Visitors Now And Forever
Part I & II
By Alfred Lehmberg
~<(Ö)~ Apology to MW #320 (For October 9, 1999)
I don't believe _in_ UFO's, and I'm not splitting hairs, but *something* haunts the skies above, and shames us well down here. And not just now, but way back *when* 'twas flight was just a dream. Yes, well before the pyramids that began it all, it seems. Back before we sailed our seas we prayed to brutal gods -- gods as thick as errant fleas to give that needed nod. Back before, when just a few, we wandered plains in bands askew, and we were *almost* innocent then, an uncorrupted kith and kin. Back before we wrote in books, we scratched cave walls with paint and soot, and we recorded saucers, flying, (scaring the observers spying) -- pulsing inner lights in waves that we, then, chipped in stone, OK?
Kings of fearful ancient times would see them hover there, and scurry to their *high* priests, their witchdoctors, and sayers. Pharos of old Egypt ran, and raised up armies that would stand in fearful awe of flying craft that, silent (days long!) flew on past! They could, even, smell their odors -- alien and acrid motors! This was taken down (but hidden) by a man of some *religion*, but the papyrus is real and good translation's solid seal. I say this and forget the Bible -- how all its stories make it libel as a record of abduction, UFO's and piqued destruction!
Consider Alexander as he strides his *conquered* planet, as he crosses raging rivers to secure a grip upon it. His elephants and horses and, yes, most of all his men were panicked by two UFO's that _dove_ upon them, friend. They drove them from their crossing (why?) these craft that sailed air; they flew like massive birds of prey that owned the sky up there. Described as silver shields spitting fire to the ground, they danced and burned and threatened, but they did not make a sound. Squealing like Ned Beatty, and (yes!) scared beyond his wits, Alexander *wrote* it down, so we'd _remember_ it.
And sober (pre-Christ) Romans were observers, then, as well. Of skies, well nigh, INFESTED are the tales they would tell. Spectacles of "fleets of ships" would course through troubled skies, they wrote it down as point of fact, and not as *charming* lies. They would HEAR terrific noises, and the sky would turn to gold. Men and women trembled like they all had gotten cold. Globes of fire fell to Earth and landed on the ground. Taking off they'd go straight up and flash their lights around. Described as brighter than the sun, these terrified plain folks (who'd run) to hapless priests or scared officials who'd write it down, and sign initials. Pliny wrote of burning shields that danced across his eye, annealed. Others wrote of missiles, then, that roared and soared their skies again.
The birth of Christ won't cure the air of errant flying craft. Josephus wrote of phantom ships, and no one thinks he's daft. Respected as a scholar, and revered as circumspect, he wrote of flying chariots, and of beings WITHIN them yet! He wrote of armies of them that would course their way through clouds! He wrote "surrounded cities" so there really is no doubt. He wrote that all this happened in fullest light of day -- he wrote of frightened peoples who went down on knees to pray. This wasn't science fiction, but was well beyond his scope. He wrote it as he saw it. All agree that he's no dope.
The Byzantine were not immune to unknown *flying* craft, they wrote of ships called brilliant, more like burning globes -- as fast. They hovered over cities (!), and presented beamslike swords; folks looked up and cringed in fear for judgement of those lords! Nobles watched the pagans as the dark age was to end, and reddish brown in color flying saucers flew again! They hovered over churches, and they scared the people blind who ran in "bug" confusion from the castles if outside. They had never seen the like! They cowered in their awe. They survived and wrote it down. It sticks, yes (!), in your craw.
And what is seminal history, but Saint Gregory of Tours who reported on one Alcuin, a biographer of stars. Charlemagne's assaulted by a light-fast glowing globe! It flickers inexplicably like a psychedelic strobe! It's so damned strange it spooks his horse, which rears in the attack. Charlemagne, in armor, is then thrown right off its back. This injures him severely; he's dead in four more years, and kingdoms fall to ruin as the Vikings bring their cheer.
The Japanese saw their fair share and they will not be excluded. Yoritsumi saw the "flying lights" and here will be included. Yoritsumi was a general with his army in the field, and he saw them loop their circles in the sky like hurled shields. They swung all night to morning light and then some hours still, so he, then, asked his *wise* men who would shuck _their_ jive and shill, "Be unconcerned, most gracious lord. Let smiles adjourn your frown -- it's a typhoon, heaving mightily, to blow the stars around."
