On The Cosmic Switchboard, James Bartley and I overview my life in 2 hours. (We plan another conversation soon.)
On RevolutionRadio/AquarianRadio, I have two interviews with Janet Lessin, another mind control subject, and her husband Dr. Sasha Lessin, a psychotherapist. As you’d expect, these interviews are more psychologically focused.
In the first, we spend two hours covering the strange events of my childhood and early adulthood: being ritually tortured, seeing inter-dimensional beings, experiencing strange events with Mormons, military, and individuals in high levels of government, being manipulated into a sorority and into sexually-themed roles in theater. (See a full discussion list below.)
In our second interview, we continue with two marriages to “handlers,” a “nervous breakdown”/spiritual crisis, decision to be a hermit, and introduction to the world of spirit and shamanism – which includes animal spirit encounters, gray aliens, reptilians, reptoids, and more. (See a full discussion list below.)
Our third interview will be next Saturday, November 8, at 5 pm PT, which you can listen to live on Aquarian Radio or YouTube/Aquarian Radio.
Hang in there, Everyone. While you’ve witnessed me in despair and other weak states over the years, I’m hanging in here, continually seeking meaning, continually seeking connection with extra-dimensional help, feeling stronger, and praying that my contributions to our understanding of this strange multidimensional world will also help you find understanding, Help, and eventually soul growth.
Lessin/AquarianRadio Part I:
0:00:00. Intro 0:02:55 Welcome, Dwight Eisenhower, suspected ancient secret society 0:05:30 Secret Societies: Masons, Military/CASU 33, Hollywood, Grandmother/probable early mind control subject 0:09:48 Birthday 7s and moons 0:12:50 UC Davis & Human Ecology Project 0:17:35 Multiple personality “alters” and triggering 0:21:40 Flashback to ritual with sexual torture 0:22:00 Left alone, never learned to play, Asperger’s Spectrum 0:23:40 Couriers, spies, martial arts, assassin, suicidal notions 0:31:30 Portals to other dimensions 0:35:00 2 years mind control programming intensive, age 6-8 0:38:20 Mormon advice to father 0:39:15 Flashback: “She’s getting old enough to remember” 0:39:50 MK still going on 0:40:20 Fear of Mormons, altered state experiences, ghosts, shadow being 0:42:15 Baton-twirling contest, terror on stage 0:43:00 Sexual performance nightmares 0:43:47 Ghosts v ETs 0:45:25 Sexual psy op, age 13 0:50:20 MK to develop sexual slaves for blackmail. “Crazy conspiracy theory” 0:55:10 Theater roles all sexual: stripper, prostitute, sexual spy 0:56:00 Break 1:01:15 Intro 1:02:14 Dr. Sasha Lessin 1:03:06 Theater, sorority life, beauty pageants, prostitute role 1:20:25 How got strong 1:20:50 Last sexual role: sexual spy; joining and deactivating sorority 1:23:00 Initiation ceremony 1:25:00 Who’s orchestrating this? 1:26:34 Frightening hitchhiking event, marriage 1:32:20 Became mother, depressed, abused, hippie church, minister’s wife, houseparent, kids stolen 1:42:00 Student of radio and television, met second husband/handler, MK meeting 1:44:08 Handler definition and how it works 1:45:00 Constantly dealing with weirdness throughout life 1:47:09 Next show: Marriage manipulations, friends in prison and car-bombed, son with cancer, nervous breakdown, went from award-winning journalist and successful consultant to mess, husband angry at MK cartoon 1:55:00 JeanEisenhower.com, ParadigmSalon.net, RattlesnakeFire.com, YouTube.com/ParadigmSalonVideo.
Lessin/AquarianRadio Part II:
00:00 Intro 02:43 Jean Eisenhower resumes life history: marriage to handler 04:33 targeted after 2nd divorce, son’s cancer 07:50 University of Arizona – Master of Fine Arts, Creative Writing Non-Fiction – healing begins 10:00 First Shamanic experience of Wolf 12:50 Discover my multiple-ness in Mind Control, dissociation in trauma (“into the wallpaper”) 15:15 “Put trauma idea into box and into closet” 16:55 Move to my hermitage 19:10 Struggle with rational vs mystical 21:00 Star shamanism – Daughter of Isis, rationality, archetype, history of ancient Egypt 28:30 UFO on highway outside Bisbee, AZ 34:10 first draft of Rattlesnake Fire, MFA thesis 35:15 Next relationship – healing; real estate success 37:30 Inner assassin comes to fore 41:50 Colorado Springs with 5 military bases; healing relationship 46:00 Back to hermitage, Cochise County, straw bale home 48:50 experience re Pleiades – Am I from there?? 52:50 stuck in dualism, childhood charges of crazy for childhood “imaginary friend”/angel 56:00 break 1:03:45 burn all journals re 2nd marriage, begin science journals Jan 1, 2000, all into database w 1200 data lines 1:06:45 Did they want me to be a hermit? (Maybe) I’m Asperger’s, so being in nature is more comfortable than being social 1:08:30 Alien encounters, lost community, “bad Jacketed,” FBI history 1:15:00 thyroid surgery scar on neck 1:16:54 tones from sky 1:17:47 UFOs swarming like fireflies (over White Sands?) with witnesses 1:19:40 Reptilian sex 1:21:30 military Reptilian in my teepee; connections to Ft. Huachuca; 2 friends’ stories confirm; question of Reptilian relationship 1:29:30 Theory of Reptilians vs Reptoids; Reptoid looking through my left eye (“Hulk routine”), then projected image in front of me; Reptoid child hovering in space 1:35:00 Why I’m not allowed to know – theory 1:36:40 My purpose – theory 1:38:00 Janet Lessin – shape-shifting story 1:43:50 Jumping ahead: Altered state w orange alien delivering message of humans not surviving; Sumerian, Genesis warning; thought MK 1:48:40 Highway stop, vaginal implant, laceration, professional photograpic proof 1:55:30: Closing. JeanEisenhower.com, RattlesnakeFire.com, ParadigmSalon.net.
Thanks for being there, Everyone ~
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Places where I KNOW there is an implant – because I’ve felt them activated or have seen and photographed them – and places where I SUSPECT an implant might be – described and documented below. (Numbers 5, 9, 11, 13, and 17 might have been left off the list, as they have little evidence. Numbers 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, and 16 indicate two or more implants.)
1. Top/back crown of head. Often painful and hot. Anomalous radio frequency readings.
2. Represents implants of unknown number in area often painful and hot.
3. Represents implants of unknown number in area often painful and hot.
4. Both ear canals – significant technology can be seen with otoscope, is videotaped and published, appears to attract skin to grow over it (see newest videos); ringing since Dec 2010; unusual experience with ears Oct 27, 2016, followed by sense of water in ear for three days. Appears to match online description of “Cochlear Implant” in which elements are mounted inside a rubber cup, as this appears to be.
5. Occiput. Unsure. Associated with altered state once.
6. Back of back-right-lower tooth appears to have four items stored in geometric order, three vertically, one left of the bottom one, plus a porcelain cap seen in the back, not flush with the tooth. (Also, tooth above, top right, appears very unhealthy at its base.)
7. Two here: Implant in side of tooth, lower left, second from back, with porcelain button cap, videotaped signs of transmitting: patch of white inside stain to right, patch of tiny bubbles in front of mysterious stain dots on porcelain cap, the porcelain cap always curious to hygienists. Also another porcelain cap between this tooth and the tooth behind, gold-colored in this photo with a layer of tooth cement on top of it. (And for the record, the tooth above also appears very unhealthy at its base.) (And I stopped one dentist from placing another implant in a tooth when I discovered the extra hole he’d drilled, and he prompted destroyed the evidence by destroying and removing my tooth.)
8. This implanted the day #10 was removed. It tickles now and then.
9. On spine. Theoretical. Think it might be used to pull my spine out of alignment.
10. In me for over a year. Bruise showed within two weeks, went away within two weeks after it was removed Oct 26, 2014 (resulting tunnel is shown in photo with bruise beside). Tickled a lot.
11. On spine. Theoretical. Think it might be used to pull my spine out of alignment.
12. In my heart or very nearby. My Naturopath heard it in 2006 and was rather disturbed. She appreciated my not pressing her about it, but she confirmed my account after I’d published my book in 2008.
13. Inside left forearm, beneath elbow. Has pressed on a nerve since my 20s or 30s. May be a harmless cyst, but it’s in a location that many people report implants, so it’s suspected.
14. February 8, 2011, I sensed a cut, up alongside my clitoral shaft about 1” or more up inside, where I assume an implant has been placed. I sensed the cut tissue as soon as I awoke and moved my leg. Some researchers report these implants are placed specifically for sexual torture, but I’ve never felt it activated while conscious.
15. Inside my g-spot, where I have a puncture wound (at arrow, above the obvious laceration – a different harassment) – indicating an implant that some researchers claim is placed in people explicitly to torture their subjects sexually. Arrived in November 2004 and was activated once (before the clitoral cut happened in 2011), lifting me off the bed when I was reading. (I would like this implant removed first.)
16. Implants in both my hands, unsure exactly where, but they cause radio interference when handling an EMF meter and also when interacting with my iPhone.
17. Smaller than pea-sized, left leg, 1” above the ankle, 1” inside from center shin. Arrived between 2001-2003, suddenly a hard lump under the skin, during time of many UFO experiences.
18. Found silver two-layer button in nose, videotaped it; tried unsuccessfully to remove it with a q-tip, disappeared two days later. Also, suspected an implant arrived November 2004, causing nosebleed.
Very strange to realize you’re a cyborg, all wired up, and you never signed up willing.
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Those last ear canal implant photos really shook me, and made me want to put my whole crazy story into a nutshell. Here it is.
I seem to have been put on the TI list in 2002 when I was doing international media work for the historic, 6-week federal trial Judi Bari v the FBI. (The FBI was found GUILTY on ALL charges related to – but not including – the 1990 assassination attempt on an environmental activist colleague of mine, Judi Bari, and they feds paid a historic judgement.)
During the trial, I twice experienced waking with my entire body vibrating inside what felt like a “vibrational cocoon,” and my immediate thought was “men in a van with high tech equipment,” and after a second or two of alarm, I went unconscious.
In the 17 years since then, I’ve documented everything anomalous in daily journals, including Taser burns, scoop marks, “donut bruises,” injection bruises, other weird bruises, home break-ins, more vibrational experiences, implants (implanted and removed), tones and chords and even movies played in my head, fingers out of joint, broken toe, back mysteriously and seriously out of alignment, social sabotage, online sabotage, financial sabotage, highway stops, amnesia, and a few events of consciousness while my body was controlled to do things I wouldn’t voluntarily do, and more.
While I lived in the country, the weirdness included a LOT of alien and UFO events, as well as tones, amnesia, immobilization, animal mutilations, and highway stops. When, trying to escape the terror, I moved to a small town, the weirdness changed to include a lot of apparent medical events, such as scoop marks, dentists unnecessarily drilling my teeth and doing other procedures, tones, movies, vibrations, and chiropractic distress. When I fled that locale, the events employed drones, TIPS people, Satanists, and more electronics.
But all this is just one layer on top of a larger story. Just days after the Judy Bari v FBI trial ended, at home, I received an email from a friend who shares a lot of my symptoms, suggesting I check out a few websites, and when I did, I had the answer to a lifetime of weirdness I could never explain; I realized I’d been a mind control subject since childhood.
My father was in the Navy, and adamantly never wanted to talk about it. He was in CASU 33, which has an online discussion group dealing with the “mystery” of this unit. He was also a child actor in Hollywood. And his father was a high-degree Mason. My mother was a “jack Mormon” (fallen away, not a church-goer), and she occasionally took me to that church, where I had mind-blowing experiences for which I’m amnesic, but still remember the rage and distress. I’ve also had one flashback to my babyhood, too young to roll over, in which I was ritually sexually abused, left my body and looked down on the room – with men in a semi-circle, and my mother there, sunk to the floor in horror with her hand over her mouth – so I believe it was a Mormon ritual, not a medical one.
I believe I was chosen for mind control at birth because my birth date is 7-7-52 (7-7-7), on a Monday (Moon day), in the middle of Cancer (Moon Child, ruled by the Moon), and not just on the day of the Full Moon, but within 8 minutes of the precise moment of moon fullness – that’s 2/1,000ths of a degree of perfection – the stuff that Satanists love, and there are Satanists inside the Mormon Church, as well as the military and Masons and the CIA mind control program. I believe my parents were groomed to give me, their first born (or first live-born) child to the mind control program in exchange for some sort of benefit. I don’t think they had any connection to Satanists, except by this accident of cooperating with the CIA or Mormons.
I have two years of almost total amnesia from age 6-8, the same age that other Monarch mind control subjects have amnesia, or memories of torture. I remember the train trip to New Mexico with my mother at age 6, in which we left my father home with three children under 3 1/2 years, including my sister only 6 months old. Supposedly we went to visit my mother’s aunt in New Mexico, but that makes absolutely no sense. Later, I remember being delivered home by four men in military uniforms, and being silently “beside myself” with rage and betrayal. The next year, at age seven, I was left with my grandmother in California, while the rest of the family left and promised to come back to get me “later.” And that’s about all I recall of those two years, whereas I remember a great deal of the years before.
I was the most obedient child I’ve ever heard of. So it was ironic and a therapeutic change when I became a radical environmental activist in my 30s (1980s), engaged in civil disobedience. But I was on the most conservative edge of the movement. I was the one who typed letter-perfect media releases, and only once did anything more daring. For work, I was a community relations consultant to domestic violence organizations, health clinics, community radio, the United Way, and even Earth First! – which eventually took all my time, until Judi’s car bombing in 1990 scared the daylights out of everyone.
Until then, when I set a goal, I accomplished it. I was invited to the Leaders Circle of Tucson Network for Women. I was invited to Leadership Tucson, and spoke twice at their events. I sat on numerous boards. I successfully debated issues on radio and television. And ran a business and raised my two kids (who are wonderful and happy).
My life changed like this: In 1993, age 41 (typical age for the return of traumatic memories), I realized I’d been sexually abused as a child, The next year, I realized I was a multiple personality (common, of course, with childhood sexual abuse) – though I’m not the typical TV/movie extreme type. (All the alters created by my controllers only come out under their command, usually with no memory; but I do have other alters, I believe, spontaneously created by me, and also organized in such a way as to not interfere in my life like the extreme cases.) For the next 8 years, I assumed my not-too-bad multiple-ness was a simple by-product of sexual abuse; in 2002, I realized it had been intentionally created for the purposes of mind control. And that was terrifying. For a few years, I thought of suicide every day.
A unique sort of Multiple Personality
Because my alters are so well controlled, I’ve been fairly successful in life, and maybe the mind control even helped me develop my skills. Almost everything I’ve tried, I’ve been very successful at – except socializing. Because I lived with parents who didn’t talk to me much, I didn’t get to learn social skills til very late, and then after one year of kindergarten, I was put into MK for two years. My social education didn’t begin again until I was 8, and I’ve been working to catch up all my life; therefore, I score on the Asperger’s Scale. Like many female Aspies, though, I did learn to “act normal enough” in most social situations, and sometimes I’ve actually been quite successful, but it’s always required great effort.
What I lacked in social skills, I made up for in academics and employment. I usually score on intelligence tests in the genius range. In school, I won awards in art, acting, dancing, and theater design, and was one of the two top math students in my 3,000-student high school. In my professional life, I’ve won awards or recognitions in sales, fundraising, journalism – and some of these were regional and national recognitions. I’ve been offered six-figure salaries. I’ve taught English at university level and been executive director of a local Habitat for Humanity, overseeing both a store and a home building operation. I’ve designed and built houses and juried into art shows. In some ways, it seems the mind control has served me, or maybe I was already a genius and they just took advantage.
