Tag Archives: longread

Sunday Summary: Highs and (Forgotten) Shocking Lows

– impression that all has been fine, but….
– journals report incredible list of weirdness – almost forgotten!
– accomplishments of 2014 impressive, despite experiences

Well, the life of a mind controlled multiple personality is not boring!  For one thing, all my alters want expression, and that keeps me busy.  And the multiple-ness keeps me “forgetting” the disturbing things, at least in my day-to-day consciousness, which keeps me functional;  when I read disturbing things I’ve written and remember them, I become less functional – like today.

Hmmm….  Memory or function?  Which do we want?

October is not that long ago, but I’m blown away by how many weird things happened in the last few months that I simply forgot!

But first, let’s do something different:  I’ll lead with the good stuff instead of the bad.  Here are some of the highlights of our year, which I find quite impressive every time I read it!

It’s a long list, so just skim if you want, using my asterisks to read the most important (then I’ll list the weird stuff):


cosmic-folkrock* I performed a dozen times with Greg this year (his collection of folk-rock covers and original Americana – with themes of love, friendship, and home), sometimes out of town, or at our Farmers Market, and at a favorite coffee house, where a few times we presented music by Dylan, Browne, and Young with themes of apocalypse and strange, extra-dimensional events – tied together with my commentary.  Much fun!

We attracted two new musical friendships and call our foursome the Southern Rocky Mountain Band.  We played a single song (Greg’s original) at the historic Pinos Altos Opera House (a fundraiser for the Wild Gila:  Forever Free CD/DVD release party), and we hope to begin playing out and recording more next year.

* In June, I quit everything (the most important thing I did all year) – home and garden design, singing, and more – and determined to do nothing but heal my mind and write about it.  (More, below, under Health.)

I accepted my Social Security.  When asked why I didn’t wait til I was older and would receive more, I said, “All the world’s financiers are making short term decisions.  I’m making short-term decisions.”  (I didn’t tell the other truth:  because I’m damn tired of trying to hold my life together while also working.)

* During six weeks of never singing with Greg or the band, I healed some significant energy blocks, freed my voice significantly, and picked up singing again, then took some voice lessons and made more improvements.

lying here video still lighterWe recorded our original “Lying Here with You” on video, and received great feedback.

Radio Show

In January, I helped Greg launch Silver City Acoustic, showcasing local and touring musicians on our local community radio station.  I ran the board and eventually participated in the interviews.  We aired the live, 2-hour show for 20-some weeks, interviewing 40-some local and touring musicians and bands.  (When the station went off the air for an extended time, we lost momentum.)

J smI quit my weekly Back to the Garden radio show after 40 weeks – seeing that I’d taken on too much again, and this was not my forte anyway.  I like to think I inspired others to say, “I can do that!”  Or “I can do better than that!” so they’ll volunteer to fill those airwaves in my place.   (It was fun, but I had too much on my plate.)

Home and Garden

We emptied our storage room, sold the last “big stuff,” and cleared a lot of stuck energy.  Then we renovated the little 11×20 building into a functional and cheery guest house and studio retreat.

DSC05441 cuWe built a cedar fence around the last of the yard (in front of our next guest house), sporting a curved corner which has garnered very nice compliments, and crafted two beautiful handles for our two front gates.

We turned the also-cluttered sun room into a beautiful sitting space on one side and a functional tool storage on the other.

My Writing and the Cyber World

reunion crop* I redesigned JeanEisenhower.com to no longer hide my mind control work – and I put it on my business card, and on both I used a photo of me that I’ve avoided using for years because it seemed “too happy.”  It’s been a huge psychological shift, though I still worry sometimes when handing out a  card.

I renovated my Paradigm Salon website, consolidated pages, made them more accessible, filled in gaps in the information (and increased readership).

I started the Garden Healing Church, addressing natural healing and activism against enforced medicine – as spiritual necessity. The site continues to attract followers, even though I don’t post often.

I got my old laptop repaired and almost functioning with its own modem – for use by the fireplace!  Yeah!  What a nice way to treat myself!

Family and Friends

* We both reconnected with our parents and families in powerful ways.  I even spent 6 days with my parents over the holiday!  (First time to spend more than a few hours with them in over 20 years.)

We hosted a few garden parties, and stayed connected with long-distance friends.

greg jean kelly color crop* We helped an elderly friend die consciously, working with a wonderful group of volunteers, including nurses, doctors, chaplains, and shamans, making new friends – and supporting his wife.  I monster birthphotographed (and posted) an amazing thing Greg found a couple of days before our friend passed:  a dragonfly emerging from its cocoon, into a new life!

I attended my first women’s gathering in years.

Other Art

Besides designing the guest house, our new fence, two gate handles, our many web sites, photography, videography, audio recording and mixing, and writing, I started knitting again – most satisfying.


* Again:  In June, I “quit everything,” and began focusing each day on what I needed to keep myself calm and able to handle life, and instituted new habits and changes to ensure I had what I needed.  After six weeks, I came back to singing.

* In October, I created a Notebook/Journal to help me remember and track everything I need to remember on a daily basis, but often forget.  I also used a timer every 30 minutes to help me note my activities and improve my time awareness.  After a couple of months, I felt I didn’t need that intense reminder every thirty minutes, so I stopped using the timer, but knew it had been an important exercise in becoming more conscious.

I wrote over 300 pages of journal entries over a few short months, rich with new awareness, particularly about mind control and my relationship to it.  I expect to post about it soon.

* I just created a new system of reminders to be awake on my iPhone:  I created a series of lovely-sounding “alarms” to go off every hour every day (easier than the timer system).  They’re all named “Breathe, Gratitude, and Note,” to remind me to breathe, remember what I’m grateful for, ask for guidance, and note it all, with either a journal note, voice memo, or mental note.

I started up at “Curves” again, started drinking daily turmeric tea, and got back to my supplements.

I invented “sludge cake”! – a gluten-free cake made from the precipitate (sludge) from turmeric tea – even when we eat it plain, we crave it – our cells tell us it’s great medicine.  My recipe is here.


So, I was feeling like life had turned an important corner toward goodness and freedom – as I couldn’t remember any recent weirdness – until I skimmed over my journals, which I’d designed to make easy to find things by category.  But when I looked, I found in my “anomalies” category, a lot of unexplainable experiences, which I’ll group by month:

IMG_17252nd half of August:  2 “donut” bruises, 1 injection bruise, 2 scratches similar to biopsy scoops, another injection bruise and other bruise.

hip bruise 1 cropSeptember: twice “lost time,” extreme energy issues, worsened ringing in ears, flood of  “mental movies” (random things like family home movies of people I don’t know) that seem beamed in, big bruise on inner arm, scoop mark, time problem, dark bruise on left leg, hypersensitive patches of skin, 5 more days of severe energy issues, forgetful days, very tired.

October:  worsened ringing in ears, movies in head again, heart problems (palpitations, stress, slow heartbeat [61 pbm], extreme weakness, days I thought I was dying), weird sleep cycles, 2 more bruises, one a double two bruises(“hypodermic”? or Taser?), one day so speedy I thought they’d given me some pharmaceutical to compensate for something that might have made me tired otherwise, missing time, feeling “out of it” and struggling to do simple things, another bruise.  (I know the bruise photos sometimes don’t look like much, but they are so consistent and unexplained.)

IMG_2099November:  Very bizarre experience of seeing my hand, while I was writing, as if through a yellow glass, but as if video’d from above my head, then run back into my mind (so I watched my hand writing in this second-person state), felt an “intrusion” of another being into my being, with a sense of goodness and reconnection (or maybe it was just “electronic heroin”), then I lost time and could barely put myself to bed (all one evening with my partner beside me), and my partner had to help me get to bed; another bruise; remembered things too vague to describe and was sick with fear.

DSC05453December:  Another bruise, dreams of medical procedures; energy “download” followed by no memory; dreams of aliens “all night.”

And who knows what happened the first part of the year?  I haven’t the energy to look through my journals.


Okay, so I’ve got a problemWhat to do?  What to do when I recognize stuff is going on that is beyond my ability to consciously control or even remember?

This is my ongoing “Do something drastic? or what?” dilemma.

I like life when I have I seem to control my own part of it, but not when I get these hints that someone is highjacking parts of me.  Not fun at all.

child not smilingAnd I just found this old photo of myself with my mother on a train.  It seems I’m about 5 or 6.

(It’s the only sad photo of me I’ve seen from childhood. All the rest are “super-cheerful.”)

Are we on the train to New Mexico?  (That strange trip my mother took me on which seems so out-of-custom for our family?)  For my mind control?  After which I have no memories until age 8?

Ugh.  How do I keep on?  I feel sick.  Have been experiencing nausea and anxiety all day now….

How can I keep putting it away as if it didn’t happen?  Where is there to hide?  Nowhere.

Recently I wrote in my journal about generating the power to control our own minds, thereby wresting control away from “Them.”

Is that even possible?  My new million-dollar question….

Sing-Song Trance

Twenty years ago last summer, I became estranged from my parents for seven years, and then for the next thirteen years only saw them for a few hours usually once a year – until last week.  For five nights then, I slept in their house and visited, mostly just them and me.

That summer day, I had a rare talk with my sister on the phone.  (I’m close to no one in my family.)  (I believe it’s part of mind control disinformation to discredit MK subjects within the family and elsewhere, especially when they begin to show signs of remembering.  However, I’ve been subject to discrediting for a very long time.)

I asked my sister if she had any weird memories of our childhood, and she said no.  But, she told me, she’d just seen a 20/20 television show on the so-called “false memory syndrome,” which she asserted was my problem.

For the record, there is no “syndrome,” by definition:  a group of symptoms that consistently occur together or a condition characterized by a set of associated symptoms.  There has never been a set or group of symptoms defined for this supposed syndrome.

However, the supposed “syndrome” serves as a cover story for anyone accused of anything, usually sexual crimes.  The “false memory syndrome” asserts that the memory was invented by a person who’s mentally unwell, either unable to tell reality from imagination, or hatefully vengeful – which I’ve been called more than once for privately asking my sister the question I did and then, when confronted, recounting my memories – but not blaming my parents, only asking for help understanding.

The backlash of blame and hysteria, even when I recalled other individuals has continued to this day.  (Those other individuals were military men.  I thought this would relieve my parents of culpability, but it only made them more enraged and intent on proving me “deluded.”  Their reaction never made sense until I learned about the military being involved in mind control experiments.)

Before I ever heard about the “false memory syndrome,” my parents began planting doubts in my mind, and in my siblings’ minds, about my ability to tell fantasy from reality.  It began when I was a child and my mother told the doctor I had a tremendous imagination and talked to imaginary friends.  He told her it was okay, even common, but she continued to tell other people within my hearing.  Once, another mother responded that sometimes genius and insanity were hard to tell apart, and I took heart.

In adulthood, one Christmas holiday when everyone was together and we were sharing old stories, I recalled the earliest memory I have, of reaching up to my mother’s hips – I seemed to be barely able to walk, not understanding that she couldn’t pick me up while she cooked dinner, and I fussed.  As I proceeded with my story, I realized that the next part of the memory didn’t put Mom in a very good light, but I’d already begun and didn’t know how to end it other than just continue.

Generally, I can’t invent – regardless that Mom has always contended I have – so I recounted the story as casually as I could, knowing that plenty of us have experienced frustration as parents and haven’t been perfect, but assuming we were all then mature enough to understand and not judge harshly, but today I wish I had not said it:

As I fussed and reached up to her hips, Mom threw down the spatula she was using at the stove and screamed, “I can’t take it anymore!  I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back!”  Then she stormed out the door and left me standing alone in the quiet tiny kitchen of their student housing dorm.  I was terrified.

I knew that I needed a mother, and I thought I’d have to go outside to solicit another one.  I imagined an expanse of concrete – common on the campus, of course – and imagined reaching up my arms to other women walking across the expanse, but in my mind’s eyes they were all busy and walking too fast.  Only one in my imagination paused and considered me for a moment, then kept on walking.

I wailed and crawled to hide in the space between the red brocade chair and the wall – but when I gasped my next breath with my face in the upholstery, microscopic pieces of fiber and dust burned my nose and I cried harder.

Suddenly someone was pulling me out and I was surprised to see that my mother had returned.  She then tried to assure me she’d never leave me, but I was wary.  Even at that age, I guarded my heart from being so terrified again.  I let her hug me, but recall no feeling of comfort.  Only relief that the terror of aloneness was now gone.

Of course, I only told the bare bones of the story, omitting my imagination and tears, very sorry I hadn’t thought ahead and cut it shorter.

