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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Research has led me to one site that links Morgellon’s to, not only strange, colorful fibers, but also a fungus-like growth called “biofilm,” with plastic properties, which covers the skin. It is extremely strong, does not look like skin, and I cannot remove it.
One writer called it part of a “cyborgian” evolution the Controllers of the Planet are technologically enforcing on us, with some of their former subjects now being used as first test subjects for this. Crazy, huh?
I was trying to remove the film with dermabrasives, enzymes, baking soda, and vinegar; nothing works. It’s like I have plastic all over me.
Biofilm? – covers my face and seems to be beginning to “shine” all over me, reflecting light when photographing, as if my skin were plastic).
It doesn’t show to the naked eye, and seems to be a matrix for other things growing through it.
Fungus on the skin leads to cancer – according to another author – and some of cancer images I found online look like some of the thousands of weird things I’ve photographed on me, like these little red raspberries, which the site identified as a “fast-growing” cancer, and which I’ve photographed about six times on my scalp. Hmmmm. [A glitch in cyborg design to kill their product?]
I’ve spent lots of money on supplements and herbs and organized it all into a daily routine. I’ve always kept sugar to a tiny fraction of the standard American diet, but – it’s weird – I’ve been craving it. I recall I’d read long ago that microorganisms can actually convince our brains that we need something like sugar, and so I’ve been struggling with that – so yesterday I emptied most of the sugar out of the camper and gave it away.
I’m scrubbing (as much as I have energy for) and sunning (when the weather’s good and I’m feeling well), and praying (when I “can”), but I am not certain I’m getting better.
I can’t get help from the medical establishment because doctors don’t want to talk about this “controversial” disease. Why? Well, history says doctors have often been involved in top-secret experiments, and they certainly act like it now.
Each one who learns I have a digital microscope and can record my photos and watch my progress has seemed a little perturbed, as if now they know they can’t bullshit me in the usual way. No one yet, MD or ND, has acted normal, except for the one who honestly said, “This stuff scares me. I need to refer you out.” So.
Yesterday the News announced that hospitals across the nation are now short-staffed and their space overwhelmed, and so all other medical care will be compromised – and for example they mentioned people with chronic diseases – like cancer.
Is this whole thing designed to execute Kissinger’s prophetic statement about our world needing a 95% die-off?
So they invented something to mostly kill the old and infirm. Strategically, that would make sense and be a good start. Better than war. Plague.
I’m over sixty, so Kissinger would have me die. No doctor will give me a blood test to begin any internal treatment. So, I’m wondering if I’m supposed to go soon.
I’m in the pristine, pure desert though! Only have to spend a couple hours in town, one trip each week, to empty my tanks, shower, get water, buy groceries, maybe visit the library, then back to the desert to relax and watch the birds.
And scrub, prepare good food, take my medicines, rub stuff on me, enjoy camp mates from a distance, enjoy solitude, and wonder if I’m really supposed to try to heal this biofilm and fibers and spirochetes.
(So daunting! They’re elated to syphilis! – shades of the syphilis experiment they did for a decade on the Black men of Tuskeegee – the experiment for which the government was shamed into finally admitting and paying settlements. At it again, this time with activists.)
And keep on trying to heal myself as a mind control subject too? Sheesh.
Or (that was just one alter talking) heal myself through prayer? Ask Jesus to heal me? (I have been.)
Maybe this is when I’ll be pushed to such absolute lows that I’ll trigger some strength or knowing and transform myself into something new, spiritual, and healed – ?
Seems like a pretty big order for an old lady, which I’m really beginning to feel these days, grunting and huffing sometimes just to move around.
Feels like, if Kissinger wants 95% to die, I can’t think of much of a reason to say it shouldn’t be me. Ya know?
But I’ll definitely ask that friends and family keep me out of the hospitals! Away from doctors! But let my friends with healing talents come sit with me, help me deal with pain.
The deadly part of this disease is the spirochetes. (That’s why I’ve been so focused on getting a blood test.) They invade the brain, nervous system, and heart. I hope the heart is attacked first.
But if it’s my brain, we’ll have other issues, and I pray for everyone’s kindness, and again to be kept away from doctors or anyone who could be pretending to help but really be another targeter.
That’s why, for awhile, I was thinking the coronavirus might be a faster way to go. But I’m not chasing it – and I no longer believe it’s actually a virus causing the problem. And I don’t believe I’ll live or die according to what I do; I believe my controllers will decide.
Further, I am not philosophically persuaded that I understand everything in this multi-dimensional world well enough to make that sort of radical decision, to die or not. When my angels or family and friends over there make themselves known to me and call me over, then maybe.
