PART 2

On April 3, 1990 I decided to call on an old friend who I hadn't
heard from in over two years. My friend, Carolina, is a gifted psychic,
and a well-kept secret. Santa Rosa has its share of palm-readers
and fortune tellers, but Carolina is in an entirely different league.
A deeply spiritual person, Carolina has never sought recognition,
publicity, or a reputation for her abilities, nor has she ever taken
any money from me for her services. I'm not exactly sure why I felt
compelled to see her that day; I had nothing in particular on my
mind. It was a pleasant reunion. We chatted for some time, and then
Carolina decided to see if there was anything "out there" that she
could "pick up" for me. She proceeded to give me a reading lasting
nearly an hour. It must have been an exceptionally good day for her,
because there was a lot "out there" and it was amazingly accurate.
Among other things, she told me that I had a blood disorder, and
that she kept seeing "too much red"; she sensed that I would be quitting smoking soon, and informed me that I would be successful; she told
me that my mother was about to fall ill; she told me my father might
loose a toe due to gangrene; and most amazingly, with a surprized
and quizzical look on her face, she asked me "Have you recently had
contact with extraterrestrials?" Up to that point, everything
she told me had been phrased as a statement, but this was apparently
so preposterous that even she doubted it, and phrased it as a question
instead.

I was completely taken aback by her query- I hadn't thought about
aliens or UFOs in years. Carolina had absolutely no idea that it
had been a former interest of mine. For a moment time seemed to stand
still- on the inside, I thought that she was entirely off-base, and
I was ready to tell her so, but my body seemed to have a mind of
its own as I watched myself mumble, "I don't know." I still wonder
why I said that, because it truly betrayed what I was feeling at
the moment. She immediately answered back by saying, "I think you
do know, because I'm seeing this very clearly now."

At that statement, I felt the flush of anger course through my
body. I felt like a man who had just been told he was about to die,
and given the exact date. I blurted out, "I don't think you're supposed
to be telling me this! If you saw that I was going to be killed
next week, would you tell me that too?" Carolina smiled and said,
"They only show me what I can tell a person. If you're not meant
to know, my guides don't show me." My stomach tight and my heart
racing, I replied, "But don't you think this is a little too scary?"
Again smiling, she said, "Oh, it's only scary in a fun kind of way."
For a moment I thought she was being sarcastic. "How could she be
so insensitive to my anxiety?", I thought. I felt the anger well
up from within me again. "Fun!,

What the hell is so fun about being poked and prodded and violated
by hideously ugly creatures in the middle of the night!", I thought
to myself. And then something snapped. I thought to myself, "What
in God's name am I thinking about? Why has such an innocent statement
from Carolina caused such fear and anger within me? What is this
about being poked, prodded, and violated? Where did I get that from?
Carolina never said anything about that!" And then I realized that
my outward appearance was betraying my inner anxiety.

True to my English blood, I appeared quite calm and collected to
Carolina, even though my mind and heart were racing. She apparently
didn't realize the implications and consequences of her revelation
to me. "This is a first for me," she said, "In all my years, I have
never picked up anything about extraterrestrials from a person."
"Surely you have at least read a book or two on the subject", I replied.
"No, I never have," she said, "It's never interested me in the least.
There are too many problems down here to be worried about what might
or might not be going on up there."
End of Part 2


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PART 3

I was amazed. Like a curtain being lifted in my memory, I suddenly
remembered a night about two weeks prior during which an unusual
occurrence had happened. It surprized me that I hadn't made the
connection sooner. I was sure this was what she was referring to!
(to be discussed in full later) Carolina continued her reading,
and didn't dwell on the subject of aliens, as if they were relatively unimportant. Twice more during that hour, she made reference to them,
although she had no idea she was doing so. She said she had the
image of an insect with large eyes, but that it was symbolic, and
I would know what it meant. (I am sure this is symbolic for an alien.)
Later, she made reference to "burrowing", but couldn't get anything
further. (My gut feeling was that this is connected to them also,
but I'm not sure why or how.)

