Earliest memories: Disappointment – as if, in her earliest years, she remembered other lives to compare to this one.
“This can’t work,” she’d thought, looking down the empty hallway where she wasn’t allowed, where her parents were. She remembered more, not of any one thing, but of everything she’d experienced so far in this life. “This can’t make healthy humans,” she’d have said if she’d had the language. It was worse than she’d imagined, and she worried for this era of humanity and thought this lifetime was going to be an especially difficult one.
Indeed, her family in the multiple dimensions retrieved her regularly away to nourish her spirit, revive her, then return her, feeling loved and willing to meet the challenges. She never remembered anything about her family over there, no images, no arrangement of people, nothing but the knowledge that they loved her, things made sense there, but not in this culture at this time, and she had to be strong.
One time, however, when she was perhaps 5, she returned with distressing news: They wouldn’t retrieve her again for “a very long time.” They’d be watching, and helping, but they couldn’t retrieve her, and she’d have to just remember they were there for her. She felt like a rock, immobilized, afraid to be afraid, so she was still. Then she remembered: Be brave. They’re watching and caring, even if it doesn’t feel like it. They just can’t help me all the time.
For a short while, she was comforted and advised by a little angel child she called Cathy, who appeared to her now and then – on her own schedule, never summoned, no matter how much she was requested, and one day even that ended.
In her fifties and sixties, she met psychics, shamans, and medicine people who remarked on the helpers they could see surrounding her, and sometimes she could see others noticing them, but she herself never did.
More times than she could count, they healed her when they could – rarely when she cried out, prayed, or did ritual, but on some schedule of their own she could never discern.
She might be disabled for as many as thirteen days, sunken into the sofa, not a decent meal eaten in weeks because she had no energy, and suddenly a beam would hit the top of her head and flow through her, enlarging every cell, requiring she adjust her body to allow it to expand, and she’d feel as if every cell inside her had been restored to perfection, and she’d suddenly have energy to do all the things she hadn’t been able to do, and she’d be immediately restored in seconds. It was thrilling. She always leaped to her toes and thanked her helpers – whoever they are, she’s never been sure how to visualize them – and began catching up with life, again, happy and grateful.
That’s how most people saw her: happy, friendly, even “popular,” someone said once, which made her laugh. She always felt like such a loner. As a child, she’d been the one standing by the fence, wondering what the other kids were doing that was called “play.” But she watched and copied, eventually learned to act like them, the best version of them, and it worked. As a child, it was wonderful to make people smile with her cleverness. Older, she learned to listen to others, became a student of communication, learned to carefully select her own stories to share, and eventually was surprised to find herself successful as a social individual and business woman.
Inside, though, she was hiding all these experiences that her culture said were not to be discussed, were not real. But they felt real. And there were so many of them. It was stressful to hide these things. Fortunately, books about shamans and mystics of all cultures confirmed these things are reality, only hidden from the masses, denied, and ridiculed by a culture that for some reason doesn’t want to acknowledge a more multi-dimensional world and our being part of it.
Then one day, the mundane facts of her life, real stuff, hard data, seemed to present a framework to explain her most bizarre memories and flashbacks. They emerged from some hidden place she’d shoved them, and assembled themselves into a coherent pattern.
She was born into lineages of Freemasons, military, Mormons, and Hollywood – all groups documented to have been involved in some type of mind control.
She was also born on an auspicious day – July 7, 1952. 07-07-52 “reduces” (numerology term) to 7-7-7, a highly mystical number. It also happened to be a Full Moon under which she was born. Not just within the 24-hour cycle that is the day, but within 8 minutes of the Full Moon’s moment of perfection – that’s within 2/1000ths of a degree. And it was a Monday – Moon-day, originally. And it was in the middle of Cancer, also known as Moon Child, “ruled by the Moon.” Three sevens, and three moons. There are secret societies keenly interested in coincidences like these.
Later the day of her birth, her father’s second cousin, Dwight David Eisenhower, was publicly nominated to the Republican ticket for the Presidential race. Perhaps a secret society also selected that day for his nomination?
Her parents were living in student housing on the campus of the University of California Davis. The next year, perhaps while she was still there or shortly afterward, The Human Ecology Project would be instituted there, which many researchers assert was a cover for mind control projects. Whether she was involved in any early experiments is not known, but it’s an intriguing coincidence.
She would come to believe the foundation for her mind control was overseen by Dr. Louis Jolyon (“Jolly”) West, an “institution” in MKULTRA, and someone she heard her mother and grandmother discuss; her pediatrician (who delivered her), Addison Udall (cousin of Congressman Stewart Udall who would become Secretary of the Interior); and the Mormon Church.
When her son was healing from cancer, the children and she had moved to a new apartment, and she was still working and seeing a therapist, she’d been asked to tell the therapist about her growing up. She’d begun by saying her childhood was “normal.” The following Saturday, with the kids visiting friends, she decided to use the rare private time to “ask inside” whether any “inner children” wanted to tell her anything more about her childhood she might have forgotten.
Suddenly, sitting on the edge of her bed, she re-experienced an event in which she lay on her back, too young yet to roll over. Human hands did things around her, and she felt freedom between her legs. Then touching, poking, then she left her body. First she saw her mother, slumped on the floor, hand over her mouth, eyes in shock and grief, then was looking down on three men in white, facing a pedestal in a white room, ignoring her mother on the floor.
No stainless steel, this wasn’t a medical environment, but a ritual one – making it more shocking to make sense of than otherwise. She’d hold this flashback in suspension for years, then one day learn the Mormons have a room called “The Holy of Holies” (phrase borrowed from the Hebrews’ Bible) in every Temple, in which they conduct secret ceremonies, wherein only certain Mormons are allowed to enter or even know what goes on there.
She’d learn also that Mormons are the largest denomination working for the Central Intelligence Agency, in which mind control has been managed for 60 years. And one of the foundational requirements of mind control is to split the mind, with torture, and the earlier in life, the better.
When she was four or five, she remembered some man, perhaps a Mormon missionary, counseling her father in their den while she played nearby, “Marry a Mormon woman, and you get the children too.” She wasn’t sure she knew what that meant, but suspected it was that stuff she wasn’t supposed to talk about, so she froze the memory, which came back to her one day after the out-of-body flashback. Later, she’d learn from Ann Diamond’s books on her mind control experiences, that one of the ways the CIA procured parental agreement to put and keep their children in the program was to catch (or create?) pedophiles and threaten them with prison. Perhaps the missionary set up her father, recorded a discussion, then police busted him and forced his agreement.
It’s also possible her father was molesting her before that missionary encouragement, because, when she was 3 or 4, she told her mother something that made her mother fly into a rage, hauling her into the bathroom, shoving a bar of soap in her mouth, and screaming that she could never say anything like that again. (What did she say? She can only guess.)
Then her mother told her pediatrician she thought her daughter was “crazy,” and she told her aunt and random people that came to the house. And she continued to discredit her daughter the rest of her life, questioning random memories she might contribute even to happy family story-telling around the table decades later. No matter how inconsequential, her mother was likely to interrupt her and deny whatever it was.
She paraphrased what the daughter had heard the pediatrician say: “I’ve always said you had an active imagination, and you mix up your dreams with memories.” Over and over again she heard those words. Even when she drew a floor plan of the Student Housing apartment at UC Davis, showing the entry room, front window, stove and range hood and sink, where the linoleum turned to carpet, and where an easy chair angled by a wall.
“You couldn’t remember that!” her mother denounced automatically, but with rare vehemence. “You were 14 months old when we moved away from there,” she gestured to the floor plan drawn on a napkin on the table.
“But you just confirmed I remember.” Her mother’s face contorted and she pushed her chair back from the dining table and walked toward a nearby picture window and looked out, reciting, “I’ve always said you had an active imagination, and you mix up your dreams with memories.”
Hearing this, the hair rose up on the back of her neck. It was the first time she recognized her mother was using the exact same words and the same sing-song lilt as if she’d practiced saying these words a thousands times to herself. The daughter was struck by her mother’s apparent fear, and felt suddenly terribly sorry for her. She must feel guilty for something. But what? She hadn’t remembered anything weird yet, had only struggled to understand what was wrong with her, and still believed she’d had a “normal,” even fortunate childhood – with lessons, vacations, even a swimming pool in the backyard. What in the world could her mother feel so guilty for?
What was the worst thing she could imagine? Certainly not violence. Sometime, in high frustration, maybe locking her in a closet? That was the worst thing she could imagine. And whatever it was, she shouldn’t feel bad about it all these years later! Too bad she can’t just admit it and say, “Yeah, parenthood can be frustrating!” And they could all agree, No problem, Mom, all’s forgiven. The daughter determined to try to have some sort of conversation with her mother sometime, to ease her mind, let her know she was fine, and her mother didn’t need to feel guilty about anything.
But they never had that conversation, and later the daughter would realize she wasn’t just fine. There were things done to her that hurt her, that caused all those strange gaps in her memory.
Other experiences in the Mormon Church, occasional, sporadic, would result in her vowing to “never go back there again.” But after they moved to Paradise Valley, Arizona, when she came home from school one day to see her mother talking to Mormon missionaries in the living room, she became paralyzed momentarily and thought ominously, “They found us.”
Her mother would occasionally announce they were being taken to church, and she would never object. At age thirteen, she was informed she would attend “MIA,” a Wednesday late afternoon class involving crafts and badges to go on bandelos they’d wear to those classes to show off their accomplishments – and her bandelo was always the most pathetic because she didn’t care. One evening in winter, when the building was dark and spooky, the girls were given lessons on the reality of the devil, Satan. The teacher gave her own testimony of seeing Satan pick up and throw a student at Brigham Young University against a wall. When her mother picked her up that night, asked about the class, and was told about the Satan stories, she asked – for the first time – if her daughter wanted to continue attending, to which she said No. It was the last time she ever walked consciously into a Mormon church.
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Hi Readers. Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted. Thanks for returning to read.
Great news! I’m no longer a nomad living in my truck camper. I inherited enough money to buy myself a small hermit-home in the desert again. More about this later, but I’m very grateful, and life seems to be getting easier. I wonder if I’ve paid some debt and if I might be left alone in my old age.
For now, I want to share the start of my second memoir, updating my understanding of this mystery since I published my first memoir in 2008 (rattlesnakefire.com). It opens when I’m still living in my camper.
I hope you’ll give me your feedback.
She imagines herself from behind, where shoppers are coming and going from the store, maybe seeing her in the dusk, maybe not, in her faded, wrinkled skirt, overshirt, sandals, hair bundled behind her head, as she grabs the camper’s handles and hoists herself up inside, then reaches back to pull the door shut behind her.
Inside, she straps the light thing around her neck, switches it on red, which allows her to sleep better than with typical blue-white LED light. That’s another good thing about this life, she tells herself: good sleep, usually in nature – though not tonight. Clean air, and moving with the seasons, she occasionally explains to others, lets her be outside all year long and get exercise.
She sits at her usual place, facing the door and a window, though she’s closed the blind now, no table before her, removed for ergonomics, just a little empty space there, nice when everything else is so crowded. She stares and thinks about the strange turns life has taken to bring her to this place.
Delusional notations had begun to appear in her medical charts – but not for any true reason. No, they only began after she wrote her memoir and told more truths people don’t want told.
She’d disappointed so many people who had such high hopes for her, then she’d turned against them. They deserved to be rebuffed, she was still certain.
She’d been trained for beauty and duty. She’d even been a beauty queen – against her will. She’d thought it mortifying to say, by entering the pageant, “I deserve to be here, because I’m beautiful.” Mortifying. Everyone else in her world said she was crazy, it was great to be beautiful, they said, and she didn’t know what she was talking about, they said. Nobody saw the world her way. And everyone kept at her. So she did it, and it was “the worst thing I ever did in my life,” she’d say for decades.
Fortunately, she was also intelligent and could take on almost any project and carry it out well or exceptionally well, so she won awards frequently and led an interesting and independent life, first as a journalist, then supporting progressive causes with media relations and organizing, then radical causes, where she stepped on some certain powerful people’s toes with her incisive words published around the world. She also worked for not-radical groups, like the United Way and local food coop.
She used to have homes of her own, homes in the city, one in the country on twenty acres with seven ancient oak trees along an intermittent creek. Her homes were usually funky, but still nice and some very nice. Now she only had this old truck and camper, and she’s accused of being delusional, by doctors who never asked her questions and one who never saw her.
Some of those people whose toes she’d bumped or seriously crushed threatened her explicitly, others with just a glare, but she never took them seriously. “They can’t do that” in a free, democratic society, she thought – despite the history she’d read of activists assassinated, even in the U.S. She just didn’t believe it could happen to her. Maybe rabble-rousers, she thought, but not mild-mannered, polite, well-spoken, well-dressed, former minister’s wife, President of the PTA her.
Sometimes she could be accused of rabble-rousing. Once she was caught on film at a protest and looped repeatedly on one TV channel for the news that night, jumping and punching her fist into the air, but mostly her rabble-rousing was through writing, shining a light where she thought attention needed to be. And so she continued to irritate leaders of corporations and others in power.
Then one week, everything in her life fell apart. It began naturally – with illness. Her 17-year old son was diagnosed with cancer, her health insurance company declared bankruptcy a few days later, her husband acted so cruelly she decided to finally leave him after years of talking about it, her children hated that she was making them move, and she found herself unable to stay conscious at work, waking up repeatedly, wondering when she’d laid her head down.
In one week, she lost her marriage, her job, her ability to work, and the illusion that her children would stay healthy and live, and that they would love her. All the fundamentals of her life were ripped away in a few days.
After leaving her husband, the radical environmental organization to which she’d sacrificed her career and devoted the last seven years was infiltrated by saboteurs who “bad jacketed” her – labeled her a spy – and convinced the movement to ostracize her, costing her also her community. She would soon have a nervous breakdown.
But that’s not how she ended up in her camper.
First, she’d build a hermitage in the desert (with credit cards) and intended to become a hermit, but would first move away and almost marry her high-school crush, a doctor, and become an award-winning real estate agent for a few years before returning to her hermitage – to complete her nervous breakdown.
Then she’d begin a shamanic initiation, experience what seemed to be alien abductions, and realize she’d been followed all her life and still was – as a mind control subject of the US government.
And her mind control subjection as a child, she thought later, might have even enhanced her psychic skills, as she was left alone so much and under such stressful conditions, her mind couldn’t help but explore other dimensions.
But this was too much information to absorb. It came on her too fast. And it was not imagined. It was real.
She wrote everything down and photographed all evidence. She posited and tested her theories, and wished for other answers than what seemed obvious. She borrowed books from the library. And when she was finally terrorized into selling and leaving her lovely home beside the creek, feeling like a sitting duck for whomever was out there, messing with her, she began to attend conferences to suss out the researchers who presented themselves as having the answers.
Were they credible? Were there really mind control programs still in operation, still overseeing old women like her? Were the alien experiences real, or only made to feel real by the miracles of modern technology? Could someone hit her with a beam and make her think she was having these experiences? Even her governor back in the 80s had accused the FBI of aiming a beam at him to mess with his head. Maybe this stuff was real. Something had to explain the weird things going on. But she didn’t like the answers.
And it wasn’t just her. Others reported very similar experiences. Others saw and heard the UFOs that cruised near her home. And she photographed the burns and bruises and cuts that showed up on her body overnight. Once she woke with a scar on her neck that a medical practitioner asked about five years later: “When did you have your thyroid surgery?”
Yes, it seemed there were people very interested in her health, or she thought they were people. Was she supposed to consider maybe that they were aliens? She didn’t want to consider that possibility.
After fleeing her home, she met a world of people who already believed in stuff like this, both the alien and the government stuff. But even among these people, her life seemed to contain too much weirdness for one person. It was understandable to have alien contact; it was understandable to be a mind control subject; but no one (yet) had claimed to be both. She didn’t want to be the first.
She was exceedingly tired of keeping it all a secret, trying to protect herself from others’ judgement, even protecting others from scary stuff that might disrupt their reality.
Despite trying to ignore it, a few mornings every month, she woke with strange marks on her body. Were these medical tests or procedures? Injections by doctors who were secretly caring for her health? Or by doctors who’re using her as a guinea pig?
Eventually, she met a few shamans, and learned that aliens are commonly seen by them in other dimensions. One shaman had told her she needed to write her story and if she did, he’d write the Foreword. She knew Ralph Metzner had a reputation to consider, so she took his encouragement seriously.
He’d been the non-flamboyant academic and now shaman, after decades of making cultural history as the quiet third pioneer beside Tim Leary and Ram Dass, upsetting the world in their quest for consciousness, to which he’d devoted his life ever after. In his Foreword to her book, he called her a “spiritual warrior.”
She didn’t feel like a spiritual warrior that night, but she didn’t feel like a failure either. She felt suspended, ready, willing, able, but waiting for right conditions. Watching.
“Just perceive,” she’d heard recently.
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Reviewing my old videos, I found this one in which I described having something odd slip from my sinus that I thought – in 2012 – to be the residue of an inoculation (not an injection but another sort of inoculation, by simply planting the pathogen in the sinus).
An inoculation against what? Could they have been planning for Covid that many years ago? (Yes.) Or was this a Covid experiment? Or something else entirely?
I really don’t know, but think this is very interesting now that we’re in the midst of a pandemic. And I have not been sick with Covid, though I do believe I got a very mild case in March 2020.
What else might it have been?
I describe a slew of crazy stuff in 18 months, concluding with this event – at about 11 minutes.
Thanks for watching. Thanks for caring and educating yourself.
May we all be strengthened on this crazy journey.
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On The Cosmic Switchboard, James Bartley and I overview my life in 2 hours. (We plan another conversation soon.)
On RevolutionRadio/AquarianRadio, I have two interviews with Janet Lessin, another mind control subject, and her husband Dr. Sasha Lessin, a psychotherapist. As you’d expect, these interviews are more psychologically focused.
In the first, we spend two hours covering the strange events of my childhood and early adulthood: being ritually tortured, seeing inter-dimensional beings, experiencing strange events with Mormons, military, and individuals in high levels of government, being manipulated into a sorority and into sexually-themed roles in theater. (See a full discussion list below.)
In our second interview, we continue with two marriages to “handlers,” a “nervous breakdown”/spiritual crisis, decision to be a hermit, and introduction to the world of spirit and shamanism – which includes animal spirit encounters, gray aliens, reptilians, reptoids, and more. (See a full discussion list below.)
Our third interview will be next Saturday, November 8, at 5 pm PT, which you can listen to live on Aquarian Radio or YouTube/Aquarian Radio.
Hang in there, Everyone. While you’ve witnessed me in despair and other weak states over the years, I’m hanging in here, continually seeking meaning, continually seeking connection with extra-dimensional help, feeling stronger, and praying that my contributions to our understanding of this strange multidimensional world will also help you find understanding, Help, and eventually soul growth.
Lessin/AquarianRadio Part I:
0:00:00. Intro 0:02:55 Welcome, Dwight Eisenhower, suspected ancient secret society 0:05:30 Secret Societies: Masons, Military/CASU 33, Hollywood, Grandmother/probable early mind control subject 0:09:48 Birthday 7s and moons 0:12:50 UC Davis & Human Ecology Project 0:17:35 Multiple personality “alters” and triggering 0:21:40 Flashback to ritual with sexual torture 0:22:00 Left alone, never learned to play, Asperger’s Spectrum 0:23:40 Couriers, spies, martial arts, assassin, suicidal notions 0:31:30 Portals to other dimensions 0:35:00 2 years mind control programming intensive, age 6-8 0:38:20 Mormon advice to father 0:39:15 Flashback: “She’s getting old enough to remember” 0:39:50 MK still going on 0:40:20 Fear of Mormons, altered state experiences, ghosts, shadow being 0:42:15 Baton-twirling contest, terror on stage 0:43:00 Sexual performance nightmares 0:43:47 Ghosts v ETs 0:45:25 Sexual psy op, age 13 0:50:20 MK to develop sexual slaves for blackmail. “Crazy conspiracy theory” 0:55:10 Theater roles all sexual: stripper, prostitute, sexual spy 0:56:00 Break 1:01:15 Intro 1:02:14 Dr. Sasha Lessin 1:03:06 Theater, sorority life, beauty pageants, prostitute role 1:20:25 How got strong 1:20:50 Last sexual role: sexual spy; joining and deactivating sorority 1:23:00 Initiation ceremony 1:25:00 Who’s orchestrating this? 1:26:34 Frightening hitchhiking event, marriage 1:32:20 Became mother, depressed, abused, hippie church, minister’s wife, houseparent, kids stolen 1:42:00 Student of radio and television, met second husband/handler, MK meeting 1:44:08 Handler definition and how it works 1:45:00 Constantly dealing with weirdness throughout life 1:47:09 Next show: Marriage manipulations, friends in prison and car-bombed, son with cancer, nervous breakdown, went from award-winning journalist and successful consultant to mess, husband angry at MK cartoon 1:55:00 JeanEisenhower.com, ParadigmSalon.net, RattlesnakeFire.com, YouTube.com/ParadigmSalonVideo.
Lessin/AquarianRadio Part II:
00:00 Intro 02:43 Jean Eisenhower resumes life history: marriage to handler 04:33 targeted after 2nd divorce, son’s cancer 07:50 University of Arizona – Master of Fine Arts, Creative Writing Non-Fiction – healing begins 10:00 First Shamanic experience of Wolf 12:50 Discover my multiple-ness in Mind Control, dissociation in trauma (“into the wallpaper”) 15:15 “Put trauma idea into box and into closet” 16:55 Move to my hermitage 19:10 Struggle with rational vs mystical 21:00 Star shamanism – Daughter of Isis, rationality, archetype, history of ancient Egypt 28:30 UFO on highway outside Bisbee, AZ 34:10 first draft of Rattlesnake Fire, MFA thesis 35:15 Next relationship – healing; real estate success 37:30 Inner assassin comes to fore 41:50 Colorado Springs with 5 military bases; healing relationship 46:00 Back to hermitage, Cochise County, straw bale home 48:50 experience re Pleiades – Am I from there?? 52:50 stuck in dualism, childhood charges of crazy for childhood “imaginary friend”/angel 56:00 break 1:03:45 burn all journals re 2nd marriage, begin science journals Jan 1, 2000, all into database w 1200 data lines 1:06:45 Did they want me to be a hermit? (Maybe) I’m Asperger’s, so being in nature is more comfortable than being social 1:08:30 Alien encounters, lost community, “bad Jacketed,” FBI history 1:15:00 thyroid surgery scar on neck 1:16:54 tones from sky 1:17:47 UFOs swarming like fireflies (over White Sands?) with witnesses 1:19:40 Reptilian sex 1:21:30 military Reptilian in my teepee; connections to Ft. Huachuca; 2 friends’ stories confirm; question of Reptilian relationship 1:29:30 Theory of Reptilians vs Reptoids; Reptoid looking through my left eye (“Hulk routine”), then projected image in front of me; Reptoid child hovering in space 1:35:00 Why I’m not allowed to know – theory 1:36:40 My purpose – theory 1:38:00 Janet Lessin – shape-shifting story 1:43:50 Jumping ahead: Altered state w orange alien delivering message of humans not surviving; Sumerian, Genesis warning; thought MK 1:48:40 Highway stop, vaginal implant, laceration, professional photograpic proof 1:55:30: Closing. JeanEisenhower.com, RattlesnakeFire.com, ParadigmSalon.net.
Thanks for being there, Everyone ~
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Before you jump to the conclusion that I’m simply paranoid, having read my earlier post, please check out my super-succinct list here – of some of the stuff I’ve documented over these years – physical injuries, electronic weirdness, and the “Satanic” stuff that I generally don’t name, so I don’t know why I did this time.
Injuries I’ve suffered while amnesic or mysteriously:
– nighttime burn on back of neck (photographed)
– electronic bruising beam 2 1/4″ diameter (witnessed by nurse, photographed two weeks later)
– donut bruises (4, photographed)
– Taser burns (3, photographed)
– lacerations in vagina (3, one photographed)
– apparent surgery on thyroid (scar noted by nurse practitioner)
– back surgery, plates on vertebrae (x-rays not in my possession but seen by me)
– unknown holes appearing on spine (2 or more, photographed)
– bacterial and fungal diseases (Morgellon’s) intentionally inoculated into me (disease extensively photographed, event caused 75 minutes amnesia, disability, documented on Thanksgiving day 2014)
– biopsy scoop marks (photographed)
– on scapula (two, activating constantly, one shown to doctor, tunnel left when one was removed),
– near heart (music in stethoscope reported by terrified Naturopath),
– in g-spot, creating scar tissue or other pain, lasting 18 months; activated once years later; puncture photographed)
– alongside clitoral shaft (documented in journal),
– in ears (2 or more, photographed),
– in teeth, (7, photographed),
– up nostril (2, one photographed),
– left foot near ankle (scar visible, presumed used in first account below)
Electronic events I’ve experienced:
– 4” diameter round vibrating spot turned on my ankle, moving up lower leg about 1” per second, about 6”; after moving, turned on foot again, moving upward again few inches; after moving to bed, approximately 12” round vibrating spot turned on my head, making me unconscious. The next morning, my ears were ringing and always have since, though sometimes to lesser degree.
