At the 2016 Science of
Consciousness Conference in Tucson, AZ, I saw a presentation by Dr. Peter
Fenwick, an NDE researcher at Cambridge. Dr. Fenwick had been studying the French mystic, Alain Forget. Fenwick had filmed observable globules of light floating around a room, as Forget taught
meditation to his students. As I said in
my last post, light phenomena are known to be associated with both death and mystical
experiences. Forget, however, has the ability to
give light to his students, who report feeling an energy opening their
hearts, according to Fenwick.
Hyperscanning
of Forget’s brain and a student showed very high gamma waves in the left
posterior area of the brain and beta waves spreading out from the temporal
lobes.
High gamma indicates heightened perception and beta indicates normal awake alertness. Fenwick said Forget was clearly
driving the student’s brain with his own. However, if Forget wore goggles, the light connection
failed, showing the effect had something to do with his eyes.
Fenwick
is not alone in his endeavor to understand light phenomena. After the
presentation, a young researcher from neuroscientist Michael Persinger’s Canadian lab came to
the microphone. She said her boss was doing studies on light transfer as well. An
Indian man also came forward, claiming such non-local events can be produced even
at great physical distances.
In
1996, Dr. Fenwick wrote a book, The Truth
in the Light, about people being enveloped in light and seeing beautiful
colors, encountering a presence, hearing a voice, or encountering visible
“spirits” during Near Death Experiences (NDEs). During his Tucson presentation,
he claimed experiencers have no privileged age range; religious belief is not
important; they see beautiful landscapes and hear heavenly music with high “emotional
quality” showing “strong involvement of the right hemisphere.” NDErs mostly
see relatives, even if they didn’t know they were dead, and always in their
prime. Sometimes, a “Being of Light” sends the experiencer back to life careening through
a tunnel.
Forget had his first mystical experience as
a young man of 25 while sitting in Chartres Cathedral. Going to sacred places to read metaphysical texts and meditate silently was his
practice. On this occasion,
awakened by the notion that
he was not his thoughts or emotions, Forget became “one with life
and free of fear.” He claimed, in a Jungian way, he had dismantled his shadow and opened up
his soul. With thought and desires gone,
light
appeared. He could now help others attain “a state of consciousness
that transcends time and space and transmit energy that has a power to
accelerate their evolution (17).” Another mystical event at 39 removed all
thought and further awakened him to the need to drill into his/our
repressed layers and develop a body of energy, that is, of light. Forget claimed he could turn his energetic state on or off at will to operate in the world.
Coincident
with my study on poets, Evelyn Underhill, in her 1911 classic,
Mysticism:
A Study in the Nature and Development of Spiritual Consciousness, claimed
that visionaries, poets and saints find the “reality behind the veil (4).” This
singular reality is Absolute: senses are “fused into a single and ineffable act
of perception, and colour and sound are known as aspects of one thing (7).” By
altering their consciousness, they “apprehend a deeper reality . . . unrelated
to human speech,” which can only be expressed as poetry (31). “‘How
glorious,’ says the Voice of the Eternal to St. Catherine of Siena, ‘is that
soul which has indeed been able to pass from the stormy ocean to Me, the Sea
Pacific, and in that Sea, which is Myself, to fill the pitcher of her heart
(37).’” Underhill showed that with light and heart entwined, union with “the
One” becomes an “ineffable illumination of pure love (41).” St. Augustine too saw
“the light that never changes” with the “mysterious eye of the soul,” as
“primarily a movement of the heart.”
Here, Underhill is particularly clear
about the unconscious aspect of creativity:
In the poet, the musician, the great mathematician or
inventor, powers lying below the threshold, and hardly controllable by their
owner’s conscious will, clearly take a major part in the business of perception
and conception. In all creative acts, the larger share of the work is done
subconsciously: its emergence is in a sense automatic. This is equally true of mystics,
artists, philosophers, discoverers, and rulers of men. The great religion,
invention, work of art, always owes inception to some sudden uprush of intuitions
or ideas for which the superficial self cannot account . . . this is ‘inspiration’;
the opening of the sluices, so that those waters of truth in which all life is
bathed may rise to the level of consciousness . . . behind the world of sense
(63).
She was also very poetic herself:
“[The self] has, it seems, certain
tentacles which, once she learns to uncurl them, will stretch sensitive fingers
far beyond that limiting envelope in which her normal consciousness is
contained, and give her news of a higher reality than that which can be deduced
from the reports of the senses. The fully developed and completely conscious
human soul can open as an anemone does, and
know
the ocean in which she is bathed. This act, this condition of
consciousness, in which barriers are obliterated, the Absolute flows in on us,
and we, rushing out to its embrace, “find and feel the Infinite above all
reason and above all knowledge,” is the true “mystical state (51).”
Underhill says mysticism is a dissociative state of consciousness that can be attained through self-hypnosis, dancing, music or other exaggerations of
natural rhythm, as Persinger has suggested. It can also happen
inadvertently, as I experienced myself on
one wonderful day in San Antonio, TX. With thought gone and and all of my senses titillated at once, I took a brief dip into the borderless bliss of Nirvana.
