Knowing: Seven

                                          Seven

But that night, there was no mist.  The black sky was an enigma. I struggled to understand why.

My body tingled gently as I drove my car closer to it. My senses were heightened. 

The five narrow dimly lit salmon-rose windows centered across the front on the spaceship revealed no beings.  As my eyes scanned the ship some thirty-five feet over the ground, I heard a jet in the distance somewhere to the right and behind the ship, probably behind one of the peaks there.  I never saw the jet. It was conspicuously loud.  I felt like I was on a military runway.  The sound plays over and over in my ears.  Even now.

I felt the presence of something lurking.  Perhaps it was just over the ridge at Cowee Mountain behind those peaks. I’ll never forget that feeling.Pure evil.

The clock in my silver Highlander read 9:40 p.m. I kept looking at the road, amazed that there was no traffic on this otherwise busy highway for a July 20, 2010 summer evening.  Even my new Magnavox cell phone, purchased for its excellent reception in the southern Appalachians was working.  Nothing on the dashboard dimmed.

Below the twin peaks it hovered. I never saw it move as I drove under it.

             

There were vertical lines on the ship.  I can not remember how many.  I do remember looking for rivets.  There were none.

Looking backward at the spaceship as I drove under it, I could see nothing.  Not even the exterior of the back of the ship.

I thought about my mindset just before I saw the ship.  Somehow I knew I would see one.  I was probably more surprised that my premonition became a reality than I was at seeing the spaceship.  It felt like one of those times you feel in the zone.

There is something uncanny about being in the zone.  Everything is possible.  Like the athlete who is one with the football.  Just getting it over the goal post is a matter of the next step.  Everything is possible. 

Later I spoke to a pilot about the sounds I heard. I remembered the continued feeling of the evil presence of the jet sounds in the distance.  The pilot later told me the sound was the hydraulics coming from the jet just over the mountain range. It is a sound that will always be with me.  Deafening.

My knowing included my whole body experience.  The bodymind fully enmeshed. I savored this moment. None of this experience was housed in my brain.  That was one of the most interesting things about this experience. 

How I wanted to call a friend, to have other ears hear the sounds in the distance for the sounds were ear piercing. But included in my knowing was that it was not necessary to use the cell phone sitting on the seat next to me.  This was to be a singular experience.  I alone was meant to see this.  A conduit.

I  kept looking behind me at the two seemingly identical cars in the distance.  One in the fast lane behind me some half a mile and the other similar white vehicle in the slower lane further away than a quarter of a mile.

Even driving under the UFO the sky was totally black.  As I drove out from behind it, I couldn't see anything as I turned my head again looking back.  A void. But as I left this highway, crossing the bridge under Savannah Creek, it felt okay to make a phone call.  I telephoned a photojournalist friend.  He would more than understand.  I recounted my experience as I was glad to be home.  Safe inside.  At least on an earth plane level.  I continued to talk to my friend for a while that evening.

Being home felt like an illusion. I knew any being with this level of technology accesses what they want.  They probably read, know...my thoughts.  I wasn't kidding myself.  I had been exposed.  And more than tired, probably more from sensory overload.  My organic, ivory sheets awaited me.  Bed was more than welcomed.