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Alternate Perceptions Magazine, October 2017


The Fifth Process
Chapter Four

by: Stan Morrison




Intuitively, I went and got another TV set from the closet in my office, wheeled it into the living room, and hooked it up to the coaxial cable system. Now I could cover a number of targets almost at once.

I believe PK [psychokinesis] interaction instances happen all the time. But if you can “push” such psychic/subliminal management 24/7 for four years or so, a real, solid, and objective effect can be governed. This was The Fifth Process. Its inception was 1981, a very interesting political year for the world and in the United States. The conservative motion led by the Republican and the Reagan Administration happened at a perfect time for everyone. There is no doubt, even though wreckless, the concept of freedom was fully understable not only by the American voter, but to the world. If we look at the world, or the human species, as having not only an idealistic “right hemisphere,” but also a rational “left hemisphere,” it was remarkable how those who would suffer agreed, or completely liked, President Reagan. Overall, the important thing was the position of nations, and the President kept us on top. The other half of Humanity, however, would have to hang in there and enjoy the Reagan Revolution.

The Soviet Union was not really on a downslide – even though they were soundly defeated in Afghanistan. The view is they were defeated mostly idealogically. Perhaps there is truth to this, but more than feeling good about being an American was at stake. Liberty and freedom itself was in great opportunity to rein; and perhaps rule in an Earth-changing way. Our step toward evolution and a true absence of major war in the nuclear age, could really be achieved; only if freedom and liberty was the prevailing state of minds, and nations. One cannot have progression without liberty. This, and survival of the species, was the purpose of The Fifth Process. For this project included our inner cores, collectively and individually, through psi and sheer awareness, by affecting the species subliminally and deeply. It led to the dissolution of collective tyranny (communism, etc.), and opened the flood gates for liberty to prevail: its natural role. The momentum was trying to go that direction, anyway. To this day, I hope it was worth my time and effort.

In order to illustrate a precise example of the subliminal managements during that period, I would have to take the reader into a realm that is completely alien to the average individual. I will do this, but first I should cover a few more of the paranormal events that happened at the house in Morris. Most of these were purely natural events, until it eventually got out of hand inside the house.

In the spring in Oklahoma, the downpours were powerful, yet not too long-lasting. In 1983, the torrential rain would soak an area then move to the next county. Sometimes the hail was ominous and dangerous, and scary. After it ceased, the animals that hibernated or sought refuge underground during most of the year, would be flooded out of their earthly sanctuaries.

During one of my walks to a mom-and-pop grocery store that I would frequent, there was a snapping turtle crossing the one lane road on its way to a small creek on the other side. Being extremely dark (there were no lights in the country), I knelt and examined the turtle with my small flashlight. It had a huge crack on its shell – from apparently crossing the road too much and being run-over by a car or truck. Where the flesh on its back could be seen in the crack, was attached a huge, blood-filled leach at least four inches long. I felt like ripping it from his back, but continued on my way. By the way, on the trek back I saw the creature had successfully made it to the other side of the road and was gone.

Also during this time, or time of the year, the rains, as mentioned, would flood out all of the toads from their underground niches. There would be hundreds walking and hopping around. It looked like one of the plagues from the Old Testament.

It sounds crazy, but it was a good thing that the heavy rains also flushed out the hundreds of rat snakes from their holes in the ground. These black snakes – some five feet in length – took advantage of the toad invasion and gobbled up a few here and there. Having grown up at the foothills of the San Bernardino mountians in South California, I was used to gopher snakes, king snakes, and even west coast rattlers.

So, this rat snake infiltration was no real big deal to me; except in the sheer numbers slithering about. I went back inside, only to continue my other world of linkage and virtual reality with the TV people, and even, yes, the radio people, also. Everything was relative when it came to apparent telepathics and/or psychokinetics.

I lived in two different realities. I eventually came to conclude we all live in two, and perhaps more, separate realities. It manifests everywhere, in all cultures, as a “right” reality and a “left” reality. It just depends on who you are and your life-long position in reality. Only living the simple ideals can create an imbalance, depending on who you are and your status in the world. A cannibal in Papua, New Guinea, can't mentally live the mental life of Bill Gates. I think you get what I mean. Some people can seemingly pull it off, if they are happy. Of course, more on these matters will be detailed as we carry on...because more than that is involved and happening.

In the paranormal field, there has been some notice or awarenss regarding deaths, some very unusual and untimely, concerning investigators and researchers of UFOs and psi, and especially monsters. Sadly, there is a lot of truth to this. Right off hand, I can think of four or five such cases of surprising deaths.

During the 1980s, I assembled quite a collection of authentic paranormal photographs. Most of these were from family members, namely my uncle, a singer-songwriter and minister, and my mother (which were taken when she was in his company). These were very clear photos of ectoplasmic-type formations, and some formed images or outlines of imges. I mentioned these in the second chapter, where I noted one was examined by the experts of the Psychic Observer, of the Mind Science Center. They are the ones who noted they looked like images they'd seen which were taken during “voodoo rituals.” They (my relatives) didn't know what to make of them, so they gave them to me. From research, I knew these photos were of genuine psi. I thought it was uncanny, and not a coincidence, that they showed up at the inception of The Fifth Process.

