Late morning the following day, I received a call from a man who called himself, Zoraster. He said he had heard about me and felt we had something to discuss about extraterrestrials and a project he was working on. He wanted me to come to Colorado Springs, an hour south, to meet with him at his office. There was something about his voice that persuaded me to listen.
Eager for new information, I agreed to drive down to Colorado Springs to meet him.
I left the house at 1:30. I made good time driving south on Interstate 25 and arrived at the designated address in Colorado Springs in less than an hour.
It was a store front with windows that had been blacked out. As I prepared to knock on the door it was opened by a very tall man in black slacks and a black dress shirt.
“Welcome, Michael. I am Zoraster.”
When I shook hands with him, I looked into his eyes. For only a brief moment they turned bright yellow with vertical yellow cat-like irises. I suddenly felt like I was lunch for a predator. Then the next instant his eyes turned grey like those of a normal human being.
I tried to pull away, but his energy was so powerful that I stepped into the office. He closed the door behind me. I thought I heard a bolt, but could not be sure.
There was a circular table with three chairs. The walls were decorated with pictures of UFOs and strange beings.
As if on command, an attractive woman with long dark hair entered from a back room and took her place at the table. “This is Zelda,” Zoraster said. “She is my mate.”
He motioned me to the table and indicated the chair I should occupy. He then sat in the remaining chair.
We began a conversation about the galaxy and who it was that occupied other planets. The conversation went on for some time, but I could not follow it as my mind wandered.
Part of what Zoraster wanted was money to finance a movie. I did not get a clear picture as to what the movie was to be about.
“May I have some water?” I asked.
“That would be acceptable,” Zoraster said.
Zelda arose and went to the back room, returning with a clear plastic glass that was half full of water.
We must have talked for some time, for when I looked at my watch I saw that it read 5:30. “May we have some dinner together before I head back home.”
“We have other plans, but will meet you here in the morning,” Zoraster said.
“I had not planned to stay the night,” I said. “I have commitments back home.”
“I believe those can wait. We have not discussed important things.” He pointed at pictures of blue ETs on the wall. “We have a strong connection to the blue planet.”
“I must really insist that I leave tonight.” I could tell this situation was not in my best interests.
“I believe you will be most comfortable staying in this city tonight.”
I felt a strange energy coming over me. I could tell I was no longer thinking straight.
“We recommend the Red Roof Inn not far from here. Be sure to eat and sleep well.”
I stumbled to my Jeep and drove the few blocks to the Red Roof Inn, grabbing a hamburger and fries at Wendy’s. There was a vacancy, a single room left.
As soon as I received the room key, I headed for the room. I had barely finished my burger when I fell onto the bed.
I tossed and turned all night. The word “disingenuous” kept repeating itself in my head, over and over again.
I arose the following morning early, determined to head home. However, something was pulling me back to Zoroaster’s office.
In the rumpled clothes I had slept in I staggered to the breakfast room of the Inn. There, I ate oatmeal, with milk and sugar, something I had avoided for years, along with three cups of English breakfast tea with milk.
Feeling as if I had no choice, I went back to Zoroaster’s office. He opened the door for me as I approached it. “Good morning, Michael.”
Barely functioning, because of a lack of sleep, I stumbled to the chair I had occupied the day before. Zelda sat across from me.
In the corner of the room was an unusual object. It was blue, shaped like a large egg with an open door. There was a seat within it that appeared to be large enough for one person.
Zoraster pointed to it and said, “Go and sit within it. It will make you feel much better.”
I shook my head slowly. Something told me that I wanted nothing to do with that contraption.
Moving on, Zoraster explained the movie project they were working on, “This is an opportunity to make a lot of money.
“We have been in charge of other projects where we have made lots of money from the people who attended our talks.” He explained how they had used a large tent and conducted such events.
They then took me to the room at the rear of the space. Laid out there were the sketches for a movie they wished to produce, a movie about a beaver and other animals. It made no sense to me, but Zelda could not stop talking about it.
Returning back to the front room, we sat at the table and talked. I had trouble focusing because of my lack of sleep.
When it became time for lunch, I suggested that the three of us find a restaurant. “We have another thing to attend to,” Zoraster said. “We will meet you back here in one hour, after you eat.”
I fled to my Jeep, keeping my stride under control even though I wanted nothing more than to race away.
As soon as I pulled out of the parking lot, I headed for Interstate 25. Taking the entrance north, I gunned the Jeep. I had to get away, had to go home.
Weaving in and out of cars, I raced along the freeway.
It took me a while to recognize the flashing red lights at my rear. Near the exit for Nevada Blvd., at the north end of Colorado Springs, I pulled to the side of the road.
When the officer came to the side of my Jeep, I rolled down my window. “Thank you for stopping me,” I said.
“Driver’s License and registration,” the man said.
As he scanned them, he looked at me as if I were drunk or on drugs of some sort, and said, “You were going eighty-five. The speed limit is sixty-five.”
He took my papers to his vehicle and entered them into his onboard computer.
When he returned, he said, “Please step out of your vehicle.”
