Before any of this goes further, let me say something, because I know exactly what it looks like.
When someone starts telling stories about entities in the night, about experiences that rhyme with religion — with angels, with demons, with the afterlife — it looks like he’s about to tell you what to believe. About God. About what happens when we die. About what the visitors are.
I’m not going to do that. And I want you to know why, because the misunderstanding is easy and the stakes are real.
What I report here are my memories, as I remember them. That’s the whole contract. It’s not so much about proving it — it can’t be. I’m not out to prove a thesis. I’m attempting to understand something I can’t escape, because it’s part of who I am.
So when I describe experiences that read like religion, I’m describing what happened to me, not preaching it. I wasn’t raised religious — my family was mostly Agnostic. The spiritual content was running through my encounters before I’d learned much about the subjects it resembled. I report it the way a witness reports weather: it was there, I saw it, make of it what you will. It is not an argument for anyone’s theology, and it is not an argument against it.
The same goes for the research. It points where it points. I follow it where it leads, and I say so when it leads somewhere uncomfortable — including uncomfortable for me. Nothing in this project gets a free pass, including what was shown to me. There’s testimony, and there’s the record, and I hold the two up against each other to see where they rhyme and where they don’t.
And the interpretations — the frameworks I keep coming back to, trying to make sense of a lifetime of material that doesn’t fit anywhere else — those are mine. I hold them lightly. I could be wrong about any of it.
Here’s what I’m actually asking of you.
Not that you change what you believe. Your faith, your skepticism, your settled positions — those are yours, and I have no interest in trampling them. I’m asking you to think about the implications.
If even part of what I describe is real, what follows? What does it mean for how we understand consciousness, or death, or the stories every religion has been telling about visitors from elsewhere? You don’t have to accept my account to sit with that question. The question stands on its own.
And if none of it is real — if I’m misremembering, or dreaming, or confabulating a lifetime — the implications are still worth sitting with. Millions of people report experiences like these. The phenomenon of the reporting is real even if the visitors aren’t. Why do human beings keep having the same encounters, in the same rooms, across every culture that ever kept records? That’s not a small question either.
I’m not building a camp. I’m setting down testimony and asking you to think.
Your beliefs are yours. I’m not here to take them. I’m here to lay my cards on the table and ask what you see in them.
The livestream is on the way. There’s more to come — we’ll announce it when we can.