Touring the Medicine Buddha’s Gardens
On September 29, 2002, we set out to visit the Medicine Buddha’s website. Ms. T’s third eye linked up instantly. She saw rows of glowing rings stretching downward, dimmer in the center—maybe the core light illuminated the edges.
Silently, she thought, “Can I go in?” A towering, radiant figure—five or six times human size—appeared, asking, “Which one do you want to see?” I figured this was the Medicine Buddha himself.
“Eighth,” she replied. With a point, he revealed a golden, shimmering garden. She glimpsed some plants before the vision faded. “Can I see another? Sixth?” she asked. “Last one—no more,” he said, pointing again. This time, soft, translucent vines dangled from above, glowing at the tips, swaying gently—a peaceful scene.
She asked, “Can I visit these places without touching the paper?” He replied, “Yes, but I won’t always be here.” So polite—ready to personally greet guests. We’d have been fine with a disciple showing us around.
“What are the sixth and eighth gardens called?” she pressed. “You wouldn’t know them if I told you,” he said, brushing it off—probably thinking we were too low-level to grasp spirit-world affairs.
On March 30, 2003, we revisited the Medicine Buddha’s first garden. A burst of light rushed at Ms. T, followed by rows of five glowing dots. She asked to see the first and third gardens—brief flashes, but nothing clear. Asking again, the first revealed green ferns with two loops, right larger than left, neatly aligned.
On December 28, 2003, another visit showed a garden with rows of single-looped plants, each with a glowing dot below—fern-like, followed by a final burst of light. On March 28, 2004, Ms. T explored the Medicine Buddha’s pharmacy.
After the initial light, she asked, “Can I see the sixth or seventh garden?”
“Sure,” he said. “Can I pick herbs?”
“Not yet.”
“Can I see the pharmacy?”
“Of course!” He led her and a disciple inside—golden cabinets and bottles brimming with “information medicine.”
“Can I take some?” she asked.
“You don’t need it now,” he said.
“Professor Chen’s sick—he does,” she countered.
“Try this one,” he offered.
She reached, but, “I can’t grab it—it’s stuck.”
Suddenly, a whiff of herbal medicine filled our lab—likely info from the site leaking through her third eye.
“Too far,” she sighed. We figured the timing wasn’t right.
On August 8, 2004, Ms. T encountered another spirit. After a flash, she saw glowing plants, then a dim, skinny figure in a conical hat picking herbs.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
No reply.
“Why are you gathering herbs?” He rubbed his stomach—indigestion, maybe.
The screen blinked, and she was booted from the garden. Another try failed. Clearly, that spirit didn’t like her nosiness.
Seeking Aliens with the Third Eye
In June 2002, we wondered: Could the third eye pierce the void to visit advanced civilizations? One idea was to ask Ms. T’s spirit-world mentor to guide her consciousness to an alien realm and observe their lives. On June 2, we started, writing questions on paper for her to finger-read and send to her mentor.
“Master,” she asked, “can you introduce us to an alien? Do we use the information field as a medium via the third eye?
Three minutes after Ms. T began finger-reading, her third eye opened, sending the question out.
Another three minutes later, her mentor appeared in her vision, nodding in agreement before grumbling in English, “Are you guys not satisfied?”—implying he’d already shared so many secrets, yet here we were pestering him again.
I quickly flattered him: “Your wisdom and power are boundless! We’re eager to seek the truth and visit aliens—please help us!” A minute later, he chuckled and said, “Next time.” The session ended.
On June 30, we tried again, writing a new question on the paper strip.
Ms. T asked, “Master, you promised last time to introduce us to an alien. Can we start talking to one now?”
Master: “No rush. I’ll introduce you when the time’s right.”
Clearly, he’d forgotten. We started to call him out.
Ms. T: “You’re a spirit! How can you go back on your word?”
Master: “Oh, come on, don’t rush me!”
He sounded a bit annoyed, so I backed off—didn’t want to risk him refusing to take us to the aliens. Six months passed with no word, so on December 26, 2002, we ran another finger-reading experiment.
