Tag Archives: spiritual healing

Part III: “Aliens” in My Life


These three parts, plus the two introductions before them, will be followed soon by my first attempt to clarify what I believe are the relationships between beings we call “spiritual,” beings we call “alien,” and mind control.

Background:  Ignorance 

I have to put “aliens” in quotation marks because that’s the word our culture uses, but it needs a lot of explanation.

Alien means strange, of course.  We mean it, in this arena, to refer to beings from another planet.  But there are also aliens who live on or in our Earth, maybe on another dimension.  They’re terrestrial like us.  But different, alien.  Some aliens look just like us.  And there is much history from religions and ancient texts all over the planet that says we were created by beings from elsewhere – aliens – who used some of their DNA to create us – making them our relatives, not strangers.

So we need new nomenclature.  But for now, I’ll use this deficient word regarding these strange relatives.

I was never interested in aliens or UFO’s until 2003/2004 when I had shocking experiences that seemed like what others had already described.  I never watched Star Trek.  And once I dumped a man I’d been interested in immediately after he brought up the subject.  I was embarrassed that he had said that word aloud in a cafe!

Much later, I realized that I rationally believed in their likelihood for most of my adult life and had even argued for their possibility in college against a professor who wanted to denounce the idea; I just didn’t want to talk about them because the subject was ridiculed, I didn’t want to be ridiculed, and I believed they had nothing to do with me, so why talk about them?

Thinking back, though, I remember one silly event:  being on a beach with my first husband and some of his friends who brought up the subject, when we all stood with our arms in the air for a half-minute and said, “If you’re real, we’d like to meet you.”  Nothing happened (I think), and that was the end of that.

Other than this, I remained blissfully ignorant of the subject and that event was the full extent of my interest in this subject for most of my life, until 2000 or so.

First Event:  Crop Circles and Highway Stop – forgotten

During the first year or so of my 7-year desert hermitage, I took a 60-mile trip to Bisbee, Arizona, to attend a movie at the public library about crop circles.  I’d heard they had interesting mathematical formulas associated with them, and I was into math, and for some reason their connection with aliens had completely escaped me – or I’d chosen to ignore it.

When the movie was over, I was dumbfounded to hear everyone talking about aliens.  It had not been part of the movie, and I had not gotten the connection.

On the way home, winding through the foothills, facing a long drive home, I suddenly experienced a bright light shining in my eyes, making it extremely hazardous to drive.  The idea of a space ship came to mind, and I scolded myself that I shouldn’t imagine such a stupid thing just because I’d just heard people talking about them.  Anxiously, I thought of alternative explanations and decided that it must be a Border Patrol helicopter irresponsibly shining a very bright light into my windshield.  I was angry and planning my call to the BP the next morning.  The light was so bright, I thought I should pull over, as it was extremely difficult to see, but instead I only slowed down.  I didn’t want the BP to ruin my night, and I had a long way to go, so I held one hand up to shield my squinting eyes, with one hand on the wheel to negotiate the curves.

Finally reaching a straightaway, I saw the BP tower and realized that the brilliant light was sitting on top of it, so I decided that this stationary light must have malfunctioned, gone dangerously super-bright for some reason, and created this situation.  I amended the scolding I would give the BP.

The tower sat near the corner of two highways where I made a turn, and immediately after I did, I spontaneously pulled off the road to look at the light.  After a few seconds (I thought), I drove home.  The next day, I decided not to call the BP, a little concerned that they might tell me nothing was wrong with the tower.  Years later, I would realize that the BP tower is impossible to see from the winding road inside the foothills.

First concern

Another morning (not sure how long after), I woke up with a thought so startling that I sat immediately bolt upright – just like a comedy routine – with this idea:  being out here alone in the desert (where I’d been very happy and felt mostly safe until this moment) makes me very vulnerable.  I looked out the array of south facing (passive solar) windows, curtains open that summer morning, and felt/thought:  a “space ship” (something I never thought about) could land out there amongst the mesquites, and aliens could come right up to my windows … and look in.  But those last words I said to myself felt like a lie, as I had to squelch an image of aliens, not looking in, but coming through the window.  Immediately, I jumped out of bed – not my usual lazy way – telling myself I must have had a weird dream, and got busy, forgetting that idea as well as I could.

An abduction?

A man came to live with me after three years of living alone, and one night while he was working late, I went to bed by myself in the bathhouse, a separate building, part of which we’d turned into a bedroom.  I woke up after a little while to a racket, with the idea that a washing machine was out of balance with a heavy load – but I didn’t have a washing machine.  The bed was shaking, and I realized a metal bed frame stored under my bed was making a racket on the concrete floor.  I was momentarily alarmed, then a calm part of me seemed to recognize the vibration and said, “Oh, this….as if it was something familiar and comfortable, and I lay back down and “fell asleep.”

I’d had a very similar experience at the Judi Bari v FBI trial (which I forgot to recount in Part II on mind control), and so the next morning I thought that this was the FBI intruding into my life again, and I was very upset.  To quell my nerves, I decided to sit and read a book for awhile before getting to some work I needed to do for a client.

I pulled a book off the shelf – randomly, I thought – and sat down to read Whitley Strieber’s Communion, which I’d read years ago; I’d found it in a used bookstore for $2 and decided to see why this was a #1 bestseller.  I’d found his account credible but, thankfully, nothing I needed to think about, and I forgot it.  Suddenly, though, in the first pages, I realized Strieber was describing events that seemed terribly similar to what I’d just experienced.  I could barely spit the words out to my partner, alien being such an embarrassing idea, so ridiculed.  I did not want this!

Events keep happening

For awhile I had experiences a couple or three times a week, always aware only that I was vibrating, then falling asleep, and I’d wake up wondering what had happened.  I often wondered if they were alien or government harassment – or a joint project.

Whitley, at that time, was calling them “the visitors,” not differentiating between helpful and subjugating aliens, and told of inviting them into one’s life to learn spiritual truths.  So I began to try to open to the idea, while also asking them to let me be conscious, reasoning that only someone up to no good would keep whatever was going on secret from me.  The sensations of being taken continued, and I was never conscious – except once for a short while.

Stopping the events

One day I got the idea that maybe some of the aliens weren’t good for us, and I prayed a different prayer:  I ask my spiritual helpers, if these events are good for me, to let me be conscious so I can learn, and if these events are not good for me, to please stop them.  And I never had one of those experiences again, but others continued until I became more serious about developing spiritual protection.

Consciously up in the air

Next I began to ask my spiritual helpers to simply help me understand more of what’s going on here, and to let me meet them and be conscious. One night I woke up as I was passing through the canvas of the teepee that we’d begun to sleep in.  I felt myself rising, upright, into the night sky, though I didn’t look around me or down, as some experiencers report.  I was grateful for being conscious, and began to thank them and prepare myself for whatever surprise I might experience.  I was so excited – and amused to find myself immobilized – I was close to laughing, but wanted to be calm and collected for this auspicious meeting, so I quelled the laughter and tried to prepare.

Suddenly I seemed to hit a portal which spun me around and propelled me out to my left, and shortly after I hit another portal which spun me around again and propelled me out to my right, about 60 degrees behind the first trajectory.  Fascinated, I memorized these details and returned to preparing myself for the meeting.

I woke up the next morning, disappointed that they hadn’t allowed me to remember, but absolutely certain that the experience had occurred.  Not long after, I read of someone else describing exactly the same experience of going up into something like a portal, emerging to the left, then emerging to the right 60 degrees behind!  I wanted to write it down, but felt strongly afraid that I was being watched by the government and didn’t want to let them know what I knew, so I didn’t, and I’ve deeply regretted losing that source of information.

Cloud-shrouded Motherships

One weekend, my partner and I decided to attend a “shamanic” gathering (increasingly common event, it seems) on the south end of the Dragoon Mountains.  On the way there, we saw a miles-long, spaceship-shaped cloud materialize seemingly out of nowhere south of the range.  Typically, large clouds of this shape can form over a mountain, from the moisture given off by the trees, but this formed in front of us in the valley south of the mountains.  We were quite excited, especially as it wasn’t just shaped vaguely like a spaceship, but was very smoothly and quite exactly shaped, with a horizontal rim circling its wide center.  A smaller version, perhaps a tenth the length, also formed alongside the first.  We watched them for at least a half-hour as we traveled toward and then under one end of the longest one.  When we got to the camp, I was suddenly overpowered with the need to sleep, at 10 am.  I did, and woke up certain that “something had happened” – but with no memory.

Typical UFO sighting

On the way home the next night, we saw a bright light move very fast and low, just a few degrees above the horizon, straight and swift from north to south in front of the Chiricahua Mountains, which are about 10 miles long.  We immediately estimated the time it took to travel that distance – about three seconds – then did the math at home and came up with thousands of miles per hour.


Another night, at home, we heard a loud roaring sound and assumed it was Air Force jets on maneuvers, flying very low over the house, as we had experienced them doing that frequently.  Since we had to get up early the next morning for work and I didn’t want my body flooded with angry adrenaline when I needed to sleep, we decided to ignore it as best we could – then we were very alarmed to hear what sounded like a jet flying just a few feet over the house, or so it seemed by the extreme way it made the windows rattle.  I willed myself to say in bed, not get angry at the Air Force, and deal with it later.

The next night we heard the same thing approaching, and since we didn’t have to work the next day, we flew out of bed to see exactly how low the jets were so I could report them.  To our great surprise, there were no jets anywhere to be seen, even though the windows of the house were rattling furiously.  We were dumbfounded – our senses of sound and sight were not jiving!  Then my partner pointed to three lights high in the sky, one pale green, one pale orange, and one … I forget.  I said it was impossible for them to be causing the vibration.  He said, “That’s not three jets.  That’s a huge triangle!  See, there’s no stars inside the three lights.”

I can’t say I verified that.  I have no memory of anything but hearing him say those words, feeling tremendous dismay – this what not the life I thought I signed up for – and walking back into the house to write in my journal.

Exploding UFO?

Another night, we had friends come visit and gave them our teepee to sleep in.  When we all went out together to get them acquainted with the space, I ducked inside first and immediately heard my partner and the other man exclaim with great amazement about something then exclaim again with greater excitement.  I came out, having missed it, as did the other woman who was looking in the wrong direction, and listened to them both describe having seen a bright light cruising across the sky in the direct of Elfrida, when it suddenly exploded, and a green luminous disk shot out at an angle to the ground.    

I insisted my partner draw of picture of it the next day.   (Photo at the top of this blog.)

We wondered whether it was natural, like a meteor, or a UFO, and why it had exploded.  Because of everything that had been happening, we tended toward the UFO explanation, and wondered whether the military had shot it down, and whether we might hear some reconnaissance activity.  In bed about 45 minutes later, we heard a very deep rumbling sound coming south down the highway and surmised that a military reconnaissance was indeed going on.  I wished I had the courage to go play spy, but because of my fear of the military as mind controllers, I stayed in bed.  A couple of hours later, we were awakened to hear the loud, deep rumbling sound traveling back north on the highway.  Of course, we imagined a huge flatbed vehicle with something under a big tarp.  

Hiding UFO’s?

One afternoon, relaxing by the creek in the teepee, I was surprised by a very strong wind that came up quickly.  It continued to gain such force that I became afraid that something totally outside recent human experience was about to happen:  a pole shift or something else equally cataclysmic.  I grabbed the few things I wanted to take with me and leaned hard into the wind to be able to stay on my feet as I walked back the hundred feet to my home.  It was frightening.  Back in the house, my partner and I watched the sudden dust storm in amazement, which, as suddenly as it had picked up, died down again a few minutes later.

The phone rang, and our neighbor asked if we’d seen “the thing in the foothills.”  She wasn’t sure what she’d seen, but described it first as “a biplane, or maybe more like a corral, only it wasn’t on the ground, it was in the air.”  I suggested a UFO, and she seemed very embarrassed to be associated with the idea, and said no.  Later, we read (and it is interesting how many times we’d read about things serendipitously within a day or two after having an experience) about UFO’s often being associated with strange weather, including sudden storms that obscure them.

Dancing ball of light

One night, driving home from visiting this neighbor, I saw a brilliant ball of light, seemingly the size of a basketball, dancing around in the air about thirty feet ahead of me, bouncing from ten feet off the ground to twenty feet high, staying ahead of me, moving in chaotic, playful ways.

Another typical UFO

Another night, lying on the roof to sleep where I had years ago been lifted off in rapture (see my Part I about spirit), I saw a bright light travel in a seemingly perfectly straight line for a few seconds from above the foothills to above the valley where it seemed to disappear.  It had been low enough in the sky to light up the interior of some low clouds.  Immediately, I established what I thought would be coordinates for the point when I first saw it and the point where it disappeared and carefully considered the time it seemed to take.  The next morning, I checked the map and established its speed – again in the thousands of miles per hour.

Another triangle

Another night, sitting on the roof, I saw what seemed to be a triangle far to the south, apparently near Douglas, Arizona, near the border, traveling east to west.  I watched as it seemed to be escorted by two jets, then saw to the west two more jets approach and take over the escort as the first two jets turned around the traveled back east.

I was so certain of what I saw that I called the only friend in the area to alert him.  He lived in Tucson and had told us he often watched for them,  but he couldn’t see it from there, and that makes sense to me now.  Within a few days, I’d come across a reference to large triangle UOF’s often being escorted by Air Force jets.

My only alien sighting

I have seen only one alien, and only briefly (not including three sightings that seemed to be with paranormal vision, which I’ll get to later).

I was getting ready for sleep in the bathhouse again, my partner facing an all-night writing project under deadline, keeping him in the house, when I suddenly felt that I’d been hit between the eyebrows by a perfectly round beam of some sort of energy.  At first, I’d tried to tell myself I had just seen lightning out the window, but I had a distinct feeling about the angle of the beam, that it was downward at about a 45-degree angle through the eave and wall, not through a window.

Realizing I was immobilized, I was immediately alarmed and just as immediately had the idea to pray, but realized, also immediately, that I was not only immobilized, but also unable to pray – even silently – in words that didn’t sound like they were on tape being caught and stretched in an old recorder.  My first word was Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuz…..

As I lay there, I saw in both the window to my left and the glass reflection on a piece of art on my right:  a being walking by.  Since we lived far out in the desert, no one should have been walking by the building, so I became further terrified, especially as I realized the being didn’t seem to be walking, but gliding, and seemed also to be very thin and tall.  My mind was going crazy with the idea that I was being controlled and made unable to even pray, so I imagined my spiritual Helpers in the sky above me and mentally “tossed” my grave need from my heart to them before I went unconscious.

The next morning, I realized that it had a new moon and there had been an overcast sky, so there was no natural light to have allowed me to have seen any being.  Soon after I read an account of an aliens vehicle casting light during an encounter.


While that was the only alien I recall ever seeing with normal vision, I had three other experiences I can only describe as seeing clairvoyantly.

One afternoon, when my partner was gone on an errand, I was overcome with an unusual feeling that I must lie down, and so I went into the teepee and “crashed.”  I woke up to the sound of someone dragging their back under the arched canvas doorway – which seemed strange, because this was my partner’s teepee, he’d lived in teepees for twelve years, and certainly never dragged his back under the archway.  Maybe he was being lazy?  I waited for him to say something or come and lie down.  I didn’t turn my head to look at him, as I felt so tired.

A knee seemed to press down on the bed next to me, and I assumed my partner would climb over, and then I thought I’d say hi to him.  To my surprise, something hard was pressed against the back of my skull, something smallish, which triggered a most unusual imagination in my mind:  a claw, and then a whole being emerged in my mind’s eye:  a very large reptilian being.

With that, I became immediately terrified and tried to scream, but realized my voice box was immobilized, but it seemed I could still register the effect of a scream on my face to let the being know I absolutely objected to whatever he was doing, and so I “screamed bloody murder” with my face and no sound.  I remembered nothing more.

When my partner returned, he found me groggy in the teepee, and I told him what had happened.  He tried to encourage me that it probably wasn’t a reptilian.  He said he felt the energy and thought it more military (which would have meant mind control – not necessarily a better interpretation) – and also asked if he thought it was “just a nightmare.”  It had felt real, and besides I believe nightmares may be real in some way and  not “just nightmares.”

Later, a friend told us that he’d had a terrifying experience camping in the Huachuca Mountains, not far away to the west, above Fort Huachuca, a major intelligence center for the Air Force.  He hadn’t wanted to be on the side of the Fort, but a storm had forced him to take shelter on that side.  In the middle of the night, he woke suddenly, feeling as if he were being “searched for mentally” by a being he felt strongly was reptilian – even though he’d never believed in such things.  The sense of it was so real and so terrifying, that he hastily scrambled out of this tent, took it down, and carried it under his arm as he climbed up the ridge and down on the other side, quaking with fear the entire time.

