Chapter One

Windows of recollection

When I was young, I used to live each moment of every day to its fullest. That’s because life was like a river flowing toward me and I simply reacted to the newness of what the living waters had to offer. They sometimes offered euphoria, depression, fascination and boredom and I bathed my entire being in them.

^{(If you have to order the books outside the USA, search the internet using the book title with “by John Foster” — or search your local country’s Amazon books outlet Or other book outlets.)}

But in recent years I’ve come to live my life as a whole. When I think something or do something, I consider who I am, who I was and who I will be (who I might be). I’ve learned to do this spontaneously, almost by rote. That’s primarily because I mysteriously was forced to remember my past and strangely lived a part of my future. I’ll get into this a little later.

Living the present as a whole person also has come about naturally,
because of my implacable curiosity about the nature of life.

I can remember sitting out on our beautiful, but very old red brick patio
on the outskirts of town, about two decades ago, watching the world go by.
The harmonious patterns of midday light and shadow dazzled me. As I sat
under the lacework canopy of a huge elm tree, a multitude of living flora
swayed gently, in musical rhythms, resisting the sweeping summer breeze
from time to time. A shy gray rabbit crept out from a dark brush hole and
began nibbling away at single blades in my fresh cut grass. “If he and his
friends could only be trained,” I began to think, “I won’t have to mow the
lawn.”

But my lazy born thoughts were interrupted when a brash red squirrel
discovered the rabbit had invaded his sacred space. He began chattering (as
squirrels will), throwing the gentle, pleated eared lopper bursts of sharp
noise chards, from a sawed-off tree branch about eight feet above the
ground. The rabbit, apparently unafraid or full of concentration, continued
his meal, as if the scolding squirrel wasn’t even in our neighborhood. The
rabbit’s lack of respect seemed to irritate the squirrel, who began descending
the tree trunk. It was as if he were going to scare the rabbit away, as if he

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considered himself the superior being. But, again, the rabbit simply kept
eating, amazingly toward the tree trunk. The squirrel, now less aggressive,
more gently approached the rabbit. Then the two stared, nose to nose, into
each other’s eyes for a time — until, suddenly, in a split instant, they
simultaneously leaped two feet straight up, where, airborne, they bit each
other’s nose. The squirrel or rabbit (or both) let out a blood curdling scream.
When they fell back to mother green earth, they stood frozen, two-legged,
paw-to-paw, once again staring into each other’s steely eyes. They jumped,
bit and screamed at least two more times, whereupon the rabbit casually
wandered off toward his protective hole, as if nothing strange or
confrontational had happened. The squirrel just sat there in puzzlement,
staring at the rabbit. It seemed as if the unusual showdown had ended in a
draw.

I thought, “My God! Has any human being ever witnessed this bizarre
ritual before me?” It, indeed, seemed to be a ritual, like the mating dance of
prairie chickens. I wondered how they, each diverse living beings of
different species, could have left the ground at the same instant before each
nose bite — and why. I was about 35 years old.

I now know the nose-bite ritual gave me a rare glimpse into the
unknown, because no one who heard the story was familiar with it and I
never witnessed it again. Yet, when I told my story to others, they believed
me. I remembered the ritual clearly and it has become a part of me. It is a
part of who I was.
*
I also can now remember being at the beach when I was very young —
but I didn’t always remember.
*
As I felt the goodness of summer, hot humid air warmed my skin like an
old wet blanket. It cooled away from time to time, as wind breaths fluttered
the butterfly leaves of old cottonwood trees. At two or three years old, I had
only began to live life — to understand the lasting effects of physical wants
and pleasures.

I heard my mother over at the picnic table talking softly with Mrs
Collingswood. They spoke about something puzzling – – something about
the peculiar character of certain relatives. I really didn’t understand, but felt
safe and free — yet, wild like the birds of the summer air. I saw the birds,
heard them flitter from time to time from tree branch to tree branch.
With warm wet sand sifting upward through the cracks of my toes, I ran
and wandered my new found land of parks and recreation, the land of
Louisville State Lakes Recreation Area, located about 40 miles due east
northeast of my first known home in Lincoln, Nebraska.

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My two older sisters, somewhere nearby, played and talked with one
another, as well as the Collingswood daughter, who was about their age.
I know there was a baby nearby because the Collingswood daughter had
a brother, Bob Collingswood. He is just a little younger than me. I didn’t
know at the time he would become a cherished but distant friend throughout
my ages.

My father talked with Mr Collingswood, down at the lake shore. They
spoke before massive streams of white cottonwood puffs that slowly flowed,
in rhythmic dance, on the lake’s mirrored surface — until the wind breaths
rippled them into utter chaos.

In a bid to consume surface-water prey, hidden fish cast reflective rings
outward bound upon the surface of the lake, until the rings touched and
interlocked, subtly suggesting the land, the lake, the fish and we somehow
were mysteriously all related.

Our fathers planned the improvement of the park, because they both
worked for the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission. Yet, their technical
conversation didn’t seem to spoil these summer-lazy moments of inspiration.
Fading sunlight eventually allowed the darkness of space to consume
the lee side of trees and brush, streaking the landscape colorless.

Euphorically absorbing the dynamic display of evening light, I somehow felt
I belonged to the rhythms of nature. All seemed well among family and
friends — in my land — in our land.

My mother, at first calmly concerned about something just above the
surface of the lake, yelled at my father. Looking in that direction, I saw a
luminous misty cloud of color emerging over the lake. A mysterious form
slowly developed in the murky blue mist, until it became, what appeared to
be, a strange craft with windows. All of the adults gasped for air because it
mysteriously had become solid. Some of the adults yelled in fear. It seemed
they really didn’t understand what they saw, or know what to say. I heard
their grunts and cries of disbelief.

