Quit Laughing

Talked to a buddy today that’s center stage in the UFO/UAP limelight, and had a few revelations during that discussion.  Nothing earth-shattering, no revelatory insight, just a practical view of the here and now when it comes to ufology — a blood-pressure-cuff measurement of the fringe realm, if you will.  The Cliffsnotes version?  We don’t know squat, and the ones we think that should be seeking out the answers to the really big questions laugh quietly in the corner - as befuddled as the rest of us, but too afraid to admit science doesn’t have the balls to even begin to tackle this phenomenon. Will scientists ever step up and try to truly answer these questions? 

What do we truly know when it comes to UFO’s/UAP’s  or whatever other moniker some geek comes up with to describe these unknown anomalies?  What is incontrovertible as evidence when it comes to justifying a hard look at this phenomenon?  Throughout known history there have been tens of thousands of accounts by credible people witnessing extraordinary things they could not explain. I’m one of them. Am I an idiot for wanting to know just what it was that I saw?  Ignorance might be bliss to many, but I had better teachers than that, friend, and I want answers. 

A fractional representation of the globe also claim to have encountered beings not at all like you and I, the so-called ‘alien-abductees.’  I used to laugh at them, thinking it was a desperate geek’s last-ditch effort at garnering attention — but that was decades ago, before I met hundreds of these experiencers face to face, and befriended many of them.  Are there charlatans out there trying to make a quick Barnum and Bailey buck?  You bet.  Are many of them lying? No doubt. I could list the top ten people to avoid in ufology as pure snake oil salesman, but frankly, I can’t afford the lawsuits that would roll my way if I did.  You know who they are, or I sincerely hope you do. For every single legitimate witness account, there’s two liars trying to take advantage of our curiosity and our pocketbook. That’s capitalism, boys and girls, and the ugly side of our greedy nature - but know that even liars have to build their con games on grains of truth and substance, and it’s those tiny grains we true seekers need to try and grasp hold of. But they may not be enough.

A great friend devoted a lion’s share of his life to seeking out answers to this phenomenon.  He was an amazing scholar, researcher and writer. English was not his native language, but he wrote better in it than those of us who spoke it their whole lives. His findings were so respected that his words about the subject were read aloud in the General Assembly of the United Nations. Presidents, billionaires and monarchs read what he had to say.  For a very brief moment in time, the world paid attention. But only for a moment. What’s he doing now?  Sitting in a dingy, low-rent apartment chain-smoking and waiting for death. Why?  Because ufology became a laughing stock stacked with ego, supposition, charlatans and drama queens.  And all my friend sought was the truth.

Is truth really that unattainable?  We clamor for disclosure of purported government secrets - expecting Big Brother to disclose what he’s hiding - yet we mock the witnesses who stand up amidst ridicule.  We bicker amongst one another about which questions to answer, how to answer them, who should even enter the argument - and yet the big questions still remain unanswered.  

I don’t know if I’ll ever understand this phenomenon. If any of us ever will. But I’d sure like to see us focus on pursuing truth, and not wasting time with anything else that prevents it. 

Incidentally Roswell

by A. Dale Triplett

Author In Front of the International UFO Museum, Roswell, NM.

Roswell, New Mexico embodies everything I love and hate about ufology, all at once.  In this slightly oversized Mayberry of the Southwest, kitsch and sensibility combine into a cobbled confection of arguable truths and abject wonder, wrapped up in a package of garish spectacle.  It’s wacky, weird and undeniably wonderful, depending on who you ask.  The Dairy Capital of New Mexico is everything right - and everything wrong - about ufology.  Seriously, where else can you buy a giant, lime-green, inflatable alien for your backyard pool, munch on a chupacabra burrito, then sit down and have a cup of coffee with the likes of Travis Walton, Nick Pope and Stanton Friedman? 

I made the nine-hour trek from Phoenix for the 69th anniversary of the Roswell Incident with my lifelong buddy, Eddie Kaddi.  We were on a mission to record some interviews with some of ufology’s most recognizable faces, and even though I’d been through the town before while trucking, it would be my first opportunity to get more than a cursory glimpse of this spot on the map that’s firmly ensconced in UFO lore.   Eddie had never been and was as equally stoked as I was.  Let’s face it, Roswell is undoubtedly a Mecca-like destination for those of us who dance along the periphery of the so-called fringe. The UFO ball arguably started quickly rolling here in 1947, and has been a runaway avalanche of wonder, intrigue and ridicule ever since.