“Oh, I would never do that!” my mother huffed.

I tried to redirect attention from this aspect and turn it back to what I’d meant to be my point – that we can remember things from our very young years – which for some reason I was then absolutely fascinated by.

I grabbed a paper napkin and sketched.  “The front door was here, almost directly behind someone standing at the stove.  The wall next to the front door had glass you can’t see through.  And just left of the stove began the carpet, and the red chair was here, at an angle.”

“You couldn’t remember that!  You were only 14 months old when we moved away from there,” she countered, gesturing at my map, as if she’d proven me wrong.

But her face and her gesture told me I’d mapped those items correctly.  “Mom, you just indicated that I drew the floor plan correctly.”

Her face went slack as if horrified.  She rose from the table, mute, walked to a window where she stared out and said something, I realized with a shock, that I’d heard her say a few times before, and always in the same lilting, trance-like, sing-song voice, as if she’d said it to herself a thousand times, maybe to comfort herself, or maybe to practice saying it casually, “I’ve always said… you had a vivid imagination… and you mixed up your dreams… with memories.”  

A sensation of memory was triggered somewhere deep inside me.  Something was disturbed.  Something felt a little sick.  My mother had just sounded like a person in a trance.  Why?  Why would she go into a trance like that?  Did she have a terrible memory herself of those times?

I felt terrible for hurting her feelings.  And at the time, I thought it was impossible that my mother would do anything to hurt any of us, so I assumed she was beating herself up unnecessarily for something that couldn’t have been all that bad.  Certainly not just walking out on me that day.  Was there something else?

I tried to imagine the worst that could have happened if she were totally pushed over the edge with multiple stresses – and imagined locking me in a closet for awhile – that was as bad as I could imagine – and I thought, “Forgiven!”  No problem.  See, I’m fine now.  I’m totally fine.

I know how terribly hard life can be, and can imagine it was infinitely worse back in the 50s when wives took a vow before God and all to obey their husbands.  And I know I’ve hurt my kids in ways I didn’t mean to when I was exhausted and ran out of patience.  I understand imperfection.  And I understand forgiveness.  Whatever it was that she was so haunted by, I thought, It’s okay, and I wanted her to forgive herself.

I hoped I’d find some private time to tell her, but I never did.  We all went on with our lives for years, decades now, and those words were never spoken.

Decades later, I would learn that the campus on which I’d lived the first year-plus of my life was the home of the Society for Investigation of Human Ecology, a front for CIA mind control experiments.  

Of course, a generic type of mind control is nearly impossible to avoid in America, but there’s also an intense, Above-Top-Secret version, the subject of two Senate hearings in the 1970s, which resulted in the program being strongly criticized, after which it was not ended, as promised, but simply shifted further outside government accountability into the world of Special Access Projects, part of the nation’s Black Budget.

The subjects of these experiments have been mostly American and Canadian children and adults in certain demographic groups, including military recruits, members of certain churches, orphans, children in Indian schools, members of secret societies, and special bloodlines, among others.

I fit into at least four demographics that come up frequently among other former subjects who remember their mind control.  I’m an Eisenhower; my father had done his tour in the Navy; my mother was a “fallen away” Mormon; and my father’s father was a 33rd degree Mason.

I imagine now my mother reacting, not to a fussy child, but to a child that, through coercion, had been recruited into a government program that she must then cooperate with.  Maybe they paid my parents.  Maybe they blackmailed them somehow.  Maybe they said I’d be serving my nation, and as a benefit I’d be made disciplined, obedient, smart, and successful.  Maybe my parents had regrets, but I imagine they had no power to change the course of their agreement with this secret network.

Later, I’d realize something else that might have made me of interest to mind controllers. I was born on July 7, 1952, the seventh day of the seventh month of the year ’52, which adds up to seven.  It was a Monday (Moon Day), in the middle of Cancer, also known as Moon Child, on the Full Moon.  Not only that, but the time was 4:25 a.m., just 8 minutes before the precise moment of the Full Moon, at 4:33 a.m.  That’s within 2/1,000ths of a degree of perfection.  I’ve been told these elements are extremely attractive to Satanists, who are supposedly also involved with secret societies.

child not smilingI assume my parents were innocent victims, like me.  I lost two years of my life in amnesia and a lifetime of mental coherence – in exchange for obedience, discipline, and certain sorts of high-level intelligence.  And my parents lost their natural relationship with their little daughter.

Virtually no one knew about mind control in America back then.  It was a time of great optimism.  America was riding high.

I imagine my mother was given the repeated phrase, much like Ewen Cameron gave his MK subjects in the true story and movie, “The Sleep Room“*:  “Just tell her:  ‘I’ve always said you had a vivid imagination.  And you mixed up your dreams with memories.'”  

And she said it to herself so many times, it became part of the sing-song trance that kept her going.  It was cruel, cruel, cruel, to her and my father, and to me.

sleeproom2* (Entire movie free on YouTube at the link.  Hard to watch at points, but important history.)

Be strong.  And practice compassion for all of the parents who were coerced.

PS Newest research discovery from Wikileaks:

Friday Foundation:  On Violence, Past Lives, Womb Wounds, What it Means

Past-life sex priestess…Womb wounds…What it means

I have quite a few memories of past lives, from a young sensual woman during a period of ease and abundance on the African savanna, to a teen girl in romance in Scotland, a young girl child on a farm somewhere in feudal Europe, a woman burned at the stake, a just-deceased Euro-American pioneer mother wife to a Native man hated by her parents who tortured him to death, a woman in Cochise’s tribe at the time they were told they’d be removed from their land by train and taken away, and more.

Some say “past lives” are not our past lives necessarily, perhaps just anyone’s, and I won’t argue, because I don’t know.  I’ll only say these all felt like a past life, a memory, complete with emotions and contextual knowledge that I’d not known before but seemed to feel throughout my body and which were familiar and somehow part of me.  But I’m willing to agree they could all be someone else’s life, never mine in any strict sense, thought for some reason I connected with them and felt a flash of their life.  In any case, they are instructive.

In one life, I was a sex priestess in a temple of white marble, flowing with wonderfully heated waters.  I knew I was very fortunate, one of the most fortunate in all the land.  I lived in luxury.  I consorted with only the most refined of men.  I experienced ecstasy constantly.  I may have also had the responsibility to heal men returned from war, as some have recounted – and it seems right – but at the moment of my flashback, I was impressed only by the beauty and technique we’d developed in raising our art to higher and higher refinements.  It was a day of perfection in an environment of every sort of beauty and delight.  Daylight fell through open spaces above, naturally lighting the walls and floor of white wet marble crossed by a long steaming pool.

There was enough texture on the marble for me to walk comfortably across it to a doorway where I turned and found myself nearly face-to-face with two men in conversation.  I knew them.  They’d both been entertained as consorts at one time but had not been chosen, because their ways didn’t adapt to our refinements.  They were secretly, quietly enraged, I realized as I met their eyes, and I was instantly shocked and afraid.  They were plotting to force huge changes on our world.

They planned to upset the entire system, take it out of the hands of women, and get sex whenever they wanted.  They were stronger, after all, and there was no reason why they couldn’t.  They only had to demonstrate to other men the power that could be had if they’d only take it.  Far more men had been rejected than accepted, therefore they were the majority.  They would spread the word, convince men the women could not longer tell them no.  They could do it.  They would do it.  They would pump their seed into as many women as they wanted.

No one had ever treated women like that, at least not that we knew of in our refined world.  It was a shocking and abhorrent idea – men being violent to women!  But in that moment, seeing those eyes, I knew how badly their souls hurt from the rejection we’d been inconsiderate of.  In that moment, I knew we’d failed.  Our refinements had not included sensitivity to their disappointment, and it had been graver than we’d imagined.  It had seriously wounded at least one and turned into something vile.  He hated all women because of us.  And now he wanted to hurt very badly all the women of the world.

I felt great sorrow for him in that first moment, to realize and feel his pain – that we’d neglected – but I also felt real fear, to see that he’d transformed his pain into active, righteous, empowering anger which he had every intention of carrying out, to prove his manhood.  Not right there and then, but later, in a more far-reaching way.  I had no skills in dealing with courseness, and I shrunk back.


This memory came back just now – probably triggered by the wounds I’m currently experiencing.  And it caused me to count, for the first time, all the wounds I’ve suffered to my womb throughout my life.

me cropped from old w susanFirst, I was sexually abused repeatedly as a child and put on stage in sex shows by a psychopathic conspiracy that practiced mind control.  I saw my stretched-out genitals at age thirteen and have never forgotten the image or my dumb shock.  I never looked at myself again for my years, or thought about it; my brain simply froze in a variation of “This does not compute” and then reset my attention onto something else.

When I was a young married woman, I became very worried for a couple of weeks when my husband and brother decided to drive across the country and return with a kilo of marijuana to supply our currently dry county.  The night before they were to leave, I became so sick that their plants were cancelled.  We ended up in the Emergency Room where I had emergency exploratory surgery.  My ailment turned out, not surprisingly, to be “nothing.”  But when the surgeon removed my stitches one week later, my incision gaped open, which he taped back with bandaids.  They didn’t work well and left me with a long, warbling, wide vertical scar down my belly.

When I gave birth to my son, my first child, the doctors did something wrong with the pitocin they used to induce my labor (unnecessarily) and put my baby into shock, slowing his heart rate, then they gave me another drug which stopped my labor after they’d broken my water – all this when I knew I wasn’t even overdue.  I’d told them I wasn’t due for another few weeks, but in the end I submitted – as I’ve been programmed to do.

I was in danger.  All day I labored futilely because, not due yet, my hormones had not yet cued the chemicals to make the plates of my pelvis spread and become flexible, so my son’s head got stuck.  They couldn’t push or pull him back, because it would break his neck.  That ruled out a Caesarian.  They tried all their techniques, and I was fatiguing.  To “help,” they put a gas mask on my face (and soon tied my hands out to my sides to keep me from trying to remove it), gave me extra oxygen, and forced me to sleep between contractions with some sort of short-acting gas.  (What this did to my baby, I wonder.)  Then, a minute or so later when another contraction came on, they woke me up with a different gas when it was time to push again.

I tried to get natural air by scrunching up my face to make a gap in the side of the mask, which worked just once, and then someone came to hold it on my face, hard.

The next time I was awake, they told me they were going to use a vacuum extractor.  In all my Lamaze classes, I’d never heard of it used for birth, only as a tool for doing abortions, so I thought they were going to pull my baby out in pieces to save my life.  But, of course, I couldn’t ask any questions.

The doctors’ hands were too big, so they stopped and he explained he was going to cut the wall between my vagina and my rectum, so the he could get his hands around my son’s head.  My life was being saved.  At the sound and numb sensation of scissors cutting through my intimate flesh, I fell unconscious again.

I might have realized then that I was giving birth, but with uppers and downers flashing through my bloodstream every few minutes (and my baby’s!), I didn’t process information well, and still thought they were performing tough-decision, rescue-a-life surgery – as I pushed and they cut and gave orders and worked frantically under bright lights while I struggled on my back with limbs spread to the four directions.

When a nurse tapped me on the arm and said, “You have a baby boy,” I answered, “I have a baby?”

He was in a coma, but would come out of it in 30 minutes, and immediately yank the wires and sensors off his chest and, thankfully, begin a normal life.

My mother worried that I’d have problems from the surgery but, miraculously, I healed perfectly.  My second womb wound, invisible to all but my gynecologists.

In my second marriage, I had an ectopic pregnancy and needed emergency surgery again.  The doctors “saved my life” once more, but left me with a horizontal scar, which healed weirdly.  Three.  Those are the explainable ones.

Around the age of 50, during an era when I was experiencing strange events that seemed like “alien abductions,” my partner and I were beginning intercourse when I realized I could not stand to be touched inside.  I investigated and found my g-spot had been sliced deeply from back to front and twice from side to side, cutting it into six squarish pieces which hung where one normal half-spherical g-spot had been.  And the gaps between them – including the slice right up the middle where a partner’s finger would naturally curl – could not be touched.  The cuts were deep and, it seemed, down to major nerves.  Three more cuts makes six.

One night, driving home from a women’s spirituality gathering, my Volkswagen van’s lights went out and I coasted to a stop.  It seemed like a half-hour that I sat at the wheel, telling myself to walk back to the gas station to call my partner, but I couldn’t move.  When I snapped out of my trance and drove home, I thought I was a half-hour late, but my partner was nearly frantic because I was over two hours late returning.