I was married twice, and almost a third time, and have been in other relationships with men that lasted for years, always to men I can see now were also MK subjects who participated in my control, knowingly or unknowingly, helping direct the course of my life. My most recent partner, after I kicked him out, I realized he’d been responsible for the injection bruises that I found on my thighs twice a week for 14 months – they ended when he moved out.
I’m on my own again now, and think I will always be. I’ve had all my lifetime’s financial gains stripped from me, through a series of legal improprieties that I was unable to fight successfully – though I tried, doggedly. I used to have a passive solar home on 20-acres of beautiful land with a creek. Then I had another passive solar home in a small town that I’d turned into a showcase with natural plaster interior sculpture and a magical garden. I was terrorized to flee from it all. Now I have a fifth-wheel in a trailer park and a little truck camper for traveling. And no savings, vulnerable, just like They like it.
Anyway, that’s the overview: TI and MK subject, which includes being multiple (an unfortunate fact that’s unfairly discrediting), with Satanists involved – which some people also find unbelievable and therefore discrediting.
I therefore try to be very careful with my accounts, distinguishing perceptions from assumptions, and documenting everything like a scientist. For awhile my journals were even pure science journals, kept according to scientific protocol.
A few nights ago I finally was able to take photos from deep inside my ears with my new USB-connected otoscope – and I found 4 or 5 implants attached just around the bend. (I recommend others try this too.)
Note the square “button,” top left, the square tab or two, below right, and the funnel-shaped thing in the middle. Anyone venture a guess what that is?
In past years, I’ve documented in various ways implants that I’ve felt activated, or otherwise felt the presence of – in my g-spot, up alongside my clitoral shaft, in my heart (a doctor was shocked to hear it), on my left scapula, and more. All of them were weird, or infuriating, but they were tiny and couldn’t be seen, and easier to push out of my consciousness. These ear canal implants are freakier and are affecting me in a deeper way it’s hard to ignore.
With almost two decades of journals compiled into a database, I’m now working to find patterns and themes and otherwise trying to make the best use of the information.
Opening words: “This is the story of a thirty-year search by US intelligence agencies to perfect mind control. Some of those engaged in the search have agreed to talk about it for the first time. One said, ‘I think every last one of us felt sorry to attempt this kind of thing. We knew we were crossing the line.'”
Having finally decided to come out of the closet (again), risk (again) being thought “negative” and creating my own very gruesome reality, I allowed myself to indulge yesterday in some long-neglected research on my own situation.
It has been rewarding to learn, or relearn that thousands, maybe a million other people around the world are experiencing the same thing as me, and that I’m not all alone, defective, having created this disabling condition.
Not only am I not guilty of creating it, but I haven’t been unaware either. I’d perceived enough and made logical conclusions, consistent with personal and world history, and even with religion, philosophy and mythology, about what was happening to me.
So why did I need to reread this research to remember? Many forces encourage me to forget, or not believe, or hold my ideas in a “consideration” category without enough certainty to warrant action. Lots of ways I disable my brain from action.
Why? Because few of my friends can tolerate hearing about it more than twenty minutes to an hour a year. When they offer their opinion it is most often along the lines of trying to focus on other things, which they don’t realize is already how I’m living my life and I’m wondering whether the better strategy might be to tell someone about it.
Everyone is mind controlled to not talk about it. Even though it has become a fairly common subject of science fiction these days, it’s still difficult to discuss. The implications are so scary.
Yeah. And especially for us.
And for us, there’s really very little we can do. And when things are so hopeless, no one wants to hear. Why bum out their day when there’s nothing they can do.
Here’s the video I’m grateful for – from way back in 1979 – grateful for it being one of the few bits of affirmation I’ve gotten lately:
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I used to wonder what was wrong with me. I called myself shy, then neurotic, and eventually, in my early 40s realized I’d been sexually abused as a child. The next year, I realized I was also dissociative, fractured, amnesic, and had been for most of my life.
Just before I turned 50 I realized I’d not only been sexually abused, but had also been tortured, intentionally to make me dissociative, the foundation to controlling my mind. This was a task carried out by various parties, overseen by CIA psychiatrists, with assistance from the Mormon Church and other groups throughout my life.
Throughout my life, I’ve also tested at genius levels, in school, on MENSA and Air Force tests, and often won awards my first year in a field, from art to sales and fundraising. This is either a positive effect of mind control, or maybe they chose me for their project because they knew I was smart, or maybe only the smart ones survive.
A year or two ago, I learned I score borderline on the Asperger’s Scale, though I was very “Aspie” when I was young. While the majority of Aspies consider themselves different by virtue of their genetics, one-third of us identify as different because of our upbringing.
Falling on the Aspergers Scale might be a natural outcome of the childhood training. To progress as far as I have is not uncommon for Aspie women; with enough motivation, or pressure, it’s possible to study people and in decades of practice, figure out how to act almost normal. Now that I pass (barely, borderline on the scale), I enjoy socializing for an hour or two, at most, but I often feel mentally numb afterwards. I relate to Dr. Spock and the newest depiction of Sherlock Holmes – both mystified as I am by common conversation. I remember judging adult conversation quite harshly also when I was very young, as if I had some other standard against which to judge. Maybe I came from somewhere else? Could that be why they chose me?
I’ve called myself a “high-functioning multiple personality” – though my alters are not nearly as dramatic nor as distinct as the individuals chosen for movie scripts. My alter changes have gone mostly unnoticed for all of my life. This helped me hold the attitude, after I realized the extent of my fractures, that with the help of my spiritual Guides, I could heal myself and recover my life – even though the literature warns against such high expectations, unless one is young and has a great deal of money and support. I have none of those things.
When I am more realistic, I think it only my right to end my life, but no one will agree with me on that. I’m sure that if I went to Oregon, or any other state with right-to-die laws, I’d qualify: I have a) a disease that cannot be cured, b) which harms my quality of life irredeemably, and c) [I forget the third qualifier, but I’ll fill this in soon].
Why I don’t believe in suicide is because…
1) I think it only honest to remember that we could be wrong in interpreting our perceptions – since we see so little of the material world as compared to what we can perceive with technology – we see only a fraction;and some people say it’s all illusion anyway, or at least that we “see through a glass darkly.” I assume it’s true, because I’ve had my ecstatic times when I saw something in another realm that I couldn’t remember but the conclusion was happiness and the assurance that, regardless of what appears, everything’s going to be alright – or at least I think I saw and knew that. (Maybe it was mind control. If so, we’ll need to revisit my assumptions.)
2) Everything we see has already been interpreted for us by those who’ve gone ahead of us, in our language, entertainment, religion, politics, and education. Somewhere, we might have been helped to construct an incorrect framework for current interpretations.
3) Someone once suggested that if we bail out on this life, we’ll just have to come back and do it again, like the Truman Show, and I don’t want to take that risk. Since I’ve always felt that our culture won’t last much longer, I always assume it’s not that much more to endure.
So, I’m hanging in.
Two years ago I was at my wit’s end, having woken in my bed, feeling something terrible had been done to me. With great difficulty, I rolled off the bed and arranged myself upright to walk, and slowly shuffled to the bathroom. When I saw my face in the mirror, I turned back to the living room to get my phone and shuffled back to the bathroom mirror and snapped a photo.
My facial muscles were slack, the tissues puffy, my eyelids sagging, my left eyeball turned inward. The overall impression was that I’d been beat up, only there was no discoloration.
What had been done to me? (A normal photo is included for comparison.)
I’d recently summarized all my journals into a master database, so I could see whether the frequency of these events was increasing. In 2010, I’d had only 38 days disturbed by bizarre events, in 2015 I’d had 130 days in which I’d either had a bizarre experience that had rocked my equanimity or I was recovering from something mysterious. One-third of my days. Obviously, this interfered with making a living and all the other aspects of living a life. I was unable to keep up with home and garden maintenance, payments, anything.
At my wit’s end, I asked nearly every family for something. My son I asked to make payments on my house, since he often said he felt guilty for not saving anything when he had so much money flowing through. I asked my siblings to read a three page summary of all the weirdness, and I sent them that photo above, but between the three of them I got back only two sentences: One couldn’t give me money (I hadn’t asked), and the other would pray for me. My son didn’t answer. I asked my daughter for nothing, since she’d let me know very clearly she thought I was only suffering from my own mistakes. When my father learned I was planning to sell my home, he offered to make the payments for me, but by then I only wanted out of the house where I felt like a sitting duck, and I declined his offer. Perhaps that was a mistake.
I sold my home as fast as I could and found myself inside a major psy op (psychological operation, which I’ll describe soon) designed to squash every bit of energy out of me – for what purpose? Punishment from my controllers for my sin of speaking against the FBI, CIA, Mormon Church, Vatican, and others? Is it entertainment for some psychopaths? Or is my anguish “food” for the Archons (as the gnostic Christians described in ancient texts)? Are they (mind controllers, psychopaths, and Archons) all the same?
Subjects of psy ops are called “targeted individuals,” or “TI’s.” Some are mind control subjects, but all are people who’ve somehow gotten on someone’s shit list.
For awhile I had a theory that they tortured me the worst when I published, so I quit publishing; but recently, my torture has been so great, I’ve decided there’s no need for me to keep this stuff a secret any more.
The other reason I keep it secret is that people can hardly believe it, and the last thing I need is people thinking I made shit up. That’s why I take photos and document as thoroughly as possible.
But I don’t want to keep the secrets any more. I see online that the numbers of people suffering from this targeting is much larger than I’d realized. So people need to know. And I’m a writer, and it’s happening to me. So here goes.
Coming soon, my last two years of harassment….
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You’d think that if you were watching a movie, and the camera zoomed in on the watch that the main character wore and kept checking, so tight a zoom that the watch face more than filled the screen, you’d notice the time.And you’d especially notice the time if the character repeated the action and the director repeated the zoom four or five times.
Not me.And because the time – always the same – was critical to the plot about time loops, I didn’t understand the movie until my friend told me the time was always 7:42 (or whatever; I don’t remember).
Realizing what I had stubbornly refused to see – at least with my conscious mind – was a powerful shock and an important and helpful wake-up call.My recent life, the last 22 years, has been a series of such shocks and awakenings.
It was the spring of 1994 when I realized, to my horror, that I was a “multiple personality.”In the 22 years since, I’ve realized I’m a unique sort of multiple – not the kind with random parts that highjack the system and lead crazy-making alternative lives for hours or years at a time.
No, my “system” [multiple personality jargon] seems to be quite organized in comparison, and even to function well enough that I’ve won awards and national and international recognitions for achievements in everything from news reporting and fundraising to videography and Permaculture education.This isn’t unusual for multiples, as many of us are geniuses.
My system of alternate personalities – I believe I have a wealth of evidence to prove – was crafted by psychiatrists and mind control researchers beginning shortly after I was born.My history begins with the CIA’s Human Ecology Project (a front for mind control research) on the campus of UC Davis, where I lived from age 3 days to 14 months.After that, we moved to Merced where the cousin of the Secretary of the Interior, Addison Udall, was my pediatrician.After my 1st and 2nd grades, for which I have total amnesia, my family moved into a new custom home that backed up to or near a home of Stewart Udall.
My history continues matching many aspects of the stories of other mindcontrol subjects around the United States and Canada who’ve either published their stories, testified before Congress, or whose counselors or therapists have told their stories, or whose details have been compiled in research.
My mind control programming seems to have been constructed along the lines detailed by DC Hammond, the psychiatrist who first came forward and described this problem and its possible cure to the American Psychological Association in the 1980s; and by the controversial researcher Fritz Springmeyer, who presents a diagram of typical alters, scores or hundreds, constructed in shells, like a computer program, making it possible for someone to command a particular alter to perform a particular function perfectly when, where, and as desired by the use of cues, similar to pass codes, which access programs which are regularly reinforced and updated.So my multiple-ness doesn’t function randomly or dysfunctionally, as movies and books often portray, but precisely according to some Master Controller’s plan.Usually.
There are exceptions to this, of course.All us mind control subjects, for instance, writing books and testifying was not in the controllers’ plan.Because this is research, not perfected yet.Some of us early research subjects, from the late forties and early fifties, are in our sixties now, and that means that brain cells aren’t being replaced as rapidly, and mental things are deteriorating.What deteriorates might be “simple memory,” as the average person might think of it, but the brain cells lost might also be part of an amnesic wall or part of a program – meaning that we might begin to remember things we’re not supposed to remember, or we might begin not following commands we’re supposed to follow.Indeed, around age 40 – as brain research predicts – I began to remember what I wasn’t supposed to remember.
At first I ignored it, thought it some weird aberration, for which I invented all sorts of theories to override the one thing it seemed to be, put it all in a box, on a high shelf in a mental closet, shut the door, and didn’t think about it again for four years, until another break-through memory happened again.Then I repeated the process:in the box, on the shelf (saved without looking or mentally tampering, to maybe investigate later), shut the door, and forgot.
After another four years and a sudden crisis of cancer, divorce, moving with teens, one seriously ill, and a nervous breakdown – I went to a therapist’s office, listed my challenges, and followed them with words that had never crossed my frontal cortex until I heard my mouth speaking them – quite the surprise:“I think I’ve been sexually abused as a child.[shocked pause]No, no, that’s not what I meant to say.I don’t want to deal with that.I never even thought about it before [lie], and don’t know where it came from.I have more serious, immediately pressing needs to talk about.”
And so began my 22-years-and-counting journey toward understanding what’s been going on with my mind.The first year, 1993-1994, I coped with the shock of memories of sexual abuse and the spells of amnesia that had plagued me.The next 8 years I coped with the shock and self-diagnosis of Multiple Personality Syndrome (aka Dissociative Disorder).And the following/recent 14 years, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with the understanding that I’ve been – not just a regular “multiple” – but a mind-control subject, someone with a psychological and psychiatric “technology” applied to multiple alters in me – created intentionally – your tax dollars at work.
So what does this have to do with not noticing the time?I can only guess, but I know that we can be programmed for any number of things, to support a program of any purpose, sometimes because a subject is being actively used for intelligence purposes (seems unlikely at my age, but possible), and sometimes because a subject is being used for research in new programming techniques, drugs, working with aging subjects, etc.
When I don’t notice the time, it’s easier for my controllers to use me and have me not notice.
In 1994, deep in my initial nervous breakdown depths, I was powerfully moved by the idea that it would be good for me to anchor myself fully in the time cycles of sun and moon and not by clock and calendar, and I lived that way in my hermitage for half of each week while commuting the other half of the week to school in the city.I thought it was a very spiritual concept, a psychic liberation from the broadcast mind control of Gregorian Calendar and chaotic clock; but it could also have been that I was given the command to stop watching the clock, so that I could be more easily used while alone in the desert.In 2000, when I began living there full-time, I quit noticing the time entirely, unless I needed to know.
If forced to look at a clock, as in the movie, I studied the craftsmanship of the frame, or the lighting or camera operator’s techniques.Sometimes, lately, because I’m trying to re-ground myself in time, I see and note the time, and then moments later realize I’ve forgotten it.
I’m still trying to figure out my brain, and try not to feel too bad for finding it so difficult; after all, the government spent a great deal of money and science to keep me from knowing.So I take heart in whatever little scraps of understanding I can gain.
How do we keep going?Maybe Spirit.Maybe our programming.I ask this question often.
In either case, it is usually lonely, because virtually everyone falls in one of two camps:it doesn’t happen, or the likelihood is slim; or they know but they just don’t want to hear about it, sorry.
