sensory deprivation, sensory invariance (white noise), as well as states initiated by pain, sex, or dying. But the model that always seemed to me closest to reality was prayer, with which he started the entire process.19
Next Cayce stretched out on his back on the couch and pulled an afghan cover to his waist. He put his hands together, palms up, on his forehead, and kept them there while breathing regularly and perhaps a little deeper than usual. Then with a bit of a sigh he lowered his hands, taking a few moments as he crossed them at his waist. This was the point at which suggestion to do his counseling had to be given to him. Otherwise he would drift off into a deep sleep from which he could not be awakened for hours, even for a day or longer, if he were tired.
He told us what was going on in his mind, which often gave him the cue to lower his hands and enter more deeply into trance. The experience varied but usually involved following a small dot of light. Particularly vivid was the process of avoiding entanglement with the dead, who seemed to be ready to press into his consciousness in the fashion reported and used by mediums. Here was yet another threat to his effort and one he felt more severely than most outsiders realized. This danger became even greater if a seeker actively hoped for a message from some dead relative. There had been times (relatively few, to be sure) when someone had broken in and spoken through him. Avoiding this outcome was, in part, the intent of asking seekers to be in a prayerful, meditative state, asking for help from the highest source, or the divine, not from discarnate entities. It was also the intent of his own prayer, where he sought to serve God, not to plunder hidden realms. One description he dictated gave an account of going for the records he needed to give a life reading.
As he described to me his inner signal to proceed, it was a flash of brilliant white light, sometimes tending toward a golden color. Without this, he knew he could not give a reading that day. There were also times when he went to what seemed to him a hall of records, following that same light and aware that he must not stop, so that he could secure the counsel for life readings. On the journey he passed through what appeared to be several planes, which he experienced as realms of experience after death. First there was a level of humanoid forms which were like exaggerated expressions of particular human desires. Then came a level with individuals in forms familiar on the earth, satisfied with their condition and having even homes and cities. As the light grew stronger and he followed it onward, he came to a realm where all was like springtime; some desired to stay here while others pressed on for greater understanding, more light. Finally he came to an ethereal, lovely place where records of earth lives were kept. Here he picked out what seemed to be volumes or scrolls of information, or—for what proved to be specially developed souls—he was handed the material he needed.
On a Narrow Ridge
Cayce’s eyes in trance at first stared sightlessly until his wife gently covered them, as she spoke words become familiar in their decades of journeying together into invisible regions and bonds: “Now the body is assuming its normal forces, and will be able, and will give, such information as is desired of it at the present time.” The term “the body” simply meant the person, in the language of the readings. But what was meant by “normal forces” was not so clear. The phrase demanded attention. If Cayce’s readings were given by normal means, as implied by these instructions approved by his readings, then what of the rest of us? How normal were we? What was our true nature and destiny? How ought we to be related to the source or sources of Cayce’s extraordinary aid?
His working vocabulary in the trance (apart from technical terms), as well as many of his figures of speech and illustrations, were similar to his usages while teaching or dictating letters. At times in his counseling, especially as he neared the end of a period, his typical colloquialisms or homey aphorisms popped into the discourse. But, as though to foster the relationship into which he sought to enter, he leaned part of the time toward relatively archaic usages of King James English so familiar to him from the Bible. The impression was that to his deeper mind nothing would have sufficient dignity, grace, or amplitude of spirit for the task at hand or for the Source whose help he sought. “Ye” and “thee” crept into the readings, with associated verb forms not always perfectly matched. Often he spoke elliptically, as most of us do in conversation, leaving out modifiers and referents which the inflections of his voice implied. All in all, he seemed to be the man we knew outside of trance but on a serious errand. Yet there remained puzzling bits of his unconscious word usages, where he used roundabout phrases such as “those of” for “the,” creating an effect like transliterated German.
His speech was spare, never loquacious, and grew more terse as the reading period came toward its end. The mood was that of a man traveling a narrow ridge with no time or effort to waste in showing off. Getting technical or factual information seemed no problem, provided that it served the autonomy and well-being of the seeker. It was there instantly as needed. But sometimes he groped to find the right words—not so much stumbling as having a concentrated expression, nearly a frown. Often he used synonyms piled on top of each other to make a point, as though he could only reach us by the intersection of related terms. And he obviously chose images to awaken and fire each petitioner as needed, not just to deliver information.
At times one would wonder whether he saw reality in visions like that of the poet/artist William Blake. His frequent use of the term “forces” suggested that he viewed directly the dance and swirl of molecules, the flow of bright blood and nerve impulses, the pushes and blocks of psychological and spiritual thrusts, the tides of history, all moving in their courses through time and space, yet all related to an indescribable Center. Those of us listening had to think in terms of solid chunks, while he may have been trying to show us naked reality, shimmering and bouncing and transforming. The riddle of his actual vision came closer to being solved two decades later, when Aldous Huxley20 and many others described their experiences of familiar structures when viewed in a psychedelic state. But the pattern was already there in the experience of Moses before a bush that seemed to burn yet was not consumed.
The entranced man set the pace for each counseling session.
When he felt he had said enough to an individual, he concluded, “We are through with this reading,” or he closed an entire session with “We are through for the present.” After the latter his wife would give him an extended suggestion to enhance his well-being and balance, then direct him to wake up. Cayce’s body would jerk slightly as he opened his eyes and stretched a bit. Then he often asked, “Did you get anything?” His question was reasonable, for sometimes fatigue, emotional upset, or some less understood cause would block his activity. But the question was outrageous to the rest of us in the room, who had been listening intently to a stream of original material. His query only underscored the fact that he remembered nothing of what he had said. We would be sitting there wondering or bemused, sometimes eagerly starting to talk, and sometimes lost in thought. About us were stacked invisible remnants from vital organs, the garments of ancient times, or traces of tangled lines connecting psyches and relationships.
Cayce would patiently rouse himself to get a snack of milk and crackers from the kitchen. When he returned, we might have left the study. But often we were still there, discussing what we had just heard. It did not take him long to join in. He knew intimately, of course, the structure and conceptual thrusts of the readings. Other parts of the counsel just given he seemed to pick from the air or from his own blocked memory of the trance. Perhaps this capacity explained why he never appeared to study a transcript of a reading for any length of time. When he held one or just scanned it, he seemed in touch with its contents, much as when he startled secretaries taking his dictation by offering thoughtful observations about the strangers to whom he was dictating. Though the detailed personal data he cited were not in these letters, they were often verified in later phone calls or visits from the senders.
He Never Heard a Reading
Was Cayce the waking