This takes us from -- "way back" BC . . . to about the thirteenth century. There's more to say another day -- eight hundred years of saucers -- hey! Forgetting tablets Sitchin translates, UFO's remain debated. History's a smoking gun that people did _not_ write for *fun*. It was, then, too damned expensive; they only wrote what common sense was. Written in the words they had in concepts they could understand, they wrote that we are _not_ alone, and wrote that down in ink and stone!
No. I don't believe in UFO's. I believe UFO's. The difference is NOT that subtle. And what is there not to believe. Seriously -- it crawls all over the written record, and yet collectively we continue to laugh inappropriately up our damp sleeves.
Why? We can't let it disturb our future plans? Rofl!
And, what is it but our belief in a phony-baloney, and likely unjust, *future* ((awarded to us if we stay our *profitable* but world sodomizing course)) that allows the shimmering scales of a court jester ufology to be glued to our hapless eyes in the first place? Yeah! Phony -- baloney!
The conservative establishment smirks and continues to celebrate a conservatism that is born out of the *satisfactions* it has discovered in having *things* remain just as they ARE. Further -- it is an establishment that recently finds itself needing to demonstrate some reinvention as a *compassionate* party, proof of it's sociopathy! That future that we hope for (and that they promise) is a red herring (for a carrot) on the end of their long stick. And even IT evaporates (as a red herring is wont to do) the moment they feel they HAVE to have another platinum fixture on the downstairs bidet of their autumn home. In a contrived and manipulated denouement that too few are availing themselves of -- these few are very comfortable indeed. We are embroiled in a gigantic and pyramidal ponsi-scheme for a sociopathic minority. This corrosive minority believes that they will be able to insulate themselves from the very worst, FORGETTING they are in a position to elevate the whole to truly cosmic levels. Free power, as example, has such a *problem* NOT because there is nothing to it. Rather, a huge amount of old (and new) money feels it has a lot *invested* in the early, fossil, twentieth century concepts presently employed. Energy problems in this country could be eliminated with an _incentive_ to generate power and supply it to a grid, presently, enslaving us, but I digress. <puff -- puff . . . deep breath <g.
This group (of the, ah, uh -- . . . conservatively minded) is the same bunch that fills the trough for our news media and mainstream science impetus. It is also the major proponent of a campaign to keep ufology in the under-funded-court-jester status it presently occupies. UFO's suggest change -- this is a change that may not be compatible with the present ease of luxury and control now enjoyed by selected persons presently disrespecting your individuality and quality of life. How much control do you have?
No, we hang by threads. At the complete whim of the arbitrary, we are song and danced by a cloying appeal to tradition and ceremony. These traditions of Aristotle, and these ceremonies of elitist convenience do nothing but beg the inevitable question; however, a question largely unanswered but for a smirking retort that maintains a status quo leading to an increasingly exclusionary and suicidal dead end.
Somebody knows.
UFO's are, by definition, change, and point to worlds with much more breadth and scope -- potential and expansiveness. It gets no easier to maintain a façade of normalcy for the smirking denial of these few, so fearlessly -- ask your own questions though the answers (or the suggestions of answers) offend you, shock you, or shame you. There is joy beyond the shame, satisfaction beyond the shock, and fellowship beyond the offense.
And it's real.
Restore John Ford!
UFO's are history. They're non-admission's misery . . . as *airships* span the mists of time -- that I would paint with words in rhyme. Our dissonance, transparent -- plain, confounds the issue that remains . . . that we are NOT alone at last, in present time OR in the past! Written down, but then ignored, it didn't *square*, and was deplored. Folk from space might do to US what *we* had done -- we're scared, nonplussed! The *plans* of some would be derailed if we but copped to where we've failed. We have closed our misled minds to what has filled our ancient eyes -- visions of a cosmic texture far beyond mere droll conjecture. What follows is the record (written!) -- words THEY used as they were smitten with a terror they beheld . . . without its like or parallel.
Matthew writes, as we begin, of stars like torches (bright and dim) that move around the sky with purpose. He wrote it down. It made him nervous. "The air was clear, serene, and shining." Lights within it coasted -- blinding! He described in words he knew -- what flew that day was strange and new. A few years later, about 1250, Matthew writes again -- it's gifted. A ship appears, "well shaped" he wrote, in color that would catch the throat. It floated in the night time sky; the monks all saw -- it CAUGHT their eye.