The following week I thought a lot about my visit with Carolina as
I watched her short term predictions come true one by one. Although
she had no way of knowing that I was planning on quitting smoking,
almost a month prior I had consented to participate in a clinical
study at Stanford Medical Center for the approval of a new drug by
the FDA. It was a double-blind, placebo vs. real study to test the
efficacy of the transdermal nicotine patch as a therapy for smoking
cessation. Requisite to participating in the study, I had a complete
physical during my first visit on March 28. On April 5, I returned
to pick up my supply of nicotine patches, but I was shocked to learn
that I had failed the blood test! Although I was not disqualified
from the study, Dr. Sachs informed me that I had a condition known
as "polycythemia", and advised me to see a hematologist. Polycythemia,
the exact opposite of anaemia, is the condition of having too many
red blood cells. Although smokers almost always have slightly elevated hemoglobin and red cell counts, mine was far too high to be explained
by such. The doctor explained that it can be caused by spleen dysfunction, but, that didn't appear to be my case, as indicated from the other
test results of my physical. He told me that having too many oxygen-
carrying red blood cells is usually the result of prolonged exposure
to thin atmosphere, and that athletes sometimes take illegal drugs
to achieve such an effect in order to increase their endurance in
high altitudes (such as in the marathon up Pike's Peak every year.)
Further, he informed me that my ruddy complexion was most likely
due to the blood disease.

I was shocked! Not only was Carolina correct, but I seriously began
to wonder if this had anything to do with possible alien contact,
and "thin atmosphere." For almost a year, friends had asking me
if I had a sunburn, but I always dismissed it.

On Friday, April 6, I quit smoking. Later that day my father called
me from Indiana to inform me that my mother had taken ill, and was
in the hospital. She had a flare-up of her mitral valve heart condition,
a bladder infection, and an extreme case of shingles. During our
conversation, my father told me that he wasn't doing so well himself;
he has diabetes, and his big toe had turned completely black! "OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod...", my mind was reeling, "how could Carolina
be so correct about everything!", I thought to myself, "If she has
been right about everything so far, what am I to think about her
claim that I have been in contact with extraterrestrials?" As
I have mentioned earlier in this paper, during my visit with Carolina
I suddenly remembered a night, sometime in March, where there had
been an unusual occurrence.
End of Part 3


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PART 4

I can't recall exactly what day it was, but Jim, my lover and companion
of ten years, confronted me as soon as he had awoken, "You haven't
gone out this morning for anything, have you?" "No, honey," Ireplied,
still dressed in my nightshirt and sitting at the computer, "does
it look like it?" "Well the door is unlocked," he informed me.
I got up immediately, and Jim demonstrated that both the dead bolt
and the doorknob latch were undone. I thought about the matter for
a few moments and said "Are you sure you didn't open it when you
got up? I remember double checking it before I went to bed, and
it was already locked." Jim replied, "I remember checking it before
I went to bed also, and it was locked then too." After a few moments
he added, "It's possible that I may have unlocked the dead bolt without thinking, but that wouldn't explain why the doorknob latch is undone."
(The door handle has to be turned to open the door from the inside
before the doorknob latch is undone, and we never open the front
door in the morning until we're ready to go out, since we do not
subscribe to any newspapers. If for some reason we want to check
on the weather, we always open the sliding balcony door. Neither
Jim or I would think of opening the front door while still in our nightclothes.) The matter was out of my mind within a few minutes,
but Jim was not about to let the subject drop. He made me call the
manager that afternoon to ask if they or any maintenance people had
been in our apartment without our consent. The manager assured me
that they had not, and said that they would always consult us before
such an intrusion.

Jim became obsessed with the matter, and forced me to recreate every
step I had taken the night before. After all the thinking he made
me do, I just became more sure that I had checked the lock at night,
and certainly had not opened it in the morning. Before going to
bed the next night, Jim stacked two spare stereo speakers up against
the front door, so that if someone were to open it, they would come
tumbling down and alert him. Jim is a very light sleeper; he had
served in the armed forces during the Vietnam War, and his father
was a policeman, which may help to explain why the thought of someone
breaking into our apartment bothered him so much. I also noticed
that he made sure the baseball bat was within reach of the bed that
night.

The following morning, I awoke first. I stumbled out of bed and
headed for the computer, my morning ritual. Along the way to the
den, I noticed that the stereo speakers Jim had so carefully set
out the night before were strewn across the floor. I guess the seriousness
of the situation didn't hit me at first. It took me a few minutes
before I decided to go back into the front room and check the lock.
One would think that I should have been alarmed at the prospect of
someone breaking in, but honestly, my thoughts were only about how
alarmed Jim was going to be when he discovered the situation. I
checked the door, and it was locked. I told myself that the speakers
had somehow accidentally fallen over in the night, and I stacked
them back up again, hoping that I could conceal it from Jim.

