GROWING UP WITH THE MEN IN BLACK
Somehow, this has become quite the quandary to write about. I thought this would be easier then other topics in the past but in the back of my mind, the blurry memories, concealed and guarded by the child within, won’t budge, basically revealing meager flashbacks. Loyalty is perhaps the problem here or the understood dialogue of suppressed fears along with stern consequences. One thing I do remember is that sometimes I was a willing pupil and other times I was about as feral as an undomesticated barn cat, hissing with claws out.
I remember three different types of these so called, “men in black.” Why this is so, is really the million dollar question. All three seem to serve a purpose that has nothing to do with the other. I often wonder if they convene with each other. I think not.
Sunglasses have always been important to me since I was a very young child. I liked the feeling of hiding behind them, the obscure and apprehensive thoughts reflected in my eyes, hidden behind blackness. It’s a comforting habit that has never left me. The blacker the lens, the more I like them. As crazy as it sounds I have often thought this is why the men in black wear sunglasses. One group hides their dark objectives, while another hides the fact that they invoke fear as a reminder of consequences. The last group seems to have a more obscure purpose in mind. To me, they are the “real” men in black because their frequency or vibe is not familiar or comfortable to be around. In some ways I always preferred them to the other two who I call the imitators.
Sometimes what a child doesn’t understand is easier to handle then the familiar and nightmarish routine of brutality. The reality of iniquity can be the breaking point that shatters the conscious mind into fragments of a once balanced and unbroken psyche. When a child enters the equation, the end results are usually surreal because reality acquires an off-kilter sentiment that makes daily living seem like a divergent existence. There’s a reason for this contradictory life and I think its creation is by varying family dynamics, the kind that stipulate, children should be seen but not heard.
The most memorable and startling experience as a kid, that demonstrates this ideology was when I was ten or eleven years old. One ordinary day, walking home from school, I encountered the infamous black car many people talk about seeing. In some ways I feel lucky to have this memory. Weird I know, but for some reason I don’t think what I saw was the typical black car most people see when they experience the “real” men in black.
Walking halfway through my neighborhood, I started to feel very anxious. I felt them before they came up on me and I knew “they” had an unusual agenda that day. The car was quiet beyond belief so the only way I knew they pulled up beside me, was by the horrendous feeling in my gut. The car itself was interesting to say the least. It had a very long hood that extended out in front of it, three feet beyond a regular car’s hood. It was black with what seemed like silver detailing around the windows, front of the hood, tires and the back end of the car. Funny, I almost thought that they created an authentic cartoon car because it was so out of proportion. One long front door came swinging open almost blocking my path. It was pitch black inside, almost like a vacuum of some sort that reminded me of total darkness, void of space and time. A voice that sounded humanoid and male called out to me and told me to get into the car. I felt the presence of three people in the car even though I couldn’t see them.
Now mind you, this happened in broad daylight around 1974 or 1975. A few cars drove by but the strange thing was, nobody seemed to notice or look at the odd looking car. I remember I had a premonition that very morning that something was up because I really didn’t want to go to school that day. My instincts were right on the money and I knew that I was in big trouble. In some ways I wasn’t necessarily afraid of the three beings in the car, I was completely terrified of their intentions. They weren’t the regular men in black that I had remembered seeing in my past, their intentions seemed to be more ominous by nature. I vaguely remember seeing a long arm stretched out towards me and that’s when I ran for my life, literally. I was so flustered when I ran through the front doors of my parent’s house, that my Mom had to calm me down as I was talking a mile a minute, gasping for breath.
I remember her looking at me, and at that exact moment, knowing she didn’t believe me. It was a sinking feeling because I knew I was ultimately and completely on my own. Fortunately, the car didn’t return again but that didn’t matter. I was already traumatized not so much because “they” came around but more so because I was involved in a world that my parents didn’t know existed. If you think about it, it was the perfect scenario for “them” to hide in plain sight. No one would know the better and as far as my parents go, they never did.
Survival wasn’t just an instinct it was a necessity that unfortunately resulted in me becoming a paranoid and frightened kid through out my elementary and middle school years. I developed a really bad habit of jumping behind bushes, basically any bush within reach if I heard a car coming down the road. It’s kind of funny, to this day; I have to stop myself from wanting to jump behind bushes if I hear a car coming towards me. There have been a few times, the bushes won!
At age 5 or 6, I remember being in a cave with two “original” men in black trying to coax me to jump over a large campfire. I knew my limitations, especially my short little legs and said, “No,” matter of factly.
They walked over to me and said, “Good job.”
Knowing our limitations is just as important as reaching for our immeasurability’s. Not all the lessons I learned from the “original” men in black were scary or painful. To a certain extent, I always knew that they were testing my ability as a human child. The end results were never made clear but that didn’t matter in the long run because not knowing their agenda as a kid was a comfort in itself.
