PENETRATION (Definitions Of)

1. To pass into or through
2. To enter by overcoming resistance
3. To pierce
4. To see into or through
5. To discover the inner meaning or contents of
6. To pierce something with the eye or mind
7. Having the power of entering, piercing or pervading
8. The act of entering so that actual establishment of influence is accomplished

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PREFACE

This small book is divided into three parts. And it is with regard to the first part that I join a very long list of those who have seen and experienced things they cannot prove happened.

The second part is on much firmer ground. It is largely a brief synopsis of spectacular data and facts about the Moon that have achieved exposure elsewhere, and which provide evidence that the Moon is a very interesting place, indeed. I have selected only small portions from all of the unusual lunar information available, but have provided sources in the bibliography for those interested in more copious details.

The third part begins with a presentation of certain social phenomena regarding the problems of telepathy that can be factually identified. These, however, set the background for the strange and surprising scenario they lead into, although the scenario is admittedly speculative in nature. Some have advised me not to publish this book - on the grounds that it challenges those echelons of conventional credibility that lasciviously get off on deconstructing those unfortunates who experience what they can’t prove.

I have been mindful of this opportunistic factor for several decades. But my age is advancing and I have become interested in recording and wrapping up my active research into Psi phenomena in order to pursue less stressful vistas. As I have discussed in other writings, I have always been interested in Psi phenomena, and beginning in 1970 it chanced that opportunities to extend that interest in depth were made available. Anyone with more than a mere superficial interest in Psi phenomena must of course encounter the rather smelly morass of social resistance whereby the authenticity of those phenomena are methodically deconstructed, thus suspending them in doubt.

This social resistance, even if smelly, has largely been successful in destroying all concerted approaches to Psi phenomena. This success is specifically active within high strata of societal power, and which strata are otherwise entirely disinterested in what lesser mortals DO experience along these lines. Why it is that governing societal factors need to deconstruct the provable existence of at least some vital Psi phenomena is therefore something that needs to be examined and understood.

Along these lines of inquiry, the existence and methods of the machinations against Psi development can easily be brought to light. But the reasons that govern the implementation of the machinations none the less remain obscured.

Thus, the societal resistance to Psi breaks neatly into two aspects:

• to prevent Psi development

• to keep obscure the actual reasons for doing so

One reason for the blanket suppression which has been offered up by many before me is that effective formats of Psi would disturb any number of social institutions. Those institutions would feel “threatened” by developed formats of, say, telepathy, which might thereafter be utilized to penetrate their secrets.

There is some rather clear truth in this. Indeed, it is because of this truth that some echelons of humans are at war with the Psi potentials of the human species - because those echelons have motivations they would prefer never to be disclosed via Psi penetration. If this is the case, the chief preventive measure would be to stamp out altogether any real understanding of Psi. Indeed, something like this has taken place. And there cognizance of the nature of the situation might remain - more or less being defined as humans in conflict with their own Psi potentials because Psi penetrates secrets.

Indeed, on my part for a long time I assumed that this was the beginning and end of the story regarding the methodical suppression of Psi by high societal echelons - such as represented by government, science, academe and media. As it happened, however, the events described in Part One of this book occurred beginning in 1975. These are the events I can’t prove. None the less they made somewhat visible another possible aspect that might be factored into the odiferous suppression of Psi that was already familiar to me.

This aspect required that I introduce two unusual terms: Earth-side  and Space-side.

These refer, of course, to Earth-side intelligence and Space-side intelligence. The central hypothesis of this book is that if developed Psi potentials would be an invasive threat to Earth-side  intelligences, then developed Earth-side  Psi would also be a threat to Space-side intelligences. After all, in that telepathy, for example, is invasively defined as reading minds, the distinction between reading Earth-side  minds and Space-side minds would be very narrow.

The only real problem in considering this is whether or not Space-siders exist.

I have decided not to enter into the relevant debate about this issue, but direct the reader to the copious literature already existing, with special regard to the weekly UFO ROUND-UP that can be located in the Internet (see bibliography).

The inclusion in this book of the story I can't prove is not being offered as evidence about the existence of Space-side intelligence, but because the reader deserves to know why I have concluded there is far more to telepathy than commonly conceived in Earth-side  terms. In this, the thinking proceeds from actual experience, and not from analyzing the Information packages presented in the works of others.

The works of others, of course, have proved to be valuable in the long run, and they certainly introduce a modicum of authenticity that would otherwise go completely missing. In the end, though, the authenticity of my personal, improvable, experience probably doesn’t need to be considered all that much - because the drift of accumulating information is inexorably leading to establishing the authentic existence of extraterrestrial intelligences anyway.

One factor that won’t be apparent throughout this book is the large amount of time (years actually) it took to achieve the synthesis of the factors presented. I tend to be a rather slow thinker, and am sometimes even slower on the up-take. I had originally intended to include a lengthy discussion regarding the probability that telepathy might be a universal “language” system of some kind that operates through consciousness entities everywhere.

I briefly allude to this in Part Three, but otherwise have decided to include that discussion in another work - because it needs a larger information basis that includes the nature of energy organisms. But I feel obliged to comment on some of the reasons I decided to go ahead with the book after so many years have passed. In late 1990, I read a well-documented report of a large UFO craft sighted in the former USSR. The report indicated that the sighting was attested to by General Igor Maltsev, chief of the main staff of Air Defense Forces, and published in Tabochaya Tribuna, 29, dated April 1990.

The report quoted General Maltsev as saying:

“I am not a specialist on UFOs and therefore I can only correlate the data and express my own supposition. According to the evidence of these eyewitnesses, the UFO is a disk with a diameter from 100 to 200 meters. Two pulsating lights were positioned on its sides..."

The article went on to state that UFOs are piloted craft and contradicted the suggestion that they are mere atmospheric phenomena. If the sighted craft was indeed 200 meters, it was about 650 feet, or somewhat larger than a football field.

Meanwhile, there were other notable sightings elsewhere/ and video footage was being obtained regarding a lot of them. Such reports got me ruminating about my 1975 experiences, with the result that I decided to write them down before my memory began deteriorating more than it already had.

Between 1976 and 1990, I gradually concluded that Earth-siders and Space-siders didn’t seem to have much in common - with the exception of telepathy. By all contactee and abductee accounts, telepathic capacities seem to be well-developed by the ET’s, but remained quite undeveloped Earth-side. I expanded the narration of the events to include some fundamental considerations of telepathy, and which theorized WHY development of telepathy is suppressed Earth-side.

In due course, I showed the manuscript to my then literary rep, who got excited about it, and thought that its successful publication was a sure and easy thing.
Over twenty publishers turned it down - even in the face of the fact that much UFO-ET stuff ranging from bullshit to the sublime fantastic was otherwise being published everywhere.

This blanket rejection on such a large scale remains, as it were, mysterious. Perhaps it can be interpreted as some kind of subtle, large-scale media control.
But one possible explanation might be that as outrageous as the tale and telepathic considerations are, something in them moves too close to Someone’s comfort.

In any event, because of frustration, embarrassment, etc., I abandoned this book project. And some more years passed. In about March, 1998, however, certain articles and TV reports centering on ET possibilities began circulating, among which were a few entitled “Astonishing Intelligent Artifacts (?) Found On Mysterious Par Side Of The Moon.”

Then, via a report in the Internet authored by David Derbyshire, dated May 14, 1998, it seems that a “24,000 mph UFO” buzzed Britain on May 13, 1998. THIS craft was tracked by the Royal Air Force and the Dutch Air Force. It was “triangular” and “as big as a battleship. About 900 feet long. British and Dutch interceptors were sent aloft, The Big Thing left them in the mists - and went who knows where?

Thus, there are recent authentic reports of UFOs, and indeed they seem present everywhere, and even boldly reveal themselves to the lenses of Camcorders world-wide. That the UFOs are driven or managed by Space-side intelligences simply must be taken for granted.

And if they have achieved high technological control of consciousness that is commensurate with the high technology of their craft, then I'll bet they are very good at what we Earth-siders refer to as telepathy.

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PART I
ULTRA-SECRET GOINGS-ON

Chapter 1
INVOLVEMENT IN PSI RESEARCH

The sequence of strange events narrated in this book took place because of my involvement with Psi research, which began out of the blue in 1971 when I was thirty seven years along. My life might have flowed along lines presumably more gratifying in mundane but more comfortable ways had I never volunteered to be an experimental subject in Psi research labs.

