I’m excited to announce that my remote viewing research was just published in the peer-reviewed Journal of Scientific Exploration!

While conducting research for my Parapsychology Ph.D. in 2022, I combined my paranormal and cybersecurity interests into a simple question: Can clairvoyants use their powers to see data that is inside computers? Is “psychic hacking” of machines possible?

The answer is yes. Recruiting 146 psychics, I showed that some people can describe specific details about randomly chosen ATM PIN numbers, pictures, and videos held in computers that are located miles away, even when the computers’ screens are blacked out and the machines are password-protected and not connected to any network.

The implications are wild, if not scary: what good are barbed-wire fences, passwords, and firewalls if psychics can bypass all of these to access data using only their minds? Storing a nation’s deepest secrets deep in an underground bunker may not stop a psychic capable of accessing information outside of space and time.

Is psychic hacking possible? Read all about it in my paper published here.

…And if that’s not enough magick for you, here’s some more.

I’ve been obsessed with Egypt since I was a kid. It began with a 1970s live-action TV show called The Secrets of Isis, where a mystical gold amulet allowed a high school science teacher to transform into the goddess. She could fly, walk through walls, and even talk to animals, all in the name of saving lives, protecting the environment, and fighting crime.

Whenever a new episode aired, I’d become her, jumping on the living room couch and waving a magic wand while wearing an Isis-style white tunic and gold headband my mom had made for me. (My mom was a total hippie who burned incense and talked to houseplants while listening to Stevie Nicks and doing yoga, so naturally she encouraged my magical spells).

In my teen years I scoured library books on Egypt, memorizing hieroglyphics, teaching myself bits of Egyptian magic (Heka), and reveling in Isis lore. I loved that her favorite tree was the sycamore — a symbol of resurrection — and that she could transform herself into a falcon or hawk.

I especially loved the ancient story of Isis reassembling her husband Osiris after he’d been dismembered. Using her magic, Isis gathered his limbs from across Egypt and reconstituted him. Sadly, his penis was missing (fish in the Nile ate it), so she made him a new one. Nothing was more punk-rock-magical than a witch-goddess fashioning her dude a brand new cosmic phallus out of mud, wax, and gold.

Given my obsession, I was beyond excited to recently visit Egypt for real. I sailed on the Nile, dined on pigeon, visited Tutankhamun’s tomb, crawled into the Great Pyramid’s inner chambers like Indiana Jones, and ran my hands along the Sphinx’s dusty feet.

The pyramids blew my mind, but I was even more excited by Agilkia Island, home to the Temple of Isis (a.k.a. Temple of Philae). Originally built in 380 BC, it glowed white under the moon as our boat approached, vibrating with Isiac power.

I pulled out a magic wand I’d cut from a sycamore branch, and like a dork, lovingly touched it against the temple’s stone walls every chance I got, making sure to imbue every crevice of the wood with ancient Isis dust.

Touring the temple, I saw its sacrificial altar up ahead. Its energy was palpable. I wanted to touch it so bad, to lay my Isis wand upon it (my own magical phallic moment?), but the altar was roped off and protected by a serious-looking security guard.

As my tour group finished exploring and exited the temple, I waited behind. I wanted every last second with the altar, even though it was out of reach behind velvet ropes. If only I could touch it. The air was still. Time slowed. I felt like something magical was about to happen. Then suddenly —

The security guard whispered: “Do you want to touch the altar?”

I was in shock — Isis had granted my wish!

I nodded vigorously.

“Then hurry!” the guard whispered.

Moving the ropes aside, he beckoned me into the chamber, then faded away, leaving me alone.

I touched the flat marble altar. It was cold and vibrating. I set my wand on it. The energy in the room was potent, female, dizzying. I stood there a long time, the Isis power passing through me.

Finally the guard returned. Time to go. It had only been minutes, but it felt like hours.

When I finally returned to my tour group, I felt crazy with excitement over my union with Isis. I carried the wand back home, and plan to paint it in gold leaf, sealing inside the dust and vibrations of Isis and her magic.