When I published one or two of these in my newspaper column, it seemed a number of other relatives were interested. When asked questions about them, I had to let them know (or felt I did as a journalist and psychical researcher) that the clear and obvious ones were exceptional, but that psychic photographs were, in fact, common. Most are seemingly overlooked. The manifestations are visually subliminal. They will appear in the corners or other areas, not in the focus of the photographs. Shapes and reflections are utilized to form the images. Some of the relatives seemed to be very interested, so I told them to go back over their photo albums and examine the photos, those mostly from around the holidays, and especially Christmas time.

It didn't take long when Dean Denney – my first cousin by marriage – and his girlfriend brought to me a photo of his mom and younger sister standing next to a Christmas tree, containing a full-figured “entity” in a doorway to their left. They called it a “little girl.” When I looked at it under my magnifying glass, what I saw was a clear demonic archetype, of the female persuasion.

I asked Dean if I could have it and publish it in my column. In relation to the door, the being was about three and a half feet tall. It was an element manifestation, in that the instant flash of light from the camera played a role in the image. With such psychic images, I wouldn't be surprised if such images occur also with instant and slight psychokinetic manipulations of the surfaces (in this case a door) near or behind the image.

My editor at The Exposure in Okmulgee enlarged this photo almost twice its size, and above my copy merely titled the column, “STRANGE.” I can't remember what my sub-title was.

Three days later I received a call from my grandmother in Okmulgee, telling me something was happening just down the street from her small home, where Dean had taken up residence in one of his grandfather's houses. Cop cars were everywhere, and she didn't feel things were at all well. I jumped in my truck and drove the seven or eight miles to Dean's. There were two police cars there, and an ambulance.

I assertively walked up to the open front door, was not stopped by anyone, and the first thing that was overwhelmingly obvious was the overpowering smell of death – an odor of decomposition that could knock a man down. A straight ten yards into the house I could see Dean sitting on a couch with his head tilted forward, and his long hair only a mess of dried, clotted blood. I did see the gigantic gash on his right cranium. His head was smashed in.

Dean, 26-years-old, had been sitting in that state for almost a week. I didn't venture in, but turned, got in my truck, and left in a state of horror and shock. I'll never forget the smell. They eventually had to burn the couch on which he sat. So much blood had soaked it. From others, I learned his throat had also been deeply cut.

It was a deeply felt and wholly monstrous event when author, parapsychologist, and Associate Editor of Fate Magazine, D. Scott Rogo, was murdered in Los Angeles in 1980. From his popular books at the time, he described how he was investigating – by participatory experience – “astral projection” or out-of-body explorations. His early death was a terrible loss to the field. I had the honor of speaking to him once over the phone in the early 1970s, in regards to the thesis of one of his books.

I used to joke to myself that many investigatory books on the paranormal should be issued with a “Surgeon General's Warning,” clearly stating you had to be at least 18 to purchase it. It is serious business.

When I got home in Morris after Dean's murder, I cracked a bottle of “Jack,” checked my Beretta 9 .mm that I had stored and would take along on solo hikes, and decided I had to remain objective, after all it was my Uncle Gene, his ex-wife, and Aunt Sondra who were suffering.

So, after switching on the television, I decided to try out the new bathtub that was installed at the rear of the house, which used to be a garage.

When I turned on the light and leaned over to turn on the water, I almost let out a scream when stretched out in the new tub was a five-foot-long rat snake! I merely stood, deciding on how I was going to grasp the reptile by the neck, and throw it outside. One thing that was very noticable was the stench – it had obviously had come up through the pipes (and who knows where else) and exited through the main custom faucet of the bath. It smelled as if it had been in the sewer. I immediately grabbed the smelly snake, took it out front, and tossed it.

After that weird trip, I filled the tub and soaked in the hot bath. Mom had put in a much nicer, and larger, bathroom with great custom fixtures.

Over time what happened to Dean became an event of the past. His brutal murder was never solved. Clearly, somebody had it out for him.

My project of remote manipulation carried on, though. Even at an altered state, I couldn't tell who killed Dean.

In Oklahoma, during the springs and summers, there would not only be invasions of toads and snakes, but also spiders. Even though they would encroach on the indoors, I thought the most offensive and fascinating arachnids were the large numbers of brown recluses. Crickets were everywhere, inside and out, so these poisonous spiders simply were where their natural prey gathered in one place by the hundreds. For some reason, I didn't smash and kill them on sight. I was writing 24/7, and doing my thing. Brown Recluses seemed to be a topic among many people, probably because they had been bitten by them, and had the tell-tale scars to prove it. These spiders were more famous than the female black widows. The recluses didn't make webs, but “hunted” their insects as solo predators. They were indeed spindly eight-legged creatures, but acted more like tarantules and wolf spiders. I had had a long interest in zoology, so I thought I'd write an article on the “brown recluses.” I let them roam at free-will in the house, and was, fortunately for me, never bitten once.

