During these sessions, Carl stood at one end of the room, while all the “participants” sat on the floor in a semicircle around him. He spoke slowly and deliberately, instructing his listeners. His psychic abilities seemed to be at their most powerful during these sessions. With every sentence his control seemed to become more concentrated, and everyone gradually fell into a very quiet, yet alert state of body and mind.
Finally they all seemed to feel not only a special presence “with” them, but an overwhelming inclination within themselves to “bow” (or, as some said, to “annihilate” themselves) before that presence. A few participants withdrew from the group at one time or another because, they said, they felt the strange presence that was “with” them to be “unloving” or “cold” or “nonhuman.” Most, however, persevered. The few who talked with me about that presence which they felt during Carl’s spirit-raising sessions stressed the peculiar control or “grip” which they found holding their inner feelings. It did not frighten, but it gave no impression of being benign or loving. It overawed, as one of them commented; but it did so much as an enormous skyscraper might overawe somebody standing close to its base and looking up its entire length. Overawing, it numbed the feelings. And, as it numbed, it seemed to control.
It was at the very end of one of these spirit-raising sessions in September of 1971 that the first signs of possession became outwardly apparent in Carl. Nobody, however, in Carl’s immediate entourage was equipped to read these signs for what they were. They all took them as awesome manifestations of what they called Carl’s “other and more real world.”
On that particular occasion, Carl had just finished his commentary, and the participants in the session were all returning to a normal state of consciousness, slowly being set free from that numbing “control.”
As they returned to ordinary perception of things around them, they became aware that Carl was having difficulties in breathing and standing up straight. He was in a peculiarly bent position. With his soles still flat on the ground and his knees bent, the upper part of his body up to his shoulders was being bent precariously, as if he was falling backward. His chin was sunk in his chest in his effort to straighten up. Only his head moved in that effort.
The rule at all sessions had always been clear: no hands on Carl during the session. So nobody moved to help, but everyone watched.
Norman and Albert, who knew Carl more intimately than the others did, felt that Carl was in some unusual difficulty. Something was wrong. Glancing at each other in agreement, they moved quickly about the room and whispered to the participants to rise and leave them alone with Carl. When they had all gone, Norman opened the shutters, letting in the light of day.
Carl’s face was clearly full of pain and rage. He was muttering some words such as “Latter,” “truly,” “won’t,” “will,” “faithful,” “forever,” “prime.” But they could make out only a jumble of words that conveyed no sense.
Gradually Carl straightened. He took one or two deep breaths, then stumbled to a chair, sat down, and covered his face with his hands.
“Leave me be,” Norman and Albert heard him say in a muffled voice. “I’ll get to you later.”
They left him alone.
The next day, when all three met, Carl was composed, smiling, and as masterful as usual, until Albert mentioned the previous day’s happenings. Carl’s face clouded over. He would not look at either of them. He only said: “We too have our enemies. Our enemy. The Latter” (he gave a special emphasis to this word) “would disturb all harmony of psyche and reality, of mind and body.” He repeated these phrases over and over as if repeating a ritual recitation, until he began shaking and perspiring.
When Norman suggested that they put off that afternoon’s session, Carl was vehement. To delay was to give in to the Latter. They must at all costs keep on, Carl said. They were on the brink of a history-making breakthrough.
The “breakthrough” took place in the late autumn of 1972.
Once Carl attained the first proficiency in astral travel, his next aim was to use that skill in order to attain at least one of his former incarnations.
Reincarnation, for Carl, was a very definite reality. He believed that the psyche of each person had multiple “layers” or “tiers.” Each “layer” or “tier” was evolved during one of several successive lifetimes, and every human being was composed of such “layers.” He also believed that the unifying factor for all such “layers” was one particular “layer” in which the person in question had received a direct light from “divinity.” For, at that precious moment, the reincarnating psyche became perfectly human. And, for Carl, to be perfectly human was to be indestructible. He called this unifying “layer” the “alpha layer.”
Carl theorized further that, in the freedom of astral travel, that alpha layer would come to the fore; but only the forceful action of one’s will, prodded by the intelligent interrogation of a monitor, could help bring it out. If there never had been an alpha layer in the evolution of a psyche, then such a psyche would merely enjoy astral travel, but obviously never attain a reincarnation in the full sense of the word.
Carl’s progress in reaching his alpha layer or principal incarnation was relatively slow. He began by studying the audio and visual tapes of his astral-travel sessions. He was searching for clues in words and actions. A special language, specific names and places, gestures that had a cultural, ethnic, religious, or even geographical connotation—these could be clues to the emergent alpha layer he was seeking.
From looking at fragmentary shots of his assistants taken occasionally and accidentally by the cameras as they panned over the entire scene at the sessions, Carl detected traces of what he felt was an astounding phenomenon: at times one or another of his assistants unconsciously made a gesture or took up a momentary attitude which corresponded to his own words and/or actions at that particular point in the session. Some of his own psychic ambient was obviously affecting those witnessing and assisting at the session. He did not know what this meant, but it all helped, with fresh indications of where to search for his alpha layer.