– many times felt disabled for days, then felt woken up with huge relief that a switch had been flipped – at 10 pm – waking me when exhausted by the shock of normalcy.
– hear a tone, wake on some hour, can’t sleep, sit up to read, hear a tone, notice the time on the hour, fall asleep sitting up.
– black and white movies play short clips in my head, which I ignore, resisting entrainment; once, movie played double speed, once two movies played on top of each other.
– on highway Volkswagen lights go out, I sit immobilized, unable to move even though I want to walk to the gas station, unable to even turn in my seat, estimated 30 minutes, wake out of trance one hour and fifteen minutes later with amnesia. Next day, blood clot blown out of nose, implant discovered in g-spot.
– Painfully loud sound in ears sent me running (under command?) for a relaxation recording, which had disappeared, leaving only a recording I’d been afraid to use, but I used it and experienced oddities and an hour and a half of missing time.
– Chords that wake me or put me to sleep
– Fugue states with feelings of intensity, then unable to remember what I experienced, once immobilized on my step with one foot stretched out for ten minutes (estimate); many fugue states while just sitting
– Sudden need to do something within a few minutes or seconds as if under command, my body responds even when my mind isn’t convinced, once almost falling out the door as I “had to” get out immediately as a helicopter flew low overhead; three times “needing” to get in bed with my pillow, spine, and covers all arranged by a particular time on the hour or half-hour, rushing to accomplish it
Satanic seeming stuff:
– Gloria’s incantation during supposedly “therapeutic” hypnosis, her lying about the time, my discovering her lie on my recording (she didn’t know I was making, which horrified her when I told her), “wrapping me up, every finger and toe,” and my lungs and heart, was disabled for weeks afterward (March 2017)
– Camp group with Masonic emblem, disability for two days after Full Moon (April 2017)
– Other days of disability after Full Moon or New Moon, with amnesia (in journal)
– Hippy Community with Satanic newcomers, extensive disability, painful to walk, weird trance state on Full Moon, dread, left, circled by others, howling crowd in distance later (June 2018)
– New Moon sabotage of my truck, involving computer, seven weeks before its one-year anniversary, with “Yoo hoo” signaling (August 2017)
– New Moon events visiting two people I didn’t want to see, but feeling compelled, leaving impulsively, horrible feelings with both, horrible damage to my rig, mysterious electronic door lock problem between two visits, wonder: truck sabotage by computer a signal for what’s to come?, woman calls “Yoo hoo” (recalling the other woman), realize it’s 7 weeks from the one-year anniversary (April 2020)
…And this is just what I remembered in a few minutes. I’ll expand this, I hope, using my database summarizing my journals.
I’ve chosen not to act emotionally about this, though I once did. Instead I just keep gathering data, and drawing conclusions when I must. And I keep writing.
Thanks for reading.
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“Yoo hoo! Yoo hoo!” shouldn’t be threatening, but check out this chart, and if you want, read the story below.
Three and a half years ago, seven weeks before (I believe) my truck was remote controlled to crash on the highway, it was the Solar Eclipse / New Moon, when a strange woman interrupted my meditations, hollering up the mountain to me, “Yoo hoo! Yoo hoo!”
I ignored her until I saw a man carry heavy equipment toward my truck and disappear behind a bush next to it where I couldn’t see him.
I yelled at him, “Get away from my truck!” at which point the woman began calling out that they were going to town and wanted to know if I needed anything. I repeated my demand, but it accomplished nothing. I thought of running down there, and could have easily, but oddly (except for a mind control subject), I felt immobilized and afraid to confront them more closely.
Six weeks later, my truck and trailer made an “impossible” fish-tail movement on flat highway, then made the same impossible movement again the next time I took the rig out one week later (week seven), and I made a mental note to take it to repair- even though everything had just been checked and maintenanced
Half an hour later, it made the same movement, this time down a hill. I’d experienced mild fish-tailing a couple times on steep hills and knew how to easily pull out of them, but this was not a serious hill and none of the conditions should have caused that.
Quickly, my truck and trailer were overwhelmed by extreme fish-tailing which flipped them, destroying them both, leaving me with a concussion, severe whiplash, homeless, with all my possessions in a mess. It was one year (minus one day) since I’d purchased my rig.
When I awoke in my truck, hanging sideways in the restraint, a trucker came to help, and later another trucker came. Oddly, they both used exactly the same language with me, and I assumed they’d both attended the same class on how to respond to highway accidents.
However, I also watched them both “interfere” with the crash scene, spraying fire retardant under my truck, which it didn’t need, while “checking” the wheels and axles. I now think was a cover for removing the remote device that flipped my rig. They’d also parked their trucks so that no one could drive by them and see my rig. (Later, I came to wonder if one of the truckers had also directed my crash by remote control.)
Recovery (physical, mental and financial) has been slow, and I don’t think about the event much, but today I am because of the “Yoo hoo” woman who visited yesterday.
I’d never realized I’d crashed just a day away from my rig’s one-year anniversary until last night. But I had been aware of the seven-week span between the “Yoo hoo” woman and strange man at my truck and the truck-and-trailer’s crashing.
And now, the “Yoo hoo” woman yesterday made me realize I just passed the seven-week mark before my one-year anniversary of purchasing my current rig. Should I be counting down the next seven weeks until their next harassment?
As I’ve taken care of the annual maintenance this spring, I couldn’t help but wonder now and then whether my Targeters were planning on taking my home away from me again, now that I’ve perfectly maintained it. But I brushed the idea aside – until the “Yoo hoo” woman visited.
To add to the freakishness of this whole thing, she mentioned her son living in Hawaii (I have a son who lives there), and she was wearing her hair exactly like mine at the moment – in a ponytail with an extra band at the bottom! Makes me accept they have cameras to watch us TI’s in our rigs.
Sitting down with paper and pen, I charted out the details roiling in my brain and found all these New Moons and sevens and anniversaries are not random, but perfectly orderly. And so I created the chart above.
I hate to admit I believe I’ve been harassed by Satanists a fair amount all my life. I was born under a Full Moon, not just in the 24-hour period, but within 8 minutes of perfection (2/1000ths of a degree). I was also born on 7-7-52 – which adds up, of course, to 7-7-7, which I’m told Satanists love, along with the fact that my birth date was Monday (Moon day), in the middle of Moon Child, as well as the Full Moon.
My mother’s church that I attended as a child was supposedly respectable, but I believe many churches have Satanic infiltrators. And these last few years on the road, I’ve found myself occasionally traumatically disabled for extended periods of time, and I realize a day or two later it had begun on the Full or New Moon when I’d met unpleasant strangers – with Satanic iconography I’d ignored!
Since I’ve been a nomad, the weirdness has had lots of variety, as I assume my peripatetic wanderings cause the Targeters to have to act on the fly and use whatever secret network is available on short notice, and so I experience a little less harassment, of a varied sort, but including “games” by Satanists.
My new rig’s anniversary will be June 7 this year. Seven weeks from the events of frozen truck door locks to the “Yoo hoo” woman (April 21-25) will be June 2-6, and the Full Moon will be June 5th. So I’ll be on guard from June 2-7.
I’m posting this in hopes it’ll blow Their cover, expose their Satanic games-playing and save my life (and rig).
If anything should happen to me six or seven weeks from now, especially if it involves my truck and camper, I hope everyone will recognize a crime has been committed.
You can bet I will be parked and go NOWHERE that week. And I’ll be praying for protection, and welcome you to pray along with me and for me. (Put it in your calendars!?) Thanks.
I believe these are spiritual warfare lessons I’ve been failing, and I pray to learn my lesson now and keep myself safe.
Crazy times we live in…. Reminds me:
“And demons will be let loose on the Earth in those days.”
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Research has led me to one site that links Morgellon’s to, not only strange, colorful fibers, but also a fungus-like growth called “biofilm,” with plastic properties, which covers the skin. It is extremely strong, does not look like skin, and I cannot remove it.
One writer called it part of a “cyborgian” evolution the Controllers of the Planet are technologically enforcing on us, with some of their former subjects now being used as first test subjects for this. Crazy, huh?
I was trying to remove the film with dermabrasives, enzymes, baking soda, and vinegar; nothing works. It’s like I have plastic all over me.
Biofilm? – covers my face and seems to be beginning to “shine” all over me, reflecting light when photographing, as if my skin were plastic).
It doesn’t show to the naked eye, and seems to be a matrix for other things growing through it.
Fungus on the skin leads to cancer – according to another author – and some of cancer images I found online look like some of the thousands of weird things I’ve photographed on me, like these little red raspberries, which the site identified as a “fast-growing” cancer, and which I’ve photographed about six times on my scalp. Hmmmm. [A glitch in cyborg design to kill their product?]
I’ve spent lots of money on supplements and herbs and organized it all into a daily routine. I’ve always kept sugar to a tiny fraction of the standard American diet, but – it’s weird – I’ve been craving it. I recall I’d read long ago that microorganisms can actually convince our brains that we need something like sugar, and so I’ve been struggling with that – so yesterday I emptied most of the sugar out of the camper and gave it away.
I’m scrubbing (as much as I have energy for) and sunning (when the weather’s good and I’m feeling well), and praying (when I “can”), but I am not certain I’m getting better.
I can’t get help from the medical establishment because doctors don’t want to talk about this “controversial” disease. Why? Well, history says doctors have often been involved in top-secret experiments, and they certainly act like it now.
Each one who learns I have a digital microscope and can record my photos and watch my progress has seemed a little perturbed, as if now they know they can’t bullshit me in the usual way. No one yet, MD or ND, has acted normal, except for the one who honestly said, “This stuff scares me. I need to refer you out.” So.
Yesterday the News announced that hospitals across the nation are now short-staffed and their space overwhelmed, and so all other medical care will be compromised – and for example they mentioned people with chronic diseases – like cancer.
Is this whole thing designed to execute Kissinger’s prophetic statement about our world needing a 95% die-off?
So they invented something to mostly kill the old and infirm. Strategically, that would make sense and be a good start. Better than war. Plague.
I’m over sixty, so Kissinger would have me die. No doctor will give me a blood test to begin any internal treatment. So, I’m wondering if I’m supposed to go soon.
I’m in the pristine, pure desert though! Only have to spend a couple hours in town, one trip each week, to empty my tanks, shower, get water, buy groceries, maybe visit the library, then back to the desert to relax and watch the birds.
And scrub, prepare good food, take my medicines, rub stuff on me, enjoy camp mates from a distance, enjoy solitude, and wonder if I’m really supposed to try to heal this biofilm and fibers and spirochetes.
(So daunting! They’re elated to syphilis! – shades of the syphilis experiment they did for a decade on the Black men of Tuskeegee – the experiment for which the government was shamed into finally admitting and paying settlements. At it again, this time with activists.)
And keep on trying to heal myself as a mind control subject too? Sheesh.
Or (that was just one alter talking) heal myself through prayer? Ask Jesus to heal me? (I have been.)
Maybe this is when I’ll be pushed to such absolute lows that I’ll trigger some strength or knowing and transform myself into something new, spiritual, and healed – ?
Seems like a pretty big order for an old lady, which I’m really beginning to feel these days, grunting and huffing sometimes just to move around.
Feels like, if Kissinger wants 95% to die, I can’t think of much of a reason to say it shouldn’t be me. Ya know?
But I’ll definitely ask that friends and family keep me out of the hospitals! Away from doctors! But let my friends with healing talents come sit with me, help me deal with pain.
The deadly part of this disease is the spirochetes. (That’s why I’ve been so focused on getting a blood test.) They invade the brain, nervous system, and heart. I hope the heart is attacked first.
But if it’s my brain, we’ll have other issues, and I pray for everyone’s kindness, and again to be kept away from doctors or anyone who could be pretending to help but really be another targeter.
That’s why, for awhile, I was thinking the coronavirus might be a faster way to go. But I’m not chasing it – and I no longer believe it’s actually a virus causing the problem. And I don’t believe I’ll live or die according to what I do; I believe my controllers will decide.
Further, I am not philosophically persuaded that I understand everything in this multi-dimensional world well enough to make that sort of radical decision, to die or not. When my angels or family and friends over there make themselves known to me and call me over, then maybe.
Till then, I’ll sit in the beautiful desert or forest, greet the trees and flowers and birds each day, and move when the weather persuades me.
My YouTube channel has videos of my Morgellon’s at:
I was going to share some of the jokes I find myself telling on good days, about becoming part mushroom (which I read later Joni Mitchell has also said about her Morgellon’s) after I saw what appear to be “fruiting bodies” growing out of my chin after only 24 hours without scrubbing and ointments. And maybe I’d share about this balance of living with a whole host of parasites preparing me to see other realities.
Instead, I picked up my digital microscope to check my skin which I’m too tired to scrub.
First I went looking for the two holes I found yesterday in my upper left arm with a handheld 10x lens but hadn’t taken the time to look at with the better, save-able digital microscope until today. They’d looked like very fine hypodermic holes, and finding them on the day of a Full Moon when I felt tired is not typically a surprise; maybe that’s why I just couldn’t pick up the microscope that day – subconsciously too depressed from something done to me in the night. Today, they seem to have neatly closed and I can’t find them. Fine.
Nearby, I found a larger, but still tiny red spot that bled when I ran my fingernail over it, but showed no blood under the microscope. I don’t have any idea what this is. But there is a “cup fungus” (I found online) that lives in skin and produces blood-red, oddly shaped cups – similar to what I find all over me.
Next I looked at my chin and found this fruiting body reaching out, catching the LED light in its translucent outer layer, with other, “common” anomalies which might be part of the natural human skin ecosystem, but I don’t know, as doctors seem loathe to discuss it.
On my left cheek, I found more “common” (to me now) weirdness, with another fungal fruiting body (I assume, and am open to correction) with its dark tip alongside this strange item which I think is a typical tangle of Morgellon’s fibers. I’ve had lots of single filaments, but not that many wads of them.
focus on the fungal fruiting body with dark tip
focus on the suspected small tangle of fibers
I want to scrub my face, my ears, my back, my chest, my arms, my hands, my fingers, my legs, my toes, but it all takes so much energy. Two weeks ago, I paid for my last shower and decided to take all future ones in my camper, not because of the money ($6-20), though that helps, but because I felt under pressure to get it all done within a reasonable period of time, but I lost energy and always did a varying quality job. By bathing in my rig, even though I’ll use more water and propane and have to go into town more often, I can bathe a little of me at a time. I might do my face and genitals in the morning (though I didn’t today, kept putting it off), then neck and arms mid-morning, then torso after lunch, then legs in afternoon, and face and genitals again at night (always scrubbing hands and nails before and after washing each section of me). Just thinking about all that makes me exhausted.
These days I find myself holding my breath worse than ever, wondering why some part of me is starving my heart and brain and everything else. Well, I don’t actually wonder, I know. A few parts of me don’t think it’s worth being around anymore, and I understand. But I think I/we am/are supposed to be here. But that part of me that wants to breath can’t seem to overcome the others who don’t – sometimes. Like today.
I have vegetables to cook, cilantro to wash and prepare, things to organize, receipts to put in my bookkeeping, and I just don’t feel able to focus on those tasks. I did get the dishes done today, left from yesterday. I cooked a healthy, no-sugar-of-any-sort breakfast (then followed it with a chocolate truffle!), and emptied part of my gray water tank, only because I was forced to. It’s raining so I can’t walk, which is fine, as I’d only feel guilty or sad on a day like today because I have no energy.
Sometimes I think my spirit helpers helped me get the infection, to help me leave this life as I’ve sometimes said I wanted to – but I really believe it’s the mind controllers who gave it to me. Here’s my theory on that:
I started life as a mind control subject and still was when I “ran away from home” at age 19, but suddenly they had to treat me in a manner for which they hadn’t planned; they had to respond to activities I chose that they hadn’t chosen for me, so they had to adapt their programs. Twice they got me married to other mind control subjects who were able to exert impressive control, but I left each after about 9 years and have been single for the last 27 years.
After my separation in 1993, I – didn’t know it but recognized it later – was put on the “Targeted Individuals” list. I was gang stalked and sabotaged in everything I tried to do, unless the Controllers determined it could be useful to them.
When I lived remotely as a hermit, my experiences felt like science fiction coming from the nearby Fort Huachuca, a (the?) major American intelligence center, also associated, conspiratorially, with aliens. Besides all that, someone destroyed my computer and socially sabotaged me so that I could not work.
In debt, with no clear future, I sold my hermitage and moved to a small town, and my experiences of aliens and UFOs ended; in their place, anomalies left traces suggesting high-tech medicine and electronic warfare testing. Each experiment felt new, none repeated (that I was aware of), all interesting, disconcerting, exhausting, and not as fearful as I philosophically thought it should be.
In one terrible event, I became conscious with a body memory of some disease organism being technologically implanted in my body. In the next two years, I would begin to wake up with a painful scalp I described as feeling “like someone pulled me around by my hair all night,” and another sensation I described as “like someone had pounded the soles of my feet.” The disease would be diagnosed only 5 years later, and I’d find ulcers and fibers growing out of my scalp and fibers growing out of the soles of my feet.
This last phase of my life since I fled my home to travel permanently may have been concurrent with my demotion from military test subject to simple victim for punishment. At least three times I’ve been led unknowingly to attend Satanist gatherings on the Full Moon and woken up disabled for a day or two. I’ve witnessed many endless common people working for Operation TIPS doing drive-by harassment and such, many business owners who mysteriously treat me abominably, and finally, a new variety of electronic harassment.
My value to the mind control organizations I assume has diminished, so that they don’t care now whether I’m killed or not. Someone did something to my truck two years ago, which I documented and thought about a lot, but didn’t have looked at, then my trailer mysteriously fishtailed twice on flat road and then on a hill flipped me over, totaling my truck and trailer home and giving me a whiplash and concussion. Did they intend exactly that? To terrify and hurt me badly, but not kill me? Or did they not care, maybe even took bets on the outcome? I don’t know.
I’m not as controllable (I assume/hope), and can imagine they’re angry at me for documenting their damages and might want to punish me for it. As authoritarian types always have.
I could try to be “good”; I did for so much of my life, when I believed the American dream. But I don’t anymore. I remember now the sexual abuse in my home, my church and strange places I was taken. I remember learning about money, and hating it, because it was exchanged when I was abused. When I learned about Capitalism, it made me extremely sad for the world, and I thought, “This just cannot work.” I’m a failed mind control test subject – at least failed to some degree.
But I’m not sure I have no value to them anymore. I do wake up at least once each month having slept 11 hours and feeling so exhausted I can’t do anything but feed myself, and I have a dreadful feeling my amnesia occured because I was with them or they were in my home the previous night. Was I actually doing something for them? I’ve had impressions of being used to do remote viewing in an altered state as late as 2014. I’ve wondered if I was used sexually. I’ve wondered if I was used to help groom little girls for this work, which breaks my heart the most. I’ve also “glitched” once, and an alter took over who knew how to assassinate and was thrilled to have the opportunity “after such a long time.” Who knows what I might have done all my life!?
Or are they just doing maintenance these days – checking my heart, testing my blood, seeing how their old subject is?
Or are they monitoring the fascinating disease they gave me in 2014?
Six years after that 2014 event when I believed someone intended to inoculate me with disease – and I “forgot” about it all this time – I’m categorizing types of fibers, photographing them, adapting my life, but feeling like I’m losing the battle. Maybe I’m not. I’ve had angels come heal me before. They could come again.
It feels great to write these things, to make a record. But I really should get up to bathe.
I’ll put water on the stove (far more efficient than lighting the 6-gallon water heater), close the camper door (it’s been nice to have it open all morning), turn on the space heater, close the blinds, lay towels on the floor, get out the body scrubs, put on a movie, and begin with my face.
It’s so much trouble, and if I have the energy to do it, there’s no energy left for anything else. Realistically speaking, not emotionally, it just seems like I’m going to die. And eugenically (!?) speaking, I think I should. As a wimp, I don’t want to suffer. As a person defending her sanity against doctors and her self-esteem with a family that doesn’t want to believe her, I don’t want to deteriorate as predicted by this diagnosis.
So I’ve joked I should go volunteer at a local hospital and hope to catch Covid19.
On the other hand, if I’m still useful to the Controllers, I’m not sure they’ll allow me to die. I have an implant in my heart and, for all I know, they’ll keep me alive to watch the disease develop (like they did with the Tuskeegee Black prisoners who were given a related spirochete, syphilis) and thereby torture me for my sins. But maybe not. I can hope.
If I live, I still have so many other unpleasantries of old age: missing teeth, malocclusion, failing eyesight, and forgetfulness (and we hope it’s not Alzheimer’s); but worst is not old age but the technology mind controllers put in me over the decades. I have documented implants in my heart, g-spot, alongside my clitoral shaft, on my left scapula, 6 in my teeth, 2 in my ears, and I believe there could be more. They can be used to move my whole body or vibrate a part, make me nauseous and anxious, immobilize me, shift my consciousness off and on, turn on other programmed alters, and more. Even if I could heal my Morgellon’s and get my teeth fixed, who would want to be subject to the rest of what I live with? No one.
But if my controllers seem to be trying to kill me, then I wonder whether they’re not using me in any significant way anymore. And that would be an excellent understanding, in a way – to be killed instead of mind controlled. Thank you. But I’m not sure of anything.
I don’t mind dying if they don’t string it out too long and painfully. Ironically, though, my daily scrubbing efforts might be helping me live longer, and that’s not really what I want. I should serve my own needs better, and help shorten this eventuality. Yeah, that’s the only thing that makes good philosophical sense. I should just let it take me over.
Unless I’m supposed to be here still for something.
Back and forth, back and forth.
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Morgellon’s Disease can be painfully isolating – but I’m used to isolation. I’m a mind control subject, and the controllers have always planned for us to be isolated and discredited – in case we’d ever remember what had been done to us.
Since I was a child, my mother has been telling my siblings not to believe me, and while I witnessed her behavior all my life, I’d been programmed to never object to it or anything else my parents might do.
They were being paid, I believe, to cooperate with the controllers with whom they’d contracted when I was a baby, living with them in student housing on the campus of UC Davis where the Human Ecology Project was launched in my first year, a cover for mind control experiments.
My mother created a lot of disharmony between me and my siblings. When they wouldn’t eat all their vegetables, she’d point to me – cruelly mind controlled to obey regardless of my desire – and say, “Why don’t you just eat your dinner like Jean Ann?” and they’d all scowl at me across the table.
Another phase I heard from her often was, “Oh, I’ve always said you had a vivid imagination, and you mixed up your dreams with memory.” Weirdly, she always said the exact same words, never varied, in a sing-song rhythm, so that one day it made the hair stand up on the back of my neck when I realized she seemed to be going into a trance when she repeated the sentence word-for-word, and in that moment I knew something was very, very weird.
I’d just drawn the floor plan of an apartment in which I had my youngest memory, including details about where the linoleum ended and the carpet began and the glazed tall narrow window by the front door – to which she’d exclaimed, “You couldn’t remember that! You were 14 months old when we left there!” Then her face had trembled at the illogic of her words, and she pushed herself up from the table, walked to the window, and said those same words once more.
The memory I’d described rather thoughtlessly (I’d started enthusiastically before realizing it didn’t put her in a very good light but then I had to continue, so I de-emphasized the difficult part) had been of me fussing for her attention, batting around her hips (I was that small), her frustrated response as she stopped her efforts over the stove, threw the spatula, and screamed, “I can’t take this anymore! I’m leaving!” and walked out the door.
My next youngest memory of my mother was of her “washing my mouth out with soap” for something I’d said. I have no idea what it was, but I suspect the thing that enraged her was talking about some sexual abuse in the night. I was so obedient to my mother that after she left me in the bathroom, I followed her, prodding my tongue over chunks of soap stuck to my teeth and my mouth filling with saliva, to get permission to move the step stool so I could spit it all out.
Later, when my baby sister was born, I recall being told to keep my two younger siblings from getting into trouble when my mother took the baby in to nap with her. I was only five and felt burdened to keep two little ones from getting into things they shouldn’t. Of course, they didn’t want to listen to me, and things didn’t always go well. But I still have no memories of my mother’s face or her looking at me.
Today, when I describe anything weird to my siblings, they all ignore me in a similar way; they respond to everything “normal” and are absolutely silent about everything else, even the most extreme.
Once, after I’d woken with a Taser burn on my arm, my face looking as bad as I’ve ever seen it, and my physical energy totally drained for days, I crafted a letter to my siblings and edited it for three days until I thought I had something that was as brief as possible, but still well-documented, limited to what I thought they could handle, with a conclusion simply asking for their advice in addressing this common weirdness in my life, of waking with weird injuries and total exhaustion.