I could be observing Soupy Sales in the sixties, manipulating his body tilts and language, or CNN and the President (Ronald Reagan) recorded or live, and intentiionally, psychically, and subliminally, highlight the talking points and his “right” views, as a remote subliminal artist. This is what my cognition was perceiving, so what did I have to lose? At the same time I watched the brown recluses in the back hall whack and kill a cricket with their fangs. Pretty creepy, huh... The sound it made was like a “clack!” I made sure I saw this on several occasions. I merely waited, while on my elbows, as a cricket would cross in front of a brown recluse, then “clack!” The spider would hold the prey in its mandables, and liquidate it.

I eventually published a front-page, two page feature on my observations in the Edmond Evening Sun, entitled, “Anecdote: A New Weapon in Spider Fight.” Recluses are dangerous but have a more of a local venom similar to a rattlesnake, while black widows have the cobra-like neurotoxin that effects its victims in a different way. The recluses are famous for the scars they leave on people. Deaths from recluses are not as common as bites from female black widows, but brown recluse bites certainly far out number those of black widows.

Eventually, the spiders, the snakes, etc., kind of went away. These events were not at all paranormal. It was a freaky invasion, but a natural one. The other stuff, such as slams on the outside wall and objects flying out of the back rooms also ceased, for a while. The perception of “connection” with others, including the TV/radio-mind union continued, however. This was fine because I felt I still had a lot more to do. Of course, this was using and riding an hallucination, or inner space perception, vulnerable to error. Because it was psychokinetic linkage (I believe), the phenomena – because it was archetypal, i.e., overtly negative spiritually – was “low level,” literally.

I've suggested we live in two different realities, right-brain hemisphere and left-brain hemisphere, and this is true, but it encompasses also the realities of the conscious and unconscious: the neocortex, the mid-brain, and the hindbrain or Reptilian complex. These equate to the ego, the super ego, and the id, the triune brain.

When events of the world, including history, are looked at by rational, sane individuals, one easily could conclude that either man or God are seriously whacky, by anyone's standards. To use purely parapsychology theory, it is man, collectively, that is a bit of a mental case. And what we see in the day to day world – war, famine, genocides, ecological pollution and damage, poverty, religious extremism, collective fear, etc., is a projection in the form of a symptom of an ill, but intelligent species. Even though there is an “external” psychic force, I'm not any longer going to go as far as John A. Keel and conclude that it is “God” that has been, and is, a bit whacky (The Eighth Tower, 1976). A lot of the paranormal phenomena may indicate this. In fact, I agree psychic phenomena or its manifestations are a bit archaic, and resemble mostly the ancient and mystical Jewish Cabbala.

Since our world is a reflection of our consciousness at any given time in history, I'd have to say it is humankind that needs collective psychoanalysis and treatment, and ultimate psychic balance. The collective psychical projections would surely change, and manifest in the form of a healthy species. This is one of the major reasons for The Fifth Process.

The Black Van

Sin+ce my notes over this period were ultimately destroyed, I'm relying purely on memory and what little information somehow managed to survive. Many things are crystal clear, and close dates have been retrieved from personal publications at the time.

There was a weird experience in 1984 that I remember well. In early summer I was writing a magazine article, and had my final draft spread out on the long, glass dining room table, when I decided to take a walk to the store. It was about nine p.m., and I figured I'd make it there and back in forty-five minutes.

When I walked out the front door, right in front of me, parked not directly in front of my yard but the neighbor's, only six feet across the road, was a new, black van with blacked out windows. This was not the issue. It was the four or five very large radio and (seemingly) radar dishes mounted on the entire top. They were pointed in all different directions, but were not turning. All I could do was sort of chuckle and continue on my way. I didn't want to even focus too much on the van. I do recall my mgazine article was on UFOs, and included a reference to the MIB (Men In Black) phenomenon. I thought the mysterious van was a bit funny, and the synchronicity of it being there, of course, made me think. But I knew, for sanities sake, I shouldn't pursue its presence or get involved. It was gone when I returned from the store. Before or after, I've never seen such a van.

Later on, I have to admit I thought of all the peculiar telephone calls I had received at my residence. I was never committed one way or the other (as to whether they were paranormal), but there were some pretty weird ones. Most were calls where no one was on the other end. Many were calls where, when you would pick up the receiver, there would be an extremely loud electronic screaming noise. There were an abnormal number of wrong phone calls, and a number of disconnections during regular calls.

All of the strange phenomena would cease when my mom came home after her three-week trips on the road, except for some of the phone phenomena, and rare slams on the walls. I never told anyone about the unusual black van. The large radio dishes (all four or five of them) really stood out, and I've never again seen anything like it.