I returned to the computer, but couldn't concentrate on what I
was doing; my conscience was bothering me. Jim and I have an extremely
open and honest relationship, much more so than any married couple
I've ever met. I went back out and put the speakers as I had found
them, deciding to let him know the truth. I'm not sure what Jim
really thought. He found it hard to accept that the speakers had
fallen over without his hearing them. Further, he questioned why
the door was locked from the inside, and yet the speakers had been
knocked over. He thought my behavior was particularly odd, in that
I had initially tried to conceal the fallen speakers, but then put
them back as I had found them. At any rate, we never discussed the
subject again, and I was glad! I just wanted to forget about the
whole thing. Every night for several weeks, Jim jammed the plastic
runner up against the front door, but nothing else unusual happened.
End of Part 4


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PART 5

Sometime later that week, I developed a somewhat painful subcutaneous
pimple in my pubic hair region. I didn't think much about it at
the time, except that I had never had a pimple in that area before,
nor one as deep below the skin and as painful. I forgot all about
this until just recently, on July 19, when I developed another pimple
in the same area, just after another unusual nocturnal experience.
It took me some time before I could accurately place a time-frame
on the occurrence of my first pimple.

April 11, I flew out to Chicago to visit my mother in the hospital,
and forced my father to have his bad toe looked at. Sometime while
I was away, Jim stopped protecting the door every night and eventually
forgot about it. I returned home April 18, just in time to greet
our house-guest from Los Angeles, our good friend, Dave. During
his visit with us, I took Dave aside and told him of the strange
events in March, and of what Carolina had said. I convinced him
to try and hypnotize me, so that I might be able to recall the events
more clearly. It took a great deal of persuasion to talk him into
it, since he said that he had no experience at hypnosis, and was
not eager to try. Nevertheless, he eventually gave in, but we had
mixed results at the effort. Nothing of interest really occurred,
except that the following morning I felt really negative about the
whole thing and destroyed the tape-recorded transcript of my hypnosis
session. I didn't remember what I had said, and at that point, I
didn't want to either. I never admitted to Dave what had happened
to the tape. Before he left for Los Angeles, Dave warned me that
anything I might try to find out about my possible abduction experience
would most likely be contaminated by all the books I've read.

Life went on more-or-less as usual for the next several months. I
resumed smoking again, my performance at school dropped sharply,
and I started drinking before going to bed. When Summer came, I
avoided getting a job, and stayed up later and later every night.
I tried to put the subject of UFOs out of my mind, but only with
marginal success. My attitude on the subject fluctuated from wishing
that I could forget it all, to openly inviting another experience.
Twice I purposefully went camping in extremely remote areas, hoping
that I could induce an abduction. Needless to say, my effort was
futile (at least as far as I can remember.) If aliens were abducting
me, then they had their own schedule, and my invitation didn't matter
one bit.

Then on July 17, it happened again. I had been plagued by an uneasy
feeling all evening. I thought about having a glass of wine, but
Jim coaxed me into bed early that night (around 2 am), telling me
we needed to get up by a decent hour the next day. I am normally
a very heavy sleeper, and I fall asleep quickly, but that night was
to be an exception. I laid in bed, tossing and turning for what seemed
like hours, never truly falling asleep. I can recall listening to
the slow, deep rhythm of Jim's breathing pattern, and being surprised
that my restlessness wasn't disturbing him. The last thing I remember
is the sensation of my heart pounding rapidly as I was overcome with
extreme fear. And then suddenly, it was light out! A thought entered
my head, but before I could think further, "Rap Rap Rap", three loud
bangs resounded throughout the apartment, causing me to fear that
we were in the midst of another earthquake. I looked at the clock,
and was shocked to discover that it was already after 6 am. Whatever
that first thought was, it was completely lost in the immediate confusion.
I became aware that my bladder was painfully full, and gently got
up so as to not awaken Jim, who was still sleeping soundly beside
me. When I returned to bed, Jim asked me what I was doing up already. Apparently, as silent as I had been, my movement had awoken him,
even though the three loud bangs had not. Further, I questioned
why my earlier restlessness had not disturbed his sleep, but this
had.

