The Hippocampus Release Event and Reset Process
The Hippocampus Release Event – What Happens
The hippocampus release event triggered three days after the end of my vocal release course. The process was announced by my starting to shake and tremble whilst walking home one afternoon. I had experienced this sensation several times before, but previously had assumed that the issue was one of low blood sugar levels. This time the shaking felt different. The trembling seemed to be slower, more rhythmic and more controlled, and as these sensations persisted I realised intuitively that something physiological wanted to happen. There was no sense of impending danger or physical threat, so I sat down on my bed and awaited developments.
My body continued to tremble and my arms started to wave around vigorously, but still in a controlled fashion. The movements were regular and moderately rhythmical; they were not violent or spasmodic. I realised that my brain was orchestrating my physical movements in order to quicken my pulse rate. For some reason my brain wanted my blood supply to circulate at a higher speed than just resting pulse.
While I was doing this, the thoughts went through my mind that the outward appearance of this process could mimic St Vitus’ Dance(1), or alternatively a 1960s dance called ‘The Hitchhiker’ which involved similar arm movements. The arm-waving and body trembling continued for about a couple of minutes, and then I felt that I might be more comfortable leaning slightly forward, supporting my head in my hands. The shaking and trembling continued, and as I put my hands to the sides of my head a little heat-bomb went off in the middle of my head at the level of my temples. This event can be understood by imagining a little hot white bombe of bath salts exploding slowly outwards in the centre of the brain.
There was no pain or discomfort during the heat release, which only took a few seconds to complete; the only inconvenience was the excessive amount of perspiration it produced. I understood intuitively that my brain was performing some kind of clearance process.
The major heat release was directed through my neck at the central base of my skull, and the remaining heat started to dissipate through the back of my head and down my neck. My forehead could not tolerate cooling intervention, so my hypothalamus evidently wanted to regulate the heat release itself without my conscious interference. The heat release triggered a river of perspiration which soaked the back of my head, hair and neck for about the next five minutes, and I managed to co-ordinate swabbing operations with the continued physical trembling and arm movements of the release process.
I realised that this is how my autonomic nervous system had managed the heat release process. The increased velocity of my blood supply had been necessary in order for the sudden release of excess heat in the centre of my brain to be carried away as safely and as quickly as possible through the blood circulatory system and the cerebrospinal fluid surrounding the brain, to be released externally through the skin. The relatively large uninterrupted surface area offered by the central back of my head and neck was my brain’s optimal choice to manage the sudden extraordinary heat release.
As the perspiration flow subsided, my arm movements started to slow down. My subconscious brain had apparently assessed that my conscious contribution to the heat release management process had achieved enough, so I could reduce my supportive arm-waving efforts and let my pulse rate slow gradually to resting pace. The whole release process had taken no more than about three quarters of a hour to complete, and when I felt that it was safe to lie down, I did so.
I fell asleep almost immediately and woke about an hour and a half later. My subconscious brain had put me into an almost comatose sleep while it completed its internal housekeeping for the event, which would have included the management and disposal of the surge of oxidant cell waste products which would have flooded through my brain tissue during the release event.
Meeting the need for an elevated pulse rate whilst seated had been orchestrated from within, involving an active co-operation of both my conscious and subconscious brains. This process could obviously not have happened during my sleep cycle, which is the normal window of opportunity for soft tissue repair and regeneration.
It remains to be established whether this specific heat release is also one of transmuted kinetic energy, as both the amygdala and the hippocampus are soft tissue organs and are therefore capable of retaining their own trapped kinetic energy from a contact blow to the head.
I have neither experienced nor witnessed an epileptic fit, but it may be that such an episode might be trying to indicate that the brain is attempting a hippocampus release. Extreme violence of movement may indicate that there may be some impediment to the release process, possibly from an unresolved head injury.
From personal experience, it took my limbic core five days from the physical release of my jaw injury to prepare sixty years’ worth of traumatic memories for de-cataloguing from my hippocampus with its bonfire of annihilation. Genuinely the best week’s work I have ever done.
The Hippocampus Reset Phase – What Happens
The initial recovery phase following the hippocampus release event appears to take about six weeks. In the longer term more profound positive behavioural aspects develop, and it took about six months for the main behavioural benefits of the reset process to become evident.