I climbed out, a little wobbly, but otherwise okay. “Walk toward my car,” the officer said, pointing to the side of the road where his patrol car sat with its lights flashing.
I walked a more or less straight line.
At his vehicle, he gave me a breath analyzer test. Apparently, it registered no alcohol. Content with my results, he proceeded to write me a ticket, my first in many years.
I returned to my Jeep and headed north once again, more awake and under the speed limit.
When I arrived at my house, Heather’s car was in the driveway. I realized that I was scheduled to meet her today and go for a hike.
The front door was locked. I used my key to unlock it.
As soon as I entered my house, Heather stepped forward and encircled me in a hug. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I was worried when you didn’t show.”
“I need to lay down,” I replied, stumbled for the sofa in my living room, and plopped down. “Didn’t sleep last night.”
“How can I help?” she said.
“Just need sleep.” I closed my eyes, grateful to be home, grateful to be away from Zoraster and Zelda. “Lock the front door. Don’t let anybody in.”
With those words I closed my eyes and I fell into a deep sleep.
When I awakened and looked around, it was dark outside. Heather was seated on a nearby chair, reading something.
I sat up and said, “How did you get into my house?”
“You told me the sliding door at the back was usually not locked.”
I nodded my head.
I then proceeded to tell her how I had spent yesterday and today. How fearful I was in the company of the interesting and powerful people who had control of me. I added the part about my reckless driving, the speeding ticket, and how I had barely made it home.
“How did they target you, single you out?” Heather asked.
“Must be the research I’m doing. My profile is still up on the Internet.”
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Yes. I didn’t like oatmeal any better this morning than I ever have. I’m ready for something.”
“How about pizza? Cheese and mushroom.”
Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang and we had food. We had put together a salad.
We talked about my experience, what they had wanted from me, and how they had such power over me. I told her about Zoraster’s cat eyes and wondered whether he was truly a human.
“I believe we shouldn’t give it more energy, so let’s agree to leave it at that,” I said.
“I recommend a long hot shower to wash off any residual energy or chemicals you might have picked up.”
“Good idea.” I struggled to the upper floor of my house. I stood under water as hot as I could stand, and then cold water.
I returned to the main floor somewhat refreshed and said, “How about watching some more of that Mark Kimmel video. Maybe that’ll help clear my mind.”
“Good idea, it’s ready to go downstairs.”
When we rejoined the video, Kimmel was speaking about the current paradigm. He had a chart up that showed a list. We froze the DVD so I could write it down.
Financial institutions hijacked
Petroleum based civilization
Medical owned by pharmaceuticals
Education – training future workers
ETs and celestials
Then we started the DVD again. “We are allowing the environment to collapse,” Kimmel said. “We are allowing ourselves to be indentured servants.
“Einstein said it, ‘One cannot solve a problem using the same thinking that created it.’
“We cannot solve our problems in third dimension terms.
“We must understand who we are, non-physical, spiritual beings incarnated in physical bodies. Our non-physical self is a fragment of Divinity. We have a higher self, an astral body, a soul, and a superconsciousness.”
Kimmel concluded by saying, “I chose to play this role, everybody does. I choose my experiences. I am helping to create the stage. I am creating the script. What about you?”
“I like the last thing that he said,” Heather said, when we had turned off the video. “It goes along with some of what I understand.”
“I will have to explore his remarks in some detail,” I said. “I must admit to confusion about higher consciousness, non-physical self, and the business about helping to create the stage.”
“Give yourself some time,” she said. “You’ve just had a real shock interacting with whatever or whoever this guy Zoraster was.” She gently touched my arm. “I can give you some assistance with higher consciousness and the rest of it. It’s something I’ve been studying for some time, along with Mary and Dolores.”
It had gotten to be eight o’clock, so I shut down the computer and large screen.
“I need to get home,” Heather said. “I’m tired and it’s a long drive.”
She got up from the sofa where we had been watching the video and walked over to her bag.
“Without suggesting anything,” I said, “there’s a guest room at the top of the stairs. Bed’s got clean sheets.”
She looked at me with her beautiful green eyes. Her eyebrows had just enough color to give her face definition. There were few wrinkles in her near perfect complexion.
“Okay, but remember our earlier conversation. And I really am tired.”
“Let me get you fresh towels,” I said. “I’ll probably stay up a while, to wind down, before I get into bed.”
“This is a major trust issue.” She fixed me in a stare that she probably used on students. “Don’t screw it up.”
A few minutes later, I said, “Good night. Thanks for being here when I got home.”
I collected the notes I had made and added them to the stack for my book, then I picked up a novel by David Baldacci. I had read only a few pages when I got tired, so I headed upstairs to my bedroom.
Before I fell to sleep, I was given another message.
Maintain a steady focus on the larger picture. Know why you agreed to incarnate on this planet at this time and place. Find that purpose and embrace it, however outrageous it may appear.
As sleepy as I was, I took time to write down the words, feeling that they were important. How did this fit with what I had just heard on the DVD, with my book, with what I had experienced in Colorado Springs?
My last thought before finally drifting off was, I’m falling for her. It was so nice to find Heather here when I got home. It felt very good to have her as a friend. Anything beyond that would have to wait.