True Tales of a Red Hot UFO Investigator
Is Someone Out There Watching Over Us?
By Tom Calarco
"Who is this?" I asked confused.
"Listen, peckerhead," the caller shouted, "the next time you wake me up, I'm gonna come up there and break your fuck'n head!"
"Go, go fuck yourself," I said and slammed down the receiver.
It was the guy downstairs, a muscle-bound young roofer. My heart raced as I heard him stampede up the stairs. He was pounding on my door. "You little shit," he shouted, "when I get hold 'a you, I'm gonna . . ."
"Whatta you gonna do, asshole!" screamed my still-naked girl friend through the closed door, her boobs bouncing all over the place as she charged out of the bedroom. "Call the cops," she yelled to me.
I was already dialing as the guy started kicking the door and I heard the sound of wood cracking.
"We've got the cops on the phone, asshole!" she yelled.
Suddenly the guy stopped and I gave the police our address loudly enough so that the guy could hear. "Okay, officer, you're sending someone right over? Thank you, thank you."
"Did ya hear that asshole?" she shouted through the door.
"I heard it," the guy said. "But if you don't stop this shit, someone's gonna get hurt."
He retreated downstairs. We went back to bed, and turned off the lights. Within minutes, we saw the reflection of the oscillating red light from the police car tinge the blinds in the window. They must have been there about a minute, but never entered the premises. Afterwards, everything became quiet, and I lay there unable to fall asleep. My neighbor wanted to kill me. My girlfriend wanted to marry me, and my ex-wife was still lurking in the background waiting to persecute me anyway she could. I had seen better days and was thinking of fleeing town or at least finding someway to get a much needed change of scenery.
I turned on the radio, lowering the volume so not to awaken my girl friend who was snoring. Recently, I had seen the movie, Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I had taped its soundtrack and had been overwhelmed by the music and what it foretold. Over and over, I'd been listening to it. It made what happened next seem more than coincidence. Distantly the radio picked up the voice of a woman saying something about "aliens." I adjusted the dial and the station started to come in more clearly. It was Betty Hill, a woman who claimed to be abducted by aliens. -My brain snapped. Why not contact Betty Hill and see if she'd take me? I was going to become a UFO investigator!
It seemed like a natural move. The space program had always intrigued me as a boy. And ever since I saw this movie about huge Martian goons controlled by a head in a fishbowl with flowing tentacles, I've been fascinated by outer space and the possibility of aliens.
In fact, one of my life's most auspicious turns happened not long after seeing this movie. I was ten years old and had just finished reading Willy Ley's Rockets, Missiles and Moons, and was walking down a side street in my native downtown Schenectady where I came upon this unusual shop. It sold candy and snacks, and from a distance looked like a typical mom and pop grocery of the time with a big window full of ads and some of its items. But when I crossed the street, I found that the items were magazines with shocking covers. Displays of naked, huge-breasted women, which burned into my eyes.
It's a wonder that somehow in the middle of all those shocking covers, I spied a glossy picture of a missile thrusting off a launch pad. It was on the cover of a magazine called Space Age. It looked perfect for my scrapbook of missiles and satellites. I don't know what it was doing there. Perhaps the proprietor had looked quickly and mistaken the phallic like rocket for something else. But I knew I must have it. I forced myself into the store and bought a copy. The proprietor, an old guy who was licking his lips, made me feel real creepy, and I couldn't wait to get out of there.
At home I discovered photos of missiles and rockets that were even better than those in Life Magazine. Their stories had much greater detail than those in newspapers. And despite the proprietor, I went back to the porno shop every month to get the latest issue. It wasn't long before I made a paper model of an actual satellite at school, and they hung it at the entrance. I began telling everyone that someday I was going to the moon . . .
