On The Cosmic Switchboard, James Bartley and I overview my life in 2 hours. (We plan another conversation soon.)
On RevolutionRadio/AquarianRadio, I have two interviews with Janet Lessin, another mind control subject, and her husband Dr. Sasha Lessin, a psychotherapist. As you’d expect, these interviews are more psychologically focused.
In the first, we spend two hours covering the strange events of my childhood and early adulthood: being ritually tortured, seeing inter-dimensional beings, experiencing strange events with Mormons, military, and individuals in high levels of government, being manipulated into a sorority and into sexually-themed roles in theater. (See a full discussion list below.)
In our second interview, we continue with two marriages to “handlers,” a “nervous breakdown”/spiritual crisis, decision to be a hermit, and introduction to the world of spirit and shamanism – which includes animal spirit encounters, gray aliens, reptilians, reptoids, and more. (See a full discussion list below.)
Our third interview will be next Saturday, November 8, at 5 pm PT, which you can listen to live on Aquarian Radio or YouTube/Aquarian Radio.
Hang in there, Everyone. While you’ve witnessed me in despair and other weak states over the years, I’m hanging in here, continually seeking meaning, continually seeking connection with extra-dimensional help, feeling stronger, and praying that my contributions to our understanding of this strange multidimensional world will also help you find understanding, Help, and eventually soul growth.
Lessin/AquarianRadio Part I:
0:00:00. Intro 0:02:55 Welcome, Dwight Eisenhower, suspected ancient secret society 0:05:30 Secret Societies: Masons, Military/CASU 33, Hollywood, Grandmother/probable early mind control subject 0:09:48 Birthday 7s and moons 0:12:50 UC Davis & Human Ecology Project 0:17:35 Multiple personality “alters” and triggering 0:21:40 Flashback to ritual with sexual torture 0:22:00 Left alone, never learned to play, Asperger’s Spectrum 0:23:40 Couriers, spies, martial arts, assassin, suicidal notions 0:31:30 Portals to other dimensions 0:35:00 2 years mind control programming intensive, age 6-8 0:38:20 Mormon advice to father 0:39:15 Flashback: “She’s getting old enough to remember” 0:39:50 MK still going on 0:40:20 Fear of Mormons, altered state experiences, ghosts, shadow being 0:42:15 Baton-twirling contest, terror on stage 0:43:00 Sexual performance nightmares 0:43:47 Ghosts v ETs 0:45:25 Sexual psy op, age 13 0:50:20 MK to develop sexual slaves for blackmail. “Crazy conspiracy theory” 0:55:10 Theater roles all sexual: stripper, prostitute, sexual spy 0:56:00 Break 1:01:15 Intro 1:02:14 Dr. Sasha Lessin 1:03:06 Theater, sorority life, beauty pageants, prostitute role 1:20:25 How got strong 1:20:50 Last sexual role: sexual spy; joining and deactivating sorority 1:23:00 Initiation ceremony 1:25:00 Who’s orchestrating this? 1:26:34 Frightening hitchhiking event, marriage 1:32:20 Became mother, depressed, abused, hippie church, minister’s wife, houseparent, kids stolen 1:42:00 Student of radio and television, met second husband/handler, MK meeting 1:44:08 Handler definition and how it works 1:45:00 Constantly dealing with weirdness throughout life 1:47:09 Next show: Marriage manipulations, friends in prison and car-bombed, son with cancer, nervous breakdown, went from award-winning journalist and successful consultant to mess, husband angry at MK cartoon 1:55:00 JeanEisenhower.com, ParadigmSalon.net, RattlesnakeFire.com, YouTube.com/ParadigmSalonVideo.
Lessin/AquarianRadio Part II:
00:00 Intro 02:43 Jean Eisenhower resumes life history: marriage to handler 04:33 targeted after 2nd divorce, son’s cancer 07:50 University of Arizona – Master of Fine Arts, Creative Writing Non-Fiction – healing begins 10:00 First Shamanic experience of Wolf 12:50 Discover my multiple-ness in Mind Control, dissociation in trauma (“into the wallpaper”) 15:15 “Put trauma idea into box and into closet” 16:55 Move to my hermitage 19:10 Struggle with rational vs mystical 21:00 Star shamanism – Daughter of Isis, rationality, archetype, history of ancient Egypt 28:30 UFO on highway outside Bisbee, AZ 34:10 first draft of Rattlesnake Fire, MFA thesis 35:15 Next relationship – healing; real estate success 37:30 Inner assassin comes to fore 41:50 Colorado Springs with 5 military bases; healing relationship 46:00 Back to hermitage, Cochise County, straw bale home 48:50 experience re Pleiades – Am I from there?? 52:50 stuck in dualism, childhood charges of crazy for childhood “imaginary friend”/angel 56:00 break 1:03:45 burn all journals re 2nd marriage, begin science journals Jan 1, 2000, all into database w 1200 data lines 1:06:45 Did they want me to be a hermit? (Maybe) I’m Asperger’s, so being in nature is more comfortable than being social 1:08:30 Alien encounters, lost community, “bad Jacketed,” FBI history 1:15:00 thyroid surgery scar on neck 1:16:54 tones from sky 1:17:47 UFOs swarming like fireflies (over White Sands?) with witnesses 1:19:40 Reptilian sex 1:21:30 military Reptilian in my teepee; connections to Ft. Huachuca; 2 friends’ stories confirm; question of Reptilian relationship 1:29:30 Theory of Reptilians vs Reptoids; Reptoid looking through my left eye (“Hulk routine”), then projected image in front of me; Reptoid child hovering in space 1:35:00 Why I’m not allowed to know – theory 1:36:40 My purpose – theory 1:38:00 Janet Lessin – shape-shifting story 1:43:50 Jumping ahead: Altered state w orange alien delivering message of humans not surviving; Sumerian, Genesis warning; thought MK 1:48:40 Highway stop, vaginal implant, laceration, professional photograpic proof 1:55:30: Closing. JeanEisenhower.com, RattlesnakeFire.com, ParadigmSalon.net.
Thanks for being there, Everyone ~
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Before you jump to the conclusion that I’m simply paranoid, having read my earlier post, please check out my super-succinct list here – of some of the stuff I’ve documented over these years – physical injuries, electronic weirdness, and the “Satanic” stuff that I generally don’t name, so I don’t know why I did this time.
Injuries I’ve suffered while amnesic or mysteriously:
– nighttime burn on back of neck (photographed)
– electronic bruising beam 2 1/4″ diameter (witnessed by nurse, photographed two weeks later)
– donut bruises (4, photographed)
– Taser burns (3, photographed)
– lacerations in vagina (3, one photographed)
– apparent surgery on thyroid (scar noted by nurse practitioner)
– back surgery, plates on vertebrae (x-rays not in my possession but seen by me)
– unknown holes appearing on spine (2 or more, photographed)
– bacterial and fungal diseases (Morgellon’s) intentionally inoculated into me (disease extensively photographed, event caused 75 minutes amnesia, disability, documented on Thanksgiving day 2014)
– biopsy scoop marks (photographed)
– on scapula (two, activating constantly, one shown to doctor, tunnel left when one was removed),
– near heart (music in stethoscope reported by terrified Naturopath),
– in g-spot, creating scar tissue or other pain, lasting 18 months; activated once years later; puncture photographed)
– alongside clitoral shaft (documented in journal),
– in ears (2 or more, photographed),
– in teeth, (7, photographed),
– up nostril (2, one photographed),
– left foot near ankle (scar visible, presumed used in first account below)
Electronic events I’ve experienced:
– 4” diameter round vibrating spot turned on my ankle, moving up lower leg about 1” per second, about 6”; after moving, turned on foot again, moving upward again few inches; after moving to bed, approximately 12” round vibrating spot turned on my head, making me unconscious. The next morning, my ears were ringing and always have since, though sometimes to lesser degree.
– many times felt disabled for days, then felt woken up with huge relief that a switch had been flipped – at 10 pm – waking me when exhausted by the shock of normalcy.
– hear a tone, wake on some hour, can’t sleep, sit up to read, hear a tone, notice the time on the hour, fall asleep sitting up.
– black and white movies play short clips in my head, which I ignore, resisting entrainment; once, movie played double speed, once two movies played on top of each other.
– on highway Volkswagen lights go out, I sit immobilized, unable to move even though I want to walk to the gas station, unable to even turn in my seat, estimated 30 minutes, wake out of trance one hour and fifteen minutes later with amnesia. Next day, blood clot blown out of nose, implant discovered in g-spot.
– Painfully loud sound in ears sent me running (under command?) for a relaxation recording, which had disappeared, leaving only a recording I’d been afraid to use, but I used it and experienced oddities and an hour and a half of missing time.
– Chords that wake me or put me to sleep
– Fugue states with feelings of intensity, then unable to remember what I experienced, once immobilized on my step with one foot stretched out for ten minutes (estimate); many fugue states while just sitting
– Sudden need to do something within a few minutes or seconds as if under command, my body responds even when my mind isn’t convinced, once almost falling out the door as I “had to” get out immediately as a helicopter flew low overhead; three times “needing” to get in bed with my pillow, spine, and covers all arranged by a particular time on the hour or half-hour, rushing to accomplish it
Satanic seeming stuff:
– Gloria’s incantation during supposedly “therapeutic” hypnosis, her lying about the time, my discovering her lie on my recording (she didn’t know I was making, which horrified her when I told her), “wrapping me up, every finger and toe,” and my lungs and heart, was disabled for weeks afterward (March 2017)
– Camp group with Masonic emblem, disability for two days after Full Moon (April 2017)
– Other days of disability after Full Moon or New Moon, with amnesia (in journal)
– Hippy Community with Satanic newcomers, extensive disability, painful to walk, weird trance state on Full Moon, dread, left, circled by others, howling crowd in distance later (June 2018)
– New Moon sabotage of my truck, involving computer, seven weeks before its one-year anniversary, with “Yoo hoo” signaling (August 2017)
– New Moon events visiting two people I didn’t want to see, but feeling compelled, leaving impulsively, horrible feelings with both, horrible damage to my rig, mysterious electronic door lock problem between two visits, wonder: truck sabotage by computer a signal for what’s to come?, woman calls “Yoo hoo” (recalling the other woman), realize it’s 7 weeks from the one-year anniversary (April 2020)
…And this is just what I remembered in a few minutes. I’ll expand this, I hope, using my database summarizing my journals.
I’ve chosen not to act emotionally about this, though I once did. Instead I just keep gathering data, and drawing conclusions when I must. And I keep writing.
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Research has led me to one site that links Morgellon’s to, not only strange, colorful fibers, but also a fungus-like growth called “biofilm,” with plastic properties, which covers the skin. It is extremely strong, does not look like skin, and I cannot remove it.
One writer called it part of a “cyborgian” evolution the Controllers of the Planet are technologically enforcing on us, with some of their former subjects now being used as first test subjects for this. Crazy, huh?
I was trying to remove the film with dermabrasives, enzymes, baking soda, and vinegar; nothing works. It’s like I have plastic all over me.
Biofilm? – covers my face and seems to be beginning to “shine” all over me, reflecting light when photographing, as if my skin were plastic).
It doesn’t show to the naked eye, and seems to be a matrix for other things growing through it.
Fungus on the skin leads to cancer – according to another author – and some of cancer images I found online look like some of the thousands of weird things I’ve photographed on me, like these little red raspberries, which the site identified as a “fast-growing” cancer, and which I’ve photographed about six times on my scalp. Hmmmm. [A glitch in cyborg design to kill their product?]
I’ve spent lots of money on supplements and herbs and organized it all into a daily routine. I’ve always kept sugar to a tiny fraction of the standard American diet, but – it’s weird – I’ve been craving it. I recall I’d read long ago that microorganisms can actually convince our brains that we need something like sugar, and so I’ve been struggling with that – so yesterday I emptied most of the sugar out of the camper and gave it away.
I’m scrubbing (as much as I have energy for) and sunning (when the weather’s good and I’m feeling well), and praying (when I “can”), but I am not certain I’m getting better.
I can’t get help from the medical establishment because doctors don’t want to talk about this “controversial” disease. Why? Well, history says doctors have often been involved in top-secret experiments, and they certainly act like it now.
Each one who learns I have a digital microscope and can record my photos and watch my progress has seemed a little perturbed, as if now they know they can’t bullshit me in the usual way. No one yet, MD or ND, has acted normal, except for the one who honestly said, “This stuff scares me. I need to refer you out.” So.
Yesterday the News announced that hospitals across the nation are now short-staffed and their space overwhelmed, and so all other medical care will be compromised – and for example they mentioned people with chronic diseases – like cancer.
Is this whole thing designed to execute Kissinger’s prophetic statement about our world needing a 95% die-off?
So they invented something to mostly kill the old and infirm. Strategically, that would make sense and be a good start. Better than war. Plague.
I’m over sixty, so Kissinger would have me die. No doctor will give me a blood test to begin any internal treatment. So, I’m wondering if I’m supposed to go soon.
I’m in the pristine, pure desert though! Only have to spend a couple hours in town, one trip each week, to empty my tanks, shower, get water, buy groceries, maybe visit the library, then back to the desert to relax and watch the birds.
And scrub, prepare good food, take my medicines, rub stuff on me, enjoy camp mates from a distance, enjoy solitude, and wonder if I’m really supposed to try to heal this biofilm and fibers and spirochetes.
(So daunting! They’re elated to syphilis! – shades of the syphilis experiment they did for a decade on the Black men of Tuskeegee – the experiment for which the government was shamed into finally admitting and paying settlements. At it again, this time with activists.)
And keep on trying to heal myself as a mind control subject too? Sheesh.
Or (that was just one alter talking) heal myself through prayer? Ask Jesus to heal me? (I have been.)
Maybe this is when I’ll be pushed to such absolute lows that I’ll trigger some strength or knowing and transform myself into something new, spiritual, and healed – ?
Seems like a pretty big order for an old lady, which I’m really beginning to feel these days, grunting and huffing sometimes just to move around.
Feels like, if Kissinger wants 95% to die, I can’t think of much of a reason to say it shouldn’t be me. Ya know?
But I’ll definitely ask that friends and family keep me out of the hospitals! Away from doctors! But let my friends with healing talents come sit with me, help me deal with pain.
The deadly part of this disease is the spirochetes. (That’s why I’ve been so focused on getting a blood test.) They invade the brain, nervous system, and heart. I hope the heart is attacked first.
But if it’s my brain, we’ll have other issues, and I pray for everyone’s kindness, and again to be kept away from doctors or anyone who could be pretending to help but really be another targeter.
That’s why, for awhile, I was thinking the coronavirus might be a faster way to go. But I’m not chasing it – and I no longer believe it’s actually a virus causing the problem. And I don’t believe I’ll live or die according to what I do; I believe my controllers will decide.
Further, I am not philosophically persuaded that I understand everything in this multi-dimensional world well enough to make that sort of radical decision, to die or not. When my angels or family and friends over there make themselves known to me and call me over, then maybe.
Till then, I’ll sit in the beautiful desert or forest, greet the trees and flowers and birds each day, and move when the weather persuades me.
My YouTube channel has videos of my Morgellon’s at:
I’ve been documenting the weird protrusions from my skin for about a year now, and some of the items that people want to call hairs, just aren’t.
Some appear to be fungus, others appear to be bacteria. This one with knobby joints along its length has long fascinated me. Some of the tips have a fine, crystalline point; others seem brush-like. And they often have a swollen base, though this one doesn’t.
The diagram below can be found on a few Morgellon’s websites. I’ve recognized none of the organisms below – though the largest one has features I’ve noted all year long: the knobby stem and the “brush-like” tip.
The large body at the other end is probably what’s under the skin, causing the bulges at the base of each and the inflamed spots all over, as in the next photo of mine, not as highly magnified.
Under magnification, the “hairs”/stems are knobby and the tips are either brush-like or have fine, crystalline points.
I believe these are fungus, and I’ve begun an anti-fungal diet, which I’ll post about next.
Of course, fungus is only one part of this disease. (What’s the little orange blob on the left in the photo above? I have a whole collection of weird blob photos I’ll post soon.)
There are also the spirochetes to deal with (sorry about the high drama in this artwork) – which can enter the brain, nervous system, and heart – which I’m concerned has already happened, judging by my sometimes-foggy brain, trembling fingers, and ongoing ulcers breaking out – though my ulcers are tiny compared to this picture.
(People without microscopes can’t see what I see, so they let their symptoms go longer until it gets this bad. I’m so sorry! If you’re concerned, get yourself a digital microscope online!)
And finally, the weird fibers, which many people believe are nanotechnology – and I have enough experience to have personal evidence that I believe it may indeed be true. I’ll post about that later.
(Sure am wishing doctors in America weren’t in on the targeting so I could get a blood test instead of being given a delusional parasitosisdiagnosis, sadly.
Look at this pink fungal fruiting body! On my scalp.
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Last night I woke at 1 am and since I couldn’t sleep, I sat up and asked my Spirit Help what they might want me to hear, as They often wake me at night for things like that.
Morgellon’s was a spiritual battle, they said – like everything else. Yes, I’m supposed to keep my diet clean and sugar-minimized, and keep sleeping well, and getting sun, but I’m also supposed to be talking with the spiritual beings around me who can also deal with the fungal beings in my skin – on this realm and others.
On this realm, I was also encouraged that simple products could help change the ecosystem of my skin even more than essential oils. Online this morning, I read that using vinegar to create an acid environment could diminish the fungal aspect of Morgellon’s. And so I’m beginning….
…That was a week or more ago and that’s as far as I got. I never put on vinegar after the first day! What’s wrong? Mind control? Sheesh.
Okay. I don’t need to be as gloomy as I was last post.
Going for the vinegar now.
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Morgellon’s Disease can be painfully isolating – but I’m used to isolation. I’m a mind control subject, and the controllers have always planned for us to be isolated and discredited – in case we’d ever remember what had been done to us.
Since I was a child, my mother has been telling my siblings not to believe me, and while I witnessed her behavior all my life, I’d been programmed to never object to it or anything else my parents might do.
They were being paid, I believe, to cooperate with the controllers with whom they’d contracted when I was a baby, living with them in student housing on the campus of UC Davis where the Human Ecology Project was launched in my first year, a cover for mind control experiments.
My mother created a lot of disharmony between me and my siblings. When they wouldn’t eat all their vegetables, she’d point to me – cruelly mind controlled to obey regardless of my desire – and say, “Why don’t you just eat your dinner like Jean Ann?” and they’d all scowl at me across the table.
Another phase I heard from her often was, “Oh, I’ve always said you had a vivid imagination, and you mixed up your dreams with memory.” Weirdly, she always said the exact same words, never varied, in a sing-song rhythm, so that one day it made the hair stand up on the back of my neck when I realized she seemed to be going into a trance when she repeated the sentence word-for-word, and in that moment I knew something was very, very weird.
I’d just drawn the floor plan of an apartment in which I had my youngest memory, including details about where the linoleum ended and the carpet began and the glazed tall narrow window by the front door – to which she’d exclaimed, “You couldn’t remember that! You were 14 months old when we left there!” Then her face had trembled at the illogic of her words, and she pushed herself up from the table, walked to the window, and said those same words once more.
The memory I’d described rather thoughtlessly (I’d started enthusiastically before realizing it didn’t put her in a very good light but then I had to continue, so I de-emphasized the difficult part) had been of me fussing for her attention, batting around her hips (I was that small), her frustrated response as she stopped her efforts over the stove, threw the spatula, and screamed, “I can’t take this anymore! I’m leaving!” and walked out the door.
My next youngest memory of my mother was of her “washing my mouth out with soap” for something I’d said. I have no idea what it was, but I suspect the thing that enraged her was talking about some sexual abuse in the night. I was so obedient to my mother that after she left me in the bathroom, I followed her, prodding my tongue over chunks of soap stuck to my teeth and my mouth filling with saliva, to get permission to move the step stool so I could spit it all out.
Later, when my baby sister was born, I recall being told to keep my two younger siblings from getting into trouble when my mother took the baby in to nap with her. I was only five and felt burdened to keep two little ones from getting into things they shouldn’t. Of course, they didn’t want to listen to me, and things didn’t always go well. But I still have no memories of my mother’s face or her looking at me.
Today, when I describe anything weird to my siblings, they all ignore me in a similar way; they respond to everything “normal” and are absolutely silent about everything else, even the most extreme.
Once, after I’d woken with a Taser burn on my arm, my face looking as bad as I’ve ever seen it, and my physical energy totally drained for days, I crafted a letter to my siblings and edited it for three days until I thought I had something that was as brief as possible, but still well-documented, limited to what I thought they could handle, with a conclusion simply asking for their advice in addressing this common weirdness in my life, of waking with weird injuries and total exhaustion.
Two of my three siblings responded with one sentence each. My brother would pray for me; my older younger sister said she didn’t have any money to lend (I never mentioned money); and my youngest younger sister just didn’t respond.