The world events of the time pretty much dictated the remote manipulations, or, more accurately, “remote subliminal influence,” and things were going in a predictable way in the world and in the political world. Now remember, all of the remote management done subliminally – manipulation of body language and actual psychic projections in the form of sub-visual pinpoints of light, mostly on the right or left side of the individual – were in real time, and, phenomenally, in the past also, depending on the visual target on screen. This was a quantum function, and a very primitive form of time travel. This facet will be explained and dealt with in a later chapter. For now, the Fifth Process task, which was to eliminate the absurd international political polarization then in existence, was the primary focus. It was a 24/7 job almost non-stop for four years. My oracle was the television screen, and my inner space tool of motion was psychokinesis, a funamental dynamism shared by all forms of life. Of course, being immersed in psychodrama, I had to succumb completely to the telepathy belief myth in order for the PK to fully kick in. These phenomena are non-local and non-causative, and this is why time and space are not limitations to their cosmic functions.

After three years of working as a psychonaut, and absorbing a great deal of 1980s culture, I no longer needed the second televison. I wheeled it back to my office and put it in the closet. I could manage with the one television. I lived during this time with one foot in daily reality, and the other in a very psychic realm of energy and spiritual states experienced only by psychics, mediums, and unfortunate individuals with terrible mental and neurological illnesses. The medical issues that resulted from (and caused) my alteration might surprise and enlighten some; others won't be surprised at all, I'm sure. As a note, it should be said that it isn't easy to describe a whole different reality in terms we can rationally understand. But it is possible.

The Fifth Process name was derived from the fifth stage of evolution in which we now exist, and are now progressing to the next stage. Presently, we are in transition. Only God knows as to whether we'll enter a sixth stage as a species. We have to survive the transition, and all of us are responsible for our survival during this time. The following specific needs restating.

Subliminal management of the visual target (on screen) was not how change occurred, but was when anyone watching the target (thousands or millions of viewers) would be affected by the subliminals, and that is how the whole thing worked. This is why more than politicians were the targets of the subliminals, and why the project lasted a necessary four years. There had to be a geopolitical change, and it wasn't going to be the United States, the West, and freedom and democracy. Liberty is an essential element – though sometimes rocky – for a new evolutionary change and successful transition. We are all responsible during the conversion. There is no turning back, and retrogression is not an option.

Things progressed, and though there were events that could be catagorized as paranormal, things were relatively smooth, and existence happened in a normal fashion.

Around this time, I could definitely feel problems in my left jaw. I followed this up, and was subsequently diagnosed with Temporomandibular Joint Disease (TMJ). But I knew my medical problems were more than just that. I didn't know it at the time, but it would take over thirty years for my condition to be figured out. I had had unexplained grandmal seizures, so I knew there was probably something more profound, or serious, with my health. I had some tests done also at the time, and an EEG revealed there was “something” wrong in the back of my head. It was a lack of some electrical function, but no diagnosis was made.

In 1983, my writing seemed to have caught on with editors, as I was receiving assignments. But on the extreme downside, mom had a heart attack in San Antonio, Texas. She was in the hospital there, but she needed to transfer to the hospital in Tulsa, so I flew to Texas to bring her back to Oklahoma. The doctors said she was stable enough. I drove her back in her new Chrysler Fifth Avenue. I had never seen mom in such a bad state. I made sure she was comfortable on the way back north.

In Tulsa, she had a pacemaker implanted, and after a couple of weeks, she seemed to be doing a lot better. When she was in the hospital in Tulsa, I spoke by phone to her boss, Neil, told him what was happening, and asked him to send some nice flowers. He seemed to be shocked that she had a heart attack. He gladly sent some beautiful flowers. Mom never really liked the guy, but the flowers made somewhat of a difference. I didn't tell her that I asked him to send them. She was finally discharged by the doctors to recuperate at home in Morris.

Her health was dwindling, and that's when I made sure that I used the psi to help and not hinder; I guess I did always use the force in a beneficial manner, but here it had to be direct with a clear and immediate affect.

From years back, I did understand psychic/ biological balance through acupuncture and acupressure. The former, I was not licensed, but I could use much needed therapeutic massage and touch, in order to relieve overwhelming stressful imbalance in mom. She was miserable, considering the issues she was enduring.

With mom, I used pure massage and finger pressure based on the “chi” and energetic flow (psi energy) in her overall meridians. Her neck, in connection to her skull, was as tight as a compound bow, or a string on a piano. Understanding the imbalance, one will know where and when the pressure should be applied. Put simply, it is intuitively regulating – through significant finger and hand pressure – the balance or flow of the person's energy (spiritual, psychical, and electrical). There was an immediate positive effect for mom. I continued this for at least a week.

After two months, she insisted on going back to work. Her employers gladly gave her that much time to recover. She was ranked number two out of thirty or so traveling salesmen on their payroll. Mom cleared $2000 a week in the 1980s.

Mom used to cover Missouri, but now she only had to work in the extreme south. She liked Texas, Arkansas, Louisiana, and Mississippi, so she enjoyed her area. She had lots of friends in these states, and she kept up her quota.

