They're Not Just "Targets"
May 2002 updated March 2003
An editorial essay about a serious internet photo-feedback target hunt.-- PJ
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For the last couple of weeks or so, I have combed the internet looking for good photos as target feedbacks for RV practice.
I was looking in particular for more targets with dates, places, for second-level tasking or dowsing. More "conceptual" options for practice. Some for my own growing pool, some for those of friends.
I chanced on some historical photos that were wonderful. I realized I could search for anything interesting I could come up with--anything!--and find a whole world I hadn't yet explored. Wow. Even ransom notes are scanned online. What next!
I ended up reading, and reading... I've learned more about the world this week than in many years of formal education.
A world in pictures disputes the disinformative propaganda my California gradeschools disguised as American history. With pictures, no less. Of documents and events... and the tragic events that made me repeatedly, spontaneously sob "I'm so sorry!" at photos of people who have been dead for sometimes over a century.
I found war photos... of men who looked like their souls had been stolen from their eyes, of marines who looked like scared little boys playing dress-up, of an endless parade of grim and tragic we call history and keep repeating, and repeating.
The internet has taken photo journalism to a new level.
One woman's trips to Iceland supplied a variety of gestalt level targets with location, while another's interest in Scotland supplied a few more; Hawaii's beauty and volcanic action will be wonderful targets, and the list went on--in a nearly Akashic Record kind of way, the internet is bringing the experience of individuals into the collective record for all to share.
Every government and media group seems to have a gallery, many spanning the last century with collections of the best pics they could find. Even FEMA has a photo gallery. Even the USDA.
Many of the most amazing pics of the century are from Pulitzer prize winning photos or photo essays. Oh yes, and pulitzer.org has their own portfolio of all winners since 1995 online.
Jane's World had more than I ever wanted in a collection of major military weapons, vehicle-things and occasional surprises. And most every state in the US has a photo journal of their state's history--from settling to slaves to railroads, from war to urbanization, from famous people to disasters.
NASA had a variety of pictures, more than I had time for, on so many different web addresses I wonder if even they know what all they've got. From the best pic yet of the center of the galaxy, to pics of things happening on earth for the space program or caught by satellite.
Recent pics show evidence, some layman researchers say, of significant doctorization (particularly of Mars), but one assumes there's nothing to hide (yet) on most other planets, moons, star clusters and nebulae, any of which are enough to cause awe in the heart of a girl who's been fascinated with space since age 4, when watching the first man step on the moon in grainy black and white.
The metaphysics of space are impossible to ignore. It's as if the micro-cellular structure of our own world has been blown up into cosmic size. One wonders what small chakra a spiral galaxy might be, and what reality there might be in worlds too small for us to measure. One realizes just how bleepin' insignificant our entire galaxy might be--not to mention our planet--not to mention our country--not to mention our micro-micro-selves from a more cosmic perspective.
And technology has its own Proof of Life. Many document science and technology dating back over a century; a nanotech firm provided a close-up photo of an ant carrying a 1mm square, clearly etched silicon chip. Some of the most amazing photos are found in the most unlikely places, and a search engine can show one so many worlds within worlds that it's easy to forget about this one while staring at them.
Anomalies come into their own on the internet, particularly in science fields where there is actual evidence either physical or empirical: a number of long-head skulls looking like the people in Egyptian drawings, of people who have at least a couple times the cranial capacity of norman humans (which can't be arranged by any form of 'binding' known, despite that dismissive explanation by skeptics). Quite a few mummified remains found in caves and mounds where 7-8' tall blonde and redhaired people "should not" be, according to The Official Story.
One surprise to me were the nearly endless examples of the mass robbery of artifacts over the last century in the USA in the name of science, evidencing perhaps only empirically now--but repeatedly enough to be taken seriously--that archeology is the most creative historical record outside theology, and that the Smithsonian has taken its place as the new Catholic Archives in which anything controversial will be collected in all haste--and may never see the light of curious eyes again.
(Considering modern 'psicop-scientism' and the Inquisition parallels, I find such a revelation sadly believable.)
In the midst of the photographs, there are stories. The stories of people who died without dreaming their words would potentially reach millions through a virtual newsrecord of unimaginable size and scope. The stories of mysteries and the people who have spent years collecting the puzzle pieces.
I found the stories of crime victims who apparently didn't suspect it could 'happen to them'--and the internet brought home to me just how much sociopathic insanity is loose in the world, and best not ignored by innocent women like me who think locking their doors is no big deal and trusting people's decent intentions should be a default assumption.
I have cried more in the last week than I have in any year I can remember since I was a child.
