by Ingo Swann

Back at work, Axel gave me Moon coordinates, each set representing specific locations on the Moon’s surface.

At some of the locations there seemed to be nothing to see except Moonscapes.

But at others locations? – well, there were confusions, and I perceived a lot that I could not understand at all. I made a lot of sketches, identifying them as this or that, or looking like something else. Without comments, Axelrod quickly took possession of each sketch, and I was never to see them again.

I found towers, machinery, lights of different colors, strange-looking “buildings.”

I found bridges whose function I couldn’t figure out. One of them just arched out – and never landed anywhere. There were a lot of domes of various sizes, round things, things like small saucers with windows. These were stored next to crater sides, sometimes in caves, sometimes in what looked like airfield hangars.

I had problems estimating sizes. But some of the “things” were very large.

I found long tube-like things, machinery-tractor-like things going up and down hills, straight roads extending some miles, obelisks which had no apparent function.

There were large platforms on domes, large cross-like structures.

Holes being dug into crater walls and floors obviously having to do with some kind of mining or earth-moving operations.

There were “nets” over craters, “houses” in which someone obviously lived, except that I couldn’t see who – save in one case.

In THAT case, I saw some kind of people busy at work on something I could not figure out. The place was dark. The “air” was filled with fine dust, and there was some kind of illumination – like a dark lime-green fog or mist.

The thing about them was that they either were human or looked exactly like us – but they were all males, as I could well see since they were all butt-ass naked. I had absolutely no idea why. They seemed to be digging into a hillside or a cliff.

As I described, “They must have some way of creating a good environment, warm and with air in it. But why would they be going around naked?” No answer was forthcoming to this self-question.

But being there in my psychic state, as I felt I was, some of those guys started talking excitedly and gesticulating. Two of them pointed in my “direction.”

Immediately I felt like “running away” and hiding, which I guess I psychically did, since I “lost” sight of this particular imaging.

“I think they have spotted me, Axel. They were pointing at me I think. How could they do that . . . unless . . . they have some kind of high psychic perceptions, too?”

Axel said, in a calm, low voice, so low I hardly heard it at first. “Please quickly come away from that place.”

My eyes were wide as understanding drained in. “You already know they are psychic, don’t you?” Axel raised his eyebrows and gave a deep sigh.

And at that point, he abruptly closed his folders. “I think we had better end our work here.”

I was quite surprised. But I had not fallen off the psychic truck just yesterday. “You think, you already KNOW, that they have some kind of, uh, telepathy – that they can trace where this psychic probe is coming from? Is that it?”

Axel had started smiling again, but obviously was not going to respond. “Come on, Axel, loosen up a little.”

But I was not to be deterred. “Would they kill an Earth-psychic if they felt he or she was good enough to spy on them?”

“There is no conclusive evidence to suggest that,” Axel responded. I gritted my teeth. “No ‘conclusive’ evidence! What the hell does THAT mean?” My voice had climbed several octaves.

“It’s very difficult for us to assess any of this,” Axelrod began. “We don’t know, but that they do have things and capabilities we here are trying to understand is very apparent. Whether they spotted you or not will be unclear, but we have to put no prejudgments on what guides our mission.

“At any rate, we don’t want to put you to any more risk. Let’s eat some dinner, and then get you back to New York.

“I’m afraid we have to repeat the process used to get you out of here. I hope you don’t mind. We are very grateful.”

“RISK!!! What do you mean by RISK?”

I could see that Axelrod was prepared to be noncommittal. So I took the initiative. “If it’s telepathy, then it’s a different kind, at least from how it is understood here on Earth. It’s NOT just telepathy, either.”

THIS got his attention. He looked at me in surprise. “What do you mean?”

At this, I FINALLY comprehended that his earlier interest in telepathy had not been just innocent chit-chat.

“Well, I don’t know exactly. It’s more than just mind-to-mind. It’s like, well . . .” I was grasping for words. “Well, when they ‘saw’ me, they couldn’t really see me, could they? What, then were they seeing? I’m asking myself this, Axel?”

“Yes, go on,” he said.

“Well, it’s more like they were . . . FEELING rather than seeing or picking up on mind vibes. It’s more like it was, yes, sort of a dimensional thing – rather, sort of like a ripple in some kind of cross-dimensionality. Yes! That’s it! They FELT something. Not particularly ME. But SOMETHING.

I paused: “And! THEY knew what the ripple meant. Like a sort of penetration of where they were.” I paused, then said in a self-introspecting way: “WOW!”