I should have been with her, but I wasn't. Her health seemed to improve, and I made sure her homecoming was nice and comfortable. She appreciated a very clean and welcoming home. I made sure Christmas was very special for her. After the holidays, where she spent time with her sisters and other family members, she valiantly took off and went back on the road. I was extremely worried about her, nonetheless, and we kept in contact nightly by phone. It was as if she had a new lease on life.

By 1994, the Soviet Union and the Berlin Wall fell. For them, there was no going back. For me, things were going as scheduled and designed with psi management and The Fifth Process.

I relaxed completely (or sort of), drank tea conservatively, and avoided research, and even writing. It was a great three weeks. When mom arrived, she felt completely relaxed, and was glad to be home. She brought me a great set of toy soldiers. They were lead figures from New Zealand – 1880s Scottish infantry with kilts and fixed bayonets. They must have cost a hundred dollars. We had several weeks together, and it sucked to have to see her take off again, back on the road. I didn't think her strength was all that great, but I'd be seeing her in three weeks. She did have very close friends on the road, and one of these helped her with driving and kept close company.

In late March 1984, I was writing or editing something, I don't recall exactly what, but the phone rang. It really caught me at a bad time. I had to drop my thought, get up, and go to the kitchen to answer it. It was another bothersome mystery call, with no one on the other end, or at least no one who would say anything. I thnk I told the silent caller I'd like to kick him square in the faculties and hung up.

When I got back to my writing, I was a little frustrated. At that time, I was writing on a huge ottoman, on a clipboard. Once I found my sentence, the lamp or light to my right began to brighten way beyond its 100 watts. Then the lights in the rest of the room increased dramatically to a brightness that was simply not natural. Then all the lights that were on did the same for a few seconds, dimmed, then rebrightened. It was like a visual orcestra. It was around one a.m., and anyone outside would have been creeped out by the weird visual, electronic symphony. I don't think any neighbors witnessed it at all.

Then the slams occurred. The same location on the side of the house. There were only a few, but in my agitated state, it could have been a dozen. I surrendered to my fear, calmed down, and went to take a piss. It seemed the lights “lightened up,” and there were no more slams on my wall.

When I glanced at myself in the bathroom mirror, I noticed a blemish on my cheek. Since everything now seemed cool, I focused on my “pimple” staring back at me! Rather than focus too long, I freaked out and jetted out of the bathroom, sat on the couch, and said to myself, “My God, I'm possessed by an entity; please forgive me, Lord!”

I instantly realized what the whole possession thing was all about. I knew what I, in my strange and unconventional Fifth Process task, had done to myself. I lamely concluded it was an overwhelming paranormal experience – but including a terrible spirit entrenched in my being! Upon first look at it in the mirror, it was a pretty intimidating and “evil” thing. I didn't consider it an hallucination, but a deeply spiritual issue external in nature.

I knew it was time for the “heavy hitters” – many of the charismatics and pentecostals who are not afraid to confront abnormal psychologies, including perceptions of “spiritual” and supernatural phenomena.” These are phenomena that we've labeled “entirely” a brain illness, and which are only controlled with our current understanding of disease, damage, and dysfunction.

Being a parapsychologist, I'm committed to the latter belief (with a scientific structure), but there are a number of scientists who feel – when confronted with the phenomena – that perhaps many cases should be handled by those that belong to an alternative discipline. It isn't either or, but more than one symptom or issue happening. Neither negates the other, and the manifestations of “so-called spirits” or external phenomena is overwhelming. I'm not a “spiritist,” but I will not deny that external paranormal phenomena, or independent phenomena apart from the human species, are a clear and present reality. This includes evil spirits and demons. And those who were not afraid to deal with them, spiritually and intellectually, were the ministers and churches in the Bible Belt (a sort of spiritual 911).

There are many “gifts” of the spirit, and minister Ray Terrel possessed many of these. A true man of Christ, and the Father.

From what I can gather, Ray had long been a “spirit-filled” Christian in not only Okmulgee County, but eastern Oklahoma in general. He not only assembled a Bible study course – which I took – but was a trusted friend and Christian who took the “Word” very seriously. It was known he confronted and exorcised evil spirits, and successfully prayed over the ill. I can't trace exactly how I received his phone number, but considering my line of work, it's no surprise we met.

I didn't get completely into the details about my work, but he happily agreed to come over and help me with my serious problem. I have great respect for individuals such as Ray. Very few people, hardly anyone on the planet, helps persons suffering such a tremendous spiritual problematic condition. (From my experience, they mostly run the other direction) This is true grit and courage, based on a spiritual life of peace and belief in the teachings of Jesus Christ. We need many more like Ray. Most Christians seem to be chickens who are only content when they are not personally threatened, and are so far removed that the great majority of victims of the negative phenomena in the Bible and New Testament freely destroys and haunts people. If this remains the case, true Christians (those who believe and experience the paranormal) will become real losers spiritually, simply because of unnecessary fear of forces that Christians – according to scripture – have clear authority over. I'm stating this based on psi research.

If these guys believe they are going to win the consciousness of man in the end, they better be a lot more like Ray Terrel.