Our first stop en route was the Karl G. Jansky Very Large Array a couple hours west of Roswell in Socorro County.  I really wanted to see Jodie Foster come flying across the desert between the massive radio telescopes while shouting into her walkie-talkie, but we only encountered some agitated fire ants and a distant hum from one of the massive antenna’s inner workings.  I couldn’t help but think this was how ufology was supposed to be.  Look to the heavens, record the data, leave opinions by the wayside and let science sort out the known from the unknown.  That poignant thought would stay with me throughout the weekend. Those 27 massive dishes devoted to nothing but astronomical science made me momentarily proud of my government - not something I feel too often in these tumultous days.

We rolled on into Roswell and awaited our hosts from The Roswell Daily Record at a private club called The Liberty, where the Roswell Incident forum hosted by the iconic newspaper would be held, half a block away from Main street and all the kitschy vendors, face-painting, live music and food trucks.  We washed away the trail dust with a cold Stella and quiet conversation with my friend John Burroughs of Rendlesham Forest fame, musing over the weekends coming events and our subsequent roles in the upcoming circus.  John had driven in from Illinois via Arkansas, picking up KGRA radio guru Race Hobbs and his wife Robin.  John is generally an unwilling attendee at these events, telling me repeatedly over the years that the “Universe should’ve picked somebody else” to witness what he encountered with his fellow airmen in the English forest in 1980.  He wasn’t on the schedule, just there to help Race, but ended up filling in for one of the guests too ill to present the following night.  

Barbara Beck, Publisher of The Roswell Daily Record arrived with a veritable who’s-who entourage of UFO A-listers in tow, many of them presenting at the Roswell Incident forum, or at the UFO museum a couple blocks away.  Colonel Charles Halt from the Rendlesham Forest Incident; Colonel John Alexander from the US Army’s foray into telekinesis, psychic warfare and remote viewing; Lee Speigel, chronicler of all things UFO for the Huffington Post and presenter of ufology to the United Nations in 1978; Nick Pope, who ran the UK’s UFO desk for the Ministry of Defense; Ben Hansen, former FBI agent and host of TV’s ‘Fact or Faked,’ and Alejandro Rojas, UFO researcher and long-time face of Open Minds Productions.   

Lots of people get star-struck over Hollywood actors or rock and roll legends. I get giddy around the UFO elite. I’ll admit it proudly:  I’m a shameless UFO groupie.  Familiarity with a lot of the movers and shakers over the years has dulled my excitement a tad bit, and I’m more apt these days to point out the charlatans in the field than seek out selfies with the famous; but I must admit I enjoy hobnobbing with those seeking viable answers to the most perplexing questions of our time.  None of them disappointed in the weekends festivities.

Barbara finished her tour of the facilities for the speakers and made her way to the table where John, Eddie and I sat sipping our drinks.  She introduced herself, welcomed us, then posed a rather bizarre question. “Colonel Halt wants to know who you are and why you’re here. Would you mind going over and introducing yourself?”  John flashed me a mischievous grin. I had been a Corporal in the Marine Corps, and a Senior Airman in the Air Force.  Full bird Colonels don’t generally pay too much attention to us enlisted types unless we’re doing something wrong or very right, and Halt’s curiosity more than likely stemmed from me hanging out with one of his former troops, and had little or nothing to do with me giving off some kind of intriguing or mysterious vibe.  

I was actually thrilled at the prospect and had to tone down my anxiousness a few hundred notches instead of running over like a star-struck teenager meeting Elvis or the Beatles. Colonel Halt was one of the primary reasons I’d come to Roswell, and had shamelessly dropped his name while on my knees begging my wife to let me go for the weekend. I’ve met many of the key players of the Rendlesham Forest Incident over the years, (where I’ve devoted the lion’s share of my scholarly pursuit the last 25 years or so), but had never had the chance to meet or interview the Colonel face to face.  Halt is an extremely healthy, 76-years young, but none of us know how long we’ll get to stay on this earth, and I didn’t want to postpone any opportunity to tap into his knowledge and experience.  The time I spent with him that evening and over the next few days proved insightful and very rewarding.

