By Bruce A. Smith
I do not know if this story is true, at least in the usual sense of that word. What I do believe is that this story has a truth, a compelling truth that lies behind the so-called facts of the case. Perhaps it is a metaphysical truth, a truth that is so deep that it speaks to the part of us that does not need facts or evidence, or even logic, yet yearns for an unfathomable truth. A truth that is quantum and holistic, one that is a truth of another world that has no words in this one. Regardless, there is definitely some kind of truth to this story. It is not fiction.
I saw the UFO first. I was lying on my left side in bed in my friend Jeff’s house in McKenna, Washington, where I had been staying while I attended a retreat at Ramtha’s School of Enlightenment in Yelm. I had been asleep but I awoke with a calm lucidity. I saw the UFO behind me. Somehow, I could see it through the walls of Jeff’s house.
The craft was saucer-shaped on the upper-half, with a modest dome on the top and the lower-half was tapered. It looked much like an ice-cream cone that had a small plate balanced on its brim, with a big scoop of ice cream placed on top of the plate. The dome had red and green lights glowing on the lower rim area, and above them were rectangular windows that were back-lit. I could see figures within. They seem smallish in stature, and were looking at me, or at least out the windows in my direction.
The cone part had port-hole windows and light shone out from there as well. It was so colorful I exclaimed, “Wow. That is so beautiful.” I was not afraid, either. Rather, I felt enchanted, awed.
The UFO was just outside the house, beyond the garden, perhaps 100-feet away. Only later did I ponder how I could see the spaceship through the wall of the house. Secondly, the craft was hovering a few feet off the ground, and somehow the 80-foot high Douglas Firs that usually exist in that spot were missing. From tip of cone to top of dome the UFO appeared to me to be at least 100-feet tall.
Then I realized I could not move. I was paralyzed, lying on my left side and my right arm lay atop my body. The paralysis angered and frightened me. Using techniques and words I had learned at Ramtha’s School, I forced my body to move: “From the Lord God of my Being, I command my arm to move!” Slowly, I was able to raise my right arm off my side. I swept it up in an arc until it was over my head. I continued to focus on control of my body and disconnecting whatever power the aliens had established over it.
However, I was unable to free anything else. I couldn’t move my legs, nor could I turn from my left side. Then the UFO blinked out. It was like someone turned off a switch and the UFO disappeared. However, a thought came into my mind: If you want to play, you gotta pay. I do not know if it was a telepathic communication from the aliens, or my own intuition. I believe it was the latter, because a moment later the UFO blinked on again, as if in confirmation of what I was thinking about the rules of this engagement. But this time the UFO was in drab grays, black and white. The lack of color confirmed to me that if I wanted to continue seeing the UFO’s full display, I would have to surrender fully to the aliens and their agenda. I refused. As if in confirmation of my telepathic message, the UFO blinked out, again, and I have never seen it since. This event occurred in October, 1989.
The next day I told my friend Jeff about the exciting and profoundly lucid UFO dream I had had the night before. Although I had felt myself to be totally awake when I saw the UFO, upon full awakening my rational mind declared that all experiences that happen at night – in bed asleep – must be super-duper dreams no matter how real they seem at the time.
“I don’t know, Bruce. It sounds pretty real to me,” Jeff replied.
“Oh, c’mon, Jeff. UFO’s only happen to other people, not me,” I said without thinking, but with full assurance.
Nevertheless, that night the visitors came back, but in a different manner. Again, I was asleep in Jeff’s house. Instantly, I awoke and sat upright. I was fully awake and sweating profusely. I was also fully aroused sexually. I knew somehow that the aliens were right outside the house, in the woods and were waiting for me to accept their visit. In my mind I intuitively knew – perhaps by telepathy – that they wanted to make a deal with me. They wanted to have sex with me. They needed my sperm. More specifically, they needed my chromosomes. Their purpose was to create a hybrid race, and their species needed human assistance, me, at the moment, to develop the physiologic and genetic structures necessary to hold emotions. Apparently, their race had evolved emotions out of their bodies and they wanted to transform their species in a hybrid fashion by incorporating the emotional dynamism of humans with the wisdom and self-control of their very mature race of beings. This understanding came to me as a complete chunk of information, spontaneously and instantly.
