Tag Archives: CIA mind control

Discrediting those who remember

Like many mind control subjects, I have been discredited all of my life – to set a foundation in the event I remember too much and begin to speak.

This began in my childhood, as I explain in this video:


New Memoir Chapter Two – Earliest Memories

Earliest memories: Disappointment – as if, in her earliest years, she remembered other lives to compare to this one.

“This can’t work,” she’d thought, looking down the empty hallway where she wasn’t allowed, where her parents were. She remembered more, not of any one thing, but of everything she’d experienced so far in this life. “This can’t make healthy humans,” she’d have said if she’d had the language. It was worse than she’d imagined, and she worried for this era of humanity and thought this lifetime was going to be an especially difficult one.

Indeed, her family in the multiple dimensions retrieved her regularly away to nourish her spirit, revive her, then return her, feeling loved and willing to meet the challenges. She never remembered anything about her family over there, no images, no arrangement of people, nothing but the knowledge that they loved her, things made sense there, but not in this culture at this time, and she had to be strong.

One time, however, when she was perhaps 5, she returned with distressing news: They wouldn’t retrieve her again for “a very long time.” They’d be watching, and helping, but they couldn’t retrieve her, and she’d have to just remember they were there for her. She felt like a rock, immobilized, afraid to be afraid, so she was still. Then she remembered: Be brave. They’re watching and caring, even if it doesn’t feel like it. They just can’t help me all the time.

For a short while, she was comforted and advised by a little angel child she called Cathy, who appeared to her now and then – on her own schedule, never summoned, no matter how much she was requested, and one day even that ended.

In her fifties and sixties, she met psychics, shamans, and medicine people who remarked on the helpers they could see surrounding her, and sometimes she could see others noticing them, but she herself never did.

More times than she could count, they healed her when they could – rarely when she cried out, prayed, or did ritual, but on some schedule of their own she could never discern.

She might be disabled for as many as thirteen days, sunken into the sofa, not a decent meal eaten in weeks because she had no energy, and suddenly a beam would hit the top of her head and flow through her, enlarging every cell, requiring she adjust her body to allow it to expand, and she’d feel as if every cell inside her had been restored to perfection, and she’d suddenly have energy to do all the things she hadn’t been able to do, and she’d be immediately restored in seconds. It was thrilling. She always leaped to her toes and thanked her helpers – whoever they are, she’s never been sure how to visualize them – and began catching up with life, again, happy and grateful.

That’s how most people saw her: happy, friendly, even “popular,” someone said once, which made her laugh. She always felt like such a loner. As a child, she’d been the one standing by the fence, wondering what the other kids were doing that was called “play.” But she watched and copied, eventually learned to act like them, the best version of them, and it worked. As a child, it was wonderful to make people smile with her cleverness. Older, she learned to listen to others, became a student of communication, learned to carefully select her own stories to share, and eventually was surprised to find herself successful as a social individual and business woman.

Inside, though, she was hiding all these experiences that her culture said were not to be discussed, were not real. But they felt real. And there were so many of them. It was stressful to hide these things. Fortunately, books about shamans and mystics of all cultures confirmed these things are reality, only hidden from the masses, denied, and ridiculed by a culture that for some reason doesn’t want to acknowledge a more multi-dimensional world and our being part of it.

Then one day, the mundane facts of her life, real stuff, hard data, seemed to present a framework to explain her most bizarre memories and flashbacks. They emerged from some hidden place she’d shoved them, and assembled themselves into a coherent pattern.

She was born into lineages of Freemasons, military, Mormons, and Hollywood – all groups documented to have been involved in some type of mind control.

She was also born on an auspicious day – July 7, 1952. 07-07-52 “reduces” (numerology term) to 7-7-7, a highly mystical number. It also happened to be a Full Moon under which she was born. Not just within the 24-hour cycle that is the day, but within 8 minutes of the Full Moon’s moment of perfection – that’s within 2/1000ths of a degree. And it was a Monday – Moon-day, originally. And it was in the middle of Cancer, also known as Moon Child, “ruled by the Moon.” Three sevens, and three moons. There are secret societies keenly interested in coincidences like these.

Later the day of her birth, her father’s second cousin, Dwight David Eisenhower, was publicly nominated to the Republican ticket for the Presidential race. Perhaps a secret society also selected that day for his nomination?

Her parents were living in student housing on the campus of the University of California Davis. The next year, perhaps while she was still there or shortly afterward, The Human Ecology Project would be instituted there, which many researchers assert was a cover for mind control projects. Whether she was involved in any early experiments is not known, but it’s an intriguing coincidence.

She would come to believe the foundation for her mind control was overseen by Dr. Louis Jolyon (“Jolly”) West, an “institution” in MKULTRA, and someone she heard her mother and grandmother discuss; her pediatrician (who delivered her), Addison Udall (cousin of Congressman Stewart Udall who would become Secretary of the Interior); and the Mormon Church.

When her son was healing from cancer, the children and she had moved to a new apartment, and she was still working and seeing a therapist, she’d been asked to tell the therapist about her growing up. She’d begun by saying her childhood was “normal.” The following Saturday, with the kids visiting friends, she decided to use the rare private time to “ask inside” whether any “inner children” wanted to tell her anything more about her childhood she might have forgotten.

Suddenly, sitting on the edge of her bed, she re-experienced an event in which she lay on her back, too young yet to roll over. Human hands did things around her, and she felt freedom between her legs. Then touching, poking, then she left her body. First she saw her mother, slumped on the floor, hand over her mouth, eyes in shock and grief, then was looking down on three men in white, facing a pedestal in a white room, ignoring her mother on the floor.

No stainless steel, this wasn’t a medical environment, but a ritual one – making it more shocking to make sense of than otherwise. She’d hold this flashback in suspension for years, then one day learn the Mormons have a room called “The Holy of Holies” (phrase borrowed from the Hebrews’ Bible) in every Temple, in which they conduct secret ceremonies, wherein only certain Mormons are allowed to enter or even know what goes on there.

She’d learn also that Mormons are the largest denomination working for the Central Intelligence Agency, in which mind control has been managed for 60 years. And one of the foundational requirements of mind control is to split the mind, with torture, and the earlier in life, the better.

When she was four or five, she remembered some man, perhaps a Mormon missionary, counseling her father in their den while she played nearby, “Marry a Mormon woman, and you get the children too.” She wasn’t sure she knew what that meant, but suspected it was that stuff she wasn’t supposed to talk about, so she froze the memory, which came back to her one day after the out-of-body flashback. Later, she’d learn from Ann Diamond’s books on her mind control experiences, that one of the ways the CIA procured parental agreement to put and keep their children in the program was to catch (or create?) pedophiles and threaten them with prison. Perhaps the missionary set up her father, recorded a discussion, then police busted him and forced his agreement.

It’s also possible her father was molesting her before that missionary encouragement, because, when she was 3 or 4, she told her mother something that made her mother fly into a rage, hauling her into the bathroom, shoving a bar of soap in her mouth, and screaming that she could never say anything like that again. (What did she say? She can only guess.)

Then her mother told her pediatrician she thought her daughter was “crazy,” and she told her aunt and random people that came to the house. And she continued to discredit her daughter the rest of her life, questioning random memories she might contribute even to happy family story-telling around the table decades later. No matter how inconsequential, her mother was likely to interrupt her and deny whatever it was.

She paraphrased what the daughter had heard the pediatrician say: “I’ve always said you had an active imagination, and you mix up your dreams with memories.” Over and over again she heard those words. Even when she drew a floor plan of the Student Housing apartment at UC Davis, showing the entry room, front window, stove and range hood and sink, where the linoleum turned to carpet, and where an easy chair angled by a wall.

“You couldn’t remember that!” her mother denounced automatically, but with rare vehemence. “You were 14 months old when we moved away from there,” she gestured to the floor plan drawn on a napkin on the table.

“But you just confirmed I remember.” Her mother’s face contorted and she pushed her chair back from the dining table and walked toward a nearby picture window and looked out, reciting, “I’ve always said you had an active imagination, and you mix up your dreams with memories.”

Hearing this, the hair rose up on the back of her neck. It was the first time she recognized her mother was using the exact same words and the same sing-song lilt as if she’d practiced saying these words a thousands times to herself. The daughter was struck by her mother’s apparent fear, and felt suddenly terribly sorry for her. She must feel guilty for something. But what? She hadn’t remembered anything weird yet, had only struggled to understand what was wrong with her, and still believed she’d had a “normal,” even fortunate childhood – with lessons, vacations, even a swimming pool in the backyard. What in the world could her mother feel so guilty for?

What was the worst thing she could imagine? Certainly not violence. Sometime, in high frustration, maybe locking her in a closet? That was the worst thing she could imagine. And whatever it was, she shouldn’t feel bad about it all these years later! Too bad she can’t just admit it and say, “Yeah, parenthood can be frustrating!” And they could all agree, No problem, Mom, all’s forgiven. The daughter determined to try to have some sort of conversation with her mother sometime, to ease her mind, let her know she was fine, and her mother didn’t need to feel guilty about anything.

But they never had that conversation, and later the daughter would realize she wasn’t just fine. There were things done to her that hurt her, that caused all those strange gaps in her memory.

Other experiences in the Mormon Church, occasional, sporadic, would result in her vowing to “never go back there again.” But after they moved to Paradise Valley, Arizona, when she came home from school one day to see her mother talking to Mormon missionaries in the living room, she became paralyzed momentarily and thought ominously, “They found us.”

Her mother would occasionally announce they were being taken to church, and she would never object. At age thirteen, she was informed she would attend “MIA,” a Wednesday late afternoon class involving crafts and badges to go on bandelos they’d wear to those classes to show off their accomplishments – and her bandelo was always the most pathetic because she didn’t care. One evening in winter, when the building was dark and spooky, the girls were given lessons on the reality of the devil, Satan. The teacher gave her own testimony of seeing Satan pick up and throw a student at Brigham Young University against a wall. When her mother picked her up that night, asked about the class, and was told about the Satan stories, she asked – for the first time – if her daughter wanted to continue attending, to which she said No. It was the last time she ever walked consciously into a Mormon church.

New Memoir Underway

Hi Readers. Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted. Thanks for returning to read.

Great news! I’m no longer a nomad living in my truck camper. I inherited enough money to buy myself a small hermit-home in the desert again. More about this later, but I’m very grateful, and life seems to be getting easier. I wonder if I’ve paid some debt and if I might be left alone in my old age.

For now, I want to share the start of my second memoir, updating my understanding of this mystery since I published my first memoir in 2008 (rattlesnakefire.com). It opens when I’m still living in my camper.

I hope you’ll give me your feedback.


She imagines herself from behind, where shoppers are coming and going from the store, maybe seeing her in the dusk, maybe not, in her faded, wrinkled skirt, overshirt, sandals, hair bundled behind her head, as she grabs the camper’s handles and hoists herself up inside, then reaches back to pull the door shut behind her.

Inside, she straps the light thing around her neck, switches it on red, which allows her to sleep better than with typical blue-white LED light. That’s another good thing about this life, she tells herself: good sleep, usually in nature – though not tonight. Clean air, and moving with the seasons, she occasionally explains to others, lets her be outside all year long and get exercise.