But,
as with poets, mystics did not always experience bliss. Sometimes they were plunged
into the so-called “dark night of the soul.” In both cases this would seem to
indicate bipolar disorder, with a switch between negative right and positive
left voices and visions, sometimes accompanied by a sudden inability to read (393). Some mystics, like Joan of Arc or Muhammad, were not literate from the start. It seems that the inability to read or write may open a space in heart and mind for intuitions of genius to enter unheralded as voices from a "holy" Other, especially in a solitary environment accompanied by deprivations.
Underhill’s
female saints often used food deprivation to attain ecstatic states. Mechthild
of Magdeburg, a 13
th century saint who wrote "The Flaming Light of
the Godhead," and Catherine of Siena, whose only food was the communion host, are two examples. Beyond starvation, Underhill emphasized that "reality present[ed] itself to them under
abnormal conditions . . . [t]hanks to their peculiar mental make up," citing
Mme Guyon and St. Teresa along with William Blake in 'Milton' and 'Jerusalem.'" The
very tenor and tone of mystical language, she added, "no less than musical and
poetic perception, tends naturally . . . to present itself in rhythmical
periods: a feature which is also strongly marked in writings obtained in the
automatic state (80)." Mystics must have "a nervous organization
of the artistic type (91)." She also identified their ability to
feel a sense of presence long before Michael Persinger’s studies (242). Finally, "Over and over again they return to
light-imagery (249)."
In
my book, I call this "nervous organization" an enhanced right hemisphere, where
language is either right dominant or bilateral, regardless of handedness. Illumination,
so-called because mystical knowledge and light come to the fore, occurs
following synchronization of the hemispheres and may involve a sense of
presence. St. Teresa sensed the presence of Jesus on her right side, but saw a
vision of a small male angel on her left side, who thrust a long spear of
gold into her heart and entrails, leaving her "on fire with a great love of God
(295)." The left hemisphere offered the image of Jesus, while the angel from the right
tortured her into ecstasy.
In
both poets and mystics, we see a common thread: early childhood trauma,
atypical lateralization, voracious reading habits in search of high significance,
deprivations, difficulties, mental exhaustion, with verbal expression sometimes
produced in dissociative states of consciousness. Alain Forget, despite his
assured countenance, is no exception. He was an only child who lost his mother
at 18 months and his father at 9 years old. Watching him speak in the
interview, we see him favoring his left hand, then his right, but mostly using
both at once. He has a long straight brow line more to the left, showing enhanced right
dominance. His ease of entering mystical states is in itself a prime qualification
for an atypical mind.
Why
does Forget call his book,
How to Get Out
of This Life Alive? He says from the very start that “As long as there is
death, there is fear. / Only victory over death will make fear die (3).” The
method of attaining this victory is through the Four D’s: Distancing,
Discernment, Disidentification and Discrimination. As Dr. Fenwick describes in his introduction to the book, the process requires a dismantling of the ego
through attentiveness, introspection, letting go, and deep self-questioning. In
Forget’s words, practicing the Four D’s allows you to transcend the world
of
“polar opposites” (conscious/unconscious)
to become
pure consciousness (20).
Forget
says our shadow begins with birth trauma, as we leave the undifferentiated
state in the maternal womb. He adds on the negative effect of early traumatic
experience on the developing brain, just as Allan N. Schore did in Affect Regulation and the Origin of the Self.
As I found in my poets, loss of a parent, parental attachment issues and/or a
genetic predisposition to emotional disorder can alter the brain. Dissociative
selves arise from painful experiences. Forget claims that by overcompensating for pains inflicted, we trigger anxiety. What is his simple formula for overcoming the darkness? Focus on three separate sensory
fields at once; for instance, feel your feet on the ground, listen to the sound
of birds in the trees, and look at a tree to detach from fearful thoughts and feelings.
Forget
also recommends 1) a regular practice of silence—30 minutes on an empty stomach
each day; 2) balancing one’s masculine side (left brain) and feminine side (the
creative and intuitive aspects of the right brain, as he puts it); 3) as you let go of anxiety, you sense that psychological time is an illusion; bad behavior
patterns dissolve and you now feel consciousness as energy (69). Letting go of
the gods of yore, you can perceive them rather as quantum,
magnetic, electromagnetic and electrochemical fields. Consciousness, he says, has now evolved into an
energetic state.
“We are all a mixture of light and dark," he says (153). By dismantling the shadow, you “transmute it bit by bit into a body of light (145).” Can anyone
develop a soul, a body of light? Categorically, no:
“When you come into this world,
you have the potential to crystallize a diamond to get out of it alive. It is
up to you to develop it. If the day you die, this crystallisation has not
gained sufficient substance, everything will dissolve in the collective
unconscious. But when your soul reaches a certain power level, you leave the
archetypes of this planet behind and your psychic destiny becomes cosmic
(150).”