Being aroused, I wanted to say yes, but my mind, which had heard the accounts of the aliens known as “Grays” developing a hybrid race, stalled for time.
“I would love to help you out,” I said telepathically, “but I really can’t handle something like this right now. Why don’t you come back in six months or so and we’ll talk? With that, the intensity was gone and I knew they had left. I got up, made tea, and paced the house for an hour.
The next day I told Jeff about the wacky dreams I had been having in his house.
“They don’t sound so wacky to me, Bruce. Stuff like this happens to others and it sounds like it’s happening to you.”
“C’mon, Jeff. Sex with aliens?
“You never know,” he replied.
The next night it happened again. The exact same scenario as the previous night: I begged off and told the aliens to come back in six months. They left, and I made a cup of tea and paced.
“Jeff,” I said the next day, “it happened again. What should I do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should talk to someone?”
“God, Jeff, are you crazy? You want me to tell people that I’ve been invited to have sex with aliens? And what’s worse, I really would like to, but I’m too scared. On one hand I feel debauched and on the other I feel spineless.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Nothing right now.” That’s how we left it. The following day I returned home to Long Island, New York. Once in the security of my old routine, I told my therapist. She didn’t freak, thank Gawd.
“Bruce, it sounds to me that your subconscious is crying out for attention,” she intoned. “It is telling you that your deepest longings, your deepest romantic desires are not being met, and they seem so far away, so unattainable, so out-of-this-world, that it would be as unlikely as having sex with a creature from outer space.”
She spoke so authoritatively that I believed her.
The above paragraphs were written in 2005, and I’m fortunate that I put the events on paper because my memory now, in 2019, has things jumbled up, and many important details, such as my conversations with Jeff, are lost to the sands of time. Nevertheless, I do remember very clearly what happened next.
Shortly after returning home to Setauket, New York and the woman I had been living with for over a dozen years, Rebecca, I was visited by three aliens. The first of the three was a woman-like figure, about five-feet tall, and she was followed by a typical “Gray,” a being about four-feet tall with grayish-white skin, large head and large, almond-shaped eyes. He was followed by a stout, rolly-polly kind of guy, maybe three feet tall that I’ve nicknamed: “The Beer-Keg Man.”
The lead lady glided to my side of the bed. She was wearing a gray frock dress and appeared to have an Asian-looking face. She also had a black wig, but it was askew. Telepathically, I called out, “What’s with the wig?” She quickly re-arranged it on top of her head. Ever since then, though, I have named her “Suzy Wong” after the NY cabaret artist of the 1960s and ‘70s.
Suzy mounted me, and I turned my head towards Rebecca. “What about her,” I said mentally.
“She’s not part of this. Don’t worry,” Suzy Wong replied.
Suzy was on top of me for a few minutes and I felt myself I ejaculate into her. After she was done, Suzy and her Gray companions left. Then, I fell asleep.
When I awoke the next morning, I was greatly troubled. I had just “cheated” on Rebecca, while she lay next to me in the same bed. I enjoyed the sex, too. As a result, I felt morally bankrupt. Empty. And I was trying to get enlightened at Ramtha’s School? My life felt upside-down.
Fortunately, I had a therapy session that day. When I told my therapist – a solid, kind woman named Holly – she assured me that I was having vivid dreams due to my deeper longings for a more satisfying relationship than I had with Rebecca. That made a lot of sense to me because I had been in therapy with Holly for several years due to my ambivalence about Rebecca, recently amplified by her staunch objections to my studies with Ramtha. In fact, I had begun contemplating leaving Long Island and relocating to Yelm. The song, “I’m Leaving You a Better Man, sung by Clint Black, ran through my head daily. Internally, I knew I was preparing to end my relationship, but externally I didn’t say anything.
