CHAPTER XIX.

"I see nobody on the road," said Alice.
"I only wish I had such eyes," the King remarked in a fretful tone. "To be able to see Nobody! And at that distance too! Why, it's as much as I can do to see real people, by this light!"

Lewis Carroll           
Through the Looking Glass          


The coincidence of some experiences to "Zen" and other Eastern teachings can't be ignored. This only strengthens my conviction that all these experiences are merely related to consciousness, whatever that is... which would explain why such a wide range occurs with me. Some of them, despite being on a level of truly ineffable and cosmic realizations, were almost humorous, at least from my point of view afterward.

{August, 1995}

Well the strange psychological symptoms continue, but at least they're something that leaves me feeling peaceful and affectionate, instead of weird stuff.

Today at lunch, at this temp job, I went and sat alone in this tiny conference room and closed the door, because I was sleepy. I left the light on just in case anybody should come in, but I took my shoes off and sat in a comfortable chair with my feet up. Setting my cola can down next to me, my attention was suddenly drawn to the object I set it upon: a metal recycling bin, which is basically a large locking trashcan.

I looked at it closely for about 30 seconds, and I could feel my whole body begin to change. A rush of affection for it grew in me, as if it were a warmth spreading through my chest, and I suddenly comprehended the... well, let's say the "alive-ness and identity of all things," and this thing in particular. I reached out and touched it, and fell into what I can only call a Zen merge. (Yeah, I know. Only I could accidentally merge with a metal recycling bin. Ha!)

A ton of information hit me, in the form of realizations. You wouldn't believe the consciousness available even in inanimate objects. He (I say only to give it warmth, gender doesn't apply) is an anchor of reality, a phenomenal type of purity compared to our ever changing identities, far more pure as a frequency than our huge conglomerate selves, and as it turns out, we interact with him and his species all the time without realizing that their metal structure is in fact the ultimate in this plane for physiological grounding, nor do we realize that this, combined with our perception of their solidity and unchangingness, is psychologically very centering and comforting for us. (They are not unchanging of course, but in this particular frame of perception seem to us to be.)

The bin, he actually has as much of a psychic awareness in some respects as I do, and I was kind of impressed when you get right down to it. I mean he isn't self aware in the way we are, but he "IS" in a literal Zen ISness sort of fashion, and with the addition of my consciousness he was able to communicate in almost words here and there.

After awhile of sharing, I began thinking intellectually a bit more; about how he's this grey color but if you look at it you realize that it's actually a combination of colors in order to create that color, like how it's done with pixels on computer screens, and his being-ness is aware and composed of all those, and it's only our particular perception that chooses the grey... and I wondered how it would look to a fly, or to any other frame of perception except mine, and then I realized that the dull color was in a way seeing into infinity, you could look into it and use it almost like a scrying stone in that the "nothing" was actually an open 3D opportunity for imagination, and if you were in the light it would show your reflection instead, and both were an interesting statement on the things that we create to surround ourselves but never really think about.

It reminded me of how I've wondered why we never gasp in beauty over water, water is so amazing, like when it has rained and then is clear and there are puddles, and for instance in a parking lot there will be a puddle that will reflect the fresh deep red of a car next to it plus the blue sky and white clouds, and why is it that we're not more impressed with the ability of an ever changing substance like water, and even that one little facet of it, how it can reflect an infinite variety of things in 3D with a 2D surface... and it's like we just walk past it and never think, good god what an incredible variety of form and color and shape and malleability all in this amazing scrying stone of the universe — but no, we never think of it...

Why is the red texture of a tie, or the grey texture of a tile, not appreciated as the real wonders that they are? We are used to the things we have surrounded ourselves with, and it's a statement of how we devalue and ignore ourselves that we don't notice and appreciate our environment more. Sometimes I can just think of a given thing and eventually come to nearly gasp in wonder at it, at the sheer "metal bin-ness" of it in this example... the vibrant, ultra pure heritage of a very solid type of identity, as if it is a "pure" identity that is stunning in its vibrance.

