It has been said again and again that Technical Remote Viewing® is a skill that trains the mind, and like any skill, it is only through practice that you become proficient. Some students who begin learning TRV® grow impatient, wanting instant results. If those same students were to walk into a scuba diving class for the first time, and want to instantly deep-sea dive for sunken treasure off the coast of Cuba, they would be laughed out of the class. It is through strict adherence to structure and protocol, and diligent practice, that one becomes a proficient TRVer.
With TRV, you are training the mind, like a puppy on a leash. Only after your puppy is trained through practice and discipline, will you be able to take him on walks and have him exhibit consistent and disciplined behavior. That same concept applies to training your mind. Once you have practiced long enough, the protocols of TRV become autonomic, and you are able to sit down and work targets with consistent accuracy. Your imagination has been reined in, and you now have the experience to recognize when it bolts forward again. You have the skills in place to yank that choke chain and nip the analytical overlay in the bud before it takes over your session.
With this new level of proficiency, students are opened up to a world of targets. They are now able to frontload. Frontload means that they know what the cue is before beginning the session. During the first year of training, students whose minds are still being trained in TRV, do all of their sessions in the blind, meaning they do not know what they are going to view when they sit down to TRV. This helps them keep their imagination at bay as they struggle to train their puppy. Once your mind is trained and the process becomes autonomic, then you are able to sit down and do targets on any subject, at any time. You may know that the target is your husband's missing pair of glasses, but you are consciously unaware of the location. You are applying the skill to solve an immediate problem - the location - which in this case is still an "unknown," on your own. In these cases, it is more accurately termed a "partial blind." Suddenly, the problem of desperately needing to find your lost car keys to take your son to school, when you are alone, for example, is not a problem for you. Just relax, sit down, and find them with TRV.
That is just what I did this spring. Trying to get your first grader cleaned, dressed and ready for school is hectic enough. But add diapering and feeding a baby to that process, and you have a recipe for chaos. "Do you have your homework? Do you have your lunch? Where's your coat? Get your sister's hands out of the toilet! Okay, let's go, you're going to be late for school." And then suddenly, the horror! The keys are not in their usual place. For a frantic ten minutes I raced through the house, looking under tables, in drawers, in the bed, in the toilet (you never know where a baby might carry off your keys). To no avail. And then it dawned on me. TRV it!
I sat down before a stack of paper, took a deep breath to calm myself, and began. Moving from the general to the specific, I gathered my data. Colors, textures, smells, sounds, dimensions. And then the most useful part of this particular session came to me: the sketch. I sketched the target (the keys) in between two flat surfaces, one in front, and one in back. The one in back was black and vertical; the one in front was white and horizontal. Near the keys, I sketched a short, wide, tubular object, and on the top of it was a spiraling circle with a hole in the middle. I grabbed the sketch and went from room to room, trying to match that object to the items around the house. I returned to the office and sat back down at my husband's desk to go over my data once more. And then I saw it. Next to his monitor, was his cd-rom disk holder, a short, wide tube filled with stacked disks, the disks complete with spiraled grooves and holes in the center.
I jumped up, looked next to it, and saw the white horizontal scanner. Behind the scanner was a black and white photograph of myself, with a black frame, leaning vertically against the back wall. Between the scanner and the frame, lying on the desk, were the car keys. They had slipped down between the two objects. Problem solved.
Losing personal items has to be one of the most irritating things that can happen, more irritating than getting a bug in your eye. And when it happens to a first grader, it can be devastating. A month later, my son received as a gift, a "Shrek" cd-rom math game. He had just seen the film Shrek for the first time, and it had become his new favorite movie, winning out over the cartoon version of Lord of the Rings. When he unwrapped the computer game, his eyes lit up with joy. He carried it around for an hour after receiving it, waiting for his father to come home and install it. When my husband finally walked through the door, his excited son greeted him. "I got a Shrek math game!"
"Cool, let me see it!"
My son's eyes went wide. "Mom, where's my game?"
I had no idea where he had left it. The search began, and with each passing minute my son grew more and more distressed. After twenty minutes, he was near tears. And then, to my surprise, he turned to me and said, "Why don't you do that thing, Mommy?"
"You know, the floating head guy? Remote View it."
Ah, yes. Out of the mouths of babes. I sat down and started the session. Within ten minutes I had produced my data and gotten a rough sketch. There was a tall, brown man-made object, with square things in it. There was a low, large, soft, greenish-brown object with "sections." The target was under this thing. I carried the sketch with me once more through the house, until I came to the family room. There was the tall, wooden entertainment center, and just as in the sketch, across from it, was the greenish-brown couch. I immediately looked under it, my son excitedly peering over my shoulder.
I found ten marbles, a ninja figurine, two rubber bands and a dead wolf spider. But no cd-rom. And then I noticed that the target was not marked underneath the couch in my sketch. It was drawn "in" the couch. I slipped my hand down between the cushions and lo and behold, there was my son's Shrek cd-rom. He had been sitting on the couch watching the clock tick, and had slid it down between the cushions and forgotten about it.
It is these kinds of practical applications of TRV that have helped simplify my life. Lord knows, as a working writer, wife, and mother of two, I need all the help I can get.