I received the following narrative from my friend & colleague 'JM'. This information referenced Matt R's Reptilian-related post:
"I'm writing to you an account of my own observations of an abduction and a commentary about the breeding experiments by alien beings. Lon already has copies of these reports. This is just a re-telling of these stories of mine to tie in with your stories."
REPTILIAN ABDUCTIONS
"The key word I keep seeing in abduction reports published by Phantoms and Monsters and others is "ready". Either as in "Are you ready?" Or as in "We're not ready for you yet."
In August 1959, my parents and I visited Mount Capulin, New Mexico (northeast corner). While Mom stayed in the tourist center which had air conditioning, Dad and I went up the walking trail up the side of the extinct volcano and down into the crater.
As we returned to the center, I was desperate to get to the bathroom. I was on my way there when I experienced "bi-location". My body just stopped in mid-step. My mind went straight down to the ground; how deep I can only imagine.
When the free-fall stopped, I was levitating a few inches above the floor of a high-arched tunnel lighted with pale yellow lights. Before me was an archway through which I could see a crossing tunnel, where green ant-like creatures (my first impression) pushed something with the outline of a piano from right to left on a wheeled flatcar on narrow railroad tracks. Behind the creatures, I could see that the tunnel round and behind me continued behind the creatures with the piano, further than I could see.
I looked to my right, and there stood a small, craggy-faced humanoid in a grey, robe-like, hooded garment. It was about 4 feet tall, and had grey-green skin. Its form reminded me of a stick figure in its "skinniness". (This was evidently one of the ant-like creatures moving the piano.) In its right hand it held something like a clipboard, but more like one of the touch-pads of today. In its left hand it held some kind of stylus.
It looked with somewhat large, dark, oval eyes at me and evidently could see me quite clearly. Then I heard it speak, "What are you doing here? We're not ready for you yet." This was not mind-to-mind.
In a split second, I rose up through the ground. My first conscious thought was to get to the bathroom, and I got there with no seconds to spare. It was not until the late 1990s, or early 2000s that I told the story to Mom (Dad died in 1986).
All this took place in a matter of seconds, the descent into the tunnel, the encounter with the grey-green humanoid, and the return to the surface. Since then I have to wonder what it was PHYSICALLY that the humanoid recognized about me, and who it was who was not ready for me yet. It could not have known me by name.
Even more scary is the thought that in my lifetime, this "who" will be ready for me. What is going to happen to me when this "who" is ready? Evidently, "they" want me alive, and don't want to waste the results of their breeding experiments.
BREEDING EXPERIMENTS AND SKINNER BOXES
Aliens were conducting breeding experiments on the Gulf Coast at military hospitals after World War II.
It was not until I was a counselor with an adoptees search group that I began to put the facts together. What pulled it all together was meeting a fellow adoptee who had been in the Volunteers of America maternity home with me at the time of our births in the summer and early fall of 1948.
In 1947, as I was informed by a genealogy researcher in Gulfport, Mississippi, nurses from the military hospitals were known to sneak away for picnics with "local swains" out in the back woods away from the Gulf Coast. One such nurse even wrote a poem about such a picnic that took place on November 10, 1947.
There was hanky-panky that went on in those backwoods. Nine months later, the nurses were being shipped off by their families to maternity homes in New Orleans. This was just about the right time for the first of the babies to be born. Was it a coincidence that the Volunteers of America maternity home opened in New Orleans, right in the nick of time? We first five at the home, all girls, were born at Touro Hospital in New Orleans.
According to the adoptee, a woman with a family of her own, who wanted to find out more about her birth family, initially there were five infant girls at the home. By the time we were two months old, our birth mothers had been tricked into leaving Louisiana to return to their parents' homes in Mississippi. When they crossed the state lines, thereby under law, they "abandoned us like foundlings".
We were offered up for adoption by the Volunteers. Our adoptions were slowed down, as they were for all the other babies there, by paperwork and background checks on prospective adoptive parents. I know that other children were born under the aegis of the Volunteers in 1948. We five were not the only infants there. But we were certainly treated most uniquely from the others.
In December 1948, as the adoptee told me, the five of us girls were taken to Touro Infirmary and put in "Skinner Boxes" (see photo attachment). The story we both had been told by our adoptive parents was that this was to keep us healthy from the flu epidemic then raging in the New Orleans area.
Skinner boxes, it is known, were used in experiments in sensory deprivation. Something tells me that even though I don't remember those days, we five were subjected to "something" at Touro. I suspect that we were fed and kept clean and warm, but we were not cuddled, stroked, or even had lullabies sung to us. What lasting effects this had on us, I cannot imagine.
After the horror movie "The Ipswich Cuckoos" (or something like that), I have nicknamed our group of five "The Gulf Coast Cuckoos".
PUTTING IT ALL TOGETHER
If, as you write in your report about the abduction to the shopping center, you believe that aliens have infused humans with a "warrior gene", then I have very strong reasons to believe you.
In 1974, I was seized with a "panic" to escape New Orleans, my parents, and my home. Someone or something manipulated my mind to drive me to decide to go into the U. S. military. I ended up in the U. S. Navy, and left February 2, 1975 for Orlando, Florida.
Everything looked fine. I looked towards a career in the military. In April 1976, I was stationed at the NATO base near Keflavik, Iceland. There I had a run-in with a Man in Black. This man in black looked human; he was dressed in the black uniform of a Navy warrant officer, and driving a yellow Mini-Cooper. But he talked to me mind-to-mind and told me "Go home" while pointing to the southwest, back towards the United States.
On July 2, 1976, I was given a medical discharge from the Navy with the diagnosis of "obsessive-compulsive".
Since then I have had the feeling that someone or something has been watching me. This "who" lets me know that I am not to try to escape New Orleans, my parents, or my home -- to stay here until "it is time". Even going on a vacation or short trip is forbidden, although my seventeen-month evacuation to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, on account of the post-Hurricane Katrina floods in August 2005, did not seem to count. (I sometimes wonder if an alien presence was responsible for the failure of the levees that caused the flooding on August 29, 2005.)
It is my belief that we five, who were the first babies born under the aegis of the Volunteers of America, were infused with that "warrior gene". This may have no relevance whatsoever, but I had my DNA tested, and it was discovered that I had Scandinavian genes in my background. My birth mother (who I did actually meet twice) said that my birth father claimed to be of Norwegian background. Could that "warrior gene" be connected to a Scandinavian background?
So, here I sit, in my house in New Orleans, under threats by alien beings not to leave the city for any extended period (a day trip to visit a friend in Baton Rouge is evidently permissible).
When will "they" be "ready" for me?
And I am scared, so to keep my mind off of it all, I do volunteering with senior citizens, and knit caps for people who have lost their hair because of chemotherapy. And, I am as active as possible in my church.
Thank you for having the patience to read my stories here." JM
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