NO OTHER GODS · Chapter One · Part One of Four · FREE POST
I Woke Up Hovering
The night the aliens came to Johnston Atoll — and why I stopped screaming.
❖
The first thing I registered was the air beneath me where the mattress should have been — pure wrongness, pure absence — and before I could make sense of that, a woman started screaming somewhere close, the kind of screaming that lives below language and thought, the body’s most primitive transmission. It took me a moment, suspended there in the Johnston Atoll night with the Pacific pressing in from every direction, to understand that the woman was me. I had projected out of my body somewhere in the gap between sleep and whatever this was, and I hung above myself watching — Janet in her green nightgown, bare feet, face turned up to a sky that had no business being that close — being carried horizontally through the dark by six grey aliens and six Army soldiers marching in two perfect parallel formations, arms swinging, faces forward, moving with the unhurried efficiency of beings executing a protocol they had carried out many times before.
I was on my back, face up, feet pointed in the direction we were traveling, and my first coherent thought was entirely practical: this island is one mile wide and three miles long; there are people everywhere; someone will see this; someone will come. The grey at my right foot — the one in front, the one whose posture said in charge — turned his large head toward me without breaking stride and delivered his message directly into my mind, the words arriving whole and complete the way their communications always do. “Go ahead and scream all you want. You’re in an energy field. No one can hear you.”
I stopped screaming, though not because he told me to. Something older than fear surfaced in me and said you know this, you have been here before — and I had, more times than I could count, going back to childhood and further than childhood if I’m being honest, which I always am, that being the entire point of this book. The Greys and I had history together, long, complicated, and unresolved, but history nonetheless. My body relaxed, and I let them carry me down to the beach.
· · ·
Johnston Atoll sits 825 miles southwest of Oahu in the middle of the Pacific Ocean — one mile wide, three miles long, surrounded by one of the most extraordinary coral reefs in the world and approximately nothing else for several hundred miles in every direction. I had arrived there in December 1995, recruited by a government contractor called Kalama Services. In Hawaiian, kalama means the torch, the sacred fire carried forward through darkness so that others can see, and the name was chosen deliberately. Beneath its chemical weapons disposal facilities and carefully maintained civilian surface, the island contained an underwater base that had been in operation long before any human government claimed jurisdiction over it, and the beings waiting for me there had been waiting for a very long time. I was Ninmah. I just hadn’t remembered yet.
· · ·
They held me horizontal in the air above the beach, and that was when I saw Vance arriving from a different direction with his own procession — six greys, six soldiers, the same formation doubled — in his Army underwear, which told me they had pulled him straight from his bed the same way they had pulled me from mine. I felt the particular gratitude that comes from small mercies in large emergencies because I usually slept naked, and that night, for no reason I could have named, I had put on clothes. Vance was fighting them with everything he had, using whatever limb broke free at any given moment, but those little greys held their own against him despite their size and were completely unimpressed by his resistance.
Vance was maybe five-four to my five-two, a nice match in all the ways that phrase can mean, with a round face and sparkling dark eyes and the kind of infectious smile that made you forgive things you probably shouldn’t have. Incan, Mayan, Mexican, all of it at once, as dark as I was fair — cute in the way that Davy Jones was cute, the kind of face you wanted to reach out and touch just to confirm it was real. Standing on that Pacific beach in his Army underwear, scrapping with aliens who were barely shorter than he was and completely unbothered by the whole business, he was still, somehow, adorable. I had warned him early in our relationship, told him plainly that everyone who slept with me got abducted by aliens, and he had taken it as an invitation.
· · ·
They set us down on the sand and stepped back, and we stood there, looking at each other without discussing it or asking whether any of this was real, because we had both been through this before and knew. We reached out and held hands. A small circular craft rose from the water, then — smooth, unhurried, moving with the certainty of something that has never once doubted its own purpose — and floated to the beach, landed, and opened its door. The greys from the beach filed in behind us, and we looked at each other one more time.
Still holding hands, we went aboard.
What was inside that craft, and what waited beneath the ocean floor of Johnston Atoll, I could never have prepared for — not even after everything I had already lived through, not even close.
