by Orfeo M. Angelucci

This experience occurred in January, 1953.—Orfeo Angelucci.

It was Monday, but I did not go to work as I was just recovering from the flu. During the afternoon, while Mabel was at work and I was alone, a rather strange, detached feeling came over me. I was aware of a familiar odd prickling sensation in my arms and the back of my neck which usually announced the proximity of space beings.

But I discounted the strange symptoms thinking they were the result of my illness. I suddenly felt so drowsy that I could scarcely keep my eyes open. I recall starting toward the divan to lie down for a nap. But I have absolutely no recollection of ever reaching that divan! Apparently, I blacked out!

My next conscious perception was a kind of peculiar “awakening” or regaining consciousness while on my job in the Plastics Department of the Lockheed plant. Stupefied and bewildered I looked uncertainly about the factory. Dazedly, I saw the familiar faces of my co-workers . . . and noticed the tools in my hands. I caught my breath sharply and an icy shiver quivered over my entire body as quite involuntarily I suddenly recoiled with a shudder from the entire scene. I didn’t know why then, but everything seemed hopelessly wrong . . . primitive and crude.

In a daze I rubbed a hand across my eyes hoping to eradicate the scene. Then I was seized with a blinding vertigo and thought I was going to lose consciousness. Dave Donnegan, my working partner, looked at me sympathetically and there was genuine concern in his eyes. He didn’t say anything but quietly took the tools from my hand and in his quiet, understanding way went ahead, carrying on alone.

An involuntary outburst of utter disgust came from my lips—disgust with everything I saw! I remember hearing Dave say, “Are you all right, boy?”

But I didn’t reply—I couldn’t! In a kind of panic I turned to rush out of the door, but in my blind haste I bumped roughly into Richard Butterfield, the temporary lead man in my section. I must have looked acutely ill because I vaguely remember seeing the sudden alarm in his eyes as he grasped me firmly but gently by the shoulders and exclaimed, “Angie! Angie! What’s wrong with you!”

I was breathing hard. Both emotionally and mentally I was confused and uncertain. My thoughts were in turmoil and I had only one objective—to get out of that place! But the presence of Butterfield had a stabilizing, quieting effect upon me. He arose superbly to meet the situation. In some mysterious, intangible way I was enabled momentarily to share his great inner resources of strength and stability which calmed me and cushioned the terrific emotional shock I was undergoing—the cause of which I was not to know for many days.

He smiled reassuringly while keeping his hands upon my shoulders. “Calm down, Angie, old boy,” he said gently, “Go upstairs and take a break. You look beat!”

I mumbled my heartfelt thanks and stumbled up the steps—not yet aware of what actually had happened to me.

I got a cup of coffee. Never before had I needed one so badly. My hands were shaking and every nerve in my body was quivering. As I drank the hot, aromatic stuff I tried to think back—to remember why I was so shaken and upset. But my last recollection before my strange, perturbed “awakening” on the job, was walking toward the divan in my apartment. The intervening period was a total blank.

Noticing a copy of the Los Angeles Times on one of the tables, I nervously picked it up and glanced at the date. Perspiration broke out on my forehead—the date of the paper was January 9, 1953—SEVEN DAYS HAD ELAPSED OF WHICH I HAD ABSOLUTELY NO RECOLLECTION! But even the date on the paper couldn’t convince me. Trying to keep my voice casual, I asked a fellow at a nearby table the date. He confirmed the date on the newspaper!

My body was bathed in cold perspiration. In fact, I was on the edge of panic as I sat there, my hands trembling as I tried to take a sip of coffee. I just couldn’t believe that seven days and nights had passed leaving not a trace of memory in my mind.

Later in the afternoon when I was feeling a little better I went back downstairs on the job. But it was a real effort to behave in a normal, rational manner with my thoughts in turmoil. Cautiously and discreetly I questioned Dave and other fellow workers about those seven previous days. From their replies I gathered that I had been on the job every day and had apparently behaved in my usual manner until my strange “awakening” and violent outburst that afternoon.

At home I didn’t mention my inexplicable loss of memory to Mabel. And apparently she had noticed nothing unusual in my behavior during that entire week. It seemed that in every way I had behaved in my accustomed manner—I had eaten my meals, slept, gone to and from work and helped Mabel out at the Snack Bar, as usual. It was fantastically incredible!

I told no one what had happened to me. But in my own mind I was utterly baffled and deeply troubled about those seven lost days out of my life. Imagine yourself in my place. Suppose that for an entire week your waking consciousness had been obliterated so that you could not remember a single event. Wouldn’t you be deeply disturbed? Wouldn’t you begin to wonder if you might not be psychopathic? Well, in all sincerity I can tell you that you would—for those were my own panic-stricken thoughts!

