Sorry about this one too:
I don’t keep up with all the news i this subject – don’t have the energy – so I just learned that Ted Gunderson was poisoned two years ago.
Sorry about this one too:
I don’t keep up with all the news i this subject – don’t have the energy – so I just learned that Ted Gunderson was poisoned two years ago.
So sorry to pass this along, but it’s well documented:
I have been extremely ambivalent about talking publicly about MY mind control. I came to understand it in 2002, and only gained control of my fear by documenting my actual experiences daily and comparing them to the documentation of researchers, therapists and other mind control subjects which has been gathered for decades – confirming that I have, indeed, been the victim of this crime for my entire life.
I have not reported it to police because they are often in on it, and my first attempt to report a stalker at my home in 2000 was met with ridicule and absolute denial by the local sheriff despite physical evidence. I have reported my mysterious wounds to at least a half-dozen medical personnel, presenting both photographs and my own body for their inspection, and they – who have the legal professional duty to report crimes like this to the police – also seem afraid, and none has ever mentioned the possibility that this should be reported.
I have had my home broken into, a portable door lock broken the second day it was used. I have woken with Taser burns on my arms, burns other places on my body, injection bruises (twice a week for over a year), “donut” bruises, biopsy scoop marks, vaginal lacerations and punctures, other sexual irritations indicating rape, apparent “implants,” and much more (photos elsewhere on this site).
These physical wounds are almost always accompanied by extreme exhaustion and disability that can last from 1 to 13 days. And the frequency was increasing until very recently. Occasionally I’ve been apparently left alone for a few months, but for most of the last six years (since I produced a video about my mind control), I’ve been harassed in the night (and sometimes the day) and made amnesic about it almost every month, usually multiple times every month, resulting the past year in about 15 days per month with symptoms – until this month. Maybe I’m just getting a break? Maybe it’s over? I never know.
There seems to be a pattern of choosing people for mind control from certain families. My family lineage includes Masons, Mormons, military, and people associated with the government – common among MK subjects, though we’re not exclusive. I had two years of amnesia from age 6 to 8, like many other MK subjects report, and my family moved into a large custom home shortly after my amnesia ended, and many subjects report their parents were rewarded with big homes for having enrolled their children in a program promised to make them “special.”
The purposes of MK are pretty much what you see in futuristic sci-fi: super soldiers and sex slaves, spies and couriers. The evidence of my life is that I was trained and used for sex slavery, spying, and maybe more. Once, when faced with a crazy man trying to break through my front door, I found myself responding as though I had the skill to kill someone with a knife in a single movement; I described all my actions and thoughts to a double-black belt, and he said I sounded like one who knew exactly how to kill. And once when falling, I found myself performing a perfect tuck and roll and came up running as though I’d been trained in martial arts. I have amnesia for many summer vacations, and many other amnesic episodes, so I suspect this is when some of my training occurred beyond those initial two years.
What I’ve described is often called MKULTRA, but I’ve often written that everyone in America is subject to “MK Lite” – via television, movies, education, “news,” and other entertainments. I know a woman who was MK’d in the military, another MK’d since childhood to be a super soldier, and I know of women and men who’ve spoken out and been apparently murdered, though sometimes it was made to look like suicide.
This is a very frightening arena to find myself in, especially as an activist who’s made it her life work to speak out against injustice. I just never knew I’d ever need to speak out for myself, and this has been by far the hardest, and I’ve done the poorest job on this. Because of fear. Fear that I could be murdered. And fear that they’ll increase the punishment next time they come for me. Already, they’ve made it impossible for me work, not only by disabling me so regularly, but by sabotaging me socially with lies spread about I don’t know what – something that makes large groups of friendly acquaintances suddenly shun me and destroy my chances of working for a living. It’s for this reason I was forced to sell my home and drastically downsize my entire life to live in 120 square feet that is all I can afford now. And many MK subjects report the same forcing into poverty so our choices, and ability to protect ourselves, are drastically limited.
So why am I speaking out again now? Because people have questioned my interest in the Trump women’s sexualized photographs now circulating on the Internet. Friends have suggested the photos are irrelevant, but I suggest that they are very relevant to a huge, hidden, organized crime residing in our nation’s capitol, which some people are naively hoping Trump will clean up, but I sense he’ll only expand it, and his women are the first step in normalizing the signs and signals that might otherwise alert us.
Our nation’s capitol is rife with mind control and sexual slavery right now. The “Senate page scandal” of the 80s revealed one small aspect of a huge criminal network. Then the door quietly closed, and everyone was left to believe the problem was cleaned up, but it is NOT. It continues to this day with many sexual slaves on duty against their will, entertaining, spying, blackmailing, destroying people’s lives, sometimes murdering. You wonder why our Congress makes such bad decisions? You think they’re stupid? I absolutely believe they are simply crushed between calculated rocks and hard places, doing what they need to do so they and their families will not be destroyed.
I did not vote for Trump, but I agree with his sentiment that we need to drain the swamp. But I think it’s a much bigger job than Trump can do, and I don’t believe Trump even would if he understood. But maybe he understands completely and is just playing a new game on the populace. He requires all the women around him, even secretaries, be “beautiful” to his standard. Most frightening, the Trump women all look and speak like sexualized mind control subjects – and I think I’m one who knows.
My sincere concern is that he and his women are helping the average American to accept these sexualized images of silenced women as a worthy goal to aspire to. It’s as if the criminal MK operations of our nation, heretofore secret, are being given a “lite” preview to the nation in the limelight of a “popular” man, these images of female sex and silence presented as normal or acceptable.
Few people recognize mind control. But I have lived a very unusual life, have lived and suffered with mind control, have done who-knows-what in amnesic states, but also risked my life occasionally to write and video blog about what I do know – and these women are the most blatant silent and sexualized women ever paraded before the American people in politics.
These women MIGHT have thought their sexual posing was their choice, but we don’t know that. We might choose to give them credit for making their own choices, and say their choices are not relevant to politics, but I believe these women are not acting of their own free will (whether MKULTRA or MK Lite), and their presence in the political arena today bodes ill for the future of women in our world.
It’s more than a national embarrassment. It’s a picture of women I pray, pray, pray does not get normalized. I posted photos of them on FB to remind people that this is debasing to women and there’s something here to think about.
I welcome your feedback.
Here’s the comment I wrote for this:
Excellent interview, James. Really appreciate your spare style and insightful questions.
Tom Montalk’s presentation is excellent too, also spare, clear, with examples that ring true with my experience. It’s a pleasure to find something new, not making me “wonder if,” but describing my own life in clear, succinct, and interesting terms. Thank you. You’ve done us all a favor.
You also give me hope. Your presentation helped me understand my situation more clearly, and that’s always good, generally. And you confirmed my attitude of ignoring certain experiences while responding to others strategically. I can take heart that I have developed some skills, and I see more clearly where I need strengthening. I’ll be telling my readers about this interview.
I just read the most perfect and succinct description of how I relate to the world.
By Story, from:
I am a spirit-seer; I cross between realities to learn the unknowable and befriend wondrous beings, for even the most powerful benefit from my humble blessings. I transcend time and space to see that which cannot be seen, and find my way through the darkest of places. I dance between contradictions and surrender myself to paradoxes. I know the physical and the imaginary are of equal value. I commune with the universe and feel the infinite connections running through it.
I am everything and nothing; simultaneously infinitely meaningful and infinitely meaningless. I give and take; I bless and am blessed. And in the end I am simply human, trying to live up to my potential.
I’m not a big fan of this radio style, but this is a good interview with good information about this subset of mind control harassment.
I’ve been experiencing this for a long time. If anyone else has, you’re welcome to contact me for advice.
For a lot of years, I’ve been grateful to discover books and movies that convey any sense of the strangeness of my life. I found small bits in Whitley Strieber’s Communion and other stories, The Secret School, in particular. Even Men in Black had elements that affirmed some of my weird life experiences. A couple of years ago, one of my college students told me about the Bourne Identity, and I was more deeply moved again, perhaps with hope that one day people will be able to look at the reality that some of us are early experiments, were severely messed with, are still being messed with, and it’s a torment, sometimes life threatening, giving me at least one heart attack, and years of panic attacks, grief and despair over my past, and my present, and my future.
For fourteen years, I’ve been on a roller coaster of emotions: gratitude for finally understanding my life and knowing I have the spiritual resources to continue the crippling life I’ve been given with love and purpose, determination to speak my truth, despite physical and emotional sickness from the controllers’ pushback, usually in the form of electronic harassment and social sabotage, and fear that the bruises and burns on my body, and sexual wounds, means that something else is going on that I’m amnesic for, and for which my roller coaster continues: panic, depression, hopelessness, isolation, rest, stillness, recovery, determination to take care of feeding myself and paying the bills while healing, with hope, and back to gratitude – for how long, I wonder, till I’m “hit” again.
I’m surprised to see these words I’ve written. They’re totally true, but the picture seems pathetic when I imagine someone else reading them, like I’m a bug in a can, pushing itself for days against the metal side, determined but futile until it dies: continued hope where there seems to be no reason. But I have reasons.
For one, I might be wrong about my interpretation of all this. Second, maybe there’s a spiritual way to rise above it, maybe even it could be the tool of my consciousness transformation. Finally, there seem to be beings on some dimension, maybe my spiritual helpers, or maybe my controllers using technology that only feels “spiritual,” who sometimes heal me in seconds with a download of energy from who knows where. I can go from too sick to lift a glass to my mouth to standing, stretching, happy, launching into my most productive state in a matter of five seconds.
Other times it feels like less of a healing and more of a lifting of oppression – electronically. One night, I fell heavily into bed after many days of being too tired to feed myself properly, and crashed immediately. One hour later, I woke up with a start, and a feeling of amazement and gratitude – and the distinct sense that someone had turned a dial and relieved me of some vibration that had been targeting and oppressing me for days. Like a heavy weight had been lifted off me while I slept, and the relief was welcome but so surprising it woke me out of a deepest sleep.
Those of us who’ve angered the Powers that Be, I believe, are probably semi-retired from our MK work when we get my age, except for upkeep and maintenance, but we’ve also been turned over to others who need guinea pigs for various sorts of testing, which explains the wide range of wounds I’ve recorded over the years. I’ve woken with a fully-healed surgical scar, unusually fine and straight, on my neck, which years later a nurse would assume was a scar from thyroid surgery, which I haven’t had, to my knowledge. Countless other healed white scars have appeared on my hands for years – something other targeted individuals have also recorded. I’ve woken with Taser burns, other third-degree burns, donut-shaped bruises, injection bruises (or so they appeared, twice a week for over a year), biopsy scoop marks, puncture wounds, deep lacerations inside my vagina, and more – all recorded and photographed – including the interior ones, thanks to a professional photographer lover. And these wounds attend days or weeks of severe exhaustion and disability, which when I recover burden me to catch up with everything I didn’t do for those days or weeks – before I can even think about whether to try to make a living again.
These past five years have been the worst, and each year has been more intense than the last – interfering seriously with all my attempts to make a living – which is why I’m leaving my home and community, to go where I hope to live cheaply on my Social Security, all I have. Some people theorize that we’re more than just guinea pigs, that our unwilling enrollment is part of a larger program with the purpose of punishing us in many, many ways for our political work, depressing our energy, and discrediting us and all we might have to say. Yes, silencing political dissidents – though I thought I was just exercising my American Right of Free Speech, to make my country proud. I guess that was all a big lie.
So I’m watching a lot of Limitless these days, satisfied to see a slight semblance of my life concerns dramatized for all the world to see: the government controlling one’s life, threatening one’s life, even though it’s sometimes amazing “fun.” I related to the main character’s fast brain, the conversations he has with various parts of himself, and the overwhelming distraction that can be as well as a wealth of information, full perspective, and creative solutions – when things are going well. The imagined good purpose in being a pioneer in supposedly America’s and the Earth’s future. Family members not believing or understanding, and distrusting whatever the character/I say. The danger, the wounds, the constant spiritual challenge, strange people suddenly entering your life with the power to drag you in regardless of your desire.
Lately, I’ve been talking to the walls, telling the people I presume are listening in to my home (there are clear and abundant signs they are listening) that I’m trying hard to lighten up on my assumption that they are evil, Satanic, pedophile perverts (an idea most of us accept at some point, though it’s almost too terrifying to live with) and see if instead I can imagine my tormenters as really just working for a non-human Creator who doesn’t realize his efforts to control the minds of his people with root-chakra shock and related techniques is so traumatic that he’s destroying our potential, or nearly, at least for me. And I wonder if I should simply be communicating my needs better, as if the non-human controller can’t read my distress and despair otherwise. So I’ve been talking with a little less anger and fewer F-word denunciations.
To my surprise, two of the last three nights I was treated to a download of healing energy. I actually woke in the night after only one hour sleep with the shocking realization that I felt good – so good, so surprisingly good, that it woke me up after only one hour of sleep.
Maybe I shouldn’t publish this; maybe it was someone taking sympathy, and that person might get in trouble for the kindness given me. Or maybe it’s my controllers making sure I’m healthy enough to keep living for their secret purposes. I don’t know.
It’s a bitch to live your life and just never know the source of the weird shit that keeps happening behind the scenes, but with results left as wounds and scars on my body, telling me that something is definitely happening. And that’s where my life is far less blessed than Finch’s in Limitless. But I’ll keep watching. It’s something to make me feel less alone in this F-ing weirdness.
And now and then I recognize some ability I have, like brainstorming with a crew of very talented parts inside myself, that might have been nurtured and developed as part of my MK training, and I feel a tiny bit hopeful. It may be rather late in life (age 64) to think I might be any more significant use to myself or others, at least from this pit I’ve sunk into these recent years, but we gotta take hope where we can get it. Right?
Alright, now, back to the world, grateful and happy to be able to function! I can do it pretty well between their “hits,” given appropriate recovery time. I’m grateful to be in recovery space again. Getting things done, taking care of life successfully, and watching Limitless when I need a break. Crazy world….
Since the beginning of history, child sexual abuse* has been fundamental to mind control. Consider: harems, geishas, and CIA Presidential models – all involved girls and boys trained from youth in sexual servitude to the rulers and their courts.
The masses were invited in with the invention of photography – and porn was born.
Today, the Internet has facilitated a custom-tailored desensitization/addiction process for any person who’s dipped their toe into the waters of Internet pornography, so that the number of porn viewers has exploded worldwide (it may be one of the world’s largest industries), at the same time the abuse has become more and more violent and degrading, and the victims have become younger and younger.
Is this an accident of human weakness that no one saw coming or knows how to address? Or was it planned and carried out by a conspiracy of industrialists, creating a marketable quantity of addicted servants? Or …?
Here are the facts in Canada. Is there an equivalent in the U.S. Anyone? (I’m tired today.)
* By torturing a child in their sexual center – their root chakra – their soul, spirit, or energetic field is split, open to whatever the controller wants to insert, deep beneath conscious understanding.
I am mostly unfamiliar with the trucking industry, but as a mind control subject, I know how “easily” this $150 Billion industry ifunctions – and what the result is:
It’s satisfying to hear the FBI agent talk about how wrong this is, but the reality is they are going after only the “lower class” pimps and customers – and I pray they’ll one day go after the “high class” mind control pimps (psychiatrists, psychologists, politicians, etc) and help free their slaves as well.
The phone number in the text accompanying the video is incomplete; it is 1-888-373-7888.
Their site: https://traffickingresourcecenter.org/
Useful for partners ~
Here’s a post for readers involved in cult abuse ~
Great summary article for those new to Electromagnetic Harassment, Targeted Individuals, etc.
And here’s another from Story, perhaps more to the point, reposted from https://wherespiritstops.wordpress.com/2016/06/09/doing-the-work-of-healing/:
One of the most difficult lessons in acceptance lies in the fact that we encounter situations that may not have been our fault (like a car crash) but which have consequences that require us to do painful, difficult work (like physiotherapy for injuries) in order to get through the experience and ultimately overcome it.
Any lack of acceptance of this fact will leave one stranded and stuck in one’s own life journey, asking why me? and protesting that this isn’t fair. Of course, this attitude doesn’t accomplish anything except to prolong and potentially exacerbate the problem at hand.
The work we are required to do in life never ends; in fact, life has a funny way of finding something for us to do if we have too much stagnant time on our hands. But one can easily find ways to avoid doing the work, especially when it comes to healing one’s own soul from past hurts. This is the most important work we can do for ourselves and the potential for growth, renewal, and reward is exhilarating.
Yet all too often we resist. Because it doesn’t seem fair that we should have to do the work, and perhaps because we fear both how hard it will be, and also how much responsibility for our life we will be claiming as our own. After all, if we believe we can’t heal ourselves, then it’s not our own fault that we’re unhappy, right?
It is terrifying to accept full responsibility for our physical and spiritual lives, and many people are devotedly determined to avoid that responsibility. By claiming responsibility for our own lives, we have the potential to create our own present and future selves in ways that, when we were stuck in our pasts, we could not have imagined. Unfortunately, this thrilling truth is overshadowed by our fear of failure, because if we are solely responsible for our own healing and growth, any sense of failure leaves us with nothing to blame but ourselves.
