The Real Men in Black

by Nick Redfern

  Then there are the memorable words of Colin Bennett, a firsthand witness to a Man in Black in the early 1980s: “Barker may indeed have written episodes of supposed UFO history himself just to keep the narrative going, or kick-start it when it lagged. But skeptics, foaming at the mouth, should be warned here that this is not witness to their claims of the falsehood of all ufological experience. Story-breeders may fulfill precisely the object of contact: not only will they tell the story, they will expand it, adding episodes of their own in order to try and initiate mythological change and development.... Such mimetic game-play operates on the recognized principle that when we imagine we create a form of life.”

  What we can ascertain from the combined words of Greenfield, Beckley, Steiger, Moseley, Bishop, Bennett, and Clark is that one must be very careful how one interprets the published words of both Barker and Keel. And one must also note that this mighty duo had no qualms about turning a fairly good story into an atmospheric and Gothic one—a bright, sunny day becomes the proverbial dark and stormy night. They were not, however, simply concocting stories from their collective imaginations. Rather, they were telling fantastic truths, albeit in somewhat distorted, imaginative, literary fashions. The reason? To provoke new thought, ideas, and paradigms.

  Thus, the Men in Black certainly live, but perhaps our idea of them as derived from the works of Barker and Keel should be viewed through careful filters.

  We may now have somewhat of an understanding of the complex players and chain of events that led to the early formation of the MIB legend. This same legend, however, cannot, under any conventional circumstances, explain the myriad encounters with the Men in Black that followed—and that continue to follow—in the dark wake of Bender’s hallucinogenic experiences. There may, however, be an explanation for this conundrum. And it’s an explanation that takes us on a wild ride into some truly fantastic realms of possibility.

  The imagery provoked by Bender’s three Men in Black and the tales of their visits and threats were, and still are, undeniably powerful and emotive ones. And, much like a modern-day meme, such imagery quickly spread throughout the UFO research community, eventually reaching the U.S. government, J. Edgar Hoover, the military, the media, and the world of Hollywood. These undeniably powerful motifs, born of Bender and elaborated upon by the story-telling techniques of Barker and Keel, and subsequently instilled in the minds of thousands of people, may have inadvertently led to the creation of a whole new breed of Men in Black that extended far beyond anything Bender and Barker could have dreamed of back in the early 1950s. It is the breed of the Tulpa. And if you don’t have an understanding of the nature of the Tulpa, you are now about to.

  15

  Tulpas and Vampires

  “The Men in Black tend to seem badly briefed,” Chris O’Brien suggests. “It’s like they manifest for a particular task, and they know what they’re supposed to do and what they’re supposed to say, but they exist in a framework of having no context. In other words, they are almost like manifested beings, or manufactured, temporary entities that don’t seem to have any sort of depth to them.”

  He continues, “The $64,000,000 question is, Who’s behind this? The Men in Black may be some sort of collective manifestation. I think there may be some sort of symbiotic relationship between the phenomena and people’s expectations of how it’s going to appear. And they’re very cliché, too—very cliché—which tends to support the idea that we, or something, are manifesting these entities. It’s almost like they’re Tulpas.”

  And what, you may be asking, are Tulpas? To answer that complex question, we first need to focus our attentions upon a certain Alexandra David-Neel. Born Louise Eugenie Alexandrine Marie David in France on October 24, 1868, David-Neel was the first woman ever to be granted the prestigious title of Lama in Tibet. Throughout her century-long life, David-Neel—who was both an anarchist and a Buddhist—traveled widely across Asia, had a deep love for the Himalayas, and, in 1932, penned a fascinating book about her many and varied adventures titled Magic and Mystery in Tibet. It is, in many ways, due to David-Neel that the phenomenon of the Tulpa has come to be known and appreciated outside of Tibetan teachings and culture.

