Chapter 4

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."

-- Lewis Carroll
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

November, 1993

Here's a good one. I've been dreaming about -- of all things -- aliens! Hilarious huh? What a trip. Somebody last night in my dream was pointing out to me very specifically, like it was really important, Look for the ones with the blue eyes. Hmmmn. Why? They don't sound like an alien, aren't aliens supposed to have huge black eyes like the one on that book? Or were the folks with the blue eyes the ones telling me that? I have no idea.

That was my first hint of something related to "aliens." At that time of course, I was assuming it was all dreams, archetypal, or "metaphysical" at best. As for the alien subject in general, I'd had a lifelong intellectual interest in science fiction, and yet a lifelong avoidance of anything that inferred the subject was "real." I was even consciously aware, if the subject came up, that my avoiding the "UFO" topic was some psychological thing... but I had always chalked it up to my seeming "more rational" than many people.

I had no contact with the field except what one gets from accidental information, such as advertisements for a movie or seeing a book cover in a bookstore. I refused to have anything to do with it on a very deep level; I even avoided TV shows about the subject, to the point where I would leave the room if they were on even briefly. When the idea was first presented, in the above dream, I thought it was all really funny, and nothing more.

I had been doing far better than I realized at dealing with the issue of my sanity, mostly by ignoring it, since frankly I had enough trauma and confusion to deal with, without dragging self-judgement into it. Since most of the experiences didn't seem to make any difference in "real life," I figured they were merely an interesting, in some cases physical-seeming, hallucination.

The physical symptoms, like finding myself elsewhere in my car, or the paranormal or poltergeist type phenomena, those I was so upset about that I actually ignored them in denial.

Then my so-called archetypal dreams took a turn for the bizarre, and the "alien" concept become repetitive enough to become the main theme. Now sure, I grew up on science fiction and that could easily explain an interest in all things connected to it. But the intermixture of my regular life with this stuff made it very confusing. And when I began trying to avoid it, it shortly became eerily apparent that perhaps it wasn't as "self generated" as I had been assuming.

November, 1993

I've been busy lately. I've been avoiding The Chair as I call it, because I need to get some things done, and I'm starting to feel like I'm not in control. I mean reality is like the twilight zone, and I was getting a little freaked out and feeling strange even physically, so I figured, I need a break, I need to focus on something else, so I've been trying to.

Well the folks pulling me out of my body are Ascended Masters, right? Who else would or could be doing it? (It's obvious there's somebody involved, so who else could it be?) But I need a break, and I was sure if they're so evolved they'd understand. Since I don't like my bed, can't go near the chair and it's the only one (or I'll be "yanked out"), I end up pacing the living room. And as usual of late I've been in that feeling of obsession without a cause -- just general obsessiveness, intensity.

Sometimes when I'm pacing I notice it in myself and think, "What's wrong?" It's like I'm nervous, scared, angry, tense, or all of the above, but I don't know why I would be. So I've been working as late as possible, trying to get extra things done, and when I come home, trying to avoid The Chair so I can accomplish something at home as well (for once).

But the last few days I wake up in the chair in the morning and damn it, I could swear I didn't sit there! I mean I've really been wanting to sleep in my bed, you know? Granted, I've been staying up till like 4-5:00am and then trying to catch a couple hours of sleep before work, and I know, that's simply not rational, and I'm not sure why I've been doing that, but I've been trying to sleep in my bed when I can, in those few hours.

Maybe I'm so used to sitting in the chair that I'm just not noticing I'm doing it? A few nights ago, it was getting late and I remember I'd decided I was going to make curried chicken for dinner and was looking forward to it, and I remember going to do it... but then I woke up in the chair. Night before last, I heard something outside and thought maybe the possums were digging through my trash again, and I remember going to go look out there, but then I woke up in the chair again the next morning.

Last night I was so tired, I never get any sleep anymore what with making myself stay up all night, so I went to get a soda to try and caffeinate myself into alertness. As I opened the refrigerator door I felt myself falling. It was the same kind of feeling as when my mind used to go into deep, immediate trance, except this time it was like my whole body went with it, and it only lasted maybe a split second -- and then I woke up in the chair this morning.

