Category Archives: Physical Wounds

Speaking out again

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.)

look like hell.jpgsmile 4.jpg

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….

Summary of MK anomalies in 2016

IMG_5780Of 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

confusion, exhaustion, sickness, heart issues, can’t eat

disabling fear, for many days

sometimes energy too high to slow down or sleep

panic attacks, crying for days

computer remote controlled

weird phone calls and messages

social sabotage, acquaintances acting weird

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.”

UFO sighting

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

IMG_5780Back 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.

small-profileI’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.

img_0383Yes, 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.

The Last 8 Years

IMG_1725Anomalous 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

beam bruise

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

energy healing

“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

DSC014024 scoop marks

injection bruise

other weird bruises x 4

pouring nosebleed

inch-deep puncture up beside clitoris

spine mysetriously hurt

new herpes

taser cuTaser burn/sick

tones in ears

night’s struggle

beam follows me around house

next morning:  ears ringing badly, never quit

“walk-in” offer

house entered, things moved, hot water in tap on New Years, footsteps in snow

MK’d sex

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”

spiritual attachments

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

spontaneous healing

downloads

Persephone helps

blue-green energy healing alters

person inside me helping

cellular changes

another healing x 2

healed teens

nighttime healings x ?

seeing energy, controlling it

yogi comes in

felt g-spot heal

understanding, writing about the cruel teacher

——————————————

2011-2012 Challenges: 

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+

DSC04837bruises x 3+

needle bruises x 34

4-5 clear tones

2 scoop marks

injured back/no reason x 2

neck out, rib out- pain

2nd taser w oval copy copyanother Taser

weird neck problems x 3

Wake to find friend whispering/instructing me x 2

night terror

realize MK as child on vacations, collapse to floor

computer weirdness

cuts

terrible ear-ringing

iridescent golden mucous glob from sinus

headache

felt severely drugged

more herpes

weird answering machine message

phone interruption:  “record again”

happy drug?  too much energy

acquaintance weirdness

male friend confirms Archons

spiritual attack

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

nightmare/porch/screaming

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

alters integrating?

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

removed shadow

——————————————

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

scoop mark

sore

IMG_2558cuts/punctures

grief

depression

anxiety, unable to center self

nausea

hip bruise 1 cropmore 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

energy healing

———————————————-

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

IMG_2099many 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)

———————————————

2014-2015 Challenges: 

“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

DSC05296scoop 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

left shoulder

hands asleep

IMG_2502“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

speedy/drugged?

stomach ache

time confusion

alters switch

visions amazing, then forgotten

saw red UFO, hard sleep

computer weirdness

eBay sabotage

Disqus (never heard of) has account in my name [never fixed – why?]

missing time w friend

See friend in other dimension, scary

Rage 2 days

Knew I’d been electroshocked, found it amusing

brain buzzing

Voice 2 Skull transmission test

downloads to hidden alter:  “MK is All”

dream of remote viewing

alien dreams, anxiety

July 2014 – July 2015 Blessings: 

faerie emergedwatched Dragonfly hatch

in meditation, see spinning child, calm her

met inner Jessie

saw old and young selves in mirror

spiritual house cleaning

spontaneous healing of heart

spiritual clearing, spell broken, alters calibrated

inner Rolfer/yogi healing

spiritual message:  “You can’t keep ignoring us; do shamanic work”

2 healing events

———————————————-

END OF 63rd year  (end of 7th 9-YEAR CYCLE) . . .

(Beginning 8th 9-year Cycle):

July 2015 – January 2016 Challenges

Sense of something done to me in night x 2

absolute exhaustion x 39 (half-year 40/180 = 22% of days!)

puncture wound left thigh

injection bruise

back problem x 2

blood clot from nose

daytime altered state with download

tone x 3, once with chord following

woken by pounding heart x 2

heart pain x 7, once preceded by low vibration

heart anxiety x 12

heart attack

vibration in head

ligament mysteriously inflamed in left pelvis

headache, mind scrambled

missing time

downloads x 2

download about old friend, weird, believable?

meditate -> crazy distractions

dream: something put in old clock, next day clear new tone from clock!

dream: answering machine gives series of numbers

waking life:  answering machine leaves speeded up message (so couldn’t understand); intended to save, but deleted it

computer weird

father’s Navy record suspect of special project subjectIMG_3746

reconnect w old friend, seems another MK subject

Severe RAGE x2

burn on back of neck

2 scoop marks on upper spine

July 2015 – July 2016 Blessings:

Exhaustion of many days suddenly “turned off,” as by switch; feel instantly great

saw face as half-shaman

Mother Goddess real

meditation on Earth’s sexual abuse history – long, forever, won’t quit

Sarasvati real

alters lined up

“walk-in” suggests she can take over; I don’t agree

MK is just what is, always, can’t resist, don’t fight

plant diva:  submission to other’s control is part of life.  Let go.

We are like plants tended by indifferent or ignorant gardeners, not evil.  Only as unconscious as us.

Bloom where you’re planted, despite all.

Comments, friends?  Seems clear to me that I fit the pattern of an MK subject and targeted individual with a bit of spiritual and mystic experiences giving me occasional hope to keep me going.

Opening a new book to follow RattleSnake Fire

IMG_1725My 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.)

Full MoonMy 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.)

Jean Ann Eisenhower birth certificate 1.jpegSo 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 birth anncmt.jpegon 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 crest

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”).

smithsonianIn 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.

rf-2nd-ed-front-cover-20 copyPerhaps 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….

~

In my next memoir, I’ll summarize my life through 2007 briefly, as it’s detailed in RattleSnake Fire: a memoir of extra-dimensional experience, and spend most of the book recounting the most recent eight years.

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?

A Disinformation Story from 2007

sheep-wallpaper-1Disinformation 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).

car bombWhen 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.

inside

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.

taser cuUnfortunately, 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.

IMG_1725Over 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.

cia doctorsI 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.

See-no-evil-hear-no-evil-speak-no-evil-monkeys-14750406-1600-1200I’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.

A Petition to: BAN ELECTRONIC WARFARE ON CIVILIANS

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:

Bombed car sm

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.

IMG_1725I’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.

rf-2nd-ed-front-cover-20[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.

pablo amaringo Llullon Llaki Supai

I hope this helps someone.  Compassion for all.

Secretly forced brain implants Pt 1: Explosive court case

da62e5e01c418e92b61ab3262f6b1d05_3.jpegA two-part article with detailed info (6 years old, but….) about evidence that went to court!

http://www.examiner.com/article/
secretly-forced-brain-implants-pt-1-explosive-court-case#ixzz1eHdKChiT

It’s good to know who we are

child not smilingLonely, 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, ayahuasca_visions_pabloamaringobuilder of small passive solar strawbale homerock creek house, 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,car bomb 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 activistI Was Onetaser cumysteriously Tasered, mysteriously bruised, healing dissociative splits, encouraged, despairing, home renovator in natural plaster sculpture, passive solar advocate, Permaculture designer, identified with Persephone, enjoying the springIMG_2965, identified with Black ElkUnknown-2, committed to service… old woman.IMG_1725

Captive Dolphins and Mind Control Subjects

dolphin2Wrote 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.

Screen Shot 2015-07-16 at 10.30.19 AM            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.

sleeproom2

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.

From teacherweb.com

From teacherweb.com

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.

18mqxydmchb61jpgBut 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.

IMG_1725I’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 Screen Shot 2015-07-16 at 10.30.19 AMBlackfish 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.

Psychopaths or Just Bad “Gardeners”?

cia doctorsThe 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.

11709244_952326054824119_5618222184044544084_nI 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.

IMG_2099Some 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.

DSC01402But I can’t figure out how anyone could create the scoop marks – on my right hand.

Taser burn (second degree burn with skin removed) delivered November 29, 2010, photographed 2 days later.

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.

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...

This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar showed up on the back of my leg. No explanation except…

DSC04837Or 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?

Healing/Deprogramming with the I Ching!

I could not have been more surprised.

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).

DSC01395I’ve practiced prayer, shamanism, reading Tarot, other divination methods, ignoring it, positive thinking, and more, and continued to sometimes* feel like a babe in the woods, still subject to waking with bruises, scoop marks, burns, and other scars, including sometimes apparently surgical scars and third-degree burns (very hard to imagine I was creating this myself!) – with amnesia for the cause of these injuries and deep-gut anxiety and disabling dread – since 2002, when (coincidentally?) I did work that offended the FBI.

IMG_3746

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!!!

imgres-1I 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 ~

Jean

(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.)

Watching “Karla”

orange-new-black-season-3-spoilersImpressed by the incredible actor Laura Prepon, of Orange is the New BlackI looked her up on Wikipedia and read:

MV5BMTYzNjU3OTAzNF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwOTcxMjIzMQ@@._V1._SX94_SY140_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.[7]

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.

for a seedI 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.

Here:

Screen Shot 2015-02-13 at 8.24.02 PMScreen Shot 2015-02-13 at 8.20.32 PM Screen Shot 2015-02-13 at 8.20.21 PM Screen Shot 2015-02-13 at 8.20.03 PM

– Rapes, psychotic personalitiescuriously 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.

Image result for laura prepon alex vause imagesFlashing back on Prepon’s character in 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 System have 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.)

Image result for laura prepon karla imagesKarla 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.

Great movie.  (Here: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0424938/business?ref_=tt_dt_bus.)

Plan to be seriously disturbed.  (Maybe don’t watch it, or wait till the right time.)

It’s top-notch acting, directing, everything.

 

And a true story.

I grieve for the world….

May it be over soon.

 

Two Short Videos – Please Share

2 video ssHi Everyone ~

I just re-watched these videos made last year and think it’s time now for more people to see them.  I hope you’ll watch at least the first two videos:

https://paradigmsalon.net/videos/

Friends in town, I hope and pray, will stop by.

Thanks for all you do in these important times.

Jean

PS And if you didn’t read my last post yet, it’s here:  “Our Right to Say, ‘It’s a good day to die.”’

Sunday Summary: Highs and (Forgotten) Shocking Lows

– 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):

Performances

cosmic-folkrock* 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.

lying here video still lighterWe recorded our original “Lying Here with You” on video, and received great feedback.

Radio Show

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.)

J smI 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.

DSC05441 cuWe 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

reunion crop* 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.

greg jean kelly color crop* 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 monster birthphotographed (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.

Other Art

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.

Health

* 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:

IMG_17252nd half of August:  2 “donut” bruises, 1 injection bruise, 2 scratches similar to biopsy scoops, another injection bruise and other bruise.

hip bruise 1 cropSeptember: 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 two bruises(“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.)

IMG_2099November:  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.

DSC05453December:  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 problemWhat 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.

child not smilingAnd 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….

Government Complicity in Violence Against Activists

news-magnifyFrom the “Top 25 Stories of 2014 Subjected to Press Censorship” – with my story and  response  – JE

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.

taserThank 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.

car bombTwo 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.

Peg_MillettMy 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.

dsc01357

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 wrong in this nation.  Check out the stories that the Media is not telling you.  I dare you.  ;}

 

Sunday Summary:  Two Positive Weird-ities!

UnknownWhat 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.

paracelsusHow 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.)

DSC05256The 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 DSC05441 cubuilt 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.

UnknownIn 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.

 

First Peek: My Next Memoir on Healing from Mind Control

220px-EarthfirstmonkeywrenchIn 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.

car bombWhen 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?  Noalmost killed.

smithsonianFor 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.

rock creek houseI 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.

imagesMy 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 myself, I saw/felt, as if seeing in another dimensional space that shares reality with us here, a woman slip herself over me like a glove, holding all my parts together.  She didn’t feel anything like an angel, and she didn’t feel like me.  Rather, she felt like a calm being, who could help me integrate.  I was bothered though that she seemed to avert her face from me, and I never saw it.  My vantage point seemed to be from behind her and to the left, although I seemed to be included in her.  I felt safe, though I was bothered that she didn’t feel nicer.  She seemed functional, mild, and perhaps kind, but not in any heart-felt way, just as if she was a good person doing a job, and she knew better than to expend a lot of energy, or maybe she was just beyond emotions, and way beyond my trembling volcano full.  So she kept her distance, blue-green light she seemed to be made of, and left me to deal with my emotions alone, or actually with other help, Wolf to begin with.

Wolf came into me one night and rose up in all her power, ready to rip up the apartment.  Quickly I negotiated for her to restrain herself and I’d get emotional help for us the very next day if she could hang tight.  The next day, I kept my promise – I didn’t want her tearing up the apartment as I’d felt she was fully ready to use my body to do – and first called two mental hospitals who determined over the phone that I was too sane to admit myself.  Then I called an astrologer-psychic I respected and asked for an appointment private enough that if I began raging, no one would hear it and call police.  We met in a friend’s vacant office building, and I didn’t make any noise but weeping.

I never experienced Wolf again, but she was good for me, got me back into therapy, let me know there was big stuff that needed to get out.  Thank you, Wolf.  But somehow I never did any “work” with the Integrating Woman.

I accept that I have programming against healing work, but why have none of my therapists led me to work with any of my many alters or the Integrating Woman?  Some, I’ve realized, later were part of the system of managing my programming.  But all of them?  Why no proper help?

Since 2002, I’ve probably read close to a dozen books on mind control, not a lot (it’s exhausting) from personal accounts to therapy manuals to history.  In general what I understand is that I was enrolled into a program, perhaps MKULTRA, but likely one of the others, MKDELTA, MKNAOMI, or some other, now all lumped together under MKULTRA as a generic term for government-sponsored mind control.

There are many different programs for different purposes, and children come into the programs in different manners.  Some, more dispensable, come from kidnappers and similar sources.  Some children come from the upper-class or upper-middle-class hoping to climb in status by participating in this new program that will make their daughter very smart and disciplined, plus it would support the country.

Eisenhower crest

Eisenhower crest

There is also reported to be families that have been subjected to mind control for centuries, maybe millennia.  I sense all the secret societies are involved.  Eisenhower is a lineage associated with a very old secret society, that of iron hewers – sworn to keep the secrets of metallurgy for the king alone.

Other children get recruited when their parents are discovered to be sexually abusing them.  The CIA knows that the traumatized child is already dissociative, or multiple, so they threaten the family with someone gone to prison and the shame of that – and give the option to put the child into a mind control program instead.  Of course, the parents cave.

They also pay cash to the parents for their kids’ recruitment – in the form of employment checks for certain services rendered, such as denying that the child had been asleep for two years and other reinforcement of the program – all in the name of science and the betterment of mankind.  If the parents ever think of breaking their contract, the fact that they took money would silence most of them.  If that didn’t, then threats to kill the child would.

Many of us recall our families moving into much larger homes about the time we began or ended our two years of amnesia.

Other adult subjects report things that I have no visceral reaction to, but some reports make me feel as though I can remember – and I jump in my chair at the first reading and cringe or cry.

Once my daughter and boyfriend came to visit me on my birthday and one brought along a movie, in their minds, “a classic” of its genre – but a genre I had chosen to never watch any more and had told both of them that for years.  They both thought I should watch it anyway, because it was “a classic.”  They seemed so certain that we should all watch this movie that I relented.  In an early scene, a Mafia underling is being upbraided and threatened by his superior in a brightly lit room, defending himself with poor attempts at lies and bluster.  He wears a knit shirt that I associated with the late 1950s/early 60s.  The man’s bluster and his shirt felt familiar, as though I knew that sort of man too well, and he scared the shit out of me.

In a panic, I asked them to turn it off, and when they ignored me, felt myself rise like a zombie and walk for the door, trying to keep one foot going in front of another and my mind in my body and not screaming.  Outside, I sat down and burst into sobbing, feeling real terror about that ignorant, fearful, blustering man, as if he could do things to me, and my body shook and jumped and jolted for hours afterward, and I continued crying and criticizing them for not listening to me and believing that I do not want to watch movies portraying Mafiosa – it terrifies me, and they should have respected it.

Instead, I’ve had to respect that others simply do not want to believe this is true.  They want to believe I’m being dramatic, and they are being tolerant and doing the right thing, encouraging me off your sick fantasy.

The government doesn’t work alone on this.  They subcontract out jobs to the Mafia, various churches, law enforcement, medical groups, and any others that are needed.  They get their connections through secret societies, which demand loyalty of their members and may entrap or blackmail their recruits into compliance under threat of having some misdeed exposed.  A favorite, powerful entrapment is sexual, for which they need to train lots of children in sexual behaviors.  The children, though, are usually given more than one type of programming.

credit:  MindControlCollege.  I cannot vouch for this, but it give a good idea of the orderly way this is done, with backups, failsafes, and back doors.The mind control was done “scientifically,” noting what sorts of drugs or hypnosis, or torture evoked what response.  Some were experimental, others had passed that phase and become protocol.

Torture was not done strictly because the perpetrators were insane psychopaths, though they probably are; it was done because it is effective.  Torture a young child, and their mind leaves their body at some point, a point they were becoming adept at finding quickly by using extreme measures. Therefore, we were drugged, hypnotized, caged, tortured with cold, hunger, dislocated joints, lose-lose psychological games, electroshock, physical and sexual torture, and being forced to witness other disobedient children being murdered.

We went out of our minds.  And that was the point.  As soon as “we” were gone, the brain, still recording life experience, had a fresh, blank slate, and the researcher told it its name and its function, terrified it into obedience, and sent it away with its only existence being to respond properly so as not to be tortured or murdered as we know very well they will do.

My g-spot (descending bulge) was sliced from back to front and twice more (not visible here) from side to side.

My g-spot (descending bulge) was sliced from back to front and twice more (not visible here) from side to side.

For comparison, here's a normal g-spot. The photograph was supplied by a friend in sex education. You can see it is ribbed and round.

For comparison, here’s a normal g-spot. The photograph was supplied by a friend in sex education. You can see it is ribbed and round.

I’ve been punished for disobedience, I assume, fairly recently.  One day in 2004, I realized I’d been cut inside my vagina fairly deeply, my g-spot sliced neatly through, right down to the main trunk of the nerve, so that now I can’t stand to be touched there, making sex a rather hazardous enterprise ever since.

Throughout it all, meticulous records are kept on every alter created and what programming command is programmed to evoke which response.  Some programming was foundational and dealt with amnesia, pass codes, and obedience to particular individuals, while other programming built on that and involved specific tasks.  At the end of two years, we’d been made obedient and disciplined, with amnesic alters who were glad to be in the real world and not be tortured, who would follow the program of acting like everything was normal.

Many of us have bad hearts from all the electroshock, or extreme reactions to pharmaceuticals, not to mention neurotic, disabling reactions to things like a movie with a blustering man in an old-style T-shirt, and alters that come and go and leave us with missing time and the fear that we’ve been used again and we don’t know what for.

Since there’s no honor among thieves, sometimes the pass codes get shared with people who aren’t supposed to have them – someone giving someone a gift of a mind control fuck, for instance – and someone calls us on the phone and says, Open your door tonight at 10 – and the subject does and provides sex and wonders why she’s sore and tired after what she thinks was an 8-hour night’s sleep.

DSC01337Since they have such high technology, it seems there would be no reason for anyone to use a Taser on me, but I woke up one morning with severe weakness and a third-degree burn on my arm with two bright red dots in the middle.  Maybe these were interlopers who didn’t quite manage my pass codes correctly and they had to Taser me to erase my memory.  I don’t know.  And I was Tasered a second time, I assume, though I wasn’t burned as badly, because the two dots were there again.

Last night, I drafted a post for Paradigm Salon in which I wrote that since removing all my shamanic paraphernalia and putting my focus on Yeshua alone that I hadn’t had any more hypodermic bruises on my thighs.  But the next day, I found another one.  What does it mean?  Someone in my house again?  [The day after that, I had two more!]

Back to my alters I haven’t worked with – and why has no psychologist or other counselor supported me in working with them?  

A few days after I experienced the Integrating Woman, I lay down in the afternoon and suddenly experienced myself as three, fanned out like a small hand of cards.  I was intrigued and thought I’d talk to them and see if they had clues for helping me understand things, and they read my mind and said, “No.  It’s too complicated to explain how we came about, would take to long, and you wouldn’t understand it anyway, but we aren’t needed any more, so we’re outa here,” and they “folded” – that fast.  I felt them melt into me and disappear.

Later that year, I sensed that some children wanted to come out and be known, but they were afraid.  They wanted to know that I was nice.  So I bought two stuffed animals and put them inside a shawl, wrapped it around me with them in the sling and carried them with me everywhere I went all day every day for two weeks, taking them off only to sleep, and then I cared for them as though they were real babies in bed with me, talking to them, loving them, really feeling like they were my children and I cared so very much to encourage them that I was strong and competent, could keep them safe, could listen, wouldn’t be afraid of their stories, and would love them.

After two weeks, I set the stuffed animals on the window seat and talked to them throughout my day, demonstrating that I thought they were capable and I was going to respect them and trust them to be strong too, to sit there and not need to be carried constantly.  One day, sitting on my bed, a little girl appeared in another dimension a few feet away and a few feet up, sitting in a tree with a leg hanging down.  I was so surprised to see her there, and so very happy that she’d presented herself to me, that I reached up my hand to touch her leg.  This scared her and she kicked her leg in panic, but laughed a little too, as she indicated she wasn’t yet ready to be touched.  I accepted that and told her that whenever she was ready, I’d be ready.

One night, reading a book, she slipped into me.  When our hearts connected, I felt her, remembered her, knew that little girl was me, a part of me lost a long time ago.  It was amazing to feel her again, so sudden, a surprise, but so familiar too.  She was very sweet, and said about my hands, as if surprised by their wrinkled appearance but finding them comforting:  Just like Grandma’s.  And then she expressed a second judgement about having come into an old body when she was only 6:  It’s not so bad.

Her innocence and sweetness, and my sense of the courage it required to come back into this body after what had driven her out, touched my heart and made it hurt so that my hands came up and my face dropped down and I sobbed and sobbed a mix of happiness, sorrow, grief for the child, and grief for me, all of it warmed though by love for the child’s openness and courage.

jeanseedboat cropOver these twenty years, I’ve had lots of alters merge or emerge, and each has been an experience that wrenched my heart and caused me to spend days at home, crying, writing, combing the experience for meaning, making myself strong enough again to go out of the house.

I haven’t kept track of them though.  I don’t know if I’ve learned what I should have.  Most times I think I have, but sometime I worry that I’ve been letting things slip away.  And I hear others report that whenever we heal an alter and erase some programming, they have alternate pass codes or entryways to replace whatever was lost, so our programming never gets broken.  And we remain their subjects.

healing cropSometimes it’s a challenge to remember why I think I can heal, or why I should stay if I can’t.  But I play philosophical games with myself and invent possible reasons for an unexpected reality to unfold soon that’ll make everything worth it.  And sometimes angels pick me up.  And I keep on, trying to do some good here.

Amazingly, I have more days that I feel grateful to be alive than days that I want out.   But I have to write about this.  I am pretty sure they don’t want me to.  But I have to.

This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar showed up on the back of my leg.  No explanation except...

This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar showed up on the back of my leg. No explanation except…

I often am amazed to think about the “Apocalypse” – which means “unveiling,” “revealing” – a time for us to see!  Are we seeing yet?

It’ll be very healing for a lot of us when others choose to look.

 

Twelve years flirting with “shamanic practice”

images

~ Twelve years flirting
~ Amazing changes since I quit

Twelve years of flirting with “shamanic practice.”  I wouldn’t recommend it.

Opening doors to the other dimensions, or recognizing that they were opened somehow, as was my case, and then not acting decisively about it is dangerous.  I’ve documented how dangerous it is all over this site, on pages and posts.

It has nearly killed me more times than I can tell, and nearly made me crazy.  And that’s how shamanic initiations are described in all the literature.  But that doesn’t mean it’s “wrong.”  Perhaps our path is to explore this danger.

deer_in_the_headlights_by_clubpenguinsandwich-d3l9bsxSometimes we just stand there like a deer in the headlights, asking, “What is this?  Is this real?  Should I go right or left?  Do I believe what I’ve been told about these things?  Are there other ways to interpret what I’ve heard about things like this?  What does my heart say?  Is it dangerous just because it’s mind blowing?  Might it be good?  Can I just watch and think and not act quickly?”

Meanwhile, the thing is storming down on you or has already taken you – where?

So after twelve years, feeling somewhat fortunate to be “chosen” or to have attained this awareness of the multiple dimensions, I’ve decided to not just “keep an open mind” to whatever comes through those portals, but to choose.  And I believe that’s the point.

Yeshiva - (I meant to write, and thought I wrote

Yeshiva – (I meant to write, and thought I wrote “Yeshua,” but I wrote this interesting derivation! Wonder where that came from….

I’ve chosen to connect and align with the only spiritual being whom I have ever felt kinship with, who hasn’t mystified me:  Yeshua.  

When I was a teen, I heard a youth minister recount some stories in which Christ came down squarely on the side of non-violence, non-sexism, non-racism, non-materialism, and anti-doctrine.

(Posts about my struggle with “Jesus” are under the category Yeshua/Jesus, to the right.)

Since making this decision (finally, or again?), and following it up by removing all the cluttering shamanic paraphernalia from the house (and allowing certain items back later, though to different, less prominent places), some wonderful changes have come about:

First, I’ve had no more horrendous experiences of waking bruised, burned, or biopsied with mysterious, debilitating exhaustion.  Done.  Gone!

Second, I’ve felt and followed the need to “clear energy” (clutter of various sorts) everywhere throughout the house, from the storage room, to my bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, sunroom, and closets.  

Not obsessively; just every few days I feel inspired, and it’s been easy and fun!  And the energy change is palpable, for both myself and my partner.  And interesting spiritual understandings have come about in the process.  Life is becoming productive again.

This is not to denounce shamanism (at least I don’t claim to know enough to say for sure).  

But I feel fairly confident about this:  just because the portals open and a friend suggests it might be one’s initiation doesn’t mean one is actually called or that it is a good call to answer.

Shamanic practice is an interesting phrase, used by those who want to explore the multiple dimensions – which I believe is a righteous desire but, after twelve years of going it alone, I’ll say its dangerous without a guide, and even with a guide it can be dangerous.  Just read Carlos Castaneda or any of this team of initiates.