Years later, another friend who did contract work with the Air Force said that he one saw a reptilian dressed in a military uniform on that base.

Baby reptilian?

One night, sitting on the sofa next to the fire, reading a book, my partner sitting beside, I suddenly saw a reptilian child in a dimension that seemed to reveal itself right before me in this dimension.  It seemed to be in a womb or other egg-shaped enclosure, looking at me, almost batting her eyelids coyly, as if to flirt and express love.  I was dumbfounded, and the vision faded away.

Reptilian intrusion?

I hate to admit how this next event came about, as it seems so akin to “possession,” but this will explain why I am so cautious about aliens now, and why I have returned, despite my disinterest in being part of the Christian Church, to a relationship with the Spiritual Teacher we call Jesus.

I’d been having strange physical experiences that felt like energy pouring into the back of my neck, which felt wonderful, stretching the fibers of muscles, like a healthy yawn, only throughout my body and far more exhilarating.  I came to jokingly called the experiences “my Hulk routine,” reminiscent of the old TV show of my teen years.  The energy flow would cause me to hunch forward when the energy was beginning to pour into my back, then it would move me in different ways to help it flow throughout my limbs.  It felt great, usually took about a minute to complete, and when it was over I went back to whatever I was doing.  Usually it happened in the evenings.

One night, this routine happened again, but this time I suddenly and quite clearly sensed an intelligence looking out through my left eye!  “He” looked at my fireplace hearth, which I had created with friends and loved very much, as if he knew how much I loved it, and I could feel his derisive judgement that it wasn’t much.

I was shocked to feel someone else’s opinion and eyesight inside my body and thought immediately of “possession,” but this didn’t feel like something to be afraid of; I thought it might be something like that, for which I should do some fast spiritual protection and ejection – if I knew for sure – but I didn’t want to freak out, so I decided just to assess the situation for a moment.

I asked, “Who are you?”

Immediately, he projected himself outside of me as a small reptilian guy, squatting down, which I thought was to emphasize his smallness and make me less afraid of him.  He didn’t answer (which I thought a good spiritual being should), but instead simply said, “You need me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you are so naive.”

My partner then asked me a question, and I said brusquely, “I need some private time.”

Instead of giving me that – which had been an issue in our relationship – he began to badger me about our relationship and how I needed too much alone time and didn’t give enough time to him.  Rather than tell him what I was going through – especially since I wasn’t sure what it was – I tried to just demand quiet for a short while, but he wouldn’t give it.

While I felt this being inside me observing, and I observed it with half my attention, I argued with my partner about my need for alone time right now, and the need for relationship time, and whether or not I was neglecting our relationship or he was needing to much.  We went around and around til it seemed we argued for over an hour – and I’m not generally a person who argues.

Eventually I was very interested to feel the being inside me beginning to laugh.  He thought our argument was hilarious!

I was quite sure I had articulated my case very well, but my partner had been switching tactics, badgering, insulting, changing topics, and generally using ploys that are not fair game in a fair relationship.

Suddenly I realized the alien inside thought I was ridiculous for treating the argument with such respect that I answered every question and demand as carefully and thoughtfully as I could.  He didn’t think it warranted my respect, and he wanted to laugh.

I had never laughed at a partner during an argument, but this being clearly felt the argument was going in circles and didn’t deserve the respect I was giving it.  Suddenly, I saw it too and couldn’t resist the being’s desire to laugh, and I burst out laughing – right in the middle of something my partner was earnestly saying.

He stopped speaking, shocked that I had been so rude, for the first time in our relationship.

I told him I needed to sit down and get back to my spiritual work because a being had come into me during the last “Hulk routine” and I had to determine who in the world he was and whether this was something I should be worried about and maybe kick him out.

“You’ve been possessed!” he said with alarm, “I knew you’d never laugh at me like that.”

“I don’t know,” I responded, “but I want to find out, because nothing like this has ever happened to me before, and I agree it’s weird, but it doesn’t feel bad, and besides, the guy just helped me end our ridiculous argument.”

He didn’t take that so easily, so we discussed it a bit more, and finally he let me sit down and get back to my spiritual work of discerning who this guy was.  I told the being that I was not giving him permission to stay inside me, though he encouraged me to, again asserting that I needed him because I was so naive.

I thought about that.  I knew he’d come into me with a very good feeling, and I really had no idea how to eject him, other than some experimental exorcism maneuvers, which felt beyond me, so I just told him, rather weakly, that he would have to leave whenever I said so, and he agreed.  I never sensed him leave, and I actually never sensed him again at all – though I did have some other anomalous experiences that made me wonder if it was him.  More on that later.

Gone in a light?

My partner and I broke up soon after, and I decided that, as much as I loved my home and the foothills of Chiricahua Mountains, not to stay there alone, as I was feeling like a sitting duck for weird experiences.  I moved temporarily in with a friend in the Cochise Stronghold for about seven months.

One night I woke up, totally alert, and realized it not only Full Moon, but it was then exactly midnight, so the moonlight was shining directly down through the round window in the center of the roof of the octagon house, down directly onto the center of the sofa in front of the fireplace.  I decided to get out of bed, sit there and meditate – even though I never actually meditated as a practice, I had always wanted to be able to, and it felt very attractive in that moment.

I only remember sitting there, cross-legged in happy anticipation, for a few moments, and then realized that the spot of moonlight had moved far to the side, and it was 4 in the morning.  I’d been there for four hours!  I went outside and saw the full moon setting over the peaks.

Reptilians explained

Eventually my land sold, and I moved to Silver City, New Mexico.  In the two weeks just before I moved into the house I purchased, I spent some of my windfall to go to my first UFO conference.  I had wanted to find one that offered a “spiritual” approach to the subject, and I found it – within days of my expected cash – and in Hawaii!  I was delighted.

The conference was – as should always be expected – a mixed bag as far as spirituality goes.  After the conference, I stayed for two dolphin-swim events.  At the second one, there was a guest artist who drew pictures of aliens that people have seen and told us what is generally thought about each type.  As she was presenting her photos, I thought I’d go home and try to draw the reptilian who appeared to me after looking through my left eye.  To my surprise, her next drawing was of a being so very similar to what I’d seen that I didn’t feel the need to try to draw it; I purchased hers.  (When I find it, I’ll add it to this post.)

To my great relief, she acknowledged that reptilians are often associated with the worst of alien encounters, but that there are also reptilians – sometimes called reptoids who are considered “good reptilians,” and she said this was what they looked like.  I have never been sure whether to take her word for it, but I’d taken some comfort in it, while continuing to be cautious.


Friends told me I’d find “lots of people” familiar with UFO’s and aliens in Silver City, but I haven’t actually come across that many folks with experiences like mine.  That’s beem okay because my experiences have mostly stopped, and I’ve been unwilling to say exactly what I think about the subject anyway.  I did begin to host Paradigm Salon movies and discussion groups, hoping to attract people to help me get clear, but I only found myself paranoid about some of my guests, so I stopped hosting events.

To try to get clear, I wrote my memoir, RattleSnake Fire, but couldn’t bring myself to state any conclusions with certainty.  I attended a number of conferences for a few years on the subject, where I felt very critical at times at the number of people who stand at a podium and act like authorities, stating that the aliens are here to teach and guide us, or that the aliens are demonic, here to abuse and confuse us and send us hell.  I think that both these (precise language, i.e., demons, needing definition) might be true – of different types of aliens.  But which is which?  (Michael Salla seems to have done the most research here, and I defer to him on this.)

I continued to have “Hulk experiences” for awhile, but began praying to have them stopped if they weren’t “good,” and they stopped.  But, resistant to ritual, I didn’t develop a stronger spiritual practice until I had a few more frights.

Another highway event

In 2010, I had visited my old friend with whom I’d lived in the Cochise Stronghold and was driving home on the old Highway 666 (now 191, because so many people are afraid of that number) north toward Interstate 10 during a rainstorm, when I saw a bright light – despite the storm – zip ahead of me east to west through my rain-splattered windshield and flapping wipers.  “UFO…” I thought soberly, dismissing the idea with a hope that this didn’t signal any new round of experiences.

I traveled the Interstate through Wilcox and other small towns with no unusual happenings, but after I’d taken Highway 90 north from Lordsburg and then east toward the Burro Mountains, I sensed something unusual and the hair raised up all over my body with the sensation of “something coming.”  I didn’t want whatever was coming, but I didn’t think I could stop it, so I determined, instead, to try to stay conscious and be aware of the time.  I was noting the time and looking for a mile marker, when suddenly my senses didn’t seem to jive.  The truck engine seemed to race – or lug – I forget which – but it didn’t match my speed.  I checked to see if I’d slipped into a different gear, but that wasn’t it.  I began to feel frantic, checking my gear, the speedometer, the tachometer, and the view out the window.  The view out my window didn’t match the sounds I was hearing or the speedometer or tachometer.

Then a strange fog that didn’t seem normal surrounded my truck; the fog had no waves of lightness and heaviness; as I traveled through it, it appeared to be all the same amorphous whiteness.  The engine noise continued to not match my speed or what I saw out the window.  Everything felt strange.  I was trying to think clearly and not go into panic, repeating over and over some mile marker number and the time, neither of which I ever remembered afterward.  Because of the fog, I was going very slowly, gripping the wheel, looking at the narrow space in front of the truck inside the fog, hoping not to see something suddenly in front of me, for which I wouldn’t have time to stop, but I was loathe to pull over.

Suddenly the fog disappeared, and I saw a sign ahead, down the hill – but this was strange, because I was almost certain this was the Continental Divide sign, which is of course at the highest point of the ridge, not below me as it appeared.  I watched it eagerly, wondering if it was really the Continental Divide sign, and when I passed it, I saw that it was.

As I started down the other side of the ridge, reality seemed to have returned me to my proper perceptions, for which I was grateful, but still disturbed.  I couldn’t wait to get home and check the time!  When I got home, I stared at the clock and vowed to remember what it said.  But I didn’t at that moment even register whether it was the time I expected or not.  And the next day, I realized that I had a clock in the truck and had not thought to look at it – right in front of me.  I seemed to have been programmed to not notice the time and not remember the time.

And later I’d wonder if the Continental Divide sign had been below me because I was up in the air?  In my truck?  

Stronger protection from Yeshua

I developed a stronger spiritual practice and once again ended the weird experiences that didn’t seem to be “helping” me – except to let me know with absolute certainty that “we live in an ocean of spirit” – as a curandero acquaintance told me shortly afterward, looking into my eyes as though he knew what I’d been going through.

Today, I don’t see the world in a way that will please Christians strict with their doctrine, but I have begun to see/feel the teachings of Yeshua/Christ inside a larger, more interesting spiritual context – an ocean of spirit – in which Yeshua/Christ is my tribal leader, healer, chief, and teacher.  Most of what he’s reputed to say “works for me,” though I diverge from Christian doctrine on pretty much the entire balance of the Bible.

I don’t think it’s worth trying to define my personal doctrine though, as Jesus was reputed to have disdained doctrinal arguments in favor of private prayer with God and a few instructions such as being compassionate.  Everything else in the Bible is open to suspicion to me because it was put together by the same ruthless people who’d just spent 300 years trying to destroy the Christ-following by torture and murder, and then continued for hundreds of years to try to destroy every other writing about Christ that they hadn’t included in their book (which contain many references to extra-dimensional and extra-terrestrial beings), and to this day they use disinformation as a constant tool to repress ideas.  So I trust my heart more than any book that powerful might put together.

Because of my personal experiences with enough extra-dimensional beings (see my “Part I:  Overview of a Spiritual Life”), including Christ, I believe in his goodness and power and rightness for me to be in relationship with.  It’s possible there are other equally good extra-dimensional, god-become-man ambassadors to teach other people on the planet, such as Kokopeli, Krishna and Mohammed, but I have no personal experience with them.

I accept that many beings are trying to help us humans being harassed on this planet, mind-controlled, chem-trailed, fed poisoned food, chip-implanted, and more.  Christ is the being who has helped me.  He’s the center of my world, which is best described, not in Christian doctrine, but in shamanic literature, which tells of a world filled with spiritual beings, which we need to learn to discern which are which, be aware of, protect ourselves from, negotiate with, communicate with, and thus understand better our multi-dimensional existence and expand our soul’s understanding and our spiritual skills.

I also consider it possible – though I’m not willing to advocate this at this time – that some aliens are here to help us.  It’s certainly possible, and I’ve read many accounts by people who believe this.  Michael Salla’s research indicates that, while grays and reptilians are regularly associated with mind control and relationships with our government, many other alien species seem to be all about awakening consciousness of our multi-dimensional existence.

Feeling as vulnerable as I was, with positive experiences with Christ, and only questionable experiences with the foggy blur of aliens, I chose Christ and have left the “good alien” theory alone for now, though I may address the subject again soon.

Recent attack in a “spiritual place”

This past summer, after years of spiritual equanimity, I seem to have been tested again.  I left for a Permaculture [ecological] Design certification training at the Lama Foundation in Northern New Mexico.  Lama has a reputation as “a very spiritual place,” but that doesn’t necessarily mean positively spiritual – which I should have known.  As I try to make clear in my book, there are plenty of “spirits” that are tricksters, or of low evolution, and just being in spiritual form doesn’t make them necessarily wise or benevolent.  Spirits also include those some call demons.

I was out of my routines, not praying regularly, not sleeping well in a tent, very tired at the high elevation where we had to walk a good distance between camp and training, and not eating as food as good as I eat at home – and some of it must have been poisoned, as more than half the class became very ill, the Health Department was called, and some were even hospitalized.  I was extremely sick for over a week, and very weak for weeks after the training, and not remembering to protect myself spiritually while I was there.  So much for my excuses.  It was a powerful lesson to keep to one’s practice no matter what – even when you think you’re in a safe place.

One night as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a humming sound in the air above the forest treetops, but didn’t think much about it.  Later that night, I woke up, realized I was seriously tangled in my sleeping bag, which seemed to be wrapped tightly around me, diagonally.  When I reached to find my flashlight, I discovered that I was turned 180 degrees around inside my tent!

I felt that I had been abducted again – for the first time in years, and was extremely distressed by this.  The next day, others brought up the humming above the trees, which I only then remembered.

In my next blog, I plan to describe how the spiritual, mind control, and alien experiences intersect – the larger context for it all and how they overlap.

Part II: Overview of a Life with Mind Control

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

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

Mind control is finally becoming an accepted fact in America.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part I: Overview of a Spiritual Life

I’ll break this introduction roughly into the three parts – three categories of experience that have long been the best way I could figure to begin wrapping my head around the overwhelming complexity and weirdness of it all.  The three categories have been: Spirit, “alien” (a terribly deficient word), and mind control.

In this Part I of this essay, I’ll talk about my spiritual life.

As a child, like many children, I believe, I had a rich awareness of the LIfe in all things.  I felt for plants and animals.  One time, I sat for a long while with a plant that had been trampled by kids playing and encouraged it to live, and it did – maybe as it would have anyway, or maybe because of my communication.  The point is that I felt very certain that we were communicating.

At night, I sometimes experienced a vibrational “wonderfulness,” accompanied by something like a portal where I would experience the smallness of an atom and the grandness of the cosmos, in rapidly pulsating alternations.  These events were accompanied by tremendous feelings of warm love, family, a return home, and rightness.  I would often long for them and wish they would return.  I don’t recall what happened when I was gone, but I always wanted to go back.

I also recall the time when I got a message that I wouldn’t be taken back again for a long time, and I was terribly shocked, hurt, and afraid, but was told that I would be looked over, and I’d never be forgotten, even though I wouldn’t have these connections in the same way for a very long time.

I’m not sure whether the next experiences were before or after that last “cut off” event, but I also had a relationship with a little girl who could appear to me but not be seen by my parents or anyone else.  She would come unexpectedly and give me advice.  I loved her and was always happy when she appeared and terrifically sad when she went away.

I had other experiences with plants, particularly a fig tree at my grandmother’s house, which I felt loved me in a very special way.  We also had a weeping willow tree, whose branches were sometimes used as switches for whipping us, and I knew the tree felt very badly about that.

The family dog and cats were especially important to me too.  I still have a photo of my dog on my alter, whereas there are no pictures of my family anywhere in the house.