Years earlier, I’d learned that all my family had met together without me for a special long weekend at the family cabin, and I was never told the nature of the meeting. I assume they all decided to do something like I’ve heard is done in mental health cases: only respond to what’s “real”; ignore what’s “not real.” I understand. Mom did her job well, and my siblings simply believe I’m somewhat crazy.
That’s not really a problem. I could always just live my life without communicating with my siblings. But one sibling will be executing the family estate one day, and my father’s will has some strange language about money NOT going to anyone who can’t care for him- or herself; and if my brother – who has, as a fundamentalist Christian, chosen to act very hostilely to me in the past, including telling me I’m not in touch with reality as he walked away, waving his hand as if to shoo away any words back from me) – actually believes I’m crazy, then I might get ZERO inheritance – unless I go live in an institution!
So I continue to treat my situation like a good scientist, and document, document, document. I have photos, testimonies, medical records, police records, and more. But my siblings want to hear of nothing; they want to continue to pretend I’m crazy, and no sexual abuse or mind control has had anything to do with our family.
Never mind that our family has connections to Masons, Mormons, the Military, and Hollywood. And one sister hired Madonna’s mother to be nanny to her baby daughter!
One other way I could interpret my siblings’ behavior is that they’re more knowledgeable than they let on, and they know our parents were involved and that I was given into mind control, but it’s best to pretend they don’t know, because it has always been in everyone’s best interests to protect our father (and mother, who passed away last year).
Or maybe it’s to protect themselves. Maybe they’re also in on it somehow. Maybe they became Satanists at some point, willfully or accidentally. Or maybe there’s some other reason.
I choose to believe they were simply encouraged from their earliest years by my mother and father to disbelieve me – because the controllers know that their experiments are not fully refined, and their subjects often “glitch” and realize the weirdness or pain of their lives and want to tell someone. So to head off that possibility, their subjects are called crazy or not dependable from their earliest days to everyone close to them.
The world tells me I have a good mind; I’ve scored high on college exams, Air Force exams (I never joined), and MENSA tests (also never joined). I’ve been offered two six-figure salaries; and in college received comments from three professors that my analyses were the most astute and creative that they’d read in their careers.
Last week, one of my sisters learned about the harsh treatment of migrants in our border jails, and I wrote back to say I wasn’t surprised because of how I’d been treated in jail as an activist. It involved being Tasered and losing 24 hours of memory. She ignored me.
The sad part is my family and exes seems to have also convinced my daughter to distrust me too. My son I’ve chosen not to tell much to, so he’s the only positive “real” connection, but I haven’t had the courage to actually be real, lest he turn away also.
So I live with NO acknowledgement of my reality or the pain or anxiety I suffer, except from random friends now and then who’re dealing with something similar.
I worry about my family. I’d like to protect my kids and granddaughter and some of my nieces and nephews, but the mind controllers have been plotting for decades to keep exactly this from happening.
So I live philosophically. Each of us has their own lessons to learn, and no one can help another learn them. We can support and encourage and love, but ultimately we can’t help.
We have our own spiritual Helpers though, and so I pray for my children and grandchildren, and even my siblings and father and mother on the other side, and my nieces and nephews – that their Helpers are doing what’s possible, and I don’t need to worry. It’s sad, though, never having had siblings to whom I could relate normally.
I’ve enjoyed that sense of family when I’ve connected with the other side. It’s not very often though, at least that I remember.
I don’t blame anyone. We’re all mind controlled to some degree, and some of us with the worst of it can see it better and sooner; those who can’t see it have every reason not to look: it’s scary. I don’t blame them for looking away.
I’m sure life would be delightful if I could pretend this stuff wasn’t real and “make it real,” and I tried that for ten years. But after a decade of denial, throwing all my life energy into other activities, they were always sabotaged and brought down by mysterious forces, either working in me or working through others.
So I accept that my eyes and ears and good mind are right; I’m mind controlled. And those around me have been mind controlled to ignore what I’d like to tell them.
I respect mind control. It’s next to impossible to combat. At least I can’t, yet. So I can’t blame others for turning their backs on me.
Hopefully, we’ll talk about it in the afterlife.
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No one wants to believe these things aren’t just hairs, so I’ve taken a few photos to show you their structure.
This brown thing definitely moves when the microscope glides around, but sometimes it seems to move as if perceiving. They all have a particular bend with a tiny knob at that bend.
At the base is redness and apparently a second protrusion, cylindrical and stubby, alongside the main item.
It’s common to find two of these from the same place, and also common to find two different types of anomalous growths. This is too short to categorize.
Above the bend, the organism (I feel I can call it now) is striped in color and transparency.
Refocusing toward the tip, the striping continues.
The tip is very difficult to capture with the quality of microscope I have. Often it seems to be a bundle of fine long fibers that read something in the environment.
Hairs don’t look like this. Microorganisms in the fungal family might. Any experts out there?
It seems to be diminishing with oregano oil (a drop in a 1/2t Vitamin E oil). I think I should also get more sun, and consume less sugar.
After a lifetime of not eating much sugar at all, I’ve started to indulge even when I know it’s totally contrary to my healing. I’ve heard some people say our parasites can communicate their desire, such as for sugar, which we mistake for our own desire. So this bacterium and fungus I’m fighting might be the ones calling out for a little bit of sugar.
(Again, every doctor AND Naturopath I’ve consulted (seven in five months) acts like they’re either afraid or following orders to deny this and push me away, adding to the theory that they’re all in a conspiracy to hide and deny the results of secret government research; consequently, I haven’t yet found one to order me a blood test. The Tuskeegee syphilis patients in the 1940s died of a spirochete not too different from the one we’re calling Morgellon’s. Maybe in forty years everyone will get an acknowledgement and apology. But not now.)
So I’ve quit looking for a blood test; I just assume I have this spirochete, and I know it can hurt your heart and go into your nervous system and brain. And all that might have begun. And I might be dying.
On the other hand, I have been healed so many times by unseen forces, I’ve always assumed by my Helpers, but possibly by Mind Control technology in order to get me strong enough for some amnesic task I’m needed for, I really don’t know.
I do know I have implants all over in me, as I’ve felt them activated in various ways, and one doctor heard one. So it finally occurred to me, I’m probably going to live or die depending on whether the Controllers – or my Helpers – want me to.
But in case my life is in my hands, then I’m taking care of it pretty well, except for the few grams of sugar I try to stay under each day (10, but it used to be 5). I eat organic when it’s available, sleep well, take supplements and super-nutrients, minimize coffee and alcohol. And I scrub the fungi away every day – at least for the last two days, but I’ve been intending for a long time.
I read today Edgar Casey said the Unseen is far more powerful than the Seen. I need to be reminded. For some reason – mind control? – these things I know I act like I don’t know! So I need prayer help on this.
I’m trying to design my life for maximum healing (and saving money), camped in a beautiful place in the desert, where I was greeted by an owl, coyotes, and lots of birds, a phainopepla this late afternoon. I’ve bathed in teas made from the leaves of desert creosote. I’m hoping I can keep up the energy the next time I’m “attacked” – apparently hit by some vibe that disables me.
Keeping up the spirit for now.
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First used digital microscope in May 2019 to investigate deep sores on scalp followed by deep scabs. Discovered this wound first:
Later found more scalp ulcers, this one photographed in October, 2019:
Also found ulcers on my face:
And this on the bridge of my nose:
Also, an ulcer in my vagina, with strange fibers in the open wound:
And fibers everywhere on my body:
Even emerging from the soles of my feet:
And this cluster of fibers seems to be contained in lymph and blood, picked off the tip of one of my toes:
And some of the fibers seem similar to hairs, but with strange features like blunt “heads,” jointed structure, and sometimes apparent independent movements:
Along the way I also found things that seem like photos of cancer I’ve seen online – little red raspberry-appearing things:
And I’ve found evidence of what I believe is a spirochete infection, on both my genitals and face:
Since the Morgellon’s controversy contains the story of a secret biowarfare lab working with spirochetes that got out of control, and because another historic controversy involved another spirochete, syphilis, tested on Black men in the forties, it is concerning to find spirochetes on my body and doctors refusing to look or test.
And because of the history of our nation’s biowarfare experiments on unwitting subjects, and my previous evidence that I’ve been used for other experiments, it’s especially concerning to find artificial elements like this yellow, six-sided bead that seems to be planted tightly on my scalp:
One evening when I hadn’t scrubbed my face in 18 hours, I found this apparently complex ecosystem growing on my chin, which thankfully could be scrubbed away:
And this seems to be a fungal infection on my face, according to a medical care provider:
Sorry I haven’t been able to post much. I’ve been dealing with extreme fatigue (another symptom of Morgellon’s) and inability to focus on the few days I have Internet access. Another possible development is that the spirochetes can move into one’s heart, nervous system and brain. Last summer, I took a 6-mile hike, climbing at least a 1,000 feet elevation, and felt fine. Today, I can’t walk a mile without exhaustion.
I’ve also developed a tremor or palsy in my hands! I’ve flicked myself in the face while falling asleep and tapped more unwanted items on my cell phone and witnessed my left hand trembling so bad I have to hold the phone against something steady to be able to use it – all symptoms of spirochetes moving beyond just the skin.
So when I have a hard time thinking and feel a fullness under my scalp I wonder if they’re passing the blood-brain barrier and invading my brain.
Sure wish the 2 doctors and 3 Naturopaths I’ve consulted would have taken this seriously. One did, and she said she was scared of it and referred me to out-of-state doctors. I appreciate her honesty. The two doctors, I assume, are in the secret network, aligned against us targeted individuals. The other Naturopaths might have been threatened, but couldn’t be as honest as the one.
Now I’m away from home and my health insurance plan just doesn’t work for nomads. So I’ve been waiting for two months for one Naturopath to send me an order for blood work, but his office hasn’t sent it.
Some days I feel like I’m dying slowly, eaten alive by fungus and spirochetes, my skin looking horrible under the microscope, my heart feeling fainter by the day, my hands occasionally trembling, no energy to scrub myself as often as I should.
Other days, I just feel better, or if I really need to do things, I “dissociate” well enough to enjoy productive days and some lazy days and visiting with friends. Here’s a photo to prove it:
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It sure seemed like I had a parasite, probably a worm of some sort, in my sinus, and not only that, but it seemed to be laying eggs!
It’s possible, though, that I was mind controlled to believe this was the case. At first it seemed as though someone would have had to mind control me to enter an altered state and let them in my camper to squirt something sticky into the front of my right nostril, then leave and let me come to normal consciousness to find the sticky stuff there and freak out. Crazy.
Later I thought it might have been possible for someone to mind control me to believe I’d found the white sticky stuff in my nostril and twirl five Q-tips in there repeatedly to get it all out. More likely, with my history.
I thought I was videotaping my Q-tip work – part of my usual habit of keeping excellent documentation of everything – but discovered the camera wasn’t recording until I was in the final stages. I saved the Q-tips hoping a lab could tell us what sort of parasite it was. If I was mind controlled, though, then the Q-tips should have nothing unnatural on them.
Of course, discrediting mind control subjects who come partially conscious and begin to speak out, like I have, is one of the Controllers’ primary goals. So I’m inclined to believe, if anything finally proves all my concerns are “imagined,” then this was mind control for discrediting purposes.
If my concerns are not discredited, then I’ve experienced something very weird, have some medical concerns, have been treated very rudely by doctors, and need help.
For now, I believe I was deluded, not delusional – deluded by parties that have an interest in discrediting me, since I have worked for years to blow the whistle on them. Here’s how the latest unfolded for me:
It all began when I used a digital microscope (I highly recommend) to see the surface of my scalp where I believed a microwave shot might have hit me in the head (photos above); if it wasn’t a microwave shot, but something else, I wanted to see it.
I found a perfectly round one, as expected (left), and one that seems to have hit my scalp at an angle (right). The skin in both cases appears to have been punctured multiple times in a round or parabolic shape.
Fine hairs, a tiny fraction of the width of normal hair, and often curling, are found on my scalp and other parts of my body.
Eventually, I had to also acknowledge some things I’d seen but wanted to ignore, like strange fibers that were much finer than hair, and other hair-like things that seemed to act like self-directed periscopes or antennas.
Odd, blunt-headed hair-like structures all over my body often seemed to move as though perceiving.
Other organisms seemed to be swimming in pink and orange puddles of dissolved skin.
And my feet under the microscope seemed to have been punctured in the near-center of every print line at regular distances by some parasite that completely covered the soles of my feet.
These well-spaced holes cover the soles of my feet.
Since I regularly feel as though I’ve been raped in the night when I wake in the morning, I wasn’t surprised to find I have a genital infection as well.
Some of these made me – and some readers of an earlier post – think of Morgellons, and I wondered when I’d been inoculated with it.
This is the one of the 3 worst spots with a quantity of mystery fibers.
Even though only one place on my body had large numbers of fibers, there was at least one strange fiber at every location I set down the microscope, and I felt covered by organisms from scalp to toe, disgusted, and terrified when I considered my life history of doctors seem to be involved in the nighttime amnesic events and to be hostile to me in their daytime offices.
I’d been feeling as though something was wiggling around in my right sinus all day, and it might be related to the sensation I’d had the night before of something crawling up my windpipe into my throat near my left eustacian tube, and then across to the right side before I fell asleep. I used the otoscope to look down my nasal cavity a few times that day, and suddenly I saw for the first time what appeared to be a long white worm, or maybe a bunch of smaller ones, wrapped around the nasal structure – or maybe it was just mucous. I wasn’t sure, so I waited for clarity.
After turning my attention to something else, suddenly something new appeared: fluffy-looking snow-white foam filled the front opening of my right nostril!
It clearly wasn’t mucous. Maybe the worm or other parasite was real, and it’s just deposited this foam – laid eggs – thankfully where I can remove them easily. But where is the parasite, and where else might it lay eggs?
To my great surprise, removing the sticky foam wasn’t easy. When my Q-tip touched the white fluff, it surprised me with its stiffness and stickiness – it had an affinity for skin and did not let go! This was nothing that could be mistaken for mucous.
“my skin was beginning to bleed and the stuff was still in patches here and there”
I used 5 Q-tips, 10 ends, and had to quit after a few minutes because my skin was beginning to bleed and the stuff was still in patches here and there, impossible to scrape or pull off! (Days later it seems to have hardened into a tough thin layer of something like shellac.)
(I thought I was videotaping the foam removal but was surprised to find the software hadn’t clicked on. This still photo is from a video of my attempt to clean up the last bits.)
Looking online for organisms that match my organisms, I have been rather worried to not find them, as that leads me to consider the conspiracy theories about designer organisms being planted in targeted individuals. Maybe that’s an additional reason why no doctors want to treat me?
And of course, looking for information, I watched some fascinating videos about parasites being pulled from people’s ears and noses, with tools that travel in tiny spaces, videotaping while sucking parasites out – I wanted that!
While all the sinus sensations I’d had might be dismissed as imaginary or incorrect interpretation, the white sticky foam at the front of my nostril seemed like something I could not ignore.
It seemed incontrovertible evidence that something potentially dangerous was unfolding and I would be stupid to ignore it.
At the emergency room, the doctor refused to accept that the white foam wasn’t mucous, but for me, it was the clinching reason I was at the ER; something had laid eggs in my head, and was likely to lay more, and some of the foam was still right there inside my nostril, easily available to be collected and sent to some lab for identification.
In exasperation, the doctor offered me a parasiticide, which I took even though I “never” take pharmaceuticals. Dumbfounded to be not believed, I was comforted only that the parasiticide would kill it and make the issue moot. (I thought I’d tell the doctor later when I had proof of the parasite’s existence.) He sent me home with advice on how to treat a sinus condition.
On the Internet the next day, I read about the drug I’d taken, Ivermectin – that it doesn’t kill adult worms. Fortunately, I was able to see a Naturopath that day who referred me to an Ear Nose and Throat specialist and ordered blood tests of everything she thought pertinent. I gave my blood, shopped for a liver cleanse, and twice called the ENT who promised to return my calls within 2 hours, but never did, not even the next work day. When I finally got a through to the office, they told me my Medicaid insurance plan wouldn’t be accepted, and it would even be “illegal” for them to accept cash. (What???!)
For a second day, I’d felt movements in my right sinus, along with odd pressure points about once an hour, at different places each time. I imagined worm eggs being laid in various places, sometimes feeling they were puncturing into my inner ear or brain cavity. My entire head began to feel under pressure. I asked myself at every point, Am I imagining this?
In recent days I’ve videotaped a lot of oddities on and under my skin:
Blood-colored shapes under the skin
Three punctures inside my cheek, along with a crystalline hair!
And many, many more fibers, including many that appear crystalline.
The second evening I wondered if there was anything else to do. Might these be the last days of my life – if worms all hatched in my head one day soon?
Or was I imagining this? How could I imagine the sticky white fluff, when I’ve saved the Q-tips and have a video of me trying and failing to clean out the last of the impossibly sticky stuff from my nose? If it wasn’t parasite eggs, what was it, and how did it get there?
Was I mind controlled to go into a programmed altered state to let a mind control handler in the camper who squirted something up my nose (in the middle of the afternoon), then left me to come back to normal consciousness and find it? Sounds pretty crazy, but it is the way that lots of mind control is done.
What other explanations are there? Both worms in the head and mind control to make someone think they have worms in their head are both equally disturbing.
Two days feeling worm-like movements in my sinus, I suddenly felt something coming up from my windpipe again – that’s what had happened the night before I noticed the first sinus effects – so I grabbed my digital otoscope, plugged it in with shaking hands, and tried to capture video of whatever was coming up my throat. My hands shook terribly, and I was unable to calm them down. Whatever video I hoped to catch was hopelessly blurry. And then I noticed little squiggles climbing up my throat – not one big worm, but dozens of tiny things springing forward, their bodies in tiny S-shapes!
When I saw those tiny “worms” springing up my throat, it tipped me over the edge. Now we had evidence; the doctors would have to believe.
But I didn’t want to go back to the ER without checking with someone else, so I called the 24-hour medical advice line offered by my insurance company.
Dr. Lu eventually came on the line, but in the intervening minutes, I’d decided that I didn’t trust what I’d seen with my shaky hand-held otoscope, and decided the little “leaping worms” might have actually been artifacts of my shaky hand and dots of light, so I skipped that detail and reported only 1) the sensations of things traveling up my throat from my windpipe, 2) sensations of things moving in my sinuses, 3) the sudden appearance of fluffy white foam in my nostril, and 4) my video of what I believed was a worm wrapped around a structure in my sinus (even though I’d once thought it could possibly be mucous, I’d checked later and thought I’d found it entirely gone one hour and then returned – worm-like, not mucous-like). Dr. Lu wanted to see it, but unfortunately, my computer suddenly went offline, so she told me to go back to the emergency room and show the doctors my photos.
So I returned, 24 hours later, shaken but confident that a different doctor would see what I saw and not dismiss the clear compelling description I had of the white sticky substance that couldn’t be removed – that was still there for them to take a sample of – and the Q-tips for testing.
When the doctor arrived after hours of my waiting, he sat in a hunched posture with his head bowed, looked at me through harsh, squinting eyes, and began challenging everything I said. He ended with some comment about “mental illness,” and I knew I’d been fooled again into doing what mind control subjects should never do: give another doctor (potentially in the mind control network) ammunition against my future freedom as a mental healthy person. I concluded again to myself: I should never consult Western doctors, no matter how desperate I think the situation. When the doctor left to finish my paperwork, I left without waiting for him.
The next day, my sinuses were mostly still, but stuffy, and I wondered if the parasiticide had killed whatever it was. With the otoscope, I also noticed there seemed to be a lot of thin white stuff that coated my sinuses in a new way I’d never seen. (And I’d been looking inside my sinuses almost daily.) Was it fibers of web? I followed the hospital advice for a sinus condition and snorted salt water up my nose repeatedly, but it only cleared away what I’d recognized as mucous, while the new white stuff remained untouched.
For the first time I saw the structures of my nose entirely swollen together, the spaces I’d usually peer into were swollen closed. Now and then, I would sense something wiggle, and I’d wonder if it was just the normal movements of the sinus or if it was a parasite or worm.
I’d remember what I’d learned about life cycles of small organisms: sometimes major events like egg-laying happen within hours, sometimes days, sometimes years or decades. And I’d wonder what else I should do as a responsible person.
Gathering advice from online, I put peppermint oil on my cheeks and around my ears. I added garlic, onions, and ginger to everything I ate, and hoped that would make my body a poor host for whatever this is.
I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know what this thing is. And I don’t know how it might be related to the other odd organisms I see proliferating in other places on my body.
If I’m delusional, someone explain the white sticky fluff, at least. And someone take my samples and get them to a lab.
And why were the doctors so adamant, even hostile, about not acknowledging my perceptions? The whole thing feels like a mind control psy op.
If my experience is of a real parasitic organism, what is it? Is it a new, secret designer organism? Will it kill me? Gruesomely? How fast?
Life is feeling normal again, though my sinuses are still quite stuffy.
I’ve healed the genital infection.
My blood work tells me I’m okay.
