Here is our final post on the Quebec encounter as Charles describes what happened as more time went by.
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In the weeks following the encounter, I became more sensitive to people who were destitute. I could not stand seeing or hearing about the misery of people. Destitute people made me cry. In June, I even volunteered to help victims of flooding on the south shore of Montreal.
Usually, I would have commended the work of such volunteers, but would not participate personally. Before March 28, I wasn’t so sensitive towards people I didn’t know. That was the date my life changed.
However, after a few months, that very high sensitivity to the destitute and downtrodden has disappeared. Such dire circumstances still sadden me, but I don’t cry anymore
As always, I try to find meaning in what I lived through. Helene doesn’t have that same approach. For her, it happened and that is it. She wants to move ahead with life. But for me, I feel my life is on neutral. I’m without goals, waiting for an end.I need to know why it happened. I deeply feel something or someone is trying to tell me something.
I am continually frightened, but I have to know. Otherwise, I will get crazier. Even after months, I still constantly feel this presence beside me. Although I want help, I cannot bring myself to talk to a psychologist. He or she would have sent me for psychiatric consultation, and I might even be hospitalized in a psychiatric institution.
I can understand their point of view. I would have had a hard time believing my story, even if it came from someone else, even from someone in my family. So why would a psychologist believe my story?
But maybe there was someone else who would understand. I remembered seeing a man named Jean Casault, a ufologist from Quebec city, on television. I made a Google search and contacted him through his blog.
I wrote him about my story. I felt I had to discuss it with someone aware of their existence. I needed help to live on. It was painful to write about it. I wanted to drive directly to his house. I had so much to tell, but he wanted me to write down all the details. I also sent him photos and drawings. My wife and I even had to fill a questionnaire individually.
One day he wrote to say that he was going to be the host of a private conference in an auberge in Valcourt, mid-way between our two locations. He proposed that we meet to discuss and make it part of the investigation. Our first meeting took place on Saturday July 2, 2011.
This auberge (inn) is far away from the city in a lost place, deep in the woods, and I needed to use my GPS to find it. Part of the drive through the forest was on a narrow unpaved road and I knew it would be scary at night.
Upon arriving, I met with Jean Casault and we talked for hours. I began with my story from the graveyard, but he didn’t consider that experience related in any way to the encounter at the house. I didn’t agree, but I decided not to argue.
As I accompanied Casault into the conference that evening, he told that if it got too scary I should leave. As people started arriving, Casault and I were both amazed by the attendees who looked as if they’d arrived from Woodstock. Casault joked that it had been years since he’d seen so many people with long hair. There were about 25 altogether, ranging in age from 35 to 70.
I was surprised that the attendees didn’t seem to know each other, and came from various parts of Quebec. Everyone was very Zen and very knowledgeable. As for myself, I was lost. I just listened. I was very much the amateur in the crowd. I could not even understand the meaning of most of their discussions.
One woman said it was possible to attract the aliens to the area, that they could hear us. She suggested that everyone go outside and call upon them. I did not like that idea and wished that I had left. Casault, though, refused to go along with the idea. He said that even if they did come, people would still say that they do not exist.
During the evening, I would watch someone and our gazes would meet. I would look at someone else and again our gazes would meet. It happened over and over. Many of them seemed to look at me at the same time. I had this strange feeling I couldn’t explain, but I felt as if I had seen many of them before. Somewhere, but I didn’t not know where.
The conference ended around midnight. People started standing up. I turned around to a man behind me who appeared to be in his early sixties. I asked him if most of the people in the audience had seen something. He looked around and said: “I would say about 75% of them are witnesses.”
“And you…have you seen something?” I asked.
His eyes grew damp, and he said, ”Twice, the first time I was 9 years old and the second time I was about 12. I never will forget. I love them so much.”
I was confused. Others had said the same. How could they love them. I was afraid of them and even bought a rifle. I told the man that I had this weird feeling that I had already seen many of them elsewhere, but I couldn’t figure out where.
Meanwhile, five or six others joined us, and talked about their experiences. None of them were afraid. They told me that I looked familiar. They had seen me before, maybe at another conference. But that was impossible. I’d never gone to anything like this until this evening.
I felt comfortable enough with these people to reveal my own experience. I was hoping they would tell me not to be afraid. I was awkward. I whispered. I wanted to tell them everything, but tried to compress it. I didn’t know where to start.
I told them about the investigation questionnaires my wife and I had filled out separately for Jean Casault. I learned for the first time from my wife that when she is home alone she sometimes perceives a strong disagreeable sulphur smell near her.
They all spoke up at the same time. “The Greys…no doubt it was the Greys. They are still there in your house.”
I didn’t like what I was hearing. This was difficult for me. I needed answers. I asked, what could I do? They said that you can talk to them, tell them not to scare you, to respect your privacy.
Even though it was late, I decided to leave for home. I left the auberge and moved into the night. It was so dark that I took out a small flashlight attached to my key ring so I could get to my car. I was scared something would come out of the darkness at me.
Once in my car, I locked all the doors and turn on the radio and searched for rock music. I wanted to concentrate on music instead of what I’d heard.
As I was leaving on the long narrow driveway from the auberge, I was reminded of what that woman said about the power of communication that we have to connect with them…and that they can sense our feelings. But I was trying not to think about UFOs.
Once I was on the deserted country road with no lights, I remembered that I’d told myself earlier on my way to the auberge that I should take a different on my way back. So I decided not to follow the instruction of the GPS, thinking that I would get out of the forest and into a more populated area. But I was soon lost. I didn’t know where I was and the GPS kept saying recalculation in progress.
I was so scared that I was starting talking to them, begging them not to appear before me. I was driving on a narrow unpaved road in the heart of a forest. I regretted leaving now.
Finally later on, I arrived at the highway and felt much safer. Now I could follow a car to the next town. I was half way between Valcourt and my hometown when I decided to slow down and let the car in front of me pull away until it almost disappear from sight. There were no cars behind me. I wanted to try and see if the woman was right about the possibility to communicate with them.
I turned off the radio. I start to talking to them, saying: “If it is true that you can read my mind or hear me, I would like you to send me a sign that you are still there. I am ready to see another proof of your existence, but only if you are not taking control of my mind and body and that you do not scare me.
And right then, on my left side less than 500 feet in front of me, a huge round shape of pure white light hovered just behind leafless trees. It was very close to the highway. I reduced my speed and almost decided to stop my car completely.
This huge rounded very bright light had two blue lights on it that made a 90-degree turn counter clock wise for a moment, then made a 90-degree turn clock wise. The light itself did not illuminate the nearby trees or the highway. It was just pure energy. I felt safe…as my eyes started to get wet… and I whispered: Thank you!
I deeply felt that they were not the ones that came to my back yard earlier. They were more like what the medium had described to me—a globe of light. Beings of light.
I continued home without further incident.
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With that positive experience, we will end the Quebec Encounter. There is more to the story, including some interesting twists and turns and synchronicities. But we don’t want to give it all away. You can read it in the book when it comes out. There’s nothing definite yet, but keep an eye out for the book tentatively entitled: Aliens in the Backyard: How UFO Encounters Alter Lives.
