Thinking that is Out of This World, by Tosh Plumlee

Robert ‘Tosh’ Plumlee is a retired commercial pilot who worked for and with the United States Government for many years. His background is extremely diverse and over the years Tosh was involved in many government operations that are both fascinating and historic. His work began with an enlistment in the Army and a subsequent assignment to military specialized operations at Fort Bliss, Texas in April of 1954. Tosh was associated with various Military Intelligence units of the Fourth Army based at Fort Bliss, Texas, and also the Fourth Army Reserve, located at Dallas Love Field, Dallas Texas. This service period was in the early to mid-fifties and into the early sixties. * * * From approximately 1962 through 1963, Tosh was assigned to the Cuban Project which operated at the time from the JM/WAVE station attached to Miami, Florida’s ‘Cuba Desk’ of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). He operated as a contract “Undercover pilot” and also, at times, was assigned to specialized Cuban operations of the CIA’s “Covert Action Group” (CAG). * * * In recent years Tosh has been working along the U.S./Mexico border as a news photojournalist and his contributions to Salem-News.com are wide ranging and extremely valuable. We believe he is the top living source of information about U.S. government covert history.” * * * ~ The late Tim King, publisher of the Salem-News, in 2013

Over the last several decades, during his spare time, Tosh wrote about his personal recollections of the events he experienced as a pilot contracted by various government agencies. Many of these were based on historic facts, while others reflected his “creative writing” skills as a budding novelist. The stories below are those which might resemble “Impressionist” art — that is, his rendition of places, people and events as he saw them, though others who experienced the same event might have seen it in a different prism.

Go to Page 2 forIs History Repeating Itself, Again?

Go to Page 3 for “The Professor and the Man From the North”


TA’NA’SHAW AND THE Blue STAR: by Robert Plumlee

Mexican Hat Rock Utah

It was Spring in the desert Southwest, April 1987, a sweltering, hot ninety-five degrees. I was traveling the remote back roads and trails of the desert Southwest, photographing ancient ‘Indian rock art’ for The University of Arizona. 

 Driving the back roads in my old rusty 1963 Chevy pick-up truck were long tiresome trips. Camping outdoors, sleeping on the ground with bugs, scorpions, and deadly rattlesnakes that were emerging from their winter hibernation was a challenge.

 Getting stuck in deep sand, fixing flats, changing tires, and being lost in the desert was more than I could have imagined when I left Phoenix, Arizona, over a month ago. I envisioned the trip as an adventure, a fun trip. However, the fun part of the trip had disappeared a few weeks ago. 

Today, I had to make an unscheduled trip to the nearby village of Mexican Hat, Utah. I was low on water and supplies. I broke camp near “The Valley of the Gods,” changed another flat tire, and shortly before noon, I was on my way to the small village of Mexican Hat, Utah. 

 I turned off the desert road onto a dangerous sandy dirt trail. At the intersection, an old weather-beaten sign read, ‘Danger, beware, this is God’s road to His valley”. 

In the distance, I could see the rock outcrop known as Mexican Hat. The paved highway was not far. Soon I would be off this treacherous sandy road and traveling on a good highway toward the small Mexican Hat settlement. I would fill my canteen with water, buy a few supplies, and then eagerly be on my way to Flagstaff, Arizona, some hundred and ninety miles south. I was looking forward to a hot shower, hot meal, and some uninterrupted sleep, not worrying about rattlesnakes, bugs, and scorpions. 

When I reached the intersection to the main highway leading to Mexican Hat, I noticed an old bare-footed Zuni Indian sitting on a rock by the side of the road near the Valley of the Gods’ entrance. His hair was long charcoal gray, streaked with a touch of silver-white, shoulder-length. His face was darkly tanned, etched with deep wrinkles, the appearance of weather-beaten leather. He looked tired and appeared very old. 

