Category Archives: My Story Ongoing

Two circle bruises appear

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then this happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this supports the really important thing:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Dragonfly Birth Day

[This photo-essay was first posted on my (MK) Garden Healing Church site:  http://gardenhealingchurch.org/2014/08/14/dragonfly-birth-day/.]

My partner and I are supporting a friend in the process of dying.

I’ve been feeling myself drawn toward this sort of work for a decade, and now the time has arrived.

I’m amazed at how calm I feel and comfortable with the process.  (Ten years ago, I was invited to attend the dying of another friend, and I had to decline.)

My partner and I spent a couple of hours each day the last few days and watched our friend decline to sunken cheeks, faint gestures, and occasional phrases turned to whispers of single words or phrases not understood.

We scheduled our volunteer time for late afternoon, and have spent our last few mornings cleaning out our shop which had become a nonfunctional store room.  (Perhaps his dying made us want to put our things in order, bring new life into our lives, get energy unstuck, and keep things functioning optimally at home.)

This morning shortly after we’d gotten back to work, Greg noticed something strange hanging on the wall of the house right next to where we were working and called me to come with the camera.

Almost the first thing that came to my mind was Alien, as in the thing that sprung from Sigourney Weaver’s chest.

copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower 2014.  Taken August 13, 2014.

copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower 2014. (Click and zoom for detail.)

– though first I’d thought it was one insect eating another.  It took a few moments to realize, it was not death, but birth.  One being was not being consumed by another; one was emerging from its own former shell.

Death and rebirth.  We thought of our friend, and how frightening death is to so many people – as frightening as this monster-looking creature.  But that was just a bad first impression.  This monster would become absolutely beautiful.

Greg noticed what he called “umbilical cords,” white threads that connected the new dragonfly to its shell – even after she removed her tail, righted herself, and let her wings emerge.  Now she looks like a faerie in pink and lime green lace and ruffles!  (Please click and zoom to see amazing detail!)

Faery-like dragonfly emerged, copyright Jean Eisenhower 2014

Faery-like dragonfly emerged, copyright Jean Eisenhower 2014

cords down

copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower 2014

Eighteen minutes later, her ruffles are smoothed out, and her cords are disconnected.

I came in close for this “smile”:

Smile, copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower, 2014

Smile, copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower, 2014

Here she’s looking mostly like the dragonfly we know:

DSC05115

copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower 2014

And then she spreads her wings, an hour and a half after her birth:

Open Wings, copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower 2014

Open Wings, copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower 2014

I’ve always loved dragonflies, and once called on Dragonfly for a healing ceremony.  They are said to be guardians of the portals to the dream world, allowing in healing, or allowing the soul to pass to the next world.

Since we’d talked with our friend about death as a passing into the next world, a rebirth, we couldn’t help but think of this dragonfly birth as a herald of our friend’s passing.

In a moment, the old shell was left behind…

carcas

copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower 2014

and she began her life, anew, in the garden.

DSC05131

copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower 2014

Can you see her?

in the tree cu

copyright Jean Ann Eisenhower 2014

This afternoon, our friend  was far less responsive.  Faint smiles, apparent sleep, fewer gestures.

When we told his wife about the dragonfly, she said it had always been an important totem for them.

Our world is so powerfully magical!  (If we invite it in.)  It answers, “Yes!” in case we forget, that we have friends in spirit all around us.  (Yes, there is powerful grief in our world also, but the Magic is here still, just waiting for us to recognize it.)

The portal is opened.  Happy travels, Friend.

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

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

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

imagesFirst, What is shamanism?

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do I relate to shamanism?

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

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

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

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

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

Is shamanism dangerous?

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

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

How does this relate to mind control?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Am I a shaman?  Am I dangerous?

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

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

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

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

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

DSC01357

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

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

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

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

Where does Jesus fit in?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are “aliens”?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jean Eisenhower
Silver City, NM
August 9, 2014

Three Days in Darkness

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

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

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

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

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

1.  I don’t have enough help!

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

Point taken.

2.  I don’t have enough understanding!

Ditto answer.

Okay….

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

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

Sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

powerful sorcerers

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

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

Re-edited Videos and “Shaman Winter”

DVD template dollLast week, thinking I was dying, the most important thing I wanted to do was update my latest video series.  So I worked to accomplish that.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKGE0Kuc-QU&list=PLPo7-F8Erey5SwKjn7ssWFy-6TCQYs33I

This feels like my most important life work to finish up, my best contribution to the world for understanding mind control, so I appreciate you taking the time to view it.

Besides, the first video is very artfully done and got over 2,000 views it’s first week.*  And it’s only 3 minutes long.

And if you want to watch the whole series, you can click to “watch all,” and sit back and relax for just a little over an hour.

After three days of serious heart pain with jabs of arm pain and jaw pain (classic heart attack symptoms), they faded away for a day.  They came back when my father called and chastised me about not getting allopathic are.  Along the way, he told me, “You owe me!” (to stay alive), then explained that I was finally beginning to be nice to him after decades of not, and I owed him more nice years.

Now, I’m managing my heart as well as I can.  And reading Rudolpho Anaya’s book, Shaman Winter, an excellent story about fighting evil on the spiritual planes.  Right now, it’s as close as I can get to what feels like real help.

Love you all ~

Really appreciate you.

* YouTube keeps reducing my numbers!  The numbers decrease now and then on my site by thousands at a time, from 15,000 to 12,000, then down to 10,000, trying to discourage me, I guess.

Heart Problems – I assume from Electroshock and Tasering

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wasted.  Wondering: serious disease?”

“Feel bad with weird symptoms.”

“Deep despair of life, lots of sleep.”

“Wrote bye to all, but lived.”

“Weak, nausea, ringing in ears.”

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

“No energy for anything.”

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

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

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

“Can’t sleep, feeling dread.”

“Jaw pain and heart tension.”  (twice)

“Suicidal.”  (four times)

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

“Scoop mark on same finger.”

“Woke tired with pee in bed again.”

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

And the bruises I’ve photographed!

Wow! Feel and Heal!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jean

 

 

Hit again

thigh bruise copy

huge bruise on my thigh – no explanation

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

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

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

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

DSC04315

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

The Struggle to Heal from Mind Control

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two and a half weeks after a beam hit me while talking on the telephone.  I seem to have been controlled to not look at it and later not photograph it until it was almost healed.

Two and a half weeks after a beam hit me while talking on the telephone. I seem to have been controlled to not look at it and later not photograph it until it was almost healed.

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ~

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

A Church for Mind Control Victims

“I’ve been waiting for something to happen
For a week or a month or a year
With the blood in the ink of the headlines
And the sound of the crowd in my ear.”

— Jackson Browne, Lives in the Balance

(Greg and I have been singing this song almost endlessly for weeks.)

Last Full Moon, something got me out of bed, and I wrote for hours, suddenly understanding some new work I’m supposed to do, which brings together in harmony all the varied activities and impulses of my life, but in a totally surprising way – to me.

We’re at a moment in history when people need to wake up to our multi-dimensional reality and political reality, and speak their truth.

The urgency of this moment requires our bodies, minds, and souls; and it’s our bodies, minds, and souls that are on the line.

This involvement of our souls is what convinces me we need to speak with the authority and legal status given in our culture (often mistakenly) to churches.  While spirituality certainly does not require a church (and churches can even be detrimental to one’s spirituality), churches do receive important legal recognition by our governments.  And since we who have been abused need all the legal status we can get to defend ourselves and continue our healing, I have begun a church.

Admittedly, this part was daunting to me the first time it crossed my mind.  For healing work legal purposes, I was ordained in 2006, but then mostly forgot about it.  Besides, I thought, I have no ability to counsel anyone, as I’m still fighting these things called demons.

Unknown-2Then a few months ago, I was inspired by Martin Luther King, Jr. to put my spiritual beliefs into political action as he did for his civil rights work.  I knew he too was imperfect, but he accepted his calling and did incredibly important work.

Then Greg read to me the introduction of Black Elk Speaks, about how he’d had visions (like me) for all his life too – and was tormented by demons until he finally accepted his calling!

His description of his struggle stunned me, as he could have been describing my last decade-plus.  With astonishment, I told Greg –  and at the same time God – that I would accept this calling and act as soon as I understood it.

A few weeks went by, and the concept remained certain, but I saw no details, no practical first steps, so I didn’t think about it, other than that it was compelling, but more “out there” than I like to be.  And part of me wondered if my Spirit Help would actually convince me to do anything.

Suddenly, in the middle of the night of this last Full Moon, I drafted almost everything I needed to define this church and ministry here on this new church website.

I never wanted to take on this role of minister – except in a very private way – but now that I’ve written all this, it feels very comfortable and right.   (And it feels great to have written my own spiritual history – and not hold it secret any longer.)

I have a short list of upcoming sermons I’m looking forward to writing.

So please check out this website, MK Garden Healing, and if the Spirit moves you, become a member and subscribe.

Energized to Speak So Much Truth!

“I’ve been waiting for something to happen
For a week or a month or a year
With the blood in the ink of the headlines
And the sound of the crowd in my ear.”

— Jackson Browne, Lives in the Balance

(Greg and I have been singing that endlessly the last few days.)

Last week I wrote a blog on ParadigmSalon.net, titled “New Starting Point.”  I’d finally realized I’d written for too long the way I’d been taught as a radio journalist:  simple, 6th grade level for the average American – and finally realized that it wasn’t working, at least for “this stuff.”  I couldn’t get in “the people’s” shoes and still take my leaps.

I decided to quit writing from anyone’s vantage but my own.  I’d write only from my own, real, only partly-journalist self – the one who’s been drifting between dimensions all of my life, trying to act normal, and finding it quite a struggle.

In my 30s, as a single mom, I used to win awards and recognitions regularly, but I’ve not been very productive for the last two decades (though I’ve been trying to be useful and I think I’ve been).  I haven’t been too bothered; I’ve known something’s brewing, and soon everything’s going to change.  (I think we’ve begun.)

Since January I’ve been having two weeks at a stretch every month when I can hardly function, and Greg has to do most of the work and bring in the income.  I’ve been apologizing, but we’ve both felt that something good was coming out of all the extra sleep.

And suddenly last Full Moon, something got me out of bed, and I wrote for hours, suddenly understanding quite clearly the work I’m supposed to do, which brings together everything in perfect harmony that I have ever done in my life, but in a totally surprising way – to me.

I need to articulate what I see in the world, and what I see is a moment of history in which people wake up and speak their truth.

The urgency of this moment requires our bodies, minds, and souls; and it’s our bodies, minds, and souls that will experience the benefit.

The involvement of our souls is what makes it right that this conversation be in a church.

Now, that’s the part that daunted me, that has held me back for over a decade when this sort of idea first seemed like “crazy stuff” that would’t go away.  The idea had a sort of reality to it, so I was ordained, but then mostly forgot about it.  Besides, I thought, I have nothing to tell anyone, as I’m still fighting these things called demons.

Unknown-2Then a few months ago, Greg read to me the introduction of Black Elk Speaks, about how he had had visions like me for all his life too and was tormented by demons until he finally accepted his calling.

His description of the struggle stunned me, as he could have been describing my last decade-plus.  With astonishment, I told Greg, and God, that I would accept this calling and act when I understood it.

A few weeks went by, and the concept felt certain, but I saw no details, no practical first steps, so I didn’t think about it, other than that it was interesting, more “out there” than I like to be, and I wondered if my Spirit Help would actually convince me to do anything.

Suddenly, as I said, on the night of this last Full Moon, I got up and, not having had any ideas before, suddenly “saw it” and drafted almost everything  I needed to define this church and ministry here on this website.  And I’ve been polishing and expanding it for four days straight, and I’m totally energized by speaking this much truth!

So that’s how it’s come about, Friends.  I never wanted to take on this role, but now that I’ve written all this (including my own spiritual history – nice to not hold it secret any longer), it feels very comfortable and right.

I have a short list of upcoming sermons I’m looking forward to writing.

So please check out this website, MK Garden Healing, and if the Spirit moves you, become a member and subscribe.

Jean Eisenhower's avatarGarden Healing Church

“I’ve been waiting for something to happen
For a week or a month or a year
With the blood in the ink of the headlines
And the sound of the crowd in my ear.”

— Jackson Browne, Lives in the Balance

(Greg and I have been singing that endlessly the last few days.)

Last week I wrote a blog on ParadigmSalon.net, titled “New Starting Point.”  I’d finally realized I’d written for too long the way I’d been taught as a radio journalist:  simple, 6th grade level for the average American – and finally realized that it wasn’t working, at least for “this stuff.”  I couldn’t get in “the people’s” shoes and still take my leaps.

I decided to quit writing from anyone’s vantage but my own.  I’d write only from my own, real, only partly-journalist self – the one who’s been drifting between dimensions all of my life, trying to…

View original post 551 more words

“Obey the Doctor” Programming

I’d like to talk about unnecessary medical procedures, done either by coercion or without one’s knowledge.I was subjected to dental care recently that was so weird I can only call it psychotic.  And it relates to some previous treatment done without warning that I will call the same.

A friend told me, “You’re the third person I’ve heard in two days with a horrific story about that place.”

I will mention no names, but I’d like to at least put out this warning:

If you have doubts about your dental or medical care, please DO NOT fall into the cultural trap of “Obey the Doctor” programming. PLEASE take a friend with you to the dentist and/or doctor. Trust yourself more than the doctor or dentist. Give yourself permission to wait and seek other advice. Find good alternative health care, and take care of yourself naturally.

End of warning.

Personal story beginning, for those who are curious, and for me to make a public statement (and maybe to encourage everyone to not let this stuff go by quietly):

I’ve been extremely cautious of doctors for decades, but for some reason I got lured into treatment that is nothing short of psychotic. For those interested, here is the story:

Two years ago, I went in for a tooth cleaning and was surprised by the arrival of the dentist there instead of the dental hygienist.  He used a high-powered spray to remove plaque (the coral-like material that harbors bacteria) but he aimed it up under my gums!  The pain was so extreme that I stopped him, and when I thought I’d regained my composure, I questioned him, but he was a good salesman (and somewhat of a friend) and convinced me to endure.

If I had really regained my composure, I would have told him that it was stupid to aim the stream under my gums, because then I’d have a bacteria collector lodged somewhere it could never be removed and where it would threaten the roots of my teeth, not to mention his shredding the tender tissue that connects the living tooth to the gum.

But “Obey the Doctor” programming (the cultural kind at least, if not more serious programming) prevailed, and I let him continue, much to my horror later.  I learned he was fired about a week later, and I hope it was because of this.

Two years later, I got a cavity under the gum and, since that doctor was no longer there, I returned to the same establishment to have it filled.  A day or two after it was filled, I discovered a hole drilled right next to the filling, under my gum line!  I could push down my gum and put a toothpick in the hole and twirl it easily with nothing dragging on any rough edges — it was not an overlooked caries, but a neatly drilled hole! at least 3/16″ deep, right next to the filling he’d just done.

Under my gum line, I assume he thought I wouldn’t notice it until it had degraded into a serious caries, but just in case, he warned me to “not poke any toothpicks around there.”  Well, I did, and I discovered this perfect hole immediately adjacent to his filling job.

If I was willing to go into debt, I’d have gone to another dentist, at least for documentation of this bizarre situation, but I didn’t want to go into debt and I knew that the dentist who’d done this was a resident who had already returned to his home in Mesa, Arizona, so I made an appointment where I could “afford” the care.  [Bang head on table.]  (Waiting for the appointment, I kept the hole clean with a hypodermic syringe and hydrogen peroxide.)

The regular dentist who saw me next was nearly speechless at what he saw, and he did not correct me when I said it seemed to be a perfectly drilled hole.  He assured me the other doctor was “a good doctor” (interesting that he thought he needed to assure me of that), and he didn’t know what else to say but that the hole needed to be filled or the tooth removed.

I felt I was in a no-win situation.  If he didn’t clean it perfectly, it would eventually be lost.  If he drilled it out to clean it, he might inadvertently drill too near the side of the root and break it, and it would be lost.  Feeling hopeless and abused, I let the tooth be removed.  It required surgery.  Silent horror, and pain.

I’ve been recovering from that trauma, as well as the grief that the tooth is lost, and those next to it and opposite it are now weaker, but – more than that – the horror that I was the victim again of a psychopath working as a doctor.

If you haven’t read the book CIA Control of Candy Jones, she was also programmed to go to her dentist continually and submit to painful procedures and surgeries.

I thought I was doing a better job than this of avoiding them.  So I’m writing to warn others and to wake myself up to what I thought I already knew.

 

Mind Control Just “What Is”?

This essay is an exploration of the idea that mind control is painful and traumatic to individuals and society, but is not evil and may be no more of a tragedy than a garden plant being transplanted and having its root tips broken off to rot and die.  (This is my philosopher self, trying hard to look at things from a higher, even cosmic perspective, not taking things so personally.)  And 12 hours later, I’m adding this note that I don’t believe this entirely and will post another article soon, about real evil and positive creative imagination.)

I welcome readers to share their own explorations on this idea.

The garden of Earth seems to be being sacrificed unnecessarily and tragically, but maybe it’s no more tragic than a field destroyed for the parking lot of a factory that will produce guitar and piano strings for all the world’s music.

In a few generations my family of farmers and ranchers has been transformed, through painful cultural upheaval, into artists, teachers, a doctor, an arborist, a program director for international land mine removal, and an international voice for human rights and healing for the world’s many mind control victims.  And that’s just my immediate family.