I don’t believe I need any “practice,” which is probably why I resisted it so consistently.  Everything in my life tells me that I came into this world with “my lights on,” understanding the portals and extra-dimensional beings very well even in childhood – though I had to pretend not to know, to please my family.

Mind control tried further to convince me that I didn’t know, so I set aside what I knew and tried to be “open” in this realm we call shamanic.  Not good.

While I was “practicing” (or trying and failing to be diligent to the practice), I failed to learn the lessons that should have been easy because I was trying to see something others said they saw.  I’d been encouraged to make myself blind!

Finally, a few weeks ago, frustrated and seriously afraid (see this page if you wonder why), I realized Yeshua is the only spiritual being I have ever had a deep feeling for, so – regardless that he and his teachings have been perverted in church doctrine (little of which I believe) and made a mockery of on TV – he, the real Being, is my Chief, my Guide, my Counselor.

He’s the first one I speak to each morning, and the last one I speak to each evening, and I stay in touch throughout the day.  That’s the extent of my “shamanic” (multi-dimensional) practice today.

And life is no longer crazy.

Thank God!

I assume there are many, different Guides, one (or more) for each of us.  Find your spiritual connection/s.   Trust yourself.  Don’t let cultural lies get in the way.  Develop the relationship.  We need help here.  Can’t go it alone.

Peace

Gov’t-Controlled Communications

FBI-Secrets-Swearingen-M-9780896085015Back in the late 90s, I read a memoir,  FBI Secrets:  An Agent’s Exposé, by retired agent, M. Wesley Swearingen, who after 26 years in the agency was involved in several successful lawsuits against the FBI related to wrongful imprisonment and civil rights violations.  (He was also involved in several successful lawsuits against his former employer, including “The US v. John Lennon,” and also wrote a book attempting to shed light on the murder of John F. Kennedy.)

220px-Uslnmv

He described carloads of up to 12 agents with a routine that gave each person a specific job, so that there could be no errors:  one person watched in one direction, others watched other directions, more watched from other points nearby, someone opened the house, others watched from various posts inside the house, photographers, observers trained to return everything to their precise places, record keepers, drivers, etc.

They entered the homes of anyone, even elderly peace activists, and photographed all sorts of information they hoped would lead to any sort of understanding of these war resisters and all their connections.  Swearingen was concerned because he knew the people were of no real threat to the United States, only practicing their right of free speech and trying to participate in our “democracy.”  Nevertheless, they were targeted and their homes broken into on a regular basis.

So I’m not as oblivious as I wish I was.  Sometimes, I come home, and my cat is so upset, I ask, “Were the feds here?”

zelcolockup2A few years ago, a friend suggested I buy portable door locks, which she was astounded I hadn’t already done, given my experiences.  So I ordered two online and installed them as soon as they arrived.

On the second morning after I began to use them, February 8, 2011, I discovered one of them obviously broken, not as it appeared when I installed it the night before – and two very disturbing wounds on my body.  The first I noticed as soon as I awoke:  an irritation as though something had been inserted up alongside my clitoral shaft more than one inch deep inside!  (An implant?  What will they do with that?)  DSC01402The second was two scoop marks on my finger, which I’ve already posted about.  So much for the door locks for protection.

In 2012, I made a list of 98 various events that had happened between November 28, 2010, when I woke with the Taser burn, and April 12, 2012, when I began a long series of doctors’ appointments for unexplainable and debilitating neck pain – and afterward recalled a dozen more events, including scoop marks that I’d photographed a few days ago and forgotten.  In between, I’d experienced lots of debilitating and unaccountable exhaustion, bruises, neck pain, and more, so much that I was having a very difficult time keeping my job.

I’ve written about all these things before.

But there’s one subject I’ve never written about, and that is the communications harassment.  I haven’t written about it because it’s hard to prove, but I’ll put it out there in case others have noticed the same.

fb_icon_325x325When I tried Facebook for awhile, a few years ago, I started getting suspicions that my posts were being messed with.

One close friend I shared my concern with asked, “Why would they bother with you?  You aren’t doing anything serious, are you?”  Only exposing mind control.  She replied that lots of people do that or similar, and they aren’t messed with.  Actually, I told her, many are, and probably those who aren’t are only revealing what’s already been exposed by others, then peppering it with disinformation – as Swearingen and others exposing COINTELPRO have described.

(Noam Chomsky was quoted on BBC:  “COINTELPRO was a program of subversion carried out not by a couple of petty crooks but by the national political police, the FBI, under four administrations…  By the time it got through, … it was aimed at the entire new left, at the women’s movement, at the whole black movement, it was extremely broad.  Its actions went as far as political assassination.”  Watch.)

FBI-Secrets-Swearingen-M-9780896085015As Swearingen’s memoir proves, the intelligence agencies don’t need “serious” targets.  They want to quell anyone who’s threatening the corporate economy, war, and their mind control systems.  I also theorize they need “lesser threats,” like me, to practice their skills on, at least.  But since mind control subjects are kept controlled by fear, the Internet provides a very simple, low-cost way to inject worry, fear, isolation, and more into my life.  I may choose not to worry or fear, but I, and others, can still be easily and effectively isolated.

They have a long history of doing exactly what I’ve described back when it was a whole lot more trouble:  they’d have to do custom work on typewriters to create imperfections similar to the typewriter of the targeted person!  Many people would be required (your tax dollars at work), even for peace activists.  They studied people’s styles of speech and writing to make their fake communications most believable, and compiled psychological databases so they could refer occasionally to personal things in a most believable way.

Now it’s so much easier, all the data needed delivered to their desktops.  Responses easy-sneezy:  no more matching, ink, paper, and handwriting or typeface.

Their goals were and are:  to discredit activists, cause fights and rifts in groups, mislead, and more.

For whatever reason, it seemed they were interferring in my Facebook communications.  It would always involve someone not close enough to me that I’d feel comfortable calling them to ask exactly what was the wording they read, supposedly from me, that caused them to respond to me the way they did.  But usually the response was just subtle enough, not worth a call – or too much trouble to explain.

Regularly, I had friendly acquaintances, just “distant” enough, suddenly become pointedly less friendly and avoid me on the street.  And not just a few.  I started dreading walking down the street, for fear I’d be shunned for I didn’t know what.  It was very depressing.

One day, I posted something then logged out of Facebook, and logged back in under my partner’s name, and checked my page.  My post did not exist!  I logged out and went back to my page and saw it again.  Logged out and back in as my partner, and again it didn’t exist.  Fifteen minutes later, it was there on his page, exactly as I’d written it – of course, they wouldn’t be so stupid as to change my post for my partner.  But my partner’s posts always show up immediately and get responses from friends in the first few seconds.  Mine always took 15-20 minutes before people began responding.  Weird.

I theorized that they had created tiers of my friends and acquaintances, changing my posts for whomever I was not likely to talk to and who wouldn’t broach the subject of a weird post with me.  It was really upsetting to think that the feds were creating a negative portrait of me that I’d supposedly never know about.  And suddenly, even though I did not post about mind control on Facebook, I was losing friends for no other reason I could figure.

Some friends have said that this is just too much trouble, but it’s not.  The software to do what I’ve described – diverting communications – already exists.  Software for creating “action plans” for various people – serious criminals, mind control subjects, those warranting medium or serious harassment, and those warranting mild harassment, maybe just to practice on.  I used to have business software over 15 years ago that would have facilitated most of this.

You can bet there are rooms full of agents with data available at the click of a key to guide them regarding frequency, level of action, key phrases, etc.  A single person could easily intervene in 100 communications in a workday.  Even if I was a low-level concern, I’d be used for practice, with just enough weirdness to keep me isolated and fearful, just what they want for mind control subjects.

I have similar concerns with email.  Recently, I contacted an old acquaintance I was hoping to visit, but he became hostile for some reason I cannot fathom (except for this), and I wondered if the feds made him think I was causing problems, or if the feds made me think he was.  He’s just distant enough that I don’t dare call him, especially since he seemed so angry (though he might not really have been).  I have no idea what they might have portrayed me as.

It’s extremely sad.  And isolating.  Making me tough, I like to think, but I don’t know.

With our world so accustomed to instant communication – without being interrupted by phone calls – we’re dependent on the Internet, yet I can’t trust the Internet anymore, and I can’t explain to most people why I don’t.  So I keep on, but it feels very vulnerable.

The only option would be to stop my activism, which I won’t.

I also used to get regular Internet reminders to update software for remote control of my computer!  Apparently I have the software on it – otherwise, it wouldn’t recommend updating – but I cannot find it; it’s invisible to me.  Finally I chose to have it “not remind me” anymore.  But I assume it’s still there.

I’ve thought of getting a Linux computer, but then they’d have to break into my house to do what they do, and I’d rather they not.  Big Brother is certainly here.  If he just weren’t a murderer and torturer, I might accept the “transparency.”

I’ve also had my computer turn itself on in the middle of the night when I was up and unable to sleep.  Sitting next to it, it suddenly sprang to life and started humming as if it was downloading or uploading data.

I Was OneWhen I produced my first YouTube-logo-full_colorvideo, “I Was One”, it received over 2,000 hits in less than two weeks, and then one day the numbers dropped to half that!  The same thing happens all the time on my channel:  I’ve seen the numbers drop from 12,000 to 10,000 in a day, and who knows how many other times it has done that.

Anyone else experience similar?

Learning through the Pain

I’m recovering, yet again, from another “hard day,” Monday, when I woke up at 10 am (I’d been unable to sleep until 3 am) and had to force myself to do anything, which turned out to be very little.

DSC05256Eight days earlier, on August 17, I’d discovered a strange injury on my left shoulder blade, where two other things have mysteriously appeared in the last couple of years, which still bother me:

In April 2012, I woke one morning with an itch on my left shoulder blade that didn’t go away for 4-8 weeks.  (Greg was bothered by an itch on his left shoulder blade too at the same time, but I’m more highly sensitive and so was bothered longer.)

Later, a fan-shaped bruise appeared, with its point right where the itch had been for so long.  I theorized that an implant was radiating some sort of energy that was bruising the tissue.

Over two years has passed, and the bruise has become a more-amorphous shape, but is still there, and doctors have no explanation.  (Well, one had an idea, but the diagnosis didn’t fit the condition’s description, and the next doctor thought the first was wrong, but had no idea.  She’s seen all my photographs, read about MK, and just shakes her head.)

When I woke with this strange injury on August 17, very near where the original itch had been, I wondered if perhaps “they” had scooped it out, or replaced it, and whether the bruise will soon fade.  We’ll see.

The photo above shows the new injury and the two-year-old bruise.  (Double click on it to see it larger, and you can even zoom in for decent detail.)  I took this photo last night, August 26, a full nine days after it appeared, and it has hardly healed at all.

This is interesting, because most of my weird  injuries heal mysteriously fast – like the “thyroid surgery” scar, which showed up on my throat one morning entirely healed).  Can’t explain it, other than that it seems like someone with higher technology than ours might have done it.

Learning:  I Need to Focus

Now that I’m feeling stronger, I went back through a journal only a week old and read things I’ve totally forgotten – things important to remember, about my healing.  And reading my posts from two years ago, I realize they also contain great advice I wish I’d remembered and continued to practice!

Therefore, I’ve decided I need to quit doing so much and just focus on my healing.  

So I’m quitting!

I’m quitting a lot of things.  I’m quitting my garden design workshop and consulting business.  I’m quitting singing.  And I’m forgetting any idea to get part-time work.  (I’ll get my first Social Security check next month, and I have a partner who brings in a little income, so I have this luxury.)

The only things I’ll keep doing are my own personal healing work and writing related to it.  I also plan to keep better track of past writing, so I can remember past lessons and make some progress.

I’m – maybe for the first time in my life – going to make taking care of myself my number one priority every day.  Yeah!

Blessings on us all.

And really:  Take care of yourself.

Jean

~

PS:  Here’s a blog I wrote two years ago with similar conclusions:  https://paradigmsalon.net/2012/04/13/tired-of-this/

Two circle bruises appear

DSC04837Twenty-six days ago, on July 21, I discovered a doughnut-shaped bruise on the back of my thigh.

It was oddly painless, and I have no idea how I might have done that to myself.

I found myself telling Greg it reminded me of an audio electrical plug, with one electrical pole, positive or negative, in the center and the opposite pole on the circle.DSC04851

Tonight, I found an essentially identical bruise on my arm – again, with no idea how it was done, and again, oddly painless.

The only difference is that the hole in the middle is bigger.

IMG_1725This has been an amazing few weeks.  Thinking I was dying, deciding I had to claim who I am – a shamanic practitioner, a mind control subject, an experiencer of things “alien,” etc.

To accept who I am, I wrote my spiritual history and discovered that as I write my history and integrate it, even slowly, across my business, activist, spiritual websites, and into my social life, I feel more integrated, more clear, less fractured.

And then this happens.

(In the past, I would have fumed that my controllers are still “doing stuff” to me, trying to undercut my confidence, or worse, send me a message of warning to not try to accomplish anything, and I’d go into depression, helpless and despairing.  And then I’d pray and feel guilty for being so undisciplined as to not keep myself continually protected.)

For some reason, I didn’t freak out this time.  I even forgot about the bruise immediately after seeing it, forgetting to photograph it as I’d intended, and walked out the door to break my hermitting habit of the last few weeks and go socialize for an hour or two at the restaurant where Greg was performing.

After I’d greeted everyone I knew and sat down, something made me notice the bruise again – and for the first time in 12 years – I showed everyone at the table and told them what I assumed it was.  Even a friend who has read my book wanted to believe it was a freak accident.  I had to remind her I have ten years of photographic documentation of bruises of various types, two Taser burns, many biopsy scoop marks, healed incisions, puncture wounds, etc, which occur mysteriously during the night, for which I have no memory of anything.  And this corresponds to experiences of others with another two strange correlations:  seeing UFO’s and/or “aliens” and experiencing mysterious government intrusions into their lives.

Yeah, I told them, face-to-face.  Not in a book.  Not in a presentation on stage, radio, or TV, but as a friend in a bar, saying, “This is what I live with.  This is what I’ve been keeping secret.  And it sure feels good to say it – even though I know you’d rather not hear it.”

And I thought:  And this is why I’m so f**king neurotic and don’t act like everyone else!  I’m sorry.  But this is my world.  I wish I could confirm for everyone that our world is the simple one we all try to pretend it is.  But it’s really more complicated.  There’s a lot more going on.  And it’s time we talk about it.

That was probably inspired by the video I blogged on a few weeks back, “How to Spot a Liar,” the most revolutionary video I’ve seen in a long time, which has been part of my big shift over the last few weeks.

e0abd465f89c59c998d50740e2af2e024263e1a5_800x600Pamela Meyer begins her Ted Talk by encouraging us to recognize that we are all liars, and have been trained to be liars since birth.  I didn’t believe her at first, but she quickly helped me see that we do all lie, much of the time, and many of the lies are for efficiency and are acceptable, but some lies create habits that allow our world systems, economic, social, environmental, and all others, to deteriorate.  She calls on us to stop collaborating.

Immediately I saw that I lied constantly when I pretend I have a life like everyone else’s.  And I realized that I needed to present myself more honestly, politely and appropriately, but more honestly, even if people don’t like it.

I’m sorry, I hear myself saying.  We live in a world that has gotten us used to accepting a lot of lies.  And we want to believe those lies, because they’re part of our paradigm, our mental framework; losing our mental framework is damnably difficult and people avoid it at all costs, even if it’s necessary, the same way we’d recoil at re-breaking an arm if it had healed wrong.

We need to get over those lies and start acknowledging what is the truth.

This is my truth:  I get strange bruises and other marks that don’t seem to be accidental or natural, and no one – no doctor or other with “legitimacy” – has any explanation that makes sense.

My explanation I’ll write about soon, and parts of it I’ll  also acknowledge in conversation when appropriate.

And this supports the really important thing:

It’s time for me to accept my call to – this responsibility we today call shamanic practice.

I have responsibilities I can feel, to pray, meditate, dream, journey, and heal.  And I haven’t been making the time or space in my life for this, for years, though it continues to call.  And now we are making changes in our home to support my work.

With this decision, I feel strong, that I’ve re-entered my path which I’ve been avoiding for a very long time, and that avoidance has been making me crazy.

(Black Elk said his elders told him his demons would continue to torment him until he accepted his calling!  They were bothering him for a good purpose.  In the event my demons are bothering me for the same positive purpose, I pray my new dedication to this work will make them go away.)

So today, when I found this bruise, I just saw it as another clue in a tantalizing mystery, which I’m keenly interested in solving.  It could be a horror-story answer, or it could be something surprisingly wonderful –

like the “Dragonfly Birth Day” taught me:  Something might look monstrous, but it may turn out beautiful, so we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

Maybe this bruise is a mark left from a procedure my soul family had to do, and it’s too hard to explain to me, given my Earthly and our other limitations, and there’s lots going on that doesn’t allow everything to be explained.  Or maybe it’s just like all the rest of life – no one explains anything very well to any of us anytime – right?

So, life’s a mystery.  And we’re all doing our best.

Meantime, it’s not a good investment of life energy to get freaked out if we don’t know if a thing is good or bad.   And even if it’s bad, it’s still not a good investment of life energy to get freaked out.

In the last few weeks, I’ve had at least one other event that made me want to freak out, and the last time I started to, I remembered that I’ve also been experiencing a lot of powerfully amazing things, especially lately, helping me feel more integrated; so maybe instead of freaking out, this time I could step into new behavior and ask myself if I can develop some new quality or behavior to respond differently to the challenge, say, for instance, become bigger, faster, more insightful, more responsive?  I looked at the thing that had felt so threatening, and said, “I can be different [in relation to this],” and felt myself reorient and strengthen in my core, and breathe with deep relaxation.

So when I first saw the bruise tonight, I looked at it through those new eyes.

Something is going on, but I’m not speculating now, other than to say I believe it’s high tech.  And I’ll respond.

I’ll write more as I experience, reflect, imagine, dream, feel, and understand it.

 

Shamanism, Mind Control, Christ, “Aliens,” and Me

[This no longer reflects my views on shamanism and Yeshua.  For an update, see this blog.]

What is shamanism?  How do I relate to shamanism?  Is shamanism dangerous?  How does it relate to mind control?  Am I a shaman?  Am I dangerous?  Where does Jesus fit in?  Who are “aliens”?

imagesFirst, What is shamanism?

Shamanism exists across all cultures under different names, but the Siberian word has come to stand in for our contemporary understanding of the global, cross-cultural practice.

In all cultures, a few people (some estimate 2% or fewer) seem to have greater ability than others to perceive energies and intelligences in other dimensions and are often encouraged by their tribe to spend time in this practice of perception for the good of the people.

(The exception is for those born into a society hostile to or afraid of other dimensions, in which case, the shamanically-inclined person’s perceptions will be discouraged subtly or violently, i.e., those born in the United States.)

The natural shaman who is allowed to explore his or her facility will devote the majority of his or her life to learning to perceive more clearly, learning to protect him or herself from dangerous energies or intelligences, learning to communicate with useful and benevolent intelligences, and learning how to apply what they learn to help their tribe.  They will be an important source of knowledge to the tribe, for instance on growing and harvesting food and medicines, knowing of food game migrations, knowing the approach of strangers or bad weather, and healing for various illnesses, physical, emotional, spiritual, and social.

DVD template dollMany shamans are those who suffered at least one serious trauma at a young age; it caused them to leave their body and thereby experience the multi-dimensional world beyond the mundane.  For this reason, at least one tribe that I’ve heard of, when in need of a shaman, creates one intentionally by inducing a trauma on a young child in a carefully proscribed way: they separate a child of speaking age away from the tribe but within hearing distance in a cage where he or she is kept for a few years, cared for in a minimal way, but never spoken to or spent time with other than necessary.  The child can hear the tribe, but cannot interact and so eventually begins to spend more time separating psychically from the mundane and social life of the tribe and turn his or her awareness toward the larger cosmos.  This larger world, of course, includes other dimensions with other intelligences that they begin to interact with and with which they develop strong relationships.  Eventually the tribe retrieves the child and reintegrates him or her with honor back into the tribe, but the young shaman is never again like the rest.  For the rest of his or her life, the shaman will perform the daily work of seeking and delivering information and skills the tribe needs for survival and well-being.

Shamans generally communicate most effectively with intelligences in other realms when in an “altered” state of consciousness, which they self-induce by way of drumming, rattling, dancing, and sometimes using plant medicines.  From the standpoint of those trained in church settings, with hymn books, “Sunday clothes,” choir robes, and certain proscribed decorum, especially of First World America, these methods may seem superstitious and perhaps frightening.  This is, of course, a matter of cultural indoctrination.

How do I relate to shamanism?

The United States of America, of course, is not a culture that appreciates shamanic wisdom, but rather is hostile to it.  So when I, as a young child, had interactions with child-like angels, went into portals at night (which came to me, though I could never open them on my own), and spoke with plants and animals, I learned quickly to keep these things secret, and soon decided to put them out of my life.  Of course, when I began school, there was no time to investigate further with a schedule of American “education” and entertainment – probably designed so – and I soon “forgot” about my experiences.

I also remember the time I was told by beings who seemed like my family on other dimensions that I wouldn’t see them for “a very long time.”  I was devastated and pleaded for them not to go away.  They assured me it was necessary and they’d be watching over me, but I wouldn’t be able to be with them again for a long time.  The unspecific “long time” was additionally distressing, as I had nothing to look forward to.  They insisted I trust them and do my best on my own, promising they’d watch over me.  (I recognize, with this story, that I can’t entirely blame America for discouraging my shamanic awareness; it might have been required anyway, for some reason I do not understand.)

As an adult I continued to experience occasional “non-normal” events, much less frequently, but still very amazing.  I kept quiet about them, and this inclination was reinforced when I witnessed the mockery dealt to those who told of experiences like mine.

In 1994, at age 42, when my own children were on their own, I moved to the desert of Cochise County, Arizona, where for half of each week, I spent my days without clocks or calendar, eating when hungry, sleeping when tired, watching sunrises, sunsets, weather, animals, and the landscape changing with the seasons.  I read and wrote about whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, and spent every sunset outside.  The other half of the week, I attended graduate school for creative writing, and lived on student loans, which allowed me this indulgence.

teepee under oaksAfter a year, I left the hermitage but returned in 2000, uncertain what I would be doing, but willing to live (simply, with no mortgage and few other expenses) on credit cards – for at least awhile.  The freedom I gave myself seemed to open doors, and I was soon experiencing a wealth of non-normal events, which a friend put words to:  a shamanic initiation.

Is shamanism dangerous?

That’s like asking if the world is dangerous.  Yes, depending on what you do in the world or the other realms.

Some shamans don’t use discernment, get conned, and connect with evil or troublesome intelligences on other realms and are subsequently known as bad shamans, bad ministers, witches, brujos or brujas.  (Good ones are known as shamans, good ministers, curanderos, curanderas, also brujos or brujas, witches, and many other names.)

How does this relate to mind control?

Bad shamans, I assert, can also be created by others – similar to the tribe’s method for good purposes, but this is done by controllers for potentially very dark purposes.

This, I believe, is a barely understood aspect of the darkest sort of mind control (MK), in which the subject is trained in psychic skills for other’s purposes, not for the good of the tribe.

Milder forms of mind control are of course also practiced broad-scale on the general populace, but I’m writing here about the darkest aspects of a most intense version of MK practiced on selected individuals, which involves the creation of amnesic super soldiers, couriers, spies, assassins, and sex slaves – and among them individuals with enhanced psychic abilities for remote viewing and more.

Our nation’s intelligence agencies have been highly interested in psychic powers for many decades, at least.  And many adults who were made subjects of mind control experiments as children recall being tested for psychic skills.  (I don’t have this particular memory, but I remember little other than MK intake and nightmares afterward.  And I have noticed profound psychic events most of my life.)

If those intelligence agencies could train an army of psychic spies, of course they would.  But they would need to make the psychic/shamanic spies totally loyal to them, and amnesic.  The subjects’ shamanic skills might not even be known to the subjects and would be totally in service to the controllers.

I believe the process they put us through – mind control, or MKULTRA – included a perverse variation on the ancient, but apparently rare, tribal practice of creating shamans, only they isolated us and tortured us brutally, so that we’d be both amnesic and totally subservient.

It seems to have worked well enough, judging by the number of people who believe they’ve been used as psychic information gatherers for most of their lives, with memories of remote viewing (some of my experiences) and even some with memories of conducting spiritual warfare on behalf of others.

The army of MK subjects is aging now, and our control may be breaking down.  With age, mental structures – including amnesic barriers – begin deteriorating.  Memories that were supposed stay hidden begin to arise, and the controlled ones begin to put together pieces of what happened to them.  Then, controllers have to weigh the risks and benefits of keeping them in service.  They may still have value, may still perform their duties regularly enough, but they need reprogramming more and more often.  I believe I’m in this latter category and that the frequency of physical wounds left on my body are evidence of this.

Some of us are also talking and educating others.  That creates more work for someone in the system to discredit us or divert our communications efforts.  If we become too much trouble, then they apparently kill the individual.  But if they can manage the downsides without too much effort, they can continue using their assets (representing decades of investment).

While I’ve begun understanding all this, I’ve begun reclaiming my shamanic skills for my own uses.

Am I a shaman?  Am I dangerous?

No, I’m not a shaman.  I’m a common “shamanic practitioner” (meaning simply, at this point:  I pray daily and spend time listening and recording).

I have occasionally been used to heal a number of people, receive messages from people who’d died unexpectedly, and other shamanic tasks.   I didn’t try to do this and sometimes resisted, but spirit nudged me and I allowed the actions to flow through me.

I pray I’m not dangerous as a potentially controllable shamanic practitioner, but I don’t know for certain – which is why I quit working with activist groups and quit offering psychic, shamanic, and healing work (which I did for a very short while).  It’s even why I quit my own private shamanic practice for a while: occasionally, I’ve thought it best to try to live only in the mundane world.

(Silly me.  Once the extra-dimensional doors are open, it doesn’t seem possible to close them.  Or else our other-dimensional helpers simply need us on this plane Unknown-2

and won’t leave us alone – as shaman Black Elk described in his biography.)