The Naturopath was considerate and helpful, and recommends I see a dermatologist to answer what are all the fibers on my body.
And I’ll take the Q-tips to a lab one day when I find one I trust who’ll test them.
I hope I won’t be surprised one day by parasites all hatching in my head. If they do, and I die, you will all know the backstory, and I’ll ask you to report it to the Flagstaff Medical Center Emergency Room staff.
If nothing ever happens, then I’ll suppose either
1) the parasiticide worked, or
2) there was never a parasite, and it was all my imagination,
a) my own, meaning I have developed a new problem, or
b) someone else’ mind control technology was used to discredit me.
In other words, I’ll continue to live with unknowns and ambiguity.
To do: Find a dermatologist.
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This last year has felt very productive. Not only did I sort a lot of possessions, but I also purchased a couple of USB otoscopes and began video documenting the weird technological anomalies in my ears, nose, and teeth, which I have to conclude are probably implants placed by rogue elements of our government, since I’ve felt implants operated in different parts of my body and even had one doctor hear one operated in my heart. (See ParadigmSalonVideo on YouTube.) Nevertheless, I’ve been trying to keep productive and in a good enough mood to keep my friends and family with me.
In the spring, I purchased a new camper and truck and moved in by summer and got back to productivity on a couple of important projects, while traveling in cooler country. (And helped a friend prepare to flee a fire.)
Also, I needed to get away from my trailer home in Pearce. I had purchased a meter and found off-the-charts electric energy fields in my home that I felt was making me sick and lethargic.
When I found a particularly heavy reading in a wall where there were supposedly no wires of any sort, I considered cutting open the wall to see what was there, but decided instead to just leave town! And life has felt better away from home.
On August 1, I got out my barely-used USB microscope and for the first time put it on my scalp to document what I thought was a microwave shot to the head.
Putting the microscope all over my body, I found a lot of anomalies, mostly weird fibers emerging from my skin, along with other oddities:
dots on soles of feet, plus odd fibers
star patterns of skin on torso, with odd fibers and blood under the skin
and curious fibers all over my body, many of which waved around on their own, like little heads looking this way and that.
fiber under the skin, similar to fibers emerged
Alarmed, I put the microscope on my nether parts and found this lesion, swimming with organisms. Most infuriating, many of these organisms seemed to have been just put there in a clump – not emerging, just laid on the skin, disconnected! With my documentation of people entering my home on a regular basis with myself either made unconscious or immobilized, I have to interpret this finding as evidence that someone has been innoculating me with these.
I’ve spent the last few days now, microscopically videotaping the skin all over my body, finding odd stuff everywhere, researching online, and even talked to one researcher whom I hope will get back to me sometime soon.
Meantime, I’m in a sort of suspended-belief shock.
It is rather weird to be still functioning, but see, microscopically, that your skin is deteriorating and little organisms are eating you. And some of those organisms have behaviors like “looking around.”
Because the medical authorities have denied this condition exists – despite thousands of people having it – makes me believe there’s probably something to the theories that this is a government secret project. Since I clearly have secret technology implanted in my ears, teeth, heart, scapula, genitals, and elsewhere (see past blogs and vlogs), and I’ve ignored their warnings to shut up about it, perhaps they’ve also implanted me with living organisms to make me miserable until I die???
Some say some of these “hairs” are actually antennas – explaining their behavior – connected electronically to the implants. Who knows? We can only guess when the government says, “Nothing… delusional.”
For five days now, I’ve been researching, documenting, and keeping almost totally to myself here in our forest camp. I haven’t told anyone about this except for a few people I’m camping with (very briefly) and two email friends.
I have a researcher calling me back, hopefully soon, and a Naturopath appointment five weeks away. Meantime, I have work to do: appointment in town, and a day’s worth of errands, tank dumps, and provisioning. I’ll act like life is normal.
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Above left is a photo inside my right ear. On the right is a photo of one of many “normal inner ear” images on the Internet that look very similar.
The differences I see are these:
First, it appears that the drum – the semi-clear membrane in front of everything including the silver piece – is gone in my ear – though recent photos show it has grown at least halfway back. I took this photo shortly after the highway incident in which I felt the microwave attack, felt the extreme pressure in my ears which I worked to dissipate by rapidly “popping my ears,” was mentally disabled for a short while (and barely continued driving on the highway), and then when I got home found blood in my ears, which may have resulted in my eardrums being burst.
The first arrow, upper left in my ear (left photo above), points to something like a square dark gray button, which I have a few photos of from months past, but that button is nowhere to be seen now, so I assume it was removed after I posted it.
The next two arrows point to the “cone of light” which seems to have two mechanical pieces attached to the outside of it. I have been unable to find anything like this in any photo online.
The last two arrows in the photo above point to something that appears similar to small squares of folded aluminum foil. These have also disappeared from my ears since posting.
Finally, above and below, the wire-like things. This is a recent photo, but the old one show the same thing: apparent wires. I’ve watched videos of the inner ear and heard one doctor state that there are NO hairs this deep in the ear, so I assume they’re artificial.
Thanks for being with me on this journey.
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Places where I KNOW there is an implant – because I’ve felt them activated or have seen and photographed them – and places where I SUSPECT an implant might be – described and documented below. (Numbers 5, 9, 11, 13, and 17 might have been left off the list, as they have little evidence. Numbers 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, and 16 indicate two or more implants.)
1. Top/back crown of head. Often painful and hot. Anomalous radio frequency readings.
2. Represents implants of unknown number in area often painful and hot.
3. Represents implants of unknown number in area often painful and hot.
4. Both ear canals – significant technology can be seen with otoscope, is videotaped and published, appears to attract skin to grow over it (see newest videos); ringing since Dec 2010; unusual experience with ears Oct 27, 2016, followed by sense of water in ear for three days. Appears to match online description of “Cochlear Implant” in which elements are mounted inside a rubber cup, as this appears to be.
5. Occiput. Unsure. Associated with altered state once.
6. Back of back-right-lower tooth appears to have four items stored in geometric order, three vertically, one left of the bottom one, plus a porcelain cap seen in the back, not flush with the tooth. (Also, tooth above, top right, appears very unhealthy at its base.)
7. Two here: Implant in side of tooth, lower left, second from back, with porcelain button cap, videotaped signs of transmitting: patch of white inside stain to right, patch of tiny bubbles in front of mysterious stain dots on porcelain cap, the porcelain cap always curious to hygienists. Also another porcelain cap between this tooth and the tooth behind, gold-colored in this photo with a layer of tooth cement on top of it. (And for the record, the tooth above also appears very unhealthy at its base.) (And I stopped one dentist from placing another implant in a tooth when I discovered the extra hole he’d drilled, and he prompted destroyed the evidence by destroying and removing my tooth.)
8. This implanted the day #10 was removed. It tickles now and then.
9. On spine. Theoretical. Think it might be used to pull my spine out of alignment.
10. In me for over a year. Bruise showed within two weeks, went away within two weeks after it was removed Oct 26, 2014 (resulting tunnel is shown in photo with bruise beside). Tickled a lot.
11. On spine. Theoretical. Think it might be used to pull my spine out of alignment.
12. In my heart or very nearby. My Naturopath heard it in 2006 and was rather disturbed. She appreciated my not pressing her about it, but she confirmed my account after I’d published my book in 2008.
13. Inside left forearm, beneath elbow. Has pressed on a nerve since my 20s or 30s. May be a harmless cyst, but it’s in a location that many people report implants, so it’s suspected.
14. February 8, 2011, I sensed a cut, up alongside my clitoral shaft about 1” or more up inside, where I assume an implant has been placed. I sensed the cut tissue as soon as I awoke and moved my leg. Some researchers report these implants are placed specifically for sexual torture, but I’ve never felt it activated while conscious.
15. Inside my g-spot, where I have a puncture wound (at arrow, above the obvious laceration – a different harassment) – indicating an implant that some researchers claim is placed in people explicitly to torture their subjects sexually. Arrived in November 2004 and was activated once (before the clitoral cut happened in 2011), lifting me off the bed when I was reading. (I would like this implant removed first.)
16. Implants in both my hands, unsure exactly where, but they cause radio interference when handling an EMF meter and also when interacting with my iPhone.
17. Smaller than pea-sized, left leg, 1” above the ankle, 1” inside from center shin. Arrived between 2001-2003, suddenly a hard lump under the skin, during time of many UFO experiences.
18. Found silver two-layer button in nose, videotaped it; tried unsuccessfully to remove it with a q-tip, disappeared two days later. Also, suspected an implant arrived November 2004, causing nosebleed.
Very strange to realize you’re a cyborg, all wired up, and you never signed up willing.
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What do you do when you wake up and realize you were born into a science fiction scenario, and everyone has conspired to lie about it and tell you you’re not too be taken seriously, despite your science journals and other “documentation,” and they want you to just shut up about this stuff?
You’d been fairly successful in living your life as if everything were normal, even though you knew it wasn’t. You lived in an uneasy tension between 2 worlds: the one that everyone else agreed on, that everything was fine, and it even made you feel good to pretend it; and the other reality that opens up regularly at nighttime, steals your energy, makes you amnesic, and leaves you with wounds that any doctor might leave, except for one that makes you think it had to have been aliens. That’s why you go along with the pretense that everything’s fine, to take a breather from the intensity of the nighttime.
I feel like Persephone, innocent, stolen from the Mother Earth Goddess, and released in seasons, to recover, only to be drug back into Hell again.
All this mythology, of gods and aliens, opened my eyes to realms beyond – which disappeared also when interacting in the world where these things don’t happen, where people don’t even want to know that they happen, even to their own sister or mother; I understand; it’s far too scary to contemplate if you’re not forced to.
What do you do when you wake up, and this is your reality, this science fiction story in which the heroine faces strange demons in strange lands, and has had implants placed all over her body and is made unconscious regularly and has her energy depleted sometimes for days?
Some would say this is a human rights crime, illegal human experimentation. Others would say it’s spiritual warfare. Others alien warfare. Since I think the rogue state may very well be controlled by “aliens,” and everything has a spiritual component, I assume it is probably all three. And I must fight it on all these levels.
I want to believe I was born into this life because I am strong enough to endure and grow from it, and hopefully will play a positive role in the resolution of this crime on Earth.
Thanks for reading and caring.
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I’ve had this thing since the late 1990s (received in Colorado Springs, incidentally). Occasionally, a dental hygienist will pick at it with a note of confusion in her voice, then quickly shut up and dismiss whatever she’d said. I always wondered why it caused confusion, but I never looked at it until yesterday – with my nifty (usb connected) otoscope!
First thing I noticed was that it seems to stand out, a bit away from the tooth, with gaps all around – the sort of thing I’d think would make a dentist want to replace it. But none has ever suggested it.
Next thing I notice is that the tissue at the base it looks very unhappy – as you can see in every photo.
In one photo, I caught an angle low enough to see what appear to be three tiny dots of stain above a generally-stained area.
When I expand the photo a bit, it then appears to be a stain edge around three white dots.
And then I notice that the saliva bubbles at the base of the tooth immediately in front of the three dots, are tiny as if they might be fractured by microwave transmissions from the area of those dots above.
Then notice the gum line farther right – it’s purple! That indicates a lack of blood flow. Why? Microwaves? I dunno.
Back to the stain, I wonder whether there might be three small transmitters at the three dots, sending out microwave energy which weakens the porcelain enough to allow stains to enter, but somehow immediately at the site of the transmitter, it blasts the porcelain clean – okay theory? Tell me yours. You can expand the photo to see the tiny bubbles – a least a dozen.
Further, to the right of the presumed implant, in every single photo and video, there is a white flare on the side of my tooth, in the middle of an area that is generally stained. It’s as if a misdirected stream of microwave energy is blowing out the side and killing all the bacteria trying to make plaque on my tooth. Any other reason for a spot of perfect white in the middle of a stain, right next to an anomaly that’s also making the tissue very unhappy in one place and purple in another?
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Sorry I’ve been unable (mind controlled?) to get on the Internet and do simple things like post. But I’m back and I’m going to try to be more consistent.
I’ve been doing better at my , ParadigmSalonVideo on YouTube, and have a lot of stunning information – like video inside my ears, showing that I’ve been illegally implanted with easily-seen, crazy technology that looks like it may be able to receive and transmit sound (am I a walking spy microphone everywhere I go?) and maybe even control me – I’ve certainly felt it done a few times, though I’ve never known exactly how.
At first I was thrilled to have such excellent evidence of the symptoms I’ve been describing for years. And I worried the controllers would remove them before I could document them well and learn who owns the frequencies at which they operate.
To my surprise, it seems they upgraded my implants, probably during the night of May 5-6, because they look different than in the first video (second above). They seem to have incorporated some implants under the skin, creating a structure that blocks half the canal and squeezes the existing elements together; or maybe they were replaced – as the rubber cup that contains it all seems to have changed from clear to yellowish.
It’s shocking to me that they would be so brazen as to upgrade their work even while I’m watching, video recording, and posting it online for all the world to see – IF it’s actually being seen and not hidden by the controllers. It seems to imply that either 1) my suspicion, which I hope is wrong, is actually true, or 2) there’s something so big coming down in the world that my story will never rise to anyone’s attention.
Anyone know a doctor or attorney who wants to weigh in on this?
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Those last ear canal implant photos really shook me, and made me want to put my whole crazy story into a nutshell. Here it is.
I seem to have been put on the TI list in 2002 when I was doing international media work for the historic, 6-week federal trial Judi Bari v the FBI. (The FBI was found GUILTY on ALL charges related to – but not including – the 1990 assassination attempt on an environmental activist colleague of mine, Judi Bari, and they feds paid a historic judgement.)
During the trial, I twice experienced waking with my entire body vibrating inside what felt like a “vibrational cocoon,” and my immediate thought was “men in a van with high tech equipment,” and after a second or two of alarm, I went unconscious.
In the 17 years since then, I’ve documented everything anomalous in daily journals, including Taser burns, scoop marks, “donut bruises,” injection bruises, other weird bruises, home break-ins, more vibrational experiences, implants (implanted and removed), tones and chords and even movies played in my head, fingers out of joint, broken toe, back mysteriously and seriously out of alignment, social sabotage, online sabotage, financial sabotage, highway stops, amnesia, and a few events of consciousness while my body was controlled to do things I wouldn’t voluntarily do, and more.
While I lived in the country, the weirdness included a LOT of alien and UFO events, as well as tones, amnesia, immobilization, animal mutilations, and highway stops. When, trying to escape the terror, I moved to a small town, the weirdness changed to include a lot of apparent medical events, such as scoop marks, dentists unnecessarily drilling my teeth and doing other procedures, tones, movies, vibrations, and chiropractic distress. When I fled that locale, the events employed drones, TIPS people, Satanists, and more electronics.
But all this is just one layer on top of a larger story. Just days after the Judy Bari v FBI trial ended, at home, I received an email from a friend who shares a lot of my symptoms, suggesting I check out a few websites, and when I did, I had the answer to a lifetime of weirdness I could never explain; I realized I’d been a mind control subject since childhood.
My father was in the Navy, and adamantly never wanted to talk about it. He was in CASU 33, which has an online discussion group dealing with the “mystery” of this unit. He was also a child actor in Hollywood. And his father was a high-degree Mason. My mother was a “jack Mormon” (fallen away, not a church-goer), and she occasionally took me to that church, where I had mind-blowing experiences for which I’m amnesic, but still remember the rage and distress. I’ve also had one flashback to my babyhood, too young to roll over, in which I was ritually sexually abused, left my body and looked down on the room – with men in a semi-circle, and my mother there, sunk to the floor in horror with her hand over her mouth – so I believe it was a Mormon ritual, not a medical one.
I believe I was chosen for mind control at birth because my birth date is 7-7-52 (7-7-7), on a Monday (Moon day), in the middle of Cancer (Moon Child, ruled by the Moon), and not just on the day of the Full Moon, but within 8 minutes of the precise moment of moon fullness – that’s 2/1,000ths of a degree of perfection – the stuff that Satanists love, and there are Satanists inside the Mormon Church, as well as the military and Masons and the CIA mind control program. I believe my parents were groomed to give me, their first born (or first live-born) child to the mind control program in exchange for some sort of benefit. I don’t think they had any connection to Satanists, except by this accident of cooperating with the CIA or Mormons.
I have two years of almost total amnesia from age 6-8, the same age that other Monarch mind control subjects have amnesia, or memories of torture. I remember the train trip to New Mexico with my mother at age 6, in which we left my father home with three children under 3 1/2 years, including my sister only 6 months old. Supposedly we went to visit my mother’s aunt in New Mexico, but that makes absolutely no sense. Later, I remember being delivered home by four men in military uniforms, and being silently “beside myself” with rage and betrayal. The next year, at age seven, I was left with my grandmother in California, while the rest of the family left and promised to come back to get me “later.” And that’s about all I recall of those two years, whereas I remember a great deal of the years before.
I was the most obedient child I’ve ever heard of. So it was ironic and a therapeutic change when I became a radical environmental activist in my 30s (1980s), engaged in civil disobedience. But I was on the most conservative edge of the movement. I was the one who typed letter-perfect media releases, and only once did anything more daring. For work, I was a community relations consultant to domestic violence organizations, health clinics, community radio, the United Way, and even Earth First! – which eventually took all my time, until Judi’s car bombing in 1990 scared the daylights out of everyone.
Until then, when I set a goal, I accomplished it. I was invited to the Leaders Circle of Tucson Network for Women. I was invited to Leadership Tucson, and spoke twice at their events. I sat on numerous boards. I successfully debated issues on radio and television. And ran a business and raised my two kids (who are wonderful and happy).
My life changed like this: In 1993, age 41 (typical age for the return of traumatic memories), I realized I’d been sexually abused as a child, The next year, I realized I was a multiple personality (common, of course, with childhood sexual abuse) – though I’m not the typical TV/movie extreme type. (All the alters created by my controllers only come out under their command, usually with no memory; but I do have other alters, I believe, spontaneously created by me, and also organized in such a way as to not interfere in my life like the extreme cases.) For the next 8 years, I assumed my not-too-bad multiple-ness was a simple by-product of sexual abuse; in 2002, I realized it had been intentionally created for the purposes of mind control. And that was terrifying. For a few years, I thought of suicide every day.
A unique sort of Multiple Personality
Because my alters are so well controlled, I’ve been fairly successful in life, and maybe the mind control even helped me develop my skills. Almost everything I’ve tried, I’ve been very successful at – except socializing. Because I lived with parents who didn’t talk to me much, I didn’t get to learn social skills til very late, and then after one year of kindergarten, I was put into MK for two years. My social education didn’t begin again until I was 8, and I’ve been working to catch up all my life; therefore, I score on the Asperger’s Scale. Like many female Aspies, though, I did learn to “act normal enough” in most social situations, and sometimes I’ve actually been quite successful, but it’s always required great effort.
What I lacked in social skills, I made up for in academics and employment. I usually score on intelligence tests in the genius range. In school, I won awards in art, acting, dancing, and theater design, and was one of the two top math students in my 3,000-student high school. In my professional life, I’ve won awards or recognitions in sales, fundraising, journalism – and some of these were regional and national recognitions. I’ve been offered six-figure salaries. I’ve taught English at university level and been executive director of a local Habitat for Humanity, overseeing both a store and a home building operation. I’ve designed and built houses and juried into art shows. In some ways, it seems the mind control has served me, or maybe I was already a genius and they just took advantage.
I was married twice, and almost a third time, and have been in other relationships with men that lasted for years, always to men I can see now were also MK subjects who participated in my control, knowingly or unknowingly, helping direct the course of my life. My most recent partner, after I kicked him out, I realized he’d been responsible for the injection bruises that I found on my thighs twice a week for 14 months – they ended when he moved out.
I’m on my own again now, and think I will always be. I’ve had all my lifetime’s financial gains stripped from me, through a series of legal improprieties that I was unable to fight successfully – though I tried, doggedly. I used to have a passive solar home on 20-acres of beautiful land with a creek. Then I had another passive solar home in a small town that I’d turned into a showcase with natural plaster interior sculpture and a magical garden. I was terrorized to flee from it all. Now I have a fifth-wheel in a trailer park and a little truck camper for traveling. And no savings, vulnerable, just like They like it.
Anyway, that’s the overview: TI and MK subject, which includes being multiple (an unfortunate fact that’s unfairly discrediting), with Satanists involved – which some people also find unbelievable and therefore discrediting.
I therefore try to be very careful with my accounts, distinguishing perceptions from assumptions, and documenting everything like a scientist. For awhile my journals were even pure science journals, kept according to scientific protocol.
A few nights ago I finally was able to take photos from deep inside my ears with my new USB-connected otoscope – and I found 4 or 5 implants attached just around the bend. (I recommend others try this too.)
Note the square “button,” top left, the square tab or two, below right, and the funnel-shaped thing in the middle. Anyone venture a guess what that is?
