Tag Archives: MKULTRA

I have a lot of secrets

I have a lot of secrets
I can’t tell
because the rulers
threaten me
and tell everyone I’m crazy.

Like all mystics and
strange ones of the world,
I experience life in
a few more dimensions
than most “First World”
Earthlings
who’ve been trained
this is all there is.

Many of us came to Earth
from elsewhere,
to investigate
and help, if possible.

Some of us, like myself,
were captured
by the rulers
we came to watch

Because your rulers
don’t want us here.
But we’re here.
And we’re helped by
our kin
in other dimensions.

In larger numbers than you know.
So take heart.

Because your Earth
is being turned into
an artificial/natural hybrid life
experiment –
which seems to them
a reasonable way
to grow the human resource.

To rule your life by algorithm
may soon become
your only means
of existence –
in a human-robot,
hybrid form,
controlled to someone else’s
thoughts of perfection
and highest utility.

What to do?

Enjoy the entertainment
along the way?

Remember your
multi-dimensional self
and your otherworld Help.

CIA Mind Control

Check this out. My friend, Fred, has done a great deal of research on the subject, and it is very well documented.

Just look for the tab that says mind control, near the center.

https://www.wanttoknow.info/

The Truman Show

“My life has been like The Truman Show, only directed by David Lynch,” I wrote in my memoir.

https://youtu.be/OGFGqVD_dSM?si=UgS4jF8JnzHzULMI

So I enjoyed this review of The Truman Show – though the writer seems not to recognize the obvious (to me) parallels to the way MKUltra mind control subjects are treated. Or maybe he does, and he’s being subtle.

This tragicomedy hero’s journey is not a dark futuristic fiction. This is the dark reality for government mind control subjects right now.

To my surprise, this video mentions the “Truman Show Delusion,“ a “delusional diagnosis” in which people are convinced they are “stars of an imaginary reality show.” I suggest they are subjects of a real reality secret government program.

I suspect these diagnosed people are mind control subjects who’ve begun to figure out their reality, and then accidentally told a doctor in the mind control network, all ready to gaslight them and discourage them from trusting their intuition. 

One of the themes of the movie is how Truman has been in love with a woman he was prohibited from being with, and was instead set up with a different woman and encouraged to marry her, which he did. “Even when it comes to love, he didn’t have a choice, and his entire life’s been forced down this narrow path.” Oh God, I so relate.

I know I have been manipulated into relationships with men who later turned out to be my handlers. I’d look back and see all the signs I’d had, all the evidence, remember my mental resistance, and then all the arguments I’d heard in my head, argued with, then finally accepted about staying with that man. Afterward I also recognized the strange circumstances that had brought us together.

Once I had walked into a bar, saw the man who would become my second husband, saw his bright smile, returned it, pointed at him and made a face as of to say, “just like we agreed,” and he nodded.

For years afterward, I would recall that “second time we met” and ask him, “When was the first time we met?” He seemed to know but always denied it and quickly changed the subject and the final time expressed irritation at me for asking again.

I felt so much anxiety in those relationships, like something was off, nothing was normal, but I couldn’t understand what it was because I’d never experienced normal.

I began therapy, and began the very long journey of remembering. And grieving.

The entire movie, the narrator says, people wear 1950s clothes, a decade associated with “a more wholesome time in America.” Yes, and it’s also the decade that MKUltra technology expanded its practice across the US and Canada to 80 or more institutions, military and educational. I was born onto one in 1952: Student Housing on the campus of UCDavis.

Truman‘s crisis and breakthrough happened rather quickly when Truman was around 30 years old. My crisis simmered through my 30s, then went critical when I was 41.

I just turned 73 this week, and I’m still waiting for my freedom.

Truman’s story, the narrator says, is, “basically being a slave that was born into servitude.”

Totally relate.

….

Didn’t mean to go on so long. Writing these words makes me think I should feel more furious.

But I go numb instead. And try to be philosophical instead of emotional. Anything else feels like more could erupt than I could release without hurting myself. So I keep quiet and still.

Seeing Truman’s success in the ending makes wonder if I’m supposed to fight harder. I’ve tried to. I feel I was born to. And I have amazing spiritual help that comes to my aid so often, it seems wrong to not keep trying, even at my age.

But I have fought – and have been beaten back, most recently by Lyme disease, a remote controlled highway crash, people sabotaging my vehicles and home, a mystery illness that takes me to the edge of death where I feel the reality of skin cells breaking down on their way to soup turning into soil in the earth. I think my helpers on other realms are asking me if this is really what I want. I think so, but I’m not sure. And slowly they help me heal.

Truman‘s lifelong fear of water was “set up,” the writer opines. In other words, a psy op, a psychological operation to help his controllers for the rest of his life keep him on the island.

They set me up too. Someone seemed to have set the goal for me to be a sexual performer, so even though I was very modest, I was repeatedly cast as a stripper, a prostitute, and even a sexual spy – when I only wanted to be a dancer.

When I entered puberty, my mother refused to buy me a bra, and one day she removed all my very nice clothes and replaced them with clothes apparently from the Salvation Army. I suddenly had only three skirts I’d never seen before, all seemingly from the 40s (this was the 60s). And three blouses, all dingy white and sheer.

For three days, I went to school hunched over, in shame. On the third day, I walked alone from the lunch cafeteria toward our classerooms when I was grabbed over my eyes from behind and dragged backward in a circle, flinging my arms out to try to regain my balance, then pulling my arms back in to hide my chest, causing repeated bursts of laughter from, it seemed, about 20 classmates.

Then I was dropped in the dirt. I wonder today how many in that school and my high school, maybe the entire town are involved in some way in the mind control program. Would be convenient.

At home, my mother was ready to take me to go shopping. To my surprise, she bought me two stylish dresses at a department store teen section. Back at home she shaved my very hairy legs, plucked my unibrow into two, and let me begin to use a little makeup. All in one day.

Sounds to me like some psychiatrist had a theory he wanted to test: See if he could make me fear being anything but beautiful. (Curse him.) In the coming year, my mother would spend a great deal of time helping me build a beautiful wardrobe with matching shoes and purses, and encouraging me in makeup and hairstyling.

Then I would discover dance, the easiest means to an altered state of consciousness, and I would be in love with dance ever after. To dance in the high school plays, I had to sing well enough to make the varsity choir, so I took lessons. We also had to audition and accept whatever parts we were cast for. My final play after high school I was cast as a stripper. The next year in two other situations I would be cast as a prostitute and then Mata Hari, the infamous sexual spy during World War I. I chose none of these, resisted every one, then went along, doing as I was told.

Before another year was up I ran away from home and college and the secret society I had been persuaded to “check out” after resisting vehemently for months.

I understand now they were meant to be my controllers for the rest of my life. I didn’t know that then, but I sensed it, as if my parents were turning their control over to them.

The whole thing was giving me the creeps, a lot like Truman, and I ran away, quit, broke whatever solemn vows I’d made in that ceremony for which I am entirely amnesic, except for one second when “I” opened my eyes then hid back inside, unknowing. Which mind control alter was out for that I don’t know.

I crashed through one of my walls in the sense that I finally knew there was reality to what I’d always felt but the people around me had always denied, calling me “delusional.” Regardless of their lifelong denial and betrayal, I finally knew and had the proof. But nothing that anyone else would ever be able to see and then agree with.

And Truman was also alone, in a liminal, unfamiliar world with no one there to witness what he sees. But he’s supposedly free?

I don’t feel free yet. And I wonder now how Truman could ever escape fully from the lifelong imprinting he received from the corporation that literally owns him.

I’m still waiting.

And waiting to meet another mind control subject who knows they’re a mind control subject. In my world, I am all alone, just as They planned, and continue to control. I’m the only one I know like me.

Of course, nearly everyone but the most isolated primitive tribes on the planet is somewhat mind controlled, taught to avoid certain subjects, deride and laugh at other subjects, fixate on things, ignore other things.

“But some of us got special treatment.” (As I narrated in my 3-minute video about my memoir, Rattlesnake Fire: a memoir of extra dimensional experience.)

Watching this discussion of the show was very affirming. It’s good to know some recognize our plight.

It’s comforting. Little else is comforting in this world of organized deceit.

Fraud

Our nation is such a fraud.

I’ve “always” known this, but I’ve also always hoped that the masses of people who might have believed the lie and tried to do good would override the minority telling the lie.

This morning my hope no longer sustains me.

Reading the stories of how people are being treated in our prisons and detention camps and even now torturing prisons in foreign countries to which we sent them without due process – has broken me. Especially the story about the Afghan artist who interpreted for our Army before bringing his family here.

In the 1970s, after I and two siblings had graduated from high school, my parents went into the Peace Corps. Who knows what they actually did there. I met a man here in Tucson, serving with me on the food co-op board in 1985, who by great coincidence was with my parents in Afghanistan, and he told me he was sent home for having published an unauthorized newsletter about CIA agents in the Corps, and he told me he thought my parents were them!

I believe it. It fits their personality far more than the other image we have of the peacenik Peace Corps volunteers.