— Continued in Part Two: Disney Could Not Recreate This —
❖
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This is a true story. My story. I was there. Everything you are about to read in the news about UAPs, disclosure, and non-human intelligence — I lived it thirty years ago on a classified atoll in the middle of the Pacific.
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❖
About Janet Kira Lessin
Janet Kira Lessin is a lifelong experiencer, researcher, and radio host who has been documenting direct extraterrestrial contact for over three decades. She operates Aquarian Media with her husband, Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D., anthropologist and direct collaborator of the late Zecharia Sitchin. Her testimony spans multiple contact events across several locations, including Johnston Atoll, Oahu, and State College, Pennsylvania, and predates the current disclosure by thirty years. No Other Gods is her memoir.
🌙 IMAGE PROMPTS
1️⃣ FEATURE IMAGE — Hovering Over Johnston Atoll
Prompt:
A nighttime tropical beach on Johnston Atoll under a full moon. A petite woman with long sandy blonde hair, bangs, blue eyes, wearing a flowing emerald green nightgown, hovers horizontally above the sand, face turned upward toward the stars. Six small light-grey extraterrestrial beings carry her in formation while six respectful U.S. soldiers march in parallel beside them, synchronized and calm. The Pacific ocean glows under moonlight, palm silhouettes in the distance, atmosphere surreal yet peaceful, cinematic realism, emotional depth, photorealistic, soft natural colors, fantasy realism, highly detailed, artistic composition, landscape 16:9.
2️⃣ THE TELEPATHIC MESSAGE — No One Can Hear You
Prompt:
A close cinematic scene at night: a hovering woman in an emerald green nightgown suspended above tropical sand while a grey alien at her side turns its large head toward her, telepathic connection implied through subtle glowing energy. The expression is calm and matter-of-fact rather than frightening. Moonlight reflects softly across the ocean behind them, soldiers marching in blurred background formation. Photorealistic, cinematic lighting, emotional tension transforming into calm acceptance, soft natural colors, fantasy realism, highly detailed, artistic composition, landscape 16:9.
3️⃣ VANCE ARRIVES — Parallel Processions
Prompt:
Moonlit Johnston Atoll beach at night. Two parallel processions approach from opposite directions: a sandy blonde woman in a long green nightgown and a young dark-haired man in simple Army sleepwear, each carried horizontally by six small grey extraterrestrials while U.S. soldiers walk respectfully in formation beside them. The atmosphere is surreal but orderly, no fear or violence, only inevitability. Tropical shoreline, coral sand, calm ocean, cinematic scale, photorealistic detail, soft blue moonlight, fantasy realism, emotional storytelling, landscape 16:9.
4️⃣ THE CRAFT RISES — Decision Point
Prompt:
A smooth circular craft rises slowly from the Pacific ocean near a tropical beach, glowing with soft white-blue light. A petite sandy-blonde woman in an emerald nightgown and a shorter young dark-haired man stand barefoot in the sand holding hands, looking at the open doorway of the craft. Six grey beings stand respectfully nearby; soldiers remain at a distance without visible weapons. Full moon, palm silhouettes, warm serenity mixed with awe, photorealistic cinematic style, fantasy realism, highly detailed, emotional depth, landscape 16:9.
5️⃣ ARTICLE END IMAGE — Walking Into the Unknown
Prompt:
A moonlit tropical shoreline. The open doorway of a softly glowing circular craft casts gentle light onto the sand. A small couple — petite sandy blonde woman in a flowing green gown and young dark-haired man — walk hand-in-hand toward the entrance. Grey extraterrestrials follow quietly behind. The scene conveys courage, dignity, and surrender to destiny rather than fear. Cinematic realism, soft natural colors, photorealistic, fantasy realism, highly detailed, emotional storytelling composition, landscape 16:9.
