by Susan Du March 27, 2019 (citypages.com)
• Australian-born Christine Day, 65, communicates with Pleiadian Nordics from the constellation Taurus, and has written books about them as their conduit. In the 1990’s, Day lived for a time near Mt Shasta at the California/Oregon border where she studied homeopathic healing. This led Day to becoming a shaman and leading vision quests. One day she encountered a spaceship in an open meadow. Pleiadian Nordics emerged, telepathically bestowing upon her universal truths meant to help humans attain a higher state of self-awareness.
• According to Day, the tall blond Pleiadians have cultivated humanity’s progress since the dawn of time, building the Egyptian pyramids and transmitting teachings to indigenous civilizations worldwide. Day believes that she is a descendent of these Pleiadian Nordics.
• In 2013, Day spent 10 days in a remote cabin on Minnesota’s Gunflint Trail near the Canadian border, working on her second book. Once it was done, Pleiadians guided her out of the wilderness and down a long driveway to an unkempt house on three acres of land beside Lake Superior which happened to be for sale. The area is pristine, far from urban clutter. And the energy there is incomparable due to its ancient bedrock of magnetite-rich iron deposits which even creates a magnetic anomaly of 18 degrees. With spaceships in attendance, Day set about arranging large stone circles on the beach. She describes a transmission of light emerging from beneath Lake Superior as a submerged portal opened, activating what she calls one of Earth’s most powerful receiving stations for alien entry. In addition to this portal, located about a mile into Lake Superior, the property is bounded by two other portals within the property.
• In 2013, Day bought the house on the shores of Lake Superior in Grand Marais, Minnesota, along with another house in-town where she lives during the colder months. She replaced the roof of the beach retreat and remodeled a barn into a heated meditation room. As a “Pleiadian Ambassador” Day charges $450 per person to attend her weekend retreat. She points out that her students are wealthy people who would lodge in town and take their meals in local restaurants. Day’s Pleiadian teachings aren’t religious. Students come in search of guidance on how to live in this time, which is “pretty intense”. They pay thousands of dollars for online coursework, seminars, and immersive retreats in Grand Marais. Families with children as young as 10, groups of girlfriends, and people of all ages are drawn through her website and word-of-mouth. Business is robust.
• Lately, however, Day has been getting push-back from her neighbors who complain about the noise of the people on the beach, the increased vehicle and foot traffic, trash brought by Day’s students, and diminished property values. The residential district isn’t zoned for business, her neighbors insist. A nearby artist, Jan Attridge, believes that the Pleiadians pose a spiritual invasion. She can’t hear the noise of the retreat, but Attridge says she can feel the energy emanating from Day’s interdimensional depot, giving her migraines. “Clearly, a situation needs to be approved of first by Cook County and its inhabitants.”
• Day acknowledges that there’s hostility. Despite the small town’s liberal reputation, certain anonymous people exaggerate, and some churchgoers are prejudiced. Brian Larsen, editor of the News Herald and town crier for more than 30 years, is willing to entertain the idea that Grand Marais might be some kind of alien hotspot. Most people who’ve lived in Grand Marais long enough have seen UFOs, he explains. “[W]hen you see them and they fly in straight lines and they go as fast as you can see… I’m not saying they’re from outer space… but when… you’ve got 50 people all looking at the same thing, you’re going, ‘Ahh.’”
• Last year, Day requested a five-year permit for her Pleiadian retreat. According to the county’s zoning code, even in residential neighborhoods, cottage businesses are allowed as long they’re consistent with rural life. The county planning commission granted her a probationary permit so long as she soundproofed her gathering spaces and showed she could be respectful of neighbors. Day has decreased the size of her student groups from 50 to 25 at a time, and set business hours from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. She has booked six retreats this year, from May to August.
• “People go to these paranormal sites to have this sort of special spiritual experience with the land, or just to connect with something beyond themselves. It feels like there’s something missing in our society these days that makes people want to reach out for things like that.”
