It had been twenty months since my last encounter. When we lost our cabin in upstate New York, my thrilling life of weekly and even daily encounters ended. In the years in the little condo in Texas– hard years of poverty and struggling to make ends meet– I had only two encounters. For the whole first year, I would meditate night after night. I grew angry, I became bereft. I would wake myself and my wife up crying in my sleep.
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The more implants get removed and convincing UFO footage appears, the more concrete the visitors become. But is this good? If we become absolutely convinced that they are real, will that be the trigger that brings them pouring into our lives?
I don’t know, and I don’t want my work to be part of the catalyst for this. So I want to remind you: I myself am unsure of even my most concrete encounters. I don’t know what to believe, and neither should you. We are hungry for answers, but this is a situation which demands that we keep the questions alive.
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Thank you so much, everybody who jammed the bookstores for me. It was so damn wonderful to see you and be with you. I only wish that I could be personal friends with every one of you. Thank you for caring.
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