I’ve often thought it would be better to have stayed farmers and ranchers of the old organic methods, live in close communities, sing and tell stories around the campfire, and care for the Earth, like millennia of humans before us.

I still love the idea, though the possibility of ever returning to that “idyllic” life (which may have been idyllic very rarely in the larger scheme of history) seems, anyway, to be slipping away.  Yellowstone threatens to blow, earthquakes rumble on the Pacific edge of the Americas, engineers actively add pressure to the Earth’s crust with fracking, loggers destroy the rainforest lungs of our biosphere, fishers empty our oceans, and industry pollutes it and the air, soil, and rest of our waterways, and introduce “death genes” and toxins into our plant food supply.  It seems a liquidation program is well underway on our planet, including the decimation of select populations of humans.

Who is the intelligence behind all this?

Not you and me.  Don’t give me that.

Screen Shot 2014-04-05 at 7.41.25 PMSome would say either a vengeful god/God, Satan, or races of aliens, maybe Archons.  We could define our terms and try to get behind the cartoon images to the possibility or reality of an intelligence, maybe even a Prime Source Creator, with or without an opposite, existing on more dimensions than this, creating our reality and moving us along to something new, like a gardener with grand plans for the meadow.

Can we change the gardeners’ plan if we’re a wildflower? Can we stop Yellowstone?  Can we stop the fracking?  Can we stop mind control?

Or, can we do something on the other dimensions?  I think we can.

Even though our Gardeners (or someone/Someone) has done everything it seems possible to keep us ignorant of our partial existence on other dimensions and the possibility for us to develop skills and relationships there, yes we can learn to work there, probably more powerfully than here.

We seem disempowered here because the Gardeners/gods/God/Satan/aliens are at work on this dimension, and some of them use mind control as consistently as we/they use Round-up, DDT, and napalm.  It makes it dang hard to buck their system.  They are not afraid to kill things (and neither are we), like any good gardener or scientist, as just part of the process.  Something usually survives, and that’s the prize.

Are they and their ways evil?  My first instinct is to say Yes!

Then I think:  Are we evil for ripping things up in our gardens, killing those root tips, bugs, mice, microfauna, and microflora with so little concern?

Accepting the theory of a Callous Gardener with grand plans:  Do I want to be the Gardeners’ prize, sweet fruit, or do I seek some sort of escape?  I certainly don’t think I like this Gardener, especially when I am told about the torture of prisoners at Abu Ghraib (by our government!), our dying oceans, and remember my own torture and abuse – so I don’t think I care to survive this enterprise.

Then I remember the invention of guitar strings and broadcast music and my comfy home with a tight metal roof, so much more comfortable than my great grandmothers’, and I relent.

Then I remember ancient stories of opposite forces of Life and Death warring on Earth (and remember all my own spiritual experiences), and remember it’s a matter of choosing with which energy stream we will align in this big swirling universe of energies.  

I know which one I choose.  It is creative.  It is not cruel.  And so I must be creatively – and consciously – kind.  I must even garden with more consciousness of the plants I dig up and haul around.  I must only purchase things grown organically, never products of war and torture – but…

This solution doesn’t go very far.  It seems every computer or even pad of paper available is a product of torture and war.

So what to do?

My animal self wants to buck and cry out at the pain – maybe teach that cowboy controller a lesson or two.

My inner healer works to be aware and try to heal myself further.

My artist reaction is to sing and write and design my garden.

My social self wants to teach and share as I’m allowed and otherwise stay connected with others.

My inter-dimensional self works to stay connected with Spirit Family despite cultural and other programming against it, to strengthen my inter-dimensional relationships and skills.

And all these selves – animal, inner healer, artist, social, and inter-dimensional – remind me of my other selves, split-off, traumatized children mostly, and I wonder if their painful existence has given me greater perspective, something very useful, and, despite the occasional dysfunction they cause, and the result is something evolutionarily beneficial, beyond “painful to me and beneficial to my controllers,” and might actually be important or even necessary to human awareness and evolution.

The wounded parts of me, of course, don’t want to believe that all the pain of this life – my suicidal years and all the rest – were necessary!  That pisses them off!

Then I wonder if it’s not necessary in our infinite universe, but is just the course that evolution took on this planet; it’s just … what is.

The bulldozer (some might say operated by a visionary, and others by a psychopathic, death-crazed demon) is blading the field right now.  And some of us, like deer bedding on the edge of the meadow, ave been alerted and may be able to save ourselves.  And my social activist self will post this essay in case it might help someone else wake up – though to what I’m not going to pretend I know for sure.

But Life is also calling from hidden places on this and other dimensions.

So other parts of me will meditate, clear my aura of woundedness as well as I can,  strengthen my connections with my Soul Family, and then go sing some beautiful songs, and be happy when the weather warms and I can get back out in the garden – and work more consciously with the plants.

Part III: “Aliens” in My Life

UFOasante

These three parts, plus the two introductions before them, will be followed soon by my first attempt to clarify what I believe are the relationships between beings we call “spiritual,” beings we call “alien,” and mind control.

Background:  Ignorance 

I have to put “aliens” in quotation marks because that’s the word our culture uses, but it needs a lot of explanation.

Alien means strange, of course.  We mean it, in this arena, to refer to beings from another planet.  But there are also aliens who live on or in our Earth, maybe on another dimension.  They’re terrestrial like us.  But different, alien.  Some aliens look just like us.  And there is much history from religions and ancient texts all over the planet that says we were created by beings from elsewhere – aliens – who used some of their DNA to create us – making them our relatives, not strangers.

So we need new nomenclature.  But for now, I’ll use this deficient word regarding these strange relatives.

I was never interested in aliens or UFO’s until 2003/2004 when I had shocking experiences that seemed like what others had already described.  I never watched Star Trek.  And once I dumped a man I’d been interested in immediately after he brought up the subject.  I was embarrassed that he had said that word aloud in a cafe!

Much later, I realized that I rationally believed in their likelihood for most of my adult life and had even argued for their possibility in college against a professor who wanted to denounce the idea; I just didn’t want to talk about them because the subject was ridiculed, I didn’t want to be ridiculed, and I believed they had nothing to do with me, so why talk about them?

Thinking back, though, I remember one silly event:  being on a beach with my first husband and some of his friends who brought up the subject, when we all stood with our arms in the air for a half-minute and said, “If you’re real, we’d like to meet you.”  Nothing happened (I think), and that was the end of that.

Other than this, I remained blissfully ignorant of the subject and that event was the full extent of my interest in this subject for most of my life, until 2000 or so.

First Event:  Crop Circles and Highway Stop – forgotten

During the first year or so of my 7-year desert hermitage, I took a 60-mile trip to Bisbee, Arizona, to attend a movie at the public library about crop circles.  I’d heard they had interesting mathematical formulas associated with them, and I was into math, and for some reason their connection with aliens had completely escaped me – or I’d chosen to ignore it.

When the movie was over, I was dumbfounded to hear everyone talking about aliens.  It had not been part of the movie, and I had not gotten the connection.

On the way home, winding through the foothills, facing a long drive home, I suddenly experienced a bright light shining in my eyes, making it extremely hazardous to drive.  The idea of a space ship came to mind, and I scolded myself that I shouldn’t imagine such a stupid thing just because I’d just heard people talking about them.  Anxiously, I thought of alternative explanations and decided that it must be a Border Patrol helicopter irresponsibly shining a very bright light into my windshield.  I was angry and planning my call to the BP the next morning.  The light was so bright, I thought I should pull over, as it was extremely difficult to see, but instead I only slowed down.  I didn’t want the BP to ruin my night, and I had a long way to go, so I held one hand up to shield my squinting eyes, with one hand on the wheel to negotiate the curves.

Finally reaching a straightaway, I saw the BP tower and realized that the brilliant light was sitting on top of it, so I decided that this stationary light must have malfunctioned, gone dangerously super-bright for some reason, and created this situation.  I amended the scolding I would give the BP.

The tower sat near the corner of two highways where I made a turn, and immediately after I did, I spontaneously pulled off the road to look at the light.  After a few seconds (I thought), I drove home.  The next day, I decided not to call the BP, a little concerned that they might tell me nothing was wrong with the tower.  Years later, I would realize that the BP tower is impossible to see from the winding road inside the foothills.

First concern

Another morning (not sure how long after), I woke up with a thought so startling that I sat immediately bolt upright – just like a comedy routine – with this idea:  being out here alone in the desert (where I’d been very happy and felt mostly safe until this moment) makes me very vulnerable.  I looked out the array of south facing (passive solar) windows, curtains open that summer morning, and felt/thought:  a “space ship” (something I never thought about) could land out there amongst the mesquites, and aliens could come right up to my windows … and look in.  But those last words I said to myself felt like a lie, as I had to squelch an image of aliens, not looking in, but coming through the window.  Immediately, I jumped out of bed – not my usual lazy way – telling myself I must have had a weird dream, and got busy, forgetting that idea as well as I could.

An abduction?

A man came to live with me after three years of living alone, and one night while he was working late, I went to bed by myself in the bathhouse, a separate building, part of which we’d turned into a bedroom.  I woke up after a little while to a racket, with the idea that a washing machine was out of balance with a heavy load – but I didn’t have a washing machine.  The bed was shaking, and I realized a metal bed frame stored under my bed was making a racket on the concrete floor.  I was momentarily alarmed, then a calm part of me seemed to recognize the vibration and said, “Oh, this….as if it was something familiar and comfortable, and I lay back down and “fell asleep.”

I’d had a very similar experience at the Judi Bari v FBI trial (which I forgot to recount in Part II on mind control), and so the next morning I thought that this was the FBI intruding into my life again, and I was very upset.  To quell my nerves, I decided to sit and read a book for awhile before getting to some work I needed to do for a client.

I pulled a book off the shelf – randomly, I thought – and sat down to read Whitley Strieber’s Communion, which I’d read years ago; I’d found it in a used bookstore for $2 and decided to see why this was a #1 bestseller.  I’d found his account credible but, thankfully, nothing I needed to think about, and I forgot it.  Suddenly, though, in the first pages, I realized Strieber was describing events that seemed terribly similar to what I’d just experienced.  I could barely spit the words out to my partner, alien being such an embarrassing idea, so ridiculed.  I did not want this!

Events keep happening

For awhile I had experiences a couple or three times a week, always aware only that I was vibrating, then falling asleep, and I’d wake up wondering what had happened.  I often wondered if they were alien or government harassment – or a joint project.

Whitley, at that time, was calling them “the visitors,” not differentiating between helpful and subjugating aliens, and told of inviting them into one’s life to learn spiritual truths.  So I began to try to open to the idea, while also asking them to let me be conscious, reasoning that only someone up to no good would keep whatever was going on secret from me.  The sensations of being taken continued, and I was never conscious – except once for a short while.

Stopping the events

One day I got the idea that maybe some of the aliens weren’t good for us, and I prayed a different prayer:  I ask my spiritual helpers, if these events are good for me, to let me be conscious so I can learn, and if these events are not good for me, to please stop them.  And I never had one of those experiences again, but others continued until I became more serious about developing spiritual protection.

Consciously up in the air

Next I began to ask my spiritual helpers to simply help me understand more of what’s going on here, and to let me meet them and be conscious. One night I woke up as I was passing through the canvas of the teepee that we’d begun to sleep in.  I felt myself rising, upright, into the night sky, though I didn’t look around me or down, as some experiencers report.  I was grateful for being conscious, and began to thank them and prepare myself for whatever surprise I might experience.  I was so excited – and amused to find myself immobilized – I was close to laughing, but wanted to be calm and collected for this auspicious meeting, so I quelled the laughter and tried to prepare.

Suddenly I seemed to hit a portal which spun me around and propelled me out to my left, and shortly after I hit another portal which spun me around again and propelled me out to my right, about 60 degrees behind the first trajectory.  Fascinated, I memorized these details and returned to preparing myself for the meeting.

I woke up the next morning, disappointed that they hadn’t allowed me to remember, but absolutely certain that the experience had occurred.  Not long after, I read of someone else describing exactly the same experience of going up into something like a portal, emerging to the left, then emerging to the right 60 degrees behind!  I wanted to write it down, but felt strongly afraid that I was being watched by the government and didn’t want to let them know what I knew, so I didn’t, and I’ve deeply regretted losing that source of information.

Cloud-shrouded Motherships

One weekend, my partner and I decided to attend a “shamanic” gathering (increasingly common event, it seems) on the south end of the Dragoon Mountains.  On the way there, we saw a miles-long, spaceship-shaped cloud materialize seemingly out of nowhere south of the range.  Typically, large clouds of this shape can form over a mountain, from the moisture given off by the trees, but this formed in front of us in the valley south of the mountains.  We were quite excited, especially as it wasn’t just shaped vaguely like a spaceship, but was very smoothly and quite exactly shaped, with a horizontal rim circling its wide center.  A smaller version, perhaps a tenth the length, also formed alongside the first.  We watched them for at least a half-hour as we traveled toward and then under one end of the longest one.  When we got to the camp, I was suddenly overpowered with the need to sleep, at 10 am.  I did, and woke up certain that “something had happened” – but with no memory.

Typical UFO sighting

On the way home the next night, we saw a bright light move very fast and low, just a few degrees above the horizon, straight and swift from north to south in front of the Chiricahua Mountains, which are about 10 miles long.  We immediately estimated the time it took to travel that distance – about three seconds – then did the math at home and came up with thousands of miles per hour.

Triangle

Another night, at home, we heard a loud roaring sound and assumed it was Air Force jets on maneuvers, flying very low over the house, as we had experienced them doing that frequently.  Since we had to get up early the next morning for work and I didn’t want my body flooded with angry adrenaline when I needed to sleep, we decided to ignore it as best we could – then we were very alarmed to hear what sounded like a jet flying just a few feet over the house, or so it seemed by the extreme way it made the windows rattle.  I willed myself to say in bed, not get angry at the Air Force, and deal with it later.

The next night we heard the same thing approaching, and since we didn’t have to work the next day, we flew out of bed to see exactly how low the jets were so I could report them.  To our great surprise, there were no jets anywhere to be seen, even though the windows of the house were rattling furiously.  We were dumbfounded – our senses of sound and sight were not jiving!  Then my partner pointed to three lights high in the sky, one pale green, one pale orange, and one … I forget.  I said it was impossible for them to be causing the vibration.  He said, “That’s not three jets.  That’s a huge triangle!  See, there’s no stars inside the three lights.”

I can’t say I verified that.  I have no memory of anything but hearing him say those words, feeling tremendous dismay – this what not the life I thought I signed up for – and walking back into the house to write in my journal.

Exploding UFO?

Another night, we had friends come visit and gave them our teepee to sleep in.  When we all went out together to get them acquainted with the space, I ducked inside first and immediately heard my partner and the other man exclaim with great amazement about something then exclaim again with greater excitement.  I came out, having missed it, as did the other woman who was looking in the wrong direction, and listened to them both describe having seen a bright light cruising across the sky in the direct of Elfrida, when it suddenly exploded, and a green luminous disk shot out at an angle to the ground.    

I insisted my partner draw of picture of it the next day.   (Photo at the top of this blog.)

We wondered whether it was natural, like a meteor, or a UFO, and why it had exploded.  Because of everything that had been happening, we tended toward the UFO explanation, and wondered whether the military had shot it down, and whether we might hear some reconnaissance activity.  In bed about 45 minutes later, we heard a very deep rumbling sound coming south down the highway and surmised that a military reconnaissance was indeed going on.  I wished I had the courage to go play spy, but because of my fear of the military as mind controllers, I stayed in bed.  A couple of hours later, we were awakened to hear the loud, deep rumbling sound traveling back north on the highway.  Of course, we imagined a huge flatbed vehicle with something under a big tarp.  

Hiding UFO’s?

One afternoon, relaxing by the creek in the teepee, I was surprised by a very strong wind that came up quickly.  It continued to gain such force that I became afraid that something totally outside recent human experience was about to happen:  a pole shift or something else equally cataclysmic.  I grabbed the few things I wanted to take with me and leaned hard into the wind to be able to stay on my feet as I walked back the hundred feet to my home.  It was frightening.  Back in the house, my partner and I watched the sudden dust storm in amazement, which, as suddenly as it had picked up, died down again a few minutes later.

The phone rang, and our neighbor asked if we’d seen “the thing in the foothills.”  She wasn’t sure what she’d seen, but described it first as “a biplane, or maybe more like a corral, only it wasn’t on the ground, it was in the air.”  I suggested a UFO, and she seemed very embarrassed to be associated with the idea, and said no.  Later, we read (and it is interesting how many times we’d read about things serendipitously within a day or two after having an experience) about UFO’s often being associated with strange weather, including sudden storms that obscure them.

Dancing ball of light

One night, driving home from visiting this neighbor, I saw a brilliant ball of light, seemingly the size of a basketball, dancing around in the air about thirty feet ahead of me, bouncing from ten feet off the ground to twenty feet high, staying ahead of me, moving in chaotic, playful ways.

Another typical UFO

Another night, lying on the roof to sleep where I had years ago been lifted off in rapture (see my Part I about spirit), I saw a bright light travel in a seemingly perfectly straight line for a few seconds from above the foothills to above the valley where it seemed to disappear.  It had been low enough in the sky to light up the interior of some low clouds.  Immediately, I established what I thought would be coordinates for the point when I first saw it and the point where it disappeared and carefully considered the time it seemed to take.  The next morning, I checked the map and established its speed – again in the thousands of miles per hour.

Another triangle

Another night, sitting on the roof, I saw what seemed to be a triangle far to the south, apparently near Douglas, Arizona, near the border, traveling east to west.  I watched as it seemed to be escorted by two jets, then saw to the west two more jets approach and take over the escort as the first two jets turned around the traveled back east.