DSC01357

Taser burn (second-degree, removing skin) that appeared overnight, November 29, 2010, photographed two days later.

So I still wake up with evidence on my body that tells me that something was done to me in the night for which I have absolutely no memory:  two Taser burns, four or five incidents of two or three obvious “scoop marks” or biopsies, many bruises including apparent injection bruises, lacerations inside my vagina, apparent implants in various locations, and mysteriously healed and obvious surgical and other scars – a total of well over one-hundred physical marks since I began recording them a decade ago (see photo history on this site).  Plus many incidents of “missing time,” being conscious but immobilized, sensing vibrational/dimensional changes, being shot with energy beams, and even surrounded by strange fog forcing me to stop on the highway (one of three times).

I’ve tried not to assume the worst about this, that I’m being used by others for bad purposes.  When I have assumed the worst, I’ve sought help, found none, and then wanted out of this life – but I feel very certain that that’s not best for my soul, so I stay and eventually come out of my depression.  And I try to keep an open mind to other possibilities while also enjoying life and being a useful member of my community.

A positive explanation for all these marks is that they’re left by spirit family who, for whatever reason, can’t communicate with me because of my personal and our cultural mind control or other reasons, and actually all these things (or some of them) are for good, though I can’t understand now.  But I have no support for this other than my own wish for a positive interpretation.

Where does Jesus fit in?

58d2d41dd980effea93bdd5a21a5dac5I’ve read a few times that there’s no historical evidence for the existence of Jesus, and I’ve read that there is.  I don’t know.

do know that I’ve had extremely positive experiences a few times in my life when I contemplated his teachings and also when I’ve called on him – even in thoughtless, terrorized shock – for protection.  At those times I felt, not only that Christ was a powerful inter-dimensional being who could be called on for help, but that I know him on other dimensions, have known him for many lifetimes, and we’re kin.

So why am I not a “Christian”?  I used to be.  I even used to be a Christian minister’s wife.  But I’ve had horrendous experiences with Christians, particularly in assisting my husband in wresting my children away from me for no more reason than that I believed divorce was acceptable.  So today I have a visceral revulsion to the sight of pews in a church “sanctuary.”  (I got my children back after two years.)

I consider Christ’s teachings and the Christian Church to be entirely separate things.  After all, the Church was begun by the same government that for over 300 years used murder and torture to repress his followers; so it’s obvious to me that the Roman Church was the beginning of a massive disinformation campaign to attract would-be followers of Christ and trap them in religious routines.  Protestants tried to get away from it, but each break-away group has been infiltrated and controlled in a similar manner.  Even my last church, purportedly an independent “home church” where the dozen members would meet and take turns in leadership, was diverted in its intentions by a controlling couple who not only tried to take my children away from me, but did the same over a few years with two other divorcing couples, along with putting down any discussion of social justice (a major teaching of Christ’s) as “divisive.”

When I finally realized that rejecting the Church and rejecting Christ were two different things, I had to figure out how Christ fit into my shamanically-evolving life.  For instance, would he accept my efforts to connect with and learn from power animals as well as him?

yy12Here’s my conclusion to date:  We live in an ocean of spirit, highly populated with good and bad, benevolent and evil beings, many in-between, evolving, stupid, not-so-stupid-but-not-helpful-enough-to-bother-with, and everything in between.  Perhaps it swirls like an infinitely intricate yin-yang design.  On the benevolent side is Christ as the leading light, teaching, prophesying, offering to save us and help us everyday; on the other side is everything we call evil, including mind control.

Here’s where my theology breaks from the masses:  Even though Christ is an infinitely intelligent being, and infinite in powers, he doesn’t personally, magically do everything asked of him by his followers.  I see his existence as much more natural and organic than that.  As the largest tree in the forest doesn’t “do everything” for itself, but is served by birds, insects, fungi, moss, mammals, rain, etc., so Christ is served by other connected intelligences who serve our needs as go-betweens on Christ’s behalf.

Some people call the go-between intelligences the Holy Spirit or angels, others call them devas, faeries, elementals, and even aliens.  I try to ignore the language because the cultural cartoons associated with the words get in our way of deeper, subtler understanding; cartoons are probably part of our cultural mind control, used to mock and disempower otherwise very empowering truths.

So I imagine an infinite field of intelligent energy, among which Christ is supreme, at least at this arm of our galaxy, at least for me and those of us who choose to align with him.  When we direct energy and requests his way, the same way a tree root directs a need toward fungi in the soil, the communication is heard and responded to via a series of interactions, not a simple two-part process; and our needs are met in the multi-dimensional world in a similar manner as needs are met in the natural world on the material plane, via many interactions with many parts, intelligences, or beings.

As a shamanic practitioner, communicating in the multiple dimensions, I petition Christ first and last.  Often, he seems to respond by sending a particular person, angel, situation, or spirit animal (or physical animal) my way.

I used to feel very conflicted about this, as though I were hedging my bets, not being loyal to The One – though The One is All, many say.  Then I attended a shamanic conference and witnessed three-quarters of a roomful of a hundred-and-fifty shamanic practitioners raise their hands to the question “Who considers Jesus Christ a major help among your spirit helpers?”  That gave me permission to trust my vision of this world as a great network of evolving intelligence, inside which I could align myself with Christ, but still be connected to all that was also aligned with him, which is a huge net of Life on many dimensions.

And then I read about the Avodah Zarah, a Jewish text, in which Christ was called Yeshua ben Panther – a very shamanic-sounding name!  (Similar to “Lion of Judah” and “Lion of God,” other Biblical names.)  And I recalled Christ saying that we would “do all these things [healings, he was speaking of] and more” – exactly what shamans do!

While Christians may pray to Christ each day, their practice is usually based on following proscribed doctrine – words delivered by others – which tell them how to live in this material world.  I, on the other hand, have very little doctrine, and that which I have I’ve developed from my own personal experience.

Recently I’ve renewed my dedication to devote a great deal of my time to prayer and communicating with Christ and other intelligences in the other realms, and my communications are most successful when I alter my consciousness and focus my attention into other dimensions using the shamanic practices of drumming and rattling, but that’s not always necessary.  The right heartfelt attitude is enough, but the rituals are important focusing activities.

Who are “aliens”?

First, as I’ve said many times, “aliens” is too big a concept for the word to be useful – like using “marine life” to describe everything from algae to whales to human’s submarines.

I’ll use the word, though, to indicate all intelligence not bound to this mundane, three-dimensional planet, i.e., extra-terrestrial and/or extra-dimensional beings.

Many of them are reputedly “good,” supporting our evolution, while some seem to be at the very least challenging our evolution or, at worst, imprisoning us and controlling our minds, and maybe even harvesting genetic material.  I don’t know, but others have risked everything dear to them to assert such “crazy” ideas, and I hate to say that I also seem to have evidence all these things as well.

My experience with “aliens” does not include any that seem like the typical small “grays” with large, slanted, all-black eyes.  Rather, I’ve been unfortunate to have been terrorized by the types called Reptilians on EarthReptilians, even though until they became conscious to me, I’d thought the tales were unfortunate disinformation meant to discredit the whole field regarding aliens.  I’ve also seen over a dozen UFO’s, sometimes with others as witnesses.

Many researchers have documented connections between mind control and aliens, Reptilians in particular.  And while I’ve not read much of their reporting on the subject, I’ve developed my own theory, admittedly vague (vagueness is my inclination while trying to understand multi-dimensional reality with a three-dimensional mindset – seems only honest, given the limitations of language).

My vague theory is this:  I believe that, among all the alien intelligences interacting with Earth, most are benevolent, akin to anthropologists, researchers, observers, diplomats, teachers, and prophets, and to other mindsets, angels.  But there also exists other intelligence, more self-serving, among them the Reptilians, akin to pirates, corporate resource raiders, and to other mindsets, demons.

This is the “exo-political” viewpoint.  (The word exopolitics was coined by Alfred L. Webre, JD, author of Exopolitics and former Jimmy Carter White House appointee, who called my book “an important historical document”).  He writes, “We live in a highly populated cosmos.”

(Some even say no aliens are actually evil, as “All is God,” but they are only provoking us to greater spiritual awareness and development.  I have a very hard time with this idea, having experienced childhood sexual abuse as part of my fracturing and mind control, but sometimes I truly feel this real possibility – that “It’s all okay.”)

Conclusion

anima_mundiOur already-complex, Earth-bound political views need to be expanded beyond this Earth, and thereby made even more complex (sorry to put on the pressure!), in order for us to understand our multi-dimensional reality and situation.

Until we do that, we are all mind-controlled, to greater or lesser extent, to limit our vision and laugh at anything larger, and thereby miss understanding who we are and where our dangers and our powers lie in the larger cosmos.  In accepting this simplified version of life, we remain terribly vulnerable and unable to appropriately address any of our social, environmental, political, psychological, and spiritual issues.  And indeed the world does seem incredible “stuck.”

So, even though this world wants to laugh at “aliens,” laugh at “Jesus Christ” (made such a mockery on television and in movies in particular), and perhaps roll our eyes at shamanic practice, I have to say:  I was forced to overcome my own personal aversions to all of these and was then finally able to open my mind to the reality of Christ and all the other intelligence in the cosmos.

It was difficult because I then also saw the dark energies surrounding us, and me.  Christians have tried to “save” me (again), but I’ve chosen to align with Christ in my own manner, on my own two humble feet, not under the authority of another minister.  I’ve been working (more consistently since my last dark three days) to strengthen my connections to Goodness and to break the bonds of mind control.

Like everything in life, the struggle continues.  There’s no easy fix.  (Shamans must continue to protect themselves daily).  And with each day, generally, I become stronger.  Sometimes I’ve wanted to give it up, the struggle is sometimes so difficult, but those days pass, and I find I’m stronger yet each time.

Most days, I live quite happily, a formerly “closet”-shamanic practitioner, coming out.  Sometimes I’d prefer to avoid the term shamanism, so loaded with cultural misunderstanding, but for others, the word says it perfectly.  So here I am:  A minister, writer, activist, and someone who relates to spirit in a manner we call shamanic.

Jean Eisenhower
Silver City, NM
August 9, 2014

Three Days in Darkness

Of course, we all know, or we’ve all heard, that spiritual progress on this human plane is never really “done,” and so I think it’s the same with healing, although certain aspects of healing may be accomplished, we always have more, and we’ll certainly experience more that must be healed.

So I think I shouldn’t have been taken so low last week – I think I should have understood and taken it in stride – but I didn’t.  I thought I’d had enough, and I wanted to die.

On the third evening of three painful days, I lay on my bed and really tried to give up the ghost.  My heart had been in pain (in a vice, it seemed) for three days, and I’d been shown a print-out of my slow heart rate with an unhealthy delay between the beats of the first and second chambers.  My arms and jaw startled me now and then with their own pains throughout those days – classic heart attack symptoms I’ve had before (which I attribute to my life of mind control electroshocks and Tasering).

But after lying down, crying, sobbing, and giving up this life, but not dying, and my heart pain mysteriously gone, I got up, accepted my fate (to live), and wrote in my journal that I was pissed and not happy about it at all.

Even as I outlined my points of justification, I realized things that I could control.

1.  I don’t have enough help!

Well, I thought in response, you aren’t very consistent about asking for help. 

Point taken.

2.  I don’t have enough understanding!

Ditto answer.

Okay….

3.  I’m too messed with (my biggie, my Ace), which makes me too often too exhausted to do more than barely keep up, not a state worth continuing life for.  I never know when I’m going to wake with bruises, biopsy holes, or even Taser burns, all with incredible exhaustion which will zap all my energy and put everything in my life on hold for a week or two, making me look like a totally irresponsible person.  Not fair!

Oh, get off it!  You’ve known for a long time that nothing’s fair.  As for the attacks, you need to learn to stop them.  You need to rediscover your warrior part.  Yes, you’ve been trying, but maybe you haven’t been trying the right things, or the right timing, or something else, so life keeps on demanding this of you until you figure it out.  It’s the human condition, for where you are.  Get help, get creative, but figure it out.  Quit whining.  You know you’ve been strong in past lives and came into this world with a lot of wisdom, and yes, you’ve been “messed with,” as you say, mind controlled, but so has everyone, and even though yours might be a super-demanding version of it, it’s what you came here for.  You’re down right now, but you’ll get it.  That’s why we haven’t let you die yet.  You really do have the power to figure it out, even though you’re stumped now and angry (a cover for fear).  You’ll get over it.  And then you’ll get back to the Work.

Sigh.

And so I have.  And I have realized a couple of things that have kept me from my power:

First, I have been afraid to tell the truth about who I am because… I’m not sure, but I’m willing to bet I’ve been mind controlled to be ashamed about who I am, so I only allude to things most important to me, but usually only very subtly, and rarely.  Most of my days I’ve gone around pretending to be Every Woman, or an old-hippie version of Every Woman.  And I thought this had value, made my writing most accessible to my audience.  This is possibly true, but my writing has also been very limited, sorta of “lowest common denominator” (as I was trained to write as a journalist), and so it’s been least useful.

When I thought I was dying, I gave up “everything,” and I realized later that that also included what others think about me.  What a wonderful thing to finally give up!

It is infinitely more important for me to communicate the truth of who I am, to however small an audience, than to communicate a tepid, easy-to-accept version of me to the “masses.”

And that “safe” presentation is part of keeping me split – keeping the real me hidden (requiring splitting) while the “socially acceptable” part plays a role.  I didn’t realize I was failing so badly at simple Truth, but I was.  It reinforced my splittedness and made me forget my truth.

Second, because I wanted to be and offer something socially acceptable, I forgot what I am:  called to shamanic practice – as we call  it today.  My subconscious decision to hide has made me forget it myself, making me a very irresponsible practitioner, taking “days” off that turned into weeks and months.

I wasn’t afraid that people, at least those I cared about, wouldn’t understand or accept – as most seem to be animists at heart, so they should.  But I thought they would secretly ridicule or denounce me as either too stupid or unworthy, or as someone jumping on a bandwagon – and indeed, I myself have problems with others promoting it like the newest fad, putting it on business cards, etc.  I don’t want others to say about me what I’ve said about others!

Shamanic practice feels too sacred an avocation to speak of.  So when someone asks about one’s vocation, I haven’t known what to say; I kept it a secret, and together with other excuses, it became almost a secret to me.

But this is who I am:  I am one who sees the world in multiple dimensions and seeks (hopefully forever now more consistently) to strengthen my relationships with all my spirit help, and thereby continue my healing to the point where I will be more confident about helping others.

This all became clear only after I’d wallowed for three days in my death wish and gave up everything of this world.  When all was stripped away, I could see who I was and what is most important to me in this world.

It is:  to continue to learn personally about the other realms, develop skills in them, learn to communicate and navigate, learn to bring back information, and learn to help others – what we call shamanism or shamanic practice.  

On and off I’ve been living this life for decades, secretly.  I’ve participated in healings, and they’ve been life-changing for me and others.  I’ve received information from those on the other side.  I’ve gone there and come back.  I know my helpers.  I know my practice.

But there is so much more I need to learn.  And there’s nothing more in this world that I want to do, other than create the setting around me to facilitate this, and then use it to help myself and others.

Three days believing I was dying – it was a difficult, but clarifying time, for which I am grateful.  I now know (again) what is most important to me.  Sometimes we forget.  (The world wants us to forget.)  And sometimes only great pain can help us remember.

Now, I’m happily back in contact – wait, I forgot to confess one more failure.  I subconsciously, for decades, have attributed to my spirit help one characteristic of my parents: that they would love me more the more silent I was and the less I needed them, the less I asked for.  One of my shamanic teachers helped me recognize this ten years ago, but I “forgot”!

So now I’ve remembered and I’ve been spending lots of daily time with my help, asking for whatever I need, and making great progress for just a week.  I have a half-dozen more essays in my head to write, some designing I’ve envisioned, some practices to practice.

powerful sorcerers

Another favorite quote of Don Juan Matus. Mini-poster by Jean Eisenhower. (credit and copy freely)

And I believe we can actually get through this, this crazy world in which Carlos Castaneda’s mentor Don Juan Matus said we need to “change the course of sorcery.”  The current sorcery is mind control, and we need to help change that, especially those of us who can see it so well.  This is our world too.  We have a role to play.

Heart Problems – I assume from Electroshock and Tasering

Just went to the doctor yesterday for blood tests and EKG.  (I don’t follow their prescriptions, but I appreciate their tests.)

My blood work was essentially normal, but my heart is not functioning properly.  I have “stage 1” something (I’ll take better notes when I talk again with her next) – the first chamber of my heart is not beating exactly when it should in relation to the other chambers – not a terrible thing, as she says, many people live long lives with this condition.  It’s just not as effective at circulating blood, so I get tired.

I’ve been having serious heart issues for at least 17 years.  I assume it’s from the mind control electroshocks used to create amnesia and the Tasering (essentially portable electroshock) I’ve obviously been treated to since the late 80s (first time I’m conscious of was in jail after a group act of civil disobedience outside Durango in 1992 – which resulted in amnesia for most of an afternoon, evening, night and next morning), and at least twice in more recent years that left burn marks.

Taser burn (second degree burn with skin removed) delivered November 29, 2010, photographed 2 days later.

Taser burn (second degree burn with skin removed) delivered November 29, 2010, photographed 2 days later.

After this burn (pictured), they seem to have got their settings corrected for my size, as the next one left only two small dots on my arm which I found after waking totally exhausted, knowing “something happened again.”

My heart isn’t beating often enough (just 61 beats per minute) to give me energy for normal activities.  I’m very tired all the time, can’t do the same exercises I used to be able to do at the gym.  And I can’t stand up from squatting down to feed the chickens without holding onto something to pull myself up.  This is very new.  I’ve always been energetic and strong.

In the last 6 months I’ve written in my journals 103 times (out of 189 days) that I was utterly exhausted 52 days (and there may have been days I was too exhausted to write about it).  And I mean debilitatingly exhausted, with comments like:

“Wasted.  Wondering: serious disease?”

“Feel bad with weird symptoms.”

“Deep despair of life, lots of sleep.”

“Wrote bye to all, but lived.”

“Weak, nausea, ringing in ears.”

“Regretting commitments of next weekends.” (and cancelled some)

“No energy for anything.”

“If Greg wasn’t cooking, I wouldn’t eat.”

“Woke with weird bruise and had peed in bed.”

“Tired, depressed, headache.”  (I very rarely get headaches.)

“Can’t sleep, feeling dread.”

“Jaw pain and heart tension.”  (twice)

“Suicidal.”  (four times)

“Could barely walk!  Confused.  Can’t remember last two days!  Greg had to help me remember.”

“Scoop mark on same finger.”

“Woke tired with pee in bed again.”

“Long night, exhausted, weird, bad, crust hanging from my eyes.  Hell.”

And the bruises I’ve photographed!

Wow! Feel and Heal!

healing cropRemember that old saying, “Gotta feel to heal”?

I felt so much yesterday, I could barely see.  It hurt to walk.  I wanted to die.

Today, I feel better and understand quite a few things.

I had just extracted numbers from my journal of the last 6 months and was not surprised to see the huge number of days indicating I was truly exhausted, around half the time, talking about ending my life five times, with bruises

Small bruises on my thighs are the most common - making me think of hypodermic bruises (though I usually don't bruise from shots).  What are they?  Taser marks?

small bruises on my thighs are the most common – making me think of hypodermic bruises (though I usually don’t bruise from shots. What are they? Taser marks?

and marks left on my body, and even more details I’d forgotten about (many of which I wrote about in my last blog).  It was a lot like the time I summarized 18 months and had a melt-down realizing what all had happened.

So I wasn’t surprised to feel terrible.  It seemed a natural response to my life.

But the pain had a good result:  I see some important things.

First, I realize I need to not let 6 months go by without helping myself be aware and dealing with stuff!

What was I thinking?  I think I know:  Trying to stay positive, focused on the Light (ignoring the Dark), in order to stay more easily “functional” in this crazy, numbing world.

Yeah, but that’s not very smart, as I’ve coached others before:  Survival requires we be aware of our environment!

(We teach what we need to learn, right?  So here I am.)

Second thing learned:  To accomplish the goal of being aware, I plan to take one day each week to summarize my journal of the previous seven days (I can handle that), to recognize what are the energies swirling around in my life.

e0abd465f89c59c998d50740e2af2e024263e1a5_800x600Have I ignored some lie (as Pamela Meyer challenges us not to do in the wonderful video I linked to in this blog)?  And in ignoring a lie, has it caused me to lose my strength?

Where are creative juices flowing, or where might they flow?  What do I need?  I’ll make Sunday my day for reviewing my week, since the culture makes that day more available.

Of course, there’s a daily aspect too and I will always do that, but it’s also important to go retrospective now and then for week’s view, or longer view.

I hope and pray Power and Love are flowing in you also today ~

Jean

 

 

Hit again

thigh bruise copy

huge bruise on my thigh – no explanation

Oh, God, I’ve been hit again.  In the last 6 months, I’ve felt terrible about two weeks of every month, and I felt really bad yesterday: my vision clouded, my joints in pain, my mood so depressed, all I could think was that I didn’t want to live anymore.

Decided to review and collate my journal entries since January 12, 6 months and one week ago:

Days recording severe exhaustion:  52 = over 1/4 of the time, but I know it’s been about half the time.  (Out of approximately 217 days, I only journaled 103).

Miscellaneous, usually attending exhaustion:  extreme irregularity in sleep patterns, long naps even after very long nights, feeling need to “vomit from my soul,” need for “huge cry but can’t,” jaw pain, heart tension, heart arrhythmias, nausea, ringing in ears (which began November 2010 after vibration hit my head and made me unconscious) suddenly extremely loud, thinking I have some terrible disease, burning eyes, vision problems, difficulty sleeping and waking, unusual extended time spent suspended between sleeping and waking, confusion, fearful inability to remember previous days, a new herpes strain (intense with swollen lymph nodes – but no new sexual partner at least while conscious), weird dreams with MK themes (UFOs, large marble buildings, doctors, people in waiting rooms), vision at night that caused me to sit up and stare, feeling myself “switch” alters (thinking “Oh, that’s significant!” then feeling as though I’d been jabbed by a long pin and suddenly was unable to remember what I’d thought significant), and very odd coincidences of people and events in my life.

DSC04315

extremely common – small point-like bruises, always on my thighs – no memory of what might have happened

I took photos of weirdness on my body:  February 4: hypodermic bruise on thigh;

June 8: Huge bruise that appeared on my thigh with no explanation; June 20:  hypodermic bruise on thigh; June 14: photo of area above left scapula, behind shoulder that has felt like it’s been burning since mid-April and still does faintly (above a supposed implant site that appeared last year and has itched since then); June 27:  scoop mark on right finger again (same place as a couple years ago); and another bruise recently.  , which seems to have disappeared from my files.

Five times I wrote “suicidal,” “despairing of life,” or about wishing I could be gone from this life – but I’ve thought it more often than that.

Twice I woke groggily from extremely deep sleep, feeling “like someone did something to me in the night,” and discovering to my shock that I’d peed in the bed.

In the good weeks between, I’ve been as productive as I can be, singing with my partner and our new band, hosting and co-hosting radio shows, gardening, resurfacing our patio, building a fountain (1-min video here), teaching design, blogging, and always cooking fresh wholesome (organic) food, exercising, and keeping the house clean.

I’m sure some would diagnose me as bi-polar or manic-depressive, but I know it’s not that simple – and that would ignore my life history of missing time, amnesia, government connections, and the wealth of similarities in my life to other mind control subjects – all of which is recounted on this series of brief videos:  https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPo7-F8Erey5SwKjn7ssWFy-6TCQYs33I.

And I certainly don’t want drugs to try to moderate “my moods” (not moods, but natural and appropriate responses).  I am living a life that should support my own natural/spiritual healing:  I live in a peaceful small town, surrounded by a lovely garden, in a peaceful relationship, in a small, artful home, with my financial needs small, and with healthy daily practices, such as eating the best food, getting exercise, singing, and spending time with friends.

I believe the evidence is clear that I’m suffering, as are many others, from (experimental or operational) intrusions into my life that have side effects.  And it pisses me off.  

 

The Struggle to Heal from Mind Control

rock creek houseTwelve years ago, while living rurally as a hermit in Cochise County, Arizona, I realized I was a mind control subject – and I mean in a manner more intense than the ubiquitous birth trauma-television-education-news-political propaganda type of generalized mind control; I mean the MKULTRA-type of trauma-based mind programming done to unwitting adults and children to make them controllable, amnesic super soldiers, spies, couriers, and/or sexual objects for primarily political purposes, but also for personal sexual gratification, perverse entertainment, and blackmail.

mesmerIt’s possible this practice has ancient roots, resulting in tales of zombies for instance, but it began to be documented in Europe with the advent of popular hypnosis performances, conducted by men like Franz Mesmer, after whom the word mesmerize was coined.

Court records from the 19th century document hypnotic subjects made to empty their bank accounts for their controllers, deny their beloved families, commit crimes for their controllers, and confess to those crimes even when evidence abounded that they were innocent and acting at the command of others.

Candyjones_cover-210This criminal enterprise probably began in America when our nation brought Nazi scientists into this country under Operation Paperclip after the Second World War, presumably because our leaders were afraid to fall behind the Chinese in developing the art of the “Manchurian Candidate.”  It was funded and directed through the CIA, with numerous private contractors, as testified to by the CIA Director to the Senate twice in the 1970s.  Today there is evidence it continues to be funded through our government’s black budget.

Subjects are acquired in various ways through military enlistment, secret societies, prisons, orphanages, mental hospitals, churches, summer camps, and more.

The operation requires great secrecy and cooperation between law enforcement, courts, hospitals, and more, including organized crime.

 

It is a shock to have one’s amnesia barrier spring tiny leaks and begin delivering to my consciousness seemingly random scenes – but more than scenes – whole body flashes – of a single place, time, situation, emotion, and meaningful framework and focus of the moment.  Sometimes I experience complex memories of disturbing sexual situations – in childhood and teen years.  Unfortunately, they make a coherent sense of other strange things in my life that I’ve never forgotten.

