Hi, yeah, thanks for taking my call. I've been going back and forth on whether to share this, but my brother finally convinced me. He listens to your show. This happened back in 2019. October, I think. Maybe early November. I was working in logistics at the time, warehouse management, and we'd had a shipment get delayed, so my supervisor sent a bunch of us home early. Which never happens. We were always understaffed. Anyway, I get home around two in the afternoon. My wife, Karen, she works from home doing medical transcription, but she always takes her lunch break at one-thirty to meditate. Every single day. Same time, same spot. The living room. She's got these blackout curtains she puts up, makes it pitch dark in there. Says it helps her focus. I've never really understood it, but it's her thing.
So I pull into the driveway and I notice her car's there, which I expected. But something made me not want to just barge in. I don't know why. I left my phone in the car because I didn't want it buzzing or anything. Didn't want to interrupt her. I came in through the garage, through the side door into the kitchen. That door doesn't squeak. I'm not trying to sneak up on her or anything, I just figured I'd grab a drink, wait in the kitchen until she was done. We've been married fourteen years. I know how she gets when her meditation's interrupted. But here's the thing. The kitchen opens into the living room through this wide doorway, no door, just an arch. And I glanced over. Just a glance. And I stopped.
Karen was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. Cross-legged, hands on her knees, eyes closed. Normal. That's how she always does it. But there was something in front of her. Floating. About three feet off the ground, maybe four feet in front of where she was sitting. And it was... I don't know how to describe it. It was like a metal tube, but bent. Twisted. Like someone had taken a pipe, maybe two feet long, and just bent it into this impossible curve. The ends were angled up, like horns almost, but smooth. Rounded. It wasn't moving. Wasn't spinning or bobbing. It was just there. Suspended. Completely still. And Karen was facing it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
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