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

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Cheeto-in-Charge on UFOs

. Recently George Stephanopoulos asked the POTUS if  he “had heard of any reports of extraterrestrial life:” Cheeto-in-Charge responded thusly:

“I think our great pilots would know,” he said. “And some of them see things a little bit different from the past. We’re watching, and you’ll be the first to know.”

More here. 

Really, nothing to say here about this. I mean . . . we just can’t . . . it simply is too damn crazy.

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Aliens Through the Wall: Then Why Did Ya Tell Me?!”

It seems when I sleep in the afternoon, the dreams are weirder. I’m recovering from oral surgery, feeling sloggy and groggy, and so, slept for a couple of hours. (And when I woke up, thought it was time for work and had a moment of confusion on what to wear.)

So, the dream. I’m working away on writing, reading, researching all about This Stuff. UFOs, aliens, with a few cryptids thrown in. The usual. It’s night; outside the window I can see the dark night sky, a few stars. A knock at the door, I answer. Three males, all very different and very odd, are standing there. Without a word they just come in, pushy!

They act like MIB but don’t look like MIB. (Men in Black.) One looks like a boy of about sixteen, but I know he isn’t a young boy. He’s not even human. In fact, I know that none of these “men” are human. The other looks somewhat like an human, except the he’s really tall, and the other, about five foot nine, well. He’s simply a humanoid outline full of purple glittery shimmering material that keeps swirling around.

These men warn me in very strong terms not to discuss my experiences, my research. They know all about what I’ve written in the past. Everything. Every blog post, every article, every reference to me, every journal entry, and every discussion I’ve had with others about UFOs.

I am very offended. I ask them, “Just who do you think you are?!” and they don’t answer. They then walk right through the wall! Now that terrifies me. Then they walk back out, into the living room. They tell me “Don’t fuck with us, lady. We’re serious. You CANNOT tell anyone about us!”

“Then why,” I ask, “Are you showing up here at all, and showing off your wall trick?”

That, they ignore. They just walk through the wall again.

Later, I’m at work, I think.  Somewhere. I get a few people close to me together, tell them they cannot, CANNOT, tell anyone what they’re about to see. We’re in a room, locked door, paper over the peep hole. 

I am telling these people because the “men” later told me I could, but only if we promise not to tell others. Turns out I have video of their going through walls.

After I show the video, some tell me they don’t believe it because it’s easy to fake things. True, good point. I don’t know what to say.

Then the “men” show up and go through walls again. That gets everyone’s attention.

 

What I found interesting in this dream was the show off nature of the aliens, or whatever they were, along with their warning not to tell anyone. I asked what I considered a very reasonable question: then why show me all this?

True, as we know, when weird experiences happen and we tell others about them, many times we’re not believed. But many of us are compelled to tell our stories anyway. And there is certainly a trickster element in the UFO/alien paranormal realm. Lots of bizarre actions — performances, really, by “them” — often with warnings of keeping the experience secret.

Paralyzing Dream: Inside the Lab-Ship

 

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Dreams are a mystery. They still remain so, even with new theories on the hows and whys. It’s a given, as far as this blog is concerned, that dreams are far more than just random crazy brain dumping of the mundane  stuff that went on during one’s day.

I was going over an old journal entry from 1980; a UFO related dream. And I thought, why? Why dream about UFOs at all, back then, when I knew very little at all about the subject? No reason. Except that I had had my orange orb sighting at the time. Then the dreams followed:

I’m in a room with doctors and scientists. Surrounded by recording type machines and all types of official looking equipment. It’s been somehow agreed I will try to tell them what’s going on, by hypnosis or some trance like state.

During this dream, there is a part of me that is quite detached, watching all of this, while another part of me is inside the dream actively taking part. This part of me is helpless. I’m not in control, I am just …here.

One of these scientists deals in para-psychology, he is talking to me. I go into a trance state. Another voice — male–  starts to speak through me.  The voice is coming from another planet,  communicating through me. I relax, I am not frightened and allow this doctor and who, whatever it this being is talking through me. As I relax, this voice/me tells us about a map. This map shows where these beings come from; where their planet is. Two other voices start to speak through me. And I know, I feel, these are two very different people, beings, than myself.  My being has literally been invaded by outside forces. And they are extremely evil. They’re angry and don’t want me and this other being, tellings the human scientists where this planet is.

This is where I struggle to wake up. I feel completely paralyzed and am very scared. I think I’m really awake; I start to moan and I try to scream, but I can’t. Jim wakes up, and tries to comfort me.