After decades of believing your life is somewhat confusing (in ways you can’t describe) but fairly “normal,” it is a powerful psychic shock to realize you might not have always had control of your body, and your mind might at any time be overridden and your body used for who knows what.

This shock, unquestionably the most traumatic shock of my life, is what Dr. John Mack calls “ontological shock.”  (Ontology:  the study of the nature of being.)  Mack wrote:

“A worldview… is a source of security and a compass to guide us.  For an individual it holds the psyche together.  To destroy someone’s worldview is virtually to destroy that person….  People who present ideas that seriously challenge a worldview are punished—by death for heresy in the past and now by ridicule, debunking, and efforts to destroy their reputation.”  (Passport to the Cosmos, p. 34)

A worldview is like the ocean to the fish, taken for granted – until it disappears, and then it’s mind blowing, psyche destroying.  Individuals protect their worldviews and themselves as strenuously as cultures do.  But sometimes sanity and cultural healing require that a worldview be replaced.

 

me cropped from old w susanGrowing up in European America, I learned at age 50 that I was not really free, as I’d always believed, but was a slave of some unknown other.  This worldview change was so traumatic, I attest to Dr. Mack’s statement:  my psyche blew apart, was virtually destroyed.  And it was – actually – okay.

Others have called these events “spiritual crises” and in earlier decades “nervous break-downs” – for which I would later quip, “I highly recommend them.”  Other cultures call them shamanic initiations.

Why would I recommend an event so traumatic to the human psyche?

Because this “crazy” idea, this idea that destroyed my worldview felt horrifyingly right, and made sense of numerous strange amnesic events of my life, as well as physical, otherwise-unexplainable sexual mutilations.

Years later, my parents appeared to confirm this theory when they became irate at a few of my memories and responded as though they’d rather I accept them as sexual predators (suggested by a sibling) than entertain the possibility that I might have been abused by some unknown military men (two of my memories) – which they immediately presumed meant (though I never said it) that I was holding them responsible (which they would have been if they’d cooperated with the government program, as many parents apparently did in the wonderful 1950s).

Mack’s “ontological shock” is so painful, he explains, that most people avoid it at all costs, choosing instead to maintain congruence with the socially-accepted “reality,” for which they bury their own experience – unless the evidence is overwhelming.

My evidence was overwhelming, but my emotions convinced me to consider the theory anyway.  After all, I had chosen this life as a hermit in the desert, with very little social distraction, in order to learn about myself; to get away from the workaholism that had been earning me awards, getting me news recognition and Board invitations, but also stressing me out severely; and to heal whatever it was that was making life so weird and confusing.  That was the context for my life, the meaning of every first breath I drew when I awoke each morning, grateful to be surrounded by the desert.

Mind control was clearly not a welcome theory, but it was a theory, and it seemed only honest to consider it.

Besides, from the first moment I felt it ripple in gruesome slow-motion across my brain, little child voices arose from great depths, speaking, sighing, crying relief to be out of the deep, dark closet, finally, pleading, Don’t ignore us anymore.

Right behind them were fear, guardedness, neediness, devastating grief, and cynical teen coldness like I’d never felt – consciously, but ooh, it feels sickeningly, terrifyingly familiar, connected to something too sick to remember.  It shook me to my bones from the first moment.

Every day, I questioned myself, hoping to see some other way to interpret these feelings roiling inside me.  I couldn’t push down the hopeful-sounding children, yearning to be cared for, the grieving children who wanted to be heard, and fearful ones needing comfort.  Like Pandora’s box opened, my own swarming voices also included light, congruence, explanation for long-confusing anomalies, and hope for healing and leading a more satisfying future than the previous decades of confusion.

My psyche shifted, and my whole world changed, and I couldn’t change it back, though, believe me, I tried.  Every day, I tried to perceive another way.

But week by week, my sense of clarity, and of somehow having my feet on the ground like they’d never been before, were improving rapidly in ways that seemed obviously related to accepting this horrible reality that also made me cry and want to kill myself.

I made lists of the evidence, and put stars by those that had been or could be witnessed by others, and it all seemed way too much for any sort of coincidence.  I did this exercise or others like it again and again and again, trying desperately to see my world through another lens.  But I couldn’t, and my mental coherence kept improving.

Senses and reason in agreement (though not emotion), it seemed essential to step inside this new reality, but the storyline was absolutely terrifying… disgusting… painful… reviving painful physical memories, making my body jump with sensations I won’t describe, and my mind reel with shame, disgust, and wither with helplessness.

And so I wrestled with the first two major challenges in healing from mind control: ontological shock and the disabling emotions.

Emotions would be hardest to face in the first year, causing me to want to leave this life nearly every day for six months, though after a spiritually-inclined partner moved in with me, those urges became less and less in the decade that followed.

Isolation was the third main challenge.  No one wants to hear this.  It’s pretty much taboo in our culture – which serves well those who perpetrate it.  We victims are on our own, except for whatever circles of support we’re able to create ourselves.

Not knowing the next time you’ll be used is the fourth big challenge.  Trauma therapists know that if you can control the circumstances that led to a distressing event, such as not riding a horse after a fall off of one, a person can at least rest knowing it won’t happen again anytime soon.  But mind control subjects have no such assurance; they can walk out their therapist’s door and be met immediately by a stranger who might have a passcode to a hidden door in their psyche.

Every phone call, every person who visits could be the controller.  Suddenly the phone rings a lot, and I hear nothing – at least nothing that I recall.  If it only happened once, I would get over it, but phone callers delivering “silence” continued for about a year.

Once a man I absolutely didn’t trust came to my home and put me in a trance while I stood there absolutely conscious and aware of what was happening, but obedient, and let him download malware which immediately destroyed my computer.  I felt myself come out of the trance as soon as the door shut behind him.

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.

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.

More than once, I’ve been hit by beams in my home, sometimes shocking and immobilizing, sometimes gentle and searching followed by a powerful amnesia-producing hit, and once I was even bruised in a solid black 2 ¼” perfect circle on my leg.  Another time I was made to do a small but embarassing thing in public that I could, literally, not do under my own control.  And I never had any way to know these things were coming.

Rarely did more than two weeks go by between events – not nearly enough to relax and pretend it wasn’t a major part of my life and maybe if I looked again I could decide it was all a bad, misinterpreted dream, and life could go back to being all about good food, the garden, and being an activist for some good cause again.

But events didn’t let up a bit for the first nine years, and I lived constantly with not knowing, while also trying to heal my split-off children’s emotions, arising whenever they or my soul help decided I had enough emotional reserves to handle one more healing event.  And I usually was able to do it, though it took everything I had out of me and I often cried for days and revisited the idea of killing myself before I recovered.

And of course, I did it all alone (after asking the previously helpful partner to leave).  And while trying to keep a roof over my head (resulting in three home refinances and one near-foreclosure).  Shock, emotions, isolation, and continued vulnerability.

(It obviously qualifies as post-traumatic shock syndrome, but mind control is a political hot potato, and when I thought to ask for disability payments a couple of years ago, I didn’t think to lie about the cause, and was denied.  The government that caused this doesn’t want the liability.  I could probably get disability for PTSD stemming from mental delusion, but my heart won’t let me lie.)

 

The psychopathology is a fifth challenge.  If I’d been able to imagine, like some “alien experiencers” do, that what might be coming next might have some sort of sense, say, an experiment to save humanity, the pain and the not-knowing might be bearable.  But because the whole of it feels more governmental than alien, the only sense that can be construed is perverted, sadistic, psychopathological, and perhaps demonic or even Satanic.

 ~

My fear is so great, it expands out of my body and into aura parts of me I never knew I had.  Those parts wail and freak at their memories awakened and vaguely lit.

Some, though, are emotionally dead, and others flash with rage or rancid cynicism.  My center personality suddenly has a great deal to manage.  Mundane life becomes irrelevant, surreal at times, and very difficult to attend to.  I only want to write or pray or kill myself.  Terror seems a terribly overused word.  I want it only for myself.  I think I have the most tragic life of anyone on the planet.

These are the memories and meanings I’ve compiled:  My brain was highjacked when I was a child.  To accomplish that, I was electroshocked and raped and had my jaw dislocated and was left hungry and cold, then was rescued by men who fed me and bathed me and I became beholden to them and even thought I loved them.  I was electroshocked more, so that new blank slates of me could be given names and consist of nothing but instructions and commands.  My basic training took two years, from age 6 to 8.  I have been monitored, tested, and updated like computer software over the decades and, I presume, used, though I don’t know for what.  I can guess, but I don’t know anything for sure.

When I first realized all this, I didn’t know who the people were, other than “government agents,” who I assumed were CIA, based on my personal and family history.  I called them “feds.”

I couldn’t stop what was happening, other than by killing myself.  If I do that, whoever “they” are won’t be able to use me against my will.  That would be good.  Their experiment will have ended.  This investment of theirs – my fractured mind – will be gone for good.  Good.

The finality of that, however, gives me pause.  One small misunderstanding could make all the difference in whether there’s any hope for me.  So it seemed my responsibility to stay alive a bit longer to check my perceptions over a little longer timeframe.  And the longer I look, the more interesting things become.

The facts of the situation haven’t changed, but my sense of self has.  I no longer feel entirely outgunned by them.  (Sometimes I wonder if they’re being more coy.  Which is it?)

For a long while, I prayed to be hit by a truck – anything not my fault – or to get cancer.  When I thought I had it, I heaved a big sigh of relief.  Thank God, I can die and no one will feel as bad as they would if I’d off’ed myself.  But I never had real symptoms.

 ~

Various parts of me have acted out (in private mostly, thank Goodness) for twelve years now.  I’ve had days and weeks of debilitating fear sometimes after waking up with unexplainable scars on my body again or being hit by beams and sleeping extremely long nights, requiring long naps, and still being constantly thoroughly exhausted, and wondering what in the Hell had I been doing during those blank nights?

Then nothing would happen for a comfortable while, though a voice of fear might kibbitz throughout the day.  I’d venture out into the world again, and people would treat me like a normal person, and my “normal” (socially-programmed) self would respond and appreciate the friendships.  And I’d think maybe my life is becoming normal…  I do seem to be developing more friends than I’ve ever had in my life…  I like it…  Maybe I’ve experienced the last of this…  I am over 60, after all, and maybe they’re leaving me alone now.

dsc01337Often I’ve written about my experiences, and then suddenly worse things happen than ever before, as if they’re warning me – like waking with a Taser burn on my arm (3rd degree burn, layers of skin sliding off, taking a month to heal) with a lethargy that would take days to recover from.  I photographed the scar and wrote about it, but couldn’t do much more than that for weeks.

Of course, I needed a job, but I couldn’t promise anyone, honestly, that I’d be dependable.  I didn’t know what to do.  I let my house go into foreclosure until my father called at just the right time and asked how things were and I told him and he bailed me out.  I didn’t care.  I was ready to move into my car and live in the forest.  Bailing me out was nice, I thought; or if he had indeed given me to the CIA for their training, for which I’m quite sure they gave him a nice exchange, then I guess maybe it’s okay to accept his help for all my troubles.

 

Twenty years of weird events… some even “alien.”  Believe me, I did not want this.  Everything else was plenty weird enough.  (I’d once ended a friendship with a man who’d talked about aliens in a coffee shop and not kept his voice down.)

Was it mind control making me think I’d passed through the bedroom teepee canvas and been drawn on a beam away from Earth?  Or was I simply insane and couldn’t tell reality from a dream or hallucination?  I’ve solicited this opinion from a few psychotherapists over the years, and they’ve all told me I was perfectly sane, except for one man, whom I have reason to suspect is part of the mind control cabal or otherwise under their persuasion.  He called me deluded, but functional.

One alien researcher says that two of the hundred-some alien races identified in supposedly top-secret documents are involved in mind control – in conjunction with the US government.  I tend to believe it could be true and that I – either soul or body – actually did rise up off this planet, but I don’t object to the possibility that it might have been a mind control illusion.

(Maybe it was my Spirit Help.  I came back from that event feeling very happy, but I’ve heard that the mind controlling aliens have the ability to change emotional states from terror to bliss with the wave of a wand.  Who knows?  We European-Americans have been cut off from our ancestral wise ones for thousands of years, and we’re given no support for any attempt to understand multi-dimensional or spiritual realities even though I know we’re born with the natural aptitude.)

 

This mind control realization began not long after I accepted I was experiencing what’s been called a “shamanic initiation.”  I’ve been warned, of course, this could be a causative connection, and shamanism opened the gates of Hell, giving entrance to these demons of delusion.

car bombI think it’s something else:  I’ve been an activist most of my life and had, just before I’d realized my mind control subjection, done media work for an historic federal trial, “Judi Bari versus the FBI.”  Every day, I had either sat in court or conferred with plaintiff and lawyers, and written media releases to be sent all over the world about the obvious and stupid lies told by agents under oath regarding the assassination attempt on an activist who’d been car-bombed trying to save the old growth forests of California.  During trial breaks, those agents would pass us in the halls and glare down at me malevolently, prolonged, threatening, confident.  (Had they put me on a list for retribution?)

I felt the shamanic powers had entered my life just in time to be a strengthening, protective power that helped me during the trial against the FBI – a 12-year source of fear after they bombed Judi – and now was helping me heal from this second but more deeply held fear of the CIA and their mind control program.

Shamanism, I concluded, was not the precipitation of demonic horrors, but simply the understanding that we live in a cosmos highly populated by spirits, good and evil, and then taking responsibility to perceive, protect oneself and one’s community, and intercede as necessary – no different than what a minister or Pope says they’re about, only the ability is open to everyone (as Yeshua/Christ is said to have said).

So shamanism seemed my best, maybe only, hope for protection.  (I was too shy to use the term though, and no self-respecting shaman uses it; it was becoming popularized, and I neither wanted to offend the spirits by assuming any capacity, and never wanted to follow, or even appear to follow, a trend, even if it was my direction before a trend was perceived.  This latter is a stupid and limiting attitude, but it seemed to be my thinking for many years, and still is to some a degree.  For many years, I’ve avoided the word entirely, but now that it’s come into social parlance, I join the conversation occasionally.)

I perceive our world from what I recognize now is a shamanic perspective, intelligences and energies dancing, sometimes in conflict, resolving, conflicting again.  And I deal with my healing first like a psychotherapist might encourage me, feeling and identifying lost and returning alters, talking to them, learning their needs, helping them integrate, leave for healing, or change their “job description” within me.  Later I clear the energy with some ritual I guess we’ll call shamanic; it’s just what comes to me.  It has always been amazing, seeing and feeling the world anew each time one of my alters returns or integrates,  giving me a greater sense of harmony and clearer energy.

Of course, I never know whether I’ve healed the last alter, or whether there are still more available for control, but I keep on, hoping it will all be worth it.

Of the last twelve years, the first four were all about coming to terms with the ontological shock, my “flight response” kicked into suicidal high gear, helplessness, and social isolation.

Eight years ago, I had become so financially impoverished that I couldn’t repair my truck or computer, therefore couldn’t earn income, and my relationship was ending.  Seeing no other option, I decided to sell my home and land and move to some small town.  I’d realized I’d been feeling like a sitting duck out there, and returning to “society” felt very attractive.  Maybe in a more populated area I’d find others who also had experience with weird stuff like this.

Once settled, I created the Paradigm Salon as a local film and discussion event, but within the year I realized that I trusted almost no one and had to drop the idea.

In regular socializing, when people asked me about myself, I didn’t know what to say.  I was still terribly shy about coming out of the closet as either an alien experiencer or mind control subject or shamanic practitioner.  Any of those could end a friendship (as I knew from being on the other side of this), but all three?

No, I would just have to reach back a decade or so and identify myself as a writer and activist.  But what was I writing about?  Or being an activist about?  I didn’t want to say.  Understandably, I was very awkward socially.

I lived in town, in walking distance to everything, but I continued to act like a hermit as much as I could.  Besides my memory was bad – or rather, my alters weren’t well-enough integrated – and I often couldn’t remember people’s names quickly enough for normal social interactions.  But when I was quick, I still didn’t want to disclose too much about myself.

Besides, the unspoken message I got from almost everyone when I did eventually try to explain my life was that people really didn’t want to hear about this.  It felt like my responsibility to keep everyone else comfortable, and that would keep me comfortable – unknown, hiding, but more comfortable than if I told my truth.  A social life that was a lie seemed next thing to pointless, but it was better than self-annihilation.

scooop cuSo I tried to pretend that it wasn’t a burning issue in my life that I’d go to bed at night with prayers for protection (or getting lax and forgetting to pray), waking relieved that nothing happened, or sometimes waking with a dreadful sense that “something did happen in the night,” maybe scoop marks on my finger or scapula or – when I posted photos of those on my website – then scoop marks just above my anus the very next night, as if to say, “Here, post these!”  Ha ha.  And then I’d spend days or weeks psychologically recovering from the hit.  And I’d continue to try to smile and act like things are normal, because no one wants to hear.

I’ve worked for respected organizations off and on for years, holding myself together for short-term work of a few weeks or months, just long enough to get a good paycheck, then make it last as long as I can, to get some rest.

Occasionally, I decide, F*** it, I quit being everyone’s protector!  I quit pretending everything’s fine.  I’m talking about this shit, whether people want to hear it or not!  And I write.

Local people ignore it, “unfriend me,” and occasionally quit acknowledging me on the street.  So I quit writing and speaking about it locally, but I blog, interact with others internationally (even though I strongly believe it’s most important to relate to our own local communities) and resign myself to being an activist on the Internet only (and I hate the computer!), hoping that real people, not just feds, will read and be helped.  Thousands seem to read and watch my videos and dozens have written me about their similar experiences, and we console each other.

A writer and journalist for decades, one with first-hand experience in our nation’s Heart of Darkness, I survived.  I developed an activist heart at a young age and didn’t quite go insane when I leaned about this and all the thousands of other subjects who’ve corroborated my experiences.

But I have something, maybe, evolutionary to offer: a glimpse of the ancient ways of seeing our multi-dimensional world, and protecting ourselves with the Help there.

If there is any purpose for my still being here on Earth, I believe it’s to tell everyone about mind control.  I got the ugly version, while everyone else has been mildly but well-subjected.  My treatment blew my blinders off, and I’m here to say it’s time for us all to wake up.

I will keep writing about it.  Like it or not.

 

Part II: Overview of a Life with Mind Control

I realize that by hitting the Publish button, I could bring on the controllers’ wrath, but I’ll do it anyway.  Truth feels more important today than my comfort.

(Please read Part I first, as well as the two introductions that precede.)

Mind control is finally becoming an accepted fact in America.

It is a terribly unpleasant subject, but it has been testified to by no less than the Director of the CIA to a Senate Investigative Hearing (twice in the 1970s) – that it has been done to unwitting citizens and non-citizens, prisoners, military recruits, even people in higher positions of respect, adults and children, since the 1940s.  There is tremendous documentation – 20,000 pages the last time I researched it – all of it available online or by requesting it from the government through the Freedom of Information Act – besides the accounts of many victims.

In Cold War America, our intelligence agencies used the threat of other nations developing mind-controlled warriors to justify their conducting this research.  Today, we have new testimony that aliens have also been involved and may have even been the leaders of the project, but I’ll save that idea for later.

Mind control has many manifestations, from subtle and broad scale, as in our education and media, to cruelly coercive and shockingly powerful, including the development of amnesic assassins.  Court records document this crime going back to 19th century European hypnotists, and it is probably the basis for ancient Haitian tales of zombie slaves, and possibly more.

Many books have been written on the subject, some by doctors, such as Collin Ross; others by victims, like myself, Anne Diamond, Carla Emery and many more; and others by researchers and journalists, such as Donald Bain who wrote about the most famous “pin-up girl” in the world in the 1940s, Candy Jones.

Interested or skeptical readers are encouraged to do their research.  There is too much to summarize in this personal account, though I’ll insert information as necessary.

Warning:  This essay will include a great deal of sexual material, as mind controllers often take advantage of their subjects in this way, and that was my experience.

I have known since childhood that I wasn’t like others.  While I’d been identified as “gifted” and maybe a genius from a young age (and would later test at genius levels at various times in my life), I’d been called a “split personality” by my best friend in grade school when I was not able to remember some sexual play that she said I’d participated in in the 5th grade – which should have been significant and memorable.  When I began menses, I squatted over a mirror to put in my first tampon and was shocked to see that I looked terrifically stretched out, but fully believed myself a virgin.

At age 17, still believing myself a virgin, I was on a date which wound up at the boy-man’s apartment.  He was more presumptive than any boy I’d ever dated and began to undress me.  I went into a trance in which I heard myself screaming “NO!” silently inside, while my body went entirely limp and passive, and I did nothing to stop myself from being raped.  I couldn’t speak for an hour or so afterward.

Three years ago, a boy I knew in high school reconnected with me on the Internet and mentioned our having dated, though I only thought of him as having dated my best friend; I had no memory of any date.  We decided to talk on the phone, and he told me, in very concerned tones, that he had always been bothered by an experience we’d had.  He said that we’d gotten very close to having sex in the back seat of his car, when I suddenly began screaming at the top of my lungs, and he was terrified that neighbors would call the police.  He said I went entirely rigid, so that it was extremely, and comically, difficult for him to dress me.  He took me home and we never went out again.  And I have no memory for any of it.

When my son was 6-weeks old and I left him in the church nursery, I forgot entirely that I had a baby – even when an acquaintance asked me where he was; I wondered who had a baby that she was mixing me up with.  When I suddenly came around and remembered that I did indeed have a baby and I had left him in the church nursery – those words, church nursery, were as terrifying to me as Satan’s den.  I ran in terror to retrieve him, with horrible regret that I had done such a dreadful thing as to leave him there.

Mind control is done in a variety of settings, the most common being  government and military installations, hospitals under contract to the CIA, and churches.  Evidence indicates that the organizations using the technology sometimes work together, to procure subjects, to share techniques, and to provide shielding from investigation.

My mother’s mother was a “jack-Mormon,” meaning she wasn’t a regular church-goer anymore, and my own mother followed suit.  When we did go occasionally, I knew we were looked down on.  Once, I recall leaving “children’s church” and looking back over my shoulder at the building with deep hatred, thinking “I’ll never go back there again.”  But I have no memory for why I felt such rage.

My mother’s father was killed when she was eight, and her mother, widowed at the start of the Great Depression, was hard-pressed to support herself and two little girls.  She was an excellent cook and baker, and miraculously (or tragically), she met some wealthy bankers who appreciated her enterprising nature (so the family story goes) and offered to finance her to fill an empty building of theirs with a restaurant, outdoor patio seating, bakery, and conference rooms, which became the meeting point for the powerful people of that city for the next twenty-five years.

Every day of her life for those twenty-five years, my mother says, her mother went for a walk with Mr. H. at lunch time.  “When he showed up at the doorway, she left instantly, no matter what she was doing, and went directly to take a walk with him,” my mother said more than once.  I remember that man; he never gave a glance at anyone else, just coldly at my grandmother.  And my mother says that her mother never told anyone what they talked about, perhaps because she didn’t remember, or maybe she was instructed not to.  I believe he was her mind controller.  And if he’s like most of them, he took advantage of her sexually, and perhaps her daughters too.

My father was a child actor who toured from age 7 to age 9 with a theater troupe, in a non-speaking role, after which he came home to his family a traumatized stutterer.  Trauma is the basis for mind control.

The basis for mind control is splitting the personality – creating multiple personalities – and then programming certain ones to obey commands.  “Multiple” parents tend to raise children who are multiple, I assume because their incoherence demands the children also be incoherent.  I have seen my mother shift from one personality to another, with the second apparently unaware of what the first said just a moment ago.  Once, she told a fun little anecdote about my childhood, and when I asked for a little detail, she bowed her head, then raised it again with seemingly angry suspicion, like someone was trying to corner her, her eyes darting to each side as she spit out, “I never said you’d….” naming the event she’d just happily told a moment ago.

Multiple personality (or dissociative identity disorder) is created with torture.  To put it simply, the personality can’t “take” or integrate the torture and so the personality “goes away.”  The brain keeps recording experience as always, but on a new “fresh slate” of neural tissue, creating a new hologram of being, a new alter which could one day be a full personality, or maybe just a shell for programming.  The mind control practitioner names this new “alter,” tells it who’s boss, reinforces control with a little more torture, and begins to lay in commands for when this hidden personality will “come out” and execute orders.  Then it puts the captive alter to sleep and the basic personality returns.

(This technique was probably developed after someone watched someone else split in an accidental trauma.  So some multiples have been created accidentally.)

Sometimes multiples, under stress, switch personalities accidentally, or create new personalities, since their subconscious has discovered what an easy trick it is to escape discomfort.  Some people create hundreds of personalities this way and really have a difficult time negotiating life.  The subconscious can also create networks to keep the whole system under control, which I seem to have done fairly successfully.  Or a controller can.

Sometimes multiples remember an alter spontaneously, especially when they’re older and brain cells begin to degrade, breaking barriers to memory. Once in my second marriage, in the late 1980s, I was having sex with my husband, when suddenly I flashed back to being a little child on my back on a bed in a small room with wallpaper on my left, a window on my right, and the door beyond my feet.  I was lying naked, and someone was standing looking at me.  I can describe in great detail the wallpaper, the window shade and the bedspread I was lying on, but the person is blanked out in my memory.  I was sick with a desire to flee but had experience with what was coming, so I “did was I always do,” I told myself, and turned my head to the wallpaper and began reciting its design:  the roses are pink, the lines around the roses are wavy…. etc.  I felt proud of myself for escaping, and thought that this was a very smart invention, something I figured out all by myself, that adults hadn’t even taught me, and I thought that they might not even know how to do it, and I praised myself for escaping.  But as soon as I thought that, I almost remembered the thing I had escaped, and almost went back into my body, but caught myself and returned to the wallpaper, telling myself I should never do that again.

I was mystified by this, but didn’t have the time and energy to think about it, so I put the memory away.

In 2002, when I was in Oakland for the Judi Bari v FBI trial, I was walking downtown to visit the bank and suddenly found myself feeling weird and walking west instead of south, completely confused, though I’d traveled this way before.  I had never recalled turning west, and was momentarily, quietly terrified by the strange feeling.