I had my most intense ghost experience in 1990 during my freshman year in college. My roommate and I were studying one night when our dorm room suddenly became freezing cold, even though the city was a sweltering 80 degrees and we had no air conditioning. The nerves in my skin started buzzing—like TV snow—as if I’d suddenly been draped by an invisible blanket of static electricity. I looked up from my book just in time to see a man standing in our room. Our room’s door was locked, yet somehow he’d gotten in without a sound, and now there he was, obscuring the entire door with his wide 6’5 frame. He was opaque and dark—a shadow man—with no discernible features except for two glowing yellow eyes. I glanced at my roommate, who was staring at the door with his mouth and eyes wide open, unable to speak. I looked back at the door again and the figure was gone. I asked, “Did you see that?” And my roommate replied, “The eyes!” Doubting myself, I glanced down at my book, and to my shock, saw an afterglow of the man on the white of the page—an after-image burned onto my retinas like a camera flash. I looked to the left, then the right, and the image moved with my gaze. How was that possible, if what we’d seen hadn’t emitted some kind of energy?

The man continued visiting us over the next two weeks with increasing frequency. Every time he appeared, my roommate and I would feel our room go abuzz with cold static and our hair would stand up. The static energy was so powerful that we could tell where the man was in our building—even if he was at the far end of the hall, we could feel where his energy was coming from in the same way you can feel the Sun’s heat with your eyes shut. The man visited at all hours, including the dead of night, until we started losing sleep. The cold static was rubbing my nerves raw to the point that I felt hypersensitive to the thoughts and emotions of others. When the static was around, I gained a measurable amount of psychic awareness, and my roommate was having the same experience. For fun, one of us would draw a picture, then focus on it intently, to see if the other could pick up on the thoughts and draw the same picture. The results were uncanny; again and again, with increasing accuracy, we were able to reach each other’s thoughts. The other students in the dorm thought we were possibly insane, but they couldn’t argue with the fact that our arm hair was standing up, and that we seemed able to know what the other was thinking in test after test.

I had my first out of body experience during this time of raw nervousness. One evening while walking up a path to our dorm building from class, I felt a surge of “jangly nerves”—an energy that seemed to come up from the ground and wash over me—and suddenly I was flying, like a Chinese dragon with a long tail that was still attached to my physical body. My dragon-spirit “body” flew up the path to the dorm, down the hall, and up the stairs to a small living room where I saw my friends sitting around talking. Then, in a flash, my spirit retracted, slamming back into my body. All of this had occurred in the blink of an eye. Not sure if what I’d experienced had been real, I ran to the dorm, down the hall, and up the stairs to the living room, where I found everyone—all the students I’d seen in my vision were there—except one woman, Laura, was standing, while in my vision I’d seen her sitting. I asked her, “Were you just sitting on that couch a second ago?” To which she answered, “Yes. Why?” So it was true: I’d visited the living room before I’d arrived.

After 2 weeks, my roommate and I couldn’t take it anymore. Our nerves were fried, and we were averaging 2-3 hours of sleep per night. Desperate, I researched everything I could find on exorcism, cleansing, repelling ghosts, you name it. I finally settled on a series of shamanic rituals that involved communicating with the ghost, and relocating him. I chose the ground outside of the dorm as his new intended home. Naked and alone in the dark of the dorm room, I carried out the exhausting ritual over several hours, during which the ghost communicated that he was lost. I reassured him that his new home in the earth would be comforting, and less disruptive to everyone around him. He agreed to be bound to his new home, which I sealed by burying a jar in the dirt right outside of our dorm building (which, appropriately, was called “the Shire” in the Middle Earth housing complex on the campus of U.C. Irvine). I walked back inside the dorm building, and felt a quiet sense of peace—the static energy was gone, and never returned while we lived there.

Several years later (around 1996, I think), a friend who knew the above story handed me a copy of the university’s newspaper, which included a news article about the incident. The reporter had written that the Shire was apparently experiencing a haunting, and that the ghost bore a resemblance to a ghost encountered several years earlier during which a “shaman had been brought in” to exorcise the building. The story detailed the exorcism—including the burying of the spirit in the dirt—and then said that recent building construction around the Shire had no doubt released the ghost back into the wild….