1963 – Mother Mantis ~ Bellevue Skating Rink ~ Bellevue, Pittsburgh, PA
Janet Kira Lessin ~ Nine Years Old
“Ouch!” I muttered, shivering as the cold November wind tore through my thin coat and nipped at my toes. I glanced nervously around, hoping no one heard me.
“Open the door already! It’s freezing out here!” a boy hollered from the huddle of restless kids behind me.
Relief flooded through me. He’d said what we were all thinking, and the approving murmurs from the others confirmed it. Another blast of icy wind hit us, prompting a collective groan of “Brrrr!” as if on cue.
Friday nights at the roller rink were my sanctuary, an antidote to the monotony of school and the stifling chill of Pittsburgh winters. At nine, I was already bursting with a restless energy that demanded release. Skating was freedom—speed, motion, the feeling of flying. It made me forget everything, even for just a while.
School, on the other hand, was a minefield. Bullies, cliques, and eggheads made up the social ecosystem, and I never quite fit anywhere. Even at that age, I felt like an outsider looking in, destined to follow a different path. My future “hippie chick” self was already peeking through, although I didn’t know it then.
Luckily, I had my small circle of misfit friends—neighborhood kids and cousins who had been part of my life since birth. They weren’t perfect, but they were enough to keep the loneliness at bay. School friends were a different story; we’d known each other since kindergarten, yet it felt like they didn’t know me. But really, how well can anyone know themselves at nine years old?
I did know one thing—something no one else could understand or even believe. My “real” life was a secret I carried alone, hidden beneath layers of ordinary days. I was an Experiencer. Beings from other worlds had been part of my existence before I took my first breath. They watched over me, guided me, and sometimes protected me. They were my family in a way that humans never could be.
But with their care came a heavy burden. Their cryptic messages and mysterious visits were shrouded in secrecy, and I knew I couldn’t share the truth with anyone. The risk was too significant. In those days, people didn’t just call you “weird.” They’d slap a label on you—“crazy,” “delusional,” or worse—and lock you away.
So, I kept their world hidden, even from myself at times. It wasn’t just about avoiding judgment; it was about survival. My Oversoul—the eternal part of me that knew the truth—seemed to hold its breath whenever I got close to spilling my secrets, fearing I’d say too much and doom us all.
And yet, there was a deep loneliness in that silence. My life with humans was filled with their pettiness and cruelty, but my life with the aliens was no fairy tale either. They loved me in their way, but it was a love wrapped in riddles and shadows.
Strange but true, that was my reality.
Friday nights at the roller rink were my little slice of heaven. The rink was more than just a building; it was an escape hatch. Once I stepped inside, the stress of endless study and the looming fear of failure melted away. My parents weren’t strict or demanding, but my inner critic—a relentless, nagging voice—feared failure like the end of the world. No logic could soothe it. It just existed, a constant hum in the background, pushing me to avoid mistakes and to excel, no matter the cost.
Childhood wasn’t easy. Bullies at school and critics everywhere else taught me to be hyper-aware, always striving to do better, to be better. The slightest misstep brought teasing or judgment, and my Inner Perfectionist—tiny but fierce—was born out of survival. It whispered its mantra over and over: Do your best. Perfection belongs to God alone. Whoever God was, that is.
But there were no tests, grades, or judges at the roller rink. Skating offered pure freedom. I could let go, feel the wind in my hair, and glide through space like flying. The rink was my sanctuary, where negativity burned away, leaving only the joy of movement and the vibrant energy of being young. Somewhere deep down, I knew these days were fleeting. It was as though my future self, wiser and more weathered, was whispering across time: Savor this. These are the good old days, and they won’t last forever.
That thought always left me with a bittersweet ache. I wanted to freeze the moment, bottle it up, and save it for the inevitable future when the magic of childhood would be gone, replaced by something I couldn’t yet name.