In these experiments, there were high and low points, successes and failures, And there was the opportunity to meet with many fabulous and wonderful people. But when one enters into Psi research, one also enters into a narrow cultural subset rather steamed up with high stress factors, intrigues, mainstream confusions, fear and apprehension, internecine warfare, and largish clumps of idiocy.

Additionally, Psi research subjects (guinea pigs) are non-entities who are expected to exhibit Psi manifestations. At the same time they are supposed to know nothing, think nothing, suppose nothing - because the job of knowing, thinking, supposing belongs to the researchers. The subject is something like a computer chip being tested to see if it can perform in the ways wanted. If the chip doesn’t perform in the ways wanted, then it is tossed aside into the big pile of anonymous chips that have likewise failed. It is thus that the laboratory life-span of a test subject usually does not exceed three months, and during that time they have to undergo endless repetitive testing. One of the major outcomes of this is usually bottomless boredom

The appearance of boredom is deadly in Psi research - because a bored chip gets into a state of apathy or non-interest, after which its delicate circuitry fizzles. I knew most of this in advance, largely because Psi phenomena had always been of endless interest to me, and I had done a great deal of organized reading and study. So I had no expectations at all that my allotted three months would somehow turn into nineteen years.

The major reason had not much to do with the Stygian climes of parapsychology itself. Unknown to almost everyone at the time, the American intelligence services became worried about, of all things, possible development of “psychic warfare advances” in the (now former) Soviet Union.

The intelligence services are heavy players, and because of the Soviet Psi threat they more or less required an active picture of Psi potentials somewhat larger than standard parapsychology could provide. Because of these unusual circumstances, I got dragged into several years of work in this regard.

But this meant that I also got dragged into realms of often idiotic secrecy, into endless security checks conducive of paranoia, into all kinds of science fiction dream-works, into intelligence intrigues whose various formats were sometimes like toilet drains, and into quite nervous military and political ramifications. My participation in this long-term affair had its ups and downs -and was to involve hundreds of complicated situations, circumstances, and events of various kinds - of which those narrated in this book were only one kind, albeit the most stressful and mind-boggling.

To get into the elements of the narration, it is necessary to briefly outline what led up to them.

In late 1972 the Central Intelligence Agency funded a small, tentative research project at Stanford Research Institute. The project at SRI was headed by the physicist, Dr. H.E. Puthoff, and I was invited to travel to California to participate in it. The purpose of the small project was to discover one ESP phenomenon that was capable of being reproduced at will. This was the kind of experiment notoriously missing in parapsychology, but in which I had been somewhat successful earlier.

The project was given eight months to produce something along these lines. So, thereupon began yet another daily exercise involving hundreds of experimental trials. These proceeded up and down in terms of what was being tested, but ultimately DOWN into boredom so cloying that it was hard to face yet another day of it.

In early April, 1973, in an effort to emerge from the daily boredom of repetitive testing (which induces a flat-line of ESP activity), I suggested that we once in a while do something far out, something that might reintroduce a sense of adventure, excitement, and enjoyment. The planet Jupiter was literally far out. NASA had earlier launched Pioneer 10 and 11 to fly-by that planet, and information telemetered back by the two crafts would undergo technical analyses. Information from Pioneer 10 would commence in September, 1973.

The only real difference between Jupiter as a “target," and mundane target objects in the next room, was its distance from Earth. But for me there was another difference. It would be exciting to try to extend one’s ESP to the planet, a form of remote viewing. Jupiter was more remote than the next room - and there might be a thrill of “traveling" in interplanetary space. But there was yet another difference. Those locked into conventional research mindsets are usually nervous about novel experiments. Conventional mindsets tend to take themselves somewhat seriously, so there is usually resistance to non-conventional experiments.

The resistance is usually first manifested by tar and feathering the proposed experiment (and everyone involved) BEFORE it takes place. If that doesn’t squelch the experiment, then it is merely declared ridiculous and laughed out of Sciencetown. Is not a psychic mind trip to Jupiter laughable?

My colleagues at SRI were, to put it mildly, not interested in being laughed out of town. But I had become quite gloomy since failure-by-boredom was just ahead.
So I had a choice of,

(1) being laughed out of town

(2) boredom which clearly could flat-line ESP faculties

The resistance to the Jupiter “probe” was overcome when I said “I quit, and you can return what’s left of the money to the funding clients.”

In any event, I felt it would be interesting to see if the remote-viewing data acquired in April, 1973, might somewhat match the data later revealed by NASA’s craft beginning in September, 1973. The thrill of the idea was to get psychically to Jupiter before the NASA vehicles did. If this worked even somewhat, it was a kind of psychic one-upsmanship. The experiment was done on personal time, on a Saturday, a non-working day. But it was wrapped in very stringent protocols. At first, the very-long-distance (VLD) experiment was not to be an official one. But the remote-viewing raw data had to be recorded somehow, so that it could be established that it existed prior to the NASA vehicles getting to the planet.

So, at the conclusion of the experiment, copies of the raw data were circulated far and wide, offered to and accepted by many respected scientists in the Silicon Valley area, including two at Jet Propulsion Laboratories. Some scientists, of course, thought the entire idea ridiculous, but these were fewer than one might expect. For the experiment to be considered successful in any way, the remote viewing data had to include impressions of factors that were not known about the great planet - lest one be accused of reading up beforehand.

As to the raw data itself, this ended up consisting of one page of sketches, and two and a half pages of verbal observations.

The raw data yielded thirteen factors, and only thirteen, all of which were scientifically unanticipated before they were confirmed by later analysis of the scientific data.

These raw data factors are enumerated below, accompanied by the dates they were confirmed.

1. The existence of a hydrogen mantle: Confirmed September 1973, again in 1975.

2. Storms, wind: Confirmed 1976 as to dimensions and unexpected intensities.

3. Something like a tornado: Confirmed 1976 as strong rotating cy clones.

4. High infrared reading: Confirmed 1974.

5. Temperature inversion: Confirmed 1975.

6. Cloud color and configuration: Confirmed 1979.

7. Dominant orange color: Confirmed 1979.

8. Water/ice crystals in atmosphere: Confirmed 1975.

9. Crystal bands reflect radio probes: Confirmed 1975.

10. Magnetic and electromagnetic auroras (“rainbows"): Confirmed 1975.

11. A planetary RING inside the atmosphere: Confirmed 1979, not only as to its existence, but as being inside the crystallized atmospheric layers.

12. Liquid composition: Confirmed 1973, 1976, as hydrogen in liquid form.

13. Mountains and solid core: Still questionable, but suspected as of 1991.

Six of these thirteen factors were given scientific substantiation by 1975, which is the year that the events narrated in this book begin.

It needs to be pointed up that before it was actually discovered in 1979, most scientists flatly denounced the possibility of the RING, but which had been sketched in the raw data acquired in 1973. And just recently the existence of more refined rings has been confirmed.

For me, the Jupiter experiment effected a cure of my experimental doldrums for a number of reasons.

• For one thing, the trip and the sightseeing there were awesome experiences. This was a kind of profound aesthetic impact that can inspire one for many of years.

• For another thing, as confirmation feedback began coming in during September, 1973, in the form of scientific announcements, the gossip lines shifted from cold ridicule and began heating up. Lots of notables began coming to lunch at SRI in order to get grounded with the possibilities.

• For yet another thing, the CIA, of course, was interested in the possibilities of psychic spying. Although the planetary experiment had not been done on the Company’s funded time, it now seemed that the project at SRI was excitedly on the right track.

The Jupiter Probe also received wide media coverage, although not in scientific journals, of course, But then there are all types of people who view science much in the same way that science has traditionally viewed parapsychology.

I now wish to mention an aspect that might go missing otherwise, and does go missing, rather conveniently, as regards a lot of psychic claims and posturing. This has to do with the matter of what are referred to as positive feedback loops. It is not hard to comprehend what these consist of.

One word will do: Confirmation - in some or any form.

A “psychic” says thus and so, after which one needs to look around for some kind of hard evidence that supports the real-time facts of what has been said. As far out as the Jupiter experiment was, it was based and designed AGAINST expected feedback loops. The feedback was in the form of the information telemetered back to Earth by the NASA vehicles flying by the planet. As it turned out, among those taking an active interest in the possibility of interplanetary spying was a group so clandestine that it could be characterized not merely as a deepest black project, but as an entirely invisible one.