She sits at her usual place, facing the door and a window, though she’s closed the blind now, no table before her, removed for ergonomics, just a little empty space there, nice when everything else is so crowded. She stares and thinks about the strange turns life has taken to bring her to this place.

Delusional notations had begun to appear in her medical charts – but not for any true reason. No, they only began after she wrote her memoir and told more truths people don’t want told.

She’d disappointed so many people who had such high hopes for her, then she’d turned against them. They deserved to be rebuffed, she was still certain.

She’d been trained for beauty and duty. She’d even been a beauty queen – against her will. She’d thought it mortifying to say, by entering the pageant, “I deserve to be here, because I’m beautiful.” Mortifying. Everyone else in her world said she was crazy, it was great to be beautiful, they said, and she didn’t know what she was talking about, they said. Nobody saw the world her way. And everyone kept at her. So she did it, and it was “the worst thing I ever did in my life,” she’d say for decades.

Fortunately, she was also intelligent and could take on almost any project and carry it out well or exceptionally well, so she won awards frequently and led an interesting and independent life, first as a journalist, then supporting progressive causes with media relations and organizing, then radical causes, where she stepped on some certain powerful people’s toes with her incisive words published around the world. She also worked for not-radical groups, like the United Way and local food coop.

She used to have homes of her own, homes in the city, one in the country on twenty acres with seven ancient oak trees along an intermittent creek. Her homes were usually funky, but still nice and some very nice. Now she only had this old truck and camper, and she’s accused of being delusional, by doctors who never asked her questions and one who never saw her.

Some of those people whose toes she’d bumped or seriously crushed threatened her explicitly, others with just a glare, but she never took them seriously. “They can’t do that” in a free, democratic society, she thought – despite the history she’d read of activists assassinated, even in the U.S. She just didn’t believe it could happen to her. Maybe rabble-rousers, she thought, but not mild-mannered, polite, well-spoken, well-dressed, former minister’s wife, President of the PTA her.

Sometimes she could be accused of rabble-rousing. Once she was caught on film at a protest and looped repeatedly on one TV channel for the news that night, jumping and punching her fist into the air, but mostly her rabble-rousing was through writing, shining a light where she thought attention needed to be. And so she continued to irritate leaders of corporations and others in power.

Then one week, everything in her life fell apart. It began naturally – with illness. Her 17-year old son was diagnosed with cancer, her health insurance company declared bankruptcy a few days later, her husband acted so cruelly she decided to finally leave him after years of talking about it, her children hated that she was making them move, and she found herself unable to stay conscious at work, waking up repeatedly, wondering when she’d laid her head down.

In one week, she lost her marriage, her job, her ability to work, and the illusion that her children would stay healthy and live, and that they would love her. All the fundamentals of her life were ripped away in a few days.

After leaving her husband, the radical environmental organization to which she’d sacrificed her career and devoted the last seven years was infiltrated by saboteurs who “bad jacketed” her – labeled her a spy – and convinced the movement to ostracize her, costing her also her community. She would soon have a nervous breakdown.

But that’s not how she ended up in her camper.

First, she’d build a hermitage in the desert (with credit cards) and intended to become a hermit, but would first move away and almost marry her high-school crush, a doctor, and become an award-winning real estate agent for a few years before returning to her hermitage – to complete her nervous breakdown.

Then she’d begin a shamanic initiation, experience what seemed to be alien abductions, and realize she’d been followed all her life and still was – as a mind control subject
of the US government.

And her mind control subjection as a child, she thought later, might have even enhanced her psychic skills, as she was left alone so much and under such stressful conditions, her mind couldn’t help but explore other dimensions.

But this was too much information to absorb. It came on her too fast. And it was not imagined. It was real.

She wrote everything down and photographed all evidence. She posited and tested her theories, and wished for other answers than what seemed obvious. She borrowed books from the library. And when she was finally terrorized into selling and leaving her lovely home beside the creek, feeling like a sitting duck for whomever was out there, messing with her, she began to attend conferences to suss out the researchers who presented themselves as having the answers.

Were they credible? Were there really mind control programs still in operation, still overseeing old women like her? Were the alien experiences real, or only made to feel real by the miracles of modern technology? Could someone hit her with a beam and make her think she was having these experiences? Even her governor back in the 80s had accused the FBI of aiming a beam at him to mess with his head. Maybe this stuff was real. Something had to explain the weird things going on. But she didn’t like the answers.

And it wasn’t just her. Others reported very similar experiences. Others saw and heard the UFOs that cruised near her home. And she photographed the burns and bruises and cuts that showed up on her body overnight. Once she woke with a scar on her neck that a medical practitioner asked about five years later: “When did you have your thyroid surgery?”

Yes, it seemed there were people very interested in her health, or she thought they were people. Was she supposed to consider maybe that they were aliens? She didn’t want to consider that possibility.

After fleeing her home, she met a world of people who already believed in stuff like this, both the alien and the government stuff. But even among these people, her life seemed to contain too much weirdness for one person. It was understandable to have alien contact; it was understandable to be a mind control subject; but no one (yet) had claimed to be both. She didn’t want to be the first.

She was exceedingly tired of keeping it all a secret, trying to protect herself from others’ judgement, even protecting others from scary stuff that might disrupt their reality.

Despite trying to ignore it, a few mornings every month, she woke with strange marks on her body. Were these medical tests or procedures? Injections by doctors who were secretly caring for her health? Or by doctors who’re using her as a guinea pig?

Eventually, she met a few shamans, and learned that aliens are commonly seen by them in other dimensions. One shaman had told her she needed to write her story and if she did, he’d write the Foreword. She knew Ralph Metzner had a reputation to consider, so she took his encouragement seriously.

He’d been the non-flamboyant academic and now shaman, after decades of making cultural history as the quiet third pioneer beside Tim Leary and Ram Dass, upsetting the world in their quest for consciousness, to which he’d devoted his life ever after. In his Foreword to her book, he called her a “spiritual warrior.”

She didn’t feel like a spiritual warrior that night, but she didn’t feel like a failure either. She felt suspended, ready, willing, able, but waiting for right conditions. Watching.

“Just perceive,” she’d heard recently.

MK & TI Videos (up to Nov 2018)

Hi Friends and Followers,

portrait october 2018Just wanted to remind you all of the new videos I posted last month – on mind control and targeting I’ve personally experienced in the last decades.

I might not be posting again for awhile (life’s getting busy), so I hope you’ll take the time to watch these, either by clicking specific videos or using my playlists below.

Targeted Individual experience:
– Targeted Individual Social Sabotage: https://youtu.be/h89pFkVCnGU
– 7 Days of Targeting: https://youtu.be/_StvLwf2vI4
– MK/Targeting treatment different in different locations: https://youtu.be/mUB4ZC9cFRY
– Why Me?:  https://youtu.be/Ax8d2xB6Sf8
– Ironic Smiles (a poem about recognizing targeters/controllers/handlers:  https://youtu.be/X4i__AMoTxE
– Hit out on me? https://youtu.be/ON8aMHQPABY
– Highway Crash Report:  https://youtu.be/9MHAO0GqPhM
A most disturbing discovery about TargetingOperation TIPS, Terrorism Liaison Officers, and Targeted Individuals

– Implant in my G-spot (yes): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3RhPLxGPNf0
– In my heart:  https://youtu.be/UpTrCntYWiU
– Implant on my Scapula: https://youtu.be/FykaX6T6dqw
– Implant in my Ear: https://youtu.be/ldkCOVtIMTs
and Name that technology: What’s in my ear?:  https://youtu.be/zJnrBan_T-M

Mind Control Alters come out in public:
– Alter moves on program to steal, horrifying me: https://youtu.be/fG3axJD7tzg
– Martial arts alter comes out to help: https://youtu.be/DDpkMYR8s5Y
– Alter comes out to discredit: https://youtu.be/s4yUhRbncT4

Mind Control Subject on Kavanaugh, RF meter, new videos, fraternity rape, new implant, harassment: https://youtu.be/BFBS1xMJYFk

Suspicious people in my life:
– Housesitter Sabotage of a Targeted Individual: https://youtu.be/pi8yS0pvj84
– 3 Doctors in my last small town:  https://youtu.be/4m4O074VDVY

Suspicious events:
– Woke with broken toe:  https://youtu.be/x-3-rqGnw-A
– Finding Someone’s Drivers license in my Purse:  https://youtu.be/3a-8GHpKXWE
– Victim of Psy Op:  https://youtu.be/ea_aWFjZENQ

My efforts to be a truth teller (1- and 2-minute clips from a longer ramble):
– Telling the Truth 1:  https://youtu.be/9sabbUgCFBo
– Telling the Truth 2 – with amnestic alters:  https://youtu.be/9sabbUgCFBo

My channel: (https://www.youtube.com/user/ParadigmSalonVideo)
My playlists: My Story from the Beginning,
Newest: My Story,
Mind Control Harassment,
Mind Control Healing,
MK & “Aliens”,
Targeted Individual,
multiple personality.

Thank you, Everyone.  I really appreciate your views and comments.

Peace and blessings on us all.


Online Support and Brain Entrainment

eve-lorgen-1.jpgEve 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.

BW_iPad_4.jpg(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.


Healing Help for Electronic Harassment?

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.


The Last 8 Years

IMG_1725Anomalous 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

beam bruise

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

energy healing

“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

DSC014024 scoop marks

injection bruise

other weird bruises x 4

pouring nosebleed

inch-deep puncture up beside clitoris

spine mysetriously hurt

new herpes

taser cuTaser burn/sick

tones in ears

night’s struggle

beam follows me around house

next morning:  ears ringing badly, never quit

“walk-in” offer

house entered, things moved, hot water in tap on New Years, footsteps in snow

MK’d sex

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”

spiritual attachments

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

spontaneous healing


Persephone helps

blue-green energy healing alters

person inside me helping

cellular changes

another healing x 2

healed teens

nighttime healings x ?

seeing energy, controlling it

yogi comes in

felt g-spot heal

understanding, writing about the cruel teacher


2011-2012 Challenges: 

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+

DSC04837bruises x 3+

needle bruises x 34

4-5 clear tones

2 scoop marks

injured back/no reason x 2

neck out, rib out- pain

2nd taser w oval copy copyanother Taser

weird neck problems x 3

Wake to find friend whispering/instructing me x 2

night terror

realize MK as child on vacations, collapse to floor

computer weirdness


terrible ear-ringing

iridescent golden mucous glob from sinus


felt severely drugged

more herpes

weird answering machine message

phone interruption:  “record again”

happy drug?  too much energy

acquaintance weirdness

male friend confirms Archons

spiritual attack

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

alters integrating?

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

removed shadow


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

scoop mark





anxiety, unable to center self


hip bruise 1 cropmore 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

energy healing


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

IMG_2099many 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)


2014-2015 Challenges: 

“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

DSC05296scoop 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

left shoulder

hands asleep

IMG_2502“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


stomach ache

time confusion

alters switch

visions amazing, then forgotten

saw red UFO, hard sleep

computer weirdness

eBay sabotage

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

brain buzzing

Voice 2 Skull transmission test

downloads to hidden alter:  “MK is All”

dream of remote viewing

alien dreams, anxiety

July 2014 – July 2015 Blessings: 

faerie emergedwatched 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

injection bruise

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

heart attack

vibration in head

ligament mysteriously inflamed in left pelvis

headache, mind scrambled

missing time

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

computer weird

father’s Navy record suspect of special project subjectIMG_3746

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

Sarasvati real

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.