Some identities, in particular those which are objects, have that sense of spiritual purity, that absoluteness (from our point of view, and in one sense from theirs as well) of identity in the form we are perceiving, and in some ways it's an indescribable "relief" to feel it; maybe it's just me, maybe it's because my identity was so completely dissolved within this particular framework, but the purity of the bin compared to the (possibly vaster) malleable nature of ours is a novel freshness, it's like simplicity and relief.

For some reason this made me realize the other three aspects of myself that I have encountered, we are the "elementals" of personality from this perception, we are the four corners and four of the main building components, but by no means the only ones or anything of the sort.

Well talk about abrupt. I sort of snapped out of it, still feeling warm and affectionate and connected to the bin, and it was time to go back to work. I ran my fingers along the bin affectionately, sensually, wishing I had more time to rub my skin against it thanking it, and went back to work, thinking gee, time sure does fly when you're having fun.

Gods! Who needs drugs?!

o0o

The following dream initiated a sequence with me that continues to this day. It seems quite literal when I am there, as if it is a physical place, or an almost physical place. I've mentioned this to other people online and a couple have said they've encountered something very similar. We had long discussions about it in a Compuserve Forum around this time. Maybe it's merely psychology, but it's fascinating to me.

{September, 1995}

I had a dream last night that was so long, detailed and explicit that I awoke believing it's just as much a "place" as any of the places I've gone with entities — moreso — as literal as my house. I found, qualified for, and was offered to enroll in a school. Some kind of college. There were interviews and discussions with various people, even papers to "sign," with legal clauses in the back about their lack of responsibility should I get myself lost or even killed in any of the courses, haha!

It's a dream school. I mean officially. There are numerous "levels" like grades, and each level has a number of courses. But none of the courses are identical for each person, because it's really personal interplay and each course is a place, and it's big, and has a lot of options.

You sit down at one of the computers at the school, which is also something of a "home base" (having food, rest, shelter, etc. as well as classes, where you can meet other students and such, though people are seldom into that, they're busy), and you look at the "map" for that level you're on. The map is a mandala basically, a complex geometric form, like some drawing of the matrix of a crystal. Each "section" of the form (course) is outlined, it's just some given grouping of geometries in the overall picture. There are three levels and 10 in each. You can choose any to begin with that you wish. You choose one of the forms in that mandala in the computer, you're sort of "logging in" to that form and documenting it, and then you go somewhere like a closet or transporter and find yourself dropped "into" that form.

Each form is a place, like a frequency-band or dimension, inhabited by people (or entities, whatever). Not being limited to time, you can spend a day or years there — you spend however long it takes you to get out. The end goal is to come out knowing how to communicate with the occupants, how to control things there, and knowing the parts of yourself that are reflected there. To a lesser but obviously important degree, the goal is to survive.

The first one I did is tough to explain, as it really isn't in 3D enough to translate, and that's what little I remember. I'll try for some of it:

I abruptly found myself "dropped" into a "place." I thought at the teachers, How do I get to where I need to go? and found myself in a car, an old one like the 50's American tanks, moving on its own. It rolled into a castle (not over a moat, simply through a huge doorway in a stone wall) until I was in the middle of a large courtyard, and then it suddenly disappeared, and I found myself standing.

There was a chittering and clicking sound, and I looked around to see that in the window sills and sitting on walls all around the courtyard, there were these people. They were very small, dark, I had the specific impression they were "Chinese," and they were all wearing these odd things on their fingers, like little sharp pointy silver metal things that glinted in the light. Their eyes were bright like astral entities, and combined with the glittery pointy things on their fingers, and the way they were all looking at me, and clicking their fingers and talking to each other in what sounded mostly like consonants and whistles, a bit excitedly, I was immediately very concerned about myself. They made me very nervous.

