I was about three years old when we moved out of the city, into a bigger house. At last, my own bedroom, at last, fresh air. I felt relieved, because the old living room in our previous home weighed heavily on me: it was thick with voices, distorted sounds, a sticky vibration that seemed to cling to my skin even when I left the room. It wasn’t a neutral presence, it was unpleasant, invasive, like a clingy membrane that won’t go away, creating interference and static noise, tuned to fear.
When that density became too much, I would take refuge in the broom cupboard with a few toys. Only there could I find silence and space to breathe.
Back then I didn’t yet have a name for all this, I hadn’t realised I was losing my natural sense of wholeness, forgetting details of those Beings who had already moved alongside me. The move brought changes: new habits, new friendships and new experiences. By day, the noise of life, and that caused by the sticky distortion clinging to me , seemed to sweep away the memories of interactions with Beings I had known, along with the less pleasant sensations I had felt in the old house. At the same time, alas, I had replaced the clean, safe space of the cupboard with the noise itself, which had become a refuge to silence what I was truly feeling.
But as evening approached and night fell, everything became more audible, more perceptible, sometimes even visible. My senses would reawaken. I felt that, beyond the spirits of the dead, there were other Beings… “new” ones. Distortion, it really does play cruel tricks, doesn’t it? They weren’t new at all, but fragmentation had already done its work.
Sometimes people have asked if my parents were aware of all this. Yes , but they didn’t see or sense anything. So when I ran to them in the day or in the night saying “There’s someone in my room,” they would try to reassure me by explaining that no one was there, but to me, reality was quite different. They couldn’t even begin to imagine what was happening. Times have changed, and in recent years they’ve met people with experiences similar to mine. And although they don’t live these things directly, they now know the world is a little rounder, more faceted, than they once believed.
Let’s go back to the contacts I had, especially those that happened at night. I could sense Beings at the foot of my bed (the “new” ones), I felt the vibration, the rustle of feet on the floor and the sensation of being called. I would fall asleep and wake with the sense that someone had been calling me, that something was drawing my attention. I don’t recall ever feeling afraid of them. I was more focused on sharpening my vision, both physical and non-physical, to understand who they were. I remember laughing. What I thought was that they were children, or at least fun like children. The feeling was pleasant and playful.
Clear within me, even now, is the memory of recurring dreams, always the same. I was asleep, and while dreaming I had the sensation of being carried somewhere in someone’s arms. I didn’t feel like I was in my bed. It felt like a kind of dream. Then, inside the dream, I would wake up. I’d be standing, and together with a Being who seemed very tall, we would enter a room.
We had to wait there, at the start of that long, rectangular room. I had to be patient, because it was important not to move from that spot. To me it felt like a waiting room. On the right-hand side, high up on the wall, there were windows or lights emitting a bright light. At the far end, opposite where we stood, was the entrance to another corridor. There was no door. It was dark, and I wasn’t to move in that direction until the light in that corridor was switched on.
The Being beside me was kind, but the instructions were clear and non-negotiable. He understood I was a child and wanted to run off and play, but first I had to wait patiently. I have no brothers or sisters, but his tone was like that of an older brother looking after me.
After a while, the lights in the other corridor would begin to switch on. The moment another Being became visible, that was the moment we could approach calmly. As for what I still remember, seen from a distance he seemed very tall, with dark grey skin like a shark’s. His head was a bit elongated, it reminded me of an octopus, or at least had a rounded shape that made me think of one. His arms were long and slender. I can’t say for sure if he looked exactly like the one beside me, because I was standing next to him. Curious as ever, I tried to look, but when I brought my gaze closer to his shoulder, I could no longer see anything.
We might call these “alien encounters” in the broadest sense of the term, without reference to any specific race.
When we reached the threshold of the other corridor, there was a flash of light. I would probably fall back asleep in that moment, the dream within the dream, and then wake up to find myself somewhere else. The air and atmosphere seemed to vibrate, producing imperceptible waves. I felt my attention drawn deeply into myself, into the movements of my body, so my perception of the space around me was only partial.
Someone behind me would guide me along corridors. I don’t recall much light. I was accompanied to a doctor who would examine me and ask me questions. The feeling was that he was someone familiar, someone who knew me very well. I felt calm, almost amused. From what I remember, his face always looked the same. His appearance was human, though whether this was my mind translating what I saw, or a screen memory, in the end makes little difference. One thing is sure: when I was little, he had endless patience and gentleness. He would sit me up on a cupboard, that alone was funny and ask how I was and what I’d learned. Then I would fall asleep again. I’d wake up later, in the middle of the night, back in my own bed.
There were other children like me. Sometimes we would learn together in a classroom, other times we were taken to our own individual learning rooms. As an adult, over the years, some details have changed and others haven’t. Beyond these forms of contact, there were other ones too which, for a long time, I experienced as disturbing. And at the time, they were. Now I know that those were moments in which my mind struggled to comprehend the intensity of what I was experiencing because I didn’t yet have the tools to understand.
Only more recent events have revealed the coherence and resonance within a much wider pattern.
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