As can happen with these things, my Strieber-piece has turned into a much larger project than I anticipated. I mean large. So I’m deciding whether to post it here in installments or wait and publish the whole thing, or what.
As a stop-gap while I make my mind up, here’s something from my own alien archives, a description of dream I had back in 1993, mostly taken from an old dream journal. Some background: I had discovered Whitley Strieber’s Communion (via a tacky UFO magazine which I picked up on a whim) when I was living in Mexico, and (needless to say) been profoundly impacted by it. I was staying at a Buddhist commune in France, working for food and board, when I had my first full-blown dream of interacting with nonhuman beings. I was convinced it was less a dream than a memory, being processed through the filters of my unconscious mind. I remembered my childhood night sweats, fever dreams, and panic attacks, when I would wake up and run in terror from my bed; I wondered if they were connected with similar visitations in my past, experiences which I had blanked from memory. I would question this interpretation today, but it’s perhaps best to just let the dream speak for itself for now, as an example of my long-time affinity for Strieber’s “visitor” experience.
As the dream-memory began, I was in a large group of young people, perhaps school children and we were waiting to go under the ground. We were in “the firm and relentless hands of government” (here and elsewhere I am quoting from my original journal account) and very few of us knew what was about to happen. I seemed to know more than most, but even I had little idea of what to expect. There was something about “watches”—possibly we were asked to remove them. Then we were ordered, compelled, to be enclosed in a dark space for a period of hours, by way of preparation, perhaps as a kind of quarantine or acclimatization process. I was aware, already, that we were going to encounter the unknown, and that it might involve other life forms. There followed then our delivery into the underworld, by what means was unclear, but at the end of which we arrived at a well-lit complex which I knew was under the ground. All I could remember of this area was a sort of bar or buffet, a counter with seating that seems to go round in a circle. There were some receiver-transmitter things, like TV sets, mounted well above our heads, at regular intervals. It was like a salon, a secret bar, or a waiting room, and from here, presently, we were moved on to another place. This second space was curiously insulated: no air seemed to get in there, yet we were breathing.
We were amidst the other beings. The one thing I couldn’t remember was the actual contact with these mysterious figures, only that, little by little, we realized where we were, and what was happening. The experience was incredible beyond belief, strange beyond my wildest imaginings, terrifying with an intensity I would not have dreamed possible. No words could do it justice. Yet at no time were we in any danger, of harm or even of physical-mental abuse. So far as I remembered the dream, we were not subjected to any of the “ordinary” abduction procedures, but might have been due to gaps in my recall. The only thing I clearly remembered of this part of the dream was a small black child, being the very first amongst us to see one of them, turning to me and saying, “Jesus!” I looked at what he was seeing and said the same. This one word—“Jesus”—seemed to sum up all the vastness of the new world before us, all of the horror, wonder, and awe that possessed me and annihilated all that was left of my reason, on seeing this incredible, unacceptable sight.
The beings were blue. There was something about their eyes, not black, but somehow hollow, like I could see right through them. The beings themselves, their skin or their form, seemed to be fluid, not like ordinary solid matter but more alive, more livid. Yet the beings were partly human, I knew this instinctively. I also knew that this was a memory of the past, or was almost sure of it; because, if it were only a dream, there would be no reason for the intensities of my emotions. Yet I brought to it my present level of awareness, including knowledge of other people’s accounts of similar experiences, so I was curious as to just what these beings were. They seemed to be neither like the “grays” nor like the “kobalts,” but rather somewhere in between.
At one point, I said to someone: “They’re a hybrid?” A military figure, old, immensely dignified, and known to me, he affirmed my question curtly, without explanation. I was aware that we were being kept from interfacing with the higher order of beings (I referred to them as the “thin ones” in my original account) by this human, military presence—not for our (or their) protection, but to keep us from the truth and to deny us the uplifting and illuminating soul experience of contact with the “pure breed.” I was in no position to lament this, however. The most prominent feeling in the dream was one of wonder, face to face with this incredible life form, simply and wholly because I knew that it was not human, and could find no way around this realization. My whole being, including physically, was shaken, in a kind of apocalypse of the soul. I felt my world being torn apart just to look at them. Yet at the same time, I was aware of somehow forgetting the experience even as I was having it. I somehow knew that my everyday reason would not allow me to carry the burden of this revelation, that even as it was being forced to acknowledge the reality of what it was seeing, it was busy denying its existence to itself, and that it would do so as continually and as thoroughly as it could, until no trace remained.