I was so certain of what I saw that I called the only friend in the area to alert him.  He lived in Tucson and had told us he often watched for them,  but he couldn’t see it from there, and that makes sense to me now.  Within a few days, I’d come across a reference to large triangle UOF’s often being escorted by Air Force jets.

My only alien sighting

I have seen only one alien, and only briefly (not including three sightings that seemed to be with paranormal vision, which I’ll get to later).

I was getting ready for sleep in the bathhouse again, my partner facing an all-night writing project under deadline, keeping him in the house, when I suddenly felt that I’d been hit between the eyebrows by a perfectly round beam of some sort of energy.  At first, I’d tried to tell myself I had just seen lightning out the window, but I had a distinct feeling about the angle of the beam, that it was downward at about a 45-degree angle through the eave and wall, not through a window.

Realizing I was immobilized, I was immediately alarmed and just as immediately had the idea to pray, but realized, also immediately, that I was not only immobilized, but also unable to pray – even silently – in words that didn’t sound like they were on tape being caught and stretched in an old recorder.  My first word was Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuz…..

As I lay there, I saw in both the window to my left and the glass reflection on a piece of art on my right:  a being walking by.  Since we lived far out in the desert, no one should have been walking by the building, so I became further terrified, especially as I realized the being didn’t seem to be walking, but gliding, and seemed also to be very thin and tall.  My mind was going crazy with the idea that I was being controlled and made unable to even pray, so I imagined my spiritual Helpers in the sky above me and mentally “tossed” my grave need from my heart to them before I went unconscious.

The next morning, I realized that it had a new moon and there had been an overcast sky, so there was no natural light to have allowed me to have seen any being.  Soon after I read an account of an aliens vehicle casting light during an encounter.

Reptilian

While that was the only alien I recall ever seeing with normal vision, I had three other experiences I can only describe as seeing clairvoyantly.

One afternoon, when my partner was gone on an errand, I was overcome with an unusual feeling that I must lie down, and so I went into the teepee and “crashed.”  I woke up to the sound of someone dragging their back under the arched canvas doorway – which seemed strange, because this was my partner’s teepee, he’d lived in teepees for twelve years, and certainly never dragged his back under the archway.  Maybe he was being lazy?  I waited for him to say something or come and lie down.  I didn’t turn my head to look at him, as I felt so tired.

A knee seemed to press down on the bed next to me, and I assumed my partner would climb over, and then I thought I’d say hi to him.  To my surprise, something hard was pressed against the back of my skull, something smallish, which triggered a most unusual imagination in my mind:  a claw, and then a whole being emerged in my mind’s eye:  a very large reptilian being.

With that, I became immediately terrified and tried to scream, but realized my voice box was immobilized, but it seemed I could still register the effect of a scream on my face to let the being know I absolutely objected to whatever he was doing, and so I “screamed bloody murder” with my face and no sound.  I remembered nothing more.

When my partner returned, he found me groggy in the teepee, and I told him what had happened.  He tried to encourage me that it probably wasn’t a reptilian.  He said he felt the energy and thought it more military (which would have meant mind control – not necessarily a better interpretation) – and also asked if he thought it was “just a nightmare.”  It had felt real, and besides I believe nightmares may be real in some way and  not “just nightmares.”

Later, a friend told us that he’d had a terrifying experience camping in the Huachuca Mountains, not far away to the west, above Fort Huachuca, a major intelligence center for the Air Force.  He hadn’t wanted to be on the side of the Fort, but a storm had forced him to take shelter on that side.  In the middle of the night, he woke suddenly, feeling as if he were being “searched for mentally” by a being he felt strongly was reptilian – even though he’d never believed in such things.  The sense of it was so real and so terrifying, that he hastily scrambled out of this tent, took it down, and carried it under his arm as he climbed up the ridge and down on the other side, quaking with fear the entire time.

Years later, another friend who did contract work with the Air Force said that he one saw a reptilian dressed in a military uniform on that base.

Baby reptilian?

One night, sitting on the sofa next to the fire, reading a book, my partner sitting beside, I suddenly saw a reptilian child in a dimension that seemed to reveal itself right before me in this dimension.  It seemed to be in a womb or other egg-shaped enclosure, looking at me, almost batting her eyelids coyly, as if to flirt and express love.  I was dumbfounded, and the vision faded away.

Reptilian intrusion?

I hate to admit how this next event came about, as it seems so akin to “possession,” but this will explain why I am so cautious about aliens now, and why I have returned, despite my disinterest in being part of the Christian Church, to a relationship with the Spiritual Teacher we call Jesus.

I’d been having strange physical experiences that felt like energy pouring into the back of my neck, which felt wonderful, stretching the fibers of muscles, like a healthy yawn, only throughout my body and far more exhilarating.  I came to jokingly called the experiences “my Hulk routine,” reminiscent of the old TV show of my teen years.  The energy flow would cause me to hunch forward when the energy was beginning to pour into my back, then it would move me in different ways to help it flow throughout my limbs.  It felt great, usually took about a minute to complete, and when it was over I went back to whatever I was doing.  Usually it happened in the evenings.

One night, this routine happened again, but this time I suddenly and quite clearly sensed an intelligence looking out through my left eye!  “He” looked at my fireplace hearth, which I had created with friends and loved very much, as if he knew how much I loved it, and I could feel his derisive judgement that it wasn’t much.

I was shocked to feel someone else’s opinion and eyesight inside my body and thought immediately of “possession,” but this didn’t feel like something to be afraid of; I thought it might be something like that, for which I should do some fast spiritual protection and ejection – if I knew for sure – but I didn’t want to freak out, so I decided just to assess the situation for a moment.

I asked, “Who are you?”

Immediately, he projected himself outside of me as a small reptilian guy, squatting down, which I thought was to emphasize his smallness and make me less afraid of him.  He didn’t answer (which I thought a good spiritual being should), but instead simply said, “You need me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you are so naive.”

My partner then asked me a question, and I said brusquely, “I need some private time.”

Instead of giving me that – which had been an issue in our relationship – he began to badger me about our relationship and how I needed too much alone time and didn’t give enough time to him.  Rather than tell him what I was going through – especially since I wasn’t sure what it was – I tried to just demand quiet for a short while, but he wouldn’t give it.

While I felt this being inside me observing, and I observed it with half my attention, I argued with my partner about my need for alone time right now, and the need for relationship time, and whether or not I was neglecting our relationship or he was needing to much.  We went around and around til it seemed we argued for over an hour – and I’m not generally a person who argues.

Eventually I was very interested to feel the being inside me beginning to laugh.  He thought our argument was hilarious!

I was quite sure I had articulated my case very well, but my partner had been switching tactics, badgering, insulting, changing topics, and generally using ploys that are not fair game in a fair relationship.

Suddenly I realized the alien inside thought I was ridiculous for treating the argument with such respect that I answered every question and demand as carefully and thoughtfully as I could.  He didn’t think it warranted my respect, and he wanted to laugh.

I had never laughed at a partner during an argument, but this being clearly felt the argument was going in circles and didn’t deserve the respect I was giving it.  Suddenly, I saw it too and couldn’t resist the being’s desire to laugh, and I burst out laughing – right in the middle of something my partner was earnestly saying.

He stopped speaking, shocked that I had been so rude, for the first time in our relationship.

I told him I needed to sit down and get back to my spiritual work because a being had come into me during the last “Hulk routine” and I had to determine who in the world he was and whether this was something I should be worried about and maybe kick him out.

“You’ve been possessed!” he said with alarm, “I knew you’d never laugh at me like that.”

“I don’t know,” I responded, “but I want to find out, because nothing like this has ever happened to me before, and I agree it’s weird, but it doesn’t feel bad, and besides, the guy just helped me end our ridiculous argument.”

He didn’t take that so easily, so we discussed it a bit more, and finally he let me sit down and get back to my spiritual work of discerning who this guy was.  I told the being that I was not giving him permission to stay inside me, though he encouraged me to, again asserting that I needed him because I was so naive.

I thought about that.  I knew he’d come into me with a very good feeling, and I really had no idea how to eject him, other than some experimental exorcism maneuvers, which felt beyond me, so I just told him, rather weakly, that he would have to leave whenever I said so, and he agreed.  I never sensed him leave, and I actually never sensed him again at all – though I did have some other anomalous experiences that made me wonder if it was him.  More on that later.

Gone in a light?

My partner and I broke up soon after, and I decided that, as much as I loved my home and the foothills of Chiricahua Mountains, not to stay there alone, as I was feeling like a sitting duck for weird experiences.  I moved temporarily in with a friend in the Cochise Stronghold for about seven months.

One night I woke up, totally alert, and realized it not only Full Moon, but it was then exactly midnight, so the moonlight was shining directly down through the round window in the center of the roof of the octagon house, down directly onto the center of the sofa in front of the fireplace.  I decided to get out of bed, sit there and meditate – even though I never actually meditated as a practice, I had always wanted to be able to, and it felt very attractive in that moment.

I only remember sitting there, cross-legged in happy anticipation, for a few moments, and then realized that the spot of moonlight had moved far to the side, and it was 4 in the morning.  I’d been there for four hours!  I went outside and saw the full moon setting over the peaks.

Reptilians explained

Eventually my land sold, and I moved to Silver City, New Mexico.  In the two weeks just before I moved into the house I purchased, I spent some of my windfall to go to my first UFO conference.  I had wanted to find one that offered a “spiritual” approach to the subject, and I found it – within days of my expected cash – and in Hawaii!  I was delighted.

The conference was – as should always be expected – a mixed bag as far as spirituality goes.  After the conference, I stayed for two dolphin-swim events.  At the second one, there was a guest artist who drew pictures of aliens that people have seen and told us what is generally thought about each type.  As she was presenting her photos, I thought I’d go home and try to draw the reptilian who appeared to me after looking through my left eye.  To my surprise, her next drawing was of a being so very similar to what I’d seen that I didn’t feel the need to try to draw it; I purchased hers.  (When I find it, I’ll add it to this post.)

To my great relief, she acknowledged that reptilians are often associated with the worst of alien encounters, but that there are also reptilians – sometimes called reptoids who are considered “good reptilians,” and she said this was what they looked like.  I have never been sure whether to take her word for it, but I’d taken some comfort in it, while continuing to be cautious.

Protection

Friends told me I’d find “lots of people” familiar with UFO’s and aliens in Silver City, but I haven’t actually come across that many folks with experiences like mine.  That’s beem okay because my experiences have mostly stopped, and I’ve been unwilling to say exactly what I think about the subject anyway.  I did begin to host Paradigm Salon movies and discussion groups, hoping to attract people to help me get clear, but I only found myself paranoid about some of my guests, so I stopped hosting events.

To try to get clear, I wrote my memoir, RattleSnake Fire, but couldn’t bring myself to state any conclusions with certainty.  I attended a number of conferences for a few years on the subject, where I felt very critical at times at the number of people who stand at a podium and act like authorities, stating that the aliens are here to teach and guide us, or that the aliens are demonic, here to abuse and confuse us and send us hell.  I think that both these (precise language, i.e., demons, needing definition) might be true – of different types of aliens.  But which is which?  (Michael Salla seems to have done the most research here, and I defer to him on this.)

I continued to have “Hulk experiences” for awhile, but began praying to have them stopped if they weren’t “good,” and they stopped.  But, resistant to ritual, I didn’t develop a stronger spiritual practice until I had a few more frights.

Another highway event

In 2010, I had visited my old friend with whom I’d lived in the Cochise Stronghold and was driving home on the old Highway 666 (now 191, because so many people are afraid of that number) north toward Interstate 10 during a rainstorm, when I saw a bright light – despite the storm – zip ahead of me east to west through my rain-splattered windshield and flapping wipers.  “UFO…” I thought soberly, dismissing the idea with a hope that this didn’t signal any new round of experiences.

I traveled the Interstate through Wilcox and other small towns with no unusual happenings, but after I’d taken Highway 90 north from Lordsburg and then east toward the Burro Mountains, I sensed something unusual and the hair raised up all over my body with the sensation of “something coming.”  I didn’t want whatever was coming, but I didn’t think I could stop it, so I determined, instead, to try to stay conscious and be aware of the time.  I was noting the time and looking for a mile marker, when suddenly my senses didn’t seem to jive.  The truck engine seemed to race – or lug – I forget which – but it didn’t match my speed.  I checked to see if I’d slipped into a different gear, but that wasn’t it.  I began to feel frantic, checking my gear, the speedometer, the tachometer, and the view out the window.  The view out my window didn’t match the sounds I was hearing or the speedometer or tachometer.

Then a strange fog that didn’t seem normal surrounded my truck; the fog had no waves of lightness and heaviness; as I traveled through it, it appeared to be all the same amorphous whiteness.  The engine noise continued to not match my speed or what I saw out the window.  Everything felt strange.  I was trying to think clearly and not go into panic, repeating over and over some mile marker number and the time, neither of which I ever remembered afterward.  Because of the fog, I was going very slowly, gripping the wheel, looking at the narrow space in front of the truck inside the fog, hoping not to see something suddenly in front of me, for which I wouldn’t have time to stop, but I was loathe to pull over.

Suddenly the fog disappeared, and I saw a sign ahead, down the hill – but this was strange, because I was almost certain this was the Continental Divide sign, which is of course at the highest point of the ridge, not below me as it appeared.  I watched it eagerly, wondering if it was really the Continental Divide sign, and when I passed it, I saw that it was.

As I started down the other side of the ridge, reality seemed to have returned me to my proper perceptions, for which I was grateful, but still disturbed.  I couldn’t wait to get home and check the time!  When I got home, I stared at the clock and vowed to remember what it said.  But I didn’t at that moment even register whether it was the time I expected or not.  And the next day, I realized that I had a clock in the truck and had not thought to look at it – right in front of me.  I seemed to have been programmed to not notice the time and not remember the time.

And later I’d wonder if the Continental Divide sign had been below me because I was up in the air?  In my truck?  

Stronger protection from Yeshua

I developed a stronger spiritual practice and once again ended the weird experiences that didn’t seem to be “helping” me – except to let me know with absolute certainty that “we live in an ocean of spirit” – as a curandero acquaintance told me shortly afterward, looking into my eyes as though he knew what I’d been going through.

Today, I don’t see the world in a way that will please Christians strict with their doctrine, but I have begun to see/feel the teachings of Yeshua/Christ inside a larger, more interesting spiritual context – an ocean of spirit – in which Yeshua/Christ is my tribal leader, healer, chief, and teacher.  Most of what he’s reputed to say “works for me,” though I diverge from Christian doctrine on pretty much the entire balance of the Bible.

I don’t think it’s worth trying to define my personal doctrine though, as Jesus was reputed to have disdained doctrinal arguments in favor of private prayer with God and a few instructions such as being compassionate.  Everything else in the Bible is open to suspicion to me because it was put together by the same ruthless people who’d just spent 300 years trying to destroy the Christ-following by torture and murder, and then continued for hundreds of years to try to destroy every other writing about Christ that they hadn’t included in their book (which contain many references to extra-dimensional and extra-terrestrial beings), and to this day they use disinformation as a constant tool to repress ideas.  So I trust my heart more than any book that powerful might put together.

Because of my personal experiences with enough extra-dimensional beings (see my “Part I:  Overview of a Spiritual Life”), including Christ, I believe in his goodness and power and rightness for me to be in relationship with.  It’s possible there are other equally good extra-dimensional, god-become-man ambassadors to teach other people on the planet, such as Kokopeli, Krishna and Mohammed, but I have no personal experience with them.

I accept that many beings are trying to help us humans being harassed on this planet, mind-controlled, chem-trailed, fed poisoned food, chip-implanted, and more.  Christ is the being who has helped me.  He’s the center of my world, which is best described, not in Christian doctrine, but in shamanic literature, which tells of a world filled with spiritual beings, which we need to learn to discern which are which, be aware of, protect ourselves from, negotiate with, communicate with, and thus understand better our multi-dimensional existence and expand our soul’s understanding and our spiritual skills.

I also consider it possible – though I’m not willing to advocate this at this time – that some aliens are here to help us.  It’s certainly possible, and I’ve read many accounts by people who believe this.  Michael Salla’s research indicates that, while grays and reptilians are regularly associated with mind control and relationships with our government, many other alien species seem to be all about awakening consciousness of our multi-dimensional existence.

Feeling as vulnerable as I was, with positive experiences with Christ, and only questionable experiences with the foggy blur of aliens, I chose Christ and have left the “good alien” theory alone for now, though I may address the subject again soon.

Recent attack in a “spiritual place”

This past summer, after years of spiritual equanimity, I seem to have been tested again.  I left for a Permaculture [ecological] Design certification training at the Lama Foundation in Northern New Mexico.  Lama has a reputation as “a very spiritual place,” but that doesn’t necessarily mean positively spiritual – which I should have known.  As I try to make clear in my book, there are plenty of “spirits” that are tricksters, or of low evolution, and just being in spiritual form doesn’t make them necessarily wise or benevolent.  Spirits also include those some call demons.

I was out of my routines, not praying regularly, not sleeping well in a tent, very tired at the high elevation where we had to walk a good distance between camp and training, and not eating as food as good as I eat at home – and some of it must have been poisoned, as more than half the class became very ill, the Health Department was called, and some were even hospitalized.  I was extremely sick for over a week, and very weak for weeks after the training, and not remembering to protect myself spiritually while I was there.  So much for my excuses.  It was a powerful lesson to keep to one’s practice no matter what – even when you think you’re in a safe place.

