It is late here, midnight passing. December has come again,
and for the past few months I have been enduring the same
demonic nights that I experience every year at this time, as
my spirit relives the hard pilgrimage that led to the night
of December 26, 1985.
The feelings are so complex, the fears so deep and the love,
too, so deep, that sometimes, even after all these years,the
whole emotional avalanche of having the visitors emerge
into my life threatens to drown me.
It was not all bad, not by any means, and that what makes my
present condition so hard. I have lost loves, great loves,
towering loves, left behind me a life and experiences that
are somewhere close to the pinnacle what can happen to a
living man.
I know that what I did is considered nothing--the foolish
bagatelles of a pitiful man with a deranged imagination, or
even a frank liar--but it was all real, and there was far
more of it than I have ever said, and I am so lonely now
that it is a physical agony, and yet, along with the
loneliness there is also a fear that is greater than my
blood, greater than my soul, I would think, that breaks me
on its wheel in these lonely hours in the early winter,
every year.
I have lived most of my life, and over its course been given
a great blessing, to see truly and accurately to a land
beyond death, and see its sacred population, and even gain
friends there.
But what did it mean? Is there really an afterlife, or was
it a trick to force me into the state of question in which I
now live? Am I standing before a door, or, like Tantalus,
doomed to forever seek a meal I will never consume in the
form of answers I will never receive.
I am deeply, profoundly angry at the way I have been treated
by the world. I brought one of the premiere human
experiences to the surface and my reward has been a mock
Science Fiction Hugo, and to become a star of the television
show Southpark as the victim of a 'rectal probe'--the
character skillfully changed, of course, so that I could not
sue or claim theft of my story.
It hurts to get raped and it humiliates beyond what you may
be able to believe. Indeed, it humiliated me so much that it
took me twenty years to tell my own wife the frank truth of
it. Seeing myself
mocked week after week on television, and not just on
Southpark, God knows, and knowing that I was
telling the truth and they were tormenting me because they
believed otherwise, was a horrible thing.
I have been hounded also by official sources. Right before
my last nonfiction book "Confirmation" was published, Parade
Magazine suddenly printed a false story that I was a
temporal lobe epileptic and had given a large contribution
to the Epilepsy Foundation.
This story had been placed there to destroy my credibility,
and it worked. Sales of my books were already plummeting
because of Southpark and other tormentors. I got Parade to
publish a retraction, but the damage was done.
So I have known all these years that there were dark forces
involved in this, forces that want to keep mankind weak and
confused, and never let him out.
Now, in this late hour at the age of sixty three, I feel an
extraordinary bitterness. What a waste, all that knowledge
and relationship! But I was driven broke with my courageous
wife to a life far away in Texas. Since then the people who
bought the house haven't noticed a thing, but is was not
for the house that the visitors came, it was for me.
What a rich trove of knowledge is being wasted by denying
their reality, and not just what I have to offer. I'm only a
small part of a great movement that will, in the end, affect
human life and human meaning more profoundly than anything
else that has happened across the whole reach of history.
And we pretend it isn't even happening.
The visitors told me that we came out of a race of lemurs,
which explains out our love of bright objects. For millions
of years longer than we have had civilization, we reached
for the fruits in the trees, and our material culture is the
result. Show a human being a jewel or a bright automobile,
and he feels the same lust and the same delight that our
ancient forebears felt when they saw a bright, ripe berry.
We live in a civilization that uses fuel to make fire, and
fire to change the chemistry of thousands of materials, and
make object. In other words, we have a material culture
based on fire.
But the visitors do not. They gather their energy in other
ways and their culture has other aims. These have to do with
the only thing of any real value, which is the soul--what
the Master of the Key called "conscious energy."
This, not cars and boats and diamonds, is what this
universe--and the life of man, too--is all about.
The Romans had steam-powered toys, but the idea of using
engines never crossed their minds. Go to Rome now, and see
the result of their failure to grasp their own true needs.
We are in the same position now, but with a huge difference.
Be it dark or light, dangerous or glorious, or all of the
above, something extraordinary is beckoning to us out of the
night, toward a future that we are refusing to embrace.
If we do not embrace it, our future is absolutely clear. To
see it, all you need to do is walk the bare bones of the old
Roman Forum.
Oh, well, it is late here. I'm tired and feeling beaten to
death. I must give up the ghost, its been a
long day.
