u/millermillion

Still don’t have power and this was Saturday evening.

My strangest life encounters reimagined by AI. Wouldn’t have been possible to share this without the help of AiCast and Veo.

I simply wanted to know the next big news article. I then was beamed screams that lasted for 2 weeks in July of 2021. I asked people around me if they could hear them, they couldn’t hear anything. I took it upon myself to record them to see if they are audible for others. I boosted the volume and showed inmates I supervised. They heard it clear as day and told me to call cops right away to save the girl. I would hear her screaming all day long, anytime I was outside, so I believed she would still be screaming while I was at work. The cops got there and called me back telling me they didn’t hear anything or contact any neighbors about it. I thanked them and that was that.

I got home and the screams were gone, then I noticed 5 golden entities in the cornfield in front of my house. They telepathically told me when I noticed them, “All is good, thanks for trying to do something.” I felt safe knowing they existed. I had another alien encounter the next night. It was a crazy experience and these recordings are what I have from it.

Did I remote view the Gabby Petito incident 2 months prior to it happening? I heard Brian talk in the documentary on Netflix and the guy sounds a lot like him. The girl was always screaming so I couldn’t discern if she was Gabby or not. I might just have Clairaudience that is recordable.

Here’s the original SoundCloud link from July 2021

Boyd Bushman was a senior scientist for Lockheed Martin. He held 27 registered patents during his time there. He made a 30 minute video shortly before his death. He had top secret clearance to Area 51.

He claims to have met 18 aliens at the facility. They came from a planet called Quintumnia located 68 light years (roughly 408 trillion miles or 657 trillion km) from Earth. The aliens said it took them 45 minutes to get here with their technology.

He claims the aliens have telepathy. They are humanoid at 4.5 feet to 5 feet tall. He said there were two groups Wranglers and Rustlers. He said the Wranglers were much more friendly than the Rustlers.

Do you think these are the aliens referenced in Disclosure day?

Gray Matter

A True Account of Contact, Perception, and the Expanding Edge of What Is Real

— ✦ —

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science." — Albert Einstein

— ✦ —

A Note Before We Begin

What follows is a true account. I have not embellished it to make it more dramatic, nor softened it to make it more palatable. It happened the way I have written it. If your first instinct is skepticism, I understand, it was not always easy for me to hold either. But I have learned that the mind's resistance to the extraordinary is not the same thing as the truth.

These events unfolded across the last 1,500 to 2,000 days of my life. They changed the way I move through the world, not in fear, not in obsession, but with a quiet, grounded knowing that something vast and intelligent exists alongside us. I am grateful for every moment of it.

— ✦ —

Part One: The Screams Only I Could Hear
July 2021

It began with a sound no one else could hear.
It was the summer of 2021, and I had started catching fragments of it whenever I stepped outside, a distant, high-pitched distress cutting through ordinary evening air. At first I dismissed it as something environmental, something I could explain. But it kept returning, and it carried a particular quality that settled into my chest like a stone: it was a human voice in high distress. A woman's voice. Screaming. A man’s voice. Abusing her.

I live in a suburban/rural area. There are a couple of houses beside my house, and a cornfield in front of my house. I listened for any sign that someone else noticed the screams. I was looking for a curtain moving, a neighbor stepping onto a porch, a conversation cut short by concern. Nothing. I asked my girlfriend at the time if she could hear them. She responded, “No, only crickets.” I was, as far as I could tell, the only person receiving this signal.

There is a particular loneliness in perceiving something real that no one else around you can confirm. It doesn't feel like madness, it feels like being handed a radio that only you can tune in.

I did what any grounded person would do when they believe something is wrong: I tried to get help through the available channels. I recorded the screams on my phone. I played the recording for people around me, including inmates I had supervised for work release at the time. They heard it. They reacted with fear. They wanted to do something. They wanted me to call police to save the woman. That mattered to me: other people could hear the recording. The sound existed outside my own head.

I called the police and asked them to check the area around my home. They went. They found nothing. They heard nothing. I was left holding a recording of distress and nowhere to put it.
I waited. I kept listening. I held the weight of it.

Two months later, in September 2021, a story broke nationally that stopped me cold. Gabrielle "Gabby" Petito and Brian Laundrie. A missing woman. A van. A relationship with a darkness underneath it. The case became one of the most discussed disappearances in recent American memory. I remembered before the screams appeared; that I wanted to know the next big news article. I just didn’t realize during the whole experience that I was tuned into that exact frequency. I thought I had a killer near my house.