It was this group, or whatever it might be called, that I met up with in the early part of 1975.

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Chapter 2
ENCOUNTERING THE SPOOKIEST SPOOKS

About two years after the Jupiter probe I received a telephone call during late February, 1975, from a certain highly-placed functionary in Washington, D.C.
I had met him on social occasions, and we had rather enjoyable conversations since he had a deep interest in Psi research. I both admired and respected him. He vas forthright about his unusual interests, and he dared to swim against the surface currents of that mighty river called “prevailing opinion” which could damage even very high reputations in the Washington maze.

But in his telephone call to me, my friend was somewhat less than forthright, as the following conversation drawn from memory indicates.

“A Mr. Axelrod is going to telephone you,” he said. “If you can manage to do so, would you try to do whatever he asks, and ask no questions yourself.”

After a pause, I asked: “Well, who is Mr. Axelrod?”

Now there was a pause at his end of the telephone.

Then:

“I can’t tell you because I don’t know myself. But it’s important, VERY important, very URGENT that you agree to do what he asks."

 

“I can tell you nothing more, so please do NOT ask. Just do what he wants. And, whether you do or do not, we will never refer to this conversation again. I must ask you in friendship never to refer to me about this in any way.”

After which, my friend expressed a quick passing interest in how I was doing, and then virtually hung up on me. Although my contact was usually jolly, he had seemed, well, a little uptight. But otherwise, this type of thing was not entirely unusual in my new career of Psi research. Many had approached me, some of whom asked for anonymity, some using fake names - such as police emissaries and detectives who wanted inputs regarding difficult crimes, a few scientists with research stoppages, an art director of a famous museum which had misplaced a valuable painting.

Desperate people do desperate things - such as consulting psychics - even some Presidents whose interactions with seers are documented. In this somewhat less than open manner began a chain of mind boggling affairs which excited me on the one hand, yet ultimately made me QUIVER as if I suddenly found myself standing between two realities neither of which seem quite real. As it turned out, in spite of the alleged urgency, the mysterious Mr. Axelrod did not telephone until about four weeks later. And when he did, it was about three in the morning. The call jolted me out of a sound sleep, so, of course, at first I didn’t quite remember who he was.

After we got that straightened out, he asked:

“Can you get to Washington by noon today? I realize this is short notice, but we would be very appreciative if you can. We will reimburse you for your time and all your expenses"

I was just about to ask why I should get to Washington by noon, en I remembered that my friend had been very insistent that I not ask questions. So, I said I would take the air-shuttle or something.

“Good,” Mr. Axelrod said, “but we cannot meet you at the airport. Are you familiar with the Museum of Natural History at the Smithsonian?”

I said I was.

“Good,” he replied. “As soon as you arrive, go there and stand near the elephant in the central rotunda. Be there at noon. You will be contacted. Just do exactly as your contacts asks. My only requirement is that you tell no one where you are going. If you feel you cannot do that, please say so now and we will forget about this.”

I sat in silence.

"Is that OK with you?” he asked.

 

“Yes, I suppose so.”

But I couldn’t resist one question, which seemed a logical one.

"How will I recognize who is supposed to contact me?”

"Don't worry. We know what YOU look like.”

And Mr. Axelrod then hung up without so much as a good-bye.

I got out of bed, made some coffee, chain-smoked some cigars, and sat contemplating the noisy darkness outside my windows (New York City is always noisy.}
I was beginning not to like this at all, and were it not for my highly-placed acquaintance in Washington, whom I respected. I am quite sure I would have decided the whole affair had suddenly become too questionable to proceed with.

The world, back in 1975, it should be remembered, was in the grips of the Cold War. My research colleagues at Stanford Research Institute and I had speculated that the Soviet KGB would naturally be interested in what we were doing. And in our more dramatic considerations of this possibility, it was even speculated that one of us might get kidnapped or worse by that infamous, but very smart organization.

Well, I decided, if I got to Washington early enough, I could once more view the magnificent collection of minerals and crystals housed in the Museum of Natural History. Doing so had turned me on for years. So, as the sun was rising in the rather cool late winter weather. I made my way to La Guardia Airport, and got aboard the next air-shuttle to Washington, about a fifty minute ride.

I arrived with plenty of time to spare. In fact, the museum wasn’t yet open, so I got some coffee and a roll from one of the venders in the Mall, and smoked some more cigars. Needless to say, even when viewing the three-foot crystals, and looking at the egg-sized precious gems, my mind was not at all on them. In fact, I was sweating most of the time. Nerves? Apprehension?

Finally, I went to the mezzanine floor which encircles the museum’s great rotunda. As covertly as possible (to my way of thinking, anyway) I surveyed the floor below - in the center of which stands the famous stuffed elephant with his absolute majesty entirely visible to all who take a moment to consider it.
Assuming I was supposed to act like any other tourist, at noon I was standing in front of the giant elephant, pretending to have interest in it.

Behind me a voice spoke. “Mr. Swann?” I turned, and was immediately handed a card which read: Please do not speak or ask any questions. This is for our safety as well as yours.

If I had not been convinced before that I was getting into something suspicious, I was now certain. For the guy who handed me the card stared at me with burning green eyes, which clearly indicated he meant business. I didn’t dare speak. He was young, and looked like he had been produced as a fashion model for a Marine basic-training camp - which is to say, tallish, hunky, serious, and complacent in his ability to kill very quietly.

But even more astonishing was the fact that there were TWO of them which as far as I could tell were twins. Dozens of museum visitors were flowing all around us. After reading the card, I blinked. The first guy pulled out a photograph which I could see was of me. He studiously compared the photograph face to mine. He then took my hand as if he was shaking it, and compared the tattoo on it to another photograph - the tattoo I had gotten as a result of a rather drunken desire in 1962.

He then nodded to his duplicate, who had been watching the rotunda in a professional way, and this twin came over and repeated the sequence. They then both initialed what seemed to be a kind of check-sheet in a small address booklet. All this took place in a few moments, and none of the spectators passing to-and-fro around the elephant seemed to notice. The first twin then nodded, and indicated the main door to the museum, I followed, with the other twin just behind me. We marched directly to the curb, and got into a rather non-descript car boldly waiting in a No Standing zone.

The driver was a woman who, it seemed, deliberately never looked at me. The car was large and blue, a little dirty on the outside, but immaculate inside. The twins sat in the back on either side of me. One of them pulled out another card: Please do not speak. You may smoke if you want. Which I gratefully did. I was wet in my armpits. As it turned out, we were, I think, the center car between that stayed with us as we moved through the clogged streets. Once we left Washington proper, the twin pulled out yet another card which read something like: Please do not take it personally, but we are required to check your person and clothing for weapons or bugs.

What could I do? They then proceeded to check everything, even unzipping my pants and peeking briefly into my shorts. After which, they both initialed the mysterious check-sheet.

I had never been treated this way before. I had never been frisked. I wanted to be outraged. However, I didn't dare move or open my mouth, except to puff on a cigar.

By this time I hardly knew were we were. We seemed to be heading in what I thought was the direction of the CIA headquarters hidden behind trees. I thought that might be our destination, but we zoomed past it, picking up speed. Then came another card: You are being taken to a heliport for further transport. Before we reach it, we will place a hood over your head. It will be removed at your destination. If you are hungry, sandwiches are available. At this point, I thought of doom. Yet, silly as it seemed, I WAS hungry, even if my stomach was in knots. I ate. Although my hands were now shaking a little, the twins pretended not to notice.

Well, I concluded, I'm either really being kidnapped, or whatever is about to go down IS something extraordinary.

About twenty minutes later, the first twin produced the promised hood, and I spent the next part of my voyage into stuffy darkness. Not long after, the car ground to a halt. I was helped out, and with the two twins firmly grasping my arms was soon seated in a chopper. We took off almost before we were strapped in.

This part of the voyage seemed to last about a half hour, but I can’t be sure. Shortly we bumped to a sudden landing, I was helped out, and walked what seemed a longish distance, I then heard a door wheeze closed, and we DESCENDED. So I knew we were in an elevator. I was now turned around in the elevator, and when it came to a halt, after what I took to be quite some distance down, a door apparently opened up and we walked straight out. Next, I was physically turned around several times by the twins. After about ten turns, we marched along, at one point seeming to go down a ramp. Shortly I was pushed down onto a chair.

