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Alien Mind Control During Abductions
by Paul Schroeder

Posted: 15:22 September 15, 2009

MOMENT ON EARTH - A True Alien Abduction

I am on line, on a "tour"; I am waiting on line, inside something large and hot-house humid, moving forward slowly into a large carrier ship.

Just moments before, it seemed, I was flying high above the trees, arms outward , to catch the wind, flying, captured in a warm safe beam of light, under a small craft, over lush green tree landscape, over rolling tree lined hills.

I know somehow that it is night time but the fields and countryside below are illuminated, lit up as though it were ten in the morning, but I know it's night because I am told that I am dreaming. For a few more brief seconds I see the green granular nature of the trees below and a visual exhilaration of flying combined with a sense of peace and happiness. I marvel at the texture and color and my movement above it.

I am dreaming but I am awake.

I am told by a tour guide, a warm deep resonant voice, always just out of sight, that I am to wait on line for a tour of the insides of a country estate. I am numb and dreaming. But I sense, and see oddly, the vision of one who is somehow awake, but paralyzed; one who guesses that he is awake.

Now, moving forward, people in a straight line, in front and in back of me; all are adults but now, they're on a narrow path surrounded by flat scenarios of English gardens. It is hot and humid with the rank smell of soil. People clutch in their fists, what might be brochures and move slowly forward in a single line, towards the large doorway country estate. I feel terribly bored, but am told to pretend out of kindness, and numbness, to be mildly interested. I pretend. A ticket taker sits on the left, at the entrance way, on a stool ,behind a pulpit-lectern, carefully observing the entering throng, not taking any tickets. On closer examination, I meet his eyes; He is a slim teenager and, I think that his denim coveralls looks ill suited and that both he and his attire seem out of place at the entrance of such an austere tourist attraction, and as though he could read my mind and shape shift, in two seconds ,he turns into a kindly old man. Even more puzzled, I proceed into the ship.

Everyone is awake but dreaming.

(part 2)

Inside, I see a waiting room, a dull, white room with no adornments and a black floor. Inside, in constant movement, are a dozen or so middle aged people, all sorted as only men .They pace and look around nervously. Some speak aloud ,but not to each other, as though wrapped in separate dreams. They make brief ,low voiced non-sequiturs and some look very worried. In the room, men move towards an empty buffet table, strangely empty of food or drink and carefully carrying nothing, return to a place in the room. A man, unhappy, short, slight, with a pinched face, walks directly up to my face and peers intensely up at me from the paper cup he is holding in hand and makes furtive eye contact. I stare back, remembering his face for many months afterwards. He wanders away muttering. I am unhappy; I am at a corporate party ,in a company I don't work for, and not only do I not know anyone, but the host has invited me to a buffet without food or drink; I am angry.

The tour guide, who always remains out of view, now tells me that it is a cocktail party. I am suddenly overwhelmed with the cumulative uncomfortable corporate uneasiness in each face and it repels me from the room. Looking for a door or exit I think;" I'd like to find the hosts of this party and give them a piece of my mind; no food no drink! What kind of party is this? "

But as I start off to look for the host with that thought in mind, a psychic leash is pulled and applied; I am frozen in place ,viscerally slapped with an emotional wave of terror and remorse. I am washed with a realization that it would not be a good idea to go as it would insult a most lethal and evil host. But my mind reasons, even though it is wrapped in alien imposed delusions and tied to a psychic leash of telepathy . In the midst of this delusion, I ask myself, why would going, scare me so? Why would I fear insulting a likely fearsome host, if I have no idea ,at all, who the host might be? With a mixed feeling of confusion but of having averted jeopardy, I quickly dismiss the idea.

I go back into the party. Everyone stared at my nakedness.

I blink and look again. All the men hold and drink from invisible cups and are half dressed. Each man is in an unhappy jittery dream. Again, I am quickly overwhelmed with the feeling of not belonging in that room.

Although the tour guide is watching, I sneak out into another, nearby seemingly empty smaller room. I am overwhelmed with joy; Free and wild, a child ego-state blossoms and I giggle with mischievous glee as the feeling overcomes me. I dropped to the black floor and darted under a table whose tablecloth drops to a few inches above the floor. I am quickly underneath. I am hiding. No one knows. Again, I am suddenly gripped with a joyful childishness that forces my eyes and mouth into contorted joy.

