The Others

Here's an excerpt from up-coming Homo Serpiens (An Occult History of DNA from Eden to Armageddon) that pertains to to the current discussion, and particularly to Unseen Friend's very emotional resistance to the "alien" (shadow) manifestation in our lives.

“These others—who appeared to us as aliens—are empaths, but not because they lack experience. They have returned to the forest, they are not men, they are beyond that. . . . In the sight of God they are almost angels. . . . We called them terrible. . . We achieved absolute terror. . . . We have by our lies created the impression that an excursion of the pure is an invasion by monsters from the depths of our own psyche. . . . In the eyes of the others we who met them saw ourselves. And there were demons there.”
—Whitley Strieber, Majestic

The alien abduction ritual is a case of self-fulfilling paranoia. When the secret fears and shame of the “abductee” are imposed upon the abduction experience, they make it fearsome and shameful, often to a traumatic degree. The cases of actual sexual intercourse between humans and “aliens” in occult literature (like that of humans and the “little people” in faerylore) suggest that it is by no means forced in the usual sense, however. The notions of intergalactic rapists has arisen mostly from the observation that the participant (apt term here) apparently has no say in the matter. Lacking even the most basic motor control, abductees are at the mercy of these “beings” and their devices. They often report unaccountable arousal of bodily responses, citing this not as evidence of their complicity but as a further violation. Humans enjoy nothing more than to express their indignation, and imposing standards and values upon such an out-of-this-world phenomenon as alien abduction is a sure way to paint it in the worst possible light. (Remember that all such standards and values come from the IPs themselves!) If on some level the participant enjoys the experience of coupling with an alien being, surely s/he has little reason to object? In many cases, however, the participant resents the “violation” all the more because, by enjoying what (they feel) should be repugnant to them, they have become alien to themselves. It is perceived as a violation not only of body but of mind.

The exact nature of the phenomenon known as “alien abduction” remains open to interpretation; starting with the inalienable right of every individual—willed ignorance—and moving all the way through the throng of chimeras and goblins to actual gnosis, we may find every imaginable version of the event (including one that says it hasn’t happened at all). Ignorance is the option favored by the general majority, and depends on the necessary arrogance to assume the Universe is by and large explicable, and that all data that does not fit our version of it can be cursorily “damned.” At the other extreme is the option of confronting a mystery full on, with open mind, free of judgment or need to believe or disbelieve, with a will merely to witness. As anthropologist Cynthia Nelson wrote, “As phenomonologists we suspend judgment as to whether the apparition is really real . . . and attempt rather to understand what people do when confronting stress. If men define situations as real they are real in their consequences.”
In Aliens in America, Jodie Dean writes that

Abduction may not be the best interpretation for the experience . . . It may not describe what actually happens . . . It does tell us, though, that we no longer have the criteria for figuring out what the best explanation might be, what it might look like or entail. What happens to our everyday approaches to truth when reality isn’t, when we try to amass information our relation to which is fragmented and unclear, when answers are lacking, either in availability or capacity to satisfy? The answer is abduction.

Magikally speaking, there is a point in the abduction drama at which the individual (willing to be “reaped”) becomes aware of the life of the soul as an actual existence beyond (while still partaking of) that of the body. And if the soul has a separate life to that of the body, wouldn’t we expect it to have separate relations? No more existing within a void than our bodies do, it would presumably be part of a whole society of souls—an oversoul. Whether we call them the Host of Angels, the Ascended Masters, “the Brotherhood of Light,” or humanity’s extraterrestrial saviors, these higher selves, congregating to form aggregates, become known to us as archetypes. Be they national, racial, cultural, sexual, astral, global, or cosmic, they are humanity’s gods. (As Nietzsche wrote: “there are gods but no God.”) To such gods, would it really matter whether we believe in them? Why would they ask for our belief if they were our true reality, our own higher, deeper selves? As aspects of humanity’s collective psyche, however, these archetypes must be acknowledged. For he who does not acknowledge these gods — becomes a sacrifice to them.