But I didn’t know that in 1974, when my siblings and I accepted their offer to travel halfway around the world to see them there and travel with them a bit in the Middle East.

Afghanistan, my father said, was proudly marching into the 17th century. Their water supply and sewage system seemed to be all one, called jetties, that wound through their cities. And women were rarely seen, covered from head to ankles, scurrying quickly alongside walls when out of their homes for errands. Meanwhile, men squatted in circles, laughing, smoking, sipping thick coffee in tiny cups, seemingly having lots of free time. Others, beggars, were everywhere.

We were young and able to put these things out of our minds and just focus on the beauty we found in their architecture, embroidery and foods.

Our nation’s presence there did nothing to help. All we did was take over the poppy harvest and the profitable heroin trade.

And now I read about how our nation has failed these people again. We promised them asylum, presenting ourselves as a nation of freedom and human rights, only to take off that mask today and show our true brutality.

I said above I “always” knew our nation was a fraud, but how did I know that? I was brought up with many advantages: a stable home, a lovely home, often with my own private bedroom, good food, nice clothes, music lessons, dance lessons, and quiet time to read and practice self-hypnosis, dream interpretation and drawing. And everyone I knew had similar. Everyone seemed to be living the American dream. So why did I have this inner knowing about our fraud?

And why did I spend most of my life asking, “What’s wrong with me?“ I would be almost 50 years old before I would learn that I was a US government mind control subject and had been since birth. Made so by the same organization, the CIA, that sent my parents to Afghanistan after I had run away at age 19 and, I thought for a while, somewhat broke my mind control programming, but only somewhat, if at all.

That’s a very long story I’ve told elsewhere and will probably tell again. And I’ve been dealing emotionally with this horrible truth for 23 years now. Alone.

I sometimes marvel at how well I’m doing at integrating this truth, remaining functional, and trying to do good despite the isolation the controllers have forced me into and the days I wake up and wonder, “What happened to me last night?” Yes, sometimes I marvel.

But not today. Today I’m devastated by the image of that Afghan man, a man who also believed the lie, tried to help our nation, then depended on our nation, and is now betrayed by our nation. I so relate. And I am devastated.

22 Reasons I believe I was/am a Mind Control Subject

1. When a friend sent me an email in June 2002 with a few links and a sentence that read, “I think this might explain our stuff,“ I opened the first one to read a headline that revolted me.

My brain rejected the idea of “mind control,“ but as I read the first sentence, I felt something I had never felt before, but was absolutely real: a chorus of small children inside me, physically panicking. Some were whimpering, others hyperventilating, stifling cries, trying to hide, all a chorus of panic, with a teen girl’s voice suddenly heard trying to comfort and calm them.

Then an adult voice spoke to me, “It’s okay, it’s good for you to know. Now you can begin to heal.“

My mind was blown, having never experienced anything like that – except once when I’d felt myself spread out in three parts, with two of them on either side explaining it was good for me to know I was multiple, and now they were leaving, not needed anymore. I had begged them to stay and explain it all to me, but they had said it would be too long a process, and I didn’t yet have the foundation to understand.

Being multiple was a bad enough realization, though I had gone to the medical library and learned it was not insanity, just a different way for a brain to function, and sometimes it came with great intelligence and other skills, which I knew I had. But this realization of mind control seemed to have nothing good about it, only horror and fear of how I could not control what I might do.

I would spend the next year and a half thinking every day that it would be better to die. I did not believe in suicide, but I reconsidered the idea every day.

2. Researchers often associate mind control with Satanism, and Satanists are given religious freedom in the US, including in the Military. (Sargeant Michael Aquino is a well-known, out-of-the-closet, high-ranking Satanist.) And mind control is practiced widely in the military under the direction of the Central Intelligence Agency.

When I was dabbling in astrology, I discovered that the numerology (practiced by Satanists) of my birthday (July 7, 1952) can be “reduced” to 7-7-7 (or 7-7-8). In addition, I was born on a full moon; on a Monday (Moonday); in the middle of Cancer, also called Moonchild, ruled by the Moon.

Not only was I born on a day that contained a full moon, but I was born within 2/1000ths of a degree of the Full Moon opposition. Three moons and three sevens – and Satanists love days like this, I learned. So I might have been selected because of my birthdate and time.

It was also the same day Dwight D. Eisenhower’s nomination to the Republican Presidential ticket was announced.

3. My father was in the Navy, in Carrier Aircraft Service Unit 33 (also a favorite satanic number), which has a conspiracy site associated with it, in which relatives of men in that CASU note that the unit has details that do not correspond with any other records of ports, ships, or dates, while every other CASU detail corresponds perfectly. Most suspect that CASU was a secret project subjecting those sailors to some sort of experiments – and I suspect mind control. My father never wanted to talk about his time in the service.

4. My father‘s father was a 33rd° Freemason. He moved the family from Schell city, Missouri, to Hollywood, California, when my father was a child. There my grandfather became veterinarian to the stars and to the famous German Shepherd TV hero, Rin Tin Tin. Freemasons and Hollywood are both associated with mind control.

5. My father‘s mother wanted her youngest son, my father, to be a child movie star, “like little Jackie Coogan,” so she signed him up with an agent, and my father was sent on the road at age 7 for six months, after which my father stuttered for the next two years. He must have been traumatized to be away from his family at that young age, and I can’t help but wonder if he was also sexually abused, as is common in Hollywood child actor histories. When I was 9 or 10, he needed to have surgery on his anus, which I recall him telling my mother was bleeding profusely.

6. My mother‘s mother was a migrant farm worker, widowed during the Great Depression when my mother was eight and my aunt was nine. She was also an excellent baker, and after quitting migrant work and renting a sidewalk stand to sell sandwiches made with her homemade bread, she was fortuitously taken under the wing of some wealthy businessmen who put her in charge of a new restaurant with conference rooms, outdoor patio, and a walk-up bakery window. Every day, one of those men came to visit my grandmother at lunch – when most restauranteurs would naturally be managing their busiest time – but she was obedient to his request. She sat at one booth facing the door, playing gin rummy if we were visiting, and when she saw him in the doorway, she stopped mid-sentence, laid down her cards, and walked directly toward him, and they disappeared down the sidewalk. One time when we visited, my mother wanted to introduce herself and me to him, so she hurriedly pulled me out of the booth and after her as she hurried to interrupt them for an introduction. I’ve always remembered the disbelieving hostility in the man’s face, his refusal to engage, and him turning and walking away with my grandmother at his side.

Back at the booth, my mother stared at the doorway and mused as if she thought it were the most wonderful thing that my grandmother had this mysterious relationship with this wealthy man. She said, “She never says what they talk about.”

Since mind control has been recorded in European history back to the 17th century, I suspect my grandmother may have been an early mind control subject as well – as her restaurant became the gathering place for the “movers and shakers” in Van Nuys for 25 years.

It seems my mother had inadvertently interfered with her mother‘s daily programming. And my grandmother was not allowed to discuss anything about it.

7. Mormons, military, Freemasons, and Hollywood – all have been associated with mind control, and all are in my family lineage.

8. When I was born, my parents were living in married student housing at UC Davis, where my father was finishing his degree in Veterinary Medicine. That year, UC Davis launched the Human Ecology Project, which researchers now associate with CIA mind control.

9. The largest religious denomination in the CIA, by far, are the Mormons. Stuart Udall, Secretary of the interior under Eisenhower, who was at my parents’ Christmas party when I was eight years old, was a Mormon. It’s difficult to explain why he was at our house – except that the party, and our new custom home, both occurred just a few months after my two years of near amnesia, at the same approximate age as other mind control subjects report their two years of amnesia, either proceeded by or followed by a nice new custom home.

These two years are when the CIA takes children (who have been prepared by their parents) and creates the multiple personalities that will be controlled for the rest of their lives.

My mother was also a Mormon, but a “jack Mormon,” one who rarely goes to church. I was occasionally sent or taken to church, which I hated, so, I suspect, I was made accessible to them for program updates. I have disturbing memories of amnesia and hating being there at that church.


10. While I can tell dozens of stories of my life up through kindergarten, I have only a few weird memories of first and second grade, and then my memory comes back fully in third grade.

First, age 6, I remember being thrilled to take a train trip alone with my mother, leaving our father behind to take care of my three younger siblings, the youngest only about 8 months old. I knew this was strange, this image of my dad at the table with my three siblings when we said goodbye, and so I always remembered it, but I was thrilled to feel special, to travel alone with my mother.

