A masterclass on conviction: How the Telepathy Tapes draws you in

The fine line between suspended disbelief and critical thinking

It feels really good to believe in something that fills a gap or answers a mystery, much like finding the missing piece in a puzzle you’ve been agonizing over. There’s a serotonin hit that makes you want to lean in even further, even when you were about to give up, pack it up and never puzzle again.

Last weekend I started listening to the Rogan-topping podcast about psychic communication, Telepathy Tapes. I was entirely taken by it. It felt groundbreaking—the kind of discovery that could fundamentally shift our understanding of human communication and connection—some real Matthew McConaughey trapped in the 4th dimensional bookcase type shit. I was sold… at least for a moment.

Telepathy Tapes is a 10-part podcast series hosted by American documentary filmmaker Ky Dickens. It spotlights non-verbal children with autism who seem to demonstrate telepathic (read: mind-reading) abilities. The overarching premise? These kids are brilliant—like, really brilliant. [Side note: no debate from me on this front.] Using tools like iPads and spelling boards, facilitated by parents and experts, Ky and her team showcase extraordinary communication skills. Provocative claims are launched from podcast cannons with slick production. Controlled tests—blindfolds, number generators, and GoPro footage—propel theories about universal consciousness while taking jabs (sometimes throwing haymakers) at the constraints of materialist science. But there’s one glaring issue: no skeptics are invited to the party. Like, none.

"For those who believe, no proof is necessary. For those who do not, no proof is possible." - Stuart Chase

The series has all the right ingredients for flat-Earthers and paranormal skeptics alike to roll up and smoke. The format is tight; excellent cadence and delivery, and just enough hard data to let the Serial-ification mechanism work its little magic. Prepare to be Koenig’d, but by Ky Dickens.

I was so engrossed that I even got defensive when my wife questioned its credibility. Her skepticism, rooted in her god damn reasonable scientific and methodical way of thinking, seemed, at the time, like an unwillingness to embrace something extraordinary. She was missing the point!

But she was right to be critical.

Here’s the thing: it’s easy to get swept up in something that’s polished, well-produced, and presented with conviction. That’s exactly how misinformation works. It’s not always about a blatant disregard for facts; sometimes, it’s the emotional resonance of the story being told. To suspend ones disbelief is beautiful and freeing.

As I went deeper into the series, I realized how my enthusiasm mirrored the mechanisms of how conspiracy theories and misinformation spread. They tap into our biases, our emotional needs, and our desire for clarity in a world full of ambiguity. The podcast’s creators, whether intentionally or not, used techniques that made the information feel authentic—personal anecdotes, emotional appeals, and an overarching narrative that framed the story in a compelling, almost irrefutable way.

This isn’t unique to one podcast or one story. It’s a pervasive issue in how information is consumed and shared, especially in our digitally fluid age. The same tools that make a story engaging—strong production, an emotional hook, and a clear point of view—can also make it dangerous if not critically examined. That’s why it’s crucial to approach even the most well-crafted narratives with a healthy dose of skepticism, especially when they align too perfectly with what we want so badly to believe.

When we hold on to that belief we often put horse-blinders on. For example, the fact that facilitated communication (FC)—an attempt to help non-verbal people communicate by having a facilitator guide their hand or arm while they type—is a scientifically discredited technique, but that reality was only lightly skimmed over throughout the 10 episodes.

Also, the “experts” may consider themselves experts, however, it doesn’t appear that the science world—which the series calls too full of “materialist” for its own good—would agree. As a public, we’ve perhaps unintentionally cross-pollinated our experts and our influencers; that’s been confusing, I think, for many, especially those who get all their news and information from Theo-Von-knockoffs on social media.

There’s value in exploring the unknown, in pondering the possibilities of things we don’t yet understand. I want to be very clear because this is an important point: I’m not being critical just to pick a side. This is, more than anything, a critique of myself. I noticed how quickly and easily I was swept into this narrative. We are living in an era where people claiming they’ve “done their research” often amounts to nothing of real substance. This phenomenon works particularly well with pseudoscience, because when nothing is truly objective, you can’t effectively argue against it. 'Well, you just haven’t done your research.'

Don’t get me wrong, as a podcast I think Telepathy Tapes is an incredibly well-done series. I'm just nervous that it's too incredible for its own good. Go listen to it! It took the #1 spot because it is that captivating. I only want to remind listeners of the importance of pausing, questioning, and considering alternative perspectives before fully buying into any idea—no matter how compelling it seems. It’s not about dismissing new or radical ideas outright but about holding space for curiosity and skepticism to coexist. Judgement can be applied with grace.

There’s a responsibility to recognize how easily our perceptions can be shaped by the way information is presented. Whether it’s a groundbreaking discovery or a divisive political argument, the lesson remains the same: pause, think critically, and question the narrative. Because sometimes, what feels like finding a missing puzzle piece is just a mirage—an illusion crafted to fit perfectly into the space we’ve been trying so desperately to fill.