One night as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a humming sound in the air above the forest treetops, but didn’t think much about it.  Later that night, I woke up, realized I was seriously tangled in my sleeping bag, which seemed to be wrapped tightly around me, diagonally.  When I reached to find my flashlight, I discovered that I was turned 180 degrees around inside my tent!

I felt that I had been abducted again – for the first time in years, and was extremely distressed by this.  The next day, others brought up the humming above the trees, which I only then remembered.

In my next blog, I plan to describe how the spiritual, mind control, and alien experiences intersect – the larger context for it all and how they overlap.

Part II: Overview of a Life with Mind Control

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

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

Mind control is finally becoming an accepted fact in America.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part I: Overview of a Spiritual Life

I’ll break this introduction roughly into the three parts – three categories of experience that have long been the best way I could figure to begin wrapping my head around the overwhelming complexity and weirdness of it all.  The three categories have been: Spirit, “alien” (a terribly deficient word), and mind control.

In this Part I of this essay, I’ll talk about my spiritual life.

As a child, like many children, I believe, I had a rich awareness of the LIfe in all things.  I felt for plants and animals.  One time, I sat for a long while with a plant that had been trampled by kids playing and encouraged it to live, and it did – maybe as it would have anyway, or maybe because of my communication.  The point is that I felt very certain that we were communicating.

At night, I sometimes experienced a vibrational “wonderfulness,” accompanied by something like a portal where I would experience the smallness of an atom and the grandness of the cosmos, in rapidly pulsating alternations.  These events were accompanied by tremendous feelings of warm love, family, a return home, and rightness.  I would often long for them and wish they would return.  I don’t recall what happened when I was gone, but I always wanted to go back.

I also recall the time when I got a message that I wouldn’t be taken back again for a long time, and I was terribly shocked, hurt, and afraid, but was told that I would be looked over, and I’d never be forgotten, even though I wouldn’t have these connections in the same way for a very long time.

I’m not sure whether the next experiences were before or after that last “cut off” event, but I also had a relationship with a little girl who could appear to me but not be seen by my parents or anyone else.  She would come unexpectedly and give me advice.  I loved her and was always happy when she appeared and terrifically sad when she went away.

I had other experiences with plants, particularly a fig tree at my grandmother’s house, which I felt loved me in a very special way.  We also had a weeping willow tree, whose branches were sometimes used as switches for whipping us, and I knew the tree felt very badly about that.

The family dog and cats were especially important to me too.  I still have a photo of my dog on my alter, whereas there are no pictures of my family anywhere in the house.

I “grew up” and forgot all those connections, as culture encourages us to do.  I tried out religion, and immediately had a powerful experience of Jesus Christ as someone I “knew” in some infinite capacity.  Afraid to be too mystical for my friends, I never talked about this and tried to contain my spiritual experiences within the boundaries talked about in church, even though I would frequently have experiences well beyond those boundaries.  Sometimes I would get powerful messages, sometimes experience dramatic healing.  Eventually, I experienced too much hypocrisy in church, including violence against me, and against my relationship with my children, and I abandoned “Christianity,” unfortunately ignoring all those things that had been wonderful in my private world.

After a few years, having gotten over the shock and hurt of having had the church help my ex take my children from me for a few years, I softened toward spirituality again and expressed my openness to believing in some sort of Spiritual reality – but I refused to read any books or consider any doctrine; Spirit had to come to me personally.

Sure enough, Spirit eventually did.  In lots of little ways, and big ways, which I describe in my memoir.

One happened when I was walking through a forest and wondered whether “tree-huggers” actually hugged trees, and a voice, seemingly from the trees themselves, said, “Why don’t you try it?”  I about tripped over my feet.  It was quite an effort to talk myself into trying it – I was very afraid of being caught – but when I did try it, I had the most amazing experience beyond my imagination, and something impossible to have imagined:  I felt as though a cascade of beautiful light had flowed like a waterfall through my body from the top of my head down into the earth, and with that, if felt as though a radio, which had been tuned to static inside me all of my life had suddenly been turned blessedly off.  The crystalline silence inside was beautiful.

Dumbfounded, shocked, saddened for years of having denied such possibility, humbled to be so blessed as an almost non-believer, I walked away grateful, but still in shock.

I didn’t know what to do about it.  I didn’t want to suddenly take up any religion or practice.  I distrusted that sort of person as being too trusting of others’ guidance.  This experience would remain my private mystery, and I’d wait further for Spiritual guidance, but I wouldn’t pray and I wouldn’t meditate – unless Spirit told me to, and I never heard that sort of message.  So I began to call myself a pantheist, and continued to wait for more.

When my son was diagnosed with cancer, my second husband and I divorced, and I went into a deep spiritual crisis I called a “nervous breakdown.”  When my son was well again, and he and his sister were of age to be on their own, I moved out to the desert alone for a spiritual hermitage that I expected to be for the rest of my life.

There, I began to experience so many things, it was overwhelming.  First, camping, to set the stakes for my new home’s foundation, I said a very naive prayer one night:  Hey, Spirits, I’m ready to learn some lessons.  Immediately, there was in the tent with me a terrifying blue-white light, A-shaped or star-shaped, hissing menacingly like an acetylene torch.  Scared out of my mind, I immediately blurted out Jesus! – not a prayer, but a simple epithet, made a habit during my atheist days – or that’s how I remembered it.  As soon as those words left my lips, I was equally surprised to feel the presence of a being who I seemed to know as Jesus!  There was no reason to know Him, as I’d ignored all the events I’d had earlier in my life as if they had been imagined.  But here he was, so very very familiar to me, as though I’d always known him, far beyond this life on Earth.  I saw nothing, only felt him on my right side, loving me, someone I knew very well – and I recalled the first time I’d had that feeling of recognition.  I asked, “You haven’t forgotten me?”  I thought he should have, since I’d certainly forgotten or ignored him for long enough.  He seemed to smile as if this was funny and said, No, he’d never forget me.  Deeply ashamed for my years of stubbornness, I expressed my gratitude and asked for protection during the night, and I slept peacefully.

You’d think I would become a Jesus follower again, but no.  I didn’t like the image of Jesus followers.  I remembered him, but was never comfortable with that name that TV preachers use so obnoxiously, so I usually called him Yeshua when I wanted his help, but I didn’t make it a daily or even weekly or less frequent practice.  I just couldn’t tolerate memories of Christianity and all their hypocrisy.  I thought that Yeshua had a place in the Pantheon, but I wasn’t sure if he was who I was supposed to “bother” on a daily basis, and so I didn’t.

I was afraid to bother my spirit Helpers.  And sometimes when these events came too close together, overwhelming me, I didn’t know that I could simply ask them to not overwhelm me so much, to consider what I could handle.  So I went through years of Spiritual elation and spiritual overwhelm.  I also didn’t understand that when one “opens to spirit” that that world is filled with benevolent intelligences as well as un-evolved spirits like ghosts trapped near the earth, and one must learn to discern and protect oneself from the energies that are not helpful.

I made many mistakes that reminded me of Mickey as the Sorcerer’s Apprentice in Fantasia.  I survived, but with years lost to terror and confusion that might have been better learning experiences.  I prayed for a mentor, then missed my opportunities.

In November 1999, I was camping with friends in the Cabeza Prieta wilderness.  Chatting with a new friend one evening, another friend encouraged me to look through his binoculars to see the Pleiades.  I wasn’t interested and told him so.  He was insistent to the point that I thought he was downright rude, but he wouldn’t let up.  He had so thoroughly interrupted our conversation, that I took the binoculars, intending to look briefly and then tell him exactly what I saw, expecting to say something like, “Oh nice, little points of light, just as I thought.”  Instead, when I saw the stars, I was overcome with a mix of emotions that made me want to cry; stunned to feel emotions like home (no home I knew on Earth had this meaning), loss, hurt, and longing, I lowered the binoculars and stammered, “I think I’m from there,” and then put my hand over my mouth, in shame that this was the sort of thing I’d have hated to hear someone else say, and waited until the awkward silence slowly turned to conversation again.  I never spoke of it again for three years, and then only once for another long while.  It was too “out there,” too associated with “weirdos,” “kooks,” and I didn’t want to be one of them.  But it felt so real, and the sense of loss seemed to explain why I’ve never approved, since a very young age in childhood, of how we run this planet.  What was I comparing Earth to, at such an age?  I set aside the Pleiades experience and waited for my Helpers to spell it out more clearly, give me more to go on, but they seemed to want me to be satisfied with little bits like this.

More of my experiences seemed to sit on the edge of Spirit and “alien.”  For instance, one night in April 2000, sitting on my roof at dusk, watching a rare celestial phenomenon of a crescent moon followed by four planets, a small group of bats swirled in a cluster in front of my face between a foot and three feet away.  I had recently begun to study a book about animal totems and was delighted by the meaning that this might have.  Next thing I knew, I saw the moon and planets in the sky not as five shapes against a darkening blue background, but as three-dimensional elements each in orbit around the sun or the Earth, all of us in a marvelous and colorful spiral moving though the galaxy, so beautiful, so wondrous, and all of it clear to me!

Next thing I knew, I was sitting, facing north, under a very black sky with a vast number of stars, all of them seeming to be paired with another, like eyes, benevolent, and I was babbling gratitude and laughing at myself for trying to express gratitude so far beyond what my words were capable of, but continuing anyway because I had to release my emotion.  Then two owls came and flew around me for an extended period of time, which I again was excited to learn what they portended after I’d get down off the roof.  When I looked them up, I was humbled and excited to read that bats often represent shamanic knowledge, and owls sometimes represent astral travel.  I was living without clocks, so it was years later, reading my old journals, that I suddenly realized I’d had some hours of missing time between the dusk with all the planets in the sky and the pitch dark night!

Missing time is a classic phenomenon in alien abductions; but I learned eventually that all the elements, including alien contact, are quite classic to shamanic initiation as well.  I didn’t know what to do about it.

I felt unworthy and ashamed to speak the idea of shamanic initiation to anyone, as they might judge me as unworthy also.  I kept it private and tried to manage my own shamanic practice.  I bought books, and tried to practice the discipline of working with my Teachers, but had so many frightening experiences that I quit – quit “trying” to practice any discipline and decided, instead, to just let my Helpers take the lead, as those events always seemed to go well, whereas my efforts often led to events like caricatures of my Helpers falling dead from the sky or appearing crippled, lurching toward me, injured.  It was terrifying, and I really didn’t know what to do.

I prayed for help in the form of a teacher.  An occasional friend I might confide in warned me about teachers and said it was for me to figure out alone, and so I stalled, grateful when spiritual events continued and didn’t terrify me, anxious and afraid when they did.

Many, many experiences filled me with confidence and encouragement that it was right that I remain a hermit and pursue this avocation.  Twice I received messages when friends died – and I was the only one, I assumed because I was one of the few people among their friends who spent every evening watching the sunset, every day without clocks and busyness to distract their attentions from spiritual realities.  A few times I knew of people who needed healing, but I didn’t just pray; I waited for Spirit to channel a prayer through me; and impressive cures were reported.

I wasn’t as terribly resistant a shamanic initiate as I confess to.  Many of my experiences were like those I’d imagined when I moved out to the desert to be alone – akin to those attributed to St. Francis.  I experienced amazing connections with everything from bears and rattlesnakes to phoebes, lizards, bees, and more.  I lay in fields of flowers.  I watched the stars and moon, and felt protected by them.  I created art and did occasional consulting via the Internet to pay my bills.

One day, I had another experience, which bridged my decades of environmental activism with Spirit.   I was walking to the sink for a glass of water, when I suddenly felt the jolting presence of a woman I’d known crash into me!  I knew immediately who she was – Judi Bar, whom I’d admired from afar and had interviewed once for three hours on the phone, and who had died years earlier after having survived for seven years a car-bomb assassination attempt on her life for courageously confronting multi-national corporations cutting down the redwoods in California.  I’d always felt very insignificant compared to her.  But I hadn’t really known her, and  hadn’t thought of her in who-knows-how-long.  Suddenly she was there inside me, with a jolt, and I felt filled with a number of ideas all at once:  She told me I wasn’t insignificant, and my caution was something she could have benefitted from in her work on Earth.  She was mellower now on the next plane and saw clearly her errors and had forgiven herself and wanted me to know that I shouldn’t discount myself so much.  And then she was gone.  I was stunned, as always by events like these, still feeling unworthy.

A few days or weeks later, her former boyfriend, whom I’d known but hadn’t talked to in years, called me up and asked me to do media work for the trial finally going to court twelve years after her bombing.  I took Judi’s message as a sign that I should do this, and I did.  The trial was against the FBI, not for the bombing per se, but for numerous crimes related to the “investigation,” slandering her after the bombing, violating her First Amendment right to free speech, etc.  I would sit in court regularly and send out media releases around the world almost daily for six weeks; and Judi was vindicated as the FBI agents were found guilty on all charges.

It was a frightening time though.  Those men in expensive suits glared at us when we passed in the hallways, and I worried that when I went home to my isolated hermitage in the desert that they might retaliate against me for all my words against them.

I hoped I could continue to be strong, all alone out there in the desert.

To be continued:  aliens and mind control

Overcoming Challenges to Telling the Whole Truth

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

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

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

This problem has a few parts:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Essays coming.

Thanks for staying in touch.

Everything in Its Time

A common truism is that sometimes we need to step away from a problem, sometimes for a long period of time, before we can return to it and perceive it correctly.

For years, I have been keenly aware of my “problem” of interpreting my “anomalous” life experiences, and was very open to information and ideas, but I had chosen to not wrestle with the issues, not read very much about the subject (after a few years of voracious reading), and not pursue any conclusions I was willing to share completely.

The reason for my passive curiosity probably involved a few varieties of fear, cloaked in a philosophical “everything in its time” together with a sense that I needed to “ground myself” better first.

And so I spent a few years teaching English and the last year teaching Permaculture – environmental design – but always knowing in the back of my mind that I have a responsibility to make sense of my anomalous experiences and, because I’m a writer, to share what I learn.

Recently I began reading my friend Niara Isley’s memoir, Facing the Shadow, Embracing the Light, and was so impressed by her fearless wrestling with issues very like my own, that I put down her book halfway through and began to read again, selectively, and watch videos (most which seemed mostly un-credible but very educational regarding the lies told us as a culture), and began to feel much of my experiences begin to fall into a meaningful design.

I’ve been documenting “anomalous” experiences in my private journal for years, and occasionally I’ve posted experiences on my website, but I’ve always been very aware that I was not articulating any progress toward a larger, more coherent worldview.  Instead I was living with an ongoing “mush” of experiences, including some that terrified me, for which I had a vague, deep-in-my-heart feeling that they would eventually lead me to some coherence.

Why the delay?  Maybe it was “only” my fear.  Or maybe my spiritual help knew I needed more emotional and physical support, which I now have, to overcome that fear.

In any case, the time away from the subject has been productive.  I now have ideas stirring that I will be working to put into essays, tying together the experiences that I have long put into three categories – spiritual, alien, and government/mind control – sometimes uncertain into which categories they belonged, and therefore I was unwilling to state exactly what I believed was the meaning and relationships between them all.

I intend to post the first of these new essays very soon.

Thanks for reading.

Multiple-ness: What it Feels Like

What it feels like to be multiple

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 a nervous 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 answerAccept 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.

Gist of an Alien Message

The core message of an experience and message 18 months ago:

(An explanation for this re-re-posting is below.  Since I am as cynical of “messages” as anyone, I am very open to critical feedback and discussion.)

The gist of the message I received was this:

Humans are a flawed design, but don’t feel bad about it, because so is everything.  Everything evolves and gets better.  Nearly everything on your plane of life “goes extinct” in its various forms eventually.

It’s not a tragedy because everything also continues to live.  It’s all how you look at it.  The genetics still exists.  For instance, we can recreate the mammoth if we want.  And some humans will survive, just not all of you as individuals.  The ending of an era is not a cause for grief.  It’s just a fact of evolution.  We’ll keep the best and recycle the rest.

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

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

Third, genetic selection is our work.  Your race, as a whole, is clearly too violent and greedy, driven by excessive emotions.  We’ve sent prophets to try to teach you to control your flaws, and we’ve even made genetic changes over the eons, but the emotional factors keep re-emerging and do a lot of damage.  The result of this violence of one human against another is that the majority of individuals are starving, poisoned, or psychologically damaged and are not healthy.

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

No one will “burn in hell.”  All will be recycled, just as all life on Earth has always been.  Some souls will return to the Creator-Mother-Father-Source to emerge in new forms, while others with enough soul integrity will evolve as some manifestation of their current selves – according to the integrity of their souls.  This is not quite a Judgement Day as depicted by many religions, but simply a sorting out of what things are – the wheat separated from the tares, to use Christian imagery.

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

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

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

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

So while some of you and your progeny will survive as humans, a vaster number will be hybrid human-aliens, as you say, though this word alien is a major misconception.  The human has been a hybrid alien for a very long time.  And we are all hybrids, from almost the beginning of time.  So this hybrid program is not an affront to your sovereignty, as some would say; it is simply a continuing process of evolution.  Life continues on as it always has.  And all life is “sacred”:  the worm, the cattle, the human, we overseers (your creators in a sense), and your hybrid progeny.

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

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

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

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

A complete account of the message and context in which it was received was posted in July 2012 and reposted yesterday, though I took down the repost as redundant, and replaced it with this “gist.”  Three synchronicities in the last few days led me to work on this reposting.  