As I approached, he waved to me, motioning for me to stop. I pulled over, stopped the truck, rolled down the window. The old Indian slowly walked toward me and asked for a ride to the village. 

 I looked into his pale blue eyes. I had never seen a blue-eyed Indian. I sensed he was from another place, a place far away. How did I know? I didn’t know. But I somehow knew. I gave him the ride.

The old Indian, in silence, watched me closely. His gaze was disturbing. We rode for a few minutes without talking. Suddenly, pointing his finger at me. He spoke.

“I know you,” he said. “You have come here before. To this place.” He looked away and stretched out his hands, motioning toward the desert landscape and the far-off mountains. “It was long ago when the winds didn’t blow, the birds didn’t sing, nor did they fly. The coyotes didn’t howl. Yes, I remember you. I know you.”

In a commanding tone of voice, he continued. “You came from the dust of time, and you left with Thunder God, leaving like a flaming arrow. You came to this place. You stayed but left in a hurry. Your arrival and departure are written upon those rocks back there—the rocks you touched with your hands.”

The old Indian turned and faced me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I quickly looked away. His spiritual essence came upon me, and then the old Indian began to tell me a fascinating story.

“I am a hundred and ten years old by white man’s counting. They call me Ta’Na’Shaw,Ya’Ta’ Al’ Tie. I sing the song of the bluebird who sits upon the wings of ‘Yellow Flower.’ He turned, pointed to a rock cliff near the road where I had picked him up. “That road you traveled, and those rocks you saw near your camp, leads to the ancient writings near God’s Valley. That place is my earthly home. I come and go from there. My story is carved deep within those rocks you touched back there.

“I am from the void of darkness and lost time, from a place not far from the Blue Star. The bright star you see at night but cannot know until it’s your time. My spiritual home is within the little star next to the giant Blue Star. I come to earth from time to time to visit.”

He pointed again back toward the rocks near the cliff and the road from which we had come. “I’m here to talk with you. My name is carved in the stones back there; in the rocks, you ran your fingers over. Perhaps you felt my name.”

I felt a little uneasy. Ta’Na’Shaw was one weird Indian. I was about to stop and let him out of the truck. He could walk the rest of the way to Mexican Hat. However, I knew I couldn’t do that.

 “I’m glad to meet you, Ta-Na-Shaw. Did I say that, right?

“Yes, close enough. Glad to meet you too. Do you know the story?” 

“What story?”

My story, “The Time of The Little Leaves. That story.”

Ta’Na’Shaw was beginning to scare me. I surmised the old Indian might be dangerous. However, for some strange reason that I didn’t understand, I wanted to hear his story. I didn’t know why but I kind of liked the old guy.

“No. No. Tell me. Tell me again.” I was more than a little nervous.

He smiled. “Over there. Over there near the Hat. That road.” He pointed to a dirt road near a rock pedestal, a rock formation that appeared to balance a large boulder that looked like a hat, a Mexican sombrero. 

“I won’t hurt you. You’re my old friend.”

I turned on to the road leading to the formation and the odd-looking balancing rock. It looked like a giant hat placed upon a small supporting rock pedestal. I felt I was being directed by an unknown force, a force pulling me toward that rock outcrop. 

The old Indian began to chant, what I surmised was a sacred Indian chant: “Hey-Yaw-Hey,’ Yaw-Ha. Ta’Na’Shaw. Hey-YAW-HA.” In a musical cadence, he began to chant louder: “HA-SHA-MA’. SHA-MA- HAY’ YAW. Naw’ Shaw!

He reached and touched my forehead as if to bless me. Then he spoke again. 

“There is a place back there from whence you came. It’s a holy place where ancient priests, good priests, of that second world gather. It is my place. It is named after me. “We came here long ago from the second world—survivors of that bad, evil world, a world of greed, deceit, and shame. Here on this rock, on this platform, in the fourth world, we found peace. We still worship the Blue Star that shines brightly above, in the heavens.”  

