Remote Viewing: Ten Thousand Roads

One With the Star People

Stage Two yielded an array of interesting sense impressions. For a nano-second I was fizzing, before feeling something smooth and polished under the ghostly probe of my imagined fingertips. A hot, zinc-like taste flashed across my taste buds. Somewhere ozone crinked the air. Pausing to guage the dimensions of my target I receievd a general sense of something curved, flattened at one end…and moving fast. The first AOL flashed into my mind: rocket. Declare, abandon, move on.

A flood of aesthetic impressions had me scribbling; fast moving, off world, secretive, silent. Stifling my excitement I took several deep breatsh and ploughed on into Stage 3, my pen nib a blur, my mind barely registering the furious strokes as I rendered what appeared to be several ‘folded pancake’ shaped objects across my page. A sudden burst of energy made me recoil, as if my pen had in somehow connected with something live and electric on the page before me.

Stay calm. Stay in structure. Stage Four.

Tumbling quickly down the page, a cascading waterfall of data as my target slowly began to reveal itself to my mute, quietened mind. My columns filled with information suggestive of a craft in flight, of strange propulsion at work (’plasma‘ and ‘molecules‘), tremendous feats of oddly ‘quantum dynamics.’   

Too much. I was losing myself to AOLs of off-worldly craft, declaring AOL: UFO in the corner of my page, tensing with the joy at my contact with something undreamt of in the general philosophy, existing beyond the boundaries of the epistemological norm. I needed to slow down or change my focus.

I decided to choose the latter. The session was flowing too well for me to break contact altogether and so instead I marked out a change of cue, declaring my intention to move instead to the life form present at the target site. Having returned to my co-ords and scribbled another ideogram I sat back and allowed the target to come to me in the form of half-glimpsed visions and a variegated miasma of sense impressions.

I gathered the impression of being watched by a being of immense mental power, an entity rooted in a reality in which I was merely a mote, a fleck in the eye of some collective and unseen host. As though stroked by pale, ghoul-like skin I remember recoiling somewhat, only to be soothed by a pale green light that flickered across my field of mental vision. The words ‘peace’ and ‘communicate’ sounded somewhere at the back of my brain…for a second I was high above the clouds…now zipping past snowy mountain tops, through deep, verdant valleys….as by my side a tall figure with large eyes radiated benevolence, though only sensed, never seen.

Dutifully (and with no small degree of regret) I pulled myself free from the matrix and recorded my impressions in the columns before me, pausing when I had done so to probe the IT column in the hope that more could be gleaned on the underlying nature of the being whose space I had so gratefully shared. ‘My child,’ I wrote. ‘You are of the star people. You are as us. We are you as will be.’

With that a wave of emotion smashed against my intent and dropped my pen, collapsing back into my chair with an audible sigh. For several minutes I remained just so, as the room darkened around me, the faces in the photographs on the walls slowly lost to the shadows, the trees in the garden outside swaying silent against at greying sky, solemn, austere, as though awaiting some dark, hidden verdict.

‘You are of the star people.’ So had said the strange being with the grey skin as we flashed through the sky together. Through the act of remote viewing I had joined him on his craft to recieve his message to me, to us, to all mankind. I rarely admit to tears. Here, I cried.

My target. What was my target? Plucking the sealed brown envelope from the table before me I turned on the light and pulled at the paper. Not that my inner journey needed confirmation; I had been on target, I knew it…how could I have not been? My tears were evidence enough, as was the reassuring hush of the being’s presence that I could feel even now as I tore open the envelope and held my target to the light…please describe the focus of this photograph:

Bollocks.