Once again, it was time! My calendar on the kitchen wall told me that the 14th of May, 2005 had dawned, and what this meant to me was clear: the annual general assembly of the FIGU Passive Group was on the plan for this day. It was a very beautiful and successful day, because the passive members were numerous and the assembly proceeded like clockwork without major problems and breakdowns, so that at the end all were truly happy and satisfied when it drew to a close.
As every year, the passive members were then invited by the core group in the evening to sausage, bread, tea, coffee and a cozy gathering at the central area, and although the weather was not the best and it rained at times, the mood was nevertheless quite cheerful and exuberant. Like everything in life, this beautiful evening also went slowly to its end -- by 22: 00, and the dear people at the Center in Hinterschmidrüti bid their farewells to each other. Those who didn't live at the Center and who weren't staying overnight on the Center grounds, walked slowly but surely on their way home, thus the peacefulness of night gradually made its entrance into Hinterschmidrüti.
It was some time now since it rained, and the clouds moved gently and without haste towards the east, whereupon the starry sky with a crescent Moon came into view on the western horizon. There were now only a few people on the site, while we, i.e. the brothers Stephan and Anton Hahnekamp of Austria, Jan Bayer from the Czech Republic, Michel Uyttebroek from Canada, Claes Elmberg from New Zealand and yours truly were still absorbed in a very amusing round of talks behind the main building [see map, just N. of No. 9]. It was just 23:11 when Claes interrupted our gay conversation and with a quiet voice alerted us to a very brightly radiating traveling star in the night sky. We tilted our heads back onto our necks and looked carefully at the whitish-yellow appearing light, which peacefully, silently, and amazingly glided deep from the west over the Center towards the east. The light object was approximately twice as bright as Venus when Venus is bright and clear in the late evening sky. I was immediately aware that this silently appearing light could only be a beamship, which at an estimated altitude of approx. 2000 to 3000 metres and a speed of about 40 km per hour, completely silently moved in its path above the Center. Anton immediately ran into the kitchen to excitedly tell of our sighting to Billy, who immediately troubled himself to come outside and partake in the night spectacle. The event seemingly did not phase Billy, who noted immediately that it actually involved a beamship, but an unmanned one. He commented rather dryly with the following words: "This is a telemeter disk, which you will soon see -- so now we switch off its lights!" And indeed, as the ship found itself located at this moment just above the Center, its light slowly expired, just so, as if it wanted to try to prevent this in some way, while it nevertheless still calmly flew on its trajectory and the light then quickly went out and therefore could no longer be seen. The whole operation reminded me of a lamp whose light is turned off using a dimmer, leaving a kind of brief afterglow with a slightly reddish colour. The entire performance was very impressive for us anyway, because rarely does one see a telemeter disk that so deeply glides over the firmament and with its lighting even expiring. For Billy in any case, it was just not very exciting, because after doing his "chore" he went immediately back into the kitchen -- quiet and determined, as if nothing had happened. We had no choice, impressed by the experience, but to search the night sky for still other objects; we did find another beamship some minutes later for the last time that night, probably a telemeter disk, high up in the vault of heaven, at an estimated altitude of about 30 to 40 km, gliding from the south slowly to the north between the bright stars, receiving our greetings of love and peace.