“Joe McMoneagle passed his first remote-viewing tests with flying colors. At that point, he was asked to volunteer as remote reviewer #001 for the top-secret army project Grill Flame, eventually renamed Star Gate. McMoneagle remained associated with the project for the full eighteen years of the Army-initiated involvement, the only remote viewer to do so. In 1984, he was awarded the Legion of Merit by the US government for ‘distinguishing himself by exceptionally meritorious conduct in the performance of outstanding services during his Army career.’
McMoneagle, Puthoff says, would produce: “masses of data that were really hot and totally inexplicable by ordinary means. One example that had particular impact on me was when Joe identified that the Russians were building a new form of submarine. We gave Joe the geographic coordinates, and nothing else. His immediate response was that they identified a very cold wasteland with an extremely large industrial looking building that had enormous smokestacks, not far from the sea that was covered with a thick cap of ice. Since that first impression corresponded very closely to the photograph, we showed Joe the picture and asked what might be going on inside it. Here is McMoneagle’s own retrospective account of the viewing:
I spent some time relaxing and emptying my mind. Then with my eyes closed, I imagined myself drifting down into the building, passing downward through its roof. What I found was mind-blowing. The building was easily the size of two or three huge shopping centers, all under a single roof.
In giant bays were what looked like cigars of different sizes, sitting in gigantic racks. Thick mazes of scaffolding and interlocking steel pipes were everywhere. Within these were what appeared to be two large cylinders being welded side to side, and I had an overwhelming sense that this was a submarine, a really big one, with twin hulls.
What I didn’t know was that my session was reported back to the NSC and created some dissension. The almost unanimous belief at the time, by all the intelligence-collection agencies investigating the building, was that the Soviets were constructing a brand-new type of assault ship—a troop carrier, and possibly one with the helicopter capability. A submarine was out of the question.
On my second visit, I got up very close. Hovering beside it, I guessed it to be about twice the length of an American football field and nearly seventy feet in width, and at least six or seven floors high (if it were sitting next to a standard apartment building). It was clearly constructed of two huge elongated tubes running side-by-side for almost their entire length. (I didn’t think this was possible with submarines.) I moved up over the deck and was surprised to see that it had slanted missile tubes running side by side. This was critically important because this indicated that it had the capacity to fire while on the move rather than having to stand still in the water, which made it a very dangerous type of submarine.
After the session, I did a very detailed drawing of the submarine, adding dimensions, as well as noting the slanted tubes, indicating eighteen to twenty in all. This material, along with the typed transcript of my session was forwarded to the NSC. We soon received a follow-on request to return to the target and to try to provide an estimated time of completion. I revisited the site and, based on the speed of construction and the differences in the condition of the submarine from one session to the next, I guessed that it would be ready for launch about four months later—that would be sometime in the month of January—a singularly crazy time of year to launch a submarine from a building not connected to water, near a sea frozen over with ice yards thick. I reported that very soon a crew of bulldozers and other types of heavy equipment would arrive to cut a channel leading to the sea.
McMoneagle’s intuitive analysis was correct. In the words of
Puthoff, “McMoneagle was one of our very few subjects whose ability to perceive
places thousands of miles away was so reliable we could document it
consistently and unequivocally.” [1]
Mayer didn’t know, or knew but didn’t mention in her book, that McMoneagle attributed his remote-viewing abilities to near-death experiences. In a book entitled Death Makes Life Possible: Revolutionary Insights on Living, Dying, and the Continuation of Consciousness, author Marilyn Schlitz quotes McMoneagle’s accounts of his NDEs:
“His first NDE occurred after McMoneagle became ill while eating in an Austrian restaurant. When I exited through the front door of the restaurant, there was a pop, like someone snapping their fingers, and I found myself standing on a cobblestone road. It was raining, and the rain was passing through my palms. I thought, ‘This is very peculiar.’ I looked over, and a body was half in and half out of this swinging door of the restaurant.
I noticed that it looked very much like my body. My friend who had brought my wife to the restaurant had come outside and pulled the body into his lap. He was striking the body on the chest with his fist; they didn’t know what CPR was in 1970. I found out later that I had gone into convulsions, collapsed, and had swallowed my tongue. His solution was to keep hitting me on the chest with his fist.