Two of my three siblings responded with one sentence each. My brother would pray for me; my older younger sister said she didn’t have any money to lend (I never mentioned money); and my youngest younger sister just didn’t respond.
Years earlier, I’d learned that all my family had met together without me for a special long weekend at the family cabin, and I was never told the nature of the meeting. I assume they all decided to do something like I’ve heard is done in mental health cases: only respond to what’s “real”; ignore what’s “not real.” I understand. Mom did her job well, and my siblings simply believe I’m somewhat crazy.
That’s not really a problem. I could always just live my life without communicating with my siblings. But one sibling will be executing the family estate one day, and my father’s will has some strange language about money NOT going to anyone who can’t care for him- or herself; and if my brother – who has, as a fundamentalist Christian, chosen to act very hostilely to me in the past, including telling me I’m not in touch with reality as he walked away, waving his hand as if to shoo away any words back from me) – actually believes I’m crazy, then I might get ZERO inheritance – unless I go live in an institution!
So I continue to treat my situation like a good scientist, and document, document, document. I have photos, testimonies, medical records, police records, and more. But my siblings want to hear of nothing; they want to continue to pretend I’m crazy, and no sexual abuse or mind control has had anything to do with our family.
Never mind that our family has connections to Masons, Mormons, the Military, and Hollywood. And one sister hired Madonna’s mother to be nanny to her baby daughter!
One other way I could interpret my siblings’ behavior is that they’re more knowledgeable than they let on, and they know our parents were involved and that I was given into mind control, but it’s best to pretend they don’t know, because it has always been in everyone’s best interests to protect our father (and mother, who passed away last year).
Or maybe it’s to protect themselves. Maybe they’re also in on it somehow. Maybe they became Satanists at some point, willfully or accidentally. Or maybe there’s some other reason.
I choose to believe they were simply encouraged from their earliest years by my mother and father to disbelieve me – because the controllers know that their experiments are not fully refined, and their subjects often “glitch” and realize the weirdness or pain of their lives and want to tell someone. So to head off that possibility, their subjects are called crazy or not dependable from their earliest days to everyone close to them.
The world tells me I have a good mind; I’ve scored high on college exams, Air Force exams (I never joined), and MENSA tests (also never joined). I’ve been offered two six-figure salaries; and in college received comments from three professors that my analyses were the most astute and creative that they’d read in their careers.
Last week, one of my sisters learned about the harsh treatment of migrants in our border jails, and I wrote back to say I wasn’t surprised because of how I’d been treated in jail as an activist. It involved being Tasered and losing 24 hours of memory. She ignored me.
The sad part is my family and exes seems to have also convinced my daughter to distrust me too. My son I’ve chosen not to tell much to, so he’s the only positive “real” connection, but I haven’t had the courage to actually be real, lest he turn away also.
So I live with NO acknowledgement of my reality or the pain or anxiety I suffer, except from random friends now and then who’re dealing with something similar.
I worry about my family. I’d like to protect my kids and granddaughter and some of my nieces and nephews, but the mind controllers have been plotting for decades to keep exactly this from happening.
So I live philosophically. Each of us has their own lessons to learn, and no one can help another learn them. We can support and encourage and love, but ultimately we can’t help.
We have our own spiritual Helpers though, and so I pray for my children and grandchildren, and even my siblings and father and mother on the other side, and my nieces and nephews – that their Helpers are doing what’s possible, and I don’t need to worry. It’s sad, though, never having had siblings to whom I could relate normally.
I’ve enjoyed that sense of family when I’ve connected with the other side. It’s not very often though, at least that I remember.
I don’t blame anyone. We’re all mind controlled to some degree, and some of us with the worst of it can see it better and sooner; those who can’t see it have every reason not to look: it’s scary. I don’t blame them for looking away.
I’m sure life would be delightful if I could pretend this stuff wasn’t real and “make it real,” and I tried that for ten years. But after a decade of denial, throwing all my life energy into other activities, they were always sabotaged and brought down by mysterious forces, either working in me or working through others.
So I accept that my eyes and ears and good mind are right; I’m mind controlled. And those around me have been mind controlled to ignore what I’d like to tell them.
I respect mind control. It’s next to impossible to combat. At least I can’t, yet. So I can’t blame others for turning their backs on me.
Hopefully, we’ll talk about it in the afterlife.
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Sorry I’ve been unable (mind controlled?) to get on the Internet and do simple things like post. But I’m back and I’m going to try to be more consistent.
I’ve been doing better at my , ParadigmSalonVideo on YouTube, and have a lot of stunning information – like video inside my ears, showing that I’ve been illegally implanted with easily-seen, crazy technology that looks like it may be able to receive and transmit sound (am I a walking spy microphone everywhere I go?) and maybe even control me – I’ve certainly felt it done a few times, though I’ve never known exactly how.
At first I was thrilled to have such excellent evidence of the symptoms I’ve been describing for years. And I worried the controllers would remove them before I could document them well and learn who owns the frequencies at which they operate.
To my surprise, it seems they upgraded my implants, probably during the night of May 5-6, because they look different than in the first video (second above). They seem to have incorporated some implants under the skin, creating a structure that blocks half the canal and squeezes the existing elements together; or maybe they were replaced – as the rubber cup that contains it all seems to have changed from clear to yellowish.
It’s shocking to me that they would be so brazen as to upgrade their work even while I’m watching, video recording, and posting it online for all the world to see – IF it’s actually being seen and not hidden by the controllers. It seems to imply that either 1) my suspicion, which I hope is wrong, is actually true, or 2) there’s something so big coming down in the world that my story will never rise to anyone’s attention.
Anyone know a doctor or attorney who wants to weigh in on this?
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When I heard that a number of American diplomats in Cuba (25 or more!) had been attacked with electronic warfare technology, I was slightly encouraged, that now maybe people would pay attention to those of us who’ve been suffering the same for years, and been only ignored.
A couple of weeks ago I was hit by something similar – while driving! – thankfully only for a few seconds, I assume. I posted a 4-minute video about it here: https://youtu.be/SQ-XtavMvnM.
In the Autumn of 2016, diplomatic personnel residing in Havana began to present with symptoms of dizziness, ear pain, and tinnitus that emerged after perception of high frequency noise and/or a pressure sensation. Understanding the acute symptoms of this disorder is important for better defining the disorder and developing optimal diagnostic, preventive, and treatment algorithms.
To define the presenting symptoms in a cohort of patients in the acute time period after perceiving a noise/pressure exposure in Havana.
Review of 25 symptomatic individuals who reported a localized sensation of noise/pressure and 10 asymptomatic individuals (roommates of those affected) who did not experience the sound/pressure.
Immediately after the exposure, the majority of individuals reported intense ear pain in one or both ears and experienced tinnitus. All of the individuals noticed unsteadiness and features of cognitive impairment. On presentation to our center, dizziness (92%) and cognitive complaints (56%) were the most common symptoms. Formal testing revealed that 100% of individuals had an otolithic abnormality and evidence of cognitive dysfunction.
Conclusion and Relevance:
This study focuses on the acute presentation of a phenomenon in which symptoms emerge after perception of a localized noise/pressure and in which the acute symptomology includes the universal nature of vestibular injuries and select cognitive deficits. The findings presented in this acute group of patients begin to provide a better picture of the initial injury pattern seen after this exposure and may allow for more accurate diagnosis of this disorder in future cases.
Thanks for reading, liking, sharing ~ all that. Peace.
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Podcasts let us listen on our phone while washing dishes, walking to the mailbox, driving to town. Or we can sit on our sofa – away from the computer – lights off, eyes closed, a fine radio production washing over.
“In the Dark” is a quality production worth this attention. I’m grateful those radio professionals are in the world today. Each episode makes me hungry for the next. And it’s all true investigative journalism, told well.
The series exposes suspiciously negligent police work – something some of us need to be reminded happens sometimes.
Season 2 takes on another case, and I’m in the midst of bingeing through the second season now.
It’s satisfying to hear an example of this widespread horror exposed.
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Eve Lorgen, author and counselor for those with “anomalous trauma,” offers an online support group now and then.
I’ve always been too afraid to participate, afraid that my stuff was too different, or that I might distrust people in the group, or it wouldn’t do me any good.
Today was the first day I participated in one, and I’m pleased I did.
Coincidentally, I had listened to a radio interview with Dr. John Hall, MD, about electronic harassment of targeted individuals (which fits the patter of my last 14 years), in which he mentioned the BrainWave binaural brain entrainment system (whopping price of $3.99, an app on iTunes).
I tried it out and had an immediate relaxation response, as if something electrically depressing had been cancelled or dampened. So I’ve been wearing earbuds now fairly frequently for two and a half days.
(I’m not crazy about the idea of using technology to protect myself – I’d assumed spiritual protection would be all, but I’ve failed and have felt close to death a great deal this last year. So I’m happy to accept this technological crutch and am thinking of it as a metaphor, that perhaps I might emulate psychically.)
These two and a half days since feeding simple frequencies into my ear canals, I’ve had impressive energy, a positive mood, and focus enough to finish an important task I had not been able to focus on for a year. Of course, maybe it’s just how I would have felt anyway, but I’m going to give them a thumbs up.
So, feeling stronger than I have in a long time, I took a job application I’d filled out last December to the business this morning, and was offered a job in the afternoon – for two workdays, just as I wanted, and exactly the situation I asked for. Law of Attraction? Working for me??
We know that sometimes everything can seem go against us at once, so it’s good to remember that sometimes everything can go for us too. And then it’s time to be grateful and go with it.
I’ll talk about other good stuff happening in my next post.
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I downloaded their modestly-priced app on my iPhone (“best reviewed app of its kind in the iTunes app store”/$3.99 – can also be used with other products) and walked around all day yesterday, plus the night before, with various tones humming behind music in my ear buds.
(Even though I don’t usually keep my iPhone near me, I was motivated to at least try it for a few days.)
The sound experiences cause the hemispheres of the brain to entrain at frequencies associated with peace, or well-being, sleep, focus, concentration, stress-relief, etc – you choose what you want on a simple dial. You can layer over a variety of relaxing music – or even your own.
To my surprise, I woke up yesterday at 2:30 am (!) and felt well rested, energized, and ready to work! Got up at 3, thinking I’d definitely need a nap, but instead – with the ear buds in all day – I worked with “concentration,” sat in the garden with “relaxation” or “stress-relief” when I was beginning to feel stressed – and I worked VERY productively until 11 pm, and needed very little of my relaxing herbs that day. I then went to bed at 11:30, slept well again, and woke this morning at 5:30, feeling very well-rested and looking forward to the day. What a relief!
The productivity of my day was wonderful! I got a series of complicated projects completed that I’ve been unable to even face for a year! I finally cleared a number of important projects off my desk. Worked creatively too. Visited one friend in person, and enjoyed a long talk with another friend last night. I even responded to my cat’s many requests throughout the day that I go out in the garden with her for a little break – and I took quite a few nice breaks yesterday.
Was it a coincidence? Did the controllers also coincidentally give me something that first night to give me energy? (I have absolutely believed they have that capability and have done it to me.) Or was it my expectations? Or – as is John Hall’s theory – did I block the electronic harassment and get back my normal, productive mind?
I want to believe this is possible. I don’t want to believe that, via electronics, thousands of us can be harassed mercilessly until we die.
Of course, I can’t help but notice that my left shoulder (yeah, the left shoulder) is buzzing again, like crazy. I took off my ear buds and set them on either side of the new implant site, and while there the buzzing was gone. Removed, it began buzzing again after a minute or so. Retested, again it stopped then began buzzing like crazy again, as it has all year. It’s not the worst; at best, it’s a reminder of what I face, keeping me serious about my healing needs.
As with any technology, as soon as we find a work-around, they’ll be working on theirown work-around, so we’ll probably need to keep vigilant, keep educating ourselves, keep sharing ideas, and keep praying for direction. And that’s not a bad thing; it’s good.
Sometimes I think of this as all a test. We might think it feels cruel, like torture, and I can be ready to give up and die. But before I’m in total, absolute despair, they always back off, leave me alone, and I build myself back up again. But that’s not enough.
What’s the lesson? If it is a test, if we’re not entirely powerless, which I don’t believe we are, what is the lesson??? What are we to learn from this torturous experience?
I want to believe that we are only faced with threats on Earth for a reason – to learn how to deal with them. And one of them might be to learn how to manage our own bio-electric systems to a degree we’ve never yet considered possible before. And I’m ready to take that on.
Indeed, as multi-dimensional beings, we exist on other dimensions – vibrational realms, even though we may not access it consciously very often. Since this is part of our multi-dimensional nature, maybe we’re called – as part of our next evolutionary learning – to develop this awareness and these skills, the same way we’ve been learning this century to manage nutrition, exercise, and attitude. Bio-electricity is our next challenge.
Maybe? Well, I’m game. My new goal is to imagine the extent to which we might have un-examined and under-utilized power.
John Hall had more to write about mental entrainment (generally, not just electronically) to the controller’s games – and that’s what I’ll write about next.
Thanks for reading, Friends.
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Anomalous weirdness seemed to be increasing, so last January I decided to comb through every journal of mine and record the anomalies since I published RattleSnake Fire, and then record all the anomalies in my book and before my book – the entire rest of my life, as much as I could remember. I put them all in a master database, with dates and places and other notations, and they total over 700 events!
Some were flesh-and-bones type of events; other were purely psychic, as if in other realms, but consistent with common theories of mind control and psychic attack.
When I checked to see how many occurred in these recent years, I found that, yes, things are accelerating: I’ve had over half – over 390 anomalous events – since I published my book in January 2008.
Now, anomalous doesn’t mean “bad,” as some anomalies were healing and spiritual insights that made me blissful and came on like a “download.” So, I colored the supposedly “good” anomalies in green and blue, and I colored the shocking, frightening ones in orange and red. Those latter outnumbered the positive by 3 or 4 to 1.
Since there were so many, it was hard to wrap my mind around them, so I made an abbreviated list of the biggies – below.
This is not a comprehensive list, only those I wrote in my journal, sometimes I was too messed up to journal for days and might have forgotten to make a record; sometimes I missed things because I was amnesic; and a few journals seem to have gone missing for much of July 2013-July 2014, so I don’t know how much I missed there. But it’s a good start.
I’ve separated the “challenges” from the “blessings” – and I’ve written with extreme brevity, so they might not sound like much, but in context, believe me, they were.
You’ll notice the few from 2008-2009 (July – July) slowly grow to larger numbers in recent years:
(If anyone finds these familiar, I hope they give you solace that you’re not alone.)
July 2008 –July 2009 Challenges:
a spiritual attachment
Psychic (freak-out) reaction to a stranger
July 2008 – July 2009 Blessings:
magical message from shaman
July 2009 – July 2010 Challenges:
Suspicious lover from teen years called, seducing
experienced conscious MK rape
MK’d to go somewhere, a test
computer weirdness x 3
eyes in mirror not mine
saw demon face over friend’s face
saw etheric safe in my back, and removed it, but not man’s hand also there!
July 2009 – July 2010 Blessings:
multiple self re-knitting
avoid brain balancing “offer” from suspect doctor
“cowboy cataract” healed instantaneously
two alters see each other
July 2010 – July 2011 Challenges:
Weird, amnestic stop on Highway 90
new door lock broken
sleep anomaly x 10+
weird and mysterious obsession over friend
3 puncture cuts
4 scoop marks
other weird bruises x 4
inch-deep puncture up beside clitoris
spine mysetriously hurt
tones in ears
beam follows me around house
next morning: ears ringing badly, never quit
house entered, things moved, hot water in tap on New Years, footsteps in snow
old high school friend reconnects; wrote fiction (of me) as MK assassin
bad energy sensed powerfully from across street
noises in house
etheric Aries sign attacked me and stuck to my forehead in energy realm
woman in house makes toilet overflow x 2
message from dark side:I’m “already in”
Despite documentation and no contrary theories, Dr. calls me delusional
Bad spirit in a basket (blessing: I eject and bring it to heal or depart in garden)
July 2010 – July 2011 Blessings:
blue-green energy healing alters
person inside me helping
another healing x 2
nighttime healings x ?
seeing energy, controlling it
yogi comes in
felt g-spot heal
understanding, writing about the cruel teacher
email warning:new Friend/CIA –
life-threatening email, took to police –
postal mail: I’m an MK slave, may lose my soul – (all 3 in 1 week)
weird sleep and exhaustion x 16+
bruises x 3+
needle bruises x 34
4-5 clear tones
2 scoop marks
injured back/no reason x 2
neck out, rib out- pain
weird neck problems x 3
Wake to find friend whispering/instructing me x 2
realize MK as child on vacations, collapse to floor
iridescent golden mucous glob from sinus
felt severely drugged
weird answering machine message
phone interruption: “record again”
happy drug? too much energy
male friend confirms Archons
shamanic journey:saw programming in Akron, age 19, painful, terrifying
“dream” of waiting obediently
dream: audition, girls lifting skirts
dream of extra-dimensional powers and astral spying
dream of spying
dream of fire under house
dreams of tunnels, transportation
possible abduction dream
intense forgotten dream
dream of pre-school, computer pass codes, remote command hand tools
July 2011-July 2012 Blessings:
dream of friend that comes true
feeling strong despite all weirdness
7 months of nothing significant
strong recovery from spiritual attack
recognized MK command to not have orgasm
shamanic journey: removed hooks from spine and neck
shamanic journey:alters back, bad energy removed, neck fixed
July 2012 – July 2013 Challenges:
exhausted x 18+
wrenched back x 2, displaced C2
neck hurt x 2, headache, out of it
jaw locked, wouldn’t open
red line in eye
anxiety, unable to center self
more weird bruises
ears ringing bad
harassing mental video
computer x 2 and phone weirdness
strange drivers license discovered in my wallet, frightened, called police; afterward no memory of name or face on license
lost time w friend
amnesia, friend no help
email about amnesia – totally forgotten
MK on Christmas Eve
dream of space ship, large marble building, dead body
dream of staircase to other country
dream remote viewing tidal wave, sold on MK
plus events in 2013 – journals missing
July 2012 – July 2013 Blessings:
bolt of healing energy from almond tree
exhaled huge psychic sludge
healing contortions night and morning
July 2013 – July 2014 Challenges:
camping horror: apparent abduction, noro virus, almost died (others went to hospital), people sabotage my sleep
friend scares me
consistent sabotage before my scheduled workshops
many injection bruises, weekly
exhaustion with lots of sleep until I quit my business, then felt better
(journals irregular or lost)
July 2013 – July 2014 Blessings:
none (2013 journals disappeared)
“something done in night” x 6+
long sleep and exhaustion x 46
donut bruises x2
injection bruises x 8, “2x/wk”
other bruises x 10
heart racing/hurting x 11
jaw painful x 6
scoop marks x 5
numb shoulder x 3
hypersensitive hip x 2
missing time x 8
movies in head x 3, sometimes forgotten
strange noises x 2
vaginal, anal irritation x 2
Thanksgiving: vision, drugged, unable to stand, walk, see; friend incongruous; memory of anal “inoculation”
rage x 9
back wrenched x2
new herpes x 2
gouges both forearms
irritation on thigh
woke w busted thumbnail
woke, peed in bed, total exhaustion with other extreme symptoms
woken by Ultra Low Frequency
tones, sometimes waking me
“vampire” scabs on neck, first day of UFO Congress
cut on left finger
itching hands, arms
triangle dots on hand
ringing in ears (always)
huge, bubbly, iridescent gold mucous from sinus
visions amazing, then forgotten
saw red UFO, hard sleep
Disqus (never heard of) has account in my name [never fixed – why?]
My life is exquisitely difficult to talk about. It’s woven with extreme themes – sexual abuse, mind control, aliens, mysticism – and with accomplishments that make me shy, and failures that embarrass me, and critical facts that embarrass other people.
And none of the themes, for simplification, can be hidden or glossed over, because each intertwines and sometimes explains the others.
I can’t begin at the beginning, because it is either boring, or if I tell certain details, it sounds too woo-woo.
Since I almost always get interrupted fairly early with the question, “Why you?”I think I’ll begin there.
It could be any number of things, but is probably all of them together. Plus the fact that I won “the lottery.”
(Remember that classic, creepy short story, “The Lottery”? We read it once in grade school and again in high school, about a community that killed one person every year by stoning, a person drawn by lottery.)
My lottery ticket to this crazy life may have been as simple as my birth date. I was born on a Full Moon, on a Monday (Moon Day), in the middle of Cancer, also known as Moon Child.
And it wasn’t just a Full Moon, somewhere inside that 24-hour window; no, I was born 8 minutes before the Full Moon, 8/(24×60) = 5/1,000ths of a degree of perfection. Moon energy was strong. (Astronomical charts, not astrological, show the coincidence.)
So were the numbers: I was born on July 7, 1952 − 5+2 adding up to 7. Three sevens. Then my mother gave me a name with 7 letters: Jean Ann.
My last name, at birth and now, is Eisenhower. My father was second cousin to Dwight, who was nominated to the Republic ticket for President of the United States later on the day of my birth. The next day, the local paper would give my birth a short column to remark on the coincidence.
Maybe all these coincidences explain my winning/losing lottery ticket. Or maybe mind control was already in the family.
Eisenhower family crest
[I’ll expand on these later: Eisenhowers = Iron hewers (secret society protecting metallurgy secrets for the king). Grandfather Hollywood veterinarian of Rin-Tin-Tin – Mason – money lender. Father Navy CASU 33 – unsolved mystery.
[Petersens – Mormons. Grandmother with her handler. Mother I saw switch alters, in trance. Unexplained terror re Mormons. Flashback of babyhood ritual.]
I seem to have won/lost the lottery and was treated to MK. Then, having developed a bad attitude toward our culture due to MK, I joined the counter-culture and offended my handlers – again and again, beginning with rejecting the invitation of another secret society, calling them “plastic,” accepting their invitation to “try them,” taking the vows, and then de-activating and breaking my vows. I assume my actions resulted in another layer of MK, as they warned us that breaking our vows would have severe consequences (which I didn’t believe, as it was contrary to “American values”).
In my 20s, I became an activist for peace, and later for social justice, and environmental sustainability. Along the way, I insulted the FBI with media releases exposing their most incriminating statements which I sent to 600 major media around the world, nearly every day of the 6-week “Judi Bari v FBI” federal trial – and the FBI was found guilty.
They stared me down in the hallways of the courthouse, damn scary dudes. They might have amped up my treatment then and following the trial, when I lived alone in the desert – things got extremely frightening after the trial, to the point I was ready to give up this life.
Perhaps they amped up my MK again when I published my book. And maybe they amped it up again each time I published a particularly hard-hitting blog or video. There seem to be correlations.
So now that I’ve given you an overview of my story, maybe answered the Why?, and I’ve gotten my paranoia out of the way – or demonstrated and acknowledged it at least – let me tell you my story….
To help me wrap my brain around it all – my fractured, fragmented mind full of experiences is often difficult to remember as a whole – I created a database to record all my anomalous experiences, from sublime to terrifying, everything out of the normal. My list is nearly 700 items long, and the last half of them have occurred in the last 5 years. Things are accelerating.
[to be continued]
Feedback? How’s this to open an update to my story?
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Disinformation is finally being better understood and acknowledged throughout the culture, but few people understand its full extent. And understanding and reading reality correctly is an important survival skill for all of us.
Therefore, I’d like to share what I’ve learned, as both third-party observer and victim. I’ll chose an older story rather than a new one, to lessen the chance the guilty will be recognized – which I assume will lessen the repercussions I will experience for telling.
Before I tell this 7-year old story, I first want to tell a little about the concept: I didn’t know the word disinformation until I was involved with Earth First!, and then I witnessed it a great deal, as our expert-witness scientist supporters from around the world were ignored by the Media, and our peaceful protests, humorous skits, and potluck dinners (at my home) were treated like national security threats in FBI reports (I have copies).
When Judi Bari, a non-violence activist and mother of two, was car-bombed in 1990, she was maligned in the world-wide Media as a would-be bomber. But subtler lies are also told for different effects.
I’d become a thorn in the FBI’s side when, in 2002, I wrote or helped write, almost every day for six weeks, media releases for the Judi Bari v FBI trial. When I returned home to my desert hermitage, I began to be plagued by frightening bouts of amnesia and immobilization, with physical wounds, including lacerations and puncture wounds to the inside of my vagina (also photographed) – to the point that I considered suicide frequently.
My g-spot (descending bulge) was sliced from back to front and twice more (not visible here) from side to side.
Feeling like a sitting duck in the desert, I sold my remote home on 20 acres and, because I didn’t think I could stand a big city anymore, found my way to Silver City, in great need of friends to surround me.
Unfortunately, frightening events continued to happen, including third-degree Taser burns and biopsy scoops that appeared on my hands and arms and back with no memory of how they happened – and weird events of disinformation that undermined my reputation and sense of community.