Opening a new book to follow RattleSnake Fire

IMG_1725My 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.)

Full MoonMy 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.)

Jean Ann Eisenhower birth certificate 1.jpegSo 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 birth anncmt.jpegon the day of my birth.  The next day, the local paper would give my birth a short column to remark on the coincidence.

Maybe all these coincidences explain my winning/losing lottery ticket.  Or maybe mind control was already in the family.

Eisenhower crest

Eisenhower family crest

[I’ll expand on these later:  Eisenhowers = Iron hewers (secret society protecting metallurgy secrets for the king).  Grandfather Hollywood veterinarian of Rin-Tin-Tin – Mason – money lender.  Father Navy CASU 33 – unsolved mystery.

[Petersens – Mormons.  Grandmother with her handler.  Mother I saw switch alters, in trance.  Unexplained terror re Mormons.  Flashback of babyhood ritual.]

I seem to have won/lost the lottery and was treated to MK.  Then, having developed a bad attitude toward our culture due to MK, I joined the counter-culture and offended my handlers – again and again, beginning with rejecting the invitation of another secret society, calling them “plastic,” accepting their invitation to “try them,” taking the vows, and then de-activating and breaking my vows.  I assume my actions resulted in another layer of MK, as they warned us that breaking our vows would have severe consequences (which I didn’t believe, as it was contrary to “American values”).

smithsonianIn 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.

rf-2nd-ed-front-cover-20 copyPerhaps 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?

A Disinformation Story from 2007

sheep-wallpaper-1Disinformation 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).

car bombWhen 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.


My g-spot (descending bulge) was sliced from back to front and twice more (not visible here) from side to side.

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.

taser cuUnfortunately, 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.

IMG_1725Over 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.

cia doctorsI 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.

See-no-evil-hear-no-evil-speak-no-evil-monkeys-14750406-1600-1200I’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.


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:

Bombed car sm

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.

IMG_1725I’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.

rf-2nd-ed-front-cover-20[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.

pablo amaringo Llullon Llaki Supai

I hope this helps someone.  Compassion for all.

Secretly forced brain implants Pt 1: Explosive court case

da62e5e01c418e92b61ab3262f6b1d05_3.jpegA two-part article with detailed info (6 years old, but….) about evidence that went to court!


My Last Blog Here

This idea has been coming on for a long time.

There’s no reason to write anymore here.

I’ve been withholding a lot in the last year or so anyway, feeling there are things I know that I’m just not willing to commit to print, and so I point out details or tell my experiences, and leave readers to connect the pieces.  But I’ve been withholding more and more recently.

Besides withholding, I spend so many hours trying to communicate intense, multi-dimensional realities in the language of this 3D world, yet have no idea whether my readers are real and I’m helping them, or if I’m writing for mostly agents – or if my words are published as I actually write them.  I’ve seen too many weird things happen on my computer to really want to invest too much more here.

Finally, maybe most important, writing keeps me locked in the past when I could be looking forward and grounding into my present with more attention.

So I’m saying good-bye on this site to spend more time in my garden and art studio, with friends, grounded in my actual world, and better connected to my Helpers.

I’m very tired of this virtual world.

And I recommend my readers also look for what they need inside themselves, in Nature, within their community, and from their Helpers.

I’ll leave this site up for the information it contains, but don’t expect any new blogs here.

If you want to know what I’m doing beyond this, I’ll probably continue to blog every week or so on my other sites – Home & Garden Inspiration, Garden Healing Church, and Jean Eisenhower.com, and the other sites near the bottom of the right column.


A bit more on Why:

No one who doesn’t already understand wants to hear this stuff.  They claim their right to not listen because it’s too scary, and their own lives are already filled with more drama than they can handle, or if it’s not, they want to keep it that way, and it’s their right.  It’s only natural.  It’s survival.

Therefore, this task is futile, and I should find better things to do.

We might think we need others to hear and understand.  But after that, there’s really not a lot anyone can do but sympathize.  And that gets old and, in a sense, by putting the information in another person’s head, locks us into that picture in another person’s mind.  So we communicators get nothing useful, and they get bummed out.

The only enlivening thing, after we’ve learned to develop better skills of perceiving and responding where we’ve been blinded, is to keep on with the cosmic dance of creating as much beauty and goodness as we can in our moment of life here.

I’m on to other things.

Watching “Karla”

orange-new-black-season-3-spoilersImpressed by the incredible actor Laura Prepon, of Orange is the New BlackI looked her up on Wikipedia and read:

MV5BMTYzNjU3OTAzNF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwOTcxMjIzMQ@@._V1._SX94_SY140_In 2005, Prepon starred in the film Karla, the true story of Paul Bernardo and his wife Karla Homolka, a couple who kidnapped, sexually abused and murdered three young girls – marking a contrast to her usual lighthearted roles.[7]

Not my type of movie.

I’ve been in such deep darkness lately, that it seemed bizarre to watch this movie now, but, if I might state the obvious, I thought the description of the psychopathic couple could have a lot in common with the mind control network that controls me.  It seemed it might be therapeutic.  And, numb from all my own darkness, I could take it today.

And because I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom this past week, in which I’ve remembered and dwelt on a whole lot of stuff and the larger pattern, I thought the content of this movie wouldn’t be as shocking, and I’d be able to watch it with some dispassion.  I thought I’d somehow benefit, and maybe even something revealing and healing could be triggered.

Here are my notes made during the movie:

Many of my partners have signs of having been mind controlled too and of controlling me in a wide variety of ways.

“She doesn’t even have to know.”  Drugs and electroshock.

I realize I’ve also been set up for sexual videos many times.  Some of these I was too afraid to write about, even in my own journal, even many years after the fact.  I remember wanting to write about an event a couple of times, but when I tried, my hand froze, so I said “Okay,” and never wrote about them anywhere.  I

The “knock-out drug.”  Maybe that’s why I’m so hyper-sensitive to all sedatives.

And if I wake up too soon, they just zap me afterward.  Which explains my random heart problems, Taser burns, etc.

Karla’s character traits:  severe obedience, fear of abandonment, mistaking need for love, ability to precisely follow orders.

I relate to this totally, feeling painfully the work it has been in past decades to break free of even parts of it to create new patterns in more of my psyche.  (Though I know I’m still being controlled – or have been recently – by someone commanding buried alters I’ve not yet been able to heal).

– Karla was a psychopath, who felt no remorse for others’ pain.  I’m glad to know I hurt for others all over the planet, and still feel bad about a time when I was a Senior in high school (and never again, it felt so bad) “trying on” the behavior of a bossy former leader whose place I was taking, and I hurt a girl’s feelings, I thought – and I apologized to her a couple/few decades later!  (She didn’t remember the event.)

I don’t believe I have any psychopathology, but I’m pretty sure I have a trained killer alter, whom I’ve only experienced once in my life, and that was when someone tried to break into my partner’s and my apartment, and I was ready to kill the man — quickly and efficiently.

After a moment of confusion, being awakened in the night, I snapped into a totally-unrecognized, but efficient and graceful series of behaviors, bouncing on my toes with a butcher knife in my hand, having commanded my partner to call 911.  In my head was a recitation of the route my knife would take under his ribcage and up, the weight of the knife now becoming familiar as I bounced it in my fingers, the thought-feeling of the knife cutting its way through layers of skin, fat, and muscle – all running through my head with an absolute certainty that this would go perfectly.  But the door held, and the police arrived and took him away.

They only took my report after arguing with me for quite a while about the non-necessity of arresting “a young man on a Saturday night with a little too much alcohol or drugs,” then the report didn’t exist the next morning, and no record of it was in any log, or so they told me.  They were either protecting the drugged-up son of some powerful person, or they were testing my training.  I wonder.  But I do feel that I did have the complete knowledge in one hologram of my being for what I planned to do.

(When I wrote my book, RattleSnake Fire, I didn’t think this had anything to do with the rest of my book, or I would have included the story at the start of Chapter 16.)

So, I guess they programmed some part of me to kill, and when my life felt threatened, I was ready – and more than willing – to kill someone who “clearly,” I thought then, deserved it.  No second thoughts, just total focus: bouncing on the toes, watching, hefting the knife, feeling the path, ready….  Good thing the police saved him.


Their videos of their murders ….  chilling.

I think there are probably many videos of me; I’ve had lots of events over the years where the possibility something was a set-up for this was definitely in my mind, and my gut felt horrible about its real possibility, but my mind kept telling me, “No, just go along, don’t be paranoid….”

I feel so weak now, I can hardly lift my hands… but now refocused….  I think I should not be weak.  I should face this stuff.

for a seedI want to cry.  

I remember, “A seed must break apart before it can bear fruit.”

I’m breaking….feeling totally destroyed….


Need to post the art showing demons on unconscious women, a small collection I’ve come across.

This institutional rape of women is not unique to our culture, but ancient.


Screen Shot 2015-02-13 at 8.24.02 PMScreen Shot 2015-02-13 at 8.20.32 PM Screen Shot 2015-02-13 at 8.20.21 PM Screen Shot 2015-02-13 at 8.20.03 PM

– Rapes, psychotic personalitiescuriously familiar feelings as I watch them,
slowly making connections in my conscious mind….

And I realize how powerfully I’ve been programmed to not be able
to distinguish psychotic lies from the truth
– in my younger years; I’m better now.
No wonder I’ve had such a series of “handlers,” rarely lovers.
(Mind control subjects need their handlers.)

Her fear of being hated and abandoned was extreme to the point of numb terror,
very child-like and unthinking.

I’ve never been as bad as Karla, but I’ve had severe tendencies, and still do, I think.

Karla mistakes her neediness for “love” because she was programmed that way.  I was too, though now, thankfully, I recognize the difference.  But that’s only one part of the control in their big bag of tricks.

She’s seriously obsessed, more than I’ve ever been,
but I can see so clearly the patterns of how seriously we’ve both been MK’d.
Karla went psycho though.  I became “multiple” (a better thing), cordoning off the ugliest stuff, leaving the rest of me, but only part of me, somewhat “normal.”

Splitting off, as a “multiple personality,” has made living a somewhat “normal” life, even a successful life in some modest ways, and often happy life possible.  And I’m grateful.

But I have to keep aiming for fuller consciousness; it seems the only responsible thing to do.  So I keep trying to remember and heal.



I think my implants (typically thought of as “alien” or sometimes government), might also be associated with this.  And one of their purposes, besides GPS and other sorts of control and harassment, is to identify me as to ownership – like a ranch animal.

Image result for laura prepon alex vause imagesFlashing back on Prepon’s character in Orange is the New Black, Alex Vausse – cold, hard, “seen it all,” willing to take pleasures where she can, willing to lie and seriously hurt her best friend and lover.

I might have alters who lie, but I don’t lie in my conscious life, except a few memorable times when it might have literally saved my life.

(Though some would say we all lie, all the time.  Great TedTalks video on lying here.)