I can hear voices of the people talking in the room but now I feel safe, hidden; the table is draped on all sides by white cloth. Footsteps! My life seems threatened! Someone is about to pull the tablecloth up and find me; the tips of black shoes intrude under the cloth's edge. I shrink and withdraw, teeth bared and revert, atavistically; I now growl, electrified, animal like and launch myself, snarling, forward. It is a dream within a dream.

(part3)

A bright light and I am dreaming, but I know that I am awake. I am not awake but I am moving, climbing up a steep stairway ladder path-bridge in a very large room , still in line with people in a guided tour, dreaming awake.

The tour guide, always just out of view, tells me to keep climbing up a ladder towards a small room at the top of the stairs.

Someone in front of me dreams, wakes up dreaming. I hold the banister of a metal staircase and look to my right as I climb, upwards and see an enormous domed -curved window which makes up the whole side wall I am slowly climbing, feeling very numb. I pause, stopping the line of climbing people and place my arms on the metallic curved railing where the staircase meets the bottom of the window. Cupping my chin on my hands, I look outside that large curved window and I try to understand what I am seeing but I am so numbed that what I see ,however dazzling, does not affect me, emotionally.

Outside is blackness. The Earth, floats, white-bluish, to the left and the clear ,vivid moon ,to the right in the glass window. The Earth is a blue white haze but for a large red area which I see as the desert of North Africa, or the Arabian peninsula. Far away, violet splashes of nebulae and points of red pinpoint starlight intersperse with millions of white stars.

Chin in hands, I leaned over and said in a sad, wistful, admiring tone, "These people who live at this estate have some view; "wow what a view!"

The tour guide, always just out of view, is startled and quickly the scene is changed to that of a flat one-dimensional English garden landscape.

Chin in hands, still looking out of the window, I say, again, but this time looking and reacting to the garden landscape, They do have a nice view!."

The tour guide, startled to hear me repeat the same phrase and out of touch with the fact that the scene of the garden had already worked to distract me, knee-jerk over reacted.

I was thrown into a vivid emotional ecstasy.

The ladder path transformed into a delicately patterned, dazzlingly ornate inlaid wood design ,cryptic and deep ,in both beauty and complexity. In awe, I was forced to kneel and examine it, and turned fully away from the window.

I felt a powerful awe, love, admiration and godlike reverence quickly flash me and then it began to overwhelm me. I felt an awe beyond reverence and worship, now ,on my knees, on the wood-inlay staircase, suspended in air, examining the lushly constructed, multi-collared fractals in wood. An awe, tingling through my skin, thrilled me.

The gorgeous staircase intricately embroidered with lush wood patterns elicited in me a powerful, spiritual, heartfelt adoration love for the construction, the unknown artist, the wood pattern, and I became so absorbed, that I forgot, for the moment, what I had seen outside the window.

The sleeping line of climbing people was stopped by my awe and fawning and repeated examination of the simple metal staircase. I repeatedly retraced my steps to further examine it.

The tour guide, always just out of sight, presumed that it was enough. A paternal, parental impatient voice said in my head, "just keep going; it will be there for you to see when you get back." But things change in dreams, I tell myself, and I do not trust that it will be there again for me when I return. I linger, enthralled.

The guide, in classic mind control tactic, had distracted me by making the metal staircase the unrightfully recipient of my awe, rather than that of the scene outside the window, so that I would not understand or remember, but when I woke, I did remember. I recall ,later thinking, that they have uncanny, psychic, mind-bending control over peoples minds; I dully recall that as a thought.

(part4)

I awoke exhausted, with a dull headache and a nose bleed, more tired getting up than I had been, going to bed.

I opened the door, slowly and peeked down the hall; there was no one in evidence. I threw on my striped, tattered bathrobe, full of holes, and barefoot, stole out into the hallway, leaving my door barely ajar. I went to the stairwell, chose the second floor, and peeked up and down the hallway from my vantage point behind a hinge of the stairway door. It was five fifteen a.m. I 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 a scooped up morning paper, under my arm, from a third. My heart pounding, lest I be detected, I ran up, breathless, to the fourth floor, my stolen breakfast in hand and locked the door.

