Scattered Links by Judith Arianne

Somewhere out there in the cosmos is a part of me. Part of it is physical, part of it is spirit, and part of it is unknown. When I think back some fifty or more years ago, it seems as if it was yesterday. Maybe it is just the dream I have chosen in this life, maybe not. Let me just say that back then, as a child learning the system of choosing, if one can call it that, I chose to participate in un-worldly events. For me, the whole experience of life is one big mystery. I love it this way, there is no end to the story because we do not choose to really know the future, and therefore what happens to us will remain an ongoing mystery.

Before I became aware, I was simply a child who had visitors. I was two, and five, and seven, and then, for the rest of my growing, I was to deal with just what this meant in terms of sanity. For a child it is not a matter of sanity, but of lies, boogiemen, or bad dreams. As I became aware, my awareness was often challenged by the society I was born into. I did not have television or movies at that age. No one has ever had to hypnotize me in order for me to remember anything that occurred. It is part of my history, my existence here, my yearning to know where I am from. If this sounds like a fairy-tale to anyone who has not experienced fragments of other, unknown realities, then so be it.

Just what do I believe about what happened to me on the yellow brick road? I learned to not talk of my encounters. The combined forces of parents and teachers who were not aware carved my beliefs. In those days an invasion by Mars seemed a possibility, and a small child enveloped in wonderment was a part of the landscape of all that took place. When I was eight I walked to school alone, with no thought of anything other than the sun shining and my friends in school. I was Dorothy, and what I had already seen with my young eyes would soon require me to don invisible blinders to the truth that I experienced. My belief system then was, whatever one sees must be real. I had trust in the universe, not my fellow man.

Then came the day when I learned to not tell the truth. It was after I had come home from school with a tale that put my parents in another role, that of protecting a child from herself, her imagination. "How did she make up something like this?" The police were called, someone wanted to walk me to school and back. What a fuss I created over what was to me a grand event. Sorry for all of the folks that found something ominous. As a child I was not yet truly programmed in fear; not until later would I buy that ticket and ride for too long a time. I have to admit that I did have fear at one point because I did not understand why little men visited us. I hid in my parents' closet and watched little people run about in the bedroom; they had hoods on but I could see their eyes. They lit up the room through their presence alone and found my hiding place. They placed something in my eyes, and I stood watching, transfixed, but I did not scream out, nor did I wonder about them. I had seen them before. The fear came from not knowing exactly what they were doing, and if they might be telling my parents about US!

I felt I was at the bottom of the sky with so much more to explore. I was to ride a balloon for a long time, and there were many that would stick the pin of death in to that ethereal ride of a lifetime. On this journey I was still a babe in the woods, but the trees were falling before me, and I was becoming the master of my own story. No matter the acting, no need for a stage, no audience required, as I was boundless and timeless in the mind of a child. The mirror image was that of a visitor, me, catching a ride into a zone of probable events that could change the focus of my stay here, both back then, and as the adult I have since become. Going back and forth to school would no longer be a joy if people were afraid, so the pact of silence that I made with myself spelled freedom; if I never reported seeing these visitors again, I could continue my walks to and from school "alone."

The communication with my visitors was much easier than talking with my parents. I didn't have to open my mouth, and neither did they. We spoke in our minds, and I understood. They were kind. They wanted to show me about my planet and theirs, the universe, and so much more. I had never been in a plane or seen a movie about planes, nor had I seen my house from above. I was eight years old when I saw all of that and more: maps, stars, planets, and, somehow, out there in the unknown, I found a peace that they gave to me. I forgot much of this as I grew older, but it is still there when I am aware of what peace really means. At eight, I understood this; at sixty-one, it is inscribed in my cells. To touch it again I have to believe as I believe in waking each day.

Somewhere, out there past the white clouds and mist of consciousness, is a part of me, my flesh and blood, my DNA. I have no concrete answers, because this is not a concrete world. I spin around without knowing how or why I am stuck here, except that someone wrote about gravity in a book. To me, gravity is a word. Visitor is a word. Love is a word. It is what you do with the word, the thought, the idea, the vision; it is what you CHOOSE to do with anything. I chose to be a part of another world in more ways than one.

I do not think I chose to give up my child to another world, but it happened nonetheless. Maybe, as the child of who I am today, I made a choice while being star-dusted in an atmosphere of pliable "what ifs." In my later years, when everyone started being abducted, babies were taken from the wombs of innocence, and aliens were creating hell, I started to not listen, to not believe, but too many similarities occurred for me to ignore my experience. When The Intruders aired on television it was as if I was seeing exactly what had taken place when I was in my twenties. Was it all a lie, or a dream that many of us shared together? How could the make-up artists create a part- human-part-visitor that looked so much like what I had seen when I went for one of my pleasure rides? After all, even when others have the same experiences that we do, they do not necessarily perceive them in exactly the same way. Just because someone else had had the same experience as I, does not mean that they viewed it exactly the same way.