It’s surprising to recognize how long I’ve been so compromised, forced to compensate with notes, notes, notes, reminders, struggling, lately overwhelmed….
Noticing, though, is the first step to healing.Gotta appreciate what we can.
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My life is exquisitely difficult to talk about. It’s woven with extreme themes – sexual abuse, mind control, aliens, mysticism – and with accomplishments that make me shy, and failures that embarrass me, and critical facts that embarrass other people.
And none of the themes, for simplification, can be hidden or glossed over, because each intertwines and sometimes explains the others.
I can’t begin at the beginning, because it is either boring, or if I tell certain details, it sounds too woo-woo.
Since I almost always get interrupted fairly early with the question, “Why you?”I think I’ll begin there.
It could be any number of things, but is probably all of them together. Plus the fact that I won “the lottery.”
(Remember that classic, creepy short story, “The Lottery”? We read it once in grade school and again in high school, about a community that killed one person every year by stoning, a person drawn by lottery.)
My lottery ticket to this crazy life may have been as simple as my birth date. I was born on a Full Moon, on a Monday (Moon Day), in the middle of Cancer, also known as Moon Child.
And it wasn’t just a Full Moon, somewhere inside that 24-hour window; no, I was born 8 minutes before the Full Moon, 8/(24×60) = 5/1,000ths of a degree of perfection. Moon energy was strong. (Astronomical charts, not astrological, show the coincidence.)
So were the numbers: I was born on July 7, 1952 − 5+2 adding up to 7. Three sevens. Then my mother gave me a name with 7 letters: Jean Ann.
My last name, at birth and now, is Eisenhower. My father was second cousin to Dwight, who was nominated to the Republic ticket for President of the United States later on the day of my birth. The next day, the local paper would give my birth a short column to remark on the coincidence.
Maybe all these coincidences explain my winning/losing lottery ticket. Or maybe mind control was already in the family.
Eisenhower family crest
[I’ll expand on these later: Eisenhowers = Iron hewers (secret society protecting metallurgy secrets for the king). Grandfather Hollywood veterinarian of Rin-Tin-Tin – Mason – money lender. Father Navy CASU 33 – unsolved mystery.
[Petersens – Mormons. Grandmother with her handler. Mother I saw switch alters, in trance. Unexplained terror re Mormons. Flashback of babyhood ritual.]
I seem to have won/lost the lottery and was treated to MK. Then, having developed a bad attitude toward our culture due to MK, I joined the counter-culture and offended my handlers – again and again, beginning with rejecting the invitation of another secret society, calling them “plastic,” accepting their invitation to “try them,” taking the vows, and then de-activating and breaking my vows. I assume my actions resulted in another layer of MK, as they warned us that breaking our vows would have severe consequences (which I didn’t believe, as it was contrary to “American values”).
In my 20s, I became an activist for peace, and later for social justice, and environmental sustainability. Along the way, I insulted the FBI with media releases exposing their most incriminating statements which I sent to 600 major media around the world, nearly every day of the 6-week “Judi Bari v FBI” federal trial – and the FBI was found guilty.
They stared me down in the hallways of the courthouse, damn scary dudes. They might have amped up my treatment then and following the trial, when I lived alone in the desert – things got extremely frightening after the trial, to the point I was ready to give up this life.
Perhaps they amped up my MK again when I published my book. And maybe they amped it up again each time I published a particularly hard-hitting blog or video. There seem to be correlations.
So now that I’ve given you an overview of my story, maybe answered the Why?, and I’ve gotten my paranoia out of the way – or demonstrated and acknowledged it at least – let me tell you my story….
To help me wrap my brain around it all – my fractured, fragmented mind full of experiences is often difficult to remember as a whole – I created a database to record all my anomalous experiences, from sublime to terrifying, everything out of the normal. My list is nearly 700 items long, and the last half of them have occurred in the last 5 years. Things are accelerating.
[to be continued]
Feedback? How’s this to open an update to my story?
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Lonely, obedient, good girl, good student, shy, dancer, math and puzzle genius, occasional amnestic, community theater performer, raped, reluctant sorority girl, reluctant beauty queen, college run-away hitchhiker, Jesus hippie, minister’s wife, battered, mother, divorced, children conned away by ex, atheist, woken out of a trance, children returned, degreed in broadcast journalism, UPI award-winning radio reporter, remarried, business owner, PR consultant to social service and activist organizations, board member and president, Permaculture certified, radical activist, pantheist, arrested twice, jailed twice, Tasered twice, news feature “Supermom,” winner of more awards and recognitions, divorced again, child with cancer, offered ownership of $3-4 million birdwatching world-tour business, flashbacks of childhood sexual abuse, nervous breakdown, business offer passed, unable to work, praying again, son healed, aware of dissociative parts, confidant of healing, master of non-fiction creative writing, desert hermit, builder of small passive solar strawbale home, experiencer of many things shamanic, including Jesus, memoirist, in love with old high school crush, moved to new city, engaged, a real estate agent, disengaged, award-winning agent, offered six-figure management position (declined), hermit again, UFO experiencer, shamanic initiate, media consultant to successful “Judi Bari v FBI” car-bomb trial, psychically attacked, suddenly aware of life-long mind control subjection, relieved that life makes sense, terrified, near-suicidal, partnered with teepee-dwelling artist, budding artist in pencil and fiber, repeatedly terrified, mysteriously vaginally cut, heart attack, spiritually healed and encouraged, environmental activist again, solar oven educator, passive solar designer, single again, driven from hermitage by poverty, moved to small town, student of consciousness, Transpersonal Hypnotherapist™, author, mind control activist, mysteriously Tasered, mysteriously bruised, healing dissociative splits, encouraged, despairing, home renovator in natural plaster sculpture, passive solar advocate, Permaculture designer, identified with Persephone, enjoying the spring, identified with Black Elk, committed to service… old woman.
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The usual interpretation of mind controllers is that they are psychopathic, predatory, sexual perverts, Satanic, demonic, or something else, in any case trying to rob people of their souls or at the very least rob them of their life energy to use them for the controllers’ own purposes.
I’ve lived with variations on this theory since 2002, and it’s very unpleasant to contemplate every time I’ve woken up with a bruise, scoop mark, surgical scar (sometimes oddly healed), Taser burn, etc. The terror of this weird unknown has pushed me to the point of wishing I could die more often than I can count.
Obviously, I haven’t wanted to continue to be their pawn in a game of – I don’t even know what, because I’m amnesic for it.
Something recently caused me to try to perceive “outside the box” of my current theories – and all the other theories I’ve explored, which are all pretty much unanimously upsetting if not terrifying.
A chance to reconsider my interpretation might have come about through my gardening.
I know my plants are living, sensitive beings, and yet I’ve been guilty of treating them poorly. Sometimes I put off watering too long, or delay feeding them nutrients they need. Or I prune them without cleaning and sharpening my tools. Or I transplant them at the wrong time or otherwise in such a way that they don’t survive.
And I wonder what they think of me. Do they think I’m evil?
And so I began to wonder if the mind controllers might not be evil psychopaths, or demons, but simply the equivalent of lousy gardeners.
I even tried to imagine that I might be a creative spirit on other dimensions, working with a team of beings, and together we imagined trying to amp up the human potential by splitting individuals into parts, as we’d noticed that natural “split personalities” seem able to multiply their intellectual interests and capacities. We developed our theory, believed that pain could be ameliorated with amnesia, and thought we had a useful idea. And I volunteered to be a guinea pig. Or I drew the short straw. Whatever. Just a theory. But I can imagine it.
To be honest, and for complete disclosure, the worst of my strange experiences has suddenly, quite dramatically, ceased earlier this year, for what reason I don’t know (though I can guess, but am not ready to share that guess). For quite a long time, I’d been having at least two weird events, usually what I call “injection bruises,” every single week, and there were also many weeks when I was totally devastated, exhausted, depressed to the point of wanting to die, and felt fairly good for nothing. And suddenly it stopped, earlier this year.
But the upsetting stuff had gone on for so very long that I don’t know if this is just a temporary reprieve and it’ll begin again, or if they really did “put me out to pasture” as I’ve been expecting they should, now that I’m in my 60s.
Whatever is the case, a fear response doesn’t go away easily. I don’t know if I’ll ever relax from it, though I certainly try.
Even though I’m symptom free now and have been for months, I am still fascinated by this subject. What does it mean? What is the nature of our reality that we can be amnesic for things that cause pain, and have serious, photographable wounds?
I’ve been open to other theories for a very long time. And in all my years of blogging and receiving responses from people all over the world, the greatest number of people confirm my experiences with similar ones of their own, and few offer a “comforting” response.
Some people have theorized – and this is one of the “more comforting” ideas – that one of my alternate personalities is creating the wounds on myself at night. I can imagine this being the case for something simple like what I’ve called “injection bruises” which always appeared on one of my thighs, usually the front.
But I can’t figure out how anyone could create the scoop marks – on my right hand.
Taser burn (second degree burn with skin removed) discovered November 29, 2010, photographed 2 days later.
Or the third-degree “Taser” burn – on my right arm.
Or the “thyroid surgery” scar, healed, that appeared one morning on my neck, and which a nurse questioned me about ten years later (I didn’t mention, but she saw the scar which she said was just like her thyroid scar)!
Do I have a violent, left-handed alternate personality who wants to hurt me? And who has access to technology beyond what any of us understand – that can take surgical scoop biopsies and make scars heal overnight?
Two and a half weeks after a beam hit me while talking on the telephone. I seem to have been controlled to not look at it and later not photograph it until it was almost healed.
How about the “beam” that hit me while talking on the phone with a friend, that left a huge bruise on the side/back of my leg? (Which I didn’t photograph for two weeks – why? Because I was mind controlled not to? Don’t know.)
This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar showed up on the back of my leg. No explanation except…
Or how about these two donut-shaped bruises that appeared within days of each other. How did I create them?
As strange as it may all be, I think I’d rather accept the theory that some trans-dimensional (spiritual) being is doing all this.
I REALLY don’t like the idea of it being CIA, even though there’s 100,000 pages of released government documents and CIA director testimony to Congress to support it. Maybe I should just stop there.
But I want another theory. Maybe just so that doctors will respect it and help me rather than label me “delusional.”
Am I in denial? Maybe…. But nearly everyone in my life wants me to deny it. My own flesh and blood deny it and won’t speak to me of it.
Strangers around the world support me in the CIA (and Satanist) assumptions. My book and these hundreds of pages on this site all support the same assumption. And yet I wish for another explanation. I guess I’m in denial.
Or maybe I can theorize that, yes, even though the CIA is involved, they’re under the direction of Bad Gardeners in the Cosmos.
What do you think?
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I’ve investigated every sort of information I thought would help me either make sense of the strange and sometimes horrifying (apparently trans-dimensional) experiences I’ve had – or help me stop them or appropriately deal with them.I’ve read about religion and spiritual/demonic attack, mind control and criminal hypnosis, and the psychology of fear and obsession (in case I could be creating or triggering this by the power of my mind, as some people believe and imply).
That’s a pretty good-sized burn to have happened without me remembering it.
(*I said sometimes because, thankfully, these events have not been happening in these recent 8 months since I cleared my home of excess “spiritual paraphernalia” [a clue?] and called again on Christ; since then, I’m happy to say, I’ve been mostly free of weird experiences – though I found an unexplained burn on the back of my neck on June 30.)
While I’ve usually interpreted my ongoing experiences as the result of mind control and/or spiritual attack (yes, could be both at once), I’ve never said for certain that any particular theory was sufficient – because I don’t believe we currently have the worldview and language to sufficiently describe the multi-dimensional nature of these intrusions into the human experience, as least as we’re perceiving it now.
And even though I’ve been mostly injury-free for eight months, I still suffer from memory problems much like a multiple personality, but not nearly so bad as how it’s typically perceived and presented in media. Nevertheless, I want to heal myself of whatever has been going on.
The BEST place to buy used books: Addall.com, where you can often pay a few cents more and not have to buy from the amazon Amazon.
So imagine my surprise to be loaned I Ching:The Oracle of the Cosmic Way, by Carol K. Anthony and Hanna Moog – and to discover it talks extensively about “spells” and deprogramming!!!
I was so impressed by it, I bought another book by the same women:Heal Yourself the Cosmic Way:Based on the I Ching.It’s a handbook for healing programming!
I’ve seen a lot of self-help books, and this is the only one I’ve ever found that talks specifically about deprogramming, in a spiritual sense!
I’ll let you know how it goes. Meanwhile, perhaps some of you will purchase (Addall.com link) one or both books yourself, and let me know what you think!
Peace and Healing to you all ~
I’ll share more later ~
(PS: Again, the BEST place to buy used books is Addall.com, where you can often pay only a few cents more and not have to buy from the amazon Amazon. And you can see the prices of small and large booksellers all over the world – on one site! Tell your friends how to boycott the amazon.
(Why? Because small booksellers are the ones who support small-niche authors and provide us information on topics that the mainstream corporatists don’t want us to have. Thanks for supporting independent authors and small publishers, by keeping the small publishers and small distributors in business.)
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A while back, I wrote about the right to decide it’s a “good day to die” – because I wanted to die.
My reasons I thought were compelling (and, I thought, in line with a newish New Mexico law): As a mind control subject, I am not only dissociative, but have suffered from regular, unexplainable, random events that happened usually while I slept and left me scared, scarred (literally), and often debilitated for days or weeks at a time – and were happening way too frequently (twice a week) to believe I could still make a living, socialize and contribute to my community, and be happy when I didn’t know when the next “hit” would come.
It really seemed as though I were victim to the same mysterious forces depicted by numerous artists like this one – typically a woman, unconscious in her bed, with a demon on her chest. Prayers didn’t seem to help.
Nevertheless, I knew I’d been through difficult times before and would later feel happy and confident again, and I was willing to believe it was possibleI could be at least content again – though it seemed unlikely, I was willing to believe it was possible – so I determined to “get my affairs in order,” in the event I continued to feel this way, but not act too hastily, and be open to the possibility of seeing things anew.
Now, weeks later, my affairs (will and medical directives) are in order, and I’m still in a place of openness and tentative hope. I’ve had a few more profound experiences that feel “healing” in a sense, and I know that more is possible.
Therefore, I found it interesting when this video came across my desk this morning, about others choosing this option:
It reminded me that I should update you all, who might have worried about me – and thank those of you who’ve written me over the past weeks to ask about how I’m doing and offer your concern. I’m making no immediate decision, but have found help and counseling for various issues: my heart, which is getting better with supplements of CoQ10, DHEA, magnesium, and more; my TMJ, which has become very problematic and sometimes painful – if my insurance company will cover it; and even my thumbs which were damaged in an old skiing accident and now my right has become a trigger-thumb making it difficult to knit or even write my name – though typing is fine. The controllers seem to have given me a bit of a break, I assume because they want me alive, not because they have any compassion. Oh yes, and I’m talking with a counselor, exploring other ways in which I might frame my situation and doing “somatic trauma therapy” – which impressed me yesterday with a quick exercise that released a heart and neck pain immediately!
I still feel tired a lot, but I’m moving forward as though I might continue to contribute to our world:
I am still a distributor for Sun Ovens, and will demonstrate them at our local, upcoming Earth Day (and sell them at the lowest-possible price to anyone – ;} – anywhere in the continental US – anytime, on my other website),
I’ve become a member again of our Southwest New Mexico Fiber Arts Alliance, with my artwork at The Common Thread retail gallery, and two other stores downtown,
I planted flowers in the garden a couple of weeks ago,
And I plan to go into debt to finish the natural plastic sculpture I began in my house over five years ago. (The unfinished tree sculpture is central in my living room/library/craft room/office here.)
