On The Cosmic Switchboard, James Bartley and I overview my life in 2 hours. (We plan another conversation soon.)
On RevolutionRadio/AquarianRadio, I have two interviews with Janet Lessin, another mind control subject, and her husband Dr. Sasha Lessin, a psychotherapist. As you’d expect, these interviews are more psychologically focused.
In the first, we spend two hours covering the strange events of my childhood and early adulthood: being ritually tortured, seeing inter-dimensional beings, experiencing strange events with Mormons, military, and individuals in high levels of government, being manipulated into a sorority and into sexually-themed roles in theater. (See a full discussion list below.)
In our second interview, we continue with two marriages to “handlers,” a “nervous breakdown”/spiritual crisis, decision to be a hermit, and introduction to the world of spirit and shamanism – which includes animal spirit encounters, gray aliens, reptilians, reptoids, and more. (See a full discussion list below.)
Our third interview will be next Saturday, November 8, at 5 pm PT, which you can listen to live on Aquarian Radio or YouTube/Aquarian Radio.
Hang in there, Everyone. While you’ve witnessed me in despair and other weak states over the years, I’m hanging in here, continually seeking meaning, continually seeking connection with extra-dimensional help, feeling stronger, and praying that my contributions to our understanding of this strange multidimensional world will also help you find understanding, Help, and eventually soul growth.
Lessin/AquarianRadio Part I:
0:00:00. Intro 0:02:55 Welcome, Dwight Eisenhower, suspected ancient secret society 0:05:30 Secret Societies: Masons, Military/CASU 33, Hollywood, Grandmother/probable early mind control subject 0:09:48 Birthday 7s and moons 0:12:50 UC Davis & Human Ecology Project 0:17:35 Multiple personality “alters” and triggering 0:21:40 Flashback to ritual with sexual torture 0:22:00 Left alone, never learned to play, Asperger’s Spectrum 0:23:40 Couriers, spies, martial arts, assassin, suicidal notions 0:31:30 Portals to other dimensions 0:35:00 2 years mind control programming intensive, age 6-8 0:38:20 Mormon advice to father 0:39:15 Flashback: “She’s getting old enough to remember” 0:39:50 MK still going on 0:40:20 Fear of Mormons, altered state experiences, ghosts, shadow being 0:42:15 Baton-twirling contest, terror on stage 0:43:00 Sexual performance nightmares 0:43:47 Ghosts v ETs 0:45:25 Sexual psy op, age 13 0:50:20 MK to develop sexual slaves for blackmail. “Crazy conspiracy theory” 0:55:10 Theater roles all sexual: stripper, prostitute, sexual spy 0:56:00 Break 1:01:15 Intro 1:02:14 Dr. Sasha Lessin 1:03:06 Theater, sorority life, beauty pageants, prostitute role 1:20:25 How got strong 1:20:50 Last sexual role: sexual spy; joining and deactivating sorority 1:23:00 Initiation ceremony 1:25:00 Who’s orchestrating this? 1:26:34 Frightening hitchhiking event, marriage 1:32:20 Became mother, depressed, abused, hippie church, minister’s wife, houseparent, kids stolen 1:42:00 Student of radio and television, met second husband/handler, MK meeting 1:44:08 Handler definition and how it works 1:45:00 Constantly dealing with weirdness throughout life 1:47:09 Next show: Marriage manipulations, friends in prison and car-bombed, son with cancer, nervous breakdown, went from award-winning journalist and successful consultant to mess, husband angry at MK cartoon 1:55:00 JeanEisenhower.com, ParadigmSalon.net, RattlesnakeFire.com, YouTube.com/ParadigmSalonVideo.
Lessin/AquarianRadio Part II:
00:00 Intro 02:43 Jean Eisenhower resumes life history: marriage to handler 04:33 targeted after 2nd divorce, son’s cancer 07:50 University of Arizona – Master of Fine Arts, Creative Writing Non-Fiction – healing begins 10:00 First Shamanic experience of Wolf 12:50 Discover my multiple-ness in Mind Control, dissociation in trauma (“into the wallpaper”) 15:15 “Put trauma idea into box and into closet” 16:55 Move to my hermitage 19:10 Struggle with rational vs mystical 21:00 Star shamanism – Daughter of Isis, rationality, archetype, history of ancient Egypt 28:30 UFO on highway outside Bisbee, AZ 34:10 first draft of Rattlesnake Fire, MFA thesis 35:15 Next relationship – healing; real estate success 37:30 Inner assassin comes to fore 41:50 Colorado Springs with 5 military bases; healing relationship 46:00 Back to hermitage, Cochise County, straw bale home 48:50 experience re Pleiades – Am I from there?? 52:50 stuck in dualism, childhood charges of crazy for childhood “imaginary friend”/angel 56:00 break 1:03:45 burn all journals re 2nd marriage, begin science journals Jan 1, 2000, all into database w 1200 data lines 1:06:45 Did they want me to be a hermit? (Maybe) I’m Asperger’s, so being in nature is more comfortable than being social 1:08:30 Alien encounters, lost community, “bad Jacketed,” FBI history 1:15:00 thyroid surgery scar on neck 1:16:54 tones from sky 1:17:47 UFOs swarming like fireflies (over White Sands?) with witnesses 1:19:40 Reptilian sex 1:21:30 military Reptilian in my teepee; connections to Ft. Huachuca; 2 friends’ stories confirm; question of Reptilian relationship 1:29:30 Theory of Reptilians vs Reptoids; Reptoid looking through my left eye (“Hulk routine”), then projected image in front of me; Reptoid child hovering in space 1:35:00 Why I’m not allowed to know – theory 1:36:40 My purpose – theory 1:38:00 Janet Lessin – shape-shifting story 1:43:50 Jumping ahead: Altered state w orange alien delivering message of humans not surviving; Sumerian, Genesis warning; thought MK 1:48:40 Highway stop, vaginal implant, laceration, professional photograpic proof 1:55:30: Closing. JeanEisenhower.com, RattlesnakeFire.com, ParadigmSalon.net.
