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Experiencing Tears of Wonder-Joy: Seeing With the Heart's Eye
There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the
A series of coincidences brought me here. I have come to this shop, in a part of this city that is new to me, in search of icons and incense. The small shop is closed. Next door, there is a large cathedral. Unlike the shop, the cathedral's doors are unlocked. I enter the building. This Orthodox liturgy is new to me. For hours, I have been standing in this cathedral, amidst these Russian people, taking my cues from them as I participate in the liturgy–moving, bending, crossing myself when they do these things. My legs are tired from the standing; my heart, light and joyful. Choral singing and incense fill this large space, surrounded by candles and icons. I feel a sense of community and unity with the people and things around me. Throughout the liturgy, the celebrants have moved from area to area–appearing through doors, disappearing behind partitions, reappearing through other doors, alternately obscured by panels and curtains, revealed through gates and openings. The liturgy is ending. As the celebrants disappear into the sanctuary and close the gates and doors, I feel a sadness–a sense of loss. But now, a tall, solitary burning candle is placed outside of the holy of holies. Tears fill my eyes, and along with the tears come gooseflesh, feelings of chills and thrills–a tingling feeling in my spine, arms, shoulders, neck, and back. My breathing becomes slightly irregular. The tears intensify. I gaze at the single, tiny flame through watery eyes, as the chills continue. What has just happened has profound meaning for me. The celebrants have disappeared into the secret, holy place; they, and what they represent, are no longer accessible. Yet, the single, burning taper remains. I feel the sun has been taken away, hidden; but the spark remains as reminder and promise of the greater light that is as yet unseen but subtly sensed. The solitary candle is a tiny spark symbolic of, reflecting, a greater sun within. Eventually, the tears stop; the chills cease caressing my spine. I feel a profound gratitude. Another occasion. A new library is being dedicated. I stand in a crowd on a crisp, sunny morning. I have been moving from time to time–seeking shadows to keep the sun from my eyes. Throughout the ceremony, there have been many moving moments. At the close of the program, the mayor shares a Native American story about telling one's secret wish to a butterfly's wings. The butterfly will keep the secret and take it to the sky. At this point, small children release butterflies. Many butterflies flutter upward, into the sky. Tears fill my eyes. Chills visit my spine. What I am witnessing is moving and meaningful to me. The tears and chills increase, persist. An orchestra of children begins to play. More butterflies take flight. My eyes fill with more tears of joy and wonder and gratitude. I have had such experiences many times. I have come to call them my "tears of wonder-joy." The tears and chills are, to me, my body's way of indicating that the eye of my heart is open and functioning and encountering something of vast importance and meaning. I have come to recognize these wonder-joy tears as direct responses to the true, the good, the beautiful. Such tears are not tears of pain or sadness or sorrow. Rather, for me, they are accompanied by positive affect–by feelings of wonder, joy, gratitude, yearning, poignancy, awe, intensity, love, and compassion. With them comes a feeling that my heart is going out to what I am witnessing. The tears, chills, and special feelings come upon me, unexpectedly and spontaneously, as experiences of grace–as bodily signals, signs, or indicators of encounters with the numinous; as my body's way of letting me know I am having an unplanned, unavoidable encounter with the Real. In this report, I describe my personal experiences of wonder-joy tears. I relate the circumstances under which these experiences occur, and the meanings I have come to attribute to them. I describe the similar experiences of others, sharing their first-hand accounts and mentioning their interpretations of these experiences. What are their bodily qualities and their accompanying feelings? What elicits them? What impacts do they have on our lives?1 But first, a brief account of how I came to call these experiences "wonder-joy tears." In the early 1970s, I was preparing the earth for a vegetable garden and was listening, as I worked, to a portable radio. I happened to tune in a station in the midst of a reading of a short story which I learned, at the end of the broadcast, was a tale by H. G. Wells called "The Door in the Wall." It was, for me, a story of a special Something More beyond our everyday experiences. It was also a story of lost opportunities, of how habits and duties distract and prevent us from encountering that for which we secretly yearn. Eventually, I was able to find the story in a collection of Wells' tales, and it became a favorite of mine–one that I often read. In the early 1990s, while once again re-reading this tale, my attention was drawn to this passage. You know, in the very moment the door swung to behind me, I forgot the road with its fallen chestnut leaves, its cabs and tradesmen's carts, I forgot the sort of gravitational pull back