I “grew up” and forgot all those connections, as culture encourages us to do.  I tried out religion, and immediately had a powerful experience of Jesus Christ as someone I “knew” in some infinite capacity.  Afraid to be too mystical for my friends, I never talked about this and tried to contain my spiritual experiences within the boundaries talked about in church, even though I would frequently have experiences well beyond those boundaries.  Sometimes I would get powerful messages, sometimes experience dramatic healing.  Eventually, I experienced too much hypocrisy in church, including violence against me, and against my relationship with my children, and I abandoned “Christianity,” unfortunately ignoring all those things that had been wonderful in my private world.

After a few years, having gotten over the shock and hurt of having had the church help my ex take my children from me for a few years, I softened toward spirituality again and expressed my openness to believing in some sort of Spiritual reality – but I refused to read any books or consider any doctrine; Spirit had to come to me personally.

Sure enough, Spirit eventually did.  In lots of little ways, and big ways, which I describe in my memoir.

One happened when I was walking through a forest and wondered whether “tree-huggers” actually hugged trees, and a voice, seemingly from the trees themselves, said, “Why don’t you try it?”  I about tripped over my feet.  It was quite an effort to talk myself into trying it – I was very afraid of being caught – but when I did try it, I had the most amazing experience beyond my imagination, and something impossible to have imagined:  I felt as though a cascade of beautiful light had flowed like a waterfall through my body from the top of my head down into the earth, and with that, if felt as though a radio, which had been tuned to static inside me all of my life had suddenly been turned blessedly off.  The crystalline silence inside was beautiful.

Dumbfounded, shocked, saddened for years of having denied such possibility, humbled to be so blessed as an almost non-believer, I walked away grateful, but still in shock.

I didn’t know what to do about it.  I didn’t want to suddenly take up any religion or practice.  I distrusted that sort of person as being too trusting of others’ guidance.  This experience would remain my private mystery, and I’d wait further for Spiritual guidance, but I wouldn’t pray and I wouldn’t meditate – unless Spirit told me to, and I never heard that sort of message.  So I began to call myself a pantheist, and continued to wait for more.

When my son was diagnosed with cancer, my second husband and I divorced, and I went into a deep spiritual crisis I called a “nervous breakdown.”  When my son was well again, and he and his sister were of age to be on their own, I moved out to the desert alone for a spiritual hermitage that I expected to be for the rest of my life.

There, I began to experience so many things, it was overwhelming.  First, camping, to set the stakes for my new home’s foundation, I said a very naive prayer one night:  Hey, Spirits, I’m ready to learn some lessons.  Immediately, there was in the tent with me a terrifying blue-white light, A-shaped or star-shaped, hissing menacingly like an acetylene torch.  Scared out of my mind, I immediately blurted out Jesus! – not a prayer, but a simple epithet, made a habit during my atheist days – or that’s how I remembered it.  As soon as those words left my lips, I was equally surprised to feel the presence of a being who I seemed to know as Jesus!  There was no reason to know Him, as I’d ignored all the events I’d had earlier in my life as if they had been imagined.  But here he was, so very very familiar to me, as though I’d always known him, far beyond this life on Earth.  I saw nothing, only felt him on my right side, loving me, someone I knew very well – and I recalled the first time I’d had that feeling of recognition.  I asked, “You haven’t forgotten me?”  I thought he should have, since I’d certainly forgotten or ignored him for long enough.  He seemed to smile as if this was funny and said, No, he’d never forget me.  Deeply ashamed for my years of stubbornness, I expressed my gratitude and asked for protection during the night, and I slept peacefully.

You’d think I would become a Jesus follower again, but no.  I didn’t like the image of Jesus followers.  I remembered him, but was never comfortable with that name that TV preachers use so obnoxiously, so I usually called him Yeshua when I wanted his help, but I didn’t make it a daily or even weekly or less frequent practice.  I just couldn’t tolerate memories of Christianity and all their hypocrisy.  I thought that Yeshua had a place in the Pantheon, but I wasn’t sure if he was who I was supposed to “bother” on a daily basis, and so I didn’t.

I was afraid to bother my spirit Helpers.  And sometimes when these events came too close together, overwhelming me, I didn’t know that I could simply ask them to not overwhelm me so much, to consider what I could handle.  So I went through years of Spiritual elation and spiritual overwhelm.  I also didn’t understand that when one “opens to spirit” that that world is filled with benevolent intelligences as well as un-evolved spirits like ghosts trapped near the earth, and one must learn to discern and protect oneself from the energies that are not helpful.

I made many mistakes that reminded me of Mickey as the Sorcerer’s Apprentice in Fantasia.  I survived, but with years lost to terror and confusion that might have been better learning experiences.  I prayed for a mentor, then missed my opportunities.

In November 1999, I was camping with friends in the Cabeza Prieta wilderness.  Chatting with a new friend one evening, another friend encouraged me to look through his binoculars to see the Pleiades.  I wasn’t interested and told him so.  He was insistent to the point that I thought he was downright rude, but he wouldn’t let up.  He had so thoroughly interrupted our conversation, that I took the binoculars, intending to look briefly and then tell him exactly what I saw, expecting to say something like, “Oh nice, little points of light, just as I thought.”  Instead, when I saw the stars, I was overcome with a mix of emotions that made me want to cry; stunned to feel emotions like home (no home I knew on Earth had this meaning), loss, hurt, and longing, I lowered the binoculars and stammered, “I think I’m from there,” and then put my hand over my mouth, in shame that this was the sort of thing I’d have hated to hear someone else say, and waited until the awkward silence slowly turned to conversation again.  I never spoke of it again for three years, and then only once for another long while.  It was too “out there,” too associated with “weirdos,” “kooks,” and I didn’t want to be one of them.  But it felt so real, and the sense of loss seemed to explain why I’ve never approved, since a very young age in childhood, of how we run this planet.  What was I comparing Earth to, at such an age?  I set aside the Pleiades experience and waited for my Helpers to spell it out more clearly, give me more to go on, but they seemed to want me to be satisfied with little bits like this.

More of my experiences seemed to sit on the edge of Spirit and “alien.”  For instance, one night in April 2000, sitting on my roof at dusk, watching a rare celestial phenomenon of a crescent moon followed by four planets, a small group of bats swirled in a cluster in front of my face between a foot and three feet away.  I had recently begun to study a book about animal totems and was delighted by the meaning that this might have.  Next thing I knew, I saw the moon and planets in the sky not as five shapes against a darkening blue background, but as three-dimensional elements each in orbit around the sun or the Earth, all of us in a marvelous and colorful spiral moving though the galaxy, so beautiful, so wondrous, and all of it clear to me!

Next thing I knew, I was sitting, facing north, under a very black sky with a vast number of stars, all of them seeming to be paired with another, like eyes, benevolent, and I was babbling gratitude and laughing at myself for trying to express gratitude so far beyond what my words were capable of, but continuing anyway because I had to release my emotion.  Then two owls came and flew around me for an extended period of time, which I again was excited to learn what they portended after I’d get down off the roof.  When I looked them up, I was humbled and excited to read that bats often represent shamanic knowledge, and owls sometimes represent astral travel.  I was living without clocks, so it was years later, reading my old journals, that I suddenly realized I’d had some hours of missing time between the dusk with all the planets in the sky and the pitch dark night!

Missing time is a classic phenomenon in alien abductions; but I learned eventually that all the elements, including alien contact, are quite classic to shamanic initiation as well.  I didn’t know what to do about it.

I felt unworthy and ashamed to speak the idea of shamanic initiation to anyone, as they might judge me as unworthy also.  I kept it private and tried to manage my own shamanic practice.  I bought books, and tried to practice the discipline of working with my Teachers, but had so many frightening experiences that I quit – quit “trying” to practice any discipline and decided, instead, to just let my Helpers take the lead, as those events always seemed to go well, whereas my efforts often led to events like caricatures of my Helpers falling dead from the sky or appearing crippled, lurching toward me, injured.  It was terrifying, and I really didn’t know what to do.

I prayed for help in the form of a teacher.  An occasional friend I might confide in warned me about teachers and said it was for me to figure out alone, and so I stalled, grateful when spiritual events continued and didn’t terrify me, anxious and afraid when they did.

Many, many experiences filled me with confidence and encouragement that it was right that I remain a hermit and pursue this avocation.  Twice I received messages when friends died – and I was the only one, I assumed because I was one of the few people among their friends who spent every evening watching the sunset, every day without clocks and busyness to distract their attentions from spiritual realities.  A few times I knew of people who needed healing, but I didn’t just pray; I waited for Spirit to channel a prayer through me; and impressive cures were reported.

I wasn’t as terribly resistant a shamanic initiate as I confess to.  Many of my experiences were like those I’d imagined when I moved out to the desert to be alone – akin to those attributed to St. Francis.  I experienced amazing connections with everything from bears and rattlesnakes to phoebes, lizards, bees, and more.  I lay in fields of flowers.  I watched the stars and moon, and felt protected by them.  I created art and did occasional consulting via the Internet to pay my bills.

One day, I had another experience, which bridged my decades of environmental activism with Spirit.   I was walking to the sink for a glass of water, when I suddenly felt the jolting presence of a woman I’d known crash into me!  I knew immediately who she was – Judi Bar, whom I’d admired from afar and had interviewed once for three hours on the phone, and who had died years earlier after having survived for seven years a car-bomb assassination attempt on her life for courageously confronting multi-national corporations cutting down the redwoods in California.  I’d always felt very insignificant compared to her.  But I hadn’t really known her, and  hadn’t thought of her in who-knows-how-long.  Suddenly she was there inside me, with a jolt, and I felt filled with a number of ideas all at once:  She told me I wasn’t insignificant, and my caution was something she could have benefitted from in her work on Earth.  She was mellower now on the next plane and saw clearly her errors and had forgiven herself and wanted me to know that I shouldn’t discount myself so much.  And then she was gone.  I was stunned, as always by events like these, still feeling unworthy.

A few days or weeks later, her former boyfriend, whom I’d known but hadn’t talked to in years, called me up and asked me to do media work for the trial finally going to court twelve years after her bombing.  I took Judi’s message as a sign that I should do this, and I did.  The trial was against the FBI, not for the bombing per se, but for numerous crimes related to the “investigation,” slandering her after the bombing, violating her First Amendment right to free speech, etc.  I would sit in court regularly and send out media releases around the world almost daily for six weeks; and Judi was vindicated as the FBI agents were found guilty on all charges.

It was a frightening time though.  Those men in expensive suits glared at us when we passed in the hallways, and I worried that when I went home to my isolated hermitage in the desert that they might retaliate against me for all my words against them.

I hoped I could continue to be strong, all alone out there in the desert.

To be continued:  aliens and mind control

Overcoming Challenges to Telling the Whole Truth

I envy people whose stories are simpler than mine, perhaps involving just one sort of alien – especially a helpful sort who conveys spiritual wisdom and encouragement.  That would be very nice.

I’m fortunate to have also had those sorts of positive “alien” experiences, and to also have had profound spiritual experiences since early childhood.  For those I’m very grateful, and I doubt I’d be here today if I hadn’t had them.

The biggest complicating factor in understanding my own story is that I was also a mind control subject in my childhood, and I’ve experienced what seems to be ongoing interference by mind controllers in my life up into fairly recent years.

This problem has a few parts:

1) How can I describe the relationship between my alien, spiritual, and mind control experiences when the culture lumps all “aliens” together?  Clearly, we need to acknowledge the wide variety of aliens, some working for our good, and others for our subjection, and then acknowledge that mind control – often called “government” mind control – is almost certainly a collaboration between certain aliens and “above-top-secret” levels of government.

Obviously, all our terms need to be defined carefully before we can begin to communicate effectively.  To do this, one can begin with the work of Michael Salla, which seems quite well-researched and credible to me.  It’s odd that I’ve had a strong resistance to passing on anyone else’s work without researching it myself, even though I’m not an academic researcher who needs to impose these parameters on my work.  (Have I, a mystic at heart, been mind controlled to resist getting further in my own understanding with these strict parameters, when I might have simply said, “It resonates,” and leave it at that?)  In any case, up until now, I’ve told myself that I really didn’t know for certain, and therefore I couldn’t write about this – very disempowering maybe mind control keeping me silent in recent years.

2) Acknowledging that there are aliens working for our positive evolution and others working for our subjection, it’s terribly frightening, humiliating, and, maybe to some people, discrediting for me to say I’ve been messed with seriously by the controlling ones.  This being the case, will anyone want to listen to me?

3) Sometimes it seems the controllers have interfered in my Internet communications with people important to me.  If they can do that, what’s the point of writing at all?

4) Also, being that they’ve broken into my house and physically accosted me in terrible ways (the worst a Taser attack leaving a serious burn on my arm, and my body and spirit severely weakened for days) after some of my writing, am I courageous enough to try again?

5) Assuming I will overcome all the above, the most important thing I wan to communicate is that we can overcome everything in right relationship with our spiritual help and with the good aliens – but am I doing that well enough?

I am humbly on this spiritual path, as Whitley Strieber says, “On the path and off the path – that’s the Path” – but is it good enough?  Do I have a “right” to talk at this point?  Must I be stronger, or will I get stronger as I walk the walk?

6) Accepting this calling, I finally return to the heart of my issues:  To define the grand picture of “aliens,” helpful and controlling, Spiritual beings, and the above-top-secret governmental experimenters in mind control – and their relationships with each other and mine with them.

It’s a sometimes-frightening story.  It’s amazing to me the number of grown men (not women, interestingly) who tell me, “I couldn’t finish your book, because it’s too frightening.”  I don’t want to scare people, and I don’t want to pretend everything’s okay.  I’ve done both, and neither feels fully honest.

To tell the full story truthfully, I need to write a very long book (like Niara Isley’s), but I was trained to write news – briefly, succinctly, only the facts, little back-story.  People have called my writing “Hemingway-esque.”  I wrote my straightforward book, RattleSnake Fire: a memoir of extra-dimensional experience, refusing to elaborate much on my conclusions, letting the readers draw what they would.  Many respectable people have praised the book, but I really need to tell a whole lot more, and so I haven’t marketed my book for years, and I quit doing media interviews also years ago.

So this is where I am today:  ready to acknowledge the challenges, move past them, and lay out my experiences with all those connections between me and Spirit, “aliens” of different sorts, and mind control.

Essays coming.

Thanks for staying in touch.

Everything in Its Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for reading.

Multiple-ness: What it Feels Like

What it feels like to be multiple

Being multiple = being fractured into multiple holograms of oneself, each with very different approaches to life.  Parts can been coordinated, but they’re not always graceful.

Only sometimes, now, do I think of being multiple as necessarily a disability.  It can be that.  But it also often feels like a super-ability, though not as comfortable, socially.  But that’s okay.  Being me is very interesting.  It’s like having seven sets of eyes on the world, from a lot of perspectives.

I have lots of conversations with myself, about everything.  In social settings, I’m often “slow,” because I had seven different responses to the last thing said hit my brain, and I was thinking about each, weighing their merits, comparing practicality versus economy, recognizing ironies, wondering which streams of thought might be interesting to share with others, and then the subject changed and I hadn’t weighed in.  Or I was stunned to feel compelled to say something but wasn’t sure which part of my thoughts to share.  Sometimes I try to summarize – to be brief – and it often doesn’t quite fit with where everyone else was going.  I have pretty much gotten over my humiliation at times like those.

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

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

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

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

But, with drugs, hope, news control, entertainment, and other forms of mind control, we compel ourselves to do what we hardly can believe sometimes that we have within us:  we create beauty, we fight for just causes, we love and sacrifice.  We create beauty.  And so do I.

As a multiple, my sense of time is terribly fractured.  I start out each day knowing what day it is, but when the days flow behind me, they are in a jumble.  I have feelings about something being a few days ago, or longer or closer, but I’m often not sure if an event happened three days ago or seven, yesterday morning or the morning before.

There’s just no single flow.  Different parts of my day are handled by different parts of me.  One comes out in the morning to keep me slowed down so I can do yoga before I begin flying around being German-ly productive.  The business woman gets on the phone.  Someone else cooks, someone else socializes.  They are all pretty aware of what each other does, but they don’t seem to have a system that allows any of the conscious me to know what order things happened in.  And if the one who sees someone in the food coop isn’t the one who interacted with that person at a workshop, then I will be disappointingly awkward when we pass; the shopping part of me will remember vaguely.  Within a minute or two, another part of me could be having pangs of regret that I didn’t remember soon enough because I’d had a deep conversation with the woman and had looked forward to seeing her again.  That can be very disappointing.