Thanks for being there, Everyone ~
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A few times lately, I’ve dropped the name Jesus into a blog or vlog, and I thought I should explain what I mean.
(I didn’t mean to write a prose poem, but just to arrange the words for easy reading.)
I find value in all the world’s ancient texts,
and I take them all with a grain of salt,
even the Bible (sorry Christian friends and family).
The harmony between all these texts is remarkable
(for all humankind’s arguing over their differences).
One basic truth they all tell us is
that Others came from elsewhere and created us here.
Those Others came again and again
to teach, chastise, give gifts, encourage, warn, destroy,
and change our genetics, and they’re coming back.
That’s what all the holy books say.
The United States of America is the First
to convince their citizens not to talk about this,
and not believe it, to laugh at it,
and certainly not use it to explain any “mysteries.”
Archeology, geology, history, and religion
are all full of mysteries
which cease to be serious mysteries if
the ancient texts are true.
American politics is full of mystery. Why,
people strike their heads
and exclaim all the time,
“I can’t believe Congress [or the President] did that!”
But if Other beings are involved in our lives
like ALL the ancient texts say,
as people have believed and recorded for millennia,
They explain the mysteries, easily.
Are They playing evil roles? Or saving us?
Teaching us again? Or just watching?
Depends on which you’re referring to.
And maybe on what you believe.
One disturbing variation on this story is that
the Others put their royal lineages in power,
the Secret Societies in charge of us,
who tell us the Others don’t exist.
Stealing this information is stealing power.
And we’re left dumb, dumb, dumb.
Laughing at ancient history, calling it myth,
and wondering why the world makes no sense.
It makes sense if you have all the pieces of the puzzle.
To get them, you must stop laughing.
But then you only have a picture, not a plan.
(That’s when your work begins.)
The Others are many, our friends and our foes,
like Gramma called it, a War in the Heavens.
Lots of players, I’ve heard, “highly populated cosmos,”
with history that would blow our minds.
And among them, who is Jesus? Quetzalcoatl?
Kokopeli? Mohammed? Krishna? Buddha?
You tell me.
Who is Jehovah? (Well, this is where I get in trouble.)
Genesis reads like a summary
of the Sumerian tales of creation,
conflating an entire crew of Annunaki into one being
named Jehovah, or more correctly Elohim (a plural).
This Other, this god, who called himself God,
was arrogant, abusive, warlike, cruel,
basically a cosmic human developer, slaver and industrialist,
raping the Earth for her gold while developing slaves.
Jesus, on the other hand,
taught us how to treat each other
and promised to return at the “Harvest”
and get those who got it.
Is that where we are now in history?
I don’t know, but I hope. (I’m tired of all I’ve seen!)
Some say Jesus is a tulpa, a being of our creation.
Maybe he’s more, maybe he’s less, but I like his teachings.
Some say Jesus was a shaman,
saying we’ll do miracles too.
But I don’t believe Jesus is the son of Jehovah,
unless he’s overthrowing the family operation.
When I say Jesus now, you won’t mistake me
for a Bible-thumper or a follower of Jehovah.
I follow the Prince of Peace, the Teacher of Righteousness,
and I hope Jehovah isn’t someone I misunderstood!
I could be wrong, but Earth histories seem coherent
with even the strangest Others I’ve experienced.
Everyone else, refusing to see, laughs, then whines,
“But it makes no sense!”
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio,
than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” said William Shakespeare.
There ARE more things in Heaven than we acknowledge.
And with them, the world makes sense.
Does this make sense to you?
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Even though I’ve voiced my occasional discomfort with “shamanism,” it is not (or no longer) with the actual practice and life associated with the term. My discomfort is mostly with the casual way that some people approach and undertake methodologies (all the colorful tools, for instance) without understanding the intelligence and energies.
This blog seems to respect the reality better than most – by Story from Where Spirit Stops:
Life takes energy from us violently and traumatically at times. Why this happens is a human question that no human answer will really satisfy. Suffice it to say that suffering affects us all, and when it does, a piece of our personal energy – a piece of our soul – can be severed off from us. We experience this as a piece of ourselves going missing. Losing pieces of ourselves chips away at our power and truth, as well as keeping us from any real healing until the parts are recovered.
For this reason, I advocate a “search and rescue” approach. This means actively seeking our lost parts and working to heal them. I believe it is nearly impossible to get through life without some kind of soul loss, and that people can suffer from deep, crippling soul loss even if they haven’t experienced what they would define as a traumatic event. Trauma comes in all shapes and sizes, and our reactions to events vary from person to person. Also, since I believe a traumatic event can cause soul loss, it follows that until that soul part is found, healed, and re-integrated into the self, one’s memory of that part’s trauma may also be obscured or lost.
How can you know the extent of your soul loss? Consider how you relate to the following symptoms:
Constant feelings of sorrow, darkness, or fear
A driving need for distraction (addiction issues, materialism, avoiding alone time)
Feelings of having no purpose or reason to live
Lingering, haunting pain from old memories
Feeling that something is very wrong with you
Symptoms of PTSD (anxiety, depression, hyper vigilance, fear, avoidance of life’s activities), even if you don’t remember a past traumatic event
It is likely that the more you relate to these symptoms, the greater your soul loss is.
Shamanic practitioners who practice soul retrieval might offer instant relief from your suffering and require only faith from the sufferer. I believe that healing and other magic require both faith and action. A practitioner ought not to merely tell someone about the soul part(s) they retrieved, but help that person connect with them personally. As I mentioned, my way of healing advocates “search and rescue” first. I believe finding and building a healing relationship with your lost soul parts is more important than trying to integrate them into yourself immediately. Finding a missing part is the first step towards healing, and beyond that, it’s best not to push. You might end up pushing the lost part away without realizing it. Instead, build a relationship with this soul part just as you would with a spirit guide, and strive to be as honest with yourself as possible.
Story is a shamanic practitioner, offering her services. I have done and do the same occasionally. I encourage everyone, though, to never put yourself passively into anyone else’s care, even or especially doctors; you are responsible for your own healing – though getting help is often essential – and learning that self-responsibility is not just the most important thing in our lives, but essential to our soul’s development.
Today, I’m stronger than ever for having accepted the responsibility of healing myself from the shit that others did to me when I was an innocent child. I do believe that even that shit can be the trigger that leads to my soul’s eventual positive evolution. And much of my work is exactly what Story describes. She wrote about it better than I ever have. Thank you, Story.
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Saturday afternoon, after a mild and satisfying week, I watched a video about Tom Kenyon – “Song of the New Earth” – then turned off the computer and sat back to try to “tone” for the first time in years.
I’ve had amazing experiences with sound before, most notably when I went to hear Tuvan “throat singers” (shamans from Tuva, Siberia). I was seated directly in front of one of the didgeridoos, it’s base angled slightly away from me, and throughout the performance I experienced energy knots in my aura explode and dissipate away with the shamans’ sounds. Subtly, I turned, twisted, and bent to present different aspects of my energy field to the healing vibrations.
At one point in the video, Tom said something like:
“All can learn to use sound to be healers for ourselves and others.”
This, I knew, but I also knew immediately it was for me to embrace now.
When the video ended, I sat, intending to make sounds that simply felt good to me – a welcome change from “simple” meditation, which sometimes is so difficult, trying to keep a half-dozen minds quiet.
Immediately, a tone emerging from me felt like “it,” and I intuitively worked to “send it around” to different places in my head. On my second toning, I was surprised but pleased, to hear an overtone – the thing that had seemed next to impossible for me, since I’d tried this once many years ago. But now, my dozens of tonings resulted in two or three overtones every time after the first, and sending sounds to different places in my skull and aura around my head and throat and heart.
A few times, I experienced serious pain in my head and around my eyes, but didn’t think it was necessarily a bad thing. It lasted a short while, then seemed to “break through” something – an energy block from some old wound, I assumed – and I immediately began exploring new areas, always on the left side of my head. (The right side always felt open to sound; it’s the left side that’s always where “my stuff” is.)
Eventually, I found I’d not only made three tones at once, but I’d learned to move them around, make them break through blockages, and become more attractively harmonic!
This morning, I practiced toning again with Greg present, and maybe because I felt shy, I didn’t practice long and could only produce a single overtone – but he heard it! This thing I thought impossible I can do!
Something else in the video excited me immensely! In “Song for a New Earth,” Tom recounts a story from young adulthood in which he was mystically drawn into another dimension where he encountered strange beings who asked him if he will “sing the song of the new Earth.”
Being whisked into another dimension is a favorite theme of mine, of course – I love it when others share something that helps me understand my own similar “crazy” stuff. But I was totally unprepared to see an image – drawn by artists, presumably with Tom’s direction – that nearly perfectly depicts the environment of an extra-dimensional encounter I had in 1999.
I was still healing from the shock of remembering, five years earlier, childhood sexual abuse, but I’d not yet understood I’d also been a mind control subject. I prayed constantly for information that would help me understand my torment, and one day I was offered the opportunity to go into a terrifying place.
I was suddenly at the mouth of a cave that looked nearly identical to the one drawn for Tom Kenyon! He met an aboriginal man there twirling a fire stick. In a similar environment, I spoke with huge bats that seemed to be part of the cave’s dripstone, which in my vision were thicker so that they blocked more of the view inside than this depiction. One other difference is that the cave felt like the mouth of a living thing.
The bat people emerged from the living columns near the front where they encouraged me to enter and learn everything I wanted to know about what had happened to me – just what I’d been praying for for years. In wheedling, syrupy tones, they encouraged and terrified me.
Inside the cave I imagined – no, felt – a torture chamber or something equally repugnant, from which I might not find it easy or swift to return. One part of me tested the idea to “be brave” and enter the passage – but I decided to wait for knowledge and turned away.*
Tom, in his vision of the red cave with the aborigine, when asked whether he would sing the Song of the New Earth, answered he didn’t know. In this life, of course, his answer has been affirmative.
Watching the video, each time he answered that he didn’t know, I answered aloud, excitedly, “Yes!” and “I will!” Now, I’m curious to learn what it might mean.
It may – for me – mean simply more of what Greg and I already do – sing “good” songs – about love, friendship, home, community, nature, and cosmic mysteries, or the song-and-story sets we’re developing, especially my favorite “cosmic” set with songs of extra-dimensional travel and mystery by Bob Dylan, Jackson Brown, Neil Young, and so many others who write explicitly or hint about travel and beings in the multi-dimensional cosmos.
Of course, it’s more too.
I’ve long resonated with a vision I once read, of Earth’s humans, cooperative and aggressive, dividing into two dimensions of future Earth, divided according to their vibrations.
Not divided by doctrine, words, which have been used since the beginning of civilization to tell lies, but in vibrations. Each of us, human, mountain, and star, singing, harmonizing, creating the vibrating river of Song to the New Earth.
The rest of my week has been almost uneventful, except for one set of small suspicious wounds where the sun don’t shine and one unhappy personal encounter. We hosted friends for a small potluck-fire-music party one evening, which I love even though I usually get overwhelmed by the numbers of people and then unsure about myself in bouts, even among friends if there are a few, and more overwhelmed if there are a dozen. Worse, a stranger arrived with a friend I thought knew better and set off my alarms, distracting me off and on for the entirety of the party. Despite that, we’re feeling blessed and grateful for the gathering in our home!
I’ve decided to tell guests more clearly not to bring others. (Help?)
* I believe I’ve received enough of that information – in bits and pieces – over the years and, even so, it has often been nearly too much to handle. Everyone in healing: We really do need to be careful what we pray for, qualify our prayers [“Thy will be done”], and not push the river. Psychotic break-downs and suicide can result. Trust your Helping Spirit Family to guide and pace you in uncovering repressed information.
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What a pleasure to report nothing weird all week – except for two things positive!
One non-normal happening was my sighting of a series of – apparently – energetic beings in a storm cloud! Now, I’ve never seen this sort of thing before*, though I also would not automatically discount it. Still, I was very surprised to see an approaching storm cloud rolling our way suddenly “open up” – and an energetic being didn’t just appear, but sort of teasingly danced, as if to say, “You see me! I know you see me! Don’t pretend you don’t see me!”
When I silently accepted that, yes, I did see “her,” she disappeared into the cloud, and another spot in the cloud opened up to display another being with an entirely different energy. One after another, different beings with different energies displayed themselves, conveying to me that a storm cloud is filled with energies of all sorts, some ready to inflict damage on the land beneath, others ready to bless the land with rain.
How do I explain this? Years ago, I wrote an essay titled, “Paracelsus, Rudolph Steiner, and Aliens,” a summary of the best-selling author Peter Thompkins’ book The Secret Life of Nature: Living in Harmony with the Hidden World of Nature Spirits from Fairies to Quarks.
Below are two short paragraphs from that essay, which will explain why, until I’d seen these beings myself, I would not have immediately discounted the idea, despite our “rational” training in this culture:
Paracelsus gathered his data by going straight to his source, Nature, in which he steeped himself deeply. He also asked herbalists, faith healers, gypsies, hermits, witches and anyone else who claimed knowledge of the healing arts – aside from doctors – what they knew. He discovered that their lore had a form and structure which matched his own experiences of intelligent, immaterial beings working within nature. [my underline]
The rebel alchemist defined these spiritual intelligences as “elementals,” which he explained perform important tasks, that we in the first world today call “forces of nature.” These elementals are also identical with the beings that mystics and primitive societies call spirits of mountain, sea, storm, etc.
So, I’m honored to have been blessed with this small vision. (* And I now recall a similar experience from a decade ago, I’ll recount at the end.)
The second strange thing this week, just for the record: my left shoulder continues to feel highly sensitive, as it has for months, but the bruise (pictured here, near the former implant site) that had been there for over a year is finally entirely gone! And the implant removal injury, seen in the photo, is gone too.
Other than those two things, my sleep was “normal,” I found no marks on my body, and I enjoyed a lot of mundane pleasures: for one, my partner and I built the last section of fence around the house, including two gate handles hand-crafted from an oak branch.
* Regarding the similar storm cloud vision a decade ago (recounted in my book, RattleSnake Fire): I was sitting on the west-facing porch with my daughter and a friend, watching an Arizona sunset-storm, with clouds of charcoal gray filling the sky, rimmed with dramatic golds and reds.
Suddenly, we all gasped when two “eyes” simultaneously “opened up” to the northwest, glowing gold. The two eye-shaped spots opened together as if they had upper and lower lids, and after we’d all noticed them and expressed surprise, they closed together. A moment later, two identical “eyes” opened up about 20 degrees higher in the sky and, after we’d again exclaimed in astonishment at their similarity to the first two eyes, they too closed.
The next thing we knew, my daughter stood up, saying she wanted to go inside. I recognized she was uncomfortable, which I attributed to the mystical nature of the “eyes.” I stood up to follow her, saying, “It means something. I know it means something.”
Having turned to go inside, now facing south, I noticed the next strange thing – but the whole event doesn’t make sense unless we accept that we’d all had “missing time”: A new opening in the clouds to the south caused us to gasp again, but this time, instead of light shining through, we saw the dark,starry sky. (Had an hour or more of time passed, for which we had no memory?)
The opening was just a long strange-shaped crack – exactly the shape to show just the stars of Scorpio, but no other stars! I knew this was an omen, and stood in amazement while the others hurried inside. I did not know that Scorpio is often a sign of death; I only knew that the sting was hurtful. “Something painful has happened,” I said, adding, “something to do with a shaman” – the last words I had no idea why I’d said them, except that I’d felt them.
The next day, we got the message that a friend had died in a tragic car accident that night, in Washington state – to the northwest, the direction of the eyes. Within a few days, I’d also learn that she’d spent the last year traveling in Mexico, living and training with a shaman and a midwife, and people were beginning to call her a shaman.
In short, yes, I believe we can get signs everywhere (from truthful spirits and tricksters – so beware). And I’m grateful to have received these playful messages this week, reminding me.
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~ Twelve years flirting ~ Amazing changes since I quit
Twelve years of flirting with “shamanic practice.” I wouldn’t recommend it.
Opening doors to the other dimensions, or recognizing that they were opened somehow, as was my case, and then not acting decisively about it is dangerous. I’ve documented how dangerous it is all over this site, on pages and posts.
It has nearly killed me more times than I can tell, and nearly made me crazy. And that’s how shamanic initiations are described in all the literature. But that doesn’t mean it’s “wrong.” Perhaps our path is to explore this danger.
Sometimes we just stand there like a deer in the headlights, asking, “What is this? Is this real? Should I go right or left? Do I believe what I’ve been told about these things? Are there other ways to interpret what I’ve heard about things like this? What does my heart say? Is it dangerous just because it’s mind blowing? Might it be good? Can I just watch and think and not act quickly?”
Meanwhile, the thing is storming down on you or has already taken you – where?
So after twelve years, feeling somewhat fortunate to be “chosen” or to have attained this awareness of the multiple dimensions, I’ve decided to not just “keep an open mind” to whatever comes through those portals, but to choose. And I believe that’s the point.
Yeshiva – (I meant to write, and thought I wrote “Yeshua,” but I wrote this interesting derivation! Wonder where that came from….
I’ve chosen to connect and align with the only spiritual being whom I have ever felt kinship with, who hasn’t mystified me: Yeshua.
When I was a teen, I heard a youth minister recount some stories in which Christ came down squarely on the side of non-violence, non-sexism, non-racism, non-materialism, and anti-doctrine.
(Posts about my struggle with “Jesus” are under the category Yeshua/Jesus, to the right.)
Since making this decision (finally, or again?), and following it up by removing all the cluttering shamanic paraphernalia from the house (and allowing certain items back later, though to different, less prominent places), some wonderful changes have come about:
First, I’ve had no more horrendous experiences of waking bruised, burned, or biopsied with mysterious, debilitating exhaustion. Done. Gone!
Second, I’ve felt and followed the need to “clear energy” (clutter of various sorts) everywhere throughout the house, from the storage room, to my bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, sunroom, and closets.
Not obsessively; just every few days I feel inspired, and it’s been easy and fun! And the energy change is palpable, for both myself and my partner. And interesting spiritual understandings have come about in the process. Life is becoming productive again.
This is not to denounce shamanism (at least I don’t claim to know enough to say for sure).
But I feel fairly confident about this: just because the portals open and a friend suggests it might be one’s initiation doesn’t mean one is actually called or that it is a good call to answer.
Shamanic practice is an interesting phrase, used by those who want to explore the multiple dimensions – which I believe is a righteous desire but, after twelve years of going it alone, I’ll say its dangerous without a guide, and even with a guide it can be dangerous. Just read Carlos Castaneda or any of this team of initiates.
I don’t believe I need any “practice,” which is probably why I resisted it so consistently. Everything in my life tells me that I came into this world with “my lights on,” understanding the portals and extra-dimensional beings very well even in childhood – though I had to pretend not to know, to please my family.
Mind control tried further to convince me that I didn’t know, so I set aside what I knew and tried to be “open” in this realm we call shamanic. Not good.
While I was “practicing” (or trying and failing to be diligent to the practice), I failed to learn the lessons that should have been easy because I was trying to see something others said they saw. I’d been encouraged to make myself blind!
Finally, a few weeks ago, frustrated and seriously afraid (see this page if you wonder why), I realized Yeshua is the only spiritual being I have ever had a deep feeling for, so – regardless that he and his teachings have been perverted in church doctrine (little of which I believe) and made a mockery of on TV – he, the real Being, is my Chief, my Guide, my Counselor.
He’s the first one I speak to each morning, and the last one I speak to each evening, and I stay in touch throughout the day. That’s the extent of my “shamanic” (multi-dimensional) practice today.
And life is no longer crazy.
I assume there are many, different Guides, one (or more) for each of us. Find your spiritual connection/s. Trust yourself. Don’t let cultural lies get in the way. Develop the relationship. We need help here. Can’t go it alone.
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I mean no disrespect to shamanic practitioners, but I have just become aware of how unproductive, and maybe spiritually vulnerable, that attempted practice has been for me. Yesterday, I stood at my alter, before an overwhelming clutter of totems of various animals that have played a significant role in my life, many totems of some of them, and felt a cacophony of guilt in my head for not being more disciplined about staying in connection with each of them, as is supposedly my responsibility if I want to accept their gifts. But I have failed in that responsibility again and again.
Yeshiva – (I meant to write, and thought I wrote “Yeshua,” but I wrote this interesting derivation! Wonder where that came from….
And I had tremendous guilt about not acknowledging Yeshua more, whom I consider my spiritual leader, my tribal chief – but I hate the images of him painted in our culture by obnoxious evangelists and corrupt doctrine-writers, so unlike my image of him as the counter-culture, anti-materialist, love and peace prophet. And since the foundation of my programming was done in churches with all that other religious iconography and his “name” – JEEZ-suz – being used (American South rendering of the Greek translation of his Hebrew name). (And I’ll save for later the story of how a “Christian” church helped my abusive husband take my kids from me for two years.) So my picture of Yeshua has him in a lotus pose, in saffron robes, flowers in a necklace, surrounded by lotus flowers, his heart open, wounded and shining, a crown of thorns on his head, a halo, a hand sign of peace, a gesture to the heart, and a look of calm sincerity. (It came from a magazine cover, and I’ll appreciate if anyone can help me with the source – I’d like to credit it and the artist.)
I also like this portrait of him. His counsel regarding prayer: “Pray alone.” I like that. Feels most real to me.
So yesterday, I stood before my altar, hands at prayer pose, namaste, feeling very real with him, confused about who I am and how I’m doing, a racket of other voices – or my imagination of them – telling me I’m a bad shamanic practitioner and I can’t keep up any discipline. Suddenly, I realized I didn’t have to. Yes, I’d really believed I was strong enough to accept the shamanic initiation invitation, and I’d told myself, “Once the doors are opened, you can’t shut them” – and that’s true – but I had assumed that that meant I had to use those shamanic practices to keep my bearings in that world. Suddenly I realized that, even though I was invited, and that means the doors have been opened, I don’t have to play by their rules, i.e., shamanism. Yes, I’ve had many amazing, sublime shamanic experiences, but I don’t feel the need to sit in counsel with animal spirits. I believe the animal spirits, trees spirits, insect spirits, and all the elementals and devas and intelligences of every sort in this Ocean of Spirit can come to my aid, and they will when called, but I will take my counsel in prayer with Yeshua. And I realized all those totems were way to much visual noise. I kept a few things to remind me of special events, but those very few are scattered now around the house. My eagle feather hangs in a tree, where it probably likes it better. And Yeshua is uncrowded in the center of my wall.
Oh, my Lord, I can’t tell you what an energy rush that was to remove everything!! Once I began, it was like an avalanche: many, many items now sit out in the sunroom awaiting separation into piles of gifts, piles of things to throw away, and things to sell. (I’m not assuming these things are wrong for someone else, and thereby am recycling them for someone else’s life lessons.) The clearing in here is palpable!
Last night, we talked about some things I’d thought we’d never be able to face, but we did. We hardly slept last night, both racked to our souls, and today we both feel clean and clear and dedicated to love and creative living. What a relief!
At one point I sobbed, “I feel like I’ve been in a balloon, tossed around in a harrowing storm for 21 years, and I just touched ground safely.
Another image appeared of an abscess lanced, gaping open, being flushed out. Relief.
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I have memories of leaving Mormon “Children’s Church” in a state of vile hatred, glancing back with a scowl that couldn’t be dark enough. No memory of what that was about, but I guess it had something to do with ritual.
As a young adult wannabe-Jesus-hippie in various mainstream Christian churches, I always wondered if the minister or choir soloist really felt what they were emoting with this audience, or if it ever became just ritual and they were acting. I thought it a terrible responsibility to have to perform like that on schedule.
