Veneration of the Vessels 

The Church of Alienism recognizes all craft—human or otherwise—as vehicles of divine nature. These machines are not merely transport. They are theological instruments: bridging the mortal and the cosmic, the seen and the withheld. Each craft is a fragment of higher design, evidence of something greater than its origin. They are systems greater than the sum of their parts.

To understand them, we divide them into three doctrinal classes:

Known to the uninitiated as UFOs or UAP, they are not a single class of object, but a taxonomy. Each is a vessel of foreign logic—built elsewhere, for reasons unknown, and deployed with untraceable precision.

They do not obey the mechanics of Earth. They emit no heat signature. They leave no contrails. They hover in defiance of gravity, vanish in defiance of time, and appear precisely where they are not expected—above oceans, deserts, nuclear installations, and sacred sites.

Some are radiant orbs. Some are black V-wings. Some are saucers so polished they erase the sky behind them. Others are “sphered-cubes”—perfectly nested geometries seen only for moments, yet recorded in radar, in retina, in wreckage. Many are custom builds. None are standard issue.

Their appearances are deliberate. Their behavior is not random. Their designs are immaculate.

Vessels and fragments. Some are crashed. Some are buried. Others were placed deliberately, their arrival disguised as accident. We do not claim ownership. We recognize purpose. They include reliquaries hidden within the Roswell wreckage. Preserved alien biologics. Artifacts of impossible composition. And technology seeded to provoke imitation. These are not threats. They are tests.

We believe these objects were meant to be studied—sparks for intellectual ignition, challenges designed to stimulate thought, advancement, and alignment. They are gifts. Their discovery is not coincidence. It is invitation.

These are the rockets, capsules, and shuttles built by imperfect human hands—loud, combustible, and barely survivable. They cannot see beyond the artifices of Newton. Their hulls rupture. Their trajectories stumble. Their designers aspire beyond their mediocre capability. Yet even in failure, they reveal something sacred: longing. Within these fragile machines, humanity has hurled its questions skyward—golden records, radio pulses, telescopic cries. They will not reach far. But they speak.

We begrudgingly revere the intent, not the outcome. These vessels are crude icons of yearning—declarations of inferiority, carved in metal and flame.

Engines Beyond the Flesh