Then I really start to wake up, and am startled, because I thought I was awake already. I’m sweating, my heart is beating fast, I am so damn scared! Too afraid to go back to sleep. I think of going downstairs — reading, drawing, watching, tv, a cup of soothing tea, something to relax me and let me know the reassuring reality of things around me. But I’m too afraid to get up and away from a warm human body. (Jim.)

I’m feeling so silly, it was just a bad dream, but I can barely move. And for days afterward, I was in a fog that I couldn’t come out of.

Eugene, Oregon, January 29, 1980

Why do we dream what we do? In this context, it seems odd to dream this dream, especially considering I had many dreams of this kind at the time. And they are all within the context of the orange orb sighting. And other sightings as well; there was a revolving silver sphere above a pasture, emitting a beam of light from underneath onto the ground. It seems that this dream as well as the others, are connected to these sightings.

We know that dreams of UFO/alien (or at least non-human ‘others’) and awake encounters with craft, beings, are connected.

So my question is:  are these dreams of mine a form of memory of real events experienced during waking hours?

Circus and Haiku: A Positive Omen for Creativity?

Couldn’t sleep last night; got up, tried to write. During the day, I was going through old files, trying to clean up my work area. Lots of files on UFOs, the paranormal. A lot of academic papers I’d written when studying folklore at the University of Oregon. (One titled: Talking Deer: The Presence and Function of Animals in UFO Abduction Lore.)Made some notes, went over pages of stuff, but, nothing. Went back to bed.

Earlier in the day, I tweeted to a haiku group that a goal of mine is to “write a haiku a day.” I started doing this a couple of years ago. Not quite one a day; sometimes a few in one day, then nothing for awhile. I carry around a little black notebook just for my writing notes and poems, haiku and haibun.

 

the New Year’s goal

writing a haiku a day

not going well

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I subscribe to Modern Haiku. (MH published one of my haiku years ago, rejected a couple of months ago though. Try again . . . ) Aside from writing fiction; poetry and short fiction, I also write about the paranormal and supernatural, UFOs, and all kinds of weird.

I had the following dream last night, after I finally went to bed:

My new issue of Modern Haiku arrived, which surprises me, since I just received a copy and they publish a few times a year. Much too soon to receive a copy. But, I’m very happy to receive this. I also receive an unexpected zine from someone I don’t know. I wonder how they got my address, how they know about me. Both are fiction and poetry inspired publications.

In the Modern Haiku journal, there is an article by a woman about me! The title was Regan Lee: Circus. The author writes that, while not a believer, nor disbeliever, in things paranormal, she was inspired and moved by my writing. Somehow this writer got a hold of my article and she wrote a very positive review of my work.

Of course I’m excited and honored and show this off to everyone, including co-workers. I don’t care if they don’t care — though most of them are interested, and do know of my work in this area — I am so happy about this! But also a little confused. How did this woman come to know of my work? I hadn’t put this paper up anywhere.

The other zine, also from someone I didn’t know, gives me a positive mention as well. Again, I wonder how it is these people came across my work. I also wonder at the strangeness of a review on UFOs and the paranormal appearing in a haiku publication. And what does the circus have to do with any of this? (Circus: something I abhor.)

Creativity. Something extremely important to me, with me my whole life. I don’t put creativity in a box; it’s everywhere, in everything I do or think. Some may not think there is anything creative — blending into a spiritual place — about the realm of UFOs and related themes. I those areas as operating in a strong  and creative plane. Two worlds: outer, inner. Fiction, non-fiction. Mundane, magical. Not always opposites with nothing in common. Going back and forth between worlds.

Which is what I’ve been doing since childhood.  Expressing one realm to another. Maybe that’s the circus part; it can get very chaotic and silly and surreal very fast. I take this dream as a positive message to keep going, following my own crazy path.

Labeling the Experience

 

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Labels. We all use them, in every situation and context. Labels help us. They also manipulate us. We need something to hang onto, something to help us make sense of things. A handy quick label keeps us moving. We assume we all know, all agree, what we’re talking about when we use labels. Of course, most of the time that’s not true. We don’t agree, we aren’t sure, and we just want to get to it. Not get bogged down with defining our labels or explaining ourselves.

Anyway.

When it comes to UFOs, well, the word itself is a label abused. Both debunkers and believers (more labels!) assume UFO means aliens from outer space. (My theory is “they started it” meaning the skepti-bunkers, who insist that UFO of course  “really” means ET, and therefore, let the scoffing and mocking begin.)

