My Very Own Hyper Dimensional Resonator
I own a time machine. This isn’t something you hear every day, but it’s true. I teach at a university and one of the great things about the job, other than drinking beer with scientists, is that it’s not only okay to own things like a time machine, it’s somewhat expected. The scientists and I bought our time machine through a grant. Yes, you can get grants for this sort of thing.
The reason for a university-sanctioned grant to buy a time machine actually makes some sort of sense. At the time of the purchase, I taught Paranormal Journalism, a class I’d designed for the sole purpose of showing young journalists how to cover paranormal-based news events with a straight face (if I hear the term “little green men” in a newscast about a UFO sighting just once more, I’m going to punch someone). I would use the machine in class and, hopefully send a student off to 1897 for some serious extra credit. My friends in the Department of Chemistry and Physics were going to open the machine and write a paper on it.
These were legitimate academic reasons for buying a time machine. It’s not our fault the damned thing didn’t work for us.
The Hyper Dimensional Resonator
In 1981, Steven L. Gibbs, a farmer from Clearwater, Nebraska, received an interesting message – from himself. This new Steven L. Gibbs was apparently from another dimension, and he had a diagram for a time machine called the Sonic Resonator, which he gave to our dimension’s Steven L. Gibbs. After building and testing the device, our Gibbs, who now lives in Lyndon, Kansas, improved upon the device and renamed it the Hyper Dimensional Resonator, which he began to sell as a time machine, astral projection generator, and healing device.
Patricia Griffin Ress, author of the book “Dangerous Information: The Further Time-Travel Experiments/Studies of Steven L. Gibbs,” met Gibbs in 1989. “I happened to meet someone who says, ‘you should contact this guy,’” she said. She did, and invited Gibbs to bring his device to her home in Omaha, Nebraska. What she experienced made her realize there was something odd about the Gibbs device. When he turned it on, clouds formed in the room, and sparks danced around the chandelier.
Although no one time travelled, the experience changed Ress’s life. The next time she watched her favorite movie, “Shane,” something was wrong. Dialogue she’d memorized was altered or spoken by different characters. It was the same movie, but it wasn’t. “It scared me to death,” she said. “If you ask me to see the movie ‘Shane,’ I’d say no thanks.” She said she believes Gibbs’ HDR unit somehow altered her reality.
Testimonials from HDR users include trips to the past and future. Some travelers have claimed to return with objects from the past, but the objects have a short shelf life. “If you have something from a different time frame, it disintegrates,” Ress said.
People using the HDR have reported going a few years into the future or past, being transported to Venezuela, dropped onboard a UFO, and have been thrown into a parallel dimension. The key to this type of travel, according to Gibbs, is to activate the device over a place of great power, such as a ley line, or vortex. Trouble is, the Auto Club doesn’t really show those on a map.
This is all pretty impressive for a man who’s never studied physics (which, if he had, would have known science has yet to discover ley lines or inter-dimensional vortexes). “You have a guy who in every way is an average farmer, now all of a sudden there’s this average farmer studying quantum physics,” Ress said. “This has all been very fascinating. I’ve reported on it and Steve asked me to write a book so he’d have something to sell when he’s on TV.”
A User’s Story
I interviewed Ress twice, but I never got in contact with Gibbs. It’s not like I didn’t try. His mailing address, email address, and cell phone number are online. I emailed him about purchasing an HDR, wrote a physical letter to him, called and left messages. He never got back with me. Strange behavior for someone who knew I wanted to give him money.
It gets even weirder. A friend and HDR user Craig Miller had no problem buying a unit from Gibbs. Miller made the time machine handoff to me in the parking lot of a convenience store in a small rural town. I got there early, so I bought some beer and a slice of pizza.
Although radio interviews I’d heard of Gibbs’ HDR had intrigued me for a couple of years, Miller’s stories are what made me want to try it. After purchasing his first HDR, Miller discovered this device doesn’t work like time machines do in the movies. “You have to use the HDR a lot,” he said, “to build up like a resonance.” Miller thinks the device tunes the human body to a frequency where strange things happen. “I’ve talked to other consistent users who have said it increases your psychic abilities and also makes you feel more spiritual,” he said.
The device, to the people he’s spoken to, seems to work best over a place of great energy, just like Gibbs said. “If we are going to give credence to these peoples’ claims, what has to then occur is that after using the device enough, that it raises your personal frequency, and you use it over a natural earth vortex, then you are able to traverse the vortex to another reality or time.”
That doesn’t seem to happen much with the HDR, but weird things still occur. Although Miller used the HDR often for a while (he doesn’t use it any more , it never sent him to another time. However, much like Ress and the movie “Shane,” Miller experienced something he can’t explain. “I used it one day, and nothing happened,” he said. “But soon after I got really, really tired, just out of the blue.”
So Miller took a nap; then the fun began. “I had some strange dreams, and when I woke up, it was like I didn’t know where I was. It took me a minute or two to get back to normal,” he said. “I’d never felt like that after a nap. It felt like I was almost in the wrong place somehow. It was a really strange feeling.”
He got up and walked into the kitchen. “The night before, I had seen in the fridge a tub of peanut butter cookie dough,” he said. “My daughters were going to be home on the bus in like 45 minutes or so. I thought I would cook some cookies for their snack, and a nice snack for me, too.”
Miller opened the refrigerator and the cookie dough was gone. “I had eaten a scoop from it the night before, so I know it was there,” he said. “And I had been in the fridge that morning and I swear that I saw the tub there that morning in the fridge, and this was after everyone else had left for the day. I was the only one home. I swear it was there.”
But after using the HDR, the dough was gone, a lot like the dialogue from Ress’ movie. “I called my wife about it, and she was like, ‘what cookie dough? I don’t remember any cookie dough in the fridge,’” Miller said. “Okay, so did I jump realities somehow?”
Could be. A fellow HDR user warned Miller to focus on the details. “He and Gibbs both told me to pay attention to everything in your house just before using the HDR and after, because I would start to notice either something missing after using the HDR, or that something new was there,” Miller said. “So, is this what explains the missing cookie dough?”
The Hyper Dimensional Resonator is a small box with dials, ports for the “time coil” and “electromagnet,” and three small switches. To program it for time travel, dial in the day, month and year desired, although there are only two dials and they both go to 10. I haven’t figured that one out. The directions were confusing, and a bit frightening. Typed in all caps on a typewriter, the directions indicate that as the user I must put a quartz crystal and some of my DNA into a hole called a “witness well” (spit, hair, but not blood. The instructions say blood brings demons), wrap a coiled electric cord around my head, place a strong electromagnet between my legs, and rub a finger on a flat plate on the front of the machine.
I sat in my office chair rubbing my index finger in circles on this time machine that looked suspiciously like the one in the movie “Napoleon Dynamite.” As electricity whirled around my head, and the heavy electromagnet wedged between my legs hummed like it was alive, I realized two things:
- vasectomies make a guy brave, and
- this isn’t how Captain Kirk time travelling on “Star Trek.”
Unfortunately, my patience level is that of a toddler and I didn’t use the HDR with enough frequency to, well, change my frequency. I didn’t travel in time, nor did I experience anything strange. I was a bit light headed after the first time I used it, though. Although Gibbs’ HDR unit didn’t work for me, it did something odd to my friend, and HDR users have reported many cases of physical travel. I don’t know if it works, but I don’t know if it doesn’t.
My scientist friends have the machine now. I just hope if they get it to work, they don’t run into anything scary in the future, like zombies, or Morlocks.