Ms. T: “Please introduce us to an alien or show us their planet’s location and living conditions in my third eye.”
Three minutes later, he replied.
Master: “Any kind? No specific?”
Ecstatic, I blurted, “No specific!”—then instantly regretted it. We should’ve aimed for an advanced civilization, not some dinosaur-dominated rock. A minute later, he responded.
Master: “Let me find one. Give me a week!”
He needed seven days to search.
I noticed the voltage on Ms. T’s palm spiking in pulses—her third eye was flickering. “What’s happening?” I asked.
She said she saw her master’s hand moving, like he was sifting through something. I pictured him swiping a galactic map on a void-touch tablet, hunting for a planet—like spinning a globe to find a country. Sure enough, 1 minute and 40 seconds later, he answered.
Master: “Hmm… okay! I’ll show her slowly.”
He’d found one and would reveal it gradually. By late 2002, he guided Ms. T’s consciousness to an alien civilization. She sketched what she saw: a being with two eyes, two nostrils, one mouth, two ears (no lobes), two arms, two legs, and three-fingered hands—one fingertip oversized, reminiscent of the alien in Spielberg’s E.T. I half-wondered if Spielberg had seen one too.
Ms. T described it: “Couldn’t see its feet,” “moved really fast,” “dark, shiny skin like it wore a coat,” “an antenna on its head—no phone, but muttering like it was communicating.”
Years later, I realized why the feet were invisible and the speed so high: they wore walkers that swung them along swiftly.
Next, she saw a stylish tree draped in twinkling lights, surrounded by darkness—no sun, like night. It echoed human habits of decorating trees at night. Then came a “magic box” machine.
An alien typed on a keyboard, and something popped out—eaten too fast to identify. We asked the master its purpose. “It’s their invention—can produce anything,” he said.
Whoa! Like Doraemon’s “Anywhere Door”? I started suspecting Fujiko F. Fujio had visited aliens too. Obviously, they typed a food name, and it materialized for a quick bite.
Outside, Ms. T saw tripod machines. “What are those?” we asked.
“Transportation,” he replied—mini UFOs, basically.
Post-tour, I had Ms. T quiz her master about this civilization.
Ms. T: “Is their planet in our Milky Way?”
Master: “Yes.”
Ms. T: “Which constellation?” I spread out a star chart.
Master: “‘Twenty, thirty,’ ‘go up and little left,’ ‘pretty close.’”
“Twenty, thirty” referred to celestial coordinates—right ascension and declination. It pinpointed Cygnus, near the Summer Triangle of Vega, Altair, and Deneb.
Using the Sky-6 astronomy software, I zoomed into nearby star clusters. Her master, via her third eye, identified a medium-sized star 438 light-years away.
A round-trip electromagnetic signal would take 876 years—send a hello in the Song Dynasty, get a reply now. Proof that interstellar radio chats are pointless.
Ms. T: “How advanced is their tech? Can they visit Earth via the information field?”
Master: “Better than yours. Yes, they can—and have, many times.”
Ms. T: “Do they eat like us?”
Master: “Yup! Different.”
Ms. T: “Is their DNA like ours?”
Master: “They’ve got that stuff too.”
Ms. T: “Can I host them next time they visit Earth?”
Master: “Ha! Not that easy—timing’s off.”
I puzzled over “timing’s off” for ages. Then it clicked: if word got out that aliens were coming, Earth’s civilization might collapse. Their tech, crossing spacetime, dwarfs ours—we’d be defenseless. Fear would shred society fast.
When could they visit without panic? When our wearable tech outgrows phones, and we all sport head antennas. Then, Cygnus aliens could blend in—no one would notice, no chaos.
This cosmic journey—from glowing cross gates to alien civilizations—barely scratches the surface of the intersection between science and the supernatural. Professor Lee’s work dives even deeper, exploring more mind-bending experiments on special abilities and extraterrestrial encounters.
If you’re intrigued and want to learn more about his groundbreaking research, leave a message below. I’d be happy to share additional insights from his fascinating studies. The universe might just have more surprises waiting for us—care to keep exploring?
True TAIWAN Horror story 
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