I had recognized I was multiple in 1994 and had begun to try to heal myself, but I had never given a thought to mind control.  I did know, though, that the FBI was ruthless, capable of murder, and might do anything to people sending out media releases about them to the world.  I wondered if they had somehow subconsciously done something to me, made me lose time, and now I was wandering around lost downtown.  A few weeks later, the whole picture would dawn on me.

When I returned home after the trial, I was a little nervous about being alone after writing such scathing material about the feds, but my concern was for the FBI.  The CIA had never crossed my mind.

One of my best friends lived nearby and we’d visited frequently over the past couple years and confided to each other our problems, including deeply personal ones.  A few days after coming home, I received an email from her saying, “Check out these websites.  I think they might explain everything we’ve been dealing with.”  (Later she would tell me how her mother had been recruited to work in the office of a famous CIA director.)

To my horror, I began reading about mind control, and instead of being turned off by the appalling subject, I experienced feelings of dread and horror, but also sickening familiarity and even – disconcertingly, twisting my mind – relief – that finally something that had needed expression was able to surface at long last.

This was horrible!  My rational mind, of course, was arguing to reject it.  My emotional body was hurting, certainly, while some deeper place in me was saying, “Yes, it’s horrible, and it’s sad, but you must look at it.”

I continued to read for days and came across much material that helped me make further sense of my life.  I was partially elated to be on the path to further knowledge and self-understanding, but I was also terrified of the people who might try to keep me, their asset, under their control.  I spent the next few years contemplating suicide nearly every day.  Even when I wasn’t in total despair, it seemed a very logical practical action to remove myself from their clutches, to keep from being their tool to do other terrible things in this world.

One weekend, I attended a women’s spiritual gathering a few hours from home.  On the way home in the dark, on the Interstate, my headlights went out shortly after getting gas.  I decided, logically, to walk back to the gas station and call my boyfriend to come get me.  Instead, I sat in the van and tried to talk myself into going, while a voice in my head told me to just wait.  I argued with the voice for what seemed like a half-hour, and sometimes sat passively thinking, “This is strange, just sitting here.”  Intermittently, I would command myself to go, but I’d just sit there.  Finally, I had the idea to turn the key, unlock the steering wheel, and coast backwards down the slight slope and shorten the distance I had to walk.  I did that, but the lights came on, so I drove home.

The next morning, trying to make love with my partner, I discovered I had such pain inside my vagina that this would be impossible.  We tried to locate the pain, but there wasn’t an obvious wound.  I could only recreate the pain if I tried to stretch the tissue.  We used a mirror and saw a puncture wound in my g-spot.  (It would take years for me to stretch the scar tissue enough to have sex again.)

Starting to get anxious, we talked about my drive home, and it was then that I learned that I had not been a half-hour late getting home, as I’d assumed, but two hours late!  We associated this with alien abduction, for reasons I’ll go into in the next part.  Later that day, I blew a blood clot out of my nose – something that had never happened to me before – and we began to grapple with the idea that I might have had a classic “alien abduction” on the highway.

We’d been reading a little about aliens, including books by Dr. John E. Mack, the Harvard psychiatrist who researched alien contacts for years before his untimely death.  They included many accounts of his hypnosis or relaxation sessions, including descriptions of his techniques.  They seemed simple enough, and I thought I could probably hypnotize myself, as I’d once discovered myself to be easily hypnotizable (a characteristic of mind control subjects).  I gave my partner some cue cards and explained what sorts of things I wanted him to say to help me if I became distressed and needed help.

I used the techniques and went back to that time when I sat in the van, unable to move.  I was not looking forward to it (the idea of aliens embarrassed me), but I was fully expecting to experience a traumatic scene in which aliens took me from the van, but that’s not what I saw.  Instead, I heard the van door slide open and heard a human male voice command me to come to the back of the van where my bed was still open after camping, and I turned to obey.  The leader had sat in a seat behind me, and two others were standing outside the van, leaning into and toward the door.  They were all dressed in tan auto mechanics’ uniforms, but I knew they were CIA agents.  Instantly terrified by the meaning of this, I brought myself out of the hypnosis, deeply panicked, and never tried that again.  But I had the explanation I needed.

Another day, walking across my one-room house, I suddenly had a flashback of being in my child’s body, regaining my vision after a flash of white, seeing a half-dozen men in white coats closely crowding around me, then they pulled away, and another man leaned forward and said three short commands to me, then put his hands, holding the ends of some appliance in each, to my temples.  I reeled with emotion and sat down to recover from the shock.

I remembered going with my mother on a train to New Mexico when I was about five, but I don’t remember the train ride back.  I also remember waking up at home one afternoon with the sensation that I’d been asleep “for a very long time,” and I told this to my family who seemed suspiciously interested in the fact that I was awake, though denying that it had been anything but overnight.  I finally gave up my assertions, but knew they were lying to me.  Years later, I asked my mother why we’d gone to New Mexico – a very odd thing, as our family never split up like that, but did everything together – and she said we’d visited my aunt, which still doesn’t make sense, and I don’t remember any visit.

I have almost total amnesia for first and second grade, though I remember scores of events from preschool and memories come back fully in third grade.  The only memories I have in first grade are of painting a tree – as instructed by my teacher – and rimming it with black, with black wind blowing by, forcing the tree over 45 degrees, with black leaves blowing by.  Any art therapist would have a heyday with that.  I also recall showing it to my mother at Open House.  All the rest of those two years are a total blank, and those are the years documented as being the most common years that the two-year mind control programs were run on children by the CIA.

I began to have nightmares at some young age, of running from someone across a plowed field toward a tarmac with airplanes in the distance, with someone pursuing me.  I felt drugged and hardly able to lift my legs, but I was trying, terrified that the person would catch me.  I continued to have the same nightmare throughout my life until the day I accepted that I might have been a mind control subject; then the nightmares ceased for good.

More old memories began to make sense.  I remembered, in my 30s, when I saw a cartoon in the paper of a 1950’s woman at the stove, wearing high heels, a bouffant hairdo, and apron, with a spatula in her hand.  A man in a black suit and tie with a clipboard and pen in his hand is saying to her, “Well, this concludes a 20-year experiment.  You’re now free to go.”  For some reason, this struck me as hysterically funny.  I had always thought my second husband (and first) had “control issues.”  But I thought I was laughing (cynically) for all the women in the world, especially of generations before ours, depicting these controlling men in an exaggerated manner.  My husband asked coldly, “What are you saying?”  I was disappointed he had taken it personally, but later it gave me chills.

We had always remembered the second time we met, but I could never remember the first time.  Whenever I had asked him and expressed such curiosity that we knew it was our second meeting, and there was a sense that we’d planned to meet the second time, I asked more than once, “Isn’t it strange that we can’t remember our first meeting?”  Instead of agreeing this was curious, he always seemed irritated and changed the subject abruptly, never sharing my intrigue.  Today, I believe he was another of my controllers, perhaps controlled himself.

My first husband was born on a naval base (Navy also deeply involved in mind control) to a mother who had spent a bit of time in mental hospitals, which were notoriously used for mind control.  So he may have been a subject as well as her.

My dad was in the Navy and never answered me when I asked about his time there, and so I quit asking.

Twice when I was a child, I’d had an experience of echolalia – where voices in one’s head echo back one’s thoughts, only these voices were screaming back at me; it was extremely upsetting, but I only tried once to tell anyone.  I quietly told my father one evening, “Dad, sometimes I think I’m going crazy.”  He ignored me.

One summer, we went on vacation to the Chiricahua Mountains, near where I would one day build my hermitage.  I was a teenager, but I have no memories of the time there.  One of the other parents told me that I was directing the other kids in plays with scenes from the Wizard of Oz.  I have absolutely no memory of this.

In recent years, I have experienced a number of creepy events of feeling someone has entered my house and done something to me after having written about my mind control experiences.  Following a friend’s advice, I purchased a “portable door lock,” and planned to install it every night.  Two days later, though, I found it broken the same day that I woke with a bloody Taser burn on my forearm, lying in a bed of cold urine, feeling like I had the flu, hardly able to drag myself out of bed, though I recovered in a couple of days and never really had the flu, and felt terrible for days.

Another day, I attended an art opening and was having a wonderful time not only looking at the art but visiting with friends.  Toward the end of the opening, I had been looking at the last piece of art and turned to realized there were only two other people in the gallery.  One was a male friend with whom I have a collegial friendship, and he was talking to a woman I didn’t recognize.  They were standing between me and the table where I needed to return my wine glass, so I walked toward them, intended to briefly say hi and pass by, when suddenly my body began to do a walk that I have no idea how to do:  it was a seductive walk, which would have embarrassed me enough, but it was greatly exaggerated, and the two people looked at me with eyebrows raised, and even though I was horrified, I couldn’t stop it until after I’d taken a few steps.  My brain went into hyper-drive, terrified that someone seemed to have control over my body to make me do something I really don’t knowhow to do – in this conscious mind anyway.  I don’t know who that woman was, and I wonder if she was a controller.

Another time, I attended a groundbreaking event that a friend had raised funds for and was being introduced to various people by my partner, who’s been in town longer than me and been more social as well.  One of those people was a psychiatrist in a director position.  I missed his name, so I asked it again, and he mumbled, put down his sunglasses and looked over my partner’s shoulder, as if to get away.  It was crowded, and he didn’t move fast enough, so I told him that his name tag was turned over, and asked again his name.  My partner then flipped over the man’s name tag, and I read his name aloud.  With that, he looked extremely upset, and pushed past us and away.  I made a silly comment and forgot about it for a while.

After the event, I went to teach an English class, and when I got home, I got sick to my stomach and began crying uncontrollably. I suddenly realized how odd his behavior had been and it made sense then that, as a mind control subject, there must be someone in town in charge of my control, and as a high-level psychiatric director, it is most likely him, as he had done everything he could to keep me from remembering him, including putting on his sunglasses, reversing his name tag, ignoring my request to tell me his name, and finally fleeing.

Whatever I’ve done as a mind control subject, I’m not supposed to know, and don’t know, but these scraps have come through.  

As we age, as the brain tissue literally breaks down and memory breaks down, and so do our blocks to memory and our programming.  When my grandmother was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, when she could still speak, my mother came home from visiting her one day, bemoaning the horrors of this disease.  “It’s terrible, it’s just terrible, the things that she is saying.”  “Like what?” I asked.  “Horrible, horrible,” she said, “I will never speak a word of them to anyone!”  I suspect that my grandmother’s memories of mind control were breaking through and she was trying to tell my mom about it, and my mother didn’t want to hear.

Over these last few years, I’ve had vague concerns that I might have been controlled to do something, but I haven’t been sure.  I do know that I have done a tremendous amount of healing, which I’ll write about in a later blog.  I hope and pray that because I have done so much healing, that the controllers have given up on me.  It seems that they have, as the evidence of their activities in my life, so common before, has ceased, for which I’m very grateful.  And my life is becoming productive again.

There are probably more memories, but these are what I can recall easily without dragging out my journals and book.  I’ll add more later, if I remember them, in the Comments or another blog.

In a later blog, I’ll talk about healing in detail.

Next:  An Overview of “Aliens” in my Life.

Overcoming Challenges to Telling the Whole Truth

I envy people whose stories are simpler than mine, perhaps involving just one sort of alien – especially a helpful sort who conveys spiritual wisdom and encouragement.  That would be very nice.

I’m fortunate to have also had those sorts of positive “alien” experiences, and to also have had profound spiritual experiences since early childhood.  For those I’m very grateful, and I doubt I’d be here today if I hadn’t had them.

The biggest complicating factor in understanding my own story is that I was also a mind control subject in my childhood, and I’ve experienced what seems to be ongoing interference by mind controllers in my life up into fairly recent years.

This problem has a few parts:

1) How can I describe the relationship between my alien, spiritual, and mind control experiences when the culture lumps all “aliens” together?  Clearly, we need to acknowledge the wide variety of aliens, some working for our good, and others for our subjection, and then acknowledge that mind control – often called “government” mind control – is almost certainly a collaboration between certain aliens and “above-top-secret” levels of government.

Obviously, all our terms need to be defined carefully before we can begin to communicate effectively.  To do this, one can begin with the work of Michael Salla, which seems quite well-researched and credible to me.  It’s odd that I’ve had a strong resistance to passing on anyone else’s work without researching it myself, even though I’m not an academic researcher who needs to impose these parameters on my work.  (Have I, a mystic at heart, been mind controlled to resist getting further in my own understanding with these strict parameters, when I might have simply said, “It resonates,” and leave it at that?)  In any case, up until now, I’ve told myself that I really didn’t know for certain, and therefore I couldn’t write about this – very disempowering maybe mind control keeping me silent in recent years.

2) Acknowledging that there are aliens working for our positive evolution and others working for our subjection, it’s terribly frightening, humiliating, and, maybe to some people, discrediting for me to say I’ve been messed with seriously by the controlling ones.  This being the case, will anyone want to listen to me?

3) Sometimes it seems the controllers have interfered in my Internet communications with people important to me.  If they can do that, what’s the point of writing at all?

4) Also, being that they’ve broken into my house and physically accosted me in terrible ways (the worst a Taser attack leaving a serious burn on my arm, and my body and spirit severely weakened for days) after some of my writing, am I courageous enough to try again?

5) Assuming I will overcome all the above, the most important thing I wan to communicate is that we can overcome everything in right relationship with our spiritual help and with the good aliens – but am I doing that well enough?

I am humbly on this spiritual path, as Whitley Strieber says, “On the path and off the path – that’s the Path” – but is it good enough?  Do I have a “right” to talk at this point?  Must I be stronger, or will I get stronger as I walk the walk?

6) Accepting this calling, I finally return to the heart of my issues:  To define the grand picture of “aliens,” helpful and controlling, Spiritual beings, and the above-top-secret governmental experimenters in mind control – and their relationships with each other and mine with them.

It’s a sometimes-frightening story.  It’s amazing to me the number of grown men (not women, interestingly) who tell me, “I couldn’t finish your book, because it’s too frightening.”  I don’t want to scare people, and I don’t want to pretend everything’s okay.  I’ve done both, and neither feels fully honest.

To tell the full story truthfully, I need to write a very long book (like Niara Isley’s), but I was trained to write news – briefly, succinctly, only the facts, little back-story.  People have called my writing “Hemingway-esque.”  I wrote my straightforward book, RattleSnake Fire: a memoir of extra-dimensional experience, refusing to elaborate much on my conclusions, letting the readers draw what they would.  Many respectable people have praised the book, but I really need to tell a whole lot more, and so I haven’t marketed my book for years, and I quit doing media interviews also years ago.

So this is where I am today:  ready to acknowledge the challenges, move past them, and lay out my experiences with all those connections between me and Spirit, “aliens” of different sorts, and mind control.

Essays coming.

Thanks for staying in touch.

7 1/2 years since my hermitage

rock creek houseIt’s been 7 1/2 years since I left my 7-year hermitage on the western slope of the Chiricahua Mountains in southeastern Arizona and moved to the town of Silver City, New Mexico, to recreate my life.

I’d been experiencing bizarre, confusing, and sublime events for years, some seeming like alien and UFO contact, some that felt shamanic and promising, and others that seemed to involve government agents who could immobilize me and leave marks on my body that terrified me with my helplessness.

I’d been drawn in different directions:  to bravely face the Mystery, strengthen my spirit, and open myself to teachings from the Unknown, and alternately cower in fear and even consider killing myself rather than let some unknown agents use me against my will.

Ultimately, I’d become afraid I was “a sitting duck” out there in the country alone, so I left the home I’d lovingly crafted over all those years out of straw, mud, and stone in natural shapes, and returned to society in rectangles of space and time, seeking new experiences to help me understand.

One of the first things I did was look for a UFO/alien conference that might frame my questions in terms of spiritual awakening.  I was thrilled to find this very conference was taking place within weeks of being paid for selling my home – and the conference was in Hawaii, with extra events available for those who wanted to swim with dolphins and discuss experiences – for ten days! – with others who believed in the spiritual potential of understanding the UFO/alien connection.

There is no unanimous theory among this subset of people experiencing what has been called “alien.”  Some seem to me to be terribly naive, others I distrust as manipulators, and liars, masquerading as exactly opposite of who they profess to be.

Of course, I’ve also considered that I could be paranoid.  And, alternately, that I could be naively hopeful myself, and my safety might lie in taking my fears more seriously.  So many conflicting theories; so many possible contexts in which to reevaluate my scores of experiences over my lifetime; so difficult, at times, to know what to believe about my own mind.

But I’ve tried:  I meditated.  I was hypnotized.  I prayed.  I did ritual.  I talked with others.  I attended shamanic conferences and events.  I refused to read books on the subject in order to keep my perceptions pure and untainted.  Then one day I decided to read books to compare my experiences with others’.  And I ignored the stuff, testing the theory that it was all in my head, and I could make it go away if I gave it less energy.  I tried to live a normal life.

But animals and even plants kept communicating.  I saw things.  I participated in healings.  I tested theories, and other people played out the results.

I kept records of my memories and anomalous events.  I studied and collated those events; then I went for years without looking at them, to frame them against the “normal world.”  I exercised my rational mind to assure myself that I had looked at these experiences from every vantage point possible.  And I worked to plant myself humbly within the mundane world for “grounding” and waited patiently for the big picture to come into view.

Ultimately, I accepted that I’d been invited by multi-dimensional beings to expand my consciousness and see more than the limited dimensions of this mundane world.

Eventually I traveled distances to talk to others who’d experienced events similar to mine.

I became a certified Transpersonal Hypnotherapist™.

I prayed for a teacher to lead me, and none came.  Or maybe many came.

For awhile I partnered with a Native American man who’d been invited by his grandfather, a Tewa medicine man, to learn the practices of a shaman.  He had accepted the training, then chose the option to not go forward and left the training.  It was a comfort to have affirmed the truism that the shaman’s is not an easy path, is indeed hazardous, and must be undertaken with clear sight, and is not for everyone.

It’s okay to say, This is not for me – so it’s said, but it seems that the spirits sometimes insist.

I wondered why I had found myself invited in the first place.

Was I like the man in the medieval woodcut peeking under the veil to see the many layers of reality?  Or was I failing my destiny for having not taken up the challenge with my total heart and soul?

Or was it more mundane than that?  Had I simply been taken as a child by government mind-controllers (evil demons or their human minions?) whose programming had exposed me to multi-dimensional reality, of which I was not developed spiritually enough to comprehend, so it was right for me to pull back from experiences I couldn’t yet negotiate safely?

I spent years in the mental tug of war, pulled between spiritual desire and utter terror of those who seemed able to enter my home at any time and leave me sick with mysterious wounds – or I found a tenuous balance between those ideas, which I tried to maintain, but never for long.

I certainly couldn’t focus too seriously on making a living, developing a new career, impressing clients that I really cared about their events I was hired to plan.  There were days when I laid in bed and wondered what options did I have to protect myself beside suicide.

I knew others who hosted weekly or monthly groups for “experiencers,” and I tried the same, showing movies and hosting discussions that I hoped would help me find others with whom I could share more honestly the full range of my experiences, but too often my groups attracted people whom I didn’t fully trust.  I spent thousands of dollars I couldn’t afford and gave myself the reputation in this new community as – I can only guess – another weird person with weird ideas.

I continued to experience strange intrusions in my life.  More than once I woke up to discover perfect (surgically-created?) half-spherical “scoops” removed from my right finger, left scapula, and when I posted about that, a line of scoops across my anus.  Another time, I suffered for more than a day with extreme fear and nausea after waking on a urine-soaked mattress with a Taser-burn on my right forearm.  Once I drove into a strange fog on a remote section of highway, experienced a flood of strange sensations as my perceptions of time, space, sound, and visuals failed to correspond with each other, ending with the sight of the Continental Divide sign (at the top of the mountain ridge, of course) approaching me from below.  And that is just one of three weird highway events.

Today, I do not have a conceptual framework I’m willing to share, except vaguely.  I believe the larger framework, the larger Realty, is simply beyond what we humans have language for, or at least beyond what English-speaking Americans have language for.  Like all wise ones have said.  We see through a glass darkly.  The Tao that can be spoken is not the Tao.  Reality is far bigger and more complex than our words.

Since childhood, many of us have been told that spiritual realities are not real, and most of us have been forced into compulsory eduction, in which we’re forced to spend our days focused on the material world, and forced to see it the way our teachers tell us it is.  Eventually, we forget how to perceive other realities, all the other dimensions and wavelengths of energy beyond the narrow bands of human-perceived light and human-perceived sound.  And there’s so much more.  And then we interpret those narrow bands of vibrational information according to the rules that the teachers relay to us, and only decades later we learn that those rules are in no way certain, but our minds have been trained to work within their limits.

I admit:  so much of this game feels “evil” in every sense of the word:  So much of it is contrary to Life.  The rules of economics, for one example, murder countless people, decimate nations, and destroy the health of the very planet we depend on for all life.

Still, it seems wrong to call all this death “evil,” and it’s my garden that gives me pause in using that word.  Underneath the most lovely rose – and everything else alive in the garden – is a mix of life and death at its darkest complexity.

I’m no longer sure the terms “Evil” and “Good” hold significant meaning.  While Christians and other faiths find great importance in these concepts, I have begun to doubt them.

In my garden, for example, death is an essential component of life.  At the roots of the rose are an infinite number of dead things.  All the plants grow because they are fed with dead, dying, and rotting things.  The volvox, reputedly the first sexually-reproducing life form on Earth, requires – and probably introduced the requirement for – death eventually of all sexually-reproducing life.

Children commonly misinterpret the well-intentioned actions of their parents as “mean” and only decades later understand the need for those actions.

Children and adults seem to need to hurt themselves in order to learn about the consequences of our actions.  Simple things like learning to be conscious and pick up our feet are only learned by tripping and falling down.

Shamans and healers commonly recount terrifying ordeals in alternate realities that they must experience in order to learn their skills.

Many adults credit very tough life experiences for their maturity and even their greatest qualities.

Social movements gain momentum by sacrifices, sometimes human ones.

Et cetera.  So I conclude that just because I have physical scars and mental ones does not mean that I have been treated cruelly by evil beings.  It may simply be Life.  Or even my Creator.  I don’t know.

But I do know this:  I have become less afraid and less resentful.  And less certain that our Creator or “God” or “the gods” are necessarily “kind” or “evil” according to our way of judging.

I perceive a lot of truth in all the religions of the world, and most philosophies.  I also perceive a lot of lies and manipulation in religion and politics, education/academia, media/entertainment/news, society, etc.  But I feel less judgement toward it, less concerned with condemning it, more ready to compare our society to that of ants:  just getting their job done, maybe enslaving smaller ants if they themselves are large.

Even my sweet cat, Peaches, is a killer and tormentor of helpless lizards, birds, and mice.

Finally, the condemnation directed so commonly toward aliens, or human mind controllers, or alien mind-controllers, for the ways they treat their human subjects is no different from the ways we humans treat the other living beings around us.  I can imagine my indignation if I was treated the way I treat my cat – which I think is excellent:  fed high-end “pet” food, with little variety (a lot for a cat, I think, but far less than I give myself), perhaps missing vital nutrients (how can I know for sure?), confinement, and more.  And the way other humans treat animals in their homes, labs, and ranches – the aliens probably compare quite well to many human scientists.  And so I feel silly getting too upset about the things that I have experienced.

(And I wonder if we humans might be treated better if we treated our animals better?  As above, so below?  As below, so above?)

I conclude that I have really suffered little.  I’ve been afraid mostly, and most of my fear was around strange perceptions and the loneliness of having so little social support.  And memories of events that might still terrorize me but are long past.

Ultimately, those discomforts have done something good for me.  Simply, I now know (by experience, not by theory) that we live in a multi-dimensional universe, and I am a multi-dimensional being with an existence far beyond this one.  I know that I have assistance on other realms.  And more, but this is enough to share now.

In short:  Don’t get stuck in fear.  Don’t get stuck in black and white.  Be true to yourself.  Look inside.  And look beyond this world.  Don’t get stuck  in the limiting mindset of this culture.  Dream.  Connect to your soul family.  Be your best self.  Have faith.

Mayan elder advice for these days

Just watched a video featuring Mayan elders discussing the 2012 prophesies.

Even though I enjoy acting as though I believe something dramatic will happen, maybe even on the 21st, I am also ready for positive change to be gradual and take work.

After all, 2012 is the mid-point of a prophesied 40-year period of change.  So, the transformation could be gradual over these 40 years, of which we’re now crossing the center, or it may be dramatic.  We don’t know.

The Mayan elders say it could be either – depending on our actions.

The most important actions the elders urge us to take are 1) spiritual devotion, 2) avoiding fear, anger, and other sorts of negativity, which escalate upon themselves, 3) be responsible to our missions for having been born, whether the work is large or small, and 4) work to correct the mistreatment of the Earth and all Life.

Those who’ve experienced mind control or mysterious injuries in the night or in amnesic episodes might have trouble with the second point, avoiding fear.  I certainly have.

But I realize now that even these fears can be “reframed.”

It’s been a little over two years since the last particularly difficult episode in my life (see 18 months of Weirdness), and in that time I’ve worked fairly hard to put it all in perspective.

I still don’t know who did those things to me, don’t know the purpose, or the ultimate meaning.  But that doesn’t mean I have to be suicidally terrified of it.  And terror doesn’t serve me.  So, awhile back, I decided to just not be afraid; it wasn’t getting me anywhere.

And life has gotten amazingly better.  I feel as good as I’ve ever felt in my life, though I still have a hard time holding onto a sense of time unless I write things down, which I do.   And sometimes I have a deep-gut feeling that something happened in the night, or I have a scoop of flesh missing from somewhere and have no idea when it happened, but I don’t get afraid, or haven’t recently.  And this has made a profoundly powerful change in my life.

I’ve started thinking of these mystery energies as similar to bothersome mosquitos, or viruses, or bacteria, or other invisible tormentors or parasites that are good to avoid:  They’re real, not imaginary.  They’re to be avoided.  But they’re not evil.

If we can learn to protect ourselves from them, then we will have evolved.  Same as when we evolve to understand and protect ourselves from other bothersome or deadly threats.