It was by the coordination of all these clues that Carl finally uncovered his own alpha layer: an incarnation back in the early days of Christianity in Roman times. His own mind and memory were like a sieve through which bits and scraps of perception were being shaken and sifted; they all concerned scenes, names, objects, actions, and events which, during the group review of the sessions, were determined to be identifiably of Roman and early Italian origin. Most of the jumbled words and phrases he used in session were classical Latin.
The name Petrus kept returning again and again. At first, they thought that this referred to Peter, the Apostle and Bishop of Rome. But, although Roma (Rome) did come up in connection with Petrus, together with other names historically connected with Peter, it became clear that the Petrus in question had something to do rather with Roman Italy, with the East, and with the sea.
What intrigued Carl and the others as they went over the tapes after each of the sessions was that, whenever the name Petrus was mentioned by Carl, one of his assistants would—apparently without realizing it—do one of two things. Either he raised his hand momentarily in the old Roman salute: outstretched arm, upraised hand, fingers together and pointing upward, palm turned outward. Or he would crouch momentarily, as if he were about to get down on all fours.
Bit by bit, Carl and his associates honed and refined the method of conducting the sessions. Albert, the chief monitor, developed a technique of interrogation. Carl’s power of recollection subsequent to each session increased. They became more expert in reading the tapes of the sessions. It was only a matter of time and of the right occasion, Carl kept telling them. One day they would hit the target.
An offhand remark by a colleague who inquired how his work was going gave Carl a small but valuable clue. At the end of the conversation, the colleague quipped that, if his sainted Irish grandmother were alive, she would tell him to hold s
pecial sessions on the feast day of All Souls. She had always said that the souls of the dead returned to earth on that day. Carl always considered his friend’s remark as a “message” from the world of spirits.
On November 2, 1972, Carl held an unusual session of his special student group. With the help of Albert and Norman and his closest associates, he was going to make another astral bid to reach one of his reincarnations—the one he always seemed to be striving for but had never successfully achieved.
As was customary, the group met in the audition room an hour before daybreak. Carl seemed in fine form. He was tranquil and happy-looking as he greeted each of his group affectionately. He was in full command of the situation. He lay down on the leather couch and was connected to the various monitoring machines. The audio and visual recorders were started. Then all recited together the prayers Carl had written.
Carl’s speech throughout this session was almost completely in Latin with an occasional Greek word or phrase and some expressions in a language they ascertained later to be a form of Coptic.
Carl apparently had no difficulty in attaining the high-gate position for his astral journey. Once he passed into high-gate, the anticipation among the onlookers became extreme. They sensed that this was one of the rare occasions in their lives when they might witness a genuine scientific breakthrough. They knew by now that in his former reincarnations, Carl had belonged to the ancient Roman world in early Christian times. But he had not, up to this point, found out where he had been living, the identity he had assumed in that reincarnation, and the events that had marked his life in those ancient days.
As Carl had continued over the months searching for his alpha layer by means of high-gate astral excursions, levitation of his inert body began to occur, but only in association with the ancient Roman incarnation for which he was now purposely searching. His body lifted off the couch ever so slightly; it remained suspended in midair without touching the couch, and returned by itself to the surface of the couch as Carl returned to normalcy. There was no regularity to the occurrence of this phenomenon of levitation, except as it was associated with his chance excursions to Roman Italy, and there were never any side effects apparent in Carl’s physical well-being.
The videotape made on this particular occasion shows Carl lying motionless on the couch. Donna and Bill are sitting at the foot of the couch; both have an intent look most of the time. But the same changes pass over their faces as over the others around the couch—Albert and Norman sitting at the head of the couch, Keith and Charlie at the far side, and the two technicians attending the monitoring machines. If one did not know better, one would be tempted to say that all present were brothers and sisters. For the intensity of the emotions portrayed on their faces produced such a similarity in looks that it is as though an invisible wash painted on them mysteriously had made all one family.
With Carl’s passage beyond high-gate, everyone leaned forward, eyes wide open, faces drawn, completely absorbed in and concentrating on Carl’s face and words. As Carl’s body, still supine, rose slightly from the couch, all sat back in their chairs, a gaze of awe and reverence sweeping across their faces.
Albert’s voice took up the interrogations. “Who are you?”
There is a small pause. Then Carl answered. “Peter, a Roman citizen.”
“Where do you live?”
“In Aquileia.”
“What day is it?”
“The feast of Lord Neptune.”
“What are you about today?”
“We are celebrating the mystery of salvation.”
“Who is with you?”
“Those of the sacrament.”
“What sacrament?”
“The sacrament.”
“Why here?”
“This is where the Tortoise confronts the Rooster.”
“Where?”
“In the secret oratory.”
“How do you celebrate the mystery?”
“We adore the Tortoise. We curse the Rooster.”
“Why?”
“The Rooster has corrupted the salvation.”
“How?”