My Catholic background put a real damper on anything other than saints and sinners. In my mind, as a child going to a Catholic school and having to make up sins for the confessional, I very quickly learned that I best not speak of 'visitors'. Of course, I did feel like a sinner for some time, but then, the world that the nuns and priests lived in did not allow for a Jedi Princess. Their force was not the same Force that I knew. So on the surface I conformed, for I had no wish to be burned at the stake! Forgetting was easy at that time.

My universe did not have sin. The awe that struck me had God in it. The events that have taken place in my life are fruitful. It would take two books or more to tell of the wonders that have come to my doorstep. I did not have to open the door, but I have this curiosity, and I am glad that I do, for it has led me on many journeys. I have ESP, I can stop watches, bend metal, fly about in spaceships, but then, so can anyone, including you. I think it is all in how we interpret it. I think it is in how we relate to it; in how we honor ourselves and in how we choose to not care what the rest of the world thinks. After all, it is not others who go out of this world with your thoughts and awareness, your events, your life and belief system, your memories, it is you. Out of my view of the world and myself, I thought for a while I was immune to any problems, sickness, and fears; it's how one relates. I had much to learn about relating. I still do. I must learn and re-learn trust of the self. There is so much out there to sway our minds. I cannot, will not, be at the bottom of the boat. Even though I do not swim I must be captain of my own ship and not let others steer her for me. This is just the beginning.

What I have taken from these events is that I do not care if anyone believes me; no one has to. This is a story I want to share; the reader can believe it or not. There is no special treatment, no television appearances, and no invaders from Mars. Sounds rather boring, but to me life is full. I am open for all the tomorrows I may reside in. I am aware of who I am and I am embracing this. I am also aware that the universe is a multiplicity of energy, of phenomena. I tread lightly on this earth; I respect and honor it, for I am also a child of this realm. Somewhere in the cosmos, a fragment of me exists. In another reality not far from this one, in another time or life, I may someday look again into the eyes of a child I knew once upon a time.

I never felt for one second that a being from out of our atmosphere would cause us harm. I did go to see all the movies about aliens, but they were disappointing. Shoot them down, kill them, for they will kill us, etc. I have to say I did identify with Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Contact. I lived with a father who encountered visitors in much of his work. He did not start this work until I was about thirteen or so. I still did not say much to him about the happenings in my life. He said nothing about his work in the government either. After he was out of the government workplace, he did mention a few close calls with UFO-type aircraft that had buzzed the airfield where he worked. But he never really believed it. He saw it, but to him it was not a reality. He could not analyze it or cut it up, so it was a strange happening and, therefore, something he let go of.

However my father viewed it, I viewed it much differently. When one is two-years-old and encounters a visitor to one's crib, speaks to him or her via telepathy, speaks as an adult and remembers it, but cannot bring it forth in child gibberish, then, yes, I would have to say that my experience was very different from his reality.

When I was eight and encountered the visitors I thought they were wearing big sunglasses. Later in life, as I saw more and more pictures or images of what others were seeing, I figured out I was looking at eyes. In one of my encounters, they appeared in a huge black car, with electric windows. We just kind of hung out, communicating about life, and when they would see me next. The windows of their vehicle were the color of smoke, and now when I look back, as a child I did not consider that they might have been in a spacecraft, but who knows? Perhaps the best thing at that moment was for me to see something that I could identify with. However, in that same year I was inside their craft, viewing my home from above, flying over the trees and neighbors' homes, and then ending up in blackness; it was a most enlightening moment - not at all scary.

Perhaps if someone were to hypnotize me I might recall horrid scenes of probes, blood, cutting, and so forth. That was never a part of what I experienced, as far as I know. Even though one of my children was born gifted, we never thought to make a big deal of it. By gifted I mean ESP, wanting to levitate, and explaining to me, at the age of four, that I was only one of his mothers. Dreaming the same dreams as I, knowing what I was thinking, and what others were thinking inspired comments from his teachers. I figure it is all part of this life. Whatever we take away with us - hooray! After all, this is a big school, and we get to have recess along with the lessons. I welcome new thoughts and dreams, for in reality they are the building blocks of a new dimension. Imagine it and it becomes.

I chose to write of these events because they have made an impact on my life. I have to say that the other major influence on my life is the person with whom I am now living. We have great independence to be who we are. He has encouraged me to write. He supports who I am, not what I am. If I told him tomorrow I was writing about abortion, about Venus, about anything, he would accept my view, as I do his. We come together in many ways; we honor and respect each other. So if I took a few rides off the planet, he does not judge me. Who I am and who he is, is why we are together. We love life and the communion of the species. We love our planet in darkness and light. We share the invisible thread of awareness and we both know there is more to discover. It may be that eternity speaks in foreign tongues, but we are always ready to learn a new language.

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Judith Arianne was born in Wisconsin and now lives in California. A person with many profound events happening in her life, she is always open to new secrets of the universe. She is an artist, writer, and works with older people who if given the time, have many life stories that have too long been silent. She loves and cares for the planet as a citizen of the earth and is grateful for the gift of learning that has held such great bounty for her. She can be reached via email.

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