by Mac Tonnies
Perhaps, instead of hailing from space, the “Grays” emanate from a much closer source. As Whitley Strieber suggests in Communion, they could be an unacknowledged aspect of the human psyche and thus indistinguishable from mental aberration. As pioneering consciousness researcher Rick Strassman has shown, the aggressively psychedelic compound DMT can produce tellingly similar encounters, offering the novel idea that our brains can function as receivers or portals. (Ultimately, some of us might serve as nothing less than transportation devices for incorporeal intelligences, which might explain why some individuals seem predisposed to contact and the pageantry of strangeness that often accompanies it.)
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I’m reminded of Lovelock’s Gaia Hypothesis, in which the planet is effectively a single biological entity. Maybe UFOs and their “occupants” are cast members in some vast planetary drama with no actual role other than perpetuating themselves. UFOs and their accompanying entities might be subconsciously reminding us of the potentially apocalyptic burden we bear as an industrial species, all the while encouraging us (via their apparent technological prowess) that we lessen our environmental signature by migrating into space. Such a scenario compliments the “control system” proposed by Jacques Vallee and suggests a link with the collective unconscious explored by Jung, most notably in Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies.
But where do they come from? If the UFO phenomenon is generated by Earth itself, perhaps it uses the human nervous system as a kind of operating system. Its enduring physicality argues that it can manipulate consciousness in such a way that individuals can function as unwitting projectors. If so, the study of UFOs might eventually lead to a new understanding of the role of awareness. One day, through careful back-engineering of our own minds, we might employ UFO-like abilities through thought alone—in which case the UFO phenomenon risks becoming obsolete.
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But forget the idea of “other dimensions” for a moment. Perhaps Jacques Vallee’s proposed “psychic thermostat,” while a well-intentioned attempt to reconcile UFO observations with their psychosocial effects, isn’t needed to encompass the weirdness of alien visitation. Forget, also, the idea that aliens are necessarily from space. Instead, let’s assume for adventure’s sake that we’re sharing the planet with a flesh-and-blood offshoot of the human species. As I’ve tried to demonstrate, the prospect isn’t as absurd as it initially seems; indeed, I expect it will seem much less so when we’ve learned more about our world and our relatively brief tenure here. (It bears mention that eminent primatologist Jane Goodall has defended the scientific search for “Bigfoot,” a cryptohominid commonly described as enormous. Assuming a gigantic and purportedly foul-smelling primate can successfully lay low, it may be substantially easier for an intelligent technical society, with a tested capacity for stealth and a full repertoire of disinformation tricks, to dodge our radar.)
Astrophysicists discern black holes—the invisible corpses of collapsed stars—by detecting their gravitational influence on neighboring phenomena. Similarly, the search for extrasolar life hinges on the belief that technological civilizations—regardless how advanced—will necessarily betray their existence via electromagnetic emissions. Freeman Dyson, for instance, has suggested hunting for alien megascale engineering by looking for its distinctive energetic signature.
We can apply the same basic principles to the search for nonhuman intelligences here on Earth. If some UFOs are indeed the work of an indigenous race, we ought to be able to detect the inevitable “signature” it’s imprinted on the planet. This confirming evidence can take many forms: anomalous fossils, genetic traces, “mystery” transmissions, and even inexplicable artifacts.
Our technology-driven world is effectively shrinking at a pace that threatens to obliterate remaining wilderness areas. At the same time, we continue to map the continents and oceans (not to mention the surfaces of other planets) with ever-improving instruments. It stands to reason that the CTH is testable. In other words, no matter how addicted to seclusion, a parallel society will eventually betray its existence.
But maybe they don’t want to be found. Maybe they’d prefer to observe from the balcony, unseen and unsuspected, while we go about our blundering affairs onstage. If so, then they’ve almost certainly noticed the hazard we pose to their maintained stealth. And while they might be our technological superiors, one couldn’t blame them for being at least a little concerned.
