CHAPTER 10
End Game (1)
Reflecting some sixteen years later on the time she had spent at the Institute, where she had worked in the office as well as being an Explorer, Ria Ericson recalled a conversation she had with Monroe. He invited her to lunch at a local restaurant and, much to her surprise, asked her if she could anticipate what the future might hold for the Institute. She told him that she had not given any thought to it, assuming that its future was well established in his own mind. But it did not seem to be so, and as the conversation continued she became aware, as she remembered, of "his puzzlement as to what had really made TMI and all the programs as large and important to so many people throughout the world." The Institute, she felt, " had grown around him, through and from him, but somehow he still, in his own natural, humble way couldn't quite decide why." Self-deprecating, many would think, might be more appropriate than humble, but otherwise Ria's comment is perceptive. In the earlier years of the Institute there is no evidence of long-term planning, nor any indication that Monroe had foreseen the impact that the programs would have on their participants. He had managed to keep a grip on the tiger's tail, but the tiger would never eat out of his hand. With the turn of the decade, however, there were signs of a change.
In the spring of 1990, two-and-a-half years after his culminating experience recorded in Ultimate Journey, Monroe wrote an article for the Institute's newsletter on his current understanding of the out-of-body state. He noted how his attitude towards his experiences had changed over the years. Now the out-of-body experience, as he understood it, is "part of a 'phasing' process that all of us perform without awareness of what we do…The OBE is simply another stage of phase relationship to time-space." Other examples of phase relationships, he added, are hallucinations, meditation, visions, mystical events, ecstasies, "and a long list of other phenomena humankind looks upon with distortion or tries to ignore."
The next two paragraphs in the article provided his answer to questions he was asked many times by participants in Institute courses.
What is my OB action in 1990? Indescribable. I don't sleep now in the usual meaning. I haven't for several years. When I relax physically to a certain point, I phase out of being conscious physically and I'm off somewhere and somewhen to do and be. I don't even bother attempting to record and report such activity because there seems to be little counterpart here and far too much of it to translate. Try writing down and reporting second by second every thought and activity you may have in an hour of wakefulness. That same hour of "sleep" to me may be the equivalent of a year or a century, most of it unrelated to human life on earth past and present.
What keeps me here? Loves. Friendships. The beauty of Earth-nature. Curiosity. Ability to help others in one way or another as long as I can give more than I take. But I don't at all feel superior in the process. It's more like a monkey who found a hole in his cage and sneaks out to revisit the Forest.
Although Monroe's perception of the OBE had changed over the years, he insisted that this change did not affect the reality of his early experiences. "They stand very much exactly as reported and remain very accurate," he commented. He had changed. He no longer had the time, energy, or inclination to replicate them.
Besides Nancy's progressive illness, other pressures were building on Monroe. His physical energy was deteriorating—he felt that his body was betraying him—and his mental acuity was not what it had been. Much of his own fortune had been spent creating and maintaining the Institute, but the number of programs that could be offered was limited by the space available. Expansion of the premises would cost far more than he could afford and he suspected that others with far greater resources at their disposal were planning to buy him out. He began to think that among those who attended courses at the Institute were some who had sought to copy the Hemi-Sync process or had adapted it to their own purposes, even setting up their own residential centers and advertising their products. His suspicions in this regard had some justification, although very few of the imitations or derivations survived for long.
However, to Gateway participants he was, as always, the wise old man from the mountaintop, descending once or twice a week to share with them his thoughts, his humor, his amazing stories. Most regarded him with awe. They were familiar with his voice that had led them into experiences that they had never imagined were within their reach. Now here he was, the great explorer into the farthest reaches of consciousness, joking with them, teasing them gently, leading them on, sometimes into realms beyond thought, sometimes up the garden path.
One observer recalled watching Monroe at the time and noting that "his energy seemed to fluctuate like a lamp on a dimmer switch controlled by an unseen hand. One moment his gestures were feeble, his voice almost inaudible; the next his movements were forceful, his voice strong. It was otherworldly, as if his energy were divided between this reality and somewhere else." He described this as mesmerizing. Was there some force renewing his energy at certain times? Or was it part of a performance, beautifully timed and expertly delivered?