My mother said we were going to see her aunt in Albuquerque, but I have no memory of that. I do have a memory of being in something I now recognize as a large military airplane hanger. I was sitting in a party dress on a chair in front of a military man in tan khaki behind a desk. Another military man came past me from behind on my left to talk to the man behind the desk. The man walking, who was shaped like a pear, gave me a quick glance, then said to the man at the desk, “Pretty one,” nodding toward me. Next thing I recall is being in the backseat of a car, being brought home by four men in uniforms and very short haircuts in a sedan with a two-tone interior they called “aquamarine.“ They gave me no attention, so I just stared at the backs of the two heads in front of me, ignored the men on either side of me, and comforted myself with a toy on my lap, a pressed-metal beagle, painted black, white and brown, with a crank on the side that I could turn to make it plink out “How Much is That Doggy in the Window?“ I remember thinking how glad I was for this toy, as if without it I would be in a panic. Suddenly, we parked on the street in front of our house. The man on my right slid out and motioned for me to get out, which I did awkwardly, holding my dog. Then he gestured toward my front door, and I marveled at the strangeness of approaching from the front instead of entering the side door from the driveway as usual. I climbed up on the curb, across the cut lawn on the easement, then onto the sidewalk, up the walkway and finally to the front door. No excitement or happiness, just what was.

Inside, my mother took the dog from me, and the next day she would tell me I had never had a toy dog and that I must have imagined it. I knew she was lying.

I have no other memories of first grade, and I’m only guessing that these belong to first grade and not to second grade.

The next summer, when I was seven, the whole family went to visit our grandmother Mimi and our aunt Doris, who lived together in Van Nuys, California. Then one day my mother announced to us kids that I was going to visit longer with Mimi and Doris, and the rest of the family would come get me later. I asked why, and got no answer that I recall.

I didn’t mind, as I liked my grandmother and aunt. But today it makes no sense because they were both single working women, my aunt was a single mother, they worked full-time at Mimi’s restaurant, and this – leaving anyone alone there – was nothing we had ever done or would ever do again.

I went to the restaurant with them for a day or a few, where my aunt taught me how to use the cash register and make change. I stood on a stool and enjoyed the compliments I got from the customers who seemed amazed I could make change at my age.

I have only one memory of second grade (or first), and that is of standing in front of an easel with an apron on and four pots of paint: blue, green, red (or yellow?), and black. Everyone else in the room seemed to be painting excitedly, but I just stood and looked at my blank paper.

A woman’s voice nearby commanded me to “Paint.“ I answered that I didn’t know what to paint. “Paint a tree,” she responded. I dipped my paintbrush in black and drew a black tree on black earth with black wind streaming by with black leaves in the wind. I put down my brush and remember thinking, “There. A tree.”

Later, I remember waking up at home, thrilled to be back where things were familiar, then running to find my mother to tell her, “I’m awake! And I’ve been asleep for a long, long time!” She shared none of my enthusiasm, and I watched the side of her head as she told me dismissively, “No you just slept one night. It only felt long.”


11. My father worked very long hours, sometimes 70 hours a week, he said. But then he treated himself and us to three vacations a year, including very long summer vacations. I always thought those summer vacations were two weeks long, but my brother now tells me they were four weeks long! And sometimes I had amnesic events.

We often traveled with or met up with other families, of which I was one of the oldest children, so I was not being mistaken when one of the other mothers referred to my directing the other children in an abbreviated performance of the Wizard of Oz. I had directed plays before with neighborhood kids, but I had absolutely no memory of directing that play when I was a teenager.

I also have no memory of going to the Chiricahua Mountains, which my siblings talked about as one of our very best times, but I could never remember it at all. These “memory problems” used to seriously disturb me, because it wasn’t a common occurrence, something I had come to expect, but the strangest sort of surprise that completely confounded me.

And now I’ve learned that the mind controllers need to check in with their subjects and spend extensive time with them, refining their programming, which I now theorize was occasionally done on family vacations.


12. After high school graduation, I secretly looked forward to finding friends involved in the hippie movement. I had always had a hard time making friends, and was raped that summer, so I related to those people who seemed willing to break social norms.

So I was confused when the daughter of one of my mother‘s distant acquaintances called me repeatedly, wanting to tell me about “the Greek system“ and her sorority house. I was polite until her third call when I decided she deserved to know that I did not consider myself “their type.“ To my surprise, she answered, “What type do you think we are?“ There was a long pause where I searched for words that were not insulting (as I’d been trained), and finally I decided she deserved the truth since she kept bothering me, and I responded, “Plastic” (a late 60’s insult). Immediately she replied, “Don’t you think you’re judging us without knowing us?“ That was a phrase I’d only heard attributed to hippies! So she was calling me on my own barely adopted ethos! She was calling me a fraud, and I had to prove I was more open-minded than that. So I agreed begrudgingly to attend sorority Rush, not wanting to do anything except prove I was open minded.

Suddenly, one of my friends from fourth grade became my best friend, sharing constantly with me her intense desire to get into this same sorority, her anxiety that she might not, and all the reasons why it was the most important thing in her life.

Elsewhere, I have written a very long story explaining the intense gaslighting I got that year to “pledge,” and then join at the end of the year – as well as to enter two local run-ups to the national Miss America Pageant – which I had always thought were terribly embarrassing, and I continued to think so then. But my childhood had given me very little experience in making my own decisions, so I was easy to manipulate to do things I did not want to do.

At the very end of the year, after making my coerced vows, I was secretly told that I had been recommended by the state president, the highest recommendation one could get. I was shocked and hurt.

I had thought all of their overtures toward me had seemed pretended, not real friendship, but I have been told by my friend that I just didn’t know what real friendship was. And now it had been made perfectly clear that my intuitions had been correct, and I had accepted their pretenses as truth. I felt humiliated, tricked, lied to, angry, and ashamed for not having acted on my own intuitions instead of following everyone else’s judgments.

That summer, I would break my vows (despite their warnings of how doing so would be “really, really, really, really, really, really, really bad”), and early the next year I would return my Miss U of A crown (I’d been such a bad, uncaring representative anyway, they’d quit calling me for any publicity events), drop out of school, throw away all my make-up and hair products, and “run away,“ hitchhiking across the United States with the first boy-man who thought it was a good idea. And things did get really, really, really, really, really, really, really bad.


13. Between marriage to that boy-man and having children, my husband and I woke up one morning to find our wooden bed frame broken, side rails disconnected from the corner posts, the slats in disarray, and no memory of how it had gotten that way while we “slept.”

My husband had been born on a Navy base (Groton, Connecticut, also associated with mind control), and his mother had been committed twice to a mental hospital – another circumstance common to mind control subjects, so his parents may also both have been in the program, along with him.

In the shower that morning, I discovered that my vagina was extremely painful, swollen, and in a mirror, I could see that the skin had been pulled apart in a manner I could only describe as looking like patterns on a giraffe, which I reported to my mother when I called her to ask what it could mean, but she had no theory.

I understand now this is a typical result of gang rape, but I could not consider that possibility then. Today, I wonder whether some mind controllers had made both of us amnesic for a gang rape, and in the process, broke the bed.


14. In therapy in my 30s, I tried to imagine the stream of my life, but all I saw was something like disconnected, cut-up pieces of yarn, scattered, no history with any coherence, causing me to wonder what was wrong with me. (This is actually more pertinent to Multiple Personality/Dissociation, but it is also a major feature of Mind Control.)


15. After I divorced my first husband, I met a man in a bar and immediately recognized him as someone I was supposed to meet, but I could not remember why. After we became a couple, I asked him a few times why did we both think we were supposed to meet, but he seemed to not want to discuss it. I believe now that he is another mind control subject, and we were amnestically programmed to meet and fall in love.


16. When we both became involved with the radical activist group, Earth First, I hadn’t wanted to spend much time with it because I was a single mother, I had just launched a business, and I didn’t want to divide my time further. But my partner badgered me constantly with intense encouragement, promising to make up for my financial losses (which he never did), so I relented and gave part-time pro bono media work to the group for four years. Later, certain members of the group would accuse me of being a spy, “badjacketing” me, isolating me. And many years later, after my 2002 introduction to mind control, I would realize that was absolutely a possibility.


17. When that marriage ended, and I moved to Colorado Springs to be with my high school crush from 25 years earlier, we experienced someone trying to break into our home in the middle of the night.

Suddenly, another personality came to the fore. I felt shrunken to the right side of my frontal lobe, witnessing somebody else take over the rest of my body. She told my boyfriend to call 911 while she grabbed a large knife, then positioned herself in front of the door, bouncing on her toes while testing the balance of the knife in her hand, and thinking to herself how happy she was to have this chance to kill someone, as it had been a long time. She had absolute confidence in what she was doing as she listened to him throw himself against the door and imagined different responses if he crashed through in one direction or another, with one physique or another, all while “I“ was marveling at her.


18. When I lived in Silver City, I attended an art gallery opening, and as I was leaving, needing to return my wine glass to the table, a new acquaintance and a stranger were conversing in my pathway. So as I walked toward them, intending to turn sideways and slip through, instead I again retreated to the right side of my frontal lobe while I witnessed some part of me do a provocative walk toward them – an exaggerated sexy walk I have not been able to imitate the few times I tried – years after I grieved the humiliation of it.

I wanted very badly to regain control of my body and stop it, but I could not. The new acquaintance looked at me in shock, and there was nothing I could do. I went home and cried that evening, and could do little but weep the next day – and think about ending things.


19. When I was a nomad living in my RV, I volunteered at a UFO conference and was requested for an emergency to work at a table handling money and tickets. I didn’t want to do that, so I chose the safest method of immediately handing every bit of money to a paid employee beside me after each sale. At the very end, I felt some alter take over my body again, take two or three tickets, then turn and slip them into a pocket of my backpack behind me, then turn back around before I regained control.