  The word Tulpa can be traced directly back to the Tibetan language and refers specifically to an entity, or a being, that attains some form of meaningful reality after being conjured up solely from the imagination of the conjurer. The process of creation is a complex one and requires an immense amount of skill and dedication, but those carefully trained in the ancient art of the Tulpa can draw the imagery out of the confines of their minds and into the world of the physical.

  David-Neel, it transpires, had become fascinated and obsessed by the lure, mystery, and potential of the Tulpa—to the point at which she ultimately elected to try and create one for herself. In David-Neel’s case, she chose to visualize the image of an overweight, genial monk— perhaps not unlike the Friar Tuck character in Hollywood Robin Hood films. The process of trying to create the image of the monk was both time-consuming and draining, but, after a while, David-Neel was finally able to see her ethereal monk not only in her mind but also in the real world. In other words, a brand-new kind of spectral life form was coming into being.

  In time, the vision of the monk grew in clarity and substance until it was completely indistinguishable from physical reality, as David-Neel said: “He became a kind of guest, living in my apartment. I then broke my seclusion and started for a tour, with my servants and tents. The monk included himself in the party. Though I lived in the open riding on horseback for miles each day, the illusion persisted. It was not necessary for me to think of him to make him appear. The phantom performed various actions of the kind that are natural to travelers and that I had not commanded. For instance, he walked, stopped, looked around him. The illusion was mostly visual, but sometimes I felt as if a robe was lightly rubbing against me, and once a hand seemed to touch my shoulder” (David-Neel 1971).

  But, rather like rebellious teenagers tired of Mom and Dad telling them what to do and what not to do, the day finally came when the manufactured monk slipped from David-Neel’s conscious control. Even worse: Its genial character began to morph in both its attitude and appearance. David-Neel was now entering truly dangerous and, for her, previously uncharted territory. In her own words: “The fat, chubby-cheeked fellow grew leaner, his face assumed a vaguely mocking, sly, malignant look. He became more troublesome and bold. In brief, he escaped my control” (David-Neel 1971).

  At this crucial juncture, David-Neel concluded that things had gone much too far, and she began to apply a variety of ancient techniques of Lamaism to try and reabsorb the now-malevolent creature back into the depths of her own mind. Not surprisingly, the Tulpa was most unwilling to face personal obliteration. Fortunately, however, David-Neel finally succeeded, after a horrendous period of more than six months, during which time the mind-monk grew ever more vicious, spiteful, and filled with hate for its creator, as it struggled—ultimately in vain—to prevent David-Neel from ending its “life.”

  How can such a creature of the imagination break free of its mind-based moorings, rather than only surfacing when the creator wishes it to appear? A Tulpa, David-Neel was told by Tibetan occultists, begins to act independently when it is endowed with sufficient vitality and energy to take on some semblance of physical reality. She was further informed that this is an almost-inevitable part of the overall process and is not at all unlike the natural birthing process that occurs between mother and child. Tibetan magicians had also informed David-Neel of cases involving Tulpas that had been dispatched to fulfill specific missions or tasks, but subsequently failed to do so, and instead began following their own dangerously mischievous agendas. If the creator of the Tulpa should pass away before the deconstruction process is completed, David-Neel was warned, it will do its utmost to cling to its life. And if left unchecked it stands a very good chance of thriving.

  Alexandra David-Neel, however, was not the only pers
on of significance to have brought—recklessly so, and without any meaningful forethought, one might say— Tulpas into our world from the depths of her mind.

  Born in 1873, Franek Kluski, whose real name was Teofil Modrzejewski, had a long history of paranormal experiences that began in childhood. He recalled, for example, seeing dead relatives, long-deceased pets, and other phantom animals. But it was not until 1918, after a séance, that Kluski’s mediumistic potential was finally recognized, and a series of truly mind-blowing séances began in earnest. Indeed, Kluski’s reputation was such that the number of those attending his sittings very soon ran into the hundreds and included a host of people from all walks of society.