I heard, in my head, a voice and a buzz. It was a slight ring in my left ear, that odd inner ear ringing tone, one hears sometimes for no apparent reason. Concentrate on it, it gets louder, pay no attention, it dissipates. But, the ringing in my ear got louder and I shook my head to stop it. It was, I thought, clanging loud enough for the neighbours to hear it coming from my head. I wildly moved my head to stop it. It grew louder. The sound moved deeper into my head and melted into a humming vibration. The whole left side of my head was humming.

I heard a voice which began quietly, but I couldn't understand anything, not a single word. I began to pray silently to St. Michael, as I stood there alone with a voice grinding out sounds in my head. My heart pounded and my jaw fell slightly open as the stolen groceries fell from my grasp to the floor. I held my hands to my ears, supported my head and tried not to scream and run.

I thought that people in insane asylums who heard voices could be like me or me like them.

(part5)

I was climbing to the small room at the top of the ladder and I was dreaming awake.

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. I 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.

I was cloaked in blackness, dreaming a recalled memory. She was in my arms, soft, dark, long brown hair brushed my face. Almond shaped coquettish liquid dark eyes looked deeply into mine. I returned her gaze with a passionate, loving sensuality. She held my hand and it was cool and slender. A mysterious and provocative incense coursed through my blood and made me dizzy with desire for her. I moaned and leaned closer.

She pressed her slim body close to mine and I lowered my eyes closing my lids, flushed with lust.

She suddenly stiffened and withdrew, and I sensed a wave of disgust and disdain from her wash over me. I was crushed and puzzled , why had the sweetness of the dream soured?

She withdrew, backwards into the blackness. The girl in my dream stared at me; in her hands was a funnel-shaped cup, attached to a tube receptacle. I was disappointed that she had taken seed from me and said "Is that all, Is that all you want?"She stared at me in wonder, as though I could see and understand.

Before the darkness came and swallowed him I realized that her coldness was the coldness of one running an experiment, caring more about the outcome then the methods used.

(part 6)

Even though I was dreaming I knew that I was awake and I struggled with a feeling if hopelessness in the dawning realization of my experience.

Cold, unblinking eyes recorded both psychic and anatomical responses; they were registering my emotional responses, categorizing, summarizing, analyzing and judging me. The alien administered a progressive personality assessment, a standard psychological measurement exam which had more subtle discernment and calibration of the soul than any earthbound measurement.

The creature stared directly into the my eyes and induced a delusional thought system, a gauntlet of nightmares, a funhouse of terrors. A series of three-dimensional scenarios, in crystal clear virtual reality, were projected into my mind. My reactions, my nuances of feelings to the projected visions, were carefully registered and recorded. The aliens seemed to be screening for asocial psychopaths and for people of moral goodness.

The first scenario : 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, who busily chopped infants into butcher cuts. Dead infants, several months old, with unseeing open eyes were stacked in tall piles of carcasses. I was urged to enter the room but my mind rebelled in horror and fear and I refused. I was emotionally overwhelmed, the horror of the chopped infants saddening me, tightened my stomach and filled me deeply with fear. I trembled in terror. I thought, "Who in God's name could bring himself to do such an evil thing?"

I am thrust into another scene; a rubble-strewn street with burnt shells of vehicles, some upside down ,all surrounded by a city vignette of shells of fragmented buildings which are precariously perched. In the background smoke and flame issues all around. At my feet, injured, partly buried in the rubble is a frail old woman with a kerchief covering her head. She weakly gestures for help. I kneel beside her, but a sound from above, of shifting rocks, brings my eyes to the building above me, which begins to weaken and shift. Fear of death overcomes me and in agony ,I run from the scene, leaving her behind. I am stricken with grief and guilt over the decision, but I also feel grateful for having escaped unscathed.

All of this is carefully registered and recorded. Again I am thrust into another scene, the small, dark creature staring fixedly into my eyes. I hear 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 crawls down my arms and legs. I am psychically prodded to look within. A naked, muscular young man with black hair is writhing in pain, chained by arms and legs to a wall-mounted wood cross. Nearby, I see a creature unimaginable and mythical; a seven foot tall , bright red hued Devil, replete with tail, who wears a black-hood and demonically laughs, in stentorian fashion, as he delivers whip-snapping cracks onto the screaming man's back with the whip. The man screams and pleads for mercy in fervent agony, between each blow of the whip;. blood and tissue, noisily splatter the walls at each stroke.

My mind shrank back in mortal terror, disgust and raw horror.

