By Bruce A. Smith
This story is my tale of being abducted by aliens, and since it’s based solely upon my memories it may not be true, at least in the usual sense of that word. But I know it has a truth, one that lies beneath the recalled events of the case, and it may reflect a truth so deep that it speaks to the part of us that does not need facts or evidence, or even logic, yet can touch unfathomable depths. It may be a truth that is quantum and holistic, one that is a truth of another world that has no words in this one. Regardless, it is not fiction.
My first conscious recall of having contact with Extra Terrestrials occurred at my friend Jeff’s house in McKenna, Washington in October, 1989. I had been staying with Jeff while I attended a retreat at Ramtha’s School of Enlightenment in Yelm, and one night I awoke abruptly and sat upright. I was fully awake and sweating profusely. I was also fully aroused sexually. I knew somehow that 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 have sex with me and were asking my permission. 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 de-evolved over the millennia, and emotionality had left their bodies. As a result, they wanted to reconfigure their species by incorporating the emotional dynamism of humans with the wisdom and self-control of their matured race. This understanding came to me that night as a complete chunk of information, spontaneously and instantly.
Being aroused, I wanted to say yes, but I stalled for time. I was scared. Even though I had heard accounts from Ramtha, and others, that the aliens known as “Grays” needed human genetic material to replenish their race and being a donor was a worthy project, I hesitated.
“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 of the moment was gone and I knew they had left. I got out of bed, 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. But when I awoke, I was lying rigidly on my left side, paralyzed. The aliens asked to have sex with me and I begged off. “Like I told ya, come back in six months,” I said telepathically.
But they did not leave, nor did they release me. Angry at being dominated, I willed my mind to say words I had learned at Ramtha’s School for critical moments like this: “From the Lord God of my Being, I command my arm to move. Slowly, I was able to raise my right arm off my body and into the air. I swung it behind me, as if I was pointing to something at the far end of the room. My eyes followed my arm’s movement, and I saw the UFO. 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, almost 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. In addition, 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.
Although I could move my arm, 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.
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 awakening my rational mind declared that all experiences that happen while asleep must be super-dooper 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. After a moment of pondering, I added, “Jeff, what should I do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should talk to someone?”
“Gawd, Jeff, are you crazy? You want me to tell people that I’ve been invited to have sex with aliens? And what’s worse, is that 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, Holly. She didn’t freak out, 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 unattainable, so out-of-this-world, that it would be as unlikely as having sex with a woman from outer space.”
Holly spoke so authoritatively I believed her.
The above was 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 Sea Cliff, New York and my wife Rebecca, the aliens came back in force. One night in early December of 1989, I again had a lucid dream experience. Feeling fully awake, I saw an oddly-shaped women enter the bedroom I shared with Rebecca. She glided to my side of the bed. She appeared to be about five-foot tall. She was slender and had an Asian-looking face. She wore a black-haired wig, but it was askew. Telepathically, I called out, “What’s with the wig?” She quickly re-arranged it on top of her head. She looked cute, an ever since then I have named her “Suzy Wong,” after the NYC 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 suppose I ejaculated into her. I know I was fully aroused, but I have no memory of an orgasm. Neither mine nor hers.
During this escapade, two Grays came into the room. One was the traditional looking type – a short figure with big head and black, almond-shaped eyes. The second was a short, dumpy guy with a round head and face, and a silly-looking grin on his face. But he only stayed for a minute.
After a few moments of afterglow, Suzy and her Gray companions left, but I don’t remember seeing them leave. Apparently, I had fallen asleep at that point.
When I awoke, I was greatly troubled. I had just “cheated” on Rebecca, with her in the same bed. I enjoyed the sex, too. As a result, I felt morally bankrupt. Empty. And I’m trying to get enlightened at Ramtha’s School? My life felt upside-down.
Fortunately, I had a therapy session that day. When I told 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 studying 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, I was going to therapy to talk about our relationship, then came Ramtha, now Extra Terrestrials 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, and started living with my parents. However, Rebecca insisted that we try marital therapy and I agreed. Even though she screamed and howled, 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’ home 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 and move to the spiritual sanctuary of Santa Fe to start a whole new 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 Zecharia 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 250,000 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 his usual 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-logist Budd Hopkins. Hopkins specialized 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, 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 you some relief,” he said.
I thanked him, then 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 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 finally.
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 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.