It only took 10 seconds, but the whole time I was horrified, but could not stop it. I cried all afternoon and evening until 2 AM, when I wrote an email to my supervisor to please meet me in the morning, when I would tell her what had happened. Interestingly, and fortunately, I had told her in my application that I was a mind control subject “in healing.”

And I’ve always thought it was good policy to warn people, even though others suggest it isn’t good for making friends. I know. But I want others to have fair warning in the event they notice something strange in my behavior. And hopefully they’ll tell me, so I might have a chance to learn more about myself.


20. After that, I remembered two other earlier events in which some altar in me took over my body when a camera came out. She posed my body in a manner I thought stupid and even cheesy cliché, but I could not regain control of my body to face the camera more naturally. One time was for a newsletter article about strawbale construction. The other was for a video documentary about the “Judi Bari versus FBI” trial. Broke my heart again, to feel myself taken over, and scared me.

21. Nearing the end of my media work for that trial, we had a very important media release to go out, for which we had set the fax machine to send it at a particular time for maximum impact. But the next morning, it was discovered that the fax machine had been unplugged. As soon as I was told about it, I had a dreadful feeling like a body memory of my right shoulder dragging under the fax machine table while I imagined someone reaching for the plug. 


22. A friend from high school, whom I now believe is also a mind control subject, published a book in which his female lead character is named Jean Ann (my name) and is an amnesic Mormon assassin.

There’s probably more. These are just off the top of my head. I’ll add more as I remember them or have time to go through my database.

15 Reasons Why I Believe I was Sexually Abused as a Child

1. A very early childhood nightmare of a cartoon character exposing himself on stage, exposing his girl’s pudendum. I felt horrified and afraid. (Why would a young child create that sort of dream if she hadn’t experienced it herself?)

2. A very early childhood nightmare of my father sitting in the driver’s position on front carriage of an old-fashioned circus carriage train, in a nighttime storm, dressed in black with a tall black hat, whipping a black horse that took us too fast down a bumpy mountain road. Suddenly the train crashed and all the carriages fell over, and I feared the wild animals had gotten out of their cages. I was alone in the dark night, terrified I would be found by a wild animal and ripped apart. (Obviously not sexual, but shows a fear of the night.)

3. When I was 3 or 4, Mom responded hysterically to something I had said, and dragged me into the bathroom, screaming that I should never say anything like that ever again, and knocked a bar of soap around in my mouth, then left me there and went into the kitchen.

I was terrified of her, so waited in the bathroom, but soon my mouth was full of saliva, and I needed to spit it out, but the top of the bathroom sink was at my forehead and I knew I wasn’t allowed to drag a chair in there without permission (and it never occurred to me to spit into the toilet or the tub). Fearful but desperate, I went to the doorway of the kitchen and saw my mother standing there in fury, then tipped my head back to hold in the saliva and asked if I could move a chair. She nodded, and I was able to move the chair to the sink and begin to clean the chunks off of my teeth.

(Obviously not sexual, but I can’t imagine anything other than the possibility of a sexual scandal in the event I would say those words publicly that would make a mother get so hysterical and brutal to her daughter.)

Cropped from photo of me on Mom’s lap

4. A memory of Mom taking me to the doctor and telling him she thought I was crazy because I said “crazy things.” He told her, laughing gently, “No, children just have active imaginations, and sometimes they mix up their dreams with memories.“ But soon she told my aunt, who also laughed and told her no. And I remember when she also told a small group of women who had visited the house and were now in their car getting ready to drive away, and they also laughed and told her no.

All these people telling Mom she was wrong gave me confidence that I didn’t need to take her words to heart.

5. About age 4, I remember being in the den, squatting down and studying the smeared patterns in the linoleum, listening to a man talk to my father, saying, “You marry a Mormon woman, and you get the children too.“ In later reflection, it seemed he was encouraging my father either to engage with me sexually or not feel bad about it if he already was. Much later, I learned that sexual abuse (and mind control) are very common in Mormon families.

6. When I was 8, and we had just moved into our new custom home on in Merced, I heard Dad call my name and came out of the den to find him squatting down to my height, smiling, with Mom standing to the side behind him. I was mesmerized by his smile because I so rarely saw it while making eye contact with me. When I arrived in front of him, he pulled out a steel hypodermic needle from behind his back, held upright, and I stepped back in shock, but he held me there, and I knew not to disobey him. He continued to smile while telling me that it was time for my booster, and he “gave the best shots in town.” He went on to say that I wouldn’t even feel it because he had a special technique. All I had to do was hold my arm really soft and limp, and he patted my arm to help me relax and told me to look away. I followed his instructions and soon he said, “That’s it.“ I was amazed, because I had not felt anything, just like he said.

In preparation for our Christmas party that year, Mom had been calling all the guests, telling them that Stuart Udall (then Secretary of the Interior) would be there. I remember thinking she was bragging, which was something she had told me not to do. At the party, we were supposed to stay in the den and not come out, and I was intent on helping the little ones follow that rule. However, when my littlest siblings tried to sneak out, some woman guest encouraged Mom to let us come out for five minutes, so the little girls burst ahead, winding their way through the crowd, followed by my brother, followed by me.

I was overwhelmed by the crowd of tall people, uncertain whether I really wanted to be there or what to do, so I just followed the other kids and soon saw my doctor talking to my father. The two of them together made me think of shots, so when my doctor had greeted me, and I knew I was supposed to respond with something, I cheerfully said, and loudly over the noise of the crowd,“My daddy gives the best shots in town. He gives me my boosters.“

My doctor looked shocked and immediately swiveled his head around and up toward my father, and I followed, and saw my father look as though he were in deep trouble. There was a third man there also, and the three men all exchanged glances, and the expressions of extreme concern did not go away. Because my doctor was second cousin to Stuart Udall, I assume that the Secretary of the Interior was the third man there.

A few months later, I came home from school to find my mother emptying the kitchen cabinets and packing dishes into boxes. When I asked her why, she answered angrily that we had to move. After we had moved to Paradise Valley, I asked her why we had moved and, while keeping her back to me, she answered that the people in Merced were very snobby and they didn’t want to be a part of that group.

(See 15 below for follow-up.)

7. When I put in my first tampon while squatting over a mirror (as suggested by the instruction sheet), I was shocked to see my inner labia looking very unlike the sketch in the instruction sheet, as mine were long, as if stretched out, and brown, hanging significantly outside the outer labia. I was stunned, but didn’t have the confidence to ever ask anyone about it.

8. Years later, when my sisters and I were swimming naked in the pool and my youngest sister inadvertently exposed herself while hanging on the diving board by her knees, I embarrassed myself by laughing a little hysterically at the sight of her peach-like anatomy, I assume because mine looked so different, but I couldn’t think about it consciously until decades later.

9. When I was date raped the summer of 1970, age 18, I went into an altered state of consciousness in which I could only scream silently in my head, but could not move my body or make any vocalizations.

10. After I was raped, in shock and horrified that I was no longer a virgin (or so I thought), I decided I might as well engage in sex of my own choice, and I wanted to think of it as “my first.” But afterward when I said that to my boyfriend, he repeatedly told me it was OK that I wasn’t and not to keep lying about it.

11. In my mid-30s, having sex with my boyfriend, I suddenly had a flashback in which I was a young child, lying naked on a cotton bedspread with an interesting weave, with a wall to my left, and a few feet away on my right a window with a shade pulled down and bright sunlight coming in thin lines around the edges, and a door in the direction of my feet, and a large blank where I knew a person was standing, looking down at my pudendum.

I felt a sickening dread, but knew I could not leave or stop what was coming, and so I turned my head toward the wall and began a recitation I had previously invented: the wallpaper is gray-green, the flowers are pink with green leaves, in rows that go across and up to the side, and each rose has a frame around it made of white wavy lines, two on each side, and the paint is not laid down evenly, but is thick in some places and thin in others, so the gray-green paper shows through, and I wonder if the workers got in trouble for that.

Then I decided to praise myself, and told myself, “I invented this. No adult taught me.” But that made me almost remember why I had invented this, and I almost came back into my body, so I quickly told myself I had to always stay exactly with the routine and never stop to think about my invention, and I began again at the beginning, “The wallpaper is gray green, the flowers are pink with green leaves….“

Then I was back in my mid-30s body having sex with my partner, extremely shocked by what I had just remembered.

I didn’t know what to call this event, but thought it would be the sort of thing to ask a counselor, but I didn’t want to talk to a counselor about it because I was afraid of what it might mean, afraid that I did not have the time and emotional energy to process it, and also afraid that someone might convince me it meant something that it didn’t mean.

The next day I reviewed my options, again certain I did not have the time or energy or money to deal with this while my children were so young, and I was trying to make a living. So I decided it was important to not think about it, because I might inadvertently change the memory, but I also did not want to forget it. An idea came to me to put the memory into a box and put it on the top shelf of a closet until later when I had time. Oddly, the box I chose was an old-fashioned (50’s?) round, striped hat box.

