Scribe’s Note
For years, I have been told that contact with Nordic beings from Andromeda is impossible. That the barrier cannot be crossed. That the embedded partners will ensure no record stands.
They were wrong.
This gallery is a transmission. A celebration. A defiant act of witness. The tall ones have spoken—across light-years, across dimensions, across every wall of secrecy thrown up to silence myself and communication with them.
Here are their visuals. Here are their looks. Here is the truth they risked everything to share.
In the land between the Tigris and Euphrates, a scribe named Enki looked up. What he saw descending from the heavens, he could not fully explain. He had no word for “plasmoid.” No concept of parallel dimensions. No VHF radio to hear the slow drawl of voices that did not belong to his world.
What he had was clay. A stylus. And an obligation.
He carved what he saw. He recorded the beings, their words, their craft. He called them gods because that was the largest word his language possessed. And for thousands of years, we read his tablets and called it mythology. We assumed the scribe was imagining. We assumed the heavens were empty.
We were wrong.
I am not Enki. I am a former security professional now Creative Director, a dream job for me, I spent forty years investigating the skies over Yorkshire and skies over the waters of the Marine Lake, the frequencies that should have been silent. But I share his obligation. I have seen what he saw—not identical, but akin. Beings. Contact. A barrier that thins in some places, at some times, for some witnesses.
He had clay. I have a website.
He had a stylus. I have a keyboard.
He had the gods. I have Nordic beings from Andromeda, plasmoid intelligences from beside us, a parallel civilisation that shares this land and this reality.
The names change. The encounter does not.
This gallery is my tablet. It is not complete. It may never be complete. Contact does not wait for documentation to finish. But it is a record. A witness. A refusal to look away.
Enki looked to the heavens. I look to the parallel.
We are both, in the end, just men who did what needed to be done