So, life goes on. It feels better conjuring hope than not. Even if we have topretend we have power to craft our life story, that pretense has power, sometimes very little, but enough to get me moving, enough to get me in the garden or at the art table, and it feels important to try to continue to make meaning.
Nutritional food is critical too. And sunlight. And exercise. I’ve had to force all these on myself to generate a new will to live. Simple things, but critical. Any readers suffering like me, please remember these simple things. And do what you can do. We might find meaning after all – again. And it would be sad to leave too soon to discover that.
PS: It’s important, also, I believe, to acknowledge the good in hitting the bottom: With nothing left to lose, I began speaking truth to myself and to my partner. Those truths were very hard to tell, but they’ve had very good results. And who knows, but they might be the very most important thing that has happened.
So I’m respecting even these very hardest of times as critical to my life.
Blessings on you all, dear Readers ~
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Impressed by the incredible actor Laura Prepon, of Orange is the New Black, I looked her up on Wikipedia and read:
In 2005, Prepon starred in the film Karla, the true story of Paul Bernardo and his wife Karla Homolka, a couple who kidnapped, sexually abused and murdered three young girls – marking a contrast to her usual lighthearted roles.
Not my type of movie.
I’ve been in such deep darkness lately, that it seemed bizarre to watch this movie now, but, if I might state the obvious, I thought the description of the psychopathic couple could have a lot in common with the mind control network that controls me. It seemed it might be therapeutic. And, numb from all my own darkness, I could take it today.
And because I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom this past week, in which I’ve remembered and dwelt on a whole lot of stuff and the larger pattern, I thought the content of this movie wouldn’t be as shocking, and I’d be able to watch it with some dispassion. I thought I’d somehow benefit, and maybe even something revealing and healing could be triggered.
Here are my notes made during the movie:
– Many of my partners have signs of having been mind controlled too and of controlling me in a wide variety of ways.
– “She doesn’t even have to know.” Drugs and electroshock.
– I realize I’ve also been set up for sexual videos many times. Some of these I was too afraid to write about, even in my own journal, even many years after the fact. I remember wanting to write about an event a couple of times, but when I tried, my hand froze, so I said “Okay,” and never wrote about them anywhere. I
– The “knock-out drug.” Maybe that’s why I’m so hyper-sensitive to all sedatives.
– And if I wake up too soon, they just zap me afterward. Which explains my random heart problems, Taser burns, etc.
– Karla’s character traits: severe obedience, fear of abandonment, mistaking need for love, ability to precisely follow orders.
I relate to this totally, feeling painfully the work it has been in past decades to break free of even parts of it to create new patterns in more of my psyche. (Though I know I’m still being controlled – or have been recently – by someone commanding buried alters I’ve not yet been able to heal).
– Karla was a psychopath, who felt no remorse for others’ pain. I’m glad to know I hurt for others all over the planet, and still feel bad about a time when I was a Senior in high school (and never again, it felt so bad) “trying on” the behavior of a bossy former leader whose place I was taking, and I hurt a girl’s feelings, I thought – and I apologized to her a couple/few decades later! (She didn’t remember the event.)
I don’t believe I have any psychopathology, but I’m pretty sure I have a trained killer alter, whom I’ve only experienced once in my life, and that was when someone tried to break into my partner’s and my apartment, and I was ready to kill the man — quickly and efficiently.
After a moment of confusion, being awakened in the night, I snapped into a totally-unrecognized, but efficient and graceful series of behaviors, bouncing on my toes with a butcher knife in my hand, having commanded my partner to call 911. In my head was a recitation of the route my knife would take under his ribcage and up, the weight of the knife now becoming familiar as I bounced it in my fingers, the thought-feeling of the knife cutting its way through layers of skin, fat, and muscle – all running through my head with an absolute certainty that this would go perfectly. But the door held, and the police arrived and took him away.
They only took my report after arguing with me for quite a while about the non-necessity of arresting “a young man on a Saturday night with a little too much alcohol or drugs,” then the report didn’t exist the next morning, and no record of it was in any log, or so they told me. They were either protecting the drugged-up son of some powerful person, or they were testing my training. I wonder. But I do feel that I did have the complete knowledge in one hologram of my being for what I planned to do.
(When I wrote my book, RattleSnake Fire, I didn’t think this had anything to do with the rest of my book, or I would have included the story at the start of Chapter 16.)
So, I guess they programmed some part of me to kill, and when my life felt threatened, I was ready – and more than willing – to kill someone who “clearly,” I thought then, deserved it. No second thoughts, just total focus: bouncing on the toes, watching, hefting the knife, feeling the path, ready…. Good thing the police saved him.
Their videos of their murders …. chilling.
I think there are probably many videos of me; I’ve had lots of events over the years where the possibility something was a set-up for this was definitely in my mind, and my gut felt horrible about its real possibility, but my mind kept telling me, “No, just go along, don’t be paranoid….”
I feel so weak now, I can hardly lift my hands… but now refocused…. I think I should not be weak. I should face this stuff.
I want to cry.
I remember, “A seed must break apart before it can bear fruit.”
I’m breaking….feeling totally destroyed….
– Need to post the art showing demons on unconscious women, a small collection I’ve come across.
This institutional rape of women is not unique to our culture, but ancient.
– Rapes, psychotic personalities… curiously familiar feelings as I watch them,
slowly making connections in my conscious mind….
And I realize how powerfully I’ve been programmed to not be able
to distinguish psychotic lies from the truth
– in my younger years; I’m better now.
No wonder I’ve had such a series of “handlers,” rarely lovers.
(Mind control subjects need their handlers.)
– Her fear of being hated and abandoned was extreme to the point of numb terror,
very child-like and unthinking.
I’ve never been as bad as Karla, but I’ve had severe tendencies, and still do, I think.
– Karla mistakes her neediness for “love” because she was programmed that way. I was too, though now, thankfully, I recognize the difference. But that’s only one part of the control in their big bag of tricks.
– She’s seriously obsessed, more than I’ve ever been,
but I can see so clearly the patterns of how seriously we’ve both been MK’d.
Karla went psycho though. I became “multiple” (a better thing), cordoning off the ugliest stuff, leaving the rest of me, but only part of me, somewhat “normal.”
Splitting off, as a “multiple personality,” has made living a somewhat “normal” life, even a successful life in some modest ways, and often happy life possible. And I’m grateful.
But I have to keep aiming for fuller consciousness; it seems the only responsible thing to do. So I keep trying to remember and heal.
– I think my implants (typically thought of as “alien” or sometimes government), might also be associated with this. And one of their purposes, besides GPS and other sorts of control and harassment, is to identify me as to ownership – like a ranch animal.
– Flashing back on Prepon’s characterin Orange is the New Black, Alex Vausse – cold, hard, “seen it all,” willing to take pleasures where she can, willing to lie and seriously hurt her best friend and lover.
I might have alters who lie, but I don’t lie in my conscious life, except a few memorable times when it might have literally saved my life.
(Though some would say we all lie, all the time. Great TedTalks video on lying here.)
The difference between psychopathic and multiple: I have alters with behaviors for sex and killing locked away neatly (though they could be triggered on command, making the main part of me amnesic), whereas Karla has integrated the soul-deadened killer and liar into the whole of her.
I don’t think my killer alter can be triggered accidentally again, now that I’ve recognized her. But she gives me some confidence, knowing she’s there and capable if ever needed.
Mind controllers, though, can trigger that alter, which is why I tell everyone about this, and why I’m trying to heal – or hoping to die if things don’t get better.
(I don’t want the responsibility of choosing, in this conscious state, to ever kill someone, or myself. Too much appreciation for Life and the Mystery to destroy any of it – even though I talked about dying in January. I still believe I have the right, and conditions could change, but I’m not aiming there now.)
– I think there have always been psychopaths on the planet, but they’re increasing to record numbers and power now, it seems – at least I feel their heavy presence in my life.
Pulling back from despair….
– If I have any purpose in life, it’s to document my experience, which documents the worst of humanity at the end of the era. Feels important. So I record….
– I think this entire Earth is the subject of a turf war between warring global or cosmic gangster factions, the highest class (Illuminati?) to the lowest, and who knows how many factions and sub-factions there might be. It’s probably as complicated as global politics. Actually, it’s a big part of global and national politics. And maybe cosmic politics. Taking slaves of various sorts.
– Different aspects of this Systemhave been called mind control, ritual abuse, gang stalking, demonic, Satanic, sex slavery, CIA mind control, psychopathic, dark magick, human trafficking, Freemasonry, Mormonism, The Greek System, the Senate page scandal….and lots more. (I might have wrongly included a few of the above, but maybe not.)
– Karla was clearly trained to endure violence in numbness.
– Her husband is also a psychopath, but has features of a “multiple personality” as I understand it — even though the movie never makes a point of that, and he does no dramatic switching of alters. He’s charming in his social self, but he eventually is taken over by the desire to act out horrific sexual abuse on women, which he uses his adult intelligence to carry out, but when frustrated in any way, he reverts to behaviors that are what a six year old might do: scream, abuse, and yell incessant profanity – and rarely cry – all while otherwise appearing and conversing as an (immature) adult. And it’s clear to me that he was sexually brutalized around the age of six, much like many of us. Some go psycho. Some split. I’m so glad I split.
– Subconsciously, they recognize each other as “also abused,” and that’s their attraction: they are familiar to each other.
And the fourth video is a ten-minute reading of the beginning of a powerful book by Ann Diamond, A Certain Girl. Powerful even after many listenings! Thank you, Ann, for writing it, and for permission to read it.
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– impression that all has been fine, but…. – journals report incredible list of weirdness – almost forgotten! – accomplishments of 2014 impressive, despite experiences
Well, the life of a mind controlled multiple personality is not boring! For one thing, all my alters want expression, and that keeps me busy. And the multiple-ness keeps me “forgetting” the disturbing things, at least in my day-to-day consciousness, which keeps me functional; when I read disturbing things I’ve written and remember them, I become less functional – like today.
Hmmm…. Memory or function? Which do we want?
October is not that long ago, but I’m blown away by how many weird things happened in the last few months that I simply forgot!
But first, let’s do something different: I’ll lead with the good stuff instead of the bad. Here are some of the highlights of our year, which I find quite impressive every time I read it!
It’s a long list, so just skim if you want, using my asterisks to read the most important (then I’ll list the weird stuff):
* I performed a dozen times with Greg this year (his collection of folk-rock covers and original Americana – with themes of love, friendship, and home), sometimes out of town, or at our Farmers Market, and at a favorite coffee house, where a few times we presented music by Dylan, Browne, and Young with themes of apocalypse and strange, extra-dimensional events – tied together with my commentary. Much fun!
We attracted two new musical friendships and call our foursome the Southern Rocky Mountain Band. We played a single song (Greg’s original) at the historic Pinos Altos Opera House (a fundraiser for the Wild Gila: Forever Free CD/DVD release party), and we hope to begin playing out and recording more next year.
* In June, I “quit everything” (the most important thing I did all year) – home and garden design, singing, and more – and determined to do nothing but heal my mind and write about it. (More, below, under Health.)
I accepted my Social Security. When asked why I didn’t wait til I was older and would receive more, I said, “All the world’s financiers are making short term decisions. I’m making short-term decisions.” (I didn’t tell the other truth: because I’m damn tired of trying to hold my life together while also working.)
* During six weeks of never singing with Greg or the band, I healed some significant energy blocks, freed my voice significantly, and picked up singing again, then took some voice lessons and made more improvements.
In January, I helped Greg launch Silver City Acoustic, showcasing local and touring musicians on our local community radio station. I ran the board and eventually participated in the interviews. We aired the live, 2-hour show for 20-some weeks, interviewing 40-some local and touring musicians and bands. (When the station went off the air for an extended time, we lost momentum.)
I quit my weekly Back to the Garden radio show after 40 weeks – seeing that I’d taken on too much again, and this was not my forte anyway. I like to think I inspired others to say, “I can do that!” Or “I can do better than that!” so they’ll volunteer to fill those airwaves in my place. (It was fun, but I had too much on my plate.)
Home and Garden
We emptied our storage room, sold the last “big stuff,” and cleared a lot of stuck energy. Then we renovated the little 11×20 building into a functional and cheery guest house and studio retreat.
We built a cedar fence around the last of the yard (in front of our next guest house), sporting a curved corner which has garnered very nice compliments, and crafted two beautiful handles for our two front gates.
We turned the also-cluttered sun room into a beautiful sitting space on one side and a functional tool storage on the other.
My Writing and the Cyber World
* I redesigned JeanEisenhower.com to no longer hide my mind control work – and I put it on my business card, and on both I used a photo of me that I’ve avoided using for years because it seemed “too happy.” It’s been a huge psychological shift, though I still worry sometimes when handing out a card.
I renovated my Paradigm Salon website, consolidated pages, made them more accessible, filled in gaps in the information (and increased readership).
I started the Garden Healing Church, addressing natural healing and activism against enforced medicine – as spiritual necessity. The site continues to attract followers, even though I don’t post often.
I got my old laptop repaired and almost functioning with its own modem – for use by the fireplace! Yeah! What a nice way to treat myself!
Family and Friends
* We both reconnected with our parents and families in powerful ways. I even spent 6 days with my parents over the holiday! (First time to spend more than a few hours with them in over 20 years.)
We hosted a few garden parties, and stayed connected with long-distance friends.
* We helped an elderly friend die consciously, working with a wonderful group of volunteers, including nurses, doctors, chaplains, and shamans, making new friends – and supporting his wife. I photographed (and posted) an amazing thing Greg found a couple of days before our friend passed: a dragonfly emerging from its cocoon, into a new life!
I attended my first women’s gathering in years.
Besides designing the guest house, our new fence, two gate handles, our many web sites, photography, videography, audio recording and mixing, and writing, I started knitting again – most satisfying.
* Again: In June, I “quit everything,” and began focusing each day on what I needed to keep myself calm and able to handle life, and instituted new habits and changes to ensure I had what I needed. After six weeks, I came back to singing.
* In October, I created a Notebook/Journal to help me remember and track everything I need to remember on a daily basis, but often forget. I also used a timer every 30 minutes to help me note my activities and improve my time awareness. After a couple of months, I felt I didn’t need that intense reminder every thirty minutes, so I stopped using the timer, but knew it had been an important exercise in becoming more conscious.
I wrote over 300 pages of journal entries over a few short months, rich with new awareness, particularly about mind control and my relationship to it. I expect to post about it soon.
* I just created a new system of reminders to be awake on my iPhone: I created a series of lovely-sounding “alarms” to go off every hour every day (easier than the timer system). They’re all named “Breathe, Gratitude, and Note,” to remind me to breathe, remember what I’m grateful for, ask for guidance, and note it all, with either a journal note, voice memo, or mental note.
I started up at “Curves” again, started drinking daily turmeric tea, and got back to my supplements.
I invented “sludge cake”! – a gluten-free cake made from the precipitate (sludge) from turmeric tea – even when we eat it plain, we crave it – our cells tell us it’s great medicine. My recipe is here.
So, I was feeling like life had turned an important corner toward goodness and freedom– as I couldn’t remember any recent weirdness – until I skimmed over my journals, which I’d designed to make easy to find things by category. But when I looked, I found in my “anomalies” category, a lot of unexplainable experiences, which I’ll group by month:
2nd half of August: 2 “donut” bruises, 1 injection bruise, 2 scratches similar to biopsy scoops, another injection bruise and other bruise.
September: twice “lost time,” extreme energy issues, worsened ringing in ears, flood of “mental movies” (random things like family home movies of people I don’t know) that seem beamed in, big bruise on inner arm, scoop mark, time problem, dark bruise on left leg, hypersensitive patches of skin, 5 more days of severe energy issues, forgetful days, very tired.
October: worsened ringing in ears, movies in head again, heart problems (palpitations, stress, slow heartbeat [61 pbm], extreme weakness, days I thought I was dying), weird sleep cycles, 2 more bruises, one a double (“hypodermic”? or Taser?), one day so speedy I thought they’d given me some pharmaceutical to compensate for something that might have made me tired otherwise, missing time, feeling “out of it” and struggling to do simple things, another bruise. (I know the bruise photos sometimes don’t look like much, but they are so consistent and unexplained.)
November: Very bizarre experience of seeing my hand, while I was writing, as if through a yellow glass, but as if video’d from above my head, then run back into my mind (so I watched my hand writing in this second-person state), felt an “intrusion” of another being into my being, with a sense of goodness and reconnection (or maybe it was just “electronic heroin”), then I lost time and could barely put myself to bed (all one evening with my partner beside me), and my partner had to help me get to bed; another bruise; remembered things too vague to describe and was sick with fear.
December: Another bruise, dreams of medical procedures; energy “download” followed by no memory; dreams of aliens “all night.”
And who knows what happened the first part of the year? I haven’t the energy to look through my journals.
Okay, so I’ve got a problem: What to do? What to do when I recognize stuff is going on that is beyond my ability to consciously control or even remember?
This is my ongoing “Do something drastic? or what?” dilemma.
I like life when I have I seem to control my own part of it, but not when I get these hints that someone is highjacking parts of me. Not fun at all.
And I just found this old photo of myself with my mother on a train. It seems I’m about 5 or 6.
(It’s the only sad photo of me I’ve seen from childhood. All the rest are “super-cheerful.”)
Are we on the train to New Mexico? (That strange trip my mother took me on which seems so out-of-custom for our family?) For my mind control? After which I have no memories until age 8?
Ugh. How do I keep on? I feel sick. Have been experiencing nausea and anxiety all day now….
How can I keep putting it away as if it didn’t happen? Where is there to hide? Nowhere.
Recently I wrote in my journal about generating the power to control our own minds, thereby wresting control away from “Them.”
Is that even possible? My new million-dollar question….
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Approach: Imagine my True Self a still vessel watching all the thoughts.
(I’ve always known I was supposed to watch my thoughts, but I’d never thought of the part of me who is the still vessel watching – except once. I did a meditation by Stephen LaBerge that blew my mind in a delightful way: at the end of his 15-minute recorded meditation, he asked, Who is aware? – which surprised me so much, I printed a bunch of little slips of paper with the question on it, and posted them on all the mirrors. But, over the years, some other part of me has continued resisting sitting down to meditate.)
New experience! I see a child rolling around in place at an impossible rate, super-human speed, just round and round and round endlessly like a swarm of gnats. She could not be touched, and I knew she was the part of me that had been tortured and was still running from her fears.
My writer self would, of course, want to observe, feel, think, and carefully document. My part that’s been given instructions on how to meditate says, “Just observe and let it go.” My healer self says, We’ve never seen this before. It is a blessed opportunity. This child is in pain. Let’s step in. This is even the point of this meditation: this awareness.
The little girl could not be touched or calmed at first. Any approach, and she rolled away, always away. We wanted to calm and assure her, but she could not be touched.
A ray of calming energy was shot into her, allowing us to put our hands gently on her upper arms. She could feel us, and she relaxed.
Two other meditation techniques used at the same time: To relax each part of the body, one at a time, and to recognize the part of me that is the witness. While relaxing my face and beginning to relax my throat, that was when I saw the little girl rolling, and it led that quickly to its resolution. Thank Goodness.
Thank All You who read this blog.
Blessings on your meditations. May they be healing to you.
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First journaling in a while. Feel like I need to scream. Been worrying about how to read the signs (since I sometimes avoid prayer and contemplation – some programming that hits sometimes) especially when things go wrong like they have today.
I realize: All the “figuring” is a very basic part of my mind control; I need, instead, to remember during hard times to listen to the quiet things, use my intuition. And I need to rout out the programming that tells me I don’t have time for prayer and contemplation.
AND NOW I GET IT: “Rise and shine! Up and at ‘em! Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!” – the waking I received from my mother nearly every morning of my life, the same three always-cheerful commands, every day, one after the other – was a major part of my programming – delivered by my handler-mom – of course, programmed herself.
telling me: Take no time for reflection, no time for yourself.
I will not do that anymore. Rise and shine. Up and at ’em. Bright-eyed and Bushy-Tailed. It never occurred to me that it was part of my programming, but I think now that it was. Work. Work. Work.
My mother’s father was killed when she was eight, during the Great Depression. Her parents were working as itinerant farm worker and construction worker. Now a penniless widow, her mother leased an ice cream sidewalk store, became famous for her sandwiches on fresh homemade bread, and parlayed it all into a successful restaurant and bakery with dining room, patio, walk-up window, and conference rooms. She catered to a group of bankers and developers, one of whom treated her like a mind control slave. While she worked to build the business, my mother and her sister spent a lot of time with their Mormon uncles.
I remember him coming to walk with her every day at a prescribed time. My mother was impressed about this, as I heard her speak of it a couple of times. Each day, my grandmother sat in view of the front door when he was due and rose immediately, cutting off conversation when he appeared. “And she never has told anyone what he says to her,” my mother remarked, as if this was impressive and not disturbing. Once, we walked with her to meet him, but he said little or nothing to us and walked straight away with my grandmother.
The programming:Give yourself no time for contemplation. We will give you precepts and our logic derived from them, and teach you how to prioritize and organize.
I think I’m doing better than most Americans because I don’t buy their consumerism, politics, or religion, but I’m still programmed to be productive and not waste time – which sounds like a good thing, but robs us of contemplation.
That’s why I’ve felt like screaming. Seven stressors hit in the last two weeks, and I kept my cool and performed on Sunday. Monday, I was tired, but I was so bothered by the desk piled high and our desire to post a recording that I forced myself ahead and had dreams all night long about my most un-fun subject: aliens. All night long. That’s a first. Then today, I worked hard on my home refinancing, and at the end of the day I was ready to scream. Actually, I had a response I’ve had a few times in my life, when anxiety is very high: like screaming, throwing up, and falling-down all at once.
But it’s been good, because a see a new aspect of the Big Lie now: Productivity. I think I was put into a number of programs, one of which was to be highly productive and manage complicated tasks. It’s been useful. But it has also made me so tightly focused when I work it’s hard to be social, as I need to switch parts, which is doable, but sometimes slow and awkward. I feel like a fancy experimental race car with a phenomenal engine and a tricky transmission.
But I’m healing that transmission, little by little. It’s been a bumpy road with set-backs when I’ve felt worse rather than better, but mostly I know I’m better, despite days like today. Today was a hard lesson day. I learned the consequence of taking on too much. Again.
I should never push that hard, unless it’s really important. I have to take care of my heart and whole health. So I need to make more than a commitment.
I need to change things in my environment to support my commitment, so that I have constant reinforcement to evolve, change, or rout out the programming and habit of my lifetime.
From now on, each morning I will give myself time in bed to record my dreams and thoughts, and decide what’s most important. I’ll take time to listen for any alters’ opinions, so no one’s left out and everyone’s needs are met. (That way, no one needs to act out to get attention, or have a heart attack, or get sick or depressed.) We’ll find our center, cooperate better, and not get confused so readily.
Morning will be sacred time, for being still. Productivity will just have to wait.
When I rise, I’ll walk slowly to heat my turmeric tea. I’ll sit in the most comfortable place in the house.
I’ll make myself a new journal with nice, functional paper (not these one-side-already-used recycled sheets others would throw away, but something that will honor my words) inside a beautiful, meaningful cover. I’ll keep a nice bed shawl nearby and pillow for my neck.
The scream has gone.
I’ll return again to listening to my Wise Self and break another bit of programming. Back to Center.
Blessings on You All ~
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I just learned (having not watched TV since 1974) there’s a TV show called “United States of Tara” which depicts a character who supposedly “became multiple” as a teenager (highly unlikely), whose behavior is highly destructive – also unlikely, since dissociation is an adaption discovered in order to create functionality.
As a trauma therapist with 20+ years of clinical experience working with multiples, I have to say I’m quite frustrated that Showtime has presented multiplicity in this way.
… there is not a medication that can remove or prevent or end dissociative identity disorder. Medications can address various symptoms, and can even slow the thinking down, but medication cannot remove multiplicity….
I can understand that the visual presentation of the various alters is metaphorical for how switching feels from within. …For the Tara show, the insiders get to look as extremely different on the outside as they feel on the inside. However, it’s not typical for DID’ers to actually present so drastically even if they wish they could. [JE: DID’ers = people with Dissociative Identity Disorder, which I call “multiples”]
The different presentations of Tara are excessive….
Now to my biggest beef about United States of Tara: the criminal behavior.
…The multiples I have met in the past 20+ years are not out-of-control monsters like this. …DIDer’s might have flashbacks or a hard time functioning or emotional outbursts, but typically, trauma survivors will have enough self-control to manage their behavior without committing a crime in public.
Showtime crossed the line by making Tara a sex offender.
It is true that many multiples have been tangled up in sexual crimes, but typically, multiples that are in treatment have not chosen the life of a sex offender. All too many trauma survivors were forced to perpetrate as part of their victimization by organized perpetrator groups, or even by violent single abusers, but being forced to hurt others is not anything near the same as purposefully deciding to sexually offend in the day world.
Most multiples are not sexually inappropriate of their own volition.
…What a slam.
A great big huge insulting ridiculous slam.
38 comments followed before mine.I commented: From your description, I hate it! But I quit watching television in 1974 (with maybe 100 hours watched since then), and your description of this show says why: TV is a huge misinformation/disinformation enterprise – selling us ideas always in someone else’s benefit. It’s in the culture’s benefit to misrepresent and confuse images about who we are. As a “high-functioning” (sometimes) multiple (I prefer this term), I’m really offended. Our work of explaining our condition to others has been made infinitely more difficult with these sorts of images.
(And I just returned to add another comment:) I absolutely believe that this show was crafted as disinformation, probably because the CIA and other perpetrator groups have seen such numbers of their experimental subjects begin remembering their experiences that they need to discredit us all as a group.
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I think I’ve been afraid for a very long time to be too powerful. But I’m trying to get over that. So here’s my second attempt at beginning a new memoir. I’m also thinking of entering it in a memoir contest. I’d love you’re feedback.
After the Second World War, my father and mother lived on the GI Bill while he attended veterinary college and my mother kept house. It was July 7, 1952, 4:25 a.m., eight minutes before a precise full moon, that I was born.
The next things I’ll share I’d have cringed at in embarrassment most of my life, but something has to explain the crazy life I’ve lived: It was not only a Full Moon, but a Monday, long ago known as Moon-day, and smack-dab in the middle of Cancer, previously known as Moon Children. And the eight minutes between my birth and full moon is 2/1000th of a degree, dang close to precise.
Dwight David Eisenhower, my grandfather’s second cousin (or so claims the family), would be nominated to the Republican ticket as candidate for President of the United States later that day. Our local paper would write a smarmy short column about the coincidence.
At home on the UC Davis campus, the CIA was experimenting with mind control as they had on various campuses for the last five years. I would live on this campus for the first fourteen months of my life.
(Thank you for your comment!)
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For subscribers who haven’t visited in awhile, I’m posting the contents of my new Home page. The entire site has been recently reorganized, rewritten, and become, I hope, a more useful, and “friendly,” resource for those needing to learn about this subject. I invite you to visit.
To that end, I offer these pages of information – non-academic, easy-to-read – which touch on folklore, history, religion, spirituality, cosmos, and culture as they relate to mind control and multiple personality — along with my personal, on-going reports on the path to healing. Below is a 3-minute video, produced in 2010:
Is Multiple Personality Disorder “crazy”? Actually, it’s considered a creative solution, usually emerging accidentally in childhood, tokeep from going crazy when experiencing something like torture. The vast majority of us experienced torture as children in one way or another.
Children under torturous conditions who don’t “leave their bodies” and dissociate, and the torture is repeated, usually become schizophrenic. So dissociation, MPD, is a blessing in disguise, as it’s fairly easy to heal (unless complicated by mind control); whereas, schizophrenia is considered incurable.
How it comes about, in simple terms: Under extreme stress, a person, especially a child, might “leave their body” to escape unbearable pain; the mind, however, keeps recording – now on a blank slate – which then becomes another personality. This creates a pattern in the person called dissociation; with ongoing stress, the pattern is repeated. (Today MPD is called Dissociative Identity Disorder, but many of us prefer the old term.)
Being a multiple personality has not been easy, but it’s been far less difficult than typically depicted in books and movies, and in some ways, it seems to be an advantage: I have the capacity to manage a wide variety of mental tasks, as I seem to have a lot of “minds” holographically in my being. Managing them is the trick, and I have always done pretty well, most of the time. (At the bottom of this post are some of my accomplishments.)
The common perception of “multiples,” as being tragically out of their own control, is true for some, but many multiples are also very high-functioning, even testing at genius levels (as I have a few times), though they often have severe mental, psychological, emotional, and spiritual challenges — as readers of my book can appreciate.
Mind Control There’s also, obviously, a very serious downside to “multipleness,” which is that the people or groups who created my alters probably still have access to my programming and may continue to re-program me to use at will. When they do, I have bizarre perceptions, find wounds on my body, and afterward usually am severely depressed and sometimes emotionally incapacitated for extended periods of time.
Despite the foregoing, I must acknowledge the positive aspect of multiple-ness because it masks my disability. In other words, I look not only “sane” and “normal” nearly all the time, but sometimes exceptional; therefore, a person might ask, how could my crazy theory be true?
I also mention the positive aspect because it contains my hope for full recovery: Having the perspective of many minds, I have, since 1993, been working with my alters, untangling messes, and removing unwanted programs. It has taken time and emotional stamina, sometimes incapacitating me for mundane things, at which times, I have not appeared “exceptional” at all, but severely messed up. And I’m still not “one.” But, I’m working on it.
Friends and acquaintances who know my story often don’t know what to make of it, because they rarely see the symptoms or don’t recognize them, so I’m accepted well enough in my community to be employed (when I want and am able) and have a wide circle of friends. Besides, so many people are struggling with something.
My hidden disability, though, makes it very hard to make a living, and I’ve been bailed out by my parents many times. Good therapists seem to be rare and hard to find, or else I’ve been controlled to avoid them, or they’ve been threatened by my controllers into avoiding treating me (commonly reported by others).
The worst of my experiencesinvolving apparent mind control – that I recall – happened in 2010: I woke up extremely debilitated after a ten-hour sleep and found a third-degree Taser burn on my arm.
2014 This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar showed up on the back of my leg. No explanation except…
Much more is documented on this site, including weird bruises, apparent injection bruises (most common), a broken door lock, deep vaginal lacerations, biopsy “scoop marks,” and more.
Why am I not terrified? Well, I have been, and suicidal more times than I can count. But I’ve talked myself out of it. I’ve worked and prayed to try to understand our world, Good and Evil, the psyche and our power to navigate treacherous waters. And here I am.
Life has been moving on an upward course since I’ve been focusing my spiritual practice. I have a wonderful home and garden, lots of friends and friendly acquaintances, a supportive partner, enough work to pay the bills, and a satisfying artist’s life.
