men in lab coats bending over pale white bodies. I knew that some of the worst things that I could possibly imagine had happened here. I also felt an unidentified presence lurking nearby, something with a vibration that I had never felt before.

The energy flowing past me diminished and then stopped. I felt a profound sense of relief, as if the base itself had been waiting for this moment. I moved carefully out of the tunnel and mentally sealed up the entrance so that no one would ever be trapped there again. As soon as I finished I was lost in an endless dark void. There was no direction, no up or down, no way home at all. I called out to Shirley, barely able to hear the sound of my own voice.

Now it was Shirley's turn to become the lighthouse. Like a lost ship, I turned and steamed blindly through the darkness toward her, feeling the love that I had asked her to send me grow stronger and stronger until I came back to the time and place where both she and my physical body waited.

I felt the gradual return of the cold steel wire against my fingers as I found my way back to conscious awareness of my surroundings. I sagged against the fence while I recovered my bearings. I'd never seen anything like that tunnel before, and had no idea why I'd find such a thing at an abandoned radar base.

I shuffled around to see Shirley staring at me with a mixture of perplexed amusement and concern. I had disappeared just like the mysterious man at the beach had. She had seen my body become fuzzy and indistinct, and then it became just a bright pink outline like a neon sign, and then she saw nothing at all. Cool, I thought to myself. I'd wanted to be invisible since I was in the first grade.

By then Shirley and I both knew that there was definitely something very out of the ordinary about Montauk, Long Island, although we lacked the information we needed to put the pieces together. Our ignorance was a kind of a blessing, because it allowed us to learn things experientially that our conscious minds would otherwise have had a very hard time accepting.

The ball of yarn continued to unravel. The next day, only a day before we were to leave Long Island, I received a call from an extremely reticent individual who was interested in making an appointment with me for a friend that he was very concerned about. Fortunately, or by design, I had space for one more appointment before I was scheduled to return to Texas. Later that same day I had my first encounter with the beings I call "the watchers."

I had just stepped out of the building where we held our lectures to eat my lunch on the steps. Immediately, I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was being stared at. My observer sat motionless on the tailgate of a delivery truck, eyeing me from across the parking lot like a cat. I stared back and met nothing in return. His eyes were like the windows of an abandoned house, completely vacant. Even though they tracked my every move, I could not detect any of the energies that I normally associate with personality. He was as empty as the husk a cicada leaves behind when it molts, a human video camera, observing without thought or emotion. His perceptions were relayed elsewhere. I've seen many other watchers since, but only when I've been on business in some way connected with the Montauk project or one of its many offshoots.

The following day, my last on Long Island, the mysterious friend of a friend finally came to see me. He was shy, extremely polite, absolutely honest and had a curious ageless quality about him, as though he were somehow simultaneously both child and adult.

I'd never in my life seen anyone whose life fields were in such disarray. His emotional body was literally fifty feet out, almost completely divorced from his physical body. This helped to explain what he had told me in his interview, that he felt completely out of touch with his emotions, and had no understanding of them. From a psychic point of view, he was about as out of touch as you could possibly be and still be alive. I had never seen a case like his before. He also brought documents from a neurologist, which basically said that the only functioning part of his brain was his brainstem, the oldest part of the brain, mainly thought to be responsible for basic functions like respiration. He thought that this had happened to him because he had been the principal psychic in the Montauk experiments. Our immediate task was to retrieve his emotional body. Neither Shirley nor I had any idea of how to proceed.

The universe, it's said, never gives you a challenge that you can't handle. Proceeding on this assumption, I directed my client to pull his emotional body back to a place where he could feel again.

He responded by becoming completely rigid. Then he stopped breathing, and started turning blue.

At first I thought that my instructions had thrown him into some kind of a coma. However, as minutes passed without him so much as twitching an eyelid in response to my repeated entreaties, I began to worry that I had inadvertently put him in a much worse state than a coma. I began to wonder if he was dead.