The Monroe that course participants saw was rather different from the Monroe as he related to the Institute staff. Some of his decisions seemed arbitrary or inexplicable, depending, it seemed, on emotion rather than reason, and not everyone who decided it was time to move elsewhere felt that their efforts had been fully appreciated. Towards the end of 1990 an especially difficult situation arose when Scooter became aware that Monroe's attitude towards her was changing. She felt that he was undercutting her authority as director, giving her the responsibility but rejecting her recommendations, in particular over the major issue of investigating ways to cut costs and increase income. She sensed that he no longer trusted her and was disturbed to find that he was countermanding her instructions to other employees. The situation for her was becoming intolerable. In November of that year she asked for an appointment with both Bob and Nancy and told them she had decided to resign. In the following January, she broke off all contact with the Institute.
Scooter's contribution to the development of the Institute was incalculable. Her ability to handle people with humor and tact, no matter who they were or where they came from, was remarkable, and her organizational skills were outstanding. But in her own interest it was time for her to move away, although in her role as director she was, as it turned out, irreplaceable, and no successor was appointed. Nevertheless, the parting was especially painful for her. Monroe had seen her through college, given her a car and taught her to drive, taught her about business, treated her as a partner in the creation of what became The Monroe Institute, made special tapes to help in her studies and to enable her to move into different states of consciousness, so that she learned how to control her emotions and her out-of-body experiences. He had introduced her to new philosophies of life and to the achievements of people such as Amelia Earhart, Duke Ellington, James Michener, Robert Heinlein, and more. As she later said, she was immensely grateful to him for his incredibly profound effect on her life—the good, the bad—all of it!
For a time Monroe himself took on some of the director's responsibilities. One priority was to take action to improve the Institute's finances. He asked Mark Certo to examine the production system of everything they sold, to investigate all costings and discover where economies could be made. Mark's report indicated that some $150,000 might be saved annually by adopting alternative measures for the duplication and packaging of tapes. However, he had not anticipated that Monroe would use this report to criticize some of his senior staff. Their response, while not actively hostile, was certainly discouraging. It caused Monroe to feel that his control might be slipping. He now suspected that some of those he was employing felt it was time for him to move to the sidelines, confining his activities to delivering his evening talks to program participants. But he had no intention of so doing.
At about this time, Director of Programs David Mulvey began to feel that it was time for him to move on. While he remained on good personal terms with Monroe, he was finding him more difficult to work with. He noted that whenever he or any other of the senior staff made some suggestion or proposal it was, in the first instance, usually well received. Monroe would ask for more detail and for the proposal to be put in its final form. But when this was submitted to him, his usual response was "Well, that's not what I had in mind," and the matter was dropped. Nevertheless, because of his interest in the future of the Institute and his concern for his own career, Dave was prepared to take on more responsibility himself. He asked if it was possible for him to become a member of the board of directors. Monroe said he thought that was a good idea, but as no further word on the subject was forthcoming for several months Dave became convinced that this cause was lost. Now believing that there was no future for him at the Institute, he resigned. Shortly afterwards he sold his house and moved away, although his interest in the work of the Institute was such that during the next few years he returned to train programs from time to time.1
While Scooter had been well aware of the Institute's financial problems, she had usually been frustrated in her attempts to do something about them. Monroe accepted that the ultimate responsibility was his, but he felt that his age and state of health, together with his emotional state, meant that these problems needed someone else to solve them. He could see that what was required was a full-time director to take on the day-to-day management of the company and to sort out the finances, but have nothing to do with programs, trainers, or course participants. Yet it could be that he now lacked the confidence to make the right decision when it came to making an appointment. He called his daughter Laurie, then a high-flyer in real estate in Florida, and asked her to join him within twenty-four hours to interview a candidate for the post. This was Ron Harris, a bluff local businessman who looked happier out-of-doors than behind a desk. In the event, Harris proved an effective manager, reducing both the running expenses and the number of employees, and helping to establish the company on a stable footing. One new appointment was made: that of an ex-IRS agent, Dick Savigny, who joined the staff as accountant. Neither of these newcomers could be described as metaphysical types, which was no drawback considering the type of work they were required to undertake.
Perhaps in the hope of improving the Institute's finances by expansion overseas, Monroe invited Stefano to return to the Institute as a full-time salaried member of staff with the title of international project coordinator. He also offered to sell Stefano a parcel of land in which he had previously shown interest but—Monroe had then told him—was not available. This was a prime site of three acres across the valley from the Institute building, where the one-time peach packing shed was sited and where the old homestead had once stood. Even though the amount Monroe demanded was something like two-and-a-half times the going price per acre, Stefano accepted. Some time later he admitted that he had been so focused on the possibilities of Hemi-Sync and the potentials of his new appointment that he had temporarily lost touch with reality.