But I was squirming with all sorts of anxiety. One day it spilled out, and I told Rebecca of my dreams and Holly’s psychoanalytic interpretations. Rebecca demurred, and it seemed like she thought I was just going through an extended crazy spell. First, it was going to therapy to talk about relationships, then came Ramtha, now extraterrestrials and sex to save their world. Oy vey. Maybe he’ll be back to normal by spring???
Normal didn’t return, though. In the second week of January, 1990, I left Rebecca and moved out of the house. I started living with my parents. However, Rebecca insisted that we try marital therapy and I agreed. Even though she screamed and howled, making sounds I didn’t know a human could utter, I convinced her the relationship was over. We concluded the details quickly, with attorneys making simple arrangements for a buy-out of my share of the house, and everything else being split equitably. From the vantage point of my parents’ house on Long Island, I planned for the future.
Along the way, I met a woman named Karen at a new age book store. She was reading a Ramtha book and I introduced myself. Sometime later we started an affair. She was looking to terminate her own marriage, move to the spiritual sanctuary of Santa Fe, and start a whole new kind of life. She sounded like my kind of gal. So, we helped each other extricate ourselves from our lives in New York and planned a combined western trip.
Karen helped me select an RV trailer, and I moved into a mobile home park in Bayshore, NY. Then in February, I spent another couple of weeks at Ramtha’s School. However, I got a severe case of bronchitis upon my return to New York and crawled back to parental care. In the meantime, Karen used the time to wrap things up in her marriage.
By April, we were ready to move west. However, a few days before we were to depart, I got a call from Jeff. He had started a newsletter for Ramtha students, and asked me to attend a major UFO conference in Trenton, New Jersey and interview the author Zechariah Sitchin. Sitchin had written a very popular book, The Twelfth Planet, in which he describes how extraterrestrials named The Nephilim, from the planet Nibiru, had come to Earth 200,000 years previously and had genetically modified Homo erectus beings into the modern humans of Homo sapiens.
“Sounds like your cup of tea,” Jeff said with a smirky tone. I agreed, and Karen and I went to Trenton.
However, the highlight of the conference for me was not Sitchin. Rather, it was the UFO expert Budd Hopkins. Hopkins specializes in alien abduction cases, and he told a riveting story of a young man who had come to his door the prior week claiming he had been abducted by Grays for the purpose of having sex. As Hopkins described his conversation with this lad, I collapsed to the floor writhing, with my arms wrapped around my chest. Karen reached down and tried to comfort me, or at least steer me away from any of the surrounding chairs.
Slowly, I composed myself and was able to sit back up. Karen put her arms around me. I rocked into her torso, unable to speak. She just held me as best she could.
Something in me had just been triggered by Hopkins’ words. However, I had no clear understanding of what they might be – only that he confirmed for me that my sexual encounters with aliens were real.
By the time Hopkins concluded his presentation, I was able to walk and talk. I went up to him at the podium and described what had just happened to me out in the audience. He offered to help me, suggesting a visit in his office the following week. I declined because of my plans to leave for Yelm. Nevertheless, he countered by giving me the names of several hypnotherapists in the Pacific Northwest who worked with abductees. They might be able to give me some relief, he said. I thanked him, then I left with Karen. I was still very shaken, but I began to consciously accept that I was having sex with aliens.
Before Karen and I left New York, I had one last session with Holly. I told her all about the Trenton episode with Budd Hopkins. I added all the theories I had heard about of aliens having sex to rebuild their genetic pool. It was a lengthy treatise, and Holly listened quietly. When I finished, she took a deep breath, then looked at me quizzically and paused. I filled in her silence.
“You don’t think I’m gonna make it, do you, Holly. You think you’re gonna get a call from some doctor in a hospital emergency room out there in Nebraska somewhere, asking for a clinical consultation on me.”
Holly nodded her head in affirmation. “Yes, I do,” she said.
