The Voices We Hear: EVPs as Multi-Dimensional Phenomena?

In my last post, I attempted to reconcile Dr. Lanza’s theory of biocentrism with prevailing notions of time and causality. After much consideration, I have to discard the notion that nothing exists outside of our perception of it, or that we create our reality without any interaction from a separate, external reality. I started to feel crazy the more I read, which is why it took more than a month to add to this post. Current theories of consciousness and reality are in conflict with one another, and I doubt that I will be the one to resolve these disparate philosophies.

I’m currently reading Christian de Quincey’s amazing and incredibly thorough Radical Nature, (2010) and I’ve just completed Colm A. Kelleher’s Hunt for the Skinwalker (2005). These works are apparently unrelated: Quincey’s tome covers the history and current theories of “panpsychism” (a theory that proposes the notion that all matter is imbued with consciousness at the most fundamental level)  and Kelleher’s book details the years-long investigation of a Utah ranch with a long history of UFO contact and other “high strangeness” (an investigation carried out by the now-defunct National Institute for Discovery Science). However, something does connect the two along with our best EVP evidence. The result for me, at least, is disturbing and overwhelming. Every time I get close to understanding what might be happening out there, I have to stop all research and plant some herbs. It’s just too much.

So here it is: consciousness, for de Quincey, permeates all levels of reality, down to the microscopic core. Everything, therefore, is alive:

“If the universe is dead, it tells no stories. The implication of this is that if the universe is not “dead,” if it is not simply a huge mechanical system running according to a handful of laws at work in a vast ocean of chaos, then it is in some sense “alive.” A more accurate term would be “sentient”–an inherent capacity for feeling or experience. In other words, to make explicit the main argument of this book: The matter of the universe, its raw “stuff” or ingredients, has within itself the essence of what we call “consciousness.” There is something about matter itself, some quality or property, some intrinsic principle, that moves matter from within, an automotive urge toward self-organization, evolution, and complexity. In short, matter feels and moves itself. It doesn’t require external forces pushing and pulling it.” (38)

Perhaps this is where there is some relationship possible between Lanza’s and de Quincey’s view: we can “call forth” this ‘quality or property’ that moves itself. Human, animal consciousness could exert great power over living matter and space. It could create the necessary conditions for contact with other souls/spirits/energies/beings that might spring forth from this matrix that allows for or creates life at all levels. Another way of saying this is simply that the energy of our awareness and mental/emotional will could ‘draw out’ specific aspects–even specific individuals or souls–from the universe. If the universe is multidimensional, as many physicists believe that it is–we could connect with living beings through our questioning and conscious intent to make contact. If all of matter is conscious–if the entire fabric of our reality is, in some sense ‘aware’, as both quantum physics and de Quincey’s consciousness study suggest–then is could also be ‘responsive,’ able to interact with us when we make the request (or call something into being, as Lanza would say). 

What, exactly, responds to us is another issue entirely. Lanza might suggest that we are seeking and responding to ourselves, creating our own fragmented consciousness and then–in the ultimate display of solipsism–listening back to projections of our own mental processes while thinking that through our audio recordings we’ve ‘made contact’ with a separate, human being.  I don’t go that far. It’s a more complex question than that. If we are inhabiting a living universe with multiple dimensions, then we could, on occasion, cross that barrier and find someone. That someone might be the spirit of Grandpa Joe, or it could be entirely alien, originating in a split-off universe inhabited by creatures we can only imagine.

In Hunt for the Skinwalker, Kelleher ponders the possible reasons for the Gorman’s terrifying experiences on the ranch, including (but not limited to) cattle mutilations, flying orbs of various sizes and colors, UFO sightings, strange animal sighting and poltergeist-like activity. After covering a number of explanations, I find myself stuck on a particular one that weaves together the experiences of so many witnesses (and victims) over the decades and also works with the theories of reality that make the most sense of quantum behaviors:

“After experiencing all sorts of bizarre activity during his research on UFOs, John Keel formulated his “ultraterrestrial” hypothesis, which postulates that Earth has shared living space for millenia with other intelligent beings who interact with humans when they choose to, who are more intelligent than us, and who manipulate our physical and psychic reality for their own obscure agendas. [See Keel’s Operation Trojan Horse for details on the phenomena he endured] . . . Keel’s description of existing in the strange netherworld between reality and some deeply disturbing nightmare exactly encapsulate the Gormans’ description of what life was like on the ranch prior to NIDS investigation.” (240-241)