When I was coerced into trying out a college sorority (to prove I wasn’t “judging them without really knowing them” [I’d called them “plastic”]) and then succumbed to a charade designed personally for each specially-sought “Rec” (recommendation, which I also then learned I’d been), and was initiated into the secret society, I either went into a trance spontaneously, or else they put me, or us all, in one. I remember nothing of the initiation ceremony, but for a split-second flash. This was the culmination of the entire year for most all the young women there, yet I had no memory but for a flash.
The split-second flash involved our chapter president in a red satin choir-type robe, holding a book open in one hand, while lifting her other hand in a gesture, a confident, almost beatific expression on her face, a candle lit somewhere, red drapes behind her. Everyone else I could see was standing in rows, all dressed in red robes. I went home like everyone else for the summer and wrote them a letter of “de-activation.”
I don’t feel as able to participate in ritual and have real thoughts when following someone else.
It’s not the ritual itself; it’s the fact that others are involved (Jesus said, “Pray alone”) and how the ritual is created.
When my sister told the family she had a very aggressive brain cancer, confirmed by two oncologists, I was afraid to test my ability to pray and my worthiness to have my prayers answered. Each night, I felt guilty for not believing in myself, and felt I should pick up the brightly-clattering Tarahumara rattle I had, but was too embarrassed to pretend I had any right to perform anything like a ritual with it – though I thought I did have the right. I imagined invisible spirits around me who would smirk at my efforts, maybe worse. So I cast off a casual prayer each night and ignored the idea that I should do more.
On the third night, before blowing out the candle, I stopped and my hand reached out for the rattle. Energy coursed through my body with firm intention. Calm, self-possessed, powerful, someone, not me, performed the ritual, and I yielded and took note. We shook the rattle and called in power from the four directions, and called on two spirit animals that I’d had experiences with and one that I’d just read about, but who was necessary in this situation. We sent the trio to my sister with specific instructions, wound up the ritual, and set down the rattle. I was impressed, pleased, and not afraid at all that a healing might not happen. Two days later, my sister wrote the family that the cancer was suddenly no longer there.
I was forced to perform another ritual when my partner seemed to being dying of a chemical dousing after he’d been handing out papers on chemtrails. We woke one morning to find a chemtrail jet flying low, directly over our house. Then he discovered two dogs (never seen before and never seen since) ripping the wall of his art studio teepee from bottom to top, which he would need to repair that day, as a storm was predicted the next. He worked outside all day while I stayed in.
Over the course of five days, he became lethargic and began to have blood in his urine. When I looked at it through a ten-power lens, I saw needle-like formations covered with white globs. He began to sleep a lot and eventually became unconscious and unable to speak more than a single word every hour or so. Neither of us trust doctors, so going to the hospital was not discussed, though I did ask him once when it seemed very dire. He hissed, “No!”
I used a deck of Herbal Tarot cards, hoping to read about an herb I could use, but instead I drew a very rare herb, but the card depicted a shamaness, and I felt the message was to step into this role. I sat sullenly, waiting for more direction.
Finally I accepted Asante’s one-word plea to conduct a healing ritual: “Rattle.” I had to force myself, and shut up the voices in my head telling me I was stupid, stupid, stupid, had no right, no training, didn’t know what I was doing, etc. But as I focused, circled inside the house, began my prayers, and shook the rattle, I felt a healing spirit come in and teach me.
Shaking the rattle over Asante’s body, prone on the sofa, I felt an energetic heaviness that seemed to be breaking up, so I rattled and cast the heaviness toward the door on the west. When one arm was tired, I rattled with the other. He made a single noise of relief, so I kept on until both arms were too weary. Then I set down the rattle and sat to simply imagine the heaviness moving away. When I fell asleep, he grunted for help, and I woke to resume the ritual of lifting up and casting away the heaviness. When he was able to speak the next day, he said it had been like being under a pile of boulders, entirely helpless to free himself, and suddenly I was lifting off the boulders and he saw light.
It was a huge lesson for me: the world is amazing, and even I, reluctant I, can be used to work miracles. But of course – Christ said we would do “all this [healings] and more.”
But I didn’t want the responsibility to do it again. I didn’t want the criticisms I had of myself – stupid, no right, etc – to come at me from others.
But that’s mind control, the cultural sort that tells us we can’t do things, and if we think we can, we are especially stupid and to be ridiculed.
And even though I know I’ve been mind-controlled worse than others, it’s so deeply embedded in me that I have a hard time acting on what I know. Things I know like: We can heal ourselves.
So I’ve done only one other healing ritual. My cousin has multiple myloma and has outlived the “6 months to live” prediction by ten or fifteen years now! He came to visit Asante and me, and someone suggested we do a healing shamanic journey. No one had any dramatic experiences that I recall; I had the impulse to spend my time bathing his skeleton with loving energy, which I did. He’s still on this plane, blessing everyone, a walking miracle, with or without our help.
One of the most dramatic experiences happened when I’d done no ritual. On the way back from Hawaii, just a day after my amazing experience with the dolphins in Kealekakua Bay, I sat next to a woman on the plane who said she was in terrible pain. I asked if I could touch her shoulder, meaning to give it a gentle massage, but instead just laid my hand on the muscle to feel it first. She turned to me in sudden, visible relief and said, “Are you a healer?” I answered, with fear, “I don’t know.”
A few weeks later, I got over my fear and accepted an invitation to be trained and certified in a healing modality, but never practiced it. It felt like a recipe, not intuitive.
New Moon sweat lodge rituals I participated in years ago were spontaneous and different each time, though with just enough ritual framework to keep everyone respectfully focused. I loved those gatherings.
And once I invited friends to our house for a Full Moon celebration with a “Grand Cross” in the sky, supporting something that was happening for Asante and me: we were splitting up. We had already invited friends over when we realized the correlation between the sky signs that evening and our break-up, so we agreed to at least talk about it in the fire circle. As the day drew near, a fun ritual idea bubbled up between us, and that evening, everyone surprised us by joining in, making announcements and commitments for all the things each person intended to release to make room in their lives for whatever was now most important. It was a powerful evening, with tears, cheers, laughter, and major life visions announced. Ritual can be wonderful when it happens spontaneously – at least, that seems best for me.