Over the nine years I’ve lived here, my wounds have also included scores of injection bruises, two donut bruises, dozens of other weird bruises, sexual mysteries, and even some healed scars, one of which a doctor assumed was from thyroid surgery. Most I’ve photographed, and many I’ve shown friends, though few want to hear about them – I gather because it’s just too upsetting to their world views.
I totally understand not wanting to hear. It took me a lot of years of having this actually happen to me before I could adjust my world view to get over the “freedom and justice for all” mythology and accept what was happening.
If you find this hard to believe, I do understand, and hope you can read on, because this is part of our reality – and properly reading reality is essential to our survival. Following is an account of disinformation against me, undermining my status in my new community.
In 2007, I was a week or so away from a trip to Peru, when someone recommended a woman to stay at my home and care for my cat. Actually, it was a couple, I was told, a man and a woman, about my age, who were hip and “into community,” and had some circumstances that had stranded them in Silver City, needing a place to stay; the husband was working, but hadn’t gotten a paycheck yet. I agreed to let them stay in my home, even though afterward I realized that I didn’t like the woman at all, and she had talked a solid streak for 90 minutes, essentially wearing me down, and making me feel sorry and embarrassed for her, as if to say No would force her to recognize she had been obnoxious, which would be hurtful to her, so I couldn’t say No. Not logical, but defininely my sort of neurotic, self-defeating kindness.
In Tucson, I was supposed to be at the airport at 6 am for an 8 am flight, but I woke at 4 with a severe toothache that made it very difficult to move with any more than a shuffle, so I canceled my flight with a medical excuse. I would have a root canal later that afternoon.
Mid-morning, when my plane was in the air, I began receiving bizarre emails from my house sitter who assumed I was on the plane to Peru. She told me my stove was leaking gas, the phone wasn’t working, two crews of repairmen had been in, and my cat was acting ill – all in her first day at the house, and the first day of my 20-day trip.
Even though I immediately suspected this was probably a form of harassing disinformation, it was shocking to think of how very distressing it would have been to be on a plane to a faraway place with this bombardment of distressing news.
Thankfully, I wasn’t gone, and I’d been around enough FBI lies and other tricks that I found it all suspicious. So I answered her emails without telling her I was still in Tucson.
Her stories continued to hammer on distressing probabilities and were amped up with direct accusations (13 specific, weird accusations against me! in emails still saved) that I was “paranoid” and similar negative assessments – even though I’d been extremely cautious not to say a single inflammatory word, but simply asked calm questions about my home. It was as though she’d intended I become paranoid.
I called a handy woman friend who visited the house and was told by the woman that the phone was repaired. Since I’d asked my friend to enter and check out the stove and look around, she asked to enter, but the woman refused. When my friend next called to tell me the phone was supposedly repaired, I was still unable to call home, and was told by the woman via email that the phone was “down again,” working only during the short period my friend had come to the door.
After drilling and filling my tooth, I hit the road immediately to Tucson, calling another friend along the way, who arrived at the house shortly after I did. The woman was shocked to find me at the door and was barely willing to let me into my own home. When my friend arrived, we confronted the woman with the crazy contents of her emails, as I wanted to be entirely fair and consider the possibility that perhaps she hadn’t send them, and they were instead sent by disinformation specialists; I reviewed all 13 accusations with her, and she confirmed she’d written them – even as she stammered to explain some of her more bizarre accusations.
We then had to demand she leave, as she was intent on staying in my home as I’d “promised” to let her, and she even had the gall to suggest I leave. When she continued refusing, we finally threatened to call the police to remove her and she finally accepted our demands. But as she left, and we realized to our astonishment that she didn’t have anything at the house other than her small purse – no overnight bags, no toothbrush, no food, no nothing, even though she’d supposedly stayed there the night before and her husband was due there shortly and she desperately wanted to stay there again that night. But the bed hadn’t even been slept in, and the kitchen was unused. We assumed she wanted us to leave so we wouldn’t discover this, and she was actually there for some other reason.
As we pondered this, my friend’s phone rang, she answered it and heard silence. After hanging up, she hit the call back button and was greeted with an office name with “Intelligence” in the title. My friend and I assumed the woman and her husband were functioning as low-level spies, watching the house so that others could come in (under the guise of repairmen?) to do whatever they do to activists and others on federal “watch” lists. Perhaps they’d used some high technology to identify and call her phone, perhaps to add a bit of warning to our overload of weird information and seeming threats.
The next day, I called the gas company and was told she had called and a repair person had come out, but no gas leak was found, and the stove never did have problems.
I used my cell phone to call the phone company because the home phone still did not work. When the repairman came out the next day, he worked for two hours and finally concluded, “This is the strangest problem I’ve ever seen in my 20 years of phone repair, and I can’t figure it out.” And he rewired most of the house.
My cat never showed any signs of illness.
A few days later, another phone repairman appeared at the front door. I called Qwest to confirm he was legit, and was told something vague I don’t remember, even as I realized the feds certainly have the ability to intercept my call, redirect it to their own office, and have someone pose as a phone company rep, telling me whatever I needed to hear. I let the guy in.
He checked the phone jacks, then went outside and climbed a ladder to the box attached near the roof line. I wondered if I’d detect him putting a bug on my line, so I stood beneath and watched. He talked and seemed to be wasting time, repeating motions, and getting impatient with me standing there looking up constantly. I smiled and asked him if he was finished. He looked confused and irritated. Laughter was close, but I had no desire to mock a fed. I also knew I couldn’t stop them if they wanted to put a bug on my line, and if he didn’t do it today, they’d do it another day soon, and it might be less fun next time. So I walked around the corner, gave him a minute, then came back to find him climbing down, looking relieved. Ever since, my old-style ringer phone makes a little noise a few seconds after every time I hang up, and around 10 pm every night, which I think of as shift-change, and maybe other times I haven’t yet noticed.
The woman and her husband, I later learned, went to live with a young, hip couple out in the Mimbres, whose friends overlapped with mine, but whom I only knew because the husband clerked at a store I frequent, a store central to my community. Immediately, the man quit being friendly with me and instead acted as though I were a terrible person he could barely be civil to. And in following years, a number of their acquaintances have continued to keep distant even though we have many friends and interests in common.
I assumed the woman had told the young couple poisonous things about me. But I didn’t know them well enough to try to discover what they’d been told, and my questions might be received as very weird. It was very weird, and I didn’t trust anyone to accept it at face value without having to reconsider a lot of assumptions and probably wonder also if I was just plain crazy, so I said nothing to anyone except the two friends who each witnessed part of the event.
Every so often, about once a year, people on the edges of my community suddenly act cold or confused around me, as if they’d heard something terrible and didn’t know whether they should even acknowledge me. I notice quite a few people all change at once and continue in the pattern for some weeks or months, until slowly the awkwardness fades a little, but doesn’t go entirely away. I just stay away from them, to lessen their discomfort and mine.
I sometimes review the experiences of friendly acquaintances turning away or looking fearful and try to convince myself the events are not significant, but they seem to display a consistent pattern. And then there’s the other parallel evidence: the woman at my house with no personal possessions, her emails full of lies and inflammatory accusations, and my phone line mysteriously wired. And mysterious Taser burns and similar wounds on my very own body keep me from dismissing my total experience as imagination – as some friends, family, and doctors would like me to.
I’d love to dismiss it as imagination and believe in a different America, but that’s not my experience. For 8 years now, I’ve been asking my online readers, and no one has come up with any explanation better than the one that’s supported by government documents: federal agents practice disinformation, harass, encourage divisiveness, and more, under the rubric of COINTELPRO (Counter Intelligence Program).
Recently I learned there’s a name for people like me: “targeted individuals” – abbreviated TI’s, with multiple websites documenting experiences of many others who describe things similar to mine.
Beware of lies. If you hear something bad about a person, check it with the person it’s about.
Only once in these nine years has a friend checked a rumor about me with me; it was a lie, and she’d believed it for six months (it sounded reasonable) and even passed it on to others herself during that time. I told her the truth as I understood it and asked her to pass it back onto the grapevine. I don’t know if she did or how well it traveled.
Disinformation is usually planted in such a way and with people removed from the target just enough that it’s very difficult (and no likely to be successful) for the TI to confront the perpetrator. Only the people in the middle – those told the lie – can do anything about it – by wising up, and checking. Thanks for doing that.
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First published at GardenHealingChurch.org. (I keep thinking this is the last post on this site, but here’s one more.)
This petition, http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/synergy, and all the people commenting on it – inspired me to comment too, and I ended up writing a short essay that presents my story briefly, so I’ll share it here with a few photos added:
After doing media work for the historic “Judi Bari vs FBI” federal trial, in which the feds were found guilty of charges related to an assassination attempt on Judi Bari, my lifelong mind control torment has been seriously amped up.
I’ve woken with Taser burns, a burn on the back of my neck – both third-degree with skin burned off – scoop marks, injection bruises, “donut” bruises, lacerations and punctures in my vagina, healed scars including one my doctor thought was a thyroid surgery scar, total exhaustion, and occasionally dealings that seemed to be with aliens (which could be induced hallucinations or real).
After 13 years of freaking out and being suicidal about my mind control, I’m beginning to see that it’s not a simple horror – it’s actually everything and everywhere.And it may not be human.Everything in nature is under control of many things.Mind control begins with DNA and the elements like weather, then language and our calendar, then economics, laws, education, government, etc.And eventually science did to people what it’s done to the Earth – turned everything into a resource.We are human resources; they’ve been honest in calling us that!We’ve heard it and shrugged.Now we’re realizing it’s full implications, and it’s shocking.One more major trauma in the history of humanity.(Think back:much of history is trauma.)
Without hope in the other realms, we on Earth have been reduced to resources, regardless that we’ve been led along with lies about freedom, human rights, etc.If we only have this Earth life in which to hope, then we must toe Their line or be seriously punished.
[Can we tell them (since they’re spying and listening all the time), “Hey, I change my mind.I’ll quit whistle blowing [or whatever] and join you”? if we’re willing to sacrifice our beliefs for relief (as it seems others must be doing)?I don’t know.I’ve gone to that edge and wondered, but haven’t crossed it.]
Mostly, I believe I have Helpers in other realms who rescue or resuscitate me now and then, though I do have to suffer indignities and pain and loss of will to live and sheer energy to live – way more often than I sometimes think I have the spirit to sustain, but then my Helpers bring me back.(Or might it be the controllers, keeping me alive for another day? I don’t know. I think I’ll chose the more palatable option, my Helpers.)
It’s a weird life to live.Good thing I know we have other lifetimes, so I can feel less attached to this one.It helps to step into the role of Witness.We are witnesses of an incredible time in human history – from the deepest darkest inside, which few see and fully understand, but we do.There’s something important in our role, as witnesses regarding human evolution.It’s incredibly lonely because no one wants to hear, but it’s important.And one day, maybe on another realm, we’ll help others understand how this came about, so maybe we can help protect the future.Don’t know.Playing with ideas.Imagining from a higher height….
As far as this world right now, though, I’ve quit believing we can change anything through political action, like this petition – BUT, I know I could be wrong, so I hedge my bets and support causes like this one that encourage us – but I don’t see the possibility in America anymore.On the other hand, I KNOW we get help from Other Realms – rarely when we think it’s due, but enough.
And that’s another silver lining:having lost all hope in this Earth insanity, we are forced to cut our emotional connections to Earth life and look beyond.Atheists, I know, will hate this, but I do appreciate that this pain does send me into other realms where I believe it is important to connect, and I don’t otherwise, as least not as often as would probably be good for me, because Earth happenings and all the entertainment is way too entrancing.It’s almost like our mind control tortures us so badly that we are saved from the mainstream soul-deadening delusions of the masses, slowly boiling like frogs in a pot; whereas, we are the frogs that jumped out of our mesmerized complacency, thanks to the extra-high heat.
[I write and video blog about my life and struggles on Paradigm Salon.net, my other sites, and in my book, RattleSnake Fire, called “not only great literature, but an important historical document.”]
Blessings on us all.Peace, friends.Please don’t give up too easily.Remember this world is bigger and more complicated than we can know; and the bully in our life might be about to get whumped by someone bigger.We don’t know, but we shouldn’t discount it when the stakes are so high – our life.
Also, leaving this life (as many people entertain, including me) may not be an escape, if the other dimensions are extensions of this, as I believe they are.So it behooves us to develop our extra-dimensional minds, as the only way to see a bigger picture and have a chance.
At the moment, we are in trauma at the hands of the most Powerful people on Earth; therefore our only salvation is beyond this Earth, where we can’t go, or beyond this dimension, which we can.I conclude: it’s time to develop our extra-dimensional minds.
I hope this helps someone.Compassion for all.
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I’ve been withholding a lot in the last year or so anyway, feeling there are things I know that I’m just not willing to commit to print, and so I point out details or tell my experiences, and leave readers to connect the pieces. But I’ve been withholding more and more recently.
Besides withholding, I spend so many hours trying to communicate intense, multi-dimensional realities in the language of this 3D world, yet have no idea whether my readers are real and I’m helping them, or if I’m writing for mostly agents – or if my words are published as I actually write them. I’ve seen too many weird things happen on my computer to really want to invest too much more here.
Finally, maybe most important, writing keeps me locked in the past when I could be looking forward and grounding into my present with more attention.
So I’m saying good-bye on this site to spend more time in my garden and art studio, with friends, grounded in my actual world, and better connected to my Helpers.
I’m very tired of this virtual world.
And I recommend my readers also look for what they need inside themselves, in Nature, within their community, and from their Helpers.
I’ll leave this site up for the information it contains, but don’t expect any new blogs here.
No one who doesn’t already understand wants to hear this stuff. They claim their right to not listen because it’s too scary, and their own lives are already filled with more drama than they can handle, or if it’s not, they want to keep it that way, and it’s their right. It’s only natural. It’s survival.
Therefore, this task is futile, and I should find better things to do.
We might think we need others to hear and understand. But after that, there’s really not a lot anyone can do but sympathize. And that gets old and, in a sense, by putting the information in another person’s head, locks us into that picture in another person’s mind. So we communicators get nothing useful, and they get bummed out.
The only enlivening thing, after we’ve learned to develop better skills of perceiving and responding where we’ve been blinded, is to keep on with the cosmic dance of creating as much beauty and goodness as we can in our moment of life here.
I’m on to other things.
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Impressed by the incredible actor Laura Prepon, of Orange is the New Black, I looked her up on Wikipedia and read:
In 2005, Prepon starred in the film Karla, the true story of Paul Bernardo and his wife Karla Homolka, a couple who kidnapped, sexually abused and murdered three young girls – marking a contrast to her usual lighthearted roles.
Not my type of movie.
I’ve been in such deep darkness lately, that it seemed bizarre to watch this movie now, but, if I might state the obvious, I thought the description of the psychopathic couple could have a lot in common with the mind control network that controls me. It seemed it might be therapeutic. And, numb from all my own darkness, I could take it today.
And because I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom this past week, in which I’ve remembered and dwelt on a whole lot of stuff and the larger pattern, I thought the content of this movie wouldn’t be as shocking, and I’d be able to watch it with some dispassion. I thought I’d somehow benefit, and maybe even something revealing and healing could be triggered.
Here are my notes made during the movie:
– Many of my partners have signs of having been mind controlled too and of controlling me in a wide variety of ways.
– “She doesn’t even have to know.” Drugs and electroshock.
– I realize I’ve also been set up for sexual videos many times. Some of these I was too afraid to write about, even in my own journal, even many years after the fact. I remember wanting to write about an event a couple of times, but when I tried, my hand froze, so I said “Okay,” and never wrote about them anywhere. I
– The “knock-out drug.” Maybe that’s why I’m so hyper-sensitive to all sedatives.
– And if I wake up too soon, they just zap me afterward. Which explains my random heart problems, Taser burns, etc.
– Karla’s character traits: severe obedience, fear of abandonment, mistaking need for love, ability to precisely follow orders.
I relate to this totally, feeling painfully the work it has been in past decades to break free of even parts of it to create new patterns in more of my psyche. (Though I know I’m still being controlled – or have been recently – by someone commanding buried alters I’ve not yet been able to heal).
– Karla was a psychopath, who felt no remorse for others’ pain. I’m glad to know I hurt for others all over the planet, and still feel bad about a time when I was a Senior in high school (and never again, it felt so bad) “trying on” the behavior of a bossy former leader whose place I was taking, and I hurt a girl’s feelings, I thought – and I apologized to her a couple/few decades later! (She didn’t remember the event.)
I don’t believe I have any psychopathology, but I’m pretty sure I have a trained killer alter, whom I’ve only experienced once in my life, and that was when someone tried to break into my partner’s and my apartment, and I was ready to kill the man — quickly and efficiently.
After a moment of confusion, being awakened in the night, I snapped into a totally-unrecognized, but efficient and graceful series of behaviors, bouncing on my toes with a butcher knife in my hand, having commanded my partner to call 911. In my head was a recitation of the route my knife would take under his ribcage and up, the weight of the knife now becoming familiar as I bounced it in my fingers, the thought-feeling of the knife cutting its way through layers of skin, fat, and muscle – all running through my head with an absolute certainty that this would go perfectly. But the door held, and the police arrived and took him away.
They only took my report after arguing with me for quite a while about the non-necessity of arresting “a young man on a Saturday night with a little too much alcohol or drugs,” then the report didn’t exist the next morning, and no record of it was in any log, or so they told me. They were either protecting the drugged-up son of some powerful person, or they were testing my training. I wonder. But I do feel that I did have the complete knowledge in one hologram of my being for what I planned to do.
(When I wrote my book, RattleSnake Fire, I didn’t think this had anything to do with the rest of my book, or I would have included the story at the start of Chapter 16.)
So, I guess they programmed some part of me to kill, and when my life felt threatened, I was ready – and more than willing – to kill someone who “clearly,” I thought then, deserved it. No second thoughts, just total focus: bouncing on the toes, watching, hefting the knife, feeling the path, ready…. Good thing the police saved him.
Their videos of their murders …. chilling.
I think there are probably many videos of me; I’ve had lots of events over the years where the possibility something was a set-up for this was definitely in my mind, and my gut felt horrible about its real possibility, but my mind kept telling me, “No, just go along, don’t be paranoid….”
I feel so weak now, I can hardly lift my hands… but now refocused…. I think I should not be weak. I should face this stuff.
I want to cry.
I remember, “A seed must break apart before it can bear fruit.”
I’m breaking….feeling totally destroyed….
– Need to post the art showing demons on unconscious women, a small collection I’ve come across.
This institutional rape of women is not unique to our culture, but ancient.
– Rapes, psychotic personalities… curiously familiar feelings as I watch them,
slowly making connections in my conscious mind….
And I realize how powerfully I’ve been programmed to not be able
to distinguish psychotic lies from the truth
– in my younger years; I’m better now.
No wonder I’ve had such a series of “handlers,” rarely lovers.
(Mind control subjects need their handlers.)
– Her fear of being hated and abandoned was extreme to the point of numb terror,
very child-like and unthinking.
I’ve never been as bad as Karla, but I’ve had severe tendencies, and still do, I think.
– Karla mistakes her neediness for “love” because she was programmed that way. I was too, though now, thankfully, I recognize the difference. But that’s only one part of the control in their big bag of tricks.
– She’s seriously obsessed, more than I’ve ever been,
but I can see so clearly the patterns of how seriously we’ve both been MK’d.
Karla went psycho though. I became “multiple” (a better thing), cordoning off the ugliest stuff, leaving the rest of me, but only part of me, somewhat “normal.”
Splitting off, as a “multiple personality,” has made living a somewhat “normal” life, even a successful life in some modest ways, and often happy life possible. And I’m grateful.
But I have to keep aiming for fuller consciousness; it seems the only responsible thing to do. So I keep trying to remember and heal.
– I think my implants (typically thought of as “alien” or sometimes government), might also be associated with this. And one of their purposes, besides GPS and other sorts of control and harassment, is to identify me as to ownership – like a ranch animal.
– Flashing back on Prepon’s characterin Orange is the New Black, Alex Vausse – cold, hard, “seen it all,” willing to take pleasures where she can, willing to lie and seriously hurt her best friend and lover.
I might have alters who lie, but I don’t lie in my conscious life, except a few memorable times when it might have literally saved my life.
(Though some would say we all lie, all the time. Great TedTalks video on lying here.)
The difference between psychopathic and multiple: I have alters with behaviors for sex and killing locked away neatly (though they could be triggered on command, making the main part of me amnesic), whereas Karla has integrated the soul-deadened killer and liar into the whole of her.
I don’t think my killer alter can be triggered accidentally again, now that I’ve recognized her. But she gives me some confidence, knowing she’s there and capable if ever needed.
Mind controllers, though, can trigger that alter, which is why I tell everyone about this, and why I’m trying to heal – or hoping to die if things don’t get better.
(I don’t want the responsibility of choosing, in this conscious state, to ever kill someone, or myself. Too much appreciation for Life and the Mystery to destroy any of it – even though I talked about dying in January. I still believe I have the right, and conditions could change, but I’m not aiming there now.)
– I think there have always been psychopaths on the planet, but they’re increasing to record numbers and power now, it seems – at least I feel their heavy presence in my life.
Pulling back from despair….
– If I have any purpose in life, it’s to document my experience, which documents the worst of humanity at the end of the era. Feels important. So I record….
– I think this entire Earth is the subject of a turf war between warring global or cosmic gangster factions, the highest class (Illuminati?) to the lowest, and who knows how many factions and sub-factions there might be. It’s probably as complicated as global politics. Actually, it’s a big part of global and national politics. And maybe cosmic politics. Taking slaves of various sorts.
– Different aspects of this Systemhave been called mind control, ritual abuse, gang stalking, demonic, Satanic, sex slavery, CIA mind control, psychopathic, dark magick, human trafficking, Freemasonry, Mormonism, The Greek System, the Senate page scandal….and lots more. (I might have wrongly included a few of the above, but maybe not.)
– Karla was clearly trained to endure violence in numbness.
– Her husband is also a psychopath, but has features of a “multiple personality” as I understand it — even though the movie never makes a point of that, and he does no dramatic switching of alters. He’s charming in his social self, but he eventually is taken over by the desire to act out horrific sexual abuse on women, which he uses his adult intelligence to carry out, but when frustrated in any way, he reverts to behaviors that are what a six year old might do: scream, abuse, and yell incessant profanity – and rarely cry – all while otherwise appearing and conversing as an (immature) adult. And it’s clear to me that he was sexually brutalized around the age of six, much like many of us. Some go psycho. Some split. I’m so glad I split.
– Subconsciously, they recognize each other as “also abused,” and that’s their attraction: they are familiar to each other.
– 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):
* 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.
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.)
I 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.
We 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
* 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.
* 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 photographed (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.
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:
2nd half of August: 2 “donut” bruises, 1 injection bruise, 2 scratches similar to biopsy scoops, another injection bruise and other bruise.
September: 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 (“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.)
November: 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.
December: 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 problem: What 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.
And 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….
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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.
I 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.
* (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.
First journaling in a while. Feel like I need to scream. Been worrying about how to read the signs (since I sometimes avoid prayer and contemplation – some programming that hits sometimes) especially when things go wrong like they have today.
I realize: All the “figuring” is a very basic part of my mind control; I need, instead, to remember during hard times to listen to the quiet things, use my intuition. And I need to rout out the programming that tells me I don’t have time for prayer and contemplation.
AND NOW I GET IT: “Rise and shine! Up and at ‘em! Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!” – the waking I received from my mother nearly every morning of my life, the same three always-cheerful commands, every day, one after the other – was a major part of my programming – delivered by my handler-mom – of course, programmed herself.
telling me: Take no time for reflection, no time for yourself.
I will not do that anymore. Rise and shine. Up and at ’em. Bright-eyed and Bushy-Tailed. It never occurred to me that it was part of my programming, but I think now that it was. Work. Work. Work.
My mother’s father was killed when she was eight, during the Great Depression. Her parents were working as itinerant farm worker and construction worker. Now a penniless widow, her mother leased an ice cream sidewalk store, became famous for her sandwiches on fresh homemade bread, and parlayed it all into a successful restaurant and bakery with dining room, patio, walk-up window, and conference rooms. She catered to a group of bankers and developers, one of whom treated her like a mind control slave. While she worked to build the business, my mother and her sister spent a lot of time with their Mormon uncles.
I remember him coming to walk with her every day at a prescribed time. My mother was impressed about this, as I heard her speak of it a couple of times. Each day, my grandmother sat in view of the front door when he was due and rose immediately, cutting off conversation when he appeared. “And she never has told anyone what he says to her,” my mother remarked, as if this was impressive and not disturbing. Once, we walked with her to meet him, but he said little or nothing to us and walked straight away with my grandmother.
The programming:Give yourself no time for contemplation. We will give you precepts and our logic derived from them, and teach you how to prioritize and organize.