When Ray arrived at my house, all he knew was that I soberly suspected a (demonic) possession happening to me. As soon as he heard I was a paranormal researcher, I think he thought at first I was one of those people who blindly follow spiritualualism, witchcraft, etc. I still didn't elaborate on my work. Frankly, it didn't matter to him. He didn't condemn me, or make me feel I was responsible for my condition.

We sat on the floor, he a few feet in front of me, and it was clear he didn't need my background, or why I felt I had another intelligence (evil) inhabiting my body. He said he could clearly see the “spirit,” which mostly manifested on the left side of my body. He addressed it by the name of “Terra.” This was an entity he had dealt with in the past, and which was associated with witchcraft, the paranormal, etc. Ray knew his Christian authority, and when he ordered it to leave and exit my body, I could feel its inner submission. Ray spoke in tongues (glossolalia) to the spirit, used his clear and overwhelming authority as a Christian, and, in a sort of autonomic manner, the entity could only bow, clearly knowing “it” was out of its league spiritually.

Ray told me to let it go – “Open your mouth so you can let it out,” he said. When I opened my mouth, I could feel “it” resisting exiting, and I could only feel I was doing something wrong. In my early studies, I knew a spirit (including our own souls) left the body at death through the mouth (The Bhagavad Gita). But even though I could reconcile “it” leaving in this manner, my whole being felt it wasn't a case of it merely exiting in that way. I wanted it gone, for sure, but something beyond the entity was telling me there was more to this possession than a mere invitation on my part for it to take up residence in my body. I felt guilty, and Ray explained the “thing” was speaking to me at a sub-sonic level.

As Ray prayed over me, I began to speak in exactly the same glossolalia as he did. It seemed to originate from deep inside me, in the area which seemed to be the “seat” of the entity's biological/spiritual base or hold. I had to have a break. I told Ray I was going to have a smoke. “Go ahead,” he said. “Behind your smoking are evil spirits.” There are, according to Ray and many fundamental Christians, parasitical spirits that are behind, or attached to, addictions. Everything had to go, my library, all of my data, and even well over a hundred published articles I had done on the paranormal since I was sixteen. Otherwise, I was told, evil spirits will remain attached to my life.

My library was meticulously assembled, consisting of over a thousand volumes, worth over a thousand dollars. Many of these were first-edition hardcovers. My data, consisting of dozens of paranormal photographs, negatives, and transparencies, also had to go. My personal published articles could never be replaced, ever. It all had to be destroyed. These were the commandments I had to do in order to pull cleanly out of the evil grasp of demons and unclean spirits. Ray informed me, that if I returned, in any way to my work, the psychic/paranormal attack would be “twice” as strong, and difficult, if not impossible, to overcome.

Being an experienced journalist, I had to get a second opinion.

There are many Pentecostal and charismatic churches in Eastern Oklahoma, and dozens in the Okmulgee area alone. These people are not crazy, generally, and in my opinion based on personal experience, are very Bible-based and courageous when it comes to spiritual and demonic phenomena. Many Christians are scared shitless when it comes to confronting or helping terrible victims of what they perceive as “spirit attack” and especially “possession,” as I suggested previously. Their excuse is that they have had no training in that area, but I believe it is sheer cowardice based on their “hard wiring” of their self-image as a Christian. And, it is true, that many do not possess the “gifts of the spirit” not dealing with matters not accepted as normal and pleasant areas of Christianity. Some excel in music, some in art, some in a strong work ethic ensuring the success and security of their loved ones or families. Unfortunately, many “good people” fall prey to disease, and psychic or mental illness within a family. And this is where Christian courage – realizing your powerful position as a Christian based on ancient script – can play a major part in ones life. The New Testament of the Holy Bible is not a physics book(s), but is a very straightforward code of conduct illustrating our spiritual rank in the cosmic scheme of things.

I received the number of two very good ministers in the Okmulgee area (who will remain nameless). After a forty-five minute telephone conversation, they agreed to come over and “help” me with my perceived spiritual dilemma. They, too, were Pentecostals.

“Wow, you sure opened up the gates of hell!” said one of the ministers when he arrived. All I could say was that I was aware of that. I had very mixed emotions, since The Fifth Process depended on psychokinesis to work, but I thought I would avoid a physical possession, or at least be able to deal with it, and eventually get better. It was no surprise, as awful as it was, that the basic PK manifestation was such an entity experience. I was not controlled by this phenomenon, but afflicted with it.

It was pretty clear that this minister had the skill (or gift) of clairvoyance, and through ESP, or “direct voice” and “clairsentience,” knew or felt the extreme psi happening. As with Terrel, they, too, felt it was a possession or invasion. It was around 9:00 p.m. Through communication with the “Holy Spirit” on the spot, they understood my situation. The one minister received his information through “direct voice” in his right ear. He actually held his hand up to his ear and received direct language spoken to him. As I was sitting on the floor, the Spirit(s) told him to tell me “I'd be alright, just keep reading your Bible.” Both of them assured me I'd be OK. I thanked them with all of my heart, and after one made a brief tour of the house, they left, confident of my positive welfare.

