Monday, August 31, 2015

Blue Man


Where do I begin to tell a story of my visit to the other side?

This past weekend I had the privilege of attending the Experiencer's Speak 2015 Conference. This was held in Portland, Maine, just fifteen minutes from the beautiful Casco Bay.  At once, I was greeted by the cool, salt air and raised vibrational energy of the Portland, Maine area.

Almost immediately, when I entered the hotel the day before the conference was due to begin, one warm and friendly smile and wide, 'hello' after anoather welcomed me. One by one, one person after another as the attendees filtered in from California and from the United Kingdom.  Their smiles were radiant; the vibrational frequency palpable.

One by one, the speakers told of feeling a presence, seeing a ship or alien once, twice or throughout their lives.  Their credentials of each speaker were impeccable.  Scientists, biologists, wilderness guides, writers, contractors, accountants, professors, young people, older folks.  Some saw orbs, some had photos of space ships, some looked worn and distressed because of their abductions. Some like me, had animal totems come to them over the course of years.  Some were screen savers, or what we affectionately refer to when alien and/orspace ship turn into knowable, less traumatic beings.  Owls were one form of messenger.

One academic spoke about the importance of understanding neuroscience.  That the right and left brain have separated functions.  We know the left brain has long held a more esteemed presence since it is the analytical/storyteller portion.  It tries to make sense of what the right brain, the oneness, non-judgmental and synchronious, connected portion of our brains tell us.  We remote view in the right hemisphere where the NOW lives.  We understand the great importance of the right brain and work hard to explain its value.

We also know we live in a patterned universe. Nothing is random.  We've seen worms, segmented worms become complete bodies, trees and vegetation grow itself again, sometimes in the same space, sometimes in another.  It is anything but meaningless.  My right sided hemisphere remembers.

I was chosen.  Chosen to see a spaceship.  Chosen to tell a story.  A mere messenger charged with the task of helping humans understand that their destruction active or passive of our environment is destroying the universe.  Earth, the densest planet in our solar system is rich in metals.  Unidentified foreign objects or UFOs are here to observe. They don't want anything more.  They have what they need.  The worry about our child-like emotions, our ability to soil the land we occupy, our incessant need and choice to acquire more.

At the end of the conference, when I had gone to bed, I was told about a man who entered just before the Travis Walton film and discussion ended.  He had a hat pulled down close to his eyes.  Long sleeved shirt.  His head was down.  An attendee noticed his skin was blue.  Blue face, blue neck, blue hands. The rest of him was covered up. He stayed only a
few minutes, as if to check up on the final evening and left.


Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Plastic Surprise

The animals are everywhere now.  As I was sitting in the yard on the peach Adirondack chairs, I felt a presence nearby.  At first I thought it was the asters I was looking for on the right side of the hill. You can imagine what joy it was to finally see them.  Fall is nearly upon us.  Even with heat in the low 90s.  It is the foreshadowing for which those of us in the natural world search.

With paint spotted blue crocs on, I climbed the steep hill and dug my feet in.  I wasn't going to miss capturing these pretties.  As soon as I snapped this photo, I could hear rustling of the bushes.  Something was there.

So I slid, yes, slid, down the hill, this hill ten years ago was easy to climb and descend.  Now I was just happy to get a close encounter with these wildflowers.  Turning under the dogwood trees, the sense of the presence was stronger.  Then it happened.

Something told me to look down.  
    This plastic was part of a dish I used to bait the raccoon in early May.  It was part of a dish which held a rotisserie chicken. What is odd is that it was ten feet away from where it was dropped.   I thought I had found all the pieces.  Curiously enough, one piece after another shows up when a friend of mine contacts me.  It is an odd metaphor.  He brought the dish and chicken here in early spring we could protect this bandit from itself.  It was digging one foot holes in my garden making mowing quite dangerous.  But for a month or so, I hadn't seen any of the chewed plastic.  Until today. I also have not seen him.

I still do not know what was in those woods beyond the white pines, mountain laurel and Canadian hemlocks.  Whatever it was, I suspect it will come out soon.