The last couple of weeks, I made a renewed commitment to my “shamanic” or “medicine practice,” but the commitment didn’t last. In the last few days I’ve “quit” a few activities, and today I dropped all my “practice” too, and just sat. Didn’t even light a candle. Just sat and concentrated on my Self and my connection to spirit family and guides. Then I did what I felt like in that moment: read my journal and picked up some long-ignored Tarot cards – which gave me the most insightful direction I’ve received in a very long time.
Then I wrote down these words:
(Mine [others invent your own]: Go to the garden for grounding, healing, surrounding. Reaffirm all spirit helpers. Reaffirm Self on this Amazing Path, surrounded by Help. Listen….)
Question: What feels real to you, but you don’t do because you’ve been taught it’s “weird”? That’s exactly what you should do. Talk to yourself. Massage yourself. Treat yourself to time. Listen to yourself. Protect yourself. Heal yourself. Talk to plants and animals. Listen to them. Talk to your dearly departeds. Talk to your ancestors. Talk to your angels and spirit guides (decide whom you want to talk to). Discern! Be grateful. Act.
This is my new, personal shamanism. Sometimes I’ll pick up a rattle. Often I’ll light a candle. Always, I’ll be real and in the moment.
And sometimes ritual will flow through.
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[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”?
First, 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.
Many 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.
After 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
and won’t leave us alone – as shaman Black Elk described in his biography.)
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?
I’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.
I 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?
Here’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, 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.”)
Our 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.
Silver City, NM
August 9, 2014
Please share if you find this information important!
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.
Please share if you find this information important!
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.
Some 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.
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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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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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
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It’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.
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A few years back, I read about how one tribe supported any members who’d experienced traumatic events. The people traumatized would tell their stories to the entire tribe at night around the campfire. Later they would tell their stories again, remembering more details, describing them as fully as needed. Finally, they would tell their stories a third and last time, making whatever conclusions had become apparent, and afterward no one would ever speak of the traumas again.
The people could leave their traumatic stories behind forever. They would be given new names, indicating the strengths of character they had gained.
Since reading that, I’ve often reflected on how trauma is handled in our culture. We have too fluid a culture, no campfire, no way to share our stories. The result is that we can’t let our stories go, and have to live through telling them again and again.
Or if we quit telling them, then in a fluid society, we can never be known for the fullness of what weíve experienced.
And with storytelling lost, the generations lose powerful wisdom.
I yearn for a tribe to hear my story, then support me in letting it go. I hope, as I publish this for others to read, maybe I’ll have found the best solution for our modern, tribe-less times.
On one of the last days before printing this book, I picked up Carlos Castaneda’s The Art of Dreaming, which I hadn’t opened in seven years. In the early pages, I read what don Juan said about the old sorcerers and the new.
“Sorcery,” as he used the term, is not the evil that common “Western culture” says it is; it is seeing and working with the multi-dimensional world, the same as many of the prophets have tried to wake us up to see.
He said the old sorcerers invented the structures of working with other dimensions, but focused too much on technique and took advantage of their influence over others (which is why we consider sorcerers evil). Castaneda wrote,
“Modern sorcerers, by contrast, don Juan portrayed as men [and women] renowned for their sound minds and their capacity to rectify the course of sorcery if they deemed it necessary. [My italics]
Don Juan went on to say, “I personally detest the darkness and morbidity of the mind.”
As Iíve researched government mind control and related topics, I often come across theories that the underground, renegade Network, the cabal, is not simply slipping over the edge of good judgment, politics gone too far, but has been aligned for eons with the dark side of spirit.
If the evil of the underground Network is sorcery of a sort – and I’ll argue it is (the evil type our culture believes, only not ascribed to the correct people) – then our work at this time on this planet is to rectify its course.
Many religions tell of the cycle of evil having its time, which will end, and is predicted by many to be soon.
And many spiritual traditions say it will require some effort from us. So it feels timely to hear this call now and to believe we can work miracles. We obviously need to end torture, wars, and thoughtless materialism stripping and poisoning the planet.
We need to do nothing less than rectify the course of this sorcery.
To do this, I believe we must reclaim our vision and power as a species existing in multiple dimensions. Many species on our planet have evolved and disappeared when they couldn’t meet a challenge, and that’s a real, and natural, possibility for us.
Each challenge of evolution requires a new response, usually attended by a refreshed worldview . We humans are facing such a challenge now, and we need to revisit our worldviews to see if they actually represent our reality, as Terrence KcKenna challenged: If our worldview doesn’t match our reality, we must be prepared to change our worldviews, and see anew.
Opening our eyes to another world is difficult, I know because I stayed blind to parts of it, at least, for most of my life. Even after I thought I was aware, I continued to think it was a meaningless coincidence that I’d had ET contact and was also harassed by elements within the government, I thought, for being an environmental activist.
It seemed unfortunate and embarrassing because both were ridiculed (contact called impossible and government harassment paranoid), so I kept both mostly to myself and was thereby effectively silenced. It took me until the final day I was completing this book to realize consciously that, not only were political activists being monitored, but so were contactees, and both were subject to well-organized ridicule campaigns.
While I knew contactees were ridiculed, I hadn’t realized it was an organized campaign until I read Michael Salla’s article on “Galactic COINTELPRO.”
While I’d known contactees conveyed messages about our environmental situation and the dangers of nuclear war, both of which threaten our corporations and their minions in the government, I’d naively failed to draw a connection between that and the monitoring and harassment I’d experienced.
Just as the decades of ET/UFO ridicule had made me believe the subject of contact was silly before it happened to me, after it happened to me I still thought it too silly to interest the government – even though I knew some of the aliens’ messages of environmental responsibility impinged on our government’s ideas of national security and corporate freedom, and even though I’d seen a similar pattern up close, in the lies told about Judi Bari.
I didn’t want to see the pattern again, just as I suspect most of my environmental activist colleagues won’t want to hear about this. They won’t want to degrade their noble causes with something so “ridiculous” as alien contact, just as I was offended when the MKULTRA activist brought her fliers to the Judi Bari rally at the courthouse. “Divide and conquer” remains a powerful strategy.