When we tried to have intercourse the next morning, I experienced a new sort of pain – not painful to the touch, but when either of us tried to stretch my tissues even a bit.  It felt as though I had something inside my g-spot, above the cut.  It would make sex impossible for years.  Seven womb wounds.

(That afternoon, I blew a large blot clot out of my nose, something I’ve never done before or since.  The malfunctioning lights, immobilization, missing time, and nasal blood clot are all classic symptoms of “alien abduction,” which some people think is a cover memory for CIA abduction.)

insideYears later, in relationship with a photographer, I would convince him to take a photograph of my insides, and I saw for myself – and am now able to prove to others – that I’ve been both cut and punctured – by someone with the power to make me amnesic.

IMG_2099These days, I sometimes wake up with what seem to be injection bruises on my thighs, other bruises, healed scars, Taser burns, and even biopsy scoop marks – all making me quite sure I’m still being used at night as an amnesic subject for who-knows-what.

And every now and then I also wake up with irritations I don’t think I should have, given my habits:  I wake with a sensation that I’ve been inoculated with something, and the inoculators chose to do their work on my anus – where I’m far less likely to photograph it for posting online!  Other times I get reactions there as if I’ve been inoculated with a new strain of herpes.  (The first strain I got by my own promiscuity, so I know the difference between my original strain, which faded away long ago, and the new ones (which swell badly) which I suddenly get “out of the blue,” even when I’ve been abstinent – at least in my conscious life.)

11bgIt’s tough to be an experimental subject of mind controllers and/or aliens.  It’s’ too flippin’ weird to think about very much, and too weird to tell others.  They don’t want to hear.  Or sometimes they laugh, and I know they been influenced by cultural cartoons.  So I keep it all to myself, socially.  I live a lie.  Unnecessarily.

sheep-wallpaper-1Because, it’s not really weird at all.  It makes perfect sense if we can get over the alien cartoons we’ve all been subjected to.

ayahuasca_visions_pabloamaringoExtra-dimensional beings – recognized in every culture except modern America (the most mind-controlled nation on Earth) – have always been involved with humans, according to every ancient history and religion of every culture on the planet.

Just as humans have always domesticated animals and today abduct wild ones from the forest to tag and study, so do aliens do the same to us.  Just as 18mqxydmchb61jpgthe CIA and military and other elements experiment on unwitting soldiers, orphans, and other less-regarded groups, so do certain aliens (and CIA and military, most likely with them) experiment on us.  It’s really not strange at all.  It’s what humans do.  We have no grounds to call it strange or impossible.

nightmareindexAnd those of us who give them trouble?  Even if we think we have every right to object, they re-assign us to worse experiments.

I was thinking about all this tonight, reflecting that I’m in very good health – with a few exceptions.  My weaknesses skeleton-hand-holding-anatomical-red-heart-free-tee-design-sare my heart – probably a result of all the electroshock used on me as a child in mind control programming.  My jaw is extremely tight – probably a result of living with a command all my life to not tell – which affects my neck and upper back.  And then there’s my intimate areas – all hacked up.

Screen Shot 2014-04-05 at 7.41.25 PMI wondered aloud to my partner whether I had any karma to clear – or whether I was being tracked by some malevolent spirit who’d somehow, maybe accidentally, attached to me in some past life.  Perhaps my mind control programmers – some with Satanic bents, I’ve read – drew in an evil and particularly vicious spirit which attached to me.

Of course, it could also just be an unfortunate coincidence that happened to fall to me.  Things do happen in clusters sometimes….

Then I thought of the sex priestess.

I wondered if the man in the temple might even be following me through lifetimes, controlling the minds and hands of doctors and others, and these seven wounds are his handiwork?  Or maybe he’s long gone, but his activism set a course of history, and I’m just one of many still suffering.

My response?  Hatred?  Sure, I’ve felt hatred sometimes for whomever it is dogging me, making my life so very difficult to live at times, driving me to the edge of absolute despair time and again.

Then I remembered my ancient sorrow for the man, and I wondered if, in all my lifetimes, I ever said I’m sorry to him.  Having only the fleetingest scraps of remembrance, I don’t know, so I’ll assume I didn’t and say it now:  I’m so very sorry.

Perhaps this is why I’ve been so concerned with men all of my life.  I feel strongly for their pain in this culture which won’t let boys cry, and tells men they must always be strong.  I feel like I’ve always had an intuition about their secret wounds and a lot of compassion for men, even when other women love to criticize, laugh at, and even hate them.

Once, in grade school, I made a boy cry, and I’ve never forgotten the pain in his eyes, and I deeply regret it.  (Blessings on your now.)

This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar showed up on the back of my leg.  No explanation except...

This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar showed up on the back of my leg. No explanation except: ongoing violence by my controllers done while I’m made amnesic.

I’m getting very tired of life, and, at 62, with occasional spells of heart problems that make me so weak, I can’t do much, I’ve often thought I was certainly close to passing over.

But I keep living, and I wonder what I am supposed to do.  Fight the torturing controllers?  Make things difficult for them?  Document them?  Submit to them?  (crosses my mind now and then)  Or say I’m sorry?

Is there anything that makes sense for me to do, that has something to do with the fact that I’ve seen the darkest underbelly of civilization?

My body tells me something my mind could never grok when I went to church and studied theology in college:  UnknownSatan and his demons are loose on this Earth.  We’ve been lied to about it, and tricked with cute cartoons to make us not see, so the evil does unacknowledged.

Screen Shot 2014-04-05 at 7.41.25 PMThis is not a religious belief.
It is carved into my body.


Last week I was “up,” and I’ll be up again in a day or two, but really:  What is there to do at this point in my life that makes sense?  

Ah!  …I have another past-lifetime flashback – just recalled!  It’s a connection (described fully here), with Anais Nin, a writer.

UnknownOh!  And she was also (how could I forget?) a sexual scandal in her day, but for the purpose of appreciating the parallel, I’ll call her as a sex priestess of a sort.  Ex-patriot in Paris in the 40s, lover of Henry Miller and others, pornographer when she needed money.

Anais and I write a lot alike – self-indulgent some might say, I say introspective and useful.  But, actually, I can’t read her writing!  I’ve read a lot about her and have a few books that include her writing, but when I’ve tried to read her (one paragraph is as far as I’ve ever gotten, even in a book I loved and read every other word of, voraciously), I literally shivered in humiliation and had to quit.  (One day I hope to read more, but I’m tired of trying for now.)

So, given I am a writer, somehow connected to another powerful writer, born into this Darkness, what am I to do?  I must write.  So I do, and I speak when invited.  Few want to hear it.  Still, it’s my job.

So, there you go, Friends.  I’m very sorry to bring you a reminder of this Darkness.  But because I have, we now have a chance to deal with it, right?  That’s the good part.  It’s our greatest survival need:  to see properly our surroundings.  Right?

Then what?  Fight?  Dance?  I say: “Aikido!”  Or maybe all three.

Yeshiva - (I meant to write, and thought I wrote "Yeshua," but I wrote this interesting derivation!  Wonder where that came from….

And call on Cosmic Help – whomever that is for you.  (I feel deep connection with Christ, though not Christianity.)

If we see our world clearly together – despite their efforts to keep us in the dark, we can act in greater unison and power.

And so I share these difficult things with you – for our communal enlightenment.

Thank you for being courageous enough to hear.

Second Sunday Summary: Surprising Spiritual Healing

The week’s highlights:
~ a powerful (and surprising!) heart-healing experience
~ discovered and rediscovered reading and videos
~ cleaned and cleared energy in house and yard
~ decision to limit computer use

skeleton-hand-holding-anatomical-red-heart-free-tee-design-sMost amazing first:  It began with a massage.  Greg thought he was being intuitive, but I experienced it as being gouged in that soft spot just below the heart at the highest point beneath the ribs.  It was so shocking that I ended the massage and was physically ill for two days afterward.

Greg felt terrible to have caused me pain and was confused because he didn’t think he’d gouged me at all.  I went through bouts of serious fear that he’s multiple too and had subconsciously (in another alter) tried to hurt me.  I freaked out quietly and practiced being calm and open-minded that maybe something else had happened that I just couldn’t understand yet.  As my friend Darlene often says, “More will be revealed.”

As soon as Greg left for work the next morning, I called a healer friend.  After asking me a few questions to eliminate more serious possibilities, she told me to treat myself very gently that day, hold that place, send it love, and give myself permission to cry.  I did all those things, cried, then refocused on the work I wanted to do that day.  But I also read a bit online and became convinced that Greg had bruised my liver.

For two days I moved slowly, skipped exercise, and the second day called a Nurse Hotline to make sure there wasn’t something else I should know about a possibly bruised liver, and was encouraged to go to Urgent Care – which I thought I’d do, but decided to keep doctors out of it.

My journaling was full of hate and despair for two days, though I could always turn my attention back to working on this site.  (I had signed up for a WordPress blogging course, so it was helpful to keep my mind otherwise occupied.)  I also slept two long 10-hour nights.

The second morning, my journal says, we talked in bed from 4:45 − 8:45 — four hours! – after which I wrote in the margin, “Really??” – meaning that I wondered if there was some amnesic time in there – more stuff I might have worried about, but I didn’t.

Instead, I felt inspired to do yoga for the first time in many, many months.  I continued to upgrade my website, deciding it was worth spending the money on to be able to load videos onto.  That was immensely satisfying.

Later, I went to exercise and worked the machines with more power and conscious sensation of my physical body than I usually have – of muscles exerting and relaxing, exerting and relaxing – fascinating and very satisfying.  I marveled at this and was happy to tell Greg when I got home.

That evening when I finished my website work, Greg was playing music in the living room, songs I like to harmonize with, so I sat down and I joined him in a few.

Suddenly, I became aware that the area around my heart and liver felt different.  The writer in me sought for the descriptive word, so I focused my attention there, and seemed to perceive a hole, an opening – something through which energy was moving!  Energy was flowing, breathing in this place – so central to singing, obviously – so that now I could perceive – after the fact – the blockage that I’d always known was there but couldn’t feel or address, and now the blockage was gone. 

I thought to test whether this was the blockage that had dogged my singing all these years, see whether I could sing with more power now, and I did notice a little new energy flowing up and into my voice.  It was exciting.  But I was tired.  It had been a difficult couple of days, and I’d expended a lot of energy already in exercise, and it was late, so I’m looking forward to the next practice.

Apparently, Greg had pushed a trigger in me, probably something that has existed locked up in me for decades, hurting me for a few days, but ultimately releasing an old knot of something that had been clenched in my chest for who-knows-how-long.

I’ve heard more than once that sometimes in spiritual healing, you don’t need to re-experience all the horrors to clear them; sometimes, you can just feel the general essence of them, acknowledge them consciously, and “let them go,” bless them for whatever learning or wisdom they brought, however difficult, and let them go.  

Sometimes they’re biggies and might take lifetimes to heal.  However long we carry them, eventually, when we understand enough and accept enough, they can be released.  And we feel the release in our bodies, and our bodies becomes freer, our minds become freer, our emotions become freer.

And I’m so grateful.  (And grateful that I didn’t waste much time in “Oh, my God, this is horrible” mode.  That would have been a big waste of time.)

“More will be revealed.”  Yes, sometimes it makes the best sense to just suspend judgement and wait for that more.  Thanks, Dar.

And thanks, Greg!  And Elizabeth.

Not to say that some of those dark things that had me in their spell for a few decades doesn’t represent some important truth worth knowing.  They are very worth knowing; they just aren’t the whole truth.  

Even when we think they’re the most controlling energies in our lives, we need to remember they’re not All.  There are also wonderful energies dancing all around us all the time.

We must experience both, but we don’t need to go down the drain just because some of the energies seem to want to pull us there.  Our job is to keep rediscovering our relationship and learning new skills.  (Hmmm, sounds like my old definition of shamanism.)

(Ironically, the last accomplishment I’d noted in my journal before the massage that kicked off my heart disturbance and healing was the creation of a new Spiritual Healing page, “Healing Help,” in which I compiled my best offerings.)

From teacherweb.com

From teacherweb.com

My other favorite writing this week:  My first “Friday Foundation” series, “Mind Control in World History,” my first “Friday Random Beauty” post, a few new paragraphs at the end of my Home page, and a draft, “Scribe for our times” post that isn’t up yet.

century of the selfRediscovered writing and videos:  The transcript of DC Hammond’s “Greenbaum Speech,” offering the psychotherapist community help in healing multiples, and The Century of the Self video series – we’ll be rewatching all four hours of these over the next weeks – they’re that good, and that important.

culture highJust discovered last night:  The Culture High:….”is the riveting story that tears into the very fiber of modern day marijuana prohibition to reveal the truth behind the arguments and motives governing both those who support and oppose the existing pot laws. … incredibly moving testimonials from both sides of the spectrum.  Top celebrities, former undercover agents, university professors and a slew of unforgettable characters from all points of view come together for an amusing yet insightful portrait of cannabis prohibition and the grasp it has on society as a whole.”