But our time was up. Our last session had concluded. I thanked Holly for all of her hard work with me over the years – 400 sessions or so – and I walked through the door of her office. However, Holly called out.
“Bruce, wait.” She walked towards me and extended her hand. “Good luck.”
The next day I ended my relationship with Karen, too. There was no particular reason. I only felt deep inside that I needed to make my trip to Yelm unfettered. Karen was furious. Nevertheless, I left New York alone, driving my F-350 filled to the gills and pulling my RV trailer. As I crossed the George Washington bridge and entered New Jersey, I looked in my rear-view mirror and knew that there was no one back there who wanted me to ring their doorbell.
Weeks later I was in New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment. It has always been a special place to me since I had visited when I was sixteen and spent a month at Philmont Boy Scout Ranch. After getting a replacement Philmont belt to accommodate my expanding waistline I spent some time in Santa Fe. Just north of the city I parked my RV in the Pojoaque Pueblo campground, and one night the aliens came back again.
As I was settling comfortably in my RV bunk, I felt the aliens come in the front door. My senses alerted and I tensed up, but then I saw my father’s face at the foot of my bed. “Relax, Bruce,” he said.
Calmed, I eased. But then I realized that it couldn’t be my Dad, and that it was really aliens playing with my mind. Instantly I said telepathically, “Don’t put me under. Don’t mess with me. I can handle this. I want to be conscious. I want to know what is happening.”
But they ignored me. I was paralyzed as I had been in those initial evenings in Yelm the year before. But I could hear things. I remember the crunch of car wheels on a gravel driveway. I heard us pull away from my RV spot at Pojoaque. I just accepted what was to come and rested.
Later in hypnosis I recalled a lot of details from the Pojoaque abduction. First, I was one of several men abducted, and we were all unloaded at a loading dock similar to what might be found at a large medical facility. Then, I was teleported horizontally in the air by some device stuck under my left armpit. As such, I floated along with at least three other guys down a series of hallways that reminded me of the paint jobs I saw at my work at the Northport VA Medical Center in New York.
Later, I was attended by beings who looked like Praying Mantis creatures – one was tall, about six foot, with an insect-like head, legs and arms, and he wore a white lab coat. The “doctor” appeared to be very concerned with my abdomen, but I have never been able to ascertain what procedures he may have been conducting.
In hypnosis I recalled being at the “hospital” for a long period of time, and I was often left unattended. But in the morning, I awoke in my RV bed feeling refreshed.
However, later that day I visited the nearby Bandolier National Monument, which is a sacred site of kivas and cliff-dwelling ruins of ancestral Pueblo Indians. As I walked up the trail to the first set of kivas, I heard a voice in my head.
“We will help you.” It was the aliens.
I knew they were trying to make a deal for sex.
“How will you help me? I countered.
“We will help you survive the earth changes. If you help us, we will help you survive the cataclysms coming to this planet.”
I knew plenty about global climate change, even though most of the world have never heard of the term. But my work in New York managing a beachcleaning operation had exposed me to the reality of the one-foot sea-level rise in New York harbor. Further, on a personal level I had seen vast ecological changes since I had been a kid learning how to swim at Jones Beach on Long Island. The jetties were getting swamped with water at high tide, and sea life, such as the clams and sea weed, no longer had healthy populations in the waters and beaches I had serviced in New York and New Jersey.
Plus, Ramtha had thoroughly educated me on what he called “The Days to Come,” the apocalyptic environmental and physiological changes that were destined for Earth due to pollution, a warming planet, and the collapse of the global food supply. Combined, it was a major reason I wanted to leave New York. Yelm was certainly a safer place to live than the suburbs of NYC.
“So, you’ll help me survive the Days to Come, eh?” I asked the aliens.