Whitley Strieber has remarked that his “visitors,” the subject of the best-selling Communion and subsequent books that delve into the ufological realm, accomplish their agenda largely through stealth and cunning; their technology, as enviable as it may be, is secondary. Strieber attributes the reduction in his encounters with nonhumans to the fact that he no longer resides in his isolated New York cabin, but in the busy community of San Antonio. Apparently the “visitors” (whoever they are) are daunted by the ubiquity of modern civilization, able to exist among us for only limited periods—and even then assisted by considerable disguise and technical savvy.
In many ways, this would be an appalling predicament for our hypothetical ultraterrestrials. For most of human history they would have enjoyed unimpeded dominance. Humans, without a global media infrastructure, would have been easier to fool (and perhaps to exploit) than we are now. (Or do I err on the side of overconfidence?)
In almost any event, the “others” would have been compelled to misdirect us in order to maintain cultural coherence. I suspect that the prevailing notion that they hail from outer space originates from an overarching disinformation campaign with roots that predate humanity as we know it. For millennia, we’ve interpreted them according to the disguises they adopt, each tailored to mesh with the given paradigm. Even a cursory overview of world folklore indicates that this ability is extraordinarily well-honed; it may be their most zealously guarded secret.
However, I suggest that our abrupt transformation into a global, intricately networked society poses a grave challenge to what has traditionally been a routine effort. We may be on the threshold of some oblique form of contact; alternatively, this contact may have begun in modern times, marked by the emergence of the contemporary UFO phenomenon and the equally alarming epidemic of so-called “alien abductions.”
Jacques Vallee has remarked, somewhat famously, about the possible futility of trying to look behind the curtain; what might we be confronted with? Given the opportunity, could we even comprehend what we’re seeing?
Like the origin of the “aliens” themselves, this sense of existential humility may prove to be a clever construct designed to limit our perceptions.
CHAPTER 8
Water World
I watched James Cameron’s movie The Abyss with a true sense of wonder, realizing that while a sufficiently advanced technology may indeed be indistinguishable from magic, absolute stealth could remain a grave concern even for technologically accomplished species. The oceans are the obvious refuge for ETs who’d prefer to inhabit our planet in relative privacy, and it’s probably no coincidence that so many UFOs are reported near large bodies of water.
Bodies of water play a significant role in UFO lore. Craft are seen rising from lakes and oceans; sailors observe remarkable wheels of light rotating beneath the hulls of their boats—the aquatic equivalent to today’s accounts of “buzzed” airliners.
The mystery can be traced to the dawn of recognized human society. The Sumerian Oannes myth maintains that civilization itself was a gift from beings who hailed from underwater. Before the detrimental pop-culture impact of Erich von Daniken, champion of untenable “ancient astronaut” theories, none other than Carl Sagan speculated that the Sumerian tale might represent an actual account of a meeting with nonhuman intelligence.
Of course, Sagan had in mind visiting extraterrestrials. Given the contemporary evidence for a nonhuman intelligence on this planet, the Oannes myth might instead represent contact between two very different types of terrestrials. That the S
umerians’ enigmatic neighbors were interested in passing along the very concepts that would transform humans into city-dwellers is intriguing in light of Charles Fort’s famous contention that we are the property of an intelligence that elects to remain unseen. Maybe, by concentrating large numbers of humans into unprecedentedly small enclaves, the human race was being made more amenable to cryptoterrestrial surveillance.
Equally engaging is the continued interest cryptoterrestrials display in human affairs. From unsolicited health check-ups to warnings of imminent ecological cataclysm, our fellow planetary residents appear deeply concerned about our plight, both as a species and, as some cases suggest, individuals. If our alleged “visitors” originate on some distant planet, this obsessive and long-lived attempt to steer the course of our psychosocial evolution certainly challenges modern thought on what “they” might be up to.
