By BoJenn
When I was about eight—around 1960—my father first told me about Nikola Tesla’s unbelievable creation: a small, elegant battery that, in theory, could have powered the entire world for almost nothing. I can still see the awe in his face. My father wasn’t just a mechanical engineer; he was one of those rare minds that could walk straight into the heart of an impossible idea and understand it. Tesla fascinated him, almost like a kindred spirit he never met.
But as the years passed, I began to understand why his excitement carried an edge of secrecy. Bit by bit, in the quiet ways children learn truths that aren’t spoken aloud, I realized my father’s work reached far beyond blueprints and machines. I now believe he may have been among the men chosen to reverse-engineer the wreckage from the crafts that fell out of our skies—projects that lived under so many layers of classification, they were never meant to see daylight.
He never talked about it openly. He didn’t have to. Every now and then, he’d bring home something… unusual. An object that didn’t fit into any category of technology we were supposed to have. I remember holding some of those pieces, sensing a weight that wasn’t physical—like touching a secret the world wasn’t ready for.
Looking back, our ordinary little home was never really ordinary. There was always a low, electric hum beneath our lives, something extraordinary moving just outside the reach of words.
My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts 