Alien Abduction Memories Surface Under Medical Hypnosis
Relaxation brought him to an altered state; under hypnosis, a series of subconscious motor reflexes, of different finger movements would connect a conversation with the body, by-passing belligerent blocks to memory:
movement of the thumb, meant,"Yes", the middle finger, "No", the pinky, "I refuse to answer".
This technique would confront directives to forget, to allow direct contact with the unconscious.
By hypnosis the body would answer, meaningfully, even if the mind were asleep.
Doctor: "Let's talk about his bad dreams?"
Priest: (film shows quick flash of thumb;) "Yes"
Doctor: "Go back to the day the two puppets floated outside the window, and, below consciousness, recall what happened, that afternoon.
Show me that you begin by moving the "yes" finger, and the end of that recall by moving the "no" finger."
Priest: (film shows "yes" and "no" twitches)
Doctor: "Fine; start and finish.
Is there any unconscious, additional information, the father has not remembered concerning that afternoon?"
Priest: (finger twitches quickly with the "yes" thumb movement)
Doctor: "What happened? See it remotely, as if you're in a projector booth, watching yourself, on a screen; what happened?"
Priest: (increasing panic) "I don't want to answer", digit signal.
Doctor: "No? You don't want to tell me what you're feeling?"
Priest: (more negative finger) with agonized breath.
Doctor: "You refer to this as October, 2013.
Whatever happened was long ago. You're safe and in control; it's too upsetting?"
Priest: Film records positive finger movement
Doctor: "Freeze the scene and see part in full frame; like a snapshot? Is it okay?"
Priest: Film shows a "yes" twitch.
Doctor: "A still slide projected on a faraway screen; you're up in the projection booth watching the father in the theatre."
Priest: "As I was looking through the window, the eyes looked back. Staring back. The eyes are not normal."
Doctor: "Look closer; what else do you notice?"
Priest: "The face doesn't have any teeth, it's not a normal face. It's gone, now.
" Doctor: "Feel the relief that the face is gone.
Now I have a question for your unconscious to answer by finger movement.
Has any harm been done to the father during the faces' presence?"
Priest: (records a quick "no" answer)
Doctor: "Now what happened, later, that night, when you felt, sensed something by your bed? Was there anything done to the father, physically during that time?"
Priest: Head is shaking "no" and the finger movement is saying "yes", softly; "They took my clothes", sadly "They took my priestly vestments".
Doctor: "Who did?"
Priest: Very agitated, legs twitching, shoulders twitching. His head shook on a negative reaction.
Doctor: "Is the "no" for then, or now?
You keep shaking your head "no"."
Priest: "For now".
Doctor: "You don't want to talk about it?"
Priest: "No, never,"
Doctor: "Do you want to remember it when you come out of trance?"
Priest: "No".
Doctor: "Do you want to remember it some other day?"
Priest: "No".
Doctor: "Below consciousness, I want to ask your hand some questions.
Hand, in the course of that encounter, did the father leave the house?"
Priest: Thumb, positive finger response, "yes".
Doctor: "Was he removed from the house?"
Priest: (another "yes" response)
Doctor: "Would it be all right for him to remember the things that happened?"
Priest: (an animated "no" response)
Doctor: "Without him reliving the experiences, would it be all right for him to remember
what he saw?"
Priest:(Slowly) I want to see what happened.
Doctor: "Repeat that, please, say it again".
Priest: "I want to see what happened".
Doctor: "To avoid reliving it with no fear and anxiety, you do not have to relive the experience; speak of the priest, yourself, as "He"; it is not you, just now but a moving motion picture".
Priest: "He was told that he's on a tour, with other people on line, on a "tour", waiting on line, walking to and inside something large, humid,; but he's really slowly entering a large carrier ship."
"He is flying high over lush green tree landscape, over rolling tree lined hills.
He knows that it is night but the fields and countryside below are lit up as though it were day but he knows it's night because he is dreaming.
For a few brief seconds he sees the green granular nature of the trees below and a visual exhilaration of flying combined with a sense of peace and happiness.
He marvels at the texture and color and his movement above it.