But as the days passed I gradually settled down into the routine of daily life. Often I tried hard to regain the memory of those seven lost days—but it seemed hopeless.

About a month later I was feeling unusually restless one night. Shortly after ten-o’clock I went out for a walk. As always my feet seemed involuntarily to carry me toward the Hyperion Avenue Freeway Bridge. In its dark, mysterious shadows I always found a kind of spiritual peace and comfort for it was there I had met and talked with “Neptune”—the great, etheric being from another world!

I was thinking of these things as I clambered down the concrete embankment into the almost dry bed of the Los Angeles River. Walking over to the spot where “Neptune” had talked with me I sat down disconsolately upon the ground. I rested my head upon the stone where he had sat and gazed thoughtfully up into the heavens and thought of the spiraling endless wonder of the universe. Lost in reverie, a feeling of deep inner peace and tranquility came over me. Noisy, clattering earth with all of its troubles, dissensions and animosities seemed remote and relatively unimportant.

As my thoughts drifted pleasantly, I felt again the odd sensation which was always my first awareness of space visitors. But I was deeply puzzled for “Neptune” had last told me, “We will return, Orfeo—but not to you.”

Nevertheless the odd tingling in my arms and back of my neck was unmistakable. Hopefully, my eyes scanned the heavens, but I saw nothing that in any way resembled a saucer. I was not troubled as I had implicit faith in THEM. The intensity of the vibration increased dimming the awareness of my conscious mind much as it had the night I first encountered the saucer.

An ineffable feeling of harmony, tranquility arid peace possessed me. As in a dream my thoughts drifted back to that mysterious Monday afternoon when, feeling much as I did now, I had walked toward the divan to take a nap. But now, as I lie there upon the ground under the stars—astonishingly I was BEGINNING TO REMEMBER! The ponderous shadows of materiality dense as a prison of heavy steel, were dissolving into their native nothingness. Memory was returning faintly, hazily at first, like the sun’s golden rays breaking through black clouds. Like a man confusedly awakening from an anesthetic I was remembering—THOSE SEVEN MYSTERIOUS LOST DAYS!

As memory flooded back I clearly recalled again that Monday afternoon. I was walking toward the divan . . . my eyes were so heavy I could scarcely keep them open . . . in a daze I sank down upon the divan and immediately fell into a deep sleep!

Only now I could remember waking from that sleep — BUT MY AWAKENING WAS IN A STRANGE AND WONDERFUL WORLD! I was no longer upon earth—some fantastically incredible transition had taken place. I awoke in a huge, fabulously beautiful room—a room the substance of which glowed ethereally with soft, exquisite colors. I was lying upon a luxurious kind of couch, or lounge. Half awake, I glanced down at my body—but it was not familiar! My body was never so perfectly proportioned or of so fine coloring and texture.

I noticed that I was wearing only a fine white garment, closely fitted and covering my chest, torso and upper part of my thighs. A finely wrought gold belt was about my waist. Although the belt appeared to be made of heavy links of embossed gold, it was without weight. My new body felt amazingly light and ethereal and vibrant with life.

Full consciousness did not come to me at once. My first thoughts upon waking in that shining world were nebulous and confused. Somehow the thought persisted in my mind that I was recovering from a long and serious illness. Thus I lay there in a kind of pleasant lethargy as one does who has been very ill. Strange random thoughts drifted in my consciousness. Everything was so new and different and yet it was hauntingly familiar. My handsome new body was not my body—and yet it was! The exquisite room with its ethereal, softly glowing colors was like nothing ever dreamed of upon earth—and yet somehow it was not strange and alien to me. Only one thing seemed unfamiliar—far away outside the huge windowless room I could hear the continuous rumble of distant thunder.

Gradually the dark mists cleared from my mind. Incredible memories came back to me—memories of another world, a different people—another life! Lost horizons, deep buried memories, forgotten vistas were surfacing to my consciousness.

“I remember this world!” I thought rapturously. I remember it like a condemned prisoner remembers the sunshine, the trees, the flowers of the outside world after an eternity chained in a dark and odious prison. This is MY REAL WORLD—MY TRUE BODY, I thought. I have been lost in a dimension called “Time” and a captive in a forbidding land called “Earth”. I have come home—like a lost son. All is serenity, peace, harmony and indescribable beauty here—the only disturbing factor is the troublesome half-memory of an unhappy shadow named “Orfeo”, a bondsman in a prison-world of materiality called “Earth”.

As the disturbing thoughts of this lost “Orfeo” troubled me, a portion of one wall noiselessly divided making an imposing doorway and a woman entered. She was dazzlingly beautiful. Somehow my mind understood that she was the one placed in charge of me, even as I also understood that the mysterious door opened and closed automatically by means of electro-magnetic controls.