🏷️ TAGS (comma-separated)
Johnston Atoll, UFO, UAP, extraterrestrial contact, experiencer, alien encounter, abduction experience, consciousness, disclosure, non-human intelligence, Pacific mystery, paranormal memoir, alien contact story, telepathic communication, military secrecy, underwater base, ET experience, spiritual awakening, memoir, true story, greys, moonlit encounter, cosmic journey, experiencer narrative, anomalous experience, hidden history, contactee testimony, awakening, multidimensional reality, Janet Kira Lessin, No Other Gods
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NO OTHER GODS · Chapter One · Part One of Four ✦ FREE POST
I WOKE UP HOVERING
The night the aliens came to Johnston Atoll — and why I stopped screaming.
❖
I woke up hovering.
That was the first thing — the air beneath me where the mattress should have been, pure wrongness, pure absence. Then the cold. Then the island night pressed in from every direction.
Then I heard the screaming.
A woman, somewhere close, screaming at the top of her lungs. The kind of screaming that lives below language, below thought, the body’s last honest transmission. I heard her, felt sorry for her, and wondered distantly what had happened to her, and then, very slowly, the way understanding sometimes arrives — not all at once but in increments, like lights coming on in a dark house one room at a time — I realized the woman was me.
I was screaming. I was also watching myself scream.
I had projected out of my body somewhere in the gap between sleep and whatever this was, and I hung there above myself, a witness, watching Janet — green nightgown, bare feet, face turned up to a sky that had no business being that close — being carried horizontally through the Johnston Atoll night.
· · ·
Let me tell you where I was.
Johnston Atoll is a classified United States military installation sitting 825 miles southwest of Oahu in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. One mile wide. Three miles long. Surrounded by one of the most extraordinary coral reefs in the world and approximately nothing else for several hundred miles in every direction.
I had arrived there in December 1995, recruited by a government contractor called Kalama Services. In Hawaiian, kalama means the torch — the sacred fire carried forward through darkness so others can see. The name was chosen deliberately. The island I was traveling to contained, beneath its chemical weapons disposal facilities and its carefully maintained civilian surface, an underwater base that had been in operation long before any human government claimed jurisdiction over it.
The beings waiting for me there had been waiting for a very long time.
I was Ninmah. I just hadn’t remembered yet.
· · ·
I looked to my right. Three grey aliens, about five feet tall, held the right side of my body. Beside them, perfectly in step, marched three Army soldiers. I looked left. Same formation — three greys, three soldiers, arms swinging, faces forward, moving with the particular efficiency of beings following a protocol they had followed many times before.
I was on my back, face up, feet pointed in the direction we were traveling.
I thought: this island is one mile wide and three miles long. There are people everywhere. Someone will see this. Someone will come.
The grey at my right foot — the one in front, the one whose posture said in charge — turned his large head toward me without breaking stride.
“Go ahead and scream all you want,” he said, in my mind, the words arriving complete and whole. “You’re in an energy field. No one can hear you.”
I stopped screaming.
Not because he told me to. Because something older than fear woke up inside me and said: You know this. You’ve been here before. And I had. More times than I could count, going back to childhood, going back further than childhood if I’m being honest — and I am always being honest, that’s the whole point of this book. The Greys and I had history. Long, complicated, unresolved history. But history nonetheless.
My body relaxed. I let them carry me.
· · ·
They brought me down to the beach and held me there, still horizontal, still in the air, and that’s when I saw Vance.
His own procession was arriving from a different direction — six greys, six soldiers, the same formation doubled — and he was in his Army underwear, which meant they had pulled him straight from his bed just as they had pulled me from mine. I was grateful, in that particular sideways way the mind reaches for small mercies in large emergencies, that I had worn my nightgown to bed. I usually slept naked. That night, for no reason I could have named at the time, I had put clothes on.
Vance was fighting them. Every time a limb broke free, he used it — an arm, a leg, whatever the moment offered — until they contained him again. Despite their size, those little greys held their own. They were stronger than they looked and completely unimpressed by his resistance.
Vance was maybe five-four to my five-two — a nice match, we always said, and we meant it in all the ways you can mean a thing like that — with a round face and sparkling dark eyes and the kind of infectious smile that made you forgive things you probably shouldn’t. Incan, Mayan, Mexican, all of it at once, as dark as I was fair. Cute — not handsome in the conventional leading-man sense, but cute the way Davy Jones was cute, the kind of face that made you want to reach out and touch it just to confirm it was real.