“Hmmm.” I pondered. It was a good deal, kind of. On one hand I didn’t know exactly how devastating the Earth Changes would be, but having a bunch of Space Brothers watching my back sounded useful. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to be a guinea pig in somebody else’s regeneration program. Particularly since I had no control over the experience. Yet, I loved the sex, and I especially loved being special – having the status as one of the Chosen Ones for a cross-breeding project. But I hated being paralyzed and rendered unconscious by the aliens. It just didn’t seem right.
“No thanks,” I finally said.
The voices quickly left and I spent the rest of my time at Bandolier unencumbered. However, a week later something else happened that was bizarre and made me think the aliens were looking to impress me in a different fashion. By then I was cruising through Utah on my way to Yelm. North of Moab my eyes began to burn, as if the sunlight was too strong for my sunglasses. I stopped at a gas station and bought the strongest dark-lensed glasses they had. It was insufficient, though, so I wore both pairs as I drove. As I entered the outskirts of Salt Lake City, my eyes were stinging badly, so I had to stop and rest my eyeballs, choosing a Pizza Hut as refuge. Relaxing in the cool and shaded environs, everything returned to normal for me, but when I got back on the road, I was forced to squint through two pairs of sunglasses just to drive. By late afternoon, I couldn’t take any more sun and pulled into a KOA campground north of SLC. Several other travelers had pulled in at the same time and we all lined up at the receptionist’s desk. One guy had a heavy-duty looking pair of sunglasses and I asked him if the glare had affected him. I also told him of my problems driving up from Moab.
He said that he had just come down from Boise, and that he hadn’t experienced any difficulty with the sunlight. However, another camper overheard our conversation and later – when no one else was listening – told me that he, too, had difficulty with the sun, and surprisingly, had also just driven down from Boise.
“Yikes. What do you think is going on?” I asked
“I have no idea,” the quiet camper replied.
Nor do I, to this day. Nor do I know if it has anything to do with aliens, other than the circumstantial timing of the phenomenon.
Nevertheless, days later I was in Yelm, and pulled my trailer next to Jeff’s house in McKenna, WA. Over glasses of wine I recounted my travels and alien encounters. Jeff smiled knowing that he was going to receive a few good stories for his newsletter.
A week or so later, I contacted one of the hypnotherapists that Budd Hopkins had recommended to me, but we couldn’t connect for scheduling reasons. In turn, they referred me to a local gal who did hypnotherapy with alien abductees for free as part of her support of the UFO community. I made an appointment with “Linda” for the next week, and thus began a new chapter in my UFO saga.
Linda lived in Federal Way, WA, about an hour north of McKenna. I expected a deep hypnosis session, like I had seen in abductee videos, where the abductees talked about strange and unworldly experiences.
Instead, my hypnosis sessions with Linda were a kind of gentle, guided-imagery experiences. Nevertheless, they were useful. Elements in those sessions further convinced me something important was happening to me.
First, I got very cold during the hypnosis. Linda had to ply me with blankets even though it was a warm day in June. At one point, she placed every blanket and comforter she possessed on top of me. It felt very heavy, but I was barely warm enough to continue.
Further, Linda helped me clarify many of the clouded memories I had of my experiences. We began with Suzy Wong, and Linda was able to help me slowly pull back the veils. To begin, Suzy Wong was a Gray and not any kind of human being. Rather, Suzy was able to project a “female” image onto my senses. Plus, what I had assumed was her vagina was not any kind of genitalia, but was in fact a metal device that I ejaculated into.
Next, Linda helped me refine all the details of the Pojoaque abduction, assisting me in recovering the details that I have described previously.
In addition, I learned that I had many abductions before 1989, being teleported aboard the Grays’ spaceships for medical-like examinations and procedures. However, the exact nature of them is still a mystery to me. I also met lots of other abductees aboard these craft, and I witnesses other extraterrestrials besides the Grays, such as the Insect guys and tall “Nordics,” who are statuesque, blond-haired fellows.
Surprisingly, Linda couldn’t help at all with the sunglasses phenomenon in Salt Lake City.