My spaceship strayed off course. College was a foolish search for perfection, when the religious faith inspired by the statues, crucifixes, nuns, priests, and weekly holy communions of childhood, came up empty. In college I wrote a memorable term paper which concluded UFOs were interplanetary in origin, but for the most part my interest in UFOs was set aside . The years continued to pass; my life became lost in the Counterculture. I became a struggling itinerant waiter, trying to become a writer . . . But now faced with the twin threats of love and death , well, it just seemed like the perfect chance to renew my interest in UFOs while fleeing town at the same time.
The next day, I got the phone number of a Betty Hill through New Hampshire directory assistance and called it immediately.
"Is this the Betty Hill?" I asked, nervously.
She chuckled and was friendly but guarded. When I asked she said she didn't take people to the UFO landing sites any longer. Too many had gone with her, and she thought it was decreasing the frequency of the landings. She urged me instead to write her a letter and promised to write back, with directions.
I wrote soon, wondering if she would ever answer. This uncertain waiting was the hardest part of the project. I felt like going at once. I had to go, I couldn't miss the chance to see a real UFO, to maybe have that closest of encounters. With trillion of galaxies and infinite numbers of planets, there had to be other intelligent life. It's absurd and medieval to assume that we are the only ones! In the meantime, I spent my time reading every UFO book I could find, and to my surprise, Betty answered my letter. She wrote that the sites "were [in an area] about ten miles from the ocean, Pease Air Force Base and the city of Portsmouth; near corn fields, swampy areas, railroad tracks and power lines; and in deserted areas with few houses." I could now begin my search for possible extraterrestrial life and Betty Hill had helped me!
A couple of years before, I had seen the made-for-TV movie about Betty and husband Barney, played by James Earl Jones. They were driving home after a vacation in Montreal through a desolate stretch in the White Mountains in 1961 during the wee hours of the autumnal equinox when the sun crosses the equator. Betty noticed a bright light about the size of a star moving in the horizon. It appeared to get bigger, and they saw blinking colored lights. Betty urged Barney to stop. They watched the object, which looked the size of an airliner land in an adjacent field. At Betty's urging, Barney went outside for a closer look. As he crossed the road, a voice communicated with him telepathically:
"Do not be afraid. You are safe."
Barney froze, then ran back to the car. He floored the accelerator. . .
The next thing the Hills remembered was driving down the road two hours later. But they had gone only 35 miles, not the 120 they should've traveled! Two years later, after series of sessions under hypnosis, they revealed a story about alien abduction. This was the first of hundreds of such cases which in the 1990's have become commonplace and as a result more dubious. At the time, however, it seemed more than simply credible� it was too incredible not to be true: being taken aboard a spaceship by aliens less than five feet tall with grayish skin, big black eyes and no noses or ears. Both being examined, and Barney operated on. Betty, being taken into confidence by one of the aliens who showed her a star map where the aliens had come from. Betty was able to reconstruction the configuration under hypnosis.
The case gained international attention. In 1969, an Ohio schoolteacher matched up the configuration with known star maps, except for three stars. Coinicidence perhaps, but what belied such coincidence was that the three stars were later discovered and listed on published astronomical maps in 1972. Now, in 1978, Betty was claiming that UFOs were landing in various locations in New Hampshire, and that on any night, she could take and had taken people out to see them.
And I was communicating with her and receiving her assistance with my project. To me, at this point, Betty Hill was the ultimate celebrity.
By summer, I settled my affairs with my wife and girl friend, outfitted my car with a CB for impossibly possible communication, and composed a message in the form of a poem called "Ode to the Aliens." (Attached below.) On August 6, 1978, with the Schumann Piano Concerto blasting from my car stereo, (I'm a serious fan of classical music and today often work in public relations for various local symphonies and operas.) I set out for the New Hampshire seacoast. Zooming along superhighways through the Berkshires and other mountainous roads, I imagined encounters with faceless green goons; little, bug-eyed big-brained beings; and slimy lizard-like creatures. Wanting to get away from both my wife and girlfriend, to go to a strange, new world, it was all so convenient. Perhaps it was not happenstance that my best nights in bed with my wife were spent watching Star Trek.