He is dreaming, but he is awake.
He is told by a tour guide, who is always just out of sight, that he is to wait on line for a tour of the insides of a country estate.
He is numb and is dreaming.
But he feels that he is awake.
He is moving forward, people in front and in back of him, all adults on a narrow path surrounded by a flat, unidimensional static scene of a photographed English garden.
It is hot and humid with the rank smell of soil.
People clutch what looks like brochures and move slowly in a single line, towards the country estate.
He feels bored, but he is mildly interested.
He approaches the door of the large alien craft.
A ticket taker sits at the entrance way, on a stool behind a lectern, observing the entering crowd.
The ticket taker is a slim teenager.
The priest thinks it odd that such a young caretaker should be so intrusted as to seemingly be in charge.
As he looks and internally questions, meeting the teen's gaze, the teen transforms before his eyes turns into a kindly old man.
"It was mind control, not shape-shifting", he is told, by the tourguide's voice, as if in answer to his unasked private thought.
Everyone is awake but dreaming.
Inside is a waiting room, a dull, white room with no adornments and a black floor.
(Internet public domain graphic)
Inside, a dozen or more middle aged men pace nervously.
Some speak to themselves, in brief low voiced non-sequiturs, and all look very worried.
He is told that he is in a corporate business luncheon
Some of the men move towards and away from a buffet table which is strangely empty of any food or drink.
An unhappy, slight, balding man who approaches him, peeks up at him from the imagined paper cup he is holding in his hand and makes furtive eye contact.
He says nothing but stares at he priest intensely, and wanders off.
The priest is mildly alarmed; are these people trapped in his own dream?
The tour guide, always out of view, tells him that it is a cocktail party.
He senses an uncomfortable corporate uneasiness in each face that makes him anxious and repels him from the room.
He thinks to himself," I'd like to find the hosts of THIS party and give them a piece of my MIND!; no food and no drinks; what sort of an odd party is THIS?
As he starts off to look for the host, with that thought in mind, he turns towards the door to leave and is suddenly slapped with a harsh emotional wave of terror and remorse.
It is the tour guide again.
An inner voice tells him that it would not be a good idea to insult the host.
In the dream, he asks himself , "Why would it scare me so, to insult a host I have never met and have no idea about?
But he has the feeling of having averted jeopardy and he quickly dismisses the idea.
He went back into the party.
Everyone stared at his nakedness.
He blinks and looks again; many hold and drink from invisible cups and are half dressed.
Each man is in an unhappy, jittery dream.
He is again quickly overwhelmed with the feeling of not wanting to belong in that room.
Although the tour guide is watching, he sneaks out and into another, less crowded, smaller room.
He has escaped!
A free-ego-state of wild and mischievous glee overcomes him.
He drops and darts under a table whose tablecloth drops to a few inches above the floor. He is underneath.
He is hiding.
He thinks,"No one knows!"
Again, he is gripped with a joyful childishness that forces his eyes and mouth into contorted joy.
He can hear voices of the people talking in the room.
He feels safe, hidden, draped on all sides by white cloth.
But someone is about to pull the tablecloth up and find him; the tips of black shoes intrude under the cloth's edge!
He reverts, atavistically, electrified, animal like, feral and growling, and he launches himself, snarling, forward to attack the interloper.
He awakens, dreaming.
It is a dream within a dream.
Awake again, briefly and upright and walking in his sleep.
A bright light and he is dreaming.
He knows he is awake.
He is not awake but moving and upright, climbing up a steep stairway ladder path-bridge to a very large room.
He is still in line, with people in a guided tour, dreaming awake. He pauses, again.
The tour guide, just out of view, speaks in a stentorian voice, deep in his head.
The deep voice tells him to keep climbing, to go up a ladder towards a small room at the top of the stairs.
Someone in front of him dreams, wakes up dreaming.
He looks to his right, as he climbs, and sees an enormous domed -curved window which makes up the staircase's whole upper wall.
Slowly climbing, feeling very numb,
he pauses, stopping the line of climbing people yet again.