CCHSAnd the Citizens Commission on Human Rights videos – regarding the abuse that psychiatry has become – in a series of engaging, entertaining, and scary videos.  Maybe a little heavy-handed at times, but I’ll be watching more and reporting back.

One more accomplishment is both negative and positive:  I collected a huge to-do list from my last weeks’ journals.  So I gotta ask my muses – or multiples with so many great ideas:  You/we gotta slow down.”  Breathe.  They’re all on a list.  Nothing bad will happen if any don’t get done.  Relax.

rock creek houseSo, I decided I want to limit my computer work.  When I was a hermit on the land, I always kept a commitment to turn off the computer before sunset and to be out on the west patio every evening, whatever the weather, watching the sun set and the light change from day to night.  It was a wonderful practice.

Not a normal New Mexico sunset, this sky was made dramatic by smoke from a nearby forest fire, 2012.

Not a normal New Mexico sunset, this sky was made dramatic by smoke from a nearby forest fire, 2012.

My new home here is nestled into a hill on the eastern slope of the southern Rocky Mountains, which block the dramatic views that were the daily staple of my previous life.  Now, to the west, there’s just small-town neighborhood rising up the hillside toward the Continental Divide.  So I lost my daily sunset habit, and sometimes now I write all night long.

So, to support my healing, I want to write and otherwise be on the computer only part-time, and so I plan to experiment, and see whether I can turn off the computer at noon or early afternoon each day, leave behind the world of ideas in bits and bytes, and make it a joyful ritual to go into the garden (or the sunroom if the weather is unpleasant outside) and see how the plants are doing, reconnect with the living world.

bathroom art

This alter-like art was created in the flow of clearing energy recently!

Healing comes in lots of forms.  The most recent I’ve encountered and written about are:  accidental (thanks to spirit helpers guiding us), clearing space in our physical environment (a biggie!), spending wordless time in the garden, exercise, and eating excellent, tasty, healing food.

Wishing you, my readers, many healing blessings,
And very grateful for mine ~


Jean Eisenhower
Silver City, NM
November 3, 2014

Mind Control, Multiple Personality, & Me

For subscribers who haven’t visited in awhile, I’m posting the contents of my new Home page.  The entire site has been recently reorganized, rewritten, and become, I hope, a more useful, and “friendly,” resource for those needing to learn about this subject.  I invite you to visit.

reunion cropI am an educator on mind control, artist, author, publisher, mind-controlled “multiple personality” in healing, and activist working for the healing and human rights of mind control subjects.

To that end, I offer these pages of information – non-academic, easy-to-read – which touch on folklore, history, religion, spirituality, cosmos, and culture as they relate to mind control and multiple personality — along with my personal, on-going reports on the path to healing.  Below is a 3-minute video, produced in 2010:

Is Multiple Personality Disorder “crazy”?  Actually, it’s considered a creative solution, usually emerging accidentally in childhood, to keep from going crazy when experiencing something like torture.  The vast majority of us experienced torture as children in one way or another.

Children under torturous conditions who don’t “leave their bodies” and dissociate, and the torture is repeated, usually become schizophrenic.  So dissociation, MPD, is a blessing in disguise, as it’s fairly easy to heal (unless complicated by mind control); whereas, schizophrenia is considered incurable.

How it comes about, in simple terms:  Under extreme stress, a person, especially a child, might “leave their body” to escape unbearable pain; the mind, however, keeps recording – now on a blank slate – which then becomes another personality.  This creates a pattern in the person called dissociation; with ongoing stress, the pattern is repeated.  (Today MPD is called Dissociative Identity Disorder, but many of us prefer the old term.)

real old cu




Being a multiple personality has not been easy, but it’s been far less difficult than typically depicted in books and movies, and in some ways, it seems to be an advantage:  I have the capacity to manage a wide variety of mental tasks, as I seem to have a lot of “minds” holographically in my being.  Managing them is the trick, and I have always done pretty well, most of the time.  (At the bottom of this post are some of my accomplishments.)

The common perception of “multiples,” as being tragically out of their own control, is true for some, but many multiples are also very high-functioning, even testing at genius levels (as I have a few times), though they often have severe mental, psychological, emotional, and spiritual challenges — as readers of my book can appreciate.

Candyjones_cover-210Mind Control  There’s also, obviously, a very serious downside to “multipleness,” which is that the people or groups who created my alters probably still have access to my programming and may continue to re-program me to use at will.  When they do, I have bizarre perceptions, find wounds on my body, and afterward usually am severely depressed and sometimes emotionally incapacitated for extended periods of time.

Despite the foregoing, I must acknowledge the positive aspect of multiple-ness because it masks my disability.  In other words,  I look not only “sane” and “normal” nearly all the time, but sometimes exceptional; therefore, a person might ask, how could my crazy theory be true?

I also mention the positive aspect because it contains my hope for full recovery:  Having the perspective of many minds, I have, since 1993, been working with my alters, untangling messes, and removing unwanted programs.  It has taken time and emotional stamina, sometimes incapacitating me for mundane things, at which times, I have not appeared “exceptional” at all, but severely messed up.  And I’m still not “one.”  But, I’m working on it.

Jean SCM crop 3w


Friends and acquaintances who know my story often don’t know what to make of it, because they rarely see the symptoms or don’t recognize them, so I’m accepted well enough in my community to be employed (when I want and am able) and have a wide circle of friends.  Besides, so many people are struggling with something.  

My hidden disability, though, makes it very hard to make a living, and I’ve been bailed out by my parents many times.   Good therapists seem to be rare and hard to find, or else I’ve been controlled to avoid them, or they’ve been threatened by my controllers into avoiding treating me (commonly reported by others).

taser cuThe worst of my experiences involving apparent mind control – that I recall – happened in 2010:  I woke up extremely debilitated after a ten-hour sleep and found a third-degree Taser burn on my arm.

This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar showed up on the back of my leg.  No explanation except...

2014 This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar showed up on the back of my leg. No explanation except…

Much more is documented on this site, including weird bruises, apparent injection bruises (most common), a broken door lock, deep vaginal lacerations, biopsy “scoop marks,” and more.

DSC01402Why am I not terrified?  Well, I have been, and suicidal more times than I can count.  But I’ve talked myself out of it. I’ve worked and prayed to try to understand our world, Good and Evil, the psyche and our power to navigate treacherous waters.  And here I am.

DSC02944Life has been moving on an upward course since I’ve been focusing my spiritual practice.  I have a wonderful home and garden, lots of friends and friendly acquaintances, a supportive partner, enough work to pay the bills, and a satisfying artist’s life.

After 38 years of never singing in public (stage phobia related to mind control), in 2009 I began to sing publicly again – a most amazing breakthrough for my mind and psyche.  And I’ve regained my ability to participate in life and see what Goodness I can add to our amazing human drama here.

And as a life-long activist for a variety of causes (saving mountains and downtown inner city schools, for instance), I now feel called to shine light on this criminal enterprise which steals people’s free will.  I thank you very much for reading this far.  I applaud your courage.

How do I really know I was a mind control subject?  Check this page for a little bit more of my personal and family history.


I pray the content here and in my book helps others trying to understand their own stories and heal.

My best advice after gathering information:  Remember fear and anger are natural, but a stage to go through and to move beyond.  Remember that everything Good in this world is stronger, eventually, than the Dark, and focus on that Good.  And check out my pages on Healing!

If you believe in a benevolent Higher Power, by whatever name, connect, hold fast, communicate, listen, and keep the best possible vision in mind in order to generate a vibration sympathetic with the energies of the Higher Power.

Today I believe these experiences have blessed me with one other thing:  greater awareness than I would ever have had of the larger realities of this world.  Therefore, they are extremely important to my life.  We do believe we have the power to survive, understand, and help things improve for each other.

I have no idea exactly how.  I feel that everyone on this planet, though, is facing a huge cataclysm very soon, and our world will change in ways we are probably not prepared for, and our minds are probably not prepared for.

So it will require an especially flexible mind to survive the ontological shock I believe is coming.  And those of us who’ve already been shocked out of our shoes – who knows? – we might find it easier to adapt and see and respond to what’s going on.

Ontological shock is the disorientation a person endures when deep foundations of their mental framework become shaken.  It will change our entire meaning of life – and who we think we are as humans.  (Sort of like many lifelong Catholics have been experiencing for a decade or more, or a married person feels when they discover their spouse is cheating, or a parent feels when a baby is born with a problem, or anyone feels when someone near them suddenly dies – but much bigger.)

Our current structure of thought will not survive the changes.  Words will truly fail us.  So it’s imperative we get our energies, our vibrations clear, to be able to trust our perceptions.

Blessings on you ~

(p.s.  All these photos were taken in the last couple of years, though I often look decades different in age.)

More info

Screen Shot 2014-04-15 at 2.32.31 AMFor more on how it feels – to me – to be a multiple personality, check out this page:  Multiple-ness:  What it Feels Like.

cia doctorsFor a quick definition and overview of Mind Control  – check out my page “Mind Control Defined.”

break programming copyFor links to some of my Healing posts, check out “Hope for Healing.”

And please remember to “Join/Listen!” (Button’s up top in the right corner.)

Off this site, WantToKnow.info has an excellent site with mainstream documentation on many controversial topics, including mind control.


RF 2nd Ed coverAuthor:  RattleSnake Fire: a memoir of extra-dimensional experience;
The 2013 or Year One Almanac, Datebook, and Journal;
the 2004 Almanac/Datebook/Journal for Southern Arizona;
the 2003 Almanac, Datebook and Journal for Tucson and Southern Arizona;
the international Permaculture Drylands Journal (associate editor, 1989-91);
and numerous articles and newsletters, including international publications.
Praise“great literature….tour de force!….important historical document,” and more.

Awards in journalism (UPI First Place, Arizona-Utah region), creative writing, art, theater, videography, real estate, Permaculture, and national recognition for non-profit fundraising.  Others:  served in Leaders Circle of Tucson Resources for Women.  Invited to Leadership Tucson and Mensa.  Served on numerous local boards, twice as president.


Thanks for visiting ~

First “Sunday Summary of Soul Healing” – new weekly feature

reunion cropThis Sunday Summary of Soul Healing I intend to make a weekly series, featuring the most significant of my week’s journal entries including spiritual experiences, disturbing anomalies, accomplishments, and progress on my Big Questions.

(My poll here last week said that “personal experiences” was a major interest of my readers.)

I plan to keep it short and to the point.  So here goes….

Note:  This first Sunday Summary will cover the previous two and a half weeks, rather than one weeklaying a better foundation for the weekly series.

My last journal notebook ended with 2 Big Questions, one of which was:  Is mind control “just what is” and we should all learn to accept it?   (This is not as depressing a proposition as I’ve mused on it – but I’ll get to that soon.)

~ This journal began with a bang:  October 9 I was so speedy (and I drink no caffeine), that I couldn’t believe how much I was getting done, though I was happy about it.  Eventually I began to worry about myself.  (Getting seriously manic?  Will I become seriously depressed next?  I’m usually a highly productive person, as I was trained to be, but this is over the top!)  In the evening, I was embarrassed when my daughter came over with a friend and I was not just chatty but practically performing a humor routine while cooking and having a blast!  Not me

The next day I crashed and for the next 9 days, my sleep was extremely erratic – anywhere from 4 hours to 11 hours, but my days were approximately normal.  Then…

Yet another.  Always the same:  small, in the flesh of my thigh.

Yet another. Always the same: small, in the flesh of my thigh.

~ Disturbing anomalies – three new hypodermic bruises (they seem to me, or they could be Taser marks, as they often seem double) appeared where they usually do – on one of my thighs.  I discovered this on the 18th – though it might have been there earlier.

two bruises

Circles indicate location. (One of them is actually a double bruise.

On the 19th, I discovered two more, and one was clearly double, and I had no energy, just drug around all day in a stupor.  And both days, I ignored my notebook journal all day long.

IMG_1724[In case new readers think these tiny bruises are “nothing,” I have to say I would agree except for the context:  I’ve woken with many hundreds of weird marks on my body in the last decade, including healed surgical scars, Taser burns, weird donut-shaped bruises, and more (check my “Photo History” and “Summary of 18 Months as an MK Subject“), not to mention all the other evidence of mind control.]