A memory I have that pops up in the back of my mind from time to time is one of the clearest I have of underground tunnels and facilities. I can see clearly in my minds eye, a dirt tunnel that had a circular glass atrium at the entrance with people walking around it in military fatigues and ordinary work clothes. I was 7 or 8 at the time and I remember that no matter how fast I ran towards the entrance, two men in black suits always caught up with me and carried me back to wherever I had come from. I was terrified of one specific room or was it one specific person? I can’t remember but it was one or the other. I remember being a problem child but I also remember that it took just one look or a few specific words from whoever was terrorizing me in order to get me to calm myself down.
I remember there where offices on either side of what eventually turned into a hallway from the main entrance. The men in black suits had a definite military link and I think in some ways they just changed clothes according to their orders of the day while the original men in black disregarded anything but their own agenda.
Another memory that I have is interesting because it’s one of the few that I have of being tied up. My wrists and ankles were tied to a large chair that reminded me of ole “Sparky” the electrocution chair used in many prisons. It was a bit odd because I felt like I was a very small child in size. My feet didn’t reach the floor and I couldn’t sit all the way back. It felt like a chair for someone who was either 9 or 10 feet tall. I looked at my wrists and saw that there were brown leather straps tied around them and I could feel the straps on my ankles but I couldn’t look down because of how I was tied. There was a presence to my back left and two men in black leaning up against a wall by a door in front of me. They seemed more disheveled in appearance, and I knew instinctively they weren’t military or the original men in black but government shills. They had their sunglasses on but it seemed nonsensical to me that they would think I wouldn’t know who they were. It’s all in the vibration that people and beings put out. As I stated in another article, if a persons soul is in charge, they know immediately who is who.
The voice to my back left told me to place my right palm onto a long silver needle that was about a foot long. I looked down at my right wrist and saw that the brown leather strap was untied. None the less, I adamantly said, “No!”
The voice told me more forcefully again to place my palm over the needle and I said, “No. You can’t make me.”
The two government men in black started to laugh at me and I immediately lunged towards them because I wanted to beat the crap out of them. I instinctively didn’t like them from the get go and they knew it. They laughed harder as I fought the leather straps. I knew I had one hand free and as I was focusing on untying my left wrist, all of a sudden, my right hand started to move on its own volition. I was stunned and horrified that I had no control over my own hand. Whoever was behind me, moved my hand either with telepathy or some other kind of skill over the needle. I tried and tried to stop my hand but to no avail. Just as my right palm went down on the large needle, I yelled, “No!” I felt the needle prick my palm and as I tried to resist, I slowly blacked out.
As you can see, the different types of men in black make the difference in experiences and outcomes. All three have their place in history by infamous legends of truths and half truths. What I find interesting is that history has all three feign ignorance of their iniquitous positions. With the three groups working out their agenda’s, figuring out who, what where and why is futile.
If I thought my childhood memories were an illusion or some misplaced memories that weren’t mine at all, I wouldn’t be writing about this. I realized that my life was out of the ordinary, even at a young age. In my late twenties, I guess I ignored the childhood memories because I was trying to live a life that everybody else seemed to be able to live more easily than me. Roadblocks of the mind can be really hard to take down later in life. Chipping away at my obstructed fears was as futile as understanding, why me.
The last experience I can say I have had with men in black was when I was 28, coming back from Egypt. I had an emotional and crazy trip back with a few blunders that could have been detrimental in me never coming home to the States again. I will leave this story for another time since it basically could be a book of epic proportions.
My flight arrived in Paris and I was exhausted and twitterpated beyond belief as I got off the plane and started walking on the tarmac leading into the airport. Two men in black with the typical sunglasses came out of nowhere, standing to my right side. One of them reached for me and told me that I needed to come with him. They weren’t the “real” men in black but government men with American accents. I looked at them and basically went zero to sixty within the blink of an eye. With my expletive answer along with my loud outburst, I walked away from them never looking back. They didn’t go after me and looking back at my demeanor, I really don’t blame them.
In the end, I don’t see, men in black as terrifying monsters. Mysterious agendas can turn men or anyone else into monstrous beasts that make the average persons mind cower in fear. Maybe just maybe the mind holds on to such fears because the truth is, people want to be apart of conspiracies or in the middle of preventing some catastrophic demise of humanity. Syfy lives because in our minds there is truth in the unfathomable high strangeness of the unknown.
The old saying, knowledge is power, speaks volumes here. If we were told what our part of the agenda was, maybe life would be a lot easier. But then if “they” told us, life as we know it would never be the same.