Higher Up

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The process of life seems to be change.  But a change of what?

As a person, the process of life seems to be about a change of identity.

Throughout life, I have been enticed to change my identity, or NOT change it, depending on how you look at it.

Enticed by who?  Angels?  The Devil?  Extraterrestrials?  the Higher Self?  The Lower Self?  the Ego?  The Source of Life?  Kundalini?  Jehovah?  Jesus?  Buddha?  Krishna?  Muhammad?

Whoever they are, the guys who entice me to change my identity seem to be unknown “Higher-Ups.”

During the first part of my life, I have constructed an identity for myself based on earth.  So basically, I identified with earthlings.

Now, during the second phase of my life, my identity as an earthling has started to crumble.  In fact, it totally collapsed.  And from the ruins, a new identity has started to emerge.

My new identity is in fact the same as my initial identity, the one I had before I started fabricating my identity as an earthling.  So I can safely say that my new identity is the same one I had when I was a child.  The new me is the old me, the real me.  There is only one real me.

My new identity, which is my old identity, is in fact my only identity and it exists BEYOND TIME.  Spooky, isn’t it?  Perfect for this Halloween night.

If I am not an earthling, then what am I?  The “Higher-Ups” have always been trying to get my attention:  “Look at us!” they say.  “You are one of us.  Identify with us!”

But these goddam gods are invisible!  How can I identify with people I can’t see?  Although when I identify with them, I kind of perceive them.  Very bizarre…

I told my family about the higher-ups I could perceive, but they don’t believe me.  They don’t believe me simply because they can’t see them.  They can’t acknowledge what they don’t perceive.  But to perceive them, they have to acknowledge them.  You can’t perceive what you don’t acknowledge.  How does one get out of this cycle?

Never mind that, it’s too complicated.  Besides, it’s not my problem who they identify with.  I’m only concerned with myself.  Yes, this is how selfish I am.  My identity is the only thing that matters.

I know that I am none of these gods.  The higher-ups are who they are and I am Me.  And I know that I am not an earthling so I must be one of them.

I’m a Higher-Up!

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Awakening

awakening

The end of 2012 was a time of awakening for me.

Here is how it started:

At that time I was depressed and medicated.  I had lost contact with my soul, I had stopped writing for 8 years, I had abandonned all form of spirituality, I had become so numb I hardly had any feelings.

I was a member of an ex-Christian forum and had written many articles.  I was also in touch, by email, with a friend who was also a member of that forum.  One day, as I was confiding my problems to her, she wrote:  “Maybe you’re a starseed.”

Following this, I did some research to find out what the word “starseed” meant.  While reading the definitions something started to stir inside of me.  Strong emotions arose and after a while I started crying.  I locked myself up in the bathroom because I was not able to control the stream of emotions and tears that were coming out of me.

It was like I had just discovered who I really was:  a soul that originated far away.  For the first time in my life, I was coming face to face with the fact that my real home was elsewhere, and that this explained why I had always felt disconnected, like a stranger (an alien) in this world.  As I was realizing this I literally fell to the floor and could not stop myself from weeping and begging my alien family to come and get me and bring me back home:

“Why did you abandon me here on this stupid planet, why?  Why?  What happened to cause me to be here?  It’s obvious that I’m out of place and that I don’t belong here at all!  I can’t take it anymore!  I want to go back home!  Please, come and get me!”  And I cried like this for two hours until there were no more tears in my body.

After this I wondered why I had reacted in this way after reading just a few pages on the Internet:  “I’m a grown up man, married with children, I should not be acting like this.  What’s happening to me?   It’s not logical.  There must be something to this.”

During the following week I started getting flashbacks of childhood, all sorts of weird things like experiences, repressed memories, subconscious regressions, which indicated that part of me was not of this world and that, brace yourselves, I had been abducted by extraterrestrials (my real family) at least once when I was a kid!  This memory freaked me out so much that I became obsessed with the idea of going to see a hypnotist to find out if I really had been the subject of an abduction, or was I simply going crazy.