I didn’t drive directly to Yelm, but rather took a meandering course through America. First, I toured the Serpent Mounds and then explored the Cahokia Ruins outside of St. Louis. 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 had 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 visited 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 just 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 transported in a blue van, one that looked like a Navy vehicle. Plus, I was one of several men abducted, and we were all unloaded at a shipping dock similar to what might be found at a large medical facility, such as a VA Medical Center. Then, I was teleported horizontally in the air by some device stuck under my left armpit. As such, I floated along in the company of three other guys down a series of hallways that reminded me of the architecture I had seen during my work at the Northport VAMC 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 from the 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 had never heard of the term. But my work in New York managing a beachcleaning operation had exposed me to the reality of sea-level rise, already one-foot above historical norms 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 Point Lookout 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 north of Hopi Land and passing 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, darkest, sunglasses they had. They were insufficient, though, so I wore both pairs as I drove. Nevertheless, as I entered the outskirts of Salt Lake City, my eyes were stinging so badly I had to stop and rest my eyeballs. I chose a Pizza Hut as refuge. Relaxing in the shaded environs, everything returned to normal. But when I got back on the road, I was forced to squint hard through two pairs of sunglasses just to drive. Within an hour, 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. 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 form of guided-imagery experiences. Nevertheless, they were useful. Elements in those sessions 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 evening 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 witnessed other extraterrestrials besides the Grays and Mantis People, such as tall “Nordics,” who are statuesque, blond-haired fellows.
Surprisingly, Linda couldn’t help at all with the sunglass phenomenon in Salt Lake City.
In total, I had six, two-hour 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 and watch the show. 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 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 group of 400 aficionados 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 carefully, trembling, with a worried look in his eye.
“Your talk really touched me,” he said quietly.
I stepped towards him 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 guilt or remorse; it’s more like PTSD exhaustion – the exertion of mental energy wrestling with the idea: Is this real? Did I really have sex with aliens? What do I do about it? Further, the whole phenomenon is distasteful in some fundamental manner.
Eventually, I ended all contact with the aliens – but not before a final series of confrontations with the Grays in 1992. Simply, I wanted to see my kids.
In consciousness, I had been asking them for a visit. I figured they would want some fatherly love for the kids, and would come down and beam me up onto their spaceship. However, they never showed up.
Incensed, I decided to go looking on my own. “They’re my kids, too, 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 frail and sickly – imagine an unkempt detox center for impoverished teenage drug addicts. They could barely talk, only uttering a single word, or grunting. The kids had trouble walking or standing up straight, and had no sense of rhythm. The Grays telepathically told me they wanted me to dance with the kids. Prior, I had done years of music and movement therapy with my psychiatric patients in fourteen years of clinical work, and now, the Grays wanted me to make an intervention with these troubled kids. Somehow, drum music sprang into our heads and we formed 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 their otherwise dulled eyes when I left.
I returned a few days later, and the kids were in a pool. Swimming, or rather walking in chest-deep water, was something they could do more easily than navigate 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. Kidnapping and paralyzing me, taking my sperm – along with stealing 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. 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.
One day soon afterwards, as I locked the gate to Jeff’s place in McKenna, I simply said out loud, “No more.” I have never had a visitation from the ETs since.
Now, in 2019, it’s 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 podcast outfit, I’ve decided to make my account of alien abduction available to the public. Also, it’s time to dig further into whatever truth inhabits 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 to transport themselves to Earth, are apparently not sophisticated enough to genetically modify their own DNA to produce a more vital species. Hence, they’re having sex with guys like me.
- My story is mythological. 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, even though I don’t know exactly what it is. Storyteller Michael Meade has famously stated: “Myths tell us a truth that cannot be told any other way.” Thus, 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 entire universes through sexual intercourse. Why? Well, maybe the Beatles said it best when they sang: All You Need is Love.
- My subconscious is talking. My therapist may be correct and this story reflects deep, unsatisfied longings. Perhaps I really do feel that romantic love is so unattainable for me that I have to go to Outer Space to find a girlfriend.
- Government conspiracy. There is a strong belief in some UFO circles that the alien abduction phenomenon and the sub-genre of a “sex with aliens” program are conducted by rogue elements in governments worldwide, using reverse-engineered UFO craft to perform the abductions. It’s all a scheme to generate public fear and stoke the current political turmoil towards immigration, racial strife, and nationalism. Therefore, it is possible that my anxieties about telling this story are a reasonable response to kicking the hornet’s nest of these powerful forces.