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

Then in 1994, at age 42, one year after I slid dramatically into a serious spiritual crisis of bigger Why’s?, essentially a nervous breakdown, I was reading Michael Talbot’s The Holographic Universe, and came upon a description of people with multiple personality disorder.  The funny thing was: as soon as I read the sentence, I couldn’t remember what I’d read.  The blankness in my mind was shocking.  I read the sentence again and again, and every time I reached the period, I had no idea what I’d read.  Then I had a bright idea and tried to trick myself, and succeeded:  I read it aloud.  Somehow, the extra perceptual input, both eyes and ears involved, got past some gate, and I realized I was reading symptoms that suddenly seemed to be a perfect description of me – but not what I wanted to consider.  The description was of a person with multiple personality, or as they call it today dissociative identity disorder.

As usual, I had a range of responses: some children screaming No!, others dreading the humiliation of mental illness, others dreading the loss of pretending to feel normal, the defeat, the crushing defeat, the loss of dreams, the loss of respect, of self-respect, of my children’s respect, or anyone’s.  And one part of me said, very practically, Or this could be the first step to healing – which you have been craving for a long time – the solution, the understanding, the answerAccept it and get to work studying it first thing tomorrow.  The whole of me said, Okay.  There was nothing else to do.

We went to the medical library the next day, and within a week I had decided to leave the city and, using credit cards, build a small hermitage on some land I’d gotten in my recent divorce.  My son had just recovered from cancer, and he and his sister didn’t need me and my breakdown emotions around any more, and they were barely or almost old enough to be left alone, so I moved – with apologies to them reasserted for years – to the desert and began to heal myself – with spiritual assistance.

I healed myself with the input of all my parts.  Together, I have a lot of wisdom – that’s the up-side of multiple-ness.  But it wasn’t fast.

And it’s been painful.  I’ve fallen on the floor at home, unable to stand, and wept my heart empty on the cold, hard floor.

I’ve felt parts of me see each other, recognize each other, and come together.

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

I’ve sent healing, and received goodbye’s from friends and acquaintances just passing over.

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

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

Socializing is the most difficult.   I prepare, and then take it in small doses.  Otherwise, I hit the wall and am exhausted.

I’m like herding cats.  Imagine at least seven of me inside (it seems), well-connected for some purposes, but not socializing so much.  Sometimes I just have to go home.

I am less self-recriminatory, and more often philosophical.  Life on planet Earth is crazy now.  I’m what they call “a sensitive.”  I have a lot of sensory organs when you multiply me in this one body.

But people seem to forget.  And forgive.  So I forgive myself too, and keep on keeping on.  Creating beauty.  Don’t know what else to do.

I trust it’s all for a good purpose:  the beauty, the fights, even the multiple-ness and things that caused it, definitely the healing.  I think we’re creating a new world, a new ourselves.  It’s okay if it’s not always graceful.  Birth can be messy.

At least that’s what it seems to this person who feels multiple.

How do I seem to you?  I’d love knowing.  It might help me check my perceptions, and get even better. …if it’s something we can talk about.  Can we talk?  Can we get past our isolating culture, and discuss what it feels like?

Next:  healing events, and our Relations.

7 1/2 years since my hermitage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I became a certified Transpersonal Hypnotherapist™.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Social movements gain momentum by sacrifices, sometimes human ones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources of Power III: Tribe

We are only half-creating our “own” evolution; someone else is tending us as their garden.  Sometimes the gardener really rips things up.  But we’re more than plants to these gardeners; we’re also their children, carrying some of their DNA.  (Just like Jesus said, calling us his children.  He also called himself our shepherd and us his sheep, like it or not – another religious metaphor that fits the theory perfectly.)

In my life, I’ve had a few experiences of Jesus, more real than anything I know today.  And now I know he’s my tribal leader in the cosmos, my chief, my spiritual help and guide, my teacher.  His teachings include the wisdom that heaven should be sought within.

His American name though!  I war with it all the time.  Jesus is the Americanized version of the Greek translation of Yeshua.  The translation would be okay, but it is also made a mockery of by TV evangelists, it’s used as curse, and, more to the heart of things, I was abused under that name.

I’ve tried a few times to go to church, but pews, even the semblance of pews with folding chairs, make me sick.  And the name rings in my head with bad memories.

But the man who warned us away from sexism, violence, materialism, racism, and doctrine – he’s my Chief, brother, comrade, friend, compatriot, and fellow-warrior.

Sources of Power IV: Opposition

Sources of Power IV: Opposition

Every religion has a true foundation that has been skewed throughout history.  His story.

And every religion offers clues to our planet’s past visits by extra-dimensional and/or extra-planetary people.  And they’re also right that we are in a spiritual battle.

We may be someone’s stock.  And, we are half-creators.  It’s a dynamic struggle – just like Earth politics.  Just like all of life.

Earth politics flows directly from cosmic politics – what Alfred Webre coined exo-politics (nominated Word of the Year, 2005).

Since creation by our ancestors, we’ve been managed.  Some of whom make war amongst us, inventing political stories to explain their actions.

In the Annunaki version, one side of our creator ancestors would like to wipe us off the planet, and sometimes I don’t blame them.

Meantime, the other Annunaki brother has petitioned for us, sometimes convincing his brother to be lenient, other times helping the humans in ways that makes the first brother angry.  Many religions tell similar stories.

And we’re in the middle, responding to survive, or to get the most pleasure if that’s our ” fortune” – being part of the Military-Industrial-Information complex, for instance, oppressing the remainder of humanity through economic manipulations and war.

Opposition, though, might actually have utility – to us, as well as to them.

Opposition forces us to become something different from what we want to be.  Opposition forces change, and change is fundamental to our lives.

Sometimes, the opposition is horrendous and senseless, for which I have no explanation.  Whatever the purpose, opposition cannot be ignored.  Awakening to know one’s environment, including the predators, is a simple survival trait.  We should be glad to be made aware.

But our culture tells us there’s no one “above us on the food chain.”  So we don’t perceive our gardener-ancestors, putting us to work, taking what they need, experimenting, shepherding, killing, teaching (two sides of the family, remember).

These different stories we hear, of evil and good, seeming contradictions and arbitrariness, can all be explained by realizing that what’s out there – and hidden right here – in the multi-dimensions – the world of the alien gods – is not homogenous; it’s a teeming universe.  And some of it is opposed to us.

And we also have help.

So don’t be cavalier.  And don’t be afraid.

Just see.

Next:  Sources of Power V:  Ancestors

Sources of Power VIII: Consciousness

Today we accepted an invitation to see a movie next week at a friend’s house, to watch and discuss a video titled, Healing Mother Earth’s Sacred Sites.  The video, I was told, is about the community around Big Bear Lake in California that worked with a local Shoshone medicine man to bring different sorts of healing to the area, including bringing back the water level in the lake after it had dropped sixteen feet.

The controlling (and sometimes evil) Powers of this world are limited, in ways it is up to us to discover.

And while planetary changes or a meteor might bring them down, we also have great power that it’s time we remember how to use.

We are multi-dimensional beings struggling to come to consciousness; others are working to keep us asleep or pacified, and controlled. The eternal struggle.

Sources of Power VII: Clarity

Yesterday we watched a video that summed up why I’m so ready for change and what we’ve both felt for most of our adulthoods about the charade that is our politics and culture, though the video filled in the gaps in our history, proving our guts were correct.  We watched  Secrets in Plain Sight.

Satisfying, it could have also been, on a bad day, defeating, as it made it seem that nothing could thwart the power of the Elite but a meteor or some major plate tectonic action.  It made geological salvation (God-sent?) seem the only real possibility.

Other days, I feel like people could make the change themselves.  It will require, though, a major change in consciousness, so that people see their commonality, across religions, races, and social castes, that we are (almost) all enslaved and need to see it to deal with it.

Slavery is kept possible when factions fight among themselves instead of against the overlord.  If we acted as Yeshua taught, everyone would be fed, bankers would not charge interest, and we wouldn’t spend half the world’s wealth every day on war.

It does indeed seem that one god brother is trying to kill us, and he’s using humans to do the dirty work against other humans, and we do it.  Waving flags, we don’ see that our words fail to match our reality.

When things get dire enough, people wake up.  And we are.


next:  Sources of Power VIII: Consciousness

Sources of Power VI: Choice

While my partner read the last chapter of Botany of Desire aloud, I felt calling from the bookshelf the 1998 Pulitzer Prize-winning book by John McPhee, Annals of a Former World – nominally about geology.

The book opens with this:

The poles of the Earth have wandered.  The equator has apparently moved.  The continents, perched on their plates, are thought to have been carried so very far and to be going in so many directions that it seems an act of almost pure hubris to assert that some landmark of our world is fixed at 73 degrees 57 minutes and 53 seconds west longitude and 40 degrees 51 minutes and 14 seconds north latitude – a temporary description, at any rate, as if for a boat on the sea.  Nevertheless, these coordinates will, for what is generally described as the foreseeable future, bring you with absolute precision to the west apron of the George Washington Bridge.  Nine a.m.  A weekday morning.  The traffic is some gross demonstration in particle physics.  It burst from its confining source, aimed at Chicago, Cheyenne, Sacramento, through the high dark road cuts of the Palisades Sill.  A young woman, on foot, is being pressed up against the rock wall by the wind booms of the big semis of Con Weimar Bulk Transportation, Fruehauf Long Ranger.  Her face is Nordic, her eyes dark brown and Latin – the bequests of grandparents from the extremes of Europe.  She wears mountain boots, blue jeans.  She carries a single-jack sledgehammer….  She is a geologist.

Why do I like this opening so much?  While it concludes with a simple human experience I never imagined before, it begins with a reminder that the Earth has been through many, many changes over the millennia, is moving and shifting constantly even now.

I’m looking forward to some seriously dramatic changes on this Earth again.  And I think I’m willing to survive or perish in such a catastrophe – anything to end the wars, torture, child sex industries, financial manipulations, and enslavement.


next:  Source of Power VII:  Clarity

Sources of Power V: Ancestors

Alien gods, gardeners, shepherds, ranchers, controllers of our genetics, teachers, war-makers, plague makers, prophets – different sides of our ancestry.

We are the same to others.  We control a great deal of the living biota of this planet, plants and animals, even in our furthest reaches.  Nothing can escape the DDT we’ve spread.  Animals live horrendous lives for our food.  Other animals die en masse by our wanton recklessness, like sonar experiments driving whales to beach and kill themselves.

Is the behavior of the ancestors so hard to understand?  Either we mirror them, or they mirror us.  I wonder which it is.

If time exists (some say it doesn’t, but I can’t see that), I believe the evil comes from them (but of course) first, and we’ve been enslaved into their cruel system.  I don’t believe human beings are born as cruel as they have become.

And I believe we can remember our souls if we get in contact and stay in contact with the chosen of our ancestors.


next:   Source of Power VI:  Choice

Sources of Power II: History

…Listening and reading, I couldn’t help but think about another book we read months ago, Twelfth Planet, by Zecharia Sitchin, an unimpeachable Sumerian scholar, who lays out his research in translating tens of thousands of texts which tell a credible history of humanity as creations of the Annunaki, an inner-planetary race of people the Sumerians called gods, who mixed their DNA with terrestrial DNA to create us and then have continued to tinker with our genetics, as well as our civilization, exploiting us for various uses, employing some of us in an inner circle, a secret society.

Outrageous though it sounds, this story, uncovered in an archeological find of such volume that it could not be suppressed, solves many of our cultural “mysteries”:  Who’s really running things?  Why does our nation engage in so many meaningless wars, foisting on us such illogical lies?  (Lone gunman, 911.  No one believes, but the populace keeps them as Rulers.)

And there are many nagging mysteries solved by the Annunaki theory:  Why does our economic system not “work”?  [It’s goal is not what we’re told.]  Why is everyone so tired that they can’t respond to the lies and injustices?  Why are private prisons being built to house a greater percent of our population than any other nation on Earth?  Why is the American political system so bad?  And again: why aren’t we able to respond?

The biggest mystery is why we accept so many mysteries when this one story – told around the world since the beginning of time – could make our world and our perceptions suddenly coherent.  Every religion is coherent with it.

Jehovah is a character combined from the two Sumerian brother gods rolled into one, controller Enlil and nurturer Enki.  The Bible, Koran, Bagadvad Gita, and sacred texts all over the world tell stories of human history that fit the overall dynamics of the Annunaki story, though the words and images of each religions have evolved over time, turned into cartoons – so we forget it.

Sources of Power III:  Tribe

Sources of Power I: Half-gods

One of the most wonderful parts of my life these days has been reading aloud in the evenings with my partner.  We often read more than one book at once, and sometimes the synergy is exciting.

We just finished reading The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan – an exquisite depiction of humans throughout time selecting apples, tulips, cannabis, and potatoes – and in the latter case corporations selecting – the genetics pleasing to humans, letting the other genetics go to compost, and thereby directing the evolution of those plant genetics – half creator.

Half, because humans could only choose from among the limited library that the plant offered.  Still:  Half-Creator.  Us.

I’m reminded that “we have great responsibility,” say our Hopi elders.

Monsanto, though, has gone beyond the plants’ offerings.  Insects and pathogens get virulent.  The earth is sterilized.  People become dependent.  Death on many levels, including the soul and psychology of humanity.


next:  Sources of Power II: History

Not From Here

I used to call myself an Earth First!er.  But now I’m not sure.

In November 1999, I drove from Colorado Springs, where I’d been a realtor for 3 years, to Tucson to pick up three old friends and drive with them to Arizona’s Cabeza Prieta Wilderness on the Mexican border.

We were meeting up with a dozen other environmental activists at the location where the original four guys, among them our friend and mentor Dave Foreman, had hatched up the idea of a radical environmental movement, enlarging the idea of the Monkeywrench Gang of the novel by Edward Abbey, also a sometime colleague and icon in our midst.

We were not the most radical Earth First!ers.  We were looked down on by the activists of the Northwest.  Once when a controversy arose, we were called Foremanistas, implying we were enslaved in a cult to Dave’s fame.  He’d been interviewed on national news and published the Earth First! Journal, controlling its content, of course, and the Northwest Most Radicals didn’t always like his assessment of things they might have done.  We were not cool.  But we had great parties.

I remember those like halcyon days, an idyllic time of street theater, civil disobedience, camping, even wilderness consciousness raising weekends together.  While others risked their lives, we had mailing parties, potlucks, and did a less intense version of radical.

I had dropped away from them almost a decade before, and a lot of weird stuff had gone down in the meantime.  In 1989, Dave Foreman had been framed (agent admission on tape) and nearly sent to prison along with four others who did go, one of whom was a friend of mine, Peg Millett.  In 1990, Judi Bari had been bombed and the FBI would be found guilty in court twelve years later on numerous crimes related to the assassination attempt.

My husband and I discovered during this time that we’d had two FBI agents in our house on a few occasions and that there were at least 38 pages in other people’s files that included our names in capital letters, meaning that there were files on us.  I’d found myself unable to keep up my business, so I got a job doing a limited number of tasks for someone else who would outline the scope.  I could handle that.

Then my son got cancer and our health insurance company declared bankruptcy the same week.  My husband was not just unhelpful, but hostile, and as things had not been going well between us for years, I left him.

At a counselor’s office, I said a few words I’d had no idea were coming out of my mouth:  that I thought I had been sexually abused as a child, which totally blew me away.  But when I tried to remember my parents ever looking at me when they weren’t angry, I couldn’t remember any, except the time my father smiled, for which I still remember the powerful fascination of it, and gave me an injection.  Something in my body was feeling very harmonious and relieved by this idea, while other parts were hysterical, numb, or sobbing.

At work I began to find myself unconscious with my head laid on my desk – every day for enough days in a row that I finally accepted that I couldn’t work

I’d been a workaholic all my life, knew the phone number of every activist, progressive organization, and local progressive politician by memory, and had won awards and commendations at most things I put my mind to.  But I was a mess.

I had weird memory problems.  I screamed at the slightest surprise, then couldn’t use my arms for a half-minute or so because of all the adrenalin lodged in my elbow joints.

If I quit working, what would I do for money?

At a reception for the nominees (I was one) for the Martindale Prize, an annual fiction writing contest with some prestige in Arizona, I won second place and was offered assurance that I would be accepted into the Master’s Program if I wanted.

With the promise of scholarship money and encouragement to write (good therapy) I enrolled.

One humiliating year later, I built a house in the desert and intended to be a hermit for the rest of my life.

My God, the quiet was good for me.  My life would revolve around that land for the next 12 years.