Standing on that beach in his Army underwear, scrapping with aliens who were barely shorter than he was and completely unbothered by it — he was still, somehow, adorable.
I had warned him early in our relationship, told him plainly: everyone who sleeps with me gets abducted by aliens. He had taken it as an invitation.
· · ·
They set us down on the sand and stepped back.
We stood there looking at each other. We didn’t discuss it. We didn’t ask each other if this was real, if we were dreaming, if the other one was seeing what we were seeing. We had both been through this before. We knew.
We reached out our hands and held on.
Just then a small circular craft rose from the water — smooth, unhurried, inevitable, the way things move when they have never once doubted their own purpose. It floated to the beach, landed, opened its door. More greys inside, waiting. The ones on the beach filed in behind us.
We looked at each other one more time.
Still holding hands, we went aboard.
What was inside that craft — and what waited beneath the ocean floor of Johnston Atoll — I could never have prepared for.
Even after everything I had already lived through.
Even close would have been an understatement.
— Continued in Part Two: Disney Could Not Recreate This —
❖
ABOUT JANET KIRA LESSIN
Janet Kira Lessin is a researcher, experiencer, radio host, and co-founder of the World Polyamory Association. She operates Aquarian Media with her husband, Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D., anthropologist and direct collaborator of the late Zecharia Sitchin. Janet has been documenting extraterrestrial contact, sacred sexuality, and the Anunnaki presence on Earth for over three decades. No Other Gods is her memoir.
IMAGE 1 — The Abduction (after “being carried horizontally through the Johnston Atoll night”)
For DALL-E: “A woman in a long green nightgown floating horizontally in a dark night sky, face turned upward toward stars, carried by three small grey alien figures on her right and three military soldiers marching in perfect formation beside them on her left, same mirror formation on the other side, flat coral island visible far below in moonlight, vast dark Pacific ocean surrounding it, cinematic painterly style, surreal but photorealistic, sense of the impossible made mundane by the matter-of-fact formations”
IMAGE 2 — The Grey Who Spoke (after “You’re in an energy field. No one can hear you”)
For DALL-E: “Close painterly portrait of a grey alien approximately five feet tall with a large smooth head and enormous dark almond shaped eyes, turning its head to look directly at the viewer with an expression of calm authority, night sky and distant Pacific ocean behind it, soft dramatic moonlight, not frightening but deeply intelligent and ancient, realistic painterly style, the face of a being who has done this ten thousand times before”
IMAGE 3 — Vance and Janet on the Beach (after “he had taken it as an invitation”)
For DALL-E: “A fair skinned woman in a long green nightgown and a handsome compact young man with dark skin, round face and sparkling eyes in white military underwear, standing side by side on a flat coral beach at night, moonlight on calm Pacific water behind them, small grey alien figures visible stepping back into shadows on either side, the two humans looking at each other with quiet recognition, painterly cinematic style, intimate and quietly heroic, the coral reef faintly visible beneath the shallow water”
IMAGE 4 — Reaching For Each Other’s Hand (after “we reached out our hands and held on”)
For DALL-E: “Close up of two hands reaching toward each other and clasping — one fair skinned, one dark skinned — against a background of moonlit Pacific beach at night, grey alien figures blurred in the background, soft dramatic light, painterly photorealistic style, the gesture simple and human and absolute, the most ordinary thing in the most extraordinary moment”
IMAGE 5 — The Craft Rising (final cliffhanger image)
For DALL-E: “A small seamless circular spacecraft rising silently from dark Pacific ocean water at night, no visible seams or engines, soft white light emanating from an open doorway, two small human figures standing on a flat coral beach in the foreground hand in hand with their backs to the viewer, facing the craft, grey alien figures filing into the craft around them, the coral reef glowing faintly beneath the surface of the dark water, vast empty ocean stretching to the horizon under a star filled sky, painterly cinematic style, the precise moment before everything changes, irreversible threshold energy”