Finally, as the beautiful wooded New Hampshire mountains flattened out, the distinctive damp fishiness of the salt air grew, the horizon widened, and the lines of car preceded me as I slowly drove up to Hampton Beach. Two solid miles of blue-green-white foam sea fizzing along smooth tan sands, and the smell of fried dough, pizza, hot dogs, caramel corn, fudge and cotton candy. Adding an otherworldly touch to the whole scene was the huge platform that resembled a rocket launch site looming into the horizon from out on the ocean. It was here that they were working on the huge pipelines that would bring the cooling waters of the Atlantic to the reactors of the Seabrook Nuclear Powerplant then under construction.
Fatefully perhaps, however, a couple of miles before I reached the beach, I stopped to pick up a hitchhiker, a teenaged girl with thick shoulder-length black and an easy smile named Penny. She had a pretty, unblemished round face and dark eyes made darker by thick eyebrows and an outwardly friendly manner. She was on her way to work, her first day as a waitress at Giovanni's Restaurant, a large white stone building which resembled an Italian mansion. Much to my surprise, she seemed excited by my new career as a UFO investigator. I dropped her off and wished her well, but not before Penny she wrote down her phone number on a slip of paper.
Adjusting to Hampton Beach was easy enough. Ironically, I had honeymooned there celebraing the start of my ill-fated marriage. So, I knew my way around and quickly found an inexpensive room in an old hotel which I rented for the week across the street from the beach. A stop at the employment office located in the "Casino" complex at the center of the beach, and soon I was applying for an immediate opening at Giovanni's.
It was a nice place with a nightclub downstairs and a restaurant upstairs. I learned it had just been built the year before and everything had this clean untouched look about it. Upstairs, the restaurant offered a huge dining area with picture windows in the front overlooking the beach, and more than 150 checkerboard tables (red and white in the front; blue and white in the rear). A plush red rug which changed to blue in the rear, large plants, white statues in the classic Roman design, and wall montages depicting Italy, all new and fresh made the restaurant very appealing.
The owner, was a middle-aged lady, who grew up in of all places, Schenectady. Without hesitation, she told me I could start the next day. It was just the beginning of a series of fortuitous events that marked perhaps the most exciting month in my life.
I'll never forget that first night there. I had rocked away the night at "Gio's" nightclub where everyone seemed so friendly, and was walking down the strip of sidewalk that ran along the beach a little past 1 a.m. when everything closed and everyone was leaving or going to their rooms.
Gio's was maybe three-quarters of a mile from my hotel. A railing separated the sidewalk from the beach and every so often there was a bench. Now the benches were empty and the sound of the surf more hypnotic. In the distance, what looked like almost directly across from hotel, I thought I saw someone sitting in a bench. A woman. As I drew near I saw that she was wearing a revealing halter that hung down just above her waist.
"Nice night," I said hesitantly.
"Beautiful," she responded. "I just love the beach, don't you?"
I was a bit surprised by her friendliness. The conversation moved on quickly. To get down to the bare essentials, our conversation led to my first night out in search of Betty's landing sites. Having already pinpointed several locations with topographical maps, I parked in the vicinity of one near a power grid. I turned on my CB and read my ode. Then I put the tape of the music from Close Encounters. Before long, in the throes of stargazing, I found myself entangled in an encounter that was even better than the one I had bargained for and that lasted into the wee hours as night progressed into the break of day.
Much to my surprise, women really seemed to be turned on by this UFO investigator schtick.
This was the beginning of days at the beach, evenings at the restaurant, parties after work, and nights in search of Betty's locations, sometimes with latest lady I had picked up either on the beach or at the restaurant. But I didn't just meet women at the beach or at the restaurant, there were others who might be staying at the rooming house where I moved in after the week at the hotel.