In past years, I’ve documented in various ways implants that I’ve felt activated, or otherwise felt the presence of – in my g-spot, up alongside my clitoral shaft, in my heart (a doctor was shocked to hear it), on my left scapula, and more. All of them were weird, or infuriating, but they were tiny and couldn’t be seen, and easier to push out of my consciousness. These ear canal implants are freakier and are affecting me in a deeper way it’s hard to ignore.
With almost two decades of journals compiled into a database, I’m now working to find patterns and themes and otherwise trying to make the best use of the information.
I’m so upset by what I’ve discovered, I can hardly type. I found another button-type implant in my left ear.
And I when pushed the otoscope in deeper, I found more than I can make sense of. At first, I thought the black button above and silver button below were one and the same, just a trick of light, but I see now that the black one is clearly round, and the silver button is clearly square, so that makes two. Then there’s something that looks like a tin-foil covered funnel shape with a base and tiny machinery built into the sides. And below that there’s what looks like a tiny square fold of aluminum. That makes four….
From another angle, the square aluminum actually seems to be two squares, one below the other. That makes five. There may be more, but I’m not sure how much might be light flaring off of simple ear hairs. (I never knew I had so much!)
Just before finding this, I’d found what seems to be a crystal embedded in the outer portion of my ear canal. I’ve touched it there with my fingernail for a least a year and thought it was a pimple; with the otoscope, I found this crystal and took multiple pictures of it from different angles. It looks like a natural crystal pushed into my skin.
Then, after I’d published this, the next night I found yet another implant, in the very bottom of my ear canal, with a hint of an aluminum square in the background. That makes six, in one ear canal! I’m beyond words.
For years, I’ve “known” I had implants in my ears and other places, but confirming it now – and finding the evidence so unexpectedly weird, with multiple iterations of the technology all in one ear – has really shocked me.
And I haven’t even had time to tell you about the second major microwave attack I felt two nights ago….
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I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted. As you might surmise, I’ve been dealing with some challenges.
The latest is my ears – which have never in my life given me problems, but they’re a mess now, and the doctor didn’t seem interested in offering me anything but Flonase (a common sinus pharmaceutical) to reduce swelling. Not a word about the apparent blood sitting in the bottom of my ear canals or the redness.
As you can see, the pale skin turns to pink and further back it appears to be maroon. There is a pool of shiny reddish black on the bottom and reaching out into the canal – so shiny there’s a clear reflection of the otoscope LED light in every photo of both ears!
And what’s that whitish solid-looking object at the back of the pool in the first photo? I’m tempted to say it’s an implant – round, flat against the wall, more than 1/2 submerged in blood – or maybe it’s an artifact, another light reflection. What do you think?
In all the photos, there is a reflection of the otoscope light somewhere on the apparent pool of blood! Does anyone think this could be anything other than a pool of blood?
I’m probably being silly, but: Apologies for exposing the wax in my ears! They’ve been too swollen for me to do my usual Q-tip cleaning (even though doctors always say don’t do that, I’ve been doing it all my life – with a particular, careful technique – and never had a problem).
Now, I can’t clean them, and it bugs me! I hate having dirty ears, but dirty, swollen, and bloody is pretty upsetting to me.
But that’s not the most important issue.
Researchers tell us that microwave energy – which is what ear implants receive and transmit – can cause cancer if exposed to it constantly. So being implanted with them will create a constant health threat – that we MK subjects can do nothing about.
I remember the health care professional who looked in my ears (after dismissing the photos I’d shown her) and then didn’t want to look for longer than a second or two and didn’t want to acknowledge there was anything strange. I imagine her seeing my ears, maybe even recognizing the implant, and knowing she’d come across a (another?) top secret subject of the government and knew there was a protocol to follow: She’d diagnose and prescribe as little as she could, and get rid of me. If I needed care, the controllers would take care of it on their own schedule. Maybe she even called a secret number.
I don’t know. That’s where my years of personal data collection, occasional online research, and reading of a half-dozen books leads me. I’m open to other interpretations. Please – I’d love your opinions.
The first time I thought I might have been given ear implants was in November 2010. I was working hard to finish the 3-minute video for my book, and this event felt like either retribution or a warning, but I still went forward and published it – and had thousands of views, though the numbers have been running backward over the years.
As a MK subject, I know many of us are created for different purposes, and those purposes can change depending on how well our programming is holding up. Since I was working concertedly to disrupt my programming, I believe they shifted me over to other sorts of research, including being a test subject for various sorts of electronic weaponry and MK technology; therefore, I’ve experience a very wide range of electronic effects on my body.
One of the first ones I recognized and documented was that November 2010 evening. I was sitting sideways on my love seat, reading, with my feet resting against the other end of the seat, when suddenly I felt a distinct circle, about 3 1/2” across, of vibration on my foot, not uncomfortable, just odd, which then began traveling up my ankle and lower leg. Quickly, I pulled my leg toward me and my foot out of the beam’s reach, but within seconds it had found my foot again, this time closer to my body, so I jumped off the seat and stood looking at my furniture and thinking. I was sure that if I sat in any other piece of furniture, the beam would find me, and I didn’t feel like being disrupted repeatedly, ridiculously, futilely. I thought of going to a motel for the night, but I didn’t want to spend the money, and I didn’t have any confidence it would ultimately stop this from happening, either there tonight, or here tomorrow.
It made the most sense to me to accept my fate, go to bed, and let it find me there. I lay down, thinking I’d feel it on my foot, and it would be dreadful anticipating its ultimate whatever-it-was-intending-to-do. To my surprise, there was suddenly a huge circular spot of vibration, about 12 inches across, completely encompassing my head, without needing to find me, as if they’d already mapped where I usually slept. My surprise turned quickly, within the second, to the recognition that I was going unconscious.
The next morning, I woke up with my ears ringing, and they’ve never quit.
About two years ago, after I’d lost my home (due to being terrorized out of there), I was living in a little travel trailer, standing in front of my sink, next to my bed, when I suddenly had the surprising realization that I was REALLY tired, and felt the distinct decision that I’d do something extremely rare for me – I’d take a nap – only I didn’t get to climb into bed before I simply fell on the bed and went unconscious.
Three hours later, my phone rang and woke me from such a stupor that I could barely make intelligible statements. Thank goodness it was a friend calling, one of the very few in my life who acknowledge what I’m living with, and she helped me come to terms with what had happened – and the frustration that I could barely contain the constant urge to shake my head because it felt like there was water in my left ear. The urge stayed for three days, during which time I imagined my controllers had planted an implant in my ear which was causing the sensation, or maybe they’d even punctured my ear drum to place one behind, where it would be cleverly hidden from doctor sight.
After that, a new type of hum has been fairly constant in my left ear, leading me to want to purchase the video otoscope (less than $20 online, works with any camera app) to see if I could capture any evidence of an implant.
There are times the humming is constant and intense, and I’ve tried ear plugs, which does create a white noise that softens the effect a bit. On the worst days, I’ve tried heavy-duty layers of foil over my head, but it seems the transmission can be bounced from different angles and eventually finds a way in, and sometimes it feels like the aluminum is reflecting and multiplying it, and I throw it off.
Sometimes prayer works.
Most of the time, I just try to ignore it, and sometimes I take my own advice and try to think of this as a spiritual challenge – and then I try to find other wavelengths to which to entrain my mind, trying to disconnect from the entrainment of that particular vibration, and sometimes I feel I’ve been successful.
There have been many other events with my ears, but those are the major ones since the controllers (as I imagine it) put me on the Electromagnetic Subject list.
Again, I welcome all insights. I certainly don’t have time to do a lot of research, so if you reference anything technological, please include some source material. Thanks!!
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I used to wonder what was wrong with me. I called myself shy, then neurotic, and eventually, in my early 40s realized I’d been sexually abused as a child. The next year, I realized I was also dissociative, fractured, amnesic, and had been for most of my life.
Just before I turned 50 I realized I’d not only been sexually abused, but had also been tortured, intentionally to make me dissociative, the foundation to controlling my mind. This was a task carried out by various parties, overseen by CIA psychiatrists, with assistance from the Mormon Church and other groups throughout my life.
Throughout my life, I’ve also tested at genius levels, in school, on MENSA and Air Force tests, and often won awards my first year in a field, from art to sales and fundraising. This is either a positive effect of mind control, or maybe they chose me for their project because they knew I was smart, or maybe only the smart ones survive.
A year or two ago, I learned I score borderline on the Asperger’s Scale, though I was very “Aspie” when I was young. While the majority of Aspies consider themselves different by virtue of their genetics, one-third of us identify as different because of our upbringing.
Falling on the Aspergers Scale might be a natural outcome of the childhood training. To progress as far as I have is not uncommon for Aspie women; with enough motivation, or pressure, it’s possible to study people and in decades of practice, figure out how to act almost normal. Now that I pass (barely, borderline on the scale), I enjoy socializing for an hour or two, at most, but I often feel mentally numb afterwards. I relate to Dr. Spock and the newest depiction of Sherlock Holmes – both mystified as I am by common conversation. I remember judging adult conversation quite harshly also when I was very young, as if I had some other standard against which to judge. Maybe I came from somewhere else? Could that be why they chose me?
I’ve called myself a “high-functioning multiple personality” – though my alters are not nearly as dramatic nor as distinct as the individuals chosen for movie scripts. My alter changes have gone mostly unnoticed for all of my life. This helped me hold the attitude, after I realized the extent of my fractures, that with the help of my spiritual Guides, I could heal myself and recover my life – even though the literature warns against such high expectations, unless one is young and has a great deal of money and support. I have none of those things.
When I am more realistic, I think it only my right to end my life, but no one will agree with me on that. I’m sure that if I went to Oregon, or any other state with right-to-die laws, I’d qualify: I have a) a disease that cannot be cured, b) which harms my quality of life irredeemably, and c) [I forget the third qualifier, but I’ll fill this in soon].
Why I don’t believe in suicide is because…
1) I think it only honest to remember that we could be wrong in interpreting our perceptions – since we see so little of the material world as compared to what we can perceive with technology – we see only a fraction;and some people say it’s all illusion anyway, or at least that we “see through a glass darkly.” I assume it’s true, because I’ve had my ecstatic times when I saw something in another realm that I couldn’t remember but the conclusion was happiness and the assurance that, regardless of what appears, everything’s going to be alright – or at least I think I saw and knew that. (Maybe it was mind control. If so, we’ll need to revisit my assumptions.)
2) Everything we see has already been interpreted for us by those who’ve gone ahead of us, in our language, entertainment, religion, politics, and education. Somewhere, we might have been helped to construct an incorrect framework for current interpretations.
3) Someone once suggested that if we bail out on this life, we’ll just have to come back and do it again, like the Truman Show, and I don’t want to take that risk. Since I’ve always felt that our culture won’t last much longer, I always assume it’s not that much more to endure.
So, I’m hanging in.
Two years ago I was at my wit’s end, having woken in my bed, feeling something terrible had been done to me. With great difficulty, I rolled off the bed and arranged myself upright to walk, and slowly shuffled to the bathroom. When I saw my face in the mirror, I turned back to the living room to get my phone and shuffled back to the bathroom mirror and snapped a photo.
My facial muscles were slack, the tissues puffy, my eyelids sagging, my left eyeball turned inward. The overall impression was that I’d been beat up, only there was no discoloration.
What had been done to me? (A normal photo is included for comparison.)
I’d recently summarized all my journals into a master database, so I could see whether the frequency of these events was increasing. In 2010, I’d had only 38 days disturbed by bizarre events, in 2015 I’d had 130 days in which I’d either had a bizarre experience that had rocked my equanimity or I was recovering from something mysterious. One-third of my days. Obviously, this interfered with making a living and all the other aspects of living a life. I was unable to keep up with home and garden maintenance, payments, anything.
At my wit’s end, I asked nearly every family for something. My son I asked to make payments on my house, since he often said he felt guilty for not saving anything when he had so much money flowing through. I asked my siblings to read a three page summary of all the weirdness, and I sent them that photo above, but between the three of them I got back only two sentences: One couldn’t give me money (I hadn’t asked), and the other would pray for me. My son didn’t answer. I asked my daughter for nothing, since she’d let me know very clearly she thought I was only suffering from my own mistakes. When my father learned I was planning to sell my home, he offered to make the payments for me, but by then I only wanted out of the house where I felt like a sitting duck, and I declined his offer. Perhaps that was a mistake.
I sold my home as fast as I could and found myself inside a major psy op (psychological operation, which I’ll describe soon) designed to squash every bit of energy out of me – for what purpose? Punishment from my controllers for my sin of speaking against the FBI, CIA, Mormon Church, Vatican, and others? Is it entertainment for some psychopaths? Or is my anguish “food” for the Archons (as the gnostic Christians described in ancient texts)? Are they (mind controllers, psychopaths, and Archons) all the same?
Subjects of psy ops are called “targeted individuals,” or “TI’s.” Some are mind control subjects, but all are people who’ve somehow gotten on someone’s shit list.
For awhile I had a theory that they tortured me the worst when I published, so I quit publishing; but recently, my torture has been so great, I’ve decided there’s no need for me to keep this stuff a secret any more.
The other reason I keep it secret is that people can hardly believe it, and the last thing I need is people thinking I made shit up. That’s why I take photos and document as thoroughly as possible.
But I don’t want to keep the secrets any more. I see online that the numbers of people suffering from this targeting is much larger than I’d realized. So people need to know. And I’m a writer, and it’s happening to me. So here goes.
Coming soon, my last two years of harassment….
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Of course, I could write a book on this year, but I don’t want to.
Instead, here is an exceedingly brief outline of the types of things, resulting in programming, I’ve lived through this year – including electronic, pharmaceutical, physical (including rape), phone, drone, computer, social sabotage, surveillance, and more. I extracted them from my year’s daily journals.
[In the middle of the year, I decided I had to get out of Silver City as fast as I could, and I sold my home below market and fled – only to land in a more precarious situation. (The advice on “Targeted Individuals 101” says to not let Them force you from your home, but I didn’t read that in time, and I did lose my home.) I am now floating from place to place in a travel trailer, with a few friends who understand my situation.]
Here’s the super-brief list of my year’s anomalies:
electronic tones and feelings of electronic harassment, ringing ears
scoop marks, injection bruises, puncture mark
sore feet, numb shoulder, wrenched back, all for no reason
apparent rapes (Jan, Feb, Sept , December at least), with anal/vaginal irritation, herpes
dissociation, not knowing who or where I am
cat also perceiving strange noises in house
“healer” sets me up for programming I remember, but not his message
hit by light beam from neighbor house to third eye -> severe ache
many events of amnesia, missing time, once 11 days in row
feeling alter switches, doing stupid things, feeling confused
two lumps on thumb, no reason
portable door locks disappeared, then returned to same place
passcode book and flash drive disappeared and returned month later
four financial websites hacked in one day
psychic messages taunting “You’re already in; resistance is futile.”
feeling severely poisoned
efforts to sell on eBay begin well then are sabotaged repeatedly until I quit it
23 severe challenges piled on in a few days, lasting through September and October
acted like MK subject, totally trusting and stupid, when buying trailer – with many problems
drone delivers nauseating electronic vibration to my chest
neighbor’s vibration also nauseates
people/vehicles surveilling me obviously
friend seems to participate in things lost and other anomalies
BrainWave app acting on its own 3 times
amnesia event with days of exhaustion and water in ear
traffic harassment while camping and throwing of cans at trailer
radio turning itself on
apparent MK dog (!) visited, wouldn’t leave me or my front door, even under threat of violence
passcodes work, don’t work, work, don’t work
unnatural banging on my trailer roof, unable to look
obvious knocking on my window, not afraid but unable to look
trailer buzzed by 5-6 planes in a row, first very close
trailer buzzed by two helicopters, followed by incapacitation for day
altered state with instructions can’t remember
lost time with weird consequence while on highway
nights of weird noises in truck, incapacitated, couldn’t look out window
altered state with missing time, door found unlocked
altered state, received instructions, agreed, unable to remember
altered state while listening to other MK subject testimony online
Back in March, after one of the worst amnesic events of my life, I woke to see a face in the mirror I hardly recognized, so I took this photo to document it. Notice my face is slack and puffy, including my nose, and my left eye is turned inward.
Hoping for understanding and maybe help from my siblings (silly me), I sent them a long letter, explaining everything (edited for three days so as to be as concise and clear as possible), and ending with this photo. Between the three of them, I received back two sentences, apologizing that they couldn’t help me, or offering to counsel me in prayer. Devastated that no one in my family seemed to believe this harassment is real, I decided I had no choice but to sell my home and flee.
I’m doing fine most days, and most people who know me don’t know what I go through (or they don’t believe), and I even appear happy and healthy most days (when I go out), and I know people think I’m lazy or living on a secret fund because I “don’t work,” though they don’t know I’m going into debt every month. (When I’m well, I’m usually running to catch up on what I couldn’t do when I was not well, and so have very little time for anything before I’m hit with harassment again.)
I do hope to find work that I can do on my own time, and hope to find that time, and hopefully keep my finances above water – as soon as I make the next move, as this camping site is no longer available. It seems the harassers have a wealth of tricks to keep their targets always recovering, running, coping, but I still hope to find those slivers of time to make money.
Yes, I do have many days of wishing I was not alive, but mostly I am determined to rise above, to use this extraordinary challenge to connect with spiritual Help and lift my spirit and soul into some sort of transcendence beyond this Earthly harassment.
Thanks for reading and acknowledging this reality.
Prayers for help for us all.
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Anomalous weirdness seemed to be increasing, so last January I decided to comb through every journal of mine and record the anomalies since I published RattleSnake Fire, and then record all the anomalies in my book and before my book – the entire rest of my life, as much as I could remember. I put them all in a master database, with dates and places and other notations, and they total over 700 events!
Some were flesh-and-bones type of events; other were purely psychic, as if in other realms, but consistent with common theories of mind control and psychic attack.
When I checked to see how many occurred in these recent years, I found that, yes, things are accelerating: I’ve had over half – over 390 anomalous events – since I published my book in January 2008.
Now, anomalous doesn’t mean “bad,” as some anomalies were healing and spiritual insights that made me blissful and came on like a “download.” So, I colored the supposedly “good” anomalies in green and blue, and I colored the shocking, frightening ones in orange and red. Those latter outnumbered the positive by 3 or 4 to 1.
Since there were so many, it was hard to wrap my mind around them, so I made an abbreviated list of the biggies – below.
This is not a comprehensive list, only those I wrote in my journal, sometimes I was too messed up to journal for days and might have forgotten to make a record; sometimes I missed things because I was amnesic; and a few journals seem to have gone missing for much of July 2013-July 2014, so I don’t know how much I missed there. But it’s a good start.
I’ve separated the “challenges” from the “blessings” – and I’ve written with extreme brevity, so they might not sound like much, but in context, believe me, they were.
You’ll notice the few from 2008-2009 (July – July) slowly grow to larger numbers in recent years:
(If anyone finds these familiar, I hope they give you solace that you’re not alone.)
July 2008 –July 2009 Challenges:
a spiritual attachment
Psychic (freak-out) reaction to a stranger
July 2008 – July 2009 Blessings:
magical message from shaman
July 2009 – July 2010 Challenges:
Suspicious lover from teen years called, seducing
experienced conscious MK rape
MK’d to go somewhere, a test
computer weirdness x 3
eyes in mirror not mine
saw demon face over friend’s face
saw etheric safe in my back, and removed it, but not man’s hand also there!