The door to the rink lobby finally swung open, and the kids around me erupted into a triumphant cheer. “Yay!” we all shouted, pushing forward like a wave. The crowd surged toward the single open door, desperate to escape the biting cold. Someone inside must have noticed the growing chaos because, moments later, both doors opened, allowing the herd to spill in faster.
“Don’t push!” an authoritative male voice barked from inside. Of course, no one listened. We pushed anyway, laughing and stumbling over each other in our excitement.
While inside, I found myself near the center of the room, a small island in a sea of kids aged six to fourteen. Parents, if they were here at all, stayed on the periphery, sitting on benches or chatting with each other. Most dropped us off and returned later, trusting us to navigate the world without constant supervision. It was the 1960s, after all—everything was looser, freer, and a little less paranoid.
The roller rink wasn’t “cool” by teenage standards, which was fine by me. Teens with any social status went elsewhere. That left this place as my private haven, a spot for kids like me who didn’t fit the traditional mold. I cherished that exclusivity.
The crowd in the lobby got rowdy, jostling and shoving, but never crossed the line into real danger. I wasn’t afraid, but I could feel my nerves fraying. The press of bodies was overwhelming, especially for someone like me—small for my age, though people often said I was “cute.” Personal space wasn’t a concept kids seemed to understand, and I found myself sandwiched between taller, louder bodies. I didn’t have the confidence to protest or push back.
So, I stayed quiet, enduring the crush of the crowd with a mix of annoyance and resignation. The one upside? The shared body heat was enough to finally thaw me out after an eternity of standing in the freezing wind.
The line surged forward in a chaotic shuffle, and I was caught in the press of bodies when I heard the boy’s whisper in my ear.
“I just got you pregnant.”
For a moment, the world stopped. I felt his presence behind me, too close, and before I could process what was happening, I realized he was grinding against me. Embarrassment burned through me as I froze, paralyzed by confusion and shock. My heart raced, my cheeks flushed, and a sick knot formed in my stomach. I didn’t dare look back. I didn’t say anything. I just focused on slipping sideways through a small opening in the crowd, desperate to get away.
As I moved, questions swirled in my nine-year-old mind. Is that even possible? Could I be pregnant? We all have coats on, pants, underwear. How does it work? I wasn’t sure. Did I even know what sperm was back then? Probably not.
In the 1960s, schools tried to teach girls about their bodies in the vaguest, most sanitized way possible. I remember watching a Girl Scout film about getting your first period, sitting in a room with other young girls, their mothers, and a few nervous teachers. For many, that was the extent of the “talk.” Parents, especially mothers, were often too embarrassed to fill in the gaps, and the rest of the information came in hushed whispers from older kids who claimed to know what was what.
So, when that boy said it, I believed him. I didn’t know how reproduction worked, but I assumed he did—he was older, a boy, which gave him authority in my child’s mind. The shame, fear, and panic hit me all at once, nearly overwhelming me. I felt devastated, trapped in a nightmare I didn’t understand.
The line moved again, pushing me forward. My turn had come. “One, please,” I managed to say, sliding my quarter through the ticket window. My voice sounded small and far away like it wasn’t even mine.
Clutching the ticket, I shuffled to the locker room. The routine of taking off my coat, hat, gloves, and boots and placing them in the cold, metal locker helped ground me for a moment. But my hands shook as I tied my skates and secured the locker key into the knot of my skatelace.
I didn’t head to the rink right away. Instead, I parked myself on one of the raised observation benches, the kind where parents usually sat, though tonight, there were none. The emptiness around me felt like a gift. I needed to be alone.
My best friend came over, cheerful and carefree as always. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice cutting through the fog in my head.
“I feel sick,” I said, the words barely more than a whisper.
She studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, I’ll see you later!” And just like that, she skated off, leaving me with my thoughts.
