In the stillness of a Baja California night in 1969, my brother, a close friend, and I experienced something that forever changed our understanding of the skies above us. Living covertly on an olive and avocado plantation about fifteen miles south of Ensenada, Mexico, we were steeped in the intense study of Dianetics and Scientology. Nestled in a large tent perched roughly half a mile from the ocean, we were surrounded by rocky bluffs 40 to 50 feet high, looking out over the vast dark waters.
One October night around 11:30 PM, an unusual glow caught our attention beyond the bluffs. As we gathered at the edge, six luminous diamond-shaped craft appeared, dancing in complex, unpredictable patterns over the coastline. These crafts moved with a grace that was both chilling and mesmerizing — at times, they would pause, hanging in the air as if observing us, then streak away geometrically, breaking all known rules of earthly flight.
The aura surrounding these UFOs flickered with changing colors, cloaked in a haze that seemed almost alive. A profound sense washed over us—they were not mere machines; they were aware, possibly even attempting communication. This connection was felt deep within, an unspoken dialogue between us and something undeniably otherworldly.
Weeks before, a separate but equally vivid incident engraved itself in our memories. A radiant disk-shaped sphere illuminated the darkness outside our tent with a glow as fierce and pale as the sun itself. These experiences, so surreal and intense, have stayed with us, compelling us to question what lies beyond our world.
Reflecting on these encounters, we remain convinced that the crafts were visitors from realms we have yet to grasp, leaving us with a haunting blend of awe and wonder. Those clear, starry nights over Baja were not just nights under the sky; they were openings to the unknown.