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So the other night I had another OOBE experience. This time I made it all the way up to the ceiling. I was thumping against it, even. I knew, with absolute certainty, that "they" were here, just on the other side of the roof; outside. Them and their spaceship. Truly, just three feet away from me was a UFO and its aliens. They were expecting me to come to them. I was, as usual, full of contradictory feelings. Terrified and stubborn, resisting. I didn't want anything to do with them. And, frustrated as hell because I couldn't get past the damn ceiling; couldn't go all the way. So here I am, thump thump thump, hovering above my body in the bed below.They decide to give me a few books by, and about, Jack "Rabadoo." With typical trickster-dream -land behavior, it was perfectly understood by all of us that they meant Jack Parsons, but for some reason that wasn't clear to me, they kept calling him Jack "Rabadoo," not Parsons. Somehow, they teleported the books through the ceiling and into my hands, and were extremely insistent that I read the books as soon as possible. Moreover, they shoved a dust jacket of a Parsons, er, Rabadoo, I mean Parsons, book. The dust jacket was great vintage cover art of the time, but, no book. The title of the book, according to the dust jacket, was about UFOs, and titled something like Jack Parsons, um, Rabadoo,... and UFOs: What You Need to Know."They" were insistent I read this book above all others. Okay, fine, I told them. But how am supposed to find this rare book, and pay for it, when you could just teleport the damn book through the wall?! Here they are, hovering UFO, floating and bobbing in the night sky right outside my roof, passing books through the wall, but they can't come up with the book they want me to read?At this point, I'm extremely frustrated. I realize that, while I know the aliens are here, I can't see them. I still can't see them. I start screaming at them: "Why can't I see your faces?!" I'm very angry, and, scared. After all these years, I still haven't seen their faces, and I'm fed up. "Show yourselves, damn it!" I scream. "Why can't I see your faces?!"The Next MorningI tell my husband that I had another scary alien dream. He said, "I know." I asked him how did he know? He said: "Don't you remember telling me last night?" Turns out I woke up around 4:00 am to use the bathroom, he was still up, writing. I told him I was having "another weird scary alien dream" and he was sympathetic, and I said "Yeah, it's really scary, I don't like it, not at all." and went back to bed. I don't remember any of that.Okay, So Who Was Jack Parsons?Apparently one fascinating man. I don't know much about Parsons, and have yet to read books by, or about, him, though I plan to. I've been meaning to for some time since Adam Gorightly told me about him. Google Parsons, follow the links here... very simply, Parsons was a rocket scientist, co-founder of JPL, and very seriously, deeply, into magick. Friends with Crowley, friends with Hubbard. I hadn't been thinking about Parsons, Crowley, Scientology, or rockets lately, so I have no idea where all that came from.
Reference: paranormal-factor.blogspot.com
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