At this point a voice actually SPOKE the first words I'd heard in this whole threatening goings-on.

“I’m going to remove your hood now, Mr. Swann, and thank you for coming as well as putting up with our procedures.”

I was, well, terrified by now, and don’t mind admitting it.

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Chapter 3
UNDERGROUND, SOMEWHERE

With the hood removed, eyes watering a little, I found myself in a dimly lit room. The twins were nowhere to be seen. The VOICE said:

“I am Axelrod, which is not my real name, of course, as you must have figured out.”

Mr. Axelrod was a jolly-guy type, smiling, with kindly eyes, but dressed in a dark green jumpsuit of some kind. He reminded me of a certain Captain McBee I had worked with while in Korea.

He continued:

“I can answer no questions as to where you are or what we represent, but beyond that I am at your complete disposal with regard to anything that pertains to the task ahead.”

Mustering what dignity could, which really was not much, I croaked out:

“Well, what task, then?”

Mr. Axelrod smiled.

“First, there are some procedural matters. We will reimburse you for your expenses, and provide what we will call an honorarium. Would a thousand dollars a day be suitable? We will provide this in cash before you leave.”

“A DAY!” I croaked again. “How many DAYS?”

“Well, we have heard you work best in the morning, and as it is now in the afternoon, we will begin the task tomorrow morning at any time which suits you. After that, we will wing it a little.”

A thousand bucks a DAY!!! I perked up - and stopped croaking -and even tried to say something sensible.

“So, if you know about the morning thing, then you must be very familiar with our procedures out at Stanford Research Institute.”

“We know a great deal about you, Mr. Swann. You seem to be an exceptional man, and of course it is your psychic gifts we want to try to employ with regard to the task.”

“My ‘psychic gifts’, as you must then know, are very undependable. I work only in experimental situations, and I hardly think anyone should risk anything really serious on them.”

“We understand fully, Mr. Swann. He do not see the task as a risk, so do not feel stressed about that.

“The second preliminary. We would like to ask you never to reveal any of the details about any of this, including your presence here. If the circumstances were otherwise, we would ask you to sign a secrecy agreement. But, bluntly speaking, we exist without leaving a paper trail regarding our mission.”

Mr. Axelrod paused to let that sink in, and then continued.

“Yet, without such an official secrecy oath, you will not be legally bound to secrecy. What we would hope, then, is that you will agree not to reveal this sequence for at least ten years hence.

“I can assure you there are very good reasons for this, but after ten years our mission will have ‘disappeared’, as it were.

"If you cannot see your way clear to making and upholding this agreement, we will give you a good dinner, discuss remote viewing, and get you back to New York by late tonight.“

For the record here, other groups had invited to work on many other kinds sensitive projects, and had even signed non-disclosure agreements. So, except for the ultra-secrecy of this one, which I thought merely overly dramatic, it was not all that unusual.

Although I was hot on the trail of $1000-days, I frowned at Mr. Axelrod.

“I guess you knew I would accept, or I would not be here now, would I?”

“Good, very good, then. We have specific procedures here. We will work in this room, if that is suitable. There is an adjoining room with a bed, and is comfortable. It has a TV you can watch.

“You will see only myself, and the two who brought you here. They will be your constant companions when you are not with me, One will spend the nights in this room, and the other will be stationed directly outside the door. They do not know why you are here, and they need not know.

"If you need exercise, we have a small gym. We have shorts and gear and a small pool if you want to swim. If you have any kind of special food preferences we believe we can supply them. Just ask for what you want. You smoke Tiparillo cigars. We have some for you, as well as better ones if you wish. Can you work under these circumstances?”

I hardly knew what to say by this time. So, bravely, I ventured, "I guess that depends on the work... or the task, or whatever it is.”

Then:

“I know I am not supposed to ask anything, but are those two guys really twins?”

Mr. Axelrod smiled again.

“What do you think?”

“I think they are.”

“Well, then that is resolved, isn't it? Did you enjoy the geological specimens at the museum this morning?”

I decided to ask no more questions. Presumably, I had been observed ever since I left New York. Whatever was happening must be important, since it obviously was costing someone a great amount of dollar/man-hours.

“Well, then, may I call you Ingo? And you must call me Axel. Tell me about remote viewing.”

I decided to relax.

"Well, as you may know I did my first extensive clairvoyant experiments at the American Society for Psychical Research in New York with a woman named Janet Mitchell and, of course, with Dr. Karlis Osis, the director of research there.

 

“After a while, I got bored with trying to see targets in boxes and the next room. One day I decided to see what else I could see, and found I thought I could see people going down the street outside.

“One day, I thought I saw a woman dressed in orange and green walking along the street. We rushed downstairs just in time to see orange and green disappearing around the corner.

“There was really no way I could have seen her visually, since I had been sitting in a closed room. I got to thinking. I proposed then a larger experiment.

“I would try to see things at greater distance, provided we could figure out a way to get easy feedback about what was being seen.

“We thought about this for a while, and finally decided that I could try to see the weather going on in major cities, and then call up their weather numbers to see if I was correct or not."

"How did you specify which city?” Axel asked.

“Well, we decided that Janet would compile a list of cities, and select one at random. She would then say: the city is such and so, go there, Ingo, and see what the weather is doing.

“After I had said what the weather was, Janet would pick up a telephone, call long-distance and get the current weather report.

“This didn't work too well at first, but I suggested we try a number of times. Finally, we got a number of hits in a row.

“For example, she gave me Phoenix as a target. I saw it was raining there, or at least had just rained. Sure enough, Phoenix had just had a rain storm, which was unusual because they don’t often have any. Well anyway, we did this for a few days with pretty good results.

“Since these cities were remote from New York, we decided to refer to this kind of experiment as remote viewing. This started in December 1971. That’s how it all got started.”

Axel had his fingers pressed against his lips. He was no longer smiling, and seemed pensive. So I asked:

“I gather you want me to try to remote view something?”

“Oh, absolutely, absolutely,” he responded, resuming his smile. “After the American Society, then, you went to SRI and developed a coordinate-ordinate system for remote viewing?”

“Well, that came about because we wanted to try to view sites around the world. The CIA was interested, you know.

“When we tried to target the cities by their names, we realized that the name had too many clues which might aid me in identifying the target.

"We felt that skeptics and critics would point this out, making our work useless. So we felt we couldn’t do that kind of experiment. After all, if you say ‘New York' for example, anyone would know enough to say they see skyscrapers, and so forth.

“But one day, in 1973, I was swimming in a pool in the apartment complex where I was staying in Mountain View, which is near Palo Alto and Menlo Park where SRI is located. I had been wondering how we could identify a distant target in some other fashion than by its name.

“In the water, I laid back against the edge of the pool and tried to envision something which had escaped me. I suddenly saw a map with coordinates-ordinates on it, you know this degree East and that degree North, A ‘voice' of some kind said (in my mind, of course), 'try coordinates'

“So, I got the idea that if someone gave me a set of coordinate-ordinates they might act as a focus of some kind. At first my SRI colleagues thought this was silly, but I insisted we give it a good try. At first this didn’t work too well either, but after about fifty tries, it began to pay off.”

“Can you explain why coordinates seem to work better than other ways of specifying a target?” Axel asked.

“No one understands this at all, and neither do I. The criticism is that coordinates are only arbitrary sets of numbers and as such bear little real meaning to the actual physicality of the site.

“But my explanation, if it is one, is that people do find their way around the world by using coordinates. And since this is so, then there is no real reason why one cannot use them to find their way in a psychic voyage, As a kind of focus, so to speak.”

Mr. Axelrod grew pensive for a moment.

“There would seem to be more to it than that. Surely you’ve thought about it?”

I hesitated. “It’s a bit difficult to articulate,” Axelrod brightened up, “Try me"

“Well, I have to introduce the possibility of... Well, we are educated to believe that thought takes place only inside of one’s head, in the brain - that the mind is inside each person’s head.

“But this runs counter to the fact that some things can be directly shared at a group level - maybe not thought itself, but certainly emotions and sentiments, for example.”

“For example?" Axelrod asked.

“Well, during the 1930s, a lot of work was done on what was called 'mob consciousness’, where anger or hysteria seems to get communicated by means other than reason or logic. This was suggestive of a group-mind kind of thing - somewhat linked together by a kind of communal telepathy.