The difference between psychopathic and multiple:  I have alters with behaviors for sex and killing locked away neatly (though they could be triggered on command, making the main part of me amnesic), whereas Karla has integrated the soul-deadened killer and liar into the whole of her.

I don’t think my killer alter can be triggered accidentally again, now that I’ve recognized her.  But she gives me some confidence, knowing she’s there and capable if ever needed.

Mind controllers, though, can trigger that alter, which is why I tell everyone about this, and why I’m trying to heal – or hoping to die if things don’t get better.

(I don’t want the responsibility of choosing, in this conscious state, to ever kill someone, or myself.  Too much appreciation for Life and the Mystery to destroy any of it – even though I talked about dying in January.  I still believe I have the right, and conditions could change, but I’m not aiming there now.)


I think there have always been psychopaths on the planet, but they’re increasing to record numbers and power now, it seems – at least I feel their heavy presence in my life.

Pulling back from despair….  

– If I have any purpose in life, it’s to document my experience, which documents the worst of humanity at the end of the era.  Feels important.  So I record….

I think this entire Earth is the subject of a turf war between warring global or cosmic gangster factions, the highest class (Illuminati?) to the lowest, and who knows how many factions and sub-factions there might be.  It’s probably as complicated as global politics.  Actually, it’s a big part of global and national politics.  And maybe cosmic politics.  Taking slaves of various sorts.

Different aspects of this System have been called mind control, ritual abuse, gang stalking, demonic, Satanic, sex slavery, CIA mind control, psychopathic, dark magick, human trafficking, Freemasonry, Mormonism, The Greek System, the Senate page scandal….and lots more.  (I might have wrongly included a few of the above, but maybe not.)

Image result for laura prepon karla imagesKarla was clearly trained to endure violence in numbness.

Her husband is also a psychopath, but has features of a “multiple personality” as I understand it — even though the movie never makes a point of that, and he does no dramatic switching of alters.  He’s charming in his social self, but he eventually is taken over by the desire to act out horrific sexual abuse on women, which he uses his adult intelligence to carry out, but when frustrated in any way, he reverts to behaviors that are what a six year old might do:  scream, abuse, and yell incessant profanity – and rarely cry – all while otherwise appearing and conversing as an (immature) adult.  And it’s clear to me that he was sexually brutalized around the age of six, much like many of us.  Some go psycho.  Some split.  I’m so glad I split.

Subconsciously, they recognize each other as “also abused,” and that’s their attraction:  they are familiar to each other.

Great movie.  (Here: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0424938/business?ref_=tt_dt_bus.)

Plan to be seriously disturbed.  (Maybe don’t watch it, or wait till the right time.)

It’s top-notch acting, directing, everything.


And a true story.

I grieve for the world….

May it be over soon.


Gov’t-Controlled Communications

FBI-Secrets-Swearingen-M-9780896085015Back in the late 90s, I read a memoir,  FBI Secrets:  An Agent’s Exposé, by retired agent, M. Wesley Swearingen, who after 26 years in the agency was involved in several successful lawsuits against the FBI related to wrongful imprisonment and civil rights violations.  (He was also involved in several successful lawsuits against his former employer, including “The US v. John Lennon,” and also wrote a book attempting to shed light on the murder of John F. Kennedy.)


He described carloads of up to 12 agents with a routine that gave each person a specific job, so that there could be no errors:  one person watched in one direction, others watched other directions, more watched from other points nearby, someone opened the house, others watched from various posts inside the house, photographers, observers trained to return everything to their precise places, record keepers, drivers, etc.

They entered the homes of anyone, even elderly peace activists, and photographed all sorts of information they hoped would lead to any sort of understanding of these war resisters and all their connections.  Swearingen was concerned because he knew the people were of no real threat to the United States, only practicing their right of free speech and trying to participate in our “democracy.”  Nevertheless, they were targeted and their homes broken into on a regular basis.

So I’m not as oblivious as I wish I was.  Sometimes, I come home, and my cat is so upset, I ask, “Were the feds here?”

zelcolockup2A few years ago, a friend suggested I buy portable door locks, which she was astounded I hadn’t already done, given my experiences.  So I ordered two online and installed them as soon as they arrived.

On the second morning after I began to use them, February 8, 2011, I discovered one of them obviously broken, not as it appeared when I installed it the night before – and two very disturbing wounds on my body.  The first I noticed as soon as I awoke:  an irritation as though something had been inserted up alongside my clitoral shaft more than one inch deep inside!  (An implant?  What will they do with that?)  DSC01402The second was two scoop marks on my finger, which I’ve already posted about.  So much for the door locks for protection.

In 2012, I made a list of 98 various events that had happened between November 28, 2010, when I woke with the Taser burn, and April 12, 2012, when I began a long series of doctors’ appointments for unexplainable and debilitating neck pain – and afterward recalled a dozen more events, including scoop marks that I’d photographed a few days ago and forgotten.  In between, I’d experienced lots of debilitating and unaccountable exhaustion, bruises, neck pain, and more, so much that I was having a very difficult time keeping my job.

I’ve written about all these things before.

But there’s one subject I’ve never written about, and that is the communications harassment.  I haven’t written about it because it’s hard to prove, but I’ll put it out there in case others have noticed the same.

fb_icon_325x325When I tried Facebook for awhile, a few years ago, I started getting suspicions that my posts were being messed with.

One close friend I shared my concern with asked, “Why would they bother with you?  You aren’t doing anything serious, are you?”  Only exposing mind control.  She replied that lots of people do that or similar, and they aren’t messed with.  Actually, I told her, many are, and probably those who aren’t are only revealing what’s already been exposed by others, then peppering it with disinformation – as Swearingen and others exposing COINTELPRO have described.

(Noam Chomsky was quoted on BBC:  “COINTELPRO was a program of subversion carried out not by a couple of petty crooks but by the national political police, the FBI, under four administrations…  By the time it got through, … it was aimed at the entire new left, at the women’s movement, at the whole black movement, it was extremely broad.  Its actions went as far as political assassination.”  Watch.)

FBI-Secrets-Swearingen-M-9780896085015As Swearingen’s memoir proves, the intelligence agencies don’t need “serious” targets.  They want to quell anyone who’s threatening the corporate economy, war, and their mind control systems.  I also theorize they need “lesser threats,” like me, to practice their skills on, at least.  But since mind control subjects are kept controlled by fear, the Internet provides a very simple, low-cost way to inject worry, fear, isolation, and more into my life.  I may choose not to worry or fear, but I, and others, can still be easily and effectively isolated.

They have a long history of doing exactly what I’ve described back when it was a whole lot more trouble:  they’d have to do custom work on typewriters to create imperfections similar to the typewriter of the targeted person!  Many people would be required (your tax dollars at work), even for peace activists.  They studied people’s styles of speech and writing to make their fake communications most believable, and compiled psychological databases so they could refer occasionally to personal things in a most believable way.

Now it’s so much easier, all the data needed delivered to their desktops.  Responses easy-sneezy:  no more matching, ink, paper, and handwriting or typeface.

Their goals were and are:  to discredit activists, cause fights and rifts in groups, mislead, and more.

For whatever reason, it seemed they were interferring in my Facebook communications.  It would always involve someone not close enough to me that I’d feel comfortable calling them to ask exactly what was the wording they read, supposedly from me, that caused them to respond to me the way they did.  But usually the response was just subtle enough, not worth a call – or too much trouble to explain.

Regularly, I had friendly acquaintances, just “distant” enough, suddenly become pointedly less friendly and avoid me on the street.  And not just a few.  I started dreading walking down the street, for fear I’d be shunned for I didn’t know what.  It was very depressing.

One day, I posted something then logged out of Facebook, and logged back in under my partner’s name, and checked my page.  My post did not exist!  I logged out and went back to my page and saw it again.  Logged out and back in as my partner, and again it didn’t exist.  Fifteen minutes later, it was there on his page, exactly as I’d written it – of course, they wouldn’t be so stupid as to change my post for my partner.  But my partner’s posts always show up immediately and get responses from friends in the first few seconds.  Mine always took 15-20 minutes before people began responding.  Weird.

I theorized that they had created tiers of my friends and acquaintances, changing my posts for whomever I was not likely to talk to and who wouldn’t broach the subject of a weird post with me.  It was really upsetting to think that the feds were creating a negative portrait of me that I’d supposedly never know about.  And suddenly, even though I did not post about mind control on Facebook, I was losing friends for no other reason I could figure.

Some friends have said that this is just too much trouble, but it’s not.  The software to do what I’ve described – diverting communications – already exists.  Software for creating “action plans” for various people – serious criminals, mind control subjects, those warranting medium or serious harassment, and those warranting mild harassment, maybe just to practice on.  I used to have business software over 15 years ago that would have facilitated most of this.

You can bet there are rooms full of agents with data available at the click of a key to guide them regarding frequency, level of action, key phrases, etc.  A single person could easily intervene in 100 communications in a workday.  Even if I was a low-level concern, I’d be used for practice, with just enough weirdness to keep me isolated and fearful, just what they want for mind control subjects.

I have similar concerns with email.  Recently, I contacted an old acquaintance I was hoping to visit, but he became hostile for some reason I cannot fathom (except for this), and I wondered if the feds made him think I was causing problems, or if the feds made me think he was.  He’s just distant enough that I don’t dare call him, especially since he seemed so angry (though he might not really have been).  I have no idea what they might have portrayed me as.

It’s extremely sad.  And isolating.  Making me tough, I like to think, but I don’t know.

With our world so accustomed to instant communication – without being interrupted by phone calls – we’re dependent on the Internet, yet I can’t trust the Internet anymore, and I can’t explain to most people why I don’t.  So I keep on, but it feels very vulnerable.

The only option would be to stop my activism, which I won’t.

I also used to get regular Internet reminders to update software for remote control of my computer!  Apparently I have the software on it – otherwise, it wouldn’t recommend updating – but I cannot find it; it’s invisible to me.  Finally I chose to have it “not remind me” anymore.  But I assume it’s still there.

I’ve thought of getting a Linux computer, but then they’d have to break into my house to do what they do, and I’d rather they not.  Big Brother is certainly here.  If he just weren’t a murderer and torturer, I might accept the “transparency.”

I’ve also had my computer turn itself on in the middle of the night when I was up and unable to sleep.  Sitting next to it, it suddenly sprang to life and started humming as if it was downloading or uploading data.

I Was OneWhen I produced my first YouTube-logo-full_colorvideo, “I Was One”, it received over 2,000 hits in less than two weeks, and then one day the numbers dropped to half that!  The same thing happens all the time on my channel:  I’ve seen the numbers drop from 12,000 to 10,000 in a day, and who knows how many other times it has done that.

Anyone else experience similar?

Heart Problems – I assume from Electroshock and Tasering

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wasted.  Wondering: serious disease?”

“Feel bad with weird symptoms.”

“Deep despair of life, lots of sleep.”

“Wrote bye to all, but lived.”

“Weak, nausea, ringing in ears.”

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

“No energy for anything.”

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

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

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

“Can’t sleep, feeling dread.”

“Jaw pain and heart tension.”  (twice)

“Suicidal.”  (four times)

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

“Scoop mark on same finger.”

“Woke tired with pee in bed again.”

