This site is dedicated to the work of hypnotherapist Joe Keeton. Joe helped thousands of people to deal with physical and emotional problems through hypnosis, and he also pioneered the exploration of past-life regression through hypnosis. You can find out about his life and work on the different pages of this site.
The site has been set up, with the approval and support of Joe’s widow Monica, by Simon Petherick, co-author of Joe’s book The Power of the Mind which we have just released as an e-book.
The purpose of the site is to renew interest in the work of this extraordinary man and to gather memories, comments and reflections on his life and achievements. Having reissued his seminal The Power of the Mind, we now hope to republish more of Joe’s books and also books by people who were influenced by him. We welcome suggestions on this. We would also welcome information on hypnotherapists working today.
If you would like to Comment on any part of the site, we would welcome your thoughts – you’ll find a Comment button on most pages. Your first Comment will await moderation – all subsequent Comments you make will go live straight away. This is just a precaution to try and keep the site free from spam. If you would like to write any kind of recollection of Joe and his work, then please email your recollection to Simon using the address shown on the Contact page and it will be uploaded very quickly. Do please also email Simon other ideas and suggestions for the site – in particular, we’d be keen to hear from people who feel they are working in the spirit of Joe’s work today.
Thank you for visiting.
Susan Westoby said:
Just to let you know that Monica Keeton’s book ‘I died on the Titanic’ is now available on Amazon and through the website http://www.liverpoolbooksonline.co.uk I am Sue Westoby at Pharaoh Press, Monica’s publisher and it is thanks to Joe Keeton that Monica was able to go through the regression process and conquer her fear of deep water and discover just why she had this fear. The book is fascinating and is dedicated to Joe himself.
So glad to see this website. Joe deely touched many peoples’ lives for the better, including my own. He had a brilliant mind and the world is the poorer for his passing, but he did leave us an insight into that mind through his books.
Hello, I didn’t know Joe but I found his book The Power of the Mind completely fascinating. I am very pleased to see this new website for him.
Arthur O'Hara (stepson) said:
I have fond memories of Joe’s regression sessions at our house in Hoylake in the mid 1970s. At the time I was something of an ambivalent teenager mostly wrapped up in my own world, but I was often roped in as the tea runner, providing hot drinks and biscuits for anything up to 20 people at a time, wandering in and out of sessions the like of which I’ve never seen before or since. It all seemed pretty ordinary back then, just Joe doing his thing, perhaps it’s only in hindsight that we’ve all come to realise how just special it really was.
Judith Westerman said:
I came to a session having met Joe at a Cosmopolitan Magazine “study day” where he changed my thoughts and my outlook. Sadly my skills are rusty..
Valerie Williams said:
My brother Stephen and his then wife Tanya set up a group their house in Wimbledon after reading Joe Keeton wanted to visit small numbers of interested people in their homes . . . . . Joe visited our group for some time and with some amazing results . . . the only person he could not hypnotise sadly was me . . . . but I remember looking forward to his visits and would love to hear from anyone who was in our group at that time . . it was sometime in the 1970’s . . . I would also like to know of any reputable past life regressionists in or around the London area.
Congratulations on the creation of the site (also: a belated R.I.P. to Joe Keeton; I’ve only just learned of his sad passing via the site).
Years ago – decades! – I caught by chance a feature about regression put out one evening by a local radio station (BRMB, serving the West Midlands). On it, a volunteer was taken back to two characters: a laconic, yokel-ish farmhand, and a sickly young woman apparently lying on her deathbed. It was an absolutely unexpected, out-of-left-field thing to hear being broadcast by a radio station, midweek, early evening! (I doubt today any radio station would have either the time or the inclination to devote an hour or two so to such a perplexing subject). I’ve never forgotten an episode being somewhat reluctantly ‘relived’ by the volunteer on air, as the farmhand met up with a local woman behind his wife’s back, or the account of the sickly lady’s dreary, curtailed existence, as she lay bedridden and close to death. The regressionist, very calm of voice and manner, and with a light northern accent, can only have been Joe Keeton.
It would be fascinating (for nostalgia’s sake, if nothing else) to hear a recording of that show again, although I doubt one exists (the farmhand’s ‘name’ was Jack, and the poorly lady’s Mary, I can remember to this day!). But it makes me wonder about recordings that do exist. Presumably audio recordings would’ve been made almost as standard practice by or for Joe. Above and beyond the short extract available on the ‘Media’ page, have many/any of these survived? It would be a shame if most of this ‘field material’ had just been wiped (as for example, early episodes of now cherished BBC sitcoms were routinely wiped in the ’60s, for reasons of economy and storage). I hope that any other recordings that have survived can be given the appropriate preservation treatment, and at some point digitally converted, so that eventually the ‘Media’ section can build to become an online repository of sorts. As someone positioned on the sceptical side of the fence, I have to say that this is the sort of thing that has to be heard to be credited. Recordings of the process of regression possess an immediacy and power that written accounts are obviously going to lack. Any other surviving recordings of regressions conducted by Joe that can be matched up to submitted written recollections would no doubt help to flesh out the latter a lot.
