Cryptid Painting

 I'm currently working on a painting I'm calling 'Lizard Man' for now. Many strange cryptids have emerged from the inky markings. It's 24" by 16" canvas, acrylics.

"10, 000 Sightings. . . "

Or, five thousand, or six, or one hundred. Doesn't matter. What has me wondering is this. On many a paranormal program, it is often mentioned that "Over ten thousand UFO sightings occurred in the ..." or "Twenty million hundred Bigfoot sightings have occurred in . . ." and I ask "Is that reported sightings?"

Of all the UFO sightings I've seen, going back to childhood (and I'm soon to be 67) I have only officially reported one. And that turned out to be a disaster. I don't think blogging about my sightings, or talking about them on podcasts, counts. It may in some ways, but not officially.

As far as Bigfoot goes, I know of at least a dozen people who have told me of their upfront, personal Bigfoot encounters, and yet not one of them reported their experience to an "official" Bigfoot data collecting site. A few of those sightings -- I was the only person, outside of their family, that had told.

So I think that any time we hear a statistic on the number of Bigfoot, UFO, ghost, etc. encounters that are reported in the media, we can safely assume there are many more that are not.

Nothing new here at all, but a good reminder that there is far more high strangeness afoot than we think. Far more.

And in these weird, surreal times, where for the past year or more things have been turned upside down, inside out, and back again, where insanity seems to be the rule, the high strangeness in all its forms, from beautiful and amazing and wonderful to scary and downright WTF and WFHIT (what fresh hell is this) moments, exists. Always have, and always will. 

Maybe we can learn from this this time around.

Night Ship #2

 Just feeling more space ship vibes. 

Childhood Memory: Giant Eagle-Bird in the Ceiling

Childhood Memory:  Giant Eagle-Bird, oil pastel on paper, Regan Lee 2021

Memory. Logic tells us, me, it was "just a dream" of course. But I remember this as real. It really happened.

I was four? In my bed, no covers. Right in the middle of the bed, spread eagled. (no pun intended.) I was, as usual, waiting for "them." I knew when they would come -- whoever they were. Or, whatever they were.

The only thing I remember in the bedroom was the bed -- no covers -- with me on it, right in the middle of the bed, no covers, and waiting. The ceiling opened up. Slid open, like the panels in the roof of an observatory. 

I wasn't scared, but, I was in awe. I knew I was safe, but also, that this was important.  Meanwhile, my father and mother and grandmother were standing in the bedroom doorway (no door) surrounded by yellow light. They could not come in. Not because they didn't want to, but because they couldn't. They are being held back by some kind of force. Something was keeping them from entering.

Meanwhile, the ceiling. Open. Only sky. Night time sky, beautiful brilliant stars. And a huge bird, with a wingspan to immense it almost covered the entire sky. Wing tip to wing tip across the bedroom roof.

And I was waiting for it. Him, her, I don't know. I don't think it was either. Or, it was both. But I knew "it' would come, and take me.

And I was not afraid. I was in awe. I was amazed. I was happy "they" were back. But, not scared.

I never had a bedroom that was stark -- meaning, just the bed in the middle of the room. And I don't remember having siblings at the time. I am the oldest, so I was at most, six. But I know I was younger. I remember it being the Corning Street house (in L.A.) so, no siblings yet. 

Also, strange my father would be there. My parents were divorced at that time and I don't remember him being around that much then. My grandmother however, did stay with us.