So this morning I was thinking, wow, I'm really losing it again, I mean just as the "driving incidents" are finally becoming rare, here I am freaking out in some other way. Then I open the fridge to find it's not all the way closed -- it's missing a foot and isn't even, so you really have to push the door to latch it. I count the sodas, and there's five -- I bought a six pack yesterday, and I drank one when I got home, and so last night when I went to get one, I never got it. Yet I did open the refrigerator door, obviously, because you have to yank the thing open, it doesn't open itself by accident. So I didn't imagine that part, like I thought I must have.

Am I really that wacked out? Back to multiple personality disorders. I just don't see any other explanation. But gods, wouldn't you think my Evil Twin (ha!) would have something more interesting to do than just put me to sleep?! The least it could do is put me to bed, instead of sitting in the chair all the time. My ankles are swelling, my feet hurt, sometimes I can barely walk! I hadn't ever thought about how important it is to level one's body at night. Whatever is going on, we're pretty klutzy, I have bruises on my head, on my legs and arms, or maybe I'm just so exhausted during the day at work I'm getting bruises and not noticing them.

Today I was rubbing a bruise and I thought, well what if I just passed out or something? Could I be bruised because I fell? What if the "being pulled out of my body" is happening whether I sit in the chair or not, and I'm just ending up in the chair before I awake? Could that happen? Maybe I sleepwalk. I did that once when I was about ten years old.

Well the bottom line is, either I sit in the chair -- and you know, I "feel them coming for me," get ready hastily and pass out -- and wake up exhausted; or I end up staying up all night, pacing and drinking caffeine and being wide eyed and obsessive but about nothing, and don't get more than a couple hours sleep as a result, and so am exhausted; or I try to stay up, but for some reason come to in the chair, with the same result as going to sleep there -- at 4:30 a.m. I'm abruptly wide awake, and then a few hours later I nearly pass out from exhaustion.

No matter how I look at it, this really sucks. Work really sucks. I am so exhausted it's ridiculous. I've finally taken to drinking huge quantities of caffeine, eating tons of sugars and simple starches all day, and so combine these dietary habits with sleep deprivation and my emotional state in general, plus the non-directed obsessiveness, and I'm wired and exhausted simultaneously.

[My boss] walked in the other day, took one look at me and said, "Geezus Palyne, you look like shit! What are you doing? Aren't you getting enough sleep?" Damn. Damn! What am I supposed to do, tell my boss I've lost my mind? I'm afraid to say anything to anybody lest somebody escort me to a mental hospital. "For my own good," of course, ha! Right.

I've been studying fields related to the mental health profession long enough to know better. I would run, not walk, from any psych major licensed to force drugs down my throat in their ignorance. If I were seriously in trouble that's the last place I'd go for help. Drugs and labels won't help me. I want to figure myself out, not get chemically lobotomized.

I quit trying to avoid the chair, quit trying to avoid being "pulled out," which resolved the problem; once again, I went back to "feeling they were coming for me," and "relaxing and falling into" the call. So the "dreams" continued, and my memory got a little better. As I got more used to the feel of them and the common elements in them, certain of them (at least in places) got a bit more sensible. Although some of the elements weren't in "this real" world, I began to be able to recognize them "there" more accurately. On the other hand, they seemed to get "realer" -- and stranger! -- day by day.

November, 1993

It was a beautiful, sunny summer day, the beach was crowded, and a group of people and I were walking along the sand. I turned to my left and saw very close the astonishingly blue eyes of a man. They really got my attention. Blue eyes. Where have I heard that? I wondered. It seemed important. "Wow! Those eyes!" said a woman in the group. "Is that Paul Newman?" "I don't know," I sighed, distracted from my thoughts, "But let him have a life already. Come on." And so we continued walking on.

A few moments later to my right, off the shore in the air, a huge group of silverish things -- like sci-fi UFO craft -- appear in the sky. They look to be the archetypal shining disks. It's like a full fleet arrival. I stand there frozen in shock.

Coulditbecoulditbereal?! People up and down the beach begin pointing and screaming, most seeming very freaked out, and some stand frozen in place also, like me. I'm almost numb; in my head is the running, looping and repeating thought, OhmygodOhmygodOmygod, itsreallyrealitsreallyrealohshit!