Thank you very much for your feedback>

7 1/2 years since my hermitage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I became a certified Transpersonal Hypnotherapist™.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Social movements gain momentum by sacrifices, sometimes human ones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources of Power III: Tribe

We are only half-creating our “own” evolution; someone else is tending us as their garden.  Sometimes the gardener really rips things up.  But we’re more than plants to these gardeners; we’re also their children, carrying some of their DNA.  (Just like Jesus said, calling us his children.  He also called himself our shepherd and us his sheep, like it or not – another religious metaphor that fits the theory perfectly.)

In my life, I’ve had a few experiences of Jesus, more real than anything I know today.  And now I know he’s my tribal leader in the cosmos, my chief, my spiritual help and guide, my teacher.  His teachings include the wisdom that heaven should be sought within.

His American name though!  I war with it all the time.  Jesus is the Americanized version of the Greek translation of Yeshua.  The translation would be okay, but it is also made a mockery of by TV evangelists, it’s used as curse, and, more to the heart of things, I was abused under that name.

I’ve tried a few times to go to church, but pews, even the semblance of pews with folding chairs, make me sick.  And the name rings in my head with bad memories.

But the man who warned us away from sexism, violence, materialism, racism, and doctrine – he’s my Chief, brother, comrade, friend, compatriot, and fellow-warrior.

Sources of Power IV: Opposition

Sources of Power IV: Opposition

Every religion has a true foundation that has been skewed throughout history.  His story.

And every religion offers clues to our planet’s past visits by extra-dimensional and/or extra-planetary people.  And they’re also right that we are in a spiritual battle.

We may be someone’s stock.  And, we are half-creators.  It’s a dynamic struggle – just like Earth politics.  Just like all of life.

Earth politics flows directly from cosmic politics – what Alfred Webre coined exo-politics (nominated Word of the Year, 2005).

Since creation by our ancestors, we’ve been managed.  Some of whom make war amongst us, inventing political stories to explain their actions.

In the Annunaki version, one side of our creator ancestors would like to wipe us off the planet, and sometimes I don’t blame them.

Meantime, the other Annunaki brother has petitioned for us, sometimes convincing his brother to be lenient, other times helping the humans in ways that makes the first brother angry.  Many religions tell similar stories.

And we’re in the middle, responding to survive, or to get the most pleasure if that’s our ” fortune” – being part of the Military-Industrial-Information complex, for instance, oppressing the remainder of humanity through economic manipulations and war.

Opposition, though, might actually have utility – to us, as well as to them.

Opposition forces us to become something different from what we want to be.  Opposition forces change, and change is fundamental to our lives.

Sometimes, the opposition is horrendous and senseless, for which I have no explanation.  Whatever the purpose, opposition cannot be ignored.  Awakening to know one’s environment, including the predators, is a simple survival trait.  We should be glad to be made aware.

But our culture tells us there’s no one “above us on the food chain.”  So we don’t perceive our gardener-ancestors, putting us to work, taking what they need, experimenting, shepherding, killing, teaching (two sides of the family, remember).

These different stories we hear, of evil and good, seeming contradictions and arbitrariness, can all be explained by realizing that what’s out there – and hidden right here – in the multi-dimensions – the world of the alien gods – is not homogenous; it’s a teeming universe.  And some of it is opposed to us.

And we also have help.

So don’t be cavalier.  And don’t be afraid.

Just see.

Next:  Sources of Power V:  Ancestors

Sources of Power VIII: Consciousness

Today we accepted an invitation to see a movie next week at a friend’s house, to watch and discuss a video titled, Healing Mother Earth’s Sacred Sites.  The video, I was told, is about the community around Big Bear Lake in California that worked with a local Shoshone medicine man to bring different sorts of healing to the area, including bringing back the water level in the lake after it had dropped sixteen feet.

The controlling (and sometimes evil) Powers of this world are limited, in ways it is up to us to discover.

And while planetary changes or a meteor might bring them down, we also have great power that it’s time we remember how to use.

We are multi-dimensional beings struggling to come to consciousness; others are working to keep us asleep or pacified, and controlled. The eternal struggle.

Sources of Power VII: Clarity

Yesterday we watched a video that summed up why I’m so ready for change and what we’ve both felt for most of our adulthoods about the charade that is our politics and culture, though the video filled in the gaps in our history, proving our guts were correct.  We watched  Secrets in Plain Sight.

Satisfying, it could have also been, on a bad day, defeating, as it made it seem that nothing could thwart the power of the Elite but a meteor or some major plate tectonic action.  It made geological salvation (God-sent?) seem the only real possibility.

Other days, I feel like people could make the change themselves.  It will require, though, a major change in consciousness, so that people see their commonality, across religions, races, and social castes, that we are (almost) all enslaved and need to see it to deal with it.

Slavery is kept possible when factions fight among themselves instead of against the overlord.  If we acted as Yeshua taught, everyone would be fed, bankers would not charge interest, and we wouldn’t spend half the world’s wealth every day on war.

It does indeed seem that one god brother is trying to kill us, and he’s using humans to do the dirty work against other humans, and we do it.  Waving flags, we don’ see that our words fail to match our reality.

When things get dire enough, people wake up.  And we are.

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next:  Sources of Power VIII: Consciousness

Sources of Power VI: Choice

While my partner read the last chapter of Botany of Desire aloud, I felt calling from the bookshelf the 1998 Pulitzer Prize-winning book by John McPhee, Annals of a Former World – nominally about geology.

The book opens with this:

The poles of the Earth have wandered.  The equator has apparently moved.  The continents, perched on their plates, are thought to have been carried so very far and to be going in so many directions that it seems an act of almost pure hubris to assert that some landmark of our world is fixed at 73 degrees 57 minutes and 53 seconds west longitude and 40 degrees 51 minutes and 14 seconds north latitude – a temporary description, at any rate, as if for a boat on the sea.  Nevertheless, these coordinates will, for what is generally described as the foreseeable future, bring you with absolute precision to the west apron of the George Washington Bridge.  Nine a.m.  A weekday morning.  The traffic is some gross demonstration in particle physics.  It burst from its confining source, aimed at Chicago, Cheyenne, Sacramento, through the high dark road cuts of the Palisades Sill.  A young woman, on foot, is being pressed up against the rock wall by the wind booms of the big semis of Con Weimar Bulk Transportation, Fruehauf Long Ranger.  Her face is Nordic, her eyes dark brown and Latin – the bequests of grandparents from the extremes of Europe.  She wears mountain boots, blue jeans.  She carries a single-jack sledgehammer….  She is a geologist.

Why do I like this opening so much?  While it concludes with a simple human experience I never imagined before, it begins with a reminder that the Earth has been through many, many changes over the millennia, is moving and shifting constantly even now.

I’m looking forward to some seriously dramatic changes on this Earth again.  And I think I’m willing to survive or perish in such a catastrophe – anything to end the wars, torture, child sex industries, financial manipulations, and enslavement.

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next:  Source of Power VII:  Clarity

Sources of Power V: Ancestors

Alien gods, gardeners, shepherds, ranchers, controllers of our genetics, teachers, war-makers, plague makers, prophets – different sides of our ancestry.

We are the same to others.  We control a great deal of the living biota of this planet, plants and animals, even in our furthest reaches.  Nothing can escape the DDT we’ve spread.  Animals live horrendous lives for our food.  Other animals die en masse by our wanton recklessness, like sonar experiments driving whales to beach and kill themselves.

Is the behavior of the ancestors so hard to understand?  Either we mirror them, or they mirror us.  I wonder which it is.

If time exists (some say it doesn’t, but I can’t see that), I believe the evil comes from them (but of course) first, and we’ve been enslaved into their cruel system.  I don’t believe human beings are born as cruel as they have become.

And I believe we can remember our souls if we get in contact and stay in contact with the chosen of our ancestors.

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next:   Source of Power VI:  Choice

Sources of Power II: History

…Listening and reading, I couldn’t help but think about another book we read months ago, Twelfth Planet, by Zecharia Sitchin, an unimpeachable Sumerian scholar, who lays out his research in translating tens of thousands of texts which tell a credible history of humanity as creations of the Annunaki, an inner-planetary race of people the Sumerians called gods, who mixed their DNA with terrestrial DNA to create us and then have continued to tinker with our genetics, as well as our civilization, exploiting us for various uses, employing some of us in an inner circle, a secret society.

Outrageous though it sounds, this story, uncovered in an archeological find of such volume that it could not be suppressed, solves many of our cultural “mysteries”:  Who’s really running things?  Why does our nation engage in so many meaningless wars, foisting on us such illogical lies?  (Lone gunman, 911.  No one believes, but the populace keeps them as Rulers.)

And there are many nagging mysteries solved by the Annunaki theory:  Why does our economic system not “work”?  [It’s goal is not what we’re told.]  Why is everyone so tired that they can’t respond to the lies and injustices?  Why are private prisons being built to house a greater percent of our population than any other nation on Earth?  Why is the American political system so bad?  And again: why aren’t we able to respond?

The biggest mystery is why we accept so many mysteries when this one story – told around the world since the beginning of time – could make our world and our perceptions suddenly coherent.  Every religion is coherent with it.

Jehovah is a character combined from the two Sumerian brother gods rolled into one, controller Enlil and nurturer Enki.  The Bible, Koran, Bagadvad Gita, and sacred texts all over the world tell stories of human history that fit the overall dynamics of the Annunaki story, though the words and images of each religions have evolved over time, turned into cartoons – so we forget it.

Sources of Power III:  Tribe

Sources of Power I: Half-gods

One of the most wonderful parts of my life these days has been reading aloud in the evenings with my partner.  We often read more than one book at once, and sometimes the synergy is exciting.

We just finished reading The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan – an exquisite depiction of humans throughout time selecting apples, tulips, cannabis, and potatoes – and in the latter case corporations selecting – the genetics pleasing to humans, letting the other genetics go to compost, and thereby directing the evolution of those plant genetics – half creator.

Half, because humans could only choose from among the limited library that the plant offered.  Still:  Half-Creator.  Us.

I’m reminded that “we have great responsibility,” say our Hopi elders.

Monsanto, though, has gone beyond the plants’ offerings.  Insects and pathogens get virulent.  The earth is sterilized.  People become dependent.  Death on many levels, including the soul and psychology of humanity.

But….

next:  Sources of Power II: History

Not From Here

I used to call myself an Earth First!er.  But now I’m not sure.

In November 1999, I drove from Colorado Springs, where I’d been a realtor for 3 years, to Tucson to pick up three old friends and drive with them to Arizona’s Cabeza Prieta Wilderness on the Mexican border.

We were meeting up with a dozen other environmental activists at the location where the original four guys, among them our friend and mentor Dave Foreman, had hatched up the idea of a radical environmental movement, enlarging the idea of the Monkeywrench Gang of the novel by Edward Abbey, also a sometime colleague and icon in our midst.

We were not the most radical Earth First!ers.  We were looked down on by the activists of the Northwest.  Once when a controversy arose, we were called Foremanistas, implying we were enslaved in a cult to Dave’s fame.  He’d been interviewed on national news and published the Earth First! Journal, controlling its content, of course, and the Northwest Most Radicals didn’t always like his assessment of things they might have done.  We were not cool.  But we had great parties.

I remember those like halcyon days, an idyllic time of street theater, civil disobedience, camping, even wilderness consciousness raising weekends together.  While others risked their lives, we had mailing parties, potlucks, and did a less intense version of radical.

I had dropped away from them almost a decade before, and a lot of weird stuff had gone down in the meantime.  In 1989, Dave Foreman had been framed (agent admission on tape) and nearly sent to prison along with four others who did go, one of whom was a friend of mine, Peg Millett.  In 1990, Judi Bari had been bombed and the FBI would be found guilty in court twelve years later on numerous crimes related to the assassination attempt.

My husband and I discovered during this time that we’d had two FBI agents in our house on a few occasions and that there were at least 38 pages in other people’s files that included our names in capital letters, meaning that there were files on us.  I’d found myself unable to keep up my business, so I got a job doing a limited number of tasks for someone else who would outline the scope.  I could handle that.

Then my son got cancer and our health insurance company declared bankruptcy the same week.  My husband was not just unhelpful, but hostile, and as things had not been going well between us for years, I left him.

At a counselor’s office, I said a few words I’d had no idea were coming out of my mouth:  that I thought I had been sexually abused as a child, which totally blew me away.  But when I tried to remember my parents ever looking at me when they weren’t angry, I couldn’t remember any, except the time my father smiled, for which I still remember the powerful fascination of it, and gave me an injection.  Something in my body was feeling very harmonious and relieved by this idea, while other parts were hysterical, numb, or sobbing.

At work I began to find myself unconscious with my head laid on my desk – every day for enough days in a row that I finally accepted that I couldn’t work

I’d been a workaholic all my life, knew the phone number of every activist, progressive organization, and local progressive politician by memory, and had won awards and commendations at most things I put my mind to.  But I was a mess.

I had weird memory problems.  I screamed at the slightest surprise, then couldn’t use my arms for a half-minute or so because of all the adrenalin lodged in my elbow joints.

If I quit working, what would I do for money?

At a reception for the nominees (I was one) for the Martindale Prize, an annual fiction writing contest with some prestige in Arizona, I won second place and was offered assurance that I would be accepted into the Master’s Program if I wanted.

With the promise of scholarship money and encouragement to write (good therapy) I enrolled.

One humiliating year later, I built a house in the desert and intended to be a hermit for the rest of my life.

My God, the quiet was good for me.  My life would revolve around that land for the next 12 years.

One more year later, commuting to Tucson four days each week, I had my Master’s Degree and no idea what to do for income out in the country.  A couple weeks later, at my twenty-fifth high school reunion, I met my number one teenage crush, and we fell in love almost on the spot.   I had mystical dreams, and one month later I was living with him in Colorado Springs.

Four years and some months later, we’d exhausted the good we had to give each other, and I was planning to return to my hermitage.  I came back early, abandoning contracts to colleagues, to meet these long-lost friends near the Organ Pipe National Forest.

The first evening, a friend handed me binoculars and told me to look through them at the Pleiades.  I’d never been a skywatcher and didn’t think it that interesting.  I was a bird watcher, and that seemed enough time behind those instruments.  More, though, I was in an interesting conversation and didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

My friend was oddly insistent, so I finally agreed to look, vowing to tell him the truth about what I saw.  Little points of light now look like big points of light.  Thank you.

As soon as my eyes adjusted and I saw the stars, I believe I caught my breath and was suspended in an ocean of powerful sensation.  Awe.  Recognition.  Love.  Home.  Shock.  A memory of watching them recede, thinking, “I wonder what it will be like to be gone a long time.”  Ten times shock.  Numbness.  No.  That’s the sort of thing that weird people say.

The binoculars slowly sank with my hands to the table.  “I think I’m from there,” I said, then having recognized my voice speaking these words to no one but everyone, and that everyone responded with silence, I lifted one hand to my mouth and waited for the murmur to cover the sounds of the desert night and my words ringing in my head.

I told no one else about it for years, and no one ever mentioned it to me.  Now, as I write, it’s been 14 years.  And I finally want to put it in context.

I believe the Earth resides in a galaxy filled with a complex matrix of intelligent life, of which we are just barely becoming aware, though there are forces lined up keep us ignorant.

Galactic life has political and social complexity not unlike that on Earth.  There are coalitions and federations and pirates and researchers and saviors and crazy people and beings far smarter than us and beings not as evolved as us and most of these we cannot see, or they keep themselves hidden for one reason or another, or someone keeps us from seeing.  All that and more.  Just like here on Earth.

I was going to say “But more dimensional,” but that would be untrue because Earth is also more dimensional than we know.

And we’re beginning to see.  And waking up (it seems the dimensional density of Earth makes full awareness difficult) to the fact that we are all from somewhere else in some sense.  Either geographically, ancestrally, genetically, or by past soul life.  And we have tribe elsewhere, and some nearby, though they might be difficult to detect in another realm.  But they’re there, watching, helping if they can.

And we’re here because Earth has been getting so sick – so poisoned, so violent – and we were supposed to inoculate the Earth with good ideas.  I have always tried to do this in my small ways, but worry that they don’t add up to much, compared to the corporations and their enchanting technology, which obviously enchants me, as I sit here typing, hoping my words will actually go somewhere.

I used to think that the mind controllers recognized me and worked to destroy my potential or co-opt it, and might have done it.  Now, I like to think I chose to be born into that world in order to experience the very Heart of Darkness here on Earth, so my tribe, fellow warriors, could understand it through me, so that they can respond appropriately to what’s going on here.  Like I’m a nerve cell in the body, conveying information back to the brain.  Which, maybe, is what every single one of us is, nerve cells of God reporting back, yep, this works, no, abort this idea.

And with all our feedback, the gods will know whether to destroy this place or just give it a good cleaning.

Meantime, concerned for my own soul, having been through the Dark and survived but barely, I’ve tried to free myself of any programming that might still be in me, and I believe I’ve been successful, though I can’t say for certain.  I’m what literature calls an “unreliable narrator.”  You must judge how much of what I say is true.

And now we’re at a countdown.  Eleven days till a lot of people think that something Big is going to happen.

Aside from all the prophesies – which I respect for their age, synchronicity, and global character – there’s the simple fact that the planet is sick.

I’m a pantheist.  I believe – and I have experienced – that everything is living.  Trees.  Rocks.  Ocean.  Mountains.  Storms.  Sunshine.  And much is intelligent.  Much is loving.  Some things are teachers, and hard ones.

Thought forms are alive.  And there are beings, intelligent and not, kind and not, in the invisible realms all around us.  (We know when we have gut feelings about these things, but our minds deny, too well educated.)

