“Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.”
-Jack Kerouac
Books tell us things about introverts and then computers came along, the internet and social media. The shy ones broke free. People tell me that they cannot use Zoom because they don’t have a computer. I see as they communicate on Facebook or Instagram. Applications go anywhere and there too. These are just the basics too.
Having a kitchen full of projects cooking on the back burner I like to stop and reflect.
7: When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?
It came to my focus outside and was made from a drip on water. I looked upon the water stars in the pool. Looking like shooting stars these patterns of the water are remarkable to look at. I authored a poem or two about them before. A natural pattern of repetition, often bringing forth ancient symbols that show up throughout antiquity.
Before the internet or computers or social media or Ancient Aliens and all the characters who we know so well now. I had to go to the library and look up books in a catalog. During the search for understanding I flowered towards an esoteric path. I went back to college. I studied strange and interesting sacred texts.
Yet between ufology and my religiosity I never understood what I did experience. Was it a UFO experience, was it an initiation, or was it my psyche reaching up from my unconscious to become conscious? Can it all be explained by a mathematical equation based on artificial intelligence?
31: Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?
It happened at home where I grew up. It was in the boy’s room. A place that was once an old garage converted into a place for the guys in my family to play pool, sleep and just be. It was beholding to an old player piano that was haunted by my grandmother. What I liked best about the room was the sound of the rain on the rooftop or the wind and when it howled outside.
As time passed it became a forgotten room. When visiting my parents in my teens I would sleep there on the ground in a sleeping bag. Sometimes to escape an often-challenging world I had become part of.
It was a night like this when I awoke to something tapping on a window from the outside. This was an east window over the hillside. I listened to it for some time. Then in walked a person that invited me to the window.
“Hurry, Hurry there has been a plane crash. We need your help.”
Flying over the San Fernando Valley took only a push from the window to the night sky. We were flying together like Peter Pan and Wendy.
As we approached the airplane crash it seems more of a UFO. A ship that was landed. I was guided towards the door. It opened and there was a small alien being dressed in a white robe with jewels.
A bean of light came from the being to my brain. The being, (what I now understand as downloading but didn’t know then) had many different images, symbols, words, and colors fill my being until I thought I would explode. I can say now the being had a light on my brain and was transferring data.
“Stop, please stop… I cannot take this anymore!”
It stopped and we flew back to the window. I laid down to sleep.
It was much later in life that I found Jacques Vallee and others who help me understand my mythological, scientific, or Alien experience.
Getting back to the “patterns of the water … as a natural pattern of repetition, often bringing forth ancient symbols that show up throughout antiquity,”
I can affirm that whatever happened happens often. It is in the simple parts of my life that the downloaded information reveals itself to me. A poem, film Noir, a song, or maybe a friend.
It is not a problem for me anymore but just part of life as knowing things and not knowing why. Of seeing a reflection of a small link of lights from my hearth which often beam across and reflect upon a small circular mirror as seven bright stars. Reminding me of the lovely jewels known as the Pleiades.
“There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.”
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road: the Original Scroll
Notes:
Job thirty-eight
King James Version
One thought on “The Forgotten Room.”