"In the middle ages there were lots of communal phenomena, or hysteria’s like this...”

With this, I thought I noticed some kind of change in Axelrod - a slight pink color in his face. One can tell if someone is accepting or resisting. It’s a sort of well-known magnetic thing.

I went on.

"If there is a group mind, there possibly could be a species-wide one - having some kind of memory... which individuals could link into...

Axelrod interrupted.

“Are you speaking about some kind of Akashic record or something like that?” He now DID seem nervous.

“No, not exactly. Some kind of species memory storage - maybe at the DNA molecular level. I know this idea makes scientists throw up, but so does any aspect of Psi.”

I paused to see if this passed inspection by Mr. Axelrod. He was very quiet and so I couldn’t tell. But finally he said “continue"

“There has been a lot of interest as to why the coordinate thing should work. I've discussed it with Dr. Jacques Vallee, the famous Ufologist along the lines of Information theory.

“Certain theories regarding information hold that it exists everywhere as sort of a cosmic thing. And if one had an ‘address’ for it, one could link into it, like a computer that can find information if there is a correct address for it.”

“Are you suggesting,” Axelrod asked, “that the mind is a computer that can link into . . .”

“Well, something like that, but not at the intellectual level. There actually must be lots of mind layers that function differently.”

“But why should coordinates function . . .?” Axelrod mused, almost to himself.

“Well, in a cosmic sense, if one has a round hall or a planet, and if one wants to divide it up, one will assign what amount to longitudes and latitudes. These will divide the ball into segments. If Intelligence exists as a universal, then this would be the best universal way to divide up a planet so as to know where one is on it."

“This is a matter of triangulation. Is this not how illegal radios are found by sending out two or three cars with antennae that can get a triangulated fix. I saw this in a World War II movie . . .”.

“’Universal'?" Axelrod asked. Now a “hot" magnetic thing seemed to come out of him. “Why did you use that word?”

Well, why NOT I thought.

“Well, the best evidence we have for telepathy, for example, is that it seems to be universal to our species. People experience it regardless of their different cultures, their different backgrounds. If we assume that Intelligence can be universal, we also have to assume that Intelligence also has to have sensing factors that also are universal.”

Having said my piece, I awaited Axelrod’s comment. He just sat looking at me in an odd kind of way. Suddenly I got the idea: Aha, he has some coordinates in the Soviet Union he want me to look at. After all, everyone else had them.

However, Axel now resumed his smile,

"But you went to the planet Jupiter. Did you use coordinates to do so?”

“Well, yes and no. The Jupiter thing came about as a sort of a lark. Again, as at the American Society for Psychical Research in New York, at SRI I got bored with the hundreds and hundreds of experiments.

“NASA was sending the Pioneer fly-by past Jupiter, and I thought it would break the monotony of our SRI work by trying to get to Jupiter ahead of the fly-by. It was a good experimental idea, for we could register my impressions of the planet, circulate them to interested people, and do it in advance of the data the fly-by would send back.

“This data would act as feedback to see if we nailed down any unsuspected facts about Jupiter. It was just a further test of remote-viewing capabilities"

“As kind of coordinates, we found out where Jupiter was in relation to which part of the Zodiac, where Earth was in respect to the Sun. These three factors - the placements of Earth, Sun and Jupiter, acted as a kind of triangulation as to where Jupiter was"

“Yes, I see,” Axel grinned. “You did pretty good.” I decided to take an initiative.

 

“Axel, I don’t like to do tasks unless there is a good chance of obtaining feedback, and you represent one of those times I have been dragged into a situation where obviously I am not going to get any... am I?”

“Well, that poses a bit of a problem considering our situation here. But surprisingly some feedback will become available in other ways. I will send it to you, in an unmarked envelope.”

“Well, what then is your task?” I asked.

After a long moment, Axel asked:

“Ingo, what do you know about the Moon?”

The MOON! He wants me to go to the Moon.

“Well, I know it is there, that it's a dead satellite, it has craters and mountains, if that is what you mean.”

“Have you studied the Moon, or gone psychically to it?”

 

“No. We never tried the Moon, because too much is known about it. It would not constitute a good experiment because of that. People would think I had learned about the Moon, or looked at it through telescopes or something.”

“What about the reverse side of the Moon. That side is always turned away from Earth. No one could accuse you of being able visually to see that.”

“But, still, the NASA’s Moon missions have encircled it, and there are lots of photos and stuff.”

Axel laughed. “Well, we want you to go to the Moon for us, and describe what you see. I have some Moon coordinates prepared, about ten altogether. Is that too many?”

"Well, no, depending on stress factors. But I don I like to do too many at once, because I fear I will begin to superimpose my impressions.”

“Well, we may not have to do all of them,” Axel said cryptically. “Do you know who George Leonard is, or ever heard of him?”

“No.”

“You’re quite sure?”

“Well, I’ve met hundreds of people by now, but I don’t recall any George Leonard. There’s a Leonard at SRI, but I can’t remember names very well, anyway. Faces I remember better.”

Axel immediately fumbled in a folder, pulling out five photographs.

“Are any of these familiar?”

“Well, one is Dr. Karlis Osis, and this other one works out at SRI, but I don’t know his name"

 

"I’ve never seen the other three, one of whom I suppose is your Mr. Leonard,”

“Well, good, then. We seem to be in good shape. Now, how about a work-out in the gym, and then I’ll join you for dinner. We can start early tomorrow morning.”

So, the initial interview was over. I am not an exercise buff, but I wanted to go to the gym hoping to see more people and more of this astonishing underground faculty. I was to be disappointed.

The twins accompanied me along empty corridors to the locker room, and themselves got geared for exercise. Built like brick shit-houses they were, and took turns doing hundreds of rapid push-ups, making me feel undeveloped, as I was, when it comes to physical strength and stamina.

But they SPOKE every now and then.

“Mr. Swann, that weight might be too heavy for you.”

NOW I could distinguish a DIFFERENCE between them. One had a Southern drawl, while the other had what I thought was Australian one, of all things. This set me wondering.

Why, for example, if all this was ultra-secretive, had I been met by two men who were so obviously twins, and extraordinarily handsome. Surely this would have attracted attention in the museum’s rotunda. But then I remembered it had not. And then I remembered, too, that most people notice very little to begin with. Gradually, I began to realize that the two actually did not look alike, they only SEEMED to in some inexplicable way. Suddenly I could see great differences between them. One, the Australian, was older. Their square jaws and green eyes were alike, but the noses were different, and one had narrower lips.

Their haircuts and marvelous physiques were almost identical, but, as I couldn’t help noticing in the locker room, the Southern was more endowed in the groin area. So, they were not twins, after all. Nor even brothers, doubtlessly. But what was it about them made them so alike, as if to be mistaken for twins? Their energies! Something about their energies.

One of the basic characteristics of good psychics is their fascination of observing everything they can, and in detail. Powers of observing seem to act as a launch pad for higher forms of perception. I’d had this fascination from childhood. As I watched them more carefully, I slowly became conscious that they MOVED almost as if in unison. If one lifted a hand, so did the other. They moved almost as if of one mind, so to speak. Yes, that was it. They were enough alike so as to be mistaken for mirror images of each other - until they spoke, that is.

The word “entrainment” came to mind, a word used to describe people who have been subjected to some mind^managing so that they begin to think, act, and even, I guess, look alike. I began to get the fanciful idea the twins were cyborgs or androids of some kind, but then decided my imagination had taken over. Needless to say, I never found out what the twins were or why they were so un-twin-like, yet so alike.

The twins and I swam a few laps in the small pool in the underground installation, they swimming most of the time under water. Coming back from the pool, I found the jolly Mr. Axelrod standing near a small table loaded with food. We ate a great steak dinner with all the trimmings - except that I couldn’t drink the obviously good wine because I was going to "work" in the morning.

We had a somewhat cheery conversation while eating. Among other topics brought up by Axelrod, he wanted to know more about what I knew about telepathy. We chatted this up. I thought this was merely innocent conversation.

Back to Contents

Chapter 4
PSYCHIC TOUCHDOWN ON THE MOON

I had spent a nervous night. First of all, the bed was kind of hard, and there was no sound in the room. So I listened to my heart pumping in the dark silence.
I felt a little claustrophobic which reminded me of how had I had responded inside the Great Pyramid in Egypt when I had visited it in 1973. I sifted through possibilities - wondering if all of this could possibly be a deeply covert KGB thing. Axelrod LOOKED and ACTED American enough. But the twins?

