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

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Some UFO-inspired Inktober Sketches

Absurd by Design

Marshall Applewhite, leader of Heaven’s Gate

Like most artists, I began keeping a sketchbook in which I could doodle initial design concepts or just doodle whatever the hell I fancied some time ago. At first I used cheap notepads that I brought along during the Paradigm symposium conferences in Minneapolis to write notes, but then I chose to keep these journal/sketchbooks in a much sturdier medium –Canson’s Art Book ONE with 98 pages of 100 g/m2 paper is currently my favorite choice; their price is affordable enough and I can use ink as well as pencil to sketch my ideas. The paper is not great for fancier media like markers, but nowadays affordability is paramount for my artistic needs…

Usually these sketchbooks would last me at least a year, because I’m a very lazy artist. However –as I mentioned on my last post— at the beginning of this year…

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Was the Orange Orb a Big Ol’ Plasma Ball?

The Orange Orb on WordPress

I won’t say “just” a plasma ball. As if the label “plasma ball” decides the thing. Explains it all. It doesn’t.

I Googled “is plasma intelligent?” and the first thing that popped up was this, from the Solar Ancestor site.

Some believe that UFOs are sometimes really craft made of plasma – while others suggest that ‘light orbs’ are intelligent beings whose form is composed of plasma. Since plasma is considered a fourth state of matter (beyond solid, liquid and gas), any intelligent consciousness that used plasma as its body would be considered to be Inter-Dimensional (ID).

Andrew Collins, in his book Light Quest, has proposed that natural plasma emissions play host to, or are the vehicles of  intelligent life forms – light-beings or electric-beings – who use plasma for temporarily manifesting into our dimension for short periods of time. The question he is unable to answer is whether they…

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Little Synchronicites

Little synchronicities lately, coming at me in waves. Most trivial — no great metaphysical awakening happening here.  At the same time, isn’t the fact the synchronicities happen at all pretty groovy in a cosmic joker kind of way?

Last night, thinking I’d like to hear Lady Ga Ga’s Bad Romance, and how come the station I listen to that plays that kind of music hasn’t been  playing it recently? I turn on the radio, tuned to that station and yes, you’re right, Bad Romance had just started.

Jim and talking last night about selling or donating our Honda. Wanda, as we named her years ago, has been sitting in our driveway for some time. We discussed selling her, how much, she barely runs, we have to take pics, etc. etc. Today, coming home from running errands, we find a little note on our door, urging us to call if we want to sell our Honda. The man was still on our block, he came to talk to us. Good deal!

Those are just two of many little synchronicities. Not sure what causes these, but some of it might be simply focusing and intent. I’ve been intentionally concentrating on gratitude and positive energy, as well as communicating with what I call my angels, though, who or what they actually are, who can say. I put out the call, I’m being answered.

I know that that last part will cause many to heave a sigh and shake their heads at my dippy hippy new age angle. But it is so. In UFO Land and related realms, honesty is crucial. And if sometimes that means exposing one’s vulnerable side, well, that’s the way it is.

Encountering the Faeries in the 21st Century

via Encountering the Faeries in the 21st Century

The Blue Eyed Reporter

 

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About twenty years ago, I was contacted by a young man who said he was a reporter for a newspaper in the town over. He wanted to interview me about my UFO experiences, particularly  my orange orb sighting.

I was attending the University at the time, and had been busy interviewing people about their UFO encounters as part of my folklore studies.  Word got around. So I wasn’t too surprised that this reporter contacted me. But for some reason, I get a weird feeling that something was odd about the whole thing whenever I think back on this. Something a bit MIB like about the experience. 

We agreed to meet at a local Starbucks. He seemed very nice, polite. But also, a bit too … nerdy? Judgemental, I know. But too clean cut, too. . . just, out of place, almost, in his squeaky clean appearance. One thing I remember: his eyes. Round and shining blue. Very open to whatever I had to say, which was fine, but he kept asking questions. Questions. More questions. Of course that’s what he would do — it was an interview. But it just seemed a bit off, or something. One of those uneasy, nebulous feelings that doesn’t seem logical. Yet the uncomfortable thought that something was off lingers.

I never thought to ask him how he got a hold of me; how he got my contact info, etc. It could be I knew at one time; maybe he did mention how he found me. But I don’t recall.

He told me he was going to submit the interview to his editor, and let me know the status. I never heard from him. No such article appeared; his name never appeared anywhere, and, when I called the paper, they didn’t know who I was talking about.

Either a perfectly innocent encounter: young student (was he? not sure) who flaked out a bit, or got busy with other things, the newspaper simply rejected the article, things happen. Or, something a little stranger.

For years after the orange orb sighting, weird things did happen. Many more sightings. Synchronicities. Psychic experiences. Off the wall encounters  Over time, these experiences have lessened, but they still continue. 

(I recently mentioned to Tim Beckley on his podcast that I wonder if some of this slow down in the realm of the weird has to do with either age, or gender; post-menopausal, maybe? But then, what would be the reason for that? )

The point is, some memories related to UFO experiences contain an element of unease. A nagging feeling there is more, a something else, that escapes us. 

Oh, Same Old Disgruntled Crap About Inhabitants in UFO Land

 

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I remind myself: it’s about the data, the research, the search, the journey, the personal experiences, the witnesses. Not whether or not I like so and so, and, if I do, because I respect them, find out they like so and so, who I detest, dislike, spit upon! Even. Yes. I do.

And so then what? Does that color my opinion and trust and respect on their conclusions on research, data, etc.? Or what? Oy. UFO and Fortean World: Welcome to Middle School Melodrama. No, just move on.