I stayed on that bench, staring at nothing. The music blared, kids laughed and zoomed by, and the familiar hum of the rink faded into the background. My mind raced in circles, imagining the unthinkable. What am I going to do? I wondered over and over. Being pregnant at nine seemed impossible, but the boy’s words wouldn’t leave my head.
In the 1960s, being pregnant out of wedlock was more than just a personal challenge—it was a public scandal. The shame was unbearable, even in the abstract. At nine years old, I couldn’t imagine how to handle it. I couldn’t imagine anything beyond the crushing weight of my panic and despair.
I sat there, unable to skate, unable to cry, unable to do anything but plan my escape. When the night ends, I’ll go home. And then I’ll die. The thought settled over me like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. If this was what life had to offer, I was already done with it.
Frankly, I just wanted to be left alone. My head swirled with confusion and dread as I sat motionless on the rink’s observation bench. The crowd around me blurred into a distant hum. What am I going to do? The boy’s cruel words replayed in my mind like a broken record: I just got you pregnant. At nine years old, I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what that meant, but the terror and shame clung to me like a second skin.
Pregnancy out of wedlock was a scandal in the 1960s, a shadow of disgrace that no one escaped. The mere thought was unbearable, but I didn’t have the words or the knowledge to challenge the boy’s claim. If he said it, it must be true. He was older, male, and, in my mind, all-knowing.
The thought consumed me: I’ll go home tonight and die. That was my solution. I didn’t cry or panic outwardly—I just sat there, frozen, unable to skate or move, my love for this weekly escape drowned beneath a wave of despair.
When the night ended, my friends found me still sitting on the bench, but I barely acknowledged them. Instead, I walked numbly to the payphone in the lobby. I slipped in my nickel and called my father. “We’re ready,” I said, my voice flat and distant.
“Be there in five minutes,” he replied warmly. My dad was always dependable and willing to shuttle my friends and me wherever we needed. He was the neighborhood’s Uncle Bill, and his kindness was a constant in my life.
He arrived promptly, as always. I climbed into the passenger seat of his car while the rest of my friends filled the back, their chatter and laughter filling the silence I couldn’t break. One by one, he dropped them off at their homes. When we finally reached mine, I muttered “Goodnight” and slipped to my room.
Lying in bed, I felt hollow. I didn’t want to be here, trapped in this world that felt increasingly foreign and hostile. I wanted to go home—my real home, wherever that was. Somehow, I knew I could leave this life if I wanted. I had done it before in lifetimes past. But as I drifted into sleep, something incredible happened.
Healed by My Praying Mantis Mother
I woke in the arms of a being who could only be described as my true Mother. Though I was nine years old in human years, I felt no more significant than an infant cradled in her lengthy, spindly limbs. Her frame seemed delicate, yet she held me effortlessly, radiating strength and warmth.
She wasn’t my Earth mother—her appearance made that clear. Her almond-shaped eyes were vast and endless, like the cosmos themselves. When I gazed into them, I felt myself falling through galaxies, past stars, and planets, to a place beyond time and space. I was enveloped by the Source, by unity consciousness itself.
Her love was overwhelming, a force so intense it would have been unbearable in my human body. It filled me with a light so pure and radiant that I dissolved into it. I wasn’t just loved; I was loved. I saw and felt everything, the interconnectedness of all things, and in that moment, I remembered: I am God, and God is me.
She sang the most beautiful song I had ever heard as she held me. It wasn’t sound as we know it; it resonated within my soul, awakening ancient memories. I saw my origins, my mission, my purpose. I remembered why I came to Earth, why I chose this life. The pain and confusion I carried faded, replaced by an unshakable sense of peace and belonging.
Her form resembled a praying mantis, tall—at least ten to fourteen feet compared to my tiny human frame—but her energy was soft, gentle, and comforting. It was a paradox my mind couldn’t fully grasp, yet it didn’t matter. Her love was all that mattered. She radiated unconditional acceptance, compassion, and understanding.
“All will be well,” her presence seemed to say. “You are not alone.”