Next, a scenario materializes and reveals a thick-bodied, squat, gangster who sits at a table playing solitaire. With a growl rich and deep with menace ,the gravel voiced gangster picks up a hand gun and flatly tells me that he is going to kill me. Helpless, I nod in silent placation and tacit agreement. The gangster, never taking his eyes from his cards in front of him places the gun at the far end of the table close to me. The killer assures me ,in a gravelly voice, that no matter what I do, he will definitely murder me. I am urged to go for the gun. In response, my mind's eye measures the distance between the gangster's hand and the gun and my own relative distance from the gun; I decide that it was surely a trap and that I would be shot before I got to the gun. I resist the suggestion and my survival response is recorded. The next scenario - a beautiful woman, a Hollywood femme fatale type with short skirt, long white gloves, very long legs and dark hair, tells me that she is in danger and needs me to go with her to help her. I awaken more now, and patently refuse, smelling danger, seeing through the disguise. She promises me her body if I would help her. I abjectly refuse, again. Now, she pauses and looks surprised and seems to not know what to say or do next. The delusion is wearing thin and I begin to stare hard at each participant. The alien introduces a promissory image of her long limbs lasciviously intertwined with mine. I still refuse, seeing a ruse.

The next psychic measurement is for honesty and guilt; I am left in a room with money piled high on a table. I am urged to fill my cassock pockets and I do. I am made to feel the slow burn of shame.

At the end of the exam, bereft of strength, disheartened, deeply depressed, I sat in the spacecraft drained and exhausted. At this point the alien applied an artistic touch to the delusion. It gave closure and diverted my mind, but it also mercifully alleviated my soul's suffering. Each main character from each scenario filed in one by one with knowing smiles and sat at a table in front of me.. My God; I was at the center of a "Mission Impossible" scenario!

With a dawning realization that these people were simply players, conspiring to fool me, two things happened: surprise at the complexity of the dream, and awe, at the enormity of the staging, by seeming strangers. This new revelation replaced the angst that this series of visions had provoked. It also underlined the alien's total duplicity; when the alien saw my slow smile and lightening of spirit he brought me out of the delusion and back into blackness. When my alarm rang, I swung my feet onto the floor.

"Dreadful dream," I thought "My god, what a dreadful dream; someone was butchering babies; horrible dream."

I am on line, on a "tour";I am waiting on line, inside something large and hot-house humid, moving forward slowly into a large carrier ship.

Just moments before, it seemed, I was flying high above the trees, arms outward ,to catch the wind, flying, captured in a warm safe beam of light, under a small craft, over lush green tree landscape, over rolling tree lined hills.

I know, somehow, that it is night time but the fields and countryside below are illuminated, lit up as though it were ten in the morning, but I know it's night because I am told that I am dreaming. For a few more brief seconds I see the green granular nature of the trees below and a visual exhilaration of flying combined with a sense of peace and happiness. I marvel at the texture and color and my movement above it.

I am dreaming but I am awake.

I am told by a tour guide, a warm deep resonant voice, always just out of sight, that I am to wait on line for a tour of the insides of a country estate. I am numb and dreaming. But I sense, and see oddly, the vision of one who is somehow awake, but paralyzed; one who guesses that he is awake.

Now, moving forward, people in a straight line, in front and in back of me; all are adults but now, they're on a narrow path surrounded by flat scenarios of English gardens. It is hot and humid with the rank smell of soil. People clutch in their fists, what might be brochures and move slowly forward in a single line, towards the large doorway country estate. I feel terribly bored, but am told to pretend out of kindness, and numbness, to be mildly interested. I pretend.

A ticket taker sits on the left, at the entrance way, on a stool ,behind a pulpit-lectern, carefully observing the entering throng, not taking any tickets. On closer examination, I meet his eyes; He is a slim teenager and, I think that his denim coveralls looks ill suited and that both he and his attire seem out of place at the entrance of such an austere tourist attraction, and as though he could read my mind and shape shift, in two seconds ,he turns into a kindly old man. Even more puzzled, I proceed into the ship.

Everyone is awake but dreaming.