Eddie and I were given VIP passes for the event, and were asked to film all of the presentations for The Roswell Daily Record,  a tasking we graciously but warily accepted.  It gave us unprecedented access to the speakers, two really awesome dinners at local restaurants, and depending on how well we flesh out the recordings over the next few weeks - a standing invitation to come back and do the same for next year’s milestone 70th anniversary celebration.  Basically, we hit the UFO-junkie jackpot.  But there is a bittersweet taint to my Roswell-induced euphoria.

Mainstream media likes to spout off a question at UFO-related gatherings and events that makes my blood boil.  Invariably some twenty-something “journalist” fresh out of college and/or plastic surgeon’s office wields a microphone in front of the most bizarre character they can find attending a conference and asks, “Do you believe in UFO’s?”  That question is the most asinine query ever formulated, and it is meant solely to undermine any legitimacy to truth, and proves to be a perpetual road-block in giving ufology any scientific credibility whatsoever.  Even the famous X-Files poster with the headline “I Believe” puts UFO’s in the realm of fiction and fantasy, right next to Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny.  

The UFO phenomenon is very real and doesn’t hinge upon anyones belief or disbelief.  And that’s where I think Roswell kind of screws it up.  ‘UFO’ does not equal aliens, people. UFO means Unidentified Flying Object.  It means we don’t know.  95% or more of UFO’s can be explained by natural phenomena. It’s the 5% or less of occurrences we can’t explain that warrant further scrutiny.  The Roswell Incident of 1947, Rendlesham Forest in 1980, Christopher Bledsoe in North Carolina in 2007, and thousands of other events that defy rational explanation.  Many sightings are undoubtedly classified or black military projects, that is no leap of the imagination.  And guess what?  Maybe E.T. actually is to blame for some of these sightings and experiences.  We won’t know unless we devote time, money and study to these events, just like those antennae scattered across the desert in Socorro. 

Put Roswell as somewhere you’ve got to be next July.  Eat some of the flying saucer-shaped funnel cake.  Paint your kids faces with alien eyes, shake your booty to the sounds of the E.T.-inspired reggae band and buy the inflatable green alien for the pool.   Then sit down with me and I’ll buy you a cup of alien-roasted java and we’ll talk about what’s really important about Roswell.  

 

Revisiting a Vision

The suspension of Phil Robertson of "Duck Dynasty" for espousing his biblical beliefs has caused quite the stir, and the dust hasn't yet begun to settle. When it does, I'm afraid it'll once more reveal a line in the moral sand of our nation that many will choose to gingerly tiptoe around in silence; while the more ardent and vocal from either side of this divisive line will begin to unfurl the banners of a moral war whose roots are more ancient than Christianity itself.

You may choose to believe that Robertson's suspension is a free-speech issue, but the truth lies in the  1200-pound gorilla in the room so many wish to ignore: homosexuality. More specifically, the biblical condemnation of homosexuality that wrenches the gut of loving believers and non-believers the world over - myself included.  I believe this issue divides us just as much -if not more- than slavery did prior to the Civil War - and for the very same reasons written in black and white.

Like it or not, the Confederacy had biblical justification for wanting to keep slavery alive, and pro-slavery advocates preached that message with the same fervor and righteousness -and from the same book- that abolitionists used to decry the evils of bondage. It took the blood of 618,000 souls to finally eradicate the stain of slavery from this country, yet the biblical precepts accepting and condoning its existence still remain - no one chopped those verses from the bible, they simply aren't preached from the pulpit any longer.

The Confederate soldier who went off to battle may have felt justified in giving his life for a righteous cause - because the bible told him slavery was an acceptable institution.  Was he not justified in his faith and belief?  Or was he simply misguided in attempting to embrace antiquated thought and culture?  What did the Holy Spirit say to the hearts of those fighting on both sides of that vicious conflict?