After 38 years of never singing in public (stage phobia related to mind control), in 2009 I began to sing publicly again – a most amazing breakthrough for my mind and psyche. And I’ve regained my ability to participate in life and see what Goodness I can add to our amazing human drama here.
And as a life-long activist for a variety of causes (saving mountains and downtown inner city schools, for instance), I now feel called to shine light on this criminal enterprise which steals people’s free will. I thank you very much for reading this far. I applaud your courage.
How do I really know I was a mind control subject? Check this page for a little bit more of my personal and family history.
I pray the content here and in my book helps others trying to understand their own stories and heal.
My best advice after gathering information: Remember fear and anger are natural, but a stage to go through and to move beyond. Remember that everything Good in this world is stronger, eventually, than the Dark, and focus on that Good. And check out my pages on Healing!
If you believe in a benevolent Higher Power, by whatever name, connect, hold fast, communicate, listen, and keep the best possible vision in mind in order to generate a vibration sympathetic with the energies of the Higher Power.
Today I believe these experiences have blessed me with one other thing: greater awareness than I would ever have had of the larger realities of this world. Therefore, they are extremely important to my life. We do believe we have the power to survive, understand, and help things improve for each other.
I have no idea exactly how. I feel that everyone on this planet, though, is facing a huge cataclysm very soon, and our world will change in ways we are probably not prepared for, and our minds are probably not prepared for.
So it will require an especially flexible mind to survive the ontological shock I believe is coming. And those of us who’ve already been shocked out of our shoes – who knows? – we might find it easier to adapt and see and respond to what’s going on.
Ontological shock is the disorientation a person endures when deep foundations of their mental framework become shaken. It will change our entire meaning of life – and who we think we are as humans. (Sort of like many lifelong Catholics have been experiencing for a decade or more, or a married person feels when they discover their spouse is cheating, or a parent feels when a baby is born with a problem, or anyone feels when someone near them suddenly dies – but much bigger.)
Our current structure of thought will not survive the changes. Words will truly fail us. So it’s imperative we get our energies, our vibrations clear, to be able to trust our perceptions.
Blessings on you ~
(p.s. All these photos were taken in the last couple of years, though I often look decades different in age.)
And please remember to “Join/Listen!” (Button’s up top in the right corner.)
Off this site, WantToKnow.info has an excellent site with mainstream documentation on many controversial topics, including mind control.
Author: RattleSnake Fire: a memoir of extra-dimensional experience; The 2013 or Year One Almanac, Datebook, and Journal;
the 2004 Almanac/Datebook/Journal for Southern Arizona;
the 2003 Almanac, Datebook and Journal for Tucson and Southern Arizona;
the international Permaculture Drylands Journal (associate editor, 1989-91);
and numerous articles and newsletters, including international publications. Praise: “great literature….tour de force!….important historical document,” and more.
Awards in journalism (UPI First Place, Arizona-Utah region), creative writing, art, theater, videography, real estate, Permaculture, and national recognition for non-profit fundraising. Others: served in Leaders Circle of Tucson Resources for Women. Invited to Leadership Tucson and Mensa. Served on numerous local boards, twice as president.
Thanks for visiting ~
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In my Blogging 201 seminar, I’ve had requests for basic information on both Mind Control and Multiple Personality – so I’ve created two new pages. The second one is copied here, as well as in a new page at the top of the site under “Multiple. The first is also right up top of the site under “Mind Control.“
For all the multiples….
Is Multiple Personality Disorder (Dissociative Identity Disorder) “crazy”? Actually, it’s considered a creative solution, usually discovered in childhood, tokeep from going crazy when experiencing something beyond what the psyche can handle, like torture. The vast majority of multiples experienced torture as children in one way or another.
(Today MPD is called Dissociative Identity Disorder, but many of us prefer the old term as more descriptive of our experience.)
How multiple splitting comes about: Under extreme stress, a person, especially a child, might “leave their body” to psychically escape unbearable pain; the mind, however, keeps recording the body’s experience – now on a blank slate – which then becomes another, separate personality.
The initial separation sets a repeatable pattern in the person called dissociation (dissociating mind from body); with ongoing stress, the pattern is repeated again and again, creating more and more alternate personalities, called “alters.” Since some of the alters are too afraid to come back into the body and risk torture again, they remain children. Interestingly, their young psyches may actually help the body stay young-looking – until an older alter comes out.
While the fragmentation of the psyche is not “normal,” each of the fragments, alters, is sane. They each have a sane perspective on their piece of the world. If they escaped pain, they have a psychology that never experienced pain and is normal for that experience. If the alter was one that did experience pain, they may have a neurotic personality, but totally appropriate to and sane for their experience.
Most positive: with all those alters, multiples have potentially more perspective than most – like insects with multiply-faceted eyes. The trick is coordinating the alters, helping the suffering ones heal, giving disruptive alters appropriate new “jobs” and identities, and if communication is a problem, helping everyone communicate, etc.
In ancient societies, multiples were supported and often honored for their diverse perspectives and skills, usually broad, including a range of skills from the mundane to psychic – as the alters who spent the most time dissociated from the body often develop significant psychic skills. These individuals were often trained as shamans.
1976 film Sybil, starring Sally Field and Joanne Woodward
In modern society, on the other hand, there is little recognition, much less appreciation or caring support for multiples. Some find good therapists, but many do not, and the cause of their affliction, the torture, is typically ignored by society. If individuals cannot function well enough to pass as un-fragmented, they live as “disabled” – even though they may have a lot of wisdom with all their perspectives.
Relationships between the alters can be very different from multiple to multiple. Some alters are entirely unknown to the other alters, which causes tremendous problems for the person. Sometimes a person has “co-conscious” alters which work together quite successfully (like myself), though there may be disconnected alters as well that cause occasional problems.
Children under torturous conditions who don’t “leave their bodies” and dissociate often become schizophrenic. So dissociation, MPD, is a blessing in disguise, having saved the child from a far worse possibility. MPD/DID is fairly easy to heal (unless complicated by mind control); schizophrenia, on the other hand, is considered incurable.
1957 movie starring Joanne Woodward and Lee J Cobb
Being a multiple personality has not been easy, but it’s been far less difficult than typically depicted in books and movies, and in some ways, it seems to be an advantage: Many of us discover we have the capacity to manage a wide variety of mental tasks, having a lot of “minds” holographically in our beings. Managing them all is the trick.
The common perception of “multiples,” as being tragically out of control, is true for some, but many multiples are also very high-functioning, many even testing at genius levels (as I have a few times). Granted, we also often have severe mental, psychological, social emotional, and spiritual challenges as well – as readers of my book can appreciate.
As for the torture that causes multiple-ness: In the past, torture of children usually happened by accident, a child surviving a wild animal attack, for instance. Unfortunately, people lacking empathy and any moral code recognized that multiples have a propensity for amnesia and learned to take advantage of this, sometimes making literal slaves of the multiples.
In the 1940s, China and the United States each sought to protect their secrets from adversaries at war and began experimenting on soldiers, inducing split minds through intentional torture on their own citizens and others. In the United States, the CIA began intensive studies, now called MKULTRA, and experimented on an estimated 20,000 children and many more adults between the late 1940s and the mid 1970s – individuals who had no idea they were experimental subjects, did not give their consent, and have never been acknowledged or assisted in healing. (The CIA director testified that they destroyed all files. As a consequence, no subject can prove they were involved and disabled in this program.) More on American mind control history is in my page “Mind Control Defined.”
Being multiple…. It feels like having a number of holograms of oneself occupying the same body. Most holograms are connected and coordinated, but oftentimes there’s misconnection, and it’s not so easy to be as graceful in social situations as I’d like to be.
But it only sometimes feels like a serious disability.
Often it feels like a super-ability – though not easy socially. But that’s okay. Being me is very interesting. It’s like having seven (or more) sets of eyes on the world.
I have lots of conversations with myself, about everything. In social settings, I often feel “slow,” but sometimes I might have been super-fast: I might have had a few different responses to the subject in discussion, and my brain might have been working over each point of view, weighing merits, comparing ease versus economy across a few parameters, brainstorming mediating possibilities for various negative aspects – and wondering which streams of thought might be most interesting to share with others – and then the subject might change and I’ve not had a chance to weigh in.
Sometimes I try to summarize, but that’s hard to do on the fly, and often fails.
Other times, if I know I’m facing a social event that will be demanding, I prepare, sleep well, eat well, pray, do yoga, go slow, dedicate myself to the responsibility, and put in the work. And lately I’ve begun accomplishing my goals. Feeling very strong.
Off and on throughout my life, I’ve been very proud of my work and won awards, and other times I’ve experienced the most pathetic failures, including the failure of the will to live.
But so have many people. We’re living in a time when personal crisis should happen to everyone.
Most people, though, can’t bear to hear the next person’s story. It’s too intense. And so we live in a culture where everyone is under stress, but no one can talk about it, further stressing ourselves with isolation. A huge percentage of Americans are medicating themselves. We can’t take our own stories.
But, with drugs, hope, news control, entertainment, and other forms of social mind control, we compel ourselves to do what we can hardly believe we have the ability within us to do: we create beauty, fight for just causes, love, and sacrifice. (Or we work our jobs and fight for others’ causes.)
As a multiple, my sense of time is quite fractured. I start out each day, usually knowing what day it is, but when the days flow behind me, they’re in a jumble. I have feelings about something being a few days ago, or longer or closer, but I’m often not sure if an event happened three days ago or seven, yesterday morning or the morning before.
There’s just no single flow. Different parts of my days are handled by different parts of me. One comes out in the morning to keep me slowed down so I can do yoga before I begin flying around being German-ly productive. The business woman gets on the phone. Someone else cooks, someone else socializes. They are all pretty aware of what each other does, but they don’t seem to have a system that allows any of the “presenting” me to know what order things happened in.
And if the part who sees an acquaintance in the food coop isn’t the part who interacted with that person at a workshop last weekend, then I will be disappointingly awkward when we pass. Within a minute or two, a connection would be made in my mind, and I might remember we’d had a deep conversation. Just seconds too late sometimes, which can be very disappointing.
I used to get depressed about myself, and embarrassed, but also confused. Why? Why? Why did this happen? And what’s happening? I feel weird, but I can’t explain it. And for decades I didn’t know. At least now I know.
In 1994, at age 42, one year after I’d slid dramatically into a serious spiritual crisis of BiggerWhy’s?, essentially anervous breakdown (some call a “spiritual crisis”), I was reading Michael Talbot’s The Holographic Universe, and came upon a description of people with Multiple Personality Disorder. The funny thing was: as soon as I read the sentence, I couldn’t remember what I’d read.
The blankness was weird. I read the sentence again and again, and every time I reached the period at the end of the sentence, the excitement of some provocative idea reverberated through my body, but my brain was totally blank – and I wanted to know what had excited me so. Creepiness grew as I read and reread the same sentence. Finally, I stopped and asked myself how I could approach this a different way. I thought to read it aloud.
Involving both eyes and ears, I got past some gate and realized I was reading symptoms that seemed a perfect description of me – but not anything I wanted to consider.
The description was of a person with Multiple Personality Disorder (today called Dissociative Identity Disorder).
As usual, I had a range of responses: No!, dread, humiliation, loss of hope that I could pretend to be like others, crushing defeat, loss of dreams, fear of loss of respect – of my children’s respect, of anyone’s.
But one part of me said, very sensibly, Or this could be the first step to healing – which you have been craving for a long time – the solution, the understanding, the answer. Accept it and get to work with it. Tomorrow.
I said Okay. There was nothing else to do.
I/We went to the medical library early the next day and learned MPD is not always as bad as the movies about the most extreme cases, thank Goodness. MPD, the books said, is actually quite healable, once you have a diagnosis. I actually felt hopeful of making progress. But I couldn’t take the noise of the city anymore.
Within a week I’d decided to leave the city and, using credit cards, build a small hermitage on some land my ex and I had purchased and I’d agreed to take in our recent divorce. I would become a hermit, and the silence and solitude would serve my healing work there. I’d always lived month to month; I’d make it work.
The previous year, my son had battled and recovered from cancer, and he and his sister didn’t need me and my breakdown emotions around any more. They were barely (or almost) old enough to be on their own, so, with their good riddance and my apologies, I left them in their first solo apartments and moved 100 miles away into the desert. And I began to heal with spiritual assistance.
All my parts, together, have a lot of wisdom – that’s the upside of multiple-ness – and we began to try to figure things out.
It didn’t come along fast or easily. Most researchers believe that those of us created intentionally to be multiple have commands inside us to avoid healing – which seems the case for me.
And healing’s painful, so there’s natural avoidance. I’ve had energies build so strong in me sometimes that when the emerging memory comes through, it has dropped me to the floor, entirely unable to stand.
I’ve also felt parts of me see each other for the first time, recognize each other, and make some sort of connection.
As good as that is, it’s also disorienting. I wonder what I’m supposed to do next to make sure I don’t slip apart again, unsure whether I should be paying attention to how I orient myself newly to the world.
I’ve heard parts of me speak brilliance from somewhere inside that seems beyond this dimension of me. And I believe it is.
I’ve channeled healing energies to others, and received goodbye’s from friends and acquaintances just passing over, when no one knew they were.
I’ve read people’s vibes, accidentally, and knew they knew I’d read their vibes.
Steps forward and backward. Side trips. Or swirls – and then I realize it was an amazing spiral upward. And I keep going.
Socializing is most difficult. I prepare, and then take it in small doses. Otherwise, I hit the wall and am exhausted or do something that’ll make me cringe for weeks.
I’m like herding cats. Imagine a few versions of me connected for various purposes – but not for socializing. Sometimes I just have to go home.
I am less hard on myself these day, and more often philosophical: Life on Earth is crazy now.
I guess I’m what they call “a sensitive.” And it’s not easy being sensitive in a global Apocalypse – and I don’t say that with any tone of hysteria or naive hyperbole or joking. I mean it literally: apocalypse means “unveiling,” a time when we see. And we are.
I have a bunch of me seeing, which can get overwhelming sometimes.
But acquaintances seem to forget or forgive. So I forgive myself too, and keep on keeping on. Creating beauty where I can. Singing because it feels good. Trying to be useful. Don’t know what else to do.
I trust all this struggle has been for a good purpose. It has certainly opened my eyes and let me see what I would either have missed, or not wanted to see, or pretended I didn’t see if I didn’t have to.
Of course, I always wonder if I couldn’t have had my eyes opened in some easier way, and I get no answer. Or I get answers I don’t like. So I wait.
Do all these photos look like a typical range of differences in one person? Just curious how physically striking is my multiple-ness to others. Comment below? Or answer the question in the box. Thanks!
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I’ll explain the practice in a moment. But first let me share my journal entry – written just now – about it:
I love this timer and this practice!! I LOVE knowing what I’ve done all day. I used to have to ask Greg, or struggle to remember, and feel guilty because I was never sure if I was being lazy or not taking care of myself.
This is GREAT!!
I feel like living, like it’s worth it, and like I’m NOT running to catch up because I’m not sure if I’m working hard enough or getting anything accomplished. I’m working with more energy, but not pushing myself. I feel self-possessed, and strong.
What a feeling to know.
I’ve needed this book for SO LONG!!
What did I do? I went back to doing what I used to do as a business person – what helped me handle things with quite a bit of skill: I kept a somewhat complicated datebook of my own design, made to manage exactly what I needed to manage in a manner that took into consideration my particular brain and its quirks.
To develop it, I thought a lot about how my mind works. (I didn’t know I was multiple then, but I knew I absolutely needed my unique calendar or was lost.)
