By using secret CIA parapsychology techniques for reincarnation based past life regression, they finally locate this treasure trove of ancient knowledge. But this is not before a harrowing journey that takes them around the world. Now is the time to reveal the secrets, but a dangerous and unknown force is trying to stop their efforts.
This thought-provoking and suspenseful reincarnation thriller may make you think about the world and events in a new and perhaps disturbing way.
A mystery/ thriller built on the principles of reincarnation and hypno-therapeutic regressions appeal to those of most Eastern philosophies because of their view toward those concepts. If you question or do not believe in the possibility of reincarnation, then simply read the Trilogy as an enjoyable book of science fiction, time-travel, zombies or Harry Potter.
Either way, it is fiction, so please sit back, sip on a cup of tea and enjoy the adventure.
Readers Compare Through the Third Eye to:
> Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code & Angels and Demons
> The Indiana Jones adventure series
> The Torah Codes and the Bible Codes
Background on the Third Eye Trilogy:
Nearly six years of research went into Book 1 of Third Eye Trilogy. Much of that was garnering details on the historical characters portrayed through the possibility of reincarnation. The author scoured documented historical details to make interconnections between historical figures across thousands of years. He also conducted extensive research on hypnotic regression techniques used by psychologists, psychiatrists and therapist in their practices. This laid a foundation for the techniques used by Clay and Shali to find their secrets. The author personally visited many of the geographical settings portrayed in the story to ensure a high degree of accuracy for the reader’s benefit.
Targeted Age Group:: 18+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
After curiously reading 35+ non-fictional books on hypnotic past life regressions and reincarnation, I saw the potential to make a great fictional series. Being able to essentially “time travel” through hypnotic regressions provided the opportunity to make a interesting way to convey throught-provoking messages to the readers.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
The characters were fundamentally derived by combining interesting aspects of various friends and associates. The strong female lead character of Shali was patterned after a professional associate who had immigrated from India as a young woman, just as Shali had done.
Shali pulled back her long black hair, revealing her smooth, golden-brown Indian complexion. She glanced over at the out-of-place, middle-aged American man strolling beside her. “Do you think we’ll get the right Iqbal today?”
Clay responded, “I don’t know. We’ve done Iqbal Al-Subari and Iqbal Al-Suwari, but neither were the right target. They had the wrong name, wrong incarnation, wrong soul. It sure would be nice to get more precise information on our subjects, but no such luck this time.”
“We obviously didn’t get an accurate family name for our Iqbal from the regression of the woman in Jakarta. She had that lisp, which threw off my transcription of the name. You’ve told me a hundred times that we are bound by the body through which they see the world. So this time we were limited by her impaired pronunciation of a name.”
Clay and Shali continued walking down the busy main street in Amman toward their rustic hotel in the old section of town. The early morning air was crisp and pungent with the sharp smell of cooking spices and fried breads. Having just finished breakfast at a side-street cafe, they were returning to set up the hotel suite for the morning’s past-life regression session.
Clay said, “If today’s Iqbal isn’t the right one, we’ve got three more Iqbal Al-Subari-Suwari-Suhari’s in their mid-twenties to go through. But today, I feel positive.”
“The problem with today’s Iqbal is that he is only giving us one session. We’ve got three days of regression work to cram into one day, so we will have a problem if he is the right guy.”
“We’ll just have to move fast,” Clay said, quickly adding, “You’ve got to keep us on track.”
Shali replied, “Or we pay him more to get another day of regressions.”
“Hey, I’ll triple his fee if he is the one we’re looking for. Quadruple.”
“If we find those secret treasures you believe exist, then money shouldn’t be a problem.”
Clay hesitated for a moment as they walked into the hotel lobby. He looked at Shali and said, “But you know it’s not about money. I already made my millions doing this regression stuff. I could make many millions more. I’m just after those secrets. I want them for what they are, or might be — not for some monetary value. But at this point we don’t even know what they are exactly, and we certainly don’t know what they are worth. If the secrets really are some kind of advanced knowledge, we need to bring them out to better this world we live in. It could sure use some help.”
Shali nodded her head in acknowledgment as they walked up the stairs to the second floor hall that led to their suite. With Clay behind her, she unlocked the door to the suite. Suddenly there was a crashing sound in the room. As she pushed open the door, they saw a man dressed in local Arab garb dashing across the dimly lit room.
