If you want the full story start with my blog Amazing Healing Via Smart TV.  My Blogs are on RichDreams.com.  This is the 9th installment of my Smart TV/exoplanet healing experience.

I’ve been sharing my Space Friends Healing experiences here.  I need to go back to the very beginning.

Saturday, August 27, 1965.

My life changed on the flip of a coin.

The T-bone was juicy and rare, the potatoes deep fried to perfection and the salad was … well, a salad.  I was nineteen.  This was our reward for 24 hours spent fixing my VW breakdown 50 miles out of Moline, Illinois.  After we paid for the oil change, fill up and steak dinner we were out of money.

Steve and I were coming back from a summer trip to New York City.  We were tired after a night of sleeping in my busted car on the side of Interstate 80 and hitchhiking to and from the auto parts store.  Early registration for my Sophomore year at the University of Nebraska was Monday morning.  So we were driving home that night.

There was a class I was determined to take, Criminology 231.  It was impacted and I wasn’t qualified.  I had some work to do.

We flipped for the first drive.

Guess who lost?

I drove a truck to earn my way through college.  Still, nothing can really prepare you for a long boring drive across Iowa on a moonless night.  I had my arm out of the window for stimulation, but the hum of the tires was a hypnotic drone and the lane markers were a compelling focus lulling me to sleep.

I hadn’t seen another car or truck for miles.

I turned the AM radio to KOMA in Oklahoma City.   Rock and roll would save me.  I was singing along with Bob Dylan when it started.  The radio turned to static.  I tried WLS in Chicago – nothing.  I tried spinning the dial – nothing.  Then the headlights went out.

Finally the engine stopped running and I coasted to a stop on the side of I-80 for the second time in twenty-four hours.

“No,” I thought. “I can’t be having another breakdown.”

I tried to start the engine, but it wouldn’t turn over.  No spark – nothing.

It dawned on me there was no traffic.  Strange for Saturday night.  How would I hitch back?  What would be open on Sunday?  Worse yet I had no money.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the back of my neck was now icy cold and prickly like something was watching me.  I’d felt this once before while hunting late in a bad winter.  I found myself surrounded by wolves.

This time I wasn’t even armed.

I was in a tight spot.

I turned my head quickly.  I caught a fading glimpse of red.  Like whatever it was had been sucked into the night.  There were no trees or houses.  This was prairie.  I could see yard lights miles away in every direction.

I turned around and tried the engine again.  My neck prickled once more.  I was fully awake now.  Out of habit I shifted to neutral, pulled the break and opened the door and got out.  This time the red shape was bigger and faded more slowly.  Standing by the side of the empty Interstate, I still couldn’t make out what or who it was.

I yelled, “Don’t play games, here I am.  Show yourself.”

I sounded a lot braver than I felt.

The image emerged from the darkness.  It was ghost-like, translucent, ephemeral.  It was a shimmering sphere as best as I could tell.  It was on the other side of the Interstate and about 4 inches in diameter.  As it emerged from the blackness it grew larger and more distinct.  Almost like it was being born.

Soon it was four feet in diameter.

There had been many stories about strange encounters that summer.  The military assured us it was just swamp gas.  I had wondered why they were so quick to impugn those sightings.  Were they trying to hide something?

Well, this couldn’t be swamp gas.  There was no swamp, only corn and harrowed wheat.  There was no traffic – nothing but a timid red shape.

I did note a distinct smell.  I will never forget it.  It had a base of petrichor, that smell after it rains, except it was burned like my electric train short circuiting.  And all this was covered with a strong sent of cinnamon.

I liked the smell.

“Steve,” I called to my sleeping companion.  “We have one of those UFO’s out here.”

“Don’t give him any crap.  We got enough trouble with the Russians,” Steve replied before rolling over and going back to sleep.

I called out to the red globe, “Why are you here?  What do you want with me?”

The globe receded into the black night for a moment.  I guessed indecision.  Then it burst out again, only this time the globe was twenty feet tall and in front of my dead busted Bug.  The surface now had texture like human skin.  It was a fleshy pink-orange color, kind of like my skin.

The scene was void of mechanical noise.  No cars, no trucks or irrigation pumps.  The ambient sound was abundant with trilling insects.  It was peaceful.

I felt safe like I was with a friend.

A white circle formed on the face of the fleshy globe as it floated above the cornfield on the right side of my car.  Then a green iris formed inside the white circle with a black lens.  It was a magnified reflection of my eye.  It seemed to glisten with moisture.  Exactly like a giant human eye.

I loved it.

It was the most fantastic art I’d ever seen.  The Guggenheim would die for this.  I grinned and started clapping.

All this was just for me.

I don’t know why I thought this strange thing was male or controlled by a man, but I did.  Maybe it was the playfulness.  At first he seemed vulnerable, now he knew I was friendly so he could be more open.  He had nothing to hide.

Anyway, I knew he was answering my question.  Why was he here?  What did he want with me?  He was saying, “I’m looking at and studying you.”

I smiled and saluted as a sign of understanding.  After all, I was looking at and studying him.  We were friends.

Then the giant twenty-foot eye formed an eyelid, blinked once and turned into a slick, glossy burning red sphere.  Instantly, he flew into the distance.  He streaked through the sky like a wayward meteor.  He flew upward, not across.  Until he was once again swallowed by the night.

I stood for a few minutes wondering if my new friend would return.  I wanted him to.  I was brought back to earth by the sounds of Wilson Picket singing, “In the Midnight Hour” on KOMA.

The menacing noise of a passing semi startled me, rocked the VW and replaced my friends wonderful aroma with that of diesel fumes.  Cars and trucks passed on both sides of the Interstate.  Our moment of peace was shattered.  Not a single insect could be heard.  We were back to life as usual.

I climbed into my car.  It was running, the lights glowing and I was headed home with a story I wouldn’t tell.  It was personal.

I wasn’t one tiny bit sleepy.

That night my life changed forever.  I just didn’t know how much for fifty-eight years.

 

Good Luck and Great Adventures,

Tom Pauley

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