Thursday, June 13, 2019

The Appendix Dreams

For most of my life I've dreamt about having my appendix out. I'd be in the hospital prior to the surgery and then it was a day or two later. Sometimes I was still in the hospital, other times I was walking outside of it in the dark of night, and never did I recall what had happened during those days.
Those I got used to. I haven't had one in years and in an odd way I miss them.
But one time when I was 10 the dream changed. Instead of waking up afterward  I woke up on the operating table. I'd only ever been in hospital treatment room once and that was to have a cast put on my leg. That room was tone blue with dark at the bottom half of the walls and lighter blue above this mark. I was awake for that and I recall it fairly well. I remember some lowered lights above me and I tried to sit up to watch the pasted strips being wound around my leg.
In the dream I woke up surrounded by a team of doctors. Their faces were covered from the nose down with surgical masks. They wore dull aquamarine surgical gowns with matching caps that covered most of their foreheads. And I have it in my mind they all wore glasses. I don't recall the exactly what those glasses look like. It's about the only think that I'm not sure of. In my mind they are plain eyeglasses with thick heavy black square frames that cover their eyes  and reach from the surgical mask to the caps. Their eyes are dark. I can see a bit of skin on them. I think it's flat, yellowy brown. I don't recall noticing any hands. There are at least six of them staring down at me on the table. I am surrounded.
The other thing remember is the dullness of the light. Not subdued or dimmed, but dull. The light above me is a dingy, faded yellow such as you might get out of a 30 watt bulb. The room is also dingy, almost dirty, looking.
They all seem tall and thin though I am only 10 and barely five feet tall at the time. Everyone is tall to me. I can't say if they are male or female though I have the sense that the one at the foot of the table is male. That's all I know about the dream because that's all I saw. I went right back to sleep on that table and then it was morning in my own bed.
This stayed with me right from the time I had it. However, I didn't think too much about it other than it was a really odd dream, It wasn't until I read Whitley Strieber's  book Communion in the late 80s which contained a similar description on a ship that I associated it with anything beyond a dream.
Is it a dream? A memory? I honestly can't say for a fact. It is one more item on the list of odd things in my life. Separately, they may not mean much. Together, I believe they are  evidence of ETs in my life.

Tuesday, June 4, 2019

The Other Side of the Story

 So far I've talked about aliens/ETs, the ones I call my people. Wrapped up in the UFO phenomenon is paranormal activity. Are they related? I can only speak for my life. In that respect, they sure are.
Paranormal can't be explained by conventional means and that means it can't be explained by acceptable means. It's well past time to enlarge what acceptable means can mean.
But that's an argument for later and for better qualified folk to answer. All I've got right now is me and so that's all I can talk about. 
Here's some of my other stuff.
There was this one day in the eighties. I'm in my early 20s living in a high-rise apartment. I've got a job, search clerk in a government office. This is where liens and chattels are registered as well as limited companies. It's boring, but it's work. I'm really a journalist, you see, but the one reporting job I had I hated. It was in the buckle town of the province Bible belt. I lasted less than four months. It didn't help that I didn't have a driver's license.

It made for a dull life. I paid my bills, read, dreamt of being a writer and often wondered what to do with my life. Usual 20s stuff, but with a feeling of inertia.
Then one day in the shower I had this feeling. It came from nowhere. I hadn't been thinking of my future and probably not thinking much more than why did the three step hair shampoo I used had bottles for steps one and three but a small squeeze tube for step two.
The feeling washed over me like the shower was doing, only this feeling came from inside: Everything was going to be all right in my thirties. And I smiled inside. I wasn't a smiler then. I barely knew how to do it, but my mind grinned ear to ear.

The feeling didn't last very long, but the memory never left me. It didn't stay topmost in my mind, but I'd think of it from time to time. But at no point did I ever sit down to figure out how that was going to happen.
Instead I went to work until one day I went travelling with a new friend to Europe. Then I came home after a few months and decided to get back to journalism. I sent out resume after resume to every newpaper in the province I could find and wound up in the south end of the centre. I covered just about everything but sports and loved it. Oh, and I had my driver's license by this time. A few things happened here. In one, on the way back from the interview for that job one sunny Saturday in July as the canola bloomed and waved hot gold against the deep blue sky I saw a unicorn.

I can't prove it, but I know it happened. I was driving up the highway on the way back and out the corner of my eye a large white horse in a field stood out. Or rather, its single dynamic horn jutting skyward caught my eye. My parents were with me. I'd never driven on the big freeway before and only had my license a few months. I wanted the company and they wanted the scenic drive. It all worked out.
Anyway, I didn't mention the unicorn. I kind of regret that. My parents were pretty cool that way. Mom was a bit on the psychic side and read Fate Magazine. Dad always wanted to see aliens and go for a ride. In retrospect, that should have been an indicator.

