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"The part we ignore…may contain the clue to the whole subject." ~ J. Allen Hynek

Month

May 2019

River Voices and, Screen Memory?

Jim, remembering his years living up river, in the woods,  in a yurt. This, decades ago, no cell phone, no computer, no TV, no nothing. Except his dog, his S.O. at the time, and a couple of iron skillets. And books. 

“You don’t want to pay too much attention to what you hear in the night. Probably doesn’t help I was reading Castaneda at the time.”

Jim speaks of whispers, calls, songs, voices to be sure, but not quite human sounding. Imagination? Or awareness of other? (He never saw anyting UFO – ish out there, up the McKenzie River, but he did have some interesting experiences, including a strange energy zapping thing that came through his cabin (post-Yurt) and “into” his body.)

I remember a night in the Santa Cruz area with my father and step-mother. Standing by a river. A very crisp night. I remember the stars; so many, so damn brilliant!  It was the first time, spending time by water that I heard singing. Voices. Angelic. Coming from the water. Distinct. I was about sixteen, fifteen. I remember that night vividly. I think we spent the night there, camping out. I’m not sure. So much about that night is vague. But the voices in the water — I’ll never forget that.

Decades later, I painted a semi-abstract painting of a river, water . . . as I was painting, that memory came back to me. Suddenly, I put in a little silver saucer shape thing in the sky above the water.  I was thinking “star.” As soon as I had done that, I “heard” just outside my head a voice (not the first time this has happened) that “There was much more to that night than I remember,” and the insertion of that silver object in the sky is no mistake or mindless doodle.

“That was no star,” the voice said. “That was a UFO.”

Whoa. 

A true memory, literal, or something else? Easy to dismiss or explain away in rational terms. And I would. Except, as always, the life long experiences that puts these seemingly random events into a context. A context that shouts: “UFO paranormal weirdness, sister. Keep paying attention.”

Why Her? Childhood Memories of “Them”

I have a recurring dream. I’ve been dreaming this dream for decades. Goes like this:

It’s night. I’m in bed, watching the yellow light beneath the door, waiting for “them.” The little beings that I can barely see. I have to wait like this, part of the “ritual” although I didn’t think of that way when I was a child. Just kind of excited, waiting to “play.” 

They come. Float me out through the bedroom door, the hall door, through the living room — where I see my mother and grandmother, maybe some others, talking, watching t.v. — and float me out the front door. They put me up in the large pine tree on the corner of our street. The house next door to us, the one on the corner, had a huge pine tree on the corner of the front yard. 

I’m not the only one sitting happily on a branch, high up in the tree, waiting for the rest of “them.” My friend Pamela is here too. We wait together. The two of us are used to this, happens all the time. Soon the ship will come and we’ll go inside and be with the rest of “them.”

In this recurring dream, it’s only Pamela. Not any of my other friends from school or the neighborhood, not my god sister or sisters or anyone else. Always Pamela.

Is there literal meaning to this memory? I still have dreams, decades later, of her, where I contact her. She is far away, and it was quite an ordeal getting her number, etc. to reach her. But I finally do.

We also used to sneak up to the roof tops of the multi-apartment complex she lived in in Hancock Park. Late at night, sitting up on the roofs of buildings. Did something happen on those rooftops, something we, or I, don’t remember?

I haven’t been in contact with this person since my early twenties. No idea where she is, her last name (married, kept her maiden name, what) — and, regrettably, my behavior back then was not the best. (Drugs, rock and roll, the seventies, … enough said.)

Dreams of UFOs, space ships, non-human beings appearing and communicating . . . childhood memories that, when shared with some family members, are met with uneasy and startlingly confirmations of similar memories.

A ghost story’s clues: abduction?

Heard a ghost story today. I will not reveal where, or details, in order to protect the witness. I don’t have permission, so, no.

But the story is a basic ghost story, of an apparition appearing as a “real” person, who abruptly — very abruptly — disappears. As many a ghost story goes, this one took place in outdoors, in an area where, anyone coming or going would have been easily noticed. Also, the witness had given this ghost/visitor physical items. Items which seemed to have left with the ghost. Who disappeared as quickly and oddly as he had appeared.

I related this story to my husband, who asked about the items. If they were physical items, where did they go? Did the “ghost” take them with him? They weren’t around — the witness did not see them.

Was there physical evidence of these items given to the ghost before hand? If so, where are these things now?

My husband speculated if this ghostly encounter wasn’t really, in fact, a cover memory of an alien abduction.

Damn interesting!

Who knows, of course. These seemingly different and specific phenomena often merge; crossing over each other. One playing at being another? Or all the same? Or, sometimes the “same?”

Elk Memory

I’ve written about my elk memory in past blog posts, including here.

The following is a poem I wrote recently about this event:

An elk, so I thought

deep in the woods, at ten

away from my troop — 

what was this huge, silent creature? as I stood

across the highway

still, staring,

regan lee elk.jpgunafraid, but awed.

Why was I there?

alone?

away?

Not lost, but

not where I should 

have been.

 

regan lee

oregon, 5/2019

 

A Profound Insight on the Astral About MUFON, Or Something, and Archangel Gabriel

 

I’ll be a guest angelgoodbad.pngagain  on Tim Beckely’s podcast in June. More to come on that. Time, date, etc. I was asked to submit some topics to discuss; I told Tim Schwartz I’ll get back to him with some ideas.

Then later, I realized: I don’t have any ideas. I don’t want to discuss, again, all my Orange Orb-Missing Time – Bigfoot Related Weirdness. Not that I mind, but I have a feeling a lot of people out there do. Again, with this? I hear them saying.  So much on my mind, always about “all this” in UFO Land, but I want something specific and constructive.

Last night, thinking on this, I called out to Archangel Gabriel (helper guide of writers) for ideas. And had a dream about my interview, talking trash — trash I tell you! –about MUFON. But deeper than that, insightful calling them out comments. Deeper and deeper we went. Not about UFOs themselves, but the humans researching them. Their agendas regarding UFOs. That’s the issue, really, more so than the actual UFOs. Almost.

In the dream, I was articulate. Had my paranormal shit together. Then of course, upon awakening, I forgot the specifics.

But something lurks in the subconscious, about hidden agendas. Not by “them” — it’s a given their agendas are hidden — but by some of us.

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