Many nights that August I drove to possible sites, watching shooting stars streak into oblivion, observing planes from Pease, the nearby Air Force base, calling out to the beings of incomprehensible dimension, asking them to reach out over the lonely spaces of darkness and yield their secret. And whenever possible, I brought a lovely lady along to accompany me in my search to contact the space brothers. And, for the record, I truly did wish to meet with extraterrestrials. But nothing happened, except a lot of sex. Which, in its own way, was okay too. So, all things considered, I guess it wasn't turning out to be futile after all. I was looking for UFOs, but instead I was getting laid a lot. It turned out to be a great come-on, even though I was truly sincere about the part that I was hoping to see a real-live alien being. And everyone at the restaurant where I worked knew about it, and every girl in the place wanted to go out with me, it seemed.
Before I came, all the girls were in love with another waiter. I am anything but gay, let's get that straight, but as a straight guy I would have to say he was one of best-looking guys I've ever known. Next to him, Robert Redford looked ordinary. Blonde and blue eyes and kind of built like Mickey Mantle in the early days of his career, he was a centerfielder himself and was being followed by scouts for a possible signing as a minor leaguer. To this day, I don't know if he ever made it. But despite this awesome competition I still met a lot of women. The point is that not looks alone attract people. It's excitement, and I was deeply excited about my quest for extraterrestrial life.
We became friends, and we and the girl who all the other guys in the restaurant wanted to go out with, would come with us as we looked together for signs of extraterrestrial life. I think she was pretending to like me, so she could get to my new friend. One night we found some hole dug into the ground around some railroad tracks. They had me scoop up the soil, and I went so far as the nearby University of New Hampshire to have it analyzed. Surprisingly, the University staff actually analyzed it, but didn't find a trace of radioactivity, or any unusual composition. So what if I didn't see a UFO, that month was one of my golden periods. At the time, however, I found these spurts of epiphany too brief. It is only in my maturity that I have realized: it is only moments we are to know of heaven.
Labor Day came, most of the crew left for college, and the beach emptied out. In September, business still was fairly good on weekends, and I started to go out with a waitress who was still staying on the beach. Ann was a tiny woman about 4 feet, 10 inches tall who splashed all over with energy. She had eyes like the color of the ocean. And being on the short side myself, many said we made a nice couple.
She was working at Gio's the Sunday afternoon Betty Hill came to the restaurant and asked for me. I had gone home for a break, having worked the lunch and scheduled to come back to work dinner.
I had recently moved from the rooming house to a very nice cottage, fully furnished with new furniture, appliances, and dinnerware. And for which I was paying about one-fifth the summer rate.
Wow, was I ever flabbergasted when I found Betty Hill at my cabin door. To me she was more than a celebrity. She was a living link between humanity and the great unknown. She was accompanied by a pudgy, young man from Ohio named Bill. I couldn't believe it! Betty Hill! Bill, my girlfriend soon led them directly to my cabin. I couldn't believe it. This was actually Betty Hill! She was a friendly, little, gray-haired lady, older than I expected. But she was smiling and appeared friendly enough and she had come all the way here just to see me!
Not surprisingly, the discussion immediately turned to UFOs, and the aliens who occupy them. Betty described them as short, most of them under five feet, and horribly ugly with no lips or nose and mere slits for a mouth. She said they communicated telepathically, were everywhere close-by and would soon land in every major city, proclaiming their existence to us. She seemed uncertain about what would happen next, only convinced it was necessary for the salvation of the world. Bill claimed, in his homespun drawl, to have descended from three generations of UFO-related experiences, and to have undergone psychiatric treatment to unearth a suspected UFO abduction during early childhood. Bill lived upstairs from Betty Hill where he shared a flat with another alleged UFO abductee named Reed. Speaking as though he had first hand knowledge, he pointed out their emotional and conceptual differences. In a light-hearted vein, he claimed that many of the vehicles in which they landed were small, makeshift, box-like structures he called, 'crittercraft.' The aliens, he added, had an excellent sense of humor. The conversation never strayed, but both Betty and Bill were convinced of one thing:
that Betty was a very important person and the CIA and FBI were watching over her.