They loaded the body into a car and rushed me to a hospital in Passau, Germany. That took quite a while since it was about sixty kilometers away. By the time they got me to the hospital, I had not breathed for a while, and my heart had stopped. And I was watching them—I floated alongside the car. I watched them cut the clothing off in the emergency room and stick needles in my chest. I had drifted up to the ceiling in the out-of-body state. I felt heat on the back of my neck and thought it was those bright lights near the ceiling. I turned to look at the lights and fell over backwards into a tunnel, accelerated through the tunnel, and when I came out at the end, I was enveloped in this very warm, bright light.
Instantly, I knew all the answers to the universe. I knew that I was in the presence of God because that’s what it had to be. I was overwhelmed with love and peace. Then a voice said, ‘You can’t stay. You have to go back.’ I argued with it and said, ‘Nah, I’m not going anywhere.’ And then there was another pop. I sat up, and saw I was under a sheet naked.
I looked around, and there was a German lying in the bed next to me. I had been comatose about twenty-five hours. I was very excited and started telling him, ‘God’s a white light. You can’t die.’ He ran out and got the doctor who came in and sedated me.
I woke up a little later, and they were taking me to Munich to put me in a rest home where they would start doing brain studies. They were sure that I was crazy and that I’d suffered brain damage from the lack of oxygen. Over a two-week period, they were able to figure out that I’d not suffered any brain damage. However, I was unable to reconcile the events. I was having out-of-body experiences. I was hearing conversations going on four rooms away. I was reading people’s minds that were walking into the room. I was psychically scattered. And I’d totally lost my fear of death.
Eventually they let me out of the rest home, and I got to spend seven more years overseas doing some very strange jobs because I had no fear of death. For a long time, until 1985, I believe the white light is God, and that you can’t die, that you survive death.”
In 1985, after a massive heart attack, McMoneagle had a second NDE. In the dying process, I was able to see the light, but not go to it. For some interesting reason, I can’t explain why, I was just not allowed to do it. But I could see the light, and I could see the light had edges. That created a huge philosophical problem for me because my definition of God is that God is an unlimited being, and an unlimited being can’t have edges.
After more than a year, McMoneagle concluded the light is what we are when we cease to be physical. I think we become, in a sense, an almost pure form of energy. And in this pure state of energy, we coalesce into all of the knowledge that we’ve collected in all of our forms, many of the lives that we’ve lived.
I believe in multiple lives, not recurrent lives. I don’t believe that we are born into lives in a linear format, but I think we live multiple lives simultaneously. So when we cease to be physical, all of those lives coalesce together; all of the knowledge comes together at one time. And the reason we assume the light to be God is because all of the knowledge coming together is so overwhelming we just assume that this must be what God is.
It’s the initial threshold of something that we call life after death, but it’s the leading edge of the loss of identity. The reason that we return from the near-death experience is a survival mechanism that says we can’t quite lose our identity. True life after death is a loss of identity. It’s a reintroduction into whatever the purest form of energy is, that all of creation or matter is made from.
My consciousness, McMoneagle continues, is scattered across space-time because space-time is an illusion. When I cease to be physical, when I die physically, I cease to be physical in all of those manifestations. All of that experience comes together simultaneously. Now, the reason for being physical is to collect knowledge, or to collect experience. If that’s true, you and I are having an experience now. Well, if that’s true, then the experience I’m having over here and you’re having there is pretty poor because I’m only getting half of it and you’re getting the other half. But what if in actuality, we’re both the same? Then we’re getting all of it. But we don’t know that until we cease to be physical.
In the physical sense, we don’t understand that, but we have to have the experience by playing out our roles. In other words, we’re incarnated in multiple lives in the physical. Through the death process, or the leaving of the physical, all physical reality ceases to be. All the manifestations cease to be simultaneously, and it’s all brought together into an understanding of the universe.
It’s
important to understand that what I do to you, particularly in this moment, I’m
doing to myself. That’s the critical understanding of it. So real karma is
everything you do, you do to yourself. That’s the truest form of understanding.
Everything I do to every living thing, I do to myself. [2]
1 Elizabeth Lloyd Mayer, Extraordinary Knowing: Science, Skepticism, and the Inexplicable Powers of the Human Mind (Bantam Books, 2007), 110-117.
2 In Marilyn Schlitz, Death Makes Life Possible: Revolutionary Insights on Living, Dying, and the Continuation of Consciousness (Sounds True, 2015), 52-55.
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