I had heard her. I do not say this lightly or with pride. I say it as plainly as I can, because that is what I believe happened: I was receiving something, a distress signal, a psychic impression, call it what you will, from a young woman I had never met, in a place I had never been. I tried to do something about it, before anyone knew there was something to do.

Remote viewing is the documented ability to perceive information about a distant target through non-local means. The U.S. military's Stargate Project researched it for decades. I did not know I had this capacity. I only knew I was hearing something real.

The screams stopped the night of the encounters. And those encounters changed everything.

— ✦ —

Part Two: The Five Golden Ones
A First Contact

They came after I reported what I heard. As if my act of trying, imperfect, unverified, unsuccessful through ordinary means, had been witnessed and acknowledged by something watching from a wider vantage point.

There were five of them. Golden in appearance, luminous in a way that wasn't blinding but was unmistakably non-ordinary. Their presence carried a frequency I can only describe as deeply ancient and deeply benevolent simultaneously: old in the way that stars are old, and warm in the way that a hand placed on your shoulder when you are frightened is warm.

They communicated telepathically. Not in the way we imagine telepathy in science fiction, no thundering voice in the skull, no aggressive transmission. It was more like a clarity that arrived, fully formed, as knowing rather than hearing. The message was simple:

"All is good. Thanks for trying to do something."

Five words of acknowledgment from entities that should not, by the rules of the world I had been raised in, exist. And yet there they were. And yet there I was, receiving them.

I have thought about those words many times since. They did not say I had succeeded. They said I had tried. There is something in that distinction that has stayed with me, a sense that effort toward goodness is recognized even when it does not produce the outcome we hoped for.

The screams disappeared when the Golden Ones appeared. I don't know whether the two facts are causally linked or coincidentally timed. But the silence that followed their presence was complete, and it felt final. Whatever thread had been pulling at me for two weeks went quiet.

I felt safe knowing they existed. That, too, is something I have thought about often. Not frightened. Not destabilized. Safe. As if the discovery that we are not alone, far from being terrifying, it was actually a form of relief. Like finding out the universe is larger and more inhabited than you had been told, and that some of its inhabitants mean you well and are observing.

— ✦ —

Part Three: The Ruby Red Visitor
The Second Night

The following night brought a different kind of encounter entirely.

Where the golden entities had been communicative, warm, and verbal in their telepathic transmission, this being operated entirely in the physical and energetic register. No words. No greeting. Just presence; enormous, luminous, and reptilian.

Seven feet tall. Glowing ruby red. He climbed the stone wall up behind me and placed the tip of his index finger at the base of my skull.
What happened next is difficult to describe in language built for ordinary experience. I felt spiritual energy, not metaphorical energy, not the kind we speak of loosely when we say a room has good energy. I mean something that moved through my nervous system with precision. I felt it specifically in my brain stem and in my left frontal cortex. Distinct locations. Deliberate contact.

The left frontal cortex is associated with language, reasoning, and executive function. The brain stem governs our most fundamental autonomic processes; breath, heartbeat, the regulation of consciousness itself. Whatever touched me knew where to touch.

And then the pain was gone.
I had been experiencing head pain for two weeks. The same two weeks I had been hearing the screams. The correlation was not lost on me then, and it is not lost on me now. I had carried something, a perceptual burden, a psychic load, and the moment it was lifted, the physical symptom that had accompanied it dissolved as well.

I do not claim to fully understand what the Ruby Red Reptilian was, or why he came to me specifically, or what the touch was meant to accomplish beyond the immediate healing I experienced. What I know is this: he did not harm me. He helped me. And he left as silently as he had arrived.

Two encounters on two consecutive nights. One golden, one crimson. One vocal, one tactile. One offering reassurance, one offering restoration. I have since wondered whether they were two aspects of a single communication, a sentence delivered in two parts across two nights: You tried. Now heal.

— ✦ —

Part Four: The Hybrid in the Hallway
January 2024

By January 2024, I had been living with expanded awareness for over two years. The UFO sightings had continued. My meditation practice had deepened. I had begun to develop what I can only describe as a sense, a perceptual frequency tuner that occasionally registered the presence of beings who were not entirely human, when I happened to be in proximity to them.

I was not looking for one when I met her.
She came to the hallway, a hybrid, though I did not know that yet, and I was walking in the hallway. She called out to me with the casual familiarity of a colleague: "Hey, come check this out!"