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

And the bruises I’ve photographed!

Carol Rutz presentation

ritual abuse logoThis presentation (a transcript here) by Carol Rutz in 2003 gives a good overview of mind control and her hopeful story about her own healing:

This transcript is from a presentation by Carol Rutz at The Sixth Annual Ritual Abuse, Secretive Organizations and Mind Control Conference, August 8 – 10, 2003 at the DoubleTree Hotel in Windsor Locks, CT. Some of the topics discussed may be heavy for survivors. Survivors may want to read this with a support person or therapist. The conference is educational and not intended as therapy or treatment. All accusations are alleged. Our providing the information below does not necessarily constitute our endorsement of it.

This page has been put on the web by S.M.A.R.T., P O Box 1295, Easthampton, MA 01027 E-mail: smartnews@aol.com

Carol Rutz, a survivor of SRA and Government Mind Control experimentation is the author of A Nation Betrayed (http://www2.dmci.net/users/casey) which tells the true story of secret Cold War experiments performed on children. With extensive research and testimony from survivors, she documents experiments by the CIA to create a Manchurian Candidate. Her topic is “Healing from Ritual Abuse and Mind Control.”

Good morning,

I’m so happy to be here today and I would like to thank Neil and the other sponsors of this conference for this opportunity. Please do what you need to protect yourself, if you become overwhelmed during my talk. It you get up and leave, I won’t be offended. A certain amount of triggering information will be presented, not to hurt, but to help.

Two years ago my presentation focused on presenting the proof that cruel mind control experiments were performed on innocent children during the Cold War by the same government who had sworn to protect them. Based on my own personal experience, testimony of other survivors and documentation obtained from declassified material, I was able to validate many survivors’ memories.

When I originally set out to write A Nation Betrayed I had hoped to reach two audiences–the survivor community and professionals who help these survivors such as doctors, therapists, social workers and ministers. I soon found it was very difficult to write to more than one audience but over the last 2 years I found that my dreams have been fulfilled and surpassed.

Hundreds of survivors and professionals have written to me to express their gratitude for this body of work. I usually receive between one and five emails a week. With every letter I received, I continue to be filled with so many emotions.

1. Sadness when I hear another survivor’s story.
2. Empathy in understanding their continuing struggle to free themselves from the bonds their handlers placed around their minds.
3. Joy that I have helped them to feel “Not Alone–Not Crazy.”

1. Gratitude that God has allowed me to reach so many health professionals who in turn are better able to understand their patients and what they have been through.

This brings me to my topic today.The most frequently asked questions I receive from survivors”

1. How did you heal?
2. How did you break thru the programming?
3. Can I ever have a life again?

To answer these questions I am going to give some of the methods and procedures I used to: Show First Slide

1. Survive the memories
2. Revive found alters
3. Break through the programming
4. Integrate
5. Live Normally

I have not talked publicly about my ritual abuse, nor did I devote much of my book to it even though it played an integral part in my becoming dissociative. How does one understand and talk about the horrors of growing up in an intergenerational cult who has joined hands with Illuminati families for their own deviant purposes?

Before my memories returned–before the amnesiac barrier was broken down, I developed a strong spiritual foundation, which contributed greatly to my ability to walk through the darkest memories known to mankind. In addition to being baptized Catholic as a child, I have to admit to two full immersion baptisms as an adult. I seemed to have been always seeking a spiritual belief system that would wash away a horrible blackness I felt inside. As I began remembering the Satanic Rituals I was forced to participate in as a child, I felt for a time that no God could exist and allow these things to happen.

Which brings me to Surviving the Memories.

Most survivors would agree that they had been deprived of normal human relationships during their childhood. It tends to make us isolate, withdraw, and seek only the company of those we know, not those who will help us see what “Normal” really is. It was not until after my father died that some parts of me were set free to begin the healing process. It seemed it was finally safe for me to break away from not only an abusive marriage, but to actually choose a healthy new relationship and begin to feel safe for the first time in my life. I know for certain, that I was so programmed with fear that until I saw my dads’ body in his casket, I couldn’t ever have hoped to have a normal life, let alone recover from the Dissociative Identity that was created by Satanic Ritual Abuse, incest and government experiments.

My memories of SRA began shortly after I found I had “People living inside me.” Anyone who is DID understands what I’m saying. In 1991 after finally feeling safe and cared for for the first time in my life, I began to have flashbacks. They started when I was sitting on my husbands lap and he was kissing my neck. His face suddenly turned into my fathers. I almost threw up every time this occurred and I didn’t understand nor believe what I was experiencing–after all–I was a virgin till I was 18 years old.

AGH!! The first horrible discovery every multiple finds–their whole life was a lie. At least what they thought their life was. How do you accept the lies–the betrayal–the total breakdown in your reality? I knew I was crazy–I had to be.

Intimacy between my husband and I was almost nonexistent from that time on for almost 2 years. I couldn’t stand to be touched once the memories of what was done to me as a child started surfacing. As if incest memories weren’t enough to cope with a new development occurred. I’ll never forget the first time an alter surfaced. I began by having what I thought was a horrible panic attack. A sudden fear came over me and I felt as if my chest was going to explode. As I rode this wave of fear I literally felt my chest explode and my life changed forever. I’m sure the movie Alien with Sigourney Weaver was probably written by someone who was DID because the scene where the ugly alien erupts from that poor persons stomach is exactly how I felt at that moment.

I became a two-year-old little girl. That was the first moment an alter ever felt safe enough to appear and begin to tell what her life was like. Later, I stood next to my son and felt dwarfed by him even though he was only a couple inches taller. When I spoke my voice was not my own, but that of a small child. My God what was happening to me?

From that point on the SRA memories began to surface. I didn’t understand them at all as I didn’t know such things existed. The people I saw in hooded white robes reminded me of the KKK but what they did was beyond anything I ever heard the KKK was responsible for. My grandfather was the “Big Kahuna” of our intergenerational cult. I have traced the word “Big Kahuna,” back to a Polynesian belief system. Oral history tells of a race of beings from another solar system who came to earth and brought with them psychic abilities and huna beliefs. Members of kahuna orders have kept this knowledge alive since that time. The Illuminati family that I was given over to operated with Luciferian beliefs. Balance the good deeds with the bad and it all evened out in the end. Their ceremonies, celebrations, and rituals performed had definite purpose. I’ll explain in a little more detail later on.

I sought professional help. There wasn’t really a choice. It was that or go crazy and drown in a bottomless pit of memories I couldn’t understand. My father had always told me if I ever told I would be locked away in a mental institution, and I believed him. It was horrid to walk into the doctors’ office even though I had been in counseling off and on for several years. None of them had ever gotten close to what was really wrong with me, but then they were never faced with alters who took over the visit and cried out for help.

You know, I think it is hilarious when a doctor asks you if you’ve ever lost time, when that is the purpose of dissociation. You don’t know you’ve lost time, till you begin to become coconscious and that doesn’t happen till you are safe enough to deal with why you became dissociative in the beginning. I was referred to a psychologist who had worked with MPD patients for quite some time. Even so, he didn’t know effective grounding techniques, so I was abreacting almost everything. God we all know how awful abreaction is, even though it is effective at allowing the alters to tell and getting a really accurate picture of what took place. It wasn’t till later that we found a better way.

From the beginning my therapist encouraged me to journal. Throughout the week I allowed my alters to write and draw the details of their abuse. I simply sat down and allowed control to whoever needed to talk. This was the beginning of one of the major things I feel is necessary to heal–Finding a Voice. The other thing it allowed me to do was later Validate my experiences. Many of the cult ceremonies took place at our local zoo.

Show Slide

When I began to draw and talk about them, my doctor turned a little ashen. It was one of three times in 11 years that he said, “I’ve heard that before from someone else about that place.” Wow, talk about validation. When I went to the archives of the public library to find material on the zoo for two particular years, it was missing. Everything was there but those two years. I was disappointed but not surprised. In April of 1993 after two years of SRA memories, I was able to go back to the zoo accompanied by my husband and walk through the places where these rituals had occurred. When I left, it was a victory. We had walked through the fear, “We came, we saw and we conquered.”

I have several more drawings surrounding cult activity, but they are highly triggering. If you are interested you’re welcome to look thru this book later. It has numerous pieces of art work and validation, along with pics of alleged perps.

Finding the Voice that was taken away from you as a child can come in other ways too. Each survivor must find a way to break through the barriers within and reach out to those parts that hold the truth of their lifelong experiences. Some choose to scrapbook, some choose to playact and art therapy is yet another tool that I know some survivors use. Clay, colors, crayons, paint etc, whatever tool can be used to break through the enforced silence that has continued for so many years is effective. In our house children had nothing of interest to say. We had enforced silence at the table during meals, and were only permitted to ask a sibling to pass the food. Beyond silence being enforced, emotions were not encouraged either. Putting on a happy face was the only permissible demeanor in our house. Listen and obey were two of the Ten Commandments. Children were to speak only when spoken to.

In those early days as the bits and pieces of my life were expressed on the pages of my journal I was afraid all of the time–24-7. I was flooded with memories, flashbacks, and nightmares. Fear was my number one major obstacle to overcome before any real work could be done. I found the fear of what I might find was always worse than what I actually did find. I was afraid of remembering and I was afraid not to remember. I was afraid the cult would somehow know I was talking and send someone to exterminate me. I was afraid the memories were really true. I was afraid I was a liar and for some reason making it all up. I eventually came to accept and know that no matter what; I had already lived through the worst. Remembering, understanding, feeling and incorporating those experiences was the pathway I walked to slowly integrate my alters.

Early on multiples are not willing to accept it happened to them–we know it happened to others living inside, but not to us. People would say–“Carol, don’t you understand that if it happened to those people inside you that it happened to you since there a part of you?”

No we don’t and can’t accept that reality until we have emotionally accepted everything that statement entails. I use to collect dolls to represent my alters. It was a way of keeping them separate and apart from me. I didn’t understand that at the time, but it served a purpose to allow the pain to be tolerable until we were ready to really accept it all in totality and what that meant to the life we thought we lived. I also painted and drew pictures of my alters, because they always presented with names and faces.

Show 2 slides

Fear consumed me until I finally let go and allowed the details of my life to flow from my mind to the paper and then in therapy through my mouth. I found that letting my alters finally have a voice and speak the truth was the only way through the fear. My doctor kept reminding me, that telling and making a record of it made me safer. He would remind me if I let people know that I kept this record in a safe place, it was like having insurance. Unlike the lies all my abusers had imbedded in my mind, I found it was safer to have names, dates, and events transcribed. Who would want to take the chance of hurting me when they didn’t know if all their dirty little secrets were tucked safely away in my safety deposit box? This proved to be a huge safety net to me and as time went on, I really knew and believed that they were all liars. Every threat they had told me, every lie they uttered proved to be just that. Of course along with remembering comes all the pain, which is a necessary part of healing. Really understanding, feeling, absorbing and sharing the whole picture of betrayal and horror leads to integration and freedom.

My alters found painting and drawing to be a perfect expression for getting scenes recorded– peoples faces, places, buildings, ceremonies. I never knew what was going to be painted or drawn, I just gave my alters free reign. Years later when I actually was able to match real people and places with these, the validation was overwhelmingly powerful and helped me to understand what truly happened to me. That is what we all search for isn’t it? Validation? How can I know this is real? How can I prove this really happened?