July 2009 – July 2010 Blessings:
multiple self re-knitting
avoid brain balancing “offer” from suspect doctor
“cowboy cataract” healed instantaneously
two alters see each other
July 2010 – July 2011 Challenges:
Weird, amnestic stop on Highway 90
new door lock broken
sleep anomaly x 10+
weird and mysterious obsession over friend
3 puncture cuts
4 scoop marks
other weird bruises x 4
inch-deep puncture up beside clitoris
spine mysetriously hurt
tones in ears
beam follows me around house
next morning: ears ringing badly, never quit
house entered, things moved, hot water in tap on New Years, footsteps in snow
old high school friend reconnects; wrote fiction (of me) as MK assassin
bad energy sensed powerfully from across street
noises in house
etheric Aries sign attacked me and stuck to my forehead in energy realm
woman in house makes toilet overflow x 2
message from dark side:I’m “already in”
Despite documentation and no contrary theories, Dr. calls me delusional
Bad spirit in a basket (blessing: I eject and bring it to heal or depart in garden)
July 2010 – July 2011 Blessings:
blue-green energy healing alters
person inside me helping
another healing x 2
nighttime healings x ?
seeing energy, controlling it
yogi comes in
felt g-spot heal
understanding, writing about the cruel teacher
email warning:new Friend/CIA –
life-threatening email, took to police –
postal mail: I’m an MK slave, may lose my soul – (all 3 in 1 week)
weird sleep and exhaustion x 16+
bruises x 3+
needle bruises x 34
4-5 clear tones
2 scoop marks
injured back/no reason x 2
neck out, rib out- pain
weird neck problems x 3
Wake to find friend whispering/instructing me x 2
realize MK as child on vacations, collapse to floor
iridescent golden mucous glob from sinus
felt severely drugged
weird answering machine message
phone interruption: “record again”
happy drug? too much energy
male friend confirms Archons
shamanic journey:saw programming in Akron, age 19, painful, terrifying
“dream” of waiting obediently
dream: audition, girls lifting skirts
dream of extra-dimensional powers and astral spying
dream of spying
dream of fire under house
dreams of tunnels, transportation
possible abduction dream
intense forgotten dream
dream of pre-school, computer pass codes, remote command hand tools
July 2011-July 2012 Blessings:
dream of friend that comes true
feeling strong despite all weirdness
7 months of nothing significant
strong recovery from spiritual attack
recognized MK command to not have orgasm
shamanic journey: removed hooks from spine and neck
shamanic journey:alters back, bad energy removed, neck fixed
July 2012 – July 2013 Challenges:
exhausted x 18+
wrenched back x 2, displaced C2
neck hurt x 2, headache, out of it
jaw locked, wouldn’t open
red line in eye
anxiety, unable to center self
more weird bruises
ears ringing bad
harassing mental video
computer x 2 and phone weirdness
strange drivers license discovered in my wallet, frightened, called police; afterward no memory of name or face on license
lost time w friend
amnesia, friend no help
email about amnesia – totally forgotten
MK on Christmas Eve
dream of space ship, large marble building, dead body
dream of staircase to other country
dream remote viewing tidal wave, sold on MK
plus events in 2013 – journals missing
July 2012 – July 2013 Blessings:
bolt of healing energy from almond tree
exhaled huge psychic sludge
healing contortions night and morning
July 2013 – July 2014 Challenges:
camping horror: apparent abduction, noro virus, almost died (others went to hospital), people sabotage my sleep
friend scares me
consistent sabotage before my scheduled workshops
many injection bruises, weekly
exhaustion with lots of sleep until I quit my business, then felt better
(journals irregular or lost)
July 2013 – July 2014 Blessings:
none (2013 journals disappeared)
“something done in night” x 6+
long sleep and exhaustion x 46
donut bruises x2
injection bruises x 8, “2x/wk”
other bruises x 10
heart racing/hurting x 11
jaw painful x 6
scoop marks x 5
numb shoulder x 3
hypersensitive hip x 2
missing time x 8
movies in head x 3, sometimes forgotten
strange noises x 2
vaginal, anal irritation x 2
Thanksgiving: vision, drugged, unable to stand, walk, see; friend incongruous; memory of anal “inoculation”
rage x 9
back wrenched x2
new herpes x 2
gouges both forearms
irritation on thigh
woke w busted thumbnail
woke, peed in bed, total exhaustion with other extreme symptoms
woken by Ultra Low Frequency
tones, sometimes waking me
“vampire” scabs on neck, first day of UFO Congress
cut on left finger
itching hands, arms
triangle dots on hand
ringing in ears (always)
huge, bubbly, iridescent gold mucous from sinus
visions amazing, then forgotten
saw red UFO, hard sleep
Disqus (never heard of) has account in my name [never fixed – why?]
My life is exquisitely difficult to talk about. It’s woven with extreme themes – sexual abuse, mind control, aliens, mysticism – and with accomplishments that make me shy, and failures that embarrass me, and critical facts that embarrass other people.
And none of the themes, for simplification, can be hidden or glossed over, because each intertwines and sometimes explains the others.
I can’t begin at the beginning, because it is either boring, or if I tell certain details, it sounds too woo-woo.
Since I almost always get interrupted fairly early with the question, “Why you?”I think I’ll begin there.
It could be any number of things, but is probably all of them together. Plus the fact that I won “the lottery.”
(Remember that classic, creepy short story, “The Lottery”? We read it once in grade school and again in high school, about a community that killed one person every year by stoning, a person drawn by lottery.)
My lottery ticket to this crazy life may have been as simple as my birth date. I was born on a Full Moon, on a Monday (Moon Day), in the middle of Cancer, also known as Moon Child.
And it wasn’t just a Full Moon, somewhere inside that 24-hour window; no, I was born 8 minutes before the Full Moon, 8/(24×60) = 5/1,000ths of a degree of perfection. Moon energy was strong. (Astronomical charts, not astrological, show the coincidence.)
So were the numbers: I was born on July 7, 1952 − 5+2 adding up to 7. Three sevens. Then my mother gave me a name with 7 letters: Jean Ann.
My last name, at birth and now, is Eisenhower. My father was second cousin to Dwight, who was nominated to the Republic ticket for President of the United States later on the day of my birth. The next day, the local paper would give my birth a short column to remark on the coincidence.
Maybe all these coincidences explain my winning/losing lottery ticket. Or maybe mind control was already in the family.
Eisenhower family crest
[I’ll expand on these later: Eisenhowers = Iron hewers (secret society protecting metallurgy secrets for the king). Grandfather Hollywood veterinarian of Rin-Tin-Tin – Mason – money lender. Father Navy CASU 33 – unsolved mystery.
[Petersens – Mormons. Grandmother with her handler. Mother I saw switch alters, in trance. Unexplained terror re Mormons. Flashback of babyhood ritual.]
I seem to have won/lost the lottery and was treated to MK. Then, having developed a bad attitude toward our culture due to MK, I joined the counter-culture and offended my handlers – again and again, beginning with rejecting the invitation of another secret society, calling them “plastic,” accepting their invitation to “try them,” taking the vows, and then de-activating and breaking my vows. I assume my actions resulted in another layer of MK, as they warned us that breaking our vows would have severe consequences (which I didn’t believe, as it was contrary to “American values”).
In my 20s, I became an activist for peace, and later for social justice, and environmental sustainability. Along the way, I insulted the FBI with media releases exposing their most incriminating statements which I sent to 600 major media around the world, nearly every day of the 6-week “Judi Bari v FBI” federal trial – and the FBI was found guilty.
They stared me down in the hallways of the courthouse, damn scary dudes. They might have amped up my treatment then and following the trial, when I lived alone in the desert – things got extremely frightening after the trial, to the point I was ready to give up this life.
Perhaps they amped up my MK again when I published my book. And maybe they amped it up again each time I published a particularly hard-hitting blog or video. There seem to be correlations.
So now that I’ve given you an overview of my story, maybe answered the Why?, and I’ve gotten my paranoia out of the way – or demonstrated and acknowledged it at least – let me tell you my story….
To help me wrap my brain around it all – my fractured, fragmented mind full of experiences is often difficult to remember as a whole – I created a database to record all my anomalous experiences, from sublime to terrifying, everything out of the normal. My list is nearly 700 items long, and the last half of them have occurred in the last 5 years. Things are accelerating.
[to be continued]
Feedback? How’s this to open an update to my story?
Please share if you find this information important!
Disinformation is finally being better understood and acknowledged throughout the culture, but few people understand its full extent. And understanding and reading reality correctly is an important survival skill for all of us.
Therefore, I’d like to share what I’ve learned, as both third-party observer and victim. I’ll chose an older story rather than a new one, to lessen the chance the guilty will be recognized – which I assume will lessen the repercussions I will experience for telling.
Before I tell this 7-year old story, I first want to tell a little about the concept: I didn’t know the word disinformation until I was involved with Earth First!, and then I witnessed it a great deal, as our expert-witness scientist supporters from around the world were ignored by the Media, and our peaceful protests, humorous skits, and potluck dinners (at my home) were treated like national security threats in FBI reports (I have copies).
When Judi Bari, a non-violence activist and mother of two, was car-bombed in 1990, she was maligned in the world-wide Media as a would-be bomber. But subtler lies are also told for different effects.
I’d become a thorn in the FBI’s side when, in 2002, I wrote or helped write, almost every day for six weeks, media releases for the Judi Bari v FBI trial. When I returned home to my desert hermitage, I began to be plagued by frightening bouts of amnesia and immobilization, with physical wounds, including lacerations and puncture wounds to the inside of my vagina (also photographed) – to the point that I considered suicide frequently.
My g-spot (descending bulge) was sliced from back to front and twice more (not visible here) from side to side.
Feeling like a sitting duck in the desert, I sold my remote home on 20 acres and, because I didn’t think I could stand a big city anymore, found my way to Silver City, in great need of friends to surround me.
Unfortunately, frightening events continued to happen, including third-degree Taser burns and biopsy scoops that appeared on my hands and arms and back with no memory of how they happened – and weird events of disinformation that undermined my reputation and sense of community.
Over the nine years I’ve lived here, my wounds have also included scores of injection bruises, two donut bruises, dozens of other weird bruises, sexual mysteries, and even some healed scars, one of which a doctor assumed was from thyroid surgery. Most I’ve photographed, and many I’ve shown friends, though few want to hear about them – I gather because it’s just too upsetting to their world views.
I totally understand not wanting to hear. It took me a lot of years of having this actually happen to me before I could adjust my world view to get over the “freedom and justice for all” mythology and accept what was happening.
If you find this hard to believe, I do understand, and hope you can read on, because this is part of our reality – and properly reading reality is essential to our survival. Following is an account of disinformation against me, undermining my status in my new community.
In 2007, I was a week or so away from a trip to Peru, when someone recommended a woman to stay at my home and care for my cat. Actually, it was a couple, I was told, a man and a woman, about my age, who were hip and “into community,” and had some circumstances that had stranded them in Silver City, needing a place to stay; the husband was working, but hadn’t gotten a paycheck yet. I agreed to let them stay in my home, even though afterward I realized that I didn’t like the woman at all, and she had talked a solid streak for 90 minutes, essentially wearing me down, and making me feel sorry and embarrassed for her, as if to say No would force her to recognize she had been obnoxious, which would be hurtful to her, so I couldn’t say No. Not logical, but defininely my sort of neurotic, self-defeating kindness.
In Tucson, I was supposed to be at the airport at 6 am for an 8 am flight, but I woke at 4 with a severe toothache that made it very difficult to move with any more than a shuffle, so I canceled my flight with a medical excuse. I would have a root canal later that afternoon.
Mid-morning, when my plane was in the air, I began receiving bizarre emails from my house sitter who assumed I was on the plane to Peru. She told me my stove was leaking gas, the phone wasn’t working, two crews of repairmen had been in, and my cat was acting ill – all in her first day at the house, and the first day of my 20-day trip.
Even though I immediately suspected this was probably a form of harassing disinformation, it was shocking to think of how very distressing it would have been to be on a plane to a faraway place with this bombardment of distressing news.
Thankfully, I wasn’t gone, and I’d been around enough FBI lies and other tricks that I found it all suspicious. So I answered her emails without telling her I was still in Tucson.
Her stories continued to hammer on distressing probabilities and were amped up with direct accusations (13 specific, weird accusations against me! in emails still saved) that I was “paranoid” and similar negative assessments – even though I’d been extremely cautious not to say a single inflammatory word, but simply asked calm questions about my home. It was as though she’d intended I become paranoid.
I called a handy woman friend who visited the house and was told by the woman that the phone was repaired. Since I’d asked my friend to enter and check out the stove and look around, she asked to enter, but the woman refused. When my friend next called to tell me the phone was supposedly repaired, I was still unable to call home, and was told by the woman via email that the phone was “down again,” working only during the short period my friend had come to the door.
After drilling and filling my tooth, I hit the road immediately to Tucson, calling another friend along the way, who arrived at the house shortly after I did. The woman was shocked to find me at the door and was barely willing to let me into my own home. When my friend arrived, we confronted the woman with the crazy contents of her emails, as I wanted to be entirely fair and consider the possibility that perhaps she hadn’t send them, and they were instead sent by disinformation specialists; I reviewed all 13 accusations with her, and she confirmed she’d written them – even as she stammered to explain some of her more bizarre accusations.
We then had to demand she leave, as she was intent on staying in my home as I’d “promised” to let her, and she even had the gall to suggest I leave. When she continued refusing, we finally threatened to call the police to remove her and she finally accepted our demands. But as she left, and we realized to our astonishment that she didn’t have anything at the house other than her small purse – no overnight bags, no toothbrush, no food, no nothing, even though she’d supposedly stayed there the night before and her husband was due there shortly and she desperately wanted to stay there again that night. But the bed hadn’t even been slept in, and the kitchen was unused. We assumed she wanted us to leave so we wouldn’t discover this, and she was actually there for some other reason.
As we pondered this, my friend’s phone rang, she answered it and heard silence. After hanging up, she hit the call back button and was greeted with an office name with “Intelligence” in the title. My friend and I assumed the woman and her husband were functioning as low-level spies, watching the house so that others could come in (under the guise of repairmen?) to do whatever they do to activists and others on federal “watch” lists. Perhaps they’d used some high technology to identify and call her phone, perhaps to add a bit of warning to our overload of weird information and seeming threats.
The next day, I called the gas company and was told she had called and a repair person had come out, but no gas leak was found, and the stove never did have problems.
I used my cell phone to call the phone company because the home phone still did not work. When the repairman came out the next day, he worked for two hours and finally concluded, “This is the strangest problem I’ve ever seen in my 20 years of phone repair, and I can’t figure it out.” And he rewired most of the house.
My cat never showed any signs of illness.
A few days later, another phone repairman appeared at the front door. I called Qwest to confirm he was legit, and was told something vague I don’t remember, even as I realized the feds certainly have the ability to intercept my call, redirect it to their own office, and have someone pose as a phone company rep, telling me whatever I needed to hear. I let the guy in.
He checked the phone jacks, then went outside and climbed a ladder to the box attached near the roof line. I wondered if I’d detect him putting a bug on my line, so I stood beneath and watched. He talked and seemed to be wasting time, repeating motions, and getting impatient with me standing there looking up constantly. I smiled and asked him if he was finished. He looked confused and irritated. Laughter was close, but I had no desire to mock a fed. I also knew I couldn’t stop them if they wanted to put a bug on my line, and if he didn’t do it today, they’d do it another day soon, and it might be less fun next time. So I walked around the corner, gave him a minute, then came back to find him climbing down, looking relieved. Ever since, my old-style ringer phone makes a little noise a few seconds after every time I hang up, and around 10 pm every night, which I think of as shift-change, and maybe other times I haven’t yet noticed.
The woman and her husband, I later learned, went to live with a young, hip couple out in the Mimbres, whose friends overlapped with mine, but whom I only knew because the husband clerked at a store I frequent, a store central to my community. Immediately, the man quit being friendly with me and instead acted as though I were a terrible person he could barely be civil to. And in following years, a number of their acquaintances have continued to keep distant even though we have many friends and interests in common.
I assumed the woman had told the young couple poisonous things about me. But I didn’t know them well enough to try to discover what they’d been told, and my questions might be received as very weird. It was very weird, and I didn’t trust anyone to accept it at face value without having to reconsider a lot of assumptions and probably wonder also if I was just plain crazy, so I said nothing to anyone except the two friends who each witnessed part of the event.
Every so often, about once a year, people on the edges of my community suddenly act cold or confused around me, as if they’d heard something terrible and didn’t know whether they should even acknowledge me. I notice quite a few people all change at once and continue in the pattern for some weeks or months, until slowly the awkwardness fades a little, but doesn’t go entirely away. I just stay away from them, to lessen their discomfort and mine.
I sometimes review the experiences of friendly acquaintances turning away or looking fearful and try to convince myself the events are not significant, but they seem to display a consistent pattern. And then there’s the other parallel evidence: the woman at my house with no personal possessions, her emails full of lies and inflammatory accusations, and my phone line mysteriously wired. And mysterious Taser burns and similar wounds on my very own body keep me from dismissing my total experience as imagination – as some friends, family, and doctors would like me to.
I’d love to dismiss it as imagination and believe in a different America, but that’s not my experience. For 8 years now, I’ve been asking my online readers, and no one has come up with any explanation better than the one that’s supported by government documents: federal agents practice disinformation, harass, encourage divisiveness, and more, under the rubric of COINTELPRO (Counter Intelligence Program).
Recently I learned there’s a name for people like me: “targeted individuals” – abbreviated TI’s, with multiple websites documenting experiences of many others who describe things similar to mine.
Beware of lies. If you hear something bad about a person, check it with the person it’s about.
Only once in these nine years has a friend checked a rumor about me with me; it was a lie, and she’d believed it for six months (it sounded reasonable) and even passed it on to others herself during that time. I told her the truth as I understood it and asked her to pass it back onto the grapevine. I don’t know if she did or how well it traveled.
Disinformation is usually planted in such a way and with people removed from the target just enough that it’s very difficult (and no likely to be successful) for the TI to confront the perpetrator. Only the people in the middle – those told the lie – can do anything about it – by wising up, and checking. Thanks for doing that.
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First published at GardenHealingChurch.org. (I keep thinking this is the last post on this site, but here’s one more.)
This petition, http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/synergy, and all the people commenting on it – inspired me to comment too, and I ended up writing a short essay that presents my story briefly, so I’ll share it here with a few photos added:
After doing media work for the historic “Judi Bari vs FBI” federal trial, in which the feds were found guilty of charges related to an assassination attempt on Judi Bari, my lifelong mind control torment has been seriously amped up.
I’ve woken with Taser burns, a burn on the back of my neck – both third-degree with skin burned off – scoop marks, injection bruises, “donut” bruises, lacerations and punctures in my vagina, healed scars including one my doctor thought was a thyroid surgery scar, total exhaustion, and occasionally dealings that seemed to be with aliens (which could be induced hallucinations or real).
After 13 years of freaking out and being suicidal about my mind control, I’m beginning to see that it’s not a simple horror – it’s actually everything and everywhere.And it may not be human.Everything in nature is under control of many things.Mind control begins with DNA and the elements like weather, then language and our calendar, then economics, laws, education, government, etc.And eventually science did to people what it’s done to the Earth – turned everything into a resource.We are human resources; they’ve been honest in calling us that!We’ve heard it and shrugged.Now we’re realizing it’s full implications, and it’s shocking.One more major trauma in the history of humanity.(Think back:much of history is trauma.)
Without hope in the other realms, we on Earth have been reduced to resources, regardless that we’ve been led along with lies about freedom, human rights, etc.If we only have this Earth life in which to hope, then we must toe Their line or be seriously punished.
[Can we tell them (since they’re spying and listening all the time), “Hey, I change my mind.I’ll quit whistle blowing [or whatever] and join you”? if we’re willing to sacrifice our beliefs for relief (as it seems others must be doing)?I don’t know.I’ve gone to that edge and wondered, but haven’t crossed it.]
Mostly, I believe I have Helpers in other realms who rescue or resuscitate me now and then, though I do have to suffer indignities and pain and loss of will to live and sheer energy to live – way more often than I sometimes think I have the spirit to sustain, but then my Helpers bring me back.(Or might it be the controllers, keeping me alive for another day? I don’t know. I think I’ll chose the more palatable option, my Helpers.)
It’s a weird life to live.Good thing I know we have other lifetimes, so I can feel less attached to this one.It helps to step into the role of Witness.We are witnesses of an incredible time in human history – from the deepest darkest inside, which few see and fully understand, but we do.There’s something important in our role, as witnesses regarding human evolution.It’s incredibly lonely because no one wants to hear, but it’s important.And one day, maybe on another realm, we’ll help others understand how this came about, so maybe we can help protect the future.Don’t know.Playing with ideas.Imagining from a higher height….
As far as this world right now, though, I’ve quit believing we can change anything through political action, like this petition – BUT, I know I could be wrong, so I hedge my bets and support causes like this one that encourage us – but I don’t see the possibility in America anymore.On the other hand, I KNOW we get help from Other Realms – rarely when we think it’s due, but enough.
And that’s another silver lining:having lost all hope in this Earth insanity, we are forced to cut our emotional connections to Earth life and look beyond.Atheists, I know, will hate this, but I do appreciate that this pain does send me into other realms where I believe it is important to connect, and I don’t otherwise, as least not as often as would probably be good for me, because Earth happenings and all the entertainment is way too entrancing.It’s almost like our mind control tortures us so badly that we are saved from the mainstream soul-deadening delusions of the masses, slowly boiling like frogs in a pot; whereas, we are the frogs that jumped out of our mesmerized complacency, thanks to the extra-high heat.
[I write and video blog about my life and struggles on Paradigm Salon.net, my other sites, and in my book, RattleSnake Fire, called “not only great literature, but an important historical document.”]
Blessings on us all.Peace, friends.Please don’t give up too easily.Remember this world is bigger and more complicated than we can know; and the bully in our life might be about to get whumped by someone bigger.We don’t know, but we shouldn’t discount it when the stakes are so high – our life.
Also, leaving this life (as many people entertain, including me) may not be an escape, if the other dimensions are extensions of this, as I believe they are.So it behooves us to develop our extra-dimensional minds, as the only way to see a bigger picture and have a chance.
At the moment, we are in trauma at the hands of the most Powerful people on Earth; therefore our only salvation is beyond this Earth, where we can’t go, or beyond this dimension, which we can.I conclude: it’s time to develop our extra-dimensional minds.
I hope this helps someone.Compassion for all.