In total I had six, two-hour-plus sessions with Linda, and even though I appreciated her assistance in confirming for me the truth of my experiences, I had to stop. The sessions with her sexed me up, Big Time. For relief, I had to stop at a strip club on the way home and have a beer. I also had a growing awareness that Linda was getting aroused as well, and by the end of my last session I felt she was gonna jump my bones.
But we stayed friends. In fact, I became part of her outreach work in the UFO community. In particular, I began attending her support groups for other people abducted for sex. I was shocked to see so many women who claimed that they had mysterious pregnancies, and also bizarre, instantaneous-but-bloodless miscarriages. Linda also invited me to speak at a number of UFO conferences, and I spoke about my experiences at UFO gatherings in Seattle and Vancouver, British Columbia. Linda also recommended that other groups invite me. One was MUFON of Portland, Oregon.
In early 1991, these MUFON folks invited me to talk before a large group about 400 folks at a conference on the campus of the Multnomah County Community College. It was also filmed by the college’s video crew, and later broadcasted on Multnomah County Public Access TV. I understand that it was their most-requested rebroadcast show for the year.
But what stands out for me are two things: The first occurred during the Questions and Answers period. A woman asked me if I believed in God, and that query told me this information was very troubling to many people and on many levels.
The second instance transpired as the gathering was finishing and folks were leaving the auditorium. A young man approached me, trembling, with a worried look in his eye.
“Your talk really touched me,” he said quietly to me.
I stepped up to him closely and whispered, “Have you been having these kinds of experiences, too?”
He nodded in the affirmative and began to weep. I embraced him gently and he sobbed quietly in my arms. I held him for several moments. Eventually, he composed himself and pulled away.
“Thanks,” he said.
“All the best to you, buddy,” I replied. He slowly walked away, and I have never heard from him since. However, it is for him and others like us that I write these words. To do that is very difficult. It’s been a kind of slog that I have put off for years, even decades. I’m not sure why, but it is hard to tell this story. It’s not shame or guilt. It’s more like exhaustion – the exertion of mental energy wrestling with the idea: Is this real? Did I really have sex with aliens? Further, the whole phenomenon is distasteful in some profoundly fundamental manner.
To wit. I ended all contact with the aliens in 1992 – but not before a final series of confrontations with the aliens. Simply, I wanted to see my kids.
In consciousness, I kept asking them for a visit. I figured they would come down and beam me up onto their spaceship so I could see the fruits of our labors. They never showed up, however.
Incensed, I decided to go looking for my kids. “They’re my kids, God Damn It!” I shouted in consciousness. In deep meditation I sought them out. Eventually, I found them.
The kids I saw were a mess. They were tall and skinny, frail and sickly. Imagine a messy detox center for teenage drug addicts. The kids had trouble walking or standing up straight. They could barely talk, only uttering a single word or grunting. They had no sense of rhythm, and the Grays telepathically told me they wanted me to dance with the kids. I had done many forms of music and movement with my psychiatric patients in fourteen years of clinical work, and now, the Grays wanted some Recreation Therapy. Somehow, new-age drum music sprang into our heads and we were in a circle.
“Just feel the music,” I said to the assembled kids. “Feel the deep tones of the drums. Move your hips, move your shoulders.” I had to mirror the movements so they could understand what I was asking them to do.
Our drum session was modestly successful, and the kids had a spark of life in them when I left.
I returned a few days later, and the kids were in a pool. Swimming, or rather walking and paddling in chest-deep water, was something they could do more easily than their life on land. I sat by the side of the pool and watched. Soon, I was joined by a Gray that I had seen at the drum session. He was a Yoda-like character, wise-looking, and old. He indicated that he was in charge of the hybrid program. Telepathically, I asked what he thought of his project.
It has problems, he replied.
It sure does, I retorted. We sat in silence. I wasn’t angry with him for abducting me, nor for creating a bunch of very troubled youth. I sent him the thought that I understood his intentions. Then I left.