SETI theorists, for example, have cited radio communication as plausible means by which we might be contacted by extraterrestrials. Fortunately, the prospect of interstellar travel has gained a footing among mainstream scientists, challenging prevailing dogma that, for decades, confined hypothetical ETs to their home planetary systems. Some astronomers have even hazarded ways the aliens might betray their existence, from scattered microscopic artifacts to automated construction sites in the Asteroid Belt.
Despite the inexorably warming attitude toward ET visitation, mainstream thinkers still prefer the image of aliens as stealthy, clinical observers. UFOs, with their conspicuously visible antics, shatter this model. Many debunkers attempt, fallaciously, to dismiss the phenomenon precisely because it fails to conform with expectations. If ETs are cool and detached, it doesn’t make immediate sense why they would have such a severe stake in our existence. If UFOs themselves seem like chancy evidence of ET visitors, face-to-face encounters with actual occupants—who, moreover, look not unlike us—seem exceptionally surreal.
But if we’re instead dealing with indigenous beings, it’s easier to understand why “aliens” might have cause for alarm. Their intervention throughout history indicates that they need us for reasons that are seldom forthcoming.
If cryptoterrestrials are members of a hive society with access to genetic engineering, I can’t help but wonder how they’d go about colonizing the oceans and what, precisely, they might be doing there. If the Sumerian Oannes myth is a true account of interspecies contact, then perhaps they really are our benefactors intent on steering us closer to our full potential. (Although some would argue, not entirely without justification, that hunter-gatherer societies are fundamentally healthier and less environmentally abusive than the urban communities that debuted in Mesopotamia.)
The burning question, to my mind, is why an advanced nonhuman intelligence would expend considerable resources to hasten our development. Maybe they’re effectively farmers using humans for our genes—a notion in keeping with the “reptilian agenda” promoted by conspiracy extremists. (The alleged aliens described by Bob Lazar supposedly viewed humans as “containers,” but whether this term denoted DNA or something transcendent was never satisfactorily explained. Whitley Strieber would argue, compellingly, that the “visitors” cherish us as repositories of what we can only call “souls”; alternatively, Budd Hopkins would insist, perhaps just as compellingly, that we’re being harvested to serve a long-term hybridization program.)
When abductees question their captors regarding their agenda, they’re usually met with cryptic blurbs. For instance, Whitley Strieber writes that he was told, simply, that his tormentors had a “right” to snatch him from his bed and extract semen. (In recent years Strieber has publicly compared the infamous “rectal probe” to an electrostimulator, a device used to induce ejaculations in livestock. While the implications are frightening, it’s at least easier to understand the brevity with which he depicted his abduction in 1987’s Communion. Unfortunately, the ubiquitous “rectal probe” quickly cemented itself into our cultural fabric, fueling the conviction that Strieber’s assailants were dispassionate interstellar scientists with an inordinate interest in stool specimens.)
The many cases in which humans witness “hybrid” beings with human and alien traits call for a reconciliation with ancient contact mythology. If nonhumans are responsible, in part, for maintaining (or catalyzing) the human legacy, it would appear their reasons are more selfish than altruistic. Strangely, their desire for our continued survival—if only for the sake of our genetic material—may have played a substantial role in helping us to avoid extinction during the Cold War, when the UFO phenomenon evolved in our skies (much to the consternation of officialdom). The wave of sightings in 1947, for example, seems calculated to appeal to the collective unconscious in ways deftly explored in Carl Jung’s Flying Saucers.
Later sighting “flaps” possessed the same sense of theater, eventually leading French astrophysicist Jacques Vallee to suggest that we were in the grips of an existential control system. Well aware of the ETH’s gnawing limitations, Vallee postulated a “multiverse” in which the controlling intelligence originated in a parallel reality. This did away with the need for ET visitors and helped explain the seeming absurdity of close encounters in the 1960s, when the “aliens” were regularly sighted miming the exploits of our own Apollo astronauts. It also offered a new way to address the folkloric theme of nonhuman contact that prevails in disparate cultures, from the Irish Faerie Faith to the Ant People of the Hopi.
