[2003] LOSS & PORPHYRY the novels  

0058 – Part 20 -US Day Trip Clairvoyance

The Stanford work on ESP, described in the book I had just bought in the airport shop, appeared to be a model of scientific discipline; within the limits imposed by their experimental matter. After the first few pages I had already become convinced that, in the light of my own recent experiences with telepathy, the book represented a major breakthrough. The results of 'remote viewing', an unusual form of clairvoyance which accounted for most of the Stanford scientists' work, were astounding; and they had even obtained some positive results for telekinesis.

I was so engrossed in the book that I missed the first call for boarding, and had to run most of the way along the travelators to reach the aircraft, which inevitably was at the furthest end of the longest pier. Somewhat out of breath I found my seat, and even managed to stow my flight bag along with my overcoat in the capacious overhead locker of the 747.

Once the no-smoking signs were extinguished, I returned to my book; and remained immersed in it until dinner was served. The food was not too bad, considering it was being served some six miles above the Atlantic. But, even if I ever find a way of using plastic cutlery in a civilised fashion, I will never get used to eating in the constricted space of the average aircraft seat; elbowed by, and elbowing, those other passengers crammed into the narrow seats alongside. The only compensation offered to business travellers is unlimited alcohol. Maybe it was expected that over-indulgence would dull their senses. As I looked around me, I recognised that some of my fellow travellers had already achieved a considerable degree of such dullness.

Fortunately I had abstained, knowing from past experience, that air travel was bad enough without the accompaniment of a hangover. As a result, when I returned to the book I was in the heightened intellectual state which often found accompanied my travels.

It was then that I came to the pages describing how the reader might conduct his own experiment in remote viewing. I had been so impressed with the earlier chapters that it was a foregone conclusion that I would attempt my own experiment.

The basic requirement, as demanded by the authors of the book, was simply to be located in a quiet place. I looked around him, and was grateful to discover that my neighbours were indeed quiet; sleeping peacefully, aided by the effects of the plentiful alcohol. The book next required that the experimenter should relax for a minute or so, to calm his thoughts. Only then should he concentrate on the target location he had chosen. The images that he would then see, and could then draw, were to be the results of this experiment.

The target was decided for me. I was on my way to the Meadowlands Hilton, just across the Hudson from New York. I knew nothing else about it however. It sounded idyllic, but my colleagues who had been to that part of New Jersey had found the idea of holding a convention there to be faintly ludicrous. As a result, I had no preconceptions. It would be, according to the book, a good choice for a target.

Once I had relaxed myself, I found images inundating me at such a pace that I had difficulty in keeping up with them. Even sketching them as quickly, and crudely, as I could, with just a few pencil lines for each, I lagged behind the flow. It was a creative experience unlike any I had experienced before. The scrawled picture, with its strange collection of objects,  that was the final 'proof' of the experiment was not an artistic masterpiece; but I was proud of it. Instinctively I knew it would be proved to be correct. It represented the Meadowlands Hilton as it really must be.

Yet the images were strange and disjointed. Their combination was so unlikely that, on looking at my masterpiece again, I began to have doubts. There seemed to be two freeways, intersecting over water. In the distance were hills, and nearby were fir trees. The buildings themselves were the strangest of all. To the left was a striped marquee, a circus perhaps, next to a glasshouse. Beyond it, in the distance were three high, thin, towers. Then there was a peculiar circular building, with a wedges cut out of it. Next to it was a wedge shaped building; like a huge slice of cheddar cheese. Perhaps it was the wedge missing from its neighbour. Over the whole scene drifted dense clouds of steam. The more I looked at it the stranger it looked. My sense of euphoria collapsed under this assault of reality. Nowhere could really be as strange as this landscape!

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