Since 1993, though, I haven’t wanted to use a datebook of any design unless I had to. It represented rigidity and someone who might not be open to possibly-blessing serendipities. So, for the last 21 years, I’ve only used calendars as often as I’ve needed them.
I tried to keep them away from me, as if they’d end the intense spiritual phase of my life which had amplified amazingly when I’d moved to the desert, gotten rid of my calendar, and opened my mind to immediate experiences of sunrises, sunsets, birds, insects, wild animals, weather, light, dark, hunger, food, thirst, water, walking, resting, waking.
While that triggered the most powerful time of my life, very healing, it also triggered some understanding of things very frightening, but important – for understanding simple reality. It helped me begin a long hard struggle toward healing.
So I didn’t want to return to the calendar-mind. No way. I was proud to be oblivious of time.
But I also lost of sense of knowing where I was, what I’d experienced, and what needs to be done. I’d acted as though vision and inspiration were enough.
(What irony, as the work I’ve always done has been teaming up with visionaries to “put legs on the vision and make it walk.”)
But no one was my manager to put the legs on. I tried, but without help with self-discipline, I have too many selves to keep things moving in a productive direction. I’ve been staggering around directionless for a pathetically long time.
A few days ago, after I read about this Full Moon today, I became motivated to prepare myself to catch the wave of this powerful energy. I thought more about my mind and what help I need. I decided to design a notebook for a new sort of business: the business of healing myself.
I – a manager at heart – finally, after 21 years trying and failing to do too much in my head, have designed a system for myself.
First, I made daily check sheets that remind me of all the things that are important for me to do each day, that I want to do, that support this most important thing in my life – my healing – but that I often forget to do, maybe because I’m mind controlled to forget, but in any case, I forget way too often.
They’re simple things:
– Write dreams or first thoughts
– Note the time
– Take supplements
– Eat lots of vegetables
– Eat lots of fruit
– Drink herbal medicine tea
– Track use and reaction to herbal medicine to assure correct dose
– Be aware of physical and emotional energy
– Walk, exercise, or do yoga
– Time in garden
– Summarize highlights of the day before
(and the week on Sunday, the month on the New Moon, and the year on the Winter Solstice)
The check sheets also include places to remember things thought of that day:
– Things to do
– New goals and reiteration of goals – Day’s accomplishments
At the top of each page is the date, day of the week, and phase of the moon, which I like to attend to (part of my research).
And one more, most important, item: Under “Write dreams or first thoughts”: “Set timer.”
Yes. It’s not crazy-making. It’s the opposite.
First I chose a lovely chime on my phone. Every morning now, I set it for 30 minutes, and reset it constantly throughout the day. (I even did it yesterday when visiting friends. I kept it in the next room, so I could do my record-keeping discretely when it went off, let others think I was checking on an important call, made my notes, and returned to the group.)
Here’s why it’s important: The most important thing I need to do, as a multiple, is track my thoughts, remember them, and notice if I have lost time.
Every time I hear the chime, I reset it immediately, notice that I’m aware (or not) of the last half-hour, and write a word (or more) about what has happened in the last 30 minutes. Takes less than a minute, but it makes me feel in charge.
It doesn’t feel burdensome because it was my decision. I was expecting it to be helpful, but it has also given me a major boost in my confidence – and I feel happy every time it chimes because it reminds me that I created this way to cope, and I’m proud.
I even caught a bit of “missing time” on my very first day, and said to the alter who must have been out during the chime, “Wanna talk? I’m strong enough to listen. I would love to help and will do anything you need.” I’m still waiting, but I haven’t had any missing time since then.
And at the end of the first day, I could see all I’d accomplished – exercise, supplements, energy work, good food, everything I wanted – and I felt great.
I’ve also been noting when I use my herbal medicine, so I can keep perfectly disciplined about how much I use, how often, and notice any corresponding reactions. Any course correction I want to make is informed by clear memory.
(Why did no therapist ever suggest this??)
So, that’s the routine. Every thirty minutes, the chime reminds me to breathe, relax, remember what I’ve been doing for 30 minutes, and record it. I re-set the time, write what I’ve done for the last 30 minutes (sometimes a single word), how I feel, and anything else I want.
How the notebook is organized with a journal:
The current daily check sheet is right on top – best place – when I open the notebook, with previous daily check sheets behind. Each day, a new one goes on top.
Behind those pages is a divider followed by my journal pages. Since I write many pages a day, I refill it frequently with thirty or more blanks at a time. To easily find the current page, I have a sticky-note attached to the back of the page before it, hanging out like a tab, so I can easily grab it and turn all the used pages at once.
Since I needed a way to record my thoughts, but also want to be able to look separately at dreams, accomplishments, and meditation/prayer, apart from my stream-of-consciousness journaling, I created a template that lets me record everything chronologically, but lets me see easily which category things fall into.
I hand-drew the template page (hand-drawing feels better, less rigid). The pages, copied from the template, are filled mostly with lines for writing, with a space at the top for the page number – to keep this record of my life in careful order, hopefully with fewer and fewer missing gaps.
On the left are columns for noting date, day of week, phase of moon, and category of writing (A = Accomplishments, D = Dreams, J = Journal, M = Meditation/Self-Inquiry/Prayer.)
On the right is a column for the time I begin and end any passage, and I also record the time at the beginning and end of each page. Right of that is a column for “notes” to point out things I don’t want missed.
If I am so into my writing when I begin or end a new page that I forget to note the time and don’t realize it until I am not sure of it, I write “oops” – to not reinforce the word forget – but to cheerfully encourage myself to do it next time.
So that’s the full Practice: Daily check sheet of everything I want to do. Daily summary of accomplishments and goals for the next day. I’m reminded to breathe and relax every 30 minutes. I feel in control of my life, in a very positive endeavor, which is showing results already. The minutes it takes is not a hassle, but a joy.
I’ll soon sew a cloth cover for this notebook, with pockets for pens, phone, and paper things that make me happy, right now a collection of birthday cards given me a couple of months ago. It’s good to be reminded every day that there are people who love us. No reason not to carry those things around!
It’s my compensation package – what I need to compensate for my fractured mind – designed perfectly for me. It makes me feel like I’ve given myself back to myself.
Extras: A section for “scribbles” – I use when my mind is going too fast (or too many alters want to talk at once), where I can quickly jot brief notes to write about when the current subject is complete. Art pages (and maybe a pocket for potential collage items for those art pages). And even a page for my current best “talk to myself” for when I don’t feel like meditating!
Whenever I might take on a big project with multiple steps, I’ll add a section for planning pages that can be consulted or added to, perhaps in public, without searching through personal stuff.
And as soon as I figure out some other quirk of my mind, for which I need compensatory help, I’ll design a solution.
When the notebook is filled, I’ll remove all the pages at once, drop them in a file, and begin again.
I will post on how this continues.
Hope it’s helpful to someone out there.
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Being multiple = being fractured into multiple holograms of oneself, each with very different approaches to life. Parts can been coordinated, but they’re not always graceful.
Only sometimes, now, do I think of being multiple as necessarily a disability. It can be that. But it also often feels like a super-ability, though not as comfortable, socially. But that’s okay. Being me is very interesting. It’s like having seven sets of eyes on the world, from a lot of perspectives.
I have lots of conversations with myself, about everything. In social settings, I’m often “slow,” because I had seven different responses to the last thing said hit my brain, and I was thinking about each, weighing their merits, comparing practicality versus economy, recognizing ironies, wondering which streams of thought might be interesting to share with others, and then the subject changed and I hadn’t weighed in. Or I was stunned to feel compelled to say something but wasn’t sure which part of my thoughts to share. Sometimes I try to summarize – to be brief – and it often doesn’t quite fit with where everyone else was going. I have pretty much gotten over my humiliation at times like those.
Other times, if I know I’m facing a social event that will be demanding, I get ready, I sleep well, I pray and do yoga regularly, I eat well, I go slow, I dedicate myself to the responsibility, I put in the work. And lately I’ve begun accomplishing my goals. Feeling very strong.
Off and on throughout my life, I’ve been very proud of my work. Off and on throughout my life, I’ve experienced the most pathetic failures, including the failure of the will to live.
But so have many people. We’re living in a time when personal crisis should happen to everyone.
Most people can’t hear the next person’s story. It’s too intense. And so we live in a culture where everyone is under stress, but no one can talk about it, further stressing ourselves with isolation. A huge percentage of Americans are medicating themselves. We can’t take our own stories.
But, with drugs, hope, news control, entertainment, and other forms of mind control, we compel ourselves to do what we hardly can believe sometimes that we have within us: we create beauty, we fight for just causes, we love and sacrifice. We create beauty. And so do I.
As a multiple, my sense of time is terribly fractured. I start out each day knowing what day it is, but when the days flow behind me, they are in a jumble. I have feelings about something being a few days ago, or longer or closer, but I’m often not sure if an event happened three days ago or seven, yesterday morning or the morning before.
There’s just no single flow. Different parts of my day are handled by different parts of me. One comes out in the morning to keep me slowed down so I can do yoga before I begin flying around being German-ly productive. The business woman gets on the phone. Someone else cooks, someone else socializes. They are all pretty aware of what each other does, but they don’t seem to have a system that allows any of the conscious me to know what order things happened in. And if the one who sees someone in the food coop isn’t the one who interacted with that person at a workshop, then I will be disappointingly awkward when we pass; the shopping part of me will remember vaguely. Within a minute or two, another part of me could be having pangs of regret that I didn’t remember soon enough because I’d had a deep conversation with the woman and had looked forward to seeing her again. That can be very disappointing.
I used to get depressed about myself, and embarrassed, but also confused. Why? Why? Why? Why did this happen? And what’s happening? I feel weird, but I can’t explain it. And for decades I didn’t know.
Then in 1994, at age 42, one year after I slid dramatically into a serious spiritual crisis of bigger Why’s?, essentially anervous breakdown, I was reading Michael Talbot’s The Holographic Universe, and came upon a description of people with multiple personality disorder. The funny thing was: as soon as I read the sentence, I couldn’t remember what I’d read. The blankness in my mind was shocking. I read the sentence again and again, and every time I reached the period, I had no idea what I’d read. Then I had a bright idea and tried to trick myself, and succeeded: I read it aloud. Somehow, the extra perceptual input, both eyes and ears involved, got past some gate, and I realized I was reading symptoms that suddenly seemed to be a perfect description of me – but not what I wanted to consider. The description was of a person with multiple personality, or as they call it today dissociative identity disorder.
As usual, I had a range of responses: some children screaming No!, others dreading the humiliation of mental illness, others dreading the loss of pretending to feel normal, the defeat, the crushing defeat, the loss of dreams, the loss of respect, of self-respect, of my children’s respect, or anyone’s. And one part of me said, very practically, Or this could be the first step to healing – which you have been craving for a long time – the solution, the understanding, the answer. Accept it and get to work studying it first thing tomorrow. The whole of me said, Okay. There was nothing else to do.
We went to the medical library the next day, and within a week I had decided to leave the city and, using credit cards, build a small hermitage on some land I’d gotten in my recent divorce. My son had just recovered from cancer, and he and his sister didn’t need me and my breakdown emotions around any more, and they were barely or almost old enough to be left alone, so I moved – with apologies to them reasserted for years – to the desert and began to heal myself – with spiritual assistance.
I healed myself with the input of all my parts. Together, I have a lot of wisdom – that’s the up-side of multiple-ness. But it wasn’t fast.
And it’s been painful. I’ve fallen on the floor at home, unable to stand, and wept my heart empty on the cold, hard floor.
I’ve felt parts of me see each other, recognize each other, and come together.
I’ve heard parts of me speak brilliance from somewhere inside me that seems beyond this dimension of me.
I’ve sent healing, and received goodbye’s from friends and acquaintances just passing over.
I’ve read people’s vibes, accidentally, and know that they knew I’d read their vibes.
Steps forward and backward. Side trips. Or so it seems, and then I realize it was an amazing spiral upward. And I keep going.
Socializing is the most difficult. I prepare, and then take it in small doses. Otherwise, I hit the wall and am exhausted.
I’m like herding cats. Imagine at least seven of me inside (it seems), well-connected for some purposes, but not socializing so much. Sometimes I just have to go home.
I am less self-recriminatory, and more often philosophical. Life on planet Earth is crazy now. I’m what they call “a sensitive.” I have a lot of sensory organs when you multiply me in this one body.
But people seem to forget. And forgive. So I forgive myself too, and keep on keeping on. Creating beauty. Don’t know what else to do.
I trust it’s all for a good purpose: the beauty, the fights, even the multiple-ness and things that caused it, definitely the healing. I think we’re creating a new world, a new ourselves. It’s okay if it’s not always graceful. Birth can be messy.
At least that’s what it seems to this person who feels multiple.
How do I seem to you? I’d love knowing. It might help me check my perceptions, and get even better. …if it’s something we can talk about. Can we talk? Can we get past our isolating culture, and discuss what it feels like?
Next: healing events, and our Relations.
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A few years back, I read about how one tribe supported any members who’d experienced traumatic events. The people traumatized would tell their stories to the entire tribe at night around the campfire. Later they would tell their stories again, remembering more details, describing them as fully as needed. Finally, they would tell their stories a third and last time, making whatever conclusions had become apparent, and afterward no one would ever speak of the traumas again.
The people could leave their traumatic stories behind forever. They would be given new names, indicating the strengths of character they had gained.
Since reading that, I’ve often reflected on how trauma is handled in our culture. We have too fluid a culture, no campfire, no way to share our stories. The result is that we can’t let our stories go, and have to live through telling them again and again.
Or if we quit telling them, then in a fluid society, we can never be known for the fullness of what weíve experienced.
And with storytelling lost, the generations lose powerful wisdom.
I yearn for a tribe to hear my story, then support me in letting it go. I hope, as I publish this for others to read, maybe I’ll have found the best solution for our modern, tribe-less times.
On one of the last days before printing this book, I picked up Carlos Castaneda’s The Art of Dreaming, which I hadn’t opened in seven years. In the early pages, I read what don Juan said about the old sorcerers and the new.
“Sorcery,” as he used the term, is not the evil that common “Western culture” says it is; it is seeing and working with the multi-dimensional world, the same as many of the prophets have tried to wake us up to see.
He said the old sorcerers invented the structures of working with other dimensions, but focused too much on technique and took advantage of their influence over others (which is why we consider sorcerers evil). Castaneda wrote,
“Modern sorcerers, by contrast, don Juan portrayed as men [and women] renowned for their sound minds and their capacity to rectify the course of sorcery if they deemed it necessary. [My italics]
Don Juan went on to say, “I personally detest the darkness and morbidity of the mind.”
As Iíve researched government mind control and related topics, I often come across theories that the underground, renegade Network, the cabal, is not simply slipping over the edge of good judgment, politics gone too far, but has been aligned for eons with the dark side of spirit.
If the evil of the underground Network is sorcery of a sort – and I’ll argue it is (the evil type our culture believes, only not ascribed to the correct people) – then our work at this time on this planet is to rectify its course.
Many religions tell of the cycle of evil having its time, which will end, and is predicted by many to be soon.
And many spiritual traditions say it will require some effort from us. So it feels timely to hear this call now and to believe we can work miracles. We obviously need to end torture, wars, and thoughtless materialism stripping and poisoning the planet.
We need to do nothing less than rectify the course of this sorcery.
To do this, I believe we must reclaim our vision and power as a species existing in multiple dimensions. Many species on our planet have evolved and disappeared when they couldn’t meet a challenge, and that’s a real, and natural, possibility for us.
Each challenge of evolution requires a new response, usually attended by a refreshed worldview . We humans are facing such a challenge now, and we need to revisit our worldviews to see if they actually represent our reality, as Terrence KcKenna challenged: If our worldview doesn’t match our reality, we must be prepared to change our worldviews, and see anew.
