The Keepers
An Alien Message
for the Human Race
Jim Sparks
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Harvard Psychiatrist
Dr. John Mack, a man of integrity who disregarded his
colleagues’ ridicule to pursue the investigation of alien
abductions because he was a true scientist who
believed in pursuing the unknown.
When colleagues asked John Mack why he was so
interested in the UFO/ET phenomenon,
he responded by asking,
“Why aren’t you?”
Prologue
by Linda Moulton Howe
In 1995, I first met Vincent Sparacino, also known as Jim Sparks. Jim
was born to Italian parents on November 15, 1954. He grew up in
southern Florida, graduated from high school and spent a couple of
years in a local college studying real estate. He moved on to Houston,
Texas, in 1979, and then to North Carolina where he purchased raw
land, divided lots for housing construction, and always felt a strong
need to preserve the trees at his developments. Happy, married and
thriving, by 1988 at age 34, Sparks says he suddenly came face-to-face
with beings from other worlds.
Jim insists he has had completely conscious encounters with
“small, grey, drone worker types; taller true aliens, or supervisors; and
tall reptoids with big human-shaped bodies covered with scaly, reptile
skin.” Jim Sparks sees himself as an interpreter or translator — or at
least an elementary grade student in an alien “school.” Jim says he was
forced by the grey beings to learn English letter and number equivalents
to alien symbols. After eight years “of being close enough to breathe
their rotten-egg smelling skin,” Sparks thinks he has some insights into
the alien agenda, but admits he has “a thousand more questions than
answers.” He is frustrated that he cannot prove his repeated and conscious contacts with alien beings since 1988.
Jim permitted me to tape record several hours of our discussions
about his experiences, which I first published as Chapter 3 of my 1998 book, Glimpses of Other Realities, Vol. II: High Strangeness. I was always
impressed by Jim's no nonsense, “call a spade a spade” attitude. He has
always been straightforward in his descriptions, even if he did not always
understand what he was seeing or experiencing. I would like to share one
of Jim's insights now, before you begin his important first-person account:
“I understood better their nature and agenda. They are neither
benevolent nor evil. They have been among us in secret for thousands of
years, maybe longer. But the length of time isn't as much the issue as why
they have been among us. I believe they have been farming us for raw
materials…. But now there's a problem, and their investment is in trouble.
The aliens have spent a lot of time, travel and effort to farm us. But we are
on an almost irreversible path of self-destruction…. But if we environmentally destroy ourselves, the aliens still have an excellent insurance
policy. They've been collecting seeds from plants, animals and humans.
Through semen and ova extraction, the aliens can start us, or other Earth
life, all over again here, or somewhere else.”
Linda Moulton Howe
Emmy Award-winning TV Producer and
Reporter and Editor Earthfiles.com
Albuquerque, New Mexico
February 19, 2005
Foreword
by Dr. John E. Mack, 10/4/29 to 9/27/04
Many Americans are having experiences which have come to be known
as “alien abductions.” Despite the readiness of people who are not
familiar with the details of the phenomenon to offer psychiatric or other
conventional explanations, none of these has even begun to account for
the strange nature, richness and awesome power of these experiences.
Those who are willing to pay attention to what is going on here are confronted with an intriguing mystery of expanding scope.
Jim Sparks’s case has many of the features that have been
reported now in hundreds of instances, but it is also unusual in several
respects. His account provides one of our richest and most detailed documentations of an abduction history. In addition, he shows clearly how
the experiences evolved, together with shifts in his own consciousness.
But above all, Sparks’s recall is altogether conscious, i.e., without the
benefit of hypnosis, relaxation exercises or any other use of a non-ordinary state of consciousness for the exploration of buried memories.
This should help to settle what may still remain of the suspicion that
these experiences are somehow the product of a narrator trying to
please a hypnotist. As for myself, I met Jim Sparks for the first time in
March, 1996, and although we have had two interviews and several
other conversations, I cannot be regarded as complicit in bringing forth
his knowledge, as his book was far along before we met.
Sensing that he has something important to teach us, Sparks has
avoided reading about “alien” abductions, lest his prior knowledge contaminate his account. Nevertheless, his story is in many ways consistent with the narratives and lives of other abductees I have seen or whose cases
have been published. He has the passion, curiosity, and self-doubt of an
authentic, truthful voice. There would be little reason to question the reality of what he has written except for the fact that from the standpoint of
the materialist worldview that still dominates our culture, what Sparks has
to tell us is simply not possible. We are then faced with the choice of
rejecting his story prima facie or allowing ourselves to expand our
notions of the possible by attending to what he has to say.
Jim Sparks is an Italian American who was in the residential real
estate business when his experiences began. Those that he remembers
began a decade ago. He has been informed by the alien beings that they
are concentrating their contact now upon ordinary people (he regards
himself as an “average person”) because agreements with Earth’s leaders
to “correct the environmental condition of your planet” were violated.
Furthermore, Sparks is so convinced that information about alien cultures
and activity of great importance for human health and the future of the
Earth has been illegally suppressed by government officials that he initiated a National Security Information Amnesty bill that would allow
records to be opened and these individuals to come forward with what
they know, without fear of reprisal.
Initially Jim’s experiences, which occurred as often as several times
a month, were primarily intrusive and terrifying, including the oft reported forced extraction of sperm. Furthermore, he had been brought
into a “mind-boggling” world where known physical laws were broken —
passage through solid objects, shape-shifting, and instant, apparently
thought-activated, transport. Something, he tells us, had “invaded my
being right down to the core.” A process, totally outside of his control, had
befallen him which utterly broke down his will, “probing through to the
deepest fiber of my mind.” Sparks tried desperately to relate what was
happening to him to familiar notions, thinking at first that he was being
taken over by evil spirits.
Little by little Sparks was able to put aside his rage, overcome fear
and accept that he was encountering some sort of technologically
advanced non-human intelligence from which he could not escape, beings with the “ability to scan the deepest fiber of your soul,” before which he
was quite powerless. As he was able to surrender, the experiences transformed. Sparks found that he had been inducted into a kind of “alien boot
camp,” a school of training and testing that made heavy use of riddles,
ambiguity, paradox and symbolization, where much of the communication occurred telepathically or via connection with the aliens’ dark, mysterious eyes.
The purpose of his schooling seems to be two-fold: to create a
hybrid race as an “insurance policy” for the future, and to awaken us to
our mindless destructiveness, so that we may halt the devastation we are
bringing to Earth. Sparks’s articulate and moving expression of his awakening of consciousness in relation to this danger (a “different point of
view” in “sharp contrast to earlier feelings”), which appears to be the core
significance of the abduction experience for him and so many others,
gives his book power and importance. The human race is “isolated” in the
cosmos “by ignorance,” he has learned, not “ready to join the intelligent
life” that exists in other realms and “too dangerous” to “be set free in the
universe to do as we please.” As Sparks has moved beyond his resentment,
he has come to feel quite fortunate to have somehow been chosen to “participate” in such a great “adventure.” He is unwavering in his conviction
that we must heed the beings’ warnings in order to stop the destruction of
the environment and the death of the planet.