  Most intriguing were the materializations that occurred during Kluski’s séances. These included a huge dog, a spectral bird, a giant cat that resembled a lion, and a large ape-like creature (many of which parallel the unidentified entities seen in England’s Cannock Chase woods referred to in the Introduction). According to Gustave Geley, MD, who participated in Kluski’s séances at the Paris Institut Metapsychique International, “All these phantoms give the impression of being alive” (Barrington 1993). Notably, these quasi-real creatures also materialized in front of Kluski in his own abode on occasions when he was not performing his séances. In other words, the giant cat, the phantom dog, and the spectral monkey-beast eventually took on independent existences—just as had Alexandra David-Neel’s chubby monk.

  But how do the entities that manifested before Franek Kluski and the maniacal monk that Alexandra David-Kneel created thrive in our own environment? The answer is twofold, and is as terrifying as it is simple: The very fact that we believe in the Tulpa assists its ability to maintain a significant foothold in our reality. And, whereas we feed on animal, fruit, and vegetable, they feed on elevated states of human emotion. How do they achieve that ability to feed? They deliberately go out of their way to provoke emotional states.

  Could it be that Albert Bender’s personal terror about the Men in Black and Gray Barker’s ability to vividly portray their actions led to such a strong belief in (and acceptance of) the MIB that they strode right out of the minds of Bender and Barker and into the real world, in the form of Tulpas? To answer this, let’s take a careful look at what we know about the Men in Black.

  The Tulpa thrives on high states of emotion. In the case of the Men in Black, that high state of emotion would be pure fear. This, one could argue, would perhaps explain why the MIB are always careful to ensure they instill terror in witnesses of UFO activity—even when the case itself may not be of any high degree of significance or importance. In other words, it is the fear-drenched response of the witness—rather than the actual intricacies of the UFO encounter itself—that is of vital importance to the Men in Black. It is this, more than anything else, that dictates their actions and sustains their existence in our world.

  Timothy Green Beckley makes a valuable observation about this issue: “The weird thing about the Men in Black is that they sometimes take an interest in the most mundane cases where, if it wasn’t for the presence of the Men in Black, no-one would care about the sightings themselves. So, that’s odd: They draw attention to themselves by frightening and silencing people whose sightings aren’t really that special at all. They just seem to pick witnesses at random, sometimes.”

  Maybe that randomness is not quite so random, after all. Maybe the MIB are driven by the one thing that defines us: the need for self-preservation. Perhaps, when the actions of the Men in Black are less widely reported within UFO publications and the mainstream media, belief in their existence and the attendant emotional response to their presence begin to diminish. And as that belief shrinks to the point at which they are seen as little more than hoaxes, myths, and legends, their power and presence in our environment diminishes also. Thus, they become little more than specters without true form or identity. This may also go some way toward explaining why, on occasion, the Men in Black barely seem self-aware, and behave in such odd fashions. Maybe, as their lives begin to fragment and disintegrate around them, they literally start to lose their minds.

  Perhaps this is why Men in Black activity seems to occur in cycles and waves, such as at Point Pleasant, West Virginia, in the 1960s: The MIB actively seek out UFO witnesses to ensure strong emotional feedings. And as the MIB then feed upon the emotions of the witnesses, their ability to operate and be seen in our world in full physical form is extended. Inevitably this added opportunity for them to coexist with us physically, and for a longer period of time, means a greater likelihood of being spotted by others, who then also fall victim to their visits...and, by this process, the MIB gain even more emotional strength.

  Thus a cycle is created wherein one MIB sighting leads to another, and belief in their existence is bolstered via the media and word of mouth. The Men in Black then secure an ever-increasing foothold in our world as emotions run high, sightings escalate, and the energy-based food supply of the MIB grows. But then, they suddenly vanish as enigmatically as they first appeared. Why? The answer may be very simple: They are now fully fueled and sated. And like an animal in the wild, they will only seek out fresh, new prey when hunger, and a dire need to ensure their curious form of life continues, begins to overtake them once again.