The old Indian paused, looked away, then pointed toward the evening sky. “That old world is gone. This world is going to. The sixth world is near.”  

Ta’Na’Shaw gazed toward the darkening sky. In his pale blue eyes appeared a faraway look. He motioned toward the heavens then smiled. “My world is out there. Beyond what you can see.” 

Ta’Na’Shaw pointed toward the evening stars that were now starting to appear. “The new world that some can’t see is within the world of little Blue Star. The High Priest world—the Land of the Righteous King, the faithful priest of all worlds and ages. With open arms stretched wide to receive us, he will come again, riding on a tremendous thundering blue light with a Spirit sent to us from the stars and the angels of heaven.

Someday soon, when we least expect it, he will ride into our lives again and show himself. He will take us with him back to our purified homes, a home we left long ago-a home before earth time, our home even before Heaven’s Angels fell.”, some landing, not far from here, near the temple of Aeolus, the master of all winds.

Ta’Na’Shaw was now far away. You could see it in his pale blue eyes. He continued. “My story is written back there near God’s Road, written on the rocks of time, written in the stones where you and I first met.” He turned and pointed towards the road where I had picked him up.

“The ancients before Anasazi’s time, the old ones, call that place where we met, “Ta’Na’Shaw’s rock.” It’s named after me.

I was nervous. I felt I had to appease the old Indian. “I’m glad to meet you,” I paused before adding, “Ta’Na’Shaw!” “Same,” he said.

An uneasy silence fell upon us as we pulled into a clearing. I parked the truck near the balanced rock known as Mexican Hat. We exited the vehicle and stood together upon the sandy ground. The old Indian was the first to speak.

“I leave you here. But first, hear my story”. We sat down in a small, sandy clearing.

The old Indian addressed me. “Today is the “Time of the Little Leaves.” The beginning of a new season. A new life for many. All the planets in the heavens are in alignment. The moon is full. The stars? They come, and they go.”

The old Indian looked toward the east-then continued. “The Blue Star will suddenly appear from over there with Little Blue Sister,” he pointed toward the east and a bright rising star. That place back there, the Valley of the Gods from whence you came, is a powerful place. When the planets are stacked one upon another, and the moon is full, that place is my home for five and six nights. During that time, the coyotes don’t howl—the birds do not sing, nor do they fly. The winds of Aeolus do not blow. It is a quiet place where the ancient spirits come and sit, seeking wise counsel. It is very still. It is the ‘Time of the Little Leaves’—a new beginning for all humanity. It is the gathering place for all the High Priest—ME, and ‘The Righteous King.’ The king of all Creations.”

Ta’Na’Shaw turned to me. “It is a sacred time for my people when the Blue Star of Sirius suddenly shows itself. The Divine Star riding upon the winds of time with all the tribal elders will return to this spiritual power place, giving life, teaching knowledge and wisdom to all worthy peoples. The hidden meanings, buried in the rocks you felt back there, are sacred. That place is a place for all men and beasts to gather and rejoice in harmony. It is your place and my place. A place for us to call all our allies together to seek wise counsel. For us to obtain ancient knowledge—to find wisdom and the correct path to travel with all God’s Holy Angels.” 

The old Indian reached down and drew a spiral circle in the sand and then continued. “It is a never-ending place. It is like circles within circles, written upon the sands of time—circles carved, chiseled deeply within those rocks back there; carved by ancient hands and sacred spirits. 

“Young boys, twelve seasons old, the age of accountability and reason, receive the gift and blessings of free agency, that is IF their heart is right with the ancient ones. Before becoming men of the tribe, honorable warriors, and spiritual leaders, these boys have to go to this place before receiving the Priesthood. They go to Ta’Na’Shaw’s sacred rock—my home—to stay, stand, and be tested to see if their hearts, minds, and spirits are in proper aliment with the Winds of Time, and the will of the Ancient Ones. 