The there was court. I loved covering Provincial Court.. One learns a great deal and it's passive newsgathering at its best. Anyone, one day a new Crown Prosecutor showed up to handle the day's files. She looked 32. I don't know where I got that, but it struck me as probably her age. She seemed to have it all together. I have no idea if she did or didn't, but she handled herself in the courtroom and certainly gave the appearance of having it together.
So I decided that 32 was going to be the best age for me, and then I remembered again about how things were going got be okay in my thirties.

I worked there 33 months and took another trip to Europe. That's for later. For this, I took the trip, came home to my parent's house,  read the Bible cover to cover, and then decided to get another reporting job.
That one took me to Ft. St.John B.C.
I spent six months there at a daily newspaper. That was fine, but I didn't feel right there. It wasn't for me.
Quit that mess after six months, hung around at my parents house and then realized I'd better get another job. That's how I ended up in the job I stayed at and the town I live in and found the man I married.
By the time I was 32 I was living with my going to be someday husband, had a job I liked in a town I liked and everything felt pretty good.
One night I had one of those dreams. You know, the kind that really aren't dreams at all but you don't quite know the right word so you go with dream and hope for the best.

I was alone, fiancé was away working, it was during the dead hours of the night when I visited me. The me of the 80s high-rise apartment hesitated as she walked into the bedroom. I sat up in bed and made myself as open to younger me as I could. Young me was so shy, withdrawn, hesitant. Then me remembered those feelings so well.
We talked. I have forgotten about what. I remember the red pants and red and white striped shirt younger me wore to the visit. Younger me even had makeup on.
Then me made some comforting reassuring noises to younger me and said everything would be all right as the visit ended. Then me stretched out her arms for a hug that younger me was reluctant to accept. I wasn't a hugger then. I wanted to be, but I didn't know how to do it. Then me understood and hugged younger me while younger me accepted it but did not respond, her arms lifeless at her side.
She left, and then me fell back to sleep immediately, knowing after all these years I'd seen the other side of the story.

Sunday, June 2, 2019

Content To Wait?

All my life I've had the feeling I was to do something important. Not so much world-changing, but important nonetheless. I'm just a gearwheel, but what I do matters. 
Accompanying this is the feeling, knowledge really, that the thing I do is after some big world change. I'm not going to speculate on any world changes here. Perhaps it's Edgar Cayces' predicted physical upheaval, it may be restricted to the social landscape. Whatever it is, it will be big and I am here to help afterward.
That's all fine and good, but I also think I need to be doing something until those changes occur. It frustrates me to feel this and have no way to determine what it is.
On the other hand, maybe I should just be content to wait. Maybe I've got some deep-seated suggestion that is triggered by an event. Maybe I wake up to the knowledge I need. Maybe my ET family swings by and activates my memory.
All I can swear to is I've had continuous conscious recollection of this my entire life. Along with it since I was 17 years old I have seen myself on a stage, in front of a closed curtain, speaking publicly. About what I do not know.
For now all I can do is wait and watch and speak publicly via this blog about what I recall, what I've known through feelings, and maybe start a conversation about ETs and world changes, and all the other things we don't talk about.

Thursday, May 30, 2019

Taking Stock

I am of extraterrestrial stock.
My parents were human. I'm human, but also alien as near as I can figure it. I've written about it here from time to time, but at no point have I actually said it. That stops today.
I've written about the clown in the barn and how it started as a being who visited me and drew it on the wall in grease pencil. That's how I remember it, and I have continuous conscious recollection of it. That said, it was for my eyes only as the reminder was for me alone. 
She used to visit me often and during those times I was no child. A full- grown adult consciousness took over as we spoke.
We talked of what I am to do here in this life. I don't know what that is, but I do know if I am not open about who and what I am, the heritage I share, then I may never know it.

Are you wondering what my parents would think of this?
My mom would be cool about it as she had some moderate psychic ability and read all the Edgar Cayce materials she could get her hands on. Past lives were her interest.
My dad always wanted to be abducted by aliens and taken for a ride. He was clear he wanted them to bring him back, but a quick trip around the cosmos was on his list.
I asked him once, "Aren't you scared?"
He replied, "What's to be scared of?"

Back to me. I am sure that full-grown adult consciousness is still in here somewhere. I wish it would come back out. I want to know what it knows. It is possible it is simply adult me that through some process of time and space and reality was available to me there.
I have no idea what is going to happen next. For now, it is important to get the matter out on the public record. I am of alien heritage and I look forward to what is next.