  Perhaps occasionally the refueling process fails to work, such as in the 1976 case of Dr. Herbert Hopkins, when the energy of his Man in Black plummeted to the levels one might expect to see in a diabetic in need of an emergency sugar fix. Perhaps Hopkins’s visitor, unable to suck the emotion of out of Hopkins for reasons beyond our comprehension, headed off into the dark night to taunt and feed upon another unfortunate player in the world of the UFO.

  There is another interesting bit of information to be gained from Dr. Hopkins’s visitation: It was specifically his invitation that led the Man in Black to darken his door and enter the family home. I am reminded here of the old folklore concerning the way the legendary vampire can only enter one’s home when it receives permission to do so. The vampires of centuries past were also predatory life forms that derived sustenance from humanity—albeit in the form of blood. Remember, too, that, in England in 2000, Colin Perks’s Woman in Black stood in silence on his doorstep, specifically awaiting permission to enter his home.

  I have to wonder, therefore: Could some of those old legends of blood-sucking beings feeding upon us have actually been distortions of real-life encounters with proto-MIB characters in centuries past, whose sole mission was to secure vital nourishment from us? After all, is there really very much difference between a black-cloaked, pale-faced vampire craving our blood, and a black-suited, white-as-a-sheet Man in Black voraciously hungry for our emotions? I would strongly suggest not. Perhaps, therefore, Albert Bender only gave birth to modern-day, Tulpa-style Men in Black. Maybe, in centuries past, there were many others like Bender who also inadvertently—or maybe deliberately—opened the doors of their subconscious and unleashed similar imagery into the real world.

  Lest you think I am the only one who has suggested such a theory with respect to the Men in Black, consider the words of Allen Greenfield: “The thing about the cases that Keel, Barker, and a number of others were most interested in is that these Men in Black don’t seem to be human beings at all. They seem like they have to make an effort to appear human. It’s like they’re trying to project their existence from moment to moment, and having a lot of trouble doing it.” He continues, “In some cases, people feel like the Men in Black have sucked energy out of the air, so you have vampire comparisons—psi-vampires. Whatever they are, they seem to draw their energy from the environment around them.”

  Continuing on this line of thought, Greenfield says,

  Maybe the Men in Black are generated by fear. I have a hunch that fear may be a major factor in generating a good deal of the phenomenon of UFOs in general. Although there seems to be some separate intelligence that is involved too. I don’t think it’s all generated, pure and simple, by the witnesses. But what happens i
s that the witnesses experience a kind of fear—Barker thought it was a combination of eroticism and fear, and he danced around that issue because of the times he lived in, and because of certain parts of his personal life that he kept private at the time. It seems to me there is a kind of sexual panic that is the ingredient that produces, or predicts, the manifestation of the coming of the fear-inducing beings. And that would range from the Men in Black and their threats to the alien abduction phenomenon and the physical examination angle which contains all sorts of sexual undertones.

  Greenfield’s words are equally relevant to the stories of Albert Bender that contained strong themes of both terror and space-girl eroticism. Greenfield offers the following with regard to the operations of the Men in Black, which also echoes my thoughts on the puzzle as it relates to the idea of Tulpas: “It seems that the whole experience causes fear to the witness, and I wonder if generating fear is the entire goal of the experience. If whatever the source of this is derives its energy from literally soaking up human fear, then the stronger the emotion, the stronger the fear. I would say it’s almost certainly the case that when the Men in Black tell people not to talk about UFOs, that’s not done to silence them.”

  So, what is the reason? Greenfield’s theories are right in line with the notion that the MIB may be Tulpas: “It’s done to scare them into this state of high emotion. The threat is a ruse to create this rush of fear and energy. And, ironically, the reverse is true about the Men in Black threats. People are told not to talk about what they’ve seen, but that actually sends them screaming and running to the police, their priest, or UFO groups. So, the response of the witness is usually the exact opposite of what the Men in Black are allegedly trying to achieve.”