William writes at century's end, a "discus" thrown by giant men would fly across his abbey's spire, flashing silver -- fear inspired. "Utmost terror" was described, "flat and round" it ruled the sky. Honest William -- just like us, but buried back in timeless dust? Did he see what some have seen, beyond the need or call for dreams?
Robert writes, as time goes on, of "fire pillars" flying 'round -- "livid color" painting clouds -- the *pillar* lofting . . . grand and proud . . . crimson flames would issue forth, and flashing beams like "swords," it coursed. It crossed the heavens "slow and grave", and North it flew like skies were paved! Now, what would soar at speeds like that? He swore it truth -- and that was that!
"In fourteen hundred and ninety-two Columbus sails" his "ocean blue". We're not told that he's a skunk; if greed was beer than he was drunk. If avarice was not his suit than Jesus NEVER told the truth. But he was seeing pulsing lights -- "at great distance", "glimmering," bright! They'd vanish and then reappear -- "move up and down"; it WAS quite queer. Another witness, Pedro, deems they'd fly in "sudden passing gleams." This from the deck of the Santa Maria, which lands in few hours to cap the idea!
1528 comes 'round: a fight in Utrecht most profound -- a meeting with continued fate as we wade time and list strange dates. A golden "X" invades the sky, and overhead it coasts on by. The battle stops to watch it go; some take it as a "sign", but no -- it travels past without a care to humans fighting . . . on . . . down there. In 1554 in France, at night without a moon to dance, "emitting [some] great noise it seems." A "sky-born lance" that flew was seen. It flopped around from side to side; it cast out flames in truth they cried. From East to West -- traversing stars, a meteor (?), or men from Mars?
Evelyn was writing, see (?), (in sixteen hundred and forty-three) that Englishmen were NOT immune from "sightings" we cannot impugn. "[I'll] not forget," he writes in awe, "[what men perceived and women saw] -- a "shining cloud was in the air," and like a sword it hovered there. "[It pointed North for all to see, and brighter than the moon would be]". It floated there, two hours long, then vanished as he wrote its song.
An English *Fellow* walked his park in idle contemplation, hark -- middle 18th century, a time when most would scar their knees . . . Some *construction* cleared his roof and rose in to the sky, aloof. Lofting over trees so grandly, north by east above his lowlands. In view, for but a half a mile -- he saw its "framework" all the while, and watched it burn a bright light flame that bent the way a "curl" is named. The thing was big, four fingers long; he gaped in awe; it flew along. It burned a bit like blown on charcoal, then disappeared within the dark-fall.
In the *States* about this time, the Natives told us cosmic rhymes -- about a *star folk* coming down and landing on the Earth! Profound! Not like men, they glowed with light and married into what they might. They found the earthly women fair, and mixed their blood with them -- it's there. They'd machines that they would use to move from up above, foot loose. Who's to say what happened where. Don't write it off as myth! Beware!
It's time to stop with more to tell. We'll save it for another spell. But don't pretend you KNOW the truth. Don't trust the "man" to fix this *roof*. The lights we see were always seen. This isn't legends, myths, or dreams. We just choose to look away from what our record has to say. They've been here, we're not alone; it just may BE this ain't our home. . . . .That we're mere tenants, at the whim, of those that came here -- way back when!
There's nothing real to debunk <g but our aggregate lack of consciousness, and well tended cognitive dissonance. This is despite any rabid misdirection at my use of a language that is the just another box of paint to me, communicates what is meant to be communicated, and does it at a 99.9 degree of efficiency and efficacy. The emphasis and intensity of a misdirecting obsessive coterie regarding said use says more about that coterie than me. I'll make the occasional error. Get over it. Besides -- it's not really what we're talking about is it? This gets hard to remember in a heady (but empty) atmosphere of crossed t's and dotted i's.
"I cleave the heavens, and soar to the infinite. What others see from afar, I leave far behind me." - Giordano Bruno, burned at the fundamentalist's stake.