A few of them came out of the doorway with a large tray. It had, of all things, a little teapot on it, beautiful, painted. They turned over these little cups and poured tea into each of them, and we sat down at this stone bench and table and we prepared to have tea. I had the very specific impression, suddenly, that they had some kind of test or exercise they would eventually put me through, and they were all very much hoping that I would fail, so they could "have me." I shuddered a bit and looked down at the tea tray.

One of them, a man, had been mixing something in this little mortar and pestle type bowl, and eventually he came close to me and I could see that it was a dark brown-red herbal sort of mixture. He scraped it into my tea, and with a metal pin-like thing, stirred my tea well, and then handed it to me. I had the impression that whatever they were supposed to teach me, I either had to be in a different state of mind, which this drug would put me in, or they simply didn't want my conscious lucidity anymore.

I wasn't crazy about the idea of losing control in the midst of a bunch of these chittering bright eyed entities that I felt would eat me or something if I wasn't careful; but I realized that this was part of the overall scenario and test, and if I refused to drink this, they would quite possibly fall upon me and shred me with those pointy metal fingertips, or something along those lines. I realized that part of my learning in this "place" was learning to fit in with their culture and I had to use my intuition; there was no second chance.

Abruptly I became fully aware of the implications of what I had done by joining this college so to speak: there was no safety net. Nobody would save me. I would get through each place and get out, or I would be stuck there, maybe even die there, and nobody would care: I was solely responsible for myself. No teacher or good guy was going to save me.

Feeling that bravery and one's reactions were somehow important to this group of ultra polite tea serving people, I thanked the man who had given me the small cup of tea with the drug in it, in the most formally polite manner I could, and holding my chin up and looking at him to make sure he knew that I was not at all afraid, I drank it all down at once.

Next thing I knew, I found myself back at the school. I stepped out of the closet-thing where I found myself, and walked into the room where the computers were. There was another guy there across the room; the lights were very dim in this room. I considered going and getting something to eat or drink, or maybe just going to sleep, but I decided that first I would choose the next "place" that I was going to go. So I chose another piece of the geometric matrix picture in the computer.

o0o

Then I woke up. On awakening, the part that deeply marked me was the idea that like a survivalist training exercise, nobody was gonna come save my butt if it didn't work for me, if I was in trouble. I could get lost there; I could spend eons there; I could actually DIE there although they pointed out that this was very rare (but did on occasion happen). I had been accepted to the training because I was deemed to be capable of it myself, and I would stand or fall on my own merits only.

I realized that I'd been blithely going through all this, rather proud of myself to have passed the first test which was finding the college/school and being asked to join, and I hadn't really taken it seriously enough, even though they had explained that this was quite real, and was merely happening on the dream level because it was more convenient, and could be done in much less time. But I hadn't realized that it was "real" enough to me that if something were to happen to me there it would affect the person I know as me in my daily "real" life.

This really disconcerted me, and made me realize that all the things they showed me about the school, they weren't screwing around. It wasn't just some groovy symbolic dream I made up to explain tripping lightly through the Aethyrs or whatever; it really was a real "place" (as much as anything is anyway) and I wasn't the center of the universe there, I was just another student, and once I committed to the school I committed absolutely. I can't quit in the middle of an experience, or the middle of a course.

They said I'd be through the whole thing in about two years, or so they expect. What I'm supposed to do then I don't know, but there's some specific "end" like a graduation that puts me in a completely different "space" mentally and spiritually. What a trip, huh?!

People I talked about this with had different names for it: the school, the college, etc. I was interested that they were familiar with it, however, our descriptions of experience differed wildly. For that matter, as my own experiences with it went on, they varied greatly as well. Whitley Streiber used to hang around the Compuserve areas a bit (and he had a section of his own in the forum). I wasn't sure I trusted that the fiction-author with a UFOlogy-career wasn't the most prominant thing in him. Maybe it was gut instinct; he later published a book nicely paralleling our popular threads called Secret School. I began to wonder if he'd hung around the online area merely to glean ideas for books. I am told by people who know him that this is unlikely true, that he's a really nice guy whom they trust. I guess I'll have to take their word for it.