Never enthusiastic about spending much time behind a desk, Stefano expressed his willingness to travel on the Institute's behalf wherever needed. In return, Monroe offered him 10 percent of everything "off the top" that resulted from international sales. Now that it looked as if progress was in sight, Stefano developed an ambitious plan to train others to present his two-and-a-half day program to non-English-speaking people worldwide, using specially designed nonverbal tapes and CDs that could be duplicated in different countries for ease of distribution and sales. He thought it might be possible to set up centers in those countries, and as demand for the program increased it would be essential to have the texts of the exercises translated into the appropriate languages. In the meantime, however, they would have to make do with the nonverbal tapes that he had previously used.
An opportunity arose through a German friend of Stefano's, Peter, who had married an Argentinean girl and was living in Buenos Aires. Peter had a business partner, a retired banker interested in introducing "brain machines" and similar technologies into Argentine society. This seemed to Stefano a good opportunity to introduce Hemi-Sync to Latin America. It so happened that a large-scale trade fair was being organized in Buenos Aires as part of the celebrations for the five hundredth anniversary of Columbus's landing. Peter and his business partner proposed to become vendors at this fair, intending to introduce the public to various devices and methods that claimed to enhance human consciousness. They sent Stefano a glossy brochure with an aerial view of the site, a circle indicating the booth where Hemi-Sync could be available. He passed this to Monroe, who responded favorably. Stefano planned to have nonverbal Hemi-Sync tapes on sale, hoping that this would enable him to get his foot in the Latin American door. Unfortunately, he discovered that taxes imposed by the Argentine authorities, added to shipping charges, would so increase the cost of the tapes that to make any sort of profit they would need to be sold at about thirty-five dollars each. The only way to make overseas sales economically viable was to arrange for the tapes to be duplicated in the countries in which they were to be sold. As it was impossible to do this in time for the fair, he decided to ask that a hundred nonverbal tapes, labeled as samples, should be shipped over for sale. There was, however, no precedent for anything like this and the request was refused.
Despite this unpromising start, Stefano was intent on going ahead. He had already initiated the process of having the texts of several tapes and CDs translated into Spanish and arrangements were in hand for duplication in Federal Capital, the industrial park of Buenos Aires. Contact was made with a number of potential distributors in Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay, and individuals who could be trained as Outreach trainers were being sought. Everything was now in place. All that was needed was the release of the master tapes carrying the Hemi-Sync frequencies so that duplication could begin.
However, Monroe refused to agree to the release unless Stefano guaranteed that his royalties would be paid in full and that no one would cheat him, a guarantee that Stefano felt it was impossible for him to give. He also demanded that credit checks be run through the U.S. Embassy in Argentina on everyone involved. Time was now running short, and Stefano realized that it was pointless to pursue the Buenos Aires project any further. It was dropped, leaving behind disappointment and expense for those involved. For the time being the International Project went on hold, leaving Stefano with the opportunity to concentrate on building his house.
As the months passed, despite various surgical procedures Nancy's health continued to deteriorate. She carried on, as far as possible, with her usual pattern of daily life, and almost all of those who saw her found it hard to believe that she was as ill as she was. She faced her situation with courage and dignity, supported by the philosophy and promise of the Lifeline program that she had helped to create. Then on July 31, 1992, having great difficulty with breathing, she was taken to the University of Virginia Hospital. Four days later an operation was performed to relieve the pressure on her lungs. But the progress of her illness was not halted. Darlene Miller visited her as often as she could and, with Teena Anderson working with them at a distance, Nancy and Darlene used the methods of Lifeline, traveling together into a postphysical state of consciousness, Monroe's Focus 27, into the Park, defined as an area of rest and recovery beyond the time-space continuum. Shortly after midnight on August 15, quietly and peacefully, Nancy died.
The life that Nancy Penn was thrust into on her second marriage was about as different as could be imagined from her earlier years as the wife of a serving officer. To begin with there was plenty of money, together with a fine country house surrounded by extensive grounds in one of the most upmarket counties in Virginia. Before long, however, her new husband had disposed of most of his assets and was spending much of his time closeted in his laboratory creating and listening to patterns of sound. The visitors who came to see what he was doing might have originated from a different planet compared to the officers' wives she used to entertain. However, she soon proved that she could cope. Resourceful and tactful, she was a delightful hostess and at the same time progressively more interested in what her husband was involved with, including taking part in several laboratory sessions.
