These eyes have seen moments of light and dark, past and future, living and the dead.
Yeah. The dead.
Three years ago a man called us. Let's call him Darren. That's not his real name.
Darren is a treasure hunter. He's fairly well-known. Like most hunters of that sort, he has a passion for gold.
He told us a story about a Spanish Mission treasure cared for by monks of the desert and overtaken by thieves. They piled the gold and jeweled crosses and swords and icons on a wagon and headed North and West, away from the Arizona wilderness. But they were soon overtaken by another band of thieves who killed them and left them to rot in the hot sun, burying one of their bodies with the treasure.
Something bad happened to the remaining men, and the treasure was never retrieved. It lay under the ground in a place near a dry riverbed.
Darren had the story and a map of the area. He didn't have much else, other than some archaic veiled references to possible landmarks near the burial site.
He wanted us to find the treasure. And as we considered whether this was something we wanted to do - because we already knew that we could, that was never a part of the debate - we asked Darren if this land were privately owned.
When you treasure hunt, finding the treasure with your super secret x-ray psychic vision is easy. Digging it up is hard work, compounded by potential terror if it resides in a place where you don't legally belong.
Darren assured us that the land was private as opposed to government property, and that we could purchase the rights to dig should we find the treasure.
His voice was sure and strong. He sounded like he'd done this a thousand times before. You could hear the echo of the sage and dust in his words.
We began our work.
Eight viewers launched their minds to the location of the treasure.
Gold is the most noble of the elements. You can't find something easier to view. It sparkles in the corners of your awareness. It calls your name. We've lost more than one viewer to Gold Fever, lost them in the Superstition Mountains, in the vaults of the Valley of the Kings.
We found gold in Darren's story, gold relics, a gold sword, crosses of gold, and oh hell yeah, gold bars, a stack so high that the viewers couldn't count how many, only knew there were enough to make us all rich beyond belief.
We also found old tools, dirty metal cans, and a dead man. Or rather a ghost.
When you come across a ghost while remote viewing, you often find that they are aware of you. They hear your mental breath and turn around with a big fat BOO! And this ghost did just that, scared two viewers right out of their sessions and back into the Real World of Southern California.
I was one of those viewers.
The ghost rose up from the ground and I wrote furiously on my page as I watched him circle around the gold bars, counting them, making sure that they were still intact. He chased toward me and I felt the hair on my arms raise in response. I stopped my session, threw my pen down and yelled out loud that I was NOT going back there, no more!
My monitor, the person helping me through the session, made me return to the chamber so that I could face my fears, but most importantly so that I could engage the ghost in dialogue.
What I didn't know at the time was that all the viewers were meeting Mr. Ghost, and each time one of us entered his sleeping place he became more and more agitated. By the time I arrived, he was angry and confused.
He told me his name was Jimmy. He told me that he had to guard the treasure. He clearly didn't know that he was dead. He was suspended between life and the time between lives. He didn't know he was free to travel the Cosmos.
I asked Jimmy what he wanted, what would make him happy.
Jimmy told me something strange and wonderful. He told me that he had fallen in love with my friend, the "other woman" I sent to his spectral prison.
The Other Woman was a woman named Dolly. Dolly isn't her real name.
Dolly is a shaman and healer, a natural psychic. She's an exotic beauty in both body and mind, with long dark hair and a ring in her nose. She lived in the tropics and gave palm and tarot readings in addition to remote viewing.
Jimmy called her a Hot Mama and the key to his salvation....
Ghosts can be tricksters. They will feed you false information if they think you are there to double cross them. They will tell you things that aren't real. They will make noise to scare you. They will stare you down. You have to be smarter than the ghost.
And in Jimmy's case, you had to be smart and sexy.
We promised Jimmy some alone time with Dolly if he would help us draw a map of the location. He quickly agreed, and we told him to expect three viewers in succession. The first two would gather the data, and the third would be his telepathic love.