Through the night, she healed me. Her energy poured into my tiny body, mending the wounds I didn’t even know I carried. The trauma of the boy’s assault, the fear of life, the alienation I felt from this world—all of it dissolved under the warmth of her love.
When I awoke the next morning, sunlight streamed through my bedroom window. I felt lighter and freer. The boy’s cruel words no longer had power over me. I knew I wasn’t pregnant, and more importantly, I was here for a reason.
I ate breakfast downstairs and headed to my best friend Carolyn’s house. When I told her about the giant mantis being that healed me, she listened with wide eyes, her expression a mix of awe and belief. She didn’t judge me or dismiss my story. She accepted it, and in doing so, she gave me the validation I needed.
A Renewed Purpose
That night changed everything. My encounter with Mother Mantis redirected my life, reminding me of my mission: to heal, love, and guide humanity toward a brighter future. Over the years, I’ve carried her lessons with me. When life feels overwhelming, or humanity seems lost, I think of her and the love she shared.
The 1960s brought wonders—The Beatles, Star Trek, and the dawning of a new consciousness. I felt privileged to witness it all and be alive during a transformation. But when humanity veered off course, I learned to adjust, reset, and bring us back toward the dimension of love.
Mother Mantis remains my guide, my inspiration. Her message is clear: It’s not too late. We can choose love, but we must act now.
Healing in the Arms of Love
I sat on the cold wooden bench at the roller rink, staring blankly at the whirling figures around me. My mind was a storm, turbulent and unrelenting. “What am I going to do?” I whispered to myself. The idea of being a pregnant nine-year-old was unfathomable, a weight that crushed every corner of my young soul. In the 1960s, pregnancy out of wedlock was a source of deep shame, and I could not even begin to imagine the consequences.
That night, I made a grim decision: I would go home and die. Life felt too overwhelming, too cruel. I couldn’t even muster the courage to skate a single song. Instead, I sat frozen, a small figure swallowed by despair.
Eventually, my friends came over, their laughter a distant hum. With heavy steps, I walked to the payphone in the lobby, dropped a nickel into the slot, and dialed home. My father picked up almost instantly. “We’re ready,” I said softly. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he replied with his usual reliability. Dad, the dependable protector, loved playing chauffeur for me and my friends. Everyone in the neighborhood called my parents “Aunt June” and “Uncle Bill.”
When Dad arrived, I climbed into the passenger seat, silent and withdrawn, while my friends chattered in the back. He dropped them off one by one, their goodbyes punctuated by giggles. But when we arrived home, I muttered a brief “Goodnight,” slipped upstairs to my room, and curled into bed.
I fell asleep, intent on escaping this world, yearning to return to a home that felt real—somewhere I truly belonged. A part of me knew how to leave and never return; after all, I’d done it before. I understood, even then, that this human incarnation was just one of thousands.
Healed by My Praying Mantis Mother
Janet Kira Lessin
I woke in the arms of a being who could only be described as my true Mother—a presence both alien and achingly familiar. Though I was nine years old in human years, I felt no more significant than an infant cradled in her impossibly long, spindly limbs. Her frame seemed delicate, yet she held me effortlessly, radiating warmth and strength.
Her appearance was unlike anything I had ever seen. Her almond-shaped eyes were vast and endless, shimmering with the infinity of the cosmos. When I gazed into them, I felt myself falling through galaxies, past stars, and planets, to a place beyond time and space. The Source, unity consciousness itself enveloped me.
She sang to me—a melody, unlike any sound I had ever known. It wasn’t heard with my ears but resonated deep within my soul, vibrating through every cell of my being. Her song carried me to a place I could only describe as home—a realm where love was pure and infinite, where I was not just loved but was love itself.