Nancy Monroe outside the Gift House
On the move to Roberts Mountain, Nancy had become a full partner in the fledgling Institute, devoting much time and energy to making the environment as attractive as possible for the many hundreds who came to take the programs. When her new home on the mountaintop was built, she was able to apply her creativity and sense of style to its décor and furnishings. These qualities are also manifested in the improvements, especially the fine new dining room, in the Residential Center, which was renamed the Nancy Penn Center in her memory. Her love of plants and trees and her understanding of how best to display them are evidenced around the Institute buildings. She was an exceptionally talented lady.
Two days after Nancy's death a close friend of hers had a dream in which she saw her about to leave home on a journey to a new assignment. She left three items behind: a small plant in a pot, which the friend identified as thyme, a package containing sage, and a gift-wrapped glass ball like a paperweight. Awakened from the dream, the friend looked again at these three items, with the understanding that they were gifts from Nancy for everyone. In folklore, thyme is a symbol of strength, and the souls of the dead were once thought to dwell in the flowers of thyme. Sage is the symbol of domestic virtue, flourishing where the woman rules, and it grows best for the wise. The gift-wrapped glass ball, she concluded, stood for all the gifts that Nancy gave—her wholeness, her clarity, herself.
The confidence and serenity with which Nancy faced the world were qualities much needed in coping with her husband's preoccupations and fluctuating moods. While Bob had come to regard all organized religions simply as belief systems, Nancy was both supported and strengthened by her Christian faith. Among her best-loved authors was C. S. Lewis, and her favorite among his many books was his fable, The Great Divorce, in which he rejects any idea that good and evil can ever be reconciled and denies any possibility of William Blake's suggestion of a marriage between Heaven and Hell. This book in particular seemed to reflect Nancy's own beliefs.
Although Monroe often found it difficult to express his feelings verbally, he was able to do so in writing. Ultimate Journey especially has a strong emotional content, apparent even more so in some of the early drafts when he sought to include snatches of dialogue with Nancy that re-created their mutual love and the gradual progress of her illness. But when it came to openly expressing their love, he seemed to find this beyond him. This was publicly demonstrated at Nancy's funeral. After her two elder daughters had spoken movingly about their mother and their love for her, all that Bob could bring himself to do was to read out a list of what she had achieved from notes he had made on a yellow legal pad.
Monroe was seventy-six when his wife died. Their marriage had lasted for twenty-three years and they had known each other socially for seven years before. Since his early twenties, Monroe had never lived alone for more than a few months and now, with no one to make the coffee or drink it with him, and only the dogs and cats for company—sadly, his favorite cat Fusby had died just three days before Nancy—he found it very hard. George Durrette came up the mountain to chat with him from time to time and Ed Sturz brought him catfish from the lake, but he had no close neighbors and, apart from Rita and Martin Warren and his agent Eleanor Friede, few friends of his own generation. He joined the Warrens for dinner once a week, usually driving to the café in nearby Lovingston, and sometimes had lunch with Rita on a Saturday, while on Sunday mornings he might visit Ed and Ruth Sturz for breakfast at their home on Rainbow Ridge. When the lack of company became hard to bear, he would drive down to the Warrens and sit in their living room, talking with anyone who happened to look in. He would call Cindy once a week, conversations that brought them closer together than they had been when Cindy was living on the New Land. A. J. and his wife Shaaron moved in to the lower floor of the Gift House and did their best to keep him on a healthy diet. While he was grateful for their presence, they had little in common, especially notions about food. "Have you ever heard of pesto?" he asked Mark one day. "It's green! Doesn't make sense to me to eat green," a remark that accords with his distaste for most vegetables. One positive move he made was to buy an adjustable bed he had seen advertised on television, and he appreciated the ease with which he could raise or lower either end to make himself comfortable.
