NO OTHER GODS
Break the Godspell
by Janet Kira Lessin with contributions by Minerva Monroe
“I wasn’t born into my mission. My mission is the reason I was born.”
— Janet Kira Lessin
❖
CHAPTER ONE
Meeting My Dragon
Kalama
In the Hawaiian language, kalama means “the torch,” symbolizing a sacred flame carried through darkness so that others may see. In 1995, a newly formed government contractor, Kalama Services, began operations on Johnston Atoll, a remote coral island located 825 miles southwest of Oahu. The contractor was assembled specifically for that location and mission, reaching full operational capacity on January 1, 1996, while recruiting staff from Oahu throughout the preceding months. I was among those selected.
At the time, I had no understanding that my assignment represented a summons rather than a job opportunity. I did not recognize the significance of the contractor’s name, nor did I suspect that beneath the island’s chemical disposal facilities, military infrastructure, and carefully maintained civilian surface lay an underwater base whose history preceded modern human jurisdiction. Most importantly, I had no awareness that the beings waiting there had been waiting for me for a very long time, or that my identity and history extended far beyond the life I consciously knew. I did not yet understand that I was Ninmah.
The Night They Came
The experience began with the unsettling realization that I was hovering above my bed. Before I registered sound or temperature, I noticed the absence of the mattress beneath me and the unmistakable sense that something was deeply wrong with the physical reality I expected. Moments later, I heard screaming nearby — raw, instinctive, and visceral — and initially believed it belonged to someone else. Gradually, as my awareness expanded, I realized that I was hearing my own voice while simultaneously observing myself from outside my body.
From this elevated perspective, I watched as my physical form — barefoot and dressed in a green nightgown — was carried horizontally through the night. Three grey beings, approximately five feet tall, held one side of my body while three Army soldiers marched beside them in synchronized formation. On the other side, an identical arrangement mirrored the first. Their movement was precise and disciplined, suggesting a well-rehearsed protocol rather than chaos or improvisation. As we moved across the island, I assumed someone would notice. Johnston Atoll was small, populated, and impossible to cross without being seen. Yet no one appeared.
The grey positioned near my right foot turned its head toward me and communicated telepathically, informing me that I could scream all I wanted because an energy field muted all sound. The statement ended my panic, not through intimidation but through recognition. Something older than fear surfaced inside me — a deep familiarity that told me I had experienced similar encounters before. My body relaxed, and I allowed them to carry me without resistance.
The Beach
When they reached the shoreline, I saw my companion, Vance, being escorted in a similar procession. He had clearly been taken directly from bed and was still resisting physically, struggling against the smaller beings with determined energy. Despite their size, the greys effortlessly restrained him, demonstrating a strength that contradicted their delicate appearance. I felt an odd sense of gratitude for having chosen to sleep in a nightgown that evening rather than unclothed, a small but grounding detail amid an extraordinary situation.
Vance and I were physically well matched in height and temperament, and despite the surreal circumstances, seeing him brought immediate comfort. When the beings set us down on the sand, we exchanged a look that communicated more than words could. Neither of us questioned what was happening; both of us had experienced unexplained events before. Earlier in our relationship, I had warned him — only half joking — that anyone who became close to me eventually experienced abduction phenomena. He had never treated it as a serious warning.
As we held hands, a small circular craft rose smoothly from the ocean and moved toward the shore with quiet precision. Its movements conveyed inevitability rather than aggression, and when its door opened, and additional greys appeared inside, we understood the next step without needing instruction. Still holding hands, we boarded together.
Inside the Craft
The interior of the craft defied conventional spatial logic. Although the exterior appeared small, the interior expanded into a space far larger than the dimensions should have allowed, as though external and internal realities operated under different physical rules. Chairs materialized and shaped themselves perfectly to our bodies as soon as we sat, suggesting a technology responsive to individual physiology.
Soon after, the greys who accompanied us vanished, followed by the apparent disappearance of the craft’s walls. Instead of confinement, we found ourselves surrounded by a transparent view of the ocean below. Coral reefs glowed with extraordinary color and movement, producing a level of beauty that surpassed anything I had previously witnessed. The experience felt immersive and intimate, making the planet itself seem alive in ways difficult to describe. I understood immediately why divers dedicate their lives to the sea; the spectacle beneath us felt sacred.