She looked down at me and smiled warmly. Her beauty was breathtaking. She was dressed simply in a kind of Grecian gown of glowing silvery-white substance; her hair was golden and fell in soft waves about her shoulders; her eyes were extremely large, expressive and deep blue. Soft shimmering colors played continuously about her apparently varying with every light change of her thought or mood.

Hauntingly, the thought was in my mind that I remembered her from somewhere. She seemed to sense my perplexity and reassuringly said that I was looking very well and would soon be up and about. Then she touched a control on a mysterious crystal cabinet near my bed. In response a large section of the opposite wall opened revealing a huge mirror. I looked into its crystal depths—but the man I saw was not Orfeo—nor yet was he a stranger to me. Paradoxically, I remembered and yet I didn’t remember!

I have gained weight,” I remarked, not knowing just why I made such a statement, then added, “Also, I feel much better now.”

She smiled and replied, “On the contrary, you have lost weight. According to all earthly standards you are now almost weightless.”

Her strange words puzzled me. I glanced down at my body which appeared to be solidly substantial and surely I was much larger and finely proportioned.

“It’s all a matter of the scale of vibration in which you are functioning,” she explained. “The vibratory rate of dense matter which makes up the planet Earth, is extremely low—hence earthly bodies are sluggish, dense and cumbersome. Vibratory rates here are quite high and matter so tenuous that it would seem non-existent were you in a dense physical body. But because you are now in a body of a corresponding vibratory rate, the phenomena of this world is as real to you as your earth world.”

As I listened to her speak, I thought I remembered her name. “You are Lyra?” I said half questioningly.

She nodded her head.

I was about to ask her about herself when I was conscious again of the continuous, low rumble of thunder from outside. I became curious to go out of doors and look around. Turning to Lyra, I asked, “May I go outside now?”

She shook her head. “You are not yet strong enough, but I promise that before the seventh day you shall see all, Neptune.”

Her words startled me. Why had she called me “Neptune”? I wondered. I was not Neptune—neither was Neptune ill! And what did she mean by the seventh day?

I was on the point of asking her these questions when she turned and looked expectantly toward the far wall. In a moment the mysterious door appeared and a tall, strikingly handsome man entered. It was Orion! In some confused way I recognized him at once and felt a surge of affection for him in my heart. As with Lyra, shimmering waves of translucent color played about him seemingly reflecting his thoughts. He smiled warmly and said, “We have missed you, Neptune.”

I brushed my hand across my eyes in a dazed way as I replied, “But I am not Neptune—there is some mistake.”

“Are you certain?” he asked gently. “You will recall that ‘Neptune’ was the name you gave to our brother who first contacted you upon earth. That name has always held a strange, deep significance for you—perhaps because it was once your own name.”

As he spoke the odd realization possessed me that he was indeed speaking the truth. In their world, I was—or had once been Neptune! “But the other ‘Neptune’?” I asked. “Who then is he?”

Orion glanced at Lyra and a scintillating wave of golden light seemed to enfold them both. Then Orion replied slowly, “With us names are of little significance. The brother of whom you speak is sometimes known as ‘Astra’, but in the higher octaves of light individualized aspects such as you know upon earth are non-existent. Even now in this most tenuous of materialistic states of being, you are not aware of us in our true eternal aspect. We are, you might say, staging a dress-show reception for you, our lost brother. Before The Destruction our existence was much as you see it now—that is why you seem to remember all of this. In that phase of the time dimension you were known as ‘Neptune’.”

Something was wrong . . . terribly wrong, somewhere, I thought. If only I could remember clearly, but everything was so confused. As I gazed at those two superbly magnificent beings standing side by side enveloped in shimmering waves of golden light, I felt intuitively that I had known them well sometime . . . somewhere! I had known them on an equal level—I had been one of them! But now they were like gods to me—and I a straggler somehow, far, far behind them—and my mind deluded by a loathsome illness. I pressed my hands to my eyes trying with all of my strength to remember something important . . . and terrible, that I had forgotten.

Neither of them spoke. Lyra took a white wafer from the crystal cabinet while Orion poured a sparkling liquid into a crystal goblet. These they handed to me. As I ate the delicately flavored wafer and drank the delicious beverage I felt renewed vitality and strength flow through my body and with it a dreamy languor of body and mind. Relaxed, I rested my head on the cushions. Lyra and Orion smiled upon me and the scintillating waves of golden light reached out from them and enfolded me in a warm, comforting glow.

“Sleep for a while, Neptune,” Lyra murmured softly. Then the mysterious door appeared and they left arm in arm, leaving me alone. The light in the room dimmed and waves of soft, exquisite music flowed from the walls. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Excerpt from Mystic Magazine, October 1954

See Part II here.