Read Online Eye to Eye: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Don Pendleton
Tags: Fiction, Paranormal, series, Occult, mystery series, psychic detective, don pendleton, metaphysical fiction
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problem, believe it."
"So why'd you come?"
I replied, "She came. I
followed, discreetly." I told him about the incident at Glendale
and the subsequent events at Malibu, finishing that accounting
with: "Looks like whoever it is had a watch on this place, too. You
said you were here for a couple of hours. Didn't you notice
anything out of focus?—no sense of...?”
Souza replied, "I think
those guys followed her from the office area. That's the first I
noticed them. She was definitely running. But why run from me ? Why didn't she run
to me, for help?"
I said, "Maybe she was
just trying to get clear of everyone. I believe she expected to
find Donaldson out here. She didn't want to lead anyone else to
him."
He commented, "Well,
maybe. But I'd sure like to know what happened up here to get the
whole damned security apparatus of the nation excited."
"Maybe the flying saucers are coming back,"
I said, only half-joking.
Souza said, "Aw shit, Ash..
"Why not?" I asked, not really expecting an
answer.
He said, "Are you serious?"
"Would that really surprise you? You want to
know something, Greg? I have had my head buried in phenomena my
entire adult life. On the scale of things experienced—for me,
personally—I would say that a three-dimensional, hard-surfaced
alien vehicle in our skies would fall into the class of a very
minor phenomenon."
"You're serious as hell, aren't you," he
decided.
I was, I hated to admit even to myself,
serious as hell. I had done some UFO research in the past—pretty
extensively, in a couple of well documented cases; I had even
traveled to Europe and South America in the quest for truth in the
matter—and my jury was still out.
So I was not ready to buy anything regarding
the mystery of Isaac Donaldson. If the man had experienced
something strange enough at Palomar to inspire a telephone call to
the White House, and then telephone conferences with other
scientists around the world—and if a bunch of those learned people
were now "missing" with Donaldson...
Well, no, I was not buying anything, yet.
But I was not closing the door on anything, either.
Chapter Nine: Beneath the Eye
Please don't leap away
from me, at this point, if you feel that I am heading into an area
of interest which may offend your intellectual or emotional
sensibilities. I am trying to present the thing as it presented
itself io me—so just bear with me awhile, please, place yourself in
my shoes, and enjoy the adventure as I did, without prejudice.
Enjoy it, I did, most of it, thoroughly, and I believe that you
will, too, if you just give it half a chance.
Anyway, you should not be
too stuffy about your own conditioned reality unless lately you
have examined it close-up, from the inside out. A common failing
among we humans is a penchant for comfort at the expense of
something more important than comfort; like, it's easier to sit
down and turn the TV on and observe fantasy while dinner turns to
fat cells inside our bodies than to run a few laps around the
block. We do the same things with our heads, almost as a matter of
habit, because we tend to find comfort in the reality that is
conditioned by our daily routines.
I'm not saying that's bad:
it's probably good, and that is why we do it that way; who wants to
go around with his head buried in metaphysical puzzles all the
time? I sure don't, but I do try to keep some faint touch with the
idea that the sum total of my daily experiences is not nearly large
enough to approach anything resembling reality; I therefore live in
a conditioned reality which is primarily built of my day-to-day
routine.
It's like man's early
concepts of cosmology and cosmogony. Cosmology has to do with the
theory or philosophy of the nature and principles of the universe.
Cosmogony is involved with creation theory, and every religion has
one. There was a time, long ago, when the thing that we now call
"science" and the thing we call "religion" were one and the same
thing. The
"So why'd you come?"
I replied, "She came. I
followed, discreetly." I told him about the incident at Glendale
and the subsequent events at Malibu, finishing that accounting
with: "Looks like whoever it is had a watch on this place, too. You
said you were here for a couple of hours. Didn't you notice
anything out of focus?—no sense of...?”
Souza replied, "I think
those guys followed her from the office area. That's the first I
noticed them. She was definitely running. But why run from me ? Why didn't she run
to me, for help?"
I said, "Maybe she was
just trying to get clear of everyone. I believe she expected to
find Donaldson out here. She didn't want to lead anyone else to
him."
He commented, "Well,
maybe. But I'd sure like to know what happened up here to get the
whole damned security apparatus of the nation excited."
"Maybe the flying saucers are coming back,"
I said, only half-joking.
Souza said, "Aw shit, Ash..
"Why not?" I asked, not really expecting an
answer.
He said, "Are you serious?"
"Would that really surprise you? You want to
know something, Greg? I have had my head buried in phenomena my
entire adult life. On the scale of things experienced—for me,
personally—I would say that a three-dimensional, hard-surfaced
alien vehicle in our skies would fall into the class of a very
minor phenomenon."
"You're serious as hell, aren't you," he
decided.
I was, I hated to admit even to myself,
serious as hell. I had done some UFO research in the past—pretty
extensively, in a couple of well documented cases; I had even
traveled to Europe and South America in the quest for truth in the
matter—and my jury was still out.
So I was not ready to buy anything regarding
the mystery of Isaac Donaldson. If the man had experienced
something strange enough at Palomar to inspire a telephone call to
the White House, and then telephone conferences with other
scientists around the world—and if a bunch of those learned people
were now "missing" with Donaldson...
Well, no, I was not buying anything, yet.
But I was not closing the door on anything, either.
Chapter Nine: Beneath the Eye
Please don't leap away
from me, at this point, if you feel that I am heading into an area
of interest which may offend your intellectual or emotional
sensibilities. I am trying to present the thing as it presented
itself io me—so just bear with me awhile, please, place yourself in
my shoes, and enjoy the adventure as I did, without prejudice.
Enjoy it, I did, most of it, thoroughly, and I believe that you
will, too, if you just give it half a chance.
Anyway, you should not be
too stuffy about your own conditioned reality unless lately you
have examined it close-up, from the inside out. A common failing
among we humans is a penchant for comfort at the expense of
something more important than comfort; like, it's easier to sit
down and turn the TV on and observe fantasy while dinner turns to
fat cells inside our bodies than to run a few laps around the
block. We do the same things with our heads, almost as a matter of
habit, because we tend to find comfort in the reality that is
conditioned by our daily routines.
I'm not saying that's bad:
it's probably good, and that is why we do it that way; who wants to
go around with his head buried in metaphysical puzzles all the
time? I sure don't, but I do try to keep some faint touch with the
idea that the sum total of my daily experiences is not nearly large
enough to approach anything resembling reality; I therefore live in
a conditioned reality which is primarily built of my day-to-day
routine.
It's like man's early
concepts of cosmology and cosmogony. Cosmology has to do with the
theory or philosophy of the nature and principles of the universe.
Cosmogony is involved with creation theory, and every religion has
one. There was a time, long ago, when the thing that we now call
"science" and the thing we call "religion" were one and the same
thing. The
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