Through the month of August, 2019, as I developed this story for the producers of RISK!, I had to grapple with the meaning of this tale. At first, I was scared – what if the government conspiracy scenario was real? Would the bastards really come for me now? One day, I wept on the phone with Jeff telling him about my anxieties from the ongoing RISK! exposure.
Seeking clarity, I searched the Internet for the latest postings on alien abduction. First, I was saddened to learn that Budd Hopkins had died several years ago. Fortunately, his videos are plentiful, and they offered me much solace. I received similar reassurances from Dr. John Mack, whose PEER research program on abductions I joined twenty-five years earlier. Sadly, Dr. Mack was killed in a traffic accident a dozen years ago.
But the videos that Mack and Hopkins have left behind reassured me of several key ingredients, namely: Some kind of benefit came to the abductees – their fear and pain notwithstanding. Mack felt it was some kind of “connectiveness” between the abductees and aliens that was sublime and meaningful. Gawd knows I could use more of that, I mused.
Hopkins didn’t dispute that perspective. But he 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.
Further, Hopkins also stated that the only real knowledge we have of the hybridization program comes 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 of scoop marks on an abductee’s body. Couple this 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 completely 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 just to replenish the gene pool of our space brothers whose hybrids stay back home on Planet X, but is also a transformative process to create a new breed of humans here on earth as well – humans adapted to alien life and conditioned to their values. Jacobs says that these hybrids look completely human, and he calls them hubrids, adding that they are currently inhabiting Earth and living among us. Even getting apartments and jobs!
But Jacobs has no concrete proof of this. Again, it all comes from hypnotic regression sessions with real abductees. So, even though the scenario of hubrids is terrifying, it may be just another implanted false memory.
Nevertheless, what is the point of all of this?
I contemplated these questions over the latter part of August 2019, and developed a new understanding: There may not be any abductions or hybrid people. Rather, the whole exercise may be a psychological process designed 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 restrictions and evolve our consciousness into something greater.
First, let’s drop the labels we use to characterize all the beings who have impacted human development, such as Jesus and Ramtha, and just call them Beings From Elsewhere, or BFEs. Add to the mix other religious fellows from history, such as Buddha and Muhammad. Maybe the Grays and the abducting aliens are BFEs, too, helping us to become greater than what we have been. Thus we may have a new understanding of how humans evolve. Perhaps ETs and ascended masters – the whole BFE entourage – are essential to our growth. Perhaps the “Prime Directive of Non-Involvement” in Star Trek movies is false. Perhaps the BFEs have been intervening in human history since the beginning of time, and it’s been essential.
Consider the Sumerian legends that Zecharia Sitchin touted in his books, such as The Twelfth Planet. Did BFEs, in the form of the Nephilim, first engineer the development of Homo erectus – the human-like hominids that evolved from the apes – 250,000 years ago? Then, they upgraded again 40,000 years ago, creating Homo sapiens by installing frontal lobes in our brains so we could talk and express “executive decision-making?”
After that, did they then again breed with these humans to create an elite hybrid group to control the people of Earth? Sitchin, citing Sumerian clay tablets as his source, states in his The Wars of Gods and Men that there are beings who are half “God” and half-human, just as our mythic tales claim. So, are the Greek myths real history? Was Zeus just an early hybrid or hubrid, leading a whole tribe of hybrids/hubrids, such as Apollo, Aphrodite, Horus, etc.?
But where are they now? Or did they all continue to inter-breed with the “regular” humans, and we now find their offspring living as corporate CEOs, politicians, and priests?
Are the Grays and others continuing to tinker with human development? How many of our recent technological advances are really our own, and how many come via alien assistance? How about societal changes? Music? Art? Literature? How profound is the influence of the BFEs?
Regardless, I consider my work studying the science of consciousness at Ramtha’s School of Enlightenment to be vital to me, and it’s perhaps a precursor of the education others will obtain if they choose to evolve towards “super-consciousness,” what this advanced – and destined – state of being is called by Ramtha, as I understand him.
Humanity may be at a crossroads. Some may choose to transform themselves and 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 decides otherwise.
This may be a time akin to when Neanderthals lived on the planet alongside the new humans – Homo sapiens – who were busy developing speech and advanced cognitive abilities. Both groups survived for a while on parallel tracks, but ultimately the more advanced beings dominated. Ironically, all European-based humans have DNA that is 2% Neanderthal.