Till then, I’ll sit in the beautiful desert or forest, greet the trees and flowers and birds each day, and move when the weather persuades me.
My YouTube channel has videos of my Morgellon’s at:
We’re preparing for a concert in which we’ll sing this amazing song, “‘Rebel Jesus,” which I’d love to share with you as my Friday Random Beauty offering.
The lyrics, by Jackson Browne, are amazing. As John Nichols wrote in The Nation: “Browne’s lyrics, world-weary and wry in their observations yet warm in their delivery, offer an ancient antidote to the dispiriting crush of commerce, the tyranny of schedules and the theft of meaning that can crowd the better angels of our nature at Christmas:”
(Below I’ll paste a link to a video of Jackson Browne singing it.)
All the streets are filled with laughter and light
And the music of the season
And the merchants’ windows are all bright
With the faces of the children
And the families hurrying to their homes
As the sky darkens and freezes
They’ll be gathering around their hearths and tables
Giving thanks for all God’s graces
And the birth of the rebel Jesus
Well they call him by the prince of peace
And they call him by the savior
And they pray to him upon the seas
And in every bold endeavor
As they fill his churches with their pride and gold
And their faith in him increases
But they’ve turned the nature that I worshipped in
~ 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.
Please share if you find this information important!
[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
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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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We are only half-creating our “own” evolution; someone else is tending us as their garden. Sometimes the gardener really rips things up. But we’re more than plants to these gardeners; we’re also their children, carrying some of their DNA. (Just like Jesus said, calling us his children. He also called himself our shepherd and us his sheep, like it or not – another religious metaphor that fits the theory perfectly.)
In my life, I’ve had a few experiences of Jesus, more real than anything I know today. And now I know he’s my tribal leader in the cosmos, my chief, my spiritual help and guide, my teacher. His teachings include the wisdom that heaven should be sought within.
His American name though! I war with it all the time. Jesus is the Americanized version of the Greek translation of Yeshua. The translation would be okay, but it is also made a mockery of by TV evangelists, it’s used as curse, and, more to the heart of things, I was abused under that name.
I’ve tried a few times to go to church, but pews, even the semblance of pews with folding chairs, make me sick. And the name rings in my head with bad memories.
But the man who warned us away from sexism, violence, materialism, racism, and doctrine – he’s my Chief, brother, comrade, friend, compatriot, and fellow-warrior.
1) percentage of population which believes, but won’t publicly enter into discussion on, numerous things that affect them in political, social, economic, psychological, health, and other ways, but instead chose to be silent and let themselves and others suffer, and
2) people who think it’s absolutely true that we are the “freest” and thereby most fortunate people on the planet.
I hate to quote the Bible, because I believe it is a compendium of politically-sanctioned trivia with mostly political intent for the spiritual “truths” included; nevertheless, there are gems in it. And I love it when my years as an idealistic young “radical Christian” recall a scripture that makes my body resonate with wonderful recognition.
This is one of those scriptures, very simple: ”The first shall be last.”
I trust in that.
And I ‘m grateful to the prophet and teacher who tried to teach people on this planet how to live peacefully.
(I diverge from mainstream “Christians” in that I don’t believe that Jesus died, or saved or ransomed our souls by dying. I don’t “know,” but I like the story that the famous rabbi didn’t die or was somehow resurrected and returned to teach in the East where he first learned from Hindu and Buddhist holy men who received you into his land when he avoided marriage in his home town of Nazareth by leaving to visit the magi who’d visited him at his birth. [There’s wonderful evidence of this. See the movie, “Jesus in India” by Paul Davids and Edward T. Martin.])
I have no doctrine beyond a few phrases you might glean here.
I consider myself of the tribe of Yeshua.
When I first heard a few Bible stories told by a youth minister in the basement of a local church, in a crowd of young wannabe hippies, all sitting on carpet samples and scraps sewn together – stories against racism, sexism, violence, and materialism – my heart opened in a way I’d never felt, as though these ideas, never demonstrated in the life in which I’d always felt so strange, were written in my bones, and somehow these ideas had triggered an intelligence in me that was not of this life but reminded me who I was in a more infinite manner than in this Earth life, not in concept, but in body sensation.
Something opened up, and I knew this was my teacher, not by rational decision, though my mind was jazzed as well, but because it felt as though it had always been.
I believe Yeshua, Chief of my tribe, is returning. And the “harvest” is in process.
Resonate with whom you are, concentrating on your idea of you.
In this way, your cosmic tribe will find you.
Find yourself. Find your tribe.
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