It’s taken me all morning to get to this since I had so many different e-mails fill up my box from people calling me a liar, others saying that they’re enjoying my “story,” since there really isn’t any other word for it, and I’ve been putting off and putting off writing down exactly what occurred last night because I’m pretty much embarassed to write it down. Again, I am not religious, so the whole incident was really disturbing, and I’m writing this out for you to read subjectively, since I really need another perspective on this. I know what happened to me last night ‘happened.’ And for your information, I don’t want to write this down since it goes so amazingly against everything I believe in. But I must. I’m acting as a self-experiential reporter here.
So I did finally fall asleep at about 3 in the morning last night, since that’s about the last time I remember checking the clock until I woke up at 4:14 AM. And as soon as I did, the first thought that I had was, oh shit, not again. I absolutely despise sleep paralysis, and I always know the moment when it is going to happen. It’s almost like sleep paralysis forces me to look at the clock, as if my eyes are telling me that it’s time for yet another episode. Like glancing at the clock is part of the ritual that someone else is forcing me to follow.
I’ve described the paralysis before, and this was no different. My body drenched in sweat and me pinned under the covers, making the heat that much more unbearable. I usually sleep with one of those large comforters over my body, and maybe this has something to do with my abduction episodes. It could be 85 degrees out and I must, absolutely must, have that thick comforter covering my body, as if I’m constantly terrified of something touching me. The comforter offers that psychological protection—but when sleep paralysis hits---God. The heat is horrid.
That pressure of something sitting on top of me intensified the paralysis and heat. An unseen force was holding me in place. Everytime I tried to lift my arm, the tingly warmth running through my veins refused to give way to movement. It felt like one of those running-through-mashed-potatoes dreams, only I was awake—mostly.
And the lights—God, once again, filling my window. I have one window behind my bedstand and one facing the parking lot. Usually the light is tinged with an orange glow since that is what is used around the apartment complex. But this was white, bright white, like snow, and it lit up the walls of my bedroom. They seemed to tingle as the light reflected off of the barren oak tree branches, making this magical pattern, almost like a wizard was throwing pixie dust on me.
4:15 AM. I don’t remember opening the window, and I don’t remember having the door to my clost open, so I don’t know where the figure standing next to my bed came from. He looked, well, different than what I am used to seeing. Whereas all of the beings that visited me thus far had pea-green skin, stood just a few feet off the ground, and had large black eyes, this one I had never read about in any of the UFO books that I’ve studied in the past. Maybe you’ve read about them but I haven’t. I mean, where can I find literature about aliens that look like…well, Jesus?
He had on a white robe like a toga, large bluish eyes, flowing blond hair that reached down to his shoulders, and sandles. He had a kind—but at the same time vacant---look to him, as if he didn’t personally do all of his own thinking and he just outsourced that to others. He was also tall, much taller than the beings that I was used to seeing, and much taller than me.
As soon as I saw his face, I felt as if I could move again. I tried jerking my body up from the bed, but that didn’t work.
“You have full movement of your arms and legs, but please stay seated for your own safety,” He said, with a voice which sounded fairly tenor, even, and objective. “You can speak.”
“You look like Christ,” I said.
“So do a lot of people,” The being stated. “With reason.”
I didn’t understand that last part and I know he sensed the fact that I wanted him to clarify what he meant. “Are you christ?”
“Do you know what Christ means?” He asked. “Christ is a position. Almost as the CEO of a company is a position. ”
Great, I wanted to say. And the answer to the meaning of life is 42. I could hardly believe that I was holding a conversation with this being, and to be honest, I kind of cringed at the fact that he looked like Jesus. I didn’t want my bedroom to suddenly become a catholic shrine or something and give millions of people yet another reason to hand their money over to the catholic church.
“So then what’s your name?”
“I don’t have one,” he said. “Some have used the phrase ICHTYS to refer to me, however.” He reached into his robe and pulled out a necklace from underneath. On the end of it I could see a fish. I was used to seeing them on bumper stickers, and as far as I knew, they were related to Christianity.
“Why can’t I move?” I asked.
“Because you will injure me or yourself. Your mind has shut off certain abilities in your body because it believes that your body cannot fully deal with my presence. You have residual bits of REM impulses running through your mind, which is why you can see me. However, if your body released its grip, you’d lash out at either me or yourself.”
I realized then how silent everything around me had become. Usually I could hear the passing cars on the expressway next to the complex, but it was silent. Everything had been quieted, almost to the point where I felt as if I was in a movie theater.
“So I’m still sleeping.”
“No, your mind is just able to comprehend things other than the physical world. You are half in the spirit realm, half in the physical realm. You have been doing this all of your life. Every time you have had a lucid dream, you were here, in this world. You have manipulated the spirit realm.”
“Can I call you Jesus, since you don’t have a name? The artist formerly known as Prince has similar problems when someone is given permission to speak with him.”
“Yes, but I do not want you to mix me with the historical figure that you learned of in your youth.”
“Why is that?” I asked. While I spoke with him, I continually tried to move my arms, my legs. It was almost as if I was giving my entire body a work out even though I was not moving. I think Charles Atlas, the bodybuilder did something similar when he would sit in one place and tense his muscles for an extended period of time to break them down and build them up again. But I wasn’t doing it to build muscle. I was just doing it in an attempt to move. It made me understand death and what it would be like to not have a body that I could manipulate.