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Lonely, obedient, good girl, good student, shy, dancer, math and puzzle genius, occasional amnestic, community theater performer, raped, reluctant sorority girl, reluctant beauty queen, college run-away hitchhiker, Jesus hippie, minister’s wife, battered, mother, divorced, children conned away by ex, atheist, woken out of a trance, children returned, degreed in broadcast journalism, UPI award-winning radio reporter, remarried, business owner, PR consultant to social service and activist organizations, board member and president, Permaculture certified, radical activist, pantheist, arrested twice, jailed twice, Tasered twice, news feature “Supermom,” winner of more awards and recognitions, divorced again, child with cancer, offered ownership of $3-4 million birdwatching world-tour business, flashbacks of childhood sexual abuse, nervous breakdown, business offer passed, unable to work, praying again, son healed, aware of dissociative parts, confidant of healing, master of non-fiction creative writing, desert hermit, builder of small passive solar strawbale home, experiencer of many things shamanic, including Jesus, memoirist, in love with old high school crush, moved to new city, engaged, a real estate agent, disengaged, award-winning agent, offered six-figure management position (declined), hermit again, UFO experiencer, shamanic initiate, media consultant to successful “Judi Bari v FBI” car-bomb trial, psychically attacked, suddenly aware of life-long mind control subjection, relieved that life makes sense, terrified, near-suicidal, partnered with teepee-dwelling artist, budding artist in pencil and fiber, repeatedly terrified, mysteriously vaginally cut, heart attack, spiritually healed and encouraged, environmental activist again, solar oven educator, passive solar designer, single again, driven from hermitage by poverty, moved to small town, student of consciousness, Transpersonal Hypnotherapist™, author, mind control activist, mysteriously Tasered, mysteriously bruised, healing dissociative splits, encouraged, despairing, home renovator in natural plaster sculpture, passive solar advocate, Permaculture designer, identified with Persephone, enjoying the spring, identified with Black Elk, committed to service… old woman.
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Wrote last July 11, just discovered and edited it:
June 2015, National Geographic published an article about the reintroduction of dolphins back to the wild after living major parts of their lives in captivity, above and near the surface of the water, eating dead fish from a bucket, on a schedule, and always relating to humans. The article concluded with a photograph of Keiko, dolphin star of the 1993 movie Free Willy, which I never saw, but which popularized the subject of releasing captive dolphins.
Last week, I watched the 2003 movie Blackfish, about the captive cetaceans at marine parks and the people who run the shows – and their serious misgivings for the roles they’ve played.
I can’t help but wonder when people will be able to acknowledge the human children made captive to mind control experiments around the world, mainly in America.
Movie based on a lawsuit filed in Canada, in which plaintiffs won a settlement. No suit has ever been accepted by a court in America.
Our needs are similar, but less visible. We too have been made captives, literally caged sometimes, food withheld to gain our compliance, other uncomfortable or torturous methods also imposed. We’ve been ripped from our families, some permanently, others for shorter periods, typically two years at a young age. We’re constantly monitored – for our good, they think, and their scientific study. The controllers have made enormous amounts of money from our ability to perform tricks: spying, soldiering, sexual, and couriering, most of it amnesic. And most of us are unhappy, unhealthy, and neurotic. And many have died or are hospitalized or medicated into oblivion.
Taking captives on planet Earth has a very long history, probably as long as humanity has existed. According to Sumerian history, humans were created as a slave race. Egyptologists tell us that generations of slaves lived their entire lives building the pyramids. Rome is famous for its gladiator displays and slaughtering Christians for entertainment. Native Americans are said to have raided other tribes for slaves, though presumably they treated them much better than the preceding examples.
So why should we be surprised that human captives are still being taken in America?
Because we’ve been told that it doesn’t happen. Or that it did, but it doesn’t anymore.
But there’s substantial evidence that it does continue, and the evidence should meet the highest standards for Americans to believe: The Director of the CIA testified to the US Congress twice in the 1970s, admitting the agency’s involvement in mind control experiments, on adults and children, all against their will. Captives.
Estimates are that 30,000 children were used between the 1940s and 1970s. The CIA Director testified that the program was ceased (though most researchers believe that was a cover-up story), and all the files were destroyed (neatly removing the evidence that would be needed for our personal lawsuits). However, over 100,000 pages of CIA financial documents were later released under the Freedom of Information Act, confirming many details of testimony given to researchers by subjects.
I’m one of those who can’t say for certain that I’m not still being used. At the least, I know I’m still being monitored, as I often wake up with strange marks on my body: circular and donut-shaped bruises, apparent Taser burns, even once a scar identical to thyroid surgery, recognized by my physician – all accompanied by powerful feelings the next day that “Something happened to me in the night” – for which I had no memory.
I can understand scientists wanting to follow through with their experiments. I can understand well-meaning humans wanting to keep track of subjects to monitor their well-being. And I can understand people who’ve been engaged in something of questionable ethics wanting to keep their subjects quiet, and if their subjects insist on making noise (as I do), punishing them or somehow repressing their urges.
Somehow, I’ve come through my ordeal, understanding that one cannot fight this sort of thing. Fighting, I’ve learned, only fuels their psychoses, while protection comes from silence and submission. The Taser gun appears, and all is forgotten. They think.
With age, the amnesic barriers break down, little by little. And the controllers wonder how long they can keep us alive, functional, amnesic, and quiet. I imagine it’s a tricky balance, with some controllers demanding harsh treatment and others being somewhat kind – like the veterinarian at Sea World, confessing in Blackfish that he hated the work, but wanted to keep taking care of Tilikum, for whom he felt terribly sorry.
There is no open sea into which we mind control subjects can swim away to attempt to regain our lives (except maybe the open sea of the other dimensions at death), and no pod of free humans to accept us (except our friends and family on the other side). So we live our monitored lives as well as we can, and wait for either death or the day that humans will notice, think, feel, and find the resources to help us find a better semblance of freedom. I am not holding my breath.
Sometimes, I wonder if this idea that we’re all meant to be free is simply not true. Maybe it’s just a platitude, to keep us “pledging allegiance.” Maybe even the hope for Free Willy is a lie, a charade to keep us all believing.
No, I do believe humans are evolving, and even though we may have a long history of slavery, we are evolving – or trying to evolve – beyond our history. Some are doing their part. Frederick Douglas and Martin Luther King are two of my heroes, and Rosa Parks, whom I actually got to see when she was honored in 1978 or 79 in Louisville, Kentucky, on her 70-somethingth birthday in a public ceremony. I want to believe all these activists and martyrs didn’t suffer and die in vain, though it tests my faith when I see today how blacks are still arrested, beaten and murdered with impunity in the United States, the numbers increasing, and when I have a hard time speaking my truth, even though I’m backed up with US Government Printing Office documents, seeing people turn a deaf ear as though I shouldn’t disturb their equanimity.
On days like those, I think perhaps the quote of the Buddha is correct: Life is suffering.
Or the other platitudes that All is Illusion explains how some live a life like mine while others truly do seem to have full freedom to create to their heart’s content – and it’s only an illusion that we’re all in this life together, “free.” Many days it’s all just too unreal.
Then a couple of movies inspire us and activate a few. And somehow I regain hope that we MK subjects will one day be recognized.
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The usual interpretation of mind controllers is that they are psychopathic, predatory, sexual perverts, Satanic, demonic, or something else, in any case trying to rob people of their souls or at the very least rob them of their life energy to use them for the controllers’ own purposes.
I’ve lived with variations on this theory since 2002, and it’s very unpleasant to contemplate every time I’ve woken up with a bruise, scoop mark, surgical scar (sometimes oddly healed), Taser burn, etc. The terror of this weird unknown has pushed me to the point of wishing I could die more often than I can count.
Obviously, I haven’t wanted to continue to be their pawn in a game of – I don’t even know what, because I’m amnesic for it.
Something recently caused me to try to perceive “outside the box” of my current theories – and all the other theories I’ve explored, which are all pretty much unanimously upsetting if not terrifying.
A chance to reconsider my interpretation might have come about through my gardening.
I know my plants are living, sensitive beings, and yet I’ve been guilty of treating them poorly. Sometimes I put off watering too long, or delay feeding them nutrients they need. Or I prune them without cleaning and sharpening my tools. Or I transplant them at the wrong time or otherwise in such a way that they don’t survive.
And I wonder what they think of me. Do they think I’m evil?
And so I began to wonder if the mind controllers might not be evil psychopaths, or demons, but simply the equivalent of lousy gardeners.
I even tried to imagine that I might be a creative spirit on other dimensions, working with a team of beings, and together we imagined trying to amp up the human potential by splitting individuals into parts, as we’d noticed that natural “split personalities” seem able to multiply their intellectual interests and capacities. We developed our theory, believed that pain could be ameliorated with amnesia, and thought we had a useful idea. And I volunteered to be a guinea pig. Or I drew the short straw. Whatever. Just a theory. But I can imagine it.
To be honest, and for complete disclosure, the worst of my strange experiences has suddenly, quite dramatically, ceased earlier this year, for what reason I don’t know (though I can guess, but am not ready to share that guess). For quite a long time, I’d been having at least two weird events, usually what I call “injection bruises,” every single week, and there were also many weeks when I was totally devastated, exhausted, depressed to the point of wanting to die, and felt fairly good for nothing. And suddenly it stopped, earlier this year.
But the upsetting stuff had gone on for so very long that I don’t know if this is just a temporary reprieve and it’ll begin again, or if they really did “put me out to pasture” as I’ve been expecting they should, now that I’m in my 60s.
Whatever is the case, a fear response doesn’t go away easily. I don’t know if I’ll ever relax from it, though I certainly try.
Even though I’m symptom free now and have been for months, I am still fascinated by this subject. What does it mean? What is the nature of our reality that we can be amnesic for things that cause pain, and have serious, photographable wounds?
I’ve been open to other theories for a very long time. And in all my years of blogging and receiving responses from people all over the world, the greatest number of people confirm my experiences with similar ones of their own, and few offer a “comforting” response.
Some people have theorized – and this is one of the “more comforting” ideas – that one of my alternate personalities is creating the wounds on myself at night. I can imagine this being the case for something simple like what I’ve called “injection bruises” which always appeared on one of my thighs, usually the front.
But I can’t figure out how anyone could create the scoop marks – on my right hand.
Taser burn (second degree burn with skin removed) discovered November 29, 2010, photographed 2 days later.
Or the third-degree “Taser” burn – on my right arm.
Or the “thyroid surgery” scar, healed, that appeared one morning on my neck, and which a nurse questioned me about ten years later (I didn’t mention, but she saw the scar which she said was just like her thyroid scar)!
Do I have a violent, left-handed alternate personality who wants to hurt me? And who has access to technology beyond what any of us understand – that can take surgical scoop biopsies and make scars heal overnight?
Two and a half weeks after a beam hit me while talking on the telephone. I seem to have been controlled to not look at it and later not photograph it until it was almost healed.
How about the “beam” that hit me while talking on the phone with a friend, that left a huge bruise on the side/back of my leg? (Which I didn’t photograph for two weeks – why? Because I was mind controlled not to? Don’t know.)
This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar showed up on the back of my leg. No explanation except…
Or how about these two donut-shaped bruises that appeared within days of each other. How did I create them?
As strange as it may all be, I think I’d rather accept the theory that some trans-dimensional (spiritual) being is doing all this.
I REALLY don’t like the idea of it being CIA, even though there’s 100,000 pages of released government documents and CIA director testimony to Congress to support it. Maybe I should just stop there.
But I want another theory. Maybe just so that doctors will respect it and help me rather than label me “delusional.”
Am I in denial? Maybe…. But nearly everyone in my life wants me to deny it. My own flesh and blood deny it and won’t speak to me of it.
Strangers around the world support me in the CIA (and Satanist) assumptions. My book and these hundreds of pages on this site all support the same assumption. And yet I wish for another explanation. I guess I’m in denial.
Or maybe I can theorize that, yes, even though the CIA is involved, they’re under the direction of Bad Gardeners in the Cosmos.
What do you think?
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I’ve investigated every sort of information I thought would help me either make sense of the strange and sometimes horrifying (apparently trans-dimensional) experiences I’ve had – or help me stop them or appropriately deal with them.I’ve read about religion and spiritual/demonic attack, mind control and criminal hypnosis, and the psychology of fear and obsession (in case I could be creating or triggering this by the power of my mind, as some people believe and imply).
That’s a pretty good-sized burn to have happened without me remembering it.
(*I said sometimes because, thankfully, these events have not been happening in these recent 8 months since I cleared my home of excess “spiritual paraphernalia” [a clue?] and called again on Christ; since then, I’m happy to say, I’ve been mostly free of weird experiences – though I found an unexplained burn on the back of my neck on June 30.)
While I’ve usually interpreted my ongoing experiences as the result of mind control and/or spiritual attack (yes, could be both at once), I’ve never said for certain that any particular theory was sufficient – because I don’t believe we currently have the worldview and language to sufficiently describe the multi-dimensional nature of these intrusions into the human experience, as least as we’re perceiving it now.
And even though I’ve been mostly injury-free for eight months, I still suffer from memory problems much like a multiple personality, but not nearly so bad as how it’s typically perceived and presented in media. Nevertheless, I want to heal myself of whatever has been going on.
The BEST place to buy used books: Addall.com, where you can often pay a few cents more and not have to buy from the amazon Amazon.
So imagine my surprise to be loaned I Ching:The Oracle of the Cosmic Way, by Carol K. Anthony and Hanna Moog – and to discover it talks extensively about “spells” and deprogramming!!!
I was so impressed by it, I bought another book by the same women:Heal Yourself the Cosmic Way:Based on the I Ching.It’s a handbook for healing programming!
I’ve seen a lot of self-help books, and this is the only one I’ve ever found that talks specifically about deprogramming, in a spiritual sense!
I’ll let you know how it goes. Meanwhile, perhaps some of you will purchase (Addall.com link) one or both books yourself, and let me know what you think!
Peace and Healing to you all ~
I’ll share more later ~
(PS: Again, the BEST place to buy used books is Addall.com, where you can often pay only a few cents more and not have to buy from the amazon Amazon. And you can see the prices of small and large booksellers all over the world – on one site! Tell your friends how to boycott the amazon.
(Why? Because small booksellers are the ones who support small-niche authors and provide us information on topics that the mainstream corporatists don’t want us to have. Thanks for supporting independent authors and small publishers, by keeping the small publishers and small distributors in business.)
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Impressed by the incredible actor Laura Prepon, of Orange is the New Black, I looked her up on Wikipedia and read:
In 2005, Prepon starred in the film Karla, the true story of Paul Bernardo and his wife Karla Homolka, a couple who kidnapped, sexually abused and murdered three young girls – marking a contrast to her usual lighthearted roles.
Not my type of movie.
I’ve been in such deep darkness lately, that it seemed bizarre to watch this movie now, but, if I might state the obvious, I thought the description of the psychopathic couple could have a lot in common with the mind control network that controls me. It seemed it might be therapeutic. And, numb from all my own darkness, I could take it today.
And because I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom this past week, in which I’ve remembered and dwelt on a whole lot of stuff and the larger pattern, I thought the content of this movie wouldn’t be as shocking, and I’d be able to watch it with some dispassion. I thought I’d somehow benefit, and maybe even something revealing and healing could be triggered.
Here are my notes made during the movie:
– Many of my partners have signs of having been mind controlled too and of controlling me in a wide variety of ways.
– “She doesn’t even have to know.” Drugs and electroshock.
– I realize I’ve also been set up for sexual videos many times. Some of these I was too afraid to write about, even in my own journal, even many years after the fact. I remember wanting to write about an event a couple of times, but when I tried, my hand froze, so I said “Okay,” and never wrote about them anywhere. I
– The “knock-out drug.” Maybe that’s why I’m so hyper-sensitive to all sedatives.
– And if I wake up too soon, they just zap me afterward. Which explains my random heart problems, Taser burns, etc.
– Karla’s character traits: severe obedience, fear of abandonment, mistaking need for love, ability to precisely follow orders.
I relate to this totally, feeling painfully the work it has been in past decades to break free of even parts of it to create new patterns in more of my psyche. (Though I know I’m still being controlled – or have been recently – by someone commanding buried alters I’ve not yet been able to heal).
– Karla was a psychopath, who felt no remorse for others’ pain. I’m glad to know I hurt for others all over the planet, and still feel bad about a time when I was a Senior in high school (and never again, it felt so bad) “trying on” the behavior of a bossy former leader whose place I was taking, and I hurt a girl’s feelings, I thought – and I apologized to her a couple/few decades later! (She didn’t remember the event.)
I don’t believe I have any psychopathology, but I’m pretty sure I have a trained killer alter, whom I’ve only experienced once in my life, and that was when someone tried to break into my partner’s and my apartment, and I was ready to kill the man — quickly and efficiently.
After a moment of confusion, being awakened in the night, I snapped into a totally-unrecognized, but efficient and graceful series of behaviors, bouncing on my toes with a butcher knife in my hand, having commanded my partner to call 911. In my head was a recitation of the route my knife would take under his ribcage and up, the weight of the knife now becoming familiar as I bounced it in my fingers, the thought-feeling of the knife cutting its way through layers of skin, fat, and muscle – all running through my head with an absolute certainty that this would go perfectly. But the door held, and the police arrived and took him away.
They only took my report after arguing with me for quite a while about the non-necessity of arresting “a young man on a Saturday night with a little too much alcohol or drugs,” then the report didn’t exist the next morning, and no record of it was in any log, or so they told me. They were either protecting the drugged-up son of some powerful person, or they were testing my training. I wonder. But I do feel that I did have the complete knowledge in one hologram of my being for what I planned to do.
(When I wrote my book, RattleSnake Fire, I didn’t think this had anything to do with the rest of my book, or I would have included the story at the start of Chapter 16.)
So, I guess they programmed some part of me to kill, and when my life felt threatened, I was ready – and more than willing – to kill someone who “clearly,” I thought then, deserved it. No second thoughts, just total focus: bouncing on the toes, watching, hefting the knife, feeling the path, ready…. Good thing the police saved him.
Their videos of their murders …. chilling.
I think there are probably many videos of me; I’ve had lots of events over the years where the possibility something was a set-up for this was definitely in my mind, and my gut felt horrible about its real possibility, but my mind kept telling me, “No, just go along, don’t be paranoid….”
I feel so weak now, I can hardly lift my hands… but now refocused…. I think I should not be weak. I should face this stuff.
I want to cry.
I remember, “A seed must break apart before it can bear fruit.”
I’m breaking….feeling totally destroyed….
– Need to post the art showing demons on unconscious women, a small collection I’ve come across.
This institutional rape of women is not unique to our culture, but ancient.
– Rapes, psychotic personalities… curiously familiar feelings as I watch them,
slowly making connections in my conscious mind….
And I realize how powerfully I’ve been programmed to not be able
to distinguish psychotic lies from the truth
– in my younger years; I’m better now.
No wonder I’ve had such a series of “handlers,” rarely lovers.
(Mind control subjects need their handlers.)
– Her fear of being hated and abandoned was extreme to the point of numb terror,
very child-like and unthinking.
I’ve never been as bad as Karla, but I’ve had severe tendencies, and still do, I think.
– Karla mistakes her neediness for “love” because she was programmed that way. I was too, though now, thankfully, I recognize the difference. But that’s only one part of the control in their big bag of tricks.
– She’s seriously obsessed, more than I’ve ever been,
but I can see so clearly the patterns of how seriously we’ve both been MK’d.
Karla went psycho though. I became “multiple” (a better thing), cordoning off the ugliest stuff, leaving the rest of me, but only part of me, somewhat “normal.”
Splitting off, as a “multiple personality,” has made living a somewhat “normal” life, even a successful life in some modest ways, and often happy life possible. And I’m grateful.
But I have to keep aiming for fuller consciousness; it seems the only responsible thing to do. So I keep trying to remember and heal.
– I think my implants (typically thought of as “alien” or sometimes government), might also be associated with this. And one of their purposes, besides GPS and other sorts of control and harassment, is to identify me as to ownership – like a ranch animal.
– Flashing back on Prepon’s characterin Orange is the New Black, Alex Vausse – cold, hard, “seen it all,” willing to take pleasures where she can, willing to lie and seriously hurt her best friend and lover.
I might have alters who lie, but I don’t lie in my conscious life, except a few memorable times when it might have literally saved my life.
(Though some would say we all lie, all the time. Great TedTalks video on lying here.)
The difference between psychopathic and multiple: I have alters with behaviors for sex and killing locked away neatly (though they could be triggered on command, making the main part of me amnesic), whereas Karla has integrated the soul-deadened killer and liar into the whole of her.
I don’t think my killer alter can be triggered accidentally again, now that I’ve recognized her. But she gives me some confidence, knowing she’s there and capable if ever needed.
Mind controllers, though, can trigger that alter, which is why I tell everyone about this, and why I’m trying to heal – or hoping to die if things don’t get better.
(I don’t want the responsibility of choosing, in this conscious state, to ever kill someone, or myself. Too much appreciation for Life and the Mystery to destroy any of it – even though I talked about dying in January. I still believe I have the right, and conditions could change, but I’m not aiming there now.)