I. A slice of paradise
For 15 years, Kristen Sobanja has lived in a secluded house in the woods off Highway 61 in Grand Marais. Stalwart pines flank the gravel path to the front door. Her backyard is a rocky shore overlooking Lake Superior’s white immensity. The center of “America’s Coolest Small Town” is but a short drive away.
North Shore summers aren’t long, but they are sweet. Sobanja and her sister spent those precious months last year tending their garden and staining the deck, where they’d watch for eagles and play board games.
One day a howl rang out from the house next door. It was a low, full-throated bellow so loud she could hear it over the television. Somebody’s being killed, Sobanja thought with a start, rushing to the window.
She found a train of cars parked in the neighbor’s yard. Down on the beach, a large assembly of people were crying, chanting, and hugging trees.
The neighbor was Christine Day, a motivational speaker who moved to the neighborhood in 2013. The women never got to know each other, as tentative plans to get together for a glass of wine always fell through. Day was polite but somewhat brusque, giving the impression of forever rushing off somewhere to attend to more important matters. She spent three-quarters of the year away, teaching self-improvement classes around the world.
If they’d struck up a conversation, Sobanja might have learned that Day called herself the “Pleiadian Ambassador,” and that her work involved channeling the energy of Nordic aliens from distant stars. Last summer, Day booked five weekend retreats for groups of 50 to commune with extraterrestrials inside galactic portals constructed on her property. Each person was charged $450 to partake.
“I do believe in life other than on earth, so that aspect doesn’t bother me at all,” Sobanja says.
But tipped, overflowing garbage cans do. Beeping cars, wailing as early as 6 a.m., and the traffic of dozens of people on the boat path ruined her solitude. Their residential district wasn’t zoned for business.
And then there was the more baffling transgression: Day had neglected to inform her human neighbors about the imminent arrival of aliens—and their adherents.
II. Visions on the Gunflint Trail
Christine Day is an energetic 65, with a smooth face, sharp violet eyes, and a shock of silver hair cropped short, which gives her a monochromatic, slightly futuristic look. She speaks in gently coursing tones with a soft accent courtesy of her native Australia.
Two decades ago, Day traveled to California and lived at Mt. Shasta, a volcano near the Oregon border so striking that people have conferred spiritual meaning on it for centuries. A sacred site for Native American tribes turned New Age tourism hotspot, it’s now a mecca for believers in Bigfoot, the Abominable Snowman, and UFOs.
Day studied healing touch—the homeopathic concept of transferring wellness energy from one person to another through laying hands—before becoming a shaman and leading vision quests.
One day she encountered a spaceship while walking in an open meadow, Day says. Nordic aliens emerged, telepathically bestowing universal truths meant to help humans attain a higher state of self-awareness.
She claims to be descendants from these Nordic aliens, a.k.a. Pleiadians, who are tall, blond, and beautiful. They’ve existed in popular culture since the 1950s as benevolent visitors who hail from the Pleiades, a brightly burning clutch of stars in the constellation of Taurus. Day is one author among many who writes books about them, and considers herself a conduit.
In her telling, Pleiadians have cultivated humanity’s progress since the dawn of time, building the Egyptian pyramids, and transmitting teachings to indigenous civilizations worldwide. Minnesota’s Native Americans inherited their star knowledge from Nordic alien astronauts, she says.
“A lot of the Native people say only Natives can do these ceremonies, but the Pleiadians would say it was important that the pure teachings went out.” She describes Native practices as “broken down” derivatives of Pleiadian tradition, “twisted” by the erosion of time.
In 2013, Day spent 10 days holed up in a remote cabin on Minnesota’s Gunflint Trail, working on her second book. Once it was done, she says, Pleiadians guided her out of the wilderness and down a long driveway to an unkempt house on three acres of land beside Lake Superior. It happened to be for sale.
With spaceships allegedly in attendance, Day set about arranging large stone circles on the beach. She describes a transmission of light emerging from beneath Lake Superior as the portals with the circles opened, activating what she calls one of Earth’s most powerful receiving stations for alien entry.
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