Monday, March 25, 2019

Gratitude Monday -- The Magic Cupboard

This morning when I opened the cupboard to get some cooking oil I saw lurking at the back a large container of olives. This was a wonderful vision, and for it I am grateful, but it was an unexpected one. I'd opened the 3L container of Kalamata olives a few weeks ago.
We love these olives. The nearest source for these containers ( 231-260 large olives in each) is Edmonton so we buy three at a time usually and they last us perhaps a year. We stocked up last April so opening the last remaining container recently was no surprise, but I took a second look afterward to make sure.
I moved several containers around to make sure it was the last of its kind and realized, with a pang, that when it was gone we'd have to find a reason to go to the city.
This morning's discovery was the very happiest of surprises, but similar things have happened in the past.

We used to have a magic freezer. I'd think I'd be out of something and then one day, there's be one more of it in with the other frozen foods.
It started about 25 years ago when we got some sauerkraut from Mike's dad in the fall. It was so good that we went through it quickly, probably less than two months.
I craved it and looked several times in the freezer in a case a container had fallen way down to the bottom and gotten covered. I emptied the freezer. I rearranged the contents. Nothing.
Then one day in the following March I went in to get something and there was a container of it, sitting almost on top of the rest of the food.
Oh yes, I was grateful.
Over the next few years similar things happened with that freezer . I dubbed it "The Magic Freezer" and often wondered if I was ever really out of anything.

We had to get a new freezer last spring. I am not sure if the magic has transferred to the new one or not, but if not, then at least it found a new home in the cupboard.

Thursday, January 24, 2019

A Walk, A Dream, And An Answer

I've danced around this subject in various posts, trying to make sense of the events of my life. I've known what they are, but I could never find the hook I needed to write about them publicly.
I'd been looking for the big splash event, the kind of encounter one remembers and can hang a post, or talk, or a book on. The book I am working on. I've found a way to tell the stories of odd events and past life memories together as a roman √† clef rather than memoir.
This is different. This is coming out publicly as one who has had contact with extraterrestrials, and none who believes she shares a consciousness with them. Here is a bit of my story.
I felt compelled to take a walk south of the barn, and there was no bargaining with me about it.
It was March when I was in grade six. That makes me 11 years old. It was Friday and I was riding the school bus when I saw myself in my mind walking south from the barn to the windrows. A few years earlier after we got rid of the cows dad ploughed up the pasture south of the barn and knocked down several acres of trees in an east- west orientation  to make more fields. The pasture used to go south out to those trees. Now it was all crop though not in March of course.

I reasoned with myself as the bus approached my home. It was cloudy and cold and already about 4 p.m. Dark wasn't for a while yet, but it would be along soon enough. A slight wind blew, and some thin snowflakes were falling. All in all a really lousy time to go for a walk.
I did as I usually did, went inside, put on some jeans and other home clothes all the while bargaining with myself. The drive to walk to the south end of the former pasture had me in a firm grip, but the major thinking portion of my mind thought there was some leeway.

"I'll just go to the barn," I told myself as I put on a coat and cowboy boots. Despite the cold I didn't put on winter boots and neither had I put on long underwear under my jeans. I didn't think I'd be out long. At the barn I decided to walk to the edge of barnyard.  I'm sure dad was in the barn cleaning a pig pen and I know there was no clown to greet meet this time. I simply walked thought it,  probably speaking with dad and then telling myself I'd go the fence at the edge of the barnyard.
So I did, and when I got there I told myself, "I'll go to the edge of the pasture." There was road beside it that led to a field to the west of the former pasture. This became my conscious goal. The unconscious goal remained going to the south end to where the windrows started.

But I kept on going. One foot in front of the other. Large clumps of ploughed- up dirt make difficult walking at the best of times. I remember wishing it had stayed a flat pasture. These were frozen clumps. They slowed my progress and I even thought about stopping and turning around and going back.
But I didn't.
How I felt escapes me other than what I was doing was right. This sureness rested past my conscious awareness. It existed as a thing I knew and the things one knows are not questioned.
Not every feeling escaped me. I felt cold. Denim alone doesn't protect all that well from a bitter March wind and cowboy boots aren't warm especially as I likely had on fairly thin socks. At no point had it occurred to me to dress properly for the trip. I'm commonly cold. For a few years, until about age 13, I wore an old winter coat in the house because of it.
 On this occasion I felt the cold and ignored it as a mere inconvenience. I noticed it and kept on, one foot in front of the other, eyes ahead to the charred trees in the windrows that we'd burned the previous fall.

It probably took 20 minutes from the time I left the house until I'd plunked myself down on a tree trunk.  Not all of them had burnt. I can see a trunk with a few spindly branches which still had green, if desiccated, leaves. I remember this. It has never left me.
This is the part I am not so clear on. I had a smoke, an American brand of cigarettes that I liked despite not inhaling the smoke then. That I learned a few months later.
I sat facing the farmyard enjoying the smoke. I looked at the thin brown filter end. I smoked it down. And then I tossed the nearly empty pack under a log assuming that I'd come back out again. This I recall clearly. What is as hazy as the smoke that came out of my mouth is where I got them. Having US smokes from time to time was hardly unusual. I got them from friends who could get them at a local store on occasion. Perfectly normal.