What if I told you – what if I outright promised you – that you have the power to dream yourself into a new state of being simply through faith and doing the work? What if I told you that by surrendering to your own responsibilities you could actuallyguarantee a better, happier, healthier, more fulfilling and infinitely free life for yourself? And, you can’t fail. You’ll make mistakes and life will still throw things at you that you’ll have to figure out how to handle. But if you are doing the work, you can’t actually fail at all. It’s a win-win situation where what you’re really doing is claiming your soul’s purpose and living for it.
The only thing you have to do is surrender to the fact that you are responsible for your own life’s happiness and achievement. After that, you will be comforted to know that there is little else to surrender yourself to.
I am writing to you as a survivor of abuse of every sort, beginning as early as I can possibly remember. As a result of this, I suffered a multitude of symptoms of various mental disorders – PTSD, social anxiety, eating disorders, depression, self-harm, and extreme dissociation. I experienced constant body memories, a type of somatic pain that could be excruciating, as if the past abuse was happening in the present moment. I came to identify as a multiple, meaning that I knew my soul was fractured into countless pieces due to the trauma I experienced. The wounds and consequences of my past gripped me in an iron fist of pain and fear and a complete lack of personal power or hope.
I thought I was broken and couldn’t be fixed. I could not recall a time when I had ever felt whole and sane and strong. But by taking complete responsibility for working my own healing, by definition I also claimed all the power over it and am now achieving more than I could have ever dreamed possible.
In the last six months especially, I have been freed from almost every debilitating symptom that I used to experience daily. I’ve been doing hard, relentless work, every single day. It’s not an easy road, but it is my road and to give up healing would be to give up my own personal power.
The most instrumental concepts behind my work towards healing can be summed up in two statements: 1) I am not morally responsible for anything that happened during the years of my abuse, due to the young age at which it began and the way I was kept controlled. 2) I am completely responsible (both causally and morally) for my soul’s purpose now.
To me, it is a simple fact that nothing that happened to me throughout my childhood, and even into my adulthood, was my fault. I did not deserve the abuse I suffered. Further, I had no choice and no freedom during that period of my life, being as much a captive as anyone can be. You can’t blame a prisoner of war for things she was forced to do by her captors under threat of death. I did a lot of unpleasant things under force, and those things aren’t my fault either.
Is it fair that these things happened to me, or that the work I have done has been so difficult, even deeply unpleasant? I don’t think in those terms. I might as well ask if it is fair that my heart must continue beating on and on without rest.
The heart beats because it is the work and purpose of the heart’s existence. Likewise, I heal because it is my soul’s purpose to do so, at least in part.
I believe I can achieve a complete transformation of my body, mind and soul — simply because no one else can do it for me. This is my life’s work, and I accept it with grace and gratitude.
reposted from: https://wherespiritstops.wordpress.com/2016/06/10/shamanic-soul-loss-and-soul-retrieval/#like-3960
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:
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.
I just discovered this from July 2015 – a woman who tells a story with many, many similarities to mine which I’ve never heard before. Still listening, but had to type this quick note to you….
“In all, the agency [CIA] conducted 149 separate mind-control experiments, and as many as 25 involved unwitting subjects. At least one participant died, others went mad, and still others suffered psychological damage after participating in the project, known as MK Ultra. The C.I.A. … deliberately destroyed most of the MKUltra records in 1973.” ~~ New York Times article on CIA’s secret behavior modification program
Of course, this is old news – July 1977 – published in the New York Times – http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9900EEDD153DE034BC4951DFB166838C669EDE
– recently revisited by my colleague Fred Burks, of PEERS.
His excellent website – and specifically a page devoted to America’s pursuit of mind control – is here: http://www.wanttoknow.info/mk/behavior-modification-news-articles, with numerous articles from mainstream American publications revealing what Americans would rather pretend doesn’t exist. Thanks, Fred!
I want to describe my experience with brain entrainment – which I called “training wheels” for developing greater consciousness of my mental processes.
First, I liked the BrainWave app, found it very soothing and hopefully protective. On evening three, however, while sitting in bed at night, I had the distinct impression that the steady entrainment frequency (which I was using for a vague sense of “protection”) could also be used to slip programming into me by matching the frequency as a carrier wave – and might be doing it right then – there seemed to be some sort of interference coming through!
Immediately, I removed my ear buds and replaced the entrainment frequency app with simple calming music of my choice, figuring that it would be harder for anyone to hide programming inside the ever changing music. Then I began using music for a big portion of each day after that – which is something I haven’t done much of throughout my life. (Most of my life, I’ve valued silence and the thoughts of my own mind which I haven’t wanted distracted or overridden by others’ ideas and sounds.)
The new habit of listening to music during the day – music chosen to make me calm and happy – caused me to realize that sometimes my own thoughts – especially when I focus on the mind control – can become toxic! My Own Thoughts weren’t the pure source I’d always thought they were. And music, carefully chosen, could put me on a better path – or at least I was willing to try it. And surprise, surprise, I found myself maintaining a better mood and attitude!
Now, I apologize if this is a no-brainer for some of you who’ve always used music that way, but it’s new for me, and it caused me to realize that entrainment might be thought of as more than just the adaptation of the brain to a particular frequency, but also the adaptation of the brain to a general idea, which it can then magnify, repeat, resonate with, and even amplify. And if the general trend is negative, it can be interrupted better with music than with my own best intentions. Surprising discovery
So the exercise of trying out the BrainWave brain entrainment app allowed me to think about, feel, and experience, the dramatic effects of a frequency calming my mind, and a frequency threatening my mind (it seemed), and then I could also consider the experience of entraining to an idea with just with my own mental habits, which might be problematic, even with our best intentions, probably due to mind control, but also possibly just a human fact.
For the last few days, I haven’t used the app, but I feel far more aware now of the state of my mind and my ability to change it with either intention or technology.
I hope this encourages readers to consider their own mental patterns, disciplines, and ways to moderate and protect their mental states. While technology may seem like a sort of dependence, it was a good awakening experience, helping me toward natural processes, with new awareness of technological and non-technological possibilities.
I realized a year or two ago that my site here and on YouTube both reflect the parts of me that are most angry and afraid and identify as activists; whereas the parts of me that go on with life, keep contributing, making art, being a friend, etc. aren’t as interested in writing about the good parts of my life – they just want to live and catch up on missed time – so my websites don’t reflect the whole of me, only the negative sides.
So, this is my first success in sitting down with my happy alter out to give balance to my story. Posted just yesterday.
Now, today I feel pretty bad again – for the firs time in a while – having a hard time expanding my lungs to take deeper breaths, so I’m breathing shallowly and don’t have much energy. And in a half hour I’ll arrive for my first day at work on a new job. Breathe. Breathe. Breath. It’ll all be okay.
I hope every reader here will visit and follow my sister site about natural and spiritual healing from mind control and other traumas. I’m feeling a shift in which I will write less and less here, and more and more there.
Here is my most recent post on MK Garden Healing / Garden Healing Church:
Here’s the second two two-page spreads of this recommended book:
This book by Dr. John Hall, M.D., is very satisfying well-documented. I’m only one-third of the way through, but already, I’ve felt compelled to scan a few pages to share with a few folks and my readers here.
You’ll see on page 45 references to a Department of Justice published survey in which they found complaints “legitimate enough to be included” resulted in an estimate that 3.4 million people in 2008 were victims of stalking, and another 2.4 million were victims of harassment. Of those 5.8 million, 6% of them (348,000 people) suffered electronic monitoring, and 130,000 reported losing their jobs because of it.
On page 44 Hall comments on medical doctors and their probably-false but consistent conclusions of “delusion” – even though their industry is well-documented to have been at the forefront of and still involved with engineering this technology.
On page 46, a Centers for Disease Control study found that single individuals are more often attacked that those living as a couple, while the American Journal of Preventative Medicine found women by far the most targeted (7 out of 9). On page 47, surveys found a high percentage included sexual assaults.
Page 46: Several studies found that law enforcement is useless and might make things worse.
Pages 49-51: The FBI / COINTELPRO history of organized stalking began in our very own government’s intelligence agencies, and the Senate investigation in 1976 unearthed it but apparently couldn’t stop it.
Here are a few pages.
I recommend the book, obviously, and suggest you ALWAYS avoid Amazon for your book purchases, and begin instead with addall.com, which includes Amazon, but allows you to compare prices of independent booksellers.
I recommend the book, obviously, and suggest you ALWAYS avoid Amazon for your book purchases, and begin instead with addall.com, which includes Amazon, but allows you to compare prices of independent booksellers.
I’ll have to post the second two pages separately, as this post keeps dropping one when I try to add another. ???
Eve Lorgen, author and counselor for those with “anomalous trauma,” offers an online support group now and then.
I’ve always been too afraid to participate, afraid that my stuff was too different, or that I might distrust people in the group, or it wouldn’t do me any good.
Today was the first day I participated in one, and I’m pleased I did.
Coincidentally, I had listened to a radio interview with Dr. John Hall, MD, about electronic harassment of targeted individuals (which fits the patter of my last 14 years), in which he mentioned the BrainWave binaural brain entrainment system (whopping price of $3.99, an app on iTunes).
I tried it out and had an immediate relaxation response, as if something electrically depressing had been cancelled or dampened. So I’ve been wearing earbuds now fairly frequently for two and a half days.
(I’m not crazy about the idea of using technology to protect myself – I’d assumed spiritual protection would be all, but I’ve failed and have felt close to death a great deal this last year. So I’m happy to accept this technological crutch and am thinking of it as a metaphor, that perhaps I might emulate psychically.)
These two and a half days since feeding simple frequencies into my ear canals, I’ve had impressive energy, a positive mood, and focus enough to finish an important task I had not been able to focus on for a year. Of course, maybe it’s just how I would have felt anyway, but I’m going to give them a thumbs up.
So, feeling stronger than I have in a long time, I took a job application I’d filled out last December to the business this morning, and was offered a job in the afternoon – for two workdays, just as I wanted, and exactly the situation I asked for. Law of Attraction? Working for me??
We know that sometimes everything can seem go against us at once, so it’s good to remember that sometimes everything can go for us too. And then it’s time to be grateful and go with it.
I’ll talk about other good stuff happening in my next post.
I’ve been a victim of “gang stalking” since at least 2002, when I did media work for the historic “Judi Bari v FBI” trial (about a car-bomb assassination attempt – feds guilty). Or it was the year that the stalking amped up. It would become so intense, it would eventually drive me from my home. Too bad, because word is that moving doesn’t stop it.
Victims of gang stalking are called “Targeted Individuals” or “TI’s,” and they become targets in a wide variety of ways. Some are randomly selected, selected for convenience, but most TI’s have insulted the status quo in some way – or they are mind control subjects or subjects of other military/intelligence experiments.
Targets experience all sorts of physical and emotional harassment. Lies spread in one’s community is common, as I wrote about in my blog, “Disinformation.” Clever discrediting, strangers acting hostilely and bizarrely in public toward the victim, timed synchronistically, compounding the impact, orchestrations that are hard to believe – thankfully, these have been minor for me. Worst is the electronic and medical harassment that leaves one with ears ringing, Taser burns, and more.
It’s an ugly, Top Secret project, supported with the most advanced technology, used to punish political dissidents or anyone whom someone in authority takes a hating to. It’s used to groom society, punish those on the edges. It’s experimental. It’s brain warfare. It’s too much money and too little accountability. It’s human nature at it’s worst. And it’s real. Thousands of people are reporting the same sort of bizarre events, technological experiences, delivered in very similar ways.
My gang stalking has been a little different than most commonly reported, in some ways more refined than much of what I read (but not always), and I think that might be due to the sort of mind control program I was enrolled in as a child. I believe my Eisenhower lineage has afforded me a bit of protection within a very dangerous project I never wittingly or willingly chose.
In recent years, I’ve been mind controlled, while fully conscious of what was happening, but unable to stop it, to let a man destroy my computer. I’ve been controlled to have sex with a man who revolted me (thankfully, only once while conscious). I’ve woken up with all the signs of having been gang raped. I’ve gone to sleep fine, then woken with third-degree Taser burns, injection bruises, biopsy
scoop marks, “donut bruises,” wrenched back and other pains for no reason, and absolute exhaustion also for no reason.
I’ve been woken by tones in my head, I’ve fallen asleep with tones. My house has been bombarded by extremely loud ultra-low frequencies. And my portable door lock was broken the first night I installed it for protection. I’ve had videos transmitted to my head, once two videos transmitted on top of each other – very interesting.
Most of the time, the gang seems to know my schedule and they time “hits” mostly when it won’t ruin my life, but once a series over a course of 4 months did change my life. And it followed another series of events that happened when I went to the Lama Foundation Community outside Taos for a Permaculture Design course in the summer of 2013. It seems someone didn’t want me to do this work.
Those two series of events – at and after Lama – which I’ll describe in a moment – would be typical gang stalking. But one event at Lama went far beyond. It seemed to mimic an ET abduction.
Now, I know that a few people who’ve long talked about aliens have begun to say it’s all disinformation, meant to discredit. I don’t think so. I know that a lot of sincere people, like myself, have been subject to experiences, all sharing similar themes, that have been interpreted as alien contact. Still, I’d write them off as high-tech illusions in a minute, except that these experiences have been described since the beginning of time and across every culture on the planet. Contemporary America’s scorn of “aliens” is unique in the history of the planet. So, unless we want to call everything an illusion, as in the Matrix or some Hindu thought, I believe aliens are real and not just illusion.
I had my first totally-classic stop on the highway by an incredible brilliant white light back in 2000, and things picked up slowly after that. I also began having shamanic experiences, and was happy and honored to be experiencing the numinous dimensions of our cosmos. Frightening parts I tried to learn from, as part of the initiation. Indeed, I soon learned that an African shaman described aliens identical to the classic ones described today – though I’ve never seen that type as I remember – but it gave me comfort that I was in a long-established, understood (outside America) realm of humanity interacting with other dimensions.
After I did six weeks of media work at the “Judi Bari v FBI” trial, my admittedly-unusual life has never been the same. I believe the feds put me on a shit list.
My treatment quickly became so terrifying that suicide was in my journals and thoughts every day for the six months following the trial, less often after that, but the idea never left me until last summer when I finally realized I’m philosophically opposed to it for one simple reason: I might not fully understand what’s going on (after all, there’s much going on in other realms that we can’t see), and it might not be as bad as it seems.
So, for the last year, when I’ve been the most harassed, I’ve only wished to die, prayed to die, thought I was going to die, had heart problems, had at least one heart attack, and wondered if the gang would eventually kill me. But I never any more think about killing myself.
Some activists on the subject say the Gang hopes to drive us to kill ourselves or kill someone else, and only rarely do they kill a Target – but they make it look like a suicide if they do. (So don’t be fooled.)
In the spring of 2013, I completed 6 months of work I’d done to qualify for a small grant to start a business. I really needed to do something new, get away from the computer which I’d worked on since 1986. I’d been studying, teaching and practicing Permaculture since 1989, and I wondered why’d I’d been afraid of it before. It seemed too “good” for me, too wonderful to replant my life into Nature; I’d been sacrificing all my life, and now I was going to give myself something Good. A new late-life career, and perfect one. I sent in a check for a major chunk of my money and drove away to attend my second Permaculture Design Course being offered at the Lama Foundation community. I was in love already with the vision, the strangers I’d soon meet who’d love design the way I do, who like their hands on living things, who can imagine a new way of living on Earth.
The first night after dinner, we were notified that we were expected to help in the kitchen at least once during our 10 days, and I decided to get it out of the way immediately and worked that night. I was astounded to witness how filthy the kitchen was. It didn’t look like anyone there had any concept about state laws governing commercial kitchens. The large wooden cutting board had remnants of vegetables embedded in pizza sauce that looked to be a few days old, and everything sat on a layer of grease that could be scraped up in large strips if one was inclined. I leaned into it.
Some time later, many of us became ill with a Norovirus, and we all soon learned that the entire regular kitchen staff was sick with the virus and one of them had gone to the hospital. The kitchen crew we’d met were all stand-in’s, and no one had thought to clean the kitchen – and then they asked us to do it.
One of our group went to the hospital. One went home. And a few of us passed out in our tents, in and out of consciousness for a few days. Most shocking was that we seemed to have been forgotten. Those who didn’t get sick didn’t realize how very sick we were. Thankfully, someone brought a 5-gallon container of water for three of us to share. One person came and asked if any of us would like food, but when I said yes, a banana, he forgot and never returned; later I learned he’d gotten sick.
Our fevers, as we baked in our tents mid-day, would wake us up, we’d crawl out and get chilled, and that would wake us enough to stagger over to see if the others were okay, and one trip out that day would be all we’d accomplish. By day three we were walking again, sitting far from the others, in case we were still contagious, sipping soup and marveling at what we’d been through.
Between the kitchen work and the virus hitting, something else happened, but I don’t think it was related to the illness, because I’m the only person – I think – that it happened to. I woke in the middle of the night and tried to move my arms to get an elbow beneath me so I could reach with my other arm for water, but something prevented me from even moving my elbow. I woke more fully in alarm, discovering that my sleeping bag was somehow wrapped around me extremely tight. I thought I must have somehow lain on a doubled-over piece of the bag, so I tried to roll off of it, but when I rolled back and forth, the entire bag was wrapped tightly around me. Eventually, I rolled more and wiggled enough to get an arm out, and then the other, and discovered I was truly wrapped inside the bag, like someone had rolled me up in it.