I was aware that the forgetting, which was inevitable, was less a result of deliberate maneuvers on their (human or alien agencies) part, and more the result of my own self-protective instincts. It seemed like it would even be a relief to forget, and that I would surrender the memory willingly if only the boundless terror go with it. Yet what I was so afraid of was hard to explain. Then I blacked out. There was a hole in the plot, a hole so large as to render the plot itself incoherent. I couldn’t remember the interface, or even if there was one, nor the exact form or features of the beings. Nor did I recall the return to the surface, if we were indeed under the earth.
One thing I remembered clearly was the phrase INTELLIGENT LIMBS, a phrase that occurred and recurred throughout the experience. The concept was of an intelligence that spreads out and takes hold from many (maybe infinite) different points at once, like the roots of a tree, while remaining at the same time hidden, hence protected. I interpreted this as a description of the hive-like activities of the “visitors.” Each one of them moves about as a limb, neither separate nor independent, because guided by the intelligence of the head. Yet at the same time they were expendable, because when you cut off a limb, another would immediately take its place. Like the heads of the Hydra, the beings were mere extensions of a central force, or “head,” and should the “limb” be injured or captured, the intelligence could simply be withdrawn and redirected, leaving only an empty and useless shell, or possibly not even that.
After this, the dream descended into nightmare. I was in a car and the light went out. I was waiting for someone or something when an eerie sound began to engulf me. I was afraid, confused. I climbed out of the car to try to ascertain what the sound was, and only then realized that it was coming from inside the car. I climbed back inside and realized that it was the radio, which had been turned off before. It was tuned to no particular station, emitting a sort of high insistent hum or whine, with an underlying buzz or crackle that could easily be mistaken for distant voices. I had candles on the dashboard, like an altar, and they burned down in a matter of seconds. Something was not right. An unknown influence was acting, changing all the laws of physics and of nature.
Suddenly I was paralyzed. I felt as though contained in a powerful field of energy, one that caused both an internal tension and an external paralysis in me. It was like I was exploding, but contained, with no way to let it out. There was a sound in my ears like a plane crashing and taking off at once: the high ascending roar/whine which I had by then come to associate with astral projection. I was in my bed now, I realized, as well as inside the car, yet the new awareness brought no relief. I was mortally afraid, because I had already come to associate the paralysis with them. I felt their presence all around me and yet I was helpless to act: all I could do to protect myself was to keep my eyes closed. The feeling was hideous, unbearable. How could I have ever wished for this? No one could endure such an encounter, these beings were inhuman. The mere fact of their existence filled me with a horror that bordered on nausea.
It occurred to me that the force that trapped me and seemed to crush me and to tear me apart at the same time was the force of my own fear. I lay in my bed, curled up in abject fear, the only thing between me and the vast unknowable darkness that wanted to devour me being the thin layer of bedding which I had wrapped around me and covered my head with. Even as I did so, I knew it was hopeless, but the alternative—to draw back the covers and gaze into that abyss that was gazing at me—was unthinkable. This happened again and again, while in the dream, it was as if nothing changed. I was in the car, waiting for their arrival, for disaster, and I continued returning to my bed and going through the same sensations, the same terror. By this time I didn’t even know if I was awake or asleep, whether the beings were present or if they were about to arrive. And the moment I started to doubt it and they began to recede, I began to call them back. As soon as they responded, and I knew it was real again, once again I would have done anything, anything, to escape them. It was as if my desire was too terrible for me to endure it.