I haven't had to get up to empty my bladder in the middle of the
night since childhood, and I began to wonder why it was so extremely
full, especially considering that I hadn't had anything to drink
the night before. I was sure that I had never actually fallen asleep,
but yet I seemed to "wake up", with the sun already shining. I put
on my night-mask to block out the daylight, and returned to bed.
And then I remembered something... With the clarity equal to any
image seen through my own eyes, I beheld the likeness of an alien.
In my mind's eye, I held that vision and examined it. As I inspected
the roundness of his hairless cranium, I became amazed at how real
and three-dimensional the image looked, much more than any photograph
could ever approach. I observed the color of his skin, and was quite
surprized to learn that my previous conceptions were all wrong.
My earlier ideas of what an alien should look like were based upon
the dust jacket of Whitley Strieber's book, Communion, and on the
TV movie about The Interrupted Journey. His skin was a creamy grey,
much less grey than I had previously imagined. There was a tinge
of green, but as subtle as the green in a black person's complexion.
I thought to myself that an unsophisticated eye might not even pick
up on the green. Overall, I would describe his complexion as simply
pale. Only if I wished to emphasize its unusual nature, would I
use the word "grey."
End of Part 5


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PART 6

Then I focussed upon his eyes. In the past, we had two pet cockatoos,
a Moluccan and a Sulpher-crested, both of which had eyes as black
as coal. It is said that the birds can be sexed by examining their
eyes for the subtle hint of brown, and I thought of the many times
I had stared intently into the birds' eyes. It was like a feeling
of deja' vu, for I was sure that within the alien's eyes, I could
pick up some extremely subtle gradations of color. Furthermore,
these ever-so-sublte variations in the color seemed to indicate not
just one circular iris within each eye, but perhaps two or more,
although I somehow "knew" that their eyes were more than just visual
organs, and the non-primary circular markings were not really a visual
iris. (...that they had only one real visual iris within each eye) Additionally, it struck me at how the eyes were far less almond-shaped
and less wrap-around than I had thought before. It made me think
that the illustration of an alien on Communion was analogous to the
Kroft puppeteer's version of Ronald Reagan: a highly stylized caricature.

Then the image came to life! The thought was somehow conveyed to
me that he was acknowledging the presence of orthodontic braces on
my teeth. In a manner analogous to "I've seen yours, so now I'll
show you mine," he proceeded to open up his little round mouth and
let me look in. When his nearly lip-less mouth was shut, it seemed
to call no attention to itself, but when opened, I noticed that he,
like us, had muscles beneath the skin. The effect of seeing the
tightened muscles beneath his skin made me think that he was capable
of expression, in an otherwise expressionless face. Within the mouth,
I observed a semicircular ridge of hardened tissue, which he called
his "primary mastication NOUN."

It seemed like he was using telepathy to communicate, and my mind
was responsible for translations into the English language. The
"NOUN" carried a meaning like "organ", "appendage", or "device,"
but the exact word to convey the true meaning is not within my vocabulary,
and it's making me very frustrated as I write this. I somehow seemed
to "know" that they eat very soft foods, like being a vegetarian
in England. The hardened ridge of tissue was unsegmented, unlike
ordinary human teeth. With that, the image faded from my mind.
What has taken me two long paragraphs to write happened in only a
few seconds of time. The image was definitely a memory, and not something
that was happening at that moment. Whether the memory is of a dream
or reality, I will probably never know.

After recalling the unusual experience above, the feeling of contentedness overwhelmed me. My bladder now empty and Jim's warm body next to
mine, I immediately fell soundly asleep. I didn't wake up until
after 11 am the following morning, and was relieved that I had finally
(post 6 am) been able to get a normal night's sleep. Fully cognizant
of the aforementioned experience, I immediately proceeded to the
computer and wrote everything down. While sitting at the keyboard
and unconsciously scratching at my dandruff patch, I became aware
that my dandruff was severely aggravated, and I had a painful welt
next to it!

For about a year, more-or-less coinciding with people telling me
that I had a sunburn (polycythemia), I have had a localized patch
of dandruff at the base of my skull. More specifically, if you run
your finger up along the cervical vertebrae, you will reach a slight
concavity between two muscles at the point where the neck meets the
head, in the occipital region of the cranium. It is in that spot
that I have my dandruff patch. I use the word "dandruff", for lack
of something better, because it is most likely some other skin disorder,
since I have an otherwise oily scalp . I have tried every name-brand
dandruff shampoo, and nothing seems to help, but fortunately, it
hasn't spread beyond that highly localized area. On this day, July 18,
and for several days afterward, the patch seemed to be draining some
sort of fluid from the painful welt which was just above and to the
left of my patch. As of this writing, (August 7), that welt has
not entirely subsided. On July 19, the following day, I developed
another painful welt on the right side of the dandruff patch, almost
a mirror image. Coinciding again with the development of my
dandruff patch and my polycythemia, for about a year I have been
plagued by excessive perspiration. For no apparent reason, I would
sweat from my armpits in phenomenal amounts.
End of Part 6


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PART 7

Neither nervousness, heat, nor physical exertion seemed to be responsible. All of my good shirts are permanently stained. When my armpits were
on a roll, the sweat would pour forth at a rate roughly equal to
that achieved by crying; perhaps between 4 to 8 ounces in a half hour.
This had been an embarrassing situation for me for quite some time,
and when I mentioned it to Carolina during my visit with her, she
told me that I should drink the juice of a whole lemon in warm water
every day. I tried that a few times without noticeable success, so
I gave up. I had also invested a small fortune in a vast array of
brand-name antiperspirants, but to no avail. Now suddenly, on July 18,
the perspiration stopped, however I didn't realize as such until July 19. Whether this is psychosomatic or real, I will be eternally grateful
that my sweating ordeal is finally over! Thank you!!!