Best wishes for the website, and to all those involved in keeping the memory of Joe and his work alive.
I also remember visiting a house in Solihull Birmingham in the 70s with friends Angela t and Angela g.to be regressed by Joe. R.I.P
Monica Keeton said:
Thank you, Linda
Monica Keeton said:
Thank you so much, Harry. Really appreciate your comments and observations. Joe was indeed a truly remarkable man and is still missed by so many.
Ruth Wedgwood (Bunyard) said:
How brilliant that this site is here! I have many fond memories of Joe. He was my favourite of all my mothers friends and I love going over to his house in Hoylake for visits. Sadly, I think the last time I saw him was at a regression group somewhere near Bishops Stortford when I was 12, some thirty years ago! How wonderful it is to remember him. 🙂
Monica Keeton said:
Thank you for your kind comments, Ruth. Much appreciated
Margaret Smith said:
Sorry to hear Joe has passed away, my late husband was doing a few jobs at their property ,and got to know and like both Joe and Monica .
As I was in pain from an earlier operation joe suggested I come along to see if he could help ,he taught me how to do self hypnosis, which I still do today .
R I P. Joe
Monica Keeton said:
Thank you, Margaret. Your comments are much appreciated.
Although inevitable I suppose, it’s a bit sad that this site has become inactive. If anyone passes by who was either regressed by Joe or was present at a session, it would be great if they could add to the glimpses some have posted above and go into a bit of detail about how his regression evenings panned out; the build-up and atmosphere and so on (by all means throw in some scene-setting details – decor, hairstyles, etc. – to give a sense of the ‘flavour’ of the era!), and how those who became subjects were selected. Was there a ‘test’ done at the start of proceedings, or did people come forward who already had some inkling that they had something in their subconscious they wanted to explore, and/or who had already been regressed previously by Joe? Alternatively, an account could be put up on a blog elsewhere, if a willing person maintains one, and linked to from here.
Monica Keeton said:
Heartfelt thanks for all those tributes and comments on the work of my late husband, Joe was indeed a remarkable man and still sorely missed by so many. Unfortunately there are no recordings currently available, although his books can be found through the usual sources.
Jann Sparks said:
I met Monica and Joe at their home with other people. It became a most memorable and remarkable occurrence in my life. Joe Keeton hypnotized me and taught me so much about myself. At his suggestion the pain in my hip completely disappeared, even though I had not told any one about the pain. He told me that I was telepathic. I still feel it was Joe who was telepathic. I could communicate with him without audible words and in that time we “talked” about a personal relationship problem I was having. The gift given to me in those few hours was immense and I am grateful. The earth is poorer because of his absence.
Monica Laker (formerly KeetonM35) said:
Thank you so much for your beautiful message. Joe was indeed a remarkable man and helped hundreds of people with his unique ability for instinctively getting to the root of the problem and eliminating it.
I am so glad he was able to help you and so many others. He is greatly missed
Monica Laker (formerly KeetonM35) said:
Thank you for your kind comments about my late husband. They are much appreciated
Grahame Hampson said:
We visited Joe At Meols in the early 80’s. One of our group was regressed to a life that ended 9 month before she was born. Absolutely amazing. He was a remarkable, caring and sometimes funny man (the stories he told us). Sorry to hear of his passing
Monica Laker said:
Thank you so much for your kind comments about my late husband. They are very much appreciated.
Jacquelyn Haley said:
You late husband taught my tutor. I trained in 2008. Today in the Hypnotherapy world , we don’t hear much of his work. I have just shared this site in a group. It is a shame his work is getting overlooked. His book on regression was the what I have read to weigth gain and trauma. I got a copy on amazon which had been signed by him. And I lent it to someone. Never got it back 😦 . I will need another
Monica Laker said:
Thank you for your kind comments,Jaquelyn. I absolutely agree with your observations. My late husband’s recordings were offered to a variety of research bodies shortly after his death. Sadly, none of them were able to help. However, I do still have a few copies of his publications. There were a couple on regression. If you could provide me with the title of the one in which you are interested and its publishers I shall check my library collection. Also, I would need an address to send it to. I look forward to hearing from you further.
Vincent Alan Cooper-Field said:
Monica perhaps recordings could be offered via cd and marketed.
Martina Schulz said:
Joe visited Augsburg in Germany many times to do his work at our house and my already passed father Dieter Mark did simultane translation houndred times. He although translated Joes book which I was just searching for. Is Monica still well?
Jacquelyn Haley said:
My trainer was taught by Joe Keeton..his book I had was a signed copy. I lent it to someone and never had it back. Typical.