They probably do have an “agenda,” but so do viruses.  Just because we don’t understand it doesn’t mean we should accept the common terrifying explanations given which make us want to commit suicide over the fact that we’ve been attacked and don’t understand.  It’s self-defeating.

Better to respond like a warrior.  Look, gather resources, learn.

Now when something happens, I think, “Oh, there’s something I don’t understand again,” and don’t give it much more attention than that.  I try to remember to log the events in my journal, hoping to eventually to see a pattern and understand.  Meantime, I keep an open mind.  In short:  No fear.

I’ve even been trying to work with the “All is Good” philosophy, seeing if I can stretch it to include mind control, torture, the child sex industry, which, philosophically seems impossible.  Actually, it’s my cynical antagonism toward religion which brings me here, but I try to be fair and try it out:  The only argument I could posit results in this question:  Is it possible that these horrors are the only ways in which we humans, individually, collectively, spiritually, can learn certain lessons for our evolution?  Is it possible that, in this way, all this horror is good?  I don’t know.

Maybe I only entertain such ideas because otherwise the things would be too frightening for me to endure.  But the fact is that I do feel like an incredibly strong individual, and I think a lot of my strength has come from what I’ve endured.  Does that make the horror good?

I also believe that my fractured mind has actually multiplied my capacity for mental work.

And leaving my body so often as a child, because of torture, has contributed to my ability to see in other dimensions more readily.

So if these horrors could have what we’d call these positive “side effects,” and I’m willing to philosophically allow that I might not know what is a side effect compared to a main effect, maybe All is Good.

I don’t know.  But this philosophical game, allowing me to drop my fear, helps me stay in the big Game.

We don’t understand this multi-dimensional world, but it’s changing swiftly.  And more and more people are beginning to admit to experiencing the world differently, and one day, maybe soon, we won’t be so alone with what we’ve seen.

Meantime, I reserve judgement.  I admit I don’t know what’s happening.  But I have feelings about it – good ones, rather than the fear that used to overtake me.

I remember images I’ve seen – of spiritual warriors like Gandalf , Jason with Medea, or archangels, fighting calmly, with focus, giving no fear energy to the dangers which are very real and often beyond the understanding of others.  Willing to look the challenge squarely in the eye, not denying, not fearing, but responding with whatever power they have.

I feel as though, dropping fear, I’ve made a major step forward in my soul’s training.

Fear doesn’t serve us except in an instant.  Beyond that, it’s toxic.

So:  No fear.  Be responsible.  Develop your spiritual practice.  Respect the Earth and all life.

We can do that.

And play our roles in healing this mess.

Blessings, All.

An Alien Transmission?

026349-firey-orange-jelly-icon-culture-space-alien1-sc37A Shocking Message

June 27, 2012 – written

July 17, 2012 – minimally edited and posted

Background:  This continues to be a wonderful year, probably the most wonderful of my life.  Greg and I have eaten the most delicious, nutritious food of either of our lives, home-made together with joy.  We have gardened, enjoyed the night sky, sung and performed successfully, and recently harvested cherries off a small tree in the yard and the first tomatoes of the season – a wonderful, simple life.  I’ve often said – referring to a theory that the Earth is moving into an energy field that will separate people into various futures “by vibration” – that he and I have entered “the heaven stream.”  Sure, I would love it if my neck and back hadn’t been “out of whack” off and on since mid-April, but I’m hoping my physical therapy will take care of that.  So that’s the very positive context for this very weird event and – to me – shocking message I was given.

(I also want to remind readers that the multi-dimensional world is very well confirmed by science; and the vast populations of other-dimensional beings is well documented by ancient texts, religion, “mythology,” and folklore of every culture.  It is only our modern American culture which makes perceiving these realities difficult.  I know I’d have my inner and outer worlds better integrated if I lived in a less “civilized” tribe.)

In a way, this message shouldn’t be shocking to me, as I’ve entertained versions of this for years, and others have told similar stories.  Still, I’m blown away to have heard it so clearly and powerfully, written it down, and recently felt called to post it.  So, it is with a degree of discomfort that I follow through, trusting that it’s either true and useful to my readers, or will be useful to help us all understand eventually the nature of lies being fed to us by someone.  You decide what this is:

June 22, 2012:  Bad sleep the previous night, appearance of an odd bruise (photographed – and another photographed a few days earlier), and note in my journal, “Seems like stuff is happening” – my jargon for apparently other-dimensional intrusions in my life.

That evening, I was extremely tired, so I told Greg when we began to practice some of our music that as soon as the urge hit, I was going straight to bed.  He promised to help by being as quiet as he could.  When I retired to sleep at 8:30, he went outside to play his guitar and sing quietly in the dusk, fading light, and dark – til 10 pm.

Unable to sleep 

I found myself adjusting and readjusting the covers, my pillow, and my body’s position for a minute or two, wondering why I was now so filled with energy.  (Strange, but not uncommon when “things” happen.)

THE VISION:  Event 1 – A Shadow 

Suddenly I realized that I wasn’t feeling centered on my pillow – because my energy body seemed not to be centered in my physical body – it  seemed offset to the left by about four inches!

As I tried to psychically pull myself together, I realized that the energy on my side was shadowy.  Later, I’d wonder if the shadowy thing had been an intruder entering or a wounded part of me ready to leave, but at the time, I only perceived that it didn’t have much will to stay, so I wordlessly, psychically lifted it off, quite easily, gathered it up, and handed it off to angelic helpers.  This seemed to take less than one minute, perhaps only seconds.

Event 2 – A Small, Robotic-like Being

Returning my perceptions to my body, intending to focus on relaxation, I next perceived an energetic little robot-like being the size of a pencil eraser, like a tin can in appearance with wiry arms and legs, bouncing around inside me chaotically.

Surprised, but able to turn to “shamanic” training to keep my cool, I swept him up rather easily and handed him off too.  What did he represent??  I hadn’t the faintest idea.  This, too, lasted less than one minute, perhaps only seconds.

026349-firey-orange-jelly-icon-culture-space-alien1-sc37Event 3 – A LIttle, Orange, Alien-headed Stick Figure

Hoping that my energy would then be clear and I could go to sleep, I suddenly “saw” inside my head another tiny being perched in the center, midway between my ears, leaning over an orange bar that spanned the space between my inner ears!

My description of his appearance should not be taken literally, as a human brain acculturated to the “normalcies” of this Earth, cannot easily or clearly perceive things in other realms without “translating” them into more familiar terms matching this reality.  This is why Native American prophets could only describe huge, silver flying “birds” (we now know as planes) and “giant spiderwebs” crossing the continent (phone and electrical wires).  

Beyond the perceptual and linguist problem of translating visions of technology across hundreds of years, the problem of perceiving and describing experiences translated across different dimensions, of course, results in even greater distortions.  

So please take my description with a few generous shakes of salt; I sense that my brain was overwhelmed, simply not hardwired to translate this sort of thing to contemporary American concepts, and needed to simplify – or else the being/s I spoke with created a very simple (and to my rational mind an embarrassingly simple) visual image to hold my attention.

In any case, I “saw” a tiny, half-inch high, stereotypically large-eyed, pointy-chinned “alien”-headed being with a stick-figure, primary orange in color – inside my head.  My attention was fixed for what seemed like a couple of minutes, but was apparently engaged for much longer.

My rational mind immediately took stock:  This was not my imagination.  I’d been wide awake and still felt very much awake.  My body and bed still felt very much there and related to each other tangibly.  And everything was far too clear and events were moving way too fast and in directions I could never have anticipated or imagined.  It did not feel like a dream, so I concluded I was having another extra-dimensional experience, which I sometimes called shamanic.  

I was very surprised, even dismayed, by the cliche image, but it felt very compelling, not fearsome, so I let go this socially-driven assessment (of cliches and embarrassment) and turned my attention to it.  (This rationally checking in took about two seconds, I’d guess.)

(Total perceived time since I lay down [I made notes about the experience, including my perceptions of time, immediately after the full experience]:  about 4 minutes.)

The being looked directly at me and began communicating intently, at least partly in words (or else my brain translated his thoughts placed directly in my head).

At major junctures, he seemed to refer briefly to ideas I’d already entertained and then built on them.

The gist of his message was this:  Those ideas you’ve been entertaining are right:  Humans are a flawed design, but don’t feel bad about it, because so is everything.  

Everything evolves and gets better.  Nearly everything on your plane of life “goes extinct” in its various forms eventually.

It’s not a tragedy because everything also continues to live.  It’s all how you look at it.

The genetics still exists.  For instance, we can recreate the mammoth if we want.  And some humans will survive, just not all of you as individuals.

The ending of an era is not a cause for grief.  It’s just a fact of evolution.  We’ll keep the best of you and recycle the rest.

There are a few reasons for this.  One, the Earth needs to heal from the damage you’ve caused, just like a garden needs to have its spent plants turned under to replenish the soil.  It’s not so much a time for grief, but for rest and renewal.

But it’s a little more urgent than that.  The second reason for the transition is that your race is endangering not just life on Earth, but the stability of many adjacent dimensions with many other beings in them.  We’ve done damage control around your war-making since the 1940s, but for the most part your race continues to get more destructive and dangerous.  So, it’s a matter of self-protection on our part.

Third, genetic selection is our work.

Your race, as a whole, is clearly too violent and greedy, driven by excessive emotions.  We’ve sent prophets to try to teach you to control your flaws, and we’ve even made genetic changes over the eons, but the emotional factors keep re-emerging and do a lot of damage.

The result of this violence of one human against another is that the majority of individuals are starving, poisoned, or psychologically damaged and are not healthy.

Many of you think the destruction can and should be prevented by “god” or “aliens,” but cycles of destruction and new creation are a fact of life on Earth.  They have been described and foretold in every culture and time, so it should be understood.  It only comes as a surprise to some because your culture relegated these stories to barely-tolerated “mythologies” which few have taken seriously.

No one will “burn in hell.”  All will be recycled, just as all life on Earth has always been.

Some souls will return to the Creator-Mother-Father-Source to emerge in new forms, while others with enough soul integrity will evolve as some manifestation of their current selves – according to the integrity of their souls.  This is not quite a Judgement Day as depicted by many religions, but simply a sorting out of what things are – the wheat separated from the tares, to use Christian imagery.

Some of your genetics will evolve.  Those whose genetics have allowed them to live without excess greed or violence may continue to evolve in human-like bodies, some adapted to realms beyond Earth.

In addition, many of you have already been having your genetic material harvested (in activities you’ve called “abductions”) throughout your lives, which means that you have been chosen as genetic forebears of entire new races – though most of you have been unaware of it.

While we admire and have selected you for your genetics, many of you have objected to being treated like “breeding stock,” as if that’s a lowly thing, to be compared to cattle.  This betrays your arrogance that has been part of the human problem.  “All is God,” as many have said, including cattle, and you.  It has been unfortunate that most of your leaders and teachers haven’t respected the whole of Creation and so you’ve looked down on and mistreated cattle.

Some of you also haven’t liked being kept amnesic when we took you to harvest sperm and eggs, but ours was a large operation, and many of those who have written critically about their treatment have not understood that when we did try to explain our program to a few humans, they were often very upset by the information, as it didn’t fit into their existing reality.  Occasionally, when some human seemed able to handle the information, we dropped the amnesia bit by bit and shared as much as the person could handle.  Often, it wasn’t much.  And then when the information was accepted, if the person tried to share it, he or she was usually socially ostracized and suffered for that.  So it never seemed worth indulging human curiosity.  We’re sorry you took offense.

So while some of your progeny will survive as humans, a vaster number will be hybrid human-aliens, as you say, though this word alien is a major misconception.

The human has been a hybrid alien for a very long time.  And we are all hybrids, from almost the beginning of time.  So this hybrid program is not an affront to your sovereignty, as some would say.  This is simply a continuing process of evolution.  Life continues on as it always has.  And all life is “sacred”:  the worm, the cattle, the human, we overseers (your creators in a sense), and your hybrid progeny.

Apocalypse, you know, means revealing or unveiling – which is coming soon for everyone.  Apocalypse does not mean catastrophe, but catastrophe will cause the apocalypse or time of seeing.  People will require the “catastrophe” to wake to the larger reality of their existence.  Chaos has always evolved those with more potential.  This is because people can’t see or act when they are too comfortable or uncomfortable.

On your planet, the greed-inducing and fear-inducing rulers kept their populations in one of these states at all times, through economic pressures and rewards, but also by using other tools of control:  entertainment, laws, prisons, education, chemicals, etc.  For instance, most of the population, stressed economically into a state of bad health, is unable to respond when they sense a larger reality, and they generally chose to hypnotize themselves into quiet passivity.  Others chose not to respond, distracted by the luxury of so many entertainments.  Occasionally, when the balance of control mechanisms shifts enough to allow a population to rebel, rulers respond with prison and various tortures which drive the people back into silence.

Obviously, it’s not a pretty picture.  It’s been directed by beings – not humans, but using human rulers as functionaries – who use human tendency to violence and are corrupting the potential of the human race, and thereby endangering dimensions beyond this Earth plane.  It’s time for us to intervene.

For this reason, as we have explained to your “experiencers” or “abductees” many times, we have every right to protect ourselves and to remove our selected genetic stock and other planetary resources from the Earth before the catalyzing event.  And it’s “for your own good,” though we know many will indignantly reject this.  The alternative of protecting or rescuing the current regime, given that so few humans are given the opportunity to live meaningful lives and the whole planet and other dimensions are threatened, is simply not feasible.  It’s time to clear the slate – the time of “harvest,” as Yeshua called it.

This message, not word-for-word, but delivered concept-by-concept, seemed to last just a few minutes at most.

Then I saw between my inner ears the orange bar the alien stood behind had four tabs rising up along its uppermost surface, evenly spaced across it.  They were not fixed, as the tiny being pressed one tab forward, then another and another, till all four lay horizontally, top edges aimed toward my view.

Ears ringing

When the fourth tab lay down, the ringing in my ears, which I’ve endured almost non-stop since November 2010, rose quickly to a volume just below my threshold of tolerance.  With no small amount of anxiety, I immediately sought to stop it, first by “interior” action.  But before I could act, I saw a spot in the tissue of my brain seeming to melt into a small crater.

My reaction to this is interesting to me now.  On a rational level, I was shocked:  a hole in the brain is not considered a good thing.  On the other hand, I also know that the brain can heal, and when an old psychic wound dissolves, it can be healing, releasing lifelong phobias, hatreds, or other dysfunctionalities.  I’ve also experienced my own “splits” heal as I’ve aged and then read theories that this comes (counter-intuitively) with natural aging deterioration.  I also have a friend whose cruel father became gentle and sweet after a stoke.  So part of me withheld judgement and simply watched in interest – after all, I was experiencing this entire vision non-judgmentally as, maybe, simply a metaphor, maybe a lie, best to take calmly, not fearfully.  Finally, I’ve also known that my mind has been the receptacle for my programming, and thought that perhaps that melting away might be of some of that.  And I’ve been having my “mind blown” for years, often resulting in broader visions of reality.

Besides, I couldn’t think rationally about anything because the ringing in my ears demanded  attention.  I began to pray and quickly felt myself “outgunned.”  Other actions crossed my mind in an instant:  energy work, shamanic ritual, sitting up to meditate and pray.  But only one idea seemed hopeful in that moment:  a hypnotherapy recording I had for relaxation and sleep.

I had just that week attempted to synchronize the recordings (mostly music) on my computer with my iPhone, and I hoped that a specific recording for sleep was on my phone.  In the past year, I’d used an iPod – now not functioning – many nights for getting to sleep, plugging it into small speakers that reached to both ends of my pillow, so that part of the set-up was still in place; I just didn’t know if this piece of sleep help had made it to the iPhone.  I retrieved it, turned it on, discovered my desired recording was not there, but there were four other hypnotherapy recordings to choose from.  Three were for waking states which I didn’t want.  Only one was a relaxation recording – but it was part of a Monroe Institute sales presentation I’d never listened to fully, afraid that it might contain mind control programming!

Having avoided recordings like these for years, despite intense interest in all they promised, I was now faced with a dilemma:  to trust or not to trust.  The ringing in my ears continued at such a pitch that I was very close to panic.  Was I being driven to chose this recording in order to program me?  Or would this calm me?  I hardly felt I had a choice.  I plugged it in (as I heard Greg enter and begin rummaging in the kitchen) and lay back on my pillow, melting into a submissive desire for anything to give me relief from the high-pitch noise.

I thought I’d skip past the sales part as soon as I’d gotten comfortable, but as soon as I’d done that, I found the recording so relaxing that I didn’t want to lift my head and search for the transition point in the recording.  Besides, the sales talk was done respectfully and seemed interesting.  I lay there, thinking it mildly humorous that I was listening to a sales pitch at a time like this, smelling popcorn wafting in from the next room, especially when, for at least a decade, I’ve avoided, for fear of subliminal programming from exactly such recordings as this.  I was fully aware, that I might now be being healed, comforted, and relaxed for sleep, or programmed – but felt unable to chose otherwise.

As much as I wanted to be a strong warrior, it seemed impossible not to submit.  Ralph Blum, in his Book of Runes, described “timely retreat” and submission as a skill of the spiritual warrior, and I accepted that this must be a time for it now.  I also knew that while Geronimo chose to fight to the death, and Cochise chose to surrender, both leaders had been outgunned.  Cochise had just accepted it sooner.  I felt like Cochise, sad, but accepting.

My body relaxed and I noticed the sales pitch had come to an end.  I had no idea when the high pitch had ended.  Interesting, soothing sounds from the recording rolled into and out of my awareness in waves, until I lost consciousness or slept – it seemed, within twenty seconds (the recording, though, actually played for about ten minutes).  I was out for the night.

The next morning I woke up refreshed and feeling wonderful.  

I told Greg all I could remember before writing it down, and he listened, unruffled.  Occasionally I tested him, asking his opinion of various aspects, hoping he didn’t think I was crazy.  He assured me that, even though he doesn’t perceive these things, he fully believes in this sort of cosmic complexity and trusts my perceptions and my intellectual self-questioning and conclusions.

Lost time

Then he mentioned having been outside, playing his guitar and singing, for an hour and a half before he came inside to make popcorn.  My perception, though, was that all that had transpired until his entrance had seemed like ten minutes.

Thoughts about my failures to respect my own shamanic perceptions

I also returned to a major concern I’ve had about myself for a few years – making me wonder and worry how many times I might be re-taught certain “shamanic” lessons, the first ones (“kindergarten” I call it) being awareness, discernment, and protection.  I’ve had the awareness for a long time but have worried (stupidly) that if I don’t have social credibility, then my efforts to write will be for naught.  I explained more about kindergarten to Greg:

“It’s dangerous to be unaware, especially if one has a propensity for slipping over the edge into other dimensions – and I do that, or get dragged there.

“The second lesson is that some beings are allies, and some must be protected against, and we have to know the difference – that is discernment.

“The third component is protection from the problem beings.

“After that, one can focus on communication with the allies, but I am not sure I’ve even begun there.  If I have, then I guess I’m amnesic for it – but that’s could just be hopeful thinking – unless my allies are keeping me amnesic for a positive purpose, which I think sometimes I understand, but again, this might just be hopeful.

“Mostly I think I’ve been a bad shamanic initiate.  Again, I’ve excused myself with the idea that being a writer and communicator means I have to make sure that no one thinks that I’m crazy, or my communicating will be all for naught.  So I’ve denied my own impulses many times, for the benefit of credibility, thinking it’ll all be worthwhile one day when I’m able to communicate across the gulfs of differing paradigms – which causes me to take these risks of forgetting my own spiritual perceptions sometimes.

“I feel as though I have always known I was taking this calculated spiritual risk, forgetting or ignoring my larger reality in the hopes I’d remember later and be better able to communicate about about it then to people who would believe me.  But maybe this has just been an excuse I told myself to feel better about neglecting the perceptions that set me apart.  And all the while I’ve been writing about not being in denial!  And the result is that I’ve risked my soul lessons in protection and discernment.  And now I don’t know the meaning of my ringing ears, implants, and night-time events of amnesia.  Did all this happen because I didn’t learn my lessons to protect myself, or would it have happened anyway?

“The bottom line is that I’ve been a reluctant “shamanic initiate” and now – I assume because of this – I don’t know what the hell’s going on.

“When the volume was turned up in my ears, I couldn’t pray it away and just ran for a recording with who-knows-what on it!”

Experiencers often talk about “alien” technology used to induce cooperation.  Perhaps no “warrior” response is possible under those conditions, except to submit.  Enough of my spiritual regrets.

Assessment of the Message

First, I suspect:  Was the message I received lies?  Told by predators to prey?  (Philosophically, I have to ask all questions.)

Or is a true description of Life and evolution?  It feels true, and I’ve thought it before.  Sometimes living beings really do have no choice but to submit and/or die.  And every hero throughout time has been described in events when they were captured or put under a spell, immobilized until rescued, and eventually they did leave this Earth plane.

So I don’t feel too bad about submitting to the event and even believing the message.

My next day was extremely productive.  My pain since mid-April, and especially the last few days, was mostly abated.  And I accomplished everything I had hoped to accomplish – and more.

Final thoughts

Many times I’ve wondered about Machaelle Small-Wright’s account (in Dancing in the Shadow of the Moon) of going back and forth, daily, to other realms, requiring lots of “body work” to handle the physical/spiritual shifts, including work to align her body, which resulted in neck and back pain.  Could that be why my back and neck hurt so badly and explain the origin of my spine problem (otherwise unknown)?

I also have to repeat how grieved I am that I keep this major aspect of my life a secret and pretend socially that it’s insignificant.  This pretense has a personal effect, and I fail to take the time to communicate with my Relations in the other dimensions with any discipline, almost as if saying: My Help knows where I am if they want to talk to me.  Way too casual and dismissive.  If I were one of my Relations, I’d be disappointed in me.

Maybe I’m somewhat afraid still, because my meditation attempts have for years been intruded upon by beings who don’t look like angels, but instead like aliens whom I want very much to avoid.  I guess that’s my excuse:  Having been invited into these trans-dimensional realities, I’ve been turned off by the beings I found there (was I only turned off because of entertainment disinformation?), and so I’ve remained just a little too ignorant to know how to assess this experience – at least with much confidence.  I do have a personal opinion, but am not willing to say for certain what it means.

Overall, this last year has been wonderful – the best year I could have designed for myself on Earth.  Nevertheless, I feel very ready to leave this planet.  I accept that the Earth is threatened by the human condition, and other-dimensional beings are threatened by it too.  And the some of those others are like gardeners, ready to plow things under, as is appropriate at the end of the season.

The amazing things that we’ve created will continue in another dimension or place:  our music and art.  And the technology was never really “ours,” but was given to us, so of course it will continue elsewhere too.

I don’t know if human futures will include going  only into other dimensions, or if some possibilities might include continuing on a peaceful Earth.  I’ve imagined this latter, hoping for it and preparing myself and others for it, but maybe it won’t be.  I have no way of saying for certain, of course.  I just keep having this feeling (not always, but sometimes) of going away soon – and feeling fine about it.  It reminds me of the flashback I had in 1999 of leaving the Pleiades:  there was a touch of melancholy, but mostly a positive anticipation of new things to come.  For most of my life I’ve imagined and wished for a different society in which sharing is the norm, and creation of good for all is the primary activity, and fear is only a moment’s reaction, disappearing as all focus on a creative resolution.  “There are more things in heaven and earth…than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”  I do believe this.  

Now it’s time for us to look and see – the meaning of apocalypse.  

Here we go….

Healing in the Balance between Denial and Obsession

“And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

Friedrich Nietzsche

Two weeks ago, I gazed for too long into Nietzsche’s abyss, and it gazed back at me.

I’d compiled a summary of my anomalous experiences of the last 18 months, and realized they contained many more events than I’d realized – so much that it was a severe shock to my psyche – and I hadn’t even remembered all the events.

Before the first week was over, I discovered a new strange bruise on my arm, which I ignored, but later it faded to two little dots, like the Taser burn dots.

…[too many old, miserable details deleted]

… the purpose of this essay:

We in healing must ride a fine balance between denial (which keeps us from awareness and healing) and obsession (which can capsize us with fear and despair).

My second point:  My deepest despair is usually followed by a break-through.

The night before our singing success, I’d prayed to be healed, and implied that if something wasn’t done, I might not believe anymore in any Help or any moral reason to keep on living under my circumstances.

In the morning, I felt more rested than I had in a long time, though “something still seems to be hovering nearby, but I’m just gonna choose not to think about it – I don’t have the energy to.”

Either my prayers were answered, or my decision to “not look” was the significant act.

One of those, or both, may have been the catalyst for the end of the weeks of horror.

Conclusion:  Learn to connect with your multi-dimensional self – which understands that Help exists in dimensions outside our normal Earthly awareness.  And learn to be aware of – without focusing on – the Dark stuff.

Mastering this, we’re ready to begin dismantling our programs.

I just discovered another excellent essay about healing on the survivorship site:  http://www.survivorship.org/resources/articles/programming.html

It also contains suggestions that reiterate what I’m saying here about “moving on,” not focusing on the Dark, along with specific work to begin the dismantling.

And here is a classic piece of work about our healing, by DC Hammond, a progressive psychologist who, in 1992, forced the APA to listen to about this stuff.  It’s practical.

Light-filled power to you!

Second Weekly Report: Prayer, Sexual Healing, and Weird MK Story

Three parts:

1)  Programming to Ignore Prayer?

2)  Sexual Healing in Progress?

3)  MK Acquaintance with Weird Story Involving Me

1) Ignoring Prayer?

I often wonder, “Is it just me (resistant to prayer and meditation), or am I struggling against programming to avoid prayer?

I assume it must be programming, because I know through experience that checking in with my Spiritual Family is very good for me.

(I broke through my last two weeks of intense struggle and pain, culminating in suicidal despair, when finally I seriously prayed.)

But afterward I had to ask:  Why do I, so often, have to get to the brink of death before I do?

Ever since I’ve known about mind control, I’ve accepted that programming is done on many levels, including the mundane, including interference with the simple desire to have a daily habit of prayer, meditation, or spiritually “checking in.”  I experience this negative program working in me often.