“They have to fast for five days and stay on Ta’Na’Shaw’s rocky mountain for three days and three nights. It is a test to see if their hearts, minds, and spirits are righteous—worthy to stand before the judgment of all the Ancient Ones—to stand before the High Court. Many will fail and be cast from the tribe—cast into outer darkness—No more to be heard or ever seen again. Ta’Na’Shaw reached down into the desert sand and pulled up a handful of dirt. He sprinkled it upon me. Then chanted, Kay Na-Ha She Na.., Kay Na Ha She Na. 

“Can you go to this place?” he asked. Can you become a true Spirit—a warrior? A proven holder of the Priesthood? It is within you. You can do it, or you cannot.” The old blue-eyed Indian stood up and brushed the sand away. “Hay’Na’Kosh’Na. I must go now.” Swiftly, for an old Indian of a hundred and ten seasons, Ta’Na’Shaw left.

I watched him depart like a drifting vapor. Soon he disappeared into the faraway cliffs, the cliffs near the river, near the rocks of Ta’Na’Shaw.

It was almost dark. The wind started to blow. A coyote in the distance wailed a lonely cry into the desert wind. The bright star-planet from the east was now lower in the western sky. It was dark and getting darker.

“WOW!” What a weird Indian, I said aloud. I walked back to the truck, entered and buckled the seat belt, then backed out of the parking place.

I left Mexican Hat without getting any water, driving the old truck toward Flagstaff, Arizona. All the way there, driving into the light of early dawn, my thoughts were upon the old Indian, Ta’Na’Shaw, and his tall tale. I drove into Flagstaff as the morning sun started to shine above the eastern horizon. I parked in the motel’s parking lot and checked in. I sensed that something frightening was following me. However, it was only my imagination.

AIOLOS (Aeolus) was the divine keeper of the winds and king of the mythical, floating island of Aiolia (Aeolia). … The Winds were often conceived of as horse-shaped gods or spirits, and as such Aiolos was titled Hippotades, “the Reiner of horses,” from the Greek words hippos (“horse”) and tadên (“reined in tightly”).
AEOLUS (Aiolos) – Greek God King of the Windshttps://www.theoi.com › Titan › Aiolos
Note:
Angels Landing in Utah aka Aeolus Temple. The Indians of the area still tell the story of Angles cast from Heaven landing first on top of this mountain. When they landed the winds blew so hard it knocked the fallen angels from Heaven off the mountain top and the Righteous angles, with the winds of Aeolus, landed and crowned the summit with Wisdom and knowledge.

                                                                        (II)

Angels Landing a.k.a. Aeolus Temple

For many years, the old Indian Ta’Na’Shaw and his story kept coming back to me. They caused me restless nights with troubling dreams. For ten years, Ta’Na’Shaw’s story dawdled in the back of my conscious mind. 

In April 1997, a decade after my first encounter with Ta’Na’Shaw, I returned to Mexican Hat and, The Valley of the Gods. It was during the time of the little leaves and a full moon. That night the comet Hale Bopp made its appearance, trailing silver-blue streaks of fire. It appeared in the Heavens flashing across the southern skies of Monument Valley, not far from Mexican Hat, Utah. I was fascinated as I watched the silver-white comet trailing a bright blue flame drift across the night sky. 

The Hale-Bopp comet will not appear again for thousands of years, not until 4380. I felt I was privileged and blessed to witness this celestial event. As I gazed upon the comet, I recognized that space and time were eternal, all-encompassing. And then I thought of the old Indian, TaNawShaw, and wondered where he was.

I stopped the truck for a few minutes near the Valley of the Gods entrance and watched the comet continue its journey across the darkening sky. I recalled something the old Indian, Ta’Na’Shaw, had told me ten years before.

 “The Blue Star, you cannot see now, but in time you will see. It will come with the Righteous King and his Angels and on the winds of Aeolus.  I watched the comet in amazement. A south wind started to blow. In the distance, a coyote wailed its lonely cry, howling at the full moon. How long I watched and listened, I’m not sure. I was lost in space and time.