Realizing they were being robbed, Clay pushed Shali aside and darted towards the dark figure. He tackled the thief mid-waist, several feet from the open balcony door where the man had been attempting to make his escape. The two tumbled and rolled across the floor, slugging and beating each other like grade-school bullies.
Shali flicked on the lights and screamed down the hallway for help, using several Middle Eastern languages. Clay was on top of the perpetrator, swinging as hard as he could at his opponent’s face. His years of training in the army helped him gain the edge, but that training was not able to stop the knee that sharply jabbed into his crotch. He let out a loud yelp and leaped almost straight into the air before buckling and falling on top of the man.
Shali grabbed a metal floor lamp and slashed it across the thief’s shoulder as he pushed out from under Clay. The bloodied thief let out his own yelp and scrambled on his knees towards the open balcony with Shali swinging the lamp in close pursuit. He turned back to Shali and yelled out in a Middle-Eastern tongue.
Clay moaned and tried to get back on his feet, as the thief and Shali remained at a stand-off. She stood firm with a wildly swinging floor lamp while the perpetrator stood on the edge of the balcony lecturing her as if the entire episode was her fault.
The thief suddenly turned and vaulted over the balcony onto the hood of a parked car below. As the car’s alarm blared with ear-piercing beeps, Shali dropped the lamp and pulled Clay back to his feet. Both ran to the edge of the balcony and watched with adrenaline-pumped tremors as the thief ran off down the street, still looking back to yell his chastisements.
In less than a minute, the hotel security guards and manager ran into their suite, expressing concern and promising action. Clay and Shali surveyed their equipment and materials but found nothing missing. Clay discussed the matter with the hotel manager, and they agreed not to involve the local authorities at this time. That would only complicate their stay. However, the manager agreed to post two twenty-four-hour security guards — one in the street below and one in the hallway outside their room — for the remainder of their stay. While they were speaking, two maids arrived to clean up the broken lamp, tables and glasses.
Shali and Clay freshened up in their own rooms and then met back at the suite. After pouring a cup of sweet, spiced tea for each of them, Clay said, “Our Iqbal shows up in thirty minutes. Considering what just happened, should we be doing this regression today?”
“If you’re okay, then I think we’ll be alright,” Shali responded. “We’re only going to get one shot at him, and he has already taken the day off of work. We can’t risk losing him, so let’s just do it.”
Clay sat for a moment sipping his tea and finally said, “Fortunately, we must have walked in on this thief shortly after he got into the room. He didn’t have a chance to take anything.”
She gave Clay a look of contemplation. “I don’t think he was here to steal anything.”
“What do you mean? He was going to rob us.”
“I don’t think so. I think he just wanted to know what we were up to.” Looking puzzled, Clay said, “How do you know? What was he was yelling at you?”
Shali took a deep breath. “It was confusing. He was yelling in Hebrew, but he had a heavy Palestinian — or maybe an ethnic Jordanian — accent. I couldn’t tell for sure.”
“But did you catch what he was saying?”
She seemed solemn. “He said something like, ‘You don’t know what you are doing’ or ‘You don’t know who you are dealing with. You are asking for trouble.’ Or something like that.”
“So if this guy wasn’t a thief, why would he care what we are doing? Or did someone else send him here?”
Looking through the corner of her eyes, Shali replied in a facetious tone, “I couldn’t get the guy on the couch for a hypnosis session, Chief, so I have no idea what was going on in his head.”
Her face mutated to a teasing smirk. She nodded her head at Clay’s crotch, which had been battered during the scuffle. “How’re you doing — you know — down there?”
Clay snorted. “It’ll be alright after a little physical therapy. Maybe you can help out.”
Shali giggled lightly and replied, “It ain’t gonna happen, Charlie — not by me. You know what happened last time. I’ll call room service for a bag of ice. That ought to cool you down.”
The two laughed at the joint jabs, remembering how history had played out between them.
A large, full-reclining chaise lounge chair sat in the center of their regression suite. On one side was a chair and small table, and on the opposite side was a table with a computer equipment set-up akin to a small TV studio. Shali turned on the equipment on the table, while Clay turned on another computer in the adjoining room.
He called out from the far room, “He’s supposed to be here at eight-thirty, so we don’t have much time.”
“We’ll be fine if we don’t hit any snags. You ready to test the audio?”
“Give me a minute.”