UFO experiencers and victims of hauntings and poltergeists might be on the threshold of new realities that choose to (or happen to) invade or flood our dimension either purposefully (the ‘unknown agenda’ to which Kelleher refers) or accidentally (although the patterns of this ultra or extraterrestrial activity seem to indicate otherwise). These ‘new realities’ also rely on our participation and interaction in the experience itself. Weaving these strands together, we see the following:

1) The Universe is sentient from ‘top to bottom’;

2) Humans call into being a particular reality which is not necessarily ‘ultimate’, transcendent or common to all life forms (indeed, it is not) but suited to our current, terrestrial condition as intelligent and conscious animals–however, this does NOT mean that we have wholly created something with no independent existence;

3) Our consciousness is not of necessity connected to our animal state and is, rather, an expression of the sentient universes;

4) There are likely multiple dimensions with a tremendous variety of life forms inhabiting them;

5) Space and time perceptions will vary from world to world;

6) Our consciousness can ‘disconnect’ from it’s biological moorings and allow us glimpses into other worlds and realities.

I could probably come up with 100 statements like this, but to sum up: EVPs could be inter or intra dimensional voices that are not human (hence the odd, robotic sounds we often pick up that sound nothing like someone’s voice) or they could be capturing a consciousness unmoored from the constraints of time and space; in other words, we could pick up not only voices from our world’s past, but from some other world’s future. We could also be picking up our own voices in another dimension. We can’t assume that what we hear is from the past, present or future or even emanates from a human consciousness–we could well be hearing alien voices from 2300 AD. The reason we’re hearing anything at all is because we are bringing it into reality; whereas paranormal phenomena were only floating in a sea of multiple possibilities before, we capture something specific as soon as we start to measure it. Our measurement does not CREATE multiple realities, but simply collapses the possibilities into one. Were we to experience all realities at once, we would certainly abandon our sanity or simply shut it all out due to biological necessity.

Sometimes it seems that our multiverses and created realities are something out of science fiction. I actually would prefer that all this were fiction, instead of the result of well-researched work by scientists, doctors, philosophers and other professionals who are all slowly, gradually, beginning to agree on some of the basic characteristics and origins of the high strangeness that permeates our world. I’m afraid that now, after thinking about this all morning before committing words to paper, I must go plant some basil . . . or I might lose my mind.

—Kirsten A. Thorne, Ph.D

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The Haunted Bella Maggiore Inn

My mother didn’t believe in ghosts until she stayed at the Bella Maggiore Inn. Now, she doesn’t even want to talk about what happened to her in the upstairs sitting room. I’ve never seen my mother so shaken, so upset, and so pale. This was not a pleasant encounter with a benign spirit–this was something terrifying and unforgettable.

The Bella Maggiore Inn in Ventura, CA was once a “flop house” and a brothel. This, of course, was during the 1930s and 1940s. Now, it’s a charming Italianate-style inn with the best breakfast I’ve had in a long, long time. I decided to spend one night of my Spring Break here in the hope I could convince someone to join me and perhaps find some evidence of a haunting. A woman named Sylvia, who had worked here as a prostitute decades ago, hung herself in room 17 (some say room 15, where my parents stayed) over a romantic entanglement. Elsewhere I have read that she was murdered and her killer was never brought to justice. After so long, with the distortions of a story passed down in the great oral tradition of ghost tales, it’s very difficult to know what actually happened. I invited investigators to join me, as well as my parents. To my surprise and delight, not only did my parents join me but so did the two founders of the Southern California Society for Paranormal Research and one additional investigator.

The sitting room on the second floor has what can only be described as a creepy ambiance; you feel as if you are surrounded by something or watched by someone as soon as you walk in. My mother sat in one chair, my father on the love seat next to her, and I on the chair next to him. It was quiet and deserted; we had come back from dinner and were looking for a place to chat. My mother called my sister on her cell phone. They were talking about my nephew and all the new things he has learned how to do, when I noticed my mother’s face change. She seemed both surprised and upset. “Is that you? Do you hear that? Is Connor OK?” she asked, appearing more and more shaken as she spoke. My sister was clearly asking her what she was talking about, my mother was trying to explain, but there was a communication gap. She held the phone away from her, frowned, tried to continue the conversation, but finally couldn’t. She hung up, and I saw that she was shaking. “Someone was screaming on the phone, a woman . . .  it was horrible. She screamed over and over again. It wasn’t interference from the cell phone. I’ve never heard anything like this. It was like someone was murdering her. It was horrible.” She repeated those lines again and again, unable to understand what she had heard, and what it might mean. During her phone call, before I knew what was happening, I felt a chill run up my left side, as if someone were standing there and congealing the atmosphere. The lights flickered and everything felt darker. Even my father was glancing around as if someone had entered the room.