 I started the truck and moved from the intersection onto the main highway heading toward Ta’Na’Shaw and Indian Head rock. After a few miles, I turned off the highway onto the dirt road that led to the Valley of the Gods. I soon found the place I had visited long ago, Ta’Na’Shaw rock.

The power place was near a spiraled rock outcrop that had the appearance of an Indian’s head. It was not far off ‘The Valley of The God’s Road.’ As I approached the sacred area, the Comet Hale-Bopp seemed to point the way. After searching for hours, I finally found the hidden path leading to the Indian head outcrop. Shortly after, I found the windblown cave that Ta’Na’Shaw had told me. It was wind-cut in sandstone, a dugout section carved into the side of the rock face cliff by wind and time. 

Inside the cave-like structure, I found a worn sandstone rock seat. Rock art, ancient petroglyphs chiseled into the sidewalls, greeted me. I sat and watched the full moon rise higher from the eastern horizon. The comet, the planets, one by one, slowly appeared, all in alignment. A bright red and blue fireball meteor suddenly streaked across the moonlit sky.

I noticed the night was quiet. Too quiet. The wind was not blowing like it had been before I got here. There were no more howling coyotes, and the birds were not singing. They had all flown away. It was eerie, still, quiet, and silent, just like the old Indian had told me it would be. 

On the walls, ghostly shadows danced around me. My ears started to ring, and my heart pounded in my chest. The earth trembled beneath my feet. An overpowering fear grabbed me. I wanted to run, but I stayed. The stars appeared like dots of diamonds sprinkled with fiery emeralds, colors that pulsated. Mysterious objects suddenly streaked the heavens. The Comet Hale-Bopp was still visible but much lower in the northern sky.

My first night in the mountain cave was restless. The second night was beyond belief, petrifying. On the third night before the moon rose, I quickly left the place. From the cave of Ta’Na’Shaw to the Valley of The Gods road, I had the feeling strange creatures were watching and following me. I looked back often, but nobody was there.

I started running. I ran wildly down the rocky trail. When I reached the road and my truck, the wind began to blow. In the distance, a coyote howled; another answered the call. A bird flushed from the nearby brush sounded an alarm. It quickly flew away.

I was disappointed with myself. No. I was disgusted with myself. I failed the test. My heart was not righteous. In honesty, I could not stand in judgment before the ancient ones. I could not honorably stand before the High Priest. My spirit was trashed, my hopes dashed. In a confused state of mind, I started the truck and quickly drove away. I never looked back. 

To this day, I have never returned to Mexican Hat, Utah, or Ta’Na’Shaw’s rock. Nor do I intend to.

***

PART TWO: Ta’Na’Shaw and the Blue Star:

Late one night last August, Ta’Na’Shaw, in a dream with a message, came calling.

“I’m leaving you now. I sent my report back home to EPICURUS. There coming to take me away. I told them.

“BEAM ME UP, CHARLIE! There is no intelligent life down here on this place called “earth.” I need to get off this rock and out of this solar system before getting shot or dissected. What has this planet, this thing they call earth, come to?”

“What will be next; armored bicycles for their children to ride?   Teachers wearing masks, teaching behind bulletproof glass? Will explosive-proof bunkers be installed around their school yards? Has this become the norm for their world– an existence, a crud way to live for these inhabitants who call themselves HUMAN?

“They once had a chance. But these ignorant things here on earth blew it. They gave it all away and gained nothing in return. In time, these earthlings became so desensitized that killing each other was a normal way of life; an accepted way of day-to-day living?… ‘Standard Operating Procedure’- ‘S.O.P’, as THEY say.