A voice says something like this:  “You’re already connected to your spiritual help.  They already know what you need, and sitting down for a ritual blah, blah, blah only implies that they won’t be in touch unless you go through some silly ritual.  You’re slowing your progress to act so much like a kindergartener.  Besides, nothing happens when you do.”  And other assorted untruths and half-truths.

I imagine some folks might have a program to keep them from even considering such a “stupid” thing – people who understand this is a multi-dimensional cosmos, highly populated, and yet can’t believe that some of the beings might actually be potential allies.

(If you’re one of them, please consider that the same way that aliens have been made to seem silly with cartoons, so have spiritual allies been presented with diminishing cartoon images, such as angels or “Jesus,” who has great power for me.)

What do we do about our programmed resistance?

First, I have to remember the full truth – why it is good and important to check in daily and connect with my Spiritual Allies:

– I can sense my body’s energy field and sometimes sense something out of kilter and talk to my Help about it.  The awareness alone is incredibly important, and connection to spiritual help equally so.

– I can practice energy-clearing skills.

– I can think about the highest priorities for my day and make my commitments to them.

– I can look beyond the day to my larger healing work (and other purposes for being here) and ask for guidance about how to progress.

– I feel centered, directed, and supported.

This is my experience yet again today.  Thank Goodness!

With so much at stake, though, it blows my mind that any idea can ever talk me out of it – but it does sometimes, and for weeks at a time.

I’ve prayed often for help with the resistant voice, and now I’m praying for that again.

I’ve also created a new journal, in which I’ll log my meditation/prayer experiences daily – so I can’t “forget.”

2)  Probable MK Acquaintance with Weird Story about Me

Last week, a local acquaintance, reader of this blog, and probably an MK subject, said he was beginning to remember an amnesic event a year ago that involved me, and he thought I’d want to know.

By way of protection, I had him visit with my partner present, and we videotaped the conversation with two cameras (good thing too, as one quit in the middle).

The man’s story culminated in something called an “Alien Love Bite” – as he recalls alien beings creating a one-way, heart-to-heart bond between us, which has tormented him all year, as I am not drawn to the relationship.

It was a very weird thing to hear, with many possible interpretations, any number of which could draw me in to the drama.

I chose not to be drawn in, while sympathizing with his plight and all of our isolation.  I told him that it was his spiritual work to “cut the cord” that he believes the aliens used to tie him to me, that it was not my work, though I also did a cord-cutting ceremony, just to be sure.

I didn’t mean to sound callous, but we each need to protect ourselves.  And even though isolation is sometimes terribly painful (I know), it is also possible to learn a great deal alone – sometimes more alone than with others.

3) Sexual Healing?

I had an interesting sexual experience last night, that I feel is a step toward healing.

It began by my recognizing that I’d had the first “un-shattered” orgasm that I could remember in many, many years.

My g-spot (descending bulge) was sliced from back to front and twice more (not visible here) from side to side.

My g-spot (descending bulge) was sliced from back to front and twice more (not visible here) from side to side.

Those who’ve read enough on this site know that I was ritually cut three times in my g-spot, one back to front, the other two side-to-side, cutting my g-spot into six squarish nodes.

For comparison, here's a normal g-spot. The photograph was supplied by a friend in sex education. You can see it is ribbed and round.

For comparison, here’s a normal g-spot. The photograph was supplied by a friend in sex education. You can see it is ribbed and round.

This causes my orgasms to be, usually, fragmented.  Energy gets stuck, it seems, in dead-ends.  Enough said.

Yesterday, an acquaintance (probably MK’d also) made reference to prostitutes in Las Vegas hotels performing privately for clients.  While having sex last night, I had an image of that scenario come to mind, and I mused for a moment (hardly sad anymore, just “what it is”) on the fact that I believe I was mind controlled to be used for something similar and probably was for much of my youth.

With this performing-for-others scenario in my mind for just a short while, I was surprised to have my first “natural-feeling” orgasm in many years – and thought that that was exactly the opposite of what I “should” have experienced.

Instantly, though, I had another memory:  a suspicion I’ve had for years that I fell out of favor at some point, which was the reason I was sexually punished by either the cutting I received and/or a hypnotic command that “I would never experience a good, natural orgasm again in my life, except for ‘their’ pleasure.”

This old suspicion felt immediately validated.

This was not a welcome realization by any means, but any awareness feels useful and a step toward healing, so I accept it.

I am fascinated that this unfractured orgasm happened while imagining myself young, presumably without cuts, but with my cuts existing “in reality.”  But it’s not strange when we consider that our energetic bodies may remain uncut, which I believe they do.

And this reminds me of another related experience:  Years ago, in bed before sleeping, at a time I was mourning my wounds, I heard a kind voice suggest I “touch my wounds.”  At first I took it metaphorically and just thought about them.  But the voice suggested I touch them literally.

So I did.  I reached inside and held my finger in the deepest cut, which often brings up feelings of pain and revulsion and just held my finger there while I cried for a while.

Suddenly, my finger was not in a cut, but on a spherical organ, tightly-ribbed as a g-spot normally is.  I lightly stroked my finger back and forth in amazement.  My g-spot was a tight round thing, ribbed for the first time I’d ever experienced it (too prudish in younger days), and I gasped at the realization that it had been recreated, right there and then.  It was a miracle.

Then I said, “I don’t believe it!” and my finger dropped back into the cut, and the ribbed organ disappeared.

I am so sorry I said those doubting words, as I really did – for those moments – know that I’d been healed.  But I’d lost the healing by doubting.

Still, I believe in healing.  Perhaps this exemplifies our need for witnesses in our lives to support us and say, “Yes, I experienced it too!”  Or maybe it was only meant to be temporary for some reason.

In any case, I do believe in healing, and want to encourage others to believe too, even though mine didn’t stay.  It still changed me.  I believe I can experience healing again and am in the midst of some sort of healing now.  Sometimes it just may require time, and a few steps, with our faithful participation along the way.

And sometimes healing doesn’t show (or can’t be felt) in the physical, but is there on the energetic plane – as my body seems to have been whole last night with that imagination of my youthful body, even though I was being used by others.

I’m not sure the entire meaning of the experiences I had last night, except that I know I’m becoming more aware of my programming, the torture I’ve been dealt, and the possibilities for more healing.

Everyone, keep the faith.  Keep track of your mental patterns.  Be creative in finding “work arounds.”  Believe in healing.  I believe we’ll make it.

Week One Report on New Healing Approach

No great success with my new approach, but few interesting lessons – two I believe are Most Important (near bottom).

1) Monday, woke with bruise, inside which I thought I saw two dots, but chastised myself that I was imagining things in my natural freckles.  The bruise faded by Thursday, revealing two clear dots, spaced just like the Taser of November 2010.  Are they upping my harassment because I’m posting more, hoping to shut me up?  (It hasn’t worked before.)

2) Wednesday, was given X-Ray report on my back pain:  narrowed disk space between vertebrae, with bone spurs, and displaced C-7.  The crazy thing is that in the last few years, I’ve had my C-2 out-of-whack, and even my C-1 pushed up under my occiput (skull)!  I have no one problem; it’s all random, as though I’ve been thrown around – which might match the scalp soreness.

Some medical person lately (X-ray tech?) asked me whether I’d been in some terrible accident and seemed really surprised when I told her No.

3) Wed/Thurs night, woke from dream of someone whispering something – thought it was me.  Thursday morning, woke from dream that had three parts, neat and in order (sounds like a command structure – maybe given in previous dream?); could only remember a) an emotion, b) something not an emotion, c) a desire to tell someone something.  Interesting.

I think/hope my programming is breaking through to my consciousness.  I’ve been praying for this.

That it’s all vague now is okay.  I don’t believe our situation is simple.  If the wraps come off bit by bit, that is probably for the best.

4) Woke Friday with weird and possibly promising dream.  In a vast building of gray, with people walking around like they do in airports, I was following the principal of a grade school who was trying to hide from me.  Caught up with him, cornered, just looked at him, and he cowered.

I also saw computer-type menus of “commands” in rectangular boxes – and they were all “grayed out” – which is what a menu does when the commands are inoperable!  Great dream.

Also, I knew that the top two lines were different from the commands below; the second line I knew, and the first line was probably the “folder” or title for the commands that followed.  I wonder if the second line was the passcode, and my awareness of the passcodes is working its way to consciousness!

Seems fast, but not really; it’s not here yet, fully.

However, I’ve been exhausted all day, having difficult time focusing.  Needed a nap and still dragged myself out of bed, and am still exhausted.

5) Corresponded with a lot of good folks in blog comments as well as by email – took up most of my week, it seems.  And it was good.

(Have to stop myself from diminishing the importance of this correspondence and other writing – it may be my survival, more important than my livelihood, I think we can agree.  Anyway….)

I have “concluded” (as if anything ever is) that I will keep my spiritual Help to myself and thereby allow others to discover their own connection/s, but want to emphasize that I believe this is the Most Important Task.

We also discussed “energy healing” and “kinesthetic healing” – which I’ll describe simply (though it’s not simple) as getting in touch with our energy bodies, learning how to sense energy disturbances, and then learning how to work with them and heal whatever is there – with help in the beginning, but working toward personal proficiency (as opposed to becoming dependent on someone else).  This I think is the second most important thing.

Our protection is our responsibility and is a constant, active process.  I’ve known that, but as soon as “they” leave me alone, and life gets comfy, I “forget about it,” slack on spiritual protection work, and then something attacks.

I guess this is how some folks can argue that we don’t need to demonize the Other, but call it the Loyal Opposition, as if it’s doing us some good – forcing us awake, like rudely rousing a wounded person to run from a fire.  (Weary sigh.)

Whatever… the lesson of this week is:  

You’re called to warrior work, like it or not.  

Join your tribe on the other dimensions.  

Learn to know yourself energetically.

Okay.

And now I’ll go watch the old movie, Bound for Glory (David Carradine plays Woody Guthrie) – and get a dose of fearless singing in the face of oppression.

Sometimes I really believe this craziness of our era will split the Earth reality into two different dimensions, one fulfilling the Illuminati dream, and another going toward all the Goodness that is possible, and maybe even more dimensions, a la Michael Talbots Holographic Universe.  Believing this, I try to keep most of my life energy moving toward our visions of a better way to be with each other.

Therefore, tomorrow, I’ll demonstrate cooking in solar ovens at Earth Day.  Planning stuffed red bell peppers.  My other alters will be happy.

And maybe I’ll sing a few songs with my partner on stage.  (He writes great music, and I’m working to get more of it, and better recordings, linked online for him.  I’m grateful for his support!)

Resonating with Love ~

Jean

Ignored bruise becomes a faded taser mark?

Monday, I noticed a small bruise on my arm.  I wondered if it was from a hypodermic injection, but it was small, hard to see, and I don’t want to bother folks with all the iffy stuff, so I ignored it.

Tuesday, I took a photo, but it was small and didn’t look significant.

Thursday, the bruise had faded, leaving two clear dots, 1/4″ apart, which could best be seen by pulling my wrinkly skin a little bit taut, so I had my partner do that for this photo:

Their spacing is very similar to the spacing of the dots in my November 2010 event, when they burned me horribly – and more.  I guess they adjusted the voltage since then.  Thanks, guys.

What a week!

 I’ve been catching up from the shock of my 18-month summary, responding to your wonderful comments, dealing with the pain of a displaced vertebrae, and then absorbing Wednesday’s news of an X-ray report of multiple problems with my spine….

(Doctors can’t believe that I’ve never been in a major accident.  I don’t tell them that I have other physical evidence that someone regularly treats me roughly during times of amnesia.)

Some of your comments have been wonderful, helping focus my intentions for healing – which I plan to write more about soon.

Keep up the faith, everyone.  Do what you can to open your awareness of the multiple dimensions, but protect yourself there, and find your family there.  Then the work begins….

Back in the Light – from another dimension?

I feel as though I’ve come out of a hole, into the light again.

The event that triggered the week of darkness seemed so small:  just a couple of new scoop marks.  But those caused me to look at my last 18 months of anomalous experiences – so much, so traumatic, all at once, that I was truly overwhelmed to see and remember it all.

I felt stunned, trapped, caged, bewildered, overcome, and helpless.  Ready to give up the fight, leave the planet.

And now I’m okay and ready to fight to again.

What does it all mean?  Which is the real reality?

The darkness I experienced (and of which I photographed the results)?  Or this mundane “reality” in which I need to prepare for Earth Day, water the garden, hang out the clothes, and maybe watch the chipping sparrows which have recently shown up in the yard?  Both.

Obviously (to me), we do move between dimensions.  I live in this dimension most of the time, and I also get dragged – like Persephone – into hell, another dimension, for awhile, then released back here.  (Though some of the amnestic stuff happens very much on this dimension too, I assume.)

The multi-dimensionality of our world is the only explanation that makes sense to me.

Thank goodness even physicists say it’s the only way that they can explain the world too!  (It’s nice to have science agree with us sometimes.)

So we all have the challenge of learning to live in both worlds and make sense of it – without any help from the dominant culture.

We’ve not been trained in extra-dimensional negotiations; to the contrary, we’ve been trained to believe it doesn’t exist, so the few of us who have an inkling about the other realms usually don’t have an easy time finding guidance and may think we’re on our own, or may follow some false guru down a crooked path.

But we do have help.  Problem is, our Help is on other realms populated with other beings, some of whom are Not Help.

So we must build our spiritual connections with family in the other dimensions.

When Christ (supposedly) said we would “do all these things and more” [healings, etc], I do believe he meant we’d learn to negotiate the other realms.  And I don’t believe he’d give us that challenge if there was no help.

I even had a “message” once that my most important work was to understand the bridge between these dimensions – in 1994 – 18 years ago!

Jean!  Wake up!  Honor your spiritual messages!  

Okay.

Time to get serious.  This is not a game.  And it’s not a delusion I should ignore, despite my shrink’s assessment and common New Age advice to only look on the positive side.

It’s time to believe my own experience, and believe the physicists: there are more worlds here than just this one, and we need to learn how to protect ourselves from beings of the other worlds and how to connect with our help there.

Just because it’s difficult doesn’t mean it’s okay to fail.

No slacking.

In Denial about My Healing

I think I’ve been just a little naive about how far along I’ve been in my healing.

Just because life seemed okay, and I’d had a number of amazing experiences of alters recognizing each other, and I recognized a controller in the community, and recognized other people to avoid, I thought I was on the way, and doing pretty dang good.

That was the thinking of a fractured part of me, who makes her way fairly well in the day-to-day world.

And sure, she does okay (though she has a hard time recognizing people sometimes).  She does okay because she doesn’t have a very good memory, so with everything so spotty, things feel alright.

So I could go on the radio and talk about healing (as “a person in healing,” I said), but I didn’t have the understanding last week that I have today: that I have lots more healing to do.  What I shared on the radio and outlined in a blog, “Suggestions for Healing from Mind Control,” was a very good foundation, I’d say, to get one strong and supported for the real work ahead.

The realization of the harder work came about when I went through my “anomaly journal” to create a table with dates and categories to tabulate.

I noticed repeating patterns, counted them, and realized some significant trends in my life, which I detailed in my “Summary of 18 Months of MK events” blog  and my “MK Summary” video.

From those summaries, I further summarize:

1) The largest amount of mysterious stuff going on feels very negative.  (Or do I only write down the negative?)

2) Only a small amount of metaphysical stuff going on feels like it supports my soul.  (Or maybe I should make sure that I’m noting this good stuff.)

3) I still forget a lot, and I forget to pray, even though I know it’s a sabotaging alter telling me to wait or quit being so formal or something else dismissive.

4) When I look at it all together, I’m amazed that it makes such a clear pattern – which I failed to see.

What am I to make of this?  

Shame for having been in denial?  Let’s not waste the energy.

Denial has been an important part of my survival, as it is for many.

So maybe our path is to acknowledge just as much as we can, and no more – a little at a time, and more and more, enough to work on, and not too much to overwhelm.

So, here I am, pushing myself, teaching myself, healing myself, breaking into another realization that there is yet more I must do.

What do I want to do?

Recognize and break my command cues.

I don’t know that I’ve followed any commands in at least a year, maybe two – but every bruise on my body could have entailed a command that I just don’t remember.

I don’t know, but I suspect so.  Maybe they’re testing me all the time, and I just don’t notice.

I know I’ll feel more confident about my freedom when I consciously recognize a command cue and don’t obey.

Do we ever know?  How, if we don’t recall amnesic events?

Have others woken up to recognize their cues?

Is everyone more aware than I am?

Or are we all struggling on this level?

Or am I the kindergartener here?

Tired of This

I don’t know how I’ve made it through the last 18 months.

I think it has to do with my mind being fractured, so if I don’t have a summarizing list in front of me all at once, I only remember bits of this, and life seems doable.

My mind has a lot of compartments, I guess, so memories of one alter can hide from other alters, so each part of me only remembers a little, which makes it not so overwhelming.  (I do have a hard time, though, remembering people – not a good quality for business competence.)

But when all my parts see all the events together, we all remember, and it’s a lot of stuff.  I’m pretty overwhelmed right now by what I posted yesterday.

(And what irony that I just did a radio interview last week, about healing.  At least I was honest and called myself “in the process of healing.”  And what a process it is.)

So, even though I’m chronically forgetful, I work, stay happy, sing, do good things in my community, and enjoy a constellation of friends who either don’t know about this stuff or have heard it and dismissed it – I don’t know.  No one asks me about it.  Maybe no one reads it.  Maybe my blogs go nowhere, or into an Internet black hole, controlled by who-knows-who.  Or maybe everyone is as forgetful as me – ?  We forget what we want to forget.  Culture certainly encourages us to forget.

But now, having blown my mind with everything summarized from the 18-month journal, I’ve begun remembering quite a few things that didn’t get in the journal in the first place – probably because it was lost for awhile, or I was too busy or distracted to write everything down, certain I wouldn’t forget….  But I did.

Things I forgot to count:  the two scoop marks just a few days ago (!), April 9, 2012 (three posts earlier).  I also didn’t count a freak-out I had last week about a recollection of a law enforcement officer who once arrested me for civil disobedience and who used to be an FBI agent, in whose jail I remember being in a very weird state of mind.  (I’d always known and said that I’d gone into an “altered state,” but I never wondered about it till last week.)  I also didn’t count all the times I’ve discovered the top of my head is really painful, like today, as if someone drug me around by a handful of hair.

My partner asked me what group I think is behind all this.  I think it is probably a few different groups or individuals.  I just read about “piggybacking”: a hypnotic subject can be hypnotized and used by people other than their first controller, with subsequent controllers “piggybacking” their control on top of the original person’s or group’s.  And I also understand that MK’ers often work in collaboration, passing subjects back and forth between them for various purposes.

One group is very high-tech, weilding beams of electronic bliss which make me unconscious.

Another type is fairly low tech, requiring someone to break my door lock to get in, and using phone tap technology with bugs that sometimes let me hear it (purposefully, to upset me?), so I  once heard a recording, ordering a “re-recording.”

Another type, I assume, is my multi-dimensional help – unless they’re the high-tech ones.

So, at least two, if not three or more, individuals or groups seem to be involved.

I put all the dates on a blank calendar and didn’t see any correlation to Satanic ritual dates  (beyond a few that are likely simple coincidence), so assume they’re not involved (though many people with similar experiences do have these correlations).  Probably it’s CIA.  Maybe some payback from the FBI for my media releases during the Judi Bari trial.  Maybe some secret “Greek” society payback for the few things I’ve published.  Maybe Mormon payback for the things I write about them.  Maybe some payback from the developer who lost over a million dollars when I spearheaded a fight that stopped his project (rightly), who looked at me with eyes that said he would do something evil to me, and I shivered as he glared, and worried for my children.

Could be anyone, or everyone (in a sense), little factions, gangs of psychopathic rich people, employing the underworld, doing experiments with their scientist buddies, doing the powerful’s version of cruising on weekends for kicks, blackmailing those they want to control, granting sexual favors to friends, practicing their MK skills – things like that.

Or maybe they all fancy themselves as cutting edge scientists.

In any case, they feel to me like psychopathic gangs with a variety of interests, from harems of ancient days, and Caligula’s court, to what we’ve seen in Eyes Wide Shut, Manchurian Candidate, The Truman Show, and more – many variations throughout time, flying under the names of research, slavery, national security, etc.

What I need to do is go after my programming, to disable it. I’ve been trying to position and strengthen myself to have it happen – or come to me – naturally, organically, but I keep finding myself “too busy” to sit still and do the meditation or self-hypnotherapy.  I know I have alters that stop me or divert my attention.

I need, somehow, to make a commitment and keep it.

I am so tired of this.  I’m nearly 60.  There have been times when I thought they were leaving me alone, sorta putting me out to pasture in my old age, giving the old woman a break.

And of course there have been times when I thought I was healed because I became conscious of some significant program or part.  I’ve had break-through’s, have felt alters come together, begin to knit and recognize each other, and have generally felt more conscious.  But it seems there’s always more work to do.  Or else, they renew my programming as soon as I begin to undo it.

Sometimes I get a reprieve, like last summer when Greg and I got together – thank goodness, as he got to see me functioning at my best, my normal best (though I warned him about this).

Now, I’m starting to stagger again.  I accomplished next to nothing this week, except to work with my emotions around the new scoop marks, then review these 18 months of anomalies, and finally get around to studying them as I’ve been meaning to for a year.  I guess that’s productive in a way – hugely productive, but it won’t make my living.

But now, seeing all that has gone on in 18 months, this realization doesn’t seem like much accomplishment for the almost-ten years I’ve been dealing with it.  I really don’t know how long I can keep accepting this as my reality – if I don’t make serious progress soon.

Some people call it “being gang stalked.”  Being stalked at all is horrifying enough, but gang stalked!  And none can be explained to the police.  So there’s nothing I can do, except wonder when the next shit is going to happen.

I’ve made a plea for the nation to formally acknowledge that mind control is still being done, and to, in every way possible, protect the victims and support their healing.

But no one wants to hear about it.  No one in this community has ever broached the subject with me.  I understand.  I probably wouldn’t either, if it weren’t happening to me.

Sometimes I feel like a rat in a cage, poked, shocked, toyed with, and tortured, psychologically, physically, and emotionally.  And I’m only one of many.

But maybe that’s all it is:  We’re not subjects of evil beings, just experimental subjects of mad researchers, doing nothing different than what we do to other animals in research cages.  Not comforting, but less personal, less intentionally “evil” (in a sense).

The theory gives me hope that, one day, when we quit experimenting on animals, maybe we human subjects will be freed at the same time, from our invisible cages.

I am very ready to leave this dimension.  I won’t do anything to hasten it, but, believe me, if my cosmic family sees fit to take me from here anytime soon, celebrate for me.  Today, I’m sick and tired and exhausted from this.

But if the past is any indicator of the future, then I’ll be out there, back in the world, acting like we have hope for our future, acting like we can change things, offering to design someone’s passive solar addition, demonstrating solar ovens, building a solar water heater, gardening, walking, singing, acting like we have a chance.  I pray this is so.  And I’m doing my very best to make it so.  For all of us.

You can see me talk about this on my YouTube channel:  https://www.youtube.com/user/ParadigmSalonVideo?feature=mhee  Look below the feature at top for “MK Summary” and “MK Summary pt 2.”

Summary of 18 Months as an MK Subject

I just created a log of all my anomalous experiences of the last 18 months and discovered the following:
1) I’ve had 98 experiences, some of them with as many as 5 clustered in a larger event, but most of them single. Some of them have had long-lasting effects, though counted only once.
2) 12 experiences left visual, photographable marks on my body.
3) 21 left pain or other sensation.
4) 11 involved physical changes in my home (not including four computer anomalies).
5) 13 involved other people, ten of which felt definitely negative.
6) 13 involved extreme exhaustion (and many more exhausted days, I believe, were not noted because of my exhaustion).
7) 3 times I experienced unusual positive energy.
8) 15 had no explanation I could think of that was not negative.
9) 80 I could imagine a positive or neutral explanation for, even if it involved a dislocated vertebrae or other major pain or grief (trying to not judge mysteries “negative”).
10) 3 felt clearly positive.
11) Monthly, the number of events ranged from 0 to 17.
12) My worst short stretch of time involved 13 experiences in nine days.

The “highlights”  (Described on YouTube)
dsc013571) I woke up Tazer-burned, exhausted, and sick with anxiety, November 28, 2010.  (See “Photo History.”)
2) Old high school classmate called, Jan 16, 2011; told me he had written a story about me as Mormon mind-controlled assassin; remembered me in sexual event, whereas I don’t remember even dating him.
3) 2 scoop marks in finger; cut high inside/beside my clitoris; portable door lock broken, all Feb 8, 2011.   (See “Photo History.”)
4) 2 evil-feeling people come into my life; one had bad sexual vibes toward a child, March 5-7, 2011.
5) 4 “mind fk” communications in 8 days: 1 public accusation, 1 spiritually accusatory email threatening my life (took to police), and 2 anonymous: one email warning me that my partner is CIA, and one postal letter telling me how to spiritually protect myself, but warning me that it might not be possible, that my soul might be lost, all between Sept 7-14, 2011.
6) Many physical injuries, including a displaced C2 vertebrae, Oct 22, 2011, which continues to be a problem in April 2012.
7) Amazing 1 1/4″ perfectly spherical, beautiful blob of strange non-mucous falls from my sinus into my mouth, Jan 25, 2012, and is followed by a lung infection for over two months.
8) Something too personal to share, but which seems the worst of all.
9) Overall: lots of physical pain and exhaustion, 18 months of ringing ears, and an apparent neck injury.
10) And a few dozen other “lesser” events, but weird….

You can see me talk about this on my YouTube channel:  https://www.youtube.com/user/ParadigmSalonVideo?feature=mhee  (Look below the feature at top for “MK Summary” and “MK Summary pt 2.”)

Sometimes I wonder how I keep going.

As you can imagine, I’m stressing.  I hope you’re better.  I’ll be in prayer.
Love,
Jean

Some of this is detailed in my “Photo History” page, tabbed at the top.