Later, after my mother had calmed down, she crawled into bed early and didn’t want to talk about it anymore. My father looked up a few stories about Sylvia, but she didn’t want to hear them, and I decided that it was time to head to my own room. If someone had hanged herself in the place I supposed to sleep, I wanted to at least run some audio. I found that the EMF meter was behaving strangely in the hallway, but I didn’t feel much in the room itself. I was getting

lonely when Frank and Louis showed up and rescued me from the rather gloomy hotel and took me to dessert at the Busy Bee. Before that, they set up their equipment in my room hoping to catch something. I hoped that they would, and I hoped that they wouldn’t. I was tired, and it was going to be a long night. Kimberly from SCSPR joined us later, and the discussion was lively. I had shaken off the strangeness of the Bella Maggiore, but it was not to last.

We returned to my room and listened to the audio. There was a constant, low-level conversation in the background. It was silent in the hallway, and there was no one in the rooms on either side of me. The male voices were obviously engaged in a significant discussion, yet there was no way to decipher the words. It sounded so far away, decades away, from another place and time. Every now and then one of the male voices would say something I could almost understand, but after straining to hear them for so long, we finally gave up.

We gathered our equipment and headed towards the sitting room where my mother had experienced such horror over the cell phone. We walked in and said hello, as is polite when there are spirits waiting for you. We all heard a response; when we played back the audio, the “Hello” was as clear as day. Our second greeting was also returned, and we captured that as well. A few minutes into the EVP session, Louis asks if anyone has anything to say. We heard no response at the time, but when he played back the audio a male voice said:  “He still loves you.” Three EVPs within minutes of each other is quite rare. Although we investigated the rest of the hotel that night, nothing was as active as that room. We are still reviewing evidence from that night, so it’s possible that we captured more fragments of those lost lives.

“He still loves you.” I don’t know what that means. I don’t think I am going to ever know, since that is the nature of paranormal investigations. You can’t figure out the specifics of the story, only experience the vague and tantalizing after-effects of the lingering spirits. Of course, I ask myself what it is that we found. It occurs to me that sometimes, as “ghost hunters,” we find ourselves at intersections of the tragic and the lost. I suppose that most of the voices are all “residual,” meaning that the imprints of those lives and deaths are embedded like a recording in the very walls of the hotel. The responses we received upon entering the sitting room, however, point to an intelligent entity who could and did respond to visitors.

I don’t like what this implies about life after death. But then again, I know nothing more about the specifics of the afterlife than I did before I started this journey, with the huge exception that SOMETHING survives of us. I have more questions than answers, and some better theories, but I want to know who screamed in terror over my mother’s cell phone, who greeted us as we walked in, and who was carrying on the distant conversations in Room 17. I want to know all this, yet I will never know.

And not knowing will compel me back, to the place, to the time, to the desire to learn more. Someone might decide to tell me something substantive, because they want their story told . . . I can do that, but only if–for the dead–communication with the living  weren’t so much like “standing behind a sheet of frosted glass which blurs sight and deadens sound, [attempting to dictate] feebly to a reluctant and somewhat obtuse secretary” (Wilson 1987: 176). That was the message of the late Frederic Myers, one of the pioneers of the Society for Psychical Research in the late 1800s. In this case, us ghost hunters are the reluctant and somewhat obtuse secretaries, trying desperately to interpret the messages.

But we will never quit trying. The mystery is too great, and the need to know too imperious; and of course, we are happy to cast our lot with the world’s greatest enigma. This is why I close with Louis smiling. At the end of the night, the truth is–we are alive. We can eat apple pie and hot fudge sundaes and review our evidence and write our blog posts. I hope the afterlife permits such pleasures . . . but for some, I know it does not.

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