(part 2)

Inside, I see a waiting room, a dull, white room with no adornments and a black floor. Inside, in constant movement, are a dozen or so middle aged people, all sorted as only men .They pace and look around nervously. Some speak aloud ,but not to each other, as though wrapped in separate dreams. They make brief ,low voiced non-sequiturs and some look very worried. In the room, men move towards an empty buffet table, strangely empty of food or drink and carefully carrying nothing, return to a place in the room. A man, unhappy, short, slight, with a pinched face, walks directly up to my face and peers intensely up at me from the paper cup he is holding in hand and makes furtive eye contact. I stare back, remembering his face for many months afterwards. He wanders away muttering. I am unhappy; I am at a corporate party ,in a company I don't work for, and not only do I not know anyone, but the host has invited me to a buffet without food or drink; I am angry.

The tour guide, who always remains out of view, now tells me that it is a cocktail party. I am suddenly overwhelmed with the cumulative uncomfortable corporate uneasiness in each face and it repels me from the room. Looking for a door or exit I think;" I'd like to find the hosts of this party and give them a piece of my mind; no food no drink! What kind of party is this?"

But as I start off to look for the host with that thought in mind, a psychic leash is pulled and applied; I am frozen in place ,viscerally slapped with an emotional wave of terror and remorse. I am washed with a realization that it would not be a good idea to go as it would insult a most lethal and evil host. But my mind reasons, even though it is wrapped in alien imposed delusions and tied to a psychic leash of telepathy . In the midst of this delusion, I ask myself, why would going, scare me so? Why would I fear insulting a likely fearsome host, if I have no idea ,at all, who the host might be? With a mixed feeling of confusion but of having averted jeopardy, I quickly dismiss the idea.

I go back into the party. Everyone stared at my nakedness.

I blink and look again. All the men hold and drink from invisible cups and are half dressed. Each man is in an unhappy jittery dream. Again, I am quickly overwhelmed with the feeling of not belonging in that room.

Although the tour guide is watching, I sneak out into another, nearby seemingly empty smaller room. I am overwhelmed with joy; Free and wild, a child ego-state blossoms and I giggle with mischievous glee as the feeling overcomes me. I dropped to the black floor and darted under a table whose tablecloth drops to a few inches above the floor. I am quickly underneath. I am hiding. No one knows. Again, I am suddenly gripped with a joyful childishness that forces my eyes and mouth into contorted joy.

I can hear voices of the people talking in the room but now I feel safe, hidden; the table is draped on all sides by white cloth. Footsteps! My life seems threatened! Someone is about to pull the tablecloth up and find me; the tips of black shoes intrude under the cloth's edge. I shrink and withdraw, teeth bared and revert, atavistically; I now growl, electrified, animal like and launch myself, snarling, forward. It is a dream within a dream.

(part3)

A bright light and I am dreaming, but I know that I am awake. I am not awake but I am moving, climbing up a steep stairway ladder path-bridge in a very large room , still in line with people in a guided tour, dreaming awake.

The tour guide, always just out of view, tells me to keep climbing up a ladder towards a small room at the top of the stairs.

Someone in front of me dreams, wakes up dreaming. I hold the banister of a metal staircase and look to my right as I climb, upwards and see an enormous domed -curved window which makes up the whole side wall I am slowly climbing, feeling very numb. I pause, stopping the line of climbing people and place my arms on the metallic curved railing where the staircase meets the bottom of the window. Cupping my chin on my hands, I look outside that large curved window and I try to understand what I am seeing but I am so numbed that what I see ,however dazzling, does not affect me, emotionally.

Outside is blackness. The Earth, floats, white-bluish, to the left and the clear ,vivid moon ,to the right in the glass window. The Earth is a blue white haze but for a large red area which I see as the desert of North Africa, or the Arabian peninsula. Far away, violet splashes of nebulae and points of red pinpoint starlight intersperse with millions of white stars.

Chin in hands, I leaned over and said in a sad, wistful, admiring tone, "These people who live at this estate have some view; "wow what a view!"

The tour guide, always just out of view, is startled and quickly the scene is changed to that of a flat one-dimensional English garden landscape.

Chin in hands, still looking out of the window, I say, again, but this time looking and reacting to the garden landscape, They do have a nice view!."

The tour guide, startled to hear me repeat the same phrase and out of touch with the fact that the scene of the garden had already worked to distract me, knee-jerk over reacted.

I was thrown into a vivid emotional ecstasy.

The ladder path transformed into a delicately patterned, dazzlingly ornate inlaid wood design ,cryptic and deep ,in both beauty and complexity. In awe, I was forced to kneel and examine it, and turned fully away from the window.

I felt a powerful awe, love, admiration and godlike reverence quickly flash me and then it began to overwhelm me. I felt an awe beyond reverence and worship, now ,on my knees ,on the wood-inlay staircase, suspended in air, examining the lushly constructed , multi-collared fractals in wood. An awe, tingling through my skin, thrilled me.

The gorgeous staircase intricately embroidered with lush wood patterns elicited in me a powerful, spiritual, heartfelt adoration love for the construction, the unknown artist, the wood pattern, and I became so absorbed, that I forgot, for the moment, what I had seen outside the window.

The sleeping line of climbing people was stopped by my awe and fawning and repeated examination of the simple metal staircase. I repeatedly retraced my steps to further examine it.

The tour guide, always just out of sight, presumed that it was enough. A paternal, parental impatient voice said in my head, "just keep going; it will be there for you to see when you get back." But things change in dreams, I tell myself, and I do not trust that it will be there again for me when I return. I linger, enthralled.

The guide, in classic mind control tactic, had distracted me by making the metal staircase the unrightfully recipient of my awe, rather than that of the scene outside the window, so that I would not understand or remember, but when I woke, I did remember. I recall ,later thinking, that they have uncanny, psychic, mind-bending control over peoples minds; I dully recall that as a thought.

(part4)

I awoke exhausted, with a dull headache and a nose bleed, more tired getting up than I had been, going to bed.

I opened the door, slowly and peeked down the hall; there was no one in evidence. I threw on my striped, tattered bathrobe, full of holes, and barefoot, stole out into the hallway, leaving my door barely ajar. I went to the stairwell, chose the second floor, and peeked up and down the hallway from my vantage point behind a hinge of the stairway door. It was five fifteen a.m. I 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 a scooped up morning paper, under my arm, from a third. My heart pounding, lest I be detected, I ran up, breathless, to the fourth floor, my stolen breakfast in hand and locked the door.

I heard, in my head, a voice and a buzz. It was a slight ring in my left ear, that odd inner ear ringing tone, one hears sometimes for no apparent reason. Concentrate on it, it gets louder, pay no attention, it dissipates. But, the ringing in my ear got louder and I shook my head to stop it. It was, I thought, clanging loud enough for the neighbours to hear it coming from my head. I wildly moved my head to stop it. It grew louder. The sound moved deeper into my head and melted into a humming vibration. The whole left side of my head was humming.

I heard a voice which began quietly, but I couldn't understand anything, not a single word. I began to pray silently to St. Michael, as I stood there alone with a voice grinding out sounds in my head. My heart pounded and my jaw fell slightly open as the stolen groceries fell from my grasp to the floor. I held my hands to my ears, supported my head and tried not to scream and run.

I thought that people in insane asylums who heard voices could be like me or me like them.

(part5)

I was climbing to the small room at the top of the ladder and I was dreaming awake.

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. I 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.

I was cloaked in blackness, dreaming a recalled memory. She was in my arms, soft, dark, long brown hair brushed my face. Almond shaped coquettish liquid dark eyes looked deeply into mine. I returned her gaze with a passionate, loving sensuality. She held my hand and it was cool and slender. A mysterious and provocative incense coursed through my blood and made me dizzy with desire for her. I moaned and leaned closer.

She pressed her slim body close to mine and I lowered my eyes closing my lids, flushed with lust.

She suddenly stiffened and withdrew, and I sensed a wave of disgust and disdain from her wash over me. I was crushed and puzzled , why had the sweetness of the dream soured?

She withdrew, backwards into the blackness. The girl in my dream stared at me; in her hands was a funnel-shaped cup, attached to a tube receptacle. I was disappointed that she had taken seed from me and said "Is that all, Is that all you want?"She stared at me in wonder, as though I could see and understand.

Before the darkness came and swallowed him I realized that her coldness was the coldness of one running an experiment, caring more about the outcome then the methods used. (part 6) Even though I was dreaming I knew that I was awake and I struggled with a feeling if hopelessness in the dawning realization of my experience.

Cold, unblinking eyes recorded both psychic and anatomical responses; they were registering my emotional responses, categorizing, summarizing, analyzing and judging me. The alien administered a progressive personality assessment, a standard psychological measurement exam which had more subtle discernment and calibration of the soul than any earthbound measurement.

The creature stared directly into the my eyes and induced a delusional thought system, a gauntlet of nightmares, a funhouse of terrors. A series of three-dimensional scenarios, in crystal clear virtual reality, were projected into my mind. My reactions, my nuances of feelings to the projected visions, were carefully registered and recorded. The aliens seemed to be screening for asocial psychopaths and for people of moral goodness.

The first scenario : 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, who busily chopped infants into butcher cuts. Dead infants, several months old, with unseeing open eyes were stacked in tall piles of carcasses .I was urged to enter the room but my mind rebelled in horror and fear and I refused. I was emotionally overwhelmed, the horror of the chopped infants saddening me, tightened my stomach and filled me deeply with fear. I trembled in terror. I thought, "Who in God's name could bring himself to do such an evil thing?"

I am thrust into another scene; a rubble-strewn street with burnt shells of vehicles, some upside down ,all surrounded by a city vignette of shells of fragmented buildings which are precariously perched. In the background smoke and flame issues all around. At my feet, injured, partly buried in the rubble is a frail old woman with a kerchief covering her head. She weakly gestures for help. I kneel beside her, but a sound from above, of shifting rocks, brings my eyes to the building above me, which begins to weaken and shift. Fear of death overcomes me and in agony ,I run from the scene, leaving her behind. I am stricken with grief and guilt over the decision, but I also feel grateful for having escaped unscathed.

All of this is carefully registered and recorded. Again I am thrust into another scene, the small, dark creature staring fixedly into my eyes. I hear 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 crawls down my arms and legs. I am psychically prodded to look within. A naked, muscular young man with black hair is writhing in pain, chained by arms and legs to a wall-mounted wood cross. Nearby, I see a creature unimaginable and mythical; a seven foot tall , bright red hued Devil, replete with tail, who wears a black-hood and demonically laughs, in stentorian fashion, as he delivers whip-snapping cracks onto the screaming man's back with the whip. The man screams and pleads for mercy in fervent agony, between each blow of the whip;. blood and tissue, noisily splatter the walls at each stroke.

My mind shrank back in mortal terror, disgust and raw horror.

Next, a scenario materializes and reveals a thick-bodied, squat, gangster who sits at a table playing solitaire. With a growl rich and deep with menace ,the gravel voiced gangster picks up a hand gun and flatly tells me that he is going to kill me. Helpless, I nod in silent placation and tacit agreement. The gangster, never taking his eyes from his cards in front of him places the gun at the far end of the table close to me. The killer assures me ,in a gravelly voice, that no matter what I do, he will definitely murder me. I am urged to go for the gun. In response, my mind's eye measures the distance between the gangster's hand and the gun and my own relative distance from the gun; I decide that it was surely a trap and that I would be shot before I got to the gun. I resist the suggestion and my survival response is recorded. The next scenario - a beautiful woman, a Hollywood femme fatale type with short skirt, long white gloves, very long legs and dark hair, tells me that she is in danger and needs me to go with her to help her. I awaken more now, and patently refuse, smelling danger, seeing through the disguise. She promises me her body if I would help her. I abjectly refuse, again. Now, she pauses and looks surprised and seems to not know what to say or do next. The delusion is wearing thin and I begin to stare hard at each participant. The alien introduces a promissory image of her long limbs lasciviously intertwined with mine. I still refuse, seeing a ruse.

The next psychic measurement is for honesty and guilt; I am left in a room with money piled high on a table. I am urged to fill my cassock pockets and I do. I am made to feel the slow burn of shame.

At the end of the exam, bereft of strength, disheartened, deeply depressed, I sat in the spacecraft drained and exhausted. At this point the alien applied an artistic touch to the delusion. It gave closure and diverted my mind, but it also mercifully alleviated my soul's suffering. Each main character from each scenario filed in one by one with knowing smiles and sat at a table in front of me.. My God; I was at the center of a "Mission Impossible" scenario!

With a dawning realization that these people were simply players, conspiring to fool me, two things happened: surprise at the complexity of the dream, and awe, at the enormity of the staging, by seeming strangers. This new revelation replaced the angst that this series of visions had provoked. It also underlined the alien's total duplicity; when the alien saw my slow smile and lightening of spirit he brought me out of the delusion and back into blackness. When my alarm rang, I swung my feet onto the floor.

"Dreadful dream," I thought "My god, what a dreadful dream; someone was butchering babies; horrible dream."


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