Part III
UFO's are ink and stone to demonstrate we're not alone, and in a record written plain, we see continued this refrain. Something's seen in Earthly skies that won't be seen by those despised -- those that have the facts, they know, would open DOORS through which we'd go; those that know a piece of truth and put it in their vests, aloof, smirking over ill got gain they make in mists they help maintain. We don't hear this in our schools, but from the fringe most played for fools. None the less -- it is the record, writ by those who are detected in a search of ALL the data pertinent to futures fated. We'll continue *marching* time and listing dates of cosmic rhyme. Come along, the ride is thrilling, awe inspiring, a little chilling -- perhaps it's also (likely) truth . . . that we could put to gainful use.
The eighteenth century saw its end, and UFO's were seen again. French police were vexed with sightings they could not explain -- they're frightened. "A large red globe" is testified -- a dozen people saw it fly. And landing in a crowd of folks, a man steps out to talk, and SPOKE! Police Inspector Jan Lebeuf could make no sense of it -- you know? He scratched the fleas tormenting him and wondered. "What the hell's this, then?! The globe *explodes*, to add confusion -- spacemen disappear . . . illusion? We can't know what those folks saw, but plainly, they were struck with awe.
Captain Banner captained ships. Steady, he was good with it. Late one night there is a panic! Sailors kick a fuss and racket! Pointing fingers, gaping eyes, across the water *something* flies!!! A maze of circles, curving shafts, circular in form -- it's DAFT! Was it cloud or *manmade* object? What nation flew (?) though not the subject. It came up hard against the wind, and very nicely settled in. They saw it, plain, for a half an hour; the captain, serious and dour -- wrote it down within his log the like of which wakes up your dog!! 1870 was the year; the future's quickly drawing near.
The term itself of flying "saucer" -- provided by a Texan farmer . . . watching one, described it so. It flew above his farm, we've known. Ten times seven years would pass before Ken Arnold watched aghast, and looking for a plane in trouble saw them once again -- their double. "Skipping saucers on the water," words he *coined* were coined beforehand. "Flying Saucers (?)" -- an invention by the press with tongue in cheek, then. Still, and all, these men describe what they have SEEN in words denied. It is NOT a silly dream, this written gift of what they've seen.
The Persian Gulf in 1880 (?) -- British steamships *steam* it *greatly*! Written in the Patna's Record, Captain Avern logs his reference. "[Glowing wheels, building sized, hovered with my ship]" -- he writes! "[Vivid spokes of glaring light reached out to touch his ship that night]"! The wheels spun for twenty minutes. Mr. Manning was a witness. Mr. Brace was there to SEE the wonder of what this could be! So it was, in legal writing, with a captain badly frightened. So it was with loyal mates in qualifying future fate. They wrote down what we would read to drag our OWN conclusions free!
Photographed (?) at Zacatecas, 1883 -- prestigious! Joe Bonilla sighted several -- several HUNDRED, flying level! Flying fast across the sun these glinting disks were on a run! Seen again ANOTHER day, a run it was I'd have to say. But photographed? It's new to me. I don't remember it, you see. If photographed would someone share? Let's see it, please, if you would dare.
We must stop and end the show of mysteries that move and glow. More is coming on the heels of your delighted shrieks and squeals. Ain't it wondrous? Ain't it grand, this *kingdom* now so near at hand? A kingdom made to suit the one who sets it up and makes it run. And not Jehovah, Emanuel, or Gods and imps -- the usual. But YOU, believing, testing *faith* that MAKES it happen -- sets the pace. If you think it, then it's real. That's truer than we know, I feel. If you wish it, it can happen? What prevents it? YOUR distraction. We have records spanning time, and filled with wonder, shock, and rhyme. You don't hear it, but it's there, and won't be heard unless you care.
Do you care?
-- EXPLORE Alfred Lehmberg's Alien View" at his Fortunecity URL. **<Updated 13 November**
"I cleave the heavens, and soar to the infinite. What others see from afar, I leave far behind me." - Giordano Bruno, burned at the fundamentalist's stake.
Part IV
We've traveled far across scant time and heard it's whisper, chilly rhyme, that something odd was in our skies to fill our hearts and heads and eyes, but we dismissed these observations, written words, these protestations, that machines might fly IMBUED with what, today, we'd find construed. Saucers make themselves well known, in lithograph, or carved in bone. Carved into the walls of tombs, these words transcend the churlish goons that lean on *science*, much maligned, to prop their shallow paradigms. But I digress, we should go on, our fates approaching fast and strong.
