Memories Remembered and Lost

 July 23, 2023

Exploring the Orb: Self-reflexive investigation into an orange orb

     I’ve been wondering if one can remote view missing time. I realize I can’t remote view my own episodes of missing time. Or can I? I’ve had success with remote viewing; the little I’ve done. But trying to remote view your own event?I wouldn’t trust what came through. Still, trying to drift off to sleep, I gave my missing time target the code of 4242 and tried.

     Memory. I don’t remember a damn thing during those missing hours in context of my orange orb sighting, so maybe remote viewing myself is valid. So I started thinking about memory; how we know we had a dream the night before, for example, yet can’t remember the dream itself. Maybe a fragment. Yet we know, we sense, that we did dream, even though we can’t remember. That dream is out there, somewhere. Has to be. 

     While I was musing on this, I suddenly found myself remembering a house we lived in for a short time when I was little. It was on Bedford street in L.A. I was about six or seven, at the most. What is interesting about this memory is that I remember quite a bit about the house we lived in before when I was younger. I remember plenty of the house we moved into after the house on Bedford. I even remember being in the womb, and when I was a baby still in my high chair in the apartment we lived in on Mansfield. But Bedford, in between all those other places? Not much.

     Also, that house on Bedford was weird. The few memories I have are strange ones. One memory, I was alone in the living room. On the mantle were stuffed animals my step-father bought home with him for us. I remember staring at the eyes of these creatures, just staring and staring at them. They stared back. I remember being frightened by this. Another memory: I am upstairs. Of course, there was no second story, but for some reason I remember being upstairs in this house. It’s nighttime, I am leaning out the open window. I hear bells on the roof, clattering, and I know it’s Santa Claus. But it isn’t Christmas time. I am excited. One more memory: also remember this being upstairs, in my bedroom. A giant chrome or silver cylinder, with a grate inside it and ribbons blowing out from the object. It moved across my room. I was very very frightened. I did not like this thing one bit.

     When I was an adult, I asked my mother about the house, if there was a heater of some kind in my bedroom. I was thinking maybe I was mis-remembering, confusing a radiator or something for a giant monster-cylinder. She insisted there was no such thing in my bedroom.

     I remember strange things from the house we lived in before, including seeing what I call the Patio Alien. I remember experiencing all kinds of things in the house we lived after the Bedford house, like waiting for “them”, small barely visible beings carrying me out through doors and placing me in a large fir tree to wait for their ship. 

     But for some reason, I remember only those three disturbing incidents on Bedford. Why is that?