– I think there have always been psychopaths on the planet, but they’re increasing to record numbers and power now, it seems – at least I feel their heavy presence in my life.
Pulling back from despair….
– If I have any purpose in life, it’s to document my experience, which documents the worst of humanity at the end of the era. Feels important. So I record….
– I think this entire Earth is the subject of a turf war between warring global or cosmic gangster factions, the highest class (Illuminati?) to the lowest, and who knows how many factions and sub-factions there might be. It’s probably as complicated as global politics. Actually, it’s a big part of global and national politics. And maybe cosmic politics. Taking slaves of various sorts.
– Different aspects of this Systemhave been called mind control, ritual abuse, gang stalking, demonic, Satanic, sex slavery, CIA mind control, psychopathic, dark magick, human trafficking, Freemasonry, Mormonism, The Greek System, the Senate page scandal….and lots more. (I might have wrongly included a few of the above, but maybe not.)
– Karla was clearly trained to endure violence in numbness.
– Her husband is also a psychopath, but has features of a “multiple personality” as I understand it — even though the movie never makes a point of that, and he does no dramatic switching of alters. He’s charming in his social self, but he eventually is taken over by the desire to act out horrific sexual abuse on women, which he uses his adult intelligence to carry out, but when frustrated in any way, he reverts to behaviors that are what a six year old might do: scream, abuse, and yell incessant profanity – and rarely cry – all while otherwise appearing and conversing as an (immature) adult. And it’s clear to me that he was sexually brutalized around the age of six, much like many of us. Some go psycho. Some split. I’m so glad I split.
– Subconsciously, they recognize each other as “also abused,” and that’s their attraction: they are familiar to each other.
– impression that all has been fine, but…. – journals report incredible list of weirdness – almost forgotten! – accomplishments of 2014 impressive, despite experiences
Well, the life of a mind controlled multiple personality is not boring! For one thing, all my alters want expression, and that keeps me busy. And the multiple-ness keeps me “forgetting” the disturbing things, at least in my day-to-day consciousness, which keeps me functional; when I read disturbing things I’ve written and remember them, I become less functional – like today.
Hmmm…. Memory or function? Which do we want?
October is not that long ago, but I’m blown away by how many weird things happened in the last few months that I simply forgot!
But first, let’s do something different: I’ll lead with the good stuff instead of the bad. Here are some of the highlights of our year, which I find quite impressive every time I read it!
It’s a long list, so just skim if you want, using my asterisks to read the most important (then I’ll list the weird stuff):
* I performed a dozen times with Greg this year (his collection of folk-rock covers and original Americana – with themes of love, friendship, and home), sometimes out of town, or at our Farmers Market, and at a favorite coffee house, where a few times we presented music by Dylan, Browne, and Young with themes of apocalypse and strange, extra-dimensional events – tied together with my commentary. Much fun!
We attracted two new musical friendships and call our foursome the Southern Rocky Mountain Band. We played a single song (Greg’s original) at the historic Pinos Altos Opera House (a fundraiser for the Wild Gila: Forever Free CD/DVD release party), and we hope to begin playing out and recording more next year.
* In June, I “quit everything” (the most important thing I did all year) – home and garden design, singing, and more – and determined to do nothing but heal my mind and write about it. (More, below, under Health.)
I accepted my Social Security. When asked why I didn’t wait til I was older and would receive more, I said, “All the world’s financiers are making short term decisions. I’m making short-term decisions.” (I didn’t tell the other truth: because I’m damn tired of trying to hold my life together while also working.)
* During six weeks of never singing with Greg or the band, I healed some significant energy blocks, freed my voice significantly, and picked up singing again, then took some voice lessons and made more improvements.
In January, I helped Greg launch Silver City Acoustic, showcasing local and touring musicians on our local community radio station. I ran the board and eventually participated in the interviews. We aired the live, 2-hour show for 20-some weeks, interviewing 40-some local and touring musicians and bands. (When the station went off the air for an extended time, we lost momentum.)
I quit my weekly Back to the Garden radio show after 40 weeks – seeing that I’d taken on too much again, and this was not my forte anyway. I like to think I inspired others to say, “I can do that!” Or “I can do better than that!” so they’ll volunteer to fill those airwaves in my place. (It was fun, but I had too much on my plate.)
Home and Garden
We emptied our storage room, sold the last “big stuff,” and cleared a lot of stuck energy. Then we renovated the little 11×20 building into a functional and cheery guest house and studio retreat.
We built a cedar fence around the last of the yard (in front of our next guest house), sporting a curved corner which has garnered very nice compliments, and crafted two beautiful handles for our two front gates.
We turned the also-cluttered sun room into a beautiful sitting space on one side and a functional tool storage on the other.
My Writing and the Cyber World
* I redesigned JeanEisenhower.com to no longer hide my mind control work – and I put it on my business card, and on both I used a photo of me that I’ve avoided using for years because it seemed “too happy.” It’s been a huge psychological shift, though I still worry sometimes when handing out a card.
I renovated my Paradigm Salon website, consolidated pages, made them more accessible, filled in gaps in the information (and increased readership).
I started the Garden Healing Church, addressing natural healing and activism against enforced medicine – as spiritual necessity. The site continues to attract followers, even though I don’t post often.
I got my old laptop repaired and almost functioning with its own modem – for use by the fireplace! Yeah! What a nice way to treat myself!
Family and Friends
* We both reconnected with our parents and families in powerful ways. I even spent 6 days with my parents over the holiday! (First time to spend more than a few hours with them in over 20 years.)
We hosted a few garden parties, and stayed connected with long-distance friends.
* We helped an elderly friend die consciously, working with a wonderful group of volunteers, including nurses, doctors, chaplains, and shamans, making new friends – and supporting his wife. I photographed (and posted) an amazing thing Greg found a couple of days before our friend passed: a dragonfly emerging from its cocoon, into a new life!
I attended my first women’s gathering in years.
Besides designing the guest house, our new fence, two gate handles, our many web sites, photography, videography, audio recording and mixing, and writing, I started knitting again – most satisfying.
* Again: In June, I “quit everything,” and began focusing each day on what I needed to keep myself calm and able to handle life, and instituted new habits and changes to ensure I had what I needed. After six weeks, I came back to singing.
* In October, I created a Notebook/Journal to help me remember and track everything I need to remember on a daily basis, but often forget. I also used a timer every 30 minutes to help me note my activities and improve my time awareness. After a couple of months, I felt I didn’t need that intense reminder every thirty minutes, so I stopped using the timer, but knew it had been an important exercise in becoming more conscious.
I wrote over 300 pages of journal entries over a few short months, rich with new awareness, particularly about mind control and my relationship to it. I expect to post about it soon.
* I just created a new system of reminders to be awake on my iPhone: I created a series of lovely-sounding “alarms” to go off every hour every day (easier than the timer system). They’re all named “Breathe, Gratitude, and Note,” to remind me to breathe, remember what I’m grateful for, ask for guidance, and note it all, with either a journal note, voice memo, or mental note.
I started up at “Curves” again, started drinking daily turmeric tea, and got back to my supplements.
I invented “sludge cake”! – a gluten-free cake made from the precipitate (sludge) from turmeric tea – even when we eat it plain, we crave it – our cells tell us it’s great medicine. My recipe is here.
So, I was feeling like life had turned an important corner toward goodness and freedom– as I couldn’t remember any recent weirdness – until I skimmed over my journals, which I’d designed to make easy to find things by category. But when I looked, I found in my “anomalies” category, a lot of unexplainable experiences, which I’ll group by month:
2nd half of August: 2 “donut” bruises, 1 injection bruise, 2 scratches similar to biopsy scoops, another injection bruise and other bruise.
September: twice “lost time,” extreme energy issues, worsened ringing in ears, flood of “mental movies” (random things like family home movies of people I don’t know) that seem beamed in, big bruise on inner arm, scoop mark, time problem, dark bruise on left leg, hypersensitive patches of skin, 5 more days of severe energy issues, forgetful days, very tired.
October: worsened ringing in ears, movies in head again, heart problems (palpitations, stress, slow heartbeat [61 pbm], extreme weakness, days I thought I was dying), weird sleep cycles, 2 more bruises, one a double (“hypodermic”? or Taser?), one day so speedy I thought they’d given me some pharmaceutical to compensate for something that might have made me tired otherwise, missing time, feeling “out of it” and struggling to do simple things, another bruise. (I know the bruise photos sometimes don’t look like much, but they are so consistent and unexplained.)
November: Very bizarre experience of seeing my hand, while I was writing, as if through a yellow glass, but as if video’d from above my head, then run back into my mind (so I watched my hand writing in this second-person state), felt an “intrusion” of another being into my being, with a sense of goodness and reconnection (or maybe it was just “electronic heroin”), then I lost time and could barely put myself to bed (all one evening with my partner beside me), and my partner had to help me get to bed; another bruise; remembered things too vague to describe and was sick with fear.
December: Another bruise, dreams of medical procedures; energy “download” followed by no memory; dreams of aliens “all night.”
And who knows what happened the first part of the year? I haven’t the energy to look through my journals.
Okay, so I’ve got a problem: What to do? What to do when I recognize stuff is going on that is beyond my ability to consciously control or even remember?
This is my ongoing “Do something drastic? or what?” dilemma.
I like life when I have I seem to control my own part of it, but not when I get these hints that someone is highjacking parts of me. Not fun at all.
And I just found this old photo of myself with my mother on a train. It seems I’m about 5 or 6.
(It’s the only sad photo of me I’ve seen from childhood. All the rest are “super-cheerful.”)
Are we on the train to New Mexico? (That strange trip my mother took me on which seems so out-of-custom for our family?) For my mind control? After which I have no memories until age 8?
Ugh. How do I keep on? I feel sick. Have been experiencing nausea and anxiety all day now….
How can I keep putting it away as if it didn’t happen? Where is there to hide? Nowhere.
Recently I wrote in my journal about generating the power to control our own minds, thereby wresting control away from “Them.”
Is that even possible? My new million-dollar question….
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7. FBI Dismisses Murder Plot against Occupy as NSA Cracks Down on Dissent (For full story, click here)
In October 2011, when the Occupy movement arrived in Houston, protesters were subject to local and federal surveillance, infiltration by police provocateurs, and police assault. Months later, a document obtained in December 2012 from the Houston FBI office shows that the agency was aware of a plot to assassinate Occupy movement leaders—and did nothing about it. And in Arizona, law enforcement collaborated with JP Morgan Chase CEO Jamie Dimon divulging Occupy plans. The CEO claimed he was simply avoiding possible protests, and local law enforcement was happy to help. Government documents from the National Security Agency and other government offices revealed a grim mosaic of ‘counter-terrorism’ operations and negative attitudes toward activists and other citizens.
Sources: Dave Lindorff, “FBI Document—‘[DELETED]’ Plots to Kill Occupy Leaders’,” WhoWhatWhy article, June 27, 2013. Beau Hodai, “Dissent or Terror,” Center for Media and Democracy’s SourceWatch/DBA Press, May 2013. Alex Kane, “How America’s National Security Apparatus—in Partnership With Big Corporations—Cracked Down on Dissent,” AlterNet report, May 21, 2013.
I used to be a radical activist, and I’m here to say it’s not for the naive, or for mind control subjects.
Thank Goodness, I only went to jail twice (for civil disobedience both times), but in 1992, I was Tasered while in the Durango Jail (during a peaceful drumming-and-dancing protest against Amoco drilling in critical Elk habitat) and have no memory of most of the afternoon or any of the evening. I was woken up near midnight and made to sit in a chair for hours while they pretended to be processing me out, but all they did was wake me every time I fell asleep. After that I remember sleeping, huddled, very cold, on a hard floor because they released me at 4 am and lied that no one had left me any message or phone number to call, so I had no idea where to go in the unfamiliar town, and it was very cold outdoors in Durango at that dark hour, even in the summer. I remember someone finding me and leading me out, but I don’t remember the breakfast where I was told we all met that morning.
Two years earlier, I’d wanted to do activist media work like Judi Bari; then she was car-bombed in an assassination attempt that a jury trial would later find the FBI guilty of numerous crimes related to the assassination attempt: not investigating it, slandering the activists who survived, and other charges. Judi was terribly wounded and needed a wheelchair the rest of her shortened life.
The year before that, two friends were framed by an agent who pretended to be on our side. He and an informer had been in our house on a number of occasions, pretending to be friends. A second FBI informer we’d seen at a gathering once; on trial, he talked about thinking of “pulling a Rambo” and gunning down all of us.
My friend, Peg Millet, a horse whisperer and defender of sacred places, went to prison for five years because the agent egged her on to commit an act against a nuclear power plant (rather than the symbolic act against a water pumping station in the wilderness), and even though she rejected his ideas repeatedly, just “conversing” with him was enough to be found guilty of nuclear terrorism!
It’s a mixed comfort to read the item at top for confirmation that someone notices and will report that we are all treated horrifically (it’s not just me!) just for demanding that certain laws be obeyed – laws that defend life on Earth.
The third-degree Taser burn I woke with one morning while finishing up my first video about mind control in 2010.
My story is far from unique and could probably be matched a thousand times or more by people across this nation, working on labor, race, education, surveillance, health, and many other issues.
And this is just one of “25 Top Stories” of stuff going all wrongin this nation. Check out the stories that the Media is not telling you. I dare you. ;}
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What a pleasure to report nothing weird all week – except for two things positive!
One non-normal happening was my sighting of a series of – apparently – energetic beings in a storm cloud! Now, I’ve never seen this sort of thing before*, though I also would not automatically discount it. Still, I was very surprised to see an approaching storm cloud rolling our way suddenly “open up” – and an energetic being didn’t just appear, but sort of teasingly danced, as if to say, “You see me! I know you see me! Don’t pretend you don’t see me!”
When I silently accepted that, yes, I did see “her,” she disappeared into the cloud, and another spot in the cloud opened up to display another being with an entirely different energy. One after another, different beings with different energies displayed themselves, conveying to me that a storm cloud is filled with energies of all sorts, some ready to inflict damage on the land beneath, others ready to bless the land with rain.
How do I explain this? Years ago, I wrote an essay titled, “Paracelsus, Rudolph Steiner, and Aliens,” a summary of the best-selling author Peter Thompkins’ book The Secret Life of Nature: Living in Harmony with the Hidden World of Nature Spirits from Fairies to Quarks.
Below are two short paragraphs from that essay, which will explain why, until I’d seen these beings myself, I would not have immediately discounted the idea, despite our “rational” training in this culture:
Paracelsus gathered his data by going straight to his source, Nature, in which he steeped himself deeply. He also asked herbalists, faith healers, gypsies, hermits, witches and anyone else who claimed knowledge of the healing arts – aside from doctors – what they knew. He discovered that their lore had a form and structure which matched his own experiences of intelligent, immaterial beings working within nature. [my underline]
The rebel alchemist defined these spiritual intelligences as “elementals,” which he explained perform important tasks, that we in the first world today call “forces of nature.” These elementals are also identical with the beings that mystics and primitive societies call spirits of mountain, sea, storm, etc.
So, I’m honored to have been blessed with this small vision. (* And I now recall a similar experience from a decade ago, I’ll recount at the end.)
The second strange thing this week, just for the record: my left shoulder continues to feel highly sensitive, as it has for months, but the bruise (pictured here, near the former implant site) that had been there for over a year is finally entirely gone! And the implant removal injury, seen in the photo, is gone too.
Other than those two things, my sleep was “normal,” I found no marks on my body, and I enjoyed a lot of mundane pleasures: for one, my partner and I built the last section of fence around the house, including two gate handles hand-crafted from an oak branch.
* Regarding the similar storm cloud vision a decade ago (recounted in my book, RattleSnake Fire): I was sitting on the west-facing porch with my daughter and a friend, watching an Arizona sunset-storm, with clouds of charcoal gray filling the sky, rimmed with dramatic golds and reds.
Suddenly, we all gasped when two “eyes” simultaneously “opened up” to the northwest, glowing gold. The two eye-shaped spots opened together as if they had upper and lower lids, and after we’d all noticed them and expressed surprise, they closed together. A moment later, two identical “eyes” opened up about 20 degrees higher in the sky and, after we’d again exclaimed in astonishment at their similarity to the first two eyes, they too closed.
The next thing we knew, my daughter stood up, saying she wanted to go inside. I recognized she was uncomfortable, which I attributed to the mystical nature of the “eyes.” I stood up to follow her, saying, “It means something. I know it means something.”
Having turned to go inside, now facing south, I noticed the next strange thing – but the whole event doesn’t make sense unless we accept that we’d all had “missing time”: A new opening in the clouds to the south caused us to gasp again, but this time, instead of light shining through, we saw the dark,starry sky. (Had an hour or more of time passed, for which we had no memory?)
The opening was just a long strange-shaped crack – exactly the shape to show just the stars of Scorpio, but no other stars! I knew this was an omen, and stood in amazement while the others hurried inside. I did not know that Scorpio is often a sign of death; I only knew that the sting was hurtful. “Something painful has happened,” I said, adding, “something to do with a shaman” – the last words I had no idea why I’d said them, except that I’d felt them.
The next day, we got the message that a friend had died in a tragic car accident that night, in Washington state – to the northwest, the direction of the eyes. Within a few days, I’d also learn that she’d spent the last year traveling in Mexico, living and training with a shaman and a midwife, and people were beginning to call her a shaman.
In short, yes, I believe we can get signs everywhere (from truthful spirits and tricksters – so beware). And I’m grateful to have received these playful messages this week, reminding me.
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In 1990, I sat in the center of communications for the radical activist group Tucson Earth First! and networked with many other non-profit organizations in town, including People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, domestic violence organizations, homeless advocates, the parent-teacher association, and had been written up in the daily paper along with a couple other women as a “Supermom.” I think I told the reporter, “I don’t recommend it.”
But I had so many ideas, so many solutions to things, could see the coordinated steps it would take to bring a complicated project, like a publication or a conference, to successful completion, usually had most of the skills, and others encouraged me, so I took them all on, and most of them went well, with a few exceptional bombers, a few embarrassing lapses of judgement, but mostly projects that brought very positive responses, and sometimes awards, and then that news article. I was even asked to run for political office and hounded about it for month before my rejection was accepted.
Before I’d gotten so radical, I’d been accepted into the largest PR firm in Arizona, Gladys Sarlat PR, where I’d been let go after I’d told them I thought a new client was a fraud. Soon after, that man would be on the front page of the business section of the daily paper nearly every day for the next 18 months – on trial for fraud.
I co-wrote a couple of editorials for the dailies, one on the Green Party and another on the FBI repression of Earth First! colleagues Judi Bari and Darryl Cherney which resulted in an assassination attempt on Judi, whose trial against the FBI with Darryl, Darryl was traveling the country for, coming through Tucson, singing songs, telling the horrifying story, showing slides of the bombed car, and soliciting help. Of course. I organized his show, did the media work, wrote an editorial for the papers, and helped him find a place to crash that didn’t have kids. I added it to my notebook of tasks and got it done.
Everything in my life was in my notebook. I worked with pages I custom-designed to help me do everything. I had daily sheets, 4-week planning charts in a 2-page spread, and monthly calendars, along with project flowcharts. I had files January through December and “Next Year,” and files numbered 1 through 31, which helped me organize everything. I carried my notebook everywhere.
One Monday a friend asked how was my weekend. I flipped the page back to Saturday and answered that I’d had a houseful of boys because it had been my son’s birthday. Until I’d read it, though, I’d had no memory of the day. My business persona and mom persona didn’t have a lot of memory connection.
I was burning out from doing too much, and realizing it. My husband always encouraged me to take on more, and he’d even volunteer for tasks that he didn’t have the skills to do – like bookkeeping – and then let me do it because he didn’t want to admit he couldn’t do it. So I’d do it. And when he insisted he’d make up the financial difference in the family because some cause was important to him that he wanted me to keep doing, he’d still keep account of the major times he paid more than his share for something, and occasionally would tell me I owed him that much. So we had arguments. A visiting friend one time said, “Do you realize that I every year I come visit you, you’re telling me the same dreadful things? When are you going to change the situation?”
I was afraid to be alone with two teenagers, so I stayed in the situation and advocated for better treatment. We did learn to have a certain amount of fun together, and we always presented a contented face to the world.
When Judi and Darryl were bombed, it was as if a psychic bomb went off in my mind. I was aware of things like FBI harassment of activists, but I’d pretended that an office person, PR person, occasional spokesperson wouldn’t be a target – they’d want the tree-spiker, not me. But Judi was bombed. She was a visionary, PR person, phenomenal spokesperson, but did nothing illegal; in fact, she’s single-handedly gotten the vast majority of California Earth First!ers to renounce tree-spiking. So why was she attacked? No – almost killed.
