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In 1987 Jim Moroney had an extraterrestrial encounter at a small truck stop just outside Manitoba, Canada. It changed his life forever. He spent the next twenty years studying the phenomenon of extraterrestrials. His book will provide answers to all your questions about visitors from other planets, ...
In 1987 Jim Moroney had an extraterrestrial encounter at a small truck stop just outside Manitoba, Canada. It changed his life forever. He spent the next twenty years studying the phenomenon of extraterrestrials. His book will provide answers to all your questions about visitors from other planets, including:
Jim Moroney's The Extraterrestrial Answer Book is a valuable guide for everything extraterrestrial. In it, Moroney outlines steps the government needs to take to address the presence of extraterrestrials, as well as those average people can take. Full of practical advice to help you prepare for an encounter with an extraterrestrial, The Extraterrestrial Answer Book succeeds in answering the most important question in the debate over extraterrestrials and UFOs.
We are not alone.
Through the Looking Glass
"It is no longer a question of when will humanity interact with extraterrestrials, but rather the much more difficult question of how they have decided to interact with us!"
Before the summer of 1987, I thought I understood the UFO phenomenon. As far back as high school, I'd pondered, in a relaxed sort of way, whether or not extraterrestrial life might exist. Being a science buff, I was deeply interested in the technology surrounding the space program, but as far as the possibility of extraterrestrial life went, I didn't have a strong interest either way. Like many others, I believed that life probably existed beyond this planet. When I first read about UFOs in the 1960s, it didn't seem unreasonable to accept that they were probably out there someplace, even though I'd never seen one. I did (and still do) believe that some UFO reports were fabricated, but it still seemed that there was a core of truth to the whole phenomenon. I assumed that the beings who operated such craft would turn out to be pretty much like humans, just more advanced technologically.
I didn't think much about the aliens' intentions. It even seemed plausible that they had chosen not to interfere directly with our society, but to keep their distance and avoid direct contact. I also thought it would be nice if we were given an opportunity to meet them. However, I didn't think much about how that interaction might occur, whether they'd come down one day and say "take me to your leader," or whether it would be we who went looking for them. Over the years, I had heard reports of abductions. The whole idea seemed unlikely, but I couldn't rule out the possibility that a few unlucky souls might have been captured and cruelly studied by cold, emotionally detached alien beings. In short, there wasn't much information available on the subject, and I operated under the subconscious frame of reference most of us have picked up by watching science fiction programs on TV.
As it turns out, I was completely wrong on almost every point.
My First Conscious Encounter
August 9, 1987, was a cool summer evening. I had taken a few days off to drive from Edmonton, Alberta, to Sarnia, Ontario, to attend my sister's wedding. I'd left Edmonton early the previous afternoon and had driven to Winnipeg, Manitoba, about an eleven- to twelve-hour stretch and over eight hundred miles. As I neared Winnipeg, I began to have a strong premonition that the aliens were around and that our first physical contact might actually occur.
To explain why I felt that way, it's necessary to step back to an event that had occurred a few weeks earlier. As a result of an auto injury, I had taken up meditation to help with soft tissue rehabilitation. A few weeks before the Winnipeg trip, during one of the meditation sessions, an image had suddenly formed in my mind. It began as a close, formless mass, then rapidly drew back to coalesce into a pair of eyes; then, around the eyes, a face. It was a human face. The image grew in clarity to reveal piercing blue eyes and long blonde wavy hair; simply a human female, nothing too remarkable about it. But somehow it was more than just an image. There was a strange sense of presence to it. So I mentally asked, "Who are you?" expecting, perhaps, some insights from my own subconscious.
When she told me her name, I knew that the response was not coming from inside me. I couldn't have pronounced the name, and today I can't entirely remember it, but I have a sense that it was a long name with a high, shrill sound at the end. Almost instantaneously, the face changed, assuming a definitely not-human appearance.
If the name had bewildered me, the change in appearance was positively horrifying. Instinctively, my mind bolted for normal consciousness, but sometimes when you're in a deep meditative state, it can be difficult to snap out of it. While my mind was still pulling away, she surrounded me with an overwhelming feeling of unconditional love and contained within that love was a message that said, "We're here to help you."
The message wasn't verbalized; it was more of a direct connection to my consciousness, during which an idea-image was delivered. The image itself is hard to put into words. In every language, there are words that are so culturally specific that they have no equivalent in other languages. This was an idea that had no equivalent within the English language or current human understanding. Within that one idea was simultaneously contained, "Jim, we're here to help you personally, and we're here to help your friends, and we're here to help all of humanity." Her distinction between me and the people around me, both friends and strangers, was much smaller than humans typically make. Rather than viewing each of these three concepts separately, she fused them all into a simultaneous whole, in which the individual components were not blurred or lost, but united. The message itself was clear: "This is what we're doing."
Understandably, when my mind did struggle free of the meditative state, I was stunned, shocked, and elated, literally holding my head and jumping around the room yelling, "Oh my God! Did I just blow a circuit?" I could still feel that overwhelming, unconditional love. I regretted that I hadn't stayed with her (whatever she was) longer, but the sudden shock of her transformation to an alien appearance had propelled me into full waking consciousness. I might have dismissed the whole thing as an artifact of meditation, if it hadn't been for that overpowering, exhilarating, lingering sense of love. It made the whole experience far too real to ignore.
Over the next two weeks, I kept thinking about the experience. Should I tell anyone? Of course not; who would believe me? Still, I couldn't help feeling that something, some further contact, was going to happen. I just knew it.
I started to recall earlier experiences when I'd awakened with a feeling of paralysis and a perception that something (someone?) had been in the room. Were these experiences related? What would happen next? The sense of unconditional love and over-whelming peace still lingered, wrapping itself around me like a warm comfortable blanket. It was so real. I wanted more. I wanted to initiate a meaningful dialogue with this being, whoever or whatever she was.
How could I have predicted that the next encounter was going to utterly devastate me and strip away virtually everything I thought I knew about the world I lived in?
A Full-Blown Encounter
As I drove toward Winnipeg that August night, the premonition that something was about to happen kept getting stronger.
It was totally unlike anything I'd ever felt before. Something was going to happen—and something inside me knew it.
I drove through the darkness thinking why me? I was no representative of anything important. What did they want with me? What would happen? What would I see? I was thinking clearly enough to realize that if I really was about to contact a more advanced species, the greater risk would come from my actions, not theirs. They probably knew a lot more about humanity than I knew about them. If something happened that scared me, would I be able to control my fear? What if I couldn't? Might I panic and somehow endanger my own life? I was determined to be the best possible representative for "friendly humanity" but the more I contemplated the potential risks and unknowns, the more the whole thing started to feel like an impending disaster.
I thought about pulling off onto an old, dusty, dirt side road and trying to sleep, but one glance down the dark, empty road convinced me to look for a less isolated location. Driving deeper into the night, I decided that however events played out, the first seconds would be critical. I had to try to demonstrate that I meant them no harm. Easier said than done; I was seriously worried about losing control and freaking out, which might place me in grave danger. I decided that maybe the best thing to do would be to keep my eyes closed for part of the experience. By reducing and controlling the amount of sensory input, I might be able to reduce the fear so I could manage the situation more calmly.
By that time, the uneasiness had deepened into something approaching dread. But was this even real? This is crazy. The being was so loving ... why am I getting so uneasy? Maybe it was all in my head. I did know, however, that thoughts of stopping anywhere in the dark had long since passed. Nearing exhaustion, I pulled into a truck stop called Deacon's Corner outside of Winnipeg off Highway 1. There were a couple of rigs parked to the side of the friendly little diner. I pulled into an empty space in front, slid over to the passenger side to get the steering wheel and foot pedals out of the way, put the seat back, closed my eyes, and tried to get comfortable. I had originally intended to leave the windows open, but the coolness of the night combined with the incessant local mosquitoes soon enticed me to completely roll up the windows.
Although I hadn't known it when I pulled in, truck stops are not necessarily the best places to try to sleep. Sleeping in a big rig in a warm bed with curtains is one thing. Sleeping in a little Honda Civic near these goliaths is something else altogether. Mammoth rigs would shake my makeshift bedroom and illuminate it like I was staring into a midday sun.
So there I was, lying on my back with my eyes closed, and along came another transport truck. He must be pulling in, I thought, because those huge, bright headlights were blasting right into my car again. Then I realized that one of the lights was blue—and the lights were moving over the top of the car and were now exploding through my sunroof.
Oh God, here we go, I thought, eyes tightly shut, wondering if anyone in the diner was seeing this.
The air went dead, as if its density had suddenly changed. I could hear the rpms of a nearby truck engine dropping slightly, but the sound was becoming increasingly faint. It was as if something were inhibiting the transmission of sound energy through the surrounding air. The next two things happened simultaneously: a sudden paralysis and an absolute, overwhelming sense of terror. Instantly, I recognized the paralysis as the same kind of paralysis that I had experienced at various points in my lifetime, but this time it was more intense and longer-lasting. It was shocking to realize that those earlier episodes of paralysis had actually been caused by the aliens, and that they must have been in contact with me for years, without my ever knowing it! The fear was sudden, stark, overwhelming, and totally unexpected. It just came out of nowhere, a terror so crushing that it made it difficult to analyze the situation or respond in a controlled way. (After additional contact experiences, I have concluded that the fear is probably biologically induced by the paralysis, as some sort of side effect.)
The hair on my arms began to rise, but I still didn't open my eyes. It seemed as if I was in some kind of strong electromagnetic field, perhaps created by the propulsion system of the silent, brilliantly lit craft that I knew must be hovering above the car. Then something brushed against my right arm. Even though my eyes were still closed, my other senses said that I was still in the car. But I had closed all the windows! That meant that the object now touching my arm could only have entered by passing straight through solid material.
The gentle movement against my arm had stopped, almost as if they were waiting for me to do something. It certainly occurred to me that my life might well depend on what I did next. I still hadn't opened my eyes. At this point, I didn't think I could handle seeing some kind of creature peering at me. I didn't want to lose the small amount of self-control that I was clinging to and do something stupid that might jeopardize my life.
While this was happening, I was struggling against a terror so intense that it threatened to overwhelm my rational, conscious mind. Nonetheless, I somehow managed to form the thought that I had to do something to show that I meant them no harm and was willing to communicate. But I literally could not speak. I couldn't move, not even my mouth! They were using such an extraordinary amount of force to restrain me that I quickly reasoned they must be afraid of me. This wasn't good! The situation was deteriorating rapidly. Maybe I could unlock the door and open it, I thought. Maybe that would convey to them that I wanted to communicate with them and was no threat. With immense mental and physical effort, I managed to slowly move my right arm through that endless few inches and unlock the door. It was so exhausting that the moment I succeeded, my arm dropped like a thousand-pound lead weight.
Then I began to feel a pressing sensation around my head, as if some kind of band were being tightened—not an actual, physical band, but some kind of energy force that was putting pressure on my head. As the pressure increased, I felt my consciousness drift further and further back into a state of deep relaxation. The fear was dissipating, but any kind of resistance to the pressure caused an immediate and painful throbbing.
At this point, the memories become jumbled and disconnected ... I was in a different position and could hear an echo of myself screaming ... I was lying down and could feel something touch me behind the right ear, sending what felt like an electrical shock into my brain. It felt as if the object that touched me was both mechanical and alive. I could feel waves of energy dissipating into my brain, branching out along specific pathways ... suddenly I was back in the car, and as the paralysis began to vanish, the lights began to move off to the right.
Two months would pass before I would have the courage to attempt to uncover what had actually happened during this episode and the piece of time of which I had no memory.
One of the dangers of being a contactee is that if you're not careful, your encounter-world can start to seem more important than life here on Earth. Some contactees report an overwhelming sense of mission, thinking that they've been chosen for contact because there is something humanity is supposed to be doing. However, such responses usually come later in the overall process. Initially, most contactees have their hands full just trying to assimilate their new experiences.
I was no exception. It's fair to say that my own contact experiences have destroyed not only every preconceived idea I've ever had about aliens, but also my fundamental beliefs about reality and humanity's place in the universe. I've been given glimpses of a greater reality so overwhelming that it has literally shattered the carefully assembled belief system that our society calls "reality." There is no way that anyone could have prepared me for what these contact experiences would do. The beings I've encountered and the realities I've glimpsed have been overwhelming beyond my wildest imagination.
After that first contact in 1987, it seemed that any effort to convince other people of what had happened would be futile. I had no physical evidence that would stand up to any scientific inquiry, and no basis for explaining the psychological components of the experience.
The night of that first physical encounter, I simply kept moving. I drove all night and slept during the day. I didn't want to sleep at night. When I reached Ontario, I didn't tell my family what had happened. My sister's wedding went off without a hitch, but days afterward, I was still agitated and tense.
I had to talk to someone. Finally I sat down with my sister and said, "Look, I don't know how you're going to take this, but ...," and I couldn't continue. I simply could not speak. Instead, I started to cry. Our family is very loving, but we normally don't show strong emotions unless there's a serious matter involved, so, understandably, my sister was upset by my behavior. What surprised me was how deeply upset I was. I'd managed to function at a reasonable level over the previous few days, but now the repressed feelings just came rushing out. I managed to blurt out that I had had an abduction experience or an encounter experience. I said that I knew it sounded insane, but it had happened.
My sister said something very profound. She said, "Okay, Jim. How does this affect me?" Although this may sound callous, I'm convinced that it wasn't meant that way. She was simply pointing out that I had not considered how my disclosing this information would affect other people. I realized that I hadn't really thought about how the information might affect other people, or whether it would affect them at all. It's as if a voice inside my head suddenly said, "Jim, this is your experience and you're going to have to come to terms with it on your own." Talking with my sister helped, but I realized that the work of understanding had to take place inside my own head. I had to find my own answers.
Excerpted from THE EXTRATERRESTRIAL ANSWER BOOK by JIM MORONEY. Copyright © 2009 Jim Moroney. Excerpted by permission of Hampton Roads Publishing Company, Inc..
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