Openly confessed, my attention was on the $1,000-day thing. By 1975, I had been in Psi research for about five years.

When it was arranged for me to take part in those earlier experiment, the first order of business in the minds of the researchers was to figure out how to pay me the least possible, and preferably to pay me nothing. The $1,000-day was a real, and much needed windfall for me. So I worried about the many ways it could get messed up. Failing to provide good Psi data was one way. But, as I had found, if one talks about things people don’t understand, then they lose interest. Another way was NOT to provide what the client wanted.

I had no idea what Axelrod wanted. Maybe they, whomever THEY were, were looking for good places to build Moon bases. Maybe THEY had lost a secret spacecraft or something along those lines. But there I was, nervous or not, deep underground somewhere, twisting on a hard bed. Well, I’d remote view the Moon and get it over with. I didn’t expect to see much on the Moon - dead satellite, airless, dust, craters, etc.

Anyhow, the mystery WAS a bit much if one took time to think about it. Being dragged around in hoods! Really! I determined never to get caught up in such an affair again. We started our work early the next morning - which I immediately dubbed “Moon Probe.”

As we had done in the Jupiter project, I asked Axel to find out where the Moon was in its monthly cycle - which is to say, its present relationship to the Earth and the Sun.

“The Moon is full,” he began, “opposite the Sun, and the Moon is just setting in the West. Will that do?”

“I hope so,” I replied. “Earth is between the Sun and Moon, then, and what I have to try to do is head directly away from the Sun, hoping for a psychic touchdown (I smiled in saying this) on the Moon surface.”

“Ok, do your thing, then,” Axel smiled. He pushed the 'record’ button on his tape recorder.

Earlier that morning, we had discussed the experiment’s protocol, the way the session was to be conducted. Except for voicing the lunar coordinates when I asked for them, Axel was to make no verbal inputs. I talk out loud when “doing my thing,” asking MYSELF a series of questions. But these are questions to aid my intellect in trying to understand what I am experiencing. These are not questions others need to respond to while I am “at work.” I DO NOT like to close my eyes when I am doing my “thing”.

I settled back and tried to get a sense of Earth being between the Sun and Moon - and slowly began to have images of rising upwards from Earth until I could see its curvature. As I had already learned from our efforts to get psychically to Jupiter, the Sun looks much smaller to my psychic senses than it does when we eye-ball it on Earth. Seen psychically, and if seeming smaller, at least three “envelopes” of some kind are clearly visible around the solar star.

In any event, I tried psychically to head away from the Sun, toward the Moon. This now looked LARGER than it does when eye-balling it.

I had no problem getting there. Slowly at first, it grew larger and larger and then swiftly filled my psychic vision completely - a whitish thing, with grays, darks and, surprisingly, a lot of yellows in it. Suddenly I was kind of sucked into-toward it faster, as if in a gravity free-fall. Next, I had the sensation of “being” next to some pumice-like rocks.

“OK,” I whispered to Axel, “I can see these rocks, and some dust, so I guess I must be here. Give me your first Moon coordinate preceding it with the word Moon.”

I wrote down “Moon” and the coordinate-ordinate and nothing happened. I was still where I had touched down.

“Give it again, more slowly,” I asked. He did so, and I experienced a blurred kind of vision, a sense of zooming across a plain, some mountains - and then into darkness which surprised me.

“Its dark here,” I said. “Why is that? A rhetorical question, Axel. Please do not speak an answer.” Darkness!

Then, slowly, as adjusting to a kind of night vision, I could begin to perceive formations. And I realized what had happened.

“This coordinate" I asked, "is it on the dark side of the Moon? Yes, it must be"

I began trying to make sense of the impressions I was acquiring.

“Well, I seem to be near a cliff of some kind. It goes upward quite high, made of some kind of dark rock. There is whitish sand, a fluffy kind of sand. Away from the cliff formation there is a broad expanse of some kind. There are some patterns in the sand, or whatever it is - not quite like sand.”

"What do the patterns look like", Axel interjected.

He was not supposed to intrude with questions. But he had, so I went with it.

“Well (I now closed my eyes), sort of like little tufts or dunes, as if the wind had made a kind of pattern.”

After a moment of considering these little dunes:

“But there is not supposed to be any wind on the Moon, is there? No atmosphere?... Yet, I can sense something like atmosphere... I’m getting a little confused. Let’s take a break.”

Have I mistaken? Axelrod seemed to be looking at me in a rather strange way, as if swallowing a desire to speak.

“Well" I went on, “what they actually look like are like rows of largish tractor tread marks. But I don’t understand how this could be, so they must be something I don’t understand. They are just marks of some kind. Strange, though.”

I was silent for a moment.

“Axel, do you want - well, am I supposed to try to see metals or something here, or what? I’m just near this cliff here - it has a kind of shiny quality to it, something like obsidian..."

Axel answered:

“No, we can go on to the next coordinate-ordinate now.”

“Give me a moment,” I asked, “then on my signal lay it on"

I wrote down the next coordinate-ordinate. The cliff vision faded, and in a few moments I was clearly at another place, which I could hardly believe was on the Moon.

‘I'm sorry, Axel, I seem to have gotten back to Earth here...”.

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

“Well, there are... some...". I stopped. I looked at Axel.

 

“Maybe we better take a break, a little coffee, and then we can try again.”

“OK, but what did you see?”

“I have no idea. But whatever it was it couldn’t be on the Moon.” (I had visions of $1000-days coming to an abrupt end.)

So we had coffee and chatted up this and that. Axel, for the first time, seemed somewhat nervous. In about fifteen minutes we got back to it. I went through the same process of going away from the Sun until I was at the Moon.

“OK, give me that coordinate-ordinate again".

He did. I wrote it slowly down, making sure I made no error in doing so. I became aware of a greenish haze, which is what I had seen before. This time I decided to go for it, for better or worse.

“Well, I am in a place which is sort of down, like in a crater I suppose, There is this strange green haze, like a light of some kind. Beyond that, all around is dark though. I am wondering where the light is coming from..." I jolted to a stop again.

After a moment, Axel prodded. “Yes, what else?”

“Well, you won’t like this, I guess. I see, or at least think I see, well ... some actual lights. They are giving off a green light... I see two rows of them..., yes, sort of like lights at football arenas, high up, banks of them.

“Up on towers of some kind...”.

 

I gave up here. “Well, Axel, I can’t be on the Moon. I guess I have to apologize, I seem to be getting somewhere here on Earth.”

Axel stared at me for a moment. He was NOT smiling or looking sympathetic or tolerant. I thought it was all over with.

“You’re sure you see Lights, actual lights?” he finally asked.

 

“Well, I see lights! But how can they be on the Moon?”

Axel had a pencil in his hands, which he was twirling around and around. His not-smile developed into a frown. “Shit,” he finally uttered, and broke the pencil in half. I was quite surprised and fully expected him to stand up and leave the room in dismay at my remote-viewing flub. But he did not.

“Lights, huh? You are sure you saw lights?"

 

“Well, yes. But not on the Moon, surely. How could they be on the Moon?”

Axel stared at me, saying nothing. I can be quite dense, I suppose, but something started twanging around in the denseness. I blinked at Axel.

“You mean...,” I began, somewhat uncertain as to what to say. I realized I had to select my words carefully. “Am I to think these lights are actually on the Moon?”

There was no answer forthcoming from Axel. I pressed onward.

“Have the Russians built a Moonbase or something? Is that what I am supposed to be remote-viewing?”

Again, no answer.

We sat and stared at each other for a longish period, he not willing to commit. After a moment of this confrontation, I decided to reassume the initiative. “Maybe you should give me that coordinate-ordinate again"

Once back in the glow of the greenish lights. I now seemed to have the courage to begin really looking.

“Well, the light seems diffused somehow, as if there is a lot of fog - no, it’s dust - dust! Floating in the air.”

I paused, then continued:

“Yet there is no air on the Moon, is there? There is noise of some kind, like a thumping. I can see one of the light towers better now. Hey, it seems built of some very narrow struts of some kind, thin like pencils. Like some sort of pre-fab stuff right out of Buckminster Fuller’s stuff.”

 

"How high are the light towers?” Axel interrupted.