The next day, I decided that my relationship with the Grays had to end. I realized that if I had done anything like what they were doing to me, then I would be strung up from the nearest tree. There would never be a trial in court. Kidnappings, abductions, paralyzing me, stealing my sperm, and the ova and fetuses from the women in Linda’s groups – all this was conducted against our will and without any consent. It’s worse than immoral or illegal. It’s utterly unacceptable. For anyone, any race of beings, no matter how technologically advanced they may be, they simply cannot do this.
The Grays need more than human chromosomes for emotional vitality. They need therapy. Or jail.
This is the first time I’ve told this story in twenty-five years. When the aliens left me, I left the story. For a variety of reasons, such as a call for stories from the producers of RISK!, a Seattle-based storytelling outfit, I’ve decided to make my account of alien abduction available to the public. Also, it may be time to dig further into whatever truth is manifested by this story. Here are some ideas I’ve been pondering:
- This story is real as told: There are lots of extraterrestrials and they have been abducting human beings for a long time. One race, the Grays, even though advanced enough technologically transport themselves to Earth, are apparently, not sophisticated enough to genetically modify their own DNA to produce a more vital and dynamic species.
- My story is mythological. As a storyteller, perhaps I’ve tapped into some kind of Collective Unconscious of human beings and have told a “modern” tale of mythic proportions, using modern technology, such as teleportation and genetic engineering to describe a grander truth. As the famous storyteller Michael Meade has famously stated: “Myths tell us a truth that cannot be told any other way.” Hence, I may be following in the footsteps of storytellers from a thousand years ago who told tales of King Arthur pulling swords from stones or epic battles between Good and Evil Forces that included fire-breathing dragons. Now I tell a tale about flying saucers and saving the entire universe through sexual intercourse. As the Beatles sang: All You Need is Love.
- My subconscious is talking. My therapist may be correct, and this story is a reflection of deep, unsatisfied longings. Perhaps I really do feel that love is so unattainable for me that I have to go to Outer Space to find a date.
- Government conspiracy. There is a strong belief in some UFO circles these days that the alien abduction phenomenon and the sub-text of a “sex with aliens” program, is orchestrated by rogue elements in government, intelligence agencies and military services worldwide to foster public fear and stoke the current political turmoil towards immigration, racial strife, and nationalism. The believers of this scenario also claim that governments are using reverse-engineered UFO craft to perform the abductions – so these folks do believe in the presence of extraterrestrials. Hence, it is possible that I have been a participant in this program, and my current anxieties about telling this story are a reasonable response to kicking the hornet’s nest of the powerful forces behind this campaign of intimidation and control.
Through the month of August, 2019, as producers of RISK have asked me for revisions to this story for possible inclusion in their September 2019 podcasts, I’ve had to grapple with the meaning of this tale. At first, I was scared. One day, I wept on the phone with Jeff telling him about the ongoing RISK exposure.
Then I got worried – what if the government agent masterminds came after me? What then? In response, I searched the Internet for the latest postings on alien abduction. First, I was saddened to learn that Budd Hopkins passed away several years ago. Fortunately, his videos are plentiful and offered me much solace. I received similar reassurances from Dr. John Mack, whose PEER research program on abductions I joined twenty-five years ago. Sadly, Dr. Mack was killed in a traffic accident a dozen or so years ago.
But the videos that Mack and Hopkins have left behind reassured me of several key ingredients. Mack’s work led him to believe that some kind of benefit came to the abductees, their fears and pain notwithstanding. He felt it was some kind of “connectiveness,” a bonding with the aliens that was sublime and meaningful.
Hopkins didn’t overtly dispute that perspective, but added that all the abductees felt they were violated by being taken without their consent, yet were generally open to helping the extraterrestrials if they simply explained their plans and asked for assistance. That is my view, also.
Further, Hopkins added that the only real knowledge we have of the aliens come from the abductees and what we remember, either consciously or under hypnosis. There is very little concrete proof of the aliens and their abduction – only a few indentations in the dirt from a UFO landing, or a couple burnt branches from a craft’s liftoff. Couple this dynamic with the fact that most abductees report various kinds of memory implants, such as my thinking I was having sex with a female alien when I was actually engaging a metallic device, so how far can we trust any of our memories? Could they all be false? Could the whole abduction scenario be One Big Memory Implant?