Suppressing my alarm, I reached for my water, but it wasn’t there. Nothing was there. Not my journal, not my purse, nothing. Where was my stuff?! I wasn’t sideways in the tent. I was one-eighty. I turned and crawled to the other end, where I found my water and all my things. What had happened? I couldn’t have wrapped myself up like that. And how did I turn around one-eighty?
I’d had a number of alien experiences over the years, had heard the tales of people waking up in their yards or down the street, or in some night shirt they never saw before, so it wasn’t a difficult leap to conclude that this was another alien bungle, an escalation of weirdness on top of an awful lot of weirdness already. I slaked my thirst and fell back to sleep.
In the morning, I wondered if I could have done that to myself. If so, it would be a first and highly strange. I decided I wasn’t going to say anything about this to anyone. No, this was my new Permaculture life. I was leaving the crazy shit behind. (Yeah, I thought I was going to be an activist on the alien issue once, but I’d tired of that pretty quickly. No one wants to hear. And sometimes the craziness seemed to go away for long periods of time – not to say it had gone away, but I was trying to make it go away by ignoring it.) But here it was. Again. Shit. Invading my dream. I would pray on the way to breakfast, and get myself back into equanimity.
At breakfast, someone leaned forward and asked the group, “Hey, did anyone else hear the humming in the sky over the trees last night?” I gulped and my head popped up, and so did a few others. Two people reacted excitedly, and after them I said that I had too. No more than that. No one asked if anyone had any weird experiences, and I said nothing – until near the end of the course, and then just to three people when we carpooled to lunch one free day; they were all very “into” the subject. It gave me an outlet for a little storytelling, and made me feel not so alone in a crazy reality.
When the Noro virus hit after that, I never felt good again while at the course. After recovering, I sat in the back of the room for a few days, then rejoined the group in my old place and tried to concentrate on the instruction. But I was tired, very tired. The schedule of instruction, demonstrations, work, and movies at night filled every day, and I still needed to catch up on my sleep, and wasn’t sleeping that well, this 61-year old body on thin pads – not as fun as it was decades ago.
When others of our group got sick, and resentment grew for this “spiritual community” that chose not to tell us that an illness had made 30 people sick just before we arrived, and then sent their guests in, unawares, to clean the locus of the disease, we asked to hold a circle. The community representatives quickly copped to their guilt in pretty, practiced phrases around the circle, but seemed far more skilled at PR in cliches than actually caring about the people who were so severely affected. (I’d trained in all the communications skills modalities that they were emulating, and I used them too, mellow as any meditator, but I also called them on some of their word gamesmanship – politely of course.) For the rest of our stay, a few of us found ourselves the subject of sudden silence when we’d come around a corner or enter a room.
Besides the many days of pain and suffering, the toll it took on our health, and now this emotional insult on top, we’d all paid (I forget exactly) over $1,000 for 14 days’ teaching, and we’d each lost at least three days. And we hadn’t been able to eat any of the food (for which we’d pre-paid separately) for those three days, and could only eat small amounts of food for the next few. Those of us who got sickest thought it only made sense to ask for a refund of at least a portion of our food, but the community was indignant and refused. They even implied that we were slacking by not taking another tour in the kitchen.
One night, in a gesture of appeasement, they offered two of us a bed in the guest yurt – for free – so we could sleep more comfortably. I thanked them and accepted. That night, shortly after I’d retired, they fired up the hot tubs right outside the yurt and had a loud party with lots of whooping and laughter.
Since I’d moved all my things into the yurt, and the campground was a half-mile forest-walk away in the dark, I didn’t want to move, so at 10 pm I walked out and down the trail and around the yurt to let them know that someone was sleeping there. They apologized, promised to end the party, and then promptly began again as soon as I lay down my head. I enduring it for another half-hour, practiced breathing and praying, then talking to myself. I finally got up again to let them know, again, politely, that their noise was still keeping me from sleeping. They apologized again, made promises again, and then after I’d lain down, they returned to partying. Around midnight, as I was putting on my coat and leaving the yurt, someone spoke softly and everyone became quiet for the night.
I stood there wondering at the mindset of these people who’ve inherited, or taken over, a spiritual community – one I’d had such high expectations of, one that a friend of mine had done the first Permaculture design for decades ago, and other friends visit every year and wax poetic about. What had happened? I’ve come to accept that everything is infiltrated by the Dark. And spiritual communities, perhaps, especially. It only take a few people to drive the good ones away.
The next morning, I decided not to be cowed and asked for a meeting again with the stand-in director. Younger than me by thirty years, she sat upright, as in meditation, a mild smile on her lips. I told her about my experience in the yurt with the party, pretending it was simply youthful exuberance, a mistake, but I let her know I was still sleep-deprived and hurt by the inconsideration. She told me the party was a highly unusual one, that the tubs were “always” treated as sacred space, and usually there’s no speaking at all, and only whispering if speech is necessary. “I don’t know what happened last night,” she told me with innocent eyes and a Mona Lisa smile. Then she “reminded” me what was the cost for the yurt per night and suggested that I square up.
Our eyes were locked in mutual Buddhist loving stares, and I said, “No. I’m not paying for my nights in the yurt.” She politely presented reasons why I should pay, and I politely reminded her the yurt was an offered gift and compensation for not being able to eat for three days because of their virus. She seemed to have enjoyed her game and “allowed” me to use the yurt for the next few nights for free, but I’d stay only one more.
At home, I had another shock, a personal one I’ll skip. As soon as I could, I launched my workshops and hoped to begin picking up design work. Five days before my first workshop, I was hit and could barely get out of bed. For the next few days, I couldn’t concentrate to plan my workshop and had to do it in the last two days. I was rattled by the timing, and my workshop was not very good. The next month, the same thing happened, same timing, hit five days before my workshop, and unable to concentrate to teach. It happened every month from August through November, always just before an advertised workshop. I took a break in December, and in January acknowledged I was afraid to announce anything. My partner said he’d cover the bills for awhile, and told me to take a break. And I never taught Permaculture again.
The gang stalking, as I said, amplified long before, in 2002, and it seems like it’s gotten far worse in the last few years. But maybe it only changes. I think they use some of us to test their electronic weaponry, see if they can scramble our brains just a little, keep us functioning, looking mostly normal, but not be able to concentrate. Sometimes, they try out weapons that bruise and burn us. Sometimes they seem to take biopsies which leave us with “scoop marks” or divots in our skin. I’ve even woken with a healed scar on my neck that a medical professional assumed was from thyroid surgery. I wonder. And then there’s the injection bruises – I began to watch for those and for a long period of time found two each week, like clockwork, most with accompanying exhaustion to some degree.
I seem to be used as a guinea pig for a lot of electronics lately, hearing tones a lot, having strange tones come out of my TV, and hearing strange things on the phone, liked a human voice speeded up on my answering machine, and taped recordings giving directions to “re-record.”
I woke once with a tunnel in my skin on my left scapula where I’d long believed a malfunctioning implant had been because it always itched terribly and I’d developed a strange, 4″ wide bruise that radiated off to one side and had been there for over a year, which no doctor could say what it was. The same morning the tunnel appeared, letting me assume they’re removed it, a new hypersensitive spot was tingling higher on my shoulder and continues to this day, years later. Indeed, the year-old bruise did fade over the course of the next month.
Everything in the world today is “infiltrated” with people who’ll do things like this to some people. Some say the actors are demonic, others alien, agents of Archons – all sorts of theories or language is used to talk about this phenomenon. But most people understand it’s managed by someone inside government intelligence agencies. And their Gang members are everywhere, even in spiritual communities, somehow recruited into this work.
Victims are everywhere too. Suffering silently, because no one wants to believe this. I know it’s hard to believe, sometimes even when it happens to you. But it keeps happening, and goes on for years, and decades. Then you finally discover there’s a name for it! And there are many people scattered around the nation who tell you you’re not the only one, you’re not crazy, and it’s also happening to them. Bitter comfort.
And then we’re told the rules: Don’t tell the police. Don’t tell your doctor. (I erred there – my propensity for telling the truth.) If you tell, others warn, they’ll call you crazy and lock you up. I’ve been called delusional – but only by one doctor who is probably involved. Thank God that many other doctors around the nation, who know me personally or have read my accounts in full, concur that I’m suffering from something very real, and it’s not in my mind.
One good thing about it, at least for me: It makes me look beyond this plane and align myself with energies of the cosmos, rather than Earth. And it usually only affects me for maybe a quarter of my time, so with the rest of my life I can pull myself together and do my best to keep contributing to a better world.
Who read this book? The Majus, by John Fowles.
I read it back in the late 80s, I think, and it totally freaked me out. It was a creepy, terrifying “thriller,” set on an idyllic island, experienced by a couple expecting to have a luxurious vacation in nature.
Instead, they are terrorized in bizarre ways, with circumstances that surprise, never hurt, imply extreme danger, hint at numbers of people who are never see; they are separated from each other, and the quiet horror goes on and on and on and on… until the end, when they are miraculously led out.
Written in 1985. Sounds like gang stalking. I hated it and couldn’t understand why anyone would write something so sick. Maybe he wrote it because he knew it was being planned.
This guy surprised me quite a few times by talking about things I’ve never heard anyone else talk about – but I’ve experienced. He’s fearless.
Now, after 18:00, he lost me once, with an explanation that included a mention of being locked up for a mental illness. Aye!
I know that can happen to the best of us, but coming right when I was having a hard time following – was sorta funny.
We all know that the best disinformation is embedded in truth, of course, so we must always judge every part of everything we’re told, as well as everything we think.
And just before 34:00 he begins about the Nazi agenda of eugenics. Says it very well, but I don’t want to believe it exactly that way. I do believe a sorting (“harvest”?) is coming up, though. This helps us consider how serious this is, but ultimately, this materialistic, political, exo-political view is only part of the multi-dimensional/spiritual picture.
Focusing too much on the enemy may be a type of psychic entrainment, so it may behoove us to pretend not to notice or care. Hmmmm….
From John Hall’s book, about electronic harassment of targeted individuals:
Two startling facts are apparent when one reviews the literature on schizophrenia and its associated auditory hallucinations [AH]. The same holds true for AH secondary to psychosis (non-schizophrenic) and delusional disorder.
It is almost as if it is pre-assumed that hearing voices at all, regardless of their content, is a symptom of mental illness. … Secondarily, there is absolutely no mention in any of the psychiatric studies of the possibility that technology exists to place voices in one’s head. One would assume that, with psychiatrists at the helm of the early mind control studies, there would be at least a suggestion that we now have the technology to reproduce the symptoms of schizophrenia.
Thousands of people are currently voicing just that complaint. Individuals, many of them professionals with no history of mental illness, are complaining of hearing voices. The number of these complaints far exceeds the published percentages of schizophrenia and delusional disorder as a percentage of the total population.
It is my opinion that many of the people complaining of auditory harassment may indeed be victims of harassment technology and not a mental disease. I find it highly unlikely that large groups of schizophrenics voicing similar complaints would be corresponding with each other over the internet looking for answer to their dilemma.
However, that is exactly what is happening! [editorial correction: large groups of people, not schizophrenics, are voicing complaints.]
So, does the technology exist to place voices in one’s head or surroundings that only they can hear, mimicking the symptoms of mental illness? The literature indeed does illustrate the fact that such technology exists.
So why does the psychiatric community refuse to consider technologic harassment as an etiology of auditory hallucinations…?
The John Hall radio interview I wrote about recently has given me hope that we can find ways to protect ourselves from electronic harassment.
I decided first to try “binaural brainwave entrainment.”
The impressive results over just a day and a half are only anecdotal, of course, and could very well be coincidental, but here they are:
Supposedly, binaural brainwave entrainment helps some to cancel out electronic harassment. John Hall mentioned the Banzai Labs company in particular, here: http://www.banzailabs.com/brainwaveapps.html.
I downloaded their modestly-priced app on my iPhone (“best reviewed app of its kind in the iTunes app store”/$3.99 – can also be used with other products) and walked around all day yesterday, plus the night before, with various tones humming behind music in my ear buds.
(Even though I don’t usually keep my iPhone near me, I was motivated to at least try it for a few days.)
The sound experiences cause the hemispheres of the brain to entrain at frequencies associated with peace, or well-being, sleep, focus, concentration, stress-relief, etc – you choose what you want on a simple dial. You can layer over a variety of relaxing music – or even your own.
To my surprise, I woke up yesterday at 2:30 am (!) and felt well rested, energized, and ready to work! Got up at 3, thinking I’d definitely need a nap, but instead – with the ear buds in all day – I worked with “concentration,” sat in the garden with “relaxation” or “stress-relief” when I was beginning to feel stressed – and I worked VERY productively until 11 pm, and needed very little of my relaxing herbs that day. I then went to bed at 11:30, slept well again, and woke this morning at 5:30, feeling very well-rested and looking forward to the day. What a relief!
The productivity of my day was wonderful! I got a series of complicated projects completed that I’ve been unable to even face for a year! I finally cleared a number of important projects off my desk. Worked creatively too. Visited one friend in person, and enjoyed a long talk with another friend last night. I even responded to my cat’s many requests throughout the day that I go out in the garden with her for a little break – and I took quite a few nice breaks yesterday.
Was it a coincidence? Did the controllers also coincidentally give me something that first night to give me energy? (I have absolutely believed they have that capability and have done it to me.) Or was it my expectations? Or – as is John Hall’s theory – did I block the electronic harassment and get back my normal, productive mind?
I want to believe this is possible. I don’t want to believe that, via electronics, thousands of us can be harassed mercilessly until we die.
Of course, I can’t help but notice that my left shoulder (yeah, the left shoulder) is buzzing again, like crazy. I took off my ear buds and set them on either side of the new implant site, and while there the buzzing was gone. Removed, it began buzzing again after a minute or so. Retested, again it stopped then began buzzing like crazy again, as it has all year. It’s not the worst; at best, it’s a reminder of what I face, keeping me serious about my healing needs.
As with any technology, as soon as we find a work-around, they’ll be working on their own work-around, so we’ll probably need to keep vigilant, keep educating ourselves, keep sharing ideas, and keep praying for direction. And that’s not a bad thing; it’s good.
Sometimes I think of this as all a test. We might think it feels cruel, like torture, and I can be ready to give up and die. But before I’m in total, absolute despair, they always back off, leave me alone, and I build myself back up again. But that’s not enough.
What’s the lesson? If it is a test, if we’re not entirely powerless, which I don’t believe we are, what is the lesson??? What are we to learn from this torturous experience?
I want to believe that we are only faced with threats on Earth for a reason – to learn how to deal with them. And one of them might be to learn how to manage our own bio-electric systems to a degree we’ve never yet considered possible before. And I’m ready to take that on.
Indeed, as multi-dimensional beings, we exist on other dimensions – vibrational realms, even though we may not access it consciously very often. Since this is part of our multi-dimensional nature, maybe we’re called – as part of our next evolutionary learning – to develop this awareness and these skills, the same way we’ve been learning this century to manage nutrition, exercise, and attitude. Bio-electricity is our next challenge.
Maybe? Well, I’m game. My new goal is to imagine the extent to which we might have un-examined and under-utilized power.
John Hall had more to write about mental entrainment (generally, not just electronically) to the controller’s games – and that’s what I’ll write about next.
Thanks for reading, Friends.
I just happened to buy this book, Guinea Pigs: Technologies of Control and had it delivered last week.…
The first five minutes is a wonderfully succinct introduction – much appreciated.
Within the first 15:00, he describes electronic protection I’d never heard of! Yeah! I’m going to go look for it next.
At 16:00, he talks about the threat of mental illness diagnosis, and how the medical industry helps cover their tracks by slapping us with false diagnoses. I know.
Okay, on with the show. This is a good one.
Most days, I wake up feeling fine, like this. And I go about my day, being productive, visiting with friends, taking care of the house and the garden, writing, and thinking, “I could get a job.”
Some days, though, I wake up feeling like Hell, like last week when I could only assume “They” had taken me in the night for some use I can only guess at and either drugged or electroshocked me to assure my amnesia – and, no, I don’t drink alcohol anymore, so this is no hangover that I created.
Unfortunately this was a day that I’d promised to work with a friend on a natural plaster sculpture I was helping her create. I called to tell her I felt like hell and took the picture so she’d know I was serious.
I usually feel poisoned for at least a day after something like this, though the longest was thirteen days.
During these events, I can hardly keep myself fed much less do anything else – and these events usually happen at least twice a month, and they’ve been getting more and more frequent in the last five years.
And now that I’ve kicked out my housemate/handler (three months ago), I have no one to cook for me when I’m like this, and my finances don’t even come close to being enough for me to keep my house.
Friends and family encourage me that I can work, but my last semester teaching English at the university, I had a hard time like this once and went to class with a What-the-Hell attitude and told my students I was a mind control subject, and sometimes they fuck with me like this!
Freaked out the kids, and I decided I didn’t trust myself to teach anymore. And I haven’t – though I love teaching, and when I’m well, I know I’m a good teacher.
I’ve been praying and brainstorming how I can make a living when I have no idea when these events will happen to me – this week? next week?
In any case, I work as fast as I can when I feel well, because I never know when I’ll be hit and unable, for a day or days, to shop, cook, water, take care of finances, anything. My finances seem as though they’ll hit the wall very soon, so I’m paying for utilities and everything now with credit cards.
And no one wants to acknowledge it – especially not family.
Very cruel, and very ignorant, I think.