~ A lifelong recorder of my dreams, I’m still experiencing long periods of not being able to remember any – and I worry the controllers are keeping me from remembering them, since I believe they’re important to my healing.  I even told some dreams to my partner – instead of writing them down – and then promptly forgot them!  And then he couldn’t remember either.

~ Energy infusion – October 20, sitting at my computer, I had what I call an “energy infusion,” in which energy pours into me with such power, I have to stop what I’m doing and just receive it.  It feels great, not frightening at all, and usually I just get back to work, as I did this time.  In the past, these experiences have sometimes resulted in fascinating conversations with spiritual beings offering me good counsel.  Perhaps I had a conversation but don’t remember.

hulk(Context:  In the past, when I’ve tried to describe the sensation, the only thing I could compare it to in our spiritually-compromised culture was my old memory of Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno in the 1978-82 TV show, The Hulk, when energy would pour into Bill’s character, causing his back to hump up and his arms and legs to tighten, just before the Hulk went on a rampage to right some intolerable injustice.  In my book, I flippantly called my energy infusion events “the Hulk routine” because the energy download flows powerfully into my muscles – and I can’t stop it.  But, as I said, it feels great.  Afterward, I feel energized and rejuvenated.  When others have been around and have seen the energy contort my muscles, I’ve usually tried to disguise it and have occasionally moved as if spontaneously deciding to stretch, once danced with it, and at least once posed, trying to hide behind a little humor, a bit like Lou Ferrigno is here, sans roar, and without ripping my clothes or turning green.  I’m shy about these events – have never heard anyone describe anything like this, so this is only the second time I’ve written about them.  Sometimes, the experiences have come with profound healing events.  Once, I suddenly felt the presence of teenage-aspects of me, a lot of them, all wounded and crippled, suddenly released and sorta milling about in me, then whoosh, they began to flow up and out into another dimension, freeing me of all their pain and confusion.  I then called in Goodness and Healing to fill the space.  Once after an infusion, I sensed a spirit who seemed very familiar, existing in other dimensions, and I asked her, “Who are you?”  She didn’t answer (or I was programmed to forget), but she gave me one bit of advice:  “You gotta buff up.”  The jargon was so unexpected, it struck me as very funny.  But, since I had gotten out of shape and overweight, I answered, Okay, and have been working to keep on a better health regimen now.  I have no idea how many energy infusions I’ve experienced – I’d have to read a few dozen hand-written journals to make a count, and I’m not going to do that any time soon – and I probably don’t write them all down, they’re that common – but it’s been a few dozen anyway.)

faerieA few minutes after the energy infusion, I experienced a fairy-like being dancing near me, even inside my aura, in another dimension.  I love those experiences!  I didn’t get or don’t remember any particular message, but I sure appreciate it when they drop in.  Continuing to feel great, I worked again until 5:30 in the morning.

~ Two days later, I “crashed” and felt sick all day.  Then I was back to normal.  The day after, though, I felt okay until l tried to meditate or pray.  My writing turned from sad to musing on being off this planet and out of this life as a mind control subject – I used the word suicidal (not uncommon) – but I recovered and got myself back to normal.  In bed that night, I received another energy infusion that went on unusually long, and I directed it into a spontaneous yogic stretch exercise, for ten minutes or more, which felt extremely healing.

Unfortunately, as I began to communicate with my Spirit Family, I experienced something not uncommon that I interpret as communications-jamming from the controllers:  black and white films (seemingly chosen randomly from old libraries) played on top of each other in my mind’s eye while I tried to connect with Family.  (The films are varied and nothing from my own life:  from dusty street scenes in third-world nations to boating trips involving people I’ve never seen.)  As I wrestled to clear my energy field, I saw my aura being pulled out of my body while an idea teased that I could leave this life now if I wanted.  I had to do spiritual warfare to keep my body and spirit together and drive the vision away.  This weirdness is intense and also pretty routine – I seem to be developing skills to cope with it – so I accomplished the feat, went to sleep, and the next day was “normal.”

~ During this time, I mulled over – a lot – a blog I’ve been thinking of posting, titled, “Mind Control:  Just What Is?”  The idea continued to pester me, and grieved me at the same time.  Just now, I discovered it was already posted (last April!) and read it again and think it’s well worth discussing.

monkey2~ Related to that, I’ve been mulling over a question I’ve actually been asking myself for at least a year or more:  Is the way controllers treat their mind control subjects like me no worse than most of humanity treats other animals (either directly or complicitly through tax dollars and no objection)?  I believe the answer is yes.  And then I’ve asked my journal, Does that mean we’re not necessarily dealing with “Evil” from an external source as many claim (Satan’s demons spawning Satanists, Illuminati, and murderous psychopaths in secret government programs), but just dealing with a fractal-like manifestation of our own human selves, macrocosm reflecting our microcosm?  And the corollary:  If we, collectively, learn to treat animals and the planet better, might other humans stop creating and abusing mind control subjects?  

I have partial answers to these questions, hinted at in “Mind Control:  Just What Is?”, but there’s more complexity I need to introduce soon.  For now, I’ll leave you with this “Summary” and welcome your observations and questions.

(Lest this all sound too wacky for you and you want to write it all off – wait!  Perhaps your world view (your paradigm) could use some stretching.  To that end, you might want to read my pages “Multiple Personality – Not Crazy,” “Jean’s Spiritual History,” “Mind Control Defined,” and/or my business site, JeanEisenhower.com, with a fairly extensive history of my accomplishments in business, activism, and the arts.)

I also plan to write a Friday weekly series on folklore, history, religion, culture, cosmos, and spirit – as they relate to mind control, multiple personality, and healing – starting this Friday.  Any ideas for the series title?  Philosophical Friday?  Fundamental Friday?  Foundational Friday?  Friday Folklore and More?

Multiple-ness: What it feels like

looking downBeing multiple….  It feels like having a number of holograms of oneself occupying the same body.  Most holograms are connected and coordinated, but oftentimes there’s misconnection, and it’s not so easy to be as graceful in social situations as I’d like to be.

But it only sometimes feels like a serious disability.  

reunion cropOften it feels like a super-ability – though not easy socially.  But that’s okay.  Being me is very interesting.  It’s like having seven (or more) sets of eyes on the world.

I have lots of conversations with myself, about everything.  In social settings, I often feel “slow,” but sometimes I might have been super-fast:  I might have had a few different responses to the subject in discussion, and my brain might have been working over each point of view, weighing merits, comparing ease versus economy across a few parameters, brainstorming mediating possibilities for various negative aspects – and wondering which streams of thought might be most interesting to share with others – and then the subject might change and I’ve not had a chance to weigh in.

Sometimes I try to summarize, but that’s hard to do on the fly, and often fails.

Jean SCM crop 3wOther times, if I know I’m facing a social event that will be demanding, I prepare, sleep well, eat well, pray, do yoga, go slow, dedicate myself to the responsibility, and put in the work.  And lately I’ve begun accomplishing my goals.  Feeling very strong.

Off and on throughout my life, I’ve been very proud of my work and won awards, and other times I’ve experienced the most pathetic failures, including the failure of the will to live.

But so have many people.  We’re living in a time when personal crisis should happen to everyone.

I Was One cropMost people, though, can’t bear to hear the next person’s story.  It’s too intense.  And so we live in a culture where everyone is under stress, but no one can talk about it, further stressing ourselves with isolation.  A huge percentage of Americans are medicating themselves.  We can’t take our own stories.

But, with drugs, hope, news control, entertainment, and other forms of social mind control, we compel ourselves to do what we can hardly believe we have the ability within us to do:  we create beauty, fight for just causes, love, and sacrifice.  (Or we work our jobs and fight for others’ causes.)


Photo on 6-19-13 at 11.30 AMAs a multiple, my sense of time is quite fractured.  I start out each day, usually knowing what day it is, but when the days flow behind me, they’re in a jumble.  I have feelings about something being a few days ago, or longer or closer, but I’m often not sure if an event happened three days ago or seven, yesterday morning or the morning before.

at desk croppedThere’s just no single flow.  Different parts of my days are handled by different parts of me.  One comes out in the morning to keep me slowed down so I can do yoga before I begin flying around being German-ly productive.  The business woman gets on the phone.  Someone else cooks, someone else socializes.  They are all pretty aware of what each other does, but they don’t seem to have a system that allows any of the “presenting” me to know what order things happened in.

Jean at Ds cropAnd if the part who sees an acquaintance in the food coop isn’t the part who interacted with that person at a workshop last weekend, then I will be disappointingly awkward when we pass.  Within a minute or two, a connection would be made in my mind, and I might remember we’d had a deep conversation.  Just seconds too late sometimes, which can be very disappointing.

I used to get depressed about myself, and embarrassed, but also confused.  Why?  Why?  Why did this happen?  And what’s happening?  I feel weird, but I can’t explain it.  And for decades I didn’t know.  At least now I know.


real old cuIn 1994, at age 42, one year after I’d slid dramatically into a serious spiritual crisis of Bigger Why’s?, essentially a nervous breakdown (some call a “spiritual crisis”), I was reading Michael Talbot’s The Holographic Universe, and came upon a description of people with Multiple Personality Disorder.  The funny thing was: as soon as I read the sentence, I couldn’t remember what I’d read.

The blankness was weird.  I read the sentence again and again, and every time I reached the period at the end of the sentence, the excitement of some provocative idea reverberated through my body, but my brain was totally blank – and I wanted to know what had excited me so.  Creepiness grew as I read and reread the same sentence.  Finally, I stopped and asked myself how I could approach this a different way.  I thought to read it aloud.

Involving both eyes and ears, I got past some gate and realized I was reading symptoms that seemed a perfect description of me – but not anything I wanted to consider.

The description was of a person with Multiple Personality Disorder (today called Dissociative Identity Disorder).

As usual, I had a range of responses: No!, dread, humiliation, loss of hope that I could pretend to be like others, crushing defeat, loss of dreams, fear of loss of respect – of my children’s respect, of anyone’s.

But one part of me said, very sensibly, Or this could be the first step to healing – which you have been craving for a long time – the solution, the understanding, the answer.  Accept it and get to work with it.  Tomorrow.

I said Okay.  There was nothing else to do.

I/We went to the medical library early the next day and learned MPD is not always as bad as the movies about the most extreme cases, thank Goodness.  MPD, the books said, is actually quite healable, once you have a diagnosis.  I actually felt hopeful of making progress.  But I couldn’t take the noise of the city anymore.

Within a week I’d decided to leave the city and, using credit cards, build a small hermitage on some land my ex and I had purchased and I’d agreed to take in our recent divorce.  I would become a hermit, and the silence and solitude would serve my healing work there.  I’d always lived month to month; I’d make it work.

The previous year, my son had battled and recovered from cancer, and he and his sister didn’t need me and my breakdown emotions around any more.  They were barely (or almost) old enough to be on their own, so, with their good riddance and my apologies, I left them in their first solo apartments and moved 100 miles away into the desert.  And I began to heal with spiritual assistance.


reclining at PDC cropAll my parts, together, have a lot of wisdom – that’s the upside of multiple-ness – and we began to try to figure things out.

It didn’t come along fast or easily.  Most researchers believe that those of us created intentionally to be multiple have commands inside us to avoid healing – which seems the case for me.

And healing’s painful, so there’s natural avoidance.  I’ve had energies build so strong in me sometimes that when the emerging memory comes through, it has dropped me to the floor, entirely unable to stand.

I’ve also felt parts of me see each other for the first time, recognize each other, and make some sort of connection.

As good as that is, it’s also disorienting.  I wonder what I’m supposed to do next to make sure I don’t slip apart again, unsure whether I should be paying attention to how I orient myself newly to the world.

I’ve heard parts of me speak brilliance from somewhere inside that seems beyond this dimension of me.  And I believe it is.

I’ve channeled healing energies to others, and received goodbye’s from friends and acquaintances just passing over, when no one knew they were.

I’ve read people’s vibes, accidentally, and knew they knew I’d read their vibes.

Steps forward and backward.  Side trips.  Or swirls  – and then I realize it was an amazing spiral upward.  And I keep going.


Socializing is most difficult.   I prepare, and then take it in small doses.  Otherwise, I hit the wall and am exhausted or do something that’ll make me cringe for weeks.

I’m like herding cats.  Imagine a few versions of me connected for various purposes – but not for socializing.  Sometimes I just have to go home.

I am less hard on myself these day, and more often philosophical:  Life on Earth is crazy now.


