AI model Copilot created these illustrations to accompany the remembrance by Columba Krebs featured in this blog article.

This blogger doesn't foresee the military bureaucracy-indoctrinated stuffed suits in Washington, D.C. releasing any space people information such as what may be read in the firsthand account reported by Columba Krebs.  In some ways the term 'alien' is diversionary because all embodied consciousness units are interconnected through the omnipresent spiritual Oneness. President Trump may have provided a clue when he made the statement to Joe Rogan in October 2024: "I'll tell you what a lot of people are interested in the people coming from space, you know."

The article by artist Columba Krebs (Annabell Krebs Culverwell, 1902 — 1998) featured in the entirety in this article is quoted in the previous blog article "UFOlogy: This Blog Is Making Known Proof of 'Extraterrestrial' Life for a 13th Year" and "Here Is UFOlogy's 'Bombshell Physical Proof".

Columba was an associate of contactee Truman Bethurum, whose final remembrances of the occurrences in his life and interaction with 'Aura Rhanes' was published posthumously as The People of the Planet Clarion (1970). The book was republished as Messages from the People of the Planet Clarion in 1995 (a book that now may be read online at Internet Archive).  The memoir includes articles and artwork by Columba (Annabell Culverwell 1902-1998) with Truman having mentioned:

I shared the lecture platform with Columba Krebs in Troupers Hall, Hollywood, and in Santa Barbara. At this time she showed her colorful slides from her symbolic paintings, "The Mysteries of Man and the Universe." Some of these slides portrayed the Space ships coming to neutralize nuclear explosions, such as in the picture, "Wave of the Future."

Included in one chapter identifying friends who'd supported Truman is this declaration:

To Columba Krebs, for the inspired cover she painted for this book and for the many hours she spent transcribing my handwritten notes on the typewriter. I am sure that time will prove that she is one of the world's greatest artists

The book concludes with "My Amazing Experience with Truman Bethurum" by Columba Krebs. This article presents her personal testimonial of unusual events observed at times when she and Truman were together. As a preface, some of her metaphysical cosmic-themed artwork is shown below.

Symbolist Man and The Grand Central Sun by Columba Krebs; below is the cover of one of contactee Data Howard's books (previously featured in the blog article "The Remarkable Books of Dana Howard")

A memorial webpage presents this report.

Annabelle Krebs Culverwell

AKA Columba Krebs. She attended Hood College, Frederick, MD, the New York School of Fine and Applied Arts and the National Academy of Art. She married Francis James Culverwell on March 26, 1921. He was an accountant and auditor. They lived in Singapore in the late 1920s. They had two children: James Fleetwood Culverwell, Ph.D. and Frances Bell Culverwell.

Annabelle was an artist, muralist, illustrator and lecturer. She was the author and illustrator of The Adventures of Scuddabud a cartoon strip in comic magazines of Brazil, Mexico and Argentina. She presented an illustrated lecture "The Mysteries of Man and the Universe." Her art was exhibited in various locations.

Columba wrote about the cosmic 'Boomerang Law':

Every act of good or ill done to another (on any plane) returns to us as a boomerang, in time. This is a Cosmic Law, unfailing in its action. If we send out the red 'darts' of evil, the seeming gain ultimately crumbles to ashes in our hands. While such 'darts' may harm another in some way, they just fly past his soul, to boomerang back to the detriment of our own soul's character and development.

Conversely, the same Law applies when we send out the Good, (whether appreciated by the recipient or not) because it circles back to the enrichment of our own character that uplifts our soul. In addition, such good strengthens our own protective shield against any evil 'darts' from others — overwhelming such perverse forces and frequently diverting them back to the sender.

The Boomerang Law is inescapable, therefore, we should be more careful of words and deeds (and even our thoughts and emotions) for the sake of both our own and others' betterment.

By Columba Krebs through courtesy Merle S. Gould — New Age World

"My Amazing Experience With Truman Bethurum"

by Columba Krebs

I had read Truman Bethurum's book, ABOARD A FLYING SAUCER, in which he describes his eleven visits with space people from the planet Clarion. This unheard of planet was “beyond the Moon” — as the Captain of the disk told him, (but why couldn't she be more explicit?) But since our Apollo space program has not relayed such information, Clarion must be on the other side of the Sun (necessarily in the same orbit of the Earth).

I met him when I came to California, as well as most of the other contactees, to learn more about the space people. We discussed the possibility of my painting the cover for one of his books. He kept telling me that his secretary resembled Aura Rhanes (the space woman commanding the flying saucer he visited). A prominent feature of his secretary's face were her arched eyebrows, and he kept impressing upon me that Aura Rhanes also had such eyebrows. Later, I was to be reminded of this.

He helped me to move from Santa Monica to Los Angeles. As we drove in his car to my hotel, to pick up my baggage, I remarked wistfully:

"I wish we could see Aura Rhanes drive up in front of my hotel when we arrive there."

"Maybe she will come walking along the street, so watch for her," he replied with a mysterious air.

After most of my luggage was in his car, I stood beside it while he went inside to bring out the last pieces. As I waited for his return, I noticed a lovely little lady coming toward me. To my delighted surprise, she was dressed exactly as Mr. Bethurum had described her in his book (black velvet jacket, with red bows, red-pleated skirt, even to the black beret with a red stripe across it). Her hair was curly black and her large expressive eyes were keenly penetrating.