American ignorance: This sort of thing does NOT happen in America – even though it’s very well documented, it just doesn’t. So buck up.
Okay, I’m getting back to productive work now, and I’ll probably be cheerful and friendly at the coop today, or whenever I next go out. [Happy-face Smile!]
After all, it is a beautiful spring day.
The spring’s first roses are at the front gate, and the salvia is blooming at the front door.
Did I choose my birthdate and time to come into this life on Earth? Or did someone or something else? Or was it an accident, without meaning except whatever I or someone else assign it?
The date was July 7, 1952 − 52 adding up to 7, July the 7th month, making three 7’s if you like number games as I do. Maybe it’s meaningless. It was also a full moon. And a Monday. And it was smack in the middle of Cancer, also known as Moon Child, ruled by the Moon. I didn’t realize all these moons and sevens until I was in my 50s, dabbling in astrology for about a month before tiring of it. A moon phase chart on a NASA or Navy website shows that the Moon was precisely “full” at 4:33 that morning, and I was born at 4:25, just 8 minutes earlier. With 1,440 minutes in a day, eight minutes is about 5/1,000ths of that, 5/1,000ths of a degree of perfection, pretty dang close. (And I wonder if the full moon times on that site are when the Moon is most perfectly opposite the Sun relative to Earth, or if it’s when it appears that way from Earth, which is actually 8 minutes later, since that’s the time it takes for the Sun’s light to strike the Earth – in which case I was born with even more eerie precision during the absolute fullness – for whatever that’s worth. Of course, there were children born all over the planet at that time, so I know it doesn’t make me special. But it’s interesting.
Not long after that discovery, I learned that July and August that year were the two highest months of UFO activity ever recorded in world history; it was 5 days after my birth that UFO’s cruised over the White House and made that cover of LIFE Magazine a classic. When I learned of this, not long after I learned of the 3 sevens and 3 moons, my friends and I locked eyes together and said, “Oooo-eeee-ooooh.”
My father’s father was a veterinarian when my father grew up in Hollywood, California. My grandfather took care of the pets of many of the stars, and was the veterinarian of Rin Tin Tin. And people like Jack Webb (Sgt. Joe Friday [“Just the facts, Ma’am”] on Dragnet) was a fine cartoonist before he became an actor, and was a regular guest at my father’s home, leaving behind a few large, colored cartoons about times in my father’s family’s home, especially around the pool table. The family home had a large atrium in the center looking up to a second-story balustrade that circled the atrium with access to the many bedrooms. When my father was in high school, he bought a car identical to the school principal’s, one of the nicest cars in town. My grandfather was a 33rd degree Mason.
My mother’s mother had been an itinerant farm worker alongside her itinerant construction worker husband during the Great Depression. When he was killed in a construction accident, she had two young daughters, age 8 and 9 to raise. With help from her Mormon family, she rented an ice cream kiosk on the streets of Phoenix and later Riverside, California, and then Van Nuys, California. Her great success in this business was attributed to her baking: she woke early every morning to bake pies and fresh bread, then offered, besides just ice cream, pie and sandwiches on fresh bread – which sold out every day. Soon she was offered another business proposition. Local bankers had an empty building and a vision they asked her to fulfill: To create a restaurant with indoor and outdoor dining, a conference room, and a walk-up window for selling pies. For the next 25 years, she managed almost the same staff from the day she opened until the day she closed, and I remember the line out the door at lunchtime, and the line down the sidewalk for the pies.
Her restaurant was the meeting place for the Chamber of Commerce and all the movers and shakers. I remember a man, Mr. Hyman, who came every single day at lunch – very interesting, because that’s a time few restaurant owners leave if they can avoid it – but he came every day, and she would break off her words mid-sentence as soon as he appeared in the door, and immediately rise to go take a walk with him. One day while visiting on vacation, my mother hauled me up quickly to walk with my grandmother to meet him, but he was totally uninterested and simply walked away with my grandmother. “Every day,” my mother told me, “he walks with her, and she has never told anyone what he says. I assume it’s about business, but he sure has a brusque manner, and they never miss a day.” Today I believe that my grandmother might have been a very early mind control subject – yes, mind control was being practiced even before the late 40’s – but I’m getting ahead of my story.
My first memory is of our apartment in student housing on the campus of UC Davis. The memory I should never have told anyone, as it is of my mother expressing extreme frustration, throwing down her spatula beside the stove and walking out the door with the words, “I’m leaving and I’m not coming back!” Lots of young mothers, isolated in America’s nuclear family, were frustrated and would become addicted to Valium, soap operas, and such. I remember my mother taking lots of naps and my being responsible for keeping younger siblings out of trouble. Quite the job for a five year old, and I grew up with an authoritative speaking voice and strong sense of responsibility. The evening I couldn’t stop my sister from jumping off the bathtub edge into the tub, slipping, of course, and hitting her eyebrow on the metal soap dish protruding from the wall, from which she arose screaming with blood pouring down her face, I was terrified that I was going to be serious trouble. I remember no trouble to me personally, though my sister was taken to the hospital for stitches, but I remember the terror of thinking I’d face it for having failed terribly at my duty. I was ever after vigilant about fulfilling my duties completely, still today part of my neuroses. A decade or so ago, I learned that UC Davis was one of the sites of CIA experiments in mind control, under the guise of Human Ecology – where I lived the first 14 months of my life.
From the time I was old enough to say my name, I’ve been asked if I was related to “the President.” When I was a child, he was The President, but even afterward, he was still “The President” when the name Eisenhower was mentioned. I used to say Yes, and people would ask what the relation was, and when I said he was my father’s second cousin, people would clearly show their disappointment that second cousin wasn’t all that close. So I learned to say, “Not close,” and they’d ask, “How close?” or “Do you know the relation?” and I’d answer, “He’s my father’s second cousin,” and they’d respond with delight, “Oh, that’s close!” Whatever. One day someone told me that Ike and Mamie “always” visit Scottsdale, where we lived from the time I was 9 till 18, and they were visiting that very weekend, so this person wanted to know if our families ever got together. It was a shock to realize that this somewhat close relation had never, to my knowledge, ever acknowledged us; I tried not to be hurt by this information, justifying that a President must limit how many people can get close to him.
Every child thinks that their life is normal, so I never questioned that, at age 5, I had to have my straight hair permed like Shirley Temple’s, and my nails filed into perfect arcs – long enough to “see them on the other side!” the other little girls on the preschool playground noticed. I thought that was the only way I was different until the day a little boy jumped up in preschool at the announcement that we’d have tomato juice at break time: “I don’t like tomato juice!” he shouted, gleeful at the attention he’d attracted. With those words, my whole worldview was struck by lightning, and I fully expected God or at least the teachers to respond to this child who had an opinion contrary to whatever the adults had decided. I’d never known a child could assert himself about things like this. I stared, frozen, waiting for the terrible reaction I was certain must come, but there was none. This stuck in my memory as one of the most shocking events of my young life – at least those I remember.
There’s a lot I remember of my childhood – hundreds of events, I estimate, from my early years: caring for siblings, learning to embroider and crochet before kindergarten, learning to read, relatives visiting, holidays, different homes, yards, driveways, flower beds, preschool events, neighbors, entertaining myself alone, the escapades and fights of my siblings, watching and envying the children who walked to school outside our picture window, and finally a dozen or more memories of kindergarten, where all the work was easy, even though I was one of the youngest in class, and I was asked by the teacher to help the other children who were slower, and I enjoyed that.
After kindergarten, I remember almost nothing until 3rd grade. And one of those memories is weird – about painting a tree blown over at 45 degrees, edged with black, with black storm clouds, black wind and black leaves blowing by. I suspect it’s related to a train trip I took with my mother at about that age. It was just we two, leaving my father alone with three children between 0 and 3 – I can’t explain that, unless it was a very special event which no one has ever talked about. I asked my mother recently why we took that train trip and where; she answered as if lying: her voice went high as if it was totally insignificant that we went to see my aunt in New Mexico. Why, she never said. By then I’d learned not to ask too many questions about my childhood, because most of the time, I’d be asked in return, “Why do you ask?” I gathered that it was something my mother didn’t want to talk about. (My father almost never spoke to me that I recall, except to say “Smile!” while taking holiday photos.) I felt fortunate to glean as much as I did.
Other disturbing things I recall might be related to my two years of amnesia, or maybe they’re not: nightmares and weird sexual dreams, even at a very young age. One nightmare had my father dressed all in black with a black top hat, sitting atop a black carriage, whipping the black horses as we bounced along in the night, pulling behind us a circus caravan of train cars filled with wild animals. He whipped the horses to go faster and faster, even though the road was bumpy and it was night. Suddenly, the cars all bounced apart and some tipped over, and I found myself alone in the dark woods, in danger of being eaten alive. Another memorable dream was of Porky Pig on stage at the end of the cartoon, and just before the curtain closed, he pulled down his pants and showed his female naked pudendum – and I was mortified and woke in a panic.
One day, I found myself in the back seat of a sedan between two men, with two more in front, all in khaki uniforms with short military haircuts, which I stared at for awhile. The car had a “two-tone aqua-marine” interior (why do I even remember that phrase?), and I was nearly out of my body with emotions I could not name, but I tried and said things to myself like, “They lied. It wasn’t what they told me.” But I wasn’t just confused; I was enraged, almost out of my body, with a sense of betrayal, for which I had no words. Someone had given me a wind-up toy, a pressed-tin beagle dog, painted brown, black, and white, with sad eyes, and a crank on the side and a music box inside that played, “How Much is that Doggie in the Window?” When the men dropped me off in front of my home, it was another disorienting experience. I’d never been dropped off there; until then, friends and family had always come in the driveway, and we all entered the kitchen door. But here I was, being dropped off alone at the front. It felt surreal to climb out the car alone with my dog while one man held open the door; then I stepped up onto the curb, then into the squishy grass of the easement, then to the sturdy sidewalk again and up the front walk to open the front door. Later my mother would say this never happened. “I’ve always said you have a vivid imagination, and you mix up your dreams with memory,” she would say – a few key times in my life. I never heard her say it of my siblings. But she would say it to me at strange times, even when I had evidence, and even when the thing I remembered seemed insignificant, or easily provable, so that I didn’t know why she would choose to assert that I was wrong.
One of those times was when I remembered the student housing apartment at UC Davis. I had drawn a floor plan, and told her there was a clouded glass window next to the front door, right opposite the tiny kitchen. Between the kitchen and the living room, the line between the linoleum and carpet was at an angle, and a red chair stood at an angle against the nearest wall, leaving a crevice on one side where a small child could squeeze in. I got this far in my description when I saw my mother’s face had fallen into an expression of distress, when she stubbornly and with finality said, “You couldn’t remember that – you were only 14 months old when we moved from there.” She hadn’t said the apartment wasn’t like that, only that I couldn’t remember. “But, Mom,” I responded, “you just pointed to my floor plan and implied I’d drawn it correctly.” With that, her face trembled, and she looked into the space above my head and rose from the table and stood looking out the window. Then, in a sing-song voice she said words that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck: “I’ve always said you had a vivid imagination, and you mixed up your dreams with memories.” That sing-song voice, I realized, I heard only a few times in my life, and always in a situation like this, and those same words.
When I was seven, right in the middle of my two years of amnesia, I remember driving to Van Nuys with the entire family and being left “for awhile” with my grandmother and aunt, even though they both worked full-time in the restaurant. I “helped” my aunt, and watched her type up the daily specials, four groupings of words, all centered in one quarter of the page, each line centered according to a formula she explained to me, of counting the letters in a line and backspacing from a particular point half that number (I loved it!). She used a brown typewriter ribbon and two sheets of brown carbon paper to get three copies of each page of four, which she cut into twelve quarters before starting on another twelve – and did that every day. I’d only seen black ribbon and black carbon paper before, and I asked about the brown, to which my aunt responded proudly that they always did things special at the restaurant. Indeed they did. It was known for home-cooked food, “not just whatever can be thrown on a grill” as my mother put it, with a tone of pride. My favorite lunch was the “finger sandwiches” with fruit salad. The staff made egg salad, tuna salad and chicken salad sandwiches, on fresh-baked white bread, trimmed off the crust, and cut them into thirds, serving one of each on a large plate. On the side was the beautifully dramatic fruit salad – fresh fruit tossed with whipped cream, heaped fluffy and high on the plate with a wedge of pineapple standing up from the center like a feather on a fancy lady’s hat. It was the most elegant meal, and I was always proud to order it.
I watched my aunt change out the bar of soap that went into the grinding dispenser in the restroom. I was very happy attending my aunt that summer and intrigued by all the inventions of the world and all the things there were to learn, liking counting letters to center typing. I also learned that summer how to use the cash register and make change, so when the restaurant wasn’t busy, my aunt stood beside me while I punched the beautiful cash register keys: each with a clear bold number on top inside a silver circle frame, ten in a column, from 9 down to 0, repeated in five perfect columns, the dollars in brown and the cents in cream, for tallying numbers from $.01 to $999.99, easy to understand. It was easy to punch in the customer’s totals from their receipt, punch in the tax, hit Total, and announce the amount almost as quickly as the adult could. I also learned to make change: starting with the total, take pennies to add up to the nearest number that ends with a five or zero, add nickels or dimes to get to the nearest quarter, and add quarters to get to the nearest dollar, and add dollars to get to whatever bills they’d given me. Then repeat the counting in the customer’s hand. Customers never failed to exclaim their surprise and ask me how old I was. “Seven,” I said proudly.
I have no memory of my family returning to get me that summer. Maybe I was returned by the men in the sedan. Or may it was later when I remember waking up at home, absolutely thrilled, and feeling as though I’d been sleeping “for a very long time!” – which is exactly what I told my mother when I ran to her in the kitchen. “I’m awake! I’m awake! And I’ve been asleep for a long, long time!” I saw the look on her face, and felt she was as surprised and happy as I was, but I could also see she was startled by my exclamation, and immediately denied it. I saw again the thing I was trained to ignore, and I said nothing about it: her lying. “No, you were only asleep for the night,” she said, but she said it with “that voice” I knew, and she wasn’t looking at me. I didn’t understand it, but at least I was home again.
Within a few months, we’d move from our tiny pink stucco bungalow into a large custom home in an exclusive neighborhood where Stuart Udall, Secretary of the Interior of the United States, and a Mormon, had a “second home,” on a lot that abutted our lot, or very nearly. His cousin, Addison Udall, was my pediatrician. They would both come to our Christmas party that year, and when I told my doctor at the party that my father gave me “my boosters” (very unlikely, so the question remains: what was he giving me?), the doctor and my father exchanged silent glances I’ve never forgotten, my doctor’s surprise, my father’s dread, my doctor’s evil stare toward my father. I could be reading something into this entirely wrong, but I think that moment abruptly changed our family life. By the end of the school year, when we’d been in the house less than eight months, and I know my mother loved it, we’d sell it and move to Paradise Valley, Arizona, by way of Phoenix, which seemed like the worst place in the world to live.
2015 was a big year for someone (CIA? FBI? other mind controllers?) leaving marks on my body while they do who-knows-what. I assume I’m being used as a guinea pig for drugs, electronic weapons and stun/amnesia devices, and who knows what else.
Not “just” bruises and constant injection bruises, but scoops, gouges, punctures, and burns, not to mention amnesia/missing time and absolute exhaustion. Here are photos of some of my year:
[skipping many bruises and other marks that probably look unimpressive, but were still mysterious and suspicious, especially in conjunction with other mysteries]
On June 25, I woke with my third “donut” bruise (the others in 2014) – this time just above the back of my knee:
On June 30, 2015, I woke with this burn on the back of my neck.
Two days later, it looked like this:
In November, I woke with these two dots under my jaw. (I also woke with two dots on my neck in February, but didn’t get a good photo.) These double puncture/dots have become common now.
In just the second half of 2015, I also experienced 39 days of mysterious absolute exhaustion, usually combined with bruises and cuts, twice with the certainty that “something happened to me last night,” a puncture wound to my left thigh, many unexplained bruises, cuts, gouges, vaginal and anal irritation, and other unexplained skin damage, hypersensitivity, itching, numbness (all unexplained by my known activities), and many days of heart palpitations and high pulse rate, and a heart attack in August.
I don’t know how to stop them. I’ve tried to stop posting, as I thought there was a correlation, but I’m not sure, so I’m still posting….
Anomalous weirdness seemed to be increasing, so last January I decided to comb through every journal of mine and record the anomalies since I published RattleSnake Fire, and then record all the anomalies in my book and before my book – the entire rest of my life, as much as I could remember. I put them all in a master database, with dates and places and other notations, and they total over 700 events!
Some were flesh-and-bones type of events; other were purely psychic, as if in other realms, but consistent with common theories of mind control and psychic attack.
When I checked to see how many occurred in these recent years, I found that, yes, things are accelerating: I’ve had over half – over 390 anomalous events – since I published my book in January 2008.
Now, anomalous doesn’t mean “bad,” as some anomalies were healing and spiritual insights that made me blissful and came on like a “download.” So, I colored the supposedly “good” anomalies in green and blue, and I colored the shocking, frightening ones in orange and red. Those latter outnumbered the positive by 3 or 4 to 1.
Since there were so many, it was hard to wrap my mind around them, so I made an abbreviated list of the biggies – below.
