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

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Childhood Memories:Fuzzy Puppet Wolves

I wrote this piece about a childhood memory for my Trickster Realm’s column at Tim Binnall’s Binnall of America back in 2007.

 

I had to be in bed, flat on my back. Concentrate on the warm yellow light shining under the bedroom door. Then “they” came, several of them, oh, at least four, and somewhere I was levitated, floating through the doors.

I don’t remember what they looked like, or if I ever knew. I do “know” they were small, about my size. Skinny too, not human, like us.

Sometime around age thirteen or so these episodes became less frequent. As I wrote recently on my blog, it was rare when I could intentionally cause these episodes, and when they happened spontaneously, they became scary. I’d often shut down before I could leave my body.

Another event that happened frequently was the “puppet wolves,” visitations, as I called them. These events were connected somehow with the above, but also different. They weren’t the same creatures, for example. It wasn’t quite as pleasant either. And I remember some events happening during the day; still in bed, but daytime.

The fuzzy puppet wolves were very small, not more than about twenty-four inches tall. They were fuzzy/furry, gray, and reminded me of puppets. They weren’t exactly malevolent, but they were quick to be extremely mischievous, pushy, and just not as “nice” as the others. I could see these guys, and remember to this day what they looked like. The other guys, I don’t remember at all, except that they were small. The puppet wolves would gather around my bed, several of them, and they were insistent. They didn’t take no for an answer, and I’d have to go with them. I don’t remember anything other than that.

Not long ago, my husband “Joe” and I were talking about our childhood “weird” experiences; memories of the paranormal, or whatever word you want to use. Before I said anything, he began to tell me of something that happened to him sometimes when he was a kid. While he was in bed, furry gray “things” would gather around the edges of the bed, and tug at him, taking him away. (Neither of us remember where we went.)

I asked him if they reminded him in a way, of wolves; he said yes. Small nasty little wolf puppet, or stuffed animal-toy beings. He had never heard my story before.

Another Synchronicty between us. When faced with all these parallel experiences, going back deep into childhood, I find that I can’t ignore things like karma, or metaphysical connections, or reincarnation, or. . . something. I’m not sure what it means, but to say it doesn’t mean anything is supremely incorrect.

The Wolf as Totem

I refer to these nasty little beings as “wolves” yet they didn’t hold the wolf spirit. In fact, the wolf is my totem, and the Wolf Clan is one of the clans of the Lenepe, my grandfather’s tribe. (So I’m told.) I’ve had amazing dreams of wolves; often in connection with white wolves and teachers. I call upon Wolf often and he is my friend and guide.

But at the time, a child unfamiliar with the gift of Wolf and all its meanings, I tended to think of these persistent unpleasant creatures as wolves.

Puppet Symbology and Invisibility

It’s interesting that I thought of these beings as puppets; that is, puppets without any people operating them. They were just empty moving “skins.” They were footless, too, no legs. A screen memory, a false impression to cover whatever was “really” there? Puppet implies that something else is behind it; that the puppet isn’t doing the thing, the person operating the puppet is in control. Whatever was behind the wolf puppets was not revealed. Or, remembered.

Invisible Aliens

In looking back over a lot of what I’ve written about aliens and odd experiences, I realize I use the term “invisible alien” a lot. I don’t recall what they looked like, these beings that came to float me out doors at night. I don’t remember parts of UFO sightings I’ve had; missing time. Whether these are connected or not I don’t know.

There are many layers to these kind of experiences, and I suspect symbols replace symbols that replace yet other symbols, all to make us more comfortable, to protect us, — or us to protect ourselves — as we try to exist in the mundane world. Our journeys into the astral/other worlds remain submerged in our subconscious. It’s been so for a very long time, as has our need to go down and retrieve these memories. Retrieve the correct memories. With each “dive” into our subconscious, we move closer to some kind of understanding.

(for example, I wrote that I had to concentrate on the yellow light underneath the bedroom door. I told my mother about these experiences, and she insisted that there was never a light on in the hall after we went to bed. I asked her, then, what light was it that I was seeing? she had no idea.)

Was my memory of the light a true one of the hall light, and it is my mother that is incorrect? Or is my mother right, and my memory of the hall light a cover memory for a very different kind of light, from a very different source?

I wonder if I’ll ever know.

 

Master Cylinder Heater Entity

One odd thing about this childhood home: whenever I think about it, which isn’t too often, I remember my bedroom as being on the second floor.

We didn’t have a second floor. It was a one story house.

I had a couple of strange memories from living in that house in L.A. (Bedford Dr.) and with both memories, I remember being on the second floor. One memory is of the “Master Cylinder Heater.” I was frightened to death, seeing this thing in my bedroom. It was very tall, robotic, gray and black and a bit of glowing red, with thin ribbon type things floating out from its sides. It was not a good thing.

Years later, when thinking of this, I naturally assumed it was a dream, mixed up with a heater either in my bedroom or somewhere in the house. I described this thing to my mother about ten years ago — she told me there was no such thing like that anywhere in the house.

cylinder
Master Cylinder-Heater Entity, Ink, charcoal on paper

I really need to redo this. The cylinder was wider, but still tall, and the ribbons or whatever they were were different colors, like pale greens and yellows and pinks, as well as black and gray.

I wrote about this encounter in my Trickster’s Realm column on Tim Binnall’s site, Binnall of America (BOA.):

12.7.9


The Cylinder Alien Heater

I’ve been experimenting recently with intent in context of retrieving the vague parts of memories of various UFO events in my life. Two things that I keep coming back to is the idea of dreams and memories. “Dreams” that I only call dreams because we all know such things don’t really happen, yet I don’t recall any other dreams from childhood. Those have receded into the past. Only two have followed me into adulthood, bumping against my consciousness with persistence, insisting they did happen just as I thought — not dreamt. 

One such memory is of what I’ve always called the breathing radiator. Unlike the usual dream — where you know it’s a dream, no matter how weird — this, like a few others that fall in this category, is not a dream, but a solid and definite memory.

This memory of the breathing radiator is of a cylindrical heater, about six feet in height or so, dull silver colored in my bedroom. At the time, we lived on Bedford Street in Los Angeles, California, a few blocks from the house we moved to a couple years later and lived in until my mother sold it when I was in my twenties. (At that house I experienced all kinds of UFO experiences, as well as the house we lived in before the Bedford house. That house, on Corning Street, was just a few blocks away as well. It seems that neighborhood, near the West L.A., Culver City area, was an attractant for UFO activity.) I hated to go to sleep in the bedroom on Bedford because I knew that when the lights went out the silver thing would come for me. I remember night after night of watching this thing move across the room, towards my bed, telling me telepathically to be quiet.

I had always assumed this thing was a heater. The cylinder stood by itself; not in a wall or closet but out in the room. It had a grilled plate in the front, glowing lights, and colored ribbons that moved when the air from within came on. I recently asked my mother if there was anything like that in my room on Bedford, she told me she couldn’t remember but didn’t think so; she agreed it would have been an odd kind of thing to have in a bedroom.

I don’t associate this weird cylinder as having anything to do with UFOs but it’s always felt like it has. Like my childhood eagle “dream” and patio alien with the glowing red eyes, this memory of the cylinder entity was always in the box labeled in thick black letters: “UFO Stuff — You Know It!”

As anyone who’s experienced UFOs, Fortean or paranormal knows, synchronicity and the Trickster show up when we explore our esoteric experiences. Out of curiosity, I did a Google search for “Bedford street, Los Angeles, California” and the first item that came up was a real estate listing for the house I lived in as a child! There were a couple dozen photographs of the house, but, no silver cylinder “alien” radiator.

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A Little Bit of Mantis Synchronicity!

My previous post is about Stuart Davis, artist, musician, podcaster, and witness/experiencer to UFOs/aliens/entities. He’s about the astral, meditation, metaphysical. Davis has had encounters with the large praying mantis alien/being. And along with that, the smaller, usual kind, along with synchronicities that not only he has experienced, but friends of his. Once that rabbit hole gets you. . .

So I posted the previous post this morning, then went over to my Facebook page and saw a PM from a friend in the area who told me about her experience last night summing UFOs. She used Dr. Steven Greer’s technique. Unfamiliar with that technique, I Googled it. Didn’t find anything specific the first two links, but on Remote Viewing Magazine I found a post by … yes, “Monad Mantis.”

greenmantis

 

Stuart Davis: Aliens and Artists

Stuart Davis was last night’s guest on Coast to Coast; George Knapp hosting. I had not heard of Davis before. A fantastic interview! Different, and yet . . . a lot of what was discussed seemed familiar.

Davis has had his own experiences in the metaphysical-high-strangeness-UFO realm, including encounters with Mantids (praying mantis entities.)  His encounters include many moments of synchronicity.

Aside from Davis’s experiences, he has apodcast: Aliens and Artists.   Davis explores the relationship between artists, UFO etc. expedites, and the creative expressions.

I really think this is one path to follow in order to get closer to some understanding of the phenomena.

One thing Davis talked about was that moment when we’re meditating, or relaxed, maybe going to sleep but still awake — those in between moments — and we are consciously (or, sometimes not so much) inviting non-human energies into our space. “They” seem to know when we are open, and vulnerable. I’ve had a few of these drop-in visitors while in this state.

One was very silly. I was doing an experiment with a friend of mine who has had a life long experience with UFOs, aliens, and all kinds of high strangeness episodes. Her children and spouse have as well. So for awhile, we were trying to send each other images. It didn’t work, not for either of us. But, what did pop into my mind was the typical gray, except he/she/it had a balloon type head. Very cartoonish. It was like the thing was laughing at me. It was very Trickster like; wouldn’t go away, kept coming back. The harder I tried to get rid of it the more it stuck around.

Now, I’m not suggesting this was literally a Balloon Clown Alien from Outer Space. Just that in my in betwixt and between state, with intent, energies morphed and appeared. They could have been from my subconscious: me thinking deep down this whole thing was silly and I shouldn’t try. Or, not. Or, something in between, a bit of this, a bit of that.

balloonhead copy
Balloon Head Alien-Grey, colored pencil, ink on paper,

And then these travelers:

Photo on 8-23-18 at 10.56 AM
Amethyst Third Eye Meditation and Travelers, pencil on paper

Where I was meditating with amethyst and focusing on my third eye. (I’ve had many psychic and entity episodes while using crystals as a conduit.)

And of course, my obsession with the Orange Orb — that UFO I and my spouse saw years ago. We also had missing time with that sighting.

orbs in space
Orange Orbs, oil pastel on paper

This past March or April, right when the lockdown began because of the Corona virus, I suddenly began drawing “tall whites” and white, orange entities, sometimes emerging from orbs:

3tallwhites
Tall Whites, oil pastel on paper

Not exactly like the grays — which I’ve “seen” in various encounters – so I don’t know where these tall whites came from. Just playing around during the whole social isolation phase.

And so on. Many more: drawings from childhood memories, UFO sightings, random “mind postcards” like the green warty man/entity, a drawing I’ve been working on.

 

 

 

 

Unsolicited Advice: New to U.F.O. / Paranormal/Cryptid Stuff?

Well, there’s Google. Go for it. No shame, and yes, you’ll find yourself tumbling  down the rabbit hole, but, we all find ourselves there at some point or another. So just know that will happen.

Remember books? Library, bookstores, used and new. Problem is, often libraries have scant and skewed selections. For the most part, libraries don’t take such things seriously. And bookstores — the chain ones — are more about popular topics that sell, than offering books on the meat of the matter. Used bookstores are often better, simply depending on the opinions of the owner. I’ve found some great books in second hand bookstores.  Just depends.

Library sales, that’s another source, as Goodwill and other thrift stores. You have to look in all kinds of categories. St. Vinnie’s, at least in my area, really does a good job of placing books according to genre. Goodwill, not so much. Look in not only “paranormal” sections but science, religion, folklore…

eBay, Amazon, and Etsy. You never know.

Don’t give up.

And of course there’s social media, like Facebook, Twitter, etc. Search, lurk, read, ask. Don’t be afraid to ask. Just develop a bit of a thick skin, because there are some know it alls who won’t hesitate for a moment to tell you what’s good, what’s bad, and if you don’t take their advice, you’re a moron.

Blogs. Blogs might be — I hear tell — going out of style, but I will not accept that. Then again, I am the Queen of the Fortean Blogosphere. I have so many blogs, I forget about some of them for awhile. (Most recent, my UFO-Mary blog on blogspot.com) But there is a lot of great info and art and personal narratives and book lists and history that you could easily spend a whole day pursuing such information.

Sure, I have my own list of books that a person new to the field should read. But, while of course I think it’s an important list, it’s just my opinion. Point is, read what you can, when you can, ask questions, don’t entertain trolls (they still exist, even though the 1990’s are over) and think for yourself. Make up your own. mind. And know that your mind will, hopefully, change many times along the way, as you gather more information.

The really only important point is this: staying stuck on a theory is death. Be willing to change, to morph, to evolve. Don’t be afraid to question. And be brave enough to ignore the trolls and debunkers who will try anything — anything — to shut you up if you decide to share your own experience.

Virus Presents its Reptilian Head

Subconscious global virus fears have seeped in.

I had a dream that I thought was real, then realized at some point I was dreaming. Until, in the dream, I was explaining the dream to my husband — complete with a physical demonstration — thinking that that was real, until, I realized I was still dreaming. Layers upon layers.

I hear sounds of animals  (I assume they are animals, cats maybe, raccoons) fighting in the yard next door. Abruptly, the sounds stop, and I hear just one sound: the crunching of leaves and gravel as a seven-foot, bi-pedal creature walks into our backyard. 

I don’t know how I know the creature is seven feet tall, but I do. The nature of dreams. This creature is somewhat reptilian-is. Highly intelligent, and nasty. This thing claws at our bedroom window,trying to get in. I’m terrified. Try to wake up my husband but he’s out. All this time, I think this is really happening. Not a dream.

I hear the creature walking around to our other bedroom window. I get out of bed, pound the walls with my fist and shout “GO AWAY!!! GO AWAY!!! WE DO NOT WANT YOU HERE!!!” 

There’s a moment where I am frightened because I know. — I can see it in my mind — that it’s thinking. Deciding whether to burst in or leave.

reptiliancover.jpg It leaves.

Later, I am explaining this dream to my husband. I show h

im how the creature walked, using my fingers to walk across the table. (As if he doesn’t know a bi-pedal creature would walk.) I think: thank god that dream nightmare is over.

Then I realize I’m still dreaming.

Like most of us, I assume, the coronavirus has shifted things within in a deep way. I’m confused, operating in a state of surreal acceptance. I want to be safe and responsible but  am not sure what to do at times. I know what not to do – – I’m not an idiot. Am I scared? Yes, sometimes. I don’t want to feed into it. I’m not hoarding toilet paper for instance.

So the fears and anxiety, the uncertainty, is always there.

 

And I know I am setting myself up for the wrath of logical intelligent fellow saucer heads, Forteans and the like to be flung at me  but I can’t help there is more behind this. Much more, including conspiracy and manipulations and even the interaction with an other.

But none of that really matters. Because this is here, it’s real, and it’s affecting all of us at all levels of our existence. Children at home, unsupervised, people out of work wondering how they’re going to pay their bills, . . . the fallout is immense.

My little dream, exposing layers of reality (I’m dreaming, I’m awake, it’s real, oh, I’m still dreaming) presenting a Reptilian Alien monster as an unwelcome and nasty intruder. It did go away however when I confronted it. So maybe this dream was a reminder that I am responsible for myself and to calm down. Not to be cavalier about things, but, find that balance between acceptance of this new reality while remaining sane.

 

 

Angel Travel Guide; The Quabies and USA

Two nights in a row. Angel  (I call it/him an angel for ease, but spirit guide, dream guide, anyway, a very strong and recurrent dream presence) that occasionally  appears in my dream. He often appears as tall; around six feet, six inches. Wearing a white suit or clothing. On the thin side. Nothing sexual at all, but when he’s near, I feel fantastic.

In the following two dreams, this angel guide was near invisible. His presence was felt, and he was there, but couldn’t quite see him. And he was giant. Twenty feel tall, and above us.

The first dream was almost comical; it was as if I was in a Nick Cage conspiracy movie. My guide was showing me — taking me —  to Egypt. Telling me about the history, the pre-history, including Egyptian magick. The strong message as that this is important and I better learn it. The dream concluded with summations on how the United States was created based on this ancient Egyptian history, and, most importantly I was told, that the current Egypt and citizens are not the “real” ones. I don’t know what that means, it was just part of the dream.

The next night, another dream with David the angel travel guide. I’m with a small group of people. We’re taken to sites on the earth that exist, but, only a few humans throughout history have seen these places, and very few know these places exist. We’re shown an astounding lake, so beautiful! Amazing color, such clear blues and greens

mountains-1645078_960_720.jpg 

The water is transparent and I see a thick, tall tree trunk. As I look I realize it’s a totem pole. But part of the pole — all underwater — is just plain, not painted. The trunk, orpole, extends beyond the surface of the water and goes up into the sky about a hundred feet. It’s painted again, totem pole. I have never imagined a totem pole to be so huge. 

Then these creatures appear, waddling across the shore. We’re told they are called ‘Qaubies.’ They look like tater tots! Very large tater tots. About the size of two bed pillows sewn together. They barely have faces; just the impression of a nose, eyes, mouth. They are not animals, certainly not human, but not aliens either. They are not dangerous, if anything, benevolent. Once again, our guide tells us that this is very important. What we’ve seen, what we’ve learned.

We’ve also taken to see animals that are hybrids but instead of a horror like a Dr. Moreau, these animals are happy, gentle, they are what they are they are not the creations of a sick scientist, they are their own creatures.

tot.jpeg

Was I There?

Husband writing his novel, which includes when we first met. Discussions follow. After forty plus years of marriage, memories. . .

Synchronicity, or maybe just plain old nostalgia, but this weekend is our forty-third anniversary.

And I’m writing, on my own stuff, paranormal and not.

So we’re listening to old Donovan (do not underestimate him) on vinyl, of course, and things came to my mind. Like the following poem:

 

He was there

before we knew each other

was I?

I have a memory , some

might call it a screen memory, or

cover

when we met, we sat in his Fiat

talking poetry, dreams, UFOs

was I there?

I remember him, Donovan

Hollywood Bowl, on a carpet

white shirt

was I there?

Later, dreams, missing time

Where were we?

Was I there?

Back in 2011, when I was writing for Tim Binnall’s site, I wrote the following:

Donovan in Concert at the Hollywood Bowl … Maybe

Memory and UFOs. Missing time. Conscious recall of astounding events. These memories affect the UFO witness, contactee and abductee in profound ways. The memories are vivid, full of emotional and spiritual import that brings life long changes to the experiencer.

Even missing time – which is no memory – is a sort of memory. You know you don’t remember; you remember that something strange happened before, and something strange followed, but what happened in-between? During that in-between state, something happened, something involving you. The memory of those moments exist, somewhere, outside yourself. Forever frustrating, until recalled. But at that point, can we trust the process that brought us to that moment of recollection? Do we just think we remember? How much of those memories are real? All, some, none?

I have a few memories that don’t involve UFOs or really, anything particularity high strangeness or paranormal and yet… there’s a nagging feeling with this category of memory that UFOs were on the edges of these events. Events that I can’t fully recall. They share some similarities with missing time.

For years I’ve had a vague memory of attending a Donovan concert at the Hollywood Bowl in 1969. I have a vivid memory of seeing him on stage. I remember standing up on a little rise, the night air around me, seeing him and hearing him. I don’t recall being with anyone, if I was, I don’t remember who I was with. And yet, I don’t remember anything else at all. Not going to the concert, who I went with, anything about the concert itself, or anything afterwards. I don’t know how I got there. I don’t remember anything. I’m not sure I was there. But I think I might have been.

Curious to know if Donovan ever did play the Hollywood Bowl in 1969, I found proof that he did on the delightful The Go-Go’s Notebook blog. He did play there in 1969. No way to prove if I had been there, but at least we know he was.

There’s no one I could ask about this; my father, who I was living with at the time, has since passed away. He’d be the only one who might know. I was pretty left on my own back then, so adults or others who might know if I had gone wouldn’t necessarily know. It wouldn’t have been unusual for me to attend a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, where I’d seen may concerts, or other places.

It bothers me of course, not knowing if something really happened or not. At least in the context of UFOs, there’s a “Well, that explains it” context. Missing time, not being able to remember, while seeing a UFO, all adds up to the strange. It’s strange to begin with.

I don’t have any memories of UFO experiences when I was a teenager, except for one other memory related event. A few years ago I was meditating, and looking at a landscape I had painted of Santa Cruz. My mind wandered to a night in Santa Cruz by a river. My father and some family members were camping; in that meditative state I could vidily remember the smell of the water as well as the sounds, the cold air…and in the painting/memory, a stationary “star” began to move, zooming in towards us. I have a lucid moment, saying to myself “That didn’t happen when we were there!” I heard a voice outside of myself, speak to me inside my head that I “knew it was a UFO and I had better stop playing games” with myself about the reality of that memory. Then I was jolted back to the reality of my bedroom, the painting, and current time.

Was this memory of attending a Donovan concert related to this Santa Cruz event? Cover memories and games with time, and, location? As weird as this hazy memory realm is, it isn’t unheard of or unusual with UFO witnesses. Whitley Streiber is among witnesses who’ve shared their experiences of almost dreamlike memories that were not dreams, yet… some shadowy thing has happened to distance the witness from the event. Why?

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Jim (my spouse of these many decades) and I have had many paranormal and UFO experiences; separate, in our childhoods, before we knew each other, as well as during our relationship. One example: the orange orb sighting, with missing time.

 

Outer Space Micro Poetry

Haiku, senryu, micro poems. A couple I think I’ve posted here before — most are new.

 

the air is full 

of unheard

noise

_______________________________________________

a dark blue realm

translucent

but unreachable

 

caveufo.jpg

_______________________________________________

some say missing time

is the mental state unhinged

and some know better

_______________________________________________

 

she didn’t believe

such things could be happening

brilliant orange orbs

 

sphereufo.jpg

_______________________________________________

dusk

enchanted ,though uneasy 

we watch the sliver sphere

shooting beams of light

above the pasture

_______________________________________________

we argue

comparing memories

of missing time

_______________________________________________

poems by regan lee

2019, oregon

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