{September, 1995}

I woke up abruptly very early, maybe 4am or so, because it was raining exceptionally hard. Had been dreaming that G., better known as part of my groupsoul if there could be such a thing, who was also K. (an old friend, I always had a ridiculously strong link of intimate friendship with him too), and I were sleeping together, not sexually, just physically intertwined, and the "Alien Autopsy" film was one of the main components of the dream (or maybe I was having more than one and mixed them on remembering, I'm not sure).

Somehow the simultaneous nature of it showing in a few countries seemed particularly crucial, as if this was one of the building blocks of helping cement a stronger framework of reality where "they" (greys and hybrids) are included "here." (Whether the film is real, or 1947, or not — that having no bearing on anything at all). As if the simultaneous nature of people paying attention to it was one of the important things that we as a group have chosen to occur.

I had an impression that went something like this: their ability to be "here" depends somewhat on the "perception of reality" of the people here, both individually and as a group. The more people who accept them as part of their belief-structure about reality, the more literal and solid they become, and the more easily they're able to operate here.

My secondary impression is that they wanted this to be so, so that they would have more access in "this" realm or place. (You would think, were that the case, there wouldn't be things like lost or screen memories, and other details that help keep their presence private.) I came out of it with the feeling, however, that the more people "tuned" to the subject, the stronger their presence would be.

{October 1995}

I've been having these dreams that would be making me paranoid if I wasn't so averse to that feeling. And talk about predictably paranoid, they seem to involve something that gets translated, in my head, as the government or military, a secret group or some such ridiculous thing. The first few dozen or so I had, I didn't remember very much of them so didn't write them down, and I ignored them in that curious way I ignore bad things in this realm. The next few I didn't remember while awake. But lately they're a little more common. And I still wouldn't have thought much about them except that just today I saw the pattern in them, while awake I remembered the series of them; I've been having them for months, since about May. The pattern shocked me so much I stopped motionless in the middle of the room with my mouth open. Dozens of recurring dreams for six months? That's pretty serious. Most of what I remember is simply confusing, so I'll just mention the overall pattern:

A group of people, which I interpret to be some secret government type group, are attempting to scare me. They want to get my psychology into that state as part of an overall process. It generally takes them a long time, and into my head will come these realistic sub-dreams (meaning dream within a dream) where a female whom I admire or who reminds me of me will suffer various fates. The fates range, as if they get worse as they search for something I respond to. She'll be seriously beat up (didn't scare me). She was attacked by all these men dressed in black and gang raped (didn't scare me). She was stripped naked and shouted at while whipped and bleeding (didn't scare me).

Then it'll shift, if that sort of thing doesn't work, into the more religious stuff, directly at me: a monster with red eyes is coming for me (didn't scare me). Various other critters are coming for me (didn't scare me). And after the long series of that, if that doesn't work, then it'll go to creatures, like, sharks are near me and I'm swimming (didn't scare me). Then cockroaches are surrounding me (didn't scare me). Snakes are everywhere (didn't scare me). And finally, the one that usually gets me: some humongous, huge spider is sitting right on my chest, and I can't move, and he's preparing to crawl up and bite me on the neck. That one usually scares the begeezus out of me.

And then just as I finally react with the crying-fear terror response, the sub-dreams, having served their purpose, vanish. Someone who seems "strong," like a strong handsome man often, will be physically near me, and will say something (sometimes just a general comment) about the relationship between aliens, the CIA, MIBS, "government conspiracies," the military, it varies, and is often just a casual comment. Then while I'm in this hyper-vulnerable state of fear, men dressed in black uniforms with calf-level boots and big guns will storm into the room and grab the person with me whom I admire as tougher than me, who has just finished saying something about the government, and as they drag him out, it becomes clear that this person is shortly going to be dead, because they were stupid enough to open their mouth. The overall message I get, to put it into words, is they can hear you, no matter where you are, no matter how alone you think you are, and if you want to live, keep your mouth shut. (Why does this remind me of that black triangle dream from long ago? No objective surface reason, but I can't shake the feeling of association.)