More examples with 8 slides

Slide one- I was to undergo sensory deprivation in a box after being given a shot of curare before these procedures you see depicted took place. I believe the mountain drawing is of Mount Royal in Montreal, behind the Montreal Neurological Institute on McGill campus. The reason I show this drawing and actual picture is to show how a mind retains information even through extreme trauma.

Next slide- this is stereotaxic surgery being performed by I allege Dr. Wilder Penfield in Montreal Canada. He inserted electrodes into sleeve guides and probed my brain while someone in the room recorded what was being said. He said my brain was like a tape recorder and he just needed to take me back in time. He did this by touching different spots in my brain. They kept recording the memories induced from images in my past and later Sid Gottlieb of the CIA used them for future programming sessions.

Recently I discovered that the Soviets during the 60’s and the 70’s found that by passing a low voltage current from the front of the brain to the back, they could drop their remote viewers into the Delta State. Using this artificial means they found Delta to be the doorway to telepathic influencing, telekinesis and remote killing.

That may account for the remark I recall Dr. Penfield make, “Given Enough time and enough bodies, I can find the Doorway to the Soul.”

It was important in the early stages of recovery, before there was validation to set up a contract with my therapist against self-harm. I had to “Survive the Memories” before I could revive and integrate the alters I was finding. Because of the profound sense of Betrayal I felt and the programs that had been installed to suicide if I began to tell, I agreed to have some part call our therapist or tell a trusted individual when these urges emerged. I only ever called my therp at home twice in 12 years of therapy, but I could call the office and schedule an emergency session ahead of time to deal with these urges.

I found in order to heal, I had to own the Betrayal and every time I attempted to do it, I just wanted to give up–it was just too painful. I lived in spite of myself. Sometimes the only thing that kept me alive was the fact that everyone else kept reminding me that “They would win.” I was just stubborn enough to never allow that to happen.

My alters found their voice and began trusting my therapist to guide us through the grief of a lost childhood. What started as a mind that looked like a bunch of puzzle pieces in the early stage of recovery, began to form a border with the first three child alters. At times the incest and ritual abuse memories felt like sharp shards of glass that couldn’t be contained. Over time we learned to take that glass and allow the fiery pain to forge a beautiful canvass of our own making–one that would contain the reality of a whole person.

Assimilating and owning those experiences in order to integrate was the hardest battle we had ever fought, but we found we weren’t alone anymore. As parts were believed and self nurtured a new world opened before us. My husband and sister nurtured and held child parts and allowed them to come out and talk. They listened!! They believed!! They loved us in a healthy way. We got special presents; children’s books were read to us. I know we were very, very blessed to have people in our life that knew how to love in a healthy way. Allowing playtime for young alters such as riding the tractor, playing with a dollhouse or cuddling with stuffed animals helped too. Eating ice cream, listening to wind chimes–all those firsts were a glorious adventure once we told.

So to recap, once you find a way to survive the memories you can set about reviving the alters and set up communication so that you become coconscious. Coconsciousness is essential for safety issues as well as assimilating the material you are remembering. If you can eliminate lost time, you eliminate the power that others still may have to manipulate you and your alters. Identifying triggers is also important for safety. Many handlers set up hand signals, knocks on walls in a certain rhythm, phone ringing in certain rhythm, and words for triggering an alter to the front. For instance and easy way to get me to be a vacant mindless person was to say, “Knock, Knock.” That was installed to bring and alter to the front by the name of “Nobody’s Home.” So often in my life when I experienced trauma that was not Gov’t related, my alter Nobody’s Home would come out. You can see how easy it was for them to access and use their targets. After an operation, when they wanted to send an alter under, they would say “Rest In Peace.” This was whoever was out’s signal to go under. They would call each of our alters out by using the word “Blue” teamed with another word, such as Blue Velvet, Blue Danube, Bluebird, Blue Bayou, etc. Such simple powerful words, but until you realize how they used these to control you, they reek havoc on your system.

As I said earlier, in the beginning I was doing nothing but abreacting. I would find myself in my mind in a room looking at a closed door. After opening the door for the first time I always knew I would find a traumatic scene from my past, generally where a new alter had been created.

When I left the therapists office I would have to put what I had been working on away, so that I could effectively live during the week without being bombarded by the new material. I created an internal safe place to put the memories that we worked on in each session so that I would not be flooded in between. It was a toy box and I would set a stuffed animal on top before I left the office. During the week we would journal or not, which ever felt safe, and then let the memories back out of the toy box again in therapy the following week. This was different from the safe place my alters eventually built to go to for healing.

Later after my therapist had attended a seminar we began using grounding techniques so that while I was remembering I could also remain in the present. This was much less painful and traumatic to the system and every bit as effective as pure abreaction. My grounding technique was really simple. I taught myself that when I would begin to abreact and lose total control, I would grab the arm of the chair and bring myself back to the awareness of where I was. That insured that I was still in the present, and this happened in the past and did not have the power to hurt me anymore.

Some survivors use EMDR successfully for memory retrieval. My doctor noticed I was doing EMDR naturally during our therapy appointments. Instead of following a finger from side to side or hearing music alternately in each ear, my eyes moved from right to left, back and forth very quickly whenever I would start to remember. I think this happened because when I was experimented on I had a set of headphones on where I would hear different messages at the same time thru each ear.

Show Slide

Top Left Picture is a Positron Emitter Detector, circa 1962. It is an early version of the PET scan now in use. The PET scan produces images of how living brain cells work collectively to retrieve memories and form words–in short the physics of thinking. Bottom left picture is a Positron Emitter Detector from Brookhaven, 1965.

My drawing shows how each alter was being programmed. Detectable energy flashes were being picked up and a recording was made assuring the doctors that they indeed were working with different parts of my personality, separate and apart from the me that they would eventually reawaken.

During the 1980’s, Stargate a remote viewing project was done at Ft. Meade, using binoral beat tones that changed the brain waves through earphones. A hemi-sync device that played two different frequencies into each ear was found to produce altered states of consciousness. Perhaps the technology they used was derived from these experiments done in the 60’s on people like me and others in this room.

Lower right is a portable ect unit which many of us became intimately acquainted with.

I also did a double appointment. 45 minutes was never enough for me to accomplish what was needed. I would just be getting rolling when it was time to reground and wrap up. I hated those early sessions where I would walk out of the office and a child part would get behind the wheel, or we couldn’t even find our way to the car or we would cry all the way home. 1-½ hours turned out to be perfect. Towards the end of therapy I was commuting almost four hours, so going every other week for a double session helped tremendously.

The same visualization that was used by perps for programming enabled us to undo that programming. We created a healing place inside where anyone who chose to could go and rest and get help from other alters in healing. I found parts that couldn’t speak because of programming or being preverbal and a helper alter would agree to be used for the memory retrieval work. That part would remain grounded so that the emotional impact was not so overwhelming. I believe this is really important and could cause system wide shut down if we attempt to handle too much at one time. Betrayal, shame, and fear were powerful tools used against us.

Slowly I began to reclaim the power that was taken from me as a child. I learned that the humiliation, guilt, and degradation they heaped on my shoulders was theirs–not mine. I was able to separate the lies from the truth.

My father had tried to systematically destroy my free will by controlling my mind from infancy through adulthood. He was totally narcissistic–self absorbed and tried to possess everything and everyone, never feeling guilt. He was only interested in his personal wants, desires and needs being met, never acknowledging the harm he was inflicting on others. Even as an adult he would use triggers on me so that I would switch into whatever alter he desired whether it be for a cult ritual or for his sexual pleasure. For instance, he would put his hand into his pocket and pull out a diaphragm and say, “Remember what this is for?” I would immediately switch. BTW, it was my mother’s diaphragm.

Owning the truth of all this was devastating in the beginning, and freeing in the end. We saw ourself as a beautiful vase with a flower before the trauma. As we relived each trauma that made us split it was as if a giant hammer came down splintering the vase into a thousand pieces. As we put the vase back together through integration, we found the flower in the vase–“Our Soul” was never truly damaged. They never got to the soul of our being.

Integration means owning. I remember the first time I ever owned the incest. I was standing in the grocery store and I ran into a lady I knew casually whose father had just passed away. I told her how sorry I was, and then she asked me if my dad was still living. I told her “No he’s been dead since 1979.” She said how sorry she was and in reply I said, “No I’m glad he’s dead, I’m sure he’s rotting in hell. He was a baby raper!! He molested me from the time I was a baby.” Well, if the poor woman would have had dentures, I’m sure they would have fallen out. She quickly made her exit, and I can’t tell you how good that felt. That was the first time other than to family and my therapist, that I had admitted publicly what had happened to me. I didn’t feel shame or guilt. I put it on the person who deserved it. Wow, I knew I was healing. Over time I even lost the hatred I felt for him. I never set out to stop hating. It just happened as I healed and put the entire picture together. I could see what type of life he had lived as a child, and I never stopped hating what he had done, but his hold on my mind was loosened when the hating stopped.

Another truly wonderful validation occurred when I shared with my aunt about the incest. She was mortified to say the least, but she shared what I told her with my cousins. One of them called me and we got together and found out each had been carrying their own secrets around in our hearts thinking we were alone. By my opening up, it allowed all this to come out in the open–out of the shadows of darkness and into the light. I found that one male cousin in particular incested at least five of my female and male cousins. God, it was awful to see what legacy my family of birth had passed on. A huge healing has taken place for a lot of them too in their personal relationships and the validation for all of us was priceless. One cousin wrote to me and said, “Carol, it is because of you sharing the burden that you carried for so long that our family is starting to heal. It puts in perspective so many things for our family. It has helped me to continue in my growth process. Because of what you told my mom we are now learning what a healthy family is.”

I personally did not start breaking through the government programming until I had brought a lot of stability into my life, where I was moving from focusing on the trauma all the time to focusing on the healing and living in the here and now. I learned to stay grounded and centered and leave the old coping techniques of dissociation behind.

When I began to find the alters who had been programmed and experimented on by Sid Gottlieb, Allen Dulles, Ewen Cameron, Wilder Penfield and others I began a brand new journey. My book details that journey. Personal validation of my memories of this journey again came from my drawings and paintings and of course a lot of declassified documents. All the programming that was done to me by the CIA and Illuminati was Trauma based using things like electroshock, sensory deprivation, and drugs. Later the trauma wasn’t necessary, only hypnosis accomplished with implanted triggers and occasional tune-ups that took place at Wright Patterson Air Force Base not far from my home.

One of the first programs I dealt with was “No Talk” programming. I had a flashback of this while sitting in the dentist chair. The light they pull down and use to look in your mouth triggered it. Sid Gottlieb was standing behind a light several feet from us and grinning. It is the type of light they use for Morse code. It looked like metal Venetian blinds and it was being opened and closed, allowing a blinding light to flash alternately off and on in our eyes. When the light was on someone said, “Talk,” then as the light switched off, they said “Don’t Talk.” This was repeated over and over. When they used this in practical situations, all they had to do was switch a flashlight on and off in front of my face.


