As the kids say these days, yesterday I did a thing.
A friend of mine runs the Rhine in Raleigh group that meets monthly and discusses paranormal, parapsychological, and metaphysical topics. I rarely make it to these meetings since they're on Sunday afternoons. Typically, if I'm in Raleigh when they meet, I'm at my parents' house for dinner. Yesterday, I had a rare free day and a reason to already be on that side of town. So, I was happy to attend and even happier that the topic was spoon bending.
Years ago, I attended one of The Rhine Research Center's Psi Games events. They host them a few times a year as a fundraiser. They're usually very well attended and always fascinating. On the night I went, my friend and I spent the evening transitioning through different rooms - each with a psi experiment set up. One room had Zener Cards, which are the original cards used to test for ESP. Another featured an exercise in remote viewing, and still another had machines that tested for abilities in psychokinesis (PK). At the end of the evening, everyone gathered in a larger room where we were given instructions on how to use our minds to bend spoons. Then we were given spoons and encouraged to try it.
I spent the whole time staring at the spoon in my right hand, focusing hard, and doing my best to will it to bend. Just when I thought I might have seen some tiny movement in my own, I was distracted by the spoon the young lady in front of me was holding. It folded over onto itself as if part of its stem had turned semi-liquid. "Wow!" was the only thought I had. Then, of course, my next thought was "why didn't mine do that?"
We were told we could take our spoons home with us and try again. I did. Several times. Nothing ever happened, and I eventually put it away - a failed experiment in my own PK powers.
Flash-forward to yesterday when I sat in a room with nine other people and a bag full of flatware that had been purchased on craigslist. With very few spoons in the bag, I settled on a small seafood fork. My thinking was that the smaller the fork, the easier the bend. Silly me! That was the thickest, most stubborn fork I probably could have picked.
We watched a few videos on YouTube about the proper way to do it. "If you break the fork, you're doing it wrong," was a repeated theme. Uri Geller, the man who arguably made spoon-bending famous, broke his in his how-to video. Uri's a good magician, but not a great PK practitioner.
I held my fork and tried to make friends with it. (Yes, I know how crazy that sounds.) I asked the fork to please bend for me. I felt it between my fingers and tried to will it into submission without being mean about it. (That sounds even crazier, right?) I even accepted offers of help from others in the room.
Nothing. That fork was not ready to bend. So, I picked up a bigger, standard-sized dinner fork and held it for a while.
At this point, others in the room were starting to have success. One after another, spoons and forks were being twisted into awkward, unusable shapes. It was great to see, but why wasn't I having any luck?
Then, my friend had the idea of watching a video of Sean McNamara hosting a virtual workshop on how to do it. In the video, McNamara walked us through a guided meditation. I closed my eyes and followed along. I almost felt hypnotized, although I was still quite aware of my surroundings. When he finished, I looked down at my fork and yelled with the rest of the group, "Bend!" I tried again to move it, but it was still as stiff and hard as it ever was.
I didn't give up, though. I closed my eyes and went back into the visualization of the meditation exercise. I imagined all the power represented in a turquoise color (my choice) pouring over me and through me. Then I felt something change and heard that little voice in my head that I know so well say, "Try it now."
And it bent!
Holy crap! It bent! I was almost breathless! I showed my friend and the rest of the group and had a quiet little celebration for a moment. Then I looked at the smaller fork I'd started with. "Your turn," I thought.
Just a few minutes later, that stubborn little fork was bent in half.
I was pretty proud of myself when I left, and I grabbed (with permission) a third fork to bring home with me. I mean, really, if the experiment isn't repeatable at a different time, it's not a great experiment.
Tonight after I ate and cleaned up from dinner, I picked up that third fork. I did a quicker version of the same meditation and felt the energy build up around and inside me. I focused on the piece of flatware in my hands and when I heard "now" in my head, I bent it in half.
It's a pretty exciting thing to be able to do at will now, but don't worry. If I come over for dinner, I won't practice on your silverware. I promise!
I might, however, include a reference to this amazing new experience in The Dark Season - the sequel to The Tritium Hypothesis that I'm currently writing.
Or at least, I should be writing when I'm not distracted by old flatware.