Good to see his work still going strong.
Judith Westerman said:
Same! Says a lot me thinks!
Judith Westerman said:
An addendum to my earlier comment, actually not, because it’s unrelated. Joe gave me a copy of his book when I visited his home in Hoylake. I lent it to someone I was working with aat GLAXO in Harrow, and never got it back! Are there any more please?
Susan Greensmith said:
I was given a copy recently by a friend and neighbour. I read it with great fascination and am now full of admiration for Joe Keeton. And his work. Havong been inspired by the book I have now contacted a local hypnotherapist to deal with my long term anxiety but alsp my lifelobg Emetophobia. I am 71yrs old and think.its time to find out what has caused it to rule my life. Wish I could have met Joe. Sad liss.
Crystal Love said:
When I first started researching past life memory over 20 years ago, Joe Keaton was one of the few on this path and examples were rare, other than those he cited. Today, two decades later I am inundated with examples of past life memory from all over the world. Joe was a pioneer in his field, albeit unwittingly, and as someone who has had past life memory since I was 4, it was good to have an advocate for reincarnation. I mention him and an example of his work in my book THE MYSTIC MIND which is currently unavailable. I hope to rectify that soon with an updated reprint. A pioneer who led the way. Thanks Joe. Good luck in your next life. Ps science is now beginning to prove this awesome reality. Thanks Joe. You were ahead of your time.
Jill Davies said:
I don’t know if this will be of interest, but it is an extract from my 1988 diary.
9th April. Andrew Selby, who wrote an interesting article in She last year about past-life regression, has invited me to a meeting at his home in King’s Langley, Hertfordshire.
To say Andrew’s home is smokier than Hoult’s Wine Bar on a Saturday night could even be an understatement. The hypnotherapist, Joe Keeton, is a chain-smoker, and most of the other twenty or so people packed into the dense fug of a small sitting room are adding to the general kippering effect.
After too many dreadful jokes and some interesting case histories, Joe says he will test us for susceptibility to hypnosis. But first we must relax. We must sit up in our chair, shut our eyes tight, hold out our left arm in front of us with the palm horizontal, and our right arm with the palm vertical, and imagine ourselves walking down a flight of steps towards a sunny, sandy beach fringed with palm trees.
“Down, down, down…” His voice monotonous, soothing, he takes us down endless steps. But I’m unable to concentrate on this visualisation exercise because, rather embarrassingly, I am having the utmost difficulty in keeping my position in the chair. I have no control over this—my left arm is somehow being forced down to the ground, pulling me over, and I find myself bent double, perched on the very edge of my chair, and supporting myself with the fingers of my left hand on the carpet, although my right arm maintains its original position. I can only hope Joe hasn’t noticed.
“Down, down, down…” but just as I am sliding off the cushion seat to end up actually kneeling on the floor (right arm still giving a crisp salute), Joe commands us to open our eyes. A quick look round reveals everyone else still sitting upright in their chairs, looking relaxed by their trip to the seaside. I clamber back into my seat, wholly unrelaxed and feeling extremely foolish.
“You, and you,” he says, pointing to me and a middle-aged lady. “You,” (pointing at me again) “perfect subject. Denotes a high IQ. Do you want to go first?”
More than a little apprehensive, I take a seat opposite Joe. He gives me a codeword—‘spider plant’—that will be my signal to ‘go under.’ Not if I don’t want to, I think, and determine to resist him.
He talks quietly about the need to relax and then throws in “spider plant” in the middle of a sentence. Nothing happens. “Don’t fight it,” says Joe calmly, and something ‘gives’ in me and I relax, although I am still perfectly conscious.
Indeed, my awareness seems to be sharpened—I can hear our host’s wife in the next room preparing tea: the sound of teaspoons being dropped onto saucers is quite clear.
Joe’s voice is slower now. Deeper. “I am going to take you back, back in time, take you back to your first day at school, we’re going back in time to your first day at school, you’re five years old and you’re going back, back to your first day at school and you’re there – NOW!”
A rushing out-of-control sensation. And a shocking, unexpected reaction: my chin goes into a convulsive quiver with the effort not to cry. Joe asks me my name. To my conscious horror I give my original first name that I keep secret and can’t even bring myself to write here [in my diary], but there is no way I could not have said it. This convinces me—part of me is still totally aware of what’s going on—that this experience is genuine.
“Who brought you to school this morning?” “My mummy,” I whisper in a child’s voice. “And what did she say to you?” I swallow, aware that tears are forming. “She told me to be good.” “Aren’t you always good?” he asks gently. I must tell the truth, although I am almost unable to articulate the shameful confession, such is my misery: “Sometimes.”
Perhaps sensing my distress he breaks off and says he is now taking me back to my first birthday. “You’re going back, back to your first birthday. You’re one year old today and you’re there – NOW!”