to the discipline and obedience of home, I forgot all hesitations and fear, forgot discretion, forgot all the intimate realities of this life. I became in a moment a very glad and wonder-happy little boy–in another world. It was a world with a different quality, a warmer, more penetrating and mellower light, with a faint clear gladness in its air, and wisps of sun-touched cloud in the blueness of its sky. (Wells, 1927/1952, p. 148) The phrase "very glad and wonder-happy" suggested a term for which I had been searching to describe the tears and chills experiences that I so often had. "Wonder-happy" became "wonder-joy"–a perfect prefix, I felt, for these particular tears. And so, I began to use the term as a shorthand code for these special kinds of tears and for the fuller bodily and affective experiences that accompanied them. The Felt Experience Tears such as Angels weep, burst forth. John Milton: Paradise Lost I.620 I am witnessing a scene or occurrence that calls forth tears of wonder-joy. It is a scene or activity that moves me deeply. Tears quickly fill my eyes. My skin erupts in gooseflesh, hairs standing on end. Something literally takes my breath away; I gasp, involuntarily. Chills run up and down my spine. I feel a tingling around my eyes, my head, and the back of my neck. The tone of the experience is positive. Toward the end of the experience, or afterwards, there may be some sadness. In the midst of the experience I feel love and compassion. My heart goes out to what I am witnessing. I feel gratitude. I feel a yearning, a poignancy, an intensity. Around me, and between me and the provoking event, there is what I can only describe as a thickness, as though the surrounding air somehow has a greater density. The experience comes upon me–unexpected, spontaneous. My attention is focused strongly upon what I am witnessing, what is provoking these feelings. I am strongly aware of the feelings themselves and the sensations that are being provoked. Other things fade from my attention. The rest of me pauses, shuts down temporarily. If I try, later, to describe the event that initially brought forth the wonder-joy tears, the tears may occur even more strongly than they did initially, and I weep. Sometimes, I am unable to relate the incident that originally provoked the tears–the feelings and the weeping are too intense. I must cease, and allow the feelings to subside before I am able to continue. I have had a tremor of bliss, a wink of heaven, a whisper
Archbishop Thomas Becket, in
Curious about others' experiences, I query colleagues and students about their wonder-joy tears. From their reports, I learn that in such circumstances, always, there are the tears. Often, there is gooseflesh. Sometimes, there are the chills and thrills–electrical or tingling feelings in the spine, arms, shoulders, neck, and back. (The French have a special term for this–frisson: shiver, shudder, quiver, thrill.) More rarely, there is an involuntary gasp, an irregularity in breathing, or a vocalization ("oh!" or "ah!" or "uh!"). Some report a feeling of warmth throughout the body. Others report warm, soft colors. Still others report a pulsing, expanding, aliveness in the chest area and extending for 3 - 4 feet. Sometimes, there is a quiet, gentle sobbing. In connection with this experience, all report positive affect. There are feelings of joy, peace, and awe; feelings of love, compassion, empathy, and acceptance. There are feelings of unity, union, oneness, closeness, connection, and immersion. Some report a congruency of themselves and all life. There are feelings of gratitude, blessedness, intensity, yearning, poignancy. Some report feeling cleansed, renewed, a beginning. For some there is a feeling of being at home, of recognition, of safety. Others experience a lightness, a spaciousness, an expansion, a feeling of being uplifted, soaring. Some feel a release, freedom. There may be feelings of deep satisfaction; of being accompanied and not alone; of being fulfilled, loved, fully seen, known, held, released from the need to be fully responsible for one’s own way or in charge; of daring to be vulnerable. More rarely, there is an experience of the facade cracking, of the surreal, of timelessness. There may be a paradoxical appreciation, a holding of opposites: joy/sadness, bitter/sweet, tragic/beautiful, confused/clear, amazed/normal. Some report sadness near the end of the experience.2 In terms of attention, there is a "stopping" at various levels. Attention is very focused, one-pointed–focused on the precipitating event and on the experience itself. Awareness of all else fades. Yet, there is awareness of a fuller spectrum of existence. Just as the head is a part of the body, thoughts may be parts of the wonder-joy tear experience. However, these are thoughts that usually occur later, in the wake of the experience itself. Thoughts such as the following arise in the mind: These moments await us, are latent, under the surface. Why are these not more frequent? Why are these often absent? Why are these exceptions, rather than the norm? Life can be messy/tragic and exquisite. This is what really matters; we have gone astray. In summarizing his wonder-joy experience, one respondent shares the following: Tears are always mixed with feelings of exaltation, as if a transcendent dimension has been reached, as if the sacred has penetrated the mundane