He looks out of the window and sees Earth and the Moon, hanging in space's blackness.
He places his arms on the curved railing where the staircase meets the bottom of the window.
Cupping his chin on his hands, he tries to understand the raw beauty of what he is seeing.
He feels numb but what he sees deeply affects him.
Outside is blackness.
The Earth, far to the right portion of the glass, the size of a large beachball, hung suspended in a black nothingness, swimming in blue-white haze, except for a large red area which he rcognized as Australia, the desert of North Africa, or the Arabian peninsula.
Silver and bright, the Moon, far to the left portion of the glass, also hung suspended in a black nothingness.
Far away, violet splashes of nebulae and points of red pinpoint starlight intersperse with millions of white stars.
Chin in his hands, he leaned over and said in a wistful, admiring tone,
"These people who live at THIS estate have some view; wow, what a view!"
The tour guide was startled and quickly changed the window's glass 3-D scene, to a painted flat one, a unidimensional English garden landscape.
Chin in hands, looking out of the window, looking at the expanse of poster-like lawn, he said, but this time referring to the garden landscape,
"They do have a nice view."
The tour guide, startled to hear him repeat this praise, didn't realize that the scene of the garden had already worked to distract him, over reacted, in mind control to distract him completely.
The alien creature tightened the short psychic leash of control.
The priest was suddenly thrown into a vivid emotional ecstasy.
He was forced to look down at his feet and not at the window.
The simple metallic ladder- path underfoot, transformed into carved inlaid wood, delicately patterned, dazzlingly ornate, an inlaid ebony and maple wood design, cryptic, deep in motif and complexity.
He was forced to kneel and examine it, and turned away from the window.
Powerful awe, love, admiration and godlike reverence flashed through his mind and body.
The wood-inlay staircase, suspended in air, lushly constructed in multi-colored wood forced an awe, tingling through his skin, which thrilled him.
He felt a powerful, spiritual deep love; awe for the construction, the unknown artist, the wood pattern, absorbed him, and he he forgot what he had seen outside the window.
The sleeping line of climbing people was stopped by his fawning and repeated examination of the simple metal staircase.
He repeatedly retraced his steps to further examine it. The mind control lessened.
The tour guide, just out of sight, presumed that it was enough.
A paternal, parental impatient voice, now said in his head,
"Just keep going; it will be there for you to see, when you get back."
"But, things change so quickly, in dreams", he thought to himself..
He did not trust the voice in his head; he knew that in the illusion of dreams, that the wood stairway might not be there, if and when he DID return. It was too gorgeous to abandon, just now!
After all, he WAS dreaming.
He lingered, enthralled.
The guide, in classic mind control, surrounded him in a snug cocoon of illusion; the alien had made the metal staircase the unrightful recipient of that awe, rather than the scene, outside the window, so that later, he would not remember the stars but only the staircase.
But when he woke, he did remember.
They have uncanny, psychic, mind-bending delusional leash-controls, he had then dully thought.
He awoke exhausted, with a dull headache and a nose bleed, more tired getting up, than he had been going to bed.
(Director of CIA, Admiral R.H. Hillenkoetter: "It is time for the truth to be brought out in open Congressional hearings. Behind the scenes, high-ranking Air Force officers are soberly concerned about UFOs. But through official secrecy and ridicule, citizens are led to believe the unknown flying objects are nonsense. To hide the facts, the Air Force has silenced its personnel." p. 58, quoted from New York Times, February 28, 1960, p. L30 )
The priest got out of bed, opened the front door of his apartment slowly, and peeked down the hall.
There was no one in evidence.
He threw on his red-striped, tattered bathrobe, full of cigarette holes, and barefoot, stole out into the hallway, leaving his door barely ajar.
He went to the stairwell, choosing the second floor, and peeked up and down the hallway from his vantage point behind a hinge of the stairway door.
It was five fifteen a.m.
He bolted quickly down the hall and turning quickly in reverse, in three swift movements, picked up, first, from one doormat, a bottle of fresh milk, from a second, a small bag of bakery delivered fresh rolls, and finally, scooped up a morning paper, and placed it under his arm, from a third.