On the table next to the computer in the main room was a large, shielded microphone box with a baseball-sized hole in the front. The contraptions were designed to protect against high levels of electromagnetic radiation that could be emitted during a regression. The heavy microphone box was lined with sheets of lead and copper grounding mesh. Recessed inside the opening was the high-quality directional microphone. As long as they kept the hole pointed at their subject, the whole session would be recorded on the computer in next room.
Shali checked the thirty-foot cables that ran from one room to the other. When she got to his room, she said, “It’s such a pain to haul these heavy-assed cables every place we go around the world.”
“Heavy-assed cables?” Clay laughed.
“Sorry. Blame my stepdad — you know, talk like a sailor.”
Clay thought back to her descriptions of her stepfather, the Portuguese ship captain. He still pictured Shali as being culturally constrained, despite knowing that her Indian mother from New Delhi rebelled after the premature death of Shali’s very conservative Hindu father.
“So, do we really need all this stuff? We haven’t had any problems in the last two years.”
“I’m not sure if all the precautions are necessary, but they are part of the protocol and help protect against high levels of electromagnetic radiation. The specs for the PLR protocols are very specific. Anyway, I’ve never had a failed recording in over five years of regressions, so those scientists must have known something.”
“So when are we going to get some interesting lives? So many past lives seem so boring.”
“Now, come on. Once in a while we get some interesting characters. I’ve verified a lot of actual previous lives, but I never got any really famous people.” He continued his tinkering with the equipment. “So, what’s this particular Iqbal’s background again?”
“He’s a twenty-three year old Palestinian; a junior accountant at a construction company and a recent finance graduate from Al-Ahliyya Amman University. There’s nothing significant or different about him; he’s just an ordinary young buck with aspirations for a fruitful and productive life. Did you see him trying to hit on me when we interviewed him last week?”
Clay snickered. “Yes. And you’re what, ten — or is it fifteen years his senior?”
“Hey, can’t a girl have a little privacy or maybe even an ego boost in her personal life?”
“We’re paying him more Jordanian dinars for an eight-hour session than he makes in two weeks at his bean-counting job. He needs to focus on what we hired him to do, not hit on a fine-looking Indian babe trying to regress him.”
Shali gave him a smile of gratitude for the jealousy-laced compliment. “No, today our Iqbal needs to relax,” he said in a melodic tone, “and go for a hypnotic ride back into his soul’s history. Maybe he’ll get to see that hot cave lady from twenty thousand years ago. He could knock her in the head with a club and drag her back to his cave.”
“Maybe he was the cave lady,” Shali fired back with a grin. “He won’t remember a damn thing when it’s over, anyway. Have you ever used those protocols where subjects can actually remember their past lives?”
Ever since Shali had worked with him, he had used PLR Protocol 75, which kept the subjects from remembering anything about the secrets, should they find them. This was a precaution, because if the subjects remembered they might join the race to find the hidden treasures.
“A few times, but any head shrink can do that with hypnosis,” he replied. “But I’m not really interested in all that anyway. I’m looking for specific things. If they want to remember their boring past lives, they should be paying me — not me paying them.”
“But they could never track down the soul pods or soul mates on their own.”
“Maybe. Being in the same soul pod, they seem to know where other mates are at any point in time and space. The challenge is to coax out details before the souls or their guides get suspicious about what we’re up to; otherwise, they clam up. The guides are protective of those souls in their trust and don’t often reveal where other souls may be incarnated. If a shrink can do that or if the person gets good at regressing themselves, it’s possible to identify their soul pod.”
Shali said, “I’ve never had any bad regressions since we’ve been working together. Have you ever seen any bad ones in the years before that? You know, blowouts during or after a session?”
“Nah, not really.” Clay looked back at her and said, “The secret government studies say that attempts to access or confront previous lives could have emotional or psychological effects, but it is usually beneficial. It’s basically the same as what shrinks do when they try to fix people’s problems with hypnosis. But PLR Protocol 75 shields them from any knowledge of their previous lives anyway.”
Shali said, “I’m ready to test the headphones.”
Clay turned some dials and clicked the keyboard. “Are you getting it?”
Shali pulled back her long, silky black hair and lifted the headphones to her right ear. “Good.” She could hear the sound-generator pumping low, throbbing Alpha wave frequency pulses to her brain. The pulses helped drive brain waves down to a low frequency where regressions were optimized.