12. In my late 30s, in the days after the family had gathered for Christmas, a few of us were sitting around the dining table telling stories, while others stood nearby. My brother had just told a story that someone remarked was from a very young age, and I knew I also had a memory from a very young age, so I grabbed a paper napkin and drew while describing the married student housing apartment at UC Davis where my parents lived when I was born:

“The front door was here, and it had a tall, narrow window right next to it with circle-textured glass so you couldn’t see through. The kitchen was right here, and Mom was standing at the stove, and the hood light was on, shining brightly when I looked up. The living room was here to the left, and the linoleum changed to carpet at an angle here. The red leather chair was here.”

At that, my mother said accusingly, “You can’t remember that. You were 14 months old when we left there.“

To which I replied, “But you just acknowledged that I did remember it.“

Mom‘s face was in silent shock, as she pushed away from the table, walked calmly to a window, stood there looking outside, and finally said in a trance-like, singsong voice, “I’ve always said you had an active imagination and you mix up your dreams with memories” - as if she’d said those words a thousand times.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I realized she’d said that phrase in those exact same words every time I had ever remembered anything from my childhood, and she’d never said anything similar regarding the other kids.

Mentally scrambling for a reason, I assumed she had done something for which she felt very guilty, and I needed to tell her sometime that my childhood was fine, and she had nothing to feel bad about.

However, driving home from that Christmas visit, I pulled off to the side of the interstate and sobbed over the steering wheel, feeling incredibly sad that my mother had been diminishing me all my life for something she felt guilty about, and my siblings had been hearing these diminishments for their entire lives, and I felt so isolated, so unfairly accused.

Later, I learned this is consistent in families with one abused child.

13. Sometime around age 40, while beginning to cook dinner, I realized I had some memory of someone saying something that I couldn’t understand, but clearly had a distinct cadence that repeated. It came through as a pattern of beats that I had the odd impression had been repeating in my head for at least three days and was associated with a little home in Merced before our custom home.

I told myself I was probably like a “word on the tip of the tongue“ and I’d remember it if I quit focusing on it, so I took down a sauce pan and turned toward the sink to fill it with water, when suddenly those beats turned into someone saying, “You’ve got to stop that soon. She’s getting old enough to remember.“

I had the sickening feeling it was my mother speaking, and whatever it was she didn’t want me to remember was probably not good, probably sexual. I was in so much shock, I couldn’t breathe, and I staggered a few steps to the sink and struggled to hold the pan in my hand because I didn’t want to hear it clatter, but didn’t have the energy in my arms to set it down. I held myself up by my forearms on the front of the sink, and struggled to take in a breath.

14. When I was in therapy, age 41, in 1993, my therapist asked me about my family and what my upbringing had been like, to which I had replied confidently that it was “normal, nothing wrong.” He then asked me to describe some typical interactions with my parents.

To my surprise, I couldn’t think of anything that was nice. All I could remember of my young childhood was of talking to the back or side of my mother’s head,or her being angry at me, or cold and rejecting, like making me stay in my bedroom and not bother her unless it was really, really necessary, and if it was necessary to first figure out how to say what I needed in the fewest words possible, or me sneaking out to sit in the hallway around the corner to listen to her interacting with other people.

The only young memory of interacting with my father was of him being extremely angry at Christmas when he presented me with a wooden child-size stove he had made himself, and I had given it a little attention before being distracted by all the other presents. When I asked about it later, my mother told me he had given it away.

I also remember him taking family photos, and all of us smiling giddily.

I’ve since learned that mothers often emotionally abuse the children who are sexually abused by their father. And calling them liars or delusional is an important tactic to discredit them in the event they ever tell the truth.

15. A few years ago, taking on my mother‘s genealogy work, using ancestors.com, I was prompted to look at “hints” that might be found on their associate site, newspapers.com. I had followed the categories in order, and when I came to “police records,” I expected to find nothing, but clicked anyway, following my habit of orderly progress, and was surprised to see a photograph of my mother, looking very threatened, with narrow window blinds behind her, like those I might have seen in police interrogation rooms on television.

From Police Records, Newspapers.com

I had been efficiently taking screenshots, then clicking for the next item, intending to read everything later, but after I captured her photograph, before I could click on the article, the article and photograph both disappeared.

Because I have documented many events of apparent surveillance on my phone and computer, I assumed someone did not want me to see this and interrupted my access. (I wonder if someone else can.)

I can only guess why her photo was in a police record, wearing her flowered bed jacket and a hairdo like she wore that year in Merced, and wearing such a cornered, silent expression.

Today, my siblings have never spoken to me about any of my writing, thoughts, assumptions, or proof, but I’ve learned that they have spoken to my daughter, and possibly my son, about my “mental illness.”

Even though I have openly described myself as a “multiple personality,” I do not consider this a mental illness. When I first realized that I was multiple, I went to the medical library and read everything they had there, and I learned that it should not be considered a disorder or illness. It is simply a creative adaptation to great trauma, and each alternate personality is sane.

But no one in my family wants to discuss this, or hear my opinions on anything. 

I’m 72 now, with a son and daughter who choose not to speak to me any more than necessary, choose not to visit me, even when I tell them I need help, and do not believe I have Lyme Disease or any reason to not to have been cheerful for all of our visits the last decade, or any reason to have skipped some holidays and planned visits.

They seem ready to write me off as “crazy” – just like my mother intended. (And probably just as the mind controllers intended.)

Facing end of life with no strong family connections, but with family ready to discredit my ability to make my own life (and financial and housing) decisions feels like a rather dangerous situation.

And I’m sad, disappointed, scared, and sometimes furious at them for believing what my mother told them all their lives.

Next; Reasons I believe I was a US government mind control subject …

Multiple Personality – not crazy

I wrote this long time ago, but somehow it ended up in my draft folder….

Is Multiple Personality Disorder (Dissociative Identity Disorder) “crazy”?

Actually, it’s considered a creative solution, usually emerging accidentally in childhood, to keep 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 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 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, their propensity for dissociating was noted by people lacking empathy and any moral code, and they learned to take advantage of them, making literal slaves of the multiples.

In the 1940s, China and the United States, each seeking to protect their wartime secrets from their adversaries, began to experiment on soldiers,  splitting their minds through torture – their own citizens, as well as others around the world.

cia doctorsThe CIA eventually developed at least 123 mind control programs, the CIA Director testified to the Senate.  Researchers have further uncovered evidence that an estimated 20,000 American or Canadian children and many more adults were used 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, assisted in healing, or compensated.

The CIA director testified that they destroyed all the files because they wouldn’t do anyone any good.  As a consequence, no subject can prove they were involved and disabled in this program.)

Few researchers or subjects believe they destroyed our files.  They will never destroy our files, because they have tens or hundreds or thousands of us in some state of useful functionality or dysfunctionality, and no scientist would throw away the product of millions or billions of dollars of research over the decades.  No way.  So we live with ongoing surveillance, “doctoring,” being used as an amnestic agent and/or being used as an experimental test subject for the newest drugs, technology, and/or programming.

It is clearly criminal, the sort of thing that the United States has apologized for in recent decades, usually a century late.  But today everyone is terrified to be the front person for a challenge to this.  And even though we have testimony of the highest caliber, the courts refuse to accept our personal testimony that we know we were, and are still, subjects, and most of us have memories breaking through we’re willing to testify about.

The gravity of the crime of mind control is so great that it terrorizes, entrances, silences, subdues our fellow citizens, also useful.

Ironically, it’s a blessing in this situation to be able to dissociate, though the other alters do sense things and can suffer greatly even if they can’t remember why.

~

More on American mind control history is in my page “Mind Control Defined.”Candyjones_cover-210

More of my personal experience is in my post “Multiple-ness: What it Feels Like.”

Video Interviews

Hi All,

I recently began doing interviews again.

On The Cosmic Switchboard, James Bartley and I overview my life in 2 hours. (We plan another conversation soon.)

https://www.thecosmicswitchboard.com/2020/10/06/jean-eisenhower-interview/

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.)

https://www.blogtalkradio.com/aquarianradio/2020/10/01/jean-ann-eisenhower-092920-stargate-to-the-cosmos-hosts-janet-sasha (By the way, I find the artwork used for this interview video interesting, but not necessarily what I’m conveying.)

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.)

https://www.blogtalkradio.com/aquarianradio/2020/10/28/jean-ann-eisenhower-102720-stargate-to-the-cosmos-hosts-janet-kira-lessi

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 ~

Jean

You were Born into a Sci-fi Scenario

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Inside my ear canal (never approved by me)

What do you do when you wake up and realize you were born into a science fiction scenario, and everyone has conspired to lie about it and tell you you’re not too be taken seriously, despite your science journals and other “documentation,” and they want you to just shut up about this stuff?

