Limitless, limited

Screen Shot 2016-08-03 at 1.36.22 PM.pngFor a lot of years, I’ve been grateful to discover books and movies that convey any sense of the strangeness of my life.  I found small bits in Whitley Strieber’s Communion and other stories, The Secret School, in particular.  Even Men in Black had elements that affirmed some of my weird life experiences.  A couple of years ago, one of my college students told me about the Bourne Identity, and I was more deeply moved again, perhaps with hope that one day people will be able to look at the reality that some of us are early experiments, were severely messed with, are still being messed with, and it’s a torment, sometimes life threatening, giving me at least one heart attack, and years of panic attacks, grief and despair over my past, and my present, and my future.

For fourteen years, I’ve been on a roller coaster of emotions:  gratitude for finally understanding my life and knowing I have the spiritual resources to continue the crippling life I’ve been given with love and purpose, determination to speak my truth, despite physical and emotional sickness from the controllers’ pushback, usually in the form of electronic harassment and social sabotage, and fear that the bruises and burns on my body, and sexual wounds, means that something else is going on that I’m amnesic for, and for which my roller coaster continues:  panic, depression, hopelessness, isolation, rest, stillness, recovery, determination to take care of feeding myself and paying the bills while healing, with hope, and back to gratitude – for how long, I wonder, till I’m “hit” again.

I’m surprised to see these words I’ve written.  They’re totally true, but the picture seems pathetic when I imagine someone else reading them, like I’m a bug in a can, pushing itself for days against the metal side, determined but futile until it dies:  continued hope where there seems to be no reason.  But I have reasons.

For one, I might be wrong about my interpretation of all this.  Second, maybe there’s a spiritual way to rise above it, maybe even it could be the tool of my consciousness transformation.  Finally, there seem to be beings on some dimension, maybe my spiritual helpers, or maybe my controllers using technology that only feels “spiritual,” who sometimes heal me in seconds with a download of energy from who knows where.  I can go from too sick to lift a glass to my mouth to standing, stretching, happy, launching into my most productive state in a matter of five seconds.

Other times it feels like less of a healing and more of a lifting of oppression – electronically.  One night, I fell heavily into bed after many days of being too tired to feed myself properly, and crashed immediately.  One hour later, I woke up with a start, and a feeling of amazement and gratitude – and the distinct sense that someone had turned a dial and relieved me of some vibration that had been targeting and oppressing me for days.  Like a heavy weight had been lifted off me while I slept, and the relief was welcome but so surprising it woke me out of a deepest sleep.

Those of us who’ve angered the Powers that Be, I believe, are probably semi-retired from our MK work when we get my age, except for upkeep and maintenance, but we’ve also been turned over to others who need guinea pigs for various sorts of testing, which explains the wide range of wounds I’ve recorded over the years.  I’ve woken with a fully-healed surgical scar, unusually fine and straight, on my neck, which years later a nurse would assume was a scar from thyroid surgery, which I haven’t had, to my knowledge.  Countless other healed white scars have appeared on my hands for years – something other targeted individuals have also recorded.  I’ve woken with Taser burns, other third-degree burns, donut-shaped bruises, injection bruises (or so they appeared, twice a week for over a year), biopsy scoop marks, puncture wounds, deep lacerations inside my vagina, and more – all recorded and photographed – including the interior ones, thanks to a professional photographer lover.  And these wounds attend days or weeks of severe exhaustion and disability, which when I recover burden me to catch up with everything I didn’t do for those days or weeks – before I can even think about whether to try to make a living again.

These past five years have been the worst, and each year has been more intense than the last – interfering seriously with all my attempts to make a living – which is why I’m leaving my home and community, to go where I hope to live cheaply on my Social Security, all I have.  Some people theorize that we’re more than just guinea pigs, that our unwilling enrollment is part of a larger program with the purpose of punishing us in many, many ways for our political work, depressing our energy, and discrediting us and all we might have to say.  Yes, silencing political dissidents – though I thought I was just exercising my American Right of Free Speech, to make my country proud.  I guess that was all a big lie.

So I’m watching a lot of Limitless these days, satisfied to see a slight semblance of my life concerns dramatized for all the world to see:  the government controlling one’s life, threatening one’s life, even though it’s sometimes amazing “fun.”  I related to the main character’s fast brain, the conversations he has with various parts of himself, and the overwhelming distraction that can be as well as a wealth of information, full perspective, and creative solutions – when things are going well.  The imagined good purpose in being a pioneer in supposedly America’s and the Earth’s future.  Family members not believing or understanding, and distrusting whatever the character/I say.  The danger, the wounds, the constant spiritual challenge, strange people suddenly entering your life with the power to drag you in regardless of your desire.

Lately, I’ve been talking to the walls, telling the people I presume are listening in to my home (there are clear and abundant signs they are listening) that I’m trying hard to lighten up on my assumption that they are evil, Satanic, pedophile perverts (an idea most of us accept at some point, though it’s almost too terrifying to live with) and see if instead I can imagine my tormenters as really just working for a non-human Creator who doesn’t realize his efforts to control the minds of his people with root-chakra shock and related techniques is so traumatic that he’s destroying our potential, or nearly, at least for me.  And I wonder if I should simply be communicating my needs better, as if the non-human controller can’t read my distress and despair otherwise.  So I’ve been talking with a little less anger and fewer F-word denunciations.

To my surprise, two of the last three nights I was treated to a download of healing energy.  I actually woke in the night after only one hour sleep with the shocking realization that I felt good – so good, so surprisingly good, that it woke me up after only one hour of sleep. 

Maybe I shouldn’t publish this; maybe it was someone taking sympathy, and that person might get in trouble for the kindness given me.  Or maybe it’s my controllers making sure I’m healthy enough to keep living for their secret purposes.  I don’t know.

It’s a bitch to live your life and just never know the source of the weird shit that keeps happening behind the scenes, but with results left as wounds and scars on my body, telling me that something is definitely happening.  And that’s where my life is far less blessed than Finch’s in Limitless.  But I’ll keep watching.  It’s something to make me feel less alone in this F-ing weirdness.

And now and then I recognize some ability I have, like brainstorming with a crew of very talented parts inside myself, that might have been nurtured and developed as part of my MK training, and I feel a tiny bit hopeful.  It may be rather late in life (age 64) to think I might be any more significant use to myself or others, at least from this pit I’ve sunk into these recent years, but we gotta take hope where we can get it.  Right?

Alright, now, back to the world, grateful and happy to be able to function!  I can do it pretty well between their “hits,” given appropriate recovery time.  I’m grateful to be in recovery space again.  Getting things done, taking care of life successfully, and watching Limitless when I need a break.  Crazy world….

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