This is not a comprehensive list, only those I wrote in my journal, sometimes I was too messed up to journal for days and might have forgotten to make a record; sometimes I missed things because I was amnesic; and a few journals seem to have gone missing for much of July 2013-July 2014, so I don’t know how much I missed there. But it’s a good start.
I’ve separated the “challenges” from the “blessings” – and I’ve written with extreme brevity, so they might not sound like much, but in context, believe me, they were.
You’ll notice the few from 2008-2009 (July – July) slowly grow to larger numbers in recent years:
(If anyone finds these familiar, I hope they give you solace that you’re not alone.)
July 2008 – July 2009 Challenges:
a spiritual attachment
Psychic (freak-out) reaction to a stranger
July 2008 – July 2009 Blessings:
magical message from shaman
July 2009 – July 2010 Challenges:
Suspicious lover from teen years called, seducing
experienced conscious MK rape
MK’d to go somewhere, a test
computer weirdness x 3
eyes in mirror not mine
saw demon face over friend’s face
saw etheric safe in my back, and removed it, but not man’s hand also there!
July 2009 – July 2010 Blessings:
multiple self re-knitting
avoid brain balancing “offer” from suspect doctor
“cowboy cataract” healed instantaneously
two alters see each other
July 2010 – July 2011 Challenges:
Weird, amnestic stop on Highway 90
new door lock broken
sleep anomaly x 10+
weird and mysterious obsession over friend
3 puncture cuts
4 scoop marks
other weird bruises x 4
inch-deep puncture up beside clitoris
spine mysetriously hurt
tones in ears
beam follows me around house
next morning: ears ringing badly, never quit
house entered, things moved, hot water in tap on New Years, footsteps in snow
old high school friend reconnects; wrote fiction (of me) as MK assassin
bad energy sensed powerfully from across street
noises in house
etheric Aries sign attacked me and stuck to my forehead in energy realm
woman in house makes toilet overflow x 2
message from dark side: I’m “already in”
Despite documentation and no contrary theories, Dr. calls me delusional
Bad spirit in a basket (blessing: I eject and bring it to heal or depart in garden)
July 2010 – July 2011 Blessings:
blue-green energy healing alters
person inside me helping
another healing x 2
nighttime healings x ?
seeing energy, controlling it
yogi comes in
felt g-spot heal
understanding, writing about the cruel teacher
email warning: new Friend/CIA –
life-threatening email, took to police –
postal mail: I’m an MK slave, may lose my soul – (all 3 in 1 week)
weird sleep and exhaustion x 16+
bruises x 3+
needle bruises x 34
4-5 clear tones
2 scoop marks
injured back/no reason x 2
neck out, rib out- pain
weird neck problems x 3
Wake to find friend whispering/instructing me x 2
realize MK as child on vacations, collapse to floor
iridescent golden mucous glob from sinus
felt severely drugged
weird answering machine message
phone interruption: “record again”
happy drug? too much energy
male friend confirms Archons
shamanic journey: saw programming in Akron, age 19, painful, terrifying
“dream” of waiting obediently
dream: audition, girls lifting skirts
dream of extra-dimensional powers and astral spying
dream of spying
dream of fire under house
dreams of tunnels, transportation
possible abduction dream
intense forgotten dream
dream of pre-school, computer pass codes, remote command hand tools
July 2011-July 2012 Blessings:
dream of friend that comes true
feeling strong despite all weirdness
7 months of nothing significant
strong recovery from spiritual attack
recognized MK command to not have orgasm
shamanic journey: removed hooks from spine and neck
shamanic journey: alters back, bad energy removed, neck fixed
July 2012 – July 2013 Challenges:
exhausted x 18+
wrenched back x 2, displaced C2
neck hurt x 2, headache, out of it
jaw locked, wouldn’t open
red line in eye
anxiety, unable to center self
more weird bruises
ears ringing bad
harassing mental video
computer x 2 and phone weirdness
strange drivers license discovered in my wallet, frightened, called police; afterward no memory of name or face on license
lost time w friend
amnesia, friend no help
email about amnesia – totally forgotten
MK on Christmas Eve
dream of space ship, large marble building, dead body
dream of staircase to other country
dream remote viewing tidal wave, sold on MK
plus events in 2013 – journals missing
July 2012 – July 2013 Blessings:
bolt of healing energy from almond tree
exhaled huge psychic sludge
healing contortions night and morning
July 2013 – July 2014 Challenges:
camping horror: apparent abduction, noro virus, almost died (others went to hospital), people sabotage my sleep
friend scares me
consistent sabotage before my scheduled workshops
many injection bruises, weekly
exhaustion with lots of sleep until I quit my business, then felt better
(journals irregular or lost)
July 2013 – July 2014 Blessings:
none (2013 journals disappeared)
“something done in night” x 6+
long sleep and exhaustion x 46
donut bruises x2
injection bruises x 8, “2x/wk”
other bruises x 10
heart racing/hurting x 11
jaw painful x 6
scoop marks x 5
numb shoulder x 3
hypersensitive hip x 2
missing time x 8
movies in head x 3, sometimes forgotten
strange noises x 2
vaginal, anal irritation x 2
Thanksgiving: vision, drugged, unable to stand, walk, see; friend incongruous; memory of anal “inoculation”
rage x 9
back wrenched x2
new herpes x 2
gouges both forearms
irritation on thigh
woke w busted thumbnail
woke, peed in bed, total exhaustion with other extreme symptoms
woken by Ultra Low Frequency
tones, sometimes waking me
“vampire” scabs on neck, first day of UFO Congress
cut on left finger
itching hands, arms
triangle dots on hand
ringing in ears (always)
huge, bubbly, iridescent gold mucous from sinus
visions amazing, then forgotten
saw red UFO, hard sleep
Disqus (never heard of) has account in my name [never fixed – why?]
missing time w friend
See friend in other dimension, scary
Rage 2 days
Knew I’d been electroshocked, found it amusing
Voice 2 Skull transmission test
downloads to hidden alter: “MK is All”
dream of remote viewing
alien dreams, anxiety
July 2014 – July 2015 Blessings:
watched Dragonfly hatch
in meditation, see spinning child, calm her
met inner Jessie
saw old and young selves in mirror
spiritual house cleaning
spontaneous healing of heart
spiritual clearing, spell broken, alters calibrated
inner Rolfer/yogi healing
spiritual message: “You can’t keep ignoring us; do shamanic work”
2 healing events
END OF 63rd year (end of 7th 9-YEAR CYCLE) . . .
(Beginning 8th 9-year Cycle):
July 2015 – January 2016 Challenges:
Sense of something done to me in night x 2
absolute exhaustion x 39 (half-year 40/180 = 22% of days!)
puncture wound left thigh
back problem x 2
blood clot from nose
daytime altered state with download
tone x 3, once with chord following
woken by pounding heart x 2
heart pain x 7, once preceded by low vibration
heart anxiety x 12
vibration in head
ligament mysteriously inflamed in left pelvis
headache, mind scrambled
downloads x 2
download about old friend, weird, believable?
meditate -> crazy distractions
dream: something put in old clock, next day clear new tone from clock!
dream: answering machine gives series of numbers
waking life: answering machine leaves speeded up message (so couldn’t understand); intended to save, but deleted it
father’s Navy record suspect of special project subject
reconnect w old friend, seems another MK subject
Severe RAGE x2
burn on back of neck
2 scoop marks on upper spine
July 2015 – July 2016 Blessings:
Exhaustion of many days suddenly “turned off,” as by switch; feel instantly great
saw face as half-shaman
Mother Goddess real
meditation on Earth’s sexual abuse history – long, forever, won’t quit
alters lined up
“walk-in” suggests she can take over; I don’t agree
MK is just what is, always, can’t resist, don’t fight
plant diva: submission to other’s control is part of life. Let go.
We are like plants tended by indifferent or ignorant gardeners, not evil. Only as unconscious as us.
Bloom where you’re planted, despite all.
Comments, friends? Seems clear to me that I fit the pattern of an MK subject and targeted individual with a bit of spiritual and mystic experiences giving me occasional hope to keep me going.
“We believed that the record, incomplete as it was, was as complete as it was going to be. Then one individual, through a Freedom of Information request, accomplished what two U.S. Senate committees could not. He spurred the agency into finding additional records pertaining to the CIA’s program of experimentation with human subjects. These new records were discovered by the agency in march. Their existence was not make known to the Congress until July.
“The records reveal a far more extensive series of experiments than had previously been thought. Eighty-six universities or institutions were involved. New instances of unethical behavior were revealed. The intelligence community of this Nation, which requires a shroud of secrecy in order to operate, has a very sacred trust from the American people. The CIA’s program of human experimentation of the fifties and sixties violated that trust. It was violated again on the day the bulk of the agency’s records were destroyed in 1973. It is violated each time a responsible official refuses to recollect the details of the program. The best safeguard against abuses in the future is a complete public accounting of the abuses of the past.”
— from the MKULTRA Hearings and Documents, PROJECT MKULTRA, THE CIA’S PROGRAM OF RESEARCH IN BEHAVIORAL MODIFICATION, testimony, Wednesday, August 3, 1977, to the U.S. Senate, Select Committee on Intelligence and Subcommittee on Health and Scientific Research of the Committee on Human Resources
We’re still waiting for a complete accounting.
You’d think that if you were watching a movie, and the camera zoomed in on the watch that the main character wore and kept checking, so tight a zoom that the watch face more than filled the screen, you’d notice the time. And you’d especially notice the time if the character repeated the action and the director repeated the zoom four or five times.
Not me. And because the time – always the same – was critical to the plot about time loops, I didn’t understand the movie until my friend told me the time was always 7:42 (or whatever; I don’t remember).
Realizing what I had stubbornly refused to see – at least with my conscious mind – was a powerful shock and an important and helpful wake-up call. My recent life, the last 22 years, has been a series of such shocks and awakenings.
It was the spring of 1994 when I realized, to my horror, that I was a “multiple personality.” In the 22 years since, I’ve realized I’m a unique sort of multiple – not the kind with random parts that highjack the system and lead crazy-making alternative lives for hours or years at a time.
No, my “system” [multiple personality jargon] seems to be quite organized in comparison, and even to function well enough that I’ve won awards and national and international recognitions for achievements in everything from news reporting and fundraising to videography and Permaculture education. This isn’t unusual for multiples, as many of us are geniuses.
My system of alternate personalities – I believe I have a wealth of evidence to prove – was crafted by psychiatrists and mind control researchers beginning shortly after I was born. My history begins with the CIA’s Human Ecology Project (a front for mind control research) on the campus of UC Davis, where I lived from age 3 days to 14 months. After that, we moved to Merced where the cousin of the Secretary of the Interior, Addison Udall, was my pediatrician. After my 1st and 2nd grades, for which I have total amnesia, my family moved into a new custom home that backed up to or near a home of Stewart Udall.
My history continues matching many aspects of the stories of other mind control subjects around the United States and Canada who’ve either published their stories, testified before Congress, or whose counselors or therapists have told their stories, or whose details have been compiled in research.
My mind control programming seems to have been constructed along the lines detailed by DC Hammond, the psychiatrist who first came forward and described this problem and its possible cure to the American Psychological Association in the 1980s; and by the controversial researcher Fritz Springmeyer, who presents a diagram of typical alters, scores or hundreds, constructed in shells, like a computer program, making it possible for someone to command a particular alter to perform a particular function perfectly when, where, and as desired by the use of cues, similar to pass codes, which access programs which are regularly reinforced and updated. So my multiple-ness doesn’t function randomly or dysfunctionally, as movies and books often portray, but precisely according to some Master Controller’s plan. Usually.
There are exceptions to this, of course. All us mind control subjects, for instance, writing books and testifying was not in the controllers’ plan. Because this is research, not perfected yet. Some of us early research subjects, from the late forties and early fifties, are in our sixties now, and that means that brain cells aren’t being replaced as rapidly, and mental things are deteriorating. What deteriorates might be “simple memory,” as the average person might think of it, but the brain cells lost might also be part of an amnesic wall or part of a program – meaning that we might begin to remember things we’re not supposed to remember, or we might begin not following commands we’re supposed to follow. Indeed, around age 40 – as brain research predicts – I began to remember what I wasn’t supposed to remember.
At first I ignored it, thought it some weird aberration, for which I invented all sorts of theories to override the one thing it seemed to be, put it all in a box, on a high shelf in a mental closet, shut the door, and didn’t think about it again for four years, until another break-through memory happened again. Then I repeated the process: in the box, on the shelf (saved without looking or mentally tampering, to maybe investigate later), shut the door, and forgot.
After another four years and a sudden crisis of cancer, divorce, moving with teens, one seriously ill, and a nervous breakdown – I went to a therapist’s office, listed my challenges, and followed them with words that had never crossed my frontal cortex until I heard my mouth speaking them – quite the surprise: “I think I’ve been sexually abused as a child. [shocked pause] No, no, that’s not what I meant to say. I don’t want to deal with that. I never even thought about it before [lie], and don’t know where it came from. I have more serious, immediately pressing needs to talk about.”
And so began my 22-years-and-counting journey toward understanding what’s been going on with my mind. The first year, 1993-1994, I coped with the shock of memories of sexual abuse and the spells of amnesia that had plagued me. The next 8 years I coped with the shock and self-diagnosis of Multiple Personality Syndrome (aka Dissociative Disorder). And the following/recent 14 years, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with the understanding that I’ve been – not just a regular “multiple” – but a mind-control subject, someone with a psychological and psychiatric “technology” applied to multiple alters in me – created intentionally – your tax dollars at work.
So what does this have to do with not noticing the time? I can only guess, but I know that we can be programmed for any number of things, to support a program of any purpose, sometimes because a subject is being actively used for intelligence purposes (seems unlikely at my age, but possible), and sometimes because a subject is being used for research in new programming techniques, drugs, working with aging subjects, etc.
When I don’t notice the time, it’s easier for my controllers to use me and have me not notice.
In 1994, deep in my initial nervous breakdown depths, I was powerfully moved by the idea that it would be good for me to anchor myself fully in the time cycles of sun and moon and not by clock and calendar, and I lived that way in my hermitage for half of each week while commuting the other half of the week to school in the city. I thought it was a very spiritual concept, a psychic liberation from the broadcast mind control of Gregorian Calendar and chaotic clock; but it could also have been that I was given the command to stop watching the clock, so that I could be more easily used while alone in the desert. In 2000, when I began living there full-time, I quit noticing the time entirely, unless I needed to know.
If forced to look at a clock, as in the movie, I studied the craftsmanship of the frame, or the lighting or camera operator’s techniques. Sometimes, lately, because I’m trying to re-ground myself in time, I see and note the time, and then moments later realize I’ve forgotten it.
I’m still trying to figure out my brain, and try not to feel too bad for finding it so difficult; after all, the government spent a great deal of money and science to keep me from knowing. So I take heart in whatever little scraps of understanding I can gain.
How do we keep going? Maybe Spirit. Maybe our programming. I ask this question often.
In either case, it is usually lonely, because virtually everyone falls in one of two camps: it doesn’t happen, or the likelihood is slim; or they know but they just don’t want to hear about it, sorry.
It’s surprising to recognize how long I’ve been so compromised, forced to compensate with notes, notes, notes, reminders, struggling, lately overwhelmed….
Noticing, though, is the first step to healing. Gotta appreciate what we can.
I don’t know why I ignore David Icke. Because a few mock him? Because he scares me? Because it feels so true, I think I don’t need to hear it?
Whatever, I stumbled upon this blogger’s summary of Icke, which seems a pretty fair summary – as far as I understand, and I quit paying attention a long time ago. But not because I disparage his message.
Here’s the blogger summary, at this link: http://www.collective-evolution.com/2013/10/17/david-ickes-theory-of-the-reptilian-human-hybrid-apocalypse/.
The super-hopeful ending – ? Sometimes I feel that way….
I haven’t often used this term, targeted individual, but it certainly applies to mind control subjects. Following is an excerpt from http://truthstreammedia.com/2013/09/28/judge-quashes-650m-government-mind-control-lawsuit/ – with many useful links for further research.
Project Lawsuit Abuse wrote, “Prisoner lawsuits are a growing problem, and they waste millions in taxpayer dollars each year.” It seems if anyone mentions microwave weapons causing voices in their heads or government mind control programs, they are instantly dismissed as mentally unhinged without question.
But what if something like that was actually happening to people?
While Penn Live actually lays out a lot of evidence to show there’s a widescale pattern of people complaining of similar targeting, the ultimate conclusion is, again, that it’s all just a conspiracy theory.
With just a bit more research, perhaps that author would have come across U.S. patent #4,877,027 for “A Hearing System”. According to the device’s abstract, “Sound is induced in the head of a person by radiating the head with microwaves in the range of 100 megahertz to 10,000 megahertz that are modulated with a particular waveform.” There are many more patents out there like it.
The technology for neuroweapons absolutely exists, and all over the world, more and more people are claiming to be victims of them — people who say they have been mercilessly tracked and targeted, physically and psychologically tortured day after day after day at the hands of unknown entities wielding electromagnetic frequency (EMF) weapons. Victims are subjected to voices only they can hear and painful sensations and heating in various areas of their bodies — the exact types of symptoms that could be caused by the EMF weapons described in NASA’s “Future of War 2025” document and the declassified Army Intelligence report “Bioeffects of Selected Nonlethal Weapons“.