This central message is stressed repeatedly and relentlessly in
Sparks’s book, and is the reason for its power. Through Sparks the beings,
or whatever may be the intelligence behind this extraordinary phenomenon, tells of our failed stewardship of this magnificent planet. In several of
his abductions Sparks was shown on TV-like screens scenes of such
breathtaking natural beauty that they left him “completely mesmerized.”
But they would inevitably be followed by visions of “mankind’s destructive ways,” as the images showed once-beautiful forests “now brown gray
and dead looking instead of healthy and green,” or dead, bloated fish floating on top of the water. Sparks writes, “This made me feel very sad and
depressed.” Suddenly after one of these experiences a telepathic voice
said, “YOU ARE KILLING YOUR PLANET. YOUR PLANET IS DYING.”
In some of his experiences Sparks was confronted with the dangers of overpopulation, breaks in the food chain and the dangers of
nuclear and biological contamination. “There are better ways,” he was
told, of “deriving your energy and food needs, without causing your
planet any damage.” Our mindlessness seems, in Sparks’s experiences, to
have cosmic proportions. “In the galactic neighborhood,” he was taught,
“there seems to be an order” which our species is violating.
In a certain sense, the reality or truth of all this is well-known, so
why should we pay attention to Jim Sparks, who has been informed by
strange beings we do not even acknowledge exist? And if the aliens are so
concerned with the Earth’s ecology, why don’t they just stop us? These are
difficult questions to answer.
First there is the emotional and transforming
power of the environmental “education” for Sparks and many other
abductees, which leads to a more total kind of commitment to changing
direction. Also there is the sense in these experiences that the message is
coming from a higher, or divine, source of great potency, should we be
able to acknowledge its authority.
Finally, as Sparks and other experiencers have been told, the changes that may result from “training” like his
must occur through shifts in consciousness of the human race, especially
on the part of ordinary people, rather than by direct intervention. With the
failure of leaders to take responsibility for the planet’s plight, Sparks was
told, “we are now concentrating our energy on the average person.”
Sparks writes of changes in his own consciousness and psychic
powers, an “ability to see in other dimensions,” a “sixth and seventh
sense.” “These extra senses seem to lie dormant like an atrophied muscle,” he says. “One just needs the tools, or technology, to tap into these
realms. In my case exposure to alien technology heightens the senses.”
Sparks is to be commended for having the courage to “come out”
and tell his remarkable story. Many experiencers are ridiculed privately
and publicly for truths that run so counter to the official reality of our culture. He hopes that if he can provide an example of leadership in this
regard, he may contribute to overcoming the denial that characterizes the
prevailing reaction to the great dangers facing the Earth. To the end
Sparks, like all abductees, remains mystified as to the source of his experiences but feels that what he has learned is of immense power, importance and credibility. “What is wrong with us then,” he asks at the end of
the book. “Are we blind? Maybe so, because it is taking cultures from
God knows where to warn us.”
I asked Sparks to tell me how his experiences had changed him. In a
letter sent to me by FAX he wrote the following:
Prior to 1988 [when he began to recall his experiences] about 95%
of my energy was focused on business, marriage, recreation and living as
carefree as possible. I had some concern for the environment. I tried to
save as many trees as possible when I bought land and sold lots for home
sites.
My experience with advanced cultures in the last nine years has
changed my life and expanded my awareness. Clearly the Earth is alive,
and we have cut off her arms and legs. Truly we have damaged her
severely. She is a living body fighting for her life because we are attacking
her vital organs. The heart and lungs of this plant lie in the rain forests of
Central and South America. The attack on these vital organs is beginning
to show signs that the Earth is having a difficult time trying to cleanse herself. As land is destroyed, diseases are released, along with [the loss of]
potential cures. The list goes on and on.
My life has changed to the point that I am forming a foundation that
will purchase and preserve valuable forest land.
Introduction
I can remember a time when I looked up in the sky and didn’t see
much. I can remember a life where I was just a normal guy, living a normal life. I worked hard, I took what life offered as best I could, and I
loved and appreciated my family, without a whole lot of questions. Then
things changed. I found out that things in my life, in your life, aren’t, as
they seem to be.
My name is Jim Sparks, and I have been contacted by extraterrestrial beings.
Today I refer to them as advanced cultures. It should be made
clear there are many different species of intelligent life that have been
interacting with humans since the dawn of time. In this story we will be
focusing primarily on a race commonly referred to by researchers as
Greys.
My contact with these creatures has been one on one, face to face.
I have been abducted so many times since 1988 I have lost count. Most
abductees have fragmented memories. I have better than 95% total conscious recall.
Listen to what they have said to me and what they have to say to
us all. It’s right here in this book.
Whether they are extra-terrestrial or extra-dimensional or just
plain extra-curricular, I can’t say. I’m no expert. And why they’ve chosen me I don’t know.
However, I can make an educated guess. They track family lines
for many thousands of years, in my case since day one. They came to me totally out of the blue in 1988, and the first several years were a
trauma-filled hell. I felt as if I had been drafted into a war that no one
knew existed. I refer to this as an alien boot camp in which the M.O. is
isolation, fear and confusion. This completely disrupted my life those first
few years, but now I have come full circle. I wouldn’t trade these experiences for anything in the world. My eyes have been opened.
They are like us in some ways, but for the most part not like us at
all. Technically speaking they are light years ahead. However in some
cases we are catching up. Here are a few examples:
Ö They radiate an energy either naturally or technically enhanced
that paralyzes you when they are just a few feet away.
Ö They can transmit and receive hundreds of thoughts at the same
time.
Ö They are completely telepathic and can create any reality they wish
you to believe.
Ö Their technology is thought activated.
Ö They can pass through solid matter, travel dimensions and distort
time using their understanding of science.
Ö Their technology is so advanced it almost seems like magic.
This is a small part of it; I’m just getting started. All I can do is to
tell you about them and relate my story to the best of my ability.
The literature of alien contact has been around for over half a century. Everyone has heard of UFOs. I’d heard of UFOs before 1988 when
this began, but I’d never seen one that I remembered.
I’d never heard of the famous UFO abductees such as Betty and
Barney Hill or Whitley Strieber. And, I didn’t read any other books that
were causing people to take alien abductions seriously. Know what? I had
other things to do. I guess I just didn’t care.
Why should I care? Why should you? After all, the conventional
point-of-view in this world says that it’s best for everybody if you just toe
the line, believe what you’re told to believe. As an enthusiastic Capitalist
American, you’d better believe that’s just what I did. That’s the way I was
until 1988, though, when things changed and the alien abductions began.
So I hear you thinking, “Hey, there are plenty of alien abduction
stories. What’s so special about this one?” That’s easy. You can check the
reports of researchers like Budd Hopkins or the late Dr. John Mack and
the many other serious scientists who are working with people who have
had these kinds of experiences. Mostly they’re troubled, and the therapist
has to get to the memories through hypnotherapy and such. With me, I
remember most of what happens to me when I get taken. And I’m putting
that down here, in my words, right now.
Moreover, these creatures, these “Visitors” if you want to call them
that as Whitley Strieber does, have allowed me to keep my memories for a
very particular purpose.
It’s the 21st century, and we’re in a crisis. Whether you’re talking
nuclear meltdowns, political emergencies, global warming, environmental
catastrophe, religious awakenings, consciousness risings or paradigm
shifts — we’re in the midst of vast changes. Like I say, I’m just a regular
guy, but for some reason I’ve got something that these “Visitors” could
use to teach me a lot of amazing things that just might help humanity get
through these changes.
Here, then, is what these aliens are telling me.
Here, now, is my story.
1
Abducted by the Mafia
Fort Myers Beach, a beautiful town on the Gulf coast of Florida, is
where I grew up. It’s also the place I fled to when my life seemed to be
unraveling in Texas and North Carolina.
I have family here. There’s nothing like family to steady a soul. At
first my family wasn’t sure how to take all of this. They seemed quite
certain I’d lost it. Over time they came to support me.
The Gulf of Mexico is a gorgeous sea. Its waters are warm and
mostly calm. Every large body of water has its own scent and I love the
smell of home. The nights are mostly clear and filled with stars.
When I see a sunset of gold and orange, I relax. Even when these
strange creatures come and take me elsewhere I know they will bring
me back here to this community, where I only have to walk a short way
to run into an acquaintance, or even better, a friend.
Fort Myers Beach will always be small because it’s an island, just
fifteen miles off the mainland from metropolitan Fort Myers. It is close
enough to enjoy Fort Myers’s historic areas, yet far enough to be a great
vacation spot. If you want sand, beaches, sun, and surf — we’ve got it
here.
When I was a boy, Fort Myers Beach was just a fishing village
filled with natural charm. Today it’s a tourist mecca, although it still has
a fishing fleet that gives it a lingering charm. There’s nothing like sitting
near this beach eating fresh gulf shrimp, stone claws and oysters along
with a tangy ice tea with lemons that were just hanging from trees earlier in the morning.
Even as I sit here now writing of aliens and the future, I can smell
the marvelous aromas of smoking fish from the Smoke House on San
Carlos Boulevard. It has been around a long time, since Fort Myers has
always been a fishing port. The fishing boats bring in a bountiful haul of
grouper, snapper, tuna and bonito every day, and some of it goes to the
smokehouse where wood and fire do their magic. I never get tired of this
place, even though lots of tourists have found it —especially, alas, college
students on spring break. It makes me feel good.
The Gulf radiates peaceful energy for me. There are playful dolphins here and brightly plumed tropical birds. The sunset is spectacularly
beautiful every day. Afterward the stars are bright. It’s pretty astonishing
to think that one of the scariest and most unusual contacts started right
here on a beautiful, moon-swept Fort Myers Beach night.
March 7, 1994, is probably the most significant date in my story.
The aliens had taken me away many times before, but I want to tell you
about this day first because of what happened that night.
In that fateful winter of 1993-1994, I’d just gotten back together
with my wife Teresa after tumultuous times. The calming effect of Fort
Myers Beach worked on me, and I was getting my act together after a lot
of insanity.
We had a beach house — a nice one with ample rooms. Although
my marriage had improved, I still slept alone. I’m a restless sleeper, and I
guess Teresa didn’t really mind being relieved of that part of me.
On that evening, March 7, instead of sleeping on the living room
sofa as I usually did when I slept alone, I decided to use one of the extra
bedrooms in the back of the house. We were about a 100 yards or so from
the Gulf with a few outer houses between the surf and us.
With the help of a pleasant night with Teresa, I went to bed around
midnight and fell into a deep sleep without dreams.
At 3:47 A.M. a hand gently shook my foot, and I woke up.
I could hear the waves lapping on the beach, and a breeze played
through the trees outside. The room smelled like a troubled memory.
“Teresa?,” I said
Enough moonlight crept through the window for me to discern a
dark shape at the end of the bed.
I was afraid. Just because this wasn’t the first time something like
this happened, it wasn’t exactly old hat either.
Fear is fear, and fear is what I feel whenever this thing happens.
Yank my chain, push my buttons — what’s in me comes out. What comes
out when I know I’m about to get on the Abduction Special is stone-cold
fear.
A pale light rose up in the room.
At first I thought it was just a man. He wore a jacket with wide
shoulders and baggy pants, a black dress shirt, and a black silk tie — up
tight against this neck. His suit was an Armani or some other fancy
designer cut. A wide-brimmed fedora hat slouched low across his features.
Those features, I came to see, were not human, but rather they were
the strangely shaped head and almond eyes I’d come to know too well. I
guess the cat’s out of the bag as far as what these creatures look like. X Files did an okay job in depicting them. In the flesh, the aliens have a definite look, a presence, an other-worldliness about them, and the human
instinct in their presence is to be very afraid.
This time was different. Where the eyes of my abductors before had
been indifferent, this guy’s eyes seemed cruel.
Here before me was an alien dressed like some 1930s style Chicago
mobster. Those words rattled in my baffled brain, and I repeated them out
loud in confusion.
He said, “The boss wants to see ya.”
I wish I could say I wasn’t still afraid. It’s not often that an alien
abduction starts out with a comedic slant, though, and the idea of being in
some intergalactic farce was not as nuts as it might sound and is a hell of a
lot easier to swallow than most of what I’ve been through.
Why did the alien that night come dressed like Humphrey Bogart in
Angels With Dirty Faces?
Do these “Visitors” actually have some warped sense of humor?
Putting aside the Men In Black, one doesn’t find a lot of slapstick
comedy in the alien stories we hear. I was not familiar with UFO movies
or literature then — I was mostly just stunned, and only a little less
freaked. Now I wonder whether the aliens sometimes use our own cultural
icons to communicate with us. As you’ll see, they may well have time travel capacities, and this joker’s last touchdown may have been the late
‘30s in America. Then again, perhaps these things are just so alien, just so
off the map of what a human can grasp that my mind sometimes short-circuits and substitutes impressions as ludicrous as a gangster masquerade to
allow these experiences to be assimilated.
It’s hard to believe that there’s a sense of alien humor in these guys,
but then maybe they’re slapping their knees behind our backs right now.
“Despite the outfit,” I said, “You’re scaring me.”
Those alien lips weren’t moving, but it hit me then that the movie mobster’s voice was sounding in the middle of my brain.
I don’t read science-fiction or psychic-powers books, and I never
knew anything about telepathy until I started actually experiencing it.
The being’s face changed, morphing from a ruddy scowl to a more
human, softer look. Then I realized what was happening. This was what I
have come to know as “screen imaging,” kind of like “virtual reality,” only
without visible computers.
The visitor was playing with my perception of visual reality. Maybe
that’s where it had found the dusty costume trunk to play Halloween with
— from all the old movies in my head.
“Everything will be all right. You’ll be fine,” he said in a friendly
manner.
“Why are you wearing that old style suit? Why a suit at all?” I managed to say.
The transition was instantaneous. One moment I was in my warm
bed. Next, I stood in the backyard, with the Gulf breeze on my bare back.
I felt the being’s hand on my arm. At this point, you might think that I would have panicked. There was nothing at all dreamy about it — it was
exhilarating, exciting — and so real!
Before in these situations, I had always been paralyzed. This time, I
wasn’t, though I noticed I had very little peripheral vision and my reaction
time was slowed, but I could walk, and move around. I turned to him and
said, “Where are we going?”
He said, “You’ll be just fine. Just come with me.” As he held my
right arm, we started walking in the direction of the beach.
We walked slowly through my neighbor’s back yard, his hand guiding me, not forcing me. We walked across the street, and I remember feeling upset because he didn’t even look to see whether there were cars
coming, he just charged ahead. We headed down to the footpath that leads
to the beach. I remember sea oats along the path.
This seemed odd, since I hadn’t noticed sea oats along that path
before. Sea oats are common scruffy plants that grow here and there in
patches along the beach. In this heightened state, however, I finally
noticed what I’d ignored all along.
I could feel the breeze, but I wasn’t cold. The smell of the beach —
that fresh, fishy scent — was vibrant and alive, and the night seemed
incredibly awake. The sand was cool beneath my feet as we walked toward
the breakers. We just kept on walking.
“We’re not stopping!” I said. You’re going to walk us right into the
water. We’ll drown!”
Again he said, “You’ll be just fine.”
Just at the water’s edge, the cold foam touched my bare feet, and we
stopped.
The night was clear. The stars hung in the sky with an incredible
splendor. I had a sense of expectancy, as though we were waiting for
something.
Then about fifteen feet straight in front of us, from out of nowhere,
a small circle of dim white light appeared, floating about ten feet above
the water. There wasn’t really anything impressive about the white light,
believe it or not. Somehow it looked perfectly ordinary, as ordinary as a sailboat leaving a light hanging from its side so other boats can see it at
night.
The visitor’s grip on my arm was not strong, and I could have run
away.
But, as in previous abductions where I had no chance to escape, I
was going along voluntarily. Was I curious? I don’t know. I just know I
wasn’t frightened any more.
I was enjoying this new experience, just standing there with him on
the beach. In a sense I had come a long way. Perhaps this time I could
have escaped, almost as if the choice were mine. How out of character this
was, because at that particular moment we were on human terms — two
intelligent life-forms standing on the shoreline.
As we stood I couldn’t help but think how many trillions of miles
these beings may travel to get here, and how many dimensions they span.
Yet, here we were on the beach.
All of a sudden, there was a blinding flash of white light. The small
circle of light turned into a huge rectangle of white light about 25 feet
wide and fifteen feet high. It appeared to be a doorway made of light.
At first I thought this opening appeared from nowhere, or that they
had ripped a hole into another dimension. I know they have the technology to do this. However, in this case the ship was cloaked or invisible. The
small white light was a marker. The larger rectangle opening was emanating light from inside the ship. At this point, this light was much brighter
than the light that normally illuminates the inside of the ship.
With my lack of peripheral vision, I hadn’t noticed anyone else with
us, but now another alien of the kind I’d seen before — I call them “workers” — stepped in front of me. He was smaller than the guy beside me —
short, skinny, with a big head and eyes. Then he jumped into the light and
disappeared.
“Go ahead,” said the alien in the suit. “Step into it.”
I hesitated.
“You’ll be all right,” he said reassuringly. “Just step into it.” I did.
Pain flashed up my leg.
I’d stubbed my right foot’s big toe. That was all. So banal, and yet it
reinforced the reality of all this.
“You have to step up,” he said.
I thought sarcastically, why didn’t you mention that before?
•
I stepped up, and I walked into that huge, overwhelming light.
I blacked out and awoke in a dimly lit room. Standing in front of me
were three aliens. Two were small “worker” types, and one was taller — a
true alien, as I call them — kind of like a supervisor. Beside them was
something akin to a hospital gurney or examination table.
After six and a half years of abductions, this was the first time I was
in complete control of my motor functions. Again, I could have run, but I
didn’t. They seemed to understand me. They seemed to know that I wasn’t
going to give them any trouble this time — that somehow, for some reason I now knew they wouldn’t hurt me!
I heard the supervisor’s voice in my head. “Would you please lie on
this table?”
After years of forced procedures, this guy was actually asking me?
“Sure,” I thought. “Why not?” I crawled up on the table and once more
lost consciousness.
When I opened my eyes, I had no sense of how much time had
passed, and no memory of what had happened on the table. I pushed
myself up and scooted to the edge of the table. Ten feet before me, two
aliens at another table asked me to come to it.
I was floored. Asking me? Again? Had these guys suddenly gotten
social skills?
You have to understand the intense feelings of terror and helplessness I’d had before. Now I felt as though they considered me almost a significant person. They had some sense of respect.
Still, that overwhelming sense of strangeness kicked in, and I felt
those familiar old feelings again.
Have you ever wakened from a deep sleep, or after sleep walking
and found yourself in a strange place — and not known who you are?
Contemplate this, and then add alien beings, and you might get an idea of
the feelings I’m talking about.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid this time,” I said.
I suppose it was too much to ask that they be warm and friendly
with great big smiles. Instead, with that “screen reality” talent of theirs,
they reached into my head — and suddenly that cold and gleaming metal
examination table became green and felt. It looked like a Las Vegas dicing
table. Were we going to play craps?
Abruptly, my fear drained. Of course, they knew that I enjoyed a little gambling in Vegas from time to time. They had mucked around in my
head enough!
I wasn’t exactly laughing, but I hopped off and went up to them.
Well, they’d designed the table wrong — bad odds on this felt. Abruptly,
this realization twisted something in my head. Blink. The Vegas exam
table was just a normal alien examination table again, if such a thing can
ever really be considered normal. Still, they seemed to be trying to be
considerate. They weren’t forcing me.
I got up on the table, lay down...and blacked out again. When I
came to, I was alone.
It seemed quite strange to be alone like this. Always before there
had been aliens in these rooms. Not only that, but I also had complete
physical and mental control of myself. I sat up and looked around the
plain, gray room and wondered what I was going to do next.
The doorway was open, and it led into a hall. The lighting was dim
and ambient, not from any fixtures, but seeming to leak from the walls,
ceiling and floors. Should I just sit and wait?
I stewed about that for a few moments, but boredom and curiosity
got the best of me. “The hell with it,” I said out loud, “I’m going to walk
around!” This felt wonderfully daring, as though I were challenging their
authority.
I got off the table and held onto it, as though it were some life buoy
in a strange sea. I peered out and down the hall — not able to see much.
Okay. Take a deep breath, I thought. Here goes nothing.
I pushed off and ventured into the narrow hallway. It went about 25
feet down, then made a sharp left.
I took the turn and walked a few more feet, coming to an open doorway. I stopped for a moment, debating with myself.
Should I just go back and park myself on that examination table and
be a good little abductee?
No. I had to find out more. I had to find out the truth. Why had they
abducted humans all these years? Why was I selected? I had the power
now, and I was going to use it.
I walked into that room in that alien ship, and the moment I saw
what was there, something deeper than fear gripped me.
It was a kind of overwhelming panic.
There, before me, was The Future.
CHAPTER TWO
Dream, It’s Just a Dream
Prior to 1988, you could never have convinced me that alien abductions
were anything other than strange psychological fantasies.
Prior to 1988, I considered myself an average American in pursuit
of the American dream. I wanted success, a happy family, and whatever
fulfillment an average life had to offer.
Let me tell you a little more about who I was before 1988, then
I’ll talk about the year that everything changed.
I was raised in south Florida, born to a couple named Sam and
Rose, an old-fashioned hard-working Italian-American couple. I
worked odd-end jobs throughout all of my schooling.
After graduating from high school, I took two years of college,
mostly taking courses related to real estate and investing. I then went to
work for a major condominium firm. In 1978, the firm transferred me to
Houston, Texas.
In 1984 I met Teresa, a slender, blonde woman. She was pretty
and down to earth — my kind of person.
Teresa is the youngest of eleven siblings in a poverty-stricken
family. She was raised in North Carolina and was forced to pick
tobacco instead of going to school. She left home at fifteen and began to
work full-time. At the same time, she got her high school diploma and
took a five-year college Bible course. She literally taught herself how to
read and write. She’s strong-willed and vital — qualities very attractive
to me. In 1985 we married and purchased our first home.
For years I have always been a hard worker, putting in ten or twelve
hours a day, six to seven days a week. After twelve years of working for
someone else, I took all my savings and started my own natural land
development company, J & J Properties. I would buy land and divide it
into home site lots. My main development was called Ashley Estates.
When buyers bought home sites, the deed allowed them to clear
enough space to build a home, but forbade the cutting of more trees than
necessary.
Although I lived in Texas, I did most of my business in North Carolina. This work kept me away from home seven to ten days a month.
I would go to a town and live in a hotel that had a restaurant and bar.
I would eat at the hotel restaurant and have a cocktail in the evenings.
After several weeks, the natives considered me a local. All this time I
would keep my ears open and do research. I would find out where the
building growth was heading. Afterwards, I would buy raw land a few
miles ahead of the growth. Then I would harvest pine straw while waiting
for the growth to come to me. When it did, I would divide and sell.
At the time, Teresa managed a large apartment complex in Houston,
and was quite content with her work. We had everything we needed, it
seemed. We were young, happy, healthy, and successful.
In mid-1988, though, my abductions began, and everything
changed. It started with a dream.
I would have the same dream over and over again for a period of
weeks. When I woke up in the morning after each dream, I was paralyzed.
I was completely conscious but unable to move. After a few moments, I
gradually gained mobility. Sometimes I didn’t have the dream and I’d
wake up and be able to hop out of bed, feeling fine, no problems. But
whenever I had that terrible dream, I couldn’t move when I awakened.
This was the dream:
I feel something beside my bed. I am pulled up by strange entities
and guided out of my bedroom, down the hallway, and into the guest room
of our house on the ground floor. It had a large double-paned window with blue drapes and white mini-blinds. I walk to this window, then walk right
through it, without stopping. My escort and I go across the front lawn,
over the street and into the woods adjacent to the house.
In our front lawn we had honeysuckle bushes. I don’t think there’s
anything sweeter than the smell of honeysuckle. In my dream, I could
smell that honeysuckle quite vividly. When in bloom, the tiny flowers that
had fallen to the grass would stick to my feet. I remember looking down
and seeing the blossoms on my feet just as I entered the woods.
I have no memory of what happened in those woods during those
dreams. However, I always emerge out of that blankness and cross the
street again, walking through that solid window into my home. Down the
hallways I march and end up back in bed. Upon waking, I would have
vague, incomplete memories of my “dreams” and would be unable to
move for a while.
These dreams occurred from May until early December of 1988,
maybe two or three times a week. For whole stretches of time they didn’t
happen. Even when I had them, I just shrugged them off and went about
my daily schedule. Dreams fade quickly under the light of the sun. The
one aspect that did bother me was the temporary paralysis. That was so
odd, I would think about it from time to time. Still I never mentioned it to
anyone.
Then, in early December, things shifted.
I had my dream and woke up unable to move, but this time the
paralysis lasted longer than usual. When I was finally able to move, I
walked down the hallway and looked into the guest room.
Honeysuckle flowers were strewn across the carpet. They clung to
imprints in the pile carpeting. The heel of one imprint was in the yard and
the toes were on the carpet. I thought, “How could this be?”
I remembered what I thought had been my dream, but this was cold,
hard reality staring me in the face.
I panicked and phoned the police. When two officers arrived, I
regretted the call, but I showed them the evidence that someone had come
into the house — and walked right through a window and wall. There was
a right footprint on the lawn outside, and a left footprint on the pile carpeting. Also, there was that footprint, half on the grass and half on the carpet.
“Was a crime committed?” one of the policemen asked.
“No. I guess not.”
They went away and probably had a good laugh back in the squad
car.
If I had a history of strangeness in my life, I might have taken this
all in stride. But the truth was that I’d never had a paranormal experience
before in my entire life. Surely this kind of thing just didn’t happen to a
businessman! As I got out the vacuum cleaner from the laundry room and
vacuumed the carpet, making sure to remove every flower, twig or blade
of grass, I thought how relieved I was that Teresa was out of the house. I
wouldn’t tell her, not yet.
I couldn’t hide this from myself. I was consumed with questions
about what had happened. I wanted to talk to Teresa. I was pretty rattled,
and I started flubbing up on my job. But I also didn’t want to scare my
wife, and I certainly didn’t want to give her cause to think I was crazy. No,
it was best to just wait and make sure myself. I would wait for it to happen
again.
Also, I decided that the next time I had one of those weird dreams, I
would make an effort to remember more detail.
About a week later, the same dream came to me again, and I sensed
a presence at my bedside.
Teresa lay beside me, sleeping soundly, and I can remember thinking in my semi-conscious state: “Dream! It’s just a dream!” My resolution
to remember kicked in.
I was going to try to see who was doing this.
Focus, I thought. Pay attention. Who — or what — was this presence? In the dimness, I was able to make out that these beings were
shorter than the average human.
Then the familiar dream unrolled. Being pulled from the bed, walking down the hall, the shock of passing through the window and wall into the lawn, crossing the street and going into the woods beyond. Then the
aroma of honeysuckle.
Next morning, as soon as I experienced the familiar paralysis, I
headed straight for the guest room. Sure enough, there were the footprints
in the carpet, and the honeysuckle flowers.
While I had gained a valuable piece of information about these
events, why was I being carried from my house by short creatures?
Strange and upsetting as all this was, though, it was nothing compared to the events that came next. With all my strength and will, I
thought, if this bizarre experience happens to me again, I will be present
and conscious. I will remember!
I showed Teresa the honeysuckle, told her about the incident and my
feelings. She insisted I was playing some kind of strange joke. People in
the bedroom? “I would have heard them,” she said. “Don’t be silly.”
So the next few times it happened, I just vacuumed up the honeysuckle, leaves and grass, and kept mum. So far, I wasn’t getting anywhere
in remembering what went on in the woods. I felt frustrated, and my work
suffered.
Still, I was determined to stay conscious during these strange occurrences. Finally, after many more “dreams,” I was successful.
In late December of 1988, I was having a difficult time sleeping.
Finally, after much tossing and turning, I nodded off. I woke up to see the
digital clock read: 3:30 A.M. I drifted back to sleep, but then, quite suddenly, I woke up.
I couldn’t open my eyes or move my body. I heard a low-pitched
whirling sound, which slowly got louder.
A strange sensation grew from the pit of my stomach, creeping up
my torso towards my heart. When this sensation filled my chest, my heart
began to race, and louder and faster came that whirling sound.
Deep instinctual fear overwhelmed me, but I couldn’t even open my
mouth to scream. Cold sweat covered me as I screamed silently. My heart
was thumping so fast I thought it was going to jump out of my chest. My head filled with that sound...whirling, whirling...until the whole universe
was that sound, and it wanted to burst open my head.
Then I felt a tremendous rushing feeling. I was accelerating as if I
were going down the steepest grade of a roller coaster, without any kind
of safety harness.
“I don’t want to die!” I screamed inside. “I don’t want to die!”
Then it all stopped — the sensation of acceleration, the sound in my
head, and the feeling of imminent death. My heart had calmed, and I was
breathing normally. There was one big difference here, though — I was
sitting now on some sort of hard bench. “Where the hell am I?”
Oddly enough, the panic had vanished. I was alive, and I guess that
was enough.
Concentrating hard, I tried to move my eyelids. Slowly I was able to
open my eyes. The first thing I saw was that I was leaning against a table.
It wasn’t any normal table — it was a flat TV or maybe a big, blank computer screen. I seemed to be in some sort of dimly lit room. I could only
look ahead, though. I had no peripheral vision. The room smelled sulphurous, like rotting eggs. It was warm and humid.
I was still unable to move, and my thoughts seemed to be in slow
motion. When I realized I could raise my head, I saw that there was a wall
about eight feet in front of me — a wall holding another, smaller video
screen. I strained to get up, but I couldn’t. I could only move my head up
and down, so I could only see that strange table, that wall screen, and the
light from nowhere yet everywhere, which was a dim white.
I sensed I wasn’t alone in that room — some kind of tingling awareness made me cognizant of activity to either side, but when I tried to look,
I couldn’t turn my head to the right or left. When I gazed down again, I
noticed I could slightly move the wrist and forefinger of my right hand.
When I moved my forefinger, it left a gray line or trail on that glass screen
table, almost as if my finger were a pencil and the surface were some kind
of electronic paper.
I smelled something ancient and foul. There was the hum of some
kind of energy subtly surrounding everything. It felt as though I were
deep in the guts of some very old computer.
“Why am I here? What the hell is this all about?” I thought.
The fear was coming back, in a different, dreadful flavor. I didn’t
know if I could speak aloud or not because I was too frightened to try.
Then my head went up, moved by some force other than myself. My eyes
involuntarily fixed on that gray wall screen.
In the middle of my head, I heard a voice say, “YOU WILL LEARN
THIS.”
This Voice did not vibrate my eardrums. God! I can’t possibly
describe my alarm as each separate word rang through my head. The sensation was so very odd — I know the concept now — telepathy — direct
mind-to-mind contact.
Not only that, but as each word was enunciated, I saw a word appear
on that wall screen. A word not in English, but in some strange language.
I heard the Voice again, “YOU WILL LEARN THIS.”
I didn’t know where I was or why I was there. And here was some
booming Voice in my head telling me what to do. I guess my Italian emotions took over here, because instead of becoming more frightened, I felt
anger and rage.
“No, I won’t!” I screamed.
The sentence burst from my mouth and surprised me. Definite
sounds, yes — much different than that neutral, antiseptic voice booming
in my brain.
The letter “A” appeared on the wall screen.
Next to it was some strange hieroglyph. Somehow I sensed that it
was supposed to be another language’s equivalent.
The alien letter faded, and then traced itself out again, as though to
instruct me on its formation. I grasped immediately that I was supposed to
write the alien letter out on the table screen before me with a forefinger.
“No!” I said.
It was worse than any school. It was worse than being told by a
teacher what to do. It was a strange omnipresent intimidation by a force
with no compassion or understanding of my feelings.
I would not cooperate with this kind of bizarre coercion!
“No!” I repeated.
Again, the letter “A” appeared and this time the air pressure
changed in the room. It pushed against my head and my ears, becoming
quite painful. My heart pounded again. I could taste fear again — body
fear, fear of more pain that might come. Everything tightened and I was quite uncomfortable. I sensed that this discomfort would continue unless I
cooperated, unless I drew that alien “A” on the screen.
Still, I can be a stubborn man.
“No!” I said. “What kind of stupid school is this? I don’t know who
you are, or why I’m here, and I’m not going to write your damn letter!”
The alien “A” reappeared.
FOOOMP!
The air pressure increased, upping my discomfort and anxiety.
I knew that unless I obeyed, it would go up again. I was still angry
though — and maybe something about wanting to remember these experiences made me hang onto that pain.
“No!” I said, “I won’t do it.”
I could bear only so much, though. After the next level of agony, it
felt as though I were about to die.
I cried out, “I don’t want to die!”
I looked down at the table screen. With my right forefinger I traced
the first stroke for their version of the letter A.
Instantly the air pressure dropped. Quickly, my heart rate dropped
down toward normal. The anxiety and the fear faded.
Moreover, I felt euphoric. The contrast was remarkable. A very
pleasant sensation flooded me.
The message was plain — “cooperate and feel good; refuse and
receive pain.”
But they didn’t seem to think I’d learned that lesson yet.
“A!” said the Voice. The alien “A” appeared on the screen. Simultaneously, the air pressure went “Foomp!” and a low level of discomfort ran
through my body.
I was still stubborn, though, and still determined to take this to the
maximum. After a half a dozen levels of increased pressure and discomfort, I couldn’t take it anymore. I copied the second stroke to this odd
interpretation of the letter A.
Euphoria.
46s
As I sat there in this artificially relaxed state I attempted to move,
but my body was still completely paralyzed, my vision was a complete
blur.
Anger stabbed through the pleasant feeling again. “Who are you
bastards?” I demanded. “You don’t have the right to do this to me!”
The telepathic response came back: “WE HAVE THE RIGHT! WE
ALWAYS HAVE! WE ALWAYS WILL!”
That declaration had a touch of finality to it.
I sensed it was time to go, that this lesson was done.
Sure enough, my eyes closed even though I willed them to remain
open. That whirling sound came again, and I felt the pressing of G-forces
— of acceleration. All the terrifying cycles of this process unfurled, and I
found myself lying flat on my face.
The softness of my own bed, the smell of my clean sheets, and the
hushed bedroom air surrounded me like a gentle balm.
It was still night, but dawn light was beginning to filter through the
curtains. I was back in my own bed. Beside me was Teresa’s still, comforting form, her smell and hair spilled upon the pillow. Teresa didn’t wear
make-up. She didn’t need to. She smelled sweet and clean, and she had on
her worn, long cotton nightgown, the one she always wore, the one I
always liked.
Gratified that I was able to move, I got out of bed and turned on the
light. Yes, definitely, there was Teresa, sleeping.... This was home.... This
was safety.... What, though, had happened?
I slapped myself. Again, harder. I was awake. This was no dream.
The funny thing was that despite the sound of my slapping and all
the ruckus I was making, Teresa had not roused, despite being a light
sleeper. I knew quite well that even the slightest sound, light or movement
wakes her up.
Concerned, I leaned over and touched her. No response. Then I
shook her slightly. She didn’t wake. I shook her harder and it was then that
I noticed something on my hands.
On the back of my hands were several small cuts that had not been
there the day before. These cuts, however, were closed over and pink, not
red with blood. They were almost healed, but they had not been there the
day before.
I was worried about Teresa. I shook her some more, maybe getting a
little frenzied — a little panicky.
Anyway, I knew she was alive when she moaned. She was stone
asleep, though, and short of maybe throwing some cold water on her, I
couldn’t get her out of her stupor.
The digital numbers on the clock claimed I’d been gone about two
hours. I went back to bed, but I couldn’t go back to sleep. When Teresa
woke up, she did so just as she always did, groggily but without any other
trouble.
Lying awake, I’d considered unburdening myself about my bizarre
experience, but, staring at her over the eggs, bacon and coffee, I just
couldn’t. I hid myself in the paper. It was just too much to believe in the
cold, jittery, painful morning.
The rest of the day I was a basket case. I thought the light of day,
some lunch, a few real estate calls, and some number-crunching would
straighten me out, but by the time dinner, which I barely touched, was
over, I started feeling even worse. Looking out at the dark made me feel
cold, alone, and upset. I felt aftershocks of the fear, from the aches and
discomfort I’d felt the previous night. I got through some TV and banal
monotone chatter with Teresa, and she conked out at midnight. The whole
idea of going to sleep again was just horrific. I just sat on the sofa, thinking, “I’m a logical guy. I’m a rational fellow. What took place last night
doesn’t make sense. How can I tell Teresa? How can I tell anybody? First
of all, they won’t believe me. Second, it just sounds like...nonsense!”
Unfortunately, I had a business trip to North Carolina planned for
the next morning. Should I take Teresa along to hold my hand? Just say, “Hey, could you come and keep me company? North Carolina is getting
creepy!” More than that I was wondering if this house was safe. If I left
her alone...maybe those things, whatever they were, would come and play
intergalactic alphabet with her. She wouldn’t be safe!
Rationally, some part of me was assured that she’d be in no danger. I
had the feeling that these creatures were after me, not her. The idea of getting away seemed vital. Besides then I could talk to Jim Johnson, who was
a close business friend of mine. I found I’d been able to discuss things
with him that I couldn’t talk about with other people. Why not strange
presences forcing me to learn alien letters?
I met Jim Johnson over 20 years ago in Jacksonville, Florida. He
was my first sales manager. He didn’t like me at first because I was new at
selling and my hair was a bit long. Jim tried to get rid of me by assigning
me impossible sales territories. To his surprise, I closed every deal he sent
me on. As he got to know me, he got to like me, and since then we’ve been
friends.
Jim speaks with a deep Southern drawl and reminds me of a Southern plantation owner or General Robert E. Lee. His wife Peggy is a lovely
woman with a sweet Southern voice. Like Lee, Jim has white and gray
hair and a beard. Peggy is petite with long, reddish hair.
They had their own real estate brokerage company, but our partnership was Pine Straw. When he or Peg sold my lots, they got a percentage.
If I was going to make that trip to see my partners, though, I sure was
going to need some rest.
Somehow, with the help of a glass of beer, I went to sleep on the
sofa. When I awoke, the luminous hands of the clock on the wall said it
was 3:30 A.M. Why always 3:30? I thought.
I felt a wave of paralyzing fear.
It was deja vu with a different view. Not again! I thought. I was frozen solid, I simply couldn’t move. My whole body was so tight, I could
hardly breathe or swallow.
Then came a different sensation — a feeling that’s difficult to
describe. It felt as though I were being bathed in a field of intense static electricity. Only one other time had this powerful unnatural sensation
occurred — on that strange bench-and-screen room the night before. Only
now I was in my own living room.
I tried to scream, but I couldn’t open my mouth.
I thought, “Oh God, I can tell they are close!”
“Who was close? And how would I know?” echoed another part of
me. Then, all of a sudden, on the living room wall a green glow appeared
— it was almost like a cloud roiling there between a couple of picture
frames. It expanded and contracted, expanded and contracted. Then it
began to take form.
For an instant, that green cloud looked like a hairless two-dimensional stick man with large, unforgettable eyes.
Then it shifted into what seemed like a hologram of an owl — a
green and ghostly owl.
Chapter 3
The Fringe of Sanity
As I mentioned before, I had never read any books or magazines about
the kinds of experiences I was having. I avoided anything associated
with UFOs. Before my experiences, I simply wasn’t interested. Afterwards I purposefully did not read any literature or see any movies or TV
shows on the subject, because I didn’t want to confuse or cloud any of
my experiences with suggestions or anything else. Despite my terror,
despite my confusion, inside of me burned a stubborn urge to know, to
understand what was happening to me on my own terms. Now, I wonder
if that was the right choice. I might have found a lot of comfort by
going for help to the right people immediately. However, I did not. Perhaps this was why I had the kind of experience that I had, and why the
Visitors were so interested in me. They were working with someone
unprejudiced by immediate cultural or scientific interpretations of what
was happening to him.