Shali lifted the futuristic looking goggles to her eyes. “Give me a check on the goggles.” Clay clicked more buttons and purplish colors flashed rapid sequences in sync with the headphone Alpha waves. She picked up a small flexible skull cap with its attached electrodes and set it on the back of the chair, waiting for their regression subject. The cap would send magnetic pulses to the right and left sides of the brain at different times during the regression to help manage the subconscious mind. Shali knew PLR was heavily influenced by sensory control over the mind. She recalled Clay’s jest that they should also have a smell gadget in case someone wanted hot buttered popcorn during their regression.
Shali then laid out a set of EKG-like skin pulse pads with dangling electrodes. The micro-pulse generator was a key component to the protocol. The pads sent micro-frequency pulses to shock several critical points on the body at various times. The pulses were not automatic but act more like a cattle prod when they wanted to stimulate the subject’s soul to respond.
Shali put a pair of the pads on the large shoulder muscles on either side of her neck. “I’m ready for the first pad test. Hit the shoulders.” Clay pressed some buttons. Her neck and shoulders twisted in slight convulsion. “Whew. Good.” The shoulder pulses were used to slap the soul around to get their attention.
She put another pair of pads on her forearms. “Hit the foot pads.” When Clay pressed more buttons, her arms jerked back against her body. These pads were placed on the balls of the feet under a pair of wool socks. The foot pads stimulated the subject into progressing forward through the regression if they hesitated. Shali picked up the fifth, smaller single micro-pulse pad and moved it toward her forehead. She paused, then moved the pad to her forearm. “Hit the Third Eye.” Clay pressed a button. Shali’s arm jerked and she let out a small “Whoa. A little too hot.” Clay made an adjustment and tried again. “Perfect. We should be ready.”
She looked over to Clay and raised her eyebrows in inquiry. “I know it seems to work, but do you really think the Third Eye pulse makes a difference? And don’t bull me, I was raised a Hindu, you know. My mom still wears her dot on the Third Eye.”
“At first, I had trouble accepting this Third Eye aspect of the protocol,” Clay admitted. “Yeah, I knew of its spiritual significance in Hindu, Buddhist and Kabbalah traditions, and even in yoga, chi-gong, karate, meditation and martial arts, but I still couldn’t see its value. Then I read translations of some seven-hundred-year-old Rosicrucian documents. That’s when I saw a physiological connection between the Third Eye and the pituitary and pineal glands. By stimulating the Third Eye with the pulses, I suspect the human body is induced to a higher state of focus through an injection of natural chemicals into the nervous system. I don’t really understand it, but the scientists who developed it at Stanford Research Institute were a lot smarter than I am.”
Shali responded, “I must have watched hundreds of past-life regression videos on YouTube. Every once in a while I’d see the PLR hypnotist lean over and push the subject’s forehead when they wanted the subject to focus or dig deeper.”
“You got it: pop the third eye. That’s all we’re doing.”
A few minutes later, their Iqbal knocked on the hotel suite door. After introductions and a ten minute orientation in Arabic by Shali, they got him settled in the lounge chair. She then wired up the goggles, earphones and micro-pulse pads. Clay positioned himself five feet from the young accountant and began pressing buttons on a laptop control panel. The colored bars, lights and digital readouts flickered on and off in scanning, pulsing sequences.
Shali sat three feet to the side of the young subject, waiting for Clay’s cue. Because the PLR sessions were conducted all over the globe, her prodigal fluency in seven languages proved invaluable.
Shali glanced at Clay and nodded. “Everything is in place. He seems comfortable and says he is ready to go.”
Clay threw a switch and the control panel light labeled “RECORD” turned red.
“Test — one, two — ” Strong signal readings displayed on the control panel sound meters. Bar graphs and meters on the laptop computer recording system in the next room pulsed alive with every spoken word.
“This is Clay Barton. It is 8:52 a.m. in Amman, Jordan, on the second of February. The subject for this past-life regression is Iqbal Al-Suhari, subject KC8273-VD5532; suspected soul is ID number SE49-5433. I am assisted by Shali Faisal as session facilitator and translator. The objective of the session is hypnosis and regression of the subject to previous lives. This will be followed by attempted transition to the life-between-lives realm for interaction with the soul. Because the subject has only agreed to one regression session, we will attempt direct interaction with the subject’s soul, guide or other elder souls in the LBL of today’s session. Subject is cooperative and understands the possible consequences of participating in this regression. PLR Protocol 75 is being used, as pre-regression hypnotic examination using PLR Protocol 14 revealed easy adaptation to Protocol 75. There are no indications that the subject will experience adverse or lingering side effects from the regression.”
