Setting The Stage For the Unexplained

There is no such thing as absolute truth, and that is where this blog begins.

Our ancestors believed at one point that the earth was flat, that a supreme being created sentient man and woman from clay, that certain races were inferior to others. We now know these 'facts' to be pure hogwash, and can contemplate what blindness led to such ridiculous conclusions.

There can only be one reasonable fact: In an infinite span of time and space, there must be infinite possibilities. How can we, as intelligent beings of the universe, expect to advance our knowledge if we forge unbending beliefs that cannot adjust to unfolding questions?

I digress, I suppose, with the above philosophical platform. I began with the statement only to set the ground rules: Nothing should be taken at face value. This blog is not designed to convert non-believers, or to profess my own personal understandings. Instead, it is to be a repository of information, to be cataloged and analyzed with a reader's personal discretion in mind.

For my part, I have never explored the sterile passages below the sands of Area 51, or traced my finger along the fresh, muddy outline of a hair-strewn Sasquatch footprint. I have not experienced the burning, sulfuric odor that supposedly accompanies a Chupacabra sighting, nor have I heard the high-static wails commonly recorded within crop circles. I have never come face-to-face with a demon. But nonetheless, I am a student and a collector of information, as I believe we all should be. Exploration, spurred by the desire to gather knowledge, is my driving force.

I recall the curiosity I felt as I purchased my first book on the occult, the beginning of an amassed library of the unusual. I was seventeen-years-old, and alone among the narrow, dusty aisles of a long since closed used bookstore. The paperback was an umpteenth printing of Anton LaVey's Satanic Rituals, and its pages held the required trait of mustiness that any respectable, well-loved book should emanate. That, and it cost only $2.95. What a bargain. As I walked to the front of the store, I flipped through the pages, skimming the instructions for summoning and worship, the words reverberating in cadence. I had never known such ideas existed. The old man behind the counter wore a gray, heavy-knit fisherman's sweater, something my Yankee grandfather might have worn as he tended the rose bushes behind his house in New Hampshire, the type of sweater that gave all men a barrel chest and the authority of implied strength. As the bookseller opened the violet-hued front cover for the pencil-marked price inside, I expected him to peer down at me from behind his reading glasses and accuse me of being perverse. He didn't. Instead, he turned to the author's notes and began reading. When he finished the short paragraph, he looked at me and said, "I haven't gotten around to reading this one. Let me know what you think, next time you're in."

I'd like to say at this point that I am not a Satanist, and the book didn't lead me down a twisted path of wickedness. In fact, I found most of the information inside rather dull. What LaVey's text did accomplish was to inflame me, to push me onward in a search for the unusual and off-track. And after years of discovery, here I am.

There are a multitude of events on public record that exceed the extraordinary: Unidentified flying objects, crop circles, involuntary teleportation, livestock mutilations, MIBs, OOPAs, hauntings, possessions, and much, much more. From flying discs over the Bass Strait in Australia, to the 1966-1967 Mothman visitations in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, we are reminded constantly how much more there is to discover about our own existence. Are these tales of the unusual merely imaginations, or are more concrete occurrences happening that most people need to ignore for their own, protective reasons?

Like I said, I'm not here to profess or argue my interpretations. I am merely acting as a repository for the unexplained. If you have tales to tell, then by all means, I'd love to hear from you.

With that said, buckle in. It's going to get weird.