I WILL BLEND NO MORE FOREVER – PART XII

CLOSE ENCOUNTER 3.2 – THE FREQUENT FLYER

After three days of utter silence, I decided to file the most recent Dragon’s Ridge incident in the same place I previously filed the oddly behaved star that defiantly lingered in front of the clouds. You got it – right under the same rug.

After all, I had other things to do and could not give this strange and inexplicable incident much more attention. For instance, I had just recently signed a telepathic contract, which act was witnessed by my telepathic dog, so I had better get my act in gear before some telepathic attorney shows up at my door. Onward!

I have to admit I take telepathic communication more seriously than I take what people say, which I usually don’t take seriously at all. Novelist William S. Burroughs stated, “Language is a virus from outer space.” Another American author, Terence McKenna, noted that, quite likely, “Humans invented language so they could lie.” I agree with both these men. I personally know that spoken language is seriously flawed because I was born telepathic and consequently found out the hard way the truth in these writers’ words.

Initially, telepathy caused me quite a bit of trouble because I could not tell the difference between spoken language and a person’s thoughts. They both sounded the same to me and I heard people’s thoughts just as if they had said them out loud, so I answered them. Big mistake. It invoked instant denial, like you just caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. The reactions were so intense that they terrorized me, and I got very confused. In defense, I shut down, went on strike, and stopped talking for awhile. When I finally emerged from that, I had a number of speech impediments, such as stuttering, lisping and mumbling. No one ever even considered that perhaps English was my second language. My first language was telepathy, which is squeaky clean and not prone to lying. They made me speak English instead, thereby forcing me underground. Another big mistake.

As luck would have it, when I picked out my dog at the pound, I instinctively chose a complete telepath. Because she was a telepath, St. James instantly knew that I was a closet telepath, and consequently would do some very un-doglike things to get my attention. When she wanted to come in from outside, I would suddenly wonder where she was, stop whatever I was doing, and like a somnambulist, make my trancelike way to the front door.

When I opened the door, she was invariably there staring intensely at the crack in the door. However, she was not staring at the crack that was opening, but instead at the crack that had the hinges on it. She would not stop staring at the hinges even as the door opened, acting like she was at some sort of séance or something. Although I thought her technique could use a little work and was a tad unorthodox, she always accomplished her goal so there was no point fixing it.

All of this is background to help explain an incident that occurred that night. As I was preparing to go to sleep, but still sitting up in bed, I suddenly got a telepathic message that said, “You will be coming aboard ship tonight.” I was surprised by this offer, but had the presence of mind to telepathically ask, “Can I bring my dog?”, to which they responded, “Oh, of course. She always comes.” I then said, “What?!?!?”

Meanwhile, St. James, who had been drifting off to sleep on the floor across the room, suddenly raised her head, and her ears went straight up in the air like a set of rabbit ear antennas. She then bolted up and raced for my bed, leaping into the air like a flying squirrel and, with outstretched paws, landing on my body, pinning me to the mattress while telepathically screaming, “Don’t leave without me! ”

I have to say, what she lacked in size she made up for in velocity. There was no way I could go anywhere without her after that maneuver.

My head started spinning once again, not only due to whiplash from the flying squirrel event, but with more unanswered questions. My dog is a frequent flyer? “She always comes?” How often are we doing this and why don’t I remember, while she obviously does? Am I the subject of some bizarre extraterrestrial experiment? When did they recruit my dog, or is she the one who’s in charge?

I can’t answer all these questions right now. My dog and I have a date in outer space….

Continue to the next exciting adventure of – I Will Blend No More Forever – Part XIII