I think I’m doing better than most Americans because I don’t buy their consumerism, politics, or religion, but I’m still programmed to be productive and not waste time – which sounds like a good thing, but robs us of contemplation.
That’s why I’ve felt like screaming. Seven stressors hit in the last two weeks, and I kept my cool and performed on Sunday. Monday, I was tired, but I was so bothered by the desk piled high and our desire to post a recording that I forced myself ahead and had dreams all night long about my most un-fun subject: aliens. All night long. That’s a first. Then today, I worked hard on my home refinancing, and at the end of the day I was ready to scream. Actually, I had a response I’ve had a few times in my life, when anxiety is very high: like screaming, throwing up, and falling-down all at once.
But it’s been good, because a see a new aspect of the Big Lie now: Productivity. I think I was put into a number of programs, one of which was to be highly productive and manage complicated tasks. It’s been useful. But it has also made me so tightly focused when I work it’s hard to be social, as I need to switch parts, which is doable, but sometimes slow and awkward. I feel like a fancy experimental race car with a phenomenal engine and a tricky transmission.
But I’m healing that transmission, little by little. It’s been a bumpy road with set-backs when I’ve felt worse rather than better, but mostly I know I’m better, despite days like today. Today was a hard lesson day. I learned the consequence of taking on too much. Again.
I should never push that hard, unless it’s really important. I have to take care of my heart and whole health. So I need to make more than a commitment.
I need to change things in my environment to support my commitment, so that I have constant reinforcement to evolve, change, or rout out the programming and habit of my lifetime.
From now on, each morning I will give myself time in bed to record my dreams and thoughts, and decide what’s most important. I’ll take time to listen for any alters’ opinions, so no one’s left out and everyone’s needs are met. (That way, no one needs to act out to get attention, or have a heart attack, or get sick or depressed.) We’ll find our center, cooperate better, and not get confused so readily.
Morning will be sacred time, for being still. Productivity will just have to wait.
When I rise, I’ll walk slowly to heat my turmeric tea. I’ll sit in the most comfortable place in the house.
I’ll make myself a new journal with nice, functional paper (not these one-side-already-used recycled sheets others would throw away, but something that will honor my words) inside a beautiful, meaningful cover. I’ll keep a nice bed shawl nearby and pillow for my neck.
The scream has gone.
I’ll return again to listening to my Wise Self and break another bit of programming. Back to Center.
Blessings on You All ~
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I quit thinking we could change anything politically or by education a long time ago. (I’m sorry to say that, activist friends.)
Why? Just look at the extent of our soil collapse, terminator genes, poisoned water, chemtrails, fracking, wars, prisons, racism, surveillance, political charades, media disinformation, mis-education, crazy philosophies, pharmaceutical addictions, mind control, wars – and massive human wage- or other slavery to accomplish it all.
A bigger picture might be terrifying, but it gives me hope, far beyond Earth politics and activism.
My bigger picture draws from all the history of the Earth – not just the rulers’ history of wars and conquest, which tells us a lot between the lies – but also Gnostic accounts of Archons, Hopi accounts of Kachinas, shamanic animism, Sitchen’s Annunaki, Hebrews’ Jehovah, Christians’ Christ, European folklore, contemporary accounts of star beings, Star Trek’s Prime Directive – almost all of it true or a simplified or degraded story of some real aspect of our world.
In broad terms: The Earth and other planets have been resource extraction sites before. We humans are also resources – just like the controllers are calling us these days. And many of us will probably die in one or a series of cataclysms soon involving those jeopardies I named above – just as histories, geology, and archeology have recorded before, as religions have predicted will happen again, and as Henry Kissinger says would be a good thing soon.
So, engaging in politics today recalls for me the cliche about deck chairs on the Titannic.
It’s good to know we have lives beyond this Earth, and I believe it’s time now to keep our focus in other dimensions where we can connect with our kin beyond this realm.
And while we’re here, imagine the world we want – and work to make it real – now. We might create community gardens and housing coops here in this dimension, or maybe our efforts will create them in another dimension. Either way.
Many religions say we’ll experience a separation of energies, good and bad into heaven and hell; but I imagine this “harvest” or “rapture” (under many other names as well) like white light naturally bent in a prism (or split by dimensional shift), refracted into different component colors, separated naturally (rather than by doctrine) by our differing light vibrations. In which case, the vibes we give off – the music we make, so to speak – will determine where we go after this.
Designing a better world of our imaginations is natural, our human destiny. So is fighting back when forced to. But political conversations with trained liars? Nah….
Creating good vibrations in music, design, and community feels good, and it’s probably far more productive.
Saturday afternoon, after a mild and satisfying week, I watched a video about Tom Kenyon – “Song of the New Earth” – then turned off the computer and sat back to try to “tone” for the first time in years.
I’ve had amazing experiences with sound before, most notably when I went to hear Tuvan “throat singers” (shamans from Tuva, Siberia). I was seated directly in front of one of the didgeridoos, it’s base angled slightly away from me, and throughout the performance I experienced energy knots in my aura explode and dissipate away with the shamans’ sounds. Subtly, I turned, twisted, and bent to present different aspects of my energy field to the healing vibrations.
At one point in the video, Tom said something like:
“All can learn to use sound to be healers for ourselves and others.”
This, I knew, but I also knew immediately it was for me to embrace now.
When the video ended, I sat, intending to make sounds that simply felt good to me – a welcome change from “simple” meditation, which sometimes is so difficult, trying to keep a half-dozen minds quiet.
Immediately, a tone emerging from me felt like “it,” and I intuitively worked to “send it around” to different places in my head. On my second toning, I was surprised but pleased, to hear an overtone – the thing that had seemed next to impossible for me, since I’d tried this once many years ago. But now, my dozens of tonings resulted in two or three overtones every time after the first, and sending sounds to different places in my skull and aura around my head and throat and heart.
A few times, I experienced serious pain in my head and around my eyes, but didn’t think it was necessarily a bad thing. It lasted a short while, then seemed to “break through” something – an energy block from some old wound, I assumed – and I immediately began exploring new areas, always on the left side of my head. (The right side always felt open to sound; it’s the left side that’s always where “my stuff” is.)
Eventually, I found I’d not only made three tones at once, but I’d learned to move them around, make them break through blockages, and become more attractively harmonic!
This morning, I practiced toning again with Greg present, and maybe because I felt shy, I didn’t practice long and could only produce a single overtone – but he heard it! This thing I thought impossible I can do!
Something else in the video excited me immensely! In “Song for a New Earth,” Tom recounts a story from young adulthood in which he was mystically drawn into another dimension where he encountered strange beings who asked him if he will “sing the song of the new Earth.”
Being whisked into another dimension is a favorite theme of mine, of course – I love it when others share something that helps me understand my own similar “crazy” stuff. But I was totally unprepared to see an image – drawn by artists, presumably with Tom’s direction – that nearly perfectly depicts the environment of an extra-dimensional encounter I had in 1999.
I was still healing from the shock of remembering, five years earlier, childhood sexual abuse, but I’d not yet understood I’d also been a mind control subject. I prayed constantly for information that would help me understand my torment, and one day I was offered the opportunity to go into a terrifying place.
I was suddenly at the mouth of a cave that looked nearly identical to the one drawn for Tom Kenyon! He met an aboriginal man there twirling a fire stick. In a similar environment, I spoke with huge bats that seemed to be part of the cave’s dripstone, which in my vision were thicker so that they blocked more of the view inside than this depiction. One other difference is that the cave felt like the mouth of a living thing.
The bat people emerged from the living columns near the front where they encouraged me to enter and learn everything I wanted to know about what had happened to me – just what I’d been praying for for years. In wheedling, syrupy tones, they encouraged and terrified me.
Inside the cave I imagined – no, felt – a torture chamber or something equally repugnant, from which I might not find it easy or swift to return. One part of me tested the idea to “be brave” and enter the passage – but I decided to wait for knowledge and turned away.*
Tom, in his vision of the red cave with the aborigine, when asked whether he would sing the Song of the New Earth, answered he didn’t know. In this life, of course, his answer has been affirmative.
Watching the video, each time he answered that he didn’t know, I answered aloud, excitedly, “Yes!” and “I will!” Now, I’m curious to learn what it might mean.
It may – for me – mean simply more of what Greg and I already do – sing “good” songs – about love, friendship, home, community, nature, and cosmic mysteries, or the song-and-story sets we’re developing, especially my favorite “cosmic” set with songs of extra-dimensional travel and mystery by Bob Dylan, Jackson Brown, Neil Young, and so many others who write explicitly or hint about travel and beings in the multi-dimensional cosmos.
Of course, it’s more too.
I’ve long resonated with a vision I once read, of Earth’s humans, cooperative and aggressive, dividing into two dimensions of future Earth, divided according to their vibrations.
Not divided by doctrine, words, which have been used since the beginning of civilization to tell lies, but in vibrations. Each of us, human, mountain, and star, singing, harmonizing, creating the vibrating river of Song to the New Earth.
The rest of my week has been almost uneventful, except for one set of small suspicious wounds where the sun don’t shine and one unhappy personal encounter. We hosted friends for a small potluck-fire-music party one evening, which I love even though I usually get overwhelmed by the numbers of people and then unsure about myself in bouts, even among friends if there are a few, and more overwhelmed if there are a dozen. Worse, a stranger arrived with a friend I thought knew better and set off my alarms, distracting me off and on for the entirety of the party. Despite that, we’re feeling blessed and grateful for the gathering in our home!
I’ve decided to tell guests more clearly not to bring others. (Help?)
* I believe I’ve received enough of that information – in bits and pieces – over the years and, even so, it has often been nearly too much to handle. Everyone in healing: We really do need to be careful what we pray for, qualify our prayers [“Thy will be done”], and not push the river. Psychotic break-downs and suicide can result. Trust your Helping Spirit Family to guide and pace you in uncovering repressed information.
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I think I’ve been afraid for a very long time to be too powerful. But I’m trying to get over that. So here’s my second attempt at beginning a new memoir. I’m also thinking of entering it in a memoir contest. I’d love you’re feedback.
After the Second World War, my father and mother lived on the GI Bill while he attended veterinary college and my mother kept house. It was July 7, 1952, 4:25 a.m., eight minutes before a precise full moon, that I was born.
The next things I’ll share I’d have cringed at in embarrassment most of my life, but something has to explain the crazy life I’ve lived: It was not only a Full Moon, but a Monday, long ago known as Moon-day, and smack-dab in the middle of Cancer, previously known as Moon Children. And the eight minutes between my birth and full moon is 2/1000th of a degree, dang close to precise.
Dwight David Eisenhower, my grandfather’s second cousin (or so claims the family), would be nominated to the Republican ticket as candidate for President of the United States later that day. Our local paper would write a smarmy short column about the coincidence.
At home on the UC Davis campus, the CIA was experimenting with mind control as they had on various campuses for the last five years. I would live on this campus for the first fourteen months of my life.
(Thank you for your comment!)
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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.
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, tokeep 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.)
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.
Mind 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.
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).
The worst of my experiencesinvolving 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.
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.
Why 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.
Life 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.)
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.
Author: 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 ~
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Many new improvements on my site! New organization, new material, new look!
Among them: a new video page – with almost a dozen videoswatchable right there!
The first video, lovingly and artfully crafted back in 2010, went immediately viral, with a thousand hits both the first and second week, and continues to get shared and viewed widely.
The series of videos, each 5-8 minutes long, I produced to provide a simple overview of criminal mind control, multiple personality disorder, and my healing work. There’s an introduction, and each subsequent video covers briefly one subject: my experience with MPD; my experience with MK; reasons I believe I was chosen; marks left on my body; memories from childhood; a reading of the first chapter of a friend’s book which sets the scene quite well for mind control in American history; and my immediate recounting of a cathartic healing event.
And then there’s 35 more videos by others, which link to YouTube – but one click and all 35 are lined up and ready to watch or choose from: Terrence McKenna, Colin Ross, Travis Walton, and many others speaking on American culture, mind control, and other related topics!
This 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 week, laying 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.
~ 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.
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.
~ 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.
(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, TheHulk, 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.)
A 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.
~ 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.
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?
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For years I’ve wavered between appreciation and being highly pissed-off when I’ve heard people talk about “creating our own realities.”
(“Yeah, tell that to a baby who’s being …,” I used to say.)
So it is with a sense of irony, humility, and real appreciation that I repost part of an email from Jon Rappaport, along with a link to his site. This is the beginning of a sale pitch for a package he’s selling – out of my price range, so I won’t buy – BUT just the approach he presents to this very important question is quite powerful I believe.
I’ll use it to further empower some new ideas that have been stirring in me, and attitudes I’ve been practicing now for a little while that have helped me a great deal with healing.
In my Blogging 201 seminar, I’ve had requests for basic information on both Mind Control and Multiple Personality – so I’ve created two new pages. The second one is copied here, as well as in a new page at the top of the site under “Multiple. The first is also right up top of the site under “Mind Control.“
For all the multiples….
Is Multiple Personality Disorder (Dissociative Identity Disorder) “crazy”? Actually, it’s considered a creative solution, usually discovered in childhood, tokeep from going crazy when experiencing something beyond what the psyche can handle, like torture. The vast majority of multiples experienced torture as children in one way or another.
(Today MPD is called Dissociative Identity Disorder, but many of us prefer the old term as more descriptive of our experience.)
How multiple splitting comes about: Under extreme stress, a person, especially a child, might “leave their body” to psychically escape unbearable pain; the mind, however, keeps recording the body’s experience – now on a blank slate – which then becomes another, separate personality.
The initial separation sets a repeatable pattern in the person called dissociation (dissociating mind from body); with ongoing stress, the pattern is repeated again and again, creating more and more alternate personalities, called “alters.” Since some of the alters are too afraid to come back into the body and risk torture again, they remain children. Interestingly, their young psyches may actually help the body stay young-looking – until an older alter comes out.
While the fragmentation of the psyche is not “normal,” each of the fragments, alters, is sane. They each have a sane perspective on their piece of the world. If they escaped pain, they have a psychology that never experienced pain and is normal for that experience. If the alter was one that did experience pain, they may have a neurotic personality, but totally appropriate to and sane for their experience.
Most positive: with all those alters, multiples have potentially more perspective than most – like insects with multiply-faceted eyes. The trick is coordinating the alters, helping the suffering ones heal, giving disruptive alters appropriate new “jobs” and identities, and if communication is a problem, helping everyone communicate, etc.
In ancient societies, multiples were supported and often honored for their diverse perspectives and skills, usually broad, including a range of skills from the mundane to psychic – as the alters who spent the most time dissociated from the body often develop significant psychic skills. These individuals were often trained as shamans.
1976 film Sybil, starring Sally Field and Joanne Woodward
In modern society, on the other hand, there is little recognition, much less appreciation or caring support for multiples. Some find good therapists, but many do not, and the cause of their affliction, the torture, is typically ignored by society. If individuals cannot function well enough to pass as un-fragmented, they live as “disabled” – even though they may have a lot of wisdom with all their perspectives.
Relationships between the alters can be very different from multiple to multiple. Some alters are entirely unknown to the other alters, which causes tremendous problems for the person. Sometimes a person has “co-conscious” alters which work together quite successfully (like myself), though there may be disconnected alters as well that cause occasional problems.
Children under torturous conditions who don’t “leave their bodies” and dissociate often become schizophrenic. So dissociation, MPD, is a blessing in disguise, having saved the child from a far worse possibility. MPD/DID is fairly easy to heal (unless complicated by mind control); schizophrenia, on the other hand, is considered incurable.
1957 movie starring Joanne Woodward and Lee J Cobb
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: Many of us discover we have the capacity to manage a wide variety of mental tasks, having a lot of “minds” holographically in our beings. Managing them all is the trick.
The common perception of “multiples,” as being tragically out of control, is true for some, but many multiples are also very high-functioning, many even testing at genius levels (as I have a few times). Granted, we also often have severe mental, psychological, social emotional, and spiritual challenges as well – as readers of my book can appreciate.
As for the torture that causes multiple-ness: In the past, torture of children usually happened by accident, a child surviving a wild animal attack, for instance. Unfortunately, people lacking empathy and any moral code recognized that multiples have a propensity for amnesia and learned to take advantage of this, sometimes making literal slaves of the multiples.
In the 1940s, China and the United States each sought to protect their secrets from adversaries at war and began experimenting on soldiers, inducing split minds through intentional torture on their own citizens and others. In the United States, the CIA began intensive studies, now called MKULTRA, and experimented on an estimated 20,000 children and many more adults between the late 1940s and the mid 1970s – individuals who had no idea they were experimental subjects, did not give their consent, and have never been acknowledged or assisted in healing. (The CIA director testified that they destroyed all files. As a consequence, no subject can prove they were involved and disabled in this program.) More on American mind control history is in my page “Mind Control Defined.”
This isthe 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.
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credit: MindControlCollege. I cannot vouch for this, but it gives a good idea of the orderly way this is done, with backups, failsafes, and back doors.
Still very well worth reading. Delivered at the Fourth Annual Eastern Regional Conference on Abuse and Multiple Personality, Thursday June 25, 1992, at the Radisson Plaza Hotel, Mark Center, Alexandria, Virginia. Sponsored by the Center for Abuse Recovery & Empowerment, The Psychiatric Institute of Washington, D.C.
Hypnosis in MPD: Ritual Abuse (The Greenbaum Speech) – transcript
By D.C. Hammond
I want to start off by talking a little about trance training and the use of hypnotic phenomena with an MPD/dissociative disorder population. I will also talk about exploration of the unconscious, the use of symbolic imagery techniques for managing physical symptoms, input overload, and things like that. Before the day’s out, I want to spend some time talking about something I think has been completely neglected in the field of dissociative disorder, and that’s methods of profound calming for automatic hyper-arousal that’s been conditioned in these patients.
I also want to talk about hypnotic relapse prevention strategies and post-integration therapy. Finally, I hope somewhere in our time together to spend an hour or so talking specifically about ritual abuse, mind control programming and brainwashing – how it’s done and how to get on the inside. This is a topic that in the past I haven’t been willing to speak about publicly. I have done that in small groups and in consultations, but recently decided that it was high time that somebody started doing it. So we’re going to talk about specifics today.
In Chicago [in 1984], at the first international congress where ritual abuse was talked about, I can remember thinking, “How strange and interesting.” I can recall many people listening to an example given that somebody thought was so idiosyncratic and rare, and then all the people coming up afterwards saying, “Gee, you’re treating one like that, too? You’re in Seattle? Well, I’m in Toronto.” “Well, I’m in Florida.” “Well, I’m in Cincinnati…” I didn’t know what to think at that point.
It wasn’t too long after that I found my first ritual abuse patient in somebody I was treating, and we hadn’t gotten that deep yet. Things in that case made me very curious about the use of mind control techniques, hypnosis, and other brainwashing techniques. So I started studying brainwashing and some of the literature in that area. I became acquainted with one of the people who’d written one of the better books in that area.
Those therapists said, “You’re asking questions I don’t know the answers to. You’re asking more specific questions than I’ve ever asked my patients.” Many of those same therapists said, “Let me ask those questions, and I’ll get back to you with the answer.” Many of them not only got back with answers, but said, “You’ve got to talk to this patient or these two patients.” As a result, I ended up doing hundreds of dollars worth of telephone interviewing.
I came out of that with a grasp of a variety of brainwashing methods being used all over the country. I started to hear some similarities. Whereas to begin with, I hadn’t known how widespread things were, I was now getting a feeling that there were a lot of people reporting some similar things, and that there must be some degree of communication to cause this.
Then approximately two and a half years ago, I had some material drop in my lap. My source was saying a lot of things that I knew were accurate about some of the brainwashing, but was telling me new material about which I had no idea. At this point I decided to check it out in three ritual abuse patients I was seeing at the time. After careful inquiry, without leading or contaminating, I discovered two of the three had what the source was describing.
The fascinating thing was that as I did a telephone consult with a therapist that I’d been consulting for quite a number of months on an MPD case in another state, I asked her to inquire about certain specific things. She said, “Well, what are those things?” I said, “I’m not going to tell you specifics, because I don’t want there to be any possibility of contamination. Just come back to me and tell me what the patient says.”
She called me back two hours later and said, “I just had a double session with this patient and there was a part of him that said, ‘Oh, we’re so excited. If you know about this stuff, you know how the cult programmers get on the inside, and our therapy is going to go so much faster.’” Now many other patients since have had a reaction of wanting to pee their pants out of anxiety and fear rather than thinking it was wonderful thing.
But the interesting thing was that she then asked her patient, “What are these things?” They were word perfect the same answers my source had given me. I’ve since repeated that experience in many parts of the country. I’ve consulted in eleven states and one foreign country, in some cases over the telephone, in some cases in person. In some cases I gave the therapist information ahead of time saying, “Be very careful how you phrase this. Phrase it in these ways so you don’t contaminate.” In other cases I didn’t give the therapist specific information ahead of time, so they couldn’t contaminate the results.
When you find the same highly esoteric information in different states from Florida to California and from different countries, you start to get an idea that there’s something going on that is very large and very well coordinated, something that is systematic and requires a great deal of communication. So I have gone from someone kind of neutral and not knowing what to think about it all to someone who clearly believes ritual abuse is real, and that the people who say it isn’t are either naive – like people who didn’t want to believe the Holocaust – or they’re dirty [involved in the programs].
Now for a long time I would give information to a select group of therapists that I knew and trusted, and say, “Spread it out. Don’t spread my name. Don’t say where it came from. But here’s some information. If you find it’s on target, share it with other therapists, and I’d appreciate your feedback.” People would question me in talks. They were hungry for information.
Later, I and a few others that I’d shared it with were hedging out of concern because of personal threats and death threats. I finally decided to hell with them. If they’re going to kill me, they’re going to kill me. It’s time to share more information with therapists. Part of why I’m willing to share this is because we proceeded so cautiously and slowly, checking things in many different locations and finding the same thing. So I’m going to describe for you ways of dealing with ritual abuse programming. I certainly can’t tell you everything that you want to know in forty-five or fifty minutes, but I’m going to give you the essentials to get inside and start working at a new level.
I don’t know what proportion of patients have this. I would guess maybe two-thirds of your ritual abuse patients may have this kind of programming. What do I think is the distinguishing characteristic? If they were raised from birth in a mainstream cult, or if they were a non-bloodline person, meaning neither parent was in the cult, but cult people had a lot of access to them in early childhood, they may also have it.
I have seen more than one ritual abuse patient who clearly had all the kind of ritual things you hear about. They seemed very genuine. They talked about all the typical things that you hear in this population, but based on prolonged extensive checking, they had none of this programming. So for instance I believe in one case I was personally treating that the patient was in a kind of schizmatic break-off that had kind of gone off and done their own thing and were no longer hooked into a mainstream group.
Along with them was a young boy, a teenager, who had been raised in a Hasidic Jewish tradition with a background of Cabalistic mysticism. That probably appealed to people in the cult, because by the turn of the century HYPERLINK “http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aleister_Crowley”Aleister Crowley had been introducing Cabalism into Satanic stuff, if not earlier. I suspect it may have formed some bond between the boy and the Nazis. He saved his skin by collaborating and being an assistant to them in the death-camp experiments. They brought him with the Nazis to the US.
These escaped Nazis started doing mind control research for military intelligence in military hospitals in the United States. These Nazi doctors were Satanists. Subsequently, the boy changed his name, Americanized it some, obtained an M.D. degree, became a physician, and continued this work that appears to be at the center of cult programming today. His name is known to patients throughout the country.
What they basically do in these programs is they get a child and start programming in basic forms, it appears, by about age two and a half, after the child’s already been made dissociative. They’ll make him dissociative not only through abuse, like sexual abuse, but also things like putting a mousetrap on their fingers and teaching the parents, “You do not go in until the child stops crying. Only then do you go in and remove it.”
They start in rudimentary forms at about age two and a half and kick into high gear, it appears, around six or six and a half. They continue through adolescence with periodic reinforcements in adulthood.
During the programming, the child will be put typically on a gurney. They will have an IV in one hand or arm. They’ll be strapped down, typically naked. There will be wires attached to their head to monitor electroencephalograph patterns. They will see a pulsing light, most often described as red, occasionally white or blue. They’ll be given, most commonly I believe, Demerol. Sometimes it will be other drugs as well depending on the kind of programming. They have it, I think, down to a science where they’ve learned you give a set amount every twenty-five minutes until the programming is done.
The patients then will describe a pain on one ear, their right ear generally, where it appears a needle has been placed. They will hear weird, disorienting sounds in that ear while they see photic stimulation to drive the brain into a brainwave pattern with a pulsing light at a certain frequency not unlike the goggles that are now available through Sharper Image and some of those kinds of stores. Then, after a suitable period when they’re in a certain brainwave state, they will begin programming oriented to self-destruction and debasement of the person.