 “Shortly after I left EPICURUS, the seventh star beyond the dark veil, and coming to this place called earth, I remembered what I was told as a child. According to the record, our oldest brother was sentenced, banished to earth by the High Council. That was six maybe seven- monolithic zones ago. Some from this earthly place still tell the story of our brother’s arrival. They remember the day when he first landed in this valley, “The Valley of the Gods.”, as they call this place.

“These earthlings thought he was from the “North Star,” They called him “The promised one.” They still tell the story of his thunderous arrival. ‘Flaming chariots of fire’, they say. Each one descending from the heavens of the blue star. They landed, scattered about in the hills of this very valley. They carved the history of their arrival- high up there in these eroding cliffs. You can still see their work today, etched upon those sandstone cliffs- way up there near the forgotten heavens of the tenth star.  Thousands of years, the story of their arrival has been written and hidden in those sandstone cliffs- waiting for someone wise to decipher their carvings.”  

“The ancients, our friends, the Anasazi, and their Shamans, during the time of the ‘little leaves,’ still tell the story of how ‘Ta’Na’Shaw’ the wise one, came from the sky to this place called earth. His arrival and his craft’s landing burned many souls and cattle. It destroyed hundreds of trees. Today, nobody knows if Ta’Naw’Shaw was the promised one which the ancients of earth said would someday return. That is still an open debate and has been in this valley for thousands of earth years.”.

“These earthlings still tell the story of how he stepped from that weird space thing, his brilliant shining countenance radiating outward for all to see. Many Angels announced his arrival.  He walked the countryside alone, uplifted hundreds of wayward spirits. He healed the sick. The old ones for ages past came forward seeking his guidance; others wanted his head. Thousands traveled far and wide to hear him speak. He walked freely among many men; men from many countries bowed at his feet. He judged no soul.

“Back here on Zodiaha, he was a trustworthy friend — a constant companion. The righteous ones here could never figure out why the council sent him to this place called earth. He was doing such good work on Excidous and Epicurus. Why They sent him here to this dreadful place is beyond me?

“The last time I saw of him was long ago, when measured by earth years. It was soon after I arrived, eons ago at this place.  He was perched on a high hill, sitting near a wooden tree, with two other fellows. I recall, with sadness, walking past that hill. It was a few miles from my temporary home; a place I can hardly remember.

 “As I passed by him, a big storm suddenly came from the East. The day quickly turned into night. The birds flew, some flying far away. The thunder was deafening. Never have I been so scared. The violent storm continued to approach. The lightning was fierce. I quickly left. I ran. I ran as I had never run before. I never looked back. I just kept hurrying away.  

“And now it is over. It is my time to go. I must go back to whence I came- back to ‘little blue star.’  For ages, we have been watching you, earthlings. We are known by your people as, ‘The Watchers.’ My mission is now complete. It is time for me to go home and give my report on this place you call earth to the high council. 

“My report will be brief, complete, and very short.

“There is no intelligent life down here on this place we called earth.”.

Editor’s note:

‘Angles Landing’ is also in Utah, Zion National Park. It is North of Ta’Na’Shaw’s rock, aka Aeolus’s ‘Temple of the Wind’, and ‘Indian Head Rock’ -‘ Valley of the Gods’, road-Monument Valley, Mexican Hat, Utah: Take a trip. I’m sure you will enjoy the ride. You might find an old Ancient Indian sitting beside a road, looking for a ride.

*****

Go to Page 2 for “Is History Repeating Itself, Again?”

Go to Page 3 for “The Professor and the Man From the North”


One thought on “Thinking that is Out of This World, by Tosh Plumlee

  1. ‘Angles Landing’ is also in Utah, Zion National Park. It is North of Ta’Na’Shaw’s rock, aka Aeolus’s ‘Temple of the Wind’, and ‘Indian Head Rock’ -‘ Valley of the Gods’, road-Monument Valley, Mexican Hat, Utah: Take a trip. I’m sure you will enjoy the ride. You might find an old Ancient Indian sitting beside a road, looking for a ride.

    Liked by 1 person

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