Her mantis-like form stood between ten and fourteen feet tall compared to my tiny human frame, a paradox of physicality and energy. Her presence was both commanding and tender. Though her body appeared alien, her energy was soft and gentle, like the comforting touch of a rabbit’s fur. My mind struggled to comprehend this contradiction, but ultimately, it didn’t matter. Her love was overwhelming, a force so radiant and pure that it melted away all confusion and fear.
This love wasn’t just an emotion; it was a universal reset. It aligned me with a higher timeline, where everything felt possible and purposeful. She poured her energy into me, healing the wounds I didn’t even know I carried—the trauma of the boy’s assault, the fear of life, the alienation I felt from this world. All of it dissolved under the warmth of her compassion.
“You cannot leave yet,” she said, her voice resonating like a symphony within me. “You have much to do.”
Before stepping into this human incarnation, her words reminded me of my mission and purpose. I saw my origins, soul path, and why I came to Earth. The pain and confusion that had weighed me down faded away, replaced by an unshakable sense of peace and belonging.
Through the night, she held me, her energy radiating love so intense it felt like the Universe was cradling me. For a fleeting moment that felt like an eternity, I remembered: I am God, and God is me.
When I awoke the next morning, sunlight streamed through my window, warming my skin and lifting the chill of the previous night. I felt lighter and freer. The boy’s cruel words no longer had power over me. I knew I wasn’t pregnant, and more importantly, I was here for a reason.
I went downstairs, ate breakfast, and walked to my best friend Carolyn’s house. When I told her about the giant mantis being that healed me, she listened intently, her eyes wide with wonder. I left out the darker details of the night—the boy, the shame—choosing to focus on the miracle of my Mother’s love instead.
Carolyn didn’t question my story. She believed me fully and without judgment, offering me the desperately needed validation. At that moment, I felt indeed seen and understood, my soul lighter for sharing my truth.
This encounter with my Praying Mantis Mother became a turning point. It freed me from the chains of trauma and allowed me to embrace love fully—a destiny I now recognize as central to my purpose. Her passion, song, and infinite compassion set me on a path of healing and growth, enabling me to live a life filled with purpose and joy.
The world around me began to transform as I did. From the wonder of the Beatles to the hope of Star Trek, I found inspiration everywhere. My Mother had shown me the potential of humanity—a path rooted in love, consciousness, and harmony. Her message was clear: we have the power to choose a brighter future, but we must act with intention and love.
Even now, I carry her presence with me, her song echoing in my soul. When life feels off course, I remember her embrace and adjust my sails, steering toward a dimension of hope and unity. The love she gave me was not just for me; it was a gift meant to be shared with the world.
The Journey Ahead
The following years brought wonders beyond my imagination: the Beatles, Star Trek, and the awakening of a planet poised for transformation. My Mother, Mantis, had shown me a vision of humanity’s potential—a world rooted in love, consciousness, and harmony.
But she also issued a warning: We must choose our path wisely. The Earth will endure, but humanity’s survival depends on our ability to align with the frequency of love. It’s not too late, but the window is closing.
To this day, I carry her message in my heart. Whenever life feels off course, I remember her embrace, her song, and the infinite love she shared. And I adjust the sails, steering toward a dimension of hope and unity.
Reflections and Gratitude
My cosmic Mother healed me in ways I didn’t fully understand then. She freed me from the chains of trauma and restored my ability to love and trust. That encounter shaped my life, allowing me to experience healthy relationships and a fulfilling journey.
Life, as I’ve learned, is full of beginnings and endings. The roller rink closed soon after a tragic accident involving my friend Christy. But even in loss, I’ve found meaning. Love endures, guiding us back to the light when we need it most.
And for that, I am eternally grateful.
The End of My Roller Rink Days
Janet Kira Lessin
Two events marked the end of my cherished roller rink adventures, each leaving an indelible impression on my young heart.
The first began with a game we loved to play—a thrilling ritual at the rink. It started with one person standing at the center, circling slowly, and then picking up speed as others joined in, linking hands until we formed a human whip. It was exhilarating, reckless, and often teetered on the edge of chaos. One day, I stood frozen in place, watching helplessly as my best friend, Christy, reached out to grab the person’s extended hand at the end of the whip.