Finally, after countless repetitions of this process, the dream was released, all the way into nightmare. I climbed out of the car and went down towards the forest, knowing I would encounter them but compelled to go, as if by an external force. I saw a patch of red ahead of me, a small figure in the darkness. They were not human: they were waiting for me. Then, as I looked at them, they faded away. “Ordinary” people took their place, several of them around a sort of table in the forest. I was laid down on the table to be treated. For some inexplicable reason, I trusted these “people.” I kept looking at the one in charge, the doctor. There was something about him: he was disturbingly real, nothing like dream faces that change and blend myriad features together. His face was fixe, I could see it clearly when I woke. He was fleshy round the neck, with fat cheeks, sweaty, slightly unshaven, with curly dark hair that receded extremely, bald on top. He was wearing thick lens spectacles with a dark plastic rim. As I lay there, he leaned forward and inserted a large needle into the back of my neck. I knew that the treatment was not for any disorder but more for immunity, some kind of acclimatization. As I lay there I began to realize that the whole purpose of my trip underground was just this: acclimatization, to get us used to these beings.
The other people held me down, even though I wasn’t struggling. The doctor injected me again in the same place. I grew slightly afraid and began to want to get away. The doctor told me then that he would need to inject me many, many times. I think he may even have said “thousands” of times! I cried out, “Not tonight!” He shook his head, “No, no,” and I experienced relief. Something changed then in my point-of-view, and I began to grow suspicious of these “people.” They weren’t quite right, there was something about them.
A scene ensued then: Two of the “people” (all of them are wearing bright anoraks and track-suit type clothing), were struggling with a child who was refusing to go with them. They were supposed to be the boy’s parents, but he sensed that something was wrong. The father grabbed the boy and slapped him. He said, “Fran! Be a good girl Fran!” The boy shouted out in horror, “I’m not a girl! I’m a boy!”
It was obvious now: the cat was out the bag. The “people” were not his parents at all—they didn’t even know what sex he was! They were some kind of synthetic beings, robots. The “father” slapped the child over and over again, then dragged him towards a house. I watched in impotent horror. I was beginning to suspect malevolence on the part of these beings, where I had so fervently prayed for benevolence. There was a big ditch in the middle of the field, full of real people. I prayed that they were sleeping and not dead. At that moment one of the robots who was holding me earlier—and who also has very distinct features—staggered over to the ditch and keeled over. Another robot, an exact replica, stepped out to replace him. I realized then that these “robots,” whatever they were, had a very limited life span and were for temporary use only. The “visitors” used them to get the situation arranged, according to their needs, then stepped in without encountering any trouble or resistance. I was trapped in a plot I could never hope to understand. The presence of alien robots on the march. They looked like humans and had been among us for a long time, but they had received a new program and were soon to begin the executions. They killed with a single shot between the eyes. At times, they even killed on a whim, being licensed (or programmed) to do so, and this was the only sign they gave of spontaneous action. The only single human emotion they seemed to have picked up on was that of sadism!
For half the dream, I was even identifying with one of these killing machines.
I understood in the dream that this was all “some kind of ‘clean up’ deal.” Since I was deeply ensconced in UFO and conspiracy literature at the time, it wasn’t hard to find corroborative evidence to support my wild nightmare scenario and persuade me that it was based in a hidden reality. For example, William Cooper, in Behold a Pale Horse (a book I read that same year) stated that “1 in 40 humans had been implanted with devices, the purpose of which I have never discovered. The Government believes that the aliens are building an army of implanted humans, who can be activated and turned upon us at will.”
There was another sort of corroboration also: when I awoke from this experience, I recalled an earlier dream I had had, if dream was what it was. Just before waking, still in darkness, I had felt, actually physically felt (and without dreaming any corresponding dream to account for the sensation), a needle entering into the back of my neck and liquid flowing out of it into my body.
As I recalled this, I felt deeply afraid. I felt like a pawn in the hands of something I did not even know existed; or rather, something I could not admit existed. My reason screamed that it was impossible, but my heart knew too well what was true.
[Postscript: the larger piece mentioned above is now being serialized at http://crucialfictions.com/ For larger context to this dream, see chap 2: An Archetypal Traumatogenic Agency ]