Our century, then, begins at last with what was one TREMENDOUS blast, and sending shock waves harsh and dire -- Tunguska was, then, set afire. A thousand acres of it burned, wildlife slaughtered men would learn, and it was years before they saw the devastation of it all. The trees were pushed aside like matchsticks, mashed down, flattened, winged matrix . . . an instant of our century's time to sew raw wonder in our minds. The life that has returned is *changed*, and not so subtlely rearranged -- this is stuff not talked about, you see it once then do without. Strange mutations come from space to interact with Earth life's race, so, ARE we not (us all) effected . . . over time to change, affected? Forget it may have been a spacecraft, blowing up before it's impact -- radiation's not ruled out, and life IS *different* there-a-bouts.
1915 comes around; a world's war distorts and pounds, and from the British comes a tale of what's beyond the common pale. Gaining ground in mass attack, they'd take hill sixty (it was next), but on the hill they found, instead, some clouds some say were filled with dread. Shaped like lenses, they're described, lenticular (in smoke they hide); the battle stops and jaws gape open, but -- cannon fodder's orders spoken, eighty tens must march that day for if they balked their lives they'd pay! Twenty men would watch these soldiers march upon their *hill* as ordered -- they were never seen again; just simply GONE, 800 men! No trace of them was EVER found -- a mystery, and MOST profound.
Two years later we would see what thousands saw that set them *free*, and made them make interpretations made out, now, as weird assertions. Tens of thousands gather in for worship, service -- Christian hymns, and seen descending from the sky, and flying patterns bright and high -- a saucer skims and darts about -- to ooo's and ahhh's and startled shouts. "Angels flew" Fatima said, a town in Portugal, we have read. And just above their upturned faces, the craft "flew down" and hovered, graceful . . . lifting (then) to pierce the sky, and disappearing from their eyes. Discounted as religious fervor, thousands saw, from kings to servers, what they all would, then, describe . . . a silver craft that day DID fly.
The closer that we get to us becomes the fog of those unjust, and we can't trust a record, plainly, so beat up . . . abused insanely . . . so consoled by soothing stalls that act informed -- professional. Their expressions (smooth, contentious) are misdirecting ones attentions from a slight of hand they've used -- to keep us stupid sifting news. Sightings, now, are thick and heavy, had a few myself, and lately. This is not a fantasy. This BECOMES reality. From the forties fog begins as we pursue atomic *friends*. And their interest there is plain. The UFO's would come again -- wreaking havoc on our bases, shutting down our missiles . . . traceless.
1942 -- Los Angeles, photographed, and simply fabulous! Collins writes the strange account that throws your mind and heart about. Shelled from shore by worried guns, the *Japs* were flying over them . . . an airship filled the summer skies -- was unaffected but despised, and took the fury for our brothers, then flew away to join their others. I've wondered how it might have gone if Steven Speilberg, later on, had made his movie (of this period) not played for laughs, and been more serious. Belushi was a comic foil unsuited to this kind of toil -- bet it would have made more money . . . UFO's are just NOT funny.
The closer that we get in time the more confused the facts are, Clyde. Facts? . . . Mushy data used to make convenient cases for some *snakes*. Most of it is fake, I've heard, but some of it is real, sure. So, I'm not fooled by plain derision, affected by their misdirection, and I know it must be wrong to act, at all, like we're alone. If they are *there,* as you allow, then they are *here* -- you shallow brow! Look upon OUR feeble strides and see potentials *they've* contrived. Evidence abounds for free; the folks I trust that stand with me, a living breathing history -- plus the stuff I've plainly seen. We're awash in innuendo, half truths, lies, and we pretend so. We pretend that we're alone. We IGNORE our ink and stone. We pretend that it's a fake for feeble minds and sure mistakes, but something's written from the past -- beseeches us to grab hold fast, and listen for what can't be pressured, weighed, assessed, or even measured. We are not, have never been, alone as we've been taught, my friend, and real proof we're not alone sure seems to come . . . from ink and stone.
EXPLORE Alfred Lehmberg's Alien View" at his Fortunecity URL. **<Updated 28 November**
"I cleave the heavens, and soar to the infinite. What others see from afar, I leave far behind me." - Giordano Bruno, burned at the fundamentalist's stake.