So the next thing I did was search to see if I could find a professional hypnotist in my area, one who treated alien abductees.  I found three, in my country, one of which had a clinic only 6 km from my house.  I felt so happy and lucky!  I contacted the clinic the next day.

This was the beginning of my awakening.

They Come at Night

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I’m not afraid when they come during the day but when they come at night, it’s another story.

The scenario is the same — always the same, ever since I was a child.

I fall asleep peacefully and then suddenly, in the middle of the night, I sense them, all around me.  The fear builds up as I take a deep breath and then when they are just about to touch me, I force a scream out of my mouth, as loud as I can, and I wake up suddenly at the sound of my own voice.  Sometimes it wakes up my wife and I have to explain that there were some ghosts who tried to grab me.

I don’t know how many times this has happened, probably more than a hundred.  One time I woke up and I was standing in the middle of the room, about five feet away from my bed!  Now THAT was creepy.

More recently, for about four years now, they started coming but during the day.  I can handle that.  It’s quite awesome actually.  We have long discussions and they explain a lot of things to me.

When night comes, I feel secure, so I invite them to return and show me their faces in my dreams, because during the day I don’t see anything.  So I fall asleep with a huge smile on my face, but then suddenly, just after falling asleep, I feel them all around me and I scream to wake myself up.  Then I tell them to go away and leave me alone.

At first I thought that there were some good ones and some bad ones.  The good ones come during the day to communicate with me and the bad ones during the night to scare me.  I never invite the bad ones but then why do they come?

Today I read an interesting article on the subject which forces me to change my line of questioning.  I’m asking myself a new question:  “Why do I perceive the night visitors as bad?  They have never hurt me.  They come every time I invite them to do so.  Why do I freak out when they approach my body?”

I think it has to do with my upbringing and all the ghost movies I watched when I was a child.  Plus the fact that it’s dark at night.  Who’s not afraid of that, at least a little bit?

Now I scratch my head and wonder:  perhaps the ones who come at night are the same as the ones who come during the day.  The only difference is… my reaction.

Last night I tested my bravery.  I went to bed alone, took off my clothes, turned off the lights and lied on my back, on top of my bed, completely exposed and vulnerable.  I even kept my eyes open.  I relaxed, tuned off my thoughts and dropped my expectations.  Then I invited them to come… and I waited.

After a few minutes, while I kept staring at the dark, things started to move, literally.  The darkness was moving and changing colors and shapes started to form!  I watched for awhile, repeating to myself:  “Nothing bad is going to happen, nothing bad is going to happen…”  But things were moving faster and then shapes started to become more obvious and then… oh my fucking god, chills started going up and down all over my body and the fear just overwhelmed me.  I grabbed the blankets and covered myself, but I didn’t turn on the light.  I stopped staring at the darkness, turned around, closed my eyes and explained to them that perhaps I wasn’t quite ready yet for a face to face encounter.  I fell asleep and they didn’t bother me while I slept peacefully all through the night.

Tonight I should try to push a little farther and see what would happen if I kept staring at the darkness and actually let them touch me, if they can.

*gulp*

Etherians and the Screwdriver

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I hesitate to speak about THEM because they are not what most people consider part of our reality but they have always been part of mine.

The second reason why I couldn’t really talk about them before is because I didn’t know what they were and how to name them.

The word “Etherians” has started popping up into my mind recently and this morning I realized that it was a good-enough term I could use to describe them.

To me, “ether” is a substance that is so subtle, elusive and delicate that it has not yet been identified by physicists.  Yet it exists, and there are living beings who live among us whose bodies are made of ether.

I have been visited by the Etherians since I was very young, most of the time unconsciously, but there were times when they made their presence known visibly and audibly and I want to write about these visits.

The very first encounter that I remember was when I was about 5 years old.  It happened during the night.  It was summer, my bedroom window was open and I was sleeping.