The first three days following the release process were spent very quietly sitting in a garden, resting and listening to the deafening silence in my head. I felt that the contents of my head had been scooped out, and I also realised that I was missing the constant sound of a persistent, infinitesimally low-volumed hum. I believe that the missing sound may have been that of exceptionally high-volume electron traffic in my brain’s neural network, previously replaying traumatic memories automatically on constant subliminal recall.
During this period I came to realise that the hippocampal heat release had de-catalogued my traumatic memory bank. The databank of newly redundant memories, accumulated since my autonomic fear cycle had been first activated in response to a violently concussive blow to the back of my head in childhood, had apparently been selected for irreversible deletion. Over the next few weeks I consciously monitored its physical and emotional disintegration with both interest and relief.
The hippocampal heat release had apparently vaporised the synaptic bridges across which nerve impulses travel to recall traumatic memory, thereby making future recall and replay of each traumatic memory impossible. For the first two days of the reset process, I experienced two or three momentary physical sensations in my forehead as I intuitively understood that my brain was trying to access these memories spontaneously, but their recall was abruptly and involuntarily blocked on each occasion. Consequently, it would appear that either the obsessive compulsive behaviour of the brain is quickly retrained to stop attempting to access its embedded neural pathways of traumatic memory recall, or alternatively that the hippocampal heat release physically destroys at least the entry point of each traumatic memory’s neural pathway in brain tissue.
These experiences could also suggest that it may be possible for the subconscious brain to move the replay button on its most frequently-recalled traumatic memories from ‘trigger replay on external sensory stimulus’ to ‘play internally on automatic repeat’. This transition may identify a learning function of the subconscious brain(2). Alternatively, it may be that the physical neural pathway associated with the replay of each of these specific memories has become so well-worn that the ‘automatic repeat’ function cannot be avoided until either chemical medical intervention or a hippocampus release event has taken place.
During the last attempted involuntary recall I realised intuitively that my brain’s final physiological connection with smoking was being deleted. This process could have involved the spontaneous elimination of the last remaining active nicotine receptors in my brain tissue. I believe that this event suggests that the hippocampus reset event could also possibly delete obsessive compulsive memories of behaviour connected with chemical addiction by eliminating the physical neural behavioural ‘hook’ which sustains it.
On the third day of the recovery process I experienced an overwhelming physical feeling of ‘slump’. I stood up to leave the garden and felt, as I started to walk, that my whole body was sloughing off what felt like a weighty and invisible overcoat of slime. This physical discharge could have been composed of further accumulated gaseous cell tissue waste and possibly also surplus electrons or other cellular debris. This feeling was so intense that I just had to stand still for several moments. I felt physically heavy and emotionally deflated, and I just wanted quiet solitude. This need lasted for several days, and I managed it by drinking copious amounts of alkaline water to counter the acidic oxidant release.
After a few more days the vast majority of my visualised traumatic memories were already completely beyond conscious recall, no matter how hard I tried to remember them. I could still visually recall a handful of really painful memories, but even these now contained no emotional content (previously rage, or anger at humiliation and injustice), and in time even these visual memories dissipated.
If my attempts at conscious recall returned anything, it was a distant instance or two of what appeared to be fragmented memory photographs. These mental images presented in my mind’s eye as if they had been peppered with bullet holes, and I realised that my extensive back catalogue of emotionally traumatic visual images was apparently physically disintegrating, thereby becoming inaccessible.
Anger and humiliation, as probably the most strongly felt emotions, and also those repressed with the most difficulty, appear to be the last emotional components of memories to dissolve. In the end these feelings evaporated as well, to the point where I couldn’t even remember that I had these emotional memories to recall.
Four weeks later, my video memories – those I could replay in my mind’s eye as a film – were starting to become flaky and patchy. I could remember the existence of the events but their details were starting to disintegrate. I could still remember the circumstances of my most wounding humiliation, but I could no longer physically recall its visual memories. I could still try, but the top of my head felt uncomfortable when I did, and all I could see in my mind’s eye was a photograph which had almost completely disintegrated and been washed away.
After six months even that hideous mental image is now well on the way to its final disintegration, transforming from a video memory into a photographic image on the way. I now can’t access my traumatic memory movies at all. I have apparently learned subconsciously not to even try to recall either the photograph albums or the video collection of my traumatic memories.
