I’m writing this so that the silent ones – those afraid of sharing, or perhaps even believing in their own experiences – won’t feel so alone. I’m not looking for validation, criticism, or anything else. I’m just sharing my experiences. You’re welcome to believe my story or see it as fantasy.
My story doesn’t seem so “out there” as it did when I was growing up. Back then, it caused quite a stir when I started talking about it…but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at – well, when I was pre-teen.
Enjoy!
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My eyes were open…why? The room was dark, so I wasn’t sure what had disrupted my sleep. I wasn’t afraid, just curious.
The room lit up with the brightest light I have ever seen, yet it felt familiar and I was excited. It was time!
I woke the next morning to my alarm’s shrill nagging to get out of bed. I was around eleven years old and I had to get ready for school. I felt relaxed and happy; the troubles at home didn’t seem to forefront that morning.
Going Back a Bit Further
I’d been born with multiple abilities already active, and one of those was being able to see beyond the physical. I spoke, and worked with, my team (spirit guides) from as young as I can consciously remember.
I do have memories of working physically with my team guides, one of whom I’ll call Rutha (name changed).
Rutha
My first conscious memory of Rutha was around kindergarten age. I felt that I knew her, maybe from my infancy. When I was in elementary school, Rutha and I had been in the basement, also known as the playroom. She was instructing me on telekinesis. We were working on making the marbles in my hand raise up and do a bit of a swirling dance. It was going great until I heard a gasp. The marbles crashed to the floor. I heard them bounce and roll around as I looked over to the staircase where my mother, with her mouth agape, stood. A look passed over her face when we made eye contact. That had terrified me. I’ve no memory of what transpired next, but I’d never been able to utilize telekinesis since. I feel as though whatever I saw on her face scared or traumatized me so much that my child self locked that ability away.
The light didn’t come every night, but when it did, I was exhilarated about seeing my friends on their ship. I considered them to be my “real family”. They understood me; they got me.
They were my connection from before….before I was Jan. They were my reminders – to keep me from forgetting. I knew I hadn’t been part of their race, but I felt more kinship with them than I did my 3D family. The ship was my home-away-from-home.
As time went by, I was gifted with remembering my visits on the ship. And eventually, I was allowed to remember my interactions with Others on the ship while I was there.
One of my favorite places on the ship was the arboretum, or the gardens. Tropical lush plants and trees filled a massive space. I could walk, run, and climb as long as I respected the other life in the gardens.
Later I was allowed to play with some of the children – hybrids – who were born and lived on the ship. We often played in the gardens. I always felt Rutha nearby – probably watching or monitoring – but she never interfered with my garden time or friends.
Sometimes when it was just Rutha and I, she would work with me; teaching me.
Rutha, and some others on this ship, looked like “Greys”, but had and have iridescent green skin which was very soft to the touch – almost velvety feeling. Though there were no indications of gender, I remember some felt compassionate and nurturing while others felt more masculine. Rutha, to me, felt feminine.
As an adult, I was entrusted with more memories of any of my night time visits. This was around the time that people on Earth began reporting horrifying abduction experiences with the Greys.
One evening adventure had me walking down a long corridor that I’d never been in before. The long corridor was lined with benches against the walls, and sitting on those benches were humans. They had their eyes open, but all had vacant stares.
Rutha assured me that they were fine and unharmed.
“They’d better be okay,” I said, “especially since one of them is my Dad.” I walked up to him. He maintained the vacant stare. My presence didn’t register.
At the end of the corridor, a large door recessed into a wall to allow us entry. I stepped through the doorway and froze.
By Jan Toomer
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