It isn't always the shocking things that do it. Eventually, staring at the litter of war corpses, the horror of natural and unnatural disasters, and the endless parade of faces and places and happenings from daily life, makes one somewhat numb to be honest. Our world is, frankly, too amazing in every direction to fully comprehend, which considering the scope of some of the darker elements is probably for the best.
But then there was that face of a starving young Rwanda mother, whose little bones-child died later the day of the photo: what blindness wouldn't see the depth of suffering in her eyes, what mother wouldn't feel a gut-survival/protection instinct lurch and begin to wail inside? All grief is the same. There are Cuban, and Vietnamese, and other people of all ages, and many children, begging to helicopters and boats to take them from their rafts to any shore but their own. One can't help but feel their desperation, their hope, their fear, their gratitude.
There is Mother Theresa--and I hadn't known she was an Armenian. There's an Armenian man killed while running away, protectively holding his baby. There's a whole group of people that look just like most of my own people, and I wonder why I feel so strongly for them, when distant images of South Africa in turmoil seem so sad yet foreign. I remember when "The Wall" fell, and how moved I was by images of it on TV. As if the color of skin has anything to do with humanity--as if people I can see are "like me" somehow touch me more deeply. I know this is universal and known to sociologists, a response shared by everybody but admitted by nobody, but my awareness of it makes me embarrassed.
I feel ashamed to find myself so empathic with victims who are nice to look at. Apparently it pays to be photogenic when you're dying, at least for historical remembrance.
There is a dog looking anxiously for his people, from the steps of an evacuated home in high rising floodwaters. There are animals gathering in rivers from forest fires, and animals helping rescue people. There is a fireman giving mouth to mouth rescuscitation to a kitten rescued from a home fire. I hope that man goes to heaven if there is one. It's a blessing to know there are others in this world who serve all life.
The internet serves all life. For better or for worse. Often for worse, but that seems to be the fault of life itself, not the binary-akashic mirror we use to parade our reality before our own eyes.
Remote viewing serves all life. Or can, if used to that end.
Now it seems like so long ago that I decided to begin looking for yet more RV targets for my considerable collection. I feel like I have aged several years; read a multitude of books; seen through so many eyes; felt so much for so many. I have stayed up most the night nearly every night during this period, engrossed in my voyeur's journey through a virtual reality.
I know the inclusion of adventure and travel photos in my target pool probably isn't going to have the same effect on me as those of more shocking nature, for example; but it is important that everything imaginable be represented, for experiences' sake, and to ensure the pool is giant and varied enough that analytical overlay is minimized (learned that the hard way long ago).
Everything is interesting when reached through RV; certainly an event captured in film is; I've never really understood those who think only crime scenes and aliens are interesting, and that photo feedback makes a 'boring' target--as if the target in any photo is not the same world found in news headlines and mystery stories.
The more I see my targets from two angles--that of the objective target-hunter, and that of the subjective viewer (often eons later by the time something turns up in my practice pool), the more I realize: The primary lesson of remote viewing--beyond the cosmic personal nature, beyond the world's potential uses of it--is compassion.
In remote viewing, good contact with even a simple location target can make me in love with it--as if the whole location had spirit, had identity; as if all energy is consciousness. As if the target became alive inside me, a birthing process during the sudden "thoughtball" that hit me with information, and when my eyes opened to the feedback, some circuit was connected and the voltage of delight exponentially rockets inside me as the inner recognizes the outer, leaving me in "Wow! Wow!" excited delight for days. How can this be dull?!
But that doesn't happen all the time, of course. Many targets I might describe sufficiently, but oddly don't 'feel'. Some I 'feel' but don't describe well at all. Many I miss by miles, or don't get enough data to matter. I consider myself an elementary novice, still. Though I often find the 'great' sessions amazing, I am often more amazed by major misses--I wish I could take my mind apart like one of those round-ball wooden puzzles, and figure out what has happened when things go wildly wrong.
Remote viewing, when working well, is an inescapable internal empathy with the target. Somewhat confusingly to the conscious mind, sometimes even objects and places have an "intimacy" inside one, as do some of the people one establishes rapport with (in my case, usually by accident, and often in ways very unrelated to the target aside from the person 'being there').
It is the chance to touch history more clearly than most of us remember yesterday. It is the chance to understand that all people are like us--the POW of a few wars past, now our enemy, has the same feelings ours of the present have.
Despite all the hype and hoopla of modern psychic hobbies, despite the myth and mystery of ancient psychic legends, the real lesson in RV is the here and now of all consciousness: no matter what the target, no matter when, no matter its nature, remote viewing--like the internet--is a peek into the mirror of ourselves.
You can send email to PJ Gaenir about this editorial.