Then I realized, this was not exactly the best way to announce themselves. It was obvious from the crowd's reaction it wasn't a positive impression, people were really freaking out. I wondered why they (the folks in the craft) hadn't arranged introducing themselves through the media or the government, why they'd just shown up like storm troopers or something. Then I realized I had an "association" with the craft, negative, as did many of the people on the beach apparently, and I stopped to analyze myself. What reason could I have for making the "storm trooper" analogy when to be objective, the fact was, all I saw was a bunch of flying things?

I wondered uneasily, struck by a familiarity, Where have I seen them before? I had a really bad feeling about it.


I'm standing in the aisle of something like a sporting goods store. It's been ransacked or some such thing; most of the shelves are empty. I'm checking the [clip] on a .45 semi automatic and then sticking another in my pocket. There are people around and I feel that we are "a team" and we are "re-gearing." I'm grim, and feel I'm much thinner than I am now. I hear a "heads up!" muttered from a few aisles over, and I see over a small shelf that a tall black woman in a military uniform has come through the door. I know that she is partly in charge of this group of persons such as myself who are, in some manner, an emergency military, fighting for our lives. I somehow associate this with the silver disks.

She's carrying a box, and she puts it down and starts taking these objects (tube-gun-like) out of the box, tossing them to people. She tells us to leave our regular guns behind, that we are to use these now. I'm much harsher than I am now, I note almost from outside myself. I tell her to fuck off, that I'm not giving up my .45. She says this is "their technology" (which we've re-engineered) and that these weapons are far superior. I insist, grimly despising her as a pawn, that every time somebody provides "new technology" to us, it turns out to be something encouraged by the other side, and then something happens to our men or it doesn't work or something. We're so desperate and so outgunned we cling to anything and it ends up killing us. She stands a bit taller and growls at me, Use it! So I pick up one of them from her box, press it in two places at once (with one hand) that is kind of like "removing the safety" in my mind, and I shoot her, in the shoulder, twice.

Because she wasn't looking (she was tossing the gun-things to people), she didn't have time to react. She stands somewhat frozen in shock for a few moments with her mouth open. Through her uniform it looks as if I put holes right through her. But after about five seconds we realized she wasn't hurt. I realized it had to be her uniform, which was made of the same stuff the "other side" (folks related to the silver disks) wore. Maybe the weapon would hurt us, but it wouldn't hurt them.

People in the store with me (the group was men except me) realized the same thing: we'd been tricked -- again. They began swearing and muttering, throwing the gun-things back in her box and restocking their regular weapons. She looked at me with a mix of curiosity, confusion and hatred, turned on her heel and stomped out. I wondered whose side she was really on.


I was with a small group of men, a couple of whom I recognized from the earlier scene, one of whom was talking about getting first aid supplies to a group of our guys who were "East." We seemed to be underground in some kind of cement room. Somebody outside shouted, and we heard it dimly, as a door thing above us was heavy and partly open. A second later the top opens up and a guy says, They did it. They got it. We gotta go. I understood he meant something like a "transporter" (as Star Trek would call it) that we'd been trying to build using "their" technology that would take us to ... some other place, in any case, not "here" as we know it, that was my impression. The guys and I jumped up and scrambled out, and joined other people who were dropping out of trees and such (we were in a wooded area), and we all ran for what seemed like a long time.

We arrived at a house and we all ran in and down some stairs into a cellar. There was a big box, it looked to me like somebody had snagged an elevator cart or something, and we squeezed into it. I was the last in, and I was right next to the door. Somebody outside laboriously closed the door against me. There were more people running down the stairs for the next run and I was squashed hard against the people behind me.


Silence was what I noticed first. It was a long, long silence. Eternal silence. A silence that seemed like it had gone on (and on) for eons.

I was comfortable. White surrounded me. I knew that I had been there for years, or maybe millennia, or as if time had ceased to have meaning and it was all the same. I was lying on my back, and as I turned my head I could see the dark hair of a man lying across the room, the walls of which appeared to be white-opaque and soft [a bit like smooth stretchy rubbery-like fabric].