I walked over. She held her cellphone up between us so we could both see the screen. It displayed a calendar with no month titled. The calendar was laid out in a standard monthly grid. But each day carried a symbol instead of a number. Black five-pointed stars. Purple diamonds. Orange six-pointed stars. Blue crescent moons. Repeated this order in groups of two days the whole calendar grid.

"This is what they are planning," she said.

I looked at the calendar carefully. The blue moons fell mostly on weekends. I memorized the layout as quickly and completely as I could. Then we turned and walked down the hallway together.

In retrospect, the fact that she showed me rather than told me is significant. The calendar was a visual cipher, a way of transmitting structured information that required me to receive it actively, to hold it in memory, to decode it over time. It was an intelligent form of communication designed for the context: a hallway, a phone screen, a minute of observing it, and memorizing it.

She told me, “Look out for blue moons.”
She eventually put her phone away and we walked together down hallway.

She then stopped in her tracks.

She turned to look at me and said, with the matter-of-fact delivery of someone stating the weather: "You have a lot of gray matter."

I said “thanks.” Shakily, because what else do you say. But the moment the words left my mouth I was already processing what had just happened. Gray matter is the substance of cognition, the neurons that process and transmit information, the density of which correlates with perceptual and cognitive capacity. It is not a compliment offered casually. It is not something a human would say to a stranger in a hallway without context, without a brain scan, without a reason.
She said it the way you might tell someone they have good posture. Observationally. As if she could simply see it.

I began putting it together as we walked. The energy radiating off her was familiar in the way that ancient things are familiar, not from this lifetime, but from something older. She was telepathically present in a way that felt qualitatively different from human interaction: more complete, more layered, less performative. She seemed to already know the calculations I was running in my mind. She probably did.

We reached the end of the hallway. She turned to face me.

I had made my determination. In my mind, clearly and deliberately, I asked her the question telepathically:

Please show me you are not human.

She smiled. Just slightly, a millimeter or two of upward curve at the corners of her mouth, the smallest possible acknowledgment that she had received the message and chosen to honor it.

And then I looked into her eyes.

Her pupils dissolved. Not dilated, not contracted, dissolved. They were moving inward from the edges in a sideways sliding motion, like two curtains drawing back from the circular center. For three seconds, they were gone entirely. What remained was only her iris, pure color, uninterrupted, luminous. She held it for exactly three seconds. Then, in the same lateral sliding motion, reversed, her pupils bloomed back into existence.

I turned my head.

"That fucking blink," I said. The words came out before I could shape them into something more composed.

I have thought about my reaction many times. In the moment, it registered to her, I believe, as a potential threat signal. Not because I meant it as one, but because a sudden sharp vocalization from a human who has just witnessed something they weren't supposed to see could mean any number of things. She couldn't be certain I wasn't going to alarm others in the building.

Beyond my control, and I want to be precise here, because it matters: beyond my control, I turned away from her and walked back to my room.

I laid down.

I fell immediately asleep.

I did not choose to do either of these things. They happened to me. And when I woke up, I understood them as a kind of gentle shutdown. It was a compassionate way of ending an encounter that had reached its natural limit. She had answered my question. There was nothing more that needed to happen.

— ✦ —

Part Five: The Calendar, Decoded
What the Symbols Meant

The symbols on the calendar that she showed me in January 2024 took time to decode, but by the end of that year, the pattern had clarified through events that unfolded publicly, at scale, in ways I could not have predicted from ordinary sources of information.

The black five-pointed stars mapped onto the political legacy of the Ob*ma-B*den-Wal* lineage, the Democratic establishment's arc through 2024. The purple diamonds represented Kamal* Harri* specifically, and more broadly the symbolic weight of women of color in the political moment that was coming. The orange six-pointed stars: DTJ and his administration, the shape and the color both unmistakable in retrospect. And the blue crescent moons represented JD V*nce, a connection I have come to associate with the particular shade of his eyes.

The use of symbols rather than names or faces was functionally brilliant. It allowed the information to be transmitted quickly, in public, in a format that required the receiver to carry it forward and decode it over time, rather than receiving it as a finished conclusion that could be immediately acted on or dismissed.

She told me to look out for the blue moons. Their days fell mostly on weekends.
By November 2024, the political landscape had taken the shape the calendar had suggested. I am not claiming the calendar was a prophecy, or that I have special access to predetermined futures. I am saying that someone who was not human showed me a structured preview of a political year in January, using symbols I decoded across the following twelve months. That is what happened.