Before they left, I received an invitation from Betty to visit her and view her slides and movies of UFOs! There was no way I could pass up such an opportunity!
Soon after Rose and I were taken to lunch by Bill and his roomie Reed, a bizarre young man. Like Bill, Reed was peculiar. More articulate and more cynical, he had short, curly, red hair, big glasses, and a thin frame, and resembled Elton John. He gave me the creeps. He told me a story about a hypnotist in Maine who had investigated a Betty Hill-like abduction. One night the hypnotist was visited by a short alien in a black overcoat, a classic tale from UFO lore. Holding out a coin, the alien made it dissapear. This he warned Hopkins would happen to him if he persisted in this investigation. Reed then talked about other investigators who had met untimely death and cautioned me about publishing anything about Betty.
A couple of weeks later, I was on my way with my girlfriend to Betty's house. Our anticipation increased as we closed in, and our imaginations were racing as we imagined what lay ahead of us. Betty lived in a quaint and comfortable-looking, gray house surrounded by foliage. She greeted us warmly while her tiny dog barked with fear and retreated into a back room. Animals, according to some reports, have been known to exhibit anxiety during UFO encounters. Perhaps, I joked to Betty, her dog sensed us to be aliens, considering my friend was only 4' 10" and myself 5' 3".
Inside, Betty soon turned on the slide projector. Most of what we saw looked like photos of planes at night, their lights silhouetted against the sky. There was one of interest, though, of these small balls of light that appeared to be flying around some trees. Trick photography? I couldn't tell.
A movie followed. It was shot with a super-8, and in order to catch glimpses of the barely flickering points of colored light she claimed were UFOs, we had to sit with our noses in the screen. Her explanation that the fleeting quality of the images was due to their fantastic speed was difficult to accept. It was as if the film were taken of the night sky with bits of light being picked up from planes passing across in the distance. Though she promised to take me to one of her secret spots some other time, my first doubts about her story emerged.
While keeping in touch with Betty by phone, I continued my own search for UFOs and signs of extraterrestrial life with, people at work supplying much information. I was told about fairly recent sightings in Hampton Falls and Kingston, New Hampshire, as well as Rockport, Massachusetts, and took day trips to investigate them. One of my fellow employee had lived in Exeter all his life, where there had been a famous UFO flap in 1965. He had not only been there during the famous UFO encounters, but in fact, his stepfather had made one of the sightings, having seen something one night hover above some trees, all lit up like a Christmas tree. But he confided to me, his stepfather was a heavy drinker, as was Norman Muscarello, another famous witness to the incident. Besides, he told me, Muscarello had a reputation as a troublemaker. What had become of Muscarello? No one in town seemed to know, and thus my investigation into the incident was blocked.. I also talked over the phone briefly but regularly with people at Pease Air Force Base. One officer was especially friendly. He said that though the government was not investigating UFOs, many of the pilots from the Air Force base were interested. He also said he was interested in Betty Hill and encouraged me to call back with information I might have about her.
Nevertheless, I was becoming discouraged. I hadn't seen anything and I didn't feel that I had accomplished much.
But then it happened. It was approaching nine o'clock EST on October 28, 1978, and I was about to enter the small house on the beach I was renting by myself. It was a cool, clear night, the sky full of glistening stars, and I was marveling at their beauty. Then, a tiny, solitary, green light moved above the construction site of the Seabrook nuclear power plant. Only a month before, off the coast of Australia, a pilot had disappeared after seeing such a light. It had been reported on the front pages and network news. My eyes latched onto it, following its quickening pace, causing my head to turn and my body to race with it. Suddenly it swooped down and transformed into two white ghosts of light leaving a quickly vanishing trail. I gasped, and before I realized it I had jumped to my feet and was running down the street, chasing its mute identity, shouting at its fleeting image. It was before my eyes, and it was passing away so swiftly.