The cover story “Misled & Betrayed: How US Cover Stories Are Keeping a Cold War Weapon (Neuroweapons) and Illegal Human Testing a Secret” by Cheryl Welsh, featured in the most recent edition of Torture: Asian and Global Perspectives, lays out the historical case for the U.S. government’s research and development of classified mind control and microwave weapons that began during World War II.
“For decades, the US government prevented the science required for neuroweapons from developing in the unclassified realm; thereby allowing the US government to claim neuroweapons are science fiction, based on the best US science literature available. At the same time, secret neuroweapons research flourished and the US government employed extensive secrecy methods to disguise the fact that neuroweapons were scientifically possible not only in principle but were also proven with science experiments.
Consequently, secret neuroweapons that are already developed are a serious threat but experts are not warning the public and they should be.”
When it comes to the two main areas of study in regard to the human brain, Welsh discusses how the government has been backing and shaping all the publicly available research in the biochemical realm, while closing off and classifying any significant research in the bioelectrical realm. Thus, secret research into the bioelectrical functions of the brain, and the neuroweapons based on those properties, can continue off the record, unabated.
When any questions are raised as to the existence of neuroweapons technology, plausible deniability can easily be claimed based on the latest unclassified science available.
Even though the 1977 Church Committee helped bring the top secret CIA project MKULTRA to the public’s attention, it would seem the project — which at that point had spanned decades, with millions of dollars and thousands of victims — only got blacker and went deeper underground.
Stories like those in Banks’ lawsuit are sadly not even uncommon anymore. Did the U.S. really just suddenly have a huge surge in schizophrenia in the last few decades? That disease has a typical onset in the under 30 crowd; why are people in all age ranges suddenly waking up one day in their 40s, 50s and 60s and claiming to have a lot of the same symptoms without any mental illness history or drug or alcohol problems?
Check out how this 1986 New York Times article “Schizophrenia: Insights Fail to Halt Rising Toll” begins:
“Never before in American history have so many schizophrenics been seen on the streets of American cities, screaming aloud to voices only they can hear, proclaiming themselves God, warning passers-by that the Central Intelligence Agency has bugged their brains, or simply sitting, mute and withdrawn, sunk in an apathy so deep that no emotion crosses their faces.” [emphasis added]
There are even theories that many of the rather large number of people who believed themselves abducted by UFOs in the 1980s and 1990s were actually victims of MKULTRA 2.0. (Guess that makes a lot more sense than aliens traveling through the galaxy all that way to visit earth just to probe people…)
We know that our brain cells communicate with electrical signals. How else would amputees be able to control the latest high tech bionic legs using only their brainwaves?
The government has been called into question on EMF weapons lately, following suspected Navy Yard shooter Aaron Alexis’ claims that he was targeted with just such weapons.
“Ultra low frequency attack is what I’ve been subject to for the last three months. And to be perfectly honest, that is what has driven me to this,” Mr. Alexis reportedly wrote in a note before he shot 12 people. Pictures of the shotgun Alexis used to commit the crime have surfaced with “My ELF [extremely low frequency] weapon,” “Better off this way,” and “End the torment” scratched into the barrel.
The mainstream media has, for the most part, dutifully painted Alexis as a mentally insane person who just randomly lost it and decided to shoot a bunch of people one day. He isn’t the first government employee to kill and claim it was the government controlling his mind. Carl Campbell was found innocent by reason of insanity after shooting Navy Commander Edward Higgins to death outside the Pentagon in 1991. Court papers revealed Campbell was believed to be schizophrenic due to his assertions the U.S. government had inserted a mind control microchip into his brain.
U.S. Army Intelligence Veteran and Former Director of the Electronic Surveillance Project Julianne McKinney self-published “Microwave Harassment & Mind-Control Experimentation” in 1992 and “Mind Control and the Secret State” in 2008. In her writings, McKinney outlined what could be the ultimate goals of these clandestine EMF torture programs:
The long-term objectives of these harassment and experimentation campaigns appear to be quite fundamental; viz.,
(1) induce a sense of perverted “loyalty” toward the very agencies engaged in the individual’s harassment, to confuse his or her priorities where the possibility of obtaining legal redress might be concerned;
(2) redirect the targeted individual’s feelings of hopelessness, anger and frustration toward racial and ethnic groups, and toward select, prominent political figures, to include the President of the United States; and
(3) force the individual to commit an act of violence, whether suicide or murder, under conditions which can be plausibly denied by the government.
[I relate to very little of the above, though those objectives likely apply to some other forms of mind control, programs different from mine.]
Listen to a full-length interview with McKinney on the topic below:
This is a very good audio interview with an important person in this field, Julianne McKinny, author of Microwave Harassment and Mind Control Experimentation. At approximately 12:00, she describes the symptoms of targeting. At 27:00, she tries to answer what to do for a TI to get peace. At 36:00, she talks about her own targeted experience.
My life is exquisitely difficult to talk about. It’s woven with extreme themes – sexual abuse, mind control, aliens, mysticism – and with accomplishments that make me shy, and failures that embarrass me, and critical facts that embarrass other people.
And none of the themes, for simplification, can be hidden or glossed over, because each intertwines and sometimes explains the others.
I can’t begin at the beginning, because it is either boring, or if I tell certain details, it sounds too woo-woo.
Since I almost always get interrupted fairly early with the question, “Why you?” I think I’ll begin there.
It could be any number of things, but is probably all of them together. Plus the fact that I won “the lottery.”
(Remember that classic, creepy short story, “The Lottery”? We read it once in grade school and again in high school, about a community that killed one person every year by stoning, a person drawn by lottery.)
My lottery ticket to this crazy life may have been as simple as my birth date. I was born on a Full Moon, on a Monday (Moon Day), in the middle of Cancer, also known as Moon Child.
And it wasn’t just a Full Moon, somewhere inside that 24-hour window; no, I was born 8 minutes before the Full Moon, 8/(24×60) = 5/1,000ths of a degree of perfection. Moon energy was strong. (Astronomical charts, not astrological, show the coincidence.)
So were the numbers: I was born on July 7, 1952 − 5+2 adding up to 7. Three sevens. Then my mother gave me a name with 7 letters: Jean Ann.
My last name, at birth and now, is Eisenhower. My father was second cousin to Dwight, who was nominated to the Republic ticket for President of the United States later on the day of my birth. The next day, the local paper would give my birth a short column to remark on the coincidence.
Maybe all these coincidences explain my winning/losing lottery ticket. Or maybe mind control was already in the family.
[I’ll expand on these later: Eisenhowers = Iron hewers (secret society protecting metallurgy secrets for the king). Grandfather Hollywood veterinarian of Rin-Tin-Tin – Mason – money lender. Father Navy CASU 33 – unsolved mystery.
[Petersens – Mormons. Grandmother with her handler. Mother I saw switch alters, in trance. Unexplained terror re Mormons. Flashback of babyhood ritual.]
I seem to have won/lost the lottery and was treated to MK. Then, having developed a bad attitude toward our culture due to MK, I joined the counter-culture and offended my handlers – again and again, beginning with rejecting the invitation of another secret society, calling them “plastic,” accepting their invitation to “try them,” taking the vows, and then de-activating and breaking my vows. I assume my actions resulted in another layer of MK, as they warned us that breaking our vows would have severe consequences (which I didn’t believe, as it was contrary to “American values”).
In my 20s, I became an activist for peace, and later for social justice, and environmental sustainability. Along the way, I insulted the FBI with media releases exposing their most incriminating statements which I sent to 600 major media around the world, nearly every day of the 6-week “Judi Bari v FBI” federal trial – and the FBI was found guilty.
They stared me down in the hallways of the courthouse, damn scary dudes. They might have amped up my treatment then and following the trial, when I lived alone in the desert – things got extremely frightening after the trial, to the point I was ready to give up this life.
Perhaps they amped up my MK again when I published my book. And maybe they amped it up again each time I published a particularly hard-hitting blog or video. There seem to be correlations.
So now that I’ve given you an overview of my story, maybe answered the Why?, and I’ve gotten my paranoia out of the way – or demonstrated and acknowledged it at least – let me tell you my story….
In my next memoir, I’ll summarize my life through 2007 briefly, as it’s detailed in RattleSnake Fire: a memoir of extra-dimensional experience, and spend most of the book recounting the most recent eight years.
To help me wrap my brain around it all – my fractured, fragmented mind full of experiences is often difficult to remember as a whole – I created a database to record all my anomalous experiences, from sublime to terrifying, everything out of the normal. My list is nearly 700 items long, and the last half of them have occurred in the last 5 years. Things are accelerating.
[to be continued]
Feedback? How’s this to open an update to my story?
Disinformation is finally being better understood and acknowledged throughout the culture, but few people understand its full extent. And understanding and reading reality correctly is an important survival skill for all of us.
Therefore, I’d like to share what I’ve learned, as both third-party observer and victim. I’ll chose an older story rather than a new one, to lessen the chance the guilty will be recognized – which I assume will lessen the repercussions I will experience for telling.
Before I tell this 7-year old story, I first want to tell a little about the concept: I didn’t know the word disinformation until I was involved with Earth First!, and then I witnessed it a great deal, as our expert-witness scientist supporters from around the world were ignored by the Media, and our peaceful protests, humorous skits, and potluck dinners (at my home) were treated like national security threats in FBI reports (I have copies).
When Judi Bari, a non-violence activist and mother of two, was car-bombed in 1990, she was maligned in the world-wide Media as a would-be bomber. But subtler lies are also told for different effects.
I’d become a thorn in the FBI’s side when, in 2002, I wrote or helped write, almost every day for six weeks, media releases for the Judi Bari v FBI trial. When I returned home to my desert hermitage, I began to be plagued by frightening bouts of amnesia and immobilization, with physical wounds, including lacerations and puncture wounds to the inside of my vagina (also photographed) – to the point that I considered suicide frequently.
Feeling like a sitting duck in the desert, I sold my remote home on 20 acres and, because I didn’t think I could stand a big city anymore, found my way to Silver City, in great need of friends to surround me.
Unfortunately, frightening events continued to happen, including third-degree Taser burns and biopsy scoops that appeared on my hands and arms and back with no memory of how they happened – and weird events of disinformation that undermined my reputation and sense of community.
Over the nine years I’ve lived here, my wounds have also included scores of injection bruises, two donut bruises, dozens of other weird bruises, sexual mysteries, and even some healed scars, one of which a doctor assumed was from thyroid surgery. Most I’ve photographed, and many I’ve shown friends, though few want to hear about them – I gather because it’s just too upsetting to their world views.
I totally understand not wanting to hear. It took me a lot of years of having this actually happen to me before I could adjust my world view to get over the “freedom and justice for all” mythology and accept what was happening.
If you find this hard to believe, I do understand, and hope you can read on, because this is part of our reality – and properly reading reality is essential to our survival. Following is an account of disinformation against me, undermining my status in my new community.
In 2007, I was a week or so away from a trip to Peru, when someone recommended a woman to stay at my home and care for my cat. Actually, it was a couple, I was told, a man and a woman, about my age, who were hip and “into community,” and had some circumstances that had stranded them in Silver City, needing a place to stay; the husband was working, but hadn’t gotten a paycheck yet. I agreed to let them stay in my home, even though afterward I realized that I didn’t like the woman at all, and she had talked a solid streak for 90 minutes, essentially wearing me down, and making me feel sorry and embarrassed for her, as if to say No would force her to recognize she had been obnoxious, which would be hurtful to her, so I couldn’t say No. Not logical, but defininely my sort of neurotic, self-defeating kindness.
In Tucson, I was supposed to be at the airport at 6 am for an 8 am flight, but I woke at 4 with a severe toothache that made it very difficult to move with any more than a shuffle, so I canceled my flight with a medical excuse. I would have a root canal later that afternoon.
Mid-morning, when my plane was in the air, I began receiving bizarre emails from my house sitter who assumed I was on the plane to Peru. She told me my stove was leaking gas, the phone wasn’t working, two crews of repairmen had been in, and my cat was acting ill – all in her first day at the house, and the first day of my 20-day trip.
Even though I immediately suspected this was probably a form of harassing disinformation, it was shocking to think of how very distressing it would have been to be on a plane to a faraway place with this bombardment of distressing news.
Thankfully, I wasn’t gone, and I’d been around enough FBI lies and other tricks that I found it all suspicious. So I answered her emails without telling her I was still in Tucson.
Her stories continued to hammer on distressing probabilities and were amped up with direct accusations (13 specific, weird accusations against me! in emails still saved) that I was “paranoid” and similar negative assessments – even though I’d been extremely cautious not to say a single inflammatory word, but simply asked calm questions about my home. It was as though she’d intended I become paranoid.
I called a handy woman friend who visited the house and was told by the woman that the phone was repaired. Since I’d asked my friend to enter and check out the stove and look around, she asked to enter, but the woman refused. When my friend next called to tell me the phone was supposedly repaired, I was still unable to call home, and was told by the woman via email that the phone was “down again,” working only during the short period my friend had come to the door.
After drilling and filling my tooth, I hit the road immediately to Tucson, calling another friend along the way, who arrived at the house shortly after I did. The woman was shocked to find me at the door and was barely willing to let me into my own home. When my friend arrived, we confronted the woman with the crazy contents of her emails, as I wanted to be entirely fair and consider the possibility that perhaps she hadn’t send them, and they were instead sent by disinformation specialists; I reviewed all 13 accusations with her, and she confirmed she’d written them – even as she stammered to explain some of her more bizarre accusations.
We then had to demand she leave, as she was intent on staying in my home as I’d “promised” to let her, and she even had the gall to suggest I leave. When she continued refusing, we finally threatened to call the police to remove her and she finally accepted our demands. But as she left, and we realized to our astonishment that she didn’t have anything at the house other than her small purse – no overnight bags, no toothbrush, no food, no nothing, even though she’d supposedly stayed there the night before and her husband was due there shortly and she desperately wanted to stay there again that night. But the bed hadn’t even been slept in, and the kitchen was unused. We assumed she wanted us to leave so we wouldn’t discover this, and she was actually there for some other reason.
As we pondered this, my friend’s phone rang, she answered it and heard silence. After hanging up, she hit the call back button and was greeted with an office name with “Intelligence” in the title. My friend and I assumed the woman and her husband were functioning as low-level spies, watching the house so that others could come in (under the guise of repairmen?) to do whatever they do to activists and others on federal “watch” lists. Perhaps they’d used some high technology to identify and call her phone, perhaps to add a bit of warning to our overload of weird information and seeming threats.
The next day, I called the gas company and was told she had called and a repair person had come out, but no gas leak was found, and the stove never did have problems.
I used my cell phone to call the phone company because the home phone still did not work. When the repairman came out the next day, he worked for two hours and finally concluded, “This is the strangest problem I’ve ever seen in my 20 years of phone repair, and I can’t figure it out.” And he rewired most of the house.
My cat never showed any signs of illness.
A few days later, another phone repairman appeared at the front door. I called Qwest to confirm he was legit, and was told something vague I don’t remember, even as I realized the feds certainly have the ability to intercept my call, redirect it to their own office, and have someone pose as a phone company rep, telling me whatever I needed to hear. I let the guy in.
He checked the phone jacks, then went outside and climbed a ladder to the box attached near the roof line. I wondered if I’d detect him putting a bug on my line, so I stood beneath and watched. He talked and seemed to be wasting time, repeating motions, and getting impatient with me standing there looking up constantly. I smiled and asked him if he was finished. He looked confused and irritated. Laughter was close, but I had no desire to mock a fed. I also knew I couldn’t stop them if they wanted to put a bug on my line, and if he didn’t do it today, they’d do it another day soon, and it might be less fun next time. So I walked around the corner, gave him a minute, then came back to find him climbing down, looking relieved. Ever since, my old-style ringer phone makes a little noise a few seconds after every time I hang up, and around 10 pm every night, which I think of as shift-change, and maybe other times I haven’t yet noticed.
The woman and her husband, I later learned, went to live with a young, hip couple out in the Mimbres, whose friends overlapped with mine, but whom I only knew because the husband clerked at a store I frequent, a store central to my community. Immediately, the man quit being friendly with me and instead acted as though I were a terrible person he could barely be civil to. And in following years, a number of their acquaintances have continued to keep distant even though we have many friends and interests in common.
I assumed the woman had told the young couple poisonous things about me. But I didn’t know them well enough to try to discover what they’d been told, and my questions might be received as very weird. It was very weird, and I didn’t trust anyone to accept it at face value without having to reconsider a lot of assumptions and probably wonder also if I was just plain crazy, so I said nothing to anyone except the two friends who each witnessed part of the event.
Every so often, about once a year, people on the edges of my community suddenly act cold or confused around me, as if they’d heard something terrible and didn’t know whether they should even acknowledge me. I notice quite a few people all change at once and continue in the pattern for some weeks or months, until slowly the awkwardness fades a little, but doesn’t go entirely away. I just stay away from them, to lessen their discomfort and mine.
I sometimes review the experiences of friendly acquaintances turning away or looking fearful and try to convince myself the events are not significant, but they seem to display a consistent pattern. And then there’s the other parallel evidence: the woman at my house with no personal possessions, her emails full of lies and inflammatory accusations, and my phone line mysteriously wired. And mysterious Taser burns and similar wounds on my very own body keep me from dismissing my total experience as imagination – as some friends, family, and doctors would like me to.