For the last four years, our dining room had been the hub of action for the Coalition to protect Mount Graham, combining efforts of a number of organizations, Earth First!, San Carlos Apache Tribal Council, individual tribal members, and some international environmental ecology organization, and we’d been part of demonstrations shaming the Smithsonian Institution into backing out of the astrophysical project (though they’d rejoin years later), and we mercilessly hammered on those who forged ahead: the University of Arizona, the Max Planck Institute in Germany, Arcetri in Italy, and the Vatican. Yes, the Vatican. More on that later.
I knew we were like chihuahuas nipping at the heels of a monstrous mastiff, but we did it. We emboldened each other with tales of valor, creative monkey-wrenching, street theater, affinity groups, legal strategy workshops, and all the joy of camaraderie in the face of an enemy worth confronting. I’d gone to jail twice. Both times I’d gone into altered states of consciousness. The second time, I believe I was Tasered, as I have no memory of the rest of the day or much of the next day after two plainclothes men showed up in jail and walked near me, after which I only remember rising from the ground in rage, swinging my arms, my hair in my face. Then only sketchy disturbing memories of being harassed for hours with disturbed sleep, then let go at 4 in the morning with no phone number, though people had left numerous messages for me. I remember someone finding me in the waiting room, curled, freezing on the hard floor, and following, and am told we went out to breakfast, but I can’t remember it. That was Durango, Colorado, 1992. I hadn’t meant to get arrested; I just hadn’t left the scene of a group’s civil disobedience fast enough.
Back home, to lessen my stress, I backed out of a few volunteer commitments, including most of my work to protect Mount Graham, quit my business, and got a job. I wanted a few well-defined tasks to do each day, not the ever-expanding situation I had with a PR consulting business to environmental, arts, and social justice non-profits – that attracted unending pro bono work, and when they paid I could never charge what people said I was worth, because I didn’t want to take the money out of their accounts.
The job I got was the Customer Relations person for the 3rd largest birdwatching tour company in the world, WINGS. After a few months on the job, the owner told me he’d been looking for years for someone who could take over the business, and he thought I could do it. It grossed millions each year, and he’d let me buy in over time, with an immediate doubling of my pay and opportunities for the rest of my life to travel to exotic natural place all over the world, from Alaska to Antarctica and a hundred or more other places. I would soon have to quit my job.
April 1993, my son was diagnosed with cancer. My husband and I had the final fight of our relationship, and I ended it. The kids and I were going to move out because my husband refused to. My health insurance company went bankrupt. I went down into the basement to cry, and began instead to make an involuntary sound, between a scream and a growl and roar, over and over again, able to stop for just a few seconds before the urge was upon me again, and I could not turn it off. For awhile I thought I’d just let it wear itself out, and continued until I realized that I felt a blood vessel in my throat that felt like it could burst. I felt the real possibility that if I didn’t drown in my own blood, I wasn’t sure how anyone would staunch the blood flow from a vocal cord, and realized I could either drown or bleed to death, and I really tried to stop.
I stopped for ten seconds, then had to emit a small growl-roar, and then another, and another. I headed up the stairs thinking, Oh my God, I’m going to call Helpline. I’m supposed to be someone who would consult to them, not need their services. I’m a Supermom. I’m the business consultant. I’m not someone who needs help. Shakily, I turned to the inside cover of the phonebook and tried a few times with trembling hands – between not-very-well-repressed growls – and finally got the number dialed correctly. Someone talked me down.
The next Monday morning, I walked into a counselor’s office and before I even sat down, I spilled out my litany: My son has cancer, my health insurance company just went bankrupt, my husband and I are divorcing and we have to move and I don’t know where or how, my daughter hates me for making them move…and I could have added that I was in shock to realize that I can’t trust that my children will live, or that they will love me – two monumentally new ideas, two huge shifts in my world…and then another phrase came out of my mouth that had never crossed my conscious mind: and I think I was sexually abused as a child.
It was so bizarre to hear words come of my mouth that never crossed the threshold of my consciousness. For a moment, all reality was suspended, and I tipped my head to the right as if I could peek around a dimensional corner and maybe see my words spelled out there in the air. Anything seemed possible in that moment.
And in that moment I began a struggle that had me falling apart all year long, crying everywhere I went, crying at home, walls breathing, flashbacks of sex from young childhood to teen years, wolf energy entering me, Tarot cards that came up again and again confirming this, and a couple of attempts to commit myself to a mental hospital because I wanted a place to cry and throw myself around and not attract police. For awhile I thought I could go there for the rest of my life so that I didn’t have to make a decision about what was real.
The decision was this: to believe that I was sexually abused and have my whole self change, or believe that was a weird and meaningless string of experiences and all is fine. I wanted to believe the latter, but whenever I told myself that, I felt foggy, hazy, fuzzy, and like I was falling back asleep. Whenever I entertained the former, my brain felt like it was coming out of a fog, like I saw more light – before the psychic pain crept in.
Realizing the difference that clearly, you’d think, would make me to accept the theory that made me feel clearest, but I didn’t want to go there. I didn’t want my whole world to change. I didn’t want to think about who did it. I didn’t want to be one of those women scorned in the papers for jumping on the current bandwagon of diagnoses, particularly one which is so disgusting and embarrassing, that certainly means I must have some secret perversion to have picked that bandwagon. No, I was not going there.
But I’d turn back to the other choice, and feel the haze fall over. I felt I was falling back into an oblivion I hadn’t know I’d been in.
And a whole lot of things began to make sense, things I could never think about before, though they did cross my mind like bats in the night, barely seen, only these things had no name, no context, they didn’t make sense. Into the Anomaly file they went – things that made no sense.
One was the sexual nightmares I had as a child. One was the way I went mute and catatonic the first time a boy attempted intercourse. Another was the altered state I went into the first time I was coerced into leaving my baby in the church nursery and literally forgot I had a child, even when another mother asked me where he was and even answered my question “Baby??” with his name – when I snapped out of it, remembered, and went running for him in sheer terror that I’d left him there.
And the sex play my best friend said I participated in in 5th grade, for which I had no memory. So many things began popping back in my mind. I tried to say I was inventing meaningful connections where there were none, but they kept coming and seemed reasonably connected. More and more, never quitting, scraps of memories, images, ideas, sickening.
I did what I think of as silent crying, diverting the tears down inside my sinuses, giving me a constant drip that I knew was all tears. After my nose got all chapped from wiping it for a week, I resorted to scooping the mucous-y tears out with a thumbnail, and wiping it on a hankie always with me, then after a week ditching the handkerchief and slurping the salty pain off my thumbnail, hoping people wouldn’t notice, but unable to care if they did, wearily accepting that I was more a mess than I’d ever thought possible.
I could no longer work, so I accepted entry into the Master’s Program in Creative Writing after winning an award for a story written and submitted before my life fell apart. My kids and I began living on student loans and, for the first time in my life, credit cards, which were skyrocketing with medical bills.
The only bright side: I’d begun praying, and though my son had been identified as being at very high risk, he was suddenly pronounced in remission.
The last night of the school year, I was facing a free summer – the first three months in my adult life, I realized, that I’d ever had. I’d never had nothing to do for that long a period of time.
The evening after my last class, I was feeling very happy, feeling confident that I’d survive this somehow, accept the reality of my past and begin to do the healing others told me I’d be able to do, making me a better person than I could otherwise have ever been if I’d not remembered and integrated it. I imagined a summer of reading, writing, sleeping late, staying in bed, going to support groups, doing the healing exercises in the books, with lots of time to abreact and recover and whatever else would follow. I’d treat myself well.
As it turned out, I’d build a tiny hermitage in the desert that summer and do very little healing work of the sort I’d imagined.
The emptiness I saw ahead was delicious, and I sat down that evening with my current book in a comfortable reading chair, thinking that the world was seeming beautiful again for the first time in over a year. The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot is about reality, perception, multiple dimensions, and much more. I found my place in the book and began to read, but soon was experiencing something very odd.
I finished a sentence, had a reaction of great interest to it, but couldn’t remember anything it was about as soon as I reached the end of it. I re-read the sentence repeatedly with the same physical reaction of great interest and then amnesia for it.
I tried it again, and was face to face with something weird happening in my brain. I balanced between fascination and fear. Then an idea popped up: Read the sentence aloud. And I did.
The sentence was about people with multiple personality disorder looking often decades younger than their biological age – which is still true for me today, sometimes (depending on which alter is out), and was even more true then. At forty-one, I was often mistaken for my teenage children’s sister.
Again, the world shifted, but this time it wasn’t as traumatic. In fact, after the acceptance of the child abuse, it felt real comfortable, as though a confirming piece of a puzzle had dropped into place and made things clear.
Still the rational part of me was horrified. I was already carrying this secret stigma of being a child sexual abuse survivor, which was bad enough. But mental illness!? No way. I did not want this.
A response came from inside: Understanding this is the beginning of everything getting better. I can heal. And I decided I’d go first thing in the morning to the medical library at the university and read all I could about multiple personality.
The next day I was greatly affirmed. Despite multiple personality’s reputation, it’s not always as crippling as some stories they’ve made into movies. And once diagnosed, it’s relatively easy to heal. Created by trauma, it’s actually the most “sane” response, as opposed to going schizophrenic, the other alternative when the mind cannot assimilate what’s dealt to the body. And many “multiples” are actually very high-functioning, even geniuses – not coincidental, but because of their multiple-ness. They have more “minds” to learn things, and many learn to partially integrate their various alters to network and use all those minds to superior levels.
I’d tested at genius levels a few times in my life, so this news helped me not feel like a freak two or three times over, but like I’d just had bad luck, and others have gone before me. We have highly complicated minds, sorta supercharge potential, not working quite right, but healable.
Now I just had to figure out how to do it. By going to the desert, though, while also enrolled in school, I’d make life too complicated to follow through with counseling. Besides, whenever I did visit a counselor over the years, they kept telling me I was “doing great” and I could just continue on my own.
I moved to the desert, fell in love with my solitude, and thought I’d stay there all my life – until my old high school crush and I had a conversation at our 25th high school reunion.
Soon I had abandoned my hermitage, moved to Colorado Springs, and was engaged to be married to my rescuer I believed was my soul mate. (If we can have a few, he is one.) I snapped back into functioning mode and tried not to think about having anything that needed to heal.
Needing a new career, I got my real estate license and was soon top-selling agent in my office, and was offered management of my franchise’s cornerstone office, overseeing 60 agents, for which I would likely earn “six figures.”
In the previous four and a half years, my fiancé and I had realized we couldn’t blend our lives, and I was yearning to return to my hermitage, to sit in front of the windows and watch hawks. The real estate biz had helped me pay down a good bit of my credit cards, and business was burning me out again, needing to be at every client’s beck and call 24-7 for their most important financial action of the decade. The excitement was over, I’d proven myself, so I declined and moved back home to the desert.
In my hermitage, I’d never had curtains because I lived far off the road and my nearest neighbor, a woman friend, was a quarter-mile away with barbed wire fence between us. One night, though, I knew someone malevolent was outside my large solar windows in the dark, looking in on my one-room house, me sitting in the middle of it, next to the fireplace, facing out. I set down my book, raised my hands in prayer position and prayed fervently that I’d be protected and maybe the man would be moved by my gesture to remember God and pull himself together and do right.
After awhile, I put down my hands and began to read again, and the feeling of horror came over me again. I retook my prayer pose, prayed a while, then turned out the light, and went to bed.
The next morning I found outside a styrofoam coffee cup in pristine condition sitting on my porch, a cigarette butt thrown a short distance away, and a place on the dirt where he’d relieved himself. I called the sheriff and was told it was all insignificant and, no, he wouldn’t even make a note about my call. In the next four years, I experienced a lot of fear, interspersed by events indicating I was being helped through it all with supernatural assistance.
In April 2002, I sat on my roof, watching a rare phenomenon in the sky: a crescent moon and four planets lined up after sunset. I’d been having lots of experiences I understood were called “shamanic,” which excited me. I’d had a year of snakes making dramatic entries into my life, ravens, owls, hawks, phoebes, lizards, a wild cat, and I’d bought a book of animal spirit meanings.
As I sat on the western edge of the roof of my bathhouse and gazed westward, suddenly a cluster of bats rolled in front of my face like a four-foot high, one-foot wide tire-shape in the air, and I knew it was a sign, but I didn’t know of what.
Next thing I knew, I was in a state of absolute ecstasy, seeing the planets and moon from a different perspective, colorful, and could perceive the rotation of the Earth, the Moon’s orbit around us, and the Earth’s and all the planets’ orbits around the Sun as a sensation in my body. I was totally enraptured, felt myself suspended in space, rising, ecstatic.
Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the middle of the roof, the sky was perfectly dark except for brilliant stars, the moon and planets were long gone, no light at all in the west. And I was babbling words of gratitude, unable to stop. I did though when two owls began to fly around me, and flew around me again and again until I began to wish I’d counted so I could one day tell the story with precise truth, and soon after my mind went into that rational track, they flew away.
Back in the house, I looked up bats and owls. They are each complex, but the phrases I remembered were: Shamanic initiation and astral travel. Years later, I realized or remembered that a great deal of time had passed for which I have no memory.
Days or weeks later, walking from my reading chair to get a drink of water, I suddenly had the experience of a spirit crashing into me – specifically, the spirit of Judi Bari! She had died five years earlier of breast cancer while trying to sue the FBI for various civil rights abuses related to the bombing. In an instant, with no words passed between us, I realized a whole lot: She knew from the other realm that I felt myself a very tepid activist. She, on the other hand, to my mind, had been a Superwoman activist, a Supermom activist even, someone to go down in history, except that the mainstream media seemed to be cooperating with the FBI to keep the history-worthy event out of awareness and memory. Still, she was a hero to a lot of us for her amazing work to try to save the last of the Redwood forests. I was nobody in comparison.
She scolded me for my attitude and told me (all wordlessly, instantaneously) that her style (bold and sometimes insulting and sarcastic to the Powers that Be) was not the only way to do things, and in fact it had even gotten her killed, and my gentler style could go further, and I should lay off thinking there was nothing more I could do. And then she was gone.
Standing there in front of the counter with an empty glass in my hand, having been thinking of other things before I got up for water, I was completely dumbfounded. Why would I get this message? Why now? I was so far from activism, and had no intentions of getting back into it.
A few weeks after the night on the roof, and not long after Judi’s message, I received a phone call from Darryl – ten years since I’d talked to him last – asking me if I’d come to Oakland to manage media relations for the trial. I said I would, and two days later I took the Amtrak to Oakland, California, to participate in a six-week trial resulting in various agents of the FBI being found guilty of all the charges, for which they’d pay a historic sum of $4.4 million.
During the trial, I felt made subject to more experimentation. I felt as though I’d been hit by immobilizing beams on at least two occasions. Then, I’d also felt twice taken into another dimension, and upon return it took a minute or more to remember who I was in this Earth life, as if my consciousness was of a higher self who was just dropping in with the Earth-life me to make sure I re-entered and remembered properly before removing herself.
She worried about nothing, found my slow memory mildly humorous, but was fond in her judgement, and left me with a sense that all was well. It sure didn’t seem like all was well, with our FBI overseeing the bombing of activists trying to save the last 3 percent of the native forest of California, but the soul part who seemed to be there with me for a minute felt confident and calm, as though everything was as it should be. It comforted me for a while. Then I worried it might have been a technological mind trick, maybe messing with my mind, but leaving a false memory that all was okay.
I told no one because we all had enough on our hands, working with lawyers every day to craft messages out to the world’s media; no one needed my drama, so I kept my worries to myself, and focused on the job.
My first day home from the trial, catching up on email, I was directed to some websites by one of my most important confidants. She said, “I think these will explain a lot that we have in common.” I began to read, for the first time in my life, about something that causes multiple personality: mind control.
It was horrifying. Mesmerizing. Disgusting. Repellent. And familiar in a way that made me feel that old ghosts were stirring, old memories, little children’s voices whispering, It’s true. And: We’re scared. And: Maybe you’ll recognize us now?
Making this connection between mind control and multiple-ness would explain even more of my life and be both as promising and terrifying as it was to accept that I’d been sexually abused. Promising, because it explained things that had never made sense before. Terrifying, because it implied that I might be being watched and maybe controlled even now. And maybe all my activism had been playing into the hands of my controllers, and maybe I’d done things to betray activists without knowing. I felt like a living time bomb. I thought I should kill myself.
At the same time, I felt I had a chance again to know myself better than ever, and could free myself from it, maybe. That bit of hope, though, was greatly overshadowed by fear so great, that I did not get better any time soon, but went into another deep dark hole for a good length of time, during which I became paranoid that my home was not only bugged, but someone was video recording my every move. I was afraid to speak of critical topics aloud except whispered in a noisy outdoor space.
My efforts to use shamanism to protect myself went awry, and I felt ganged up on from the other side, as if aliens had joined the CIA (the department that has always overseen mind control – according to their own documents and director testimony to the Senate) in harassing me, or the CIA was giving me “screen memories” of aliens.
For five years, I had bizarre experiences, for example, being immobilized in my vehicle stopped on the highway and losing hours of time, and more often, weirdness at home, seeing at least a dozen UFO’s over the years, feeling myself pulled up through the canvas of my bedroom teepee into another dimension, perceptions of people who’d just unexpectedly passed over (before many knew they’d died), and more – a mix of things shamanic and things that could have been technological harassment, including being hit by beams of laser energy, once right between the eyes.
And I never did I do much healing work on my multiple-ness.
My multiple-ness is easy to ignore, and some people might think I’m over-exaggerating or slapping on a diagnosis that’s unnecessary. But Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) – now called Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) – manifests in a variety of ways, some of which occur after natural trauma or the trauma of random abuse, and others which are the result of intentional trauma inflicted to make the person dissociate so that the perpetrator can embed behaviors triggered by secret commands, called “programming,” into the victim who will then be the subject, controlled, without the subject’s awareness, by the person who knows the secret passwords.
The “work on my healing” I’d hope to do had suddenly become something much more complicated, and something for which I knew I was going to be attacked by those who didn’t want me to heal. Would I even have a chance?
I read books on the subject, from medical library material to popular and therapeutic literature. Therapists claimed healing could be done, but it took money. And it seemed every time I tried to get a job, someone had been there before me, saying something about me – perhaps a federal agent would simply walk in and ask to be notified if I should come in – and then the secretary would stare at me, stricken, as if I were a ghost and she didn’t know what to do. After a few times, I quit looking and decided eventually to leave my home when my computer was suspiciously destroyed, my vehicle quit running, and I began to borrow money again with no idea how I was going to repay it. I sold my land, sad to go, and moved to Silver City, New Mexico. I wondered if they forced me to town to make my programming easier and my potential for use much greater.
As I said, my condition is easy to hide. My alters seem to coordinate fairly well enough, but remembering things like events and people’s names is slow. Expressing opinions is an interesting exercise. I see things, usually, from at least a few different perspectives, see the validity in all of them, compare them, revisit the person’s question to determine which of these viewpoints I want to share to best respond to their question, and usually by then, someone else has moved the conversation along, my opportunity passed, and I appear slow. I, though, feel like I’ve done ten times the work on the idea as anyone else and really only took a few seconds longer, but opening my mouth was too slow for social custom – unless I am in an ultra-high-functioning mode, and then I might be too speedy for some people.
Let me be alone in my office, though, working on a project, and I do better than fine. I win awards. Just don’t bother me.
So I work alone, and limit my social life. And people treat me like I’m normal – I think. Hard to know from this vantage. I’m usually wrapped up in my own mind: observing, comparing perceptions, keeping steady, and lately I’ve been doing better than ever in my social skills. I even hosted my first party ever in my adult life in my current home shortly after I moved here, and have hosted parties regularly since then. And I’ve made a lot of friendly acquaintances. And held jobs successfully, for as long as I’ve wanted them, which often isn’t long. I get tired of the strain of managing my personalities and moods, and all the extra compensation time I need to take to keep up, and usually need to take breaks every few months, which made teaching in the local college a good gig for a while.
The government-military style of mind control (there are others, Satanic, for instance) was probably responsible for my being high-functioning. I’m not sure how many programs they have, but I know they create super-soldiers, super-spies, and sexual entertainers for rewards and blackmail. I know I was trained in the latter. I suspect I might have also been trained as a spy, though I have no hard evidence, only a lifetime aversion to the color blue and an article on mind control (MK) programming linking blue to spies – and the fact that I got myself right in the heart of all the activists in Tucson, which would have been useful to the government which has been spying on and repressing groups like these for decades.
What irony. I suspected others of being spies (and maybe they were), but I never considered myself. My world reeled again.
It’s twenty years now since I first realized I was multiple and was inspired to be on a healing path, grounded with information from the medical library, supported by other women dealing with the same sort of shock and challenge, but in all these years, I haven’t done much. I’ve had lots of memories and alters (alternate personalities) present themselves, but I haven’t worked with that information, regardless of my strongest intentions. I’ve begun to realize there’s probably truth in the literature about programming installed for the express purpose of sabotaging all efforts to heal.
The first thing I might have worked with was the Integrating Woman (I spontaneously felt that was who she was). In the moment I first connected the idea of a multiple personality with mysel