You’d been fairly successful in living your life as if everything were normal, even though you knew it wasn’t. You lived in an uneasy tension between 2 worlds: the one that everyone else agreed on, that everything was fine, and it even made you feel good to pretend it; and the other reality that opens up regularly at nighttimeScreen Shot 2015-02-13 at 8.24.02 PM, steals your energy, makes you amnesic, and leaves you with wounds that any doctor might leave, except for one that makes you think it had to have been aliens. That’s why you go along with the pretense that everything’s fine, to take a breather from the intensity of the nighttime.

persephone n hades cropI feel like Persephone, innocent, stolen from the Mother Earth Goddess, and released in seasons, to recover, only to be drug back into Hell again.

All this mythology, of gods and aliens, opened my eyes to realms beyond – which disappeared also when interacting in the world where these things don’t happen, where people don’t even want to know that they happen, even to their own sister or mother; I understand; it’s far too scary to contemplate if you’re not forced to.

What do you do when you wake up, and this is your reality, this science fiction story in which the heroine faces strange demons in strange lands, and has had implants placed all over her body and is made unconscious regularly and has her energy depleted sometimes for days?

18mqxydmchb61jpgSome would say this is a human rights crime, illegal human experimentation. Others would say it’s spiritual warfare. Others alien warfare. Since I think the rogue state may very well be controlled by “aliens,” and everything has a spiritual component, I assume it is probably all three.  And I must fight it on all these levels.

I want to believe I was born into this life because I am strong enough to endure and grow from it, and hopefully will play a positive role in the resolution of this crime on Earth.

Thanks for reading and caring.

Important History of Electronic Warfare

Check out this video for some important history:

www.youtube.com/watch

The Last 8 Years

IMG_1725Anomalous weirdness seemed to be increasing, so last January I decided to comb through every journal of mine and record the anomalies since I published RattleSnake Fire, and then record all the anomalies in my book and before my book – the entire rest of my life, as much as I could remember.  I put them all in a master database, with dates and places and other notations, and they total over 700 events!

Some were flesh-and-bones type of events; other were purely psychic, as if in other realms, but consistent with common theories of mind control and psychic attack.

When I checked to see how many occurred in these recent years, I found that, yes, things are accelerating:  I’ve had over half – over 390 anomalous events – since I published my book in January 2008.

Now, anomalous doesn’t mean “bad,” as some anomalies were healing and spiritual insights that made me blissful and came on like a “download.”  So, I colored the supposedly “good” anomalies in green and blue, and I colored the shocking, frightening ones in orange and red.  Those latter outnumbered the positive by 3 or 4 to 1.

Since there were so many, it was hard to wrap my mind around them, so I made an abbreviated list of the biggies – below.

This is not a comprehensive list, only those I wrote in my journal, sometimes I was too messed up to journal for days and might have forgotten to make a record; sometimes I missed things because I was amnesic; and a few journals seem to have gone missing for much of July 2013-July 2014, so I don’t know how much I missed there.  But it’s a good start.

I’ve separated the “challenges” from the “blessings” – and I’ve written with extreme brevity, so they might not sound like much, but in context, believe me, they were.

You’ll notice the few from 2008-2009 (July – July) slowly grow to larger numbers in recent years:

(If anyone finds these familiar, I hope they give you solace that you’re not alone.)

July 2008 –  July 2009 Challenges:

a spiritual attachment

Psychic (freak-out) reaction to a stranger

July 2008 – July 2009 Blessings: 

magical message from shaman

———————————————–

July 2009 – July 2010 Challenges: 

Suspicious lover from teen years called, seducing

experienced conscious MK rape

MK’d to go somewhere, a test

computer weirdness x 3

eyes in mirror not mine

beam bruise

saw demon face over friend’s face

saw etheric safe in my back, and removed it, but not man’s hand also there!

July 2009 – July 2010 Blessings: 

multiple self re-knitting

avoid brain balancing “offer” from suspect doctor

energy healing

“cowboy cataract” healed instantaneously

two alters see each other

———————————————–

July 2010 – July 2011 Challenges: 

Weird, amnestic stop on Highway 90

new door lock broken

sleep anomaly x 10+

weird and mysterious obsession over friend

3 puncture cuts

DSC014024 scoop marks

injection bruise

other weird bruises x 4

pouring nosebleed

inch-deep puncture up beside clitoris

spine mysetriously hurt

new herpes

taser cuTaser burn/sick

tones in ears

night’s struggle

beam follows me around house

next morning:  ears ringing badly, never quit

“walk-in” offer

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

MK’d sex

old high school friend reconnects; wrote fiction (of me) as MK assassin

bad energy sensed powerfully from across street

noises in house

etheric Aries sign attacked me and stuck to my forehead in energy realm

woman in house makes toilet overflow x 2

message from dark side:  I’m “already in”

spiritual attachments

Despite documentation and no contrary theories, Dr. calls me delusional

Bad spirit in a basket (blessing:  I eject and bring it to heal or depart in garden)

July 2010 – July 2011 Blessings

spontaneous healing

downloads

Persephone helps

blue-green energy healing alters

person inside me helping

cellular changes

another healing x 2

healed teens

nighttime healings x ?

seeing energy, controlling it

yogi comes in

felt g-spot heal

understanding, writing about the cruel teacher

——————————————

2011-2012 Challenges: 

email warning:  new Friend/CIA –

life-threatening email, took to police –

postal mail: I’m an MK slave, may lose my soul – (all 3 in 1 week)

weird sleep and exhaustion x 16+

DSC04837bruises x 3+

needle bruises x 34

4-5 clear tones

2 scoop marks

injured back/no reason x 2

neck out, rib out- pain

2nd taser w oval copy copyanother Taser

weird neck problems x 3

Wake to find friend whispering/instructing me x 2

night terror

realize MK as child on vacations, collapse to floor

computer weirdness

cuts

terrible ear-ringing

iridescent golden mucous glob from sinus

headache

felt severely drugged

more herpes

weird answering machine message

phone interruption:  “record again”

happy drug?  too much energy

acquaintance weirdness

male friend confirms Archons

spiritual attack

shamanic journey:  saw programming in Akron, age 19, painful, terrifying

“dream” of waiting obediently

dream: audition, girls lifting skirts

dream of extra-dimensional powers and astral spying

dream of spying

dream of fire under house

dreams of tunnels, transportation

possible abduction dream

nightmare/porch/screaming

intense forgotten dream

dream of pre-school, computer pass codes, remote command hand tools

July 2011-July 2012 Blessings:

dream of friend that comes true

alters integrating?

feeling strong despite all weirdness

7 months of nothing significant

strong recovery from spiritual attack

recognized MK command to not have orgasm

shamanic journey: removed hooks from spine and neck

shamanic journey:  alters back, bad energy removed, neck fixed

removed shadow

——————————————

July 2012 – July 2013 Challenges

exhausted x 18+

wrenched back x 2, displaced C2

neck hurt x 2, headache, out of it

jaw locked, wouldn’t open

red line in eye

scoop mark

sore

IMG_2558cuts/punctures

grief

depression

anxiety, unable to center self

nausea

hip bruise 1 cropmore weird bruises

ears ringing bad

harassing mental video

computer x 2 and phone weirdness

strange drivers license discovered in my wallet, frightened, called police; afterward no memory of name or face on license

lost time w friend

amnesia, friend no help

email about amnesia – totally forgotten

MK on Christmas Eve

dream of space ship, large marble building, dead body

dream of staircase to other country

dream remote viewing tidal wave, sold on MK

plus events in 2013 – journals missing

July 2012 – July 2013 Blessings:

bolt of healing energy from almond tree

exhaled huge psychic sludge

healing contortions night and morning

energy healing

———————————————-

July 2013 – July 2014 Challenges

camping horror:  apparent abduction, noro virus, almost died (others went to hospital), people sabotage my sleep

friend scares me

consistent sabotage before my scheduled workshops

IMG_2099many injection bruises, weekly

exhaustion with lots of sleep until I quit my business, then felt better

(journals irregular or lost)

July 2013 – July 2014 Blessings:

none (2013 journals disappeared)

———————————————

2014-2015 Challenges: 

“something done in night” x 6+

long sleep and exhaustion x 46

donut bruises x2

injection bruises x 8, “2x/wk”

other bruises x 10

heart racing/hurting x 11

jaw painful x 6

DSC05296scoop marks x 5

numb shoulder x 3

hypersensitive hip x 2

missing time x 8

movies in head x 3, sometimes forgotten

strange noises x 2

vaginal, anal irritation x 2

Thanksgiving: vision, drugged, unable to stand, walk, see; friend incongruous; memory of anal “inoculation”

rage x 9

back wrenched x2

new herpes x 2

gouges both forearms

irritation on thigh

woke w busted thumbnail

woke, peed in bed, total exhaustion with other extreme symptoms

woken by Ultra Low Frequency

tones, sometimes waking me

left shoulder

hands asleep

IMG_2502“vampire” scabs on neck, first day of UFO Congress

cut on left finger

itching hands, arms

triangle dots on hand

ringing in ears (always)

huge, bubbly, iridescent gold mucous from sinus

speedy/drugged?

stomach ache

time confusion

alters switch

visions amazing, then forgotten

saw red UFO, hard sleep

computer weirdness

eBay sabotage

Disqus (never heard of) has account in my name [never fixed – why?]

missing time w friend

See friend in other dimension, scary

Rage 2 days

Knew I’d been electroshocked, found it amusing

brain buzzing

Voice 2 Skull transmission test

downloads to hidden alter:  “MK is All”

dream of remote viewing

alien dreams, anxiety

July 2014 – July 2015 Blessings: 

faerie emergedwatched Dragonfly hatch

in meditation, see spinning child, calm her

met inner Jessie

saw old and young selves in mirror

spiritual house cleaning

spontaneous healing of heart

spiritual clearing, spell broken, alters calibrated

inner Rolfer/yogi healing

spiritual message:  “You can’t keep ignoring us; do shamanic work”

2 healing events

———————————————-

END OF 63rd year  (end of 7th 9-YEAR CYCLE) . . .