With each transit of the second hand on my watch, the more bizarre his condition seemed to become. He was as stiff as a freshly milled board, only his head, heels and fingertips touching the massage table. I wondered if perhaps I really was as dangerous as I had once thought. I remembered the nuclear explosion that I had witnessed long ago from my parents' car in Nevada, how it reminded me of my lifetime in Turkey, and how it seemed to say to me that power, all power, was dangerous. I had created so much pain and suffering in my life, and in the lives of others, by struggling against the forces that seemed to dictate that I become a healer. Now the long road that I had traveled seemed to have suddenly and ignominiously ended, leaving me staring in shocked amazement at the cold, and apparently lifeless man on the table in front of me.

Shirley looked at me in shock. I shook my head helplessly. I realized that no matter what I thought I knew, I really knew nothing at all. My client's pallor had worsened. It was time for CPR, and an ambulance.

Then, at that moment when I completely surrendered, and admitted to myself and the universe that I really knew nothing, a miracle happened. Suddenly I knew exactly what to do.

I bent down and whispered: "I am a friend. I have been sent to help you. I am not of this place." The man jerked on the table like he had just been defibrillated. He was alive.

I leaned closer and repeated the words that I was hearing so clearly in my own head: "I have trained for a long time to help you, and I want you to take whatever energy you need to take back control of your body." I placed my hands on his heart. They warmed instantly, and the rest of my body with them, both indicators of the amount of energy that he was pulling through me. His eyelids fluttered slightly and then he nodded almost imperceptibly when I questioned him. He was back.

My client's participation in the experiments at Montauk had both damaged his body's subtle fields and literally burned out parts of his brain. He could not remember what his mind had been like before the experiments began. I thought for a moment about how I could best help him, and the answer that I received was to share the structure of my mind with him, so that he would have a kind of blueprint to begin rebuilding his own. My knowing was the legacy of my experience in Kauai. I leaned over and touched my forehead to his, and allowed him to see exactly what my mental and emotional templates looked like. I would realize years later that this procedure allowed me to know everything that he knew, and thus repaid me many times over for my healing work with the knowledge that he had accumulated through his years of involvement with Montauk.

My client's fields were now stabilized but were still further out than was normal. Was there, I asked him, a shape or a symbol that he could use which would allow his emotional body to come back in safely?

"Yes," he murmured. He described a shape that was something like a teardrop. We used the shape that his Higher Self had given us to bring his emotional body back even closer. I was careful to give him permission to stop at any point, in case he tipped into another coma.

By the end of the session my client seemed vastly improved. He gave me a book about Montauk to read. Inside the book, I found a drawing of a being Preston Nichols, one of the authors of the book, had dubbed "Junior." Junior was a flesh and blood monster, created in much the same way as the fictional monster in the fifties science fiction movie, Forbidden Planet.

My client had been part of the Montauk project since his birth in the 1950's. Prior to that, he had been a senior engineer on the USS Eldridge, in charge of the generators that provided the power for the Philadelphia Experiment. How he was able to be on board the Eldridge in 1943 and then be born a decade later is a subject beyond the scope of this book, but is covered elsewhere. He had a unique ability to focus and hold a point in the time space continuum, which allowed the physical creation of a vortex. It was this vortex that allowed the experimenters at the Montauk base to build upon earlier experiments and physically send people through time and space.

Many of the people that were sent through the tunnel were homeless men and women, and runaway children. The base's proximity to New York city afforded the researchers an almost unlimited supply of experimental subjects. According to several sources, large numbers of these unfortunate people were either lost in time or psychically traumatized.

The Montauk experiments did not begin nor end with just time travel. They also encompassed research into mind control using ELF waves, kundalini energy, and direct physical manifestation. The mind control experiments were perhaps the most chilling of all of the various otherwordly manipulations that were carried out there. Survivors of Montauk report that many of the mind control experiments were carried out on young children. These children, known as the Montauk Boys were confined in kennels, deep inside a cement bunker. These kennels and the bunker have been extensively videotaped as recently as 1993. The experimenters were most interested in being able to recreate fear, and many of these children were literally scared to death in the process.

My client, like any human being, felt immense guilt over his involvement with these experiments. Consequently, he conspired with Preston Nichols, one of the base's engineers, to create a monster that would destroy the project, hopefully, for all time. This was Junior, whose picture I had seen in the book.