I knew my history with the man. He never woke up. Ever. I wasn't sure, had he also been in that elevator box? I couldn't tell if where I was then was related to what I remembered from right before that, or not, or if this was 'real' but I had dreamed the prior events. I thought about it for awhile, and decided the first section on the beach felt like a 1st-person perspective dream; the next two sections as a soldier felt like I was in some kind of alternate reality, switching on occasion as if I were watching myself in a movie; and this felt real, except that I wasn't as aware of my body as I normally am (it didn't seem as heavy), though gravity seemed to be functioning fine. ("Reality seemed smoother" is the only way I can put it.) In any case, I and this guy were "here," in a place that was simply a place like a room but in my mind, I called the small woman who watched us (who I felt was around the corner in a room with a desk) "the warden."

I was in a soft bed-thing, and I slid to the floor. I went to the door to our room which was open and I went out, passing the man, whom I absolutely loathed. I just hated him. I remembered having tried to wake him up for years. He never spoke, he never awoke. I had been scared and lonely and desperate and he wouldn't wake up. I cried, I beat up on him, nothing helped. I had begged him to talk with me, to make love with me, to fight with me, anything... but he wouldn't wake up. I had run out of tears for my solitude, and I despised him completely as a result.

I went out the doorway, to the left down a little hall, and then another left into the office of the warden. She was a nice enough sort, sweet, short and slight, unusually thin. We had something of an understanding between us. She looked human to me but "was not," that was all I knew.

There was a man in the room with her, sitting facing her. He was extremely handsome, but I somehow knew that he was extremely "alien," and the human part was a disguise; even though he looked like a normal guy, I didn't feel he was. I was drawn to him by his beauty, and by my incredible loneliness, but I sensed that he was really icy, he had no feelings at all, and no sympathy for me. So I ignored him and directed myself to the warden.

I had reached the end of my tolerance. I requested that she talk with me, and she agreed. I said, I'd like you guys to kill me now, please. I took the drastic approach on purpose. She seemed confused, as if, I had seemed so rational until then, and she hadn't heard such a request before. I told her that the time was killing me. I could not stand another eon of time spent in the white cell with nothing to do with the man who wouldn't wake up. I explained that my ability for captivity had come to an end, and if they didn't kill me, I would have to kill myself. It wasn't that I wanted to die, it was just that I couldn't live any longer under those conditions, and I had no other choice. She seemed sympathetic, as if in our communication she felt more of my emotion than my words, and identified with me, which relieved me, and I hoped something would be done to free me.

Just then I heard a noise, and into her office comes stumbling the man from my room -- he's awake! But he's only semi-awake, and his eyes are wide, and he's half wild. He's asking questions so fast I can't even understand him. His voice and volume are getting higher and louder by the second. He won't shut up for even a moment, going right into hysteria -- everything he saw seemed to make him more upset, and I disliked him even more. I had finally gotten a serious conversation with the warden, I thought I was getting somewhere with her, and now of all times the jerk has to wake up, just to insure he destroys the first important conversation I remembered having in eons!

The man sitting in her office barked something at him. The dark haired guy turned, took one look at him, and just freaked out. He screamed and threw himself at the guy in attack, and ripped part of his face off. (?!) He threw it across the room, and it landed near me. I looked at it in mild revulsion, thinking how odd it was that it wasn't really bloody or anything. I picked it up with two fingers.

There was a box on (or next to?) the woman's desk, a small box. There was something in it, some item, I don't know what. I took it out, and another item appeared there. I took that out, and another one appeared. I looked at it with confusion. There was a place on it that seemed appropriate to push, so I did, and the object inside it vanished. I suddenly realized that this was an actual, working "transporter." It was like a small desk version for supplies and such. I knew that this was the technology that was supposed to get me somewhere safe from that elevator box in the earlier memory. I dropped the piece of face into the box and it disappeared.

The dark haired man's shouts abruptly stopped, and as I turned back toward them I felt as if a thunderbolt, a sound that shocked my whole body at once, hit me.


The next thing I remember, I was peering, secretly spying, around the corner of a room which was just off the room of the warden, across a sort of curving hallway. The alien man is lying on some kind of table, with what seem like machines around, and the warden is using some machine to "repair his face." I "know" that I have free run of my room and the hall and her office because she likes me, and we get along well and I behave. I wonder where the man from my cell is.

