Somebody Knows

                                    by Alfred Lehmberg


I look into a starry sky with length, and breadth and depth untried, and question (with my heart o'sleeve) what these things ARE that soar and cleave. They are there, there IS no question . . . moving past the quick suggestion that I'm quite mad or just mistaken -- or worse: that I've been lyin' . . . fakin'. Oh, I see them (no great feat!). I've proved them to myself at least, and WON'T respect what one might think who ISN'T looking (specious fink!).

Sucking on our wounded sphere (that parasite who hates and fears), our specious fink would make pronouncements -- spout denial and denouncement. Keeping council with his favorites, pretending he's alone (the flavor!), he would turn his eyes away from what might haunt the skies today. Oh, he's fearful. No mistake. He's throwing on his drags and brakes! New ideas threaten those who keep things as they are -- foreclosed.

He does this to arrange distraction, provides for our INSANE inaction, and keeps the subject tongue in cheek so he can sully errant leaks! Remaining is the ink and stone (that he discredits); we're not alone... Remaining is the anecdotal: weighty, plain and calmly totaled... Remaining is the photographic: ponderous and enigmatic... Remaining, there's the evidence that one perceives with no pretence -- no axe to grind, no bill to fill, but has a brain and knows the drill!

And, yes, our *scientistic* friends (those filled with it to length and brim) prefer their *method* and *assessment* to live *proud* lives of glad detachment . . . *Light* shan't dance and caper FOR them, speaks a language MUCH too foreign, so safe beyond their instruments *it*  charms and glitters -- ask Jeff Rense. Stanton Friedman makes his CASE, but most who look provoke disgrace . . . Science is not BAD (or friendly!), science is a tool, comprende'? It can (too fast) be misused to further evil ends abstruse!

Still others think some . . . WON'T . . . conspire to make their short term goals transpire, when survey says it's one in ten would do what they will DO, my friend! If their gain can be maintained they'll do the worst -- they won't refrain.  I've studied them, they know no bounds, to them "we" are as dumb as hounds; we're shackled to our *rules* and *codes* and *ethics* bound to bear ~their~ loads. We're mere *objects*, we're their CATTLE -- they keep us buying... taxed, and addled... while they write their tickets free and freeload from our pocket, see?

What we lack's the real deal that these would covet, own or steal. What we lack's a base respect that we have lost in their neglect. What's we lack's the cop to truth that's been distended, lost -- abused. What's we lack's that money spent to educate out future, friends!  Still, we tremble as they blather contrived elitist lower standards -- puling prayers that just PRETEND to hold the high ground we won't win.

Look around, begin to *see*, and sense a new reality. Stealthy wizards find new ways to fleece their flocks and make YOU pay. They would trade your soul for power; holding court, they build your towers on these special clouds they'd claim would keep you whole... or safe and sane. TV Preachers whine and pray from billion-dollar pulpits -- crazed! They PRETEND their persecution (spewing saccharine elocution), all the while sowing hatreds they condone (to which we're fated!). See the moral politician, whining goals or mad positions, wearing mantles of correctness he contrives to cloak his excess? He fronts the jealous unelected, sells YOUR soul (you're not protested), and lives a life of privileged power so secret men can guard THEIR towers!

YES, the sky's ALIVE with lights... (that act most strangely in my sight), and these belie pontification, discredit all the obfuscation, and keep in me ALIVE the . . . need . . . to ask hard questions, watch and read. Finks pretend, "alleged weirdness warrants special proofs and clearance." Claims that are *incredible* demand that *proof's* infallible (?) . . . but then RETREAT becomes the norm if cloaks like these are used or worn! Proof's horizon just recedes ahead of fear we DO NOT NEED!

No, I see them -- that's a fact. They don't conform to "aircraft", Jack (and I'm a flyer ~too~ well versed for wishful thinking's cloying curse...). What I see will fly big circles, glitter like a flash bulb hurtled, then slowing to a crawl they'll glow to bursts of speed -- away they go!  I'm out there with my Mother, friend, and I'll not lie, distort . . . pretend . . . (...that they are there if not!) -- you hear? I'll watch the skies. You'll face your fear.


Skywatching is not the very best in southeast Alabama. The humid semi-tropical air sucks up the starlight like crooked government, and the light pollution from even a small town is reflected in the soupy murkiness like an ongoing and stillborn dawn. None the less, peculiar lights thrive in that sky, still, and fitfully flit about like busy wraiths on mysterious, strangely purposed and enigmatic errands.