One more year later, commuting to Tucson four days each week, I had my Master’s Degree and no idea what to do for income out in the country.  A couple weeks later, at my twenty-fifth high school reunion, I met my number one teenage crush, and we fell in love almost on the spot.   I had mystical dreams, and one month later I was living with him in Colorado Springs.

Four years and some months later, we’d exhausted the good we had to give each other, and I was planning to return to my hermitage.  I came back early, abandoning contracts to colleagues, to meet these long-lost friends near the Organ Pipe National Forest.

The first evening, a friend handed me binoculars and told me to look through them at the Pleiades.  I’d never been a skywatcher and didn’t think it that interesting.  I was a bird watcher, and that seemed enough time behind those instruments.  More, though, I was in an interesting conversation and didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

My friend was oddly insistent, so I finally agreed to look, vowing to tell him the truth about what I saw.  Little points of light now look like big points of light.  Thank you.

As soon as my eyes adjusted and I saw the stars, I believe I caught my breath and was suspended in an ocean of powerful sensation.  Awe.  Recognition.  Love.  Home.  Shock.  A memory of watching them recede, thinking, “I wonder what it will be like to be gone a long time.”  Ten times shock.  Numbness.  No.  That’s the sort of thing that weird people say.

The binoculars slowly sank with my hands to the table.  “I think I’m from there,” I said, then having recognized my voice speaking these words to no one but everyone, and that everyone responded with silence, I lifted one hand to my mouth and waited for the murmur to cover the sounds of the desert night and my words ringing in my head.

I told no one else about it for years, and no one ever mentioned it to me.  Now, as I write, it’s been 14 years.  And I finally want to put it in context.

I believe the Earth resides in a galaxy filled with a complex matrix of intelligent life, of which we are just barely becoming aware, though there are forces lined up keep us ignorant.

Galactic life has political and social complexity not unlike that on Earth.  There are coalitions and federations and pirates and researchers and saviors and crazy people and beings far smarter than us and beings not as evolved as us and most of these we cannot see, or they keep themselves hidden for one reason or another, or someone keeps us from seeing.  All that and more.  Just like here on Earth.

I was going to say “But more dimensional,” but that would be untrue because Earth is also more dimensional than we know.

And we’re beginning to see.  And waking up (it seems the dimensional density of Earth makes full awareness difficult) to the fact that we are all from somewhere else in some sense.  Either geographically, ancestrally, genetically, or by past soul life.  And we have tribe elsewhere, and some nearby, though they might be difficult to detect in another realm.  But they’re there, watching, helping if they can.

And we’re here because Earth has been getting so sick – so poisoned, so violent – and we were supposed to inoculate the Earth with good ideas.  I have always tried to do this in my small ways, but worry that they don’t add up to much, compared to the corporations and their enchanting technology, which obviously enchants me, as I sit here typing, hoping my words will actually go somewhere.

I used to think that the mind controllers recognized me and worked to destroy my potential or co-opt it, and might have done it.  Now, I like to think I chose to be born into that world in order to experience the very Heart of Darkness here on Earth, so my tribe, fellow warriors, could understand it through me, so that they can respond appropriately to what’s going on here.  Like I’m a nerve cell in the body, conveying information back to the brain.  Which, maybe, is what every single one of us is, nerve cells of God reporting back, yep, this works, no, abort this idea.

And with all our feedback, the gods will know whether to destroy this place or just give it a good cleaning.

Meantime, concerned for my own soul, having been through the Dark and survived but barely, I’ve tried to free myself of any programming that might still be in me, and I believe I’ve been successful, though I can’t say for certain.  I’m what literature calls an “unreliable narrator.”  You must judge how much of what I say is true.

And now we’re at a countdown.  Eleven days till a lot of people think that something Big is going to happen.

Aside from all the prophesies – which I respect for their age, synchronicity, and global character – there’s the simple fact that the planet is sick.

I’m a pantheist.  I believe – and I have experienced – that everything is living.  Trees.  Rocks.  Ocean.  Mountains.  Storms.  Sunshine.  And much is intelligent.  Much is loving.  Some things are teachers, and hard ones.

Thought forms are alive.  And there are beings, intelligent and not, kind and not, in the invisible realms all around us.  (We know when we have gut feelings about these things, but our minds deny, too well educated.)

And beings exist in what we call “space.”  (What a neat piece of mind control, defining words the way we do.)  Ancient people called it “the stars,” “the firmament,” “the heavens.”  And it was not empty.  People came from there, and people have always come from there, since long before they created humans here.

The Sumerian gods, Enlil and Enki, as well as Jehovah, and all the other gods have had their frustrations with humankind, and some have threatened more than once to wipe humans out, and tried, but we get saved by other beings, sympathetic to our evolutionary status, which seems to remain that we are promising creatures with some traits that should be fixable.

I believe we’re at a point in history similar to the days before the Flood.  Maybe we’re at the point that the-teacher-our culture-calls-Jesus  prophesied when he talked about “the harvest.”

(For the record, I think the crucifixion story is fear-indoctrination with the message:  “This is what we do to do people who question authority too loudly.”  And it worked.  Christians are all about obedience to authority, rather than the radical message this God-sent teacher brought us.)

The teacher said:  Treat others well, even people of other races (like the Good Samaritan) and people you think aren’t as good as you (like the Woman at the Well).  Be generous and not materialistic.  Don’t be violent.  Be simple and straightforward with your prayers, in private.  Women, don’t put housework over devotion and learning, and if you do, don’t get angry at other women who don’t (story of Martha and Mary).

The teacher supposedly said he’d come back.  And I believe he is.  What had always sounded like sappy fantasy before is suddenly feeling like reality.  And I’m not excited about this just because I like what he taught; the first time I heard the string of Scriptures I just cited above, I had a shocking sensation of recognition as if those ideals were written in my soul so deeply that they were already mine, like I’d been part of the history of those coming to be creed.  Amazement as the sensation of recognition burned the memory of that moment in all my cells.  That’s why I believe he’s a real being.  I believe I know him very well.

And I’m tired of this Earth, and as much as I hate the violence being done against her, I think I understand that violence happens and I’ll never stop it, just as Jesus said, “The poor will always be with us.”  And so trying to stop it is righteous, but sometimes even the righteous fighter must yield and recognize a bigger picture.  My bigger picture is that I am not from here; I’ve lived here and loved it, and tried to do my little part to protect her, but ultimately my world is bigger.

I’m tired of the materialism, tired of capitalism, tired of money.  I’ve read that some alien beings feel sorry for us trapped in this culture in which accounting for our hours buys us our food, and some people live in misery for all they lack.  I believe those aliens come from a place like mine, and I’d like to return – when it’s time.

Being here now is quite satisfying, actually now more than ever.  So much that I almost feel torn between the desire to leave or to stay, which may be my choice, and as much as I’ve waited for this day, I now find myself seduced to stay if I have the choice!  Wouldn’t you know….

So if the Big Thing happens in eleven days, I say Great!

But I’m not really counting on it.  I’m not sure my mind didn’t create this idea our of desire.  As Ed Abbey said, “There’s not much going for the theory of reincarnation but desire.”

I totally disagree with Ed on this, as I remember a lot of past lives, including that little flash of a life pre-Earth.  And I trust those memories that come all at once, with whole-body recognition and emotions that sometimes drop me to my knees or the floor and sometimes make me cry for twenty minutes before I can compose myself.  They feel like me, and I trust them.

Yeah, I think I’m from somewhere else, and I’m here now for a purpose:  to tell my story of sensing other dimensions and beings, of being appalled at human behavior since I was a child; and to inspire a happy, creative approach to life with as few of the trappings as I can.  (Others will do better than me and will inspire different people.)

I hope I get to wake up in twelve days in a better place.  Maybe it’ll be a New Way of living on this Earth which we will create through our prayers, meditations, and actions.  And we’ll hardly notice the day things changed.

Or maybe like David Wilcock says, an band of energy in the galaxy will intersect us and cause a DNA mutation that will trigger our change, whether we work at it or not, and suddenly we’ll be perceiving in extra dimensions.

Or maybe those of us with positive visions will split off into a dimension separate from the people who are creating these wars and economic turmoil and manipulation.  LIke the Hopi tell their children, “One day we’ll wake up and the bad people will be gone.”  That has always resonated with me.  Or from the Christian perspective, all the good people will rise up and away.

Maybe spaceships will rescue some – I don’t know.  It almost doesn’t matter.

I feel extremely grateful.  I believe I’ll be supported by my cosmic tribe through whatever comes.

And to that end, I’m envisioning what I want to remain with me in a dimensional shift:  cooperation, kindness, nurturing, creativity…

If there was ever a time for deciding what it is we want, this is it.

We don’t know what is coming, but we do know that thought and intention are powerful.  And I believe they are alive.  And we can feed them.  With prayer, imagination, and being.

See you on the other side.

Mayan elder advice for these days

Just watched a video featuring Mayan elders discussing the 2012 prophesies.

Even though I enjoy acting as though I believe something dramatic will happen, maybe even on the 21st, I am also ready for positive change to be gradual and take work.

After all, 2012 is the mid-point of a prophesied 40-year period of change.  So, the transformation could be gradual over these 40 years, of which we’re now crossing the center, or it may be dramatic.  We don’t know.

The Mayan elders say it could be either – depending on our actions.

The most important actions the elders urge us to take are 1) spiritual devotion, 2) avoiding fear, anger, and other sorts of negativity, which escalate upon themselves, 3) be responsible to our missions for having been born, whether the work is large or small, and 4) work to correct the mistreatment of the Earth and all Life.

Those who’ve experienced mind control or mysterious injuries in the night or in amnesic episodes might have trouble with the second point, avoiding fear.  I certainly have.

But I realize now that even these fears can be “reframed.”

It’s been a little over two years since the last particularly difficult episode in my life (see 18 months of Weirdness), and in that time I’ve worked fairly hard to put it all in perspective.

I still don’t know who did those things to me, don’t know the purpose, or the ultimate meaning.  But that doesn’t mean I have to be suicidally terrified of it.  And terror doesn’t serve me.  So, awhile back, I decided to just not be afraid; it wasn’t getting me anywhere.

And life has gotten amazingly better.  I feel as good as I’ve ever felt in my life, though I still have a hard time holding onto a sense of time unless I write things down, which I do.   And sometimes I have a deep-gut feeling that something happened in the night, or I have a scoop of flesh missing from somewhere and have no idea when it happened, but I don’t get afraid, or haven’t recently.  And this has made a profoundly powerful change in my life.

I’ve started thinking of these mystery energies as similar to bothersome mosquitos, or viruses, or bacteria, or other invisible tormentors or parasites that are good to avoid:  They’re real, not imaginary.  They’re to be avoided.  But they’re not evil.

If we can learn to protect ourselves from them, then we will have evolved.  Same as when we evolve to understand and protect ourselves from other bothersome or deadly threats.

They probably do have an “agenda,” but so do viruses.  Just because we don’t understand it doesn’t mean we should accept the common terrifying explanations given which make us want to commit suicide over the fact that we’ve been attacked and don’t understand.  It’s self-defeating.

Better to respond like a warrior.  Look, gather resources, learn.

Now when something happens, I think, “Oh, there’s something I don’t understand again,” and don’t give it much more attention than that.  I try to remember to log the events in my journal, hoping to eventually to see a pattern and understand.  Meantime, I keep an open mind.  In short:  No fear.

I’ve even been trying to work with the “All is Good” philosophy, seeing if I can stretch it to include mind control, torture, the child sex industry, which, philosophically seems impossible.  Actually, it’s my cynical antagonism toward religion which brings me here, but I try to be fair and try it out:  The only argument I could posit results in this question:  Is it possible that these horrors are the only ways in which we humans, individually, collectively, spiritually, can learn certain lessons for our evolution?  Is it possible that, in this way, all this horror is good?  I don’t know.

Maybe I only entertain such ideas because otherwise the things would be too frightening for me to endure.  But the fact is that I do feel like an incredibly strong individual, and I think a lot of my strength has come from what I’ve endured.  Does that make the horror good?

I also believe that my fractured mind has actually multiplied my capacity for mental work.

And leaving my body so often as a child, because of torture, has contributed to my ability to see in other dimensions more readily.

So if these horrors could have what we’d call these positive “side effects,” and I’m willing to philosophically allow that I might not know what is a side effect compared to a main effect, maybe All is Good.

I don’t know.  But this philosophical game, allowing me to drop my fear, helps me stay in the big Game.

We don’t understand this multi-dimensional world, but it’s changing swiftly.  And more and more people are beginning to admit to experiencing the world differently, and one day, maybe soon, we won’t be so alone with what we’ve seen.

Meantime, I reserve judgement.  I admit I don’t know what’s happening.  But I have feelings about it – good ones, rather than the fear that used to overtake me.

I remember images I’ve seen – of spiritual warriors like Gandalf , Jason with Medea, or archangels, fighting calmly, with focus, giving no fear energy to the dangers which are very real and often beyond the understanding of others.  Willing to look the challenge squarely in the eye, not denying, not fearing, but responding with whatever power they have.

I feel as though, dropping fear, I’ve made a major step forward in my soul’s training.

Fear doesn’t serve us except in an instant.  Beyond that, it’s toxic.

So:  No fear.  Be responsible.  Develop your spiritual practice.  Respect the Earth and all life.

We can do that.

And play our roles in healing this mess.

Blessings, All.

“Armed with Visions”

America is “First” in

1)  percentage of population which believes, but won’t publicly enter into discussion on, numerous things that affect them in political, social, economic, psychological, health, and other ways, but instead chose to be silent and let themselves and others suffer, and

2) people who think it’s absolutely true that we are the “freest” and thereby most fortunate people on the planet.

I hate to quote the Bible, because I believe it is a compendium of politically-sanctioned trivia with mostly political intent for the spiritual “truths” included; nevertheless, there are gems in it.  And I love it when my years as an idealistic young “radical Christian” recall a scripture that makes my body resonate with wonderful recognition.

This is one of those scriptures, very simple:  ”The first shall be last.”

I trust in that.

And I ‘m grateful to the prophet and teacher who tried to teach people on this planet how to live peacefully.

(I diverge from mainstream “Christians” in that I don’t believe that Jesus died, or saved or ransomed our souls by dying.  I don’t “know,” but I like the story that the famous rabbi didn’t die or was somehow resurrected and returned to teach in the East where he first learned from Hindu and Buddhist holy men who received you into his land when he avoided marriage in his home town of Nazareth by leaving to visit the magi who’d visited him at his birth.  [There’s wonderful evidence of this.  See the movie,  “Jesus in India” by Paul Davids and Edward T. Martin.])

I have no doctrine beyond a few phrases you might glean here.

I consider myself of the tribe of Yeshua.

When I first heard a few Bible stories told by a youth minister in the basement of a local church, in a crowd of young wannabe hippies, all sitting on carpet samples and scraps sewn together – stories against racism, sexism, violence, and materialism – my heart opened in a way I’d never felt, as though these ideas, never demonstrated in the life in which I’d always felt so strange, were written in my bones, and somehow these ideas had triggered an intelligence in me that was not of this life but reminded me who I was in a more infinite manner than in this Earth life, not in concept, but in body sensation.

Something opened up, and I knew this was my teacher, not by rational decision, though my mind was jazzed as well, but because it felt as though it had always been.

I believe Yeshua, Chief of my tribe, is returning.  And the “harvest” is in process.

Find yourself.

Resonate with whom you are, concentrating on your idea of you.

In this way, your cosmic tribe will find you.

Find yourself.  Find your tribe.

An Archetypal Journey

1269427Each of us learn different lessons in our series of lives. Sometimes it’s how to protect oneself and survive.  Sometimes it’s cooperation and love.  Other times, it’s expansion of consciousness and skills into new dimensions that others cannot comprehend.

Last night I picked up a book titled Shadow and Evil in Fairy Tales by Marie-Louise van Franz and then couldn’t help but also reflect on Alvin Schwartz’s memoir An Unlikely Prophet, which recounts his teaching by a Tibetan tulpa, an almost-human being created and kept alive by thought.200794

I’ve had my mind blown many times in this past couple of decades, which is not a bad thing, I believe, because it’s been during this time that I’ve healed some of my dissociative propensities, become social like I’ve never been before, learned to sing on stage, and become happier than ever before.

These improvements in my happiness came with having had my mind blown and expanded to acknowledge not only other dimensions, but also beings operating from these other dimensions with skills beyond my understanding.

Shadow and Evil in Fairy Tales asserts that the shadow is never meant to be vanquished entirely; otherwise, it becomes evil.  It is meant to be balanced, integrated, used creatively and, if it gets seriously out of control, tolerated until something, usually external, reestablishes the balance.

