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.”
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.”