Except for certain things, I do not abide. Like threats of rape and other violence towards myself and other women. Or intentionally spewing lies. All your research is then discarded. Because you’re a dick, and will stoop to anything to get your ego driven self out there, propped up by others who dance giddily in your light, not knowing, or caring, you’re a sexist violent pig who puts himself above any witness account, any data, any interesting bit of research. Some days it’s hard being a resident in UFO Land.

Dr. Morgan and the Chemtrails: Pop culture and paranoid thoughts

The 1950s throw back comic Rex Morgan, M.D. recent thread depicting an old coot who’s “paranoid” and thinks chemtrails are real, and, affecting our brains. Dr. Morgan, of course, ever the rational mind, is clearly bemused and troubled. No doubt it will turn out the man has a brain tumor, or early dementia, some type of physical ill that is causing him to think these silly thoughts. Once he’s cured, everyone will have a good laugh over the man’s crazy thoughts.

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Synchronicities, China, Dreams . . .

If this keeps up I’m going to have to start a dream journal-blog. (No, don’t do it! Too many already!)

Lately my dreaming mind has been roiling with the supernatural. See my two  previous posts.

Last night:

I’m in telepathic communication with a young man (late twenties or so) who is Egyptian, or maybe Syrian . . . at first, our communication is telepathic, then we move on to face to face time via computer, like Skype. I am a famous medium-psychic-past life regressor. I am telling this young man all about his past lives. He is very interested, very surprised. 

I’ve written a book. A big book, about things paranormal and supernatural. I’m standing in the desert (where the young man lives?) with a few other people. I’m holding a silver wand/staff object. I’m telling these people something about the original book, the manuscript or porto-type book, holds some very powerful and unique information, as well as little objects, that if China gets ahold of it, it’s the end for all of us. The END. Really, really bad. 

China gets ahold of the book somehow. So we go to China, have to sneak around, pretend we’re not interested in the book. Armed police, guards, everywhere. Everywhere. Cameras, microphones. We steal the book, somehow. We’re chased. It’s bad. We get away with the book.

Woke up this morning to read about the million or so protesters in Hong Kong protesting

China’s latest fascist doings:

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HONG KONG — Hundreds of thousands protested in Hong Kong on Sunday against a government plan that would allow extraditions to mainland China.

The mass demonstration was among the largest in Hong Kong’s history, and another sign of rising fear and anger over the erosion of the civil liberties that have long set the semiautonomous city apart from the Chinese mainland.

Also read an item in the paper about a Richland, Washington state high school that has the mushroom cloud as its logo! The school is “proud of the cloud!” they chant. Unbelievable. You can read more here  about this incredible lack of judgement, and a brave young woman from Japan who shared her feelings about this to the school.

Later this morning, a co-worker telling me about a film she watched over the weekend where, at the end, the atomic bomb goes off.

 

My Mother’s . . . Abduction?

Again I say, oh the dreaming mind. The other night, the dream was about Mothman. Last night, my mother.

This is difficult. My mother died four years ago. Her last few years were terrible; dementia. Kidney, heart failure. Not to mention the depression, the anger, the fear.  Since her death, I’ve had several dreams a month about her. My non-paranormal writing has included a lot about my mom. Tough childhood, for all of us. For her, when she was a girl, for us, when we were kids.

Why am I telling you all this? As a bit of background for the following dream. My mother and I would talk about these things; UFOs, Mot
hman(she had a theory about the Moon, Mothman, etc.) She saw a UFO once when I was a kid. I was the only one who believed her. In fact, I told her, she insisted, not to worry, since “They’ll be back. They always come back.” My mother was aware of my interest in this field, and always found it interesting. She never thought I was silly or lying for my interests. She knew better; she had her own UFO sighting, and a ghost encounter. When it came to these areas, she was open.

I don’t know what to make of the following dream. Why two worlds came together: the paranormal-UFO-non-human realm, the working-through-my-mother-issues realm.

My mother is in bed. She’s ill. Dementia has not gotten ahold of her yet, thankfully. But she knows she’s dying. We’re in the home I grew up in L.A. (the one where mom saw the UFO, the one where I’d have all those waiting for the aliens to come encounters.)

My mom is in good spirits, considering. She wants to tell me something. She asks me if I remember the time she went away for a few days, now and then, I say sure. She says she didn’t go where everyone thought — out of town, whatever — but that she was abducted. By “them.” Aliens, for lack of a better word. 

I am shocked, of course. Also terrified. Confused and not sure what I just heard. She then tells me about the “beeping.” Beeping sounds that would pop into her head before a visit from them, before an abduction took place. I tell her about how I hear that beeping too (true.) 

My mom has covered up these UFO-alien experiences her whole life. Missing time, encounters. I tell her of my own. As we’re talking, a huge wind comes through the bedroom, really, a mini tornado. It scares us but we manage to stay in place. Nothing is wrecked. It’s clear this “wind” was really some type of entity, intelligence and didn’t like us talking about these things. Sharing our mutual experiences. 

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I woke up feeling very odd about this dream. A little unnerved. Confused. Do I think my mother was ever really abducted? No, — I don’t even think I was ever abducted — but, well, something.

I don’t know what to do with this. Except put it out there. More data. Another angle of approach in our attempts to figure all this out. Which is all we can do, it seems. Share and explore. Which often includes the very personal. It’s scary and weird and one can be accused of oversharing. Well, okay.  True and fair. But sometimes if we withhold some things, we’re only keeping ourselves locked into our present state of Not Getting Anywhere.

Here are links to my other blog posts elsewhere — like on my Saucer Sightings blog — about my childhood memories, dreams and UFOs:

One Hell of a Dream about Aliens

The Synchronicity of Puppet Wolves

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