On July 19, I developed a rather painful pimple, deep below the skin
in my pubic hair region. It struck me as really strange that I should
develop another one in that same general area, so shortly after my
first. Prior to the first, which I placed at a few months earlier,
I had never had anything like that. My skin in that area is nothing
like the skin on my forehead or upper back, which tends to be more
oily. Furthermore, this was not an ordinary pimple; it was very
deep and painful. For most of the rest of the day, I tried to place
a time-frame on the occurrence of the first pimple. Eventually, I
came to the conclusion that it had happened sometime in mid to late
March, using my journal and computer calendar as a reference. I
found this as somewhat noteworthy, since that coincided with my first
unusual nocturnal experience.

Sometime during the next few days, the Goodyear Blimp flew over.
I was sitting at the computer when Jim called me into the front room,
bringing it to my attention. I would say that the event was slightly
unusual, because I've never seen the blimp this far removed from
a major metropolitan area; we're about 50 miles north of San Francisco.
It was travelling from the Southeast to the Northwest, heading directly
toward us at a leisurely pace. I ran and grabbed the camcorder and
recorded it as the blimp proceeded to fly directly over us. We could
clearly hear the whirring of its engines as it passed our exact zenith.
I am not exaggerating when I say directly over us! We both wondered
where it might be going to, for at its present course, it would be
over the ocean in a matter of minutes, and the nearest major city
north of us is Portland OR, nearly 600 miles away. I'm sure this
event can be explained rationally, but I decided to mention it because
of its unusual nature, and the proximity in time to my strange nocturnal
event.

During the course of writing this document, I have had several flashbacks
to strange memories. In one memory, I seem to be quite frustrated
that I can't see as clearly as I'd like, because I'm not wearing my
eyeglasses. I thought this was taking place in an alien craft. In
another memory, I seemed to be getting a lecture about the anatomical differences between the alien's brain and ours. He was very interested
in a small part of my brain, lying at its center, which he described
as "primitive." I think it may have had something to do with emotion,
and they didn't have that part of the brain. In contrast, he showed
me an image of a part of their brain which we do not have; it was
an extra small lobe in the occipital region, overlying both right
and left hemispheres equally. I have the feeling that it was used
for communication. I don't know how old these memories are, and
I don't know if they're memories of dreams or of reality. I am beginning
to seriously doubt my sanity. As I had written earlier, my life has
been dotted with minor strange anomalies, most of which I have filed
away as "unsolved mysteries", and forgotten.

I have several early memories, centering around the age of three,
which might be suggestive of an early abduction experience. Then
around the time I reached puberty, a lot of strange things started
happening. There have also been a few occurrences during my high
school years and continuing into adulthood. A summary of these
anomalous experiences will be the subject of a future essay. I want
to stress my honesty about everything contained within this narrative.
I have neither fabricated or exaggerated a single word of the experience.
I consider myself to be a happy, well adjusted individual. I have
a small circle of close friends, and a healthy family life. I am
normally a high achiever both at work, and in school. I try to balance
my intellectual lifestyle with a healthy proportion of outdoor physical activities. I have never needed the services of a psychologist, and
there is no history of mental illness in my family. It has only
been within the past few months that my life seems to be slipping
downhill. I would like to resolve this situation by reaching some
conclusion as to the reality of my experiences, so I can get on with
my life. I would like to know if I am going crazy, perhaps due to
some undiscovered brain tumor, or if this could possibly be real.
This essay is a desperate plea for help.

If there are any qualified UFO researchers, psychologists, or otherwise interested parties who feel like my case warrants further investigation,
and would like to help me come to terms with my experiences, I can
be reached at:Chris Sargent(707) 585-8076WWIV Net: 82@7706I reserve
all rights to this essay. No part of it may be used or reproduced
in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author.
I hereby grant permission for the electronic transfer of this file
to other Electronic Bulletin Board Systems, provided that this file
remains unaltered and intact.
End of Part 7


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