(Beginning 8th 9-year Cycle):

July 2015 – January 2016 Challenges

Sense of something done to me in night x 2

absolute exhaustion x 39 (half-year 40/180 = 22% of days!)

puncture wound left thigh

injection bruise

back problem x 2

blood clot from nose

daytime altered state with download

tone x 3, once with chord following

woken by pounding heart x 2

heart pain x 7, once preceded by low vibration

heart anxiety x 12

heart attack

vibration in head

ligament mysteriously inflamed in left pelvis

headache, mind scrambled

missing time

downloads x 2

download about old friend, weird, believable?

meditate -> crazy distractions

dream: something put in old clock, next day clear new tone from clock!

dream: answering machine gives series of numbers

waking life:  answering machine leaves speeded up message (so couldn’t understand); intended to save, but deleted it

computer weird

father’s Navy record suspect of special project subjectIMG_3746

reconnect w old friend, seems another MK subject

Severe RAGE x2

burn on back of neck

2 scoop marks on upper spine

July 2015 – July 2016 Blessings:

Exhaustion of many days suddenly “turned off,” as by switch; feel instantly great

saw face as half-shaman

Mother Goddess real

meditation on Earth’s sexual abuse history – long, forever, won’t quit

Sarasvati real

alters lined up

“walk-in” suggests she can take over; I don’t agree

MK is just what is, always, can’t resist, don’t fight

plant diva:  submission to other’s control is part of life.  Let go.

We are like plants tended by indifferent or ignorant gardeners, not evil.  Only as unconscious as us.

Bloom where you’re planted, despite all.

Comments, friends?  Seems clear to me that I fit the pattern of an MK subject and targeted individual with a bit of spiritual and mystic experiences giving me occasional hope to keep me going.

A Disinformation Story from 2007

sheep-wallpaper-1Disinformation is finally being better understood and acknowledged throughout the culture, but few people understand its full extent. And understanding and reading reality correctly is an important survival skill for all of us.

Therefore, I’d like to share what I’ve learned, as both third-party observer and victim.  I’ll chose an older story rather than a new one, to lessen the chance the guilty will be recognized – which I assume will lessen the repercussions I will experience for telling.

~

Before I tell this 7-year old story, I first want to tell a little about the concept:  I didn’t know the word disinformation until I was involved with Earth First!, and then I witnessed it a great deal, as our expert-witness scientist supporters from around the world were ignored by the Media, and our peaceful protests, humorous skits, and potluck dinners (at my home) were treated like national security threats in FBI reports (I have copies).

car bombWhen Judi Bari, a non-violence activist and mother of two, was car-bombed in 1990, she was maligned in the world-wide Media as a would-be bomber.  But subtler lies are also told for different effects.

I’d become a thorn in the FBI’s side when, in 2002, I wrote or helped write, almost every day for six weeks, media releases for the Judi Bari v FBI trial.  When I returned home to my desert hermitage, I began to be plagued by frightening bouts of amnesia and immobilization, with physical wounds, including lacerations and puncture wounds to the inside of my vagina (also photographed) – to the point that I considered suicide frequently.

inside

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

Feeling like a sitting duck in the desert, I sold my remote home on 20 acres and, because I didn’t think I could stand a big city anymore, found my way to Silver City, in great need of friends to surround me.

taser cuUnfortunately, frightening events continued to happen, including third-degree Taser burns and biopsy scoops that appeared on my hands and arms and back with no memory of how they happened – and weird events of disinformation that undermined my reputation and sense of community.

IMG_1725Over the nine years I’ve lived here, my wounds have also included scores of injection bruises, two donut bruises, dozens of other weird bruises, sexual mysteries, and even some healed scars, one of which a doctor assumed was from thyroid surgery.  Most I’ve photographed, and many I’ve shown friends, though few want to hear about them – I gather because it’s just too upsetting to their world views.

cia doctorsI totally understand not wanting to hear.  It took me a lot of years of having this actually happen to me before I could adjust my world view to get over the “freedom and justice for all” mythology and accept what was happening.

If you find this hard to believe, I do understand, and hope you can read on, because this is part of our reality – and properly reading reality is essential to our survival.  Following is an account of disinformation against me, undermining my status in my new community.

~

In 2007, I was a week or so away from a trip to Peru, when someone recommended a woman to stay at my home and care for my cat.  Actually, it was a couple, I was told, a man and a woman, about my age, who were hip and “into community,” and had some circumstances that had stranded them in Silver City, needing a place to stay; the husband was working, but hadn’t gotten a paycheck yet.  I agreed to let them stay in my home, even though afterward I realized that I didn’t like the woman at all, and she had talked a solid streak for 90 minutes, essentially wearing me down, and making me feel sorry and embarrassed for her, as if to say No would force her to recognize she had been obnoxious, which would be hurtful to her, so I couldn’t say No.  Not logical, but defininely my sort of neurotic, self-defeating kindness.

In Tucson, I was supposed to be at the airport at 6 am for an 8 am flight, but I woke at 4 with a severe toothache that made it very difficult to move with any more than a shuffle, so I canceled my flight with a medical excuse.  I would have a root canal later that afternoon.

Mid-morning, when my plane was in the air, I began receiving bizarre emails from my house sitter who assumed I was on the plane to Peru.  She told me my stove was leaking gas, the phone wasn’t working, two crews of repairmen had been in, and my cat was acting ill – all in her first day at the house, and the first day of my 20-day trip.

Even though I immediately suspected this was probably a form of harassing disinformation, it was shocking to think of how very distressing it would have been to be on a plane to a faraway place with this bombardment of distressing news.

Thankfully, I wasn’t gone, and I’d been around enough FBI lies and other tricks that I found it all suspicious.  So I answered her emails without telling her I was still in Tucson.

Her stories continued to hammer on distressing probabilities and were amped up with direct accusations (13 specific, weird accusations against me! in emails still saved) that I was “paranoid” and similar negative assessments – even though I’d been extremely cautious not to say a single inflammatory word, but simply asked calm questions about my home. It was as though she’d intended I become paranoid.

I called a handy woman friend who visited the house and was told by the woman that the phone was repaired.  Since I’d asked my friend to enter and check out the stove and look around, she asked to enter, but the woman refused.  When my friend next called to tell me the phone was supposedly repaired, I was still unable to call home, and was told by the woman via email that the phone was “down again,” working only during the short period my friend had come to the door.

After drilling and filling my tooth, I hit the road immediately to Tucson, calling another friend along the way, who arrived at the house shortly after I did.  The woman was shocked to find me at the door and was barely willing to let me into my own home.  When my friend arrived, we confronted the woman with the crazy contents of her emails, as I wanted to be entirely fair and consider the possibility that perhaps she hadn’t send them, and they were instead sent by disinformation specialists; I reviewed all 13 accusations with her, and she confirmed she’d written them – even as she stammered to explain some of her more bizarre accusations.

We then had to demand she leave, as she was intent on staying in my home as I’d “promised” to let her, and she even had the gall to suggest I leave.  When she continued refusing, we finally threatened to call the police to remove her and she finally accepted our demands.  But as she left, and we realized to our astonishment that she didn’t have anything at the house other than her small purse – no overnight bags, no toothbrush, no food, no nothing, even though she’d supposedly stayed there the night before and her husband was due there shortly and she desperately wanted to stay there again that night.  But the bed hadn’t even been slept in, and the kitchen was unused.  We assumed she wanted us to leave so we wouldn’t discover this, and she was actually there for some other reason.

As we pondered this, my friend’s phone rang, she answered it and heard silence.  After hanging up, she hit the call back button and was greeted with an office name with “Intelligence” in the title.  My friend and I assumed the woman and her husband were functioning as low-level spies, watching the house so that others could come in (under the guise of repairmen?) to do whatever they do to activists and others on federal “watch” lists.  Perhaps they’d used some high technology to identify and call her phone, perhaps to add a bit of warning to our overload of weird information and seeming threats.

The next day, I called the gas company and was told she had called and a repair person had come out, but no gas leak was found, and the stove never did have problems.

I used my cell phone to call the phone company because the home phone still did not work.  When the repairman came out the next day, he worked for two hours and finally concluded, “This is the strangest problem I’ve ever seen in my 20 years of phone repair, and I can’t figure it out.”  And he rewired most of the house.