One patient about eight years old had gone through a great deal of early programming which took place on a military installation. That’s not uncommon. I’ve treated and been involved with cases who are part of this original mind control project, as well as having their programming on military installations in many cases. We find a lot of connections with the CIA. This particular child was in a private cult school where several of these sessions occurred a week.
She would be taken into a room to get all hooked up. They would do all of these sorts of things. When she was in the proper altered state, they no longer had to monitor with electroencephalographs. She also already had electrodes placed on her; one in the vagina, for example, four on the head. Sometimes they’ll be on other parts of the body. They would then begin and would say to her, “You are angry with someone in the group.” She’d say, “No, I’m not,” and they’d violently shock her. They would say the same thing until she complied and didn’t make any negative response.
Then they would continue. “When you are angry with someone in the group, you will hurt yourself. Do you understand?” She answered, “No,” and they shocked her. They repeated again, “Do you understand?” “Well, yes, but I don’t want to.” Shock her again until they get compliance.
Then they keep adding to it. “And you will hurt yourself by cutting yourself. Do you understand?” Maybe she’d say yes, but they might say, “We don’t believe you,” and shock her anyway. “Go back and go over it again.” They would continue in this sort of fashion. She said typically it seemed as though they’d go about thirty minutes, take a break for a smoke or something and come back. They might review what they’d done and then stop, or go on to new material. She said the sessions might go half an hour, or as much as three hours. She estimated three times a week.
Programming was done under the influence of drugs in a certain brainwave state, with these noises in one ear and the programmers speaking in the other ear, usually the left ear, which is associated with right hemisphere non-dominant brain functioning. All this while they were talking to her and therefore requiring her intense concentration, intense focusing. Often they would have to memorize and say certain things back, word perfect, to avoid punishment, shock, and other kinds of things that were occurring. This is basically how a lot of programming goes on.
Some of it will also use other typical brainwashing techniques. There will be very standardized types of hypnotic things done at times. There will be sensory deprivation which we know increases suggestibility in anyone. According to the research, suggestibility is significantly increased with total sensory deprivation. It’s not uncommon before they do certain of these things for them to use this a great deal, including formal sensory-deprivation chambers.
Now because we don’t have a lot of time, let me give you as much practical information as I can.
The way that I would inquire as to whether or not some of this programming might be there was to use ideomotor finger signals. After setting them up, I would say, “I want the central inner core of you to take control of the finger signals.” Don’t ask the unconscious mind. The case where you’re inquiring about ritual abuse, that’s for the central inner core. The core is a cult-created part. “And I want that central inner core of you to take control of this hand and of these finger signals. For yes, the finger will float up. I want to ask the inner core of you is there any part of you who knows anything about Alpha, Beta, Delta, or Theta.”
If you get a yes, it should raise a red flag that you might have someone with formal intensive brainwashing and programming in place. I would then say, “I want a part inside who knows something about Alpha, Beta, Delta, and Theta to come up to a level where you can speak to me. And when you’re here say, ‘I’m here.’” I would not ask if a part was willing to do this. No one is going to particularly want to talk about this. I would just say, “I want some part who can tell me about this to come out.” Without leading them, ask what these things are.
On consults where I’ve come in, sometimes I’ve gotten a yes to that, but as I’ve done exploration, it appeared to be some kind of compliance response or somebody wanting, in two or three cases, to appear maybe that they were ritual abuse – and maybe they were in some way – but with careful inquiry and questioning, it was obvious that they did not have this kind of cult programming.
Let me tell you what these programs are. Let’s suppose that this whole front row here are multiples, and that she has an alter named Helen, she [the next woman] has one named Mary, she has one named Gertrude, she has one named Elizabeth, and she has one named Monica. Every one of those HYPERLINK “http://www.didlegit.com/alters.html”alters in each of you may have a program installed, perhaps designated alpha-zero-zero-nine. A cult person could say, “Alpha-zero-zero-nine” or make some kind of hand gesture to indicate this and get the same part out in any one of them, even though they had different names by which they may be known to you.
Alphas appear to represent general programming; the first kind of things put in. Betas appear to be sexual programs, for example, how to perform oral sex in a certain way, how to perform sex in rituals, or programming related to prostitution and producing and directing child pornography. Deltas are killers trained in how to kill in ceremonies. There will also be some self-harm stuff mixed in with the assassination and killing programs. Thetas are called psychic killers.
You know, I had never in my life heard those two terms paired together. I’d never heard the words “psychic” and “killers” put together. But when you have people in different U.S. states where therapists inquired and asked, “What is Theta,” and patients say to them, “Psychic killers,” it tends to make one a believer that these things are very systematic and very widespread. This comes from the programmers’ belief in psychic sorts of abilities and powers, including their ability to psychically communicate with “mother,” and their ability to psychically cause somebody to develop a brain aneurysm and die.
Gamma appears to be system protection and deception programming which will provide misinformation to you the therapist, try to misdirect you, tell you half-truths, and protect different things inside. Then there’s Omega. I usually don’t include that word when I ask my first question about this to any part inside that knows about Alpha, Beta, Delta, Theta, because Omega will shake them even more. Omega has to do with self-destruct programming. Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. This can include self-mutilation as well as suicide programming.
There can also be other Greek letters. I’d recommend that you go and get your entire Greek alphabet. You can verify that some of this stuff is present, and that they have given you some of the right answers about what some of this material is. And I can’t emphasize enough: Do not lead them. Do not ask yes or no questions like, “Is this killers?” Get the answer in statements from them, please.
When you’ve done this and programming appears to be present, I would take your entire Greek alphabet and, with ideomotor signals, go through the alphabet and say, “Is there any programming inside associated with epsilon, omicron,” and go on through the letters. There may be a system to some of the other letters, but I’m not aware of it. I found, for example in one case, that Zeta had to do with the production of snuff films that this patient was involved with.
With another person, Omicron had to do with their linkage and associations with drug smuggling and with the Mafia, big business, and government leaders. So there’s going to be some individualism, I think, in some of those. Some are come-home programs, “come back to the cult” programs.
Here’s the flaw in the system. They have built in shut-down and erasure codes, so if they should get into trouble, they could shut something down. They could also erase a program. These codes will sometimes be idiosyncratic phrases, or ditties. Sometimes they will be numbers maybe followed by a word. There’s some real individuality to that. At first I had hoped if we could decode some of these, maybe they would work with different people. No such luck. It’s very unlikely, unless they were programmed at about the same point in time as part of the same little group.
Stuff that I’ve seen suggests that the programmers carry laptop computers which still include everything that they did twenty, thirty years ago in terms of the names of alters, the programs, the codes, and so on.
Now what you can do is go in and get these erasure codes. And I always ask, “If I say this code, what will happen?” Then double check. “Is there any part inside who has different information?” Watch your ideomotor signals. What I’ve found is that you can erase programs by giving the appropriate codes, but then you must abreact the feelings.
So if I erase Omega, which is often where I’ve started because it’s the most high risk, afterwards I will get all the Omega – or what were formerly Omega alters – together, so that we will abreact and give back to the host the memories associated with all the programming that was done with Omega, and anything any Omega part ever had to do in a fractionated abreaction.
They use the metaphor – and it is their metaphor – of robots. It’s like a robot shell comes down over the child alter to make them act in robotic fashion. Once in a while internally you’ll confront robots. What I found from earlier work, and I speed the process up now because I’ve confirmed it enough times, is that you can say to the core, “Core, I want you to look. There’s this robot blocking the way in some way, blocking the progress. Go around and look at the back of the head and tell me what you notice on the back of the head or the neck.” I just ask it in very non-leading way like that.
And what’s commonly said to me is that there are wires or a switch. So I’ll tell them, “Hold the wires or flip the switch, and it will immobilize the robot. Then give me a yes signal when you’ve done it.” Pretty soon you get a yes signal. “Great. Now that the robot is immobilized, I want you to look inside the robot and tell me what you see.” It’s generally one or several children. I have them remove the children. I do a little hypnotic magic and ask the core to use a laser to vaporize the robot so nothing is left. They’re usually quite amazed that this works, as it has for a number of therapists.
Now the problem is that there are many different layers of this stuff. Let me come over to the overhead and give some ideas about them. What we have up here are innumerable alters.
I’ll tell you one of the fascinating things I’ve seen. I remember a little over a year ago coming in to see some cases, some of the tough cases at a dissociative-disorders unit of a couple of the finest of the MPD therapists in this country. These therapists were always part of all the international meetings and have lectured internationally. We worked together and I looked at some of their patients. They were amazed at certain things, because they had not been aware of this before.
We worked with some of the patients and confirmed this kind of programming. I remember one woman who had been inpatient for three years and still was inpatient. Another had one intensive year of inpatient work with all the finest MPD therapy you can imagine – abreactions, integrations, facilitating cooperation, art therapy, on and on and on. She was journaling intensively for one inpatient year followed by an intensive year of outpatient therapy two to three hours a week.
In both patients we found out that all of this great work had done nothing but deal with the alters. It had not touched the deeper mind control programming. In fact it was not only intact, but we found that the one who was outpatient was having her therapy monitored every session by her mother (who was her programmer), out-of-state, over the telephone. She still had intact suggestions that had been given to her that at a certain future time she would kill her therapist.
There is one thing that I would very carefully check. I would suggest that you ask not just the unconscious mind, but ask the core, “Is there any part inside that continues to have contact with people associated with the cult? Is there any part inside who goes to cult rituals or meetings? Is there a recording device inside of Mary,” if that’s the host’s name. “Is there a recording device inside so that someone can find out the things that are said in sessions?” This doesn’t mean they’re monitored. Many of them just simply have a recording device.
Ask also, “Is there someone who debriefs some part inside for what happens in our therapy sessions?” I have the very uncomfortable feeling from some past experience that when you look at this you will find the large proportion of ritual abuse victims in this country are having their ongoing therapy monitored.
I remember a woman about twenty-four years old who came in and claimed her father was a Satanist. Her parents divorced when she was six. After that, her father had visitation, and he would take her to rituals sometimes up until age fifteen. She said, “I haven’t gone to anything since I was fifteen.” Her therapist believed this at face value. We sat in my office. We did a two-hour inquiry using hypnosis. We found the programming present. In addition to that we found that every therapy session was debriefed, and in fact they had told her to get sick and not come to the appointment with me.
Another one had been told that I was cult, and that if she came I would know that she’d been told not to come, and I would punish her. If anything meaningful comes out in a patient who’s being monitored like that, my belief is you can’t do meaningful therapy other than being supportive and caring and letting them know you care a lot, and you’ll be there to support them. But I wouldn’t try to work with any kind of deep material or deprogramming with those being monitored, because I think it can do nothing but get them tortured and hurt unless they can get into a safe, secure inpatient unit for an extended period of time to do some of the work required. From what I’ve learned thus far, they’re tortured with electric shocks.
I have a feeling that when you make inquiries, you’re going to find that probably greater than fifty percent of these patients, if they’re bloodline – meaning mother or dad or both involved – will be monitored on some ongoing basis.
Now when you go below the HYPERLINK “http://www.didlegit.com/alters.html”alters, you then have programming named Alpha, Beta, Delta, Theta, and so forth – the Greek-letter programming – and they will have backup programs. There will typically be an erasure code for the backups. There may be one code that combines all the backups into one and then an erasure code for them, in other words, one code that erases all the backups.
So I will get the code for, let’s say, Omega and for all the Omega backups at the same time. After I’ve asked “What will happen if I give this,” I will give the code and then say, “What are you experiencing?” They often describe computer whirring, things erasing, explosions inside, all sorts of interesting things. I’ve had some therapists come back and say, “My Lord, I had never said anything about robots and she said something about robots vaporizing.”
I remember one therapist who’d been with me in several hypnosis workshops and consulted with me about a crisis MPD situation. I told her to inquire about Alpha, Beta, Delta, Theta. She did. She got back to me saying, “Yeah, I got an indication it’s there. What is it?” I said, “I’m not going to tell you. Go back and inquire about some of this.” We set an appointment for a week or so hence. She got back with me and said, “I asked what Theta was, and she said, ‘psychic killers.’ I asked her what Delta was, and she said ‘killers.’” Okay. So I told her about some of this stuff for a two-hour consult.
This therapist called back and said, “This seemed too fantastic. I heard this and thought, ‘Has Cory been working too hard?’ I held you in high professional regard, but this just sounded so off in the twilight zone that I really thought, ‘Is he having a nervous breakdown or something?’” She continued, “But I respected you enough to ask about this.”
The therapist said, “I asked another MPD patient.” In this patient she started describing things like how she worked, for example, with an erasure. She was describing things like robots vaporizing and all kinds of things. She said, “But I hadn’t told her about any of these things.”
Well, here’s the problem. There are different layers, and I think some of them are designed to keep us going in circles forever. They figured we probably, in most cases, wouldn’t get below the alters which they purposefully created.
It appears that below this we’ve got some other layers. One appears to be called “Green Programming.” Isn’t it interesting that the doctor’s name is Dr. Green? Here is one of the questions I use in a way that does not contaminate after I’ve identified that some of this stuff is there and they’ve given me a few right answers about what some of it is. “If there were a doctor associated with this programming and his name were a color, you know, like Dr. Chartreuse or something, if his name were a color, what color would the color be?”
Now once in a while I’ve had some other colors mentioned in about three or four patients that I felt were trying to dissimulate in some way. In one case I got another color, which I found out later it was a doctor whose name was a color who was being trained by Dr. Green almost thirty years ago. He supervised part of the programming of this particular patient under this doctor. I remember one woman couldn’t come up with anything. No alter would speak up with anything. I said, “Okay,” and we went on to some other material. About two minutes later she said, “Green. Do you mean Dr. Green?” We found this all over.
There appears to be some green programming below that. I suspect that you get down to fewer and more central programs the deeper you go. Well, all green programming is ultra-green and the green tree. Cabalistic mysticism is mixed into all this. If you’re going to work with this you need to pick up a couple of books on the Cabala. One called “Qabala” with a “q” is by a man named Dion Fortune. Another by Ann Huffer-Heller is called “The Kabbalah.”
It was interesting. I knew nothing about the Cabala. Then over two years ago, a patient sat in my waiting area who got there considerably early and drew a detailed multicolored Cabalistic tree. It took me two months to figure out what it was. Finally, I showed it to somebody else who said, “You know? That looks an awful lot like the Cabala tree.” That rang a bell with something esoteric in an old book and I dug it out. That led to the background of Dr. Green.
Now the interesting thing about the green tree is his original name was Greenbaum. What does “greenbaum” mean in German? Green tree. I’ve also had patients who didn’t appear to know that his original name was Greenbaum volunteer that there were parts inside named Mr. Greenbaum. Now let me give you some information about parts inside that may be helpful to you if you’re going to inquire about these things, because my experience is that one part will often give you some information and either run dry or get defensive or scared and stop. So you punt and you make an end run. You come around the other direction, and you find another part.
I’ll tell you several parts to ask for. Ask if there’s a part by one of these names. And, by the way, when I’m screening patients and fiddling around with this, I throw in a bunch of spurious ones and ask, “Is there a part inside by this fake name or by that name” as a check on whether or not it appears genuine. Just to see what kind of answers we get. For example, “Is there a part inside named Zelda?” I’ve never encountered one yet! I try to do this carefully.
“In addition to the core,” I ask, “is there a part inside named Wisdom?” Wisdom is a part of the Cabalistic Tree. Wisdom, I’ve often found, will be helpful and give you a lot of information. “Is there a part inside named Diana?” Diana is part of the Cabalistic system that is associated with a part called the Foundation. You will be fascinated to know about that. Remember the Process Church? Roman Polanski’s wife, Sharon Tate, was killed by the Manson family who were associated with the Process Church?
A lot of prominent people in Hollywood were associated with the Process Church, but then they went underground, the books say, in about 1978 and vanished? Well, they’re alive and well in southern Utah. We have a thick file in the Utah Department of Public Safety documenting that they moved to southern Utah, north of Monument Valley, bought a movie ranch in the desert, renovated it, expanded it, and built a bunch of buildings there. The compound is carefully monitored so that very few people go out of there, and no one can get in. They changed their name.
A key word in their name is “Foundation.” There are some other words. The Foundation is part of the Tree. So you can ask, “Is there something inside known as The Foundation?” I might ask other things to throw people off. “Is there something known as the sub-basement?” Well, maybe they’ll conceive of something. Or “Is there something known as the walls?” There are a variety of questions you can come up with, to sort of screen some things out.
I’ve also found that there will often be a part called “Black Master,” a part called “Master Programmer.” And there will typically be computer operators: Computer Operator Black, Computer Operator Green, Computer Operator Purple. Sometimes they’ll have numbers instead, sometimes they’ll be called systems information directors. You can find out the head one of those. That will be a source of some good information for you.
I will ask, “Is there a part inside named Dr. Green?” You’ll find that there are, if they have this kind of programming, in my experience. Usually with a little work and reframing, you can turn them and help them to realize that they were really a child part who’s playing a role, and that they had no choice then. But they do now. You know, they played their role very, very well, but they don’t have to continue to play it with you, because they’re safe here. Ask them, “If the cult simply found out that you talked to me, that they you had shared information with me, tell me what would they do to you.” Emphasize that the only way out is through you, and that they need to cooperate and share information and help you so that you can help them.
Now they have tried to protect this very carefully. Let me give you an example with ultra-green. I used to think this programming was only in bloodline people. I’ve discovered it in non-bloodline people, but it’s a bit different. They don’t want it to be just the same. I don’t think you’ll find deep things like ultra-green and probably not even green programming with non-bloodline people. But let me tell you something that I discovered first in a non-bloodline, and then in a bloodline.
We were going along and a patient was close to getting well, approaching final integration in a non-bloodline. Suddenly she started hallucinating and her fingers were becoming hammers and other things like that. So I used an affect-bridge, and we went back, and we found that they had given suggestions that if she ever got well to a certain point she would go crazy.
The way they did this was they strapped her down and they gave her LSD when she was eight years old. When she began hallucinating they inquired about the nature of the hallucinations, so that they could utilize them in good Ericsonian fashion and build on them, and then combine the drug-effect with powerful suggestions. “If you ever get fully integrated and get well you will go crazy and will be locked up in an institution for the rest of your life.” They gave those suggestions vigorously and repetitively. Finally they introduced other suggestions that, “Rather than have this happen, it would be easier to just kill yourself.” In a bloodline patient then, as I began inquiring about deep material, the patient started to experience similar symptoms. We went back and we found that identical things were done to her.
This was called the “Green Bomb.” Lots of interesting internal consistencies like that play on words with Dr. Greenbaum, his original name. Now in this particular case it was done to her at age nine for the first time, yet hers was different. It was a suggestion for amnesia. “If you ever remember anything about ultra-green and the green tree you will go crazy. You will become a vegetable and be locked up forever.” Then finally the suggestions added, “And if you ever remember, it will be easier to just kill yourself than have that happen to you.”
Three years later at age twelve, they used what sounds like an amytal interview to try to find out if they could breach the amnesia. They couldn’t. So then they strapped her down again, took and gave her something to kind of paralyze her body, gave her an even bigger dose of LSD, and reinforced all the suggestions. They did a similar thing at the age of sixteen. So these are some of the kinds of booby traps you run into.
There are a number of cases where they combined powerful drug effects like this with suggestions to keep us from discovering some of this deeper level stuff.
What’s the bottom? Your guess is as good as mine but I can tell you that I’ve had a lot of therapists who were stymied with these cases who were going nowhere. In fact someone here to whom I told some basic information about this in Ohio a couple of months ago said it opened all sorts of things up in a patient who’d been going nowhere. That’s a common thing.
I think that we can move down to deeper levels, and if we deal with some of the deeper level stuff, it may destroy all the stuff above it. But we don’t even know that yet.
In some of the patients I’m working with we have pretty much dealt with a lot of the top-level stuff. I’ll tell you how we’ve done some of that. We’ll take and erase one system like Omega. Then we will have a huge abreaction of all the memories and feelings in a fractionated abreaction associated with those parts. I typically find I’ll say to them, “Now that we’ve done this are there any other memories and feelings that any parts that were Omega still have?” The answer is usually “No.”
I usually find at this point in time the majority, if not all, of those parts that used to be Omega no longer feel a desire or need to be different. So I will say, “You were split off originally by them and want to go home now to Mary and become one with her again.” I use the concept often now – which came from a patient – of going home and becoming one with her. “Going back from whence you came” is another phrase I’ll use with them. “Are there any Omega parts inside who do not feel comfortable with that or have reservations or concerns about that?” If there are we talk to them. We deal with them. A few may not integrate. My experience is most of the time they’ll integrate. We may integrate twenty-five parts at once in a polyfragmented complex MPD.
I think it is vitally important to abreact the feelings before you go on. Also for many patients it hasn’t seemed to matter the order we use, but I’ve found a couple where it has. If it doesn’t seem to matter, I’ll typically go Omega, then Delta because they have more violence potential, then Gamma to get rid of the self-deception stuff. I don’t want to assume anything. Once we’ve done Omega and showed them that success can occur and something can happen giving them relief, I will say to them, “I want to ask the core – through the fingers – is there a specific order in which programs must be erased?”
Maybe it doesn’t matter, but most of the time I found “No.” Yet there are cases where we found “Yes.” I recommend doing one or two or three of those because they’ll produce relief and a sense of optimism in the patient. But then I would recommend starting to probe for the deeper level things and getting their input and recommendations about the order in which we go.
Q: What has been the typical age and typical gender of this type of person?
Dr. Hammond: I know of this being found in men and women. Yet most of the patients I know with MPD ritual abuse that are being treated are women. A while back I was talking to a small group of therapists somewhere. I told them about some of this. In the middle of talking about some of this all the color drained out of one social worker’s face. She obviously had a reaction, so I asked her about it. She said, “I’m working with a five-year-old boy. Just in the last few weeks he was saying something about a Dr. Green.”
I went on a little further, and I mentioned some of these things, and she just shook her head again. I said, “What’s going on?” She said, “He’s been spontaneously telling me about robots and about Omega.” I think you will find variations of this, and changes they’ve made probably every few years, and maybe somewhat regionally to throw us off in various ways. But certain basics and fundamentals will probably be there. I have seen this in people up into their forties including people whose parents were very, very high in the CIA, and other agencies like that. I’ve had some that were originally part of the Monarch Project, which is the name of the government intelligence project.
Q: I’m still not grasping how one starts, how you find out how to erase. How do you get that information?
Dr. Hammond: I would say, “I want the core, if necessary, using the telepathic communication ability you have to read minds.” They believe in that kind of stuff, so I’ll use it. I was trained in Ericsonian stuff, I’ll say, “Obtain for me the erasure code of all Omega programs. When you’ve done so, I want the yes-finger to float up.” Then I ask them to tell it to me. “Are there backups for Omega programs?” “Yes.” “Okay? How many backups are there?” “Six,” they say, let’s say. It can be different numbers. “Is there an erasure code for all the backup programs?” “No.” “Is there an erasure code that combines all the backups into one?” “Yes.” “Obtain that code for me, and when you’ve got it give me the yes signal again.” It can move almost that fast in some cases where there’s not massive resistance.
Q: Yes, can you tell me what you know about the risks to the therapist? [Laughter]
Dr. Hammond: You would have to ask.
Q: Yeah, I’d like to know that. What kind of data do you have given that you’ve had contact with large numbers of people. Not just threats but also any injury, or any family problems that have arisen. That’s one question. A second one is are you aware of anybody that you’ve treated – or others – with this level of dissociation and trauma that have recovered, that are integrated, whole and happy?
Dr. Hammond: Okay, I have one non-bloodline multiple, a complex multiple who had this kind of programming where they have a lot of access to the patient as neighbors and where the doctor was involved.
By the way, you’ll find physicians heavily involved. The cults have encouraged their own to go to medical school, to prescribe drugs to take care of their own, to get access to medical technology, and to be above suspicion. There is a couple in Utah, in fact, who have been nailed now. We now have in Utah two full time ritual abuse investigators with statewide jurisdiction under the Attorney General’s Office to do nothing but investigate this.
Okay? In a poll done in the State of Utah in January by the major newspaper and television station, they found that ninety percent of Utahans believe that ritual abuse is genuine and real. Not all of them believe it’s a frequent occurrence, but some of that was imparted from two years of work by the Governor’s Commission on Ritual Abuse interviewing, talking, meeting people, and gathering data.
So when people say, “There’s no evidence. They’ve never found a body,” that’s baloney. They found a body in Idaho of a child. They’ve had a case last summer that was convicted on first-degree murder charges. Two people the summer before were arrested in a case where the teenaged girl’s finger and head were in the refrigerator. They were convicted of first-degree murder in Detroit. There have been cases and bodies.
Back to risk. I know of no therapist who has been harmed. But patients inform us that there will come a time when we could be at risk of being assassinated by patients who’ve been programmed to kill at a certain time anyone that they’ve been instructed to do so. Whether that would come about is speculative. Who knows for sure? Maybe, but I don’t think it’s entirely without risk. A question in the back?