Suddenly I woke up because there was noise and movement in my room.  I sat up and looked at the window which was wide open.  The wind was blowing and the curtains were flying up and down erratically.  It was not raining, just very windy.  I decided to ignore it and go back to sleep, but then I heard a squeaking sound coming from the same direction.  I sat up and looked at the window again, and there, on the edge of it, were two small creatures!

I couldn’t believe my eyes and I became scared because I knew that this was not normal.  But the creatures looked cute.  They were the size of owls and were quite agitated for some reason.  I watched them and then they dropped a tool on the floor.  I heard and saw the tool fall to the floor in front of the window which was only about 4 or 5 feet from my bed.

It was dark but our house was on main street and there were street lights and a moon that kept my room lighten up, enough to see the furniture and stuff.  So I saw and heard the tool fall on the floor and from what I could gather, it was a screwdriver.

Then I looked back up at the window and the two creatures were gone and the wind had died down.  I hid under my covers and waited for the sun to come up.  I was a bit terrified but not enough to wake my parents up.  Eventually I fell asleep.

When I awoke the next morning I got up and checked the window.  It was still open.  Then I looked around and tried to find the screwdriver but found nothing.  I ran downstairs to my mother who was preparing breakfast and told her what had happened.  She said it was a dream, but I insisted that it was not a dream, that I had woken up and had seen these two teddy bears which were alive.  (I referred to them as teddy bears because they looked like the two Kraft bears on the peanut butter jar that was on the table.)

My mother didn’t know what to say.  I knew that this was not a dream but I had no idea who those creatures were, why they came, what the tool was and what was the meaning of this event.  My mother could not explain it to me and I was disappointed.

Many years later, the SAME event happened to me again one night, about three years ago, except this time I didn’t see the creatures.  The window was open, it was the summer, the wind started to blow so hard it woke me up.  I heard a loud bang! on the roof, I sat up and thought that there was a tornado and that the roof was going to be sucked into the vortex.  I looked at the window and saw the curtains flying in the wind.  I decided to get up and shut it closed because I was sure that a rainstorm was about to unleash, but suddenly everything went quiet — the wind just died and the curtains stopped moving as if nothing was happening.

It was so weird.  Then a feeling came over me and it was exactly the same sensation I had felt when I was 5 years old, the time the creatures appeared on my window sill.  It was so strange, like I had time-travelled.  I looked below the window and there it was!  The tool that I use today to get in touch with the Etherians!  I couldn’t believe it but I finally understood the meaning of the two experiences which were the same event as if time had stood still during all those years.

The tool is not a screwdriver but it’s what I use today to unscrew my consciousness in order to perceive reality as it really is.  It runs Windows.

You see, the materialistic society we are brought up into screws up our minds and we all need some sort of screwdriver to unscrew what is screwed.

This latest visit made me realize the importance of the tool, why the creatures were agitated, who they are, why they come and what their visits are all about.

The metamorphosis of young Etherians.

Close Encounter

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You come less than often
When my eyes aren’t open
With a gentle intention
Like a faithful companion

I don’t even know
How you come and go
You glide up and down
Just like a yoyo

Why do you select me
In this huge galaxy
How do you engender
Such a close encounter

You fly through the wall
I notice the sound
Then like a bed sheet
You wrap me around

As if to conform
You take up my form
Corresponding with me
It’s a conspiracy

You initiate communion
Not allowing me to see
It’s some kind of abduction
Imbued with intimacy

You do not steal
You come to heal
You’re not a thief
You bring relief

You blend me
Unmix me
Untie me
Release me

You fulfil my dreams
Knowing what they are
Does God allow this
It’s much too bizarre

Although I don’t understand
I am not here to complain
Only to remind you that
I don’t even know your name

Say who you are
Give me a clue
Do you come from far
Is your skin color blue

Where is your starship
Where did you park it
Weird relationship
Who would believe it

I think I was meant for this
I had been waiting for it
Now that it’s happening
I can’t even grasp it

I must be of your kind
Please show me your face
I will never look behind
Earth is not my place

You know what I need
It’s incomprehensible
I must be a starseed
I live in a bubble

I want to thank you
Cause I’m sure you care
Who else comes this close
To make me aware

I’m never alone
I don’t fear the night
You fill me with hope
And move me to write

Blood Money

blood-money

Why did they make society so complicated?