Axelrod sat quietly, as was his way, looking at me. Then: “Why did you say WOW?”

“Ah! Well, if I can articulate it . . . it was like there is a sort of . . . cross-dimensional . . . Well, if you can imagine that you feel a presence but can’t see it, it was something like that.

“Only those guys . . . they were going to hone in on it, at least that’s the best way to describe it.”

Axelrod was silent for a moment. “So, you are referring to telepathy plus something else?”

“No, not exactly. Perhaps SOMETHING ELSE plus telepathy. It’s the other way around. After all, the basis for telepathy has to come from something – rather, because of something.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, nothing happens all by itself. There are always processes involved. This is to say, things happen by way of something. Nothing comes out of thin air. It’s hard to articulate in simple three-dimensional terms. Mind-to-mind is a three-dimensional construct. But what if . . .”

Axelrod interrupted. “Why would mind-to-mind be a three dimensional . . . ?”

“Well, one mind existing as a three-dimensional thing communicating with another which is also a three-dimensional thing, and the communicating across the distance . . . is not the distance involved conceived of in three-dimensional terms?

“The PHYSICAL universe is three-dimensional – not the mental universe. Here is one of the big flaws in all theories about Psi. Everyone thinks of Psi ONLY in three-dimensional terms.” I ran out of words at this point.

Axelrod was looking at me with his calm, unblinking eyes. But he was lightly drumming his fingers on the table. I knew I had hit something of concern. And his next comment proved it.

“Could you write down your ideas along these lines?”

I could. I did. I remember producing fifteen handwritten pages.

After this somewhat inscrutable advisory, there came a handshake, the hood, a chopper ride, and by the twins and the same car I was delivered back to the center of Washington and let off at the train station at my request. The twins said no more than they had to. I found myself wondering if they actually came from the Moon.

I spent the next few months wondering if the ETs were going to find me and zap my brains out of existence.

When I left Mr. Axelrod’s carefully hidden establishment, he reminded me of my pledged ten years of confidentiality.

“Not to worry, Axel,” I replied. “I have no intention of demolishing my official research work by introducing something so far out as claiming I have seen extraterrestrials working away on the Moon. No one would believe me anyway.” I have abided by that promise, well past the ten year mark.

As I departed, Mr. Axelrod asked that if he again had need of me, would I be interested. “Probably,” I responded, for how could I not be – Jesus Christ, ETs on the Moon and some official investigative agency? Who could resist!

“Good,” he replied. “But my name Axelrod is now retired when you leave here, and will not be used again. We will be in touch with you in some other fashion, which I will make sure you recognize.

“If anyone ever asks you about ‘Mr. Axelrod’ or about this place, or asks if you know anything about it, such inquiries will not be coming from us. Please act accordingly, for our sakes and your own.”

God! Scary, huh? What had I gotten into? But his advice came in handy when, about three year’s later, my telephone rang.

It was a Mr. Dillins or Dallons (I don’t quite get which) who said he was an investigative reporter digging into government cover-ups of the UFO situation.

I said I didn’t know anything about that – other than what I read in various books and articles. He brushed aside my evasion, and asked if I knew Mr. Axelrod.

“Who?” I asked in return. “You know,” the investigative reporter said, “Mr. Axelrod.” “Never heard of him,” I replied.

There was a silence at the other end of the telephone, and then the caller clicked off without so much as a thank you or good bye – leaving me with shaking hands and much in memory of Axel’s forewarning. You want a basis for paranoiac tensions?

After leaving Mr. Axelrod, and back in New York, I decided I was pretty much of a wreck. I slept for about two days, dumbly watching the boob-tube between naps and such. I ate a lot.

Then, when I began to get IT and all ITS implications back together, I decided to make some sketches of what I remember drawing for Axel.

I couldn’t remember any of the coordinates-ordinate numbers, and the names of the plains and craters on the Moon were never used when we were doing the remote viewings.

So I don’t know where these intelligence-made structures and such were actually located on the Moon. But I could hardly forget what I had seen.

I made several larger drawings, and then decided to fit them onto two pages – which I then placed in my bank’s safe deposit box, since I had visions of my home and studio covertly being gone through without my knowledge.

Paranoia rode high with me for quite some time. But I suppose my safe deposit box was just as accessible to the covert powers that be.

Excerpt from Penetration: The Question of Extraterrestrial And Human Telepathy

See full pdf download here.