"Come back! Come back!" I shouted, but it continued to streak over Gio's and sort of dematerialize over the ocean . . . My heart heaved. Energy surged through me. I ran into Gio's and shouted "I saw a UFO! I saw a UFO! I saw a UFO. Eureka! I had found it!
My enthusiasm renewed, I re-intensified my investigation. At Betty's suggestion, I made several vigils in the Newmarket area. In the book, UFOs -Interplanetary Visitors by Ray Fowler, from nearby Wenham, Massachusetts, I discovered that there had been a sighting of a white, egg-shaped UFO hovering a few feet above the ground in that village on May 31, 1971 near the railroad tracks on the outskirts of the small town. .Naturally, I decided to investigate. A few nights later, with some friends from Gio's for company, I spotted some lights in the distance upon these tracks looking much like one of Betty's photos of an alleged landing. But it was no landing. Merely a train at rest. But for a moment, we thought we had found something. I tried other locations and took a trip to Maine, where there had been reports of sightings in September.
Undaunted, I took a trip to Portland, Maine, where there had been reports of sightings in September. I visited the local television station looking for information on the local sightings. I was told UFO reports were widespread , one sighting originating with the teenage daughter of one of the station's cameramen. Then I went to the Portland Press-Herald office and was allowed access to the morgue where I found an extensive UFO file. From it I not only learned of repeated sightings in early September by police and the Coast Guard - September 8 being the day of highest activity - but also came across a detailed account of a UFO abduction and hypnotic regression case like the Hills.
According to the report On October 27, 1975, twenty-one year-old David Stephens from Norway, Maine, was allegedly taken aboard an alien craft and examined. However, he only recalled the experience after undergoing a series of sessions under hypnosis with a then unknown individual named Bud Hopkins. Since that time, Hopkins has become internationally famous for his involvement with the abductee phenomenon.
The next day I drove to Gloucester, Massachusetts, where two fishing boats were lost at sea that September not far from where rumors said UFOs had been sighted in Rockport, Massachusetts. I talked with the Coast Guard and local fishermen about the possible connection between the missing boats and UFOs, mentioning the one rumored around Rockport. No one knew of any sightings, however, and I was referred to the Gloucester Times for the details about the boats.
At the Times I read the accounts of the disappearances of the boats, the Captain Cosmos and the Alligator. The Cosmos was the more intriguing. "Failure to find any trace of the vessel or its crew," one report stated, "has led to speculation among some fishermen that whatever happened, happened very quick!" The boat was the first to disappear in sixteen years, and equipped with the best in survival gear: a recently-checked life raft; floating, insulated survival suits; and provisions for two weeks. Its last location was 180 miles east of Cape Cod while encountering a violent storm. This was on September 8. What a coincidence! The same date UFO activity had reached its peak in Maine. I also talked with UFO Investigator and author Ray Fowler, who referred me to a UFO investigator named John Paul Oswald he knew who was then living in the village of Hampton, less than five miles from the beach. Several days later, I phoned the investigator, asking if I could speak to him. He agreed but said his time was limited. He suggested a time and gave me directions to his apartment that was hidden by a motel along U.S. Route One about a mile from the heart of the village.
Oswald was cool and formal when he answered the door. Tall, with thick glasses and an introspective look, he could've been a less gifted version of Stephen King. Walking in, I saw piles of magazines and stacks of books littered on the floor, the most prominent being a three-foot edifice of old-looking hardcover books. It was a shabby, one-bedroom apartment. In the middle of the books and magazines, he sat in a large easy chair and I sat down on the couch that was kitty-corner to him. I took out my notebook and he began a discourse about how he became interested in UFOs.