Having alienated himself from Scooter and thereby also from Joe, Monroe had no one nearby to confide in. When Joe had moved to the New Land he had become a close personal confidant to Bob, meeting with him most days, acting with power of attorney when required, and helping him also with various personal matters. That relationship was now over, with no prospect of its being renewed. However, there was one employee with whom he felt he could share at least some of his concerns, and whom he did not suspect of angling to take over the Institute when the time came. This was Mark Certo. Moving into a nostalgic frame of mind, he asked Mark to digitize and catalogue hundreds of reels of tapes of the radio shows, such as High Adventure and Nightmare with Peter Lorre, which he had produced in the 1940s and 1950s. Since the move to Roberts Mountain these reels had been stored in a barn on the New Land, slowly deteriorating in an old chest covered with dust and rodent droppings. For Mark, working on these recordings provided entertainment of the highest order, especially those orchestral interludes in which Bob could be heard interacting with the musicians and conductor. The whole experience, he said, provided a fascinating journey through the history of broadcasting in America. For Monroe, listening to these tapes provided a relief from his unhappiness and he especially enjoyed answering the questions that arose as they listened to these recollections of times long gone by.
Another source of entertainment for Monroe and Mark Certo were the Wednesday evening sessions, when Martin Warren, A. J., and occasional visitors from the neighborhood—strictly men only—joined them in the dining hall to play poker. For Monroe, a longtime poker player with a handful of tricks as well as the ability to read his opponents' minds, this was a special pleasure. Away from the loneliness of his cabin he could forget his responsibilities and the concerns of the Institute and enjoy the challenges of the game and the jokes of his companions.
A special bonus at this difficult time was the success of the revised Guidelines program, which was received with acclamation by both staff and participants. Many of them thought it the best work that Monroe had done. Listening to what was being said, Mark Certo determined to join the course himself. As he had not taken the Gateway program, a prerequisite for attendance at any other Institute course, this request was technically out of order. Eventually, however, Monroe was persuaded to agree. For Mark it turned out to be in effect a life-changing experience. As he said many years later, "I carry the tools with me to this day and utilize them almost daily."
Although the courses continued to be in demand, matters at the Institute itself were not running smoothly. Besides those whose services were dispensed with for reasons of economy, others associated with the Institute, including some with talents as Explorers, departed suddenly, sometimes without leaving a forwarding address. They had found that doors hitherto open to them were now firmly closed. One senior member of staff had no idea that his time was up until he read an advertisement for his job in a local paper. There were also those who had offered their help or expertise and whose offers had been accepted only to discover when they arrived that it was as if they no longer existed. A psychologist who was working with the juvenile justice system in Montreal moved his family south to Virginia in the expectation of employment with Bob Monroe—an expectation that was never fulfilled. Another who was especially unfortunate was a highly qualified medical doctor who sold his practice after being invited by Monroe to join the Institute as director of research. On arrival he discovered that the laboratory was not available as far as he was concerned and Monroe was not interested in meeting him. He stayed around for three months with nothing to do and then, totally disillusioned, left. Another doctor, a member of the board of advisors, was invited to participate in research on sleep. She took leave from her post and drove many hundreds of miles to stay with her dog in a caravan on the New Land. But there was no research in progress for her to pursue. Her experience turned into an extended holiday with friends nearby and a creek in which to swim.
Why was this? It seems that as he aged Monroe was finding it increasingly difficult to trust anyone. Although he made use of professional scientists to help in the creation and testing of the Hemi-Sync technology, he became increasingly wary of people with degrees. Perhaps it was because he thought that, if science could explain Hemi-Sync, it might go on to explain it away. Part of him wanted Hemi-Sync to be scientifically validated, while another part was opposed to this. This conflict led to a kind of frustration. While he found it difficult to reject an offer of help or to cancel invitations extended to individuals who impressed him by their sincerity and willingness to work for modest financial reward—or even none—when it came to the point he simply could not face up to the possible consequences. If they validated Hemi-Sync, then he would no longer be the only one who really understood it. If they were unable to validate it, then they had failed to understand it so their time and his money had been wasted. And there was something else, occasionally hinted at but never put precisely into words. When it was time for him to die, he wanted—or he might want—to take it with him. If he was not able to control it Here, then it should not be Here at all. So he took refuge on the mountaintop, hoping it would not be long before those who offered to help or work with him ran out of patience and went back home.
There are two possible explanations for Monroe's behavior at this time. His own experience may have disenchanted him as to the value of a college education. A more likely explanation is his need to be in control at all times. This derived from his career in the entertainment field, as director, producer, and owner—all positions in which for maximum efficiency one-man control is essential. This may be the reason why those he appointed to senior positions were in his opinion not the sort of ambitious characters that might in time present some sort of threat. Should he suspect that he was in error, he would soon find a reason to terminate their employment.