Even in the ET/UFO community, some UFO researchers refuse to consider the claims of contactees, not wanting to be aligned with what they fear will lose them credibility. But if UFO researchers understood fully that the media is thoroughly controlled by the underground cabal, theyíd realize their research will never be accepted, no matter how narrowly present their cases, so their withdrawal from contactees only hurts those with messages that might actually contribute to all our understanding.
According to polls, a high percentage of American people know they are being told lies about this and other related subjects; they just don’t understand why. With the Why unanswered, people return their attention to their TVs and working to pay off their credit cards, as the underground cabal hopes they will.
I believe we can compellingly answer Why would the government lie about this? with the messages offered by contactees.
The fact that the messages are mixed shouldn’t deter, as we need to remember that the message senders are a mix – and that’s an important reality of our world to understand. We live in a cosmic ocean, and the delight of dolphins doesn’t negate the danger of sharks, and visa versa.
The messages weíve received, particularly those encouraging us to be environmentally responsible and end the nuclear arms race, will not only help open people’s eyes to a wider reality, but prompt actions of responsibility, none too soon. Only after that, can the implementation of clean “ET” technology possibly be utilized.
Whereas UFO research, sans abductee testimony, will not likely pave the way, regardless that it’s considered an easier media sell.
Contactee messages, on the other hand, speak to the human heart, of human responsibility, and they answer the Why: Responsible citizenry and total corporate control over our culture are mutually exclusive, and the people from other dimensions have been trying to tell us something like this for thousands of years.
C.B. Scott Jones told the Hawaii conference, in so many words, that he, as a Christian, wouldn’t be surprised if Jesus returned in a spacecraft. Many people laughed, and I understood their reaction.
I’m not sure all extra-dimensional beings require ships to enter this realm. but I think I know what he’s aiming at. As I adjust my attitudes toward the prophets of all religions (though I’m most familiar with Jesus/Yeshua), their teachings have taken on new meaning.
Today I suspect that what some people call shamanic is simply the activities of those conversant with a multi-dimensional world, like the miracles Yeshua said we’d perform (“all these things and more”).
It’s probably unfortunate that we in the “First World” use this word shamanic, as it implies these skills are exotic and rare, rather than our human destiny.
On the other hand, he also said, “The first shall be last” – and we’re living in the First World. So it no longer surprises me that we’re the last to know about extra-dimensional life.
Yeshua also said “heaven” was not assured by correct doctrine, but by having one’s heart connect with Spirit. How we can connect with Spirit when our days are filled with false experiences provided by the media, I don’t know.
How we can survive as a species when we choose to perceive our own environment through the lens of corporate entertainment is a deeply disturbing question, of cosmic proportions, one that many contactees have tried to weigh in on.
(John Mack’s work has the most condensed and powerful accounts.)
Mack noted in Passport to the Cosmos that researchers Norman S. Don and Gilda Moura reported in the Journal of Scientific Exploration that
“when an abduction is being relived or remembered, a frontal-lobe hyperarousal pattern is found by electroencephalogram (EEG) similar to that seen only in advanced spiritual meditators.”
Obviously something unusual is going on, beyond anyone’s imagination or fantasy, which warrants our respectful attention.
Since contactees speak passionately of Spirit and responsibility, it behooves us not to dismiss them in favor of debunking and corporate hypnotism.
(It encourages me that all the TVs of the world could be turned off tomorrow, ending this spiritual pollution without any infrastructure change or a single act of civil disobedience.)
As for the Network, even it has potential for transformation. Inside are people who’ve been trapped, the minions whose intention may never have been to be part of the darkness, who don’t know how to free themselves. They are a majority (though they may not know it) and as such, they sit in key places to do good.
They’re already doing it, judging by the useful paperwork leaked out and other paperwork disappeared (according to activists Iíve known). They only need to act when it’s their time.
And they will, because it’s in their best interests. If they don’t, they know they’ll be the next food; so they’ll act.
Whatever our connection to the minions, though it might sometimes be painful, it’s a wondrous dance: They make us see. We learn, and awaken.
And we go on, finding strength wherever it lies for us.
Rob Brezsny writes in Pronoia: An antidote to Paranoia:
This is a perfect moment – because you and I are waking up from our sleepwalking, thumb-sucking, dumb-clucking collusion with the masters of illusion and destruction.
Thanks to them, from whom the painful blessings flow, we are waking up.
As heaven and earth come together, as the dreamtime and daytime merge, we register the shockingly exhilarating fact that we are in charge of creating a brand new world.
As we stand on this brink, as we dance on this verge, we can’t let the ruling fools of the dying world sustain their curses. We have to rise up and fight their insane logic; defy, resist, and prevent their tragic magic; unleash our sacred rage and supercharge it.
In the new world we’re gestating, we need to be suffused with lusty compassion and ecstatic duty, ingenious love and insurrectionary beauty.
So what will it be? The fearful paradigms of post-apocalyptic Hollywood? They’re only caricatures of what we have already.
How about, when things crash, you simply chose your contribution to your community? Do you want to be a carpenter? A gardener? A baker? A tailor? An innkeeper? A sailor? A fisher? A butcher? A forager or herbalist? A home builder?
Go to your heart, and choose.
Then barter for everything you can, to create a local economy.
A little afraid? Turn up the dial on your intuition, and remember that the past does not determine the future.
Give yourself permission to move away from those who make you nervous. Then move, blessing yourself and them.
All the dance is purposeful.
Thank you for being part of my campfire. It heals me. And I pray it will help to heal others.
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When I set out to become a hermit, I thought it would be more Zen-like, with occasional overwhelming states of bliss when I walked somewhere in nature.
Instead I experienced what is typically described by shamans around the world: I was grabbed by demons, stripped, terrorized, brought to the brink of death repeatedly, dipped in shit, fooled, tricked, and laughed at. (All anthologies of shamanic lore recount a similar list of experiences.)
I’ve apologized for myself for decades now, explaining that I wasn’t properly socialized in the first place – and then I went through this. In the jungle, it would be understood. In America, it’s not. But here I am.
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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.
I’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.
I 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.
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