and come to earth. During these moments, everything feels serene and transformed. Although "happiness," "joy," and "peace" are part of the experience, these terms fail to catch the essence of these moments. As I hear mention of chills, gooseflesh, and hairs standing on end in many of the accounts of wonder-joy tears, I recall Plato's (380 B.C.E./1993) ruminations on the feathering of the soul. In the Phaedrus, Plato likens the form of the soul to the combined capacities of a team of winged horses and their winged charioteer. In crafting this metaphor, Plato suggests that when a soul is perfect, it has its wings, and it travels through the sky and helps govern the cosmos. That which is noble, wise, and good nourishes the wings of the soul and makes them grow. Shame, evil, and the like are detrimental to the wings, and can destroy them. If the soul loses its wings, it drifts along until it grasps an earthly body and settles down, animating the body. Only the thinking of the friend of wisdom will make the wings grow, because, through memory, it is always as close as possible to that which by its proximity makes a god divine. When a man deals correctly with remembrances of this sort, he is always initiated perfectly into perfect mysteries, and he alone becomes perfect. Since he stands apart from the busy antics of humankind and draws close to the divine, he is rebuked by most people for being out of his wits. They do not realize that he is possessed. . . . Whenever someone sees beauty in this world he is reminded of true beauty and his wing-feathers grow. . . . When the recent initiate . . . sees a godlike face or some form of body that imitates beauty well, he at first gets goose bumps . . . . He is awestruck, as though he were gazing upon a god . . . . As he looks at him, his goose bumps go away and an unusual warmth and sweating seizes him. He is warmed by the effluence of beauty he receives through his eyes, which naturally moistens the wing-feathers. . . . and as the nourishing moisture flows over them, the shafts of the feathers swell and begin to grow from their roots over the entire form of the soul, which was feathered all over before. . . . Mortals do indeed call the winged one Eros (Love),
Could the experience of wonder-joy tears be the equivalent of the soul's feathering confrontation with forms of beauty that evoke reminiscences of an extramundane realm? In the above passage, Plato's mention of being "possessed" also strikes a resonant chord for me. In the midst of wonder-joy tears, I do, indeed, feel possessed–my body and feelings captivated and enraptured in the experience. As I dwell on the wonder-joy experience and its meaning, I come to appreciate more fully the last three lines of the Platonic quote. I begin to feel that wonder-joy tears are indications and expressions of love. Triggers (Circumstances) of the Experience In any really good subject one has only
I recall circumstances that have provoked my experiences of wonder-joy tears. In addition to the solitary candle and butterfly incidents mentioned earlier, I remember the following occasions: As I prepare this listing, I often re-experience wonder-joy tear feelings. I relish this experience. I am curious about what these circumstance may have in common, and I ponder the qualities they share. I ask others about circumstances that have elicited wonder-joy tears, and the following triggering events emerge: Apropos of precipitating events, one respondent reports the following: It is generally an experience of humble loving goodness that prompts this response. A child rescued by a firefighter, a young woman who succeeds in not taking a drink, a mother who learns to appreciate her child, or a street person who is caring for his dog. These are experiences which are moving or touching or deeply felt or redeeming. Another respondent writes: Central to all of these experiences is the sense that the human beings involved have achieved what they were somehow meant to be. They behave in exalted ways that demonstrate their divine, transcendent potential. It's as if the distance separating the Absolute and the human has been overcome, like God touching Man on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Another way to say this: Wonder-joy tears are evoked when I experience and see in others displays of courage, bravery, and integrity in life-and-death situations. These qualities have always been considered part of an impeccably lived life. Contact with the virtuous side of life is both wonderful and joyous–wonder-joy. Meanings and Interpretations of the Experience Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. What do my wonder-joy tear experiences mean to me? In response to prolonged inner questioning, some clues have arisen. For me, wonder-joy tears are responses to encountering and appreciating what is truly important. They are responses to what is innocent, unspoiled, uncomplicated, artless. To me, they are bodily indications of the functioning of the eye of the soul, of the spirit, of the heart–direct responses to the true, the good, the beautiful, the sacred.4 They are somatic concomitants of my profound gratitude for encountering clear, pure, unambiguous instances or manifestations of the foregoing four qualities. They are appreciations of what could be or should be, but has been missed or gone astray from–what is less common than it could be. The