What labels to use when talking about people who’ve interacted with UFOs and or entities? Experiencer is a big one. Abductee, contactee, … the edges blur with those two, though of course those words help us identify witnesses who have been contacted, or taken, by entities. (And I do recognize that I use entity more than alien, certainly more than ET, because, well, we don’t know they’re literal ETs.)  I will not ever tell someone who’s gone through encounters what to do; never suggest they take a specific approach or use only certain terminology. That’s up to them. For myself, I think simply using the word witness is enough. Yes, I’ve experienced things as well, but for me, that word in this context seems clinical. The use of the word experience removes a complicated mass of emotions and responses, it sets the self apart from the crazy mysterious scary weird exhilarating thing that happened.

It is up to each one of us who have witnessed these things to use whatever terms makes sense to us at the time. And the researchers who work with witnesses need to respect that, using their own language as they see fit, but allowing the witness her or his voice as well.

 

Cartoons From the Past

Clearing off a few shelves to make room for more books and vinyl (Santa brought us a new turntable) I came across a folder of cartoons I did decades ago. Just silly things. I did a few of a character I came up with; Pongo, the Neurotic Dog. (The quality is awful, I know, not much I can do with a built in Mac camera.)

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I don’t remember if I was aware of it at the time, but “Pongo sees his first UFO” is dated 1954, the year I was born. And a lifetime of UFO and related experiences ever since.

Another silly one, about the great Cosmic nature of it all:

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Moon in Gemini, never a good thing for us Pisces:

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And finally, beware the Radio Active Cows. Maybe that’s why the aliens are abducting them.

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Political Candidate Has Been Abducted

This just in. And after listening to Adam Gorightly and Greg Bishop the other night on Coast to Coast talking about contactees. Synchronicity!

Miami Herald’s item on Bettina Rodriguez Aguilera, political candidate, who has been in communication with ET since she was seven years old:

WASHINGTON
Florida has a U.S. senator who once flew aboard the Space Shuttle.
A congressional candidate from Miami can go one better: Bettina Rodriguez Aguilera says she’s been aboard a spaceship too. But this one was crewed by aliens. As in extraterrestrials.
Three blond, big-bodied beings — two females, one male — visited her when she was 7 years old and have communicated telepathically with her several times in her life, she says. (Sen. Bill Nelson served as payload officer aboard the Space Shuttle Columbia in 1986. All seven people aboard were from Earth. As far as is known.) More here.

Merry Christmas!

I’m Not There: Alien Sketches

Three sketches I made last night while listening to Adam Gorightly and Greg Bishop on Coast to Coast last night. Good program; Gorightly and Bishop  discussed their new book,  A is for Adamski, with host George Knapp.

I wanted to make sure I didn’t fall asleep while listening to the show so I stayed up and sketched.  I didn’t think about what I’d draw, just let myself go where my subconscious took me.

The first sketch I call “My invisible dancing aliens.”  Years ago I started a painting based on this same drawing but never finished it. This is a sketch of the  little foyer in the house I grew up in in Los Angeles. There was a little window in the wall, as you see, a closet door on the left, and across from that, the front door. This is the house where I waited for my little alien friends to come and float me out the front door. I also have memories of dancing with these creatures. No faces on the beings — I don’t remember their faces, or much at all, except that they were. About my size, almost see through. Airy, fragile, friendly. Same ones who floated me out the door, into the large tree on the corner where I’d wait for … more. More beings, ships. . .

This is also the house where my mother saw a UFO hovering over the apartments across the street.

 

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This next sketch is of my bed. I’m not in it. The aliens (or beings, or entities, or angels, or elementals, whatever it is one wants to call them) are not looking at me in the bed — not anymore. I’m gone to what ever place they took me to. They are looking up, away from my bed, to the skies, and pointing. I’ve noticed that in this sketch, and another I did of my bedroom and the aliens, some of the aliens are tall, and clothed.

 

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The last drawing surprised me; it’s a version of my “patio alien” a creature I saw when I was about four. This was in another house in Los Angeles, on Corning Street, not too far from the house referred to above. I tried to capture the nasty nature of this thing but I don’t think it comes across. Although, I showed it to my husband who just shook his head (I didn’t tell him what it was.) I asked him if he was referring to my artwork or what; he said no, to “it.” “Not good,” he said. “That thing is not good.”

This thing was about four feet tall, all in silver and a hood or helmet, red glowing eyes — more like lights then eyeballs — and had a wand or gun type thing in its hand. When I saw it I first thought the thing was holding our hose, messing around with it for some reason. It saw me, was very very angry I was watching it, and pointed the “hose” at me. Turned out to me some kind of ray gun (as hokey as that sounds) at me. I was terrified.

 

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