As she approached they looked straight through me, then she glanced inside the car where my paintings were. Turning back to me, she gave me the most brilliant and warmest smile I have ever seen on any face. A great excitement and turmoil rose in me as what to do about this new situation. If her eyebrows had been arched, I would have spoken to her, and tried to hold her until Bethurum came out again, to confirm my identification or otherwise. I could have tried that old cliche, “Haven't I met you somewhere before?” to break the ice. I remember seeing such a lady watching me when I went into the United Airlines Company office in New York City, to see about my flight to San Diego.

But, my confusion about the shape of her eyebrows held me back, and thus lost me another chance to meet her — or else expose an impersonator when he came out. Thus, between wondering which alternative to take, I just stood as though spellbound. As she passed me, I suddenly wondered whether her looking at my art work and her wonderful smile was an encouraging sign that the space people intend to help my art career.

This thought made me whirl around determined to run after her and buttonhole her until he appeared. But, to my utter amazement and disappointment she had literally vanished! There was no doorway nearby that she could have slipped into. In that short moment, she had not enough time to reach the corner, nor had she crossed the street. So, naturally, I wondered how she could have disappeared so quickly! I blamed myself for not thinking fast enough!

This inexplicable vanishing act convinced me that I had really seen Aura Rhanes (remembering how his book described these magical peoples' ability to appear and disappear at will). I resolved that if such an opportunity should come again, I would not be caught napping. But the space people seldom try the same thing again, if they fail to find enough response the first time.

On the way to L.A. I told him about the strange incident, and he just scolded me for not calling him out the moment I had laid eyes on her. That evening, in my new apartment, while our mutual friend, Mrs. Nordell, was busy in her kitchen across the hall, he brought a recording machine in for me to hear a tape of his interview on a radio station.

When it was finished, he turned the tape back to run it off. Suddenly, we were both amazed to hear the jolly voices of a man and woman conversing in a strange sibilant language. Their soft tones were rather high-pitched and rapid, with a slight sing-songy rhythm. His eyes went wild with joy as he listened with rapt recognition.

"What's the matter? Who are these voices?" I asked, sensing something very extraordinary about this from his attitude.

"That's Aura Rhanes, I would know her voice anywhere, talking with one of her crew." He acted as though he not only recognized their language but understood it as well, because he laughed as often and as jubilantly as they did. It was rather tantalizing to me to not be able to understand what they were saying. I was a bit piqued that they didn't say one word in English.

"Oh, maybe some jokesters put this show on the tapes for a laugh!" I said a bit sarcastically. How would the space people get on the tape?

"We'll see about that," he said as though to convince me. He turned the dials that controlled the speed. We could hardly believe our ears, when the continued at the same rate of speed, no matter how far he turned the dials to speed up or slow it down.

"See?" he bellowed triumphantly; "That proves they aren't on the tape, or else their tempo would be affected."

"That means their voices must be coming through the recorder, using it only as a reference point, or is there some mechanism inside that causes such independence from the speed control roll?" I asked still from Missouri.

"Do you think they can hear us? If so, please ask them to say a few words in English," I begged, but he was too engrossed in listening to them to pay any attention to me. When I approached the recorder and knelt down beside it, I was about to ask him again, when a most startling phenomenon happened!

The tape nearest me lifted itself out of the groove about two inches high, in a loop, and began jumping up and down in a violent flapping as though shaking hands very vigorously! Was this their way of telling me they were greeting me with a hearty welcome?

I drew back, strangely perturbed, saying, "I wonder if my vibrations are too strong?" At this, the tape flapped more wildly. Why this negative reaction which I should have rejoiced at the phenomenal way the voices recognized my desire to get into closer contact through understanding?

"Could we be seeing things?" I thought aloud. At this, he took the tape off the recorder and laid it on the floor to see whether this would affect the voices or not. To our mutual amazement, it had no effect whatsoever, and this was added proof that the voices were absolutely independent of the recorder, although they sounded as though coming through it.

I looked around the room to see whether I could see a misty outline of them, thinking they might be in the room but invisible to our limited eyesight due to their higher frequency. Their voices stopped, to leave us conjecturing how it had all been done, and for what reason, although grateful they had showed that much interest in us. I ran outside to see whether I could see their spaceship that might be hovering above, from which they had projected their voices. It could be hidden behind that cloud!

Then I realized and opened my mind to whatever impressions I could receive — hoping it would really be a telepathic message and not just my imagination stirred up by wishful thinking. I finally came up with the exclamation:

"Oh, I know, I bet they were happy because we are working together on your new book! Maybe, when I have finished painting the cover for your new book, the right conditions will be created, somehow, somewhere, sometime, for a real meeting with them." I sighed, with a new ecstasy of hopeful expectancy to my heart. How sentimental can I get?

The next evening, he brought the recorder in again but this time their voices were in a lower, deeper tone, and seemed to be in a much more serious vein, as though they were very much concerned about something. I saw his expression was rather grim and worried, not gay and light-hearted like before.

"Please tell me what they are saying, if you understand their language," I begged. But he only turned a cold shoulder to me, mumbling something about not being able to understand them. "Well then, what are you getting telepathically?" I persisted, eaten up by curiosity, and resenting being on the outside looking in. But he would not answer, so all I could do was to hope that it didn't forebode any trouble for us. If so, I hoped they had the power and desire to lighten it for the sake of the efforts we were making to promote the glad tidings that the spacemen were similar to us, and had only compassion and good intentions toward earthlings. But why, oh why were they so shy about communicating with us more tangibly?