Mar 07, Stephanie N rated it it was amazing I mean, you could read this from the viewpoint that it is entirely a work of fiction and it would still be captivating as hell. I burned through almost the whole thing in one sitting. If you are open to the idea of remote viewing, this book provides a wealth of practical information I mean, you could read this from the viewpoint that it is entirely a work of fiction and it would still be captivating as hell. If you are open to the idea of remote viewing, this book provides a wealth of practical information independent of the anecdotes. This is juicy material for anyone interested in the human mind in all its possibilities and limitations. Recommended to Denis by: Amazon The Seventh Sense by Lyn Buchanan is a mind opening, extraordinary book, that brings into focus the power of our untapped mind.
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I will be called to patch it. The part which leaves is very great. Then I will learn about my fate. I must work hard to match it. No one had told me where it was. To top that off, I had been given two different sets of orders: one "official" set, printed on paper, and a totally different set, given verbally. But the verbal orders I had received said that I should not go anywhere near the nd.
Upon reaching Fort Meade, Maryland, I was to check in at the military guest quarters and call a certain phone number to let a special agent know that I had arrived. Under no circumstances was I to report in to the nd, as my written orders stated.
It is customary for a soldier and his family to call the unit to which he is reporting and have a staff driver pick them up. We took a cab from the airport to the Fort Meade Guest House.
The desk clerk asked for my orders and said that he would call the unit and let them know I was in. He was somewhat perplexed when I asked him not to. In the room, I pulled out the napkin which had been given to me in the Czech restaurant in Germany. The hand-scrawled phone number on it was for a private residence in the Fort Meade area.
He would come right by. When we arrived in the parking lot, a dense, misty fog had rolled in, making the whole scene look like something out of a Hollywood spy movie. The guest house is far removed from the other base facilities, so the darkness was oppressive. We stood quietly, feeling small drops of mist sweeping against our faces in the moist night breeze. Even Lael, an active and impatient seven-year-old still on German time, was subdued by the surrounding mystery.
I looked at my wife and marveled at the courage of this woman who would accompany me anywhere in the world, on nothing more than faith that I would do the right thing.
I wondered how she could keep that faith even at times like this, when she knew that I had absolutely no idea of what I was getting us into. She looked back at me and gave the slightest of smiles. The silent mist swirled and we shifted from one foot to the other and waited. I had been working at the U. Army Field Station in Augsburg, Germany, for a little over two years.
I had originally been assigned there as a Russian linguist, but through some devious manipulation, had worked my way into the Computer Operations and Coordination section. At that time, the coordination of the computers at the field station was a large task, since we had almost a hundred different computer systems with several different countries of origin. The computer systems did not "talk" to each other, and there was constant conflict among the data fields, the computers, and the people and countries who ran them.
During the following two months, Doug repeatedly got into my programming code and placed "bombs" there, as his means of revenge. I confronted him several times, but it only fanned the flames. In frustration and as a total last resort, I reported him to his superiors, who threatened him with disciplinary action if he did it again.
There were no more interruptions from Doug and in another month I had the program running and tested. Now I had to make the necessary demonstration briefing to the commanders of the various U. When the day came to make the demonstration, I arrived early, checked and rechecked the program for errors or flaws.
There was none. I ran it through all the testing procedures and made certain the presentation would go smoothly. Everything checked out perfectly. Right before presentation time, I went to the bathroom to make certain my hair was well combed and there were no scuffs on my spit-shined shoes or wrinkles in my uniform. At the appointed time, the commanding officers of every military unit attached to the field station began to assemble for the briefing on the new computer program.
I went through the initial song and dance about the need for such a program, what problems it would solve, what benefits would be reaped, and so on. The computer screen went blank. Something had gone wrong.
I turned back to the chuckling audience and searched for something to say when I saw Doug standing in the doorway. He grinned menacingly and pointed a finger at me. Something welled up in me then, which had not happened in years: an uncontrollable rage. Earlier in life, I had been one of those "poltergeist" children. I had learned in my early teens that when I allow myself to get truly angry, things around me go crazy. As Doug turned to leave, things did exactly that.
When I was about twelve years old, odd things began to happen in the form of objects around me moving or bumping, or suddenly falling for no apparent reason.
It was bothersome to others, but to me, it was odd and interesting. It felt as if it was something I was doing so I began trying to learn what it could be. I learned that I could sometimes cause a few small things to happen -- simple things -- at will.
They were not enough to really impress anyone, but they were enough to spur me onward. I devised some mental exercises to help me "flex my mind muscles. I understood completely that it was just a device of my own making, and not a real voice.
It was not an entity of any kind, a spirit, or even an alter ego. I was not really hearing things. It was just a gimmick I had devised to separate my regular thoughts from those that were supposed to make the weird things happen. I was never afraid of it, and actually thought of it as a really neat plaything. I had complete control over it. Through this and some other exercises that I devised, I learned to make bigger things happen, and could make the smaller things happen with little effort.
But as I got better at it, the things that happened "by themselves" got stronger, too. I practiced and learned more control, so these spurious incidents became less frequent, but when they did happen, they were much more noticeable. A couple of times, the little voice had done something by itself to get me out of a fight or embarrassment, but for the most part, the unbidden incidents were just funny little things.
In fact, they were usually harmless pranks, at the most. They happened without my volition, and I would often see the humor in them and appreciate the unexpected cleverness behind them. Around age fourteen, though, with hormones rising, I began competing for the attention of young girls. One day I was showing off, trying to impress the cute redheaded girl who attracted me so.
I succeeded by showing her one of the tricks I had learned to do with the little voice inside my head. It did impress her, all right. In fact, she was so impressed that she went home and told her father -- the Pentecostal minister. The following day, he and two of his deacons met me after school and asked for a demonstration.
As soon as this demonstration succeeded, they all slammed their hands onto my head and pushed me down to the sidewalk, screaming to God to cast the Devil out of me. There, if the preacher said something, then God must have said it, too. They had suddenly and forcefully turned my little trick into a sin against God.
They were trying to rid me of an evil which had not been there before they tried. I was scared to death and so shaken from the incident that I had nightmares for a month. What had been nothing more than an amusing and interesting plaything now had its roots in ominous evil. What if he had just been preparing me for doing some great and sinfully evil deed?
What a stupid and horrible Christian I had become! What a depraved sinner I had turned into! I decided that I would stop doing my neat things, and thanked God for warning me of my sins in time.
At the time, to my guilt and horror, it seemed that the more I stopped doing my purposeful "neat things," the more the unbidden things increased. Of course, to my mind at the time, it was simply Satan fighting back. It had nothing to do with conscious and subconscious talents. To my fourteen-year-old mind, it meant only that God and Satan both were testing me. I was in a huge tug-of-war between them, and it required even more diligence of me, or my soul would burn forever in Hell. I quickly learned that getting angry was almost certain to bring on an unbidden incident.
These incidents were usually bad things, in hindsight, and I was always sorry for them later. Yet, at the time they happened, they seemed to save me from some bully or help someone else who was in need. The things that happened always gave me some instant satisfaction because I was suddenly able to take control of bad situations and turn them to good. But later I would see how the Devil had tricked me again and then the guilt would set in.
About two months after the incident with the minister and his deacons, the problem still weighed very heavily on me. Then, another incident happened, which was to make me spend the next thirty-one years fully dedicated to blocking these sinful abilities. I was riding my bicycle home from school one day when a kid who was always bullying everyone rode up behind me.
As he sped past, he hit my handlebar, and I went spilling forward onto the ground. My face and arm went straight into some sharp gravel. The boy had nothing against me, personally.
It is a riveting - often chilling - account of his own participation in one of the U. But it also is one of the best discussions yet in print of the "Controlled Remote Viewing" CRV methodology that was developed and exploited by Ingo Swann and the military for espionage purposes. Lyn Buchanan was a remote viewer and trainer in the U. Army during the later years of the so-called "Stargate" program. As per Mr. Sometimes the "facts" of who did what, when, and how appear in conflict when the various books and their lenses are compared.
The Seventh Sense: The Secrets of Remote Viewing as Told by a "Psychic Spy" for the U.S. Military
I call it "Malice in Wonderland. Lyn throws down in his preface with a "Caveat Emptor" and then, with his first sentence, brilliantly sets the hook, deep and unshakeable, and off we go, following him down the rabbit hole. He begins by describing how he lost control of one of his "gifts" and blew out a major portion of the entire NATO intelligence network, for both the good guys and bad guys, "from the North Sea down to Italy, though intelligence computers in Australia had been affected as well. According to Lyn, his life was forever changed during a welcome speech given by then Lt. Consequently, the history now being presented to the public is fractured and disjointed, contradictory and confusing. I know because my secondary job within the unit as database manager allowed me to see the data from all the taskings.
The Seventh Sense