— ✦ —

Part Six: Moving Through the World Now
What 1,500-2000 Days Has Taught Me

I am grounded. I want to say that clearly, before anything else. The experiences I have described did not untether me from reality, they gave me a more complete version of it. I work. I think. I observe. I engage with the ordinary world with as much care and attention as I did before any of this began, and probably more.

What has changed is the quality of my knowing.

I meditate regularly, and in that stillness I sometimes feel the presence of intelligences that are not human, not intrusively, not demandingly, but as a kind of ambient awareness that something is attending. It is not unlike the feeling of being in a forest and knowing, without seeing them, that there are animals present. The frequency is just different.

I astral project. In those states I receive insight that I cannot always bring back in full, but what remains, in the hours and days after, is a quality of understanding that feels earned rather than received. Like the difference between being told an answer and working through the problem yourself.

I can sometimes sense hybrids in public. I do not go looking for them, to each their own, and I am genuinely not interested in disrupting whatever they are doing or whoever they are being in their daily lives. But occasionally, in a grocery store or a waiting room, I will feel that particular quality of energy, ancient, layered, more dimensionally present than the humans around them, and I will simply note it and continue on.

I believe hybrids are here with at least some of our best interests at heart. The hybrid elder lady showed me information. The golden entities acknowledged my effort. Even the Reptilian, the most physically imposing presence I have encountered, came to heal rather than to harm. The pattern across my encounters has not been one of threat. It has been one of careful, considered contact, calibrated to what I could receive and what I needed.

I do not know why I was the recipient of these experiences. That question used to matter more to me than it does now. I have come to think that why may be less important than what I do with it, how I carry it, how I hold it, whether I let it make me more open or more afraid.
I have chosen open.

— ✦ —

Coda: On the Nature of Gray Matter

She said I had a lot of gray matter. I think about that often.

The capacity to perceive, to process, to hold complexity without collapsing it into something simpler than it is, these are not merely cognitive functions. They are, I have come to believe, a kind of antenna. Some of us are built to receive more of the signal. Some of us are placed, by circumstances we did not choose, at the edge of what is ordinarily perceivable, where the veil between consensus reality and its wider context thins enough to let something through.

I heard screams that turned out to be recordable. I reported them, imperfectly, through the channels available to me. I was acknowledged for trying. I was healed. I was shown a calendar. I was given a demonstration in a hallway by someone whose pupils blinked sideways.

These things happened. I was present for all of them. And I have written them down here as carefully and as honestly as I know how to, because the truth of unusual experience deserves the same respect and the same precision as any other kind of truth.

We are not alone. We never were. And some of what is out there, a good portion of it, in my experience, is paying attention with something that looks a great deal like care.

I am thankful for every day of it.

— ✦ —

Enjoy!

Based on a real life encounter…

This is from the latest release drop. This is pretty insane…

Source: https://www.war.gov/ufo/?type=.vid&releaseDate=Release+02#DOW-UAP-PR071-USAF-ANG-F-16C-callsign-CALLSIGN-Shoots-Down-UAP-over-Lake-Huron-with-Weapon-System-12-Feb-2023

From Fox News Last Night, Enjoy!

Finally some talk about species we are dealing with!

It always appears in the same spot in the sky and then drifts slowly to the North West.

Let me know if this is close to actual Juice voice. I have a Rezzed Juice album I am working on and I’m pretty proud of it.

There was something called the “1910 Flexner Report” that was funded by Rockefeller and Carnegie that modernized all medical institutions to only use petrochemical derived medicine for all health future concerns. It was then cemented by legislation involving the FDA in the early 1900s. It then shut down basically all holistic, homeopathic, and natural institutions that utilized real medicine. It helped generate a lot of money towards crude oil and everything.

It’s a sad shame and it’s detrimental for our future generations to gain symptoms from these doctors slapping diagnosis’s and medicating them all with petrochemicals. The same problems these meds supposedly help, actually cause the true problems to occur. The drastic side effects of modern medicine is enough to just wish and pray that we can bring back real natural, holistic remedies that heal and not just mask the problems.

The second screenshot is just saying how it’s unsafe to ingest petrochemicals. We’re basically poisoning ourselves by taking them. Just a little research I’ve done. I would like to know how you all feel about this all? I’m distraught and still getting injections for a misdiagnosis that now is probably a true diagnosis since it’s been a decade and a half of medicine.