His heart pounding, lest he be detected, he ran up breathless, to the fourth floor, his stolen breakfast in hand and locked his door.
He heard, in his head, a voice and a buzz.
It was a slight ring in his left ear, that odd inner ear ringing tone, one hears sometimes for no apparent reason.
Concentrate on it and it gets louder; pay no attention to it, and it dissipates.
But, the ringing in his ear got louder and he shook his head hard to stop it.
It was, he thought, clanging loud enough for the neighbors to hear it coming from his head.
He wildly moved his head to stop it.
It grew louder. The sound moved deeper into his head and melted into a humming vibration. The whole left side of his head was humming.
He heard a voice which began quietly, but he couldn't understand anything, not a single word. He began to pray silently to St. Michael, as he stood there alone with a voice grinding out sounds in his head.
His heart pounded and his jaw fell slightly open as the stolen groceries fell from his grasp to the floor.
He held his hands to his ears, supporting his head, and tried not to scream and run.
He thought that people in insane asylums who heard voices could be like him or him like them.
He was back onboard the alien craft; they had come for him to finish the 'intake exam' and to take his seed for entity infant farming.
He was climbing to the small room at the top of the ladder and he was dreaming awake.
It was high school and he was again in love with Anita Peterson.
The high school basketball game was in the last quarter; the crowd's howl and the tattoo of the drums from the drill team seemed miles away.
He and she had left the game and now sat on the sweet smelling lawn of the school, in the night listening to the sounds of the game behind them.
He was cloaked in blackness, dreaming a recalled memory. She was in his arms, soft, dark, long brown hair brushed his face.
Almond shaped coquettish liquid dark eyes looked deeply into his.
He returned her gaze with a passionate, loving sensuality.
She held his hand and it was cool and slender. A mysterious and provocative incense coursed through his blood and made him dizzy with desire for her.
He moaned and leaned closer.
She pressed her slim body close to his and he lowered his eyes closing his lids, flushed with lust.
She suddenly stiffened and withdrew, and he sensed a wave of disgust and disdain from her wash over him.
He was crushed and puzzled, why had the sweetness of the dream soured?
She withdrew, backwards into the blackness.
The girl in his dream stared at him and changed from Anita Peterson to a slim, white, large eyed being who had in her hands a funnel-shaped cup, attached to a tube receptacle.
He was disappointed that she had taken, stolen seed from him and said,
"Is that all, is that all you really wanted?"
She stared at him in wonder, as though he could see and understand.
Before the darkness came and swallowed him he realized that her coldness was the coldness of one running an experiment, caring more about the outcome then the methods used.
Even though he was dreaming, he knew he was awake, and struggled with a feeling of hopelessness in the dawning realization of his experience.
"I am awake in a dream", he quietly worried.
Unblinking eyes recorded psychic and anatomical responses; they registered his emotional responses, categorizing, summarizing, analyzing and judging him.
The alien administered a progressive personality assessment, a standard psychological measurement exam which had more subtle discernment and calibration of the character of his soul, a finely tuned exam greater than any earthbound measurement.
The creature stared directly into the priest's eyes and induced a delusional scenario test, inserting him into and through a gauntlet of nightmares, a funhouse of terrors designed to record his reactions.
A series of three-dimensional scenarios, in crystal clear virtual reality, were projected into the priest's mind.
His reactions and nuances of feelings, to the projected visions, were carefully registered and recorded.
Aliens had long ago found a genetic site for asocial psychopaths and for people of moral goodness; they were looking for these very qualities, in abductees.
Which one was he?
First, he was pushed into a small room with white walls and a red. bloody, gory floor.
In the center of the room, back to the viewer were two butchers, white coats splashed with blood, busily chopping human infants into butcher cuts. Stacks of lifeless bodies of infants ten months old to a year old lay waited to be carved into butcher cuts.
He was urged to enter the room but his mind rebelled in horror and fear and he refused.
The horror of the chopped infants saddened him, tightened his stomach and filled him deeply with fear.
He trembled in terror.