A lot of my programming revolved around the Wizard of Oz. The hourglass was used in the event I would begin to remember and talk. They would tell us that if we talked the hourglasses sand would begin to run and when it was all run out we must do ourself in. We turned the hourglass on its side so it could no longer be used to threaten us. I was also told my head would explode. When I ran into this the first time, I was driving home from therapy. My head not only felt like it was going to explode; I saw a gigantic bomb with a lit fuse. I decided that I had used visualization for helping to heal other alters and since the programming they did was done with creative visualization, I should be able to undo it in the same way. I took my fingers and snuffed the wick out–it was that simple. Knowing their lies made it so much easier to dismantle the programming. These are just a few examples of creative visualization.

Another affective visualization that the system used to short circuit programming was when I found there were hidden parts. We took a giant eraser and internally started erasing all the lines to the boxes and triangles inside of us. We saw people coming out on stretchers, with bandages and others internally were carrying them on cots to the healing place.

When I was having trouble even getting close to memories we found booby traps and land mines surrounding them, so that every time we got close we couldn’t get past these. We visualized a giant pacman in our blood stream. He was sent on a search and destroy mission for any programs that were implanted and dangerous. When pacman was through destroying these he yelled, “Mission Accomplished.” Our progress after this was remarkable.

Show Slide

When I found the infinity sign or number eight on its side had been used to separate two lands in my body where alters were held, I set about to free them.  One side of my body contained Neverland and the other side contained Shadow land.  My baby alter, who was preverbal was stuck in Neverland where she never grew up.  Sid Gottlieb used
to bottle feed and hold this part and bonded this part to him this way setting up an internal dichotomy where we thought we depended on him for nourishment–food, drink, love etc.  Baby and the alter that was sent to Shadowland were told they would have eternal life if the alter in Shadowland carried out the missions he was given.  This part had psychic abilities and was trained to use the “Red Fire” to cause strokes & aneurysms in “targets.”  Anyways as you can see one land held the baby and another the alter with the “violence.”  The programmers had codes to access the baby part, and you had to go through in that order, Baby first than the codes to access the alter who used the red fire.  It was a brilliant system to be sure as the Baby was totally hooked using “Maslows Theory” to these programmers and if the body was caught their was no way they would ever get to the part that was used for missions.  The infinity symbol was drawn on a black board and reinforced repeatedly through hypnosis until all the systems were locked down tight.  I hope this makes sense. It took a longtime and a good deal of work, to find this and break free, since even after the alters found out the truth they did not want to leave their lands right away where they felt safe and come to the safe place in my system.  After some internal communication the baby was rescued from Neverland. Alters simply created a bridge and crossed from there to Shadowland. Our baby part was nurtured by our alter who was trained for killing, so it was very beneficial to both those alters. The door to Neverland was burned and holes were shot in the ceiling of Shadowland to let light through. It was patterned after a tunnel I was in at 16 where I did a psychic demo. Anyways, eventually everyone felt safe enough so that an elevator was built to the healing place and Shadowland was destroyed too.

Show Slide

This drawing completely mystified me until I read a news article about an implant that amplifies brain signals, which are then transmitted to a laptop computer through an antenna-like electronic coil on the head. Researchers at Emory University implanted a tiny implant, the size of the tip of a ballpoint pen into a patients brain which allowed the patient to express his thoughts with words, through the uses of a voice synthesizer.

Many of the experiments performed on me were done to heighten and use ESP, Remote Viewing, and the energy of the mind.

If you think this psychic killing sounds far fetched you may be interested to know that back in the Sixties, the Soviet Union began to pour money and resources into the study of ESP and psycho kinesis, phenomena collectively termed “psi” by researchers in the field. Much of this psi research came under the control of the Soviet military and KGB. They also screened Red Army recruits for psychic abilities, and pumped talented subjects full of dangerous drugs to promote psi-conducive altered states. Subjects in psycho kinesis or “remote-influencing” experiments tried to stop the hearts of small
animals, or concentrated on foreign political leaders, beaming at them “negative psi

Soviet and Czech scientists were said to be working on electromagnetic devices that would cause strokes or heart attacks, and it was even rumored that they had perfected a “psychotronic generator”, which could scramble people’s minds at great distances.

An unclassified 1972 Defense Intelligence Agency report expressed concerns that “Soviet efforts in the field of psi research, sooner or later, might enable them to do some of the following,”

1. Know the contents of top secret US documents, the movements of our troops and ships and the location and nature of our military installations
2. Mould the thoughts of key US military and civilian leaders at a distance
3. Cause the instant death of any US official at a distance
4. Disable, at a distance, US military equipment of all types, including spacecraft.”

All I can say is that we may not have all the declassified documents on what the U.S was working on, but we can be sure they were doing tit for tat what their Russian counterparts were, only a lot of it was being done on small children.

Creating a timeline was extremely helpful in my healing after I had been at therapy for a number of years. I took a storyboard that was folded in three parts. I used one color sticky notes for SRA alters, a different color for government alters and the last was myself at different ages for instance grade school and what age I was in each grade. By combining the years of rituals and experiments with where I was in school and what was going on in my life, I finally got a true picture of what happened and when. Was it hard–most assuredly. Was it one of the biggest steps in my ability to own and integrate many parts–absolutely!

I don’t believe there is only one way to deprogram. There is no right or wrong way. What is effective for one may be totally unworkable for someone else. I believe the key to deprogramming is Internal dialogue. Integration is desirable by some people and not others. That is a choice each individual makes. My integration of parts has always come naturally. No big ceremonies, just when the work was done, and the system knew we weren’t losing anything it came naturally. Am I totally integrated? No. Will I be? I don’t know. I’m high functioning without losing time. Today I can make choices for myself based on knowledge. I have boundaries and balance. I try to not let my past overwhelm me. Some days I choose advocacy and work at exposing the evil. Others I choose to just live and love and try to bring some sunshine to my corner of the universe. They took our choices away. I like having mine back.

I encourage each of you to find your voice. I believe it is your road to freedom. In closing I want to share with you something from my journal.

If you feel comfortable, I encourage you to close your eyes while you listen.

Today we allow ourselves to be led to the edge of the brook. We step into the water to wash away some of the pain of the past. We relish in the way the water nips at our chin and caresses our mind. Melodies of times past forge across our brain, and the music becomes softer and smoother as we listen. The torrent of horror is moving gently to the place in our mind where it can be woven back into notes that will make up a grand symphony. The individual orchestra players will soon no longer be heard performing their duets. Instead they will blend together–and the sounds that arise will be gentler, warmer, stronger, and more fluid. The conductor of the new piece will at times remember the individual notes played by each instrument, but only by combining them all together will this grand symphony of strength and courage fill the corridors of our mind and give us peace.

Thank You

This was taken from the site, RitualAbuse.us.  “Ritual Abuse” is an earlier name for Mind Control.  The original link:


New Videos

Last month, I followed an urge to produce a new series of 9 videos, most 5- to 8-minutes each, called “Multiple Personality, Mind Control, and My Story.”  The parts are:

Part 1 – The Overview

Part 2 – My Experience as a Multiple Personality

Part 3 – My Reading of the opening chapter of “A Certain Girl” by Ann Diamond

Part 4 – My Experience as a Mind Control Subject

Part 4.1 – Why I Was Chosen for MKULTRA

Part 4.2 – My Childhood Memories of Mind Control

Part 4.2b – More Childhood Memories of Mind Control

Part 4.3 – My Physical Evidence of Mind Control

Part 5 – Mind Control and “Aliens”

Part 6 – Spirituality and Healing (to be completed)

The series begins here:  http://youtu.be/DUXwuakht9g

In addition, I just uploaded an almost-3 year old video, “Healing Event 2011,” I made of an extemporaneous pouring out of my heart after I’d had a spontaneous catharsis (or “healing event”) when we’d just set up a video camera to record a music practice.  Instead, I recorded this (and edited it not a bit):

* explanation of the cathartic event (remembering mind control in childhood)
* explanation and description of the physical effects of the catharsis
* an attack of jaw pain, repression of remembering, knowing there’s more
* why and how I recorded myself now
* terrorism and suicide
* others are worse than me
* circumcision, as example of culture’s willingness to torture even children
* death of partner’s ex
* death threats and other weird communications recently
* cultural “purpose” of mind control
* death of people who publish on this subject
* no one wants to hear, and how I came to remember
* what it’s like to be MP
* reason to live, belief in transformation
* need for others to face this, even though some won’t
* prophesy
* gratitude for those who can hear
* culture’s need for compassion and speaking truth
* appreciation for activism, others and mine
* warning:  need to be aware of environment to survive

I hope this video helps others recovering from intense mind control feel not so alone.  And I hope it encourages others who haven’t suffered like this to understand that mind control is a very powerful force in our world and shouldn’t be ignored the way it is.

My “Healing Event 2011” video can be watched here:  http://youtu.be/yLkSVZ-b2nY

(This information was posted earlier, but after a longish, philosophical opinion that might have kept readers from getting to this, so I’m reposting just the video information now.)

I’ve been getting thousands of views and lots of comments, communications, likes and shares, so if you missed you before, I hope you’ll watch the videos soon.

Thanks for caring.  The world needs greater awareness and caring.

An International Organization to Oppose This Evil


I sure forgive everyone who chooses not to look at the subject of mind control and the torture and murder it entails.  Not everyone can.

And not everyone call all the time – for instance, me.  I’ve needed to take a lot of time off lately, until just recently, when Martin Luther King re-inspired me to speak my truth.

In response to my latest video (1,000 views the first day), many people have sent me words of support and links to more information, including these links:

http://iclcj.com  and  http://itccs.org

The International Common Law Court of Justice website describes their purpose:

“The foundational purpose of the ITCCS is to unite survivors of genocide and child torture across borders, and to mount a broad political, spiritual and legal movement to disestablish the Vatican and other churches and governments responsible for historic and ongoing crimes against children and humanity.”

I’m extremely grateful to know of this movement, and encourage everyone to learn more.  I will be.

Part II: Overview of a Life with Mind Control

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

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

Mind control is finally becoming an accepted fact in America.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything in Its Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for reading.

7 1/2 years since my hermitage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I became a certified Transpersonal Hypnotherapist™.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Social movements gain momentum by sacrifices, sometimes human ones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ignored bruise becomes a faded taser mark?

Monday, I noticed a small bruise on my arm.  I wondered if it was from a hypodermic injection, but it was small, hard to see, and I don’t want to bother folks with all the iffy stuff, so I ignored it.

Tuesday, I took a photo, but it was small and didn’t look significant.

Thursday, the bruise had faded, leaving two clear dots, 1/4″ apart, which could best be seen by pulling my wrinkly skin a little bit taut, so I had my partner do that for this photo:

Their spacing is very similar to the spacing of the dots in my November 2010 event, when they burned me horribly – and more.  I guess they adjusted the voltage since then.  Thanks, guys.

What a week!

 I’ve been catching up from the shock of my 18-month summary, responding to your wonderful comments, dealing with the pain of a displaced vertebrae, and then absorbing Wednesday’s news of an X-ray report of multiple problems with my spine….

(Doctors can’t believe that I’ve never been in a major accident.  I don’t tell them that I have other physical evidence that someone regularly treats me roughly during times of amnesia.)