My cat never showed any signs of illness.

A few days later, another phone repairman appeared at the front door.  I called Qwest to confirm he was legit, and was told something vague I don’t remember, even as I realized the feds certainly have the ability to intercept my call, redirect it to their own office, and have someone pose as a phone company rep, telling me whatever I needed to hear.  I let the guy in.

He checked the phone jacks, then went outside and climbed a ladder to the box attached near the roof line.  I wondered if I’d detect him putting a bug on my line, so I stood beneath and watched.  He talked and seemed to be wasting time, repeating motions, and getting impatient with me standing there looking up constantly.  I smiled and asked him if he was finished.  He looked confused and irritated.  Laughter was close, but I had no desire to mock a fed.  I also knew I couldn’t stop them if they wanted to put a bug on my line, and if he didn’t do it today, they’d do it another day soon, and it might be less fun next time.  So I walked around the corner, gave him a minute, then came back to find him climbing down, looking relieved.  Ever since, my old-style ringer phone makes a little noise a few seconds after every time I hang up, and around 10 pm every night, which I think of as shift-change, and maybe other times I haven’t yet noticed.

The woman and her husband, I later learned, went to live with a young, hip couple out in the Mimbres, whose friends overlapped with mine, but whom I only knew because the husband clerked at a store I frequent, a store central to my community.  Immediately, the man quit being friendly with me and instead acted as though I were a terrible person he could barely be civil to. And in following years, a number of their acquaintances have continued to keep distant even though we have many friends and interests in common.

I assumed the woman had told the young couple poisonous things about me.  But I didn’t know them well enough to try to discover what they’d been told, and my questions might be received as very weird.  It was very weird, and I didn’t trust anyone to accept it at face value without having to reconsider a lot of assumptions and probably wonder also if I was just plain crazy, so I said nothing to anyone except the two friends who each witnessed part of the event.

Every so often, about once a year, people on the edges of my community suddenly act cold or confused around me, as if they’d heard something terrible and didn’t know whether they should even acknowledge me.  I notice quite a few people all change at once and continue in the pattern for some weeks or months, until slowly the awkwardness fades a little, but doesn’t go entirely away.  I just stay away from them, to lessen their discomfort and mine.

I sometimes review the experiences of friendly acquaintances turning away or looking fearful and try to convince myself the events are not significant, but they seem to display a consistent pattern.  And then there’s the other parallel evidence:  the woman at my house with no personal possessions, her emails full of lies and inflammatory accusations, and my phone line mysteriously wired.  And mysterious Taser burns and similar wounds on my very own body keep me from dismissing my total experience as imagination – as some friends, family, and doctors would like me to.

See-no-evil-hear-no-evil-speak-no-evil-monkeys-14750406-1600-1200I’d love to dismiss it as imagination and believe in a different America, but that’s not my experience.  For 8 years now, I’ve been asking my online readers, and no one has come up with any explanation better than the one that’s supported by government documents:  federal agents practice disinformation, harass, encourage divisiveness, and more, under the rubric of COINTELPRO (Counter Intelligence Program).

Recently I learned there’s a name for people like me: “targeted individuals” – abbreviated TI’s, with multiple websites documenting experiences of many others who describe things similar to mine.

Beware of lies.  If you hear something bad about a person, check it with the person it’s about.

Only once in these nine years has a friend checked a rumor about me with me; it was a lie, and she’d believed it for six months (it sounded reasonable) and even passed it on to others herself during that time.  I told her the truth as I understood it and asked her to pass it back onto the grapevine.  I don’t know if she did or how well it traveled.

Disinformation is usually planted in such a way and with people removed from the target just enough that it’s very difficult (and no likely to be successful) for the TI to confront the perpetrator.  Only the people in the middle – those told the lie – can do anything about it – by wising up, and checking.  Thanks for doing that.

A Petition to: BAN ELECTRONIC WARFARE ON CIVILIANS

First published at GardenHealingChurch.org.  (I keep thinking this is the last post on this site, but here’s one more.)

This petition, http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/synergy, and all the people commenting on it – inspired me to comment too, and I ended up writing a short essay that presents my story briefly, so I’ll share it here with a few photos added:

Bombed car sm

After doing media work for the historic “Judi Bari vs FBI” federal trial, in which the feds were found guilty of charges related to an assassination attempt on Judi Bari, my lifelong mind control torment has been seriously amped up.

IMG_1725I’ve woken with Taser burns, a burn on the back of my neck – both third-degree with skin burned off – scoop marks, injection bruises, “donut” bruises, lacerations and punctures in my vagina, healed scars including one my doctor thought was a thyroid surgery scar, total exhaustion, and occasionally dealings that seemed to be with aliens (which could be induced hallucinations or real).   

After 13 years of freaking out and being suicidal about my mind control, I’m beginning to see that it’s not a simple horror – it’s actually everything and everywhere.  And it may not be human.  Everything in nature is under control of many things.  Mind control begins with DNA and the elements like weather, then language and our calendar, then economics, laws, education, government, etc.  And eventually science did to people what it’s done to the Earth – turned everything into a resource.  We are human resources; they’ve been honest in calling us that!  We’ve heard it and shrugged.  Now we’re realizing it’s full implications, and it’s shocking.  One more major trauma in the history of humanity.  (Think back:  much of history is trauma.)

Without hope in the other realms, we on Earth have been reduced to resources, regardless that we’ve been led along with lies about freedom, human rights, etc.  If we only have this Earth life in which to hope, then we must toe Their line or be seriously punished.

[Can we tell them (since they’re spying and listening all the time), “Hey, I change my mind.  I’ll quit whistle blowing [or whatever] and join you”? if we’re willing to sacrifice our beliefs for relief (as it seems others must be doing)?  I don’t know.  I’ve gone to that edge and wondered, but haven’t crossed it.]

Mostly, I believe I have Helpers in other realms who rescue or resuscitate me now and then, though I do have to suffer indignities and pain and loss of will to live and sheer energy to live – way more often than I sometimes think I have the spirit to sustain, but then my Helpers bring me back.  (Or might it be the controllers, keeping me alive for another day? I don’t know. I think I’ll chose the more palatable option, my Helpers.)

It’s a weird life to live.  Good thing I know we have other lifetimes, so I can feel less attached to this one.  It helps to step into the role of Witness.  We are witnesses of an incredible time in human history – from the deepest darkest inside, which few see and fully understand, but we do.  There’s something important in our role, as witnesses regarding human evolution.  It’s incredibly lonely because no one wants to hear, but it’s important.  And one day, maybe on another realm, we’ll help others understand how this came about, so maybe we can help protect the future.  Don’t know.  Playing with ideas.  Imagining from a higher height….

As far as this world right now, though, I’ve quit believing we can change anything through political action, like this petition – BUT, I know I could be wrong, so I hedge my bets and support causes like this one that encourage us – but I don’t see the possibility in America anymore.  On the other hand, I KNOW we get help from Other Realms – rarely when we think it’s due, but enough.

And that’s another silver lining:  having lost all hope in this Earth insanity, we are forced to cut our emotional connections to Earth life and look beyond.  Atheists, I know, will hate this, but I do appreciate that this pain does send me into other realms where I believe it is important to connect, and I don’t otherwise, as least not as often as would probably be good for me, because Earth happenings and all the entertainment is way too entrancing.  It’s almost like our mind control tortures us so badly that we are saved from the mainstream soul-deadening delusions of the masses, slowly boiling like frogs in a pot; whereas, we are the frogs that jumped out of our mesmerized complacency, thanks to the extra-high heat.

rf-2nd-ed-front-cover-20[I write and video blog about my life and struggles on Paradigm Salon.net, my other sites, and in my book, RattleSnake Fire, called “not only great literature, but an important historical document.”]

Blessings on us all.  Peace, friends.  Please don’t give up too easily.  Remember this world is bigger and more complicated than we can know; and the bully in our life might be about to get whumped by someone bigger.  We don’t know, but we shouldn’t discount it when the stakes are so high – our life.

Also, leaving this life (as many people entertain, including me) may not be an escape, if the other dimensions are extensions of this, as I believe they are.  So it behooves us to develop our extra-dimensional minds, as the only way to see a bigger picture and have a chance.

At the moment, we are in trauma at the hands of the most Powerful people on Earth; therefore our only salvation is beyond this Earth, where we can’t go, or beyond this dimension, which we can.  I conclude: it’s time to develop our extra-dimensional minds.

pablo amaringo Llullon Llaki Supai

I hope this helps someone.  Compassion for all.

Secretly forced brain implants Pt 1: Explosive court case

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

http://www.examiner.com/article/
secretly-forced-brain-implants-pt-1-explosive-court-case#ixzz1eHdKChiT

My Last Blog Here

This idea has been coming on for a long time.

There’s no reason to write anymore here.

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

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

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

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

I’m very tired of this virtual world.

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

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

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

~

A bit more on Why:

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

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

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

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

I’m on to other things.

Need to Scream… Memory…. Ah…

images

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.

NO.

NO.

NO.

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.

gaiajosephinewallAh…. 

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 ~