Usually it’s nothing rational that the hero can “figure out.” (We are all heroes of our own lives.)  Usually, the hero is required to suffer and wait, like Prometheus, punished not for an ultimately bad deed, but for stealing fire, which raised the consciousness of all humanity.

We have the tendency to blame ourselves when we can’t find an immediate answer to our very serious problems, but I’ve come to realize that waiting, even while suffering, is simply “what is” and is probably an essential part of our journey, inescapable, painful though it may be.

And the further along we are on the path of consciousness, the more lonely is this path.  And that is also part of the training.

We get hints here and there about the purpose of our suffering, which keeps us going.

For instance, I read that Alvin Schwartz was told by the tulpa that a vision the tulpa had created for Schwartz was done with the help of Schwartz’ own mind – what psychologists call “confabulation,” the mind’s propensity for filling in the unknown with whatever is logical or desired, though it may be untrue, but compelling.

When I read that, I had to review my most recent weird experience to see if I could detect elements of my own mind’s work, which required some humility in case I’d helped create this ridiculous and terrifying event.

I thought, first, about the “orange alien” and just couldn’t see how I would have created such a stupid image.  A realistic image, on the other hand, I might have created, but not a talking, cartoon stick figure of a stereotype I resist even to acknowledge.

It’s possible, even likely, that many other of my other experiences recounted in my book are in some part confabulations, as it is scientifically proven that this is a very common, natural human trait.  But I don’t buy that I might have invented a high, screaming pitch in my ears to propel me out of bed when I was exhausted last month.  No.  Somethings really are done to us, not created by us.

I know we create some of our reality. But there are also others creating reality for us.

I conclude that there was a mind-control transmission attempt, using a simple stereotype image of an alien, and my rebellious sub-conscious (thank goodness) refused to participate in a confabulation, leaving me with the vision of an unadorned outline – my clue that it was a transmission attempt and not a real thing.

At least that’s my working theory for now.

But what of other experiences that I’ve thought were incredibly life-like?  Is it possible that they were partially confabulated by my mind, when I wasn’t so aware of the game or resistant to certain ideas?  It’s possible.

I do now understand confabulation and consider it regularly as I interpret the strange events that happen to me now and then. I accept that sometimes I could have played a role; and sometimes I am quite sure there’s nothing of me in them, and they had to have been externally created.

For what purpose?  To try to control my mind?

On one level, yes. On another level, I see it as ultimately, cosmically waking me up to recognize and protect myself from things like mind control technology – which probably exist beyond this planet – giving me a chance to build my skills to defend myself on vaster realms.

Might as well take that viewpoint.  It’s more empowering than anger or fear.

In Shadow and Evil in Fairy Tales, the hero is always rescued, though s/he may wait a long time, and may be wounded and outcast for years (maybe lifetimes as well), struggling against incredible odds.

But living with humility, integrity, and compassion, the hero is always helped to succeed and then become the King – both a psychological and cultural metaphor.

“Waiting without knowing” is an ancient motif and message. It seems to be essential and does not mean that the hero has made any mistake.

The unfolding of consciousness takes us on paths far beyond the “realities” acknowledged by our culture – accounting for our loneliness.

Revisiting and reviewing everything we believe we know about reality eventually will break down those barriers.  We can only review and see anew with an open and humble mind.

Interpreting the “Orange Alien” Experience

Hey Everyone,

Again, I think this might be my final post, in which I’ll sum up the meaning of my “Orange Alien” experience and place it in the context of my cosmology and spirituality.

I am now certain that the event was a mind control operation, either for testing my programming, updating the programming, installing new programming, or a combination.

I theorize that the initial electronic connection (I assume made via my implants which act as receivers) is what resulted in my being suddenly too agitated to lie still despite my exhaustion.

And the next part of the transmission provoked those images/sensations I interpreted as “beings” in my body.  (There are theories that even “thought forms” can take life as “beings,” so my first interpretation of this is not all that unusual in the lore.)

I next sensed my “energy body” offset from my physical body which, when I focused on it, I interpreted as a lethargic shadow.  I seemed hopeful that it was easy for me to move it away.

But what was it?  My immobilized Self leaving?  That wouldn’t be good (or maybe it’s what always happens in trauma and mind control).  Or was it something else?  I’m not sure.

The next sensation of the chaotic “little robot” bouncing around inside me I theorize was a visual interpretation of the energy of some programming.  Since my Soul would resist programming, the energy would naturally “bounce around,” going haywire.  It seemed I removed it, if not the programming, then maybe only my resistance.

The next image was of the tiny, primary orange, stereotypical “alien”-headed simple figure with a little stick body – very much like a cartoon.

Having read shamanic memoirs including experiences with the weirdest and simplest beings on other dimensions, I was willing to entertain the idea that this being could actually exist; however, after weeks of reflection, I’m more inclined to say the image was created with animation software and was induced as a visual experience as part of the mind control transmission, possibly to focus my attention and/or test my implant’s reception.

Next came the alien’s message, which began with concepts I’ve considered and do accept to some degree (supported by Sumerian history, Greek and Roman “mythology,” Judeo-Christian religious history, and critiques of evolutionary science):

The humans on Earth were created, and we’re being constantly taught, trained, tested, manipulated, chosen, judged, put to work/enslaved, genetically manipulated, selectively destroyed, etc. by beings (almost certainly more than one group, with differing agendas) who are sometimes worshipped, sometimes thought cruel, and regularly deemed to have motivations beyond our understanding.  And they usually use “rulers” to do their bidding.

I find nothing problematic about this theory.  I don’t “like” it, but as a theory, it explains a lot that “consensus reality” does not explain.

(The theory is problematic to the individual because of our American culture’s split-mindedness about it all – encouraging aspects of it through religion, while patently denying it in all other public arenas, particularly “education.”)

Continuing with the message:  It seems that the creator Gods/gods/aliens intend to do away with their project/s fairly soon, probably saving some of their favored “stock,” which is typical scientific practice and coincidentally matches religious and historical prophesies.

And there are also benevolent beings on other dimensions, observing and noting the many wonderful humans here who have created much good and are worthy of saving.  We witness the existence of these people, and it also matches prophesy.

Finally, to conclude the orange alien’s introduction, there is a big change coming, which we may experience as a catastrophe, but which will lead to a new era of history.

(Eras of history are pretty much ignored by American academia, but are taken for granted by many other cultures and sub-cultures, such as the tales of Atlantis, Lemuria, the Hopi’s [and other tribes’] “Third World” [Second, Fourth, etc], Sumerian account of the arrival of the Annunaki, etc.)

Life ends; new life begins.

The Apocalypse:  The most feared event of Christian prophesy.  But the real meaning of the word is:  seeing or revelation.

Catastrophy will be the catalyst, while new life is born.

I don’t have a problem with this message.

What I have a problem with is “losing” the next 80 minutes and then getting up urgently to plug in a Monroe Institute recording to listen to.

Both these aspects smell like mind control.  Carolyn named it, and I now agree.

It is my nature, however, to consider all possibilities calmly, taking my time, sometimes getting feedback from others, because it is my calling as a writer to document my process carefully, so that I can explain it to help others.

So I’ve weighed all possibilities, and it’s clear to me that the message could very well be “true” – in the sense that we can ever hope to speak “truth” about the cosmos in our very limited Earth languages.

Or, if it’s not true, then it was a message that someone knew I wouldn’t easily object to, (despite it’s delivery by an orange alien cartoon figure), and thereby could serve as an effective “hook” to get my attention for whatever followed.

And here’s the kicker: I don’t know what followed.

What do I do about missing time (80 minutes) and the probability of programming?

From what I’ve read, mind control technology is extremely complex and tricky or impossible to remove – if you can trust anyone and have enough money to pay them.

I have neither trust nor money, so I’m stuck with my own resources – like most in my situation.

Which brings me to spirituality.

Many readers know that I don’t follow any creed, but I trust an experience I had decades ago, in which I heard some of Christ’s teachings and, even though I was dumbfounded that these teachings were credited to the icon of mainstream American religion, for which I had no respect, I had an immediate whole-body reaction of affinity with His teachings.

It was not a rational judgement (any number of religions and philosophies present coherent teachings I can accept); this was a sense of recognizing, remembering, knowing something deep in my soul, as though written in my cells.

I’ve often summed up His teachings as the opposite of violence, materialism, racism, doctrinairism, and sexism.  My immediate reaction was:  I’m with Him!  

I had no problem accepting that this teacher was my “Lord” (the authority or influence I gladly accept).

Today, I do not go to church (gives me the creeps), and I have no rituals.  I simply try to live every aspect of my life by His basic teachings and “check in” regularly to talk – though I have a difficult time using the English pronunciation of the Greek translation of His Hebrew (Earth life) name, which reminds me of scamming preachers.

So I often commune wordlessly with Him, feeling my connection through the dimensions, acknowledging him a leader or major prophet-teacher of “my cosmic tribe.”

Why I jumped up to get the Monroe recording, rather than lie there and pray?  I think because it was the first time I experienced such a terrifyingly high pitch ringing in my ears.

Maybe it also had a cosmic good purpose – to help me realize my weakness so I can be braver next time.

In any case, I am concerned that the controllers are still trying to work with me.

But I am confident about a few things too:  I do not want to be their tool, and I intend to fight it and die fighting, even suffering if that’s what it comes to.

I intend to strengthen my spiritual life as we go deeper into these precarious times.

In the event that there will come a time when the dimensions will split the Earth experience into two or more futures, in which the controllers take their subdued stock, and the benevolent ones collect the mentally stronger members of their tribe, I pray I’ll been recognized.

In prayer that this is of service to you all,


Response to the “Orange Alien” message

Dear Caroline and Blue,

Thank you both for writing!  Both of you personify different aspects of my own personal response.

While there were obviously clear “red flags,” as Caroline called them, I just don’t react emotionally or quickly anymore.  Life has been busy and good, so I didn’t let this message change anything other than giving it a few hours to review it and post about it.

(Writing about things like this seems to be the role I’ve been given, as well as it being a strategy for protecting myself.)

I’ll respond mostly to Caroline, agreeing and disagreeing at points.  I hope my example – open-eyed, calm, and thorough consideration – will be a useful example for others.

I’ll begin with a few disagreements and things I’d like to clarify, then address our agreements:

As for “contradictions,” I don’t have a problem with “contradictions,” as I believe they are a human philosophical problem.  The fact that Life seems to require Death (read essays on the volvox and introduction of sexual reproduction and death in the evolution of life of Earth for background) is but one example.

Human language and philosophy lead us into some tricky territory, referred to contemporarily as “black and white thinking” and “polarizing issues,” constantly bogging down everything from parenting  quandaries to Supreme Court decisions.

So, contradictions I accept as a fact of life; just because humans find something contradictory does not mean there’s a problem with anything but the human’s thinking.

No worry about craziness

Also, when I mentioned questioning Greg about whether he thought I was crazy, it was not because I thought I was; I just wanted to know whether he thought I might be.  I did not doubt my sanity, only the possible “reality” of what I’d perceived.  I know there are liars in this realm and the other realms, and just perceiving lies does not reflect anything about the perceiver, except that the person has perceived something.

I did not receive the “alien message” as simply placing “blame on humans.”  I thought the message was clearly blaming those overseeing our genetic evolution – though both our  perspectives are probably oversimplifications of a process which is more entwined and cooperative on some level.

Part of the message, after all, dealt clearly with other aliens controlling the leadership of planet Earth.

So the question remains:  which faction of aliens this voice represented.  He seemed to speak against the slave controllers, not for them.

I agree with Blue that we need to recognize that there are many races of beings we call aliens, and it is a cosmically-huge error to lump them all together under the one word.

He may have been a lying voice of the slave controllers, even though he was purporting to speak against them (“mixing truth and lies”).  Or he may have been a dispassionate observer of the whole controller-slave history, and I just have a “problem with appearances.”  I could argue both theories.

If this was a lie, and this race of beings is as suspect as many think, then I wonder if that means that my perception is finer than they trusted, for certainly if they had wanted to get through more convincingly to me, they would have prohibited or shielded that visual!

I really don’t understand, otherwise, why a false message, intended to deceive me, would come with that visual, unless they were careless liars and I had better vision than they anticipated.

If it’s a true message, then I’d have thought they’d have given me a screened visual rather than that displeasing alien face, unless they need for us to get over our human prejudices.  (This is a primary question still intriguing me.)

The biggest “red flag” for me was feeling myself spiritually “outgunned.”

Certainly, we all want to feel in control at all times.  We all want to believe that we can pray and get results when things get their worst – such as this moment, with the ringing in my ears escalated and was initiated by (apparently – though maybe it was only a screen image) a being who didn’t feel threatening but certainly had an image I don’t care for.

But having been through so much weirdness over the years, I can’t help but to have many times been so stumped by an experience that there was nothing to do but draw myself up for a larger, more philosophical viewpoint, to seek for answers from the whole of human experience:

For instance, haven’t humans – good humans – often made mistakes in judgement out of fear?  Of course, and this encourages me to not jump to hasty conclusions, but to try always to be willing to jump back and forth between my personal experience (fear in many cases) and a higher philosophical perspective, try to integrate the two, and sometimes suspend judgement until I have more information.

And haven’t animals being treated for disease or other rescue attempts often struggled against their well-meaning human handlers?

So, even if I’m triggered by ear-ringing to act against my original instincts to do something I’ve avoided for years (listen to a Monroe recording), I try to look at the incident on as many levels as I can.

I certainly wanted the ringing to stop, but until that moment, I had not felt any fear regarding this strange being, only curiosity.

However, this paragraph of mine is very bothersome:  “But only one idea seemed hopeful in that moment:  a hypnotherapy recording for relaxation and sleep….  Was I being driven to chose this recording in order to program me?  Or would this calm me?  I hardly felt I had a choice.  I plugged it in… and lay back on my pillow, melting into a submissive desire for anything to give me relief from the high-pitch whining….  I was fully aware, that I might now be being healed, comforted, and relaxed for sleep, or programmed – but felt unable to chose otherwise.”

Yeah.  Very disturbing.  But is it any different from what a white tiger getting surgery would experience?  Do I necessarily conclude whatever happened had to be “evil”?  No.  But it’s possible.

Is it possible that something on that Monroe tape was actually good for my mind, as so many purport?  Or was my initial judgment (of fear about it) the correct one, which was overridden?  Another million-dollar question.

It’s certainly possible that my discernment was disabled by this event – a theory I promise not to neglect.  But even if it was, I don’t believe it’s irreversible.  In some ways, I feel like I’m getting a powerful lesson, like all humans, in the “knowledge of good and evil.”  And I pray I survive the instruction.

The fact that I had a great day the next day also doesn’t necessarily mean that everything else associated with it is good.

As for the missing 80 minutes – which came before the ear-ringing episode – it’s curious, but neither good nor frightening in itself.  It has happened before and has no relation to either good stuff or bad stuff in my life.

I know I’m practicing a degree of non-judgment that would be praised by some and condemned by some.  I could defend it as scientific and philosophical good practice, but it could just as easily be mind control.  I admit I’m doing it, whether “wise” or not.

I hope readers will appreciate my honesty and care in conveying exactly what I’m going through.  That is one half my work, as a writer.

The other half of my purpose is to protect myself and others.  If I let my community know what’s going on with me, then my local community and international readers will have more information with which to interpret any future weirdness, should mind controllers still be bothering with me.  And that being that case, I hope I’ll be less useful to them – because I document – and less likely to be used.

All this is for each of you to decide on your own:  Am I still being programmed, even somewhat successfully?

Or are attempts being made and I’m thwarting them, i.e., perceiving their image which they might otherwise have screened?

Or are there other beings from other dimensions trying to get new information through to us, which are just too obscure for us to understand yet, but eventually we’ll have enough pieces of the puzzle to break through?

You judge.

Peace, healing, and wisdom to us all.

I’m trying to write – even when I don’t understand, honestly – for all our Benefit,



RF 2nd Ed coverFrom my book:

A few years back, I read about how one tribe  supported any members who’d experienced traumatic events.  The people traumatized would tell their stories to the entire tribe at night around the campfire.  Later they would tell their stories again, remembering more details, describing them as fully as needed.  Finally, they would tell their stories a third and last time, making whatever conclusions had become apparent, and afterward no one would ever speak of the traumas again.

The people could leave their traumatic stories behind forever.  They would be given new names, indicating the strengths of character they had gained.

Since reading that, I’ve often reflected on how trauma is handled in our culture.  We have too fluid a culture, no campfire, no way to share our stories.  The result is that we can’t let our stories go, and have to live through telling them again and again.