Mind you, just because I wasn’t into UFOs then didn’t mean that I
didn’t think there could be other intelligent life in the universe. Before
being abducted, in fact, I took a logical common sense approach to the
whole business. It didn’t take much thought to realize that there are billions and billions of stars out there, and that there was a damned good
probability of planets around many of those stars. So more life in the
universe? Why not? And there was no reason that other life-forms
wouldn’t visit our planet, if they knew about it. I guess in the ‘80s, I was
too busy finding and selling real estate to think too much about it.
Later, however, because of specialists who helped me understand
that I was not alone in these experiences, I learned that while every
abductee has his own unique encounters with aliens, there are some elements of the abduction phenomenon that keep recurring, for instance, this
translucent owl, which gave me the feeling of the presence of a great wisdom. Now, whether or not that was because I’d always thought about owls
as symbols of wisdom, I don’t know.
My friend, Tim, from my Alien Abductee Support Group (which I
didn’t join, alas, until years after my first experiences) told me owls figured prominently in Whitley Strieber’s Communion. Strieber saw lots of
owls in the woods by his cabin where he had many of his abduction
encounters.
The Visitors like symbols, I guess.
To me, it soon became apparent what this spectral owl signified —
it meant school. It meant time for class. I got to know it as a symbol
meaning, “Get ready to learn, Jim Sparks.” Almost every time the Visitors
take me, they show me a symbol. Perhaps it keys off some kind of subliminal response in my psyche.
I gather from my abductee brothers and sisters that Whitley Strieber’s thoughts on owls have gone very deep in the abductee mindset. For
me, though, it was simple — a representation or symbol of an owl meant
to adjust my mind-set to learn.
It’s become obvious to me that there are subtle shadings of meaning
introduced with the alteration of these holographic forms.
That night, though, sitting on my couch staring at that perched owl
with large, strange, round eyes, horns, feathers, beak and talons staring
down at me, you can bet I wasn’t paging through Freud’s book about
dream meanings.
My body finally relaxed. Though I could move, I felt completely
drained of energy, exhausted. Enough of this, I thought. I have to get some
sleep.
Somehow, strangely enough, despite the adrenaline pumping through
me, I slept.
How long I slept I cannot say. Abruptly, I was snatched from slumber. I felt like I was strapped into that invisible rocket again and hurtled
toward the moon. Anyone who’s been on a roller coaster, or even a rapidly
accelerating car has felt G-forces, and this was rough, heavy-duty acceleration. Maybe worse than before. I honestly thought it would kill me this
time.
Again, there was the room, the bench, those screens, and the faintly
acrid, neutral smell of the place. Again, I felt the warm and humid air,
then the slight chill....
Mercifully, the G-forces stopped, and I caught my breath. I breathed
raggedly, angry and confused. Once more, I had tunnel vision — I had to
look directly at something to see it.
Even as I was recovering, maybe even thinking of just getting up
and hurtling away from this madness if I could, something walked across
that line of vision. One of my captors, one of those short people.
The first time I saw one of the Visitors I noted how slender its body
was, and how large its head was. It kind of moved strangely, too — like
Gumby, as though it had a different kind of bone structure, maybe more
cartilage than bone. It wasn’t wearing clothing, but somehow it didn’t
look particularly naked either. That head though. If I weren’t scared silly, I
think I might have laughed. It looked ludicrous, like some elf’s head. It
had these great big eyes like slanted rounded jewels. I didn’t need a Ph.D.
in biology to see that it wasn’t human.
But then it was gone.
I held onto my anger. I pitted it against my fear and I cried out, “You
bastards aren’t human! Who are you? What are you?”
The non-human being had gone back into the shadows, and my
head was jerked back to stiffly face my assignment.
Dead center in the screen, strange lines of symbols formed. Before
each one appeared, a telepathic alien voice sounded in my head.
“I AM,” that Voice said.
Then, a symbol for what I guessed represented each individual
involved would fade in for a moment, and then disappear, like some spirit
roll call.
The funny thing was that the Voice in my head always sounded the
same, even though each individual symbol was unique.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it, but in all the years these guys
have been talking to me, never once have I heard them use any kind of
vocal chords for communication. They always communicate directly with
my brain. The Voice sounds deep inside of me, all knowing, unbearably
intimate. Each time I saw one, I’d get a quick jolt of adrenalized fear, as I
waited for the voice to resonate inside of me. It felt like a jealous God of
yore pronouncing law.
These name symbols continued, each preceded by a deep “I AM”
that had all the authority that the burning bush had to Moses.
Then the Voice said, “YOU ARE…”
My name, in English script, appeared. Beside it was my name in
alien symbols. The flow and form of the alien symbols were quite beautiful. Amidst the fear, I felt a kind of awe that I didn’t feel was artificially
induced at all.
The alien version of my name disappeared and that Voice pronounced in my head:
“YOU WILL LEARN THIS.”
Then the letter “A” appeared. Next to it was the alien equivalent. At
the time I thought it was a conversion from our alphabet to theirs. I’m no
linguist, but I figure that just because the English alphabet has 26 letters
doesn’t mean that alien creatures from wherever have an alphabet or language of their own that directly corresponds to our alphabet. However, for
some reason, this was the way they taught. There must have been some
other kind of process going on inside my mind, and this was the way I
interpreted it in a literal kind of way. Whatever, these guys sure were
working on my wiring.
The thing that struck me about the process was that they never, ever
said, “We’d really like you to learn this,” or “Would you learn this, please?” It was always “YOU WILL LEARN
THIS.”
This coercion fired me up. I think it countered the fear and helped me keep my sanity. I
must say, though, I didn’t feel like going through
that pressurization business again, so I started tracing out that alien symbol on the electronic etch-a sketch.
I did a few of these symbols as best I could,
and it got less scary, because they were hitting me
with the euphoric stuff again, I guess. I mustered up
some courage, and I squeaked out: “Who are you people?”
The Voice responded:
“WE ARE STAR PEOPLE.”
I realize now they were teaching the fundamentals of telepathy,
something all of us are capable of learning.
“Star People,” I thought to myself. What’s that supposed to mean? It
sounded kind of cheesy, like something out of a bad Sci-Fi movie from
the 1950s. Even the name upset me. It was like they were treating me like
some monkey moron!
Then I felt the whirling, swirling and pain, and I was whisked away
from Star People School and plopped back into my bed, with an Earth human flavor of reality in a place called Houston, Texas.
next-55s
Falling Fast
FAIR USE NOTICE
This site contains copyrighted material the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. As a journalist, I am making such material available in my efforts to advance understanding of artistic, cultural, historic, religious and political issues. I believe this constitutes a 'fair use' of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law.
In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107, the material on this site is distributed without profit to those who have expressed a prior interest in receiving the included information for research and educational purposes. Copyrighted material can be removed on the request of the owner.
No comments:
Post a Comment