Some of your comments have been wonderful, helping focus my intentions for healing – which I plan to write more about soon.

Keep up the faith, everyone.  Do what you can to open your awareness of the multiple dimensions, but protect yourself there, and find your family there.  Then the work begins….

My Story

Ah, meditation today began with the vision of a blue and white energetic stream, the color of crystalline mountain water and bands of white clouds, flowing upward from my heart like a twisting waft of smoke, curling next downward, and looping like a playful thing – such a surprise after my intense effort yesterday to repair my aura.

Last night, I wrote “my story” in super-short form, telling who I believe I am, based on experiences I’ve had which did not at all fit my construct of reality, but which I could never, over the course of decades, convince myself were not real.

So I think it’s time to publicly admit my beliefs, regardless that they embarrass me somewhat – embarrass me because I’ve sneered at others who’ve written or spoken things like these.  But I must tell this story, as information for others trying to assess the nature of reality and as a step in my process of becoming a more-coherent human being.

My Story

I’ve had at least six lives on Earth that I can recall and a long life, or series of lives, somewhere in the Pleiades, which when I left was the only life I knew or at least had been familiar with for a long time.  It quieted me to see the star cluster withdraw and know it would be another “long time” (if ever) before I would see the place again.  (And now, my heart feels as though it is absolutely not in my chest when I remember this.)

On Earth I remember lives only as women:  a sensuous tree-dwelling pygmy, a frightened three-year-old in some feudal state, a European country girl in love, a gypsy with a friend in traditional bangles and scarves, a recently deceased Anglo pioneer hovering on the Earth plane near her Native husband as he was drug to his death behind a wagon so that our daughter would not be raised by him or his tribe, a member of Cochise’s tribe when we lost our land and freedom, and a Native American college student arriving home to spend time with her loving family.

I am also connected to beings in a nearby dimension who feel like family – far more than my parents or siblings do.  A few of these beings seem like people I’ve read about or heard of in our history, and I’ve had a very strange aversion to reading certain books, as though I already know the history and reading this version might upset me.  Some of the figures I’ve met in other dimensions I realize later seem like mythological characters often depicted as cartoons in our culture or in some other limiting way, so I hesitate to identify them as such.

There are also beings on the other realms whom I work to avoid, though it most often feels that my life’s current destiny is to be engaged with them for some reason I assume is either good for me or good for all.  Those other unpleasant entities seem the result of my having been a mind control subject as a child.  (Documentation is elsewhere.)

I was born into a family on the edge (I assume) of the Elites:  Eisenhower means iron hewer, a metal worker.  These people were masters of a craft kept secret in a guild society controlled by royalty.  Members of this lineage are tested for loyalty, given many advantages, and groomed for service in secret societies still.  I was seduced to the door, walked in, was initiated, then changed my mind a month later and bailed.  Mysteriously, my memory of the initiation ceremony has disappeared except for a one-second peek.  Then I ran away from home (at age nineteen), broke some of my programming (how much I don’t know), and have been struggling ever after to fully free my mind.  Sometimes I seem to do very well in life, often when I’m engaged in mainstream business.  Most often, I struggle.

Ever since my nervous breakdown (essential for healing, and in my case probably part of my programming break-down) in 1993, I’ve been increasingly aware of things going on behind the mediated scenes.  I’ve twice consciously experienced my own body’s in-the-moment manipulation for a few minutes while my consciousness screamed No.  

I also sometimes experience healing events and other Carlos Castaneda-type events which I can’t yet judge as good or bad.  Sometimes I feel as though I just returned from somewhere else, sometimes I feel like I’m encased in a healing vibrational cocoon, and sometimes I feel hit by an energetic something with which I struggle mightily.  Sometimes, mysterious things leave bruises or scars on me, which I sometimes photograph and post.

Did I choose this life?  (It used to piss me off royally when people told me that we all chose our lives or, worse, that I have created this through my own thinking it, and I could make it disappear if I would quit.)  We could say it was just the luck of the draw – someone had to be born into the heart of darkness – and maybe that was it.  Perhaps it’s karma; I hate to think I earned this….

My choice of explanation is that I was strong enough to do this, and someone had to go in, like a cosmic spy, and relay back to the rest of my warrior tribe reports on the psyches of the Elites who have created our war-making, children-torturing, money-driven System, so that it could be disabled.  My birth into the darkest heart gave my tribe an inside view to help it more fully understand the System and help devise a plan to transform it.

While I’ve gone through my spasms of pain and paranoia, fear, grief, terror, despair and  suicidal urges, my tribe on the other dimensions has been regularly healing me, energizing me, blocking my awareness when I was too young to understand, and basically helping me get through, while also using what they learned to help turn the tide or execute some other plan for Earth.

And if that’s not the case, and if this is all just a story (an amazingly grandiose story, it might be called), then at least it offers me hope for my soul and hope for our transformation.

Both the light and the dark have been very active in my life – and up to fairly recently.  Every day I hope to never confront the dark ones again, but it’s clear that the polarity on Earth is still active, and someone has to be in the interface – the space between the white and black paisleys of the yin-yang symbol.  And even though I often feel that the energy pouring down on me is so positive and strong that I think we’ve already turned the corner and entered Heaven, I assume nothing.  Activists are those on the interface; I’m an activist, so here I am.

I’m here to testify that we Earth humans are not alone, either in the cosmos or here on Earth.  There are many, many technologies employed by the Elites to keep us passive and, yes, mind controlled.  A few people see it; far fewer, I fear, act in ways that will serve their survival when mind control is increased.

I struggle regularly with this apparent destiny, which seems to be to live in awareness of the darkness and to shine light on it.  Few live through the experience of it and maintain the ability to speak.  How am able?  I assume it’s my help on the other dimensions, as I’m not that personally strong.  (Ask anyone who knows me.)

Also, I think they don’t crush me because I do such a lousy job.  I sabotage my work frequently.

Sometimes I wonder if the existence of this soul-enslaving system is a figment of my imagination, but I believe this enslavement has been the number-one fact of human history, from ancient Sumer until this day, and it’s time we woke up to the fact that our luxury comes at the enslavement of others, many others.  Some, like Ayn Rand, will justify that; others might want to decide, but we can’t if we don’t acknowledge it.

And now our destiny hangs in the balance while the prophesies talk about the end of an age.  I’m putting my stock there, in change, in which I believe we must participate consciously.  Toward that end, I remind myself of these things:

* Change has always happened, and big change is prophesied.

* Powerful systems are often brought down from within.

* Earth’s powerful system today depends on the cooperation of minions who have little loyalty to it.

* The minions know that at some point they’ll be expendable, and at some point they can change the game.

* It is in their ultimate best interest to help change it.

Besides changing things on Earth, I also have hope in other realms as an escape.  Perhaps some of us will disappear like the Anasazi.  Or the others will disappear as in the Hopi prediction (told to their children, so I’ve heard) that “one day, the bad people will all just be gone” – opposite the Christian story, in which the righteous will be the ones “raptured.”  This apparent contradiction might be reconciled by another prediction with which I’ve resonated, that there’ll be a dimensional/vibrational rift, in which the Earth will move into two or more different future time-lines, where leaving and staying have no meaning.

Every year, the river of my life brings me amazing experiences of bliss, challenge, and everything in between.  As a child, tortured, I was pushed through the veil, where I saw that this realm was not the only one.  Today, I am sometimes granted healing and visions, and sometimes I dance with the devil.  I’ve written a lot about the latter, so it’s only proper now that I tell more of my story.

One of my demons has been the fact that my mind has been fractured by trauma-based mind control.   There are actually, sometimes, advantages to being multiple (psychological survival, for one, and a “diversified portfolio” of skills), and I hope to learn more ways to consciously make my condition more useful, but so far it’s often been a disability.

For instance, I go to the store, and an alter (alternate personality) comes out who’s great at making small talk, but she has little to do with the rest of me.  Some other part of me might have shared a personal story with someone the day before, who’s now at the store, but the alter yesterday is not out now, and the one who’s shopping doesn’t remember much about this friend when she says hi.  I struggle to cycle though a few “files” of personalities before I can retrieve the memory, but often the critical moment is lost and I might never have the chance to explain my struggle to the friend – very disappointing and often almost convinces me that I should remain a hermit.

But my destiny doesn’t seem to be in hermitage, and my extra-dimensional help keeps coming to my rescue – sometimes not soon enough, I think – but I keep on going anyway.

When my extra-dimensional help does take care of me, it’s beyond anything I could have imagined.  It clears me to my very soul and convinces me that I will not die and I don’t want to.

Because I’ve written a lot about the dark events, and people remember those best, I am probably known to a lot of people as the woman who’s all about “that stuff.”  When I occasionally write about the Light, I imagine it is difficult for many to reconcile in our culturally encouraged, black-and-white thinking.

So something moved me to summarize my whole complex story and remind folks that things are rarely static black or white:  I was born into a very dark situation, my mind became fractured, I’ve healed with extra-dimensional help, and I’m in a sometimes-daily battle to keep steady and nurture my dreams for myself and the whole of us.

I’ve seen the enemy, and it is not only us.  It’s partly us, but it’s also way beyond us.  It’s our ancestor’s patterns of abuse, which have been hidden from us, and which we’re called to transform.  The task is huge, but we’re not alone.  Everyone with a concept of Self as a sentient being connected to the powers of Creation needs to be sure to tap into those Other Powers and see what they need to be doing right now.  I’m here to testify that this is not a picnic.

If my life and my teetering on the edge of it, suffering sometimes beyond what I thought I could bear, has had any purpose, I think it’s to say this:  Our place in history is not meant to be a picnic, an indulgence in whatever we might enjoy.  Enjoyment is lovely, and I want more of it also, but we have work to do.

For over a year (am I right?) Bradley Manning suffered in solitary confinement for trying to get you the information you now get over Facebook and in your email; Congress is right now trying to take that freedom from you.  Many activists, like Leonard Peltier, Mumia Abu Jamal, and Judi Bari, are in prison for life, or dead, for telling truths that someone desperately needed for them to expose but the Elites wanted to repress.  Some like me are waking up with their bodies Taser-burned and no memory of what happened to them, but a dreadful feeling.

This battle is not a civilized one; it is brutal and involves far worse than what I’ve written here today.  If you have the liberty to visit your Congress person to talk about American human rights, please do.  If you can feed someone who is hungry, please do.  If you can give energy to any project that serves your community, please do, and thank you.  And if you can offer compassion to someone like me who seems sometimes to be crazy, please do.  We’ve all got stories, and I do believe we’re, most of us, trying our best to make sense of a world that is for the most part hidden from nice people like you.

If the Earth does go through any cataclysms, from environmental poisoning to pole shift, I know that we, as souls, will eventually continue on somewhere, learning, evolving, transforming.  But I believe the next life will be easier if we do this work now to transform what we can of this situation here on Earth, particularly to work for justice.

Some say the coming Earth changes will trigger our transformation to the next new evolutionary state.  I don’t know.  But I’m open to the possibility of expanding my soul into something less trapped on this plane.  My experiences in the other dimensions have been so much nicer than most of what I experience here.

In any case, I’m inspired by the possibilities – which are infinite.  We have help on other realms, but we also need to do the work today.