New Scoop Marks

April 9, 2012, I discovered two new scoop marks, slightly smaller than the scoops in my finger last year (See “Photo History” page), plus a scrape above one, which I photographed as soon as I was conscious of them, in the evening.

Curiously, as soon as I discovered it in the evening, I recalled having scratched it in the morning as I was walking toward the open front door of my house and thinking, “Oh…that...” as if recalling some event.  But I have not been able to recall what might have made the marks or what I was thinking when I said “Oh that.”

It feels like one of those mysterious times when I’ve been made amnesic, but have bits of memory bleed through.

You can see that the round scabs are slightly misshapen, with the cut above one, but with no other gouge effects or rips or tears of the skin, that might indicate they came about by some sort of minor accident.

And they are nearly identical in size and even their slightly imperfect shapes are very similar, as though made by the same tool.  While there is a slight redness around the one on the left, there is no swelling or other sign of infection or histamine reaction which might indicate a bug bite, though these do itch slightly now and then.

I’d love to remember how they were made, or even come up with a logical explanation other than this mystery.  (I’ve been making excuses for weird bruises and marks on my body all my life.)

We could theorize, for instance, that since I have dissociative events that I might have done it in any number of ways and I just can’t remember – a decent theory, except that I don’t have dissociative events, except when I’m intentionally triggered to have them.  My life is not that chaotic.

Whoever does this to me (a professional mind controller, I presume) is apparently trying to keep it “quiet” and manageable for me, and they (courteously?) plan their work for times when I’m “free”; I do not have dissociative events just any time.  And most of the time, the amnesic events are at night when I usually don’t notice the discrepancy between the time slept and any sleep deprivation – though I often do notice, especially when I also wake with body marks like these.

So, I don’t believe it was a random mark left during a natural dissociative event – though it’s a reasonable theory and one I considered, but dismissed.

I definitely believe it’s a waste of my energy to get emotional over these mysteries, because they’re only mysteries right now, not threatening in any way that I understand.  Of course, I’d like to understand, but until I do, I’m just getting on with my life – but documenting.

I talk about the emotional part of this in my video about it, “New Scoop Marks to Document,” beneath the feature video:  http://www.youtube.com/user/ParadigmSalonVideo?feature=watch

Disinformation Specialists

When “intelligence agencies” first began officially in the US (FBI/BOI in 1908), their stated purpose was to discredit, misdirect, and diminish the effectiveness of the early labor activists – though later they would cloak their intentions in loftier language.

At least by the 50s and on, they were targeting all sorts of activists, including civil rights, anti-war, and environmental – anyone who threatened corporate profits or the status quo. Tactics, even today, include assassination, but most often subtler techniques, which former agents have written about – usually on their deathbeds.

I read one of those memoirs (Wes Swearingen’s), and I have seen the tactics played out against activists I’ve known (Judi Bari and Darryl Cherney, who were almost assassinated – I watched the trial and wrote about it almost daily for six weeks – the feds were found guilty), and I’ve experienced the tactics played against me.

Why me? Who the hell am I?

Well, after I sent media releases around the world about the FBI for those six weeks, I realized I’d been a mind control subject in my childhood and was still under some degree of control. It scared the sh*t out of me, but when I recovered somewhat from that, I turned my activist work to exposing the CIA’s mind control programs. I knew it was a dangerous job, but “someone had to do it,” and it seemed I was in the perfect position (healed enough and a writer/activist), so, like it or not, I took up the task.

Today, I’m one of only, I’d guess, maybe a dozen or fewer across the nation speaking out and having somewhat of an impact, though I’m very ambivalent about taking a high profile or speaking out much in my local community. Most of my work (admittedly sporadic) is online, via YouTube and my blog, speaking around the Southwest, and continuing to sell my memoir.

Is this enough to make me worth harassing or discrediting? I don’t know what’s at stake for those guys. But I have regularly found my home broken into, my body bruised in odd places, once my arm with a two-prong electrical burn (Taser, I assume), and a great deal of other very clear physical evidence that something weird is going on. I’ve documented much of this with photographs given to my doctor and, because last year I felt the need for one, a counselor.

When I learn about weird things being told about me in my community, I know some of it is simply my own human failings mixed with other human’s misunderstandings, but not all of it. Some of it, because of the other stuff in my life, I have to believe originates with Disinformation Specialists, because some of it has been just too weird.

If you are interested, do your own research on COINTELPRO (Wikipedia documents it well). But what I learned is that they have their operatives (witting or unwitting) in various social circles whom they use to plant false information about their targets. Their witting or unwitting operatives pass on the information and, if it’s juicy, it spreads.

Just thought I’d let ya’all know.

I’ve believed lies about other people, and I feel real bad for having believed some of it for years.

It’s part of our cultural mind control. Any of us can be subtly tricked, especially in a culture where we communicate so much via words on a screen and too little face-to-face, where we can pick up vibes and know who we want to trust.

In the “old days,” these agents went to a lot of trouble to create false communications, for instance, filing typewriter keys to match a particular person’s typewriter and practicing another handwriting style. This was often used to drive a wedge between activist colleagues, to make each think the other was a jerk, or racist, or hated them, or might actually be a spy, so their work would be sidetracked or totally derailed. This is all documented.

Today, with the Internet, how easy do you think it would be to intercept communications and change them before sending them on, creating great trouble for activists?

They certainly have the budget. Intelligence agencies expanded their budgets four-fold in one decade I happened to track, and that didn’t include the Black Budget which dwarfs the entire “regular” military and intelligence budgets.

Their motives have not changed, so there’s no reason to believe they don’t still do this, especially when it’s now so easy.

To conclude: We need to be careful, so our judgments are not manipulated by those with destructive intentions.

We need to reclaim our human communications – increase our face-to-face time, maybe even reduce online time except when necessary. (I’m trying to do this.)

I don’t know what else to do, but say, Let’s be cautious about negative “news.” Check it out.

“Gossip” is usually thought of in its most negative sense, and it often operates that way, but it can also be used positively, when we check primary sources and then pass that along.

Good day and good luck!


Riding the Balance between Denial and Obsession

“And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”  

— Friedrich Nietzsche

Two weeks ago, I gazed too long into Nietzsche’s abyss, and it gazed back at me.  But after the incapacitating pain and suicidal thoughts, I broke though again into “normalcy” – and better!

The Hard Two Weeks

I’d compiled a summary of my anomalous experiences of the last 18 months – so much it was a severe shock to my psyche – and I hadn’t even remembered all the events.

Before the first week was over, I discovered a new strange bruise on my arm, which I ignored, but later it faded to two little dots, like the Taser burn dots.

That week, I also got X-ray results, indicating numerous degenerative issues with my spine.  I remembered a technician and a doctor surprised that I’ve never been in a serious accident.  I couldn’t tell them that I just wake up in pain some days, with no reason to be hurt, but learn that my C7 or C2 is out of place – different directions on different days, oddly – or that my C1 is shoved up under my occiput (skull) – all for no apparent reason.  I feel like a very poorly-treated lab animal, and often think that is exactly what I am.

Earth Day began horribly.  I’d been trapped, for hours it seemed, in a nightmare in which someone was trying to come in the house, and I kept trying to scream, but could make no sound – for hours.  And another dream of a family member in shock, having had a gruesome accident.  Then an adopted cat woke me by jumping on the bed right in front of my face.

My brain and body were miserable from the hours of trying to scream, but I went to Earth Day and did my best to be cheerful while demonstrating solar ovens.

That night, I journaled that I didn’t see the point in living anymore, and made lists of reasons why leaving is a good idea (#1:  I may be programmed, still, to do things I don’t want to do), and made a list of things I should do before I die.

Suggestion for my epitaph:  “Part of her tried damn hard.”

That night, I prayed to be healed, and implied that if something wasn’t done soon or immediately, I might not believe anymore in any Help (Wow:  contradicting my #1 rule articulated just four days ago!) or any moral reason to keep on living under my circumstances.

The Break-Through

The next morning, Greg asked how I felt (dreading my answer, I’m sure), and I described feeling somewhat free of “the stuff,” but that it was still nearby, and I was simply choosing not to look at it.

Since a friend was coming over to sing, I rallied myself again.  He’s a folk music historian and banjo/guitar player who has performed for his living for decades – and suggested that we see how we sing together, as he’d like to put together a Woody Guthrie show with us.

I love that Woody “spoke truth to power” and thought this would be a wonderful change for me – from written word to song; from lonely, quiet work to singing with friends for an immediate audience; from personal confession to songs for everyone.

To our delight, our singing together was next thing to magical.  Spontaneously, we all decided to take a few songs to Open Mike, where I had the most relaxed and successful performance of my life – and my partners, both professional musicians, were as excited as I was.

This was significant!  My performance fears, I believe, have always been related to my sexual abuse on stage as a child.  So, to feel totally relaxed onstage felt absolutely like a healing.

A local photographer, a regular at these events, posted this photo of me on Facebook (that’s concentration and passion – I was happy and “totally into it”):

The next day, my partner and I spent the afternoon at the river, where I articulated the purpose of this essay:

We in healing must ride a fine balance between denial – which keeps us from awareness and healing – and obsession – which can overcome us with grief.

I haven’t yet done much work around the things that I let into my awareness two weeks ago (except for grieving) – or the things I continue to remember that aren’t even on the list yet, or the years of stuff that preceded this list – but they’re not brushed under the rug.  I will continue to try to understand them and not forget them.

My second point:  My deepest despair is usually followed by a break-through.

I guess my prayer was partly answered – though someone else might suggest that my decision to “not look” (right then) was the cause for the end of my two weeks of horror.  Maybe it’s all a slow process, and my not looking temporarily was part of the answered prayer.

Future

I still have this 18-month list (and more memories surfacing almost daily) and am not sure of my responsibility to it.  I have assumed that I need to look at it, suss out the patterns, draw conclusions, and do something to heal!

Meantime, an acquaintance in town, who shared with me similar stuff about a year ago, has emailed to say he’s remembering things that he thinks I need to know.  Opening another can of worms….  I will probably talk with him, in time, in a safe environment, not alone, when I have the energy.  Whew, this stuff never seems to end.

My last report on healing concluded with these two commitments/suggestions: know your spiritual help and know your energetic body.  Obviously, I tested my relationship with my spiritual Help, and it seems that they responded.  And singing has always been a test of my ease within my energetic body, which also tested positively this week.

Soon, I’ll begin my first energy awareness/healing sessions with a professional and friend.  Hopefully, it’ll help me have strength and clarity to look at that list and know what to do about it.

Ride the balance, everyone.  It’s turbulent sometimes.  But when things settle down, something is usually healed.  It feels like painfully slow going, but now and then a break-through gives us hope for more.

Now, I’m going to sing….

My Story

Ah, meditation today began with the vision of a blue and white energetic stream, the color of crystalline mountain water and bands of white clouds, flowing upward from my heart like a twisting waft of smoke, curling next downward, and looping like a playful thing – such a surprise after my intense effort yesterday to repair my aura.

Last night, I wrote “my story” in super-short form, telling who I believe I am, based on experiences I’ve had which did not at all fit my construct of reality, but which I could never, over the course of decades, convince myself were not real.

So I think it’s time to publicly admit my beliefs, regardless that they embarrass me somewhat – embarrass me because I’ve sneered at others who’ve written or spoken things like these.  But I must tell this story, as information for others trying to assess the nature of reality and as a step in my process of becoming a more-coherent human being.

My Story

I’ve had at least six lives on Earth that I can recall and a long life, or series of lives, somewhere in the Pleiades, which when I left was the only life I knew or at least had been familiar with for a long time.  It quieted me to see the star cluster withdraw and know it would be another “long time” (if ever) before I would see the place again.  (And now, my heart feels as though it is absolutely not in my chest when I remember this.)

On Earth I remember lives only as women:  a sensuous tree-dwelling pygmy, a frightened three-year-old in some feudal state, a European country girl in love, a gypsy with a friend in traditional bangles and scarves, a recently deceased Anglo pioneer hovering on the Earth plane near her Native husband as he was drug to his death behind a wagon so that our daughter would not be raised by him or his tribe, a member of Cochise’s tribe when we lost our land and freedom, and a Native American college student arriving home to spend time with her loving family.

I am also connected to beings in a nearby dimension who feel like family – far more than my parents or siblings do.  A few of these beings seem like people I’ve read about or heard of in our history, and I’ve had a very strange aversion to reading certain books, as though I already know the history and reading this version might upset me.  Some of the figures I’ve met in other dimensions I realize later seem like mythological characters often depicted as cartoons in our culture or in some other limiting way, so I hesitate to identify them as such.

There are also beings on the other realms whom I work to avoid, though it most often feels that my life’s current destiny is to be engaged with them for some reason I assume is either good for me or good for all.  Those other unpleasant entities seem the result of my having been a mind control subject as a child.  (Documentation is elsewhere.)

I was born into a family on the edge (I assume) of the Elites:  Eisenhower means iron hewer, a metal worker.  These people were masters of a craft kept secret in a guild society controlled by royalty.  Members of this lineage are tested for loyalty, given many advantages, and groomed for service in secret societies still.  I was seduced to the door, walked in, was initiated, then changed my mind a month later and bailed.  Mysteriously, my memory of the initiation ceremony has disappeared except for a one-second peek.  Then I ran away from home (at age nineteen), broke some of my programming (how much I don’t know), and have been struggling ever after to fully free my mind.  Sometimes I seem to do very well in life, often when I’m engaged in mainstream business.  Most often, I struggle.

Ever since my nervous breakdown (essential for healing, and in my case probably part of my programming break-down) in 1993, I’ve been increasingly aware of things going on behind the mediated scenes.  I’ve twice consciously experienced my own body’s in-the-moment manipulation for a few minutes while my consciousness screamed No.  

I also sometimes experience healing events and other Carlos Castaneda-type events which I can’t yet judge as good or bad.  Sometimes I feel as though I just returned from somewhere else, sometimes I feel like I’m encased in a healing vibrational cocoon, and sometimes I feel hit by an energetic something with which I struggle mightily.  Sometimes, mysterious things leave bruises or scars on me, which I sometimes photograph and post.

Did I choose this life?  (It used to piss me off royally when people told me that we all chose our lives or, worse, that I have created this through my own thinking it, and I could make it disappear if I would quit.)  We could say it was just the luck of the draw – someone had to be born into the heart of darkness – and maybe that was it.  Perhaps it’s karma; I hate to think I earned this….

My choice of explanation is that I was strong enough to do this, and someone had to go in, like a cosmic spy, and relay back to the rest of my warrior tribe reports on the psyches of the Elites who have created our war-making, children-torturing, money-driven System, so that it could be disabled.  My birth into the darkest heart gave my tribe an inside view to help it more fully understand the System and help devise a plan to transform it.

While I’ve gone through my spasms of pain and paranoia, fear, grief, terror, despair and  suicidal urges, my tribe on the other dimensions has been regularly healing me, energizing me, blocking my awareness when I was too young to understand, and basically helping me get through, while also using what they learned to help turn the tide or execute some other plan for Earth.

And if that’s not the case, and if this is all just a story (an amazingly grandiose story, it might be called), then at least it offers me hope for my soul and hope for our transformation.

Both the light and the dark have been very active in my life – and up to fairly recently.  Every day I hope to never confront the dark ones again, but it’s clear that the polarity on Earth is still active, and someone has to be in the interface – the space between the white and black paisleys of the yin-yang symbol.  And even though I often feel that the energy pouring down on me is so positive and strong that I think we’ve already turned the corner and entered Heaven, I assume nothing.  Activists are those on the interface; I’m an activist, so here I am.

I’m here to testify that we Earth humans are not alone, either in the cosmos or here on Earth.  There are many, many technologies employed by the Elites to keep us passive and, yes, mind controlled.  A few people see it; far fewer, I fear, act in ways that will serve their survival when mind control is increased.

I struggle regularly with this apparent destiny, which seems to be to live in awareness of the darkness and to shine light on it.  Few live through the experience of it and maintain the ability to speak.  How am able?  I assume it’s my help on the other dimensions, as I’m not that personally strong.  (Ask anyone who knows me.)

Also, I think they don’t crush me because I do such a lousy job.  I sabotage my work frequently.

Sometimes I wonder if the existence of this soul-enslaving system is a figment of my imagination, but I believe this enslavement has been the number-one fact of human history, from ancient Sumer until this day, and it’s time we woke up to the fact that our luxury comes at the enslavement of others, many others.  Some, like Ayn Rand, will justify that; others might want to decide, but we can’t if we don’t acknowledge it.

And now our destiny hangs in the balance while the prophesies talk about the end of an age.  I’m putting my stock there, in change, in which I believe we must participate consciously.  Toward that end, I remind myself of these things:

* Change has always happened, and big change is prophesied.

* Powerful systems are often brought down from within.

* Earth’s powerful system today depends on the cooperation of minions who have little loyalty to it.

* The minions know that at some point they’ll be expendable, and at some point they can change the game.

* It is in their ultimate best interest to help change it.

Besides changing things on Earth, I also have hope in other realms as an escape.  Perhaps some of us will disappear like the Anasazi.  Or the others will disappear as in the Hopi prediction (told to their children, so I’ve heard) that “one day, the bad people will all just be gone” – opposite the Christian story, in which the righteous will be the ones “raptured.”  This apparent contradiction might be reconciled by another prediction with which I’ve resonated, that there’ll be a dimensional/vibrational rift, in which the Earth will move into two or more different future time-lines, where leaving and staying have no meaning.

Every year, the river of my life brings me amazing experiences of bliss, challenge, and everything in between.  As a child, tortured, I was pushed through the veil, where I saw that this realm was not the only one.  Today, I am sometimes granted healing and visions, and sometimes I dance with the devil.  I’ve written a lot about the latter, so it’s only proper now that I tell more of my story.

One of my demons has been the fact that my mind has been fractured by trauma-based mind control.   There are actually, sometimes, advantages to being multiple (psychological survival, for one, and a “diversified portfolio” of skills), and I hope to learn more ways to consciously make my condition more useful, but so far it’s often been a disability.

For instance, I go to the store, and an alter (alternate personality) comes out who’s great at making small talk, but she has little to do with the rest of me.  Some other part of me might have shared a personal story with someone the day before, who’s now at the store, but the alter yesterday is not out now, and the one who’s shopping doesn’t remember much about this friend when she says hi.  I struggle to cycle though a few “files” of personalities before I can retrieve the memory, but often the critical moment is lost and I might never have the chance to explain my struggle to the friend – very disappointing and often almost convinces me that I should remain a hermit.

But my destiny doesn’t seem to be in hermitage, and my extra-dimensional help keeps coming to my rescue – sometimes not soon enough, I think – but I keep on going anyway.

When my extra-dimensional help does take care of me, it’s beyond anything I could have imagined.  It clears me to my very soul and convinces me that I will not die and I don’t want to.

Because I’ve written a lot about the dark events, and people remember those best, I am probably known to a lot of people as the woman who’s all about “that stuff.”  When I occasionally write about the Light, I imagine it is difficult for many to reconcile in our culturally encouraged, black-and-white thinking.

So something moved me to summarize my whole complex story and remind folks that things are rarely static black or white:  I was born into a very dark situation, my mind became fractured, I’ve healed with extra-dimensional help, and I’m in a sometimes-daily battle to keep steady and nurture my dreams for myself and the whole of us.

I’ve seen the enemy, and it is not only us.  It’s partly us, but it’s also way beyond us.  It’s our ancestor’s patterns of abuse, which have been hidden from us, and which we’re called to transform.  The task is huge, but we’re not alone.  Everyone with a concept of Self as a sentient being connected to the powers of Creation needs to be sure to tap into those Other Powers and see what they need to be doing right now.  I’m here to testify that this is not a picnic.

If my life and my teetering on the edge of it, suffering sometimes beyond what I thought I could bear, has had any purpose, I think it’s to say this:  Our place in history is not meant to be a picnic, an indulgence in whatever we might enjoy.  Enjoyment is lovely, and I want more of it also, but we have work to do.

For over a year (am I right?) Bradley Manning suffered in solitary confinement for trying to get you the information you now get over Facebook and in your email; Congress is right now trying to take that freedom from you.  Many activists, like Leonard Peltier, Mumia Abu Jamal, and Judi Bari, are in prison for life, or dead, for telling truths that someone desperately needed for them to expose but the Elites wanted to repress.  Some like me are waking up with their bodies Taser-burned and no memory of what happened to them, but a dreadful feeling.

This battle is not a civilized one; it is brutal and involves far worse than what I’ve written here today.  If you have the liberty to visit your Congress person to talk about American human rights, please do.  If you can feed someone who is hungry, please do.  If you can give energy to any project that serves your community, please do, and thank you.  And if you can offer compassion to someone like me who seems sometimes to be crazy, please do.  We’ve all got stories, and I do believe we’re, most of us, trying our best to make sense of a world that is for the most part hidden from nice people like you.

If the Earth does go through any cataclysms, from environmental poisoning to pole shift, I know that we, as souls, will eventually continue on somewhere, learning, evolving, transforming.  But I believe the next life will be easier if we do this work now to transform what we can of this situation here on Earth, particularly to work for justice.

Some say the coming Earth changes will trigger our transformation to the next new evolutionary state.  I don’t know.  But I’m open to the possibility of expanding my soul into something less trapped on this plane.  My experiences in the other dimensions have been so much nicer than most of what I experience here.

In any case, I’m inspired by the possibilities – which are infinite.  We have help on other realms, but we also need to do the work today.

Dawn Healing: To Know Myself

About dawn this morning in front of the fire, I discovered a new, simple meditation posture in which I – surprisingly – easily experienced my energy field and felt it connected to other realms.

Then I was disturbed to sense my aura behind me entirely collapsed (interesting, since I’ve had my neck and back out of whack since October 22, and two chiropractors either couldn’t repair it or it slipped back while I was driving home).  I tried, with intention, to repair my crushed aura but couldn’t.

Then I turned my attention to the other-dimensional beings who have contacted me in the past and who feel like guides and/or members of my cosmic tribe.  For some reason, it was easy connecting today, though it hasn’t been for many months.

With the first being, I realized a crippling sense of (it’s embarrassing to say this) unworthiness and sobbed out loud for a moment until she said, “That’s your programming.  You can let it go.”  I understood, felt it deeply, let it go, and then sensed my inner core brighten, expand, and strengthen.

Turning to my second guide or friend, a writer in a past life, we briefly noted writing as a positive consciousness tool which can also become an unnecessary and distracting obsession (she wrote obsessively also in a past life).  We agreed that writing about “everything” might be useful for healing, but publishing “everything” is not.  I’ve known that, but it was good to have it come more fully into my consciousness, and it eased a lot of pressure I’d been feeling.

With two other cosmic connections, I felt and acknowledged that my understanding of them has been twisted by cultural caricatures, as they are “famous” people.  I tried to perceive beyond those caricatures but got the message that we’ll deal with this block on another day.

Silently, I enjoyed the energies around me – except for the back of my aura which still felt crushed.  I tried different intentions and eventually was able to lift away a whole battery of attachments that seemed to be programs, especially programs to keep myself intensely busy (a life-long habit).

Even though I often wrestle long and hard with spiritual challenges, these fell off easily as I expanded my energy field behind me.  Then I scooped them together, saw them melt down, gave them to spirit help to dispose of, and announced to the room, “I replace these programs with my own programs to spend enough time to know myself.”

I sat for a while longer, feeling amazingly well.

Later in the day, I caught up on my sleep.  And in the evening, my partner and I did the most heavenly harmonizing for hours.

I am grateful.

My Million-dollar Question

Yesterday, I posted that I intended to blog only about spiritual power and ignore any dark stuff that intruded into my life.

Before I could post  it, however, I experienced my first obvious harassment of the season, then succumbed to my usual desire to “shine light on the darkness,” and posted two more blogs and notified friends on Facebook before crashing into bed, exhausted.

I was ambivalent, however, about those last two posts, which I explained to my partner (for at least an hour this morning), and it all boils down to this:

Is posting, what I think of as “shining the light in the darkness,” really a courageous favor to all souls trying to understand the often-dark realities of this material plane, or is it merely a personal spiritual error to focus on the dark?  

And now I’ve risen, copied those posts to my computer, and deleted them here.  A waste of time?  No, a process.  I had to think this thing through carefully.

For at least five years in a row, I’ve had weird things – very weird things – happen to me every winter:  manipulative people came into my life, extremely clear proofs of mind control were done to me, obvious and strange marks appeared on my body (bruises, burns and scoops of removed skin), and my home was repeatedly broken into, including broken locks.  Last year, I posted everything (consolidated under the heading at the top of this blog, titled “Harassment”), and it was a very difficult winter.

Recently, I couldn’t help but recognize that “the season” was rolling around again, and I began to wonder if the cycle of weirdness would repeat.  So I decided to only post about spiritual power and see whether I could positively affect, as the common New Age platitudes tell us, the reality of my life.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t prepared well enough for things to get truly crazy that very day, and I was caught off-guard and fell into my usual pattern of writing and publishing to cope and hopefully “protect myself.”

But I’ve slept on it and thought it all through (again), and here’s my plan.

First, even though the weirdness usually involves people I think of as the CIA (well-documented reasons will be found elsewhere), my experiment is not meant to influence them, at least not directly.   My experiment is spiritual.

My renewed intention is to post, as I wrote yesterday, only about spiritual power.

If weird things happen, I’ll write about them in my own journals, but I’ll refrain from posting them for now.  (If anyone wants to be on a mailing list to hear about events as they happen, perhaps I can forward my journals to a few friends who also experience this sort of thing, but I will not spend hours crafting the language carefully for broadcast publication.)

That way I’ll deal with my psychological need to document and be heard by someone, but won’t spend too much time on it.

I’m “testing the spirits” here.  If I turn more of my attention to my spiritual help, will that protect me more than posting about the dark?  That’s my million dollar question restated.

If things don’t change this winter, perhaps I’ll return to posting.

If things do change this winter, I’ll consider it an excellent scientific experiment, proof enough for me, that we can indeed change the nature of our reality by changing the focus of our attention.

We all need badly for this world’s reality to change.  And some of us really, personally need it to change.  Let’s see if I can do it.  Prayers of support welcome.