Travelogues of the Dead: ECETI Ranch, Part 3 (Conclusions…)

It may now be that I’ve waited too long to recount some elements of this first visit to the ranch in the necessary detail. I’ve lost sight of too many particulars, forgotten too much about the people who were there: the woman who ran some kind of center in Costa Rica where lights out of the sky are landing regularly, where her abductions have become a matter of course; or the visiting Russian remote viewer and his elegant wife, whether holdovers from the era of the KGB or something more recent, I never knew; or the lively and intelligent former Franciscan monk; or perhaps the brooding, dark couple who’d gotten lost and arrived late, their GPS system having misled them down roads still closed from wintertime, fellow speakers, like JG, over the festival circuit (or so I gathered); or that entire young family – parents, children, one illicit dog – returning now from the Midwest with a truckload of fresh maple syrup, chasing after the significant experience they’d had at the conference that summer previous… I’m necessarily condensing these various characters from this and subsequent visits, because that is primarily what I found at ECETI: a revolving cast of fascinating people; moreso this than significant contact experience... I think – I say that guardedly, and will explain in a moment – because subsequent visits, perhaps necessarily, brought sharply diminishing results as regard actual sightings and the like, weather conditions not allowing for further skywatchings. I’ve since seen videos posted from ECETI and it’s guests, enough at least, to see this familiar scenario of odd little distant lights [see previous post] repeated often.

But what these grainy green infrared video clips don’t show, and can’t begin to explain, are the ancillary things, such as how, when I woke up that next morning, though my eyes were still shut in reluctance to face the day, I was finally forced to open them, to try and see who it was who’d found their way into the same bed beside me: I’d clearly heard a woman’s voice sigh with waking, and the sound of the covers rustling with her movement, not mine. Yet I knew that I’d gone to bed, entirely sober, alone… just as I was in fact still alone – nobody else was there. Bright, if diffuse, sunlight filtered in through the thin curtain as I looked around the bed and the room. It was just me in here. But I’d heard… right there

Okay, it was entirely possible that the walls between rooms are so thin that essentially no barrier exists to mediate the sounds between rooms. Usually I can tell the difference between a sound immediately beside me and one in the next room several feet away, even if there is nothing more substantial than a curtain between the two, but I’ll be happy to admit that there could conceivably be no particular significance to this. Except that that is not how it felt, because what it felt like was an object lesson of some sort, a metaphor in living, if ghostly, form, as if she (invisible she) were a gamepiece arranged (I being another piece in the game) – we two, myself and the ghost – in the same place at the same time, but not quite exactly, as if there were something deeply funny to some third person, some metaperson, about how she and I were just exactly not quite together in the same dimension. I’ve had time to reflect on this since, and see levels to the lesson now, or joke, that would be difficult to explain. The ghostwoman, real or not, means something very personal and multilayered, and that is all I will say.

In a similar connection, when I returned to ECETI ranch almost exactly a year later, again staying in the same room in the guesthouse, in my sleep that night I had what is for me a very unusual dream. Nothing of any great significance had happened the evening previous. The weather had prevented any viewing of the skies, and I’d had a nice chat with the other guests staying that night in the house, but the circumstances were otherwise unremarkable. But in the night I’d dreamed of being in a room that was completely white, simply flooded with light – it had walls and a floor and I supposed a sort of a ceiling, though I couldn’t see it – and I was immersed in the even, white light, and seemed to have no body. Take that at any level of meaning that can be imagined: I had no body. I later called this dream my dream of the reset room, because that was the thing that happened: the connection between myself and this ghost of the previous visit (I call it a ghost, though I know it really isn’t) had been leveled and returned to a zero, our karma, as such, was cleared. Do over; start again, we’ll call the whole thing good.*

I don’t know if I’ll go back to the ranch or not, though my experiences there have had meaning – albeit not of the sort that I’d gone looking for. But it seems that everything is like that; at least it is in my life. My feelings regarding ECETI are profoundly ambivalent. Although I’ve found the people there, both living at the ranch and those visiting, like myself, to be friendly, accommodating and often fascinating, there is a certain vocabulary of belief that holds over the place, one that I cannot wholeheartedly speak with conviction. Perhaps doing so is not required. Perhaps what I feel is my innate sense of aloneness, that thing I’ve held on to in order to remain myself. I would stop far short of calling the atmosphere there cultish (it has been accused of this), yet it does very much center around the teachings and charisma of James Gilliland, a gentle man who has certainty and sincerity, and an evident depth of spiritual experience. His position of definitiveness – as he has answers about what is happening around the ranch, about what beings are involved, where they’re from, and what they are up to – while providing a framework of guidance, also places a limit over one’s understanding of events that are otherwise ambiguous and personal, and I find myself resistant to drawing absolute conclusions about what one has seen, and what has happened, and far more over what it means. I am not qualified to criticize James, as I’ve not gotten to know him well at all. I certainly don’t wish to be overly critical; I believe him to be a good man. Yet I maintain a self-protective distance – perhaps this is symptomatic of my own egotism and its wounds, far moreso than any quality I may find in him – as I also know all too well my proclivity towards being subsumed under such an influence as his, and have learned by many hard lessons to distrust charisma. Still, I feel that I have stopped far short of experiencing all that lies in potentia at ECETI.

*I’m being cryptic, I know, and I’m sorry, but to say anything more about the deeper context in this would take several thousand more words, involve conjecture that may well be considered libelous, and at the very least greatly invade the privacy of another person; so this is as far as I can go.

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