By Tony DeLorger © 2011
In the summer of ’74 I was returning from a weekend at a beach house on the central coast of New South Wales. I had stayed way too late and because of traffic build up I decided to take an alternative route through the forestland rather than the much faster expressway.
The road was tared but difficult, winding its way through the hills toward the northern suburbs of Sydney. The forest on both sides loomed overhead like rows of dark sentinels, the roadway unlit and eerie. I had been driving for about half and hour when suddenly and strangely the car went dead. I don’t mean just the engine: the lights, radio, everything just turned off midjourney. My heart leapt into the back of my throat. I was travelling about 80-90km/hour and it wasn’t a moonlit night, leaving me in complete darkness. All I could do was slowly brake and hope I was still on the road when I stopped.
With an eventual slide on the gravel at the edge of the road I halted. Silence; I turned over the ignition, but nothing, not even a whine. I was baffled, and for a moment panicked. I had no mechanical aptitude whatever and I was in the middle of nowhere in the dark of night. I climbed out of the car and a few well-chosen expletives left my lips, none too elegantly.
It was getting cold and I hugged my arms and looked up instinctively. Without warning a bright light beamed down on me and the car. I tried to shade my eyes and drew back against the car bonnet, the light unbearably strong. Even with my eyes closed this white light was flooding my brain and a sharp pain jabbed at my forehead.
I have no idea how much time had passed but I awoke in a fussy dream state. Again the light around me was bright but less intense somehow, and it made everything look soft edged. I was lying down on a hard cold bench and looking up I saw what looked like a round light they used in surgery. It suddenly struck me I was in hospital and in confusion thought that maybe I had crashed when the car went dead. I tried to move but couldn’t. I must be hurt I thought.
Then, in my state of confusion I rolled my eyes to the left and standing over me was a doctor, or so I thought. His eyes were way too big and they were as black as darkest night. His features were fine and his skin pale and fragile looking but I felt no fear. He was saying to relax and not to be scared over and over, but he was no speaking out loud. My mind was so perplexed I didn’t question any of this and just lay there in this twilight state.
I felt some gentle prodding and occasionally a cold instrument against my skin, but no pain or any real discomfort. Toward the end I did feel a sharp stabbing pain to my left leg, just above the ankle; but it was momentary. This doctor leant over me and touched my forehead with his hand. I just remember it being warm and then a zing, like a minor jolt of electricity.
I woke up sitting in the driver’s seat of my car and looked at my watch; it was exactly three o’clock in the morning. Six hours had disappeared. The car was purring and the lights and radio were on.
I concluded I had fallen asleep and dreamt the most absurd dream, but that didn’t make sense. I felt fine; my left leg was crazy itchy just above the ankle, that was all. When I eventually got home I had a shower and noticed a one-inch scar on my left leg. I had no idea how I’d gotten it. That scar is still there to this day.
After this experience I have had many strange unexplainable happenings, mostly to do with time. I’ll be walking up a long stairwell and find myself at the top with no memory of climbing it. I lived in a country town for a while and occasionally while travelling the two hour trip to Sydney my car would just stop midtravel. Then, after carefully pulling over, and after about five minutes, everything would miraculously turn back on as if nothing had happened. On one occasion I place a CD in the car player and played a 45-minute album. I checked my watch and the car clock, and only 3 minutes had passed.
An old, wise friend of mine once tried to explain to me about time and space. He believed that life in the universe is multidimensional. In other words there are other forms of life that coexist in our space. This could explain extra terrestrial contact. Perhaps they don’t have to travel vast distances, they’re here already. This friend also believes that we reincarnate many, many times. The strange thing is that these incarnations are happening together, in one time, like fragments of our souls learning together for the whole.
I do not believe or disbelieve these ideas, but it does make you realise how little we know of life and our existence in time and space.