As we observed silently, massive doors opened within the rock below, inviting the craft inward. Surprisingly, I felt no fear. Instead, curiosity and recognition guided my reaction, as though I had reached a destination I was always meant to find.
The Facility
The facility blended eras in a way that felt intentionally functional rather than aesthetic. Much of the furniture resembled mid-twentieth-century military equipment — metal desks, utilitarian chairs, and worn surfaces — interspersed with advanced technology far beyond human design. Communication occurred entirely through telepathy, with complete ideas conveyed instantly and without ambiguity.
The beings guided Vance toward a metal examination table while a towering grey-mantis hybrid in a white lab coat supervised. Smaller grey assistants worked efficiently, coordinating to move equipment and respond to silent instructions. I was directed toward a chair where I observed the process, noting that Vance calmed quickly despite initial resistance. A telepathic signal drew my attention to a curtain along the wall, and I approached it without hesitation.
The Gown
Behind the curtain hung an impossible collection of gowns that seemed to exceed the space available. When I focused on one, it appeared instantly on my body. Realizing the garments responded to thought, I slowed my focus and intentionally selected colors that resonated with me — deep greens, blues, and purples. A jewel-toned emerald gown materialized, its bodice embedded with gems that emitted subtle energy. I soon understood these were not decorative but functional, regulating my heart rate and stabilizing my body for the environment ahead.
Shoes appeared next, and despite expecting discomfort, they provided warmth and support that felt almost therapeutic. When I walked, each step propelled me far farther than normal, suggesting that the attire had been designed to help me move at nonhuman speed. The clothing was both ceremonial and practical, preparing me for what came next.
The Procession
The environment transitioned into a vast natural cavern carved with extraordinary artistry. Doors opened along the walls, and beings emerged in increasing height and elegance, joining a procession behind me. Their presence conveyed a level of beauty and refinement that felt fundamentally different from human standards, as if they operated at a higher frequency of existence. As their size increased, I realized my specialized footwear allowed me to maintain pace effortlessly.
Among them appeared Antu, whose presence overwhelmed me with awe, followed by Anu, towering more than fourteen feet tall. At that moment, I recognized that I was leading the procession and being treated not as a visitor but as returning royalty, though I had not yet fully integrated the meaning behind that recognition.
The Assembly
The cavern opened into a massive assembly filled with telepathic communication flowing like layered music. I recognized many of the beings through years of study and research, including Anunnaki figures I had encountered only intellectually and never expected to meet in person. They shared space with greys, tall luminous beings, mantis entities, and species unknown to any human classification. Among them stood unmistakably human figures — recognizable leaders from contemporary history — participating as if this gathering were routine.
When I asked telepathically how many Anunnaki were present, the answer arrived clearly: approximately one thousand. The scale of the gathering overwhelmed me, and I began to understand that my presence there represented part of a larger framework I had only glimpsed through study.
The Obsidian Wall
Eventually, we arrived at an enormous obsidian wall unlike any other surface in the cavern. A beam of white light formed a precise circle on the floor before it, and instantly all telepathic communication ceased. The sudden silence felt physical, creating intense awareness of the moment. As every being watched, I realized they expected me to step into the circle.
Standing there — Janet Kira Lessin, born in Pittsburgh and raised in Avalon, Pennsylvania — I struggled to reconcile my ordinary human identity with the immense expectations surrounding me. I asked, telepathically and inwardly, why I had been chosen. In that moment, I felt as if I were addressing not only the assembly but also the reader witnessing this account from afar.
How had I arrived here?
To be continued.
The Return
My next clear memory was being returned to bed by the same group of greys, who managed the landing with far less precision than every other aspect of the encounter. Moments later, my alarm rang, reminding me that ordinary life continued regardless of extraordinary experiences. I got up and went to work.
That contrast defines the human condition. We live within limitations while carrying experiences that challenge the boundaries of reality. Whatever these beings are, they appear to recognize the courage required to exist within human constraints. The morning after standing before a thousand beings in a subterranean assembly, I resumed my routine — because that, too, is part of the mission.
Author’s Note
The events described in this chapter are drawn from direct personal experience and memory. Some names have been changed to protect individuals who did not choose to enter the public record. This account of the Johnston Atoll experience has been shared publicly on previous occasions and has elicited strong reactions, including from respected experiencer researcher Barbara Lamb, who remarked on the extraordinary nature of the testimony and questioned how I had continued forward after such events.
I continued because I married my therapist.
His name is Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D.
❖