Q: There seems to be some similarity between these kinds of programming and those people who claim that they’ve been abducted by spaceships and have had themselves physically probed and reprogrammed and all of that sort of thing. Since Cape Canaveral is across the Florida peninsula from me, and I don’t think that they’ve reported any spaceships lately, I was just wondering is there any sort of relationship between this and that?
Dr. Hammond: I’ll share my speculation that comes from others. I’ve not dealt with any of those people. However, I know a therapist that I trust and respect who I’ve informed about all this a couple of years ago and has found it in a lot of patients. He is firmly of the belief that those people are in fact ritual abuse victims who have been programmed with that sort of thing to destroy all their credibility. If somebody’s coming in and reporting abduction by a flying saucer, who’s going to believe them on anything else in the future? Also as a kind of thing that can be pointed to and said, “This is as ridiculous as that.”
I recently had a telephone consult with a therapist where I had been instructing her about some of this kind of stuff. When we were consulting at one point in the fifth or sixth interview she said, “By the way, do you know anything about this [UFO] topic?” I said, “Well, not really” and shared with her what I just shared with you. I said, “If it were me being with this guy…” that she’d been seeing for a couple of months, I said, “I would ask inside for the core to take control of finger-signals and inquire about Alpha, Beta, Delta, Theta.” She proceeded to do all that, got back to me a week later and said, “Boy, were you on target. There is a part inside named Dr. Green. There’s this kind of programming.”
Q: What’s the difference between this kind of program and cult-type abuse or Satanic abuse – the kind of cults with the candles and the…
Dr. Hammond: This type of programming will be done in the cults with the candles and all the rest. My impression is that this is simply done in people where they have great access to them, or where they’re bloodline and so their parents are in it. Or they can be raised in it from an early age. If they are bloodline, they are the chosen generation. If not, they’re expendable. They are expected to die and not get well. There will be booby traps set in your way such that if they aren’t non-bloodline people, when they get well, they will kill themselves. My belief is that some people that have ritual abuse and don’t have this programming have been ritually abused, but they may be part of a non-mainstream group. Satanism shows up as the philosophy overriding all of this.
People ask, “What’s the purpose of it?” My best guess is that they want an army of Manchurian Candidates, tens of thousands of mental robots who will do prostitution, child pornography, smuggle drugs, engage in international arms smuggling, do snuff films, and all sorts of other very lucrative things. These Manchurian Candidates will do the bidding of their masters, so that eventually the megalomaniacs at the top believe they can create a Satanic Order that will rule the world. One last question. Then I’ll give you couple of details and we need to shift gears.
Q: You have suggested and implied that at some point there was support of this kind of thingat a high level of the U.S. Government. I know we’re short of time, but could you just say a few words about the documentation that may exist for that suggestion?
Dr. Hammond: There isn’t great documentation on this. The evidence comes from victims who are imperiled witnesses. The interesting thing is how many people have described the same scenario and how many people that we have worked with who have had relatives in NASA, in the CIA, and in the military, including very high-ups in the military.
A friend and colleague of mine has probably the equivalent of half the table space on that far side of the room filled with boxes of declassified documents from mind control research done in the past which has been declassified over a period of a couple decades. This friend has read more government documents about mind control than anyone else. He has a brief that has literally been sent in the past week and a half asking for all information to be declassified about the Monarch Project for us to try to find out more.
Now let me mention something about some of the stuff based on my experience with several patients that you may run into late in the process. I know I’m throwing a lot at you in a hurry. Some of it is completely foreign and some of you may think, “Gosh, could any of this be true?” Just ask. Find out in your patients, and you may be lucky if there isn’t any of this. Somewhere at a deep level you may run into some things like this. Let me describe to you the system in one patient I had treated for quite a while, a non-bloodline person.
We had done what appeared to be successful work and reached final integration. She came back to me early last year and said she was symptomatic with some things. I started inquiring. I found a part there we had integrated. The part basically said, “There was other stuff that I couldn’t tell you about, and you integrated me and so I had to split off.” I had done some inquiring about things like Alpha and Beta as a routine part of it and found they were there. I then said to this part, “Why didn’t you tell me about this stuff?” She said, “Well, we gave you some hints but they went right over your head.” She further commented, “I’m sorry, but we know that you didn’t know enough to help us, but now we know you can.” So the stuff started coming out. It was interesting.
She described the overall system – if I can remember it now – as being like this. The circle represented harm to the body, a system of alters whose primary purpose was to hurt her including symptoms like Munchhausen’s, self-mutilation, other kinds of things. Each of the triangles represented still another different system. She said, “With the exception of me,” this one part speaking, “you dealt with the whole circle with the work that we did before, but you didn’t touch the rest of the stuff.”
In the middle of all this was still another system consisting of the Cabalistic tree, of which some of you are aware. It looks approximately like this with lines in between and so on and so forth. There’s a rough approximation. That represented another system. Then once we got past that, she implied that this entire thing was somehow encompassed by an hourglass.
I kept thinking we were at final integration, but then I’d find still other parts. This person had an eagle-eye husband that was watching for certain things that we found to be reliable indicators. So often I would get evidence of dissociation within a few days. It would suddenly be picked up. I continued to find evidence of dissociation, and I’d find other parts. Finally this part, as I got angry with him and said, “Why when I give these ideomotor inquiries am I getting lied to?” This part said, “Because you don’t understand. You’re going to get us all killed.”
We started talking, and then she basically said, “It’s been programmed so that if you succeed and think you’ve succeeded, you will fail. They build it in as a way to laugh at you, that if you ever get us integrated, we will die.”
Here’s what she said, or rather this male part of her said, “I’m one of twelve disciples.” I’ve seen this in others, twelve disciples within this hourglass, each of whom had to memorize a disciple-lesson which were basic Satanic kind of premises, philosophies of life like “be good to those who hurt you, hate those who are nice to you,” on and on. There may be two or three sentences like that associated with each part, and they had to memorize them.
They said, “We are like grains of sand falling, and when the last grain of sand falls, there’s Death.” I said, “Is Death a part?” “Yes. When the last grain of sand falls, the Sleeping Giant awakens.” The Sleeping Giant was Death, who was then to kill them on day one or day six after awakening unless certain things were followed, and we did some of those.
Well we also found Death had a sister as a backup, used with mirrors to create the sister part. We had to get past that too. Death had certain things that they said had to be done to integrate. I started to say, “Oh, come on, they lied to you before.” She said, “Wait a minute. This is what they said you’d say. They said that no doctor would ever believe that they had to go these extremes to get us well, and that’s part of the reason they’d fail.” I said, “Well, tell me, tell me again.”
She said, “I have to be dressed all in red. I have to have taken Demerol. A code has to be given, and it has to be in a room that’s totally dark. It has to happen on day one or day six after this part has been awakened.”
I said what I’d have to lose? I had a psychiatrist give her a little Demerol. We used the code. My office didn’t have any windows anyway. It was pretty easy. Oh, and there had to be four, I think, candles lit. Well, fine. So we did it, and everything went well. Maybe it would have gone well if we hadn’t done it, but I decided not to take the chance and to maybe trust the patient.
So we go on and then we find another part. There’s Death And Destruction, another backup also with a sister that we had to get through. In fact, I think there were two backups there. Interestingly, the very last part was an extremely nice part, made especially that way so that they wouldn’t want to lose them, because they would be so adorable and so loving and so sweet that they wouldn’t want to get rid of them. Then we found that she continued to have these feelings with this last part left now of darkness and blackness inside. And what did we then find? A curtain.
By the way, we had encountered information about the LSD stuff, the green bomb programming. She then said, “There is a curtain behind which are the remaining feelings and memories, but it can’t be opened from the middle. It’s like a stage curtain. It has to opened this way,” implying that it can’t be opened. They assumed that you would try to deal with all the feelings. That can’t be opened until you’ve dealt with that last part and they’ve integrated. So far it looks like we’ve got integration that’s holding in this patient. So I found Death And Destruction and the Hourglass in non-bloodline patients.
“The Tree and the Hourglass,” this patient informed me, “were made of sand because we were meant to die. We’re expendable. We’re the unchosen generation.”
I’ve heard variously that it’s crystals or blood that fills the hourglass in bloodline people. By the way, it’s important to know that you can do real simple things like turn the hourglass on its side so nothing can fall out, so that time stands still to be able to do certain kinds of work. You can spread the grains of sand on the seashore, so that they can’t be numbered and the time will not be counted. Got that idea from a ritual abuse victim who had seen some of this kind of programming done by another therapist.
So those are just a few other hints about things that may be helpful or meaningful. We’re talking about very intensive therapy and at deep levels. I’ve found this give us two things. One is hope, because it gets to the deepest material, and it makes progress like nothing we’ve ever seen with these people who have it. The second thing it does for me is it demoralizes me, too, because although three years ago I had a pretty good idea about the extent and breadth of what they had done to these victims, I had no real appreciation for the depth, breadth and intensity of what they had done.
I want to come back to the other question over here now of how many of them can get well?
We don’t know. In most things in the mental health profession we accept that two-thirds of the patients are going to improve, or maybe seventy percent. There’s very little hope we can get everybody well. I think one of the sad things we have to face is that many of these patients will probably never be well. My personal belief is that if they are being messed with, their only hope of getting well is if they can somehow get out of contact.
Now I know patients who have gone to other states, but then deep-level alters pick up the phone and called their programmers saying, “This is our new address and phone number.” So now they can be picked up by other local programmers. I mean picked up in an inpatient unit for an extended period of time. If they are in a cult from their area and they are still being monitored and messed with, my own personal opinion is we can’t get them well, and we can’t offer anything more than humanitarian caring and supportiveness.
Lots of therapists do not like to hear this, but that’s my opinion. I believe that if somehow they’re lucky enough and wealthy enough to have protection, to have somehow gotten from their programmers, and if we can work with them without being messed with, then they have a chance to reach some semblance of normality and livability with enough intensive work. My own personal belief is I don’t think anybody with this kind of programming is well in this country yet, though there are some who are well on the way. I’ve got a couple who are well along in their work and have done a tremendous amount, but they’re clearly not well yet.
Q: Could you speculate on the relationship between this stuff and the fantasy games that have been proliferating, Dungeons and Dragons and that sort of thing?
Dr. Hammond: Well, there are a lot of things out there to cue people. You want to see a great, interesting movie, to cue people? Go see “Trancers II.” You can rent it in your video shop. Came out last fall. Fascinating. They’re talking about Green World Order. Yes, “Trancers II.” And who is the production company? Full Moon Productions. I couldn’t see much cueing in “Trancers I,” but who’s the production company in “Trancers I”? Alter Productions. There are lots of things around that are cueing.
There’s an interesting person in the late sixties who talked about the Illuminati. Have any of you ever heard of the Illuminati with regard to the cult? Had a patient bring that up to me just about exactly two years ago. We’ve now had other stuff come out from other patients. Appears to be the name of the international world leadership. There appear to be Illuminatic councils in several parts of the world, and one internationally. The Illuminati is the name of the international leadership of the cult supposedly. Is this true? Well, I don’t know. It’s interesting we’re getting some people who are trying to work without cueing who are saying some very similar things. There was an old guy in Hollywood in the late sixties who talked about the infiltration of Hollywood by the Illuminati.
Certainly what some patients have said is that all of this spook stuff, horror stuff, possession and everything else that’s been popularized in the last twenty years in Hollywood is done in order to soften up the public so that when a Satanic world order takes over, everyone will have been desensitized to so many of these things, plus to continually cue lots of people out there.
Now is this true? Well, I can’t definitely tell you that it is. What I can say is I now believe that ritual abuse programming is widespread, is systematic, and is very well organized based on highly esoteric information which is published nowhere. It has not been on any book or talk show. We have found it all around this country and in at least one foreign country.
Let’s take a couple of quick questions and we need to get on to other material. Yes?
Q: Do you have any techniques for decreasing your level of uncertainty that a patient is or is not still being tampered with, “messed with,” as you said?
Dr. Hammond: Just that I would ask several of the parts I’ve inquired about, Core, Diana, Wisdom, Master Programmer. I would ask several parts inside about these sorts of things and keep asking it. As you do additional work and get a bit further, I would ask again to find out.
Q: I wonder if you’ve heard or you know of the Martin Luther Bloodline?
Dr. Hammond: I know nothing about Martin Luther Bloodline but I’ll give you one quick tip. Ask him about an identification code. There’s an identification code that people have. It will involve their birth date. It may involve places where they were programmed, and it will usually involve a number that will be their birth order, like zero-two if they were second born. It will usually also involve a number that represents the number of generations in the cult, if they are bloodlines. I’ve seen up to twelve now, twelve generations.
Q: I have seen a lot of the things you’ve been describing today in several patients. You mentioned something about systems here. Are there seven systems?
Dr. Hammond: There has been that described in some patients, yes, the seven systems.
Q: Could you say what that is or draw a little diagram?
Dr. Hammond: I don’t think we know enough to know what it is, honestly. I think it may have to do with seven Cabalistic trees.
Q: It’s not a question. But I wanted to say for myself, personally, and perhaps for others here as well, thank you very sincerely for taking this time to come forward.
Dr. Hammond: Well…
Q: Does anyone want to join us for a standing ovation for this material? It’s wonderful.
Dr. Hammond: I have a dear friend who’s one of the top people in the field, who I know has had death threats. I know he struggled for professional credibility because of his belief in MPD. He was harshly criticized for just believing in that ten or fifteen years ago. He struggled to the point of straining professional credibility. I think in his heart of hearts, he knows it’s true, but he will still say things like, “I wouldn’t be surprised to find tomorrow it was an international conspiracy, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find tomorrow that it is an urban myth and rumor.”
He tries to stay right on the fence. And the reason is because it’s controversial, because there is a campaign underway saying that these are all false memories induced by “Oprah” and by books like “The Courage to Heal” and by naive therapists using hypnosis. It’s controversial.
My personal opinion has come to be if they’re going to kill me, they’re going to kill me. There’s going to be an awful lot of information that’s been put away that will go to investigative reporters and multiple investigative agencies. If I ever have an accident, an awful lot of people like you, I hope, will be pushing for a very large-scale investigation. I think we have to stand up at some point as some kind of moral conscience.
I tried to wait until we had gotten enough verification from independent places to have some real confidence that this was widespread.
I know we’ve gone like a house on fire to try to pack as much as I could in for you. I hope it’s given you some things to think about and some new ideas, and I appreciate being with you.
[Long sustained applause]
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In 1990, I sat in the center of communications for the radical activist group Tucson Earth First! and networked with many other non-profit organizations in town, including People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, domestic violence organizations, homeless advocates, the parent-teacher association, and had been written up in the daily paper along with a couple other women as a “Supermom.” I think I told the reporter, “I don’t recommend it.”
But I had so many ideas, so many solutions to things, could see the coordinated steps it would take to bring a complicated project, like a publication or a conference, to successful completion, usually had most of the skills, and others encouraged me, so I took them all on, and most of them went well, with a few exceptional bombers, a few embarrassing lapses of judgement, but mostly projects that brought very positive responses, and sometimes awards, and then that news article. I was even asked to run for political office and hounded about it for month before my rejection was accepted.
Before I’d gotten so radical, I’d been accepted into the largest PR firm in Arizona, Gladys Sarlat PR, where I’d been let go after I’d told them I thought a new client was a fraud. Soon after, that man would be on the front page of the business section of the daily paper nearly every day for the next 18 months – on trial for fraud.
I co-wrote a couple of editorials for the dailies, one on the Green Party and another on the FBI repression of Earth First! colleagues Judi Bari and Darryl Cherney which resulted in an assassination attempt on Judi, whose trial against the FBI with Darryl, Darryl was traveling the country for, coming through Tucson, singing songs, telling the horrifying story, showing slides of the bombed car, and soliciting help. Of course. I organized his show, did the media work, wrote an editorial for the papers, and helped him find a place to crash that didn’t have kids. I added it to my notebook of tasks and got it done.
Everything in my life was in my notebook. I worked with pages I custom-designed to help me do everything. I had daily sheets, 4-week planning charts in a 2-page spread, and monthly calendars, along with project flowcharts. I had files January through December and “Next Year,” and files numbered 1 through 31, which helped me organize everything. I carried my notebook everywhere.
One Monday a friend asked how was my weekend. I flipped the page back to Saturday and answered that I’d had a houseful of boys because it had been my son’s birthday. Until I’d read it, though, I’d had no memory of the day. My business persona and mom persona didn’t have a lot of memory connection.
I was burning out from doing too much, and realizing it. My husband always encouraged me to take on more, and he’d even volunteer for tasks that he didn’t have the skills to do – like bookkeeping – and then let me do it because he didn’t want to admit he couldn’t do it. So I’d do it. And when he insisted he’d make up the financial difference in the family because some cause was important to him that he wanted me to keep doing, he’d still keep account of the major times he paid more than his share for something, and occasionally would tell me I owed him that much. So we had arguments. A visiting friend one time said, “Do you realize that I every year I come visit you, you’re telling me the same dreadful things? When are you going to change the situation?”
I was afraid to be alone with two teenagers, so I stayed in the situation and advocated for better treatment. We did learn to have a certain amount of fun together, and we always presented a contented face to the world.
When Judi and Darryl were bombed, it was as if a psychic bomb went off in my mind. I was aware of things like FBI harassment of activists, but I’d pretended that an office person, PR person, occasional spokesperson wouldn’t be a target – they’d want the tree-spiker, not me. But Judi was bombed. She was a visionary, PR person, phenomenal spokesperson, but did nothing illegal; in fact, she’s single-handedly gotten the vast majority of California Earth First!ers to renounce tree-spiking. So why was she attacked? No – almost killed.
For the last four years, our dining room had been the hub of action for the Coalition to protect Mount Graham, combining efforts of a number of organizations, Earth First!, San Carlos Apache Tribal Council, individual tribal members, and some international environmental ecology organization, and we’d been part of demonstrations shaming the Smithsonian Institution into backing out of the astrophysical project (though they’d rejoin years later), and we mercilessly hammered on those who forged ahead: the University of Arizona, the Max Planck Institute in Germany, Arcetri in Italy, and the Vatican. Yes, the Vatican. More on that later.
I knew we were like chihuahuas nipping at the heels of a monstrous mastiff, but we did it. We emboldened each other with tales of valor, creative monkey-wrenching, street theater, affinity groups, legal strategy workshops, and all the joy of camaraderie in the face of an enemy worth confronting. I’d gone to jail twice. Both times I’d gone into altered states of consciousness. The second time, I believe I was Tasered, as I have no memory of the rest of the day or much of the next day after two plainclothes men showed up in jail and walked near me, after which I only remember rising from the ground in rage, swinging my arms, my hair in my face. Then only sketchy disturbing memories of being harassed for hours with disturbed sleep, then let go at 4 in the morning with no phone number, though people had left numerous messages for me. I remember someone finding me in the waiting room, curled, freezing on the hard floor, and following, and am told we went out to breakfast, but I can’t remember it. That was Durango, Colorado, 1992. I hadn’t meant to get arrested; I just hadn’t left the scene of a group’s civil disobedience fast enough.
Back home, to lessen my stress, I backed out of a few volunteer commitments, including most of my work to protect Mount Graham, quit my business, and got a job. I wanted a few well-defined tasks to do each day, not the ever-expanding situation I had with a PR consulting business to environmental, arts, and social justice non-profits – that attracted unending pro bono work, and when they paid I could never charge what people said I was worth, because I didn’t want to take the money out of their accounts.
The job I got was the Customer Relations person for the 3rd largest birdwatching tour company in the world, WINGS. After a few months on the job, the owner told me he’d been looking for years for someone who could take over the business, and he thought I could do it. It grossed millions each year, and he’d let me buy in over time, with an immediate doubling of my pay and opportunities for the rest of my life to travel to exotic natural place all over the world, from Alaska to Antarctica and a hundred or more other places. I would soon have to quit my job.
April 1993, my son was diagnosed with cancer. My husband and I had the final fight of our relationship, and I ended it. The kids and I were going to move out because my husband refused to. My health insurance company went bankrupt. I went down into the basement to cry, and began instead to make an involuntary sound, between a scream and a growl and roar, over and over again, able to stop for just a few seconds before the urge was upon me again, and I could not turn it off. For awhile I thought I’d just let it wear itself out, and continued until I realized that I felt a blood vessel in my throat that felt like it could burst. I felt the real possibility that if I didn’t drown in my own blood, I wasn’t sure how anyone would staunch the blood flow from a vocal cord, and realized I could either drown or bleed to death, and I really tried to stop.
I stopped for ten seconds, then had to emit a small growl-roar, and then another, and another. I headed up the stairs thinking, Oh my God, I’m going to call Helpline. I’m supposed to be someone who would consult to them, not need their services. I’m a Supermom. I’m the business consultant. I’m not someone who needs help. Shakily, I turned to the inside cover of the phonebook and tried a few times with trembling hands – between not-very-well-repressed growls – and finally got the number dialed correctly. Someone talked me down.
The next Monday morning, I walked into a counselor’s office and before I even sat down, I spilled out my litany: My son has cancer, my health insurance company just went bankrupt, my husband and I are divorcing and we have to move and I don’t know where or how, my daughter hates me for making them move…and I could have added that I was in shock to realize that I can’t trust that my children will live, or that they will love me – two monumentally new ideas, two huge shifts in my world…and then another phrase came out of my mouth that had never crossed my conscious mind: and I think I was sexually abused as a child.
It was so bizarre to hear words come of my mouth that never crossed the threshold of my consciousness. For a moment, all reality was suspended, and I tipped my head to the right as if I could peek around a dimensional corner and maybe see my words spelled out there in the air. Anything seemed possible in that moment.
And in that moment I began a struggle that had me falling apart all year long, crying everywhere I went, crying at home, walls breathing, flashbacks of sex from young childhood to teen years, wolf energy entering me, Tarot cards that came up again and again confirming this, and a couple of attempts to commit myself to a mental hospital because I wanted a place to cry and throw myself around and not attract police. For awhile I thought I could go there for the rest of my life so that I didn’t have to make a decision about what was real.
The decision was this: to believe that I was sexually abused and have my whole self change, or believe that was a weird and meaningless string of experiences and all is fine. I wanted to believe the latter, but whenever I told myself that, I felt foggy, hazy, fuzzy, and like I was falling back asleep. Whenever I entertained the former, my brain felt like it was coming out of a fog, like I saw more light – before the psychic pain crept in.
Realizing the difference that clearly, you’d think, would make me to accept the theory that made me feel clearest, but I didn’t want to go there. I didn’t want my whole world to change. I didn’t want to think about who did it. I didn’t want to be one of those women scorned in the papers for jumping on the current bandwagon of diagnoses, particularly one which is so disgusting and embarrassing, that certainly means I must have some secret perversion to have picked that bandwagon. No, I was not going there.
But I’d turn back to the other choice, and feel the haze fall over. I felt I was falling back into an oblivion I hadn’t know I’d been in.
And a whole lot of things began to make sense, things I could never think about before, though they did cross my mind like bats in the night, barely seen, only these things had no name, no context, they didn’t make sense. Into the Anomaly file they went – things that made no sense.
One was the sexual nightmares I had as a child. One was the way I went mute and catatonic the first time a boy attempted intercourse. Another was the altered state I went into the first time I was coerced into leaving my baby in the church nursery and literally forgot I had a child, even when another mother asked me where he was and even answered my question “Baby??” with his name – when I snapped out of it, remembered, and went running for him in sheer terror that I’d left him there.
And the sex play my best friend said I participated in in 5th grade, for which I had no memory. So many things began popping back in my mind. I tried to say I was inventing meaningful connections where there were none, but they kept coming and seemed reasonably connected. More and more, never quitting, scraps of memories, images, ideas, sickening.
I did what I think of as silent crying, diverting the tears down inside my sinuses, giving me a constant drip that I knew was all tears. After my nose got all chapped from wiping it for a week, I resorted to scooping the mucous-y tears out with a thumbnail, and wiping it on a hankie always with me, then after a week ditching the handkerchief and slurping the salty pain off my thumbnail, hoping people wouldn’t notice, but unable to care if they did, wearily accepting that I was more a mess than I’d ever thought possible.
I could no longer work, so I accepted entry into the Master’s Program in Creative Writing after winning an award for a story written and submitted before my life fell apart. My kids and I began living on student loans and, for the first time in my life, credit cards, which were skyrocketing with medical bills.
The only bright side: I’d begun praying, and though my son had been identified as being at very high risk, he was suddenly pronounced in remission.
The last night of the school year, I was facing a free summer – the first three months in my adult life, I realized, that I’d ever had. I’d never had nothing to do for that long a period of time.