There was no answer from Carl, but the expression on his face changed several times. What looked like indignation, pain, anger, fear, joy skimmed across his features. His pulse and heartbeat quickened. Albert waited for five minutes, then tried again.
“Where are you now and what is happening?”
“Beside the Rooster facing the Tortoise.”
For the first time Carl’s body stirred—ever so slightly, still in levitation. Donna noticed it immediately. She glanced at Norman, who shook his head: no need for alarm, he was indicating. Carl’s body then began to vibrate all over. The look on his face was one of effort.
Albert reflected a moment, then made up his mind.
“Are you continuing with the rite of the sacrament?”
Carl made no answer. He was going limp and quiet. His pulse and heartbeat were back to normal. His body lowered gently, imperceptibly back onto the couch. He was returning to high-gate obviously, and the session had to be almost over.
When this much was clear, they all acted out their parts. The monitoring machines and recorders were turned off. As usual, everyone stood up then and filed out. Norman, the last out the door, paused to switch off the light, then stepped outside and gently pulled the door to.
He had closed it and was about to join the others when his nerves were jangled. They all heard laughter, a sardonic cackle, a peal of mockery and vicious amusement coming from the audition room.
They looked at each other incredulously, fully persuaded that it could not be so, that there must be some explanation. The tone of the laughter was so outrageously out of keeping with their mood of reverence and gratitude that everyone grimaced with disgust and a little grain of fear.
As the last notes of derision and sneering amusement died away, Albert turned the handle of the door and opened it. They all looked at the blackness of the open doorway. Donna, nearest to Albert, craned over his shoulder. There was no sound, no light. Dimly, Albert made out Carl’s inert form. He was still asleep. Albert shrugged his shoulders in puzzlement and pulled the door closed quietly.
Donna said nothing. But while the door was open, she had noticed a strange smell in the room. She looked at Albert, then finally asked him if she was crazy or if anyone else had smelled it, too.
No need to be alarmed, Albert told her. He and Norman had noticed the smell after several experiments and had discussed it with Carl. They did not understand it yet. But that, he said, was why they were scientists—to find out what happened and why it happened.
Donna still has a clear memory of that smell. It was not unpleasant. It was strange. Neither of any animal nor of any plant nor of any chemical she had ever known. A deep sense memory of it remained with her for many weeks.
Between this moment and Carl’s exorcism one year later, Donna was to experience that smell again and again. Part of her later distress came from the fact that, by the time of the exorcism, she had come to like it.
From the data of the sessions two things became obvious: Carl’s former incarnation had been localized at some special place in the Italian town of Aquileia; and the high point each year in that former life had been the feast of the ancient Roman god, Neptune. This feast day in modern calendars would be July 23. They resolved, therefore, to be in Aquileia on July 23 of the following year.
During the intervening months between the All Souls session and their July trip, Carl took to wearing the two emblems of Neptune, the dolphin and the trident, on a chain around his neck. He also became more abstracted than ever before from his physical surroundings and spent a great deal of time listening repeatedly to the recordings of his trances. He tried on several occasions to write about it all, but he never got beyond a few paragraphs. The word spoken to him in his teenage vision, “Wait!” seemed to be his watchword.
Meanwhile, he made one further advance in his psychic accomplishment. He
claimed several times to have acquired a new power: to be able to be in two places at the same time because, he said, of a psychic “double” he could project forcefully into visible reality some hundred miles from where he was.
During these months Carl’s directions for the personal life of his associates got much more dogmatic and absolutist in tone. They were always given in gentle terms. It was merely that, as one of them remarked, Carl no longer gave them any alternatives. There was no “either/or.” They all had to be “purified,” Carl said. They must be cleansed of any stains attaching to their minds and wills, stains which came from previously accepted lies about Jesus and Christianity.
Most of his followers found the regimen Carl established for them to be a healthy one. They slept better, studied with deeper concentration, and ceased to be disturbed and distracted by inconsequential matters.
Now and again, some of them felt that they were abdicating some secret part of their being. Some felt vaguely disturbed, but it was hard to pin that disturbance down. And, anyway, the whole venture with Carl was exciting and new, and promised to lead them beyond the matter-of-fact horizons of ordinary daily existence.
Carl put no difficulty in their way when Christmas 1972 came; and they all went to their own homes to celebrate. But when Easter approached, he insisted that they spend it with him.
They did not attend any church or religious service. Instead, on Easter Saturday evening they all met beneath the ridge overlooking Carl’s favorite walk. From there they watched the sun go down while Carl maintained a running commentary on “true spirit.”
He had chosen as his subject the eternity of spirit. And, using the symbols of the tortoise for spirit’s eternity and of the rooster for the rising and setting sun of man’s intellect, he preached vehemently against “the mental corruption that destroyed the beauty of God’s word.” The sun, he said, would rise on the morrow and set on the morrow. So with every human resurrection. It was a constant rising and falling. Only spirit remained forever, like the ocean, like the tortoise, like the sky, like man’s will. There was much in the same strain, all very mystical and exultant.
Hostage to the Devil Page 48