In my youth I accepted the bible as truth. Period. Relationships altered that belief, but not without immense moral struggle and tears. I befriended many homosexual men and women over the years, and my question to them was always the same. Were you born this way or is your sexual preference a choice? My own struggles with alcohol had led me to believe that it was my choosing to drink that resulted in sin, and if I could justify their sexual desires as an equally forbidden pursuit, then the scriptures would remain justified in their condemnation. After decades of friendships that still persist - the resounding conclusion was that my friends were born with their desires, their leanings weren't fueled by a switch that could simply be turned on or off like my craving for the next drink.  God made them that way - and commanded me to love all of His creation.

This morning I was reading through Acts and revisited Peter's vision in chapters 10 and 11, the account of the sheet bound up with unclean animals that descended on him three times with Christ commanding him to "Rise Peter, kill and eat."  For a stalwart Jew, this appalled Peter to no end, and the meaning of the vision wasn't clear until he was summoned to the Roman Gentile Cornelius. We've been taught that this vision opened up the love of Christ to all peoples, and not just the Jews.  Christ told him in Acts 10:15 "...What God has cleansed you must not call common."  The church was blown to silence in chapter 11:18, and they glorified God when they interpreted the vision as God equally granting to Gentiles "repentance to life."  I see more here, friends.  Firstly, change is acceptable and was accepted in the first century church.  What was once unclean was no longer so.  Do you think this was an easy pill for all the membership to swallow?  Likewise, racial divides still permeate our society and there remain groups within the South who still smell the powder burning.  Change does not come easy, nor is it embraced openly. 

Secondly, is it such a far stretch of the imagination to think our society hasn't evolved into a more accepting and loving group in 2000 years?  Slavery has been abolished.  Women's roles in our society have transformed.  Superstition lingers, but knowledge wipes away ignorance every day.  If we cannot grow, then we will die.

Look into your hearts, pray and ask for guidance and understanding from the Holy Spirit on this issue.  Don't go to war over a cultural taboo that I feel should have died the same time slavery did. Love unconditionally and work to unify our entire community with that belief.  Hate and prejudice have no place in any heart, and it's time we embrace change and accept everyone for who they are, as God made them.

It is Well...

There seems to be a lot of stress and negativity permeating our lives today. Our government's the epitome of intrusive, chaotic dysfunction; our troops grow weary of war in distant lands; the nation is divided into factions of finger-pointing across an ever-widening gap of disparate values and beliefs; a dying environment crumbles all around us from man-wrought apathy, and the economy remains a precarious wasteland fraught with uncertainty.

The only phone calls I seem to get are from debt collectors - never from the hundreds of jobs I've applied for or the publisher with that fat book deal...

...But it is well with my soul. Why?

Because the sun still rose this morning, the hummingbirds still stopped by for a visit, my daughter's health continues to vastly improve and my wife woke with a warm smile upon her face - just for me.

It is well with my soul.

There's food in the cupboard, a roof over my head, and good friends just a keystroke away with a laugh and a smile. The van hasn't died completely, I didn't have to serve jury duty this week, and a lot of people - even a few I DON'T know :0) - seem to really be enjoying the story I've worked years to bring about in print.

That, too - is well with my soul.

I can't change what's happening in D.C.,  but I can vote wiser in the future and hold my leaders more accountable.

I can't issue an order to bring all the troops home - or mediate a peace with an enemy that doesn't seem to want any - but I can pray and support the ones who serve.

I can't wave a magic wand or weave a potion to cure the world's environmental woes - but I can make small changes to decrease my own footprint on this place, and build upon that day after day.

I can't make that employer hire me or wish my novel on to the best sellers lists - but I can keep scribbling, and keep trying, and keep treading water indefinitely - moment to moment if need be, as long as I'm still breathing.

It IS well with MY soul.

I can smile.

I can love.

 I can make someones day a little brighter than it could have been - and I don't have to do it by staunchly advocating my beliefs or cramming my values down others throats.

It is well with my soul, because my outlook on this life and how I choose to walk it is the only thing I have absolute control over. And I choose to do so with a thankful and grateful grin.

Peace to you and yours, friends. 

Live, Laugh... and Love.







  

Chasing Dreams

I wrote 'Benjamin Oliver Flanagan' over a Christmas holiday many years ago. I was recently divorced and spending time with family in Missouri. My sister-in-law's mother, Rosemary - a sweet, Godly and wonderful woman told me that the best advice a friend had given her during her own similar crisis was to simply "go wait outside, and let God handle it."  I found the sentiment refreshing and entirely relevant to my dire straits of the time, so I sat down and penned the tale of Benjamin and Speedy.

I posted the story on a poetry website a few months later and was contacted by a publisher in Cleveland that wanted to produce Benjamin. After a year of putting all the pieces together, Benjamin was published in a limited release and then quietly faded into that place where most children's books disappear to.  The publisher has since gone out of business, but I had enough good feedback on the tale over the years to take a chance and put it on Kindle earlier this month, just to test the waters.  The response was overwhelming!  My brother convinced me to put it back in print, and I was anxious to do so but didn't want to rake people over the coals with a book that cost more than I felt it was worth.  My new publisher increased the size of the book and decreased the printing costs by more than 50%, making it a much more affordable option that I couldn't balk at.

I received a few phone calls, text messages and emails asking when the next Benjamin and Speedy tale would be released - and I honestly didn't have an answer. I contacted Kevin Scott Collier, the original illustrator and discussed the costs associated with developing about 40 new images for 'Benjamin & the Heavy Load', the next tale in what I hope will be an ongoing series of life lessons for Benjamin & his trusty companion.  The production costs are more than I can currently pony up, and even if I had the dough, the chances of recouping that investment within my limited market are slim to none.  Let's face it, folks - unless your name is Dr. Seuss it's kind of tough to make a living in the inspirational children's book realm.

But this project is not about money or getting rich.  It's about moral lessons given to me by my father that I want to pass along to as many impressionable young minds as I possibly can. Would I love to see the Benjamin series as a best-seller?  You betcha!  But more important to me is the smiles I get from children who love the characters, adventure and lyrical dance of my work - and I know they can't read the stories without having some of the kindness, faith and trust impacting their lives, and ultimately help them make better, kinder and wiser choices as they grow.

I've got the story - I just need your help in funding the art creation and helping offset the costs of audio production.  If you support positive literature for young people, I sincerely hope you'll consider helping me bring another positive tale to new life.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go wait outside and see if this dream is going to come to fruition. Blessings to you and yours!

Here's the link to the fundraiser - give what you can, if you can - and share the effort with your friends.  http://www.gofundme.com/vj1cw

Much love!  Dream Big Dreams!

-Dale

Choices

In this land of the fat and happy we have a veritable smorgasbord of choices laid bare for our perusal and discernment. Pickings might be a little slimmer these days for many in the good old USA, but nevertheless we remain one of the most affluent people’s on the planet.  Food, job, education, rulers, religion - any flavor under the sun you crave: choices - even where we opt to hang our hat remains a possibility limited only by our means and dreams. We pick and choose and roll with the consequences; ‘tis the American way. 

But what about the choices we don’t have? Those non-arbitrary dictates the universe has plopped unceremoniously in our lap, and with which we’re expected to simply deal with; what of them?

We’re all familiar with the adage about getting to choose our friends but not being able to choose our family. Let’s take that just a step further...

What choice did we have in even being born and joining the ranks of humanity? And what onus do we - and should we - recognize as a consequence of this unbidden gift the fates granted us? Philosophers have been gnawing on that bone since the birth of imagination, no doubt. Why am I here and what am I supposed to do? I don’t promise to grant the answer to this oldest of questions - but I do have some thoughts the sages may tacitly approve of, and don’t require a PHD in philosophy to grasp.

Firstly - none of us on this planet are consciously aware of our choice to be here - at least in the circles I run in. If there was a line at the reincarnation window while my consciousness was choosing a future home in the galactic buffet - I frankly don’t remember it.

Second - our physical selves are just individual, conscious bags of mostly fluid shaped by disproportionate measures of nature and nurture. Period. The myriad hues, shades and features that help us discern one another are just that:  markers that separate us from the rest of the herd —  but in no way establish a pecking order of worth or merit.

Third - and this one sticks in the craw of many - we all have a soul that transcends the limitations of these bags of multi-hued fluids; a consciousness that will prevail when the expiration date on this bag of juice eventually expires. If you can’t buy that, I recommend reading the hundreds of thousands of near death experiences penned over the centuries. If you’re too obtuse to acknowledge your own soul, then perhaps this blog isn’t for you - and I recommend you opt for a simpler existence the next time you’re standing in the reincarnation line; perhaps a few millennia as a rock might enlighten you to the magical wonders within.

