I was nine years old the first time I saw them. I didn’t
know who they were – these tiny, flitting,
fluttering, blue-green balls of light, no larger than a marble – but I knew
they were alive. I knew they weren’t merely lights, somewhere in the distance,
but actual, living beings hovering just feet from me. And despite the
strangeness of it all, I was not afraid.
I had woken up in the early hours of the morning. It was
pre-dawn, and I should have still been fast asleep, but something told me to
wake up. When I did, I had no idea what I was doing. I remember crawling out of
bed and heading towards my bedroom door, my Rottweiler pal just a step or two
behind me. When I stepped into the hallway, I was met by three of these…beings. They just hovered there, staring at me. I heard soft, gentle
music in my head, accompanied simply by the word “Hello.”
I stood for a moment, staring back at them, and before I
knew it, they were gone. I went back to bed feeling what I can only describe as
tranquil. When I woke again several hours later, I told my mother about what
had happened. She dismissed the entire thing as a “stupid dream” and sent me
out the door. I did not speak of my experience with anyone for another ten
years.
I’m told that this is a typical first experience for a
child, though they seem to have visited me at an older age than what’s
“average.” They visited me several times in their light forms over the next few
years, each time leaving me with an intense feeling of serenity. Occasionally,
I’d simply hear words or phrases in my head – I’d suddenly have information
that I really had no business having, like the answer to a test that I didn’t
bother studying for. One memory in particular stands out from the rest; in high
school, the teacher asked if anyone knew what the word “Vermont” meant. No one
knew, but suddenly I knew that “vert” is green, and “mont” is mountain, both in
French – a language I had never taken, had never heard spoken, and knew nothing
about. The words fell from my mouth as if someone other than me was speaking
them, and every single person in that room was just as amazed as I was that I
had that answer. During one of the early visits, they simple said, “We are your
parents.” Another time, I was told, “You are from the stars.” I didn’t
understand any of it!
I never said anything to anyone about these experiences or
voices, for fear that I’d be diagnosed with some sort of mental disorder.
As I grew up, I never felt like I “belonged here.” And I
don’t mean “here” like your average teenager means “here” – even though my home
life left quite a bit to be desired, I had plenty of friends, was never bored
on a Friday night, and always had more than enough to do. I fit in just fine
with my peers, for the most part. But I knew I didn’t belong here.
I just didn’t know what that meant, really. I didn’t know why I felt that way. Everywhere I went, it was the same feeling of
“I should be somewhere else.”
I’d spend hours longingly stargazing. I’ve always been
fascinated with the stars and the cosmos in general, and my nerdy tendencies
are what eventually lead to me no longer fitting in with my peers. In a very
short amount of time, and at an age when most girls are finding boys more
interesting than anything else, I developed an obsession with things like
spirituality, horticulture, meditation, and physics. I couldn’t get enough
information about these things! I drank it up like water in the desert, but I
lived in a rainforest and just couldn’t explain my thirst.
And the dreams I’d have! For as long as I can remember, my
dreams have been tangibly vivid, full of sounds and colors and even smells. It
wasn’t until I was much older that I realized that most other people don’t
remember their dreams, let alone dream in color. (Such a shame!) For months, I
had the same dream, at least two or three times a week:
I am standing, naked, on a beach. I
do not look like me, but I know that the person on the beach is me. I can see
what she sees, feel what she feels, and hear what she hears.
I walk forward into the ocean,
until my feet no longer touch the sand, and then I swim deep into the darkness.
I do not have gills, but I am not holding my breath – I am breathing water. I swim and swim, and suddenly, a large sea
turtle appears underneath me and offers to let me hitch a ride. Grabbing his
shell, he brings me to the mouth of a very large underwater cave.
The cave is full of what I perceive
to be treasure – it is mangled pieces of metal, shrapnel, orbs, and even what
appear to be jewels, coins, and precious metals. There is also a large,
circular, standalone stone walkway of sorts, with symbols carved around the
edges. I move past all of these items and pick up a golden goblet with one single
purple stone set into it. I hold the goblet to my chest, just over my heart, and
bright blue light shoots out.
