Notice how some novels are swapping genres without changing their content? Where some stories were planted solidly in the Sci-Fi category ten or so years ago, they sit comfortably in the mystery or thriller bracket now, even with their content of psi, mediums, telepathy, etc. These below are not novels, but would certainly be references for a writer including these scientifically proven phenomena in their novels.
Also called Entanglement, according to Dr Dean Radin, or the A-Field, as Dr Erwin Laszlo has it, consider it to be an Internet which encompasses past and present, physical and ethereal with a connectivity that can be accessed to use the force there. So, more than a net; perhaps like a gel, or a jell-o that quivers throughout with recognition of even the tiniest of touches.
Some call this force “God”. Those that do, do not say they call it God, they say they know that it is God. So, for them, it is. For me, for now, that will do well. Scientist, Dr. Francis Collins, head of the Human Genome Project, finds no problem with reconciling science and faith, as he tells in his book The Language of God.
Others accept its existence without being able to name it. Can we learn to develop our natural ability to access this force beyond the mere knowledge that it indeed exists? What would we use it for, if we did?
Access to what I think of as the InterGel: Considering the brain to be one’s transmitter/receiver is easy, but not necessarily accurate. If plants can also access the InterGel, where might one find the brain of a lily? There is no doubt, scientifically, that plants react to the InterGel.
For us, the Receiver examples, or downloads, are sight, gut-feeling, intuition. These are impossible to influence as received, only in interpretation. At a hundred metres, too far to see the eyeballs of the target person, one knows when one has been seen in return, even if one may pretend this is not the case. The signal of acknowledgement of having been seen is too strong to suppress and is sent simultaneously. Also the powerful feeling of being watched… a message on the InterGel. Dr Rupert Sheldrake has done a huge amount of interesting research in this regard.
Sender Access, or uploads: It seems that signals of query or intent need purity, or honesty. Not just moral honesty, but intention uncluttered by human deviousness. It would be nice to think that the power can only be used by good intentions and frightening to suppose there is no obvious reason why this might not be so. Prayer in desperation can be honest, but is often tainted by ego manipulation. I’ll be good, if you just grant me this one favour, Lord.
Some people are trained to purify their connectivity and can do so at will, e.g. some philosophers, religious persons, mediums. Some people in special segments of the autistic spectrum are incapable of distorting the output of their transmitters in an impure fashion, but presumably some are much more well-tuned than the broad majority who style themselves as ‘normal’. It would be of significant interest to observe the abilities of ‘autistic’ people in this regard. Or to test ‘mediums’ and the ‘fey’ with respect to their position in the autistic arc. Has much research been done?
http://noetic.org/noetic/ will introduce those interested in this paradigm quake to a whole new world.
One of Sheila’s cows fell ill with mastitis (Staphylococcus aureus), which should be easily treatable with penicillin, but it evolved into blue udder and gas gangrene, which the new vet, Gordon Strick, told us was more often than not a fatal disease. He did what he could. Sheila put a stretcher bed at the side of the suffering animal and slept there. The cow’s skin seemed to have air bubbles under it so that it sounded a bit like bubble-wrap when you passed your hand over it.
I placed my hands lightly on the cow and asked the Powers That Be for help. Gordon was amazed that the cow recovered.
Sheila was furious. It was not my hocus pocus but the vet’s attentions and her dedication that had healed the animal! (In years to come, when we had a sick animal, she would apply her nursing skills and modern medicine, then she would say: “Alright, now bring those healing hands!”)
2006: Kitten. At the Backpackers, while doing a stand-in stint without a manager, my Alsatian, Nigby, snapped at a kitten that came to take a mouthful of his supper. His canine pierced the kit’s skull and some brain appeared. The poor thing started shitting and spasming. I cried and held it in my hands, praying that it might live. I laid it on old carpet under-felt on a tool box in the store room. The next day, when I went to check up on it, it had disappeared. Probably jerked itself off the box, I thought, and was lying in amongst the picks and shovels stacked in the corner of the room. I would look for the body later, before it started smelling, but forgot.
A week thereafter I saw it hunting the ducklings on the pond, living in the reeds along the fence. It was very wild, no longer the friendly kitten it had been, but definitely the same animal. It gave me thoughts of Stephen King‘s Pets Graveyard. The next manager managed to tame it enough to feed it, but it remained in the reeds…
2007: Sat 9th June – Lunch with my son, Ryan & his wife Elaine; their elder son, Thomas, is growing in leaps and bounds, but baby Nick has some-or-other syndrome manifested by twisted feet. When nobody was looking, I held them and communed with The Power to get them sorted, tears running down my face. Can’t do any harm, I thought, although I’d never tried on humans before, only animals.
Ryan took my daughter and me to the airport to fly to the UK to attend my Uncle Claude Arkell’s funeral the next day. The exciting news from Ryan when he picked us up on Sunday, 17th was that Nick’s feet diagnosis had been changed to something he’d soon grow out of…
2015: I had never heard of Locked-in Syndrome, before my new dentist in George (City) told me that his wife suffered from it. For three years she had lain in a home unable to move anything except her eyes, and blinking. All the voluntary muscles except the eyes are paralysed. ( https://en.wikipedia.org › wiki › Locked-in_syndrome.)
For weeks, I was tormented by the thought that prayer might help, and the laying on of hands, but I battled with the knowledge that hundreds of devout folk had undoubtedly prayed for her recovery for years, obviously without success. So why would The Power listen to my pleading; it seemed to be a totally arrogant assumption.
Nothing ventured, I eventually decided. I wrote to the Dentist to ask his permission to visit his wife, having told him a story about cows and cats and kids, insisting that it had nothing to do with me personally, but perhaps I could sometimes serve as a conduit? He agreed, and informed the nursing staff of my intended visit, making an appointment.
I drove to George, to the home, and found the reception where I gave my name and the name of the woman I was there to see. They asked me to wait while they prepared her for visitors, then showed me to a nearby three-bed ward. Her bed was curtained off to give privacy.
She was semi-reclined in a wheelchair; a beautiful blonde of about thirty-five, lightly made up. Her body was slim, although I guessed she would have been more muscular with normal activity and diet. It seemed she was fed by gastrostomy tube, and breathed with a trachyotomy airway. I have no idea if I was able to hide my discomfort at seeing her helplessness as I once again was tortured by the thought that I was making a big mistake.
Haltingly, I introduced myself and apologised for disturbing her routine, while thinking that maybe she would welcome any deviation from that. I explained that if she permitted, I would like to pray for her, to ask God to release her from her prison. I took hold of her hand, the tears pouring down my face, swallowing the recurring lumps in my throat, and I told her about cows and cats and kids and begged for The Power to aid her release…
Then after a bit she got agitated; her breathing became ragged and I was afraid that I had badly upset her. I apologised as best I could and said goodbye, not knowing if I had been a help or a horror.
She passed away about ten weeks later. Was that a release? Not the one I had prayed for, anyway. The whole experience shook me, but I suppose enriched me in some ways to keep searching for answers. Some say it is better to journey than to arrive.