 

“Well, high enough. I have to find something against which to compare them, Let’s see... hey, there are some of those tractor-tread marks everywhere. If I guess these are about a foot wide, well, then, let’s see, if I compute as correctly as I can, well...”

I paused, looking at Axel. He was not smiling.

“Yes?” he arched his eyebrows. “Well, tall - about or let’s say over a hundred feet. But?”

“’But’ what,” Axel asked, leaning forward.

I swallowed hard, and almost chickened out at this point.

“Well, I think I got a glimpse of the crater’s edge. On it I think I saw a very large tower, very high that is.”

“Yes?”

“Yes! Big, really big.”

“How big?”

I swallowed again. “Well, if I compare it to something I am familiar with in New York, about as high as the Secretariat building at the United Nations - which has thirty-nine floors in it.”

Axel narrowed his lips. “You can see that, then?”

But this, as I took it, was a question Axel was asking himself more than me.

Again the silence. I decided to again assume what ever initiative I could.

“Am I, then, to assume this stuff really IS on the Moon? If so, this is more than a Moon base, isn’t it, Axel?”

Again no answer. So I continued:

“But this stuff is big. Does NASA or the Soviet space program have the capabilities of getting such large stuff onto the Moon? I thought everyone was having trouble just getting a couple of guys and a dog into orbit. I thought the only thing we got on the Moon was a flag planted in some crater somewhere.”

As I talked myself through all this a certain glimmer began to dawn in the recesses of my mental darkness. I suddenly stopped speaking. I stared incredulously at Axel.

“You mean - am I to assume this stuff is - not OURS! Not made on Earth?”

Axel raised his eyebrows, trying to grin. "Quite a surprise, isn’t it?" he said. I had a sense he was trying NOT to be emotional.

Surprise? To say the least! I was completely dumbfounded to the degree that I had begun taking very short breaths, getting dizzy thereby. “I take it you would like a break before we continue" Axel ventured. What I really needed was a recovery couch. In fact, I still get breathless even as I write these very words now.

It's one thing to read about UFOs and stuff in the papers or in books. It is another to hear rumors about the military or government having an interest in such matters, rumors which say they have captured aliens and downed alien space craft. But it’s quite another matter to find oneself in a situation which obviously confirms EVERYTHING. Not principally because I suddenly knew the rumors were true. But because I found myself in a situation in which I, in my psychic processes, had seen the evidence for myself.

“Good heavens!" I breathed.

My brains began racing, putting things together. Axel, though, and the twins, and the elaborate secrecy of this whole “mission,” was the best evidence. I was now completely certain that I was physically present in some kind of ultra-ultra-ultra secret place, and that the mission of this place was to sort out extraterrestrial matters. I knew that NASA must have photographic evidence of activities on the Moon which already confirmed the presence of extraterrestrial activity there. What I did not understand though, and I realized this only with my third cup of coffee and my tenth cigar, was why this ultra-secret project needed my services.

So, I looked at Axel, and this time I was not smiling either.

“Why the hell have you dragged me into this, Axel? If you possess enough to cause what l take is your mission to come into existence, surely you don’t need my inputs here?”

“Hell, Ingo, no - and yes"

"Too confused,” I said, rather sternly. “Please explain.”

 

“I can’t. Well, at least I can not give you information. It was felt that doing so would jeopardize not only us, but our mission. You seem bright enough, though.”

“Thanks heaps, Axel. Well, this bit of security almost blew it for you. Had I not learned sometime ago to accept and describe what I was seeing psychically, accept it BEFORE prejudging it, I would have not dared to say I saw lights on the Moon. I would have edited that out, fearing others might see me as loony, God damn it. ETs on the Moon, no less!”

Well, Axelrod began, "if I had told you in advance, would you have thought I was loony?” Axel asked. He had a point. AND ALL OF THIS WAS REAL!

I closed my eyes as waves of goose-bumps cascaded through my body. I couldn’t control them, so I broke into tears.

“Shall I leave you to recover?” Axel asked.

“If I can be by myself yes, but if one of those god-damned muscle men twins has to stand and watch me blubber, don’t you dare. No way do I want THEM to see me in this condition.”

“They would understand perfectly. We all have experienced a considerable amount of emotional surprise.”

“I can’t believe that either of those twins would ever think about crying...” But suddenly, through my emotions I started laughing, almost uncontrollably. “This is SERIOUS, isn’t it?”

I finally managed to blurt out. But my thoughts were going a mile a minute.

The bottom line: We are not alone - and some ultra-secret, presumably a governmental agency, goddamned well knew it! My glee changed swiftly into anger. Shit! Shit-shit-shit!

“Well" I snarled, “whoever is in charge of these matters hasn’t managed them very well as far as us ordinary public types are concerned.”

"I'll concede that, Ingo,” Axel said. “Frankly, no one has known what to do, and many mistakes have been made.”

“Yes, and all in the name of what - privileged information in favor of the few, of the military, of scientists, or what?”

“Sometimes. But the problems are more than you can imagine.”

“Don’t give me that, Axel. Here you drag me into a very scary situation, ask me to utilize my thing in a very strange way, and ask me to see FOR YOU something I cannot imagine?

“Get out of here? I don’t buy it. I don’t like this, I don't like it at all.”

Axel and I sat staring at each other. Neither of us was smiling.

 “Do you want to leave, then?” he finally asked. “We will do whatever you want.”

Of course I did NOT want to LEAVE! I wanted to understand.

“Why do you need my services, Axel? Just answer that one question.

“If that stuff is on the Moon, why don’t you just send along another Moon mission to have a good look-see...”

But the awful truth dawned in a burst of light. I looked at him.

“Unless they ... I can’t believe this... unless they somehow have told you to stay away, and somehow shown you they mean it!”

This time Axel was neither smiling nor not smiling. I got out of my chair and started pacing the length of the table. I started laughing.

"Goddamn it! They've somehow got you by the balls, haven’t they. That’s why you are resorting to psychic perceptions! Ja-eesus Kahariiiistí? They are NOT friendly, are they? ARE THEY, Axel!”

Axel kept his cool.

“There are two major reasons why I’ve asked you to help. You are approximately correct about the first one, but not completely so. The second reason is more simple.

“Your information might provide a kind of check point in what you surely now realize must be a mess of interpretations of the photographic and other evidence.

"It was my idea to find a psychic who did not know anything about the Moon, and see what might be seen there. Sort of an independent source of information, which would lean our interpretations one way or another.”

“Have you used other psychics, then?” I demanded, very intent on getting an answer.

 

“Please don’t require me to say yes or no.”

I felt my patience thinning out, “Why not?”

“There are several reasons, but mainly there is a confidence factor involved.”

“Confidencial about what, about the abilities of other psychics?”

“Yes, that is one of them,”

I sat back in my chair, and trying to keep my hands from shaking too obviously, lit another cigar. My brain was whirling.

“So" I began, “the only major way now to spy on those guys is to resort to psychic abilities, which the mainstream of our great nation makes a special effort to discredit, What a gas! What a complete gas!”

I started giggling. “Well, speaking of who’s got who by the balls, I've suddenly got you by yours haven’t I?”

Axel sighed. “Well, they said you were quick on the up-take, and stubborn, and could throw tantrums, I see they were right.”

‘”They’, who is ‘they’?” I asked, but I couldn't stop giggling.

Before he could answer, which he obviously didn’t want to anyway. I had another brainstorm coming on.

“I suppose, then, the Soviets are having the same problem. Don’t tell me THE SOVIETS have resorted to THEIR psychics!!!?”

Axel had resumed his stoic smiling-not-smiling face, I jumped out of my chair again.

“Got you again, haven’t I?” I almost shouted, “You KNOW the Russians are using psychics, and you are afraid they will get psychic Moon-information before we do! I'll be fucked!”

At this point, and since I now felt I had a grip on everything, I suddenly felt energetically depleted.

“I want to take a twenty-minute nap" I stated, and headed for the bedroom. “After that and some food, we can get back to work.”

I don’t remember even getting onto the bed, but I suppose I did, and afterward learned I had slept six hours.

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Chapter 5
HUMANOIDS ON THE MOON

Back at work, Axel gave me Moon coordinates, each set representing specific locations on the Moon’s surface. At some of the locations there seemed to be nothing to see except Moonscapes. But at others locations? - well, there were confusions, and I perceived a lot that I could not understand at all. I made a lot of sketches, identifying them as this or that, or looking like something else. Without comments, Axelrod quickly took possession of each sketch, and I was never to see them again.