"Who in God's name could bring himself to do such an evil thing?", he thought.
He was thrust into another scene; a rubble-strewn street with burnt shells of vehicles, some of which were upside down.
This post war scene was surrounded by tall shells of fragmented buildings which were precariously perched.
In the background, smoke and flame issued all around.
At his feet, injured and partly buried in the rubble, was a frail old woman with a kerchief covering her head.
She weakly gestured to him for help.
He knelt beside her, but his eyes were on the building directly above him which suddenly began to weaken and shift.
Fear of death overcame him and in agony, he ran from the scene, abandoning her.
He was stricken with grief and guilt over this decision, but he felt grateful for having escaped, unscathed, with his life..
All of this is carefully registered and recorded.
Again he is thrust into another scene, the small, dark creature staring fixedly into his eyes.
He hears the repeated cracking sound of a whip on flesh overlaid with screaming pleas of mercy.
It is just around the corner.
Shrieks and howls in loud, deep agony accompany satanic laughter. Fear crawled down his arms and legs.
He was psychically prodded to look within.
A naked, muscular young man with black hair, writhing in pain is chained by his arms and legs to a wall-mounted wood cross.
Nearby, was a creature unimaginable.
A seven foot tall, red hued Devil, replete with tail, wears a black-hood and carries a whip.
The creature from Hell demonically laughs, in stentorian fashion, as it delivers loud, whip-snapping cracks, onto the screaming man' s back, who interrupts the peals of satanic laughter as he loudly pleads for mercy, in a voice laden with a fervent agony.
Blood and tissue noisily splatter the walls, at each stroke.
The priest's mind shrank back in mortal terror, in disgust and in raw horror.
Next, a scenario reveals a thick-bodied, squat, gangster-type who sits at a small wood table playing solitaire and who never looks up..
With a growl rich and deep with menace, the swarthy gangster picks up a hand gun and flatly tells the priest that he is certainly, without any question of doubt, going to kill him.
The priest helpless and resigned, nods in silent placation and almost tacit agreement, helpless to resist, careful not to say anything to infuriate the Corsican gangster.
The gangster, who never takes his eyes from his cards on the table, places the gun at the far end of the table, closer to the priest.
The killer assures the priest, in a gravelly voice, that no matter what the priest says or does, he will surely definitely murder him.
The alien urges the priest to 'go for' the gun.
In response, the priest's minds eye, measuring the distance between the gangster's hand and the gun and his own relative distance from the gun, decides that it is likely only a trap and that he could easily be shot, before he even got to the gun.
He resists the suggestion.
His fear and survival response, an echo of other scenario tests, is again recorded.
The next scenario - a beautiful woman, a Hollywood femme fatale with short skirt, long white gloves, very long legs and dark hair told him that she was in danger and needed him to go with her to help her.
He began to awaken in frustration.
He was annoyed with this fun house of horrors; he had had enough of this dream.
He patently refused, smelling danger, but seeing through the disguise.
It was a tall, grey creature with long arms and legs who stood before him pretending to be a tall, blonde woman!
She promised him her body if only he would help her.
He again abjectly refused; it was just a cheap, familiar 'B' movie scene!
The alien introduced a promissory image of her long limbs lasciviously intertwined with his. He still refused.
The last psychic measurement was for honesty and guilt; he was left in a room with gold coins piled high on a table.
He was urged to fill his cassock pockets and he quickly did.
He was made to feel the slow burn of shame.
At the end of the exam, bereft of strength, disheartened, deeply depressed, he sat in the spacecraft drained and exhausted.
At this point, the alien applied an artistic touch to the delusion.
It gave closure and diverted the priest's mind, but it also mercifully alleviated all of his soul's suffering from the varied scenarios.
Each main character from each scenario, filed into the room, one by one and with knowing smiles, sat at a table in front of him!
He was at the center of a "Mission Impossible" scenario!
With the dawning realization that these people were simply players, conspiring to fool him, two things happened: surprise at the complexity of the dream, and awe at the enormity of the staging, by seeming strangers in the dream!.
This revelation replaced the angst this series of visions had provoked.