The place lingered with what felt like a heavy electric energy. It wasn't exactly a feeling of doom, but certainly a negative energy or force. It was uncomfortable, and I knew I had to get out of there. I needed a different environment, The Fifth Process was now over, and it was successful as far as I was concerned. The near-century long bipolar political landscape was disappearing before my eyes. I had really pushed the envelope to my psychic subliminals over those four years.

Since my truck was out-of-whack (my flywheel had given out completely), I called my grandmother seven miles away in Okmulgee, and asked her if she could pick me up, and I'd spend the night there. She didn't seem to mind. She showed up ten or fifteen minutes later, in her cream-yellow Cadillac mom had given her. Grandma was in her middle seventies. She was the most informed person I knew personally concerning the Bible. She became a real Christian in the 1930s when she was forced to leave her children and husband due to tuberculosis and became a ten-year patient at a TB clinic at Thalahena, Oklahoma, in the mountains in the southeastern part of the state. There, one of her lungs was removed. Mom, just a kid herself, had taken care of the children, all four of them, during that period (mom was the oldest). In the meantime, she graduated high school, and was a first-rate student and athelete.

When we got to Okmulgee, grandma went to bed. Grandpa was back in his room, asleep at this time of the night. Being in a weird way psychically, I made camp in the front room and sat on a large reclining chair, thinking about the whole matter of possession, the validity of The Fifth Process and the great ministers who came to my aid. I prayed to God that everything would be alright. All of a sudden, I felt an energy in my solar plexus. It was the cleanest, most beautiful presence I had ever observed or experienced. It was clear, and unmistakable, that this was the Holy Spirit. It had a nature of maybe female, and so comforting. It sprang from that area of the stomach, and gradually – thoough purposefully – traveled north in my system until it reached the internal left side of my lower head and face. As it reached this point, it slowly went back on the same path it had taken. I wondered why it went back. I was puzzled why it didn't cleanse this area, the seat of the entity I had seen in the mirror, and which possessed my being. Was it merely pointing something out to me?

I still felt very comfortable because of the experience. I felt justified in my actions in relation to The Fifth Process.

Then the phone rang. It was my uncle Dean. “Stan, are you sitting down...Morris is gone!” It was Thursday night, 11:50 p.m., April 26, 1984.

A gigantic tornado struck Morris only minutes prior to Dean's call, and only a few hours after I decided to leave. That's all Dean knew at the time. However, he did know that everyone was fine. He meant my aunt Sondra, her husband Gene, and my cousins Jeff and John. They lived a few miles outside of town, along with Gene's father Curly.

It was as if the PK was held off for a bit, then wham! It was like a reaction to the success of The Fifth Process. I believe I only played forty to sixty-percent to its success, since my part was all conducted in “inner space.” The rest of the credit goes entirely to the cultural and political situation at the time.

Dean called me back and let me know that no one was permitted in Morris. The Natioanl Guard was walking around, armed, and keeping outsiders out. I turned on the television and all networks were carrying the disaster. It was a bad one, and many fatalities were expected.

My uncle Chet Munds was in the mix of things, being the captain of the Fire Department in Okmulgee. At some point, he made his way to mom's house, found all of the windows blown out, including the large glass door which was once a solid garage door. Here and there, there were jagged holes on the outer walls of the home, but the structure was intact. He kicked down the front door and with a large flashlight searched for me, not knowing I had earlier gone to grandma's in Okmulgee. Since he could not find me in any of the rooms, he continued on with his job – finding the hurt, the critically hurt, and the dead. The damage done by a large tornado such as this one, is almost incomprehensible. Later Chet described how one young woman he attended had a shard of glass completely penetrating her thigh and exciting out the rear of her leg. She was alive, though, while others had been killed by the twister and the material havoc it had generated.

Doppler radar had not detected this weather monster. It came as a complete surprise. Since it was dark, no one actually observed it, though many had thought it had been three separate funnels. Others concluded it was one giant funnel.

Our house was located on the western edge of Morris proper, and the tornado took a path towards this direction. It completely destroyed a small house diagonally and across the small road from our home. Our neighbors behind and next to us had a large and new travel trailer parked next to their home, and the tonado lifted it straight up and neatly sat it on its top. Their house was untouched.

The tornado sort of petered out and lifted after this point. It came way too close to mom's place, though. Her insurance did cover the damage we did have. My grandmother used to tell me that the Creek Indians had blessed Okmulgee so tornadoes would not occur there. I guess this didn't include Morris.

As daylight hit the small town, a clear picture of the disaster emerged. Morris was indeed gone. And as the days went by, more casualties were found among the devastation. The death count was eleven people, including children. There was an untold number of mangled and severely hurt individuals. Fortunately, the debris removal uncovered no more fatalities. There were a few people missing. About a week after the killer tornadoe(s), my cousin John, then in his late teens, found a dead indiidual a mile or so outside of town. He was an elderly man, completely clothesless, and one of the missing. This brought the dead or killed from the twister to 12.