Perhaps those who evolve in consciousness will become interdimensional beings, akin to the aliens who are abducting us. Perhaps we’ll fly off to other universes and leave Earth for those who choose to remain, along with its rising waters, storms and starvation.
That may be the real mission of those beings we call aliens.
This is where my mind rested until early 2021. Then, I watched a documentary titled, “First Contact,” and my perspective flipped. “First Contact” is a docu on an enlightened being named Bashar, and is produced by Darryl Anka, the fellow who channels Bashar.
“First Contact” holds that the initial interaction between ETs and humans will come in the form of telepathy – and by extension, channeling – since Bashar has been communicating to human beings via Anka since the mid-1980s.
I find Bashar to be a kind and funny guy with savvy insights on how to live mindfully. “Follow your passion,” seems to be his primary advice to humans, but his ultimate goal appears to be preparing us for an interdimensional life fueled by a super-consciousness, to borrow Ramtha’s term. In fact, Bashar is intimately involved in the Grays’ cross-breeding program, and my understanding of his work is that humans will blend into the Grays – who are really our descendants from the future – and form a new species he calls Homo galacticus.
A lofty goal, for sure, but when I contemplated Bashar’s visions for the future I was tripped-up by my anger at the Grays for violating me back in the day.
Fortunately, Bashar has monthly sessions online that he calls “transmissions,” and I signed up for one. Plus, Bashar entertains questions from the audience, which can be submitted prior to the event. So, I submitted my question: How can the wonderful goals of expanded consciousness and hyper-dimensional living be reconciled by the rape, torture and involuntary confinement that comes with the hybridization program? Thankfully, Bashar answered me.
“The fear you experienced,” he said, as I remember the conversation, “is rooted in the fact that your government, your society, and all the conditioning you received as a being growing up, has suppressed the knowledge that UFOs are real and that the hybridization program has been on-going for a long time. Add to that – remember – the beings that were abducting you did not have the capacity to understand what you were feeling. They did not have the emotional basis to understand what you were experiencing. They just didn’t know, which is exactly why the hybridization program was created in the first place.”
My anger melted away when I heard those words. Now, I see my abductions in a whole new light – how could I have participated in any other way? Confusion still lingers a bit, though, and I ask: Why were the Grays so ham-fisted in their approach to me? Couldn’t they have gotten advice or supervision from other ETs who do have emotions, such as the Reptilians or Arcturians? I don’t know the answer the that question, but I’ll definitively ask when I meet the boss of the hybridization program.
In the meantime, I’m looking for overt contact with the Grays. I’ve been educating myself – reading and watching numerous videos on the abduction experience – to prepare myself for physical contact.
Plus, I’ve taken a page from Ramtha’s recent book on ETs: UFOs and the Nature of Reality – Preparing for Contact, and have developed a contract for contact:
- I remain conscious during all contacts. No false memories, no paralysis, no forgetfulness.
- Contact must be arranged prior to meeting. No surprises, no shocking encounters. Send a buzzing sound, or leave a rock in my mailbox. Or leave a message on my phone.
- All genetic and biological sampling must be consensual and done consciously, ie: sperm, sex, etc.
- I am willing to work with the hybrid kids, teaching them how to be “more human.”
- I can terminate any contact at any time for any reason.
In the days since viewing “First Contact” I have not had any obvious sign of the ETs. But I have had anomalies: a hat slipped off a shelf in the middle of the night and hit me in the face, awakening me; an insulation pillow fell from the skylight above my desk, which was a first ever. Earlier, my clock stopped multiple times inexplicably, even after changing the batteries several times; the electric heater by my desk stopped working for days, but then resumed normal functioning and hasn’t quit since. Then, my sugar jar went missing for a day and a half until I found it in my refrigerator. Teleportation, or a reflection of absentmindedness? I ponder both possibilities.
Bashar teaches an exercise to envision infinite universes, and I find it utterly mind-expanding. In addition, Bashar says he comes from a parallel Earthen universe, so it appears the future of Homo galacticus will involve multiple universes, parallel realms, and hyperdimensional realities. No wonder learning how to communicate telepathically is our first step towards that evolution.
A drawing of the UFO I saw in 1989 through the walls of my friend Jeff’s house in McKenna, Washington.
Note: I will be starting a support group for all those who have experienced these kinds of happenings. The purpose will be three-fold: process our experiences, address the traumas, and prepare for conscious contact. For more information, contact the Mountain News-WA.
Bruce A. Smith