The next thing I remember, I'm lying in bed and the warden comes in to see me. I sit up, and she sits next to me. She tells me, in an odd mental-emotional way without many specific words, that she has come to be affectionate about me, and is sorry to see me go. She says that she understood my request for release, and it has now been arranged. (At this point I got alarmed and thought, What has been arranged? My freedom, or my death?)

She gestured toward a white soft wall of our room and suddenly it was transparent. Through it I could see another wall, the opposite wall of another room I hadn't realized was right behind us, where the walls were much "harder." There were these doors with round "portholes" in them, right next to each other all along the wall. Two of them are filled with that familiar blue gel-like stuff, it's like a thin blue jello texture, but not that shade, it was lighter, kind of like a deep pool.

The woman tells me that she is "sending them away as well." In one is the dark haired guy. He appears to be drowned in it. (In retrospect, I think he was just unconscious.) In the other is the alien guy who is fully conscious, he's just standing there as the liquid fills. I try to look at him closely, but I can't. The harder I try to make out and "memorize" the details of his face, the more his face warps and contorts, as if I'm looking in a moving fun-house mirror or something. I want to know him, to recognize him so if I see him again I'll know him, know he's an alien, but I can't, and the harder I focus the more bizarre it gets. I think to myself, What's wrong with his face? Is he crying? Is she killing him for some reason?

Then she tells me that it's time for me to go. I realize she means into the blue gel, and based on the guys in it I assume it will kill me. She's clearly sad about it, but hell, that doesn't mean it was ok with me if she wanted to kill me! Despite my request for death, I hadn't really expected it, and when faced with the prospect I found myself as unwilling as ever.

I liked her very much, and I had a real affection for her, anchored by her empathy and my loneliness. But in panic I suppressed it, and while she wasn't expecting it, I bashed her in the neck with my elbow, jumped off the bed thing and grabbed her, and used this "thing" she had like a belt to tie her to the bed with. She seemed very fragile, I was really surprised at how easy she was to best, and had the feeling I was seriously injuring her. I tried to squash my emotions, which rose to defend her from me. I was horribly ambivalent, and felt as if I were injuring an innocent child or something; it felt as if her bones were fragile and actually broke wherever I hit her... like she would have serious internal injuries. I felt sick at hurting her, my stomach rolled and fought me, but my survival skills stomped on it and helped separate me from the emotion.

She had a small, thin tube-gun type weapon I was pretty sure, in the belt. I took it, and ran out my door, and ran to the right down the hallway, and on the left up about three stairs was a door. I'd never seen it open, but it must have opened for me because I went through it.


I came out into the far end of an empty long hallway. I ran forward, the thin tube-gun-thing ready (sort of like a long metal cigar), pretty sure it worked similar to the one the soldier woman had back home, but not sure of the effect the smaller one would have. I realized that I had absolutely no idea where I was. In a huge house? In a hospital? On one of those silver craft? On Earth? Somewhere else? I'd never left the small area of a few rooms and I was clueless. (I thought maybe it was the typical place I'd often "find myself," because the walls and floor were made of something hard and light-colored; unlike a house, where there's usually wood or carpet. And it seemed really big, even the hallway was very large, wide enough to fit five big people abreast in, and probably 14' or more high. The only comparison we have here is, perhaps, a marble mansion or a modern hospital.)

At the end of the corridor I stopped, leaning around the corner to see what was in each direction. To the left there was a hallway stretching into the distance, and after just a few feet of it, a large staircase began downward, with big landings every 25 steps or so. The staircase turned around, a spiral effect downward but square. I seemed to be on the top floor. To the right was a long empty hallway. I wondered why people with transporters and floor-only elevators (I assumed these were the same folks I often found myself with) would need something archaic like stairs. I decided to try to go downward, hoping if I was slick enough I could get to a ground floor and find my way out.

I went left and got a bit behind some people going down the stairs, being quiet and keeping my head low; they didn't even notice I was there. Then I heard a shout, and as I looked up I saw that in the formerly empty hallway coming toward the stairs, a group of men were jogging toward me. They were all very fair and blonde. The man who seemed to be the one who shouted sprinted toward me at a surprising clip. I didn't know how he recognized me -- I had thought I was blending in quite well, to be honest. The people in front of me were just on the landing below and turning onto the next set of steps, and I was halfway down to the first landing. I whirled and began to run downward. Before I reached the landing the guy hit me like a hard tackle, pushing us both straight out, and when my feet hit the landing I spun underneath his arm, hoping his momentum would help and went for a judo throw -- but no luck. I was on my back in less than two seconds, with him straddling me and holding me down so hard it hurt.