The non-normal part of this is I have it in my head that I got them from under a burnt log in the first place. And if I didn't, then it would be highly unusual to leave them half a mile from my house and therefore largely inaccessible. Yet this is exactly what happened.
We'd burnt the windrows in the fall. Smoke still trailed up in a few places, especially near where I hid the smokes. Then I climbed to the top of the windrow and looked down into the field. The land had a bit of a roll to it, a few shallow dips in an otherwise flat stretch. Water had pooled in the dip closest to me. I remember it rippling.
This is March in north central Alberta. Open water is rare. It's not unheard of, but neither is it all that likely. Yet there it was. Deep, dark blue against the grey-brown soil which itself should have been covered in snow. We had snow on the ground I am sure, it simply wasn't in those particular fields.

After climbing back down off the logs I walked back to the house, at one point wondering why I'd come all the way out there.  Along with that I felt a little odd, apprehensive maybe, and cold. The thin flakes swirled down in a stiff breeze that went right through me. I bent my head and trudged along occasionally slipping when I stepped on a larger clod of frozen dirt.
At home I put on long underwear under my jeans, and another layer under the thin shirt I'd been wearing. It snowed all weekend. I never did go back to get my smokes.
The cold spring walk stayed with me. I've never forgotten it, and neither did I understand it until a dream I had in the early 1990s. I'll call it a dream because it happened while I slept. It had no real dream quality to it.
In it, I am 11, it is March, and I am at the end of the field standing on top of the windrow. Instead of a pool of rippling water there is a small spaceship. Intuitively and without question I know this to be a scout ship.
Beside it is a small creature, a friend of sorts if somewhat businesslike. Slender, dark,  wearing some sort of uniform, also dark. He motions me toward the ship. I am not sure of the communication. I knew what he meant. It may have been telepathic, but I do not recall any words.

I get in. There is a round dome surrounding me. It is transparent. I see my friend ahead of me and off to the side, waiting. There are levers on the floor. I have been instructed to fly it.
Momentarily, I panic. How?
Then I remember. It is done by mental control.
I take the small ship up about 10 feet. I am thrilled I recall how to fly it.
I land and get out. My friend is pleased.
The dream ends there with a sharp knock on my head.
I wake up and look over at Mike initially blaming him for head-butting me awake.
He is sleep soundly.
The knocking came from inside my head. 
I know this to be the truth. I felt compelled to take the walk to the end of the field that day.
Now I know what happened. I am not sure I know why it happened.

Monday, January 21, 2019

Gratitude Monday - Solid Gratitude Edition

Back in the early 90s I'd had a dream that started in the house I spent my teen years in on the farm. In it I am in my parent's bedroom and there's a white cat on the window sill.
Then I am in my bedroom in my bed in my apartment and this same white cat rushes up from the foot of the bed to the head. A great waving of rising energy went through me keeping pace with the cat.
It is near impossible for me to describe this feeling properly. Rising, almost tingly, awake, fully alive, energy, and maybe not quite solid.

I rose up. It felt like my body, but I think I may have felt my body on the bed. I can't be sure because I so felt so filled with energy. I turned a bit went toward the open bedroom door. Instead of going through the door I went through the wall beside it.
It felt so wonderful. I was whole and yet in particles and so free and so filled with joy. I knew exactly what to do and how to do it, how to get through solid matter. It came to easily to me.
It made me happy to do this. Overwhelmingly happy. I went back to bed, back to my body in my bed and the cat walked back to the foot of the bed.

I know I fell back to sleep because I woke up remembering what had happened and knowing how, but not believing in, my ability to walk through the wall.
What stayed with me was an overwhelming feeling of love and the sense of belonging, of wanting to be with people, listen to them, love them, join in with them. That was entirely new.

That day at work I did join in more conversations and casual discussions and I know I was smiling that day. Maybe not on my face, but inside I grinned from ear to ear and I felt joy and happiness and wonder and such gratitude for life.
The joyous desire to be with others and socialize didn't last very long. Within a day or so I was back to my usual leave-me-alone-please self, but I remember how it felt to not just want to belong, but to know how to do it, and to do it and to feel I belonged. I remember the internal smile.

I remember the feeling I had of knowing I could get through solid matter by simply opening spaces in my body at the subatomic level. It's easy and simple and everyone can do it, I remember.
But I no longer remember how to do it, and the core sureness of it is gone.


I've had a lifetime of interesting occurrences and I've been writing about them. From time to time I will post about them.
They cover a fairly wide variety of experiences and some are difficult to speak about. That tells me it is important to do so.  I am convinced more people have these sort of off-normal experiences than are willing to say so publicly. In fact, I expect there are so many that they should be considered normal.