Opening our eyes to another world is difficult, I know because I stayed blind to parts of it, at least, for most of my life. Even after I thought I was aware, I continued to think it was a meaningless coincidence that I’d had ET contact and was also harassed by elements within the government, I thought, for being an environmental activist.
It seemed unfortunate and embarrassing because both were ridiculed (contact called impossible and government harassment paranoid), so I kept both mostly to myself and was thereby effectively silenced. It took me until the final day I was completing this book to realize consciously that, not only were political activists being monitored, but so were contactees, and both were subject to well-organized ridicule campaigns.
While I knew contactees were ridiculed, I hadn’t realized it was an organized campaign until I read Michael Salla’s article on “Galactic COINTELPRO.”
While I’d known contactees conveyed messages about our environmental situation and the dangers of nuclear war, both of which threaten our corporations and their minions in the government, I’d naively failed to draw a connection between that and the monitoring and harassment I’d experienced.
Just as the decades of ET/UFO ridicule had made me believe the subject of contact was silly before it happened to me, after it happened to me I still thought it too silly to interest the government – even though I knew some of the aliens’ messages of environmental responsibility impinged on our government’s ideas of national security and corporate freedom, and even though I’d seen a similar pattern up close, in the lies told about Judi Bari.
I didn’t want to see the pattern again, just as I suspect most of my environmental activist colleagues won’t want to hear about this. They won’t want to degrade their noble causes with something so “ridiculous” as alien contact, just as I was offended when the MKULTRA activist brought her fliers to the Judi Bari rally at the courthouse. “Divide and conquer” remains a powerful strategy.
Even in the ET/UFO community, some UFO researchers refuse to consider the claims of contactees, not wanting to be aligned with what they fear will lose them credibility. But if UFO researchers understood fully that the media is thoroughly controlled by the underground cabal, theyíd realize their research will never be accepted, no matter how narrowly present their cases, so their withdrawal from contactees only hurts those with messages that might actually contribute to all our understanding.
According to polls, a high percentage of American people know they are being told lies about this and other related subjects; they just don’t understand why. With the Why unanswered, people return their attention to their TVs and working to pay off their credit cards, as the underground cabal hopes they will.
I believe we can compellingly answer Why would the government lie about this? with the messages offered by contactees.
The fact that the messages are mixed shouldn’t deter, as we need to remember that the message senders are a mix – and that’s an important reality of our world to understand. We live in a cosmic ocean, and the delight of dolphins doesn’t negate the danger of sharks, and visa versa.
The messages weíve received, particularly those encouraging us to be environmentally responsible and end the nuclear arms race, will not only help open people’s eyes to a wider reality, but prompt actions of responsibility, none too soon. Only after that, can the implementation of clean “ET” technology possibly be utilized.
Whereas UFO research, sans abductee testimony, will not likely pave the way, regardless that it’s considered an easier media sell.
Contactee messages, on the other hand, speak to the human heart, of human responsibility, and they answer the Why: Responsible citizenry and total corporate control over our culture are mutually exclusive, and the people from other dimensions have been trying to tell us something like this for thousands of years.
C.B. Scott Jones told the Hawaii conference, in so many words, that he, as a Christian, wouldn’t be surprised if Jesus returned in a spacecraft. Many people laughed, and I understood their reaction.
I’m not sure all extra-dimensional beings require ships to enter this realm. but I think I know what he’s aiming at. As I adjust my attitudes toward the prophets of all religions (though I’m most familiar with Jesus/Yeshua), their teachings have taken on new meaning.
Today I suspect that what some people call shamanic is simply the activities of those conversant with a multi-dimensional world, like the miracles Yeshua said we’d perform (“all these things and more”).
It’s probably unfortunate that we in the “First World” use this word shamanic, as it implies these skills are exotic and rare, rather than our human destiny.
On the other hand, he also said, “The first shall be last” – and we’re living in the First World. So it no longer surprises me that we’re the last to know about extra-dimensional life.
Yeshua also said “heaven” was not assured by correct doctrine, but by having one’s heart connect with Spirit. How we can connect with Spirit when our days are filled with false experiences provided by the media, I don’t know.
How we can survive as a species when we choose to perceive our own environment through the lens of corporate entertainment is a deeply disturbing question, of cosmic proportions, one that many contactees have tried to weigh in on.
(John Mack’s work has the most condensed and powerful accounts.)
Mack noted in Passport to the Cosmos that researchers Norman S. Don and Gilda Moura reported in the Journal of Scientific Exploration that
“when an abduction is being relived or remembered, a frontal-lobe hyperarousal pattern is found by electroencephalogram (EEG) similar to that seen only in advanced spiritual meditators.”
Obviously something unusual is going on, beyond anyone’s imagination or fantasy, which warrants our respectful attention.
Since contactees speak passionately of Spirit and responsibility, it behooves us not to dismiss them in favor of debunking and corporate hypnotism.
(It encourages me that all the TVs of the world could be turned off tomorrow, ending this spiritual pollution without any infrastructure change or a single act of civil disobedience.)
As for the Network, even it has potential for transformation. Inside are people who’ve been trapped, the minions whose intention may never have been to be part of the darkness, who don’t know how to free themselves. They are a majority (though they may not know it) and as such, they sit in key places to do good.
They’re already doing it, judging by the useful paperwork leaked out and other paperwork disappeared (according to activists Iíve known). They only need to act when it’s their time.
And they will, because it’s in their best interests. If they don’t, they know they’ll be the next food; so they’ll act.
Whatever our connection to the minions, though it might sometimes be painful, it’s a wondrous dance: They make us see. We learn, and awaken.
And we go on, finding strength wherever it lies for us.
Rob Brezsny writes in Pronoia: An antidote to Paranoia:
This is a perfect moment – because you and I are waking up from our sleepwalking, thumb-sucking, dumb-clucking collusion with the masters of illusion and destruction.
Thanks to them, from whom the painful blessings flow, we are waking up.
As heaven and earth come together, as the dreamtime and daytime merge, we register the shockingly exhilarating fact that we are in charge of creating a brand new world.
As we stand on this brink, as we dance on this verge, we can’t let the ruling fools of the dying world sustain their curses. We have to rise up and fight their insane logic; defy, resist, and prevent their tragic magic; unleash our sacred rage and supercharge it.
In the new world we’re gestating, we need to be suffused with lusty compassion and ecstatic duty, ingenious love and insurrectionary beauty.
So what will it be? The fearful paradigms of post-apocalyptic Hollywood? They’re only caricatures of what we have already.
How about, when things crash, you simply chose your contribution to your community? Do you want to be a carpenter? A gardener? A baker? A tailor? An innkeeper? A sailor? A fisher? A butcher? A forager or herbalist? A home builder?
Go to your heart, and choose.
Then barter for everything you can, to create a local economy.
A little afraid? Turn up the dial on your intuition, and remember that the past does not determine the future.
Give yourself permission to move away from those who make you nervous. Then move, blessing yourself and them.
All the dance is purposeful.
Thank you for being part of my campfire. It heals me. And I pray it will help to heal others.
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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.
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.
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First, there was the recognition that I was multiple (though I believe everyone is, to some degree, so this “diagnosis” is relatively benign, though still something interesting to work with, to deepen one’s self-understanding). That came to me the summer of 1994, the evening of the last day of my first year in the Creative Writing Master of Fine Arts program at the University of Arizona. I’d only gone back to school because I needed the income that student loans could provide, because I couldn’t work after my son had been diagnosed with cancer, my husband and I agreed to divorce, I’d been designated the one to move – with my teenage children, who became very bitter – my health insurance company had declared bankruptcy, and my daughter had acted hatefully to me for the first time ever, calling me selfish for making them move.
I’d wanted to work. I loved my work, and the business owner (I was his only employee) had just offered me the plum of a lifetime: ownership of his $3-4 million business – 200 birdwatching tours every year to every continent, including Antarctica – for a percentage of profits, no money down. I felt perfectly capable of taking it, though not sure I wanted to be tied down to any business, regardless of how attractive it was. I’d been written up along with three other women a few years previous as a Supermom – I didn’t recommend it – in a major Tucson, Arizona, newspaper. But now I couldn’t work. I went to work, I stayed all day, but noticed my energy was extremely slow, and then I began waking up at my desk, wondering why I was looking at the wall sideways and realized I’d laid my head down on my desk, but didn’t recall it. And this happened day after day.
It never occurred to me to ask for help. A couple months earlier, I’d won a literary prize for a short story I’d written and had been invited by one of the judges into the University of Arizona’s writing program. For the first time, I considered going back to school and realized it would be perfect: Someone would “pay” me to write and read, both of which would be excellent therapy that I might not be able to afford otherwise. I worried about taking my fragile self into the university environment, but didn’t see any choice.
I had my nervous breakdown before a callous young, witty audience. Humbling beyond belief.
I won’t describe the first year. I wrote about it in RattleSnake Fire. But the night after my last class of the year, an evening class that ended at nine, I rode home through the hot Tucson summer air, coasting downhill toward the dry Rio Santa Cruz, my path occasionally sloping down through a wash where the cold air layered, and I enjoyed the exhilaration of the coolness on my sweaty skin and the physicality of pushing on pedals and making myself move!
The semester was done, and it had been damn hard, all that humiliation, but I’d borne it with dignity, I thought, and it was only half my fault, the difficulty of it all; the rest was the other students’ and their age – and even that wasn’t their fault. This was just one of those accidents of nature: culture had created a lifestyle including the pressure of Supermoms (not sustainable), which cripples people like myself, we are hurt, and everyone has been isolated, communities fractured, no one left able to respond, and humor is one way of dealing, sometimes hurting others’ feelings, or worse, and it happens all around us all the time. This had been the clear, stark, in-my-face reality everyday, and I was the one in the net, laughed at. Because my children needed me, I didn’t kill myself.
Two weeks earlier, I’d come home one afternoon, dropped my backpack onto my bed, and saw a vision of myself from inside, as if I were small and standing inside a big, dark human-shaped barn old enough to have gaps of between the boards which let in the only light. I was amazed and thought, “This thing’s not standing much longer.” Then, a support beam hidden in the darkness dropped from its position, and I knew the barn was coming down soon.
“Okay,” I answered, “but let me get through these last two weeks of school.” The crazy instabilities I’d been experiencing in ever quickening cycles suddenly stopped, and I finished the semester in relative peace.
And now it was over. I had the entire summer to myself, essentially: I would take an independent study, meaning I could continue to get student loans while writing whatever I wanted on whatever schedule suited me.
The idea of three whole months with nothing to do but the writing I’d do anyway was astounding, and I realized this was the first time in my life since my childhood that I didn’t have a schedule. Things had been nearly bursting my seams, and now I’d have time to let them out, thoughtfully, and have time to recover from whatever emotion I was sure would flow. What a gift. Time. I’d never had it in my life.
The summer night was beautiful on my skin and in my lungs as I cruised down side streets and wound along bike paths toward our little apartment complex, our new home. Historic, brick, with the Virgen de Guadalupe painted on the wall near the front gate into the courtyard, where I lived in a little one-room efficiency with a fig tree at my front door. I’d long loved fig trees, since I sat in one at my grandmother’s house and felt truly loved in its arms. So this tree was a sign of good things, and they’d had been happening, slowly. For one, my son’s cancer was gone.
My kids, sixteen and seventeen, each had their own un-rehabilitated apartment, illegal and without water, but they loved being on their own, and they could come to my place to use the kitchen and bathroom, and sometimes we’d have meals together.
Exhilarated by all the goodness, the most beautiful evening weather in Tucson, my sweet little apartment, and the promise of an empty summer, I eagerly set up my writing situation: My writing chair and matching ottoman I’d purchased for sixty dollars (an extravagant amount) at a thrift store many years earlier. The cream and gold brocade was frail, just beginning to pull apart in a few places, but still looked nice. Beside the chair, I placed a cup of hot herbal tea and a quart jar of pure, room-temperature water, along with my journal, pens, pipe and smoking mix, and the little lap desk I’d bought for my son, thinking he’d enjoy writing in bed (“Oh, Mom…” he’d said scornfully, either because he thought it was truly a dorky idea or else it was the little blue teddy bears covering the pellet-filled pillow which made the desk comfortable on the lap.) Maybe I also poured a little wine, or got myself a snack. But I remember thinking that everything was perfect. And after all I’d been through in the last year, I was newly happy about living, mostly happy that this was the first free moment of what would be three whole months of nothing to do, an unbelievable, amazing gift, for which I was infinitely grateful.
Just as some might sit down to indulge in a delectable meal, I paused before sitting down and admired the picture: The reading lamp shown on the brocade, everything I might need right beside me. The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot was there – delicious reading, though at times it bent my mind. I’d begin the evening by reading and see what writing was triggered.
My psychotherapist had told me that I really needed to practice making purchases for myself, because I’d never done it. I’d only acquired things that were cheap or free, except for gifts I gave to others. With his urging, I’d bought myself an India print bed spread in blues, purples and greens, very mystical, and the spread in the uneven glow of my reading lamp caused an upwelling of love and gratitude to flow through my body. Life was good.
Sitting down, I faced the front wall, beyond which was my Black Mission fig, and studied up near the ceiling the crumbling brick wall exposed where plaster had fallen away. The colors were beautiful.
Eventually, I read. Fascinated, pages turned for a while until I hit a sentence that confused me – not unusual, as this was material that sometimes needed to be read twice, but this was confusing in a different way. Something was wrong. I had read the sentence a few times, and I had no idea what I’d read. It was as if someone had removed a snippet of my life completely, erased every word and concept that had flowed. I read it again. Again, I could remember nothing. Fully conscious. And boggled. I’m sure I shook my head. And when it happened again, I realized I had to think of some way to trick myself to get around whatever was going on. I read the sentence aloud, and then remembered.
The sentence mentioned that one famous clinician of people with Multiple Personality Disorder believed that many of them looked far younger than their ages. Immediately, I knew why I’d gone blank. I was often mistaken to be twenty years younger than I was. As for being a multiple, that was freakish, abhorrent, and I rejected it, but also recognized that something else inside was speaking up, saying, “Yes, we are….”
In the moment that I yielded, accepted that maybe it could be true, and a reasonable person should look at the evidence and just consider it, it was as if a lifetime dis-ease had shifted, giving promise of relief. I remembered times of amnesia, and a childhood friend who’d screamed at me that I was a “split personality.”
“This would explain a lot of things,” I thought. Suddenly, I felt my body ripple as if made of water with a slight electric charge, then the sensation was gone and I felt normal again, except that it seemed my body had been rewired on the cellular level, and energy flowed through me in the most perfect patterns of harmony and health.
I was also aware of the presence of a woman in me, or rather like a three-dimensional covering over my skin, holding all my parts together; and knew that she was the one who would oversee my reintegration. The words, “the integrating woman” came to mind. I couldn’t see her, though, as I “saw” from my left, while she was looking slightly to the right. Somehow, I felt hopeful.
The next morning, I went to the University Medical Library and spent a few hours reviewing all the literature on MPD. When I walked out the door, I actually felt happy. Rather than insanity and hopeless cases (I was ready to be the famous exception), I read that MPD is often caused by childhood trauma (my experience), is often accompanied by high intelligence (my experience), and is considered by some to be fairly common; some researchers even believe that everyone is multiple to some degree. Finally, I learned that, unlike most mental illnesses, once diagnosed, it is relatively easy to cure.
I strode out of the hospital, buoyant at the promise of new life after I healed my alters.
To be continued….
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