The craft floated in the luminous air ever so slowly, slightly angling
away from us. If not for my parents fear, I would have accepted it as
normally as I would a tree –because at my young age, I simply considered
only what was in front of me. It soon became clear to me the craft was not
normal.

Our fathers got so distressed they began yelling at one another, and our
mothers, but I can’t really recall what they said. It had something to do with
our fathers going out into the lake to investigate. Among courage-creating
affirmations and profanity, their voices faded. They, themselves, faded —
into the natural world beyond my physical senses, or they simply,
mysteriously disappeared into some unknown realm beyond the visible.

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I know something really weird happened, because our mothers
frantically called all children to the picnic table. Standing there hardly able
to speak, my mother tried to explain to us our fathers mysteriously had gone
to see the windowed craft. I still saw it, but not our fathers, floating out over
the murky water. I again learned from my mother’s reaction this was not
normal.

Suddenly, I felt disoriented and the evening strangely seemed a lot
darker than it had moments before. I felt as if I had just spent a lot of
energy. It also seemed as if the others, still standing, were just waking from
a deep sleep. It was as if we had lost some time, or time had passed too fast.
Our mothers frantically began gathering our food and eating wares into
the picnic baskets, informing us we should run for the car — immediately.
Then, suddenly, our fathers came walking up to us, as if they mysteriously
had just appeared from nowhere. They, also, seemed disoriented and
extremely distressed.

After the Collingswoods roared off in their car, a brilliant light suddenly
appeared right before our car. My father again got out to investigate and we,
again, somehow, lost some time. Awaking, I saw what appeared to be the
same windowed craft, hovering transparently in the dim luminous air. As we
sped off into the blackness of night, my father declared it all would have to
be reported to the proper authorities. To my recollection, I slept our entire
ride home, and we never talked about it after that. I didn’t remember –until
some 46 years later, when I discovered the mysterious object also was a part
of who I was and was to be, who I now am and now will be. It was a UFO
making intimate contact in the late 1930s or very early 1940s.

*
The UFO experience, like the rabbit/squirrel experience, also gave me a
glimpse into the unknown. But unlike the rabbit/squirrel story, when I tell
people about it and other strange events like it, it’s difficult for them to
believe or understand. I’m sure this, in the least, is because most people have
seen rabbits and squirrels, but they don’t remember encountering UFOs.
Even though so-called UFOs seemed to be from another unknown
world, I have discovered they, also, like the rabbits and squirrels, are an
integral part of nature — even in this modern world we believe we know so
well.

I didn’t remember any UFO encounters throughout my life — except for
a few unexplained lights at my bedroom window when I was very young and
a brilliant light in the wilderness when I was 18 years old, among a few
other strange things that I really couldn’t understand.

It wasn’t until the 1970s that I developed more than just a keen
interested in seeing a UFO. I had read newspaper accounts and a couple of

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UFO books. It seemed as if my relentless curiosity peaked my interest. It
was 1981 when my son-in-law and I said a prayer that we might be able to
see a UFO, and about three minutes later a glowing orange disc flew about
100 feet over our heads. Then in early 1986 through early 1987, at age 48
and 49, I recalled an enormous number of bizarre things that had happened
to me throughout my life, a period of at least 46 years.

I need to emphasize the number of UFO encounters I recalled was
immense. Needless to say, I got shocked — I’m still shocked.

My 1986/1987 flood of recollections included the encounter with the
strange windowed object over the lake at Louisville State Lakes Recreation
Area. My recollections revealed such astonishing information, I knew I had
never been who I thought I had been or who I was to be. During this period
of recollection, I began to realize my curiosity had been fueled by a hidden
intermittent parallel life of which I wasn’t even remotely aware. Shock,
devastation, abuse, humility……..I felt them all.

This is all covered in my first book, “Eminent Discovery,” the precursor
to this book. If you haven’t read it yet, I suggest you might want to read it at
this time — or you can continue reading this book. Just lean back, relax and
concentrate, then let your own internal Personal Computer of eternal time
tell you what book you might want to finish first. (Chapter Two in this book
will give you a very short overview of a parts of “Eminent Discovery.” And
we will continue to discuss encounters that are narrated in “Eminent
Discovery.”)

Reading “Eminent Discovery” will tell you more about who I am, what
I’ve endured and what I’ve suffered. It should give you more insight into my
UFO experiences, as well as UFO experiences in general. It will explain that
I still consider myself an average, typical human being. Among other things,
this is because I figure if all of this has happened to me, it most likely has
happened to many, many others. Modern UFO reports and history support
this fact. That this concept hasn’t yet been readily accepted is simply
because most people don’t remember as many of their own UFO experiences
as I have. I believe this is because, at times, some of us indelibly are stuck in
the present, unable to remember our past or imagine our future. We solely,
hopelessly are concerned about who we are.

“Eminent Discovery” also should give you an idea about the enormous
impact this tremendous number of experiences has had on my normal life.
“Eminent Discovery” explains what happened and how it happened. It
conveys several of the experiences in detail, so you can more readily
understand the nature of the phenomenon. The purpose of this book is to
immerse you into the depth of possible meaning and purpose of UFO
experiences, specifically my own experiences, because I know them well.

(If you have to order the books outside the USA, search the internet using the book title with “by John Foster” — or search your local country’s Amazon books outlet.)