He was big, very tall and strong, and as he sat on me and held me down he pulled something out from his back, maybe tucked in a belt. It looked like an oxygen mask, except it was clear (not bluish), and didn't have any tubes. He stuck it over my face, and I tried not to breathe, knowing somehow I'd seen it before, and the mask was very bad news, it really would hurt me, like screw up my brain somehow. But just then, he was kicked off me or something -- he was abruptly a few feet away on the ground. I laid still, not feeling myself able to move my body, not sure why, but still thinking very clearly.

I could see peripherally a very tall (woman?) who seemed to be holding a long gun was standing there beside us. I couldn't figure it out. It seemed like there would have to be many long guns, at angles to her body. She had the longest legs. Then after some more thought I decided it was actually a very tall, angular sort of bug. Or maybe a tall woman with a lot of angular long guns. I couldn't decide. But I had the impression of "female" either way.

She said to the man with her mind, which I heard clearly, that he was "overreacting, as usual." There was some concept included which was like, That is a very severe punishment and it was unnecessary. He protested, seeming defensive. I couldn't hear him clearly like I could her, but I could make out the gist of it as if through her, which was, "but - but - she was loose!" The tall female/bug/thing repeated that the action was overcorrective, harmful and unnecessary. He said something like, "Well they do {X}!" And she responded with, They haven't done that since ... and there was a word I couldn't make out, a word I'd never heard.


Next thing I knew, I was fully conscious at home, in bed sitting up, my eyes very wide. It was 4:30am, the usual time I would wake up abruptly. And the word had resolved itself into a very distant, approximate translation, which was jihad, but that didn't seem to make sense. What a trippy dream, and the last sections, in the room and with the blonde guy, seemed so real like I was physically just there! And what a strange word to associate with it.

So where is this "alien" stuff coming from? Good grief. Aliens. What next. As if metaphysics wasn't confusing and bizarre enough, thanks very much. And tall telepathic bugs? Give me a break!

I just sighed over my dissolving sanity and went to sleep.

Back then I didn't realize that the blonde fellows were well known by many people and thought of as aliens -- I knew only that the handsome fellow was "an alien," and that the warden "wasn't human." Thanks to my self-enforced avoidance and ignorance of the UFO field, it was a long time before I realized that there were stories out there with symbols matching mine, eerily close in fact, such as the mask -- so close on some details it scared me (and frankly, just made me sound embarrassingly non-original when I eventually repeated my story).

Even when I did find out, I was in denial for a bit; it just seemed so impossible that anybody could be having the same dreams, I mean what are the odds?!

The non-linearity of many experiences or dreams being like separate "sections," or experiences just related to each other (with barely any connection, just "here" and then "there"), along with the "dreamy" archetypal-imagery stuff (like the beginning on the beach), bewildered me. I wanted to grant certain sections a "literal-ness," but how could it be real in any sense at all when it was obviously a dream at some point?

The time jumps were stranger. Sometimes it was as if I was part of a long event, but the time sequence was illogical if not impossible, such as like starting in the future, going forward, and then at the linear end it turned out to be the "now" -- well that made it all just flat out confusing! Was it a dream? A current event? A hallucination? How could it be anything but either a Jungian sort of dream, or "real," if other people were encountering that sort of thing too?

But I digress, or pro-gress perhaps: back at this point in linear time I knew approximately nothing about the "alien" subject, and I was classifying everything that happened, be it a dream or even a seemingly physical thing, as "a metaphysical experience." I hadn't heard the confirming stories from others yet. Even back then, I felt the metaphysical approach made it all a bit less threatening: it made it a bit like an artistic movie. I didn't have to understand it, judge it, or label it. Back when I first met these folks, I thought they were "dream characters" at best; "archetypes" or "entities" at worst.

Bewilderness is copyright © 1993 to present to Palyne "PJ" Gaenir ( See