The circle had grown too large, spinning too fast, and adding one more person tipped it into disaster. The last person, unaware of the danger, pulled Christy in, and she was violently slammed against the wall. The sickening crack of her arm breaking echoed through the rink, followed by a scream so piercing it silenced the room.
An ambulance came, whisking her away to the hospital, where she was treated and later sent home, grounded with a heavy cast encasing her arm. The guilt among those of us who witnessed it lingered like a shadow. “The Whip” had always been the grand finale of our weekly escapades, but it became a cautionary tale that day.
Somehow, blame found its way to me. Perhaps it was because I was the one who loved skating most, the one who rallied everyone to join. Leaders often bear responsibility, even for things beyond their control. And though I was small in stature, I’ve always carried the burden of leadership, whether I wanted it or not.
Not long after, the rink was condemned and demolished, replaced by a much smaller venue meant for meetings and small dances. No one needed to tell me—I knew, deep down, that the injury to my best friend had played a role in the rink’s closure. It felt like a cruel metaphor for my life: the things I loved most deeply often didn’t last.
Healing Through Love
Amid this upheaval, my encounter with the Praying Mantis Mother became a pivotal turning point. She healed me, not just of the immediate trauma from a negative sexual experience with a boy, but of deeper wounds that could have derailed my ability to trust and love.
Through her intervention, I was freed to embrace love fully—a destiny I now recognize as central to my purpose. I’ve always loved being in love, nurturing relationships, and building connections. Those early spiritual and extraterrestrial encounters shaped me, allowing me to eventually have a healthy, fulfilling sex life and functional relationships.
The lessons I learned through those experiences became the foundation for a life dedicated to love, growth, and healing. Even when things fall apart, I’ve learned to rebuild, to trust again, and to find beauty in the impermanence of life’s gifts.
The Enigmatic Mantis Aliens: Architects of Evolution and Keepers of Cosmic Balance
Mantis aliens, often called Praying Mantis Beings, stand out in the diverse realm of extraterrestrial lore for their insectoid appearance and mysterious roles in human encounters. Reports from abductees and contactees across the globe describe these beings as master geneticists, spiritual overseers, and cosmic architects. Their presence evokes awe and curiosity as they operate on physical and interdimensional planes, bridging the gap between the material and the metaphysical.
Physical Characteristics and Presence
Mantis are typically described as tall, ranging from seven to ten feet, with long, slender limbs and an exoskeleton-like exterior. Their triangular heads, crowned with large black, almond-shaped eyes, evoke an otherworldly wisdom. Despite their insectoid resemblance, many experiencers report feeling an unexplainable sense of connection or calm in their presence.
Descriptions of their appearance vary. Some witnesses describe them as green, brown, or translucent, their bodies glowing faintly as though emanating energy. They are often depicted as moving with an almost mechanical grace, their gestures deliberate and precise. In some encounters, they appear robed in light garments, while others report them uncloaked, their forms fully exposed.
Origins: From the Stars or Beyond?
The origin of the Mantis beings is shrouded in mystery. Some researchers and experiencers associate them with the Zeta Reticuli star system, a region often linked to other extraterrestrial species like the Greys. However, many suggest that the Mantis transcend physical space altogether, existing as interdimensional entities capable of traversing realms of existence that humans can only begin conceptualizing.
Their mastery of light and energy hints at a civilization far more advanced than ours, which may operate beyond time and space constraints. Some speculate that they inhabit vibrational dimensions, appearing in our reality only when their work or guidance intersects with humanity’s evolutionary path.
Their Role in Human Evolution
One of the most striking themes in reports of Mantis beings is their involvement in humanity’s physical and spiritual evolution. They are often described as master geneticists, overseeing complex hybridization programs to enhance human DNA. Abductees frequently recount being part of experiments or medical procedures conducted under the watchful eyes of Mantis beings, who seem to operate as supervisors of smaller Grey entities.