The evening after my last class, I was feeling very happy, feeling confident that I’d survive this somehow, accept the reality of my past and begin to do the healing others told me I’d be able to do, making me a better person than I could otherwise have ever been if I’d not remembered and integrated it. I imagined a summer of reading, writing, sleeping late, staying in bed, going to support groups, doing the healing exercises in the books, with lots of time to abreact and recover and whatever else would follow. I’d treat myself well.
As it turned out, I’d build a tiny hermitage in the desert that summer and do very little healing work of the sort I’d imagined.
The emptiness I saw ahead was delicious, and I sat down that evening with my current book in a comfortable reading chair, thinking that the world was seeming beautiful again for the first time in over a year. The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot is about reality, perception, multiple dimensions, and much more. I found my place in the book and began to read, but soon was experiencing something very odd.
I finished a sentence, had a reaction of great interest to it, but couldn’t remember anything it was about as soon as I reached the end of it. I re-read the sentence repeatedly with the same physical reaction of great interest and then amnesia for it.
I tried it again, and was face to face with something weird happening in my brain. I balanced between fascination and fear. Then an idea popped up: Read the sentence aloud. And I did.
The sentence was about people with multiple personality disorder looking often decades younger than their biological age – which is still true for me today, sometimes (depending on which alter is out), and was even more true then. At forty-one, I was often mistaken for my teenage children’s sister.
Again, the world shifted, but this time it wasn’t as traumatic. In fact, after the acceptance of the child abuse, it felt real comfortable, as though a confirming piece of a puzzle had dropped into place and made things clear.
Still the rational part of me was horrified. I was already carrying this secret stigma of being a child sexual abuse survivor, which was bad enough. But mental illness!? No way. I did not want this.
A response came from inside: Understanding this is the beginning of everything getting better. I can heal. And I decided I’d go first thing in the morning to the medical library at the university and read all I could about multiple personality.
The next day I was greatly affirmed. Despite multiple personality’s reputation, it’s not always as crippling as some stories they’ve made into movies. And once diagnosed, it’s relatively easy to heal. Created by trauma, it’s actually the most “sane” response, as opposed to going schizophrenic, the other alternative when the mind cannot assimilate what’s dealt to the body. And many “multiples” are actually very high-functioning, even geniuses – not coincidental, but because of their multiple-ness. They have more “minds” to learn things, and many learn to partially integrate their various alters to network and use all those minds to superior levels.
I’d tested at genius levels a few times in my life, so this news helped me not feel like a freak two or three times over, but like I’d just had bad luck, and others have gone before me. We have highly complicated minds, sorta supercharge potential, not working quite right, but healable.
Now I just had to figure out how to do it. By going to the desert, though, while also enrolled in school, I’d make life too complicated to follow through with counseling. Besides, whenever I did visit a counselor over the years, they kept telling me I was “doing great” and I could just continue on my own.
I moved to the desert, fell in love with my solitude, and thought I’d stay there all my life – until my old high school crush and I had a conversation at our 25th high school reunion.
Soon I had abandoned my hermitage, moved to Colorado Springs, and was engaged to be married to my rescuer I believed was my soul mate. (If we can have a few, he is one.) I snapped back into functioning mode and tried not to think about having anything that needed to heal.
Needing a new career, I got my real estate license and was soon top-selling agent in my office, and was offered management of my franchise’s cornerstone office, overseeing 60 agents, for which I would likely earn “six figures.”
In the previous four and a half years, my fiancé and I had realized we couldn’t blend our lives, and I was yearning to return to my hermitage, to sit in front of the windows and watch hawks. The real estate biz had helped me pay down a good bit of my credit cards, and business was burning me out again, needing to be at every client’s beck and call 24-7 for their most important financial action of the decade. The excitement was over, I’d proven myself, so I declined and moved back home to the desert.
In my hermitage, I’d never had curtains because I lived far off the road and my nearest neighbor, a woman friend, was a quarter-mile away with barbed wire fence between us. One night, though, I knew someone malevolent was outside my large solar windows in the dark, looking in on my one-room house, me sitting in the middle of it, next to the fireplace, facing out. I set down my book, raised my hands in prayer position and prayed fervently that I’d be protected and maybe the man would be moved by my gesture to remember God and pull himself together and do right.
After awhile, I put down my hands and began to read again, and the feeling of horror came over me again. I retook my prayer pose, prayed a while, then turned out the light, and went to bed.
The next morning I found outside a styrofoam coffee cup in pristine condition sitting on my porch, a cigarette butt thrown a short distance away, and a place on the dirt where he’d relieved himself. I called the sheriff and was told it was all insignificant and, no, he wouldn’t even make a note about my call. In the next four years, I experienced a lot of fear, interspersed by events indicating I was being helped through it all with supernatural assistance.
In April 2002, I sat on my roof, watching a rare phenomenon in the sky: a crescent moon and four planets lined up after sunset. I’d been having lots of experiences I understood were called “shamanic,” which excited me. I’d had a year of snakes making dramatic entries into my life, ravens, owls, hawks, phoebes, lizards, a wild cat, and I’d bought a book of animal spirit meanings.
As I sat on the western edge of the roof of my bathhouse and gazed westward, suddenly a cluster of bats rolled in front of my face like a four-foot high, one-foot wide tire-shape in the air, and I knew it was a sign, but I didn’t know of what.
Next thing I knew, I was in a state of absolute ecstasy, seeing the planets and moon from a different perspective, colorful, and could perceive the rotation of the Earth, the Moon’s orbit around us, and the Earth’s and all the planets’ orbits around the Sun as a sensation in my body. I was totally enraptured, felt myself suspended in space, rising, ecstatic.
Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the middle of the roof, the sky was perfectly dark except for brilliant stars, the moon and planets were long gone, no light at all in the west. And I was babbling words of gratitude, unable to stop. I did though when two owls began to fly around me, and flew around me again and again until I began to wish I’d counted so I could one day tell the story with precise truth, and soon after my mind went into that rational track, they flew away.
Back in the house, I looked up bats and owls. They are each complex, but the phrases I remembered were: Shamanic initiation and astral travel. Years later, I realized or remembered that a great deal of time had passed for which I have no memory.
Days or weeks later, walking from my reading chair to get a drink of water, I suddenly had the experience of a spirit crashing into me – specifically, the spirit of Judi Bari! She had died five years earlier of breast cancer while trying to sue the FBI for various civil rights abuses related to the bombing. In an instant, with no words passed between us, I realized a whole lot: She knew from the other realm that I felt myself a very tepid activist. She, on the other hand, to my mind, had been a Superwoman activist, a Supermom activist even, someone to go down in history, except that the mainstream media seemed to be cooperating with the FBI to keep the history-worthy event out of awareness and memory. Still, she was a hero to a lot of us for her amazing work to try to save the last of the Redwood forests. I was nobody in comparison.
She scolded me for my attitude and told me (all wordlessly, instantaneously) that her style (bold and sometimes insulting and sarcastic to the Powers that Be) was not the only way to do things, and in fact it had even gotten her killed, and my gentler style could go further, and I should lay off thinking there was nothing more I could do. And then she was gone.
Standing there in front of the counter with an empty glass in my hand, having been thinking of other things before I got up for water, I was completely dumbfounded. Why would I get this message? Why now? I was so far from activism, and had no intentions of getting back into it.
A few weeks after the night on the roof, and not long after Judi’s message, I received a phone call from Darryl – ten years since I’d talked to him last – asking me if I’d come to Oakland to manage media relations for the trial. I said I would, and two days later I took the Amtrak to Oakland, California, to participate in a six-week trial resulting in various agents of the FBI being found guilty of all the charges, for which they’d pay a historic sum of $4.4 million.
During the trial, I felt made subject to more experimentation. I felt as though I’d been hit by immobilizing beams on at least two occasions. Then, I’d also felt twice taken into another dimension, and upon return it took a minute or more to remember who I was in this Earth life, as if my consciousness was of a higher self who was just dropping in with the Earth-life me to make sure I re-entered and remembered properly before removing herself.
She worried about nothing, found my slow memory mildly humorous, but was fond in her judgement, and left me with a sense that all was well. It sure didn’t seem like all was well, with our FBI overseeing the bombing of activists trying to save the last 3 percent of the native forest of California, but the soul part who seemed to be there with me for a minute felt confident and calm, as though everything was as it should be. It comforted me for a while. Then I worried it might have been a technological mind trick, maybe messing with my mind, but leaving a false memory that all was okay.
I told no one because we all had enough on our hands, working with lawyers every day to craft messages out to the world’s media; no one needed my drama, so I kept my worries to myself, and focused on the job.
My first day home from the trial, catching up on email, I was directed to some websites by one of my most important confidants. She said, “I think these will explain a lot that we have in common.” I began to read, for the first time in my life, about something that causes multiple personality: mind control.
It was horrifying. Mesmerizing. Disgusting. Repellent. And familiar in a way that made me feel that old ghosts were stirring, old memories, little children’s voices whispering, It’s true. And: We’re scared. And: Maybe you’ll recognize us now?
Making this connection between mind control and multiple-ness would explain even more of my life and be both as promising and terrifying as it was to accept that I’d been sexually abused. Promising, because it explained things that had never made sense before. Terrifying, because it implied that I might be being watched and maybe controlled even now. And maybe all my activism had been playing into the hands of my controllers, and maybe I’d done things to betray activists without knowing. I felt like a living time bomb. I thought I should kill myself.
At the same time, I felt I had a chance again to know myself better than ever, and could free myself from it, maybe. That bit of hope, though, was greatly overshadowed by fear so great, that I did not get better any time soon, but went into another deep dark hole for a good length of time, during which I became paranoid that my home was not only bugged, but someone was video recording my every move. I was afraid to speak of critical topics aloud except whispered in a noisy outdoor space.
My efforts to use shamanism to protect myself went awry, and I felt ganged up on from the other side, as if aliens had joined the CIA (the department that has always overseen mind control – according to their own documents and director testimony to the Senate) in harassing me, or the CIA was giving me “screen memories” of aliens.
For five years, I had bizarre experiences, for example, being immobilized in my vehicle stopped on the highway and losing hours of time, and more often, weirdness at home, seeing at least a dozen UFO’s over the years, feeling myself pulled up through the canvas of my bedroom teepee into another dimension, perceptions of people who’d just unexpectedly passed over (before many knew they’d died), and more – a mix of things shamanic and things that could have been technological harassment, including being hit by beams of laser energy, once right between the eyes.
And I never did I do much healing work on my multiple-ness.
My multiple-ness is easy to ignore, and some people might think I’m over-exaggerating or slapping on a diagnosis that’s unnecessary. But Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) – now called Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) – manifests in a variety of ways, some of which occur after natural trauma or the trauma of random abuse, and others which are the result of intentional trauma inflicted to make the person dissociate so that the perpetrator can embed behaviors triggered by secret commands, called “programming,” into the victim who will then be the subject, controlled, without the subject’s awareness, by the person who knows the secret passwords.
The “work on my healing” I’d hope to do had suddenly become something much more complicated, and something for which I knew I was going to be attacked by those who didn’t want me to heal. Would I even have a chance?
I read books on the subject, from medical library material to popular and therapeutic literature. Therapists claimed healing could be done, but it took money. And it seemed every time I tried to get a job, someone had been there before me, saying something about me – perhaps a federal agent would simply walk in and ask to be notified if I should come in – and then the secretary would stare at me, stricken, as if I were a ghost and she didn’t know what to do. After a few times, I quit looking and decided eventually to leave my home when my computer was suspiciously destroyed, my vehicle quit running, and I began to borrow money again with no idea how I was going to repay it. I sold my land, sad to go, and moved to Silver City, New Mexico. I wondered if they forced me to town to make my programming easier and my potential for use much greater.
As I said, my condition is easy to hide. My alters seem to coordinate fairly well enough, but remembering things like events and people’s names is slow. Expressing opinions is an interesting exercise. I see things, usually, from at least a few different perspectives, see the validity in all of them, compare them, revisit the person’s question to determine which of these viewpoints I want to share to best respond to their question, and usually by then, someone else has moved the conversation along, my opportunity passed, and I appear slow. I, though, feel like I’ve done ten times the work on the idea as anyone else and really only took a few seconds longer, but opening my mouth was too slow for social custom – unless I am in an ultra-high-functioning mode, and then I might be too speedy for some people.
Let me be alone in my office, though, working on a project, and I do better than fine. I win awards. Just don’t bother me.
So I work alone, and limit my social life. And people treat me like I’m normal – I think. Hard to know from this vantage. I’m usually wrapped up in my own mind: observing, comparing perceptions, keeping steady, and lately I’ve been doing better than ever in my social skills. I even hosted my first party ever in my adult life in my current home shortly after I moved here, and have hosted parties regularly since then. And I’ve made a lot of friendly acquaintances. And held jobs successfully, for as long as I’ve wanted them, which often isn’t long. I get tired of the strain of managing my personalities and moods, and all the extra compensation time I need to take to keep up, and usually need to take breaks every few months, which made teaching in the local college a good gig for a while.
The government-military style of mind control (there are others, Satanic, for instance) was probably responsible for my being high-functioning. I’m not sure how many programs they have, but I know they create super-soldiers, super-spies, and sexual entertainers for rewards and blackmail. I know I was trained in the latter. I suspect I might have also been trained as a spy, though I have no hard evidence, only a lifetime aversion to the color blue and an article on mind control (MK) programming linking blue to spies – and the fact that I got myself right in the heart of all the activists in Tucson, which would have been useful to the government which has been spying on and repressing groups like these for decades.
What irony. I suspected others of being spies (and maybe they were), but I never considered myself. My world reeled again.
It’s twenty years now since I first realized I was multiple and was inspired to be on a healing path, grounded with information from the medical library, supported by other women dealing with the same sort of shock and challenge, but in all these years, I haven’t done much. I’ve had lots of memories and alters (alternate personalities) present themselves, but I haven’t worked with that information, regardless of my strongest intentions. I’ve begun to realize there’s probably truth in the literature about programming installed for the express purpose of sabotaging all efforts to heal.
The first thing I might have worked with was the Integrating Woman (I spontaneously felt that was who she was). In the moment I first connected the idea of a multiple personality with myself, I saw/felt, as if seeing in another dimensional space that shares reality with us here, a woman slip herself over me like a glove, holding all my parts together. She didn’t feel anything like an angel, and she didn’t feel like me. Rather, she felt like a calm being, who could help me integrate. I was bothered though that she seemed to avert her face from me, and I never saw it. My vantage point seemed to be from behind her and to the left, although I seemed to be included in her. I felt safe, though I was bothered that she didn’t feel nicer. She seemed functional, mild, and perhaps kind, but not in any heart-felt way, just as if she was a good person doing a job, and she knew better than to expend a lot of energy, or maybe she was just beyond emotions, and way beyond my trembling volcano full. So she kept her distance, blue-green light she seemed to be made of, and left me to deal with my emotions alone, or actually with other help, Wolf to begin with.
Wolf came into me one night and rose up in all her power, ready to rip up the apartment. Quickly I negotiated for her to restrain herself and I’d get emotional help for us the very next day if she could hang tight. The next day, I kept my promise – I didn’t want her tearing up the apartment as I’d felt she was fully ready to use my body to do – and first called two mental hospitals who determined over the phone that I was too sane to admit myself. Then I called an astrologer-psychic I respected and asked for an appointment private enough that if I began raging, no one would hear it and call police. We met in a friend’s vacant office building, and I didn’t make any noise but weeping.
I never experienced Wolf again, but she was good for me, got me back into therapy, let me know there was big stuff that needed to get out. Thank you, Wolf. But somehow I never did any “work” with the Integrating Woman.
I accept that I have programming against healing work, but why have none of my therapists led me to work with any of my many alters or the Integrating Woman? Some, I’ve realized, later were part of the system of managing my programming. But all of them? Why no proper help?
Since 2002, I’ve probably read close to a dozen books on mind control, not a lot (it’s exhausting) from personal accounts to therapy manuals to history. In general what I understand is that I was enrolled into a program, perhaps MKULTRA, but likely one of the others, MKDELTA, MKNAOMI, or some other, now all lumped together under MKULTRA as a generic term for government-sponsored mind control.
There are many different programs for different purposes, and children come into the programs in different manners. Some, more dispensable, come from kidnappers and similar sources. Some children come from the upper-class or upper-middle-class hoping to climb in status by participating in this new program that will make their daughter very smart and disciplined, plus it would support the country.
There is also reported to be families that have been subjected to mind control for centuries, maybe millennia. I sense all the secret societies are involved. Eisenhower is a lineage associated with a very old secret society, that of iron hewers – sworn to keep the secrets of metallurgy for the king alone.
Other children get recruited when their parents are discovered to be sexually abusing them. The CIA knows that the traumatized child is already dissociative, or multiple, so they threaten the family with someone gone to prison and the shame of that – and give the option to put the child into a mind control program instead. Of course, the parents cave.
They also pay cash to the parents for their kids’ recruitment – in the form of employment checks for certain services rendered, such as denying that the child had been asleep for two years and other reinforcement of the program – all in the name of science and the betterment of mankind. If the parents ever think of breaking their contract, the fact that they took money would silence most of them. If that didn’t, then threats to kill the child would.
Many of us recall our families moving into much larger homes about the time we began or ended our two years of amnesia.
Other adult subjects report things that I have no visceral reaction to, but some reports make me feel as though I can remember – and I jump in my chair at the first reading and cringe or cry.
Once my daughter and boyfriend came to visit me on my birthday and one brought along a movie, in their minds, “a classic” of its genre – but a genre I had chosen to never watch any more and had told both of them that for years. They both thought I should watch it anyway, because it was “a classic.” They seemed so certain that we should all watch this movie that I relented. In an early scene, a Mafia underling is being upbraided and threatened by his superior in a brightly lit room, defending himself with poor attempts at lies and bluster. He wears a knit shirt that I associated with the late 1950s/early 60s. The man’s bluster and his shirt felt familiar, as though I knew that sort of man too well, and he scared the shit out of me.
In a panic, I asked them to turn it off, and when they ignored me, felt myself rise like a zombie and walk for the door, trying to keep one foot going in front of another and my mind in my body and not screaming. Outside, I sat down and burst into sobbing, feeling real terror about that ignorant, fearful, blustering man, as if he could do things to me, and my body shook and jumped and jolted for hours afterward, and I continued crying and criticizing them for not listening to me and believing that I do not want to watch movies portraying Mafiosa – it terrifies me, and they should have respected it.
Instead, I’ve had to respect that others simply do not want to believe this is true. They want to believe I’m being dramatic, and they are being tolerant and doing the right thing, encouraging me off your sick fantasy.
The government doesn’t work alone on this. They subcontract out jobs to the Mafia, various churches, law enforcement, medical groups, and any others that are needed. They get their connections through secret societies, which demand loyalty of their members and may entrap or blackmail their recruits into compliance under threat of having some misdeed exposed. A favorite, powerful entrapment is sexual, for which they need to train lots of children in sexual behaviors. The children, though, are usually given more than one type of programming.
The mind control was done “scientifically,” noting what sorts of drugs or hypnosis, or torture evoked what response. Some were experimental, others had passed that phase and become protocol.
Torture was not done strictly because the perpetrators were insane psychopaths, though they probably are; it was done because it is effective. Torture a young child, and their mind leaves their body at some point, a point they were becoming adept at finding quickly by using extreme measures. Therefore, we were drugged, hypnotized, caged, tortured with cold, hunger, dislocated joints, lose-lose psychological games, electroshock, physical and sexual torture, and being forced to witness other disobedient children being murdered.
We went out of our minds. And that was the point. As soon as “we” were gone, the brain, still recording life experience, had a fresh, blank slate, and the researcher told it its name and its function, terrified it into obedience, and sent it away with its only existence being to respond properly so as not to be tortured or murdered as we know very well they will do.
My g-spot (descending bulge) was sliced from back to front and twice more (not visible here) from side to side.
For comparison, here’s a normal g-spot. The photograph was supplied by a friend in sex education. You can see it is ribbed and round.
I’ve been punished for disobedience, I assume, fairly recently. One day in 2004, I realized I’d been cut inside my vagina fairly deeply, my g-spot sliced neatly through, right down to the main trunk of the nerve, so that now I can’t stand to be touched there, making sex a rather hazardous enterprise ever since.
Throughout it all, meticulous records are kept on every alter created and what programming command is programmed to evoke which response. Some programming was foundational and dealt with amnesia, pass codes, and obedience to particular individuals, while other programming built on that and involved specific tasks. At the end of two years, we’d been made obedient and disciplined, with amnesic alters who were glad to be in the real world and not be tortured, who would follow the program of acting like everything was normal.
Many of us have bad hearts from all the electroshock, or extreme reactions to pharmaceuticals, not to mention neurotic, disabling reactions to things like a movie with a blustering man in an old-style T-shirt, and alters that come and go and leave us with missing time and the fear that we’ve been used again and we don’t know what for.
Since there’s no honor among thieves, sometimes the pass codes get shared with people who aren’t supposed to have them – someone giving someone a gift of a mind control fuck, for instance – and someone calls us on the phone and says, Open your door tonight at 10 – and the subject does and provides sex and wonders why she’s sore and tired after what she thinks was an 8-hour night’s sleep.
Since they have such high technology, it seems there would be no reason for anyone to use a Taser on me, but I woke up one morning with severe weakness and a third-degree burn on my arm with two bright red dots in the middle. Maybe these were interlopers who didn’t quite manage my pass codes correctly and they had to Taser me to erase my memory. I don’t know. And I was Tasered a second time, I assume, though I wasn’t burned as badly, because the two dots were there again.
Last night, I drafted a post for Paradigm Salon in which I wrote that since removing all my shamanic paraphernalia and putting my focus on Yeshua alone that I hadn’t had any more hypodermic bruises on my thighs. But the next day, I found another one. What does it mean? Someone in my house again? [The day after that, I had two more!]
Back to my alters I haven’t worked with –and why has no psychologist or other counselor supported me in working with them?
A few days after I experienced the Integrating Woman, I lay down in the afternoon and suddenly experienced myself as three, fanned out like a small hand of cards. I was intrigued and thought I’d talk to them and see if they had clues for helping me understand things, and they read my mind and said, “No. It’s too complicated to explain how we came about, would take to long, and you wouldn’t understand it anyway, but we aren’t needed any more, so we’re outa here,” and they “folded” – that fast. I felt them melt into me and disappear.
Later that year, I sensed that some children wanted to come out and be known, but they were afraid. They wanted to know that I was nice. So I bought two stuffed animals and put them inside a shawl, wrapped it around me with them in the sling and carried them with me everywhere I went all day every day for two weeks, taking them off only to sleep, and then I cared for them as though they were real babies in bed with me, talking to them, loving them, really feeling like they were my children and I cared so very much to encourage them that I was strong and competent, could keep them safe, could listen, wouldn’t be afraid of their stories, and would love them.
After two weeks, I set the stuffed animals on the window seat and talked to them throughout my day, demonstrating that I thought they were capable and I was going to respect them and trust them to be strong too, to sit there and not need to be carried constantly. One day, sitting on my bed, a little girl appeared in another dimension a few feet away and a few feet up, sitting in a tree with a leg hanging down. I was so surprised to see her there, and so very happy that she’d presented herself to me, that I reached up my hand to touch her leg. This scared her and she kicked her leg in panic, but laughed a little too, as she indicated she wasn’t yet ready to be touched. I accepted that and told her that whenever she was ready, I’d be ready.
One night, reading a book, she slipped into me. When our hearts connected, I felt her, remembered her, knew that little girl was me, a part of me lost a long time ago. It was amazing to feel her again, so sudden, a surprise, but so familiar too. She was very sweet, and said about my hands, as if surprised by their wrinkled appearance but finding them comforting: Just like Grandma’s. And then she expressed a second judgement about having come into an old body when she was only 6: It’s not so bad.
Her innocence and sweetness, and my sense of the courage it required to come back into this body after what had driven her out, touched my heart and made it hurt so that my hands came up and my face dropped down and I sobbed and sobbed a mix of happiness, sorrow, grief for the child, and grief for me, all of it warmed though by love for the child’s openness and courage.
Over these twenty years, I’ve had lots of alters merge or emerge, and each has been an experience that wrenched my heart and caused me to spend days at home, crying, writing, combing the experience for meaning, making myself strong enough again to go out of the house.
I haven’t kept track of them though. I don’t know if I’ve learned what I should have. Most times I think I have, but sometime I worry that I’ve been letting things slip away. And I hear others report that whenever we heal an alter and erase some programming, they have alternate pass codes or entryways to replace whatever was lost, so our programming never gets broken. And we remain their subjects.
Sometimes it’s a challenge to remember why I think I can heal, or why I should stay if I can’t. But I play philosophical games with myself and invent possible reasons for an unexpected reality to unfold soon that’ll make everything worth it. And sometimes angels pick me up. And I keep on, trying to do some good here.
Amazingly, I have more days that I feel grateful to be alive than days that I want out. But I have to write about this. I am pretty sure they don’t want me to. But I have to.
This bruise showed up ten days after another very similar sho