In This Life

I've danced around it enough in my life and online, but it is time to admit a truth that is both difficult and freeing: I am of extra- terrestrial stock.

What does that mean?

I will do my best to explain.

On the one hand I am fully human. Human birth into human life from human parents into a human family.

But the other hand tells me that the odd happenings of my life that return in dreams offering  glimpses of otherness while trying to define the otherness in a way my human mind can grasp go beyond the confines of simple Earth life.

I consider ETs my people. When I was young I considered them my real family. I know in my heart they have contacted me. While I regret having no conscious memory of it, I am sure it is for a reason. And I am equally sure I set it up this way for my own good.

Some memories have stuck with me over the decades. I have written on the blog about the clown drawn in grease pencil on a barn wall. I know a visitor put it there because I have never forgotten the day it happened. It plays in my mind frequently.

 In the last few years I have remembered more, how it didn't start as a clown, but morphed into it from fear.

Originally, after the visitor told me couldn't visit me anymore I would go into the barn and gaze at the drawing, remembering our talks.  It wasn't until years later that I understood I am the only one who ever saw the drawing.

I have remembered that during our talks we spoke about my role here, what I was to do in this life. I don't recall what it is. I very much want to, because I want to make sure I do it.

But I believe, now, that part of it is talking openly about the experiences. There are many, many different races in the Universe and I don't know which one I am from, but I do know, among other things, I am a bridge between them and us.

Here's another example:

During a past-life regression in the early nineties I went to a lifetime in Peru thousands of years ago where I was an alien. My current husband was a friend in those days. In the scene I went to he and I had been walking through the rainforest and were stopped on the crest of a large hill. The hill led to a valley and the valley led to a small mountain probably a hundred miles away, if not more.

In it was our base and it was were I was headed. I was excited to go there, but saddened that my friend, being human, could not go with me.

We parted at the hill and I was at the base in an eye blink.

I've always felt I had something to do in life and it always felt big and important. Important comes in many forms. Perhaps my role isn't so big, but it is still important.

Comfort, Then The Fear

Not long ago I wrote about the clown in the barn. Shortly afterward I realized I'd forgotten something important.

The fear didn't set in right away. 

You see, until I was five years old I'd go to the barn every chance I got to gaze at the drawing on the wall. I'd forgotten this part until after the blog post was published.

I suppose it was a clown then, too, but I didn't fear it. The grease pencil figure  on the boards was comforting.

For those moments when I stared at it I was with the visitor again.

I remembered.

What did I remember?

The feelings of warmth and comfort, love and belonging.

But the most important and compelling thing I remembered was who I was.

I am not sure what that means.

I still remembered the thing that the clown drawing was supposed to help me recall.

In those days I had yet to forget it. I thought I never would.

I also never used to avoid the unused chop bin in the barn.

In fact I liked to go in the room and often did so while dad did chores.

But one late winter afternoon that all changed. I went in the room as I commonly did. I asked dad to close and lock the door which he did.

(Side note: the lock was a wooden handle that one simply twisted leaving one end in front of the door  and the other by the wall.)

The room was bare. The light stayed off. There was no possible way for me to get into any trouble.

I was there only seconds.

The clown from the wall jumped me from behind. One arm went around my neck, the other went around my waist.

I screamed.

Dad let me out.

Years ago mom, dad, my sister and I went back to the farm to look.  I took photos of the wall. I took photos of the room.

Of course there's nothing.

I have no idea what actually happened

My dad was a few steps away about to do the chores. I think my sister was in the barn. In my mind I see someone about her size, wearing red.

It was after this incident the fear kicked in.

I never went back in to gaze at the drawing on the wall. All comfort from it was gone.

I forgot who really put it there. I forgot what I said I'd remember.

I suspect that was the point of the chop bin incident.

I had to forget all of that and simply be a human child. Visitations would cloud that life.

The cord had to be cut.

It hurts, but I get it.

I continue to look into this chiefly through self-hypnosis.  Yesterday morning I tried to take a closer look at it. I had a  mental image of a white door with a round handle closing. I know there's something on the other side I need to see.

But I guess that's for another day.