experience is an innate, automatic "empathy indicator" or "compassion indicator" or "gratitude indicator." For me, the experiences are also bodily indicators of profound insights into my own nature and the nature of others and of the world. Once, when I was keenly interested in behavior and ethology, I studied what used to be called "instinct," but what more recently came to be called "releasing stimuli" and "fixed action patterns." Nature seems to have programmed the nervous systems of animals to respond in certain fixed ways to particular cues in the environment. Such response patterns are functionally adaptive; they occur in the service of, and support, survival. Small birds respond, innately, with distress and avoidance to shapes that resemble the shadow of a predator hawk. A dominant wolf ceases its aggressive actions when a submissive wolf assumes a posture that exposes its vulnerable neck. Creatures with unusually large head size to body size ratios (as are found in the young of many species, including human infants) elicit caring and nurturing reactions on the part of adult animals. I sometimes think of wonder-joy tears as like unto fixed action patterns that occur in response to specific releasing stimuli. They may serve as signals or tools, if we heed them, for discerning what is right, good, important, authentic–but in a non-egoic sense. Stated more poetically, wonder-joy tears may be signals or signs of an encounter with the numinous–an unplanned, unavoidable encounter with the Real. They may indicate that the veils of maya have been pierced–that the windows of perception have been cleansed so that we can see more clearly, more lucidly. Wonder-joy tears may provide clues that the real me, real person, real reality (the "big" rather than the "little," the authentic rather than the false) is being confronted, appreciated, experienced.5 My own wonder-joy tear experiences–especially near their endings–are sometimes tinged with sadness; they have a bitter-sweet quality. The sad, bitter aspect may have to do with an appreciation of how far the "usual" has strayed from what could be, how we so often miss the mark. There is a yearning for some goodness or beauty that is intimated, but which is not sufficiently present. Edgar Allan Poe seems to have captured some of this meaning in his essay, "The Poetic Principle": And thus when by Poetry–or when by Music, the most entrancing of the Poetic moods–we find ourselves melted into tears–not as the Abbaté Gravia supposes–through excess of pleasure, but through a certain petulant, impatient sorrow at our inability to grasp now wholly, here on earth, at once and forever, those divine and raptuous joys, of which through the poem, or through the music, we attain to but brief and indeterminate glimpses. (Poe, 1850/1938, p. 894) I ask others what wonder-joy tears mean to them–how do they interpret or understand these experiences? From their answers, the following meanings emerge: In the words of one participant in this inquiry: During these moments I feel one enters a larger form of consciousness than the everyday, a dimension of the psyche in which individual minds are not separate. Schopenhauer once asked why an individual would give his life to save another person. It's because, he answered, that at the critical moment he has become one with the individual for whom he's giving his life; there is no "other," only a single, shared experience that unites the two as one. In this sense, one does not give one's life for another; one is the other. Is this an expression of the One Mind that many wisdom traditions talk about? [An experience such as this] is a window to something more real than everyday forms of consciousness. In the listing, above, of meanings and interpretations, a respondent mentions that wonder-joy tears may reflect a simultaneous recognition that one is, or possesses the qualities, of what one is witnessing in such a moment and a recognition that one is not entirely that or always that. I feel the sense of this revelation is perfectly captured in a passage in Augustine's Confessions: Quid est illud, quod interlucet mihi et percutit cor meum sine laesione? Et inhorresco et inardesco. Inhorresco, in quantum dissimilis ei sum. Inardesco, in quantum similis ei sum. (What is that which gleams through me and strikes my heart without wounding it? And I shudder and I glow. I shudder, in so far as I am unlike it. I glow, in so far as I am like it.) (Augustine, The Confessions, XI, IX, 11) Impacts and Consequences of the Experience None are so desolate but something dear, Byron: Childe Harold II.xxiv In the momentary experience of wonder-joy tears, there is pleasure, joy, and a feeling of participating fully in something moving and profound. These feelings are revived when I relive the experiences, through memory. If these were the only effects of such experiences, these alone would make them notable, worthwhile, and deserving of further experiencing, study, and sharing. But there is so much more to these experiences. They have had, and continue to have, more pervasive and persistent impacts upon my life and work. As I experience, and as I recall and ponder, occasions of tears of wonder-joy, I acquire and remember insights that favor my psychological growth and my spiritual development. These experiences yield fruits that can be transformative.6 The wonder-joy tear experience