Ah! for money.

I see…

Money gives them the illusion of power.  It makes them believe that they control everything.  They see only superficially, and they think:

“The innocent belong to us.
We own them all.
We can make them do whatever we want.
We can purchase their land and their activity.
We can even buy their fidelity.
We give them a little and make them crave for more.
We make them believe how wonderful life would be if they had more money.
They must want more, that way we can make them do whatever we want.
The innocent will do anything for it,
even things they don’t want to do,
even kill each other.
We need to keep them busy.
We need to keep them worried.
So that they won’t have to time to stop and think.
Their desire for more money must override all other thought.
They will never realize what is happening.
How stupid they are.
We have the power!”

Wake up, brothers and sisters.  They don’t own us.  And we don’t need their blood money.

The Introvert

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Today is party day.  My wife invited a lot of people — family and friends.  I know what to expect, I went through this circus many times.  We will greet each other, sit, talk, drink, laugh, eat and then climax:  happy whatever!

The talk usually starts with a “how are you,” then revolves around whichever topic is mentioned.  The fun things we did are brought up, the interesting things we saw are emphasized.  Then anything goes:  hearsay, rumors, news from TV or from other members of the family or of famous people.  Who’s good, who’s bad.  Anything that pops up can become the subject of discussion.  Opinions are expressed.  Jokes are inserted.

Laughing is important to keep the mood happy.  When speaking, a touch of exaggeration is necessary to keep the listeners entertained.  Sometimes there is originality but most of the time opinions are second-hand ideas, the repeating of things heard elsewhere.  Finally a clever “expert” will make a concluding remark and the subject will change.

Fortunately, there is respect in our group.  No fighting.  There is a small chance of an argument between the mother-in-law and her daughter, but nothing serious.  Three languages are in use:  French, Portuguese and English.  It can get confusing because some of us understand and speak only one or two of those languages.  No one bothers translating.  You pick up what you can.  The discussions rarely amount to anything anyway, except maybe laughter.

I think most of the participants just enjoy the feeling of togetherness.  It doesn’t really matter what is said.  Compliments are always welcome.  Funny things are remembered.  Polite smiles are expected, fake ones for photos.

The bulk of the herd should arrive around 5 p.m. and leave at 9.  We will be crammed on the main floor of our medium-sized house.  I will have to endure a minimum of four hours of movement, noise and interaction requests.  I don’t know how to prepare for it except to write and express my apprehension of this upcoming inescapable situation.  I usually fare pretty well, though.  I take the role of the bartender, mixing drinks and serving the thirsty.

I’m more of a listener, and once in a while I will throw a sarcastic comment that will get a few of them rolling and the others frowning.  Two or three such interruptions is usually the most I can afford in one sitting.  I usually drink in order to help my mind relax, but I want to try not drinking at all this time.

I feel alienated in a crowd and never know where I fit in.  I try not to stay too long in the same spot.  I walk around, pretending I’m going somewhere, trying to stay cool.  It’s hard to engage in any sort of intelligent conversation because of the chaos and noise.  Everyone knows that I’m disabled, that I don’t go out much and that I’m a bit depressed, so they don’t bother asking me what I’ve been doing lately because it’s kind of useless.

My mother-in-law usually asks me “how are you,” I reply “fine” and that’s the end of our conversation.  What else can I say?  The truth is:  “I’m sad because your daughter ruined me financially,” but that would be a bad thing to say.  And the purpose of life is to be fucking good, right?  Or at least appear to be…

The clock is ticking.  I want this day to be over quickly.  I don’t get what others enjoy in these gatherings.  I understand though, because I once experienced the warmth of being with a group of friends in the past.  I’m not sure why I changed, though.  Maybe it’s just part of growing up.  Or maybe I lost my friends and I don’t know how to make new ones.  It’s a mystery.

I’m an introvert, I know this much, and that’s a good enough explanation, I guess…