I decided I was delusional and paranoid. Impossible.

Of course it's just an odd recurring dream. I've discovered something interesting though. Sometimes when the "series of fear attempts" begin, I'll just pick something, say the woman getting mauled, and allow myself to react like I'm scared and horrified, and begin to cry. Not because I am, but because I've been through this, I know that's what they're waiting for, and I just want to get it over with. And then the next stage kicks in.

Now don't you think I would have to actually be truly that scared? I mean, wouldn't my own psyche know that it's just that I've had that kind of dream so many times I'm learning to psych out the characters in it? If dream characters are all me, how could I fool them? It's almost like the characters aren't paying that much attention to me personally; like they just have some established method of "making an impression" on someone: get them into a state of absolute panic and fear and drop violence to someone right next to them in their lap, with a clear message that it could be you.

Obviously I'm getting paranoid. But why am I? Why would I? You know I've been making fun of people who talk just like this for a long time, so that I'd be the next in line for this kind of loony toons is ironic. Since the whole thing is impossible to begin with, I can rule it out. But even if it weren't, why me? I'm nobody. I'm completely unimportant. I don't have any effect on anybody, except a few folks around a forum online now and then, I mean my opinion doesn't matter, my experiences don't even get heard by more than what, a few dozen.

So I'm left to believe that part of my psyche must expect this, to create such recurring dreams about it, and for what, months now? Now the only detail is that although I've heard folks who were paranoid, nothing I've heard gives me any reason to suspect this for myself. And while there are a few people swearing "the government" has some weird technologies, I simply don't buy it, not really. Even if it were true, I think there are too many interesting and useful things for them to be doing besides harassing civilians.

Which leaves me to wonder, why am I paranoid? Is it gathering my experiences together in book form that brought it on? Was it that dream of the soldier in the graveyard that initiated it somehow? What aspect of metaphysical work with entities would lead me to recurring dreams about secret-bad-guy dressed-in-black paramilitary dudes? Could the entities in some way be helping create these dreams? Why would they? Is it possible that the "bad guys" or behavior people fear from the government are actually from the entities' side — with the same goal of silencing people, but doing so in such a way to blame it on the government? Creating division among us instead of creating a common enemy for us in themselves? Well. Not like Big Unk is innocent, but you know, they may not be as guilty as people suspect. Their worst guilt may be from having as much confusion as we do on any given subject, for all I know. Or maybe it's all as it seems. Now you see? Even my paranoia is inconsistent. I don't even know who it is I'm paranoid about!

There is only one thing I've noted that I could say seems particularly "weird" in a way related to the paranoia subject. Remember the dream about the black triangle? It felts so physically odd it was memorable, and the dreams noted above vaguely reminded me of it... I'm not sure why they remind me of that experience, but there is something similar I can't put my finger on that makes me think there is a similar energy, like maybe a certain individual or intent, involved. I feel uneasy just repeating the experience or the dreams — or writing about them. Like I shouldn't talk about them. Like "they" will do something to me if I do, or I won't be able to wake up again. I mean, if that state of mind were thrust on me in front of anybody, I'd be committed, drugged, I'd never escape, I'd be sitting in a straightjacket. Terrifying. Even though I consciously recognize it must be just psychology, that fear response still seems to be with me.

Nearly a year after the "black triangle" dream, when I began dipping one hand into the UFO field, I read a message on CompuServe from Whitley Streiber. He claimed he'd come home and found evidence that somebody had been in his house. And he found that a check someone had written to him, left on his desk, was missing. He was baffled, as there seemed to be no damage or theft otherwise — until he turned on his computer. The short story is, it had been deftly sabotaged, and the "marker," left as an icon he'd never seen before and that was attached to a blank file, was a black triangle. I hadn't read Whitley's books, and up until then I'd thought his online stories about never getting his mail were just paranoia, but at that point I nearly choked, and wrote him briefly saying I'd seen this symbol and had some negative experiences with it. He wrote back:

[11/26/94] The triangle imagery creeped me out also, but I can't imagine the visitors putting a virus on my computer and stealing a check. Or can I? Sometimes I really wonder if I'm not missing the whole point of what's going on. In any case, it was one devil of a virus/sabotage job. Very well thought out.