There were other difficulties. Following Nancy's death, Monroe became increasingly concerned about his own health. Narrowing of the arteries in his legs made walking any distance painful and a respiratory infection affected his breathing. His eyesight was poor: he suffered from macular degeneration but hated wearing glasses. He was no longer able to enjoy those pursuits—flying, sailing, composing, and playing music—that had given him so much pleasure in earlier years. His sleep pattern changed also. He said he could not face the emotional trauma of drifting in Nancy's direction even in the deepest sleep. He felt that he was facing a new challenge, a massive adjustment, as he expressed it in Ultimate Journey. "Can I live in two worlds at the same time? With Nancy in 27, and Here with our lonely fur family—seven cats and two dogs—in a lonely house? I don't know."
For a time it seemed as if his creative ability had begun to fail. To attract more participants to the Institute and encourage Gateway graduates to return for further experiences it was important that new programs be launched every few years. But since the revision of Guidelines, inspiration appeared to be lacking. It began to look as if Monroe was desperately searching around for ideas. In 1992 he came up with what he called the Timeout Project, described as a learning system rather than a method of treatment, intended to provide "noninvasive tools that are designed to assist greatly in such cases where psychological factors disturb the sleep process." He declared expansively that the project "has the potential to alter constructively and completely the lives of every living human." However, this concept never developed into a program, although the Institute's sleep-inducing exercises, "Catnapper," "Sound Sleeper," and "Super Sleep," and the Metamusic composition Sleeping through the Rain, which were already in circulation, all continued to prove effective as single items.
In the same year, Monroe announced a new residential program, Hemi-Sync 2000. This, he proclaimed, was to be "the long-awaited learning system that provides the individual a way to begin complete self-control over all personal mental, physical, and emotional energies." It was, in addition, "a new and companion learning system for Lifeline…open to anyone because it can be of immense benefit to any person who desires progress." Despite the enthusiastic prose, this learning system was no more than a spin-off from Human-Plus. No matter how energetically they were presented, these repetitive exercises were simply inappropriate for a residential course. A few programs were scheduled, but the response was disappointing and after a couple of years they were quietly dropped.
Some months later Monroe tried again. He announced another new program, Lifespan 2000, that, he claimed, "will provide an all-encompassing structure that will help any individual exist and grow…It can be termed a new way of being and knowing, perhaps truly a new kind of human, where one is totally in control of one's self." The purpose of the program was "to provide means and methods for the human mind-body to live progressively and constructively in a rapidly changing world environment, and to assist profoundly in adaptation to such changes whatever they may be." Such grandiose claims strongly contrast with the modesty with which the successful programs, Gateway and Guidelines, were introduced. At the core of Lifespan 2000 was, by this time unsurprisingly, "the entire library of the Human-Plus exercises." But this program was no more successful than its predecessor in attracting participants. Seven sessions were scheduled and that was all.
There were disappointments also with the Outreach projects. Despite the failure of the Buenos Aires enterprise, Stefano continued to develop further schemes for expanding the use of Hemi-Sync overseas. However, plans and proposals continued to end in frustration. A German journalist/entrepreneur, a friend of Stefano's, was appointed by the Music Group of the international media conglomerate Bertelsmann to create a label for "Healing Sounds," to be retailed in doctors' offices and pharmacies across the German-speaking countries. Stefano reported that the Hemi-Sync technology was under consideration for the new Bertelsmann Music Group label. At first Monroe's interest was aroused and he told Stefano to enter into negotiations. But before action could be taken, matters came to a halt. Monroe called a meeting of what was known as "the boys' club"—senior staff members of whom Stefano was one—to discuss the proposal. He instructed Stefano to provide Ron Harris with all the details and to do whatever was needed. In subsequent meetings with Harris, however, Stefano was ordered to provide a report on his German contact and to ask him for references. Hearing of this, Stefano's friend was furious, declared that he had been grossly insulted, and refused to have anything more to do with the Institute.
