Visitor: Leaving, or Arriving?

 Visitor: Leaving, or Arriving? Regan Lee 2021, oil pastel on paper

New Season of Skinwalker: Follow the Thread. . .

 More later, assuming my rant beams are still up and going. Meanwhile, this is my recent post on Facebook concerning current Skinwalker "investigations":

Follow the money they say. Okay: Bigelow, billionaire, uber secretive, Vegas, paranormal cahoots with government,ex-Skinwalker owner, buddies with Fugul who now owns Skinwalker, sudden in charge scene guy Travis who was one of many pundits on various "science" shows where many of them were ex-CIA operatives. Hmmm. nothing to wonder at here just keep moving.

I just don't trust 'em. 

Aliens on Cliffs; New Drawings

 Three new drawings. I call them "aliens" though I've never seen beings like these, at least, not that I remember. I notice that they don't have eyes, and most of my alien creature drawings don't have eyes. I think it's because, while I remember entities from my childhood, I really remember the sense, the feeling, the almost visible but not quite. They were real, they were there, but . . . like my missing time events and UFO sightings, and the sense I was inside craft, I don't remember beyond just the feeling. 

Aliens on Cliffs, water soluble Neo-crayons and ink on paper, Regan Lee

Alien on Cliff, Neo-color crayon, pencil, on paper, Regan Lee

At Night, oil pastel, ink, on paper, Regan Lee

Mystery Tree Cutters, Mystery Trees. . .

 Who, or What, is Cutting Down Trees?

Recently on an episode of Coast to Coast, Tim Binnall reported on a strange happening in England. Someone, or something, has been cutting down trees. What makes this an odd story (as well as sad) is that there are no witnesses. No one in the area of these trees hears anything. No sound of chain saws, etc. The trees are there, and the next day, people wake up to find they’ve been cut. In the middle of the night, apparently, some entity, be it human or other, has been cutting down trees.

I was struck by the coincidence of this local story; here in Eugene, someone had cut down a tree in our very large park by the river.  Pure vandalism of course, but who, and why, remains a mystery.

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Floated Out to the Fir Tree

My sister (I’ll call her Lola) called me to tell me she had listened to the Six Degrees of John Keel podcast, hosted by Barbara Fisher and Morganna. Sis told me she enjoyed the interview.

She also told me that when I was talking about being floated out the doors of our house and out the front door, Lola had the distinct thought: “I bet she’s going to say they put her in the tree.” And indeed, that is what I said. 

The night of the podcast, I had a dream where I was back at our childhood home, and I was telling Lola some of my experiences. And Lola was telling me about hers, things she had never told me. I don't remember what those things were, but I do remember being excited, and very surprised, that Lola, too, had had Very Weird Experiences.

In Waking Life however, Lola says nothing UFO wise happened to her. She doesn’t remember anything like that every happening; no sighings or floatings through doors.  However, she does remember crying at times, waiting for “them” to come and take her back to their planet, because she couldn’t survives here on earth  much longer.

I was sad to hear that, for many and probably obvious reasons. Our childhood wasn’t the greatest. Children sometimes think they might be adopted, or, hope that’s the case. They wonder “how did I get here, in this family?!” I remember, as a kid,  searching through my mother’s bedroom for proof I wasn’t her daughter.  So there’s that aspect of childhood. Could be childhood trauma responding to environment, or, more. 

Mrs. T, Her Tree, and Her Round Living Room

Our neighbor -- I’ll call her Mrs. T here -- planted the large fir tree with her husband when they were first married. When we moved into our house, Mrs. T had been a widow for some time. She was always very nice to us. Four loud, fighting, kids always losing their ball into her yard and she never got impatient with us. 

I remember going into Mrs. T’s yard -- she let us do that -- and sometimes standing on her front porch. But neither I or Lola remember ever being inside her home. Yet both Lola and I have had many dreams where we’re inside her house. Specifically, her living room, which was a strange shaped room -- round.  A round living room.

Why dream of round living rooms? Child sized non-human beings floating myself through doors? Waiting for "them" on beds, and inside giant trees. Lola said she doesn't have any sinister memories of the tree, just that is "mythic." That was the word she used. It was mythic; a neighborhood beacon. 

What part are dreams, what part real, do the two merge -- I believe they do, and that doesn't make events any less "real." 

 Recently, I was interviewed on Barbara Fisher's excellent podcast Six Degrees of John Keel. It was so much fun! We talked about many things, including tarot. As I said on the podcast, The Fool is my favorite tarot card. 

Of course, we also talked about orange orbs and all manner of weirdness.