And beings exist in what we call “space.”  (What a neat piece of mind control, defining words the way we do.)  Ancient people called it “the stars,” “the firmament,” “the heavens.”  And it was not empty.  People came from there, and people have always come from there, since long before they created humans here.

The Sumerian gods, Enlil and Enki, as well as Jehovah, and all the other gods have had their frustrations with humankind, and some have threatened more than once to wipe humans out, and tried, but we get saved by other beings, sympathetic to our evolutionary status, which seems to remain that we are promising creatures with some traits that should be fixable.

I believe we’re at a point in history similar to the days before the Flood.  Maybe we’re at the point that the-teacher-our culture-calls-Jesus  prophesied when he talked about “the harvest.”

(For the record, I think the crucifixion story is fear-indoctrination with the message:  “This is what we do to do people who question authority too loudly.”  And it worked.  Christians are all about obedience to authority, rather than the radical message this God-sent teacher brought us.)

The teacher said:  Treat others well, even people of other races (like the Good Samaritan) and people you think aren’t as good as you (like the Woman at the Well).  Be generous and not materialistic.  Don’t be violent.  Be simple and straightforward with your prayers, in private.  Women, don’t put housework over devotion and learning, and if you do, don’t get angry at other women who don’t (story of Martha and Mary).

The teacher supposedly said he’d come back.  And I believe he is.  What had always sounded like sappy fantasy before is suddenly feeling like reality.  And I’m not excited about this just because I like what he taught; the first time I heard the string of Scriptures I just cited above, I had a shocking sensation of recognition as if those ideals were written in my soul so deeply that they were already mine, like I’d been part of the history of those coming to be creed.  Amazement as the sensation of recognition burned the memory of that moment in all my cells.  That’s why I believe he’s a real being.  I believe I know him very well.

And I’m tired of this Earth, and as much as I hate the violence being done against her, I think I understand that violence happens and I’ll never stop it, just as Jesus said, “The poor will always be with us.”  And so trying to stop it is righteous, but sometimes even the righteous fighter must yield and recognize a bigger picture.  My bigger picture is that I am not from here; I’ve lived here and loved it, and tried to do my little part to protect her, but ultimately my world is bigger.

I’m tired of the materialism, tired of capitalism, tired of money.  I’ve read that some alien beings feel sorry for us trapped in this culture in which accounting for our hours buys us our food, and some people live in misery for all they lack.  I believe those aliens come from a place like mine, and I’d like to return – when it’s time.

Being here now is quite satisfying, actually now more than ever.  So much that I almost feel torn between the desire to leave or to stay, which may be my choice, and as much as I’ve waited for this day, I now find myself seduced to stay if I have the choice!  Wouldn’t you know….

So if the Big Thing happens in eleven days, I say Great!

But I’m not really counting on it.  I’m not sure my mind didn’t create this idea our of desire.  As Ed Abbey said, “There’s not much going for the theory of reincarnation but desire.”

I totally disagree with Ed on this, as I remember a lot of past lives, including that little flash of a life pre-Earth.  And I trust those memories that come all at once, with whole-body recognition and emotions that sometimes drop me to my knees or the floor and sometimes make me cry for twenty minutes before I can compose myself.  They feel like me, and I trust them.

Yeah, I think I’m from somewhere else, and I’m here now for a purpose:  to tell my story of sensing other dimensions and beings, of being appalled at human behavior since I was a child; and to inspire a happy, creative approach to life with as few of the trappings as I can.  (Others will do better than me and will inspire different people.)

I hope I get to wake up in twelve days in a better place.  Maybe it’ll be a New Way of living on this Earth which we will create through our prayers, meditations, and actions.  And we’ll hardly notice the day things changed.

Or maybe like David Wilcock says, an band of energy in the galaxy will intersect us and cause a DNA mutation that will trigger our change, whether we work at it or not, and suddenly we’ll be perceiving in extra dimensions.

Or maybe those of us with positive visions will split off into a dimension separate from the people who are creating these wars and economic turmoil and manipulation.  LIke the Hopi tell their children, “One day we’ll wake up and the bad people will be gone.”  That has always resonated with me.  Or from the Christian perspective, all the good people will rise up and away.

Maybe spaceships will rescue some – I don’t know.  It almost doesn’t matter.

I feel extremely grateful.  I believe I’ll be supported by my cosmic tribe through whatever comes.

And to that end, I’m envisioning what I want to remain with me in a dimensional shift:  cooperation, kindness, nurturing, creativity…

If there was ever a time for deciding what it is we want, this is it.

We don’t know what is coming, but we do know that thought and intention are powerful.  And I believe they are alive.  And we can feed them.  With prayer, imagination, and being.

See you on the other side.

“Armed with Visions”

America is “First” in

1)  percentage of population which believes, but won’t publicly enter into discussion on, numerous things that affect them in political, social, economic, psychological, health, and other ways, but instead chose to be silent and let themselves and others suffer, and

2) people who think it’s absolutely true that we are the “freest” and thereby most fortunate people on the planet.

I hate to quote the Bible, because I believe it is a compendium of politically-sanctioned trivia with mostly political intent for the spiritual “truths” included; nevertheless, there are gems in it.  And I love it when my years as an idealistic young “radical Christian” recall a scripture that makes my body resonate with wonderful recognition.

This is one of those scriptures, very simple:  ”The first shall be last.”

I trust in that.

And I ‘m grateful to the prophet and teacher who tried to teach people on this planet how to live peacefully.

(I diverge from mainstream “Christians” in that I don’t believe that Jesus died, or saved or ransomed our souls by dying.  I don’t “know,” but I like the story that the famous rabbi didn’t die or was somehow resurrected and returned to teach in the East where he first learned from Hindu and Buddhist holy men who received you into his land when he avoided marriage in his home town of Nazareth by leaving to visit the magi who’d visited him at his birth.  [There’s wonderful evidence of this.  See the movie,  “Jesus in India” by Paul Davids and Edward T. Martin.])

I have no doctrine beyond a few phrases you might glean here.

I consider myself of the tribe of Yeshua.

When I first heard a few Bible stories told by a youth minister in the basement of a local church, in a crowd of young wannabe hippies, all sitting on carpet samples and scraps sewn together – stories against racism, sexism, violence, and materialism – my heart opened in a way I’d never felt, as though these ideas, never demonstrated in the life in which I’d always felt so strange, were written in my bones, and somehow these ideas had triggered an intelligence in me that was not of this life but reminded me who I was in a more infinite manner than in this Earth life, not in concept, but in body sensation.

Something opened up, and I knew this was my teacher, not by rational decision, though my mind was jazzed as well, but because it felt as though it had always been.

I believe Yeshua, Chief of my tribe, is returning.  And the “harvest” is in process.

Find yourself.

Resonate with whom you are, concentrating on your idea of you.

In this way, your cosmic tribe will find you.

Find yourself.  Find your tribe.

Interpreting the “Orange Alien” Experience

Hey Everyone,

Again, I think this might be my final post, in which I’ll sum up the meaning of my “Orange Alien” experience and place it in the context of my cosmology and spirituality.

I am now certain that the event was a mind control operation, either for testing my programming, updating the programming, installing new programming, or a combination.

I theorize that the initial electronic connection (I assume made via my implants which act as receivers) is what resulted in my being suddenly too agitated to lie still despite my exhaustion.

And the next part of the transmission provoked those images/sensations I interpreted as “beings” in my body.  (There are theories that even “thought forms” can take life as “beings,” so my first interpretation of this is not all that unusual in the lore.)

I next sensed my “energy body” offset from my physical body which, when I focused on it, I interpreted as a lethargic shadow.  I seemed hopeful that it was easy for me to move it away.

But what was it?  My immobilized Self leaving?  That wouldn’t be good (or maybe it’s what always happens in trauma and mind control).  Or was it something else?  I’m not sure.

The next sensation of the chaotic “little robot” bouncing around inside me I theorize was a visual interpretation of the energy of some programming.  Since my Soul would resist programming, the energy would naturally “bounce around,” going haywire.  It seemed I removed it, if not the programming, then maybe only my resistance.

The next image was of the tiny, primary orange, stereotypical “alien”-headed simple figure with a little stick body – very much like a cartoon.

Having read shamanic memoirs including experiences with the weirdest and simplest beings on other dimensions, I was willing to entertain the idea that this being could actually exist; however, after weeks of reflection, I’m more inclined to say the image was created with animation software and was induced as a visual experience as part of the mind control transmission, possibly to focus my attention and/or test my implant’s reception.

Next came the alien’s message, which began with concepts I’ve considered and do accept to some degree (supported by Sumerian history, Greek and Roman “mythology,” Judeo-Christian religious history, and critiques of evolutionary science):

The humans on Earth were created, and we’re being constantly taught, trained, tested, manipulated, chosen, judged, put to work/enslaved, genetically manipulated, selectively destroyed, etc. by beings (almost certainly more than one group, with differing agendas) who are sometimes worshipped, sometimes thought cruel, and regularly deemed to have motivations beyond our understanding.  And they usually use “rulers” to do their bidding.

I find nothing problematic about this theory.  I don’t “like” it, but as a theory, it explains a lot that “consensus reality” does not explain.

(The theory is problematic to the individual because of our American culture’s split-mindedness about it all – encouraging aspects of it through religion, while patently denying it in all other public arenas, particularly “education.”)

Continuing with the message:  It seems that the creator Gods/gods/aliens intend to do away with their project/s fairly soon, probably saving some of their favored “stock,” which is typical scientific practice and coincidentally matches religious and historical prophesies.

And there are also benevolent beings on other dimensions, observing and noting the many wonderful humans here who have created much good and are worthy of saving.  We witness the existence of these people, and it also matches prophesy.

Finally, to conclude the orange alien’s introduction, there is a big change coming, which we may experience as a catastrophe, but which will lead to a new era of history.

(Eras of history are pretty much ignored by American academia, but are taken for granted by many other cultures and sub-cultures, such as the tales of Atlantis, Lemuria, the Hopi’s [and other tribes’] “Third World” [Second, Fourth, etc], Sumerian account of the arrival of the Annunaki, etc.)

Life ends; new life begins.

The Apocalypse:  The most feared event of Christian prophesy.  But the real meaning of the word is:  seeing or revelation.

Catastrophy will be the catalyst, while new life is born.

I don’t have a problem with this message.

What I have a problem with is “losing” the next 80 minutes and then getting up urgently to plug in a Monroe Institute recording to listen to.

Both these aspects smell like mind control.  Carolyn named it, and I now agree.

It is my nature, however, to consider all possibilities calmly, taking my time, sometimes getting feedback from others, because it is my calling as a writer to document my process carefully, so that I can explain it to help others.

So I’ve weighed all possibilities, and it’s clear to me that the message could very well be “true” – in the sense that we can ever hope to speak “truth” about the cosmos in our very limited Earth languages.

Or, if it’s not true, then it was a message that someone knew I wouldn’t easily object to, (despite it’s delivery by an orange alien cartoon figure), and thereby could serve as an effective “hook” to get my attention for whatever followed.

And here’s the kicker: I don’t know what followed.

What do I do about missing time (80 minutes) and the probability of programming?

From what I’ve read, mind control technology is extremely complex and tricky or impossible to remove – if you can trust anyone and have enough money to pay them.

I have neither trust nor money, so I’m stuck with my own resources – like most in my situation.

Which brings me to spirituality.

Many readers know that I don’t follow any creed, but I trust an experience I had decades ago, in which I heard some of Christ’s teachings and, even though I was dumbfounded that these teachings were credited to the icon of mainstream American religion, for which I had no respect, I had an immediate whole-body reaction of affinity with His teachings.

It was not a rational judgement (any number of religions and philosophies present coherent teachings I can accept); this was a sense of recognizing, remembering, knowing something deep in my soul, as though written in my cells.

I’ve often summed up His teachings as the opposite of violence, materialism, racism, doctrinairism, and sexism.  My immediate reaction was:  I’m with Him!  

I had no problem accepting that this teacher was my “Lord” (the authority or influence I gladly accept).

Today, I do not go to church (gives me the creeps), and I have no rituals.  I simply try to live every aspect of my life by His basic teachings and “check in” regularly to talk – though I have a difficult time using the English pronunciation of the Greek translation of His Hebrew (Earth life) name, which reminds me of scamming preachers.

So I often commune wordlessly with Him, feeling my connection through the dimensions, acknowledging him a leader or major prophet-teacher of “my cosmic tribe.”

Why I jumped up to get the Monroe recording, rather than lie there and pray?  I think because it was the first time I experienced such a terrifyingly high pitch ringing in my ears.

Maybe it also had a cosmic good purpose – to help me realize my weakness so I can be braver next time.

In any case, I am concerned that the controllers are still trying to work with me.

But I am confident about a few things too:  I do not want to be their tool, and I intend to fight it and die fighting, even suffering if that’s what it comes to.

I intend to strengthen my spiritual life as we go deeper into these precarious times.

In the event that there will come a time when the dimensions will split the Earth experience into two or more futures, in which the controllers take their subdued stock, and the benevolent ones collect the mentally stronger members of their tribe, I pray I’ll been recognized.

In prayer that this is of service to you all,

Jean

An Alien Transmission?

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

June 27, 2012 – written

July 17, 2012 – minimally edited and posted

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

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

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

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

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

Unable to sleep 

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

THE VISION:  Event 1 – A Shadow 

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

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

Event 2 – A Small, Robotic-like Being

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Third, genetic selection is our work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ears ringing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next morning I woke up refreshed and feeling wonderful.  

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

Lost time

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

Thoughts about my failures to respect my own shamanic perceptions

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

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

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

“The third component is protection from the problem beings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Assessment of the Message

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

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

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

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

Final thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here we go….

“Afterword”

RF 2nd Ed coverFrom my book:

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.

Adios ~

New Scoop Marks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Story

Ah, meditation today began with the vision of a blue and white energetic stream, the color of crystalline mountain water and bands of white clouds, flowing upward from my heart like a twisting waft of smoke, curling next downward, and looping like a playful thing – such a surprise after my intense effort yesterday to repair my aura.

Last night, I wrote “my story” in super-short form, telling who I believe I am, based on experiences I’ve had which did not at all fit my construct of reality, but which I could never, over the course of decades, convince myself were not real.

So I think it’s time to publicly admit my beliefs, regardless that they embarrass me somewhat – embarrass me because I’ve sneered at others who’ve written or spoken things like these.  But I must tell this story, as information for others trying to assess the nature of reality and as a step in my process of becoming a more-coherent human being.

My Story

I’ve had at least six lives on Earth that I can recall and a long life, or series of lives, somewhere in the Pleiades, which when I left was the only life I knew or at least had been familiar with for a long time.  It quieted me to see the star cluster withdraw and know it would be another “long time” (if ever) before I would see the place again.  (And now, my heart feels as though it is absolutely not in my chest when I remember this.)

On Earth I remember lives only as women:  a sensuous tree-dwelling pygmy, a frightened three-year-old in some feudal state, a European country girl in love, a gypsy with a friend in traditional bangles and scarves, a recently deceased Anglo pioneer hovering on the Earth plane near her Native husband as he was drug to his death behind a wagon so that our daughter would not be raised by him or his tribe, a member of Cochise’s tribe when we lost our land and freedom, and a Native American college student arriving home to spend time with her loving family.

I am also connected to beings in a nearby dimension who feel like family – far more than my parents or siblings do.  A few of these beings seem like people I’ve read about or heard of in our history, and I’ve had a very strange aversion to reading certain books, as though I already know the history and reading this version might upset me.  Some of the figures I’ve met in other dimensions I realize later seem like mythological characters often depicted as cartoons in our culture or in some other limiting way, so I hesitate to identify them as such.

There are also beings on the other realms whom I work to avoid, though it most often feels that my life’s current destiny is to be engaged with them for some reason I assume is either good for me or good for all.  Those other unpleasant entities seem the result of my having been a mind control subject as a child.  (Documentation is elsewhere.)

I was born into a family on the edge (I assume) of the Elites:  Eisenhower means iron hewer, a metal worker.  These people were masters of a craft kept secret in a guild society controlled by royalty.  Members of this lineage are tested for loyalty, given many advantages, and groomed for service in secret societies still.  I was seduced to the door, walked in, was initiated, then changed my mind a month later and bailed.  Mysteriously, my memory of the initiation ceremony has disappeared except for a one-second peek.  Then I ran away from home (at age nineteen), broke some of my programming (how much I don’t know), and have been struggling ever after to fully free my mind.  Sometimes I seem to do very well in life, often when I’m engaged in mainstream business.  Most often, I struggle.

Ever since my nervous breakdown (essential for healing, and in my case probably part of my programming break-down) in 1993, I’ve been increasingly aware of things going on behind the mediated scenes.  I’ve twice consciously experienced my own body’s in-the-moment manipulation for a few minutes while my consciousness screamed No.  

I also sometimes experience healing events and other Carlos Castaneda-type events which I can’t yet judge as good or bad.  Sometimes I feel as though I just returned from somewhere else, sometimes I feel like I’m encased in a healing vibrational cocoon, and sometimes I feel hit by an energetic something with which I struggle mightily.  Sometimes, mysterious things leave bruises or scars on me, which I sometimes photograph and post.

Did I choose this life?  (It used to piss me off royally when people told me that we all chose our lives or, worse, that I have created this through my own thinking it, and I could make it disappear if I would quit.)  We could say it was just the luck of the draw – someone had to be born into the heart of darkness – and maybe that was it.  Perhaps it’s karma; I hate to think I earned this….