Almost immediately, people started the process of recovery. It's amazing how people pull together and not only recover from a disaster, but try – and often success – in making life even better. I recall, perhaps only a month later, how one family, their nice home demolished, had it bulldozed and built a great basketball court on the cement foundation. Those are real winners.

I would be remiss, and irresponsible as a journalist, if I failed to include an event that occurred only a few days before the tornado, and only a day before Ray Terrel and the other ministers came to the house. (They were like a spiritual 911, by the way)

I was doing an article and had my copy spread across the large glass table in the dining room. The entity experience in the mirror had not yet happened. That occurred a day or two later. It was around 8:00 p.m., and I decided to take a break. It was a nice, clear night so I figured I'd take a walk to a convenience store on the eastern outskirts of town, and purchase a six-pack of beer. As soon as I got outside, standing on my front lawn, I saw an enormous bright, white light only a hundred or so feet in altitude exactly where I was headed. It was a bit overly and conspicuously obvious. I didn't know what it was, drew no conclusions, and continued on my way. As I got closer, I could tell that this huge bright light was very, very close to the water tower; and as I crossed a vacant lot near to the four-way stop light, the bright light dimished, but the UFO circled or banked and “drifted” silently and directly over my head, and moved north, out of Morris. It was at an altitude of no more than seventy feet. It was an amazing craft and just as impressive as the 1973 UFO, maybe even more impressive. It silently continued on its direction, and was not visible only after a block or so.

As soon as I got home, I drew a sketch of the craft and made accurate notes concerning the time, length of the “craft,” etc. I immediatelly sent this to Lucius Farish in Arkansas, who published The UFO Newsclipping Service, and was a longtime writer and investigator. I had had many of my columns and articles re-published by this monthly publication. I even phoned Lucius Farish in regards to this sighting, after he received my letter, drawing, etc.

Upon speaking to Lou Farish, I learned an important and enlightening thing about UFOs. They are much more common than we realize! My report was merely added to the hundreds that ufologists receive weekly, and yearly.

When I got back to the house in Morris, and seeing the state of affairs left after the tornadic calamity, I have to admit I, in my heart, felt guilt. I had felt guilty since Dean first told me of the Morris tornado.

Even though I knew on all levels The Fifth Process was connected, I wondered if the disaster would have occurred, anyway... Synchronicity is a funny thing, and the psi dynamics suggest it could have gone either way. (Later on, described in the next chapter, I did some tests just to be sure The Fifth Process, psi linkage, and subliminal management resulting in change indeed occurred.)

I couldn't believe the place. It was littered with glass shards. Yet, our home was intact. I felt blessed by that fact, but felt terribly about the individuals who lost their lives.

I remembered what Ray Terrel had said about my data, my library, my personal publications, evidence in the form of paranormal photographs, etc. He reasoned that evil spirits were attached to these things, so these things had to be destroyed; otherwise, my psychic condition would not heal, nor would I rid myself of a psychically polluted system. This, along with the 13 killed, if we include Dean Denny's murder, prompted me to conclude that everything must go.

I phoned my cousin Davey, a Ph.D in sociology/psychology, who happened to be at his parent's house in nearby Henryetta, and asked him what he thought.

“Sometimes, one has to do that sort of thing,” he said. He left it up to me to make the final decision.

My truck was running at the time, and I collected two 65-gallon drums. Mom was again back on the road. I gathered all of my writings that concerned the paranormal (a hundred or so) consisting of magazines and newslips, placed all of my prints, negatives, etc., that were of great “ectoplasmic formations” and some apparitional images, and placed them on top of the stack in the free-standing fireplace. I lit the match and watched my personal history burn, and disappear from my life, and become a mess of ashes.

There were all kinds of things in that large stack, icluding a note from a freelance writer in Los Angeles, Bill Coon, in regards to the first article I published in the San Gabriel Valley Tribune (it was on precognition). I remember he wrote, “...excellent piece. It's all about earning, and learning, and paying your dues...”

But that wasn't enough madness.

I took all the remainder of my files, and more importantly, my huge, excelleent library, indexed on my mathematician father's inherited metal bookshelves, carried them out in handfuls, and dumped them in the drums. With an added fuel, in both drums which were filled to the top with books, I tossed a couple of matches.

I watched a huge library, consisting of many, many first-edition hardcovers go up in flames.

Books


Native American Mounds in Alabama: An Illustrated Guide to Public Sites

Path of Souls

Edgar Cayces Atlantis

On the Edge of Reality

Lightquest

The Cygnus Mystery

The Search of Edgar Crace's Atlantis DvD

The Yucatan Hall of Records

Ancient Mound Builders

New Book


The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Native American Indian Mounds & Earthworks


Kindle


Path of Souls


Books


Mound Builders

Visitors from Hidden Realms

Ancient South America

The ARE's Search for Atlantis

The Ancient Bimini Harbor

Beneath the Pyramids


Monday, December 11, 2017