Though these encounters can be unsettling, many experiencers eventually perceive them as part of a larger, benevolent plan. The Mantis beings’ clinical demeanor often gives way to a sense of profound purpose—guiding humanity toward higher states of consciousness and ensuring the survival and progression of life on Earth.
Guardians of Spiritual Ascension
Beyond their scientific pursuits, Mantis beings are often described as spiritual guides. They appear in dreams, meditations, and altered states of consciousness, offering insights into the nature of reality, sacred geometry, and the interconnectedness of all life. Their teachings emphasize balance and harmony, urging humanity to transcend fear, greed, and division.
Some contactees describe their encounters as profoundly transformative, leaving them with a heightened awareness of their purpose and a renewed sense of connection to the universe. These experiences align with the idea that Mantis beings are stewards of spiritual evolution, helping humanity ascend to higher vibrational states.
Relationship with Other Extraterrestrial Species
Mantis beings frequently appear in narratives involving other extraterrestrial species, particularly the Greys. Reports suggest a hierarchy in which the Mantis beings function as directors or supervisors, orchestrating the actions of the smaller entities. This dynamic positions them as central figures in the broader extraterrestrial phenomenon, overseeing operations that range from hybridization programs to environmental monitoring.
Their relationship with other species, including Nordics and Reptilians, is unclear. Some theories propose that the Mantis beings collaborate with various extraterrestrial civilizations as part of an interstellar alliance or council, ensuring balance and harmony across galaxies.
Encounters and Interpretations
Experiencers’ accounts of Mantis beings vary widely. Some describe encounters that evoke fear and confusion, mainly when genetic or medical procedures are involved. Others recount profound healing and enlightenment moments, where the beings impart knowledge or energy that transforms their lives.
For example, one experiencer described being paralyzed with fear during an abduction, only to receive telepathic reassurances from a Mantis being later. The being projected images of Earth thriving in harmony and said, “This is part of your journey.” Such encounters often leave experiencers grappling with emotions, from fear and awe to a deep sense of purpose.
Lessons for Humanity
The presence of Mantis beings in the collective narrative of extraterrestrial contact invites profound questions about humanity’s place in the cosmos. Their emphasis on balance, evolution, and interconnectedness challenges us to look beyond our immediate concerns and consider the larger tapestry of existence.
As guardians of Earth’s ecosystems and stewards of spiritual growth, the Mantis beings remind us of the delicate balance between technology and nature, science and spirituality. Their lessons call us to embrace our potential as co-creators of a harmonious future—one where fear gives way to understanding and division is replaced by unity.
Conclusion
The Mantis beings occupy a unique and compelling space in the realm of extraterrestrial encounters. Whether viewed as benevolent overseers, detached scientists, or spiritual architects, their presence challenges humanity to expand its understanding of reality and its role in the universe. As we continue to explore their significance, the Mantis beings stand as both a mirror and a guide—reflecting our potential for growth and urging us toward a future of unity, balance, and higher awareness.
I remembered more details of my contact with the Mother Mantis when writing this story. At first, when I wrote this story years ago, I believed that my contact was a one-time thing. But the more I focused on this story, took a break, slept overnight, or even took a nap, the more details flowed into my consciousness. My contact with the Mother Mantis and the Mantis species is ongoing and has been happening throughout this lifetime and in previous (or simultaneous) lifetimes. The contact I have with most species is similar. While I may only consciously remember a few encounters, I am always in contact with these beings. These are my soul family. And while I have a lot of human soul family members, I have just as many aliens/extraterrestrials and interdimensional family members.
And that’s how it is for all of us.
Take that in and digest that for a while. We are all connected. Some souls interact with us more than others, but ultimately, we know each other on the highest levels.