Something similar occurred with a wealthy Austrian businessman, who had come across Journeys Out of the Body while on holiday. His interest captured, at the first opportunity he flew to the States and called at the Institute. He met Monroe, who introduced him to Stefano. After a lengthy discussion, he said that he was willing to provide Monroe with whatever help he needed. He arranged to stay in the area for several weeks and, after touring the buildings, offered to reequip the kitchen and to bring in a professional chef to improve the catering. Those fortunate enough to attend the 1993 Professional Seminar enjoyed a veritable banquet. All seemed to be going well until, for some reason, he and Monroe came into conflict. The visitor's enthusiasm suddenly vanished; he sold the top-of-the-market Jeep he had bought to travel the rough roads of the New Land and moved out. The chef soon departed also, the catering reverted to its previous standards, and Monroe was left with an impressively large bill.
There were also two competing Japanese companies that expressed interest in Hemi-Sync. Representatives of each visited the Institute and were impressed by the presentations of the technology. Each company wanted to have exclusive rights in handling the Institute's products, but the matter never came to competitive bidding. The terms that Monroe proposed proved too steep; negotiations were broken off and the representatives of both companies packed their bags and returned home.
Monroe's dealings with those who offered to support the Institute by promoting the spread of Hemi-Sync beyond the borders of the United States reveal much about himself at this time of his life. While he was willing to listen to the proposals of the wealthy entrepreneurs who were attracted by his magnetic personality and were convinced of the value of his audio technology, when it came to the point he backed off—and was quick to find reasons for doing so. He became, or so it seems, suspicious of their motives; it was as if he saw them as exemplifying the predator theory he described in the opening chapters of Ultimate Journey. Again, he seemed to be fearful of losing control and, driven by this fear, was unable to trust anyone, except for those who were content to align themselves with the Institute as it was and demanded nothing further. As Stefano saw it, Monroe repeatedly sabotaged himself.
But there is another way of looking at this. It may have been that the time for such expansion was not yet right. There had been attempts in the United States to copy Hemi-Sync and although none of these had been successful in that the copyists, or imitators, had not made large profits thereby, the chances of such action being effective overseas were far greater. Also, there would have been little chance of successfully launching lawsuits against copyists or imitators in Central Europe, Japan, or South America.
There is another argument. Those who, like Stefano, came from overseas to take courses at the Institute and returned to their native countries to present Outreach workshops maintained a high degree of loyalty to Monroe and his creation. Almost without exception, their policy was to keep Hemi-Sync pure. The only tapes or CDs they sold were produced by the Institute and the question of making copies for sale and profiting personally therefrom did not arise. But who could guarantee that if the technology passed into the hands of those who had not taken any of the accredited programs, had not met Monroe or heard him addressing course participants, that this purity would not be sullied? Who would then be responsible for bad experiences, or even the failure to have any experiences at all, that might befall users of such products?2
Nevertheless, Stefano was disappointed at the failure of his attempts to promote Hemi-Sync overseas and resolved to return to his original goal—to share Hemi-Sync with others wherever he could. There being no place in the organization for an international project coordinator without any international projects to coordinate, he handed in his resignation. Monroe still wanted him to remain focused on international affairs rather than to restrict his activities to training, but Stefano refused. For the next few months he directed his attention to training programs at the Institute and raising Raphael, his two-year-old son. By this time his house was almost complete. It was a log house, constructed by what was known on the New Land as the SBA (the Slow Builders Association), a small, informal group of local craftsmen with various practical skills. The work, not altogether surprisingly, ran into some problems, particularly when it was found that the structure was in danger of collapsing unless stronger internal support was installed. As soon as the house was secure and habitable Stefano with his wife and son moved in. They had been living there for just twelve days when, with no warning, in the space of twenty-four hours Stefano's domestic life collapsed around him. Shortly afterwards he sold the house and left the Institute, never to return. It was to be many years before Hemi-Sync was to obtain more than a toehold in the world beyond the United States.
Notes
1. No explanation has been offered for Monroe's occasional inconsistencies and contradictions, which occurred more frequently in his last decade. An earlier example that disturbed those involved was when he handed cases of the original Gateway tapes to Melissa Jager and Bill Schul in appreciation, he said, of their work with the Institute. Two days later he demanded their return, saying he certainly never meant they should keep them. Bill refused, saying that they were honored to have been given them, had accepted them in good faith, and intended to keep them in good faith.
2. A bad experience could be very bad indeed. I was once asked to try a nonverbal tape said to carry Hemi-Sync signals but of uncertain origin and found it induced a feeling of absolute terror.