Jimmy helped us. He told us what the terrain looked like above him. He told us how big his chamber was. He talked about the gold bars. He asked us if he could keep the gilded sword. We told him yes.
As we collected our data, talked to our new friend Jimmy, and while Dolly prepared a shamanistic ceremony to help Jimmy meet his maker, Darren waited. He was not a patient man.
Darren called us multiple times a day, asking when our data would be ready, when we'd be available to travel to the badlands of Arizona to dig up our feast.
We told Darren to wait, that we were working magic, that gold and all good things come to those who give us a little space. We didn't mention the ghost.
Dolly made her mental way to Jimmy, and the resulting two hours were the most incredible and intense psi experience of her life. They connected on all levels, talked about life, death, rebirth, sex, love, and passion. I won't tell you what they said.
She led him into the light.
Two weeks later, I boarded a plane for Arizona. I took my project manager, Mike, with me.
We met Darren at the airport. He was tall, rugged, with a sun hat and a cotten vest with at least fifteen pockets. He looked the part of a treasure hunter.
I carried our report and our raw data. It numbered over 500 pages in length, and contained numerous sketches of the outlying areas, the central treasure pit, and the relics therein. I didn't show Darren our work yet. I had learned the hard way that you can't trust some people in this work, especially when it comes to gold.
We traveled to the site, over dirt roads, near the hollow mountain called Mount Huachuca. And in the expanse of brown and heat we trekked for miles over mesa and into canyon until Darren showed us where he had begun to dig.
I am trained in the skills of observation and in the art of intuition. Something about this place felt off, felt odd. I knew we were not supposed to be here, plotting an excavation. I dropped the feeling and looked at Darren's dirt pile with a critical eye.
It wasn't the correct location.
Nothing about Darren's spot matched our data. The unusual row of mesas described by multiple viewers were not in view. The big rock with a strange and easy to recognize marking was not evident.
I scanned the horizon and a bolt of recognition shot through my body. I knew where I was in relation to the treasure. It was unmistakable. I grabbed Mike and said "Come on!"
He followed me as I hiked, a woman on a mission, until I found the spot where two old stagecoach roads met and I pulled a leaf of paper from my folder and showed Mike. I pointed to all the landmarks, and while Darren was still trying to catch up, I showed Mike The Rock, under which the treasure was hidden.
To the left was a broken structure, piles of stone and weather beaten wood in a heap.
I stared at the ruins, and realized I was in a place sacred and mysterious.
As Darren began to talk about his dig, and how he knew his treasure was close by, Mike and I convinced him to leave the area, and to find some food and water and rest for a while.
By this time, we realized we were hoodwinked. This was no legal treasure. We had no right to be there.
We made our way back to town as the sun was setting, and I asked Darren some hard questions about who owned the land.
The government. It was protected property.
And as I sat, slack-jawed, I listened to Darren's plan to unearth the treasure in the middle of the night and to load it on a flat bed truck and to zip it out of sight and into the bowels of Mexico where black market operators were ready to sell the gold bars to the highest bidder.
We left the desert. Left the client standing in waves of heat and misery, holding his maps, swearing he'd find the treasure without our help. In no way were we going to be a part of that. We made our way back to California, in relative sanity.
The next week, I got a personal call from the goverment authorities, asking me about the treasure I planned to dig up on government owned land.
"No way!" I told them
"I stopped the plan!"
I reasoned my way out of the situation, and recieved a big fat warning from the man for my effort.
I don't know who called the authorities on us. Darren denied the charge. Maybe someone saw us hike into the desert with shovels and maps. I don't know.
Some weeks later, after the dust had settled, we turned our report over to a university-sponsored archeologist who planned to survey the area as part of a preservation effort in conjunction with the Burea of Land Management.
Gold Fever. Ghosts. Sexy exotic viewers. Government Agents. Treasure Hunters.
Just another project for those of us with x-ray vision.
