Alien Visitor(s)
One or Many?
These space ships do not contain aliens they are, in fact aliens
I never looked for them. They just turned up one day. True story.
In the spring of 1969, I saw a flying saucer.
Of course, there might be as many opinions about this remark as there are readers, but in this case there is only one opinion that matters to me: my own. And in this case, my opinion is not an opinion, it is memorized experience.
Experience, not imagination, wishful thinking, or dream. Wide-awake, wide-aware experience.
It is a wonderful spring day — late April, early May. Lunchtime. Almost all snow in and around Stockholm has melted by now and the park lawn (a short walk from where I work) hints at green while the sun more than just hints at warm comfort. I find a nice, dry spot, spread my jacket on the grass, and lie down. With hands resting behind my head, my eyes take in the blue, blue, endless sky. After a while, my eyelids no longer want to play awake and slowly close. Into a warm, beautiful, oh so pleasant dozing. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the world.
I drift. Not really sleeping, not really not. No dreams though, and no thoughts, just this warm, sun-fueled, oh-so pleasant drifting.
Until I bolt awake. Not sit-up bolt, but eyelids-rushing-up-to-open-in-a-hurry bolt. I don’t move, but I look out and up into the vast blue. Still not thinking, just looking. And there, clear as day, probably a mile or so up, this silver saucer, resting mid-space. Small (from this distance). Colored sparks shoot from the perimeter of the craft, a rainbow of greeting.
Five seconds, ten, perhaps thirty. Stock-still, mid-space, sparkling. Silver. Not reflecting the sun, but very shiny nonetheless.
And then, as if satisfied that I had seen them, it takes off like a shooting star — now you see me, now I’m gone, leaving just a sparkle trail that soon dissipates. Zero to ten thousand of whatever in a second.
It takes me another minute or two to realize what I have just seen, experienced. I heave myself up onto my elbows and look around at my fellow sun worshippers. Did anyone else see this?
The answer is no. They — and they are quite a few — are all dozing and drifting just like I had. Not a surprised, up-sitting face among them. So it was only me, then.
Later in life, I had this experience. I saw a hawk, way, way up in the sky. Hovering, eyeing some soon-to-be ex-mouse or something on the ground. Then I looked around me at something or other for a while and then back at the hawk. Could not find it, and could not find it, and then it moved and finally my focus caught up with it and I saw it again, clear as anything.
Later still, someone explained to me that spotting a bird high up in the air is a game of chance for your eyes might focus beyond it or ahead of it, rendering you effectively blind to the very spot where the bird hovers, you just haven’t focused at the right distance yet.
And talk about distance. That craft was at least a mile, perhaps two up in the sky. I was drifting sleepward, and then prodded — yes the word is prodded, I see that now — to open my eyes, and to focus at the precise spot, at the precise height, at the precise distance where it hovered. What are the chances?
They wanted me to see them. They nudged me. They willed me to see. I see that now. And I saw.
No, not dreaming, not imagining — experiencing.
Much later I thought this: What if this was not a craft with aliens (friends) in it, but what if the sparkling silver disk itself was the alien? I can’t see why not. We certainly have enough strange critters here on our own little planet, compared to which a silver-disk-shaped, sparkling being would be less than strange.
I’m not saying this was the case — I’m leaning much more toward long-lost friends saying hi — what I’m saying is that it could be.
No?
© Wolfstuff
P.S. If you like what you’ve read here and would like to contribute to the creative motion, as it were, you can do so via PayPal: here.