DSC01303I guess I’m what they call “a sensitive.”  And it’s not easy being sensitive in a global Apocalypse – and I don’t say that with any tone of hysteria or naive hyperbole or joking.  I mean it literally:  apocalypse means “unveiling,” a time when we see.  And we are.

I have a bunch of me seeing, which can get overwhelming sometimes.

But acquaintances seem to forget or forgive.  So I forgive myself too, and keep on keeping on.  Creating beauty where I can.  Singing because it feels good.  Trying to be useful.  Don’t know what else to do.

I trust all this struggle has been for a good purpose.  It has certainly opened my eyes and let me see what I would either have missed, or not wanted to see, or pretended I didn’t see if I didn’t have to.

Of course, I always wonder if I couldn’t have had my eyes opened in some easier way, and I get no answer.  Or I get answers I don’t like.  So I wait.


Do all these photos look like a typical range of differences in one person?  Just curious how physically striking is my multiple-ness to others.  Comment below?  Or answer the question in the box.  Thanks!

Paracelsus, Rudolph Steiner and “Aliens”

UnknownOne of my personal favorite posts,
inspired by the Secret Life of Nature by Peter Tompkins
originally posted September 2011

Rebel Western scientists of antiquity have left important work behind which sheds light on the UFO/ET subject.  The work of Paracelsus and Rudolph Steiner was included in a fascinating book published in 1997 by best-selling author Peter Tompkins, titled The Secret Life of Nature: Living in Harmony with the Hidden World of Nature Spirits from Fairies to Quarks.

paracelsusParacelsus was born in the Swiss canton of Schwyz in 1490, where he was given the impressive and maybe, to those with Western sensibilities, humorous birth name Phillipus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim.  A contemporary of Martin Luther, he became an alchemist, which means he was born into a family with connections to power, as alchemy was taught only within a secret society, pledged to keep those secrets from common folk.  Nevertheless, Paracelsus broke from those strictures.

According to Tompkins, Paracelsus may have been a greater reformer than Martin Luther, as he tackled not only religion but medicine and physics as well.  In his society, academic writing was done exclusively in Latin, for one’s fellow academicians to approve or disapprove, with no involvement of common people.  Paracelsus flaunted this tradition and wrote a treatise on nature spirits in the common German vernacular used by his local community, making his wisdom available to all. For centuries afterward, his work was used as a primary source for innumerable writings by others.

Paracelsus gathered his data by going straight to his source, Nature, in which he steeped himself deeply.  He also asked herbalists, faith healers, gypsies, hermits, witches and anyone else who claimed knowledge of the healing arts – aside from doctors – what they knew.  He discovered that their lore had a form and structure which matched his own experiences of intelligent, immaterial beings working within nature.

The rebel alchemist defined these spiritual intelligences as “elementals,” which he explained perform important tasks, that we in the first world today call “forces of nature.”  These elementals are also identical with the beings that mystics and primitive societies call spirits of mountain, sea, storm, etc.

Paracelsus went so far as to publicly burn the books of Galen – ! – whose writings had held the course of medicine for over twelve-hundred years in a highly rational track limited to certain precepts, along with the books of Avicenna, the Persian physician whose textbook was a standard in Europe for the previous couple hundred years.

Paracelsus further scandalized his fellow doctors and academicians by telling them that “each person possesses within himself the powers and latent faculties necessary to become aware of a many-dimensioned universe.”

This radical idea, that humans have the potential to perceive a multi-dimensional universe, we still wrestle with today, at least in “first world” cultures.   Many would also argue that authorities in this very culture are working hard to keep this awareness from us.

rusteiFour hundred years after Paracelsus, in the same Swiss canton of Schwyz, Rudolph Steiner expanded on Paracelsus’ work with lectures on the role of “nature intelligences” in the growth and development of the material world.

Steiner was born in 1847, in Croatia, in a village so remote that nature was a powerful force for him as a child.  He became highly clairvoyant in his young years, perceiving a world far beyond that which his parents could conceive.  To master both worlds and communicate about the one to the other, he trained himself thoroughly at the Technical University of Vienna in physics, mathematics, biology, chemistry, optics, botany, and anatomy and gained a doctoral degree in philosophy.  His doctoral thesis was that clairvoyance – the practice of seeing into other realms – would have to be integrated into the scientific approach if “the half-truths of materialism were not to drag the world into a materialist and mechanistic disaster.”

Steiner wrote prolifically about the spiritual realms, defining “spiritual science,” which includes everything in creation, including humans and their psychic powers, all in a “symphony of life” created and maintained by natural intelligences who work according to patterns passed down by higher intelligent beings, everything ultimately a manifestation of the Source of Creation.

The upshot for humans, according to Steiner, is that if we ignore the nature beings, we cut ourselves off from understanding anything real, including our own health and how to heal.  Alternatively, understanding our relationship to the “invisible” realms and participating in them will assure our individual and collective survival.

Intelligent information moves through everything, according to Steiner, including things Western science defines as “not alive,” such as rocks, rivers and sky.  Communication from extra-terrestrial worlds, he said, is conveyed from the cosmos down to certain nature beings, whom he called sylphs, and by them into the leaves and petals of plants, through their trunks and roots, and thereby to beings who live underground, whom he called gnomes, who traverse that realm of earth and mineral as freely as we move through our atmosphere.

Any element of nature can convey this extra-terrestrial wisdom to humans, including gnomes, though those beings, in particular, don’t have much respect for us and often laugh at humans, stuck as we are in our rational concepts which frame and limit what we can perceive.

As our culture has been trained for millennia to perceive only the materialistic world authorized by Science and Academia and to deny all precepts of what’s dismissed as “animism,” we struggle today with concepts of alien beings and vehicles that don’t fit into the paradigms of what we’ve been taught.

According to Steiner, mankind’s “fall” came about with this denial of our ability to communicate with nature intelligences.  This denial cut off communication to extra-terrestrial and other higher intelligences of Creation.  Our destiny, however, is to expand our minds to include contact with these beings, including those nearest us in nature, and also beyond to extra-terrestrial and the intelligences above them, until we eventually accept responsibility for managing and designing material life on this Earth.

Of course, many in the halls of Science and Academia would say that this is exactly what they are about; and they would deny any role in cutting us off from basic wisdom.  However, it was precisely their materialistic “half truths” that Paracelsus warned would lead us to disaster.

As someone who has experienced the profoundly destructive outer edges of Science (as a CIA mind control subject as a child) and who has also experienced the healing powers of Nature in a “shamanic initiation” (which included alien contact, typical of shamanic initiations), I can’t help but ask the hottest contemporary, if simplistic, questions:  What about the stuff we call evil?  Are some of the spiritual hierarchies not working for our best interests?  Are some of the aliens “good guys” and others “bad guys” – maybe angels and demons?

My inclination for the last few years has been to assume that alien beings are trans-dimensional (spiritual) beings, some of them working in our best interests, and some of them seeming to work against us.  Further, I’ve contended, it’s our very important work to learn to discern which is which – which I have famously failed to do at times.  So I was keenly interested to see where Rudolph Steiner came down on the question of evil.

Paracelsus denied the existence of demons.  Similarly, Steiner refused to categorize things we call evil as evil.  Rather, he said, certain hierarchies of intelligence above us, called angels in the modern Western world, gods in the ancient, devas in the Hindu, and other names in every culture, chose to deviate from the program of perfection by which they’d always been patterned – and limited – and allowed themselves free will, thereby allowing humans this possibility too.  It opened up profound transformative possibilities for Creation – and with it risk.

We’ve seen this risk played out nearly to completion in our world today, with nuclear bombs, multiple wars, ongoing slavery, global child sex industries, global economic thievery, mind control, and more.  And it is into this world, coinciding quite precisely with the advent of atomic bombs and institutionalized mind control, that these apparently trans-dimensional vehicles and beings have suddenly come in great numbers into human awareness.

The question in my mind, in part prompted by other writers on this subject, has lately been:  Are these beings responding to the horrors we’ve unleashed, hoping to mitigate or correct them, or are they orchestrating them?  Writers on the subject of alien contact today come down on both sides of this question.

The shamans from every continent who came to visit Harvard psychiatrist John Mack, when he was working with alien contactees, answered this question of evil regarding the nature of ET beings in a less polarized fashion.  The African shaman Credo Mutwa said the mantindane (African term for what we call the “gray aliens”) were seen as unwelcome but necessary “troublemakers,” often required to wake up an individual in a shamanic initiation.  The shamans prompted Mack to interpret the entire alien phenomenon as a “wake-up call to humanity” or, more cynically, a “consciousness program for the spiritually impaired.”

Many primitive cultures have also softened the concept of evil, focusing instead on lessons taught through “trickery” – depicted by characters throughout time, from the Celtic Loki, Native American Heyoka, and Greek Cupid to the beings I’ve experienced, who gave me powerful “spiritual” signs, leading me to go exactly where I didn’t want to go and shouldn’t have gone – all apparently lessons to teach me discernment.  So I’ve also begun to drop my knee-jerk reaction to think of them as evil, in favor of simply recognizing that they taught me invaluable lessons by trickery.

Dionysus_Bacchus_Greek_God_Statue_01According to Dionysus, student of Plato, spiritual beings fill the entirety of space, in “realm upon realm,” and some followers assert that there is nothing in existence but these intelligences, which usually are invisible but sometimes take forms that we can see.  A curandero acquaintance of mine put it this way:  “We live in an ocean of spirit and must protect ourselves from most of it.”  A student of Dionysus, as well as a follower of Christ, was Paul of Tarsus, whose writings survive in the New Testament, where he is quoted as asserting that we must learn to “discern the spirits.”

Today, as we watch the world unfold in dramas almost beyond belief, strange shapes appear in the sky, change colors and morph into different forms.  People from every walk of life, from Peruvian tribespeople to American Presidents, pilots and police officers report things we’ve come to call UFOs and alien beings, and we forget that they’ve been reported, along with healings and other favors, throughout history in every culture.

image-01-largeHippocrates induced people for thousands of years to call these phenomena and the healings and other favors that often attended them “mythology” and “superstition,” effectively putting a lid on any public discourse; but the lid has been jumping now for decades, and it won’t stay down.  Gardeners in Findhorn have been talking to devas, churches spring up around teachings of Swedenborg and Blavatsky, books by Blake and Goethe enjoy a renaissance, and Christians reconsider Jesus’ response to his followers that we would “do all these things [healing miracles] and more.”

While many of us have freed ourselves from mainstream constrictions, we still wonder:  Are some of the aliens in league with structures of power, such as our governments?  Undoubtedly.  Are others trying to wake us out of our educated and entertained entrancement?  I’m sure of this also.  And I also believe the evidence is strong that “aliens” exist in great diversity, and their story is far more nuanced than a simple good-versus-evil drama, though that may be an aspect of it.

Our personal and collective work, it seems, is to learn to discern these elements of the drama, these elemental beings, if you will, and work with them.  According to Paracelsus and Steiner, the many mystics they consulted and those who’ve followed them through the centuries, the beings we perceive can take any form they want, usually choosing a pattern pre-existing in the mind of the person who perceives them.  So, whether they be tricksters and liars or pure helpers, they spring in form from our own minds, but are not created in our imagination; and their purpose and intention lead us from higher dimensions, following the patterns of Creation, into our next phase of evolution, whatever it will be.

To help us create a better world from the mess that we find around us, the words of Paracelsus and Steiner – as well as Paul and Christ – have application to this issue:  immaterial beings are everywhere and can take form at will (though not everyone sees them), and we are charged with learning to discern them and work with them to create a better future.

As the natural world is destroyed by misguided “half-truths of materialism,” we have less communion with nature and less potential access to those intelligences, so beings who want to help us must get our attention in new and novel ways.  Perhaps this explains the increasing numbers of UFOs in the skies today and alien beings in people’s bedrooms; or maybe those are part of the “half-truths” misleading us.

Paracelsus and Steiner encourage us to drop our constrictions of rational thought and engage in this subject experientially.  Rather than sticking to the nuts and bolts of the UFO phenomenon, as if it were the “safest” approach and might provide the “rational” proof most needed, I believe we should listen to the experiencers who’ve spoken to the beings and consider what their messages might be for us.

Paracelsus said, centuries ago, that we had the latent ability.  It’s time to wake up to it.

It was, after all, because of America’s alien experiencers that shamans traveled from the jungles and forests of South America and Africa to visit Dr. John Mack and say to him, “We were wondering when you white people would begin to get it.”

Tompkins is also author of the #1 New York Times Bestseller The Secret Life of Plants.
Thompson 111
Thompson, p 111.
Mack, Passport to the Cosmos, p. __
Tompkins, p 135.