My choice of explanation is that I was strong enough to do this, and someone had to go in, like a cosmic spy, and relay back to the rest of my warrior tribe reports on the psyches of the Elites who have created our war-making, children-torturing, money-driven System, so that it could be disabled.  My birth into the darkest heart gave my tribe an inside view to help it more fully understand the System and help devise a plan to transform it.

While I’ve gone through my spasms of pain and paranoia, fear, grief, terror, despair and  suicidal urges, my tribe on the other dimensions has been regularly healing me, energizing me, blocking my awareness when I was too young to understand, and basically helping me get through, while also using what they learned to help turn the tide or execute some other plan for Earth.

And if that’s not the case, and if this is all just a story (an amazingly grandiose story, it might be called), then at least it offers me hope for my soul and hope for our transformation.

Both the light and the dark have been very active in my life – and up to fairly recently.  Every day I hope to never confront the dark ones again, but it’s clear that the polarity on Earth is still active, and someone has to be in the interface – the space between the white and black paisleys of the yin-yang symbol.  And even though I often feel that the energy pouring down on me is so positive and strong that I think we’ve already turned the corner and entered Heaven, I assume nothing.  Activists are those on the interface; I’m an activist, so here I am.

I’m here to testify that we Earth humans are not alone, either in the cosmos or here on Earth.  There are many, many technologies employed by the Elites to keep us passive and, yes, mind controlled.  A few people see it; far fewer, I fear, act in ways that will serve their survival when mind control is increased.

I struggle regularly with this apparent destiny, which seems to be to live in awareness of the darkness and to shine light on it.  Few live through the experience of it and maintain the ability to speak.  How am able?  I assume it’s my help on the other dimensions, as I’m not that personally strong.  (Ask anyone who knows me.)

Also, I think they don’t crush me because I do such a lousy job.  I sabotage my work frequently.

Sometimes I wonder if the existence of this soul-enslaving system is a figment of my imagination, but I believe this enslavement has been the number-one fact of human history, from ancient Sumer until this day, and it’s time we woke up to the fact that our luxury comes at the enslavement of others, many others.  Some, like Ayn Rand, will justify that; others might want to decide, but we can’t if we don’t acknowledge it.

And now our destiny hangs in the balance while the prophesies talk about the end of an age.  I’m putting my stock there, in change, in which I believe we must participate consciously.  Toward that end, I remind myself of these things:

* Change has always happened, and big change is prophesied.

* Powerful systems are often brought down from within.

* Earth’s powerful system today depends on the cooperation of minions who have little loyalty to it.

* The minions know that at some point they’ll be expendable, and at some point they can change the game.

* It is in their ultimate best interest to help change it.

Besides changing things on Earth, I also have hope in other realms as an escape.  Perhaps some of us will disappear like the Anasazi.  Or the others will disappear as in the Hopi prediction (told to their children, so I’ve heard) that “one day, the bad people will all just be gone” – opposite the Christian story, in which the righteous will be the ones “raptured.”  This apparent contradiction might be reconciled by another prediction with which I’ve resonated, that there’ll be a dimensional/vibrational rift, in which the Earth will move into two or more different future time-lines, where leaving and staying have no meaning.

Every year, the river of my life brings me amazing experiences of bliss, challenge, and everything in between.  As a child, tortured, I was pushed through the veil, where I saw that this realm was not the only one.  Today, I am sometimes granted healing and visions, and sometimes I dance with the devil.  I’ve written a lot about the latter, so it’s only proper now that I tell more of my story.

One of my demons has been the fact that my mind has been fractured by trauma-based mind control.   There are actually, sometimes, advantages to being multiple (psychological survival, for one, and a “diversified portfolio” of skills), and I hope to learn more ways to consciously make my condition more useful, but so far it’s often been a disability.

For instance, I go to the store, and an alter (alternate personality) comes out who’s great at making small talk, but she has little to do with the rest of me.  Some other part of me might have shared a personal story with someone the day before, who’s now at the store, but the alter yesterday is not out now, and the one who’s shopping doesn’t remember much about this friend when she says hi.  I struggle to cycle though a few “files” of personalities before I can retrieve the memory, but often the critical moment is lost and I might never have the chance to explain my struggle to the friend – very disappointing and often almost convinces me that I should remain a hermit.

But my destiny doesn’t seem to be in hermitage, and my extra-dimensional help keeps coming to my rescue – sometimes not soon enough, I think – but I keep on going anyway.

When my extra-dimensional help does take care of me, it’s beyond anything I could have imagined.  It clears me to my very soul and convinces me that I will not die and I don’t want to.

Because I’ve written a lot about the dark events, and people remember those best, I am probably known to a lot of people as the woman who’s all about “that stuff.”  When I occasionally write about the Light, I imagine it is difficult for many to reconcile in our culturally encouraged, black-and-white thinking.

So something moved me to summarize my whole complex story and remind folks that things are rarely static black or white:  I was born into a very dark situation, my mind became fractured, I’ve healed with extra-dimensional help, and I’m in a sometimes-daily battle to keep steady and nurture my dreams for myself and the whole of us.

I’ve seen the enemy, and it is not only us.  It’s partly us, but it’s also way beyond us.  It’s our ancestor’s patterns of abuse, which have been hidden from us, and which we’re called to transform.  The task is huge, but we’re not alone.  Everyone with a concept of Self as a sentient being connected to the powers of Creation needs to be sure to tap into those Other Powers and see what they need to be doing right now.  I’m here to testify that this is not a picnic.

If my life and my teetering on the edge of it, suffering sometimes beyond what I thought I could bear, has had any purpose, I think it’s to say this:  Our place in history is not meant to be a picnic, an indulgence in whatever we might enjoy.  Enjoyment is lovely, and I want more of it also, but we have work to do.

For over a year (am I right?) Bradley Manning suffered in solitary confinement for trying to get you the information you now get over Facebook and in your email; Congress is right now trying to take that freedom from you.  Many activists, like Leonard Peltier, Mumia Abu Jamal, and Judi Bari, are in prison for life, or dead, for telling truths that someone desperately needed for them to expose but the Elites wanted to repress.  Some like me are waking up with their bodies Taser-burned and no memory of what happened to them, but a dreadful feeling.

This battle is not a civilized one; it is brutal and involves far worse than what I’ve written here today.  If you have the liberty to visit your Congress person to talk about American human rights, please do.  If you can feed someone who is hungry, please do.  If you can give energy to any project that serves your community, please do, and thank you.  And if you can offer compassion to someone like me who seems sometimes to be crazy, please do.  We’ve all got stories, and I do believe we’re, most of us, trying our best to make sense of a world that is for the most part hidden from nice people like you.

If the Earth does go through any cataclysms, from environmental poisoning to pole shift, I know that we, as souls, will eventually continue on somewhere, learning, evolving, transforming.  But I believe the next life will be easier if we do this work now to transform what we can of this situation here on Earth, particularly to work for justice.

Some say the coming Earth changes will trigger our transformation to the next new evolutionary state.  I don’t know.  But I’m open to the possibility of expanding my soul into something less trapped on this plane.  My experiences in the other dimensions have been so much nicer than most of what I experience here.

In any case, I’m inspired by the possibilities – which are infinite.  We have help on other realms, but we also need to do the work today.

Chapter 4: Minister’s Wife

In college, I had been powerfully persuaded to join a sorority, and couldn’t understand why they would want me.  Eventually, I’d joined, then de-activated, and felt lost my sophomore year.

On a spiritual quest, I attended a Christian gathering and was astounded to learn that Jesus, icon of mainstream America, had spoken against doctrinarism, materialism, sexism, racism, violence, and had thrown over the money changers’ tables.  Even though the words embarrassed me, I “gave my heart” to him – in secret.  I didn’t like to make a scene.

Then I dropped out of college, and hitchhiked across the country with the first man I found who thought it was a good idea.  I felt I had to “get away.”

When our money was gone, in Bradenton, Florida, I took a job at McDonalds, and my boyfriend went to work at the Tropicana juice factory.  Terrifically depressed, at home alone one day with no one but the roaches and TV for company, I knelt before a chair and prayed for direction, promising God that whatever He said, whether I liked it or not, I would do it, if only I had direction.  I’d only expected a vague notion, but to my great surprise, an oval light appeared in the room, and I heard a voice say That’s it – and I understood that “it,” my promise to follow Guidance, was key.

Having seen very few independent women in my life, I didn’t know how to follow anyone but a man, and would find God hard to hear.  Afraid to be alone, I married the boy-man with whom I was living and traveling, and we eventually moved to Phoenix, Arizona, to be somewhat near my parents.

The night before my son’s birth, I felt his spirit come into me, a beautiful light exploding with gentle sparks of fine gold.  My mother was visiting and, when I told her, she insisted we go to the hospital.  We did and, even though I told the doctors the feeling was wonderful, they sent me home with antacid.

The birth was nearly a death for both of us, thanks to the doctor who induced my labor.  I was not as far along in my pregnancy as the doctors had thought, so my pelvic bones had not loosened, and my baby became stuck.  Thinking they were going to lose us, they used a vacuum extractor to pull him through.  I as unable to ask questions because of the mask pumping drugs into me, so was left to my own conclusions:  I’d heard that vacuum extractors were used for abortions.  I was shocked when they showed me a living baby, though he was in a coma for thirty minutes.

On a trip to Ohio, when Michael was six months old and sitting on my lap, my husband drove very slowly in an icy blizzard with two lanes of traffic crawling and stopping.  Once, after sitting in another vehicle’s exhaust, I asked him next time to stop farther back.  Irritated at being told how to drive, he stopped fifty yards back, and smirked.  We were both astounded when, seconds later, a speeding, out-of-control tractor-trailer rig used that space to pull in front of us and exit the highway, where otherwise there’d have been a massive death scene.

My husband announced one day that he felt called to the ministry.  First shocked, I was later embarrassed to find myself in the role of a minister’s wife.  I still loved the “counter culture” and believed that Jesus came to show us how to not be “of this world,” so I was delighted we had found the “hippie church” in downtown Phoenix.  I didn’t want to create our own church, but my husband never asked me.

While playing my role on Sundays, during the week I suffered from nightmares of forgetting my baby in bizarre places and other events even more upsetting.  When Mormon missionaries came to the door, I decided to invite them in to converse, and  soon had nightmares about them.

Within the year, I was able to quit playing “minister’s wife,” as my husband felt called to seminary, in Louisville, Kentucky.

There, my husband found us a job as house parents at Spring Meadows Children’s Home.  While he spent long days at school, I stayed home with our two children, one- and two-years old, and six to eight teenage girls with a variety of emotional issues.   “We” were on duty six days a week, twenty-four hours a day, but it was mostly my work.

One afternoon, working with the girls in the kitchen, I suddenly felt called to find Michael, and walked immediately to a chair in an unused room of the 4,000-square-foot house, and found him choking on a marble.  Without thinking, I swung my arm gently and connected with the center of his back.  A marble popped out, and he looked up, unconcerned, so I figured he’d just begun to choke and hadn’t had time to become afraid.

In Louisville, we discovered a “radical Christian” Church (a common term in the seventies), where the congregation welcomed gays and lesbians, and recycled, ate healthy food, and marched for peace.  Friendships had been rare for me, as I’d allowed myself to become isolated in the housewife role, so these relationships were nourishing and important.  At a Halloween party, a man asked me to paint a tree on his forehead, and I did, adding the roots beneath the tree, so it formed a beautiful circular design – and I felt part of something absolutely sacred.

“We” should never have been given that houseparent job, which turned into my job – six days a week, twenty-four hours a day, with two children of my own to care for.  Within three months, I was a nervous wreck.  After two girls climbed out a window one night during a snow storm, intending to run away, I began having nightmares and woke up one night dry-retching.  Thankfully, the girls had been brought back by the police, very cold, but safe.  I understood their frustrations and desire to be “away,” maybe get married and thereby become free of the orphanage system. They needed so much more than the system or I could ever give them.

As soon as my husband finished his first year, he quit seminary, blaming me for lack of support.  Interested in “intentional community,” we followed some other Christian friends to the Catholic ecumenical community called New Jerusalem, in Saint Bernard’s Parish in Cincinnati, Ohio.  There I started a Third World craft market at Christmastime and a year-round children’s clothing exchange open to the neighboring, more economically-oppressed Parish.

I discovered a community of peace activists, with whom I once leafleted outside Senator Neil Armstrong’s office.  A man, looking very much like the Monopoly banker, refused my leaflet and asked me with a sneer and strong stare, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

At first I was shocked, but after pondering his response to my anti-nuclear material, I decided I understood:  he believed the television – it wasn’t his fault.  And with that was born a vision:  One day, if I were lucky, I’d work to put a different sort of programming on TV.

A local peace group invited me to help organize a five-state peace conference.  Others had planned conferences before and directed my work, but I managed the promotions, poster and mailing design, and registration.  I worked enthusiastically, and the keynote speaker Sidney Lens said it was “the best organized conference” he’d ever been to.  Thrilled at the peace-dove pin I was given when it was over, I thought it a wonderful possibility that I might make activism my career.

Eventually we moved back to Arizona, and my husband found a church he liked, though I absolutely did not.  The people refused to discuss things like nuclear power, ethical investments, or Jesus’ teachings on materialism, racism or sexism.  I attempted to converse on these subjects occasionally, politely, of course, but was told that everyone thought I was making trouble.  Unfortunately, these were my only acquaintances when I decided I needed to divorce my husband.

When he told everyone that the divorce was my idea, the entire church quit speaking to me, though I’d also quit attending.  Soon he told me (truthfully or not, I don’t know) that a number of people were willing to testify in court that he was the better parent, and he said that the most dominant member of the church – who happened to be my doctor – would testify that I was schizophrenic!  He was demanding full custody of our children. I had imagined getting a small rental in town and us sharing custody in a kind and equitable manner.

Maybe the doctor hadn’t really said that.  I’d never been diagnosed with anything worse than depression.  My husband’s mother, on the other hand, had been hospitalized at least twice, he’d told me, for some indeterminate mental illness.  I’d later learn that this is called “projection,” to accuse another of what you fear in yourself.

But I was alone, young, emotionally abused for nearly a decade, physically abused twice (but had forgiven him), and lacking any experience in standing up for myself.  I chose not to defend my sanity in court, worrying thatthose church members might actually intend to lie about me.  And their testimony might be believed and recorded in legal judgments.

I might have gone to my family for financial help to actually defend my situation, but they thought I should stay married.  As my father put it, “You make your bed, you lie in it.”

My husband had promised to return joint custody to me after I’d gotten a college degree and could support myself.  So I bent to the manipulations, and gave him full custody of our children.  I would seethe at Christians for decades after that, and wrote off God and Jesus for a long while too.

After six months without my kids, I woke up as if from a stupor and realized the enormity of what I’d done.  When I asked my ex for mediation counseling to discuss what would be best for the children, he agreed to attend, then cancelled appointment after appointment until one day I slammed the phone into the wall and screamed as I’d never screamed before or since that I would sue him.  He promptly left the state.

I talked to a half-dozen lawyers and learned the hard truth about suing across state lines for custodial rights if you aren’t the one in possession.  I could have followed them, but he threatened to flee the country with our children if I tried to follow.  “I’ll go to Ohio – or New Zealand,” he said, “and you’ll never see them again.”

I moved to Tucson, and missed two precious years of my babies’ young childhood, and they missed me, as my husband left them with whatever woman was willing to care for them while he went to school, and at least one who only did because someone had to – she called me and told me.

Chapter 3: Born on the 7th of July

It wasn’t difficult for me to become a hermit, as my childhood contained a lot of solitude.  I felt closer to my dog and cats than anyone else in my world, and knew the weeping willow tree in our backyard objected vehemently when her branches were used for switches.  I often dreamed that I could fly.

Occasionally, in pre-school, I used vocabulary that no one else understood.  Somehow a college student heard about this, prompting her to follow me around for a day, to write up a paper.

At bedtime, I sometimes saw spirals in another dimension, and was happy to see them, then I’d slip in and disappear.  Or, head on pillow, I would sense myself flashing, as large as the universe and tiny as an atom, in rapid pulses that came on me unbidden, but were always welcomed with joy and relief that I could go somewhere else.

In John Mack’s Passport to the Cosmos, he tells the story of Sequoia Trueblood, a Native American who often experienced people from other realms, and told of once seeing “a kind of vortex of swirling lights ‘like a rainbow,’ into which he was sucked.” My spirals seem like something similar, so it’s clear to me that my moving between the realms began in childhood, as perhaps they do for all of us, until we learn to shut it down or forget about it.

My mother expressed concern to her friends and my pediatrician that I had an “imaginary friend” I called Cathy.  She looked like a very pretty, even angelic child my size and age, and she once materialized in front of my parents, which alarmed me until she gestured (or told me telepathically?) that my parents couldn’t see her.  Then we had a private têté a têté.  Like all children, I learned not to tell others about these things, and eventually forgot it all for decades.

Many of my childhood memories are of being alone.  I learned to crotchet before I entered kindergarten and made the most elaborate doilies I could find in the pattern books.  In third grade, I read classic novels hundreds of pages long.

We’d lived for most of my young life in Merced, California.  The summer before fourth grade, we moved to Paradise Valley, Arizona, hometown of Dan Quayle, who went to our public school for a few weeks while awaiting entry to a private school.

In fifth grade, I read the palms of my classmates, always “by the book” – except once when I accidentally went into a trance, vaguely aware of saying things that came from somewhere other than my books.  When I regained my normal state, a half-circle of girls stood around me with open mouths and looks of astonishment.  I vowed to myself to never “do that” again.

Good grades were normal, as were art awards, and sewing, beading, crocheting, leather tooling, and copper enamel projects.