[12/09/94] Black Triangles. My question is, could human beings have some kind of real hairy mind bending technology? Back in 1981 82 I wrote a book called Black Magic, a work of fiction about mind control using extra low frequency emissions. And the spooks came right down my throat! What a horrible experience it was, too. They tried to just completely sweep away my first amendment rights. Then, a few years ago, I found out that Paul Bennewitz, the original UFO paranoid techie, was attacked by them in a similar way and for the same reason, virtually at the same time.

The whole "paranoia" aspect is one of a few areas that part of me would rather have left out of this account, but I couldn't without being dishonest or incomplete. I mean it's outright humiliating, to be honest. I have no legitimate reason that I know of to be paranoid. Even my weird dreams, well... I've no proof they're anything more than dreams.

Rather than assuming any of this is literal, and that I'm being told to shut up, I tend to suspect that it's just my psychology. Which makes it interesting and part of a case study, because why would psychology create that? I mean if physical people were showing up and talking to me it would be one thing — heck, to me, that would validate all of this! But people in dreams, well, I just don't tend to put much belief into most of that.

{October, 1995}

I ... guess it must have been a dream... a tall, dark sort of man-entity with eyes that changed color (but often seemed to be glowing red or were deep black) came up underneath my bed (like through it) and snuggled up underneath me, against me. I felt him and it woke me up; I was warm and sleepy, though, and I left my eyes closed. I felt my head turn as his hands slid around my body and around my breasts, and I relaxed into him; his lips, with teeth that felt just a tad too sharp for my comfort, brushed my neck; I thought to myself, He's making love to me, and I wondered if I were really still dreaming, and only thought I was awake, or if he were really physical, or partly physical, he felt not 100% physical but still enough percentage to be very tangible.

As he kissed my neck, my shoulders, I relaxed further into him, so sensual, and (ok this is really weird!) he pulled one hand back and put it — it was somehow sharp like a knife but didn't hurt at all — through me, from behind, and slicing upward and through my breast. I didn't know how he could feel physical to me, and I could feel him through me, but I felt no pain. There was some wary "awareness" of it on my part, and I was torn between objective concern, and a desire for his sharpness piercing my body... I wonder if this is related to that dream about the lion, and the sharp claws, or just some freudian psychological symbol.

{October, 1995}

The various deliberate sagas of "places" from that school continues. Usually I can tell when something is a regular dream vs. when it's related to that. On the ones related to that, usually it's impossible to translate into words. Sometimes I can, but it seems like I might be translating it into something it's not. (Not uncommon.) It seems so bizarre. The few times that I'm able to remember and translate, it's exceptionally clear, the entities are human, the setting is at least familiar enough to make sense (at least at the time). I've found, though, that when the entities are regular humans, I know them, and they know me, as if I have been living there all my life.

The type of memories which are hard to remember are filled with fascination, and tinged with a feeling best described as tense, wary intensity. The beings who are my friends may at any time, when they've completed what almost seems to be an agreement to teach me, decide that I am theirs now; it's part of the deal. Like what used to go on with me back in '93. I don't take it personally that they expect me to stay, and that they can do with me as they will if I do; it's as if I have some kind of inherent energy or quality they want. I don't take it personally that they hunt me the moment I try to leave; like the amorality of animals, we all know what's fair, and know what the rules are.