Criminal Hypnosis: the case of Palle Hardrup/Hardwick (repost)

This is the most popular post on my site, from January 2012.  

It’s long – but fascinating history!  The documentation by the courts is impressive.  The human story a heartbreak.  

It’s important for this reality to be fully appreciated today.  It’s happening still, and understanding that would explain a lot..


Thanks to the arrogant bragging of a criminal hypnotist Bjorn Nielsen, his manipulation of Palle Hardrup (also Hardwick) in Denmark in the 1940s to rob a bank and murder a teller and bank manager was witnessed by numerous people and corroborated by a police investigator, resulting in Palle’s acquittal – unfortunately, only temporary.

Nielsen was a street-smart, self-taught con man who bragged in prison about having developed a “perfect” crime, in which someone else would take the fall.

Palle Hardrup had been a serious, spiritually-minded teenager when he was recruited – for three months which he said ruined his life – into the Nazi party and then was sent to prison after the occupation along with other Nazis.  There, he was recognized by prison staff as a “polite…well-behaved…young idealist,” though Palle wrote in his journal about his depression and despair over his relationship with God.

Nielsen befriended Palle with stories of his spiritual mastery and, because Nielsen had daily access to Palle on the prison workforce, he was able to slowly convince him to let him be his teacher, though Palle initially resisted.  Yoga and meditation exercises eventually led, when they became cellmates, to trance states and hypnosis.  After daily contact for most of two years, Palle and Nielsen were both released.

Nielsen was able to convince Palle to marry a woman he did not love in order to get him out of his parents’ home, and then tried, less successfully, to make his wife another hypnotic subject, but he didn’t spend as much time with her.

He also filled Palle with ideas of a national revolution for which Palle would be the instigator, and for which Nielsen had Palle draw up organizational charts and badges for members while he was under hypnosis, to support a story he’d have Palle tell as an explanation for why he needed the money, should he be caught.

After two more years of hypnotic conditioning, Palle robbed the first bank and gave all the money to Nielsen, but felt confused when his wife asked him questions that hadn’t been covered by his hypnotic instructions.  His phone calls to Nielsen calmed him but aroused his wife’s suspicions.

Two years later, when Nielsen’s money was running out, he tapped Palle again for another robbery.  This time, the teller hesitated and Palle, in hypnotic trance, shot the teller and the bank manager dead.

When an alarm went off, which had not been covered by hypnotic suggestion, Palle became suddenly wide awake, confused, and panic-stricken.  Nevertheless, when he was captured, he followed his programming and claimed to have robbed the bank entirely alone without any accomplice.  Nielsen had chosen to be out of the country at the time.

When news of the robberies and murders was published, fellow prisoners began to come forward, including one who told investigators that Nielsen had made Palle “virtually a slave, giving up all his personal possessions and even much of his prison food to him.  The code, or trigger sign which always sent Hardrup into a deep trance, was the sign of an X, and Nielsen had so conditioned his subject that whenever this sign was made, he went straight into a state of somnambulance.  The informer insisted that although Hardrup had carried out the raid, Nielsen’s was certainly the mind controlling him at the time.”  (police investigator notes)  Released prisoners and those still in prison all told authorities the same thing:  Palle was Nielsen’s hypno-puppet.

Palle, however, continued to protect Nielsen, claiming to have committed the robberies and murders to fund his revolution, and the first doctor to see him diagnosed him as having a “psychotic-like condition” caused by subjection to prolonged, intensive hypnotraining.

Police decided to question Palle again with Nielsen in the room, during which they noticed that Nielsen sat “forward with elbows on knees, arms crossed and hands on his shoulders, thus making a clear X sign.  When told to sit properly, he changed his position for a more upright one, but immediately crossed his legs.  For the duration of the interrogation, a matter of some three hours, he stared intently into Hardrup’s eyes.  It was observed that whenever Nielsen made an X sign, Hardrup renewed his own confessions and protestations of Nielsen’s innocence.”

While Palle was in jail, Nielsen sent him daily letters with innocuous content, always signed with an X.  Another prisoner told authorities that Nielsen had paid him to draw X marks on walls where Palle was sure to see them.

Nielsen was defended in court by the best attorneys money could buy, while the police called in Dr. Paul Reiter, one of Denmark’s foremost hypnosis experts, a lecturer at the University of Copenhagen on psychotherapy and psychosomatic medicine, and an expert on criminal psychiatry.  Until meeting Palle, he did not believe that criminal hypnosis was possible.

Over a period of months, Reiter was able to break through Nielsen’s programming to program Palle instead to begin chronicling his relationship with Nielsen over the years, in careful detail, only what he knew was absolutely true with no embellishment.  With Nielsen’s communications broken, Palle began to write about and finally come to understand his four years of hypno-programming by Nielsen.

In court, the police seated Nielsen and Palle next to each other, and witnesses claimed to overhear Nielsen remind Palle of his duty to X, after which it took Reiter ten days to return their hypnotic rapport to what it had been.

Unfortunately, Nielsen’s defense team was able to have Palle’s attorney dismissed from the case and replaced by a new attorney who had only two weeks to prepare to argue one of the most technically unfamiliar and complex legal cases to ever enter the Danish court system.

At trial, Palle and Nielsen were again seated next to each other, where Nielsen murmured about what X wanted.

Toward the end of the trial, both Nielsen and Palle were given one week to read Reiter’s report on Palle, and Reiter was not allowed to see Palle during this time.

Reiter’s report reflected his clinical strategies, tightly focused on winning the case by proving that Palle could indeed be hypno-programmed – but it was not written with what might have been a therapist’s concern for a client’s sensibilities on reading about his own victimization.  Despite the fact that Palle had written down memories of what Nielsen had done to him, he had not yet fully processed the emotions.

Reiter pleaded with the court to delay this move, to let him prepare Palle for the shock of what was in the report and its clinical and legal style, but that request was rejected, as Nielsen’s lawyers were demanding the report immediately.  The court denied Reiter permission to see Palle until two days before the next court date.

So Palle was handed Reiter’s report and told he had a week to read it.  Until he read it, Palle had believed his autobiography had been his own idea, he hadn’t remembered much of his sessions with Reiter, and he had believed he’d fallen in love with his wife on his own and had allowed Nielsen to have sex with her of his own will – for which he had felt terribly guilty, and now was filled with grief and anger.  He writhed in shame as he read the clinical report and had no one to talk to about it.  Crafted for the judge and jury, of course, the report didn’t give any impression that Reiter even liked him.  Palle’s lack of sleep and mental distress led to nightmares about X.

Two days prior to trial, Reiter was able, with effort, to reestablish his benevolent control over Palle and suggested that Palle have no more nightmares, which worked the first night, but not the second.

When Palle appeared for court, he was exhausted and very ill-at-ease.  Reiter needed to demonstrate that Palle could be hypnotized (defense asserted that he could not be) and then demonstrate that Palle’s obedience to X was really obedience to Nielsen.  Palle, in a hypnotic state induced for the court audience, struggled against a dark angel who threatened to throw him in the abyss for his disobedience, which distracted Palle from Reiter’s attempts at demonstration.  As Palle fell into his imaginary hell, he was on the verge of healing himself from all hypnotic spells, during which he saw X and Reiter come together into one!  Both had indeed forced their way into his susceptible mind; both had made him do things he was not aware of; and in that moment there was no difference to Palle.  And in that moment he woke up – on his own accord, and then burst into violent sobs.

When Reiter tried to induce him again, it did not work.  Instead, he jumped up with such agitation that two guards immediately jumped forward to protect Reiter, followed by six more.  Palle could not be restrained and broke away from all eight officers, but paused in the hallway and allowed Reiter to calm him.  Reiter sedated Palle on the stand, where he demonstrated that even with the narcotic, he was no longer hypnotizable.  Palle explained to the court the edge of the abyss of damnation he’d been on, his struggle with X, his falling, and the merger of the X and Reiter figures.

Reiter, at first, could not believe it and asked Palle to agree it was not logical.  Palle agreed.  “It’s not logic but my soul that’s speaking, my soul which is in shreds.  It is my unconscious part…and that has nothing to do with logic.”  Dr. Reiter could never hypnotize Palle again.

This was only the trial preliminaries.  Palle’s new lawyer stayed on the case for the next two years, during which time Nielsens’s defense team set out to prove that Palle was insane and/or a liar, and they worked to deprive Palle of legal and psychiatric aid.

Even though Nielsen’s attorney’s employed a medical expert witness who asserted the dogma of “moral integrity,” stating that no one will do anything against their will under hypnosis, the judge and jury found Nielsen guilty of robbery, attempted robbery, and manslaughter – having determined that serious criminal acts could be caused by a criminal hypnotist’s manipulations of a somnambulist subject.

Unfortunately, the jury also found Palle guilty and sentenced him to life in an institution for the criminally insane.

Palle began writing another autobiography, often expressing grief for the sorrow he caused his parents and wife and child:  “what a blight it must have cast over their life…to see how I slowly drifted away from them in a strange way that they could neither understand nor do anything about.”

Reiter negotiated to have Palle released from the institution for the insane to a regular hospital, but two days before he had the confirmation, Nielsen’s attorneys  submitted new information to open the case.

Rather than face another trial, Palle, not knowing he was soon to be a “free man,” secretly sent a letter to Nielsen’s attorneys, admitting to all crimes and denying that Nielsen had anything to do with them.  Then he sent a letter to his own attorney asking that the word hypnosis be removed entirely from the case.

Palle’s lawyer asked the court to once again provide a psychiatric hypnosis specialist, which so infuriated Palle that his attorney quit.  The new lawyer meekly accepted Palle’s new request.

The appeals court now had to determine which of Palle’s three confessions was the true one.  Nielsen, too, began writing letters to the court, referring to the “poor psychotic fellow” and writing letters again to Palle, which the court allowed!

Palle appeared on the stand “aggressive, cynical, impudent, reticent, dishonest.”  Reiter, an observer now, wrote, “His artificially created secondary personality was now plainly dominant.”

Dr. Sturup, the head doctor at the Institution for Psychopaths, where Palle was confined testified that at the hospital Palle was well-behaved, always quiet and appropriate, and curiously different from his courtroom behavior.  He also said that Palle rarely spoke of his case, but when he did, it contradicted his statements in court.  For instance, in the hospital he told the doctor, “Of course, hypnosis played a part” in what was going on, and “Anyone ought to be able to see all that is in Reiter’s report can’t be wrong.”  He and many other observers noticed the affect Nielsen’s presence had on Palle and his continuous making of X gestures.

After calling Reiter to testify (but still not allowed to speak with Palle), the court agreed to stop communication between Nielsen and Palle, but another prisoner had just previously been brought in to Palle’s unit who began giving Palle instructions from X, resulting in Palle turning over his parents’ full inheritance to this new resident, who escaped, was captured, and confessed all.

The Court of Appeals issued a preliminary report in May 1957, evaluating Palle’s mental state as “an artificially established, induced psychosis, created and developed through the influence of another person…making use of all the ways and means at his disposal…including hypnosis.”  It concluded that “induced impulses (post-hypnotic suggestions) had been used by Nielsen to exploit his control over Palle with criminal intent.”

Unfortunately, a month later, the same court concluded that Palle’s second confession best matched the evidence, finding him guilty, and refused further appeals.  Mercifully, he only spent a few more years in prison.

Nielsen’s attorneys, however, appealed to the European Court of Human Rights, which decided in Nielsen’s favor.

Reiter’s book about the case also reviewed expert research and opinion from the 8th and 19th century European hypnotists.

This case is usually misrepresented by American writers, especially by Aaron Moss, ironically an expert on disguised hypnotic induction!  Several American research hypnotists have quoted Moss as being the final word on Palle’s case.

Reiter has opined that these strident denials of the possibility of unethical hypnosis in the face of so much evidence amount to simple dogma:  “… the growth of this dogma was due to very human motives, not the least on the part of a number of professional hypnotizers…who understandably enough wished to reassure a public likely to be alarmed by the dangerous potentialities of hypnotism.”  (Reiter, 1958, pp 38-39.)


This article is a summary of “Case History:  Palle Hardwick,” a chapter from Secret, Don’t Tell: The Encyclopedia of Hypnotism, by Carla Emery, which covers:  five cases which made world history, a partial history of CIA mind control research, trance phenomena, induction methods, and legal and therapy issues in criminal hypnosis.  Carla Emery is most known for her classic Encylcopedia of Country Living, a best-seller since the 1960s.