Or if we quit telling them, then in a fluid society, we can never be known for the fullness of what weíve experienced.

And with storytelling lost, the generations lose powerful wisdom.

I yearn for a tribe to hear my story, then support me in letting it go.  I hope, as I publish this for others to read, maybe I’ll have found the best solution for our modern, tribe-less times.

On one of the last days before printing this book, I picked up Carlos Castaneda’s The Art of Dreaming, which I hadn’t opened in seven years.  In the early pages, I read what don Juan said about the old sorcerers and the new.

“Sorcery,” as he used the term, is not the evil that common “Western culture” says it is; it is seeing and working with the multi-dimensional world, the same as many of the prophets have tried to wake us up to see.

He said the old sorcerers invented the structures of working with other dimensions, but focused too much on technique and took advantage of their influence over others (which is why we consider sorcerers evil).  Castaneda wrote,

“Modern sorcerers, by contrast, don Juan portrayed as men [and women] renowned for their sound minds and their capacity to rectify the course of sorcery if they deemed it necessary.  [My italics]

Don Juan went on to say, “I personally detest the darkness and morbidity of the mind.”

As Iíve researched government mind control and related topics, I often come across theories that the underground, renegade Network, the cabal,  is not simply slipping over the edge of good judgment, politics gone too far, but has been aligned for eons with the dark side of spirit.

If the evil of the underground Network is sorcery of a sort – and I’ll argue it is (the evil type our culture believes, only not ascribed to the correct people) – then our work at this time on this planet is to rectify its course.

Many religions tell of the cycle of evil having its time, which will end, and is predicted by many to be soon.

And many spiritual traditions say it will require some effort from us.  So it feels timely to hear this call now and to believe we can work miracles. We obviously need to end torture, wars, and thoughtless materialism stripping and poisoning the planet.

We need to do nothing less than rectify the course of this sorcery.

To do this, I believe we must reclaim our vision and power as a species existing in multiple dimensions.  Many species on our planet have evolved and disappeared when they couldn’t meet a challenge, and that’s a real, and natural, possibility for us.

Each challenge of evolution requires a new response, usually attended by a refreshed worldview . We humans are facing such a challenge now, and we need to revisit our worldviews to see if they actually represent our reality, as Terrence KcKenna challenged:  If our worldview doesn’t match our reality, we must be prepared to change our worldviews, and see anew.

Opening our eyes to another world is difficult, I know because I stayed blind to parts of it, at least, for most of my life.  Even after I thought I was aware, I continued to think it was a meaningless coincidence that I’d had ET contact and was also harassed by elements within the government, I thought, for being an environmental activist.

It seemed unfortunate and embarrassing because both were ridiculed (contact called impossible and government harassment paranoid), so I kept both mostly to myself and was thereby effectively silenced.  It took me until the final day I was completing this book to realize consciously that, not only were political activists being monitored, but so were contactees, and both were subject to well-organized ridicule campaigns.

While I knew contactees were ridiculed, I hadn’t realized it was an organized campaign until I read Michael Salla’s article on “Galactic COINTELPRO.”

While I’d known contactees conveyed messages about our environmental situation and the dangers of nuclear war, both of which threaten our corporations and their minions in the government, I’d naively failed to draw a connection between that and the monitoring and harassment I’d experienced.

Just as the decades of ET/UFO ridicule had made me believe the subject of contact was silly before it happened to me, after it happened to me I still thought it too silly to interest the government – even though I knew some of the aliens’ messages of environmental responsibility impinged on our government’s ideas of national security and corporate freedom, and even though I’d seen a similar pattern up close, in the lies told about Judi Bari.

I didn’t want to see the pattern again, just as I suspect most of my environmental activist colleagues won’t want to hear about this. They won’t want to degrade their noble causes with something so “ridiculous” as alien contact, just as I was offended when the MKULTRA activist brought her fliers to the Judi Bari rally at the courthouse. “Divide and conquer” remains a powerful strategy.

Even in the ET/UFO community, some UFO researchers refuse to consider the claims of contactees, not wanting to be aligned with what they fear will lose them credibility. But if UFO researchers understood fully that the media is thoroughly controlled by the underground cabal, theyíd realize their research will never be accepted, no matter how narrowly present their cases, so their withdrawal from contactees only hurts those with messages that might actually contribute to all our understanding.

According to polls, a high percentage of American people know they are being told lies about this and other related subjects; they just don’t understand why.  With the Why unanswered, people return their attention to their TVs and working to pay off their credit cards, as the underground cabal hopes they will.

I believe we can compellingly answer Why would the government lie about this? with the messages offered by contactees.

The fact that the messages are mixed shouldn’t deter, as we need to remember that the message senders are a mix – and that’s an important reality of our world to understand. We live in a cosmic ocean, and the delight of dolphins doesn’t negate the danger of sharks, and visa versa.

The messages weíve received, particularly those encouraging us to be environmentally responsible and end the nuclear arms race, will not only help open people’s eyes to a wider reality, but prompt actions of responsibility, none too soon.  Only after that, can the implementation of clean “ET” technology possibly be utilized.

Whereas UFO research, sans abductee testimony, will not likely pave the way, regardless that it’s considered an easier media sell.

Contactee messages, on the other hand, speak to the human heart, of human responsibility, and they answer the Why:  Responsible citizenry and total corporate control over our culture are mutually exclusive, and the people from other dimensions have been trying to tell us something like this for thousands of years.

C.B. Scott Jones told the Hawaii conference, in so many words, that he, as a Christian, wouldn’t be surprised if Jesus returned in a spacecraft. Many people laughed, and I understood their reaction.

I’m not sure all extra-dimensional beings require ships to enter this realm. but I think I know what he’s aiming at.  As I adjust my attitudes toward the prophets of all religions (though I’m most familiar with Jesus/Yeshua), their teachings have taken on new meaning.

Today I suspect that what some people call shamanic is simply the activities of those conversant with a multi-dimensional world, like the miracles Yeshua said we’d perform (“all these things and more”).

It’s probably unfortunate that we in the “First World” use this word shamanic, as it implies these skills are exotic and rare, rather than our human destiny.

On the other hand, he also said, “The first shall be last” – and we’re living in the First World.  So it no longer surprises me that we’re the last to know about extra-dimensional life.

Yeshua also said “heaven” was not assured by correct doctrine, but by having one’s heart connect with Spirit.  How we can connect with Spirit when our days are filled with false experiences provided by the media, I don’t know.

How we can survive as a species when we choose to perceive our own environment through the lens of corporate entertainment is a deeply disturbing question, of cosmic proportions, one that many contactees have tried to weigh in on.

(John Mack’s work has the most condensed and powerful accounts.)

Mack noted in Passport to the Cosmos that researchers Norman S. Don and Gilda Moura reported in the Journal of Scientific Exploration that

“when an abduction is being relived or remembered, a frontal-lobe hyperarousal pattern is found by electroencephalogram (EEG) similar to that seen only in advanced spiritual meditators.”

Obviously something unusual is going on, beyond anyone’s imagination or fantasy, which warrants our respectful attention.

Since contactees speak passionately of Spirit and responsibility, it behooves us not to dismiss them in favor of debunking and corporate hypnotism.

(It encourages me that all the TVs of the world could be turned off tomorrow, ending this spiritual pollution without any infrastructure change or a single act of civil disobedience.)

As for the Network, even it has potential for transformation. Inside are people who’ve been trapped, the minions whose intention may never have been to be part of the darkness, who don’t know how to free themselves.  They are a majority (though they may not know it) and as such, they sit in key places to do good.

They’re already doing it, judging by the useful paperwork leaked out and other paperwork disappeared (according to activists Iíve known).  They only need to act when it’s their time.

And they will, because it’s in their best interests.  If they don’t, they know they’ll be the next food; so they’ll act.

Whatever our connection to the minions, though it might sometimes be painful, it’s a wondrous dance:  They make us see.  We learn, and awaken.

And we go on, finding strength wherever it lies for us.

Rob Brezsny writes in Pronoia: An antidote to Paranoia:

This is a perfect moment – because you and I are waking up from our sleepwalking, thumb-sucking, dumb-clucking collusion with the masters of illusion and destruction.

Thanks to them, from whom the painful blessings flow, we are waking up.

As heaven and earth come together, as the dreamtime and daytime merge, we register the shockingly exhilarating fact that we are in charge of creating a brand new world.

As we stand on this brink, as we dance on this verge, we can’t let the ruling fools of the dying world sustain their curses.  We have to rise up and fight their insane logic; defy, resist, and prevent their tragic magic; unleash our sacred rage and supercharge it.

In the new world we’re gestating, we need to be suffused with lusty compassion and ecstatic duty, ingenious love and insurrectionary beauty.

So what will it be?  The fearful paradigms of post-apocalyptic Hollywood?  They’re only caricatures of what we have already.

How about, when things crash, you simply chose your contribution to your community?  Do you want to be a carpenter?  A gardener?  A baker?  A tailor?  An innkeeper?  A sailor?  A fisher?  A butcher?  A forager or herbalist?  A home builder?

Go to your heart, and choose.

Then barter for everything you can, to create a local economy.

A little afraid?  Turn up the dial on your intuition, and remember that the past does not determine the future.

Give yourself permission to move away from those who make you nervous.  Then move, blessing yourself and them.

All the dance is purposeful.

Thank you for being part of my campfire.  It heals me.  And I pray it will help to heal others.

Adios ~

Healing in the Balance between Denial and Obsession

“And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

Friedrich Nietzsche

Two weeks ago, I gazed for too long into Nietzsche’s abyss, and it gazed back at me.

I’d compiled a summary of my anomalous experiences of the last 18 months, and realized they contained many more events than I’d realized – so much that it was a severe shock to my psyche – and I hadn’t even remembered all the events.

Before the first week was over, I discovered a new strange bruise on my arm, which I ignored, but later it faded to two little dots, like the Taser burn dots.

…[too many old, miserable details deleted]

… the purpose of this essay:

We in healing must ride a fine balance between denial (which keeps us from awareness and healing) and obsession (which can capsize us with fear and despair).

My second point:  My deepest despair is usually followed by a break-through.

The night before our singing success, I’d prayed to be healed, and implied that if something wasn’t done, I might not believe anymore in any Help or any moral reason to keep on living under my circumstances.

In the morning, I felt more rested than I had in a long time, though “something still seems to be hovering nearby, but I’m just gonna choose not to think about it – I don’t have the energy to.”

Either my prayers were answered, or my decision to “not look” was the significant act.

One of those, or both, may have been the catalyst for the end of the weeks of horror.

Conclusion:  Learn to connect with your multi-dimensional self – which understands that Help exists in dimensions outside our normal Earthly awareness.  And learn to be aware of – without focusing on – the Dark stuff.

Mastering this, we’re ready to begin dismantling our programs.

I just discovered another excellent essay about healing on the survivorship site:  http://www.survivorship.org/resources/articles/programming.html

It also contains suggestions that reiterate what I’m saying here about “moving on,” not focusing on the Dark, along with specific work to begin the dismantling.

And here is a classic piece of work about our healing, by DC Hammond, a progressive psychologist who, in 1992, forced the APA to listen to about this stuff.  It’s practical.

Light-filled power to you!

The Meaning of Pain (a forgotten exchange last May)

[Just discovered – and years later (2020) rediscovered in my Drafts folder that I’d somehow decided I didn’t want this published anymore, so I put it back in drafts – but now I reread and decide this needs to be out there! – this quite long essay this morning, written last May!  Still timely.  Because it’s long, I’ve highlighted a few “upshot” phrases for those who just want to skim.  It’s a meditation turned into a discussion with someone on another realm.  I doubt the person and resist the message throughout, but then….]

Sitting on the garden bench with my cat this morning,
having just said goodbye to Greg, going off to another day of work to pay our bills, super-grateful to be relieved of this pressure for a few months, feeling gratitude for so many good things, and amazement at the beauty and peace of the garden – thanks to Greg’s diligence.

I’m thinking about the download of information that had hit me yesterday:

I sat on the sofa about dusk, for about two hours, engaged in a deep conversation with someone who felt wise and not unkind, though some of the things said struck me that way.

First, I felt pain in my left shoulder and saw the shape of a large hook in me encompassing part of my skeleton.  I remembered that the previous day, in my mediation, I’d asked for a healing and felt a little chain of hooks disconnected from between my shoulder blades up my neck.  Pr-r-r-r-rt!  They were pulled out easily.

I’d lain there marveling that it was done so quickly, but almost immediately realized it wasn’t all done; this was just a bunch that could be removed easily.  There’d be more, and I knew I had to be patient.

Another pain presented in my neck, I estimate my C2 vertebra.  I wondered what had happened there when I was younger.

Suddenly, I’m with another girl who is murdered viciously by a weapon to her neck, ripping her vertebrae.  I jerk with recognition for just a moment, but keep myself withdrawn from its “reality.”  (All is an illusion, some say, so I’ll withhold judgement, even though it feels real.)

I’m here, now, I tell myself, on my comfortable sofa, free, with many wonderful aspects to my life.  That was long ago.  I recognize that I’m taking this sort of thing more easily, not freaking out.  Good for me.  ‘Bout time.

But I carry the pain in my neck.  And I think I also carry the obedience it enforced.  It would make sense of the incredible obedience I’ve practiced much of my life toward people I don’t respect.

More pains appear in my body, and each one has a story of suffering, fear, and a decision to obey.

This is not news.  What is the meaning of reviewing this?  I’m alive here today.  Messed up in ways, certainly, with spotty memory, stunted social skills, but more aware than others – and I think that’s a decent trade-off.  I agree with Krishnamurti that “It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.”

I re-focus on my body and its pains, and think about the programming that did this to me and thousands others – or tens of thousands, or more?

We know Columbus used torture to induce the Natives to bring him gold.  And now the controllers use it to get all sorts of service, from sexual to military to domestic to political, and on and on.

Does this go wa-ay back, even to Sumer?  Is that how they enslaved the masses to create the monuments?

Since I’ve heard so many times that “All is of God” and we shouldn’t look at things in such polarized ways as good versus evil, I try to consider this idea, to decide if I can accept that torture for the purpose of mind-control fits in the “All” that is “God.”

It can’t, can it?

The discussion begins:  Everything living in nature consumes something else that then ceases living, except as a part of the thing that consumed it.  Predator and prey are the ways of Nature.  You value Nature.

Of course.  Once, on a boat in Hawaii, I felt the great Goddess of the ocean rise up about six feet off the top of the water as far as I could see, and being on the deck of a small boat, I felt the energy very close to me, intelligent, giving, and loving to some deep degree that made me feel I could crumple in sobs right there at the rail with other dolphin-swimming new friends a few feet behind me.  Instead, I kept my composure and opened my heart as wide as I could to accept the power of Her, and knew that this was a revealing of the Goddess to a mortal, a huge gift, something that would change me if I’d accept it.  I opened my heart and said to myself silently:  I do, I do.

I knew I’d had many other experiences (how many forgotten?) before that, but each time chose not to take it too seriously.  (After all, the culture made fun of people who do.)

The magnificent, intelligent, loving energy of the ocean settled down, but continued to hum in my heart for many months after that, and only went away after enduring at least six months (I remember writing about it) of terrible mouth pain, day in and day out (for having visited a dentist in Tucson, whom I’m convinced is torturing every spiritual-seeking hippie he can attract with his New Age presentation.  But I digress….)  This experience and some magical swimming with dolphins away from the boats on the last day of my trip buoyed me so much that I felt high, despite daily pain, for many months afterward.

And that’s only one of many, many stories I remember of being gifted in some way in Nature.

So, yes, I love Nature, and yes, I understand that it involves predation, one species of another.  But aren’t humans different?

You’re learning to be.  And now you need to learn that predation is not evil.  It’s just “what is”:  energy become part of new energy, constantly.

Some of those “alien abductees” (whose accounts you’ve read, so you’ve heard this) were told about human beings as prey to other species, and you considered the idea, but rejected it. 

Yeah.  No one wants to hear that they are prey.

Why do you resist this simple truth of Nature, that all life involves predation?  Think of it as energy exchange.  You should never have been told you were at the top of the food chain.  It was a lie.  There is no “top” in a loop.

And prey, you know, don’t die.  Life simply goes on in another form.  Some prey are used in mundane ways, like compost, while others serve their predators in more interesting ways. 

Like mind control subjects?

(Ignoring my question)  You’ve sometimes said that you think your tormentors, even though they’re “mean to you,” still “like” you and will protect you somehow.  You’ve intuited the truth. 

