Who What The?!

April 13, 2023

A cold, rainy, spring day in 1995 saw me in Hawkesbury, ON. I was picking up a load out of this tiny three dock warehouse.  When I had arrived at the customer I was not feeling right, I just felt out of sorts physically. It turned into a really stupid long day full of delays while my load was consolidated. I eventually got tired of waiting, and walked into town where I found a mom and pop restaurant where the weekly special was “all you can eat fish and chips” that day. 

Thinking that food would make me feel better, I tucked into the special and absolutely gorged myself. Big mistake was that, as I would find out in less than 12 hours.  I eventually got loaded and I had 9 drops on, that stretched from Kingston, ON to the last one in Phoenix, AZ. But first I had to hit Kingston, ON, Syracuse, NY, Scranton, PA, Richmond, VA, then five more across the American south west.

The trouble started at the customer in Scranton, where I was checking in and, in mid conversation with the receiver, I decided that I was going to puke right there right then.  Luckily enough there was a garbage can at my feet, and I puked in to that, instead of into his face. It was doubtlessly one of the more embarrassing moments of my young life.  If you are ever going to be sick after eating fish, don’t be! The taste and smell was horrendous, and it took me several years to start eating fish again.  I monopolized the company’s men’s room for the next several hours while I barfed and shat, and puked some more and was convinced that I was dying. I also managed to convince myself that the whore I had recently divorced, (yes the one with the turnstile and caving expeditions) had somehow managed to poison me.  Eventually, and with some sympathy, I was asked to leave. I got it, my problem was not theirs and I reluctantly left. The 350 miles between Scranton and Richmond saw me stopping at every rest area, on/off ramp, and dangerously, the shoulders of I81, I83, and I95 to puke my guts out some more.  I was in seriously bad shape as what follows will clearly demonstrate. 

To make my night even worse, it was pissing down rain as I hit the ramp to I495 to go around Washington, DC and get on to I95 south. I had been struggling hard to concentrate while on a dry road, and the rain was making it so much harder to. Early in my career I had developed the habit of watching my mirrors very closely, so I was always looking at my right hand mirror which of course meant seeing my passenger seat. I should have long since pulled over and just let myself be sick, but youth and inexperience was letting my boss push me.  If I had stopped, I probably would never have met her.

So, as I check my right hand mirror, sat in the passenger seat, was this woman, 60ish, blond with Shirley Temple curly hair, big boned, dressed nicely crocheting while gazing calmly back at me!

 I should have freaked out and pulled over, and demanded to know who she was, and how the fuck she got into my truck. But I was feeling so miserable that I almost didn’t care that she was there. She stayed with me until we were pulling into the driveway of my customer in Richmond, and then faded into nothingness.  She spoke to me the entire time, but all I heard was mush, like the comic character Charlie Brown’s teacher. The only thing that I heard clearly from her was when I asked her who she was, she answered with, “You know who I am”. And when I asked her what she wanted, she replied with, “You already know what “. Like fuck I did, and to this day I have no idea of who she was, or why she showed up. This was my second hallucination in 8 months’ time. The first of course being when I hallucinated the Nanny on the side of Alaska’s Hwy 2, not far from Fairbanks, about 10 days after she had married the piece of shit that he is.

Of the three, the third was the most disconcerting. This last taking place in 2009, the Nanny had been visual only, the unknown lady was both visual and audial, the 2009 was audio only. In February of 2008 I had been involved in a serious MVA (Motor Vehicle Accident), a fatality. A U of T student had got herself decapitated under my trailer, when she had lost control of her car while passing me on a beautiful, sunny morning on dry roads. This accident led to me being diagnosed with PTSD, and it was while becoming symptomatic, that I had this audial hallucination. The voice with God-like implacable authority, and certainty, had said to me, “I am going to grind you into dust”. As my life such as it was at the time continued to fall apart in ways that I could never have imagined, it seemed very much so that the voice was right, I was being ground down to dust. It was not until sometime around 2015 that I began to understand that the MVA had been orchestrated by an outside influence, namely by a Mothman.

 In our Essay “The Mothman”, we document the subtleties of that influence. The hallucinations of the unknown woman, and the Nanny, were brought about by extreme emotional and physical duress.

Discovering the Mothman, and coming to ferret out at least part of his/her purpose, allowed for a quantum leap forward in understanding other strange events. I was in San Francisco, CA picking up a load from the port at one of the warehouses on the docks. When I arrived I found two other trucks there already, one an American, the other one from our fleet, both he and I were out of Wallaceburg. I did not know him well, and what I did know of him I did not like. Typical of him, as soon as I backed into the dock beside him, he was at my driver’s side door complaining to me about his destination.  He was going to Winnipeg, MB; I was going to Labrador City, N.L., a place a lot tougher to get to.  He was soon loaded and buggered off complaining all the way. I was left there with the American driver; my reaction to him was unexpected. There was a sense of extraordinary familiarity about him. Not very different from that there had been with the Nanny when she was 14 years old and we first met in high school.

There was an incredibly easy repoire between us, and we talked for quite a while, getting very personal, broaching subjects that you would normally keep to yourself. At length he started talking our military experience, and a battle, talking about weapon systems right out of a science fiction movie, energy weapons, and interstellar travel.

To be clear, this stuff does not yet exist, and at least in this incarnation I have never served, so this part of the conversation should have made me very uncomfortable. The problem was, as he continued to talk, it was resonating inside me as truth, and finally he says to me while giving/sharing that look that only one veteran can share with another veteran, “I don’t have to tell you what it was like that day, you were there”. That statement made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, because whether I knew it or not, he was right, I had been.

As I had descended into the depths of mental illness while becoming symptomatic with the PTSD, I had come to understand part of the Mothman’s purpose. I came to understand that he/she is a pan dimensional being whose job it is to act as both a gatekeeper and, an influencer for events here in this realm. The question that I kept asking myself was why? Why the fuck did it have to hurt so fucking much? So if the Mothman was pan dimensional, that meant that it was likely that he/she was influencing things in other dimensions as well. If it was, that meant that I had to assign some sort of character to it, was it a bad guy or good guy, or did it not care either way? It’s pattern of behavior indicates that it’s a bad guy, causing bridges to fall down, shoving old women to the ground, causing fatal car/truck accidents. But all of these things are actually positives. All of the victims of the Silver bridge failure died and were able to move forward to their next incarnation. The old women’s health worsened which allowed other events to move forward in sync. And a fatal car accident caused me to have PTSD, which was trampling all over my ego, which it was supposed to. Was the Mothman good or bad? It does not matter; it has a job to do.

It was during the latter period of recovery from PTSD, that I realized that my ego had been The entire problem my entire life. The question was, where had it come from, why such surety in all I did or thought? Ever since I was a very young child I had been aware of the fact that I had memories of other incarnations. And one of those incarnations had me being a senior military commander, with my 2nd officer being a man, whose likeness and character, matched exactly that American truck driver that I met San Francisco. It was decisions made during and after that battle that landed us here in this realm. I have no doubt that whatever those decisions were, they were made with every good intent, but it seems that I over stepped myself.

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