{October, 1995}

I found myself in the midst of a heavy magickal ritual. There was a man, he was like, the highest ranking in the group in some way. He had a girl, about five years old, and he was preparing to initiate her. Like via what amounted to rape. I knew this was not allowed — and that it would have some shocking effects on her, psychically — and I silently pleaded with the others in the room to say something to him, to make it stop. My sense was that I could not interrupt the ritual, nor could I interfere with his will, though a couple of people in the room who were equal to him could, if they desired. Nobody said anything. He was just determined to have her no matter what. He was obsessed with her... for some reason. The energy in the room was thick and powerful.

He took out a large knife and he held it to her throat, fully intending — as per the initiation ritual — to slit her throat if she cried out or screamed (and she knew this). She was pale, blonde, small of course. He took off her clothes while she stood there sort of frozen in fear. He laid her down on the ground, and putting the knife against her throat, he pulled up his robe, spread her legs, and a bit gently but very seriously raped her. She clamped down on her lower lip with her teeth, her eyes closed as she grimaced in pain, and beads of sweat formed on her brow, and her skin got even whiter. She remained silent and stoic. When he was finished, he stood up, and then he stood her up. Someone brought a black robe that they put on her. She swayed, but was silent.

Then we all adjoined to another room, like a social room. There was food everywhere, and everybody was eating and talking. I was still thinking about the event. Then the door to the ceremony room opened and the man brought her out to present her to the group. It got silent as death in the room. The little girl stood there quietly, looking defiant and far too old for her age. One of the people in the room said something to the man like, "You know we have to kill her now." And the people in the room one by one commented something in agreement. The sense was that this initiation would create in her energy that would be horrible for her throughout her childhood life, because she wasn't old enough to deal with it, and that her events and trauma, because she had been made part of the group, would be something they would all be subject to effects from.

When the time came for me to say something, I said, "I'll take her." Everybody was shocked. They couldn't believe that I would take responsibility for her — it was a big job, and a hard road, and it would sort of put all the effects and responsibility in my hands, rather than distributing it to the group. I just felt I had to; it was the right thing to do, and I wanted her, and I wanted her to survive this. I had that right of claim, and I took it.

o0o

When I awoke, the first thing I noted was that the initiation has zero in common with Order stuff that I'm familiar with. There is no sex in any early-level OTO initiation (contrary to popular belief). So I wasn't sure where I got such heavy duty magickal symbolism. I had some distant sense that the girl was me, or a projection of me.

{October, 1995}

I had what felt like the longest dream last night. I was on a ship, like a craft you know, it was ridiculously huge, with more stories than a big hotel and wider than I could imagine, and I ended up in this classroom of sorts with many other people. I said to the blonde woman (the teacher) at the front of the room, I am really tired of being so confused about everything. Please just explain the situation clearly. And we began into a long lesson that seemed to require a lot of going places, and images on a screen from time to time.

At one point I was suddenly struck by this intense feeling that I couldn't describe. It wasn't quite embarrassment; it was a very odd sort of sadness, of near humiliation and grief. I had just fully realized that these people (doing the teaching — the blondes) were simply a superior species. I mean they were smarter, stronger, healthier, and psi to boot, and they knew it. They treated us like Americans tend to treat natives of any given country with vastly different educational and cultural norms, as if we were merely bright animals. It was demoralizing knowing there was really no point in my trying to be smart; they weren't going to be impressed.

The feeling was indescribable, one I've never had before, because I've never had cause to encounter such a realization before. It was a combination of sadness, shame and longing. I wanted to cry.

Later, we were walking down a hall from a break at one point and I asked the teacher lady who was walking with me, Are there really such thing as the Noshaimus, or did I just dream that? She said something I can't remember the words to exactly, but she led me to believe that there really are, but they're a separate type of people, fewer in number, more of an "upper class" in their society, and that some of my people had a sort of wishful thinking idea about them. (As if, some of our mythology may think they're nicer... but they really have no more altruistic interest in my species than the regular blondes do.)

Continue to Chapter 20: Letters


"Bewilderness" title and text are Copyright 1993-1998 by Palyne "PJ" Gaenir. All rights reserved. Feel welcome to send me email -- I always appreciate feedback.