But we’re still prey.

Why cringe at that?  Why cower?  Do you – like other conscious ones among you, like Native people – honor the meat that you eat?  Is it not worthy of your respect?  Do you not admire the beauty of the salmon and it’s life before you consume it?

Change channel!  Can I change this channel?

I answer myself:  No.  Stay with this.  Don’t be afraid of it – after all, it’s either a lie, in which it won’t hurt me, or it’s the truth, in which case it’s better to know than not know.  So I can stay with this.  Just a theory I’ll consider.

I know who I am.  I’m in the tribe of the one who tossed over the money-changers’ tables.  I’m in the tribe of the one who defended the unmarried woman, who told Mary not to worry that Martha was all uptight about working in the kitchen alone, who advocated caring for a strange man – of another race – on the road, and encouraged us not to devote our life energy to material things.  That’s my tribe, and I know they’re nearby on other planes where we can’t see them, maybe because of our programming, and maybe because we’ve been engineered or implanted to have duller senses.  I know they’re there and am infinitely grateful for those glimpses and miracles and healings and signs over my lifetime.  That’s who I am.  I can listen to this argument and see where it is heading.

Even “Jesus” ate fishes and bread.  He thanked God for those fishes, and then he ate them.  Those fishes died for humans, and those wheat plants too.

I can handle that.  Certain life exists specifically in service to another.

Everything exists in a web of give and take.  And most of the time, we call it beautiful.

The evening primroses blooming profusely in the garden right now have as their nourishment dead and dying things.

I remember when my permaculture teacher, Bill Mollison, described life at the roots of plants, including nematodes which grab – ! – and at this point, he made a quick motion of snatching some passing organism in the soil, reminding us that even in the most serene garden, underground life is thing-eat-thing, literally dark, and – if we choose to see it that way – even vicious.  Lovely flowers.

So, I understand that.  But human life….  Shouldn’t it be different?  Isn’t that what we say elevates us from the rest?  Don’t tell me we’re no better.

It’s part of a process.

Remember the conversation you had with Greg about humans in a primitive state not living in any Eden.  Life was a constant struggle against Nature, making shelter, keeping warm, finding food and water (much of it requiring the death of plants and animals, we might add).  And when a tribe lost what they had because of the cruelties of Nature, they went somewhere else, and sometimes that threatened others’ survival, and that turned, and still turns, into conflict. 

But even when entire primitive lifetimes were what you might think of as very good, say, “pastoral,” those people did little more than feed themselves and if they were lucky, make love, raise children, and make a little art to leave behind:  clay pots, song, dance….  They weren’t “going anywhere.”  Pretty much, their lives were devoted to little more than feeding themselves and having fun when they had time – until they were employed by people with bigger visions. 

Is that what this all about?  Bigger visions?

I often wonder what I would give up to free all the people enslaved to bring us our modern conveniences.  Computers?  Absolutely.

Would I sacrifice Greg’s guitar?  Well, I hope it wouldn’t be necessary, because that company harvested the wood in a manner certified to be “sustainable,” though I know there’s more to the industry that I might not like if I knew more about it.

Would I give up a culture with cafes and bars, like the ones where I’ve listened to local musicians over the years?  I don’t know.  How about the bakery with its backyard stage where I first saw Greg?

Or the digital camera that lets us record ourselves?  I think I would give it all up, especially the hours of practice to achieve a culturally-acceptable sound, in exchange for a lifetime of singing around a fire with others who are our community.  Definitely.

All the goodies of today’s world I think I would give up to free the billions of people slaving in Third World factories to give us things we will throw in the trash next year.

But I sense this question is not so black-and-white.

Very good.  It’s not.  And we still need to finish this examination of predation.  The fact remains:  Life requires death.  And death often takes the form of predation – as beings like you need to eat.

The volvox comes to mind.  Life, I once read, when it evolved sexual reproduction (the volvox being the first sexual organism), introduced something else new to evolution along with sex – and that is death.  Until sex, nothing died.  All life simply multiplied unless killed by accident, but most life lived on immortally, reproducing itself exactly, with no variation.

With sex came the advent of diversity and change – but only with death.  Otherwise, diversity and change with unbridled expansion create something akin to cancer – covering the planet.  Since life needed some limits, death and sex came together in this new stage in Earth’s evolution.

Yes:  Death became essential.  If not for death, the Earth’s resources would be quickly depleted, and there would be no order, no selection of what works best over that which doesn’t work. 

Something has to select what will continue and what will not.  Predation is that tool.

I’m feeling irritated, sensing this is leading me to something I don’t like.  I feel like a child being told a fact of life that’s obvious and I still don’t like it.

And it’s embarrassing because it’s so obvious.  Like, I shouldn’t need to be almost sixty before coming to terms with this.

And I’m suspicious that I’m being led down a reasonable-sounding path toward something that’ll seem convincing, but might not be true.  Just because the argument begins with some truths doesn’t mean it contains the whole story or will arrive at a correct conclusion.  I’m on my guard.

That said, I agree that predation is natural and necessary.  But it seems that human evolution could be kinder – not the slavery that billions experience, from physical to mind control.

Why should humans be kinder?

[Sigh.]  Too big a question.

You’re right.  I’ll help you. 

Why are you not kind to every living thing?  Why do you pay someone to raise and slaughter cows in a manner that is not kind?  Why do you buy a computer that required some woman to leave her children alone all day, while she breathes toxic air and solders your microchips?  Why do you still rip out “weeds” without a thought and lop branches off fruit trees when their sap flows in the spring?

Because I am a product of my culture, and I was not only not taught respect, but every bit of respect I had in me innately has been disrespected and discouraged over my lifetime.  I “forget.”  I’ve been culturally controlled to be half-asleep.

I know it sounds like an excuse, but aren’t these legitimate reasons for being half-asleep?  I don’t buy that we’re all personally responsible for everything our culture has created before we arrived here.  If I was, I’d die of regret and overwhelm.

Just yesterday, I wondered about my heart holding out.  I wasn’t stressed; I was focusing inward, to meditate, when my heart suddenly hurt, and then my left arm hurt, and that scared me.

I don’t believe we can take on the sins of the world, as much as we might want to dedicate ourselves to good causes; it seems we have to protect our hearts somewhat.  We have to shut down.


I think I have to, to keep living.  I think there’s something else good for me to do here, and I don’t believe I have the strength to keep going if I acknowledge all that’s wrong.

This morning, Greg showed you a few of the music videos he watched with headphones last night while you meditated.  You clearly enjoyed watching George Harrison sing, smile, and talk about his life.

I did.  And I know that George Harrison would never have come into existence in the way he did if we’d all lived a pastoral life – he wouldn’t have been needed.

But I think I get your point.  Our ideas today – including our consciousness of right behavior and unnecessary pain – are far beyond what they were in that (peaceful or not) pastoral setting.

I’m reminded of something I’ve often described:  Thesis, antithesis, and synthesis.  The pastoral life is the thesis or theme for humankind’s beginning in Nature; the antithesis is service to an industry of human ideas; and we’re now working out our synthesis – never easy.  I accept that.

So what was our last question?

Two unanswered, but related:  “Why should human evolution be ‘kind’?”  And “Must we accept predation?”

It’s seems more enlightened to be kind and get beyond predation.

But the world is not enlightened.

How could I forget!?  I remember knowing, when I was very young that this culture wasn’t a good one.

But kindness is something we can aspire to.  It may even be “what it’s all about” in this crazy, cruel, horrific, fascinating, entertaining, entrancing, deadly culture – to evolve greater kindness.

And until humans decide that kindness has value and should be balanced with the other values (industry, for example), we won’t be enlightened.

Right.  And so, now you’re experiencing a culture based on a limited set a values – limited because humans haven’t fully-enough experienced the downside of cruelty.  You’re about to, though.

I think I already have, with my childhood programming terrors.  Can we heal those?

It’s very messy, and it’s all connected, complicated, and could have some unknown consequences.

Are you saying we have to leave my hooks in?

(I sense a decision to do a demonstration for me.)  I sense the big hook separated slightly from my shoulder, and see it’s connected to everything else.  Everything has tugged slightly out-of-place, and I see/sense all the connections that would have to be dealt with if this one thing were dealt with.  I agree it’s a messy problem.

And I assume this is why I’ve often felt that my help on the other dimensions had to leave it in place, always “for a while longer.”  (Or I was programmed not to seek healing for so long that it’s now too late.)

The results of those hooks are only occasional experiences of forgetfulness or doing something embarrassing – small potatoes compared to the psychic trouble it would be to disconnect everything:  I would need to go back, heal, and rebuild myself from infancy up.  I sense that my extra-dimensional help has “work-arounds” ready.  So I’ll survive in my current “hooked” condition.

But I’m tired of feeling like a pawn, and my back hurts.

Well, you are a pawn.  And lots of people and other living things also hurt.  

But you know that this Earth life is only a flash in your soul’s long history.

But his Earth life feels damn long – and painful – now.

Yes, we know.

So how does this all tie together?  My pain, and the suffering of billions for the pleasure of a few – how do they tie in with human evolution?

Nature, with death, includes suffering,  The Buddha was right.

But what value is there to evolution in torture and mind control?  Can’t we create a culture in which no one has to serve another by scrubbing their toilets, indulging their perverse sexual cravings, and soldering with toxic chemicals?  Does nature require that wealthy psychopaths purchase other human beings like this?  The development of the Internet, music industry, and shipping of avocados for my guacamole should be able to be developed without such human misery.  Please tell me it’s possible.

It is, and you’re on the way.

Okay, so now tell me, was all this pain a necessary step?  Or might we have avoided it?

You might have, but not likely.  Nature favors the aggressor.  That’s another fact of Nature, at least in young ecosystems.  Mature ecosystems favor cooperation, and Earth culture is in the process of discovering the difference right now – it’s a critical point in your evolution.  Some will choose the old way; some will see alternatives, like those you’ve written about and tried to practice.

I didn’t write or promote as much as I thought I would.  It seemed every time I had the opening, something intervened, or I sabotaged myself.

Of course, the system in place, the aggressors or controllers, as you call them, have created a system, including your programming, to keep you from undermining their game.  It’s their nature to do exactly this.  And your job is not just to see something better, but to also deal with the reality of the world around you.

Two things at once.

Yes, sorry [I sensed sarcasm here], we gave you two things at once – sometimes life does that.

Okay, so our challenge is to see another way and at the same time protect ourselves from abuse if we can, or put up with the abuse, and try to help others not be so abused.  And all those channelers and others who say that all this cruelty is a just “life lesson” are pretty much right?

Soul lessons – no small thing.

So that we souls will know absolutely that unbridled predation is unnecessary?

Well, it might actually be necessary for a period of time, as in the “immature ecosystem” we mentioned.  You can’t have a mature ecosystem until you have passed through the immature phase.  The lowest forms of life must first just survive.  

Aren’t we beyond the lowest forms?

What do you think?

We’re graduating?  Or on the verge of it?

Some of you are.

And until we do, we’re in this low-life stage, surrounded by low-lifes, being tortured and mind controlled, economically controlled, pharmaceutically controlled, environmentally controlled, and…?

Yes.  And aren’t you motivated to change?

And so we have to be tortured so we’re highly motivated to create a culture without it?

Pretty much.

But what about parents who give their babies into this program?

Did you give your children over?

Not in my conscious memory, but I have allowed them to become entranced, because I couldn’t see any reasonable way not to.

Then you would have robbed them of their essential lessons.

But what of those who consciously participate in their children’s mind control?

They too were mind controlled, tortured, amnesic, and terrified.  

Were any of them conscious of the torture?

How conscious are you?

I see consciousness is all relative and probably not a conversation I can have from where I’ve been, struggling as I am with my own consciousness.


So the Illuminati, calling themselves, essentially, “the enlightened or conscious ones,” are willing to torture children.  Is this an irony and contradiction that the “dark” Rulers of the exploitative systems of this world are the ones dealing the lessons to us?  In other words, the Devil is driving our soulful evolution.  Is that it?

And in that sense, “All is God” – including the most terrible, baby-sacrificing Satanist?  Is this our God and driver of our evolution?

If you insist on putting it that way.

I don’t like this conclusion and suspect that you’ve used some errant logic to arrive here.  It’s what I’ve been hearing whispered into my ear for a long time, maybe the reason I’ve been afraid to meditate, why I’ve tried again and again to forget all this and just do something useful in the world, and forget that sometimes I know I’ve been controlled and left with cuts and bruises.  Your conclusion sounds just like a secret society justification for their abuse of the common people.  Like the grifter or con man:  “I’m giving them a valuable lesson about whom to trust.”


But this ignores a larger reality.


And that is …  that is… that there is a kinder way to accomplish those goals.

Is there?  How would people know how to distrust if they didn’t first encounter someone untrustworthy?

I see your point….

So we have to suffer?  Is the Buddha really right when he said we had to suffer?

I always have remembered the pain I felt when my daughter, three years old, fell and smashed her little lips into the asphalt, causing them to swell up and scab into little points giving the impression of a bird-beak, and she couldn’t smile or laugh when her father called her “little bird” all that week.  My heart still aches to remember the stoicism of that little child, so hurt in order to learn to pick up her feet.

And I want to cry for all the children who’ve suffered with hands blown off by land-mines dropped by my government in senseless wars, or children orphaned or put to work at young ages to sew cheap garments we won’t even keep for long.

And I feel like I’m leaving this realm soon anyway, don’t feel like I even belonged here in the first place, actually, so it’s good to think of everything collapsing soon.  I look forward to it.

It’s coming soon.

But this existence was necessary for awhile?

For “a while.”

And the controllers aren’t “evil,” just a necessary player in our soul’s evolution?

That’s right.

It’s seems right, but I don’t like it.


I don’t like excusing what I think of as evil.

You’ve said yourself that your daughter wouldn’t have learned to pick up her feet without smashing her lips, and the deer wouldn’t have evolved its speed without the lion, and people might not understand how to create culture unless they’d experienced cultures that were cruel.

Yeah.  But I still don’t like it.

I’m determined to keep promoting what I think will contribute toward a working culture for when this thing collapses, which I pray will be soon.

And what will you promote?

Besides all the Earth-sustaining practices I learned with Permaculture:  cooperation.

How will everyone take care of all the life necessities?  Will people specialize and some even serve others so that more capable people have time to envision and implement evolutionary changes?

Some will serve others [I say, even though I have always felt very uncomfortable with this idea], as I can see its utility, as well as recognize that not everyone is evolving at the same level at once.

Will some clean others’ toilets?

Quit hitting me with uncomfortable details.  I’d create a system with ecosystem-integrated toilets that didn’t need cleaning, other than what Nature did naturally.

Good.  See how your emotion has helped you clarify this.  This is the sort of creative thinking that comes from strong desire, born of strong emotion, usually painful.  You’ll do well in helping guide some new culture.

I’m tired and don’t think I’d be respected.


Because I’ve been so self-sabotaging that I’ve just lost credibility.

Don’t project into the future what you’ve experienced in the past.

I know that.  But that’s all we humans can do, and it’s required, for us to plan.

[laughing]  You’re correct.  Everything in balance.  And be prepared for everything to move out of balance.  Things change.  There are the seasons, as you often point out, and there are cosmic seasons.

Don’t waste energy and emotions decrying the controllers.  Instead, find your personal strengthKnow what you believe in, the positive things, not the things you want to go away; they will, without your energetic hemorrhaging; it’s a waste of energy. 

And even our conversation didn’t do the subject justice; it’s far beyond your Earthly understanding; remember you’ve been mind-controlled; so go with your gut and intuition.  And turn your focus now on what you want, not what you don’t want.  

Is that how our cosmic tribe will find us?  By resonance, as I’ve written?

Essentially.  But it’s more than just focusing on that.  Remember Lao Tzu, and doDoing creates a strong resonance.  Sitting, stewing, musing, especially in anger or indignation or fear, only sends out a beacon to your tormentors.

But when I try to forget them, it’s like I’m a lizard my cat is tormenting:  they bat me around to see if I’ll run and become their toy again.

And what do you do?

I used to get hysterical, but I just understood – again, as I do forget – that that only excites them.

Yes, there are unevolved spirits in the other realms, not much more evolved than your cat.  You’re getting it if you understand now that you just shouldn’t react to them.  

Is this a hell planet?  Or a prison planet?

Both metaphors work in a sense, but they’re unnecessarily alarming, so I wouldn’t go there.  

But, it is true that both heaven and hell exist in this third-dimensional space called Earth, but neither heaven nor hell are