Within two days of my session with my client, I found myself getting progressively sicker. I felt dizzy, disoriented and nauseous. When it kept getting worse I sat down to meditate and I found that my emotional fields were wobbling and out of balance. There was a dark angry presence within them. It was confused, angry, and hurt. It was also nearly fifteen feet tall, and was covered with thick black fur like a Yeti, the spitting image of the picture that I'd seen in my client's Montauk book. I had picked up a fragment of Junior.

Junior, as it turned out, consisted of little else but the intent to destroy the Montauk radar station. With me, Junior had no purpose whatsoever and he wanted desperately to change form and become something useful again. I was happy to oblige and felt much more useful myself after he left.

I found out much more about Montauk over the next two years, both from seeing other survivors as clients, and from the increasingly numerous books, videos, and cassettes on the subject that they brought with them. Most of the living participants had been subjected to a careful electronic brainwashing, very similar to that reportedly suffered by victims of UFO abductions. The memories were carefully hidden behind the participant's worse fears, something the experimenters knew a great deal about. Inevitably, these memories slowly returned, like the bodies of murder victims that defied weights and chains to eventually surface. Preston Nichols, the engineer who was the very first to go public with his memories, experienced their return while tinkering with a radio antenna on his roof during a thunderstorm. Gradually the survivors of Montauk sought each other out, corroborating each other's stories, helping each other to heal, and convincing each other that the terrible nightmares and waking visions that they had seen, were in fact real.

Montauk's detractors say the same kinds of things about the project, and about the Philadelphia experiment, that have been said to UFO researchers and abduction victims for decades, mainly that their stories were the working of a kind of collective hysteria. I don't believe this for an instant. I've held the victims and empathically experienced what they went through and I've psychically accessed the memories held by the base itself. The real question that Montauk brings to us is not was it real, but whether we can face the darkest reflections of ourselves without flinching. At Montauk, at Auschwitz, at Sand Creek, or in the former Yugoslavia, these questions are always the same. The day is coming when we will no longer need to ask them.

Montauk continued to be part of my life after I left Long Island. In fact, in my next workshop, in Buffalo, my first client walked in with a copy of the same book that I had seen the picture of Junior in. I soon found that the victims of Montauk would find me no matter where I was.

The following year, in 1994 I held my first seven day practitioner training in Austin, Texas. It was such a success that we immediately planned to hold another one in 1995, and we chose Long Island as the location. Shirley and I both felt that because of what had happened in the area, we would have no difficulty finding interesting clients for our in-class demonstrations. Sure enough, by the time of the workshop, several more survivors of Montauk came forward, including members of a kind of interdimensional special forces group similar to that portrayed in the movie Stargate. They referred to their unit as Delta Force, which curiously enough is also the name of an elite army helicopter unit.

The Delta Force team members that we saw told riveting stories about being abducted as boys, secretly transported to the base in windowless trucks, and then being led down long hospital corridors by men in white coats. At the ends of the corridors were rooms with stainless steel tables in them. The boys were stripped naked, strapped to the tables and some type of apparatus was attached to their genitals. They were then subject to a highly refined version of Wilhelm Reich's orgone technology, which was used to cycle their sexual energy in a continuous loop until it increased by a factor of fifty. At that point the energy forced its way through a small opening at the top of the spine into the oldest part of the brain, and it became possible for the carefully programmed victims to become physically manifest at any point in time that their handlers could provide them a "witness" for. A witness is any object that possesses the vibration of a particular time, such as a roman talent from the time of the crucifixion. Both the technique of traveling through time via the agency of a witness, and the looping of sexual energy were well known within ancient mystery schools, and to the shamans of indigenous cultures. The difference was that until Montauk, these practices could take a lifetime of discipline and spiritual preparation to master while the methods used at Montauk worked almost immediately.

One of our Montauk clients reported waking up from a nightmare to find himself covered with blood and the floor strewn with strange metallic objects, the likes of which he had never seen before. Apparently, he had woken up in the middle of an implant procedure. He intended to bring the objects to our workshop to show our students, only to have all of them disappear under mysterious circumstances the night before his presentation.