Clay started up a sequence of computerized processes on his console. He monitored feedback meters on the control panel as the computer in the next room pumped out digital signals to the various gadgets wired up to the young Jordanian. The Alpha sounds, video flashes and micro-pulse generator made different parts of Iqbal’s body twitch in planned sequences as the computer ran through its initial preparations.
Several minutes later, the meters showed that Iqbal had reached a proper state of readiness. Clay nodded to Shali to begin the first hypnotic script. She spoke to Iqbal in Arabic, using a script from the four-inch-thick protocol binder. Each section of the binder was carefully tabbed, sub-tabbed and indexed with a letter-number system. Shali’s hypnotic directions to Iqbal were slow and monotone with several-second pauses between each statement.
“Iqbal, you are feeling very relaxed and comfortable. Relax your entire body, one part at a time, as I direct you. Start at the top of your head. You can sense your hair, every strand of hair. Your hair is completely relaxed, and now you feel a tingling sensation in your scalp. The skin on top of your entire head is tingling with relaxation. Experience and enjoy the wonderful sensation as your head relaxes and releases all stress and tension.”
Shali paused five seconds. “Your forehead is now completely relaxed. Relax those wrinkles on your forehead and make the skin lay flat. The wrinkles are disappearing as you relax. The wrinkles on your forehead are now gone. You feel a slow rush of warmth and a tingling sensation flowing down the side of your head, across your temple, slowly down across your ears like a warm flowing liquid, relaxing your every muscle, relieving you of every concern in the world. You have no worries, no problems, no feelings, no emotions — simply total relaxation.”
Clay noticed Iqbal sink back deep in the lounge chair, his head turning slightly to the left. His neck twisted a bit to the right and then to the left as he experienced sensations he had probably never experienced before. He entered a deep level of hypnotic trance. Clay reviewed the monitors, dials and digital readouts. Having done regressions for five years, he could tell Iqbal was a good subject. He nodded to Shali to proceed.
Shali continued with more than five minutes of standard hypnotic techniques, pushing Iqbal deeper and deeper into the trance. Clay finally looked up from the meters and gauges and made a slight slicing motion with his hand. Iqbal was deep enough. If Shali continued, he could fall into a deep sleep and then the session would be over.
Clay made small adjustments to the intensity of the stimulation points and monitored the feedback on the meters. He grinned in silence as the protocol sequence shot small electronic shocks into Iqbal’s body parts, causing them to twitch. He motioned for Shali to move forward to the next set of scripts.
She continued the regression in Arabic. “Iqbal, you will remember nothing from this session. During the session, you will feel no pain despite anything terrible you may see, hear or experience. You will remember nothing. You will not be physically or mentally hurt or injured during this session. Do you understand this?”
“Yes,” he mumbled in Arabic.
“After the session, you will remember nothing that was said or experienced during the session. Nothing. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he said in a more vibrant acknowledgment.
Clay watched the feeds anxiously. Within a few hours, they should know if this was the target he had been seeking for the last several years.
About the Author:
Raised on an Iowa farm, Bob Frank spent his summer afternoons in corn fields daydreaming of adventures in faraway lands. At seventeen, while war raged in Southeast Asia, he joined the Army and graduated from West Point as an airborne paratrooper. But his years of duty were spent staring down Russian machine guns during the Cold War.
He spent his next twenty years as a road warrior for an oil company traveling to every God forsaken corner of the world: Nigerian savannas, Saudi Arabian deserts, Sumatran jungles of Indonesia — and even Bakersfield, California. Always known for fantastic storytelling, Bob kept the office intrigued and rolling with laughter from his adventures. He finally ended his travels to deliver The Third Eye Trilogy.
Bob previously used the pen name of Lynn Boston to shield his writing career from his role as a Vice President of a Fortune 500 company. No longer carrying that burden, he is now using his own name.
Being a certified and registered hypnotherapist specializing in past life regressions, he is able to write from both the past life perspective of both the practitioner and subject.
As a member of the Board of Directors of the International Association of Near Death Studies (IANDS), he strives to help people who have died and come back “from the other side.”
Bob lives in Phoenix, Arizona.
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