Moving towards the mouth of the
cave, I can see my sea turtle buddy pacing frantically. In the distance, there
is a large animal of some sort swimming through an enormous kelp forest, and he
has his eye on us. My turtle friend and I do our best to move quickly, but we
fail, and are dragged into the kelp forest. I swim as hard and as fast as I
can, but I get stuck in the large, thick kelp leaves; I can see the beast
coming for me and in a panic, I thrash and kick but I am never able to break
free.
Usually, I wake just before the
beast eats me. Sometimes, I’m not so lucky, and I experience my own death.
Regardless, I grasp that golden cup to my heart through it all.
I never understood this dream. It never made any sense to
me, and I never told anyone about it. I had it repeatedly throughout my
teenaged years, and into early adulthood. Though it should be noted that I
have, for my entire life, had an
unreasonable phobia of seaweed (or anything in water, for that matter) to the
point that I did not step foot in the ocean until I was sixteen years old. To
this day, I will still not go more than ten feet or so from the edge of a pond
or lake, “just in case.” This intense fear of water vegetation never had any
basis in experience in this life and
I could never justify why it was such a terrifying thing for me.
By the time I was old enough to get a job, I found myself
sitting in an office with a pretty middle-aged woman with the most gorgeous
long, wavy, blonde hair I have ever seen. We’ll call her Shelly. She really
wasn’t much to look at in the physical sense, but something about her just gave
me a sense of peace; I instinctively trusted her.
She was outspokenly spiritual, and one day, I asked about
the crystals she had on her desk. She gave me a very matter of fact answer, as
though she expected me to mock her, but I was genuinely interested – there was
one, in particular, that I had been fighting the urge to touch for several
days. When I told her this, her eyes lit up, and she handed it to me. She said
“I’ve known that that stone wasn’t mine! I got it because I knew I had to, but
I knew it wasn’t for me. It must have
been for you this whole time!”
I was dumbfounded. But that was the beginning of a
friendship that would last years and teach me more than I ever realized I
didn’t know. I still have that little piece of black tourmaline, and many
others, along with an understanding of that dream and of who I really am.
Shelly would always ask me about my dreams, and I was always
happy to tell her about them! She was the first person I told my sea-cave dream
to, and she was dumbfounded. She asked if I would be willing to speak with a
friend of hers about this dream, and I agreed. That weekend, we went to see
Shelly’s friend, whom we’ll call Marie. To this day, Shelly insists that she
never told Marie anything about what I had told her, only that she thought
Marie might be interested in meeting with me.
Marie was an older woman, easily in her mid to late sixties,
and she greeted me with “Namaste, Starseed.” I had no idea what the second word
meant, and I replied with “Namaste. Excuse me, but what did you call me?” She
just looked at me. She wasn’t looking at me,
more like looking around me. I had no
idea what she was looking at. Finally, after several minutes, she handed me a
cup of tea and sat down. I will never, ever forget what happened next.
“Tell me about these dreams.” I didn’t know what to say, though
I suddenly heard myself blurting every single dream I’d ever had out at this
woman. She nodded a lot. She squinted a lot. And by the time I got to my
sea-cave dream, she was looking surprised an awful lot.
I recounted that dream to her multiple times over the course
of several hours. Each time, she took down notes. She asked me questions about
things I couldn’t imagine being related, like how often I got sick, and whether
or not I found myself being drawn to things without realizing it. She asked about
whether or not I’d ever had moments where I “just knew” or if I’d ever
experienced senses in an odd manner.
She then proceeded to tell me that she has known about me
for several years. She tells me that I once lived in Atlantis (yes, that
legendary island), and that my dream is likely the story of my death – it is me
experiencing one of my past lives.
She asks me whether I’ve ever heard of Reiki; I shake my
head, “No.” She tells me that just because I do not know what the word refers
to doesn’t mean that I don’t know what it is. She sits me down, whispers
something while waving her hands around me, and finishes with “Namaste.”
Suddenly, I feel different. I feel light and airy. I feel like I’m not me. And frankly, I’m completely freaked
out.
She puts a crystal in one of my hands, and a cup of herbal
tea in the other. I squeezed that stone, took a sip of tea, and suddenly felt
better.