I’d love to dismiss it as imagination and believe in a different America, but that’s not my experience. For 8 years now, I’ve been asking my online readers, and no one has come up with any explanation better than the one that’s supported by government documents: federal agents practice disinformation, harass, encourage divisiveness, and more, under the rubric of COINTELPRO (Counter Intelligence Program).
Recently I learned there’s a name for people like me: “targeted individuals” – abbreviated TI’s, with multiple websites documenting experiences of many others who describe things similar to mine.
Beware of lies. If you hear something bad about a person, check it with the person it’s about.
Only once in these nine years has a friend checked a rumor about me with me; it was a lie, and she’d believed it for six months (it sounded reasonable) and even passed it on to others herself during that time. I told her the truth as I understood it and asked her to pass it back onto the grapevine. I don’t know if she did or how well it traveled.
Disinformation is usually planted in such a way and with people removed from the target just enough that it’s very difficult (and no likely to be successful) for the TI to confront the perpetrator. Only the people in the middle – those told the lie – can do anything about it – by wising up, and checking. Thanks for doing that.
In 1979, ABC did an investigative story, 47 minutes long and fairly comprehensive. Those days, video production wasted no time, so this is dense, well documented, and powerful – even though the reporter denies the possibility that Mind Kontrol is happening, he clearly presents a case to make one believe it was – or would be soon.
This is the history foundational to my experience. The woman patient, Val Orlikow, speaks for many of us, not eloquently, but with her attempts – the unspeakable incomprehension that someone could do this to us.
For many of us today, it’s all that plus two more incomprehensions that Val, fortunate for her, didn’t have: She didn’t have people ignore her or tell her it didn’t happen. And she didn’t fear that it would happen again tomorrow.
Oh yeah, and she was compensated, not only with affirmation and emotional support, but – I assume – with some sort of disability payments. Few of us in the United States get what we deserve – not for our service, not for our healing needs, not for our retirement. We are used and thrown away.
I try not to take it personally. I think it’s just the times. Everyone alive today is learning lessons. I believe the point of our current cultural insanity is that we learn that capitalism, making money the bottom line of our life, will result in abominable treatment of humans by other humans, including attempts to control by all means.
Some of us were born into the heart of the Heart of that Darkness. I trust and pray it is for some good purpose. For me, I think, at least, it’s to let you know.
Check it out:
First published at GardenHealingChurch.org. (I keep thinking this is the last post on this site, but here’s one more.)
This petition, http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/synergy, and all the people commenting on it – inspired me to comment too, and I ended up writing a short essay that presents my story briefly, so I’ll share it here with a few photos added:
After doing media work for the historic “Judi Bari vs FBI” federal trial, in which the feds were found guilty of charges related to an assassination attempt on Judi Bari, my lifelong mind control torment has been seriously amped up.
I’ve woken with Taser burns, a burn on the back of my neck – both third-degree with skin burned off – scoop marks, injection bruises, “donut” bruises, lacerations and punctures in my vagina, healed scars including one my doctor thought was a thyroid surgery scar, total exhaustion, and occasionally dealings that seemed to be with aliens (which could be induced hallucinations or real).
After 13 years of freaking out and being suicidal about my mind control, I’m beginning to see that it’s not a simple horror – it’s actually everything and everywhere. And it may not be human. Everything in nature is under control of many things. Mind control begins with DNA and the elements like weather, then language and our calendar, then economics, laws, education, government, etc. And eventually science did to people what it’s done to the Earth – turned everything into a resource. We are human resources; they’ve been honest in calling us that! We’ve heard it and shrugged. Now we’re realizing it’s full implications, and it’s shocking. One more major trauma in the history of humanity. (Think back: much of history is trauma.)
Without hope in the other realms, we on Earth have been reduced to resources, regardless that we’ve been led along with lies about freedom, human rights, etc. If we only have this Earth life in which to hope, then we must toe Their line or be seriously punished.
[Can we tell them (since they’re spying and listening all the time), “Hey, I change my mind. I’ll quit whistle blowing [or whatever] and join you”? if we’re willing to sacrifice our beliefs for relief (as it seems others must be doing)? I don’t know. I’ve gone to that edge and wondered, but haven’t crossed it.]
Mostly, I believe I have Helpers in other realms who rescue or resuscitate me now and then, though I do have to suffer indignities and pain and loss of will to live and sheer energy to live – way more often than I sometimes think I have the spirit to sustain, but then my Helpers bring me back. (Or might it be the controllers, keeping me alive for another day? I don’t know. I think I’ll chose the more palatable option, my Helpers.)
It’s a weird life to live. Good thing I know we have other lifetimes, so I can feel less attached to this one. It helps to step into the role of Witness. We are witnesses of an incredible time in human history – from the deepest darkest inside, which few see and fully understand, but we do. There’s something important in our role, as witnesses regarding human evolution. It’s incredibly lonely because no one wants to hear, but it’s important. And one day, maybe on another realm, we’ll help others understand how this came about, so maybe we can help protect the future. Don’t know. Playing with ideas. Imagining from a higher height….
As far as this world right now, though, I’ve quit believing we can change anything through political action, like this petition – BUT, I know I could be wrong, so I hedge my bets and support causes like this one that encourage us – but I don’t see the possibility in America anymore. On the other hand, I KNOW we get help from Other Realms – rarely when we think it’s due, but enough.
And that’s another silver lining: having lost all hope in this Earth insanity, we are forced to cut our emotional connections to Earth life and look beyond. Atheists, I know, will hate this, but I do appreciate that this pain does send me into other realms where I believe it is important to connect, and I don’t otherwise, as least not as often as would probably be good for me, because Earth happenings and all the entertainment is way too entrancing. It’s almost like our mind control tortures us so badly that we are saved from the mainstream soul-deadening delusions of the masses, slowly boiling like frogs in a pot; whereas, we are the frogs that jumped out of our mesmerized complacency, thanks to the extra-high heat.
[I write and video blog about my life and struggles on Paradigm Salon.net, my other sites, and in my book, RattleSnake Fire, called “not only great literature, but an important historical document.”]
Blessings on us all. Peace, friends. Please don’t give up too easily. Remember this world is bigger and more complicated than we can know; and the bully in our life might be about to get whumped by someone bigger. We don’t know, but we shouldn’t discount it when the stakes are so high – our life.
Also, leaving this life (as many people entertain, including me) may not be an escape, if the other dimensions are extensions of this, as I believe they are. So it behooves us to develop our extra-dimensional minds, as the only way to see a bigger picture and have a chance.
At the moment, we are in trauma at the hands of the most Powerful people on Earth; therefore our only salvation is beyond this Earth, where we can’t go, or beyond this dimension, which we can. I conclude: it’s time to develop our extra-dimensional minds.
I hope this helps someone. Compassion for all.
A two-part article with detailed info (6 years old, but….) about evidence that went to court!
Quick note: my last post about the movie “Karla,” was actually written last May and and after finding it randomly, I thought I was just giving it a quick edit, rather than sending it out “new” to everyone. Not to worry, Friends! I’m not having the difficult time I was when I wrote that first paragraph last May! Things are quite okay. Now on to today’s post….
I just decided I will never again begin my story by calling myself multiple.
Technically, I believe I am – but I am very different from a “natural” multiple; I am a created multiple, and there’s a HUGE difference.
My alters (alternate personalities) do not (usually) switch spontaneously, and they are not extreme personalities representing personal repressed urges; rather, they are carefully designed “programs” which come out (usually) only on command, therefore my life does not display the crazy experiences of the multiple that’s been presented lately by the media, such as, for instance, the Netflix show I tried to watch the other day, The United States of Tara. The show embarrassed me terribly because I guess it’s what most people think all multiples are.
But created multiples are very tame, even normal, in their social and work lives – as that serves the Controllers’ purpose perfectly. For instance, I have never received any feedback from anyone that I have remarkable changes in personality beyond the common mood changes that everyone has under normal or even stressful conditions. If I do switch, it’s not so dramatic that anyone has ever remarked on it – even after years of posting publicly and inviting comment and feedback on this in particular. On the contrary, employers and other people have usually responded to me as though they perceive me as a trustworthy, talented, and dependable person (until lately – another story). Therefore, I assume I “present” to the world as fairly normal, or acceptable.
When I have acted like a multiple in public has been only a few times since grade school. And those were all times of extreme stress, such as when a stranger was trying to break down my door, and I suddenly behaved as though I had martial arts training (I guess one of my alters has), in particular in using a knife to kill. I was ready, bouncing on my toes, gauging where he’d fall when the door broke, bouncing the big knife in my hand, and imagining how I would arc it up under his rib cage with force! Thank Goodness the guy didn’t get in.
The times I feel multiple most often – very often, actually – are when I’m home alone or with someone who’s also controlled. And then I don’t do anything surprising; rather, I simply perceive things: sometimes I’ve perceived two alters looking at each other, or I feel as though someone is downloading information into my brain. I’ve woken with bruises, burns, and other weird marks on my body (hundreds), and woken up in such absolute exhaustion that getting out of bed was extremely difficult and I didn’t recover for more than a day. Sometimes I hear tones in my head which either wake me from sleep or put me to sleep or don’t seem to do anything I can explain.
All these experiences support the theory held by many that some of us have been mind controlled and continue to be at least monitored, but probably also used for whatever Top Secret projects our programming was created for – which is done under amnesia, so I have absolutely no memories other than the accidental slips, like the martial arts slip to save my life.
The result of it all is that I have a fairly cohesive functioning, sometimes awkward but good enough to survive, maintaining a decent front – most important – hiding an unknown number of secret alters that I don’t know anything about except, theoretically, that they serve the Controllers – at night, when no one else is around.
Because my programming was based on what the Controllers learned from multiple personality, and they used those mental defense mechanisms, my body/mind learned them too on a subconscious level – and sometimes I have “naturally” split off alters during extreme stress, such as being raped – therefore, I have another layer of alters that are “natural” rather than programmed. And these alters do cause me a bit of memory issues, and sometimes slowness in social situations (slow because my mind is bouncing between different points of view), but those issues are minor compared with the nighttime events directed by Controllers.
When I’m with other people, the Controllers keep quiet, and I can lead a normal life. At home, alone, or with another person who can be controlled, the Controllers may at any time, certainly without notice to me, call out the alters who hide during the day.
So I have a private life that can be highjacked anytime and leave me exhausted, with wounds, and in need of recovery time, but during the day, and with friends and family, no one is out but “me” – or a few of my naturally created, but not flamboyant, alters. [As always, if anyone has witnessed different, I’m waiting to learn about it. Please tell me! And I’ll adjust my theory here.]
The new language I want to use instead of “multiple” will not really be new, it’ll be simply “mind controlled.” Because the common image of multiples just doesn’t match my life – which is tame and boring compared to Tara.
I think I’ll take down this site. Even if it helps people, or we think it does, it might also further tether that person to the computer as if it’s the source of Help.
Our Source is outside, and inside, but… not in the screen, except occasionally, if we’re lucky.
Let’s go to our communities of friends, plants, animals, and Others.
This is re-posted from Discussion Dissociation, the exact page here:
Below is the blog in full, except for a video which you can view on Kathy’s site, at the link above.
Dissociative Identity Disorder is created from severe, chronic child abuse, but does that abuse automatically stop in childhood?
Unfortunately, no, it does not.
All too many survivors continue to be trapped in abusive environments long after their childhood has ended. Sometimes this abuse continues with the same family-related perpetrators that abused the survivor all throughout the childhood years. For example, far too many adult children of creepy-fathers are still being sexually abused into adulthood.
Creepy-fathers don’t necessarily stop being sex offenders just because their children get older. These lifelong predators already know how to manipulate your dissociative system, and they will continue to “call out” and dominate the child parts that they controlled for all the years previous. The child parts don’t necessarily realize that they are in an adult body, or that years of time have passed, so it still feels like more of the same to them.
Typically, in situations such as these, the dissociative walls that separate those abused child parts and the adult host can still be locked solidly in place, allowing no seepage of information to pass through. The adult DID survivor may not have any conscious awareness that they are still being abused in this way.
But true, far too often.
Sometimes, the ongoing abuse is more organized than in-home family abuse. The sex slave industries can use, own, control, sell, and exploit dissociative survivors for many years.
Slavery didn’t end with the Civil War – it just became more hidden.
One of the current ways that slavery still exists — even in 2009 — is through the entrapment of the dissociative population. Various prostitution / pornography organizations can “own” and exploit survivors by using physical violence, emotional blackmail, drugs, mind control techniques, and dissociation as means to maintain their power and control. Extricating these dissociative prisoners from these organized predators is a complicated and complex process, but possible nonetheless.
Adult trauma survivors with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) have had years upon years of experience managing severe trauma while simultaneously blocking themselves off from the reality of that trauma. Dissociative walls can provide an element of amnesia that both protects the person from the overwhelming crushing awareness of ongoing abuse, but also traps the survivor in an ongoing continuation of that abuse.
If dissociative survivors have current-day chunks of missing time blocked from their awareness, they cannot know what happened to them, but they also cannot remove themselves or protect themselves from the ongoing trauma and abuse. Without effective therapy and treatment, they also cannot remember or control the fact that they could be handing over their children to be used in the same abusive ways by the very same perpetrator groups.
Unfortunately, we all know that the kiddie porn industry is alive and well.
Dissociative survivors that grew up being used and sold within the kiddie porn industry are at a higher risk of continuing to be owned by, and forced to work for that industry even as adults.
When DID survivors are involved in current day abuse, it is imperative to break down the amnesiac walls created through dissociative processes. The survivors have to have the courage to look at what they are involved with, and then have even more courage to problem-solve their way out.
Dissociative survivors trapped in other kinds of family violence and domestic violence are vulnerable in these same ways.
Trauma therapists must be aware of these possibilities so they can actively work with the dissociative population in order to assist them to gain freedom from ongoing abuse. Therapy with a strong emphasis on increasing internal communication and lowering amnesiac barriers is essential.
Therapists need to use basic good trauma therapy while doing this work. Listen closely to the inside parts, help sooth the pain, create both internal and external safety, reconnect the isolated parts with the rest of the system, address the concerns raised by those internal parts in all the normal ways, etc. Many of the very same processes that work to help heal “regular abuse” continue to be effective in addressing more extreme abuses.
*** To all dissociative survivors —
You don’t have to stay stuck in the abuse cycles. If you are able to read this post, you are able to do the work it takes to remove yourself from any ongoing abuse that you are tangled in. Of course, your perpetrators won’t tell you that you can get out, but you can get out and away from them anyway. You are older, wiser, and stronger than you were when you were just a child. You can find ways that will work for you, you can find safe people to help you, and you can be safe. Talk lots and lots to your inside people – it’s only as you work together as a team that you can beat the external controls. It takes a lot of hard work, but if you all really want to be free from abuse and safe from harm, you can be. It can happen.
So, this is what it’s like to live on a planet with everyone overwhelmed and mind controlled. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
~ Ineffective Governments
~ Corporate control of governments and economies
~ Economies very vulnerable
~ Poverty and malnutrition growing
~ Most water poisoned or sources destroyed
~ Land poisoned from pole to pole
~ Air polluted
~ Food genes modified to not reproduce
~ Weather apparently manipulated
~ The “free press” controlled by corporations
~ Families and cultures fragmented
~ Individuals isolated
~ Justice system racist and classist
~ Prisons corporatized and growing
~ Mind control extensive
~ Assassinations common and ignored
~ Terror constant around the globe
~ Slavery, including child and sexual slavery, growing and ignored
~ Wars and threats of war
~ Biological and technological weapons beyond our understanding
~ Local communities militarized
~ Warrantless searches and secret courts
~ Pervasive spying
~ Earthquakes and toxic water from fracking
~ Most Americans, and many children, on mood-altering drugs
~ Electronic gadgets offering custom-made entertainment instantly, constantly, and inexpensively.
So, why are we still talking to politicians?
Because we’re dependent on their system.
I am absolutely certain we cannot negotiate or fight our way out of this.
So I have two hopes for survival:
1) The two opposing, entwining forces on this planet will be in such disharmony that we will break apart into two different dimensions, each in our own vibration. Those who believe in slavery or are willing to be controlled by others will go one place, and those who appreciate the stability and endurance of diverse ecosystems, noted for mutuality, and cooperation – and who have made it part of their life to nurture those qualities – will go into another dimension.
Sorta like the Rapture. Or sorta like I once heard that Hopi mothers tell their children, “One day, the bad people will just be gone.” So many prophecies of endings and new beginnings….
Or maybe it’ll just end in some manner beyond our imagination.
Maybe we’re in the process of it now, as many suggest by way of encouragement. Maybe we’re in the grasping death throes of a dying culture, and we simply must be patient – and keep practicing cooperation.
2) Or maybe we’re learning something from this horror of watching an entire planet under threat (though we in the United States remain relatively well for now, relatively oblivious of the masses at war and dying).
What if we’re souls being taught to be responsible by having our actions reflected back on us collectively?
Since we keep animals in pens, “They” put some of us in pens. We feed animals our waste; They feed us crap. We treat animals like things; They treat us like things.
Could this be a house-of-mirrors dimension, and if we’d change our ways, our conditions would improve?
This theory has a certain elegance, but it’s rather constructed. On the other hand, there do seem to be dimensions of reality that are constructed, if you believe the shamans, which I do. Dimensions of inorganic beings, thought forms, memes, mathematics, fractals, etc. So, like Carlos Castaneda trapped in the world of the inorganic beings, our entire planet might be trapped by an idea (capitalism?) – an idea that, unfortunately, reflects back on us and hurts. It resonates with me sometimes as too true a possibility.