forces me to pay attention in new ways–to attend more to my body and my feelings, and not to emphasize my thoughts as much as I usually do. Thus, they serve a balancing function. These are not reactions of the head, but of the body and of the heart. There is a directness about the reaction and about the experience as a whole that engenders great trust; the experience is accompanied by a strong sense of authenticity. I appreciate–in a wordless, thoughtless way–that I am encountering a special truth, a special reality. And the Truth distilled into my heart, whence the affection of my devotion overflowed, and tears ran down, and happy was I therein. (Augustine, The Confessions, IX, VI, 14) And when they hear what has been revealed to the prophet, you will see their eyes gush with tears at what they recognize as truth therein. (Koran, V:83) I recognize the great value of what I am witnessing or experiencing, in these wonder-joy moments, and this prompts me to realize more fully what is truly important in life; it prompts me to more fully consider my priorities. This recognition and more mindful (heartful) consideration and prioritization stays with me and helps me in later choices and decisions. The experiences are transient, but they foster tools of discernment that persist long after the experiences themselves have faded. I have literally made life changes based on different densities of experiencing wonder-joy in various circumstances, and such changes and movements in particular directions have always served me in good stead. Never have I regretted choices based upon these feelings and indications. These experiences, for me, are pointers: They serve as affirmations or confirmations of valued qualities that I am truly seeking, and provide immediate indications of how those qualities are recognized. Their aftereffects serve as reminders of my direction, help me stay on course, and allow me to make useful corrections in my path. So, they and their memories serve a guiding function in my life. The experiences themselves even serve a more direct guidance function–my body and feelings are automatically moved in certain directions, and a greater valence is added to the events or qualities that precipitated the wonder-joy tears, so that these former are valued more and approached more readily in the future. Wonder-joy tears also serve as confirmations or affirmations of Something More. They lead me to appreciate the great power, wisdom, and goodness that is behind things and shines through things–the ground that shines through the figure. I query others about the impacts and consequences of their wonder-joy tear experiences. They tell me that these experiences have had these self-perceived effects in their lives: ß They do not change my actions but confirm my directionß They remind me of the path I am on and what is really importantA respondent reports: Sometimes, I gather these thoughts together and frame goals and intentions for my life but more often, I encounter small markers like these tears which point the way. No, not point the way. The confirm the way and they give meaning to what I am doing. You could say that they change my story in the sense that they expand its meaning. I’m not being coerced. I’m being encouraged. The tears are a signal that what I have experienced is relevant to my own spiritual growth. I cannot see beyond here and now, but I am assured that this particular bit is moving toward the transformation I seek. I feel wonder-joy tears can have impacts upon our lives by providing us with an additional means of knowing–a way of listening to the heart, as this heartfelt knowing is expressed through the body's actions, sensations, and feelings. At the least, these reactions can momentarily draw us out of our word-driven thoughts, so that we can appreciate the world and other people in new ways. At best, in attending more fully to what wonder-joy tears may indicate or reveal, greater lessons can be learned and, if these lessons are sufficiently great, they may trigger profound changes–and even transformations–in our lives. Wonder-joy tear experiences are, nonetheless, relatively crude and gross experiences. For more subtle lessons, perhaps we might seek still subtler indicators. To me the meanest flower that blows can give
William Wordsworth: Ode: Intimations of Immortality References Anderson, R. (1997). Nine psycho-spiritual characteristics of spontaneous and involuntary weeping. Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 28(2), 167-173. Anderson, R. (1998). Intuitive inquiry: A transpersonal approach. In W. Braud & R. Anderson, Transpersonal research methods for the social sciences: Honoring human experience (pp. 69-94). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Anderson, R. (2001). Embodied writing and reflections on embodiment. Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 33(2), 83-98. Augustine (1971). The confessions (E. B. Pusey, Trans.). In The confessions, The city of God, On Christian doctrine (pp. 1-128). Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica. (Original work written in 400 C. E.) Barrell, J. J., Aanstoos, C., Richards, A. C., & Arons, M. (1987). Human science research methods. Journal of Humanistic Psychology, 27(4), 424-457. Braud, W. (1998). Integral inquiry: Complementary ways of knowing, being, and expression. In W. 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Washington, DC: Brunner-Mazel. Footnotes 1 For both the content and writing style of this article, I have been influenced by the works and writings of Rhea White and Rosemarie Anderson. I am indebted to Rhea White for her important work on exceptional human experiences (EHEs) and for her model of EHEs, which inspired the organization of this paper (see Brown & White, 1997; White, 1997). I have attempted to write this paper in the embodied writing style that is being developed by Rosemarie Anderson (see Anderson, 2001). 2 The findings reported in this paragraph and throughout this report were derived from my own experiences and those of 12 additional research participants. Some of these participants were unselected students who were enrolled in a small research group at the time of this inquiry. Other participants were colleagues, selected purposely on the basis of my suspicion that they may have had experiences of the type explored in this article. The raw data consisted of written responses to a semi-structured questionnaire. These responses were treated through what I prefer to call an "experiential facet analysis and synthesis." The guiding metaphor for this work is that the process being studied (the experience of wonder-joy tears) is like a gem that is composed of many interacting facets (the major themes that are discovered and reported); the facets reflect one another, and they also reflect things outside of the gem. First, major themes were identified by the researcher working alone and by each respondent working alone. Next, the themes and findings were discussed and developed further in group meetings. The researcher (W. B.) integrated and summarized the findings, prepared them in tabular formats, returned them to the participants for their verification and approval, then re-organized the findings for presentation in this article. The qualitative research methods used in this inquiry share features of phenomenological (Valle, 1998), heuristic (Moustakas, 1990), experiential (Barrell, Aanstoos, Richards, & Arons, 1987), intuitive (Anderson, 1998), and integral (Braud, 1998) research approaches. The methods also rely on additional assumptions and principles of the various transpersonal research methods presented in detail in Braud and Anderson (1998). 3 In this passage, and throughout his writings, Plato exhibits the androcentric thinking and writing to which he had been conditioned by his time and culture. The gender-biased language ("man," "he," "him," "his," "god") reveals that he is writing of and for men, and of masculine experience. The highest values and yearnings of which he writes are otherwordly in nature–even this may bespeak a more masculine form of transcendent spirituality, which can be contrasted with a more feminine form of descendent, immanent, or embodied spirituality that is more fully grounded in the body and in the earth. 4 The eye of the heart, soul, spirit as a metaphor (or is it more than a metaphor?) for a special form of knowing figures prominently in a number of rich spiritual/wisdom traditions. The concept–albeit in different terminologies–may be traced through contemplative Greek, Neoplatonic, medieval monastic, and Eastern and Western Christian mystical thought, appearing strongly in the teachings of Plato, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Boethius, Gregory the Great, the Victorine mystics Hugh of St. Victor and Richard of St. Victor, and Bonaventure–to mention but a few of the most prominent exponents. The notion of the eye of the heart and knowledge of the heart is emphasized, especially, in the Sufi tradition, particularly in the work of Ibn 'Arabi. Recommended sources include McGinn (1995, 1996) and Corbin (1981). 5 There are resemblances between the wonder-joy tears experiences and their elicitors, as studied in this article, and the mysterium tremendum and numinous experiences described by Rudolf Otto (1923/1958) in his classic work, The Idea of the Holy. 6 There are profound similarities between the wonder-joy tear experiences described in this article and the transformative weeping and sacred weeping experiences studied by Anderson (1997). It is highly recommended that the reader consult the Anderson paper and note the similarities and differences between these two forms of tears and weeping. Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to: William Braud, Institute of Transpersonal Psychology, Palo Alto, CA 94303. Electronic mail may be sent to william@integral-inquiry.com. The Author William Braud earned his Ph.D. in experimental psychology at the University of Iowa in 1967. At the University of Houston, he taught and conducted research in learning, memory, motivation, psychophysiology, and the biochemistry of memory. At the Mind Science Foundation (San Antonio, TX), he directed research in parapsychology; health and well-being influences of relaxation, imagery, positive emotions, and intention; and psychoneuroimmunology. Currently, he is Professor and Research Director at the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology (Palo Alto, CA), where he directs doctoral dissertation research, and continues research, teaching, and writing in areas of exceptional human experiences, consciousness studies, transpersonal studies, spirituality, and expanded research methods.
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