It also underlined the alien's total duplicity; when the alien saw the priest's slow smile and lightening of spirit he brought him out of the delusion and back into blackness.
When his alarm rang, he swung his feet onto the floor.
"Dreadful dream," he thought "My god, what a dreadful dream; someone was butchering babies; horrible dream."
Author's Afterword:
These are my personal experiences with alien entities, which were recalled spontaneously and without the assistance of medical hypnosis.
If you still disbelieve, you're not a singularity of cynicism; there are also many others.
To quote another eloquent abductee:
"A leap in consciousness will require a dissolution and restructuring of your beliefs about the nature of reality".
To live unburdened by an insatiable curiosity to comprehend the mysteries of the universe is quite an amazing thing, in itself.
She goes on to say:
"The history of mankind has been punctuated by personalities who refused to be bound by the grand illusion of space and time, seekers who penetrated the limitations of space and form.
Knowing the aliens reside in a different reality explains why this whole UFO phenomenon is so slippery; "we exist within a matrix of other realities all merging in one spot: the mind."
Aliens and their craft exist.
My expanded consciousness and mental abilities are merely the outcome of my contacts with them.
"Their world coexists with our own intimately intertwined and separated by the thinnest veil- our arrogant assumption that we are the sole proprietors of the only reality."
(Earthfiles.com graphic)
BIO:
Abductions and their remnant elusive memories have opened all this for Paul, a confirmed atheist, until he saw aliens float him out of his body, in his bed, at night. Then, he knew that they were interested in an essence he never suspected that he had; a soul. Our spiritual powers that interest and addict inter dimensionals are the very powers that can be used to thwart further attacks.
They infect auras with attachments to themselves and ride the reincarnation roller coaster with people, to avoid the death that they fear and to steal the spiritual recycling that we have.
These joyriding grays can be sinister, discorporate alien souls ,stuck to your energies, who bring a new meaning to the concept of a silent invasion.
Time Travel Experiments – Project Pegasus Utterly Exposed
.jpg)
(9).jpg)
.jpg)
Two days later, while hanging up freshly washed and dried clothes in his closet, he noticed a perfectly round hole in the center-chest area of a perfectly good knit shirt. He was immediately disappointed because it was one of his favorite shirts and was now ruined by a hole in a very conspicuous place. He could no longer wear it. He looked more closely to see if it was repairable and noticed how perfectly round the hole seemed to be. It looked like it had been smoothly cut by something round and very precise and not torn by a sharp object nor chewed by an insect of some sort. He wondered briefly how such a hole could occur. He thought about mending it but quickly decided that the hole was slightly too big. A repair would look obvious. The hole was approximately the same diameter as a milk shake drinking straw. The driver had a sudden impulse to throw the shirt away and forget about it-not realizing until later that this was the very shirt he had worn during his abduction. For the next several days, he couldn't seem to focus on the abduction event and did not realize that the shirt was hard evidence. It was roughly a week later when he finally came to realize that he had thrown away physical evidence of a mysterious abduction. But, fortunately, he had taken pictures. 
He began to sort through this matter in earnest. At what point in his work day could this have happened? He could understand if this had happened at home. But, at work? While on the job? While driving a truck on busy roads? He began to look at the available data from his observations. 
For some time, I had often thought about how many people I had discovered having apparent abductions. Projecting further, I had been forced to conclude that many millions of human beings were repeatedly being abducted in the United States, alone. Not hundreds or thousands, but millions. Wouldn't this have to be a very large-scale 24/7 operation? How could it not be? Yet, nowhere had I ever noticed other researchers considering this apparent human abduction project to be an extremely huge operation. If I was to go out and check the clothing of other possible abductees, would I find similar holes in their clothing that they couldn't explain? (Actually, I did do just that. And, the results reinforced my suspicions.) How many times had abductees not noticed when they had a strange surgical anomaly on their bodies or dismissed holes in their clothes as occurring from normal wear-and-tear? The abductee in this case had to fight to make himself take pictures of the surgery and felt compelled to throw away a shirt with the corresponding hole in it. 
.jpg)