When I spoke with Carla before she died, she told me that she’d been motivated to do this research when a friend began to struggle to understand and heal her government mind control programming.   I hope to summarize more from the book.

If you want to buy it, please do not buy from Amazon, but from http://www.hypnotism.org – a small bookstore site operated by her widowed husband, who works with old-fashioned checks in the postal mail.  (Plus, they cost a lot less!)  Alternatively, go to Addall.com if you need to purchase online.

Rob Brezny, oyster pearls, cattle, Archons, and the meaning of MK and life

fwalogo.red-patternRob Brezny’s horoscope for Cancers this week is as entertaining as ever, and it provoked me to revisit a subject I’ve been trying to ignore for twelve years:  the nature of humans as (among other things) mind-controlled and genetically manipulated for the purposes of Others whom we’re mind controlled not to notice or talk about.

My first reading of Rob’s horoscope was so provocative that I forwarded it to my partner to read with me later, so I could delete it from my inbox and get on to other tasks.

End of day, Greg read me his horoscope – wonderful, inspiring, over-the-top with promise for what we can make of our lives and the adventure it is.

Then Greg read me my horoscope “for the week beginning October 1”:

CANCER (June 21-July 22): In the wild, very few oysters produce pearls — about one in every 10,000. 

Most commercial pearls come from farmed oysters whose pearls have been induced by human intervention. 

As you might expect, the natural jewel is regarded as far more precious.

Let’s use these facts as metaphors while we speculate about your fate in the next eight months. 

I believe you will acquire or generate a beautiful new source of value for yourself. 

There’s a small chance you will stumble upon a treasure equivalent to the wild pearl. 

But I suggest you take the more secure route: working hard to create a treasure that’s like a cultivated pearl.

Why did I about swoon with that?

And why did I suddenly remember a woman I only knew by name – nine years ago – until the night she spoke to me at a gas station on a lonely dark road in Cochise County, south of Elfrida, Arizona.  She was nearly hysterical as I stood listening, truly having compassion, but unable to offer her any consolation, and knowing that no one could.

She’d heard – I don’t know how because I kept it a secret – that I’d had “alien” experiences; she had too, and she began to relate how she finally understood reality:  we are like cattle to Them, nothing but cattle, and They will do anything to us that They want.

She saw no point in living – and said this not with despair, but as much impassioned hysteria as a person could show while trying to convey a secret to the only person in the world who might get it – standing next to gas pumps with the clerk looking out through the window.

I don’t remember anything I said in response.  I had no hopeful words.  I’d been suffering all sorts of weird things in my hermitage – going up into the sky with no other memories, highway stops while immobilized with missing time and no other memories, waking unable to move while people seemed to be moving furniture in my house, being hit between the eyes with a beam and immobilized, waking with a healed thyroid scar on my neck, and a hundred other weirdnesses.  I was trying to be brave and figure it out, learn whatever spiritual skills might make me a warrior able to keep Them at bay, and maybe offer help to others.  I had no energy for hysteria, but I understood hers very well.  Perhaps some inner parts of me were agreeing, “Yeah, that’s how we feel,” while my outer alter just stared.

She was going to flee her land.  She was outa there.  She’d invested the last decade and all her money there, and now she didn’t know where to go, but she couldn’t stay.  She might just run, live in her truck forever, and make it hard for Them by never staying in one place.  It might be horrible, and maybe They’d chase her, but she couldn’t stay.  Could not stay.

The last I saw of her, this woman whose name I can’t remember was driving away in her old truck with a hand-built wooden house on the back, tearful and hysterical.  I worried for her and was frightened that her theory of being like cattle wasn’t one to simply dismiss.  It fit all our symptoms, and had obvious metaphors in nature and in human nature.  Thank Goodness there were other theories to entertain, less scary, but not all symptoms made sense with each of the theories.

MV5BMTQ2NTQ1Mzc2NF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwMDE2NjAxMDE@._V1_SX214_AL_For nine years, until very recently, I’ve mostly evaded the question:  What is the nature of these experiences, and is the cattle metaphor in any way instructive?  What other metaphors should we entertain?  Stepford Wives?  Invasion of the Body Snatchers?  Or which, if any, of the many other theories espoused by ET enthusiasts and ET fear-mongerers?  I’ve come back to these questions now and then, but never stayed on the subject long until recently, when I began tracking my fractured (but “high-functioning”) mind with my new Journal/Notebook.

I’d been playing with this idea that the Controllers are not evil, just inconsiderate – which has this going for it:  The theory is compatible with the rest of nature.  In fact, it’s suggesting that our experiences are caused by beings just like us (not strange at all!), treating us just like the way we farmers, ranchers, scientists, and consumers treat other beings or endorse with our dollars.  We’re not evil, we’re just  doing what nature – Nature with a capital “N”?  or human nature?  whatever – has evolved us to do.

It’s been a week or so I’ve been facing this idea more squarely:  of mind control not as an “evil” thing, but simply what we do to other animals and plants being done to us.  Then Rob Brezsny’s horoscope arrived in my inbox – though I’m not sure he wrote it the way I interpreted it.

Greg read Rob’s horoscope again to me, and I commented after each line.

“In the wild, very few oysters produce pearls — about one in every 10,000.”

I did not know wild pearls were so rare.  I did know that commercial pearls are made by irritating the oyster with a piece of grit inserted artificially between its shell parts, which it otherwise keeps from happening quite well without this intrusion.  Insulted, it secretes juices that coat the grit and harden into a pearl, which doesn’t bother the oyster as much, I presume.

I wasn’t sure Rob wanted me to identify so strongly with the oyster, as opposed to, say, a connoisseur of pearls, but I couldn’t help it.  Oysters are yet another species on this planet treated to weird manipulations to make them do what someone else wants, in this case, secrete juices that have value to the human in the form of pearls.  As a mind control subject, made amnesic and multiple for someone else’s purposes, I relate to the oyster.

Cattle are similar, but who wants to think of themselves as cattle?  (Maybe it was that metaphor driving my neighbor acquaintance most hysterical.)  What if we thought of ourselves instead as oysters with a pearl of beauty inside – sure it was someone else’s plan, but oh well, that seems to be our fate.  Would it be better to rant about evil government or aliens or both?  I think it best to try to understand from as wide a perspective as we can (using metaphors to try to understand reality in other dimensions), and if the reality is that we’re like cattle or tomatoes or oysters, then we might as well know that and make the best of it.

I like the idea of being an oyster, even if forced to deal with irritating grit to make a pearl – at least it feels better than being a cow, or – here’s another theory – an energy source for Archons – that’s reality as espoused by no less than the writers of the Gnostic (pre-Christian and Christian) gospels – but it’s just as disturbing to me as being cattle.  So I’ll work for a while here with the oyster metaphor.

Back to Rob’s horoscope:

“Most commercial pearls come from farmed oysters whose pearls have been induced by human intervention.”

As I was saying.  And today they don’t just put little pieces of grit inside oysters; they’re putting big disks of metal inside to create big disk-shaped pearls, and other irritating objects, just for something different in human jewelry and fetishes.  I wonder how the mute oyster feels about that.

And what an appropriate extension of our metaphor! – Earth as a big oyster farm (we humans as the oysters), in which they’re inserting programs and technologies into us, not caring a whit whether we’re uncomfortable, unless we cost them.

(That’s why I’ve considered suicide so often:  I want to cost Them!  In my gloomiest days I have figured, with numbers, it’ll be the only feedback their organism/organization will heed to decide to run their operations with better care and concern for their producers.  Of course, I have my reasons for not offing myself, but it seems to make sense, from a “scientific farming” and business feedback standpoint.  The plant, oysters, or cattle must sicken or die and cost Them money before They change their practices.  But I digress.  And: apologies for being “dark.”  Just being practical, “problem-solving,” as I was trained so well to do.)

“As you might expect, the natural jewel is regarded as far more precious.”

Another interesting analogy:  A human being with some accidental grit (some traumatic accident) that made them, say, a multiple-personality mystic/shaman – they would be rare and more valuable – as they are.  And because they’re rare, they’re able to be cared for properly and supported in their tribe, “precious,” like a wild pearl.

But there’s very little precious about it when everyone is given grit (the irritating mind control of this culture), and no one is left with the energy to value or care for another.

“Let’s use these facts as metaphors while we speculate about your fate in the next eight months.”

Eight months?  Are you just having fun, Rob, or do you know something that entails 1/12th of the world’s or America’s population experiencing something life-changing the beginning of next June?  Ah – we’ll call it poetic license – and I’ll let that question go.

So what about these metaphors, Rob?  Enlighten us, please.


(I should have said earlier that I really love Rob Brezsny’s book Pronoia Is the Antidote for Paranoia: How All of Creation Is Conspiring To Shower You with Blessings.  I think it saved my life once.  So I make this plea with only a little exaggeration.)

“I believe you will acquire or generate a beautiful new source of value for yourself.”

I like that.  I’ve been working at finding some value in what has been done to me.  (Sorry I can’t just think about “value for myself,” but I can hardly conceive of myself anymore as anyone other than someone who was mind-controlled and is struggling to be free.  But, having said that, I promise to keep an open mind that I might actually discover “new value for myself.”)  But I have to admit I’m geared to discover a new value for what has been done to me – this thing I think is depicted so well in the farmed oyster image.

I already do understand some value in my childhood programming:  When I want, and when I’m not interfered with, I can focus on a task and accomplish a great deal, successfully synthesizing skills and understandings from various vantages, even testing as genius levels sometimes; I can sense things in other dimensions and sometimes work successfully in those realms; and … uhmmm, I think there’s more, and I hope to become clearer about them in the next eight months.

(They better be worth all the ways in which I’m sometimes a mess, with amnesia, alter switches, lost time, bad memory, social isolation, difficulty keeping or wanting to keep a job, and all the Taser burns, biopsies, surgery scars, and other physical wounds I wake with over the course of a year.)

“There’s a small chance you will stumble upon a treasure equivalent to the wild pearl.  But I suggest you take the more secure route:  working hard to create a treasure that’s like a cultivated pearl.”

I can work with that.  I can see we’re all working with some sort of grit injected into us, and our task is to secrete some juice (I like that metaphor too) around it and turn it into something beautiful.

I’ve certainly been trying.  I feel on pretty solid ground, now that I’ve been tracking my mind with my Notebook/Journal, and now that I know (or fairly-certainly suspect) I’m a farmed oyster, I can let go all the fantasies of living in a natural world and society I supposedly helped create and just settle down to live within realistic parameters.

(Of course, They tell us all the time how we evolved here on Earth naturally, and we created this culture ourselves, even though we can see we haven’t been living naturally in a natural ecosystem for a long, long time.  And now we’re waking up to discover we’re in a factory farm!.  But of course:  “As above, so below.”  Or is it, “As below, so above”?  To secure the metaphor, and the irony, some of us eat factory-farmed shrimp, salmon, and other GMO foods, completing the circle.  Damn, maybe some of us even become a food source for some factory-owner/Archon.  Fractal harmony.  And our progeny will survive if we make a pretty pearl.)

(Uh oh.  Do we want our progeny to survive?  If not, perhaps that’s why They keep the whole farm a secret and tell us we live in a natural world and culture of our own making, assuring us that mind control and “aliens” aren’t real, so we won’t know enough to consider such a question as whether this is a world for which we want our children to live.  But I have digressed again.  And into a dark area, for which I apologize, but isn’t this the task of life?  To explore ideas that seem to make sense of things?)

In any case, I want to know our reality, even if it turns out we’re living in an oyster – or human – farm.  (And I’m not the only one, of course.  Others have espoused plenty of variations on this theory:  hell planet, prison planet, Archon food source (the righteous Gnostics, after all!), etc., so this isn’t a unique idea that should be shocking to good people.)

Believing the oyster farm is as good a metaphor as any, I still think I’ll stay here on Earth and keep working on my pearl.  I don’t know why.  Maybe because I’ve been here 62 years, and I’m starting to like life now (with the help of good people like Rob Brezsny and, nearby, my friends).  Of course, maybe I’ve been programmed to stay as long as I’m useful to them.  I don’t know.  Mostly I think I want to be around to give advice to my kids when they ask me about this crazy stuff some decade in the future.

Certainly, life is sometimes more harrowing than I think I can take, and sometimes it’s absolutely inspired – like when we sing, tend the garden, and make our place suit us aesthetically and functionally.

And sometimes I believe we really can create something brilliant, of value, like a pearl.

Sometimes I even understand how irritation, like death, is necessary in that creation.  And having been through a lot of it in this lifetime, I think I’ve begun to see its value – even if I resent the hell out of it sometimes.  Thanks, Rob.