Fisher and her co-host Morganna were fantastic hosts and I was honored to be on their program.

While you're over on the site, check out Fisher's art. I love her art; the use of mixed media, her vibrant colors, and her overall style. 

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THE FOOL, from Barbara Moore's Wonderland Tarot

I recently bought this deck. There are a few decks out there with Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass themes. This deck was created by Barbara Moore.  

The Fool, from the Diamond Tarot

This deck is a Rider-Waite-Coleman deck but with vivid colors and psychedelic, colorful borders around each card. The deck is out of print and hard to find, and expensive! I've seen the deck offered at $300.00 and more. But I found the deck on eBay for about $30.00 after months of diligent watching. Today however, I saw the deck priced at $20.00. 

It Is National Haiku Day

 

Childhood Memory In the Fir Tree: What Happened Next?

 I remember waiting for them at night. I remember the process -- the ritual -- I had to go through. First, lie on my back. Be still. Watch the yellow beam of light under the door. Be patient; they would arrive. And they always did. Then they’d float me out of the bed, through the bedroom door, through the hall door to the living room, and out the front door.

They’d set me high up in the large fir tree that grew on our neighbor’s front yard. That tree was a landmark; you could see if from all around the neighborhood. I don’t know why they put me in the tree, at night. But I had to sit there and wait, again, for them. 

I was never afraid. In fact, I was happy and excited. Sometimes my friend from school would be with me. Same friend, only her. But usually it was just me.

So there’s that memory. But last night, I wondered: what happened after that? What happened after I waited in the tree for awhile? Surely they didn’t take me just to have me sit in a tree at night and look at the stars.

I do have memories of sometimes, seeing a very silly bathtub type kind of ship. A child’s cover memory? 

Something must have happened after waiting in the tree. But I don’t remember. It simply doesn’t make sense that I would have gone through all that and then, nothing. Just a relaxing few moments in a fir tree. For what purpose?

And why can’t I remember what happened next?

Not only do I not remember what happened next, I can barely describe what "they" looked like. I don't remember -- not exactly -- what they looked like. I never really saw them, and yet, they were there. I know they were small, about my size. They were spindly, and had the triangle faces, but they were also transparent. Big black eyes, I don't remember.  Why can't I remember? Why do I remember only parts?

Mysterious objects streak through Oregon skies | KATU

Mysterious objects streak through Oregon skies | KATU

The latest. Can't help notice the timing, what with the item (see post below) and, the fact that a friend of mine in Eugene shared a video of orbs flitting about in Eugene around this same time. 

Not saying these events are connected, or, the same. But the synchronicity . . . that's nothing to sneeze at, as we know.

Local UFOs: Oregon

 This item in the local paper the other day; a USA Today report, reprinted in Eugene, Oregon's Register Guard:

In other words, something weird is happening up there in the skies of Earth, but what, who knows. Maybe the government, and they might tell us what they know. Or, some of what they know. Maybe. Sometime. Probably. 

Memory Shifts

 

I've been working on a new art project which involved series of cards with art, and sometimes haiku, poetry, collages, etc. One series involves UFO sightings. So I wrote this little poem awhile ago; I included it in my series:

dusk

enchanted ,though uneasy 

we watch the sliver sphere

shooting beams of light

above the pasture

Jim read it and asked if it was about "the thing you saw in Dexter." 

I found that an interesting response for a couple of reasons. One, I had about a dozen little pieces like the above about various sightings, one involving a triangle UFO I saw. In Dexter. This poem mentions not a triangle, but a sphere.

And two, when I told Jim that no, this was about the spinning silver sphere we saw on Lorane, he had no idea what I was talking about. 

In the past, he has remembered. We saw a rotating in place sliver sphere, complete with a beam of light shining on the pasture below. He was driving; he stopped the car. We watched if for a minute or so and then, abruptly, Jim said "Let's get out of here." And we did.

But the other day, after reading this and my reminding him of that sighting years ago, he had no memory at all. 

I'm fascinated by this. How we remember, what we remember, why we remember . . .

When A Favorite Researcher Goes Too Far Down

 So, you follow one of your favorite paranormal-supernatural-folklore-minded researcher/authors, and then, suddenly, without warning -- you find they are fucking NUTS! They crashed bang-fuck-that-hurt! into the side of the Rabbit Hole and you're left feeling, betrayed? Naive? Confused? WTF? Don't despair though. It is in keeping with the Trickster Cosmic Joker Vibe of It All. Par for the course. So, sigh, move on, and keep going. Or, forget the whole thing and have a bowl of ice cream.

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.