“The savior of your youth was not a true historical figure. He was an amalgamation of a number of different deities at the time of his birth. His entire life was constructed around symbolism found within all religions.“
“You know I don’t believe a word you are saying,” I said. “I’m still dreaming. I just had a visit with the preacher. It makes sense that my mind would be making things up like this. As if I fully expected to have a religious experience after visiting the preacher, and this is the religious experience I am supposed to have.”
“The only reason why I have been able to reach you is because of the cross. The savior of mankind.”
I thought for a second. “The cross. The one under my mattress.”
“Yes. It is offering you protection,” he said. “From the evil ones. From the Seven deadly sisters of the Pleadians. I believe you have heard of something similar in your religious studies. The seven deadly sins. Personifications of astrological patterns in the sky.”
There was that word again. The same word spoken by the being who I had contacted through automatic writing.
“They are not able to reach you now because of the protection that the cross is offering,” He added. “It, in turn, is allowing me to reach you. To warn you about the dangers you will be confronted with if you continue contact with them.”
I thought about all of this. I couldn’t really believe it. I knew that this figure in front of me was a figment of neurons firing in my mind and my mind was forming something which resembled Jesus for whatever reason. I knew that this was not Jesus, and the figure was even stating that he was not Jesus, but I couldn’t help but feel that it was Jesus, that I had been whisked back in time 2000 years ago and suddenly was confronted by the figure who I had spent years trying to prove did not truly exist so that I could continue on with life and forget about hell.
“I don’t believe in sin.” I said. “But I believe in aliens. These Pleadians, they are an alien intelligence, right?”
“A cunning alien intelligence, yes. They are liars. Accusers of mankind. Accusing man of being parasites, destroyers of life.”
“And you are?” I asked. “Ichthys, great. Mr. Fish. Are you an alien intelligence or are you going to tell me you’re half-God?”
“I am not God. Not as you understand him. I am not Jesus. Not as you understand him. I am, however, trying to save you from the evil in the world, that evil being the Pleadians. I am in fact an alien intelligence, if by alien you mean life that resides somewhere other than earth. Believing in heaven is a belief in life elsewhere, so any belief in this heaven would also be a belief in alien intelligence. Some have referred to us as the Talls. Others have called us angels and have called the location where we reside ‘heaven.’”
“Others use you as a commodity to make billions of dollars.”
The being smiled. A calming one. “There is much you do not know about the world. There is much you do not know about yourself, where you live, the people that you meet, what you are trying to accomplish, or the ramifications that has on the rest of the world. Just as a recent physicist from your planet calculated that the flapping of butterfly wings in China could affect weather patterns in the United States, everything which happens to you creates an unpredictable effect on the world around you. You have written about this in your journal. You have become aware.”
“I am a drop of water in an ocean. I am not a unique snowflake. Yeah, I remember.”
“But an ocean without you would be a different ocean, and a blanket of snow without you would be a different blanket of snow,” The being said.
“Not by much.”
“You do not know what you are capable of, why I am here, why the Pleadians are trying to contact you, or how much is at stake. They are creating ripples, disturbances in the mental makeup of humans for their own reasons. You are one of those ripples.”
“A meme.”
“A new term in your world, but yes. A meme. They want you to create one. A destructive concept that infects the mind of man like a plague.”
“Or a cliché.” I smiled. God, was I ever witty. Even wittier, knowing I still had a sense of humor when confronted by a Jesus. I wondered if being a Jesus was just as much of an honor as being a Jedi. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Cease communications. Keep the cross with you at all times. Do not do anymore automatic writing.”
“I only did it once.”
“A drop of water only needs to hit an ocean once to make a ripple,” the being said. “I also want you to continue to meet with the preacher. He will keep you on the right track, albeit slightly off course. But it is much closer to the truth than any type of information you could ever obtain from a Pleadian. I am glad that you sought out the help of the preacher and took his suggestion. Only through his kind motives was I able to contact you. The cross is protection.”
“But why the cross? If you are an alien, what does the symbolism matter? The cross is what Jesus died upon when he was killed by the Romans.”
“There is much you do not know, Jeff. The cross was taken from an earlier religion. It is a pre-christian symbol. Again, I do not want you to confuse me with the historical Jesus. I know it is very difficult to see the distinction at this time, but it will become clearer to you. The cross will prevent numerous problems that are now bound to happen as a direct result of our communication. Do not remove it from your home. Keep one around your neck, with you at all times. I will explain later.”
“Do you always appear to people like this?” I asked.
“Very few people have the ability to percieve me,” he said. “You have the ability to perceive much. The stigmata occurs for a reason. The desire people have to send you photographs of lights in their homes and spirits in their basements. The desire people have to send you their dreams for interpretation. The community that is being built around you. All of this is because of you. For now, get some rest. Heed my words. And all will be well in time.”
I had the suspicion that this being was doing nothing more than stroking my ego. I can pick flattery out quite well. And I could feel how dangerous it would be to listen.At the same time, I could sense how dangerous it could be NOT to listen. I was torn.
I felt my legs shift. My arms. I could feel my body slowly animating back into life, like a record player that had just been plugged back in after someone had tripped over the cord. I glance at the clock. 4:16 AM. I glanced back towards the being. It was no longer there, and the sound of the expressway came back to me. The lights on my walls had returned to their orange glow instead of the bright light that I had been witnessing.
Time had stopped. This Jesus figure was gone, and I was left alone, in my bed. Confused as ever. I still am.
What am I going to do. I don’t know who to listen to. I don’t know who is and is not telling the truth.
The cross was still beneath me.
Now that I am finishing with this entry, I thought I should let you know that I will be throwing the cross away tonight. I want to know what will happen. Besides, I can always buy a new one.
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