I found towers, machinery, lights of different colors, strange -looking “buildings.” I found bridges whose function I couldn’t figure out. One of them just arched out - and never landed anywhere. There were a lot of domes of various sizes, round things, things like small saucers with windows. These were stored next to crater sides, sometimes in caves, sometimes in what looked like airfield hangars. I had problems estimating sizes. But some of the “things” were very large. I found long tube-like things, machinery-tractor-like things going up and down hills, straight roads extending some miles, obelisks which had no apparent function.

There were large platforms on domes, large cross-like structures. Holes being dug into crater walls and floors obviously having to do with some kind of mining or earth-moving operations. There were “nets” over craters, “houses” in which someone obviously lived, except that I couldn’t see who - save in one case. In THAT case, I saw some kind of people busy at work on something I could not figure out. The place was dark. The “air" was filled with a fine dust, and there was some kind of illumination - like a dark lime-green fog or mist.

The thing about them was that they either were human or looked exactly like us - but they were all males, as I could well see since they were all butt-ass naked. I had absolutely no idea why. They seemed to be digging into a hillside or a cliff. As I described,

“They must have some way of creating a good environment, warm and with air in it. But why would they be going around naked?”

No answer was forthcoming to this self-question.

But being there in my psychic state, as I felt I was, some of those guys started talking excitedly and gesticulating. Two of them pointed in my “direction.” Immediately I felt like “running away” and hiding, which I guess I psychically did, since I “lost” sight of this particular imaging.

“I think they have spotted me, Axel. They were pointing at me I think. How could they do that... unless..., they have some kind of high psychic perceptions, too?”

Axel said in a calm, low voice, so low I hardly heard it at first.

“Please quickly come away from that place.”

My eyes were wide as understanding drained in,

“You already know they are psychic, don’t you?”

Axel raised his eyebrows and gave a deep sigh. And, at that point, he abruptly closed his folders,

“I think we had better end our work here.”

I was quite surprised. But I had not fallen of the psychic truck just yesterday.

“You think, you already KNOW, that they have some kind of, uh, telepathy - that they can trace where this psychic probe is coming from? Is that it?”

Axel had started smiling again, but obviously was not going to respond, “Come on, Axel, loosen up a little.” But I was not to be deterred.

“Would they kill an Earth-psychic if they felt he or she was good enough to spy on them?”

“There is no conclusive evidence to suggest that,” Axel responded. I gritted my teeth.

 

“No ‘conclusive’ evidence! What the hell does THAT mean?”

My voice had climbed several octaves.

“It’s very difficult for us to assess any of this," Axelrod began. “We don’t know, but that they do have things and capabilities we here are trying to understand is very apparent. Whether they spotted you or not will be unclear, but we have to put no prejudgments on what guides our mission.

“At any rate, we don’t want to put you to any more risk. Let’s eat some dinner, and then get you back to New York.

“I’m afraid we have to repeat the process used to get you out of here. I hope you don’t mind. We are very grateful.”

“RISK!!! What do you mean by RISK?”

I could see that Axelrod was prepared to be noncommittal. So I took the initiative.

“If it’s telepathy, then it’s a different kind, at least from how it is understood here on Earth. It’s NOT just telepathy, either.”

THIS got his attention. He looked at me in surprise.

“What do you mean?"

At this, I FINALLY comprehended that his earlier interest in telepathy had not been just innocent chit-chat.

“Well, I don’t know exactly. It’s more than just mind-to-mind. It’s like, well...”. I was grasping for words.

 

“Well, when they ‘saw’ me, they couldn’t really see me, could they? What, then were they seeing? I’m asking myself this, Axel?”

“Yes, go on,” he said.

“Well, it’s more like they were..."

FEELING rather than seeing or picking up on mind vibes. It’s more like it was, yes, sort of a dimensional thing - rather, sort of like a ripple in some kind of cross-dimensionality. Yes! That’s it! They FELT something. Not particularly ME. But SOMETHING.

I paused:

“And! THEY knew what the ripple meant. Like a sort of penetration of where they were.” I paused, then said in a self-introspecting way: “WOW!”

Axelrod sat quietly, as was his way, looking at me. Then: “Why did you say WOW?”

“Ah! Well, if I can articulate it, ...it was like there is a sort of... cross-dimensional... Well, if you can imagine that you feel a presence but can’t see it, it was something like that.

“Only those guys... they were going to hone in on it, at least that’s the best way to describe it.”

Axelrod was silent for a moment. “So, you are referring to telepathy plus something else?

“No, not exactly. Perhaps SOMETHING ELSE plus telepathy. It’s the other way around. After all, the basis for telepathy has to come from something - rather, because of something.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, nothing happens all by itself. There are always processes involved. This is to say, things happen by way of something. Nothing comes out of thin air. It’s hard to articulate in simple three-dimensional terms, Mind-to-mind is a three-dimensional construct. But what if...“

Axelrod interrupted. “Why would mind-to-mind be a three dimensional...?”

“Well, one mind existing as a three-dimensional thing communicating with another which is also a three-dimensional thing, and the communicating across the distance... is not the distance involved conceived of in three-dimensional terms?

“The PHYSICAL universe is three-dimensional - not the mental universe. Here is one of the big flaws in all theories about Psi. Everyone thinks of Psi ONLY in three-dimensional terms.”

I ran out of words at this point.

Axelrod was looking at me with his calm, unblinking eyes. But he was lightly drumming his fingers on the table. I knew I had hit something of concern. And his next comment proved it.

“Could you write down your ideas along these lines?”

I could. I did. I remember producing fifteen hand-written pages.

After this somewhat inscrutable advisory, there came a handshake, the hood, a chopper ride, and by the twins and the same car I was delivered back to the center of Washington and let off at the train station at my request. The twins said no more than they had to. I found myself wondering if they actually came from the Moon. I spent the next few months wondering if the ETs were going to find me and zap my brains out of existence.

When I left Mr. Axelrod’s carefully hidden establishment, he reminded me of my pledged ten years of confidentiality.

“Not to worry, Axel,” I replied. “I have no intention of demolishing my official research work by introducing something so far out as claiming I have seen extraterrestrials working away on the Moon. No one would believe me anyway.”

I have abided by that promise, well past the ten-year mark. The reasons I have now decided to write about all this will become clear in later chapters. As I departed, Mr. Axelrod asked that if he again had need of me, would I be interested. “Probably,” I responded, for how could I not be - Jesus Christ, ETs on the Moon and some official investigative agency? Who could resist.

“Good,” he replied. “But my name Axelrod is now retired when you leave here, and will not be used again. We will be in touch with you in some other fashion, which I will make sure you recognize.

“If anyone ever asks you about ‘Mr. Axelrod' or about this place, or asks if you know anything about it, such inquires will not be coming from us. Please act accordingly, for our sakes and your own.”

God! Scary, huh? What had I gotten into? But his advice came in handy when, about three year’s later, my telephone rang.

It was a Mr. Dillins or Dallons (I didn’t quite get which) who said he was an investigative reporter digging into government cover-ups of the UFO situation. I said I didn’t know anything about that - other than what I read in various books and articles. He brushed aside my evasion, and asked if I knew Mr. Axelrod.

“Who?” I asked in return.

 

“You know,” the investigative reporter said, “Mr. Axelrod.”

 

“Never heard of him,” I replied.

There was a silence at the other end of the telephone, and then the caller clicked off without so much as a thank you or good-bye - leaving me with shaking hands and much in memory of Axel’s forewarning. You want a basis for paranoiac tensions?

After leaving Mr. Axelrod, and back in New York, I decided I was pretty much of a wreck. I slept for about two days, dumbly watching the boop-tube between naps and such. I ate a lot. Then, when I began to get IT and all ITS implications back together, I decided to make some sketches of what I remember drawing for Axel. I couldn’t remember any of the coordinates-ordinate numbers, and the names of the plains and craters on the Moon were never used when we were doing the remote viewings.

So I don’t know where these intelligence-made structures and such were actually located on the Moon. But I could hardly forget what I had seen. I made several larger drawings, and then decided to fit them onto two pages - which I then placed in my bank’s safe box, since I had visions of my home and studio covertly being gone through without my knowledge.

Paranoia rode high with me for quite some time. But I suppose my safe box was just as accessible to the covert powers that be. There were two pages of the sketches, and which will be presented ahead.

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