If that’s the case, then the tales of Jesus and other aliens returning to rescue, save, or rapture us seems hopeful. I resonate with Christ, so I pray he picks up my signal and has me in his plans. I’ve promoted cooperative living most of my life, so I’ll accept a rescue from my spirit family, if that turns out to be the reality.
3) Okay, one more: The worst, most evil-feeling thought I have cross my mind sometimes is that the System, evil as we think it is, is intrinsic to human evolution. It’s half the driving force of things, just like the yin-yang symbol. Just like a tree, half in light, half undergound, consuming dead things.
And just like the human body can’t have toe cells demanding a better gig, we gotta have people who fulfill their jobs exactly, and if it takes mind control, then so be it.
(I could almost talk myself into the necessity of this, except that the System is systematically destroying the planet and devastating souls.)
I can understand Life including Death, but I think we can evolve without the depths of depravity we have here.
On the other hand, if all this nastiness turns out to be actually necessary for our evolution, then I have to let go of my idea of the Creative Force as a thing of elegance, harmony, and love.
On the other hand again, there’s an awful lot on Earth that is explosive, crashing, rotten….and it’s natural and seems necessary. So maybe this is just life, and we’re supposed to accept it. Ugh. As I said, Worst theory.
4) Finally, I can accept that, since we are genetic experiments, we might just be too imperfect, too much trouble as Enlil thought (and Jehovah), and they’ve been threatening to wipe us off the planet for thousands of years. We’re Their herd, crop, failed genetic experiment, facing our end.
Now, they might keep a few good slaves or other useful specimens, in which case there’s nothing I want to do but convince them I’d be way too much trouble and they don’t want me. I believe our souls have other lives beyond this one, so I’ll emerge somewhere; doesn’t have to be here….
If I think of more reasons for hope, I’ll add them. What are yours?
As someone who used to call herself an “Earth First!er,” I have a very difficult thing to say:
I no longer believe we’re supposed to necessarily remain on this planet, Earth.
Yeah, this is shocking to me too.
But consider this:
~ All the planet’s water is poisoned and major sources destroyed
~ The land is poisoned from pole to pole
~ The air is polluted by multiple sources, including chemtrails
~ Food genes have been modified to not reproduce
~ Weather is apparently manipulated
~ Fracking is causing earthquakes and toxic water in wells and springs
And that’s just what’s been done to the planet. We humans also face:
~ Multiple concurrent wars
~ Biological and technological weapons beyond our understanding
~ Warrantless searches and secret courts
~ Pervasive spying on everyone
~ Ineffective governments, rigged elections, and rigged voting booths
~ Corporations controlling governments and economies
~ Economies unjust and vulnerable beyond anyone’s imagination
~ Poverty and malnutrition growing everywhere, including in the US
~ The “free press” controlled by corportions
~ Families and cultures fragmented
~ Individuals isolated
~ Justice system racist and arbitrary
~ Prisons corporatized and growing
~ Mind control happening on multiple levels
~ Assassinations common and not investigated
~ Slavery, including sexual and child slavery, growing
~ Local communities militarized
~ Major figures guilty of child sex slavery not investigated
~ Most Americans, and many children, on mood/mind-altering drugs
~ And: Lots of electronic gadgets offering custom-made entertainment instantly, constantly, and inexpensively.
And everyone continues to act like things are normal!
And good-hearted people (like me) continue to try to work for good causes like protecting our local water source from destruction, but we waste our time asking politicians to act in the public good.
That’s insane. And then we do nothing more, as if we’ve “acted.” Arghhhh! to political action.
Psychopathology is the word most commonly used today to describe the people pulling all the strings on the planet today, but I’m not sure. It could be psychopathology, but I think there could be another reason.
The gods may have decided (again) it is time to clear the planet of humankind So, just as a gardener clears a flower bed, or a cook super-cleans a cutting board, a lot of life is getting disrupted, but the web of life will re-heal.
We think those destroying the planet are psychopaths, but maybe they are no more than we are to the microbes in our soil.
I get glimpses now and then that some vibrational current will soon separate from the ugly energies on the planet, and we’ll relax and live out in another dimension, Heaven on Earth.
But this “dimensional shift” theory may only be the only way I can imagine staying on this planet. As Earth seems to be becoming unfit for life – fulfilling ancient prophecies from across the globe.
Bummer. I hate to confirm such devastating ideas, and the ring of religion only makes it worse. But at least I don’t keep talking to psychopathic politicians, trying to convince them to have a heart.
Still, I’ll hold out hope that I’m wrong, and the Life-giving will soon overpower the Death-dealing.
Wrote last June, just re-discovered:
I had a vision this evening of a cockroach burrowing into moist earth, working to turn dead things into more easily digestible other things to feed the roots of plants.
I “hate” roaches, but I saw tonight how essential they are to Life. They’re the clean-up guys.
I wondered, “Why are you showing this to me?” and the answer came:
Because you humans are in the process of being cleaned up.
What? Did I invent that last part?
What do you think? Are humans in the process of being cleansed from this Earth? Too many of us are too violent, reckless with the planet, and reckless with each other. So, just like the Sumerian god Enlil and, later, the Hebrew god Jehovah both threatened, are our days numbered? Will most of us be composted, like kitchen scraps, for roaches?
After those few survivors made it through the flood, so the stories go, neither Enlil nor Jehovah were too enthusiastic about giving humans another chance. They agreed, but made it clear, especially in the Christian “Book of Revelation,” that we’re on probation. Jehovah was going to see how we did for 1,000 years, and maybe he’d extend it another 1,000, but no more. And here we are.
And now Dad’s not happy with our behavior. And he promised to destroy us.
As should be, as any gardener knows. Some crops you don’t want to save the seed from. Some seed you burn, like Yeshua said.
Am I inventing this? Please tell me I am.
Kissinger, I hear, called 95% of us useless eaters; and many forecast a 95% die-off on Earth soon. And it sure seems they’re planning – no, executing right now – plans to assure the greatest certainty that most of us will die, with our food seeds infected with terminal genes, honeybees going instinct, and our water sources poisoned or polluted and recently mixed with oil from fracking operations all across our nation. They’ve compromised all the most important aspects of our survival.
Reminds me of the tens of thousands of Sumerian clay tablets of history, in which the god Enlil intended to kill humans with a flood and did kill most, a story told all over the Earth, including in the Hebrew account. Human remnants survived and promised to please their Creator, but I have a suspicion we have not.
Now, the threats of the gods always embarrassed me, especially as delivered by preachers – but destroying our culture seems like a very appropriate thing to do, given that we’ve destroyed the environment and torment each other so. It might be what I’d do if I were head gardener of Earth.
But I don’t understand how the people who are the worst offenders are doing the job that I imagine God would do. Why are they playing the role of the Gardner’s plow?
I trust in the idea of many lifetimes, and assume this destruction is simply of human genetics, and the soul essence continues on the learning path.
So, this vision isn’t so bad after all. We’re just about to lose our physical bodies. And that might be the best thing for our souls right now. A lot of us are hurting in this terrible place. Greed, in the form of capitalism, has twisted our minds, and it’s time for us to retreat from this dimension and think about the nature of money and keeping track of each other like that rather than just taking care of each other.
We’ve wasted far more of our life energy competing with others and keeping track of it all (banking, accounting, investing, bookkeeping, printing money and checks and ledgers, insurance, cash registers, grant writing, advertising, etc.) than we feared we might lose if we simply gave to others.
Money competition might have been an interesting test, but I think we’ve all seen that it has been disastrous, and I trust we’ll devise a whole new approach to “economy” in our next lives. I look forward to that.
My pathway through this human period of history has been especially turbulent, and I’ve seen the darkest underbelly of capitalism – in which children are sold for perverse entertainment.
Money-ism is weird when you think about it: money (easily manipulable) acts as the “blind” guideline for all our social interactions. Which is horrifying when pedophiles steal children, abuse them, put them on show, and often murder them, because there is someone willing and able to pay a network of police, judges, and other criminals a great deal of money.
Someone should have foreseen that coming.
But no one did, and now we have the world we’re living in, and it’s not something the head gardener wants to keep dealing with. Season’s over. And very little seed, so the prophesies say, will be saved.
If that’s true, perhaps it’s good. Because we don’t want this sort of life spreading through the universe.
This is a great article – as far as it goes, as far as most Americans can take it. If this is true, then it’s hard to have faith that any justice will appear for any of us victims.
For America’s national security state, this is the age of impunity. Nothing it does — torture, kidnapping, assassination, illegal surveillance, you name it — will ever be brought to court. For none of its beyond-the-boundaries acts will anyone be held accountable. The only crimes that can now be committed in official Washington are by those foolish enough to believe that a government of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from this earth. I’m speaking of the various whistleblowers and leakers who have had an urge to let Americans know what deeds and misdeeds their government is committing in their name but without their knowledge. They continue to pay a price in accountability for their acts that should, by comparison, stun us all.
As June ended, the New York Times front-paged an account of an act of corporate impunity that may, however, be unique in the post-9/11 era (though potentially a harbinger of things to come). In 2007, as journalist James Risen tells it, Daniel Carroll, the top manager in Iraq for the rent-a-gun company Blackwater, one of the warrior corporations that accompanied the U.S. military to war in the twenty-first century, threatened Jean Richter, a government investigator sent to Baghdad to look into accounts of corporate wrongdoing.
Here, according to Risen, is Richter’s version of what happened when he, another government investigator, and Carroll met to discuss Blackwater’s potential misdeeds in that war zone:
“Mr. Carroll said ‘that he could kill me at that very moment and no one could or would do anything about it as we were in Iraq,’ Mr. Richter wrote in a memo to senior State Department officials in Washington. He noted that Mr. Carroll had formerly served with Navy SEAL Team 6, an elite unit. ‘Mr. Carroll’s statement was made in a low, even tone of voice, his head was slightly lowered; his eyes were fixed on mine,’ Mr. Richter stated in his memo. ‘I took Mr. Carroll’s threat seriously. We were in a combat zone where things can happen quite unexpectedly, especially when issues involve potentially negative impacts on a lucrative security contract.’”
When officials at the U.S. Embassy in Baghdad, the largest in the world, heard what had happened, they acted promptly. They sided with the Blackwater manager, ordering Richter and the investigator who witnessed the scene out of the country (with their inquiry incomplete). And though a death threat against an American official might, under other circumstances, have led a CIA team or a set of special ops guys to snatch the culprit off the streets of Baghdad, deposit him on a Navy ship for interrogation, and then leave him idling in Guantanamo or in jail in the United States awaiting trial, in this case no further action was taken.
Power Centers But No Power to Act
Think of the response of those embassy officials as a get-out-of-jail-free pass in honor of a new age. For the various rent-a-gun companies, construction and supply outfits, and weapons makers that have been the beneficiaries of the wholesale privatization of American war since 9/11, impunity has become the new reality. Pull back the lens further and the same might be said more generally about America’s corporate sector and its financial outfits. There was, after all, no accountability for the economic meltdown of 2007-2008. Not a single significant figurewent to jail for bringing the American economy to its knees. (And many such figures made out like proverbial bandits in the government bailout and revival of their businesses that followed.)
Meanwhile, in these years, the corporation itself was let loose to run riot. Long a “person” in the legal world, it became ever more person-like, benefitting from a series of Supreme Court decisions that hobbled unions and ordinary Americans even as it gave the corporation ever more of the rights and attributes of a citizen on the loose. Post-9/11, the corporate world gained freedom of expression, the freedom of the purse, as well as the various freedoms that staggering inequality and hoards of money offer. Corporate entities gained, among other things, the right to flood the political system with money, and most recently, at least in a modest way, freedom of religion.
In other words, two great power centers have been engorging themselves in twenty-first-century America: there was an ever-expanding national security state, ever less accountable to anyone, ever less overseen by anyone, ever more deeply enveloped in secrecy, ever more able to see others and less transparent itself, ever more empowered by a secret court systemand a body of secret law whose judgments no one else could be privy to; and there was an increasingly militarized corporate state, ever less accountable to anyone, ever less overseen by outside forces, ever more sure that the law was its possession. These two power centers are now triumphant in our world. They command the landscape against what may be less effective opposition than at any moment in our history.
In both cases, no matter how you tote it up, it’s been an era of triumphalism. Measure it any way you want: by the rising Dow Jones Industrial Average or the expanding low-wage economy, by the power of “dark money” to determine American politics in 1% elections or the rising wages of CEOs and the stagnating wages of their workers, by the power of billionaires and the growth of poverty, by the penumbra of secrecy and classification spreading across government operations and the lessening ability of the citizen to know what’s going on, or by the growing power of both the national security state and the corporation to turn your life into an open book. Look anywhere and some version of the same story presents itself — of ascendant power in the boardrooms and the backrooms, and of a sense of impunity that accompanies it.
Whether you’re considering the power of the national security state or the corporate sector, their moment is now. And what a moment it is — for them. Their success seems almost complete. And yet that only begins to tell the strange tale of our American times, because if that power is ascendant, it seems incapable of being translated into classic American power. The more successful those two sectors become, the less the U.S. seems capable of wielding its power effectively in any traditional sense, domestically or abroad.
Anyone can feel it, hence the recent Pew Research Center poll indicating a striking diminution in recent years of Americans who think the U.S. is exceptional, the greatest of all nations. By 2011, only 38% of Americans thought that; today, the figure has dropped to 28%, and — a harbinger of future American attitudes — just 15% among 18-to-29-year-olds. And no wonder. By many measures the U.S. may remain the wealthiest, most powerful nation on the planet, but in recent years its ability to accomplish anything, no less achieve national or imperial success, has shrunk drastically.
The power centers remain, but in some still-hard-to-grasp way, the power to accomplish anything seems to be draining from a country that was once the great can-do nation on the planet. On this, the record is both dismal and clear. To say that the American political system is in a kind of gridlock or paralysis from which — given electoral prospects in 2014 and 2016 — there can be no escape is to say the obvious. It’s a commonplace of news reports to suggest, for example, that in this midterm election year Congress and the president will be capable of accomplishing nothing together (except perhaps avoiding another actual government shutdown). Nada, zip, zero.
The president acts in relatively minimalist ways by executive order, Congress threatens to sueover his use of those orders, and (as novelist Kurt Vonnegut would once have said) so it goes. In the meantime, Congress has proven itself unable to act even when it comes to what once would have been the no-brainers of American life. It has, for instance, been struggling simply to fund a highway bill that would allow for ordinary repair work on the nation’s system of roads, even though the fund for such work is running dry and jobs will be lost.
This sort of thing is but a symptom in a country of immense wealth whose infrastructure is crumbling and which lacks a single mile of high-speed rail. In all of this, in the rise of poverty and a minimum-wage economy, in a loss — particularly for minorities — of the wealth that went with home ownership, what can be seen is the untracked rise of a Third World country inside a First World one, a powerless America inside the putative global superpower.
An Exceptional Kind of Decline
And speaking of the “sole superpower,” it remains true that no combination of other militaries can compare with the U.S. military or the moneys the country continues to put into it and into the research and development of weaponry of the most futuristic sort. The U.S. national security budget remains a Ripley’s-Believe-It-Or-Not-style infusion of tax dollars into the national security state, something no other combination of major countries comes close to matching.
In addition, the U.S. still maintains hundreds of military bases and outposts across the planet (including, in recent years, ever more bases for our latest techno-wonder weapon, the drone). In 2014, it still garrisons the planet in a way that no other imperial power has ever done. In fact, it continues to sport all the trappings of a great empire, with an army impressive enough that our last two presidents have regularly resorted to one unembarrassed image to describe it: “the finest fighting force that the world has ever known.”
And yet, recent history is clear: that military has proven incapable of winning its wars against minor (and minority) insurgencies globally, just as Washington, for all its firepower, military and economic, has had a remarkably difficult time imposing its desires just about anywhere on the planet. Though it may still look like a superpower and though the power of its national security state may still be growing, Washington seems to have lost the ability to translate that power into anything resembling success.
Today, the U.S. looks less like a functioning and effective empire than an imperial basket case, unable to bring its massive power to bear effectively from Germany to Syria, Iraq to Afghanistan, Libya to the South China Sea, the Crimea to Africa. And stranger yet, this remains true even though it has no imperial competitors to challenge it. Russia is a rickety energy state, capable of achieving its version of imperial success only along its own borders, and China, clearly the rising economic power on the planet, though flexing its military muscles locally in disputed oil-rich waters, visibly has no wish to challenge the U.S. military anywhere far from home.
All in all, the situation is puzzling indeed. Despite much talk about the rise of a multi-polar world, this still remains in many ways a unipolar one, which perhaps means that the wounds Washington has suffered on numerous fronts in these last years are self-inflicted.
Just what kind of decline this represents remains to be seen. What does seem clearer today is that the rise of the national security state and the triumphalism of the corporate sector (along with the much publicized growth of great wealth and striking inequality in the country) has been accompanied by a decided diminution in the power of the government to function domestically and of the imperial state to impose its will anywhere on Earth.
For more from Tom Engelhardt’s, click here.
The same psychologists who lied about torture during war are also complicit in lying about mind control torturers. At least Democracy Now has covered the first part: