While putting together a revised version of The Lucid View for Amazon’s Createspace, I found there was a problem with page numbers & index, etc, and that the simplest way to fix it was to add a page’s worth of material in the relevant spot: the end of Chapter Six, “Loving the Alien.”
Necessity is the mother of invention. This is what I wrote.
Boy, have I come a long way since I first wrote this chapter, and even since I last revised and updated the book back in 2008. There is a whole socio-political and above all psychological dimension to the question of alien-human interaction, or the belief in such, of which I was more or less blissfully unaware until the last few years.
With any luck, this dimension can still be found, between the lines of the present work, since at some level I must have been conscious of it. But what I wasn’t conscious of, until very recently, was the degree to which my own desire to believe (my own Mulder Complex) was influencing my perceptions. What is a lucid view? A clear, clean perception of phenomena unencumbered and undistorted by personal trauma and patterns of emotional deficiency and desire. The alien-UFO question is one about which, I would argue, no one can be impartial. The reason is that it feeds into our most fundamental psychological uncertainties and questions about our place within the larger framework of existence.
The alien is a new(ish) bottle for the old wine of religious longing and terror; it was unavoidable that it would become the vessel for faith, and so it has. It’s probably the most powerful political image, or meme, there is today precisely because, with the alien and the UFO, religion and science meet to forge an uneasy, sickly union—“scientism.” While potentially offering to be the best of both worlds, what has occurred in almost all cases, I fear, is a combination of the worst qualities of each into an unholy hybrid.
The externalized psyche of the UFO-mandala, instead of being recognized as such and embraced into a full body integration, has instead been adorned with all manner of concretized images and fashioned into a mental projection of a “Merkaba” with which we aspire, like born-again Christans awaiting the Rapture, to be lifted up by the Mother Ship and carried into the bosom of the Universe without ever getting our feet planted on the ground.
Whitley Strieber put it well enough in Communion: “If what I was dealing with amounted to some sort of deep and instinctive attempt to create a new deity for myself, to remain agnostic was to put the conscious me in the interesting position of opposing my own unconscious aim.”
Alas, if the case of Strieber is one to go by, and I think it is, then the unconscious will always win out in such a contest, for the very reason that it goes immeasurably deeper than our conscious intentions can ever go, or ever hope to influence.