He said he came to this area to investigate UFOs in 1969 after reading about the sightings in Exeter. At the time he was working as an engineer. He had a M.S. degree from the University of Wisconsin. However, he had become so fascinated with UFOs that he left his job as an engineer in Wisconsin and got a job in a factory there so that he could continue his investigations. He was currently an official investigator with the Mutual UFO Network, to which Ray Fowler belonged. During his time in Hampton, he also had compiled reports for the National Investigations Committee on Aerial Phenomena and the Center for UFO Studies which was directed by the late Dr. Allen Hynek, the astronomer who became the nation's foremost authority on UFOs. He emphasized that he was a serious, sober, professional researcher. It was his belief that UFO sightings were a rarity, and that if there were three or four genuine sightings in an area in one year, then you have a flap, the word for a UFO epidemic.
After ten years there, he said he was nearing completion of a complex, philosophical work not meant for public consumption. He was reluctant to talk about his conclusions and cast himself as thoroughly professional in his approach.
Somehow, though, the conversation turned to religion. This excited him, and he began spouting off his theories of creation and the universe. He said he had been involved in an intense study of Theology and noted that the three-foot edifice in the middle of the living room was theological works. In the self-published pamphlet he showed me, "What You Need To Know," he wrote that after years of investigation and painstaking study, he had come up with "the comprehensive explanation of the UFO phenomenon," which will take some time for scholars and scientists to reconcile with the new coherent view of reality put forth by him. Lost in an emotional outburst, he spurted forth his revelation. UFOs are manned by angels preparing for the Second Coming of Jesus Christ! Not knowing quite how to respond to this, I left quickly. In the coming weeks I was beset by increasing paranoia, and events did nothing to calm me down.
For instance, the editor of the Portsmouth Herald, who told me that perhaps I was snooping around in something that was none of my business. And it didn't help when I was interviewed by a weekly newspaper reporter who wanted to do a story on me that I don't believe was ever published. I kept thinking about Reed's story and at night I imagined the men in the black overcoats coming to visit me. Not wanting to live alone any longer, I moved into a two-bedroom apartment with Penny and her new boyfriend. Then I was interviewed by a weekly newspaper reporter who wanted to a story about me. It made me feel uncomfortable that I would be drawing attention to myself and making me easy to find. It got me and I just had to get out of that place by the time fall rolled around. But it was a golden summer, and in fact, I would return for three more seasons to work as a waiter, enjoy the beach and the women, and the fizz of life that's oh so full of mystery. But never since have I seen a UFO. Do I think aliens are currently visiting us? Or, are all the sightings of strange objects and stories of little gray bug-eyed creatures with bodies like insects abducting people and performing medical experiments merely the delusion of our time? Who can say? Maybe it's just a psychological event, a trick of our mind, the phantom of our age. I do believe though that if we continue to explore these phantoms, they will provide us with an answer to the age-old question of where we came from and where we are going, the question about life we all want answered most.
Imagine a starry summer night, so many diamonds filling the blackness of space. Your immortal soul reaches out to them. You wonder what's out there. If there's a purpose to it all. You reason; you hope; you pray that someone's out there, watching over us. Admit it, we all do. We all long for the day of deliverance. I began to feel this way in second grade when I had imaginary conversations with an omnipotent being, who protected me at all times and promised to bring my soul to perfection. It felt natural, this longing to reach out to something greater. And though, that summer, I had not found it, I had made the effort. In this way, I found my own reward.
By Tom Calarco
Behold, the sparkling diamonds,
Glistening, changing color
Across the blackness of infinity
Incomprehensible beings,
Yield your secret.
Reach out across the lonely spaces,
Honor us with friendship
Our desire is communication
Harmony.
To learn our purpose.
Forget the governments,
the banks or corporations.
Rather, come for the masses
Who march toward destruction
We have been taught that
The greater reward is in giving
What can we offer you?
We await your answer
Listening across the eons . . .
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