Shelly and I drove home. I felt awkward and confused, but
like I had more clarity than ever before. When I went to sleep that night, I
had a series of strange dreams. But I never once had that sea-cave dream again.
The next few years became little more than a series of
strange day-to-day events. Walking through the bookstore, books about the
pyramids, or aliens, or Atlantis would fall off the shelves as I walked by. I
was usually so freaked out by it that I’d leave it where it fell and walk away.
If I touched it, then I’d have to read it, right? I wasn’t ready for that. But
for years, these books would literally throw themselves at me.
So one day, I picked one up. I read and read and read, right
there in Barnes & Noble, until I finished the book. And that’s when I first
learned about the Arcturians. Suddenly, everything made sense. I didn’t know
why, but it just all made sense.
These beings of light – the Arcturians – the way they
communicated, it just all made sense.
Then I saw that word again: starseed.
It rang so true, and I could feel something…happening
inside of me. I became obsessed with this word. I started furiously searching
for information about starseeds; about Arcturus and the Arcturians. I soaked up
every single drop of information I could find. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much
out there, and I had to turn inward.
I focused on meditation and opening myself to communicate
with them, and when they came, I was amazed. Suddenly, my head was filled with sounds
and words and phrases that confused me – were these my thoughts? Is this just wishful thinking? Am I really communicating with beings from some
other dimension? Am I just plain crazy?! None
of it made sense, and yet it all made
perfect sense.
For several months, I pushed the sounds and words out of my
head, dismissing them as my mind playing tricks on me. I became frustrated, and
I found myself dreading meditation time. Eventually, I stopped all together,
convinced that I was certainly crazy. I felt silly. I felt stupid. I felt like
maybe, just maybe, this was what it was like to be schizophrenic. So, I gave up
meditating; I gave up trying to figure all this out and just stopped.
And then I met someone – we’ll call him Paul – who, during
our very first conversation, said something so simple but so profound that I
knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was most certainly not crazy. After a fifteen minute conversation, Paul very
matter-of-factly said, “So, you’re not from …around here, either, are you?” I asked what he meant. He seemed
embarrassed, but I asked again – “What do
you mean, Paul?” And his response floored me: “You’re from the stars. I am, too.”
I felt a wave of heat wash over me, and I was overjoyed. I
cried. Paul cried. We hugged for what seemed like an hour, and when we were
finally ready to let go, we laughed. I’d spent my whole life feeling like I
didn’t belong here, like I was never
really in my body, but somehow just above and behind it. And yet here I was,
suddenly having a very human experience with someone who felt exactly how I
felt; who’d experienced the same exact thing I’d experienced. It was an
incredibly humbling and exhilarating experience. And for ten years, Paul and I
have remained in close contact, sharing our experiences as starseeds incarnated
on Earth. Until very recently, I hadn’t spoken of my experiences to anyone
other than Paul.
These days, I have no doubt that I am a Starseed. I have no doubt that I’m not from here. Over the years, I have seen my people – the Arcturians – and
have communicated with some of them. Through astral travel, I’ve seen my home
planet – which is actually a small planet that orbits the star Acrturus – and I
have been on board Arcturian starships. I have honed healing skills that lay
dormant inside of me my entire life. Always the empath, the Arcturians have
helped me to control my empathetic tendencies and to focus myself on making a difference.
They’ve refused to show me my path on this planet, but they have certainly
helped me clarify my purpose here, and they’ve helped to keep me pointed in the
right direction.
These days, after a decade of meditation, Reiki attunements,
and focusing on keeping my soul open,
I communicate fluidly with these beings of light. They still visit me from time
to time, usually when I begin forgetting that I have a purpose here. They point
me in the direction of the information that I need, and are always more than
willing to assist me when necessary.
I am still amazed and awestruck with the fact that I am not
from this planet. I’m not even from this plane. And at times, I feel
significantly overwhelmed with the idea that I am Arcturian, and the
Arcturians’ role in the solar system is to keep a sense of balance. I’m not
quite sure that I’m ready for such a role, but I certainly identify with it.
At the end of the day, I am Arcturian; I am a Starseed, and
I am blessed.