Again the unstoppable rushing sensation on the word “NOW!” The chin stops quivering, instantly. “What’s your name?” Joe asks. Mouth open, I smile foolishly at him . . . but I am mute. Of course I can’t tell him my name—I’m only twelve months old and can’t speak yet. He asks me my name once more, and although I understand what he has said, again all I can do is laugh, engaging with him, my eyes fixed firmly on his face.
“I’m going to tickle you,” he sings, and leans forward, reaching out to me, whereupon I shriek in terrified delight, ducking my head and drawing my legs up to burrow into the side of the armchair, giggling.
Then Joe says he is going to take me back, back, back, before I was born, and asks me what I can see. This time there is no rushing sensation.
To be honest, I can ‘see’ nothing. Then, slowly, a feeling grows in me—a feeling that I don’t want to share with this man, mainly because I don’t have the words for it, not even in my own mind.
What I call the ‘conscious’ part of me identifies it as a vague feeling of undefined dissatisfaction, unformed resentment. I seem to be up high, on a grassy cliff top, looking down onto a stretch of water. The setting sun half-blinds my vision, and I am aware that my dissatisfaction is somehow connected to the tiny silhouettes of ships I can see on the water below.
There is a restless feeling of longing—longing to not be where I am, and to be somewhere else. I can’t put this feeling into words, not even in my head, because my vocabulary has gone; I don’t know the words for what I want. All I know is that I don’t want what I’ve got. I want more. Something else. Perhaps to be on one of those ships.
Joe asks me my name. “George,” I say decisively, in a broad rural accent that takes me totally by surprise.
“What are you doing, George?” another voice asks. “Moi work.” Then it comes to me: I work on the land, looking after pigs. Someone else asks me what I earn and I say, “Moi keep,” but part of me wants to add “An’ two an’ six.”
“What shire are you in, George?” Joe asks, and I automatically bark out “Gloucester.” At the same time, the conscious part of my mind, the part that’s aware I’m sitting in a chair, thinks: Gloucester? Why on Earth have I said ‘Gloucester’? Gloucester’s land-locked, isn’t it? How can I be looking at the sea if I’m in Gloucester? This makes me wonder if I’m making all this up; either self-delusion, or from a desire to please.
Questions come from all parts of the room, and the more I’m asked, the more sullen I become. I’m beginning to feel all these ‘foine ladies an’ gennelmen’ (as I’m beginning to think of them) are making fun of me. Then Joe throws in another question—who is on the throne? I look at him in bafflement. “I doan’t know, do I?” I roar at him.
The questions continue at a bewildering rate; I can’t process them quickly enough; I’m aware of my intellectual shortcomings—but of course I don’t think of them as ‘intellectual shortcomings’, just that the people questioning me are all more clever than I am.
Then someone asks me if I have a girlfriend. Reluctantly, I admit: “Oi moight.” “Oh,” says one, “what’s your girlfriend’s name, George?” “Yes,” says another, “what’s her name, George?” This constant use of my name for some reason angers me, and I burst out: “O, woi cain’t you let a pore fellow be!” and refuse to say another word.
We break for tea and biscuits. One of the women in the room—she’s been fairly hostile and vocal all afternoon, muttering about ‘tricks’ and ‘making it all up’—demands Joe should ‘prove’ he can hypnotise people by making her do something she doesn’t want to do.
“I can make you stop talking,” Joe says a little wearily.
At this point I am sitting beside him; he is holding a small square cushion upright on his lap. He talks casually about general things, and I notice what I didn’t notice when he was putting me under—his voice has now taken on a slightly different timbre and rhythm. As he talks to this woman, his raised forefinger (hidden from her sight behind the cushion on his lap) slowly descends, whereupon he asks her a question. She opens her mouth to reply but no sound comes out. Joe asks her another question. She tries again to answer, but she is dumb. Panic shows in her eyes and she beats her fists on the arm of the chair. Joe releases her and she can speak again. That puts an end to her scepticism.
After tea, the other suitable candidate is regressed to a Dutch settler in South Africa, after having first been returned to her third Christmas. “There’s no such person as Father Christmas,” Joe had said. “Yes there is,” she insisted. “SILLY.”
10th April. Am much relieved when I look in my atlas to find out that Gloucester is, in fact, on the Severn Estuary. Not the sea, then, but a big river . . .
Howard Williams said:
I had the marvellous good fortune of working with Joe, in his latter years, both at his home on The Wirral and down at the Sandville Self Help Centre, in Porthcawl, where he and Gwyneth made some team. As all the great innovators, Joe was a mixture of dry humour and insights that still resonate with me today. His smokey chuckle is as clear now as it was then. Under his guidance, I have kept my mental health in good shape, despite some very early traumas and it is to him, in large part, that I owe my outlook on the world.