MAY 21, 2022 – Blogger’s Foreword: Having completed yesterday an account of my “Grand Odyssey,” I searched the world inside my head for a sequel project; for writer and reader alike, something more challenging, if not more edifying, than my daily dose of 500 words pre-dating the “Grand Account.” I landed upon an ambitious experiment. It’s designed to question how we view the world—examining our vantage points as much as focal points. The catch is, inherent blindness to our own prejudices will frustrate the experiment. But in the human tradition, at least we can give this endeavor the ol‘ college try (summa cum laude). I hope you enjoy the flight. “For your own safety, fasten your seatbelts [. . .] and count the rows to the nearest exit. Remember that the nearest exit might be behind you.”
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Astronomers are giddy when they detect ice on some distant orb or discover in a galaxy far, far away, a “Goldilocks” planet so perfectly situated from its star as to suggest the possibility of sustaining life (as we define it). “Fine,” I used to say in imaginary conversations with brainiacs at Cal Tech or the Jet Propulsion Lab. “Knock yourselves out with single-cell organisms mucking around in a primordial swamp 10-to-the-something-power light years away. Big deal. In case you hadn’t noticed, here on earth we have the internet, iPhones, Tik-Tok, craft beer, pizza, and Netflix. Beat that!”
But recently my geocentric hubris was exposed in a fashion that few earthbound minds would believe. I’d be the last to believe what I experienced—had it not happened to me. I’ve contacted the U.S. House Committee on UFOs to see if they’d be interested in hearing my testimony. So far, no response, but I’m patient: democracy doesn’t move anything close to the speed of light. Meanwhile, you, my curious readers, will know my improbable story.
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It was the most astonishing encounter of my life, and as I’ve said a million times, I’m not one to exaggerate. Plus, I’ve been around the block a few times—in Manhattan, no less, center of the universe. My most astonishing encounter, however, occurred far from Gotham. It occurred in our smallish backyard in tiny Falcon Heights, Minnesota, an inner-ring burb sandwiched between the twin smokes of St. Paul and Minneapolis. Now that I reflect on the incident, the backyard venue was analogous to Jesus in the manger—a big-time deal, wherein the birth of a “king” was witnessed by a cow, a donkey, and three sheep, at least according to my mom’s plastic nativity set that came out down from the attic every December. Likewise, my rendezvous with destiny wasn’t in some palatial suite high above the teaming streets of New York City, but in our humble, dandelion-infested yard near the the U of M “farm campus.”
I was sitting on our back porch, sipping lemonade, and reviewing legal documents in dire need of abridgment. A chorus of songbirds accompanied my effort, and crab apple tree blossoms filled the air with a calming, alluring fragrance. All was right with my little world until . . .
FLASH, BAM! Blinding light triggered an ear-splitting blast of sound. I leaped to my feet. Upon recovering my senses, I saw and heard on the lawn . . . a thing, an object, a tangle of pulsating, humming filaments hovering above the dandelions.
Time passed, though I couldn’t gauge its duration—a few seconds? A minute? Perhaps time simply stopped. Eventually, I “apprehended” a “communication.” As far as I can recall, it was, “Hi, earthling. I’m from a planet you’d call ‘Goldilocks’ in a galaxy far, far away.”
Too stunned for words, I stood in frozen pose, mouth agape. Was this psychosis? Had I ingested an hallucinogen? I felt a surge of panic. To combat it, I summoned the will to talk. (Cont.)
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
1 Comment
You’ve got me hooked Eric!!!
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