In the film Don’t Look Up, two scientists discover a comet that will inevitably impact Earth and cause a mass extinction event. The movie explores the public’s reaction to this revelation and how society would respond to such an earth-shattering development.
Turns out, nobody really gives a shit.
Life goes on as normal. Even with the knowledge of this impending cataclysm, the media continues its sensationalist coverage of celebrities and politics as if nothing had even been announced. The rich use their power to maintain the status quo as they always have, confident in their own survival simply because they can afford one of the few seats on a spaceship that will take them off-planet before the comet strikes.
Most parallels drawn by viewers and critics involved climate change, and for good reason. Those familiar with the UFO phenomenon, however, saw similarities in the media’s lack of coverage and continued stigmatization of what might the most consequential discovery in human history: the realization that we are not alone in this universe.
As I described in a piece about a week ago, I have had several sightings throughout my life. Most of this happened while I was in my early twenties, with my last experience taking place in 2013. It was not a pleasant one to say the least.
Over the past few years I have studied UFOs from every angle I could possibly find. I’ve found solace in books by John Keel, Jacques Vallee, and others who have explored the more psychological aspects of the phenomenon in a comprehensive and, at times, very personal way. My efforts to contextualize their hypotheses into my own experiences have been mixed. Many things line up, others seem to be the complete opposite, and some I can’t even begin to reconcile at all. All I can say at this point in time is that the phenomenon is real and its intentions are unknown.
I had my sightings before I ever knew about the radiation effects some people experience when they get too close to these craft. I had no idea about the possible connection to consciousness, and the reported ability to summon the phenomenon through meditation protocols such as CE-5. Up until a few years ago, I believed I saw these things in the sky completely by chance, as if the “aliens” had made an error and I had been lucky enough to be there when it happened.
These days, I’m not so sure.
In the past year or so, I developed my own internal version of “Don’t Look Up.” Now that I was vastly more educated on the subject, specifically on the adverse effects of such experiences, I honestly didn’t really want to see one again. Since understanding what these things are capable of, on both a physical and psychological level, I wasn’t particularly interested in rolling the dice and hoping for another benign encounter that I could tell my friends at parties or on social media. The risk just didn’t seem worth the reward.
When I took my dog out at night, the rule I set for myself was simple: literally don’t look up. Avert my eyes from the sky, let the pup do her business, then high-tail it back inside before whatever I feared was going to happen, happened. It may have seemed illogical, almost to the point of paranoia, but I was (and still am) genuinely concerned about my health and safety because I know for a fact that these things are real.
Last night I broke that rule, though it wasn’t an intentional violation of my promise to myself. I was interested in reports of a meteor shower originating from the constellation Hercules, so as the dog did her business, I took out my phone and used a stargazing app to find the part of the sky these meteors would most likely appear.
I stared at that section of the cosmos and walked the dog for about twenty more minutes before I gave up and decided to head back inside and go to bed. As we made our way back to the apartment, I saw a white light that looked like a plane at about cruising altitude and was moving at a speed consistent with that observation. There weren’t any clouds, so I figured that a conventional aircraft would likely be visible and a sufficient explanation for what I was seeing. Either way, I knew for a fact that I wasn’t looking at a meteor.
After about 10 seconds of the light moving, whatever the object was just stopped in midair. It sat in the same spot for about ten more seconds, then started moving in a direction that was 90 degrees to the right of the original flight path at the same speed it was traveling at previously.
After about five seconds moving in that direction, the light stopped and hovered in the same place for about ten more seconds. It then started moving erratically in that same general area of the sky. Left, right, forward, backward, it moved in every direction, but the light stayed the same exact size throughout the whole event. It was at this point that the fear swelled up inside me and my chest tightened.
Eventually, I became overwhelmed. I was unnerved, and did not want to be engaged by the object anymore. I actually used taking a video of the object as an excuse for me to avert my gaze from it. Every day, people are longing to experience what I had in that moment, and I just wanted it to end. I figured I may as well document it for others, though my hope was after I unlocked my phone and raised it to record, the object would be gone. My logic was that if something bad happened, at least I’d have evidence of it.
Unfortunately for everyone else, my hope was realized. There was no longer any light in the sky. I walked back inside, adrenaline still elevated, and told my wife all of this. She suggested I write it down, which I did.
It’s a weird feeling I hadn’t felt since my first sighting out in the wilderness back when I was sixteen years old. It is an overwhelming sensation of helplessness; of wonder, and confusion resulting from the inability to process what you are seeing.
The first thing I try to do in these situations, like most people, is figure out exactly what I’m looking at. A star or satellite is the first explanation I usually come up with, and it’s the correct answer more often then not. If that isn’t sufficient to describe what I’m seeing, the next most probable possibility is a plane. Initially, when I saw how the light in the sky was moving, I was confident that’s what it was. But after the object had been stationary for a certain amount of time, my doubts grew exponentially.
The moment I realize I’m observing something anomalous is a feeling unlike anything else. It covers a wide range of emotions, yet at the same time is a very specific reaction I haven’t had in any other situation. Last night I recognized it immediately, even though I hadn’t felt it in almost a decade.
It feels like it’s interacting with you. There is no other way to put it. There is a back and forth, as much as the movements of the object may seem illogical. It notices you noticing it, and once it does it seems to take control of the interaction. It’s almost like a weird, performative version of the Turing test. It acts as if it wants you to know that its presence is undeniable, as if to say “I am here, I don’t make sense, and there is nothing you can do about it. Also, I’m not human.”
I wanted to expand upon this event because I feel the emotional aspect of encounters with the phenomenon are brushed aside in favor of hard data and material science. This is understandable, and a practical strategy for bringing this subject into the mainstream. There needs to be basic proof of the existence and performance of these objects, craft, whatever they are, before we can talk about how they affect the individual within the broader societal conversation. I get that.
But sooner or later, these stories will need to be told. People need to be prepared for this kind of contact with something unimaginably more powerful than they are.
I believe the phenomenon is always here, and always has been. It’s up to each of us to decide whether or not to look up, and more importantly, what the reasons we have are for doing so.