I've been seeing them for years, but in years past they were a rare, blue moon, occurrence. ...And besides, they were just a another light in busy skies near a military reservation consumed by all manner of regular aviation operations. I'd only see one (or so) of the queerly moving nocturnal lights every few months.

Then, abruptly, I  began seeing them more frequently. Interested, I decided to start a written record of what and when I had been seeing -- whatever it was I had been seeing. So far, I've seen them two days in March, nine days in April, an additional nine days in May, and eight in the first eighteen days of June. Then, from the nineteenth of June to the nineteenth of July (and otherwise graced by a dark crystal sky of comparative stellar brilliance in the isolated Roswell-like open spaces of Northern California), I frankly saw (breathtakingly peculiar but inexplicable) . . . wandering stars . . .  .  These starry wanderers performed a panoply of mystifying aerial activities. Many of the days would yield multiple occurrences, but I saw something *weird* every day.

Throughout these abutting halves of June and July I was treated with these better skies -- saw Cassiopeia on her side, Cygnus stabbing west, I spied! Northern California, on a visit to see my mother . . . such a sky. The Milky Way actually spilling across the coal black firmament like a swung carton of atomized fluorescent cream. The little bear is clearly visible for the first time in many years, and the skies are a black felt jeweler's table festooned with a scatter of multicolored diamonds . . . Jupiter and Saturn make their grand entrance to the East. 

Then, some of the diamonds . . . move.

I had a witness. Soon, my Mom was picking them out better than I was. Dazzled and energized by the experience she is now quick to point out that something . . . odd . . . is up there in her night sky. Brave lady. All she did was tilt her head back . . . . Apparently all that's required to keep the brain in its case when one tries for that *trouble-making* open mind...

We didn't make any special preparation to see these things, these silently detached, and ambling stars of varying speed, direction and magnitude. No chanting or crystal waving (with all respect to chanters and crystal wavers). We simply go outside, cradle warm cups of coffee in our sober hands, and look up. They are there, appear also to those that go out with me to look, and are seen at the same time. We describe the same thing to one another. What are they?

I don't know.

Before I started seeing them in earnest I reasoned that these strange lights I had been observing in the sky MUST have some kind of prosaic explanation. City lights reflecting off the temperature inverted material expelled from the voiding pore of gassy pelicans -- perhaps. Or Military flares dangerously and illegally fired in controlled airspace -- perchance. Jet powered stealth balloons, chaotically rotating weather satellites, and ball lightning are a WEALTH of ready explanation (contrived to sooth one already distracted by the day to day grind of making a living by trying to pay the meter down). Awash with (and dulled by) this cognitive dissonance, I confess, _I_ used to reason that these teasing spots of flirting brilliance must have SOME kind of pedestrian justification -- some prosaic qualification. They must be something. They have to be something.

They have to be something . . . indeed.

The varying pace and course of these objects precluded satellites -- which favor direction, and traverse the sky at a steady speed. The same with aircraft big and small. The _deliberate_ inefficiencies of the peculiar accelerations and wavy ground tracks I observe would get a transport pilot fired, and get a military pilot a psych-eval. Moreover, they are soundless in the quietest hours of a predawn sky while high altitude aircraft are PLAINLY heard.  Steady binoculars, if available, reveal none of the familiar port and starboard lights, anti-collision beacons, or position indicators of an aircraft in flight. They make known only a glowing orb of the inexplicable -- pale BB sized points of flitting luminescence wandering the inky backdrop of perfectly focused stars.  Unaided, they look like ANY star of any magnitude, even brighter than Sirius (or redder than Betelgeuse), that detaches from its black felt billow of inky night sky and moves deliberately across the star field like some kind of foraging cosmic insect . . .

I'd see them every morning in this mix of June and July. Bright ones, dim ones -- silent but flying fretfully. If I went out, they were there, and they used up an entire FUND of ready explanation, plausible elucidation, or well crafted explication. Not satellites, planes, balloons, or birds. Not lightning sheets, lightning balls, or lightning bugs. Not planets or poltergeists, or portentous pie in the sky. Just quiet lights, moving of their own volition and with some unguessed at (and otherwise unfathomed) but purposeful intelligence. What are they?

Somebody knows.



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