Another of the Delta Force Team members that I worked on had an etheric implant in the form of a thin wire laid into his spine. It functioned as a kind of leash, the purpose of which was to prevent him from being able to travel through time on his own or attack his overseers. It worked just like a surge arrestor protects a computer. When my client's kundalini energy reached a certain potential, the implant vented the excess energy out of the small of his back, thus rendering him powerless. As soon as I removed his implant, using psychic surgery, I felt a sharp pain. I was left with a bright red circular burn about an inch in diameter in the center of my back. It took several months to finally heal.

After his session, I realized that I now had enough information to attempt the project of time travel myself. I told the class what I was doing, and I had Shirley hold a space for me while I began cycling my kundalini energy around my body, consciously raising its intensity until I had increased it by a factor of fifty. At that moment, I felt it surge into the back of my head, and then, as has happened many other times in my life, everything changed.

I was in a brilliant white void, the oldest void of all, surrounded by an infinite number of floating black specks. Each speck was a timeline, leading to a different event. Unfortunately, none of them were labeled. They had to be chosen by intuition. It was the interdimensional version of the old carnival string game. I gazed at the sea of floating black dots for a long moment, and then I chose.

Once again I was back at the crucifixion, staring up at Jesus on the cross. Contrary to what I'd heard about the green hills of Cavalry, the site of the crucifixion that I visited was one of the most awful places imaginable, a stinking rat-infested garbage dump. The crosses were only slightly taller than the victims who languished upon them, so that many of those crucified had their eyes gouged out by vultures or their feet chewed to the bones by rats while they were still alive.

I moved further backwards in time, to be with Jesus again, but at a place where His vibration and His intent were absolutely pure. I found myself in the desert with Him, witnessing something that appeared to be very much like a native american vision quest. He was twenty six years old and about to embark upon His life's mission. I was thus privileged to feel His essence in as pure a form as it ever had been on earth, before His vibration became altered and distorted by history, and by the projections of those around Him. His essence when I saw Him at that time was also thus the purest possible reflection of ourselves. He was like the tuning fork, a reference being for all of us.

The distortion of this pure vibration as it echoed through time, left us with an imperfect recording of Christ's true essence. This recording, while it may have been perfectly appropriate to our evolution a thousand years ago, or even yesterday, may not best serve us where we are now. I believe that it was this altered memory of the original vibration of Christ, together with our longing for His return, that allowed the rise and fall of many powerful figures throughout our recorded history.

The perfection that I was able to empathically experience at that moment is almost impossible to imagine, let alone describe. Absolute compassion-even at the moment of His death, unconditional love, total absence of judgment, humility, and an overwhelming gentleness, all welled forth from Him like sweet water from a beautiful spring in that desolate place. I fully understood, for the first time, that the key to Christ's boundless compassion for others was that He first had absolute compassion for Himself.

Christ's energy also felt strongly feminine in nature, and here I mean feminine only in the sense that we understand it at this moment in time. More precisely, Christ's vibration was a reflection of what it meant to be truly male. He had an inexhaustible gentleness, a state of being that somewhere along the way, we had come to mistakenly associate only with the feminine.

I also saw the gateway that Christ used to return to Source when He left his body. Its symbol is a cross within a circle, which corresponded to the movement He made, literally spinning out of His body to return to Abba, His father. This symbol has since become very important to me. It is the symbol that I share with my students so that they can access the gentle Christ being within each of them.

I opened my eyes to see my student's expectant faces. How could I explain what I had just seen? I realized that I didn't need to explain anything. I could let them feel what I had felt for themselves, as best they were able. Then they would know.

I could still feel the Christ vibration resonating within me like a plucked violin string. I focused on it, amplifying it, sending it out so that everyone around me could experience it as well. Each of the students in the room, as they came to know the undistorted vibration of Christ, would in turn be able to share it with others. "This," I told them, "is what it feels like. This is how you will know it."

As soon as I spoke those words, I remembered hearing them years ago in a temple on Kauai. Then the old Hindu priest had been talking about me to his students, and now here I was in front of my own students using the same words to describe Jesus. Everything was a circle. All of the times that I had been able to bridge different realities were exercises designed to prepare me for this moment, and this moment was an exercise designed to prepare me for something else. Every moment of my life had trained me for every other moment. Everything had purpose. Everything was exactly as it should be.