According to Vallee and John Keel, the UFO/contact phenomenon was necessarily duplicitous, adept at exploiting the witness’s belief system in order to appear comprehensible. In Vallee’s view, the UFO intelligence is quite real and manifests itself in order to ensure we conform to some inexplicable ideal—but the “spacecraft,” regardless of physical evidence, are ultimately illusions (albeit studiously crafted).
In contrast, the hypothesis put forth here argues that some UFOs are in fact real vehicles. But we’re not under siege by anthropomorphic ETs or “goblins from hyperspace”; the beings behind the curtain are eminently tangible. They insinuate themselves into our ontological context not to confuse us but to camouflage themselves. The UFO spectacle takes on the flavor of myth because it wants to be discounted. At the same time, knowing that their activities are bound to be seen at least occasionally, the occupants deliberately infuse their appearance with what we might expect of genuine extraterrestrial travelers.
It’s a formidable disguise—but it can be pierced.
CHAPTER 9
Underground
The subterranean connection isn’t limited to sightings of unknown objects emerging from bodies of water; it seems to play a critical—perhaps central—role in the testimony of many abductees, who describe finding themselves transported into apparent caverns teeming with alien activity.
One of the first contemporary abductees to address seemingly below-ground structures was Betty Andreasson, whose story has been patiently chronicled in several volumes by investigator Raymond Fowler. Andreasson’s experiences with apparent ETs is one of the most metaphysically charged abduction narratives on record, filled with marvels that seem to have no purpose other than to elicit emotional reactions from the witness. Despite Fowler’s diligence as a reporter, he follows the conventional wisdom, concluding that Andreasson has been the subject of decades-long extraterrestrial interference.
But given the aliens’ obvious penchant for elaborate visual metaphor and special effects trickery, it’s unclear why Fowler (and like-minded researchers) invoke star-hopping visitors. The abduction experience is far more ambiguous. Upon close inspection, the perceived need for ETs withers, replaced by a thicket of unwelcome questions. The abduction phenomenon thus resolutely denies itself; it is up to us whether to accept this as a deliberate challenge on behalf of the controlling intelligence or to abide by its limitations.
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Cryptoterrestrial lore is replete with allusions to underground habitats, subterranean labyrinths navigable only to an enlightened few, and even mo
dern-day below-ground facilities staffed, in part, by government operatives. From Richard Shaver’s fancifully paranoid tales of the “Deros” to Bob Lazar’s depiction of S-4 (allegedly a supersecret base a stone’s throw away from Area 51), the “alien” meme challenges us with the prospect that our world is separated from the other by the merest of partitions . . . and that the CTs are almost as comfortable in our bedrooms and on our roadsides as they are in their own realm.
The image of a “Hollow Earth” populated by beings remarkably like ourselves is by no means new, yet the modern UFO phenomenon has infused it with a newly conspiratorial vigor. Stories of alien bases below the unassumingly bleak surface of the American Southwest surfaced in the wake of the MJ-12 controversy, carving the mythos into irresistible new shapes. In Revelations, Jacques Vallee recounts a memorable exchange with the late Bill Cooper and Linda Moulton Howe. Told matter-of-factly about the existence of a sprawling subterranean base near Dulce, New Mexico, Vallee asked his hosts where the presumed aliens disposed of their garbage—a sensible question if one assumes that the “Grays” in question are physical beings burdened with corresponding physical requirements.
Vallee’s question is of obvious importance to the cryptoterrestrial inquiry. If we really are sharing the planet with a “parallel” species, searching for underground installations becomes imperative for any objective investigation. Our failure to find any blatant “cities” beneath the planet’s surface invites many questions. Could the CTs have colonized our oceans, potentially explaining centuries of bizarre aquatic sightings? Have they intermingled to the point where they’re effectively indistinguishable from us? (And, if so, how might such a scattered population summon the resources to stage UFO events?)