With the passing of Dr. Mack and Budd Hopkins other researchers have taken center stage. One is David Jacobs, who appears kindly in videos but his views are frightening. Jacobs says he has investigated over one-thousand abduction cases, and he feels the sex-with-aliens cross-breeding program has exploded in scale and scope. Apparently, the sex is not to replenish the gene pool of our space brothers, but rather is a transformative process to create a new breed of humans – one adapted to an alien life-style and conditioned to follow their agenda, whatever that is. Jacobs even says that many of the hybrids, whom he calls hubrids, are now inhabiting Earth and living among us – even getting apartments and jobs!
But Jacobs has no concrete proof of this. Again, it comes from hypnotic regression sessions with real humans, apparently. So, even though the scenario of hubrids is terrifying, if may be just another implanted false memory.
But what is the point of all of this?
I contemplated these questions over the latter part of August, and developed a new understanding: There may not be any abductions or hybrid people. Rather, the whole exercise may be a process to get us out of our social conditioning about what it means to be a human being. The abduction-hybrid scenario may be a grand scheme to shock us out of mental constructions and evolve our consciousness to something greater.
If we drop the labels we use to characterize all the beings who have impacted human development, such as Jesus, Ramtha, and the Nephilim from Nibiru, adding in the more mundane fellows from history such as the prophets, Mohammad and Buddha, and just call them Beings From Elsewhere, or BFEs, we have a new understanding of how humans evolve. Perhaps the BFEs are essential to our growth. Maybe the Grays and the abducting aliens are BFEs, helping us to become greater than what we have been? Maybe Star Trek’s Prime Directive of non-involvement is false. Perhaps the BFEs have been intervening in human history since the beginning of time.
Maybe the BFEs have been interacting with humans in simple and mundane ways, besides grand events, such as giving us the genetics to develop our frontal lobes and the advanced neocortices of our brains. Have the different races of human – Asians, Africans, and Caucasians been a result of BFE intervention?
How about the Sumerian legends that Zecharia Sitchin touted? Did BFEs, in the form of the Nephilim, interbreed with humans to create an elite human group to control the people of Earth? Sitchin, in The Wars of Gods and Men, suggests just that. Are Greek myths actually real history? Are there beings who are half “God” and half human, as these tales claim? Was Zeus just an early hubrid, leading a whole tribe of hubrids, such as Apollo, Aphrodite, Horus, etc.?
How about the pharaohs of Egypt? Just another bunch of hubrids? But skilled enough to build pyramids that out-engineer anything we can build these days.
Or the grand ruins in Cusco and elsewhere in the Aztec Empire? More evidence of interventions of BFEs and tech-savvy hubrids?
Regardless, I consider my work studying the science of consciousness at Ramtha’s School of Enlightenment to be vital to me, and is perhaps a precursor of the education others will obtain if they choose to evolve in this way.
Humanity be at a crossroads. Some may choose to evolve, and will find a way to survive global climate change and all of its accompanying cataclysms. Others may not, and will choose to live in denial until Mother Nature says otherwise.
This may be a time akin to when Neanderthals lived on the planet alongside the new humans with frontal lobes, developing speech and advanced cognitive thoughts. Both survive for a while, but ultimately the more advanced beings dominate.
Or do those who evolve in consciousness become interdimensional beings, akin to the aliens who are abducting us? Perhaps we fly off to other universes and leave Earth for those who choose to live here – its rising waters and temperatures notwithstanding.
I will be telling this story at the RISK! storytelling concert in Seattle, Washington on Thursday, September 19, 2019. The show will be held at Fremont Abbey, and starts at 8 pm. Tickets are $25.
4201 Fremont Avenue
Parking is readily available on local streets.
For more information: http://risk-show.com/tour/