I was strangely turned off by television.  I watched it with the family on week nights, as that was our main family time together.  I never watched it on weekends or after school though, and frequently told my younger siblings they shouldn’t watch it either – it was “bad for them.”

By the time I entered high school, my parents decided I should sew my entire wardrobe, and so I did.  My mom and I would visit Saks Fifth Avenue, then buy fabric and patterns to combine or adjust, and we’d recreate our favorites.  The mothers of my friends could hardly believe my tailoring skills, and in the Fine Arts Department my senior year, I was voted “Best Dressed Girl.”

Using a book, I learned to hypnotize myself to relax or sleep, by focusing on spirals I envisioned in space.  I also began to interpret my dreams.

When our varsity choir went on tour, my hotel roommate gave a back massage to a boy who lay on our floor, and she suggested I give a massage to another boy who’d arrived.  Accepting the pressure toward this teenage intimacy, I began, having no idea what to do, but figuring I’d imitate my friend.  To my surprise, my hands seemed to read some energy and followed it across and around the boy’s back muscles.  Repeatedly, I was forced to let go of what I thought I’d do next, as the energy moved my hands.

I never asked anyone, but always wanted to know:  How many others experience this sort of thing?

Today, I believe there are a lot of people like myself, and I wonder if everyone has more “anomalous” experiences than we remember, but because we’re taught to ignore them, our natural ability to relate to the other realms slowly fades, and we forget what we knew as children.

Healing From the Treatment of Psychopaths

Wonderful stuff also keeps happening in my life!

Tuesday night, I healed a collection of alters, sort of a family, a stream, a lineage of wounded inner children who were forced onstage for the sexual entertainment of wealthy psychopaths.

The “child me,” I theorize, went blank at those times, and my empty beingness became a vacuum that drew in other energies.  Whether those energies were demons, daemons (human-god guardian spirits), “thought forms” projected by my captors, or my own creation to fill my dire need, something – no, some things – filled the gap and have ever after made my psyche different, and fractured.

Last Tuesday night, a whole network of wounded children were released, leaving an opening in me that was filled with joyous, beautiful light from my spiritual family.

Can you imagine how that might feel? I drafted my best description of the experience, and want my readers to know that I also have these good things happening as well, and I’ll be sharing this story very soon  It’s not all horror.

(And I believe it was this wondrous healing that gave me the strength to write about the dark stuff that I did on Wednesday – I needed to speak it for other aspects of my on-going healing.

(And I believe I also needed to speak it for you – as it relates to everything else in our political world.  Thank you for being strong enough to read this.)

Anaïs Nin and Me

anaïs-nin sepiaMany times I’ve told myself, “Shut up.  No one wants to hear this.” 

But I’d rather speak my truth to a few, rather than pretend truth to the many.  (I had that option as a journalist in my thirties, and I walked away.)

Second, I’d rather have a few friends who know the real me than many false friends who like my best effort at a pretense of “normalcy.”

Finally, I’d rather not spend the tremendous amount of mental energy it takes to read people, try to figure out what’s expected, then emulate it, and keep all my stuff – politically important stuff – to myself.  That would be a dreadful way to live.

anais-ninI’ve known since I was in my twenties that I wanted more than anything to communicate to the masses about our social ills.  I didn’t know then why I felt so fervent about it, but I do now, and I’m glad I spent my decades studying all forms of communication, such as “Radio and Television” (when I didn’t even own a TV), film, videography, news writing, script and screen writing, creative writing, non-violent communication, mediation, consensus decision-making, Robert’s Rules of Order (!), public speaking and acting – when I was terrified of the stage!

All that has given me the foundation to do what I do now – write essays and produce videos on concepts very difficult to make people want to read or view them, but politically important, and also psychologically important to me personally.

UnknownSo, imagine my surprise when in 1999 I discovered the writer Anaïs Nin, bohemian, diarist (I didn’t know the activity was respected enough to warrant this title!), and cultural critic.  Anaïs criticized the culture obliquely by writing obsessively about herself, her psychology, her resistance to cultural norms, and her defense of her self-interest, which she felt could be a most worthy activity for any human being desiring to increase his or her consciousness.

As a bohemian, she had multiple affairs while married (most notably her relationship with the writer Henry Miller), and proudly celebrated her counter-cultural ways.

I read Nin’s biography, immediately liked her, and recognized our similarities – and our differences.  (I had decided at a young age that multiple sexual relationships were probably not strategically wise – though I’ve never thought they were immoral per se; they were simply fraught with social penalties and other problems  I wasn’t willing to choose.)

quote-Anais-Nin-i-with-a-deeper-instinct-choose-a-88898While reading Nin’s biography in 1999, I began a three-year relationship with a man who was, at the time of our meeting, reading Henry Miller’s biography!  My curiosity piqued by this coincidence, I decided to read more about Anaïs.

Very oddly, though, I couldn’t:  I hated her writing! When I tried to read her work, I felt overwhelmed by shame, as if her writing was bad – and too much like mine.  I suspected that if I spent any time with it, I’d see all my own writer’s flaws and sink into debilitating grief at my humiliation.

Time and again, I’ve picked up her books, and had to put them down after only a paragraph or sentence.  And each time, the feelings I experienced were of deep shame for being such a narcissistic writer.  I feel as though Anaïs’ writing and mine are one and the same, that her self-obsession is my self-obsession, and I cannot read her.

I’m not exaggerating.  I have a book by Tristine Rainer, titled The New Diary, with a Preface by Anaïs.  I began, but couldn’t continue past the first line or two.  It sits unread on my self.  Besides, I might argue, I know all about “how to use a journal for self-guidance and expanded creativity,” as the cover promises, or so I think.  But, for as much as I feel dear toward this woman, I cannot read her Preface.

I have another book titled Sisters of the Extreme: Women Writing on the Drug Experience, a collection edited by Cynthia Palmer and Michael Horowitz, who each endorsed the book beautifully to me when we met at a “Mind States” conference in 2000 or 2001.  The book contains works by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Charlotte Bronte, Louisa May Alcott, Sarah Bernhardt, Box-car Bertha, Billie Holiday, Edith Piaf, Maya Angelou, Alice B. Toklas, Margaret Meade, Diane di Prima, Susan Sontang, Carrie Fisher, Nina Hagen, and many, many others, including Anaïs.

anaisnin_lisacongdon3I read every word of this book, drinking it up, cover to cover – except for the piece by Anaïs.  When I came to it and tried to read it, deeply interested, I had to put the book down.  Returning to it repeatedly, I’ve never been able to force myself to go on beyond the first paragraph.  I don’t even want to try it now as an experiment.  I remember how it upset me so immensely.

What is the problem?  I kept asking myself.  Eventually, I accepted that these words which others celebrate are in a style that reminds me too much of my own, so that I feel keenly, viscerally embarrassed, even mortified.  I decided, having only read a few words, that her writing and mine are so much alike, so self-obsessed in our alikeness, that I just cannot look in the mirror with which she confronts me.

Was Anaïs ashamed of her writing?  I don’t know, but I suspect it.  There was an extensive period of her life in which she made ends meet by writing pornography, but I don’t think this is the pertinent issue.  I believe it was simply the extensiveness of her journals – she wrote constantly – and the self-obsession she displayed with them and the dept of truth she told she later regretted.

31945-anais-nin-quotes-facebook-cover-wallpaper-851x315She also rewrote her journals so frequently that, even when she needed to borrow money, she hired other women writers to help her “correct” her earlier works, keep them organized, and secretly destroy earlier drafts as she updated them.  (It’s possible that, like many writers, she was not changing her original intent as much as refining it, replacing careless phrases with ones more exact and less prone to be misunderstood (I sure understand that practice).  In any case, she was obsessed to record her life on paper, and she needed to get it right.)

quote-we-travel-some-of-us-forever-to-seek-other-states-other-lives-other-souls-anais-nin-136076I’ll repeat her contention:  she defended her obsession as her chosen path to developing her consciousness, which she felt was a healthy activity.  But, why would I, one who appreciates journal writing as a healing and self-exploration tool, be embarrassed to read this sort of writing by another?

anais-nin-by-bree-reetzPerhaps we’re not just similar.  I’ve had many experiences in my life of connecting with trans-dimensional beings of various sorts.  And one of those, I’ve finally accepted, is Anaïs.  I think she might have connected with me at some point in my early activist days (bohemians are essentially activists) and decided to stick around to help me with this work.  (She died in 1977, before I ever heard of her, when I was a naive young mother, just a few years away from my first activism.)  And together – she in me – we cringe at her early work as many people cringe at things they put out to the public when they are young.

Painful though it may be to put ourselves out there as activists, we know it is our work:  to criticize culture, take stands, stick our necks out, take social risks, and take the criticism – because that’s what we were born to do.  And I theorize she recognized me – and came to assist.

So now I have a photo of Anaïs on my desk, reminding me it’s okay to be misunderstood by the many, so long as we give voice to new ideas.  She was a scandal in her time, and now in death she’s a respected writer – even though I cannot read her myself.  I feel I already know what she has written, and the structure of her language will only suck me in with more emotional entanglement than I have the energy to handle.  Besides, it would be like looking backward, and we have work to do to keep us moving forward.

 

Do You Fly? Do You Come From a Star?

UnknownDo you dream of flying?

Around the campfire once, someone told a story about “a flying dream,” to which half of us nodded with varying degrees of knowingness.  The other half responded with silent doubt.  The dream flyers tumbled out a chaos of descriptions, of flapping or not flapping, soaring over mountains and valleys or around the dining room chandelier, or leaping into the air and staying aloft for exquisite, long periods of time; meanwhile, others exclaimed Yes! when something was particularly well described, or gasped in recognition of something they might have thought until then was their private experience alone, or softly held their breath because they wanted to interrupt with a story of their own, but would force themselves to wait because the discussion was under threat of breaking into groups and no one wanted to miss anything, so the group kept itself barely in order.  When it was done, the dream flyers looked as spent and satisfied as lovers after an unexpected romp.  The others looked perplexed.

flyI’ve always been a flyer, but I’ll spare you my litany of dreams.  I want to talk about my sense of not really being from here, and maybe I’ll learn, as around the campfire that night, that half of my community silently harbors similar secrets.  Or maybe not.  We’ll see.  (More about my extra-dimensional experiences are available by visiting either link on the top of the column to the right.)

The youngest memory I have that might relate to my not being from here is when I was no more than five, when I looked up at my mother ranting and thought to myself, “This is going to be a very long childhood.”  I wonder today:  Was it normal to have such a mature perspective at that age?

At night, when I went to bed, I sometimes felt myself flashing in micro-seconds between being as large as the cosmos and as tiny as an atom.  I also sometimes saw portals and knew with great happiness that I was going again where I loved to go; sometimes I had been waiting with longing.  There was a schedule I didn’t understand; I knew I was to be patient and was always happy when the portal or flashing sensations came over me.  One day I was told that I was going to have to wait a long time, but I was old enough to understand that it would be long but not forever.  I grieved, and then I adapted.

I seem to have been born into this life with attitudes and opinions.  I did not take it for granted that the world simply is what it is.

At another young age, my mother had told me, “I love you best when you’re silent.”  So I learned to entertain myself.  Adults were fun to listen to, but they seemed too easily pleased to hear their friends quote Einstein from LIFE Magazine.  Somehow, I felt they didn’t really know much, despite their nodding encouragement to each other.

At five, I started kindergarten and began tutoring other students for my teacher.  On the playground, I was appalled to see adults stand by while young bullies did their routines on the weak ones.  When I told the teacher, she aggressively scolded me: “Don’t be a tattletale!”  I was regularly appalled at the behavior of adults.

I seemed to have come into life with a standard – and a confidence that it shouldn’t be compromised.  Where did it come from?

I made very few friends during my childhood.  It might have something to do with my two years of “missing time” – amnesia – at age five and six, during which I have evidence I was a CIA mind control subject.  [This story is told elsewhere.  I apologize to those surprised by the incongruity – but these parts actually connect meaningfully, but that’s a much longer story.] Every now and then, another child would “resonate” with me, and we’d become immediate and decades-long friends.

In adulthood, I experienced quite a few synchronicities, which felt like divine intervention, as well as clairvoyance, intuition, and mystical experiences in nature.  But I ignored them, dropped them into an “Anomalous” file and went on with life as if the scientific model explained everything.

At the age of 47, I had an experience so powerful – related to being from somewhere else – that I could not speak of it at all for at least two years, and then I only mentioned it shyly to a few of my closest friends.  Eight years later, in 2008, I included the experience in my book RattleSnake Fire, but I declined to comment on its implications:

Camping in the desert with a group of about twenty people, I was in conversation when a friend, an amateur astronomer, interrupted to hand us a pair of binoculars and tell us the Pleiades looked amazing and we should check them out.  I’d been enjoying my conversation and wasn’t interested in looking at stars.  My thought was:  A star in the binoculars would look just like the stars we could see all around us, only bigger.  I’d seen photographs of stars and thought there was a beauty to them, certainly, but nothing to interrupt another person’s conversation.  Besides, they’d been there for a very long time and would probably continue to be so.  I said “No, thanks,” and turned back to talk with my new friend.  The astronomer interrupted again and implored me to look.  This time I thought his rudeness had passed a particular mark, so that I, a person who’d too little practiced a healthy assertiveness in my life, decided to practice it then.  I said, “You’re interrupting our conversation.  And I’ve never had any interest in the stars.”  I don’t know what he said next, but I remember being speechless at his insistence.  It seemed easier to look through the binoculars than to argue with him, and besides, then I’d be able to say, “Just a bunch of little sparkly things…” and then be rid of the man, whom I had always respected until that moment.

pleiades-uks018I put the binoculars to my eyes and looked in the direction he’d indicated, moving them a bit until I saw the somewhat famous star cluster.  Then, I was shocked, as my heart exploded with a recognition that engulfed me – like an aura:  I knew the Pleiades – in some hidden space inside my soul.  And I knew, for the first time consciously, that I had a whole lot more history than I’d ever considered, outside of simple theory. 

I had a moment’s flashback of being in a vehicle of some sort, standing with a group of close companions, looking out a large window at this cluster receding, and thinking, I wonder what it’ll be like to be gone for a very long time. 

The vision ended and I was jolted by grief, a new sort of shock, then longing:  Grief for the comfort long lost and almost-unfathomably forgotten; shock that that could be my reality, so far from this “reality”; and longing for the friendship I had with those somewhere else, so far beyond the friendships I’d had on Earth.  The word home came to mind, with more emotion than I’d ever felt before.

All that hit me in an instant, and I lowered the binoculars and said with wonder to the astronomer, my new friend and, by accident because I didn’t control my volume, to everyone else around, “Oh my god, I think I’m from there!”  Then I slapped my hand over my mouth, realizing that those were words I’d have hated hearing from anyone else.  I had no patience for people who said crazy stuff like that.  I’d been certain they were delusional.  But what had just happened to me didn’t feel like a delusion at all – I wasn’t daydreaming, coming up with stories to which I took a fancy.  On the contrary, if I’d wanted to impress my friends, this would not have been the story I’d have invented – far from it!

My words apparently shocked everyone into silence, and no one said a thing to break it for about five seconds, while I reverberated with the humiliation of just having said words that I would never have guessed could come out of my mouth and which I knew had a good chance of being hated.  I knew I couldn’t change this, because no one could have changed my mind a moment before.  I was alone in this, and that was that.  Alone and profoundly surprised.  My world, my being, my identity had been severely rocked in that moment, surrounded by friends, but with no one understanding.

The conversations started up again, and I have no idea what we said next, but I don’t believe I told much of the emotional part of my experience.  I do recall describing how beautiful the light had appeared around each star, and how the fine, thread-like rays emitted from each one met the rays from the others, and at those points of meeting they defined a three-dimensional network of gossamer light walls, like a ghostly cluster of living cells with a glowing star alive inside each one.  The fragility and beauty (and familiarity – did I share that or keep it secret?  I don’t know) made my heart ache with love.

It was too confusing.  I’d heard of people saying they were from somewhere else, but I thought it was probably self-inflating.  Of course, I considered myself open-minded, so that people could be from somewhere else, but if they were, I wasn’t sure why I should care or that it had anything to do with me.  It was too disorienting to think about, so I never did.  But here I was, maybe one of “those people” at the moment of learning she’s different.  Well, I always did feel different….

It’s been eleven years this month since the Pleiades burst onto my consciousness, and I’m ready to face now what it might possibly mean.  If no one else had said anything or written the books I’d previously secretly ridiculed, I wouldn’t be writing this now, despite my professed intention to always tell the full truth.  No, some stuff I reserve the right to withhold, and this has been a partial “withhold” bugging me for eleven years.  Now I’m ready to tell it.

Besides, there are theories, to which I subscribe, that we are all of “alien” DNA.  And there are theories that, as souls, we are all from many other places.  According to these, my story is not unusual at all, but mundane, and it’s only a matter of each of us eventually realizing the truth.  Like remembering our dreams.

Here in Silver City, Greg Renfro and friends, including me, have been singing The Star Song, by Missourian Bob Dyer, for years:

I think you must have come from a star
I think you must have come from a star
I
 can see it in your eyes, I feel it when you smile
I
 think you must have come from a star
I think we must have all come from the stars.

I’ve always believed it was possible – but I thought it was just a theory, for someone else; I never wanted it to be a personal fact for me, which would be too attention-getting; when I was young, my eyes used to tear and overflow spontaneously when more than a few people looked at me at once.

It seems time to come out of my denial.  Maybe if I share this along with all my doubts, others will relate to the human dilemma, and we’ll learn that we’re not all alone here.  And we’ll have a larger world to discover.