It appears that I have even forgotten to try to remember the past, and that is one of the greatest gifts of all. It is truly remarkable, after decades of anxiety-triggered and painfully accurate memory recall, how quickly and easily the brain can finally forget what it never wanted to know in the first place, let alone store involuntarily for decades. I can now finally focus on recalling happier memories instead.
There were other unexpected developments during the reset phase. I learned how to cry again. I hadn’t been physically able to cry properly with a partially clenched jaw, but once my jaw was sufficiently mobile in both lateral and vertical directions, the tears just couldn’t and wouldn’t stop flowing.
After about four weeks, I realised that I had completely lost my historically impeccable inner clock, also losing my obsession with time along the way. I now only have the vaguest notion of what the time might be, no matter what the level of daylight. I’m no longer impatient over delays, particularly in respect of travel, so this appears to be a further loss of anxiety-driven behaviour.
My sleep levels now remain deeper than they have been since my teenage years, and are less interrupted. My new-found mental quietude accompanies me everywhere, even in a busy city centre or on a noisy train journey. My endless mental and physical restlessness, expressed as a constant desire to move house or to plan holidays I never committed to book, simply evaporated.
The obsession of having to arrange my physical environment in perfect order has also been consigned to the past. I have recovered my self-discipline to a level sufficient to see jobs through to completion, instead of losing both interest and concentration before they are finished.
I have lost the emotional feelings of not belonging anywhere, and of being left out. I have also lost recent emotions I had never been able to acknowledge previously of feeling lonely, rather than alone, and empty. Feelings of jealousy at other peoples’ companionable good fortune gradually evaporated, as I now realised the previously concealed extent of my own self-worth and started to appreciate just how much I had achieved, both by and for myself.
I noticed that my behaviour was starting to transform spontaneously in social situations. I was now being able to speak clearly – not only because of the resolution of my facial injuries but also as the result of a burgeoning sense of self-confidence. I never lost my personality – I just encountered increasing difficulty in expressing it as the impact trauma in my head accumulated over time.
My handwriting, always infamously illegible, has now improved to the level where at least I can read it. My thought processes are getting quicker, and I’m using mental arithmetic again for the first time since childhood. I can now lose myself completely in a film or television programme for its duration, no longer keeping a metaphysical eye on the door while I am watching it. I feel that I can now relax completely, and I can’t remember a time since childhood when I could do this.
A year into this experience, I can now feel that events from my past genuinely happened with the correct chronology. My brain has reordered its diary of my memories, and I no longer feel that I can live all my past memories concurrently in the immediate past.
Footnotes:
(1) One of the medical terms for St Vitus’ Dance is Sydenham’s Chorea, which describes a neurological disorder involving jerky uncontrollable movements. This disorder is caused by rheumatic fever or streptococcal infection, which is not relevant to this case. However, it has also been connected with emotional and behavioural disorders, particularly obsessive compulsive disorders, which are matters connected with hippocampal disfunction. (Brain Foundation website, Australia, 03/07/2025).
(2) Fortunately, I have not experienced any of the following extremes of circumstance, but I would like to include these additional thoughts, directed towards braver people who may have faced these situations and circumstances.
If the brain’s subconscious shift to automatic replay does take place, it could explain the transition from consciously repeated behavioural patterns to subconsciously driven OCD behaviours, such as those experienced by survivors of shell-shock who spend their nights mentally reliving their battlefield experiences instead of sleeping.
It could also possibly explain the divergence of subconscious control processes from directing the expression of normal patterns of conscious behaviour towards those which drive manic, paranoid or schizophrenic behaviours. The constant inadvertent and unknowing subconscious recall of traumatic memories may also possibly explain a drive to self-harm or, extremely, to commit suicide, in the case where someone may continue to feel progressively emotionally unwell for no apparent reason despite their best attempts to self-heal.
There is another possible explanation for these behaviours. It may be simply that the brain cell tissue through which these behavioural neural pathways travel is physically distorted by the trapped kinetic energy of an historic head injury. Such an impact injury could be delivered either through physical contact with the skull, or by a violent, sudden and unexpected sound event delivering an extraordinary pulse of kinetic energy directly into brain tissue through the tympanic membranes in the ears. The resolution of this type of injury would involve the indirect release of the trapped kinetic energy in brain tissue using the KAIR technique, so that the traumatised cell tissue can release its physical distortion. The neural pathways could then return to their original positions so that the nerve impulses which they carry could again travel freely, without obstruction or distortion.