But what do these simplistic fundamentals have to do with our purpose while we’re here?

When my daughter was born the universe didn’t give me a manual on how to coax her through adolescence onwards to adulthood. There were no Cliff’s notes on how to be a good daddy. I had all my innate, nature-nurture tools and my own experience to put to use as best I could; plus the fortunate sense to garner the wisdom and guidance of those around me in achieving the goal of raising her right. I’ve bumbled and stumbled - but she’s still kicking and thriving - in spite of my missteps.

Our dance with one another on the face of this planet is no different. We have the priceless treasure of a measureless collective of knowledge and wisdom right in front of our faces every day in the billions of souls surrounding us, and within the tomes of experience recorded by generations past.  The trick is getting beyond the unyielding doctrines and borders that woefully separate us from the benefits of collective wisdom; blinding us to the unlimited potentials of love, peace and a harmonious path of mutual benefice.

If we simplify our thoughts and recognize our kinship and equality - I believe our unified consciousness will lead us down paths of extraordinary opportunities we can only dream of - and it may open doors that afford us the recognition of others in this universe that tread similar rough and awkward paths on their way to better things.

I believe the growing pains of humanity will eventually pass - in spite of the choices we can and cannot make.  Choose wisely, friends - and embrace the open mind.

Stirrings of a Grand Spring

I love this time of year. Even here in the desert Southwest, crisp mornings are giving way to warmer sunrise’s, and the air is redolent with a thousand, colorful blooms that mock the desert chill, invigorating the spirit.

Spring has sprung, but not just any Spring. It’s Spring 2012.

To some, that simply means the countdown to doomsday is ticking away that much faster; but I’m of the optimistic ‘glass-half-full’ sect, fully believing we’re on the brink of  stupendous, world-changing opportunities.

When I still lived in the Missouri Ozarks and experienced a more pronounced changing of the seasons, I penned the following poem, titled ‘Stirrings’:

    Cool Mists of Transition descend from Above.
    A chilled cleansing of breath;
    Mother Nature's sweeping glove;
    Battalions of Geese bode the soon-budding blooms,
    Sleek Riders upon ancient waves,
    Rebuking Winter's gloom.
    With Soul-cleansing Vigor we suck in Spring's Promise,
    And breathe out Gracious Thanks,
    For the New Life upon us.
    One step in the Dance of our Orb 'round the Sun,
    A pin-prick of change 'midst the myriads spun;
    From Cosmos to Being in a wispy, cool, flash;
    Our substance of presence in the Panoply's Path.
    Our share in the Grandeur and Wonder of Being,
    Heartened in Spirit,
    By the Stirrings of Spring.

My prose means more to me these days in the context of global change and global consciousness than it does in a mere shifting of the seasons. Global signs and messages aren’t pointing towards armageddon, but instead towards a shift in human understanding and our place in the universe.

I look to the diligent research of my amazing friend Colin Andrews, who’s devoted the lion’s share of his life in making sense of the ever-evolving complexities of the substance and messages found within crop circles. He believes humanity to be on the cusp of a great shift that will avail itself this year, but not without cost. The price is not onerous - but elusive.

Another great friend, famed abductee Stan Romanek shares Colin’s view of this window of opportunity dawning upon us this year, but also with the same price.

Do I believe the fate of the world hinges solely upon the belief’s of a kindly English engineer and an American abductee?  Not entirely, but in a nutshell — Yes.

The price-tag for our progress as a species?  Unity.

I’m not banging a New-Age drum - far from it.  Nor am I naive enough to believe all humanity can unite beyond their apparent differences and the negative connotation’s man-made borders have created. 

One person at a time.

One positive thought at a time.

Just one person believing we’re all human - that we’re all related, and we’re all in this together can create the impetus needed to guide us beyond the need for war and strife, instead embracing love, peace and a semblance of harmony.

One turns to two. Two turns to four. And four can turn into infinity - if we defy fear and negative thinking and willingly embrace change and progress.

I’m no prophet and I’m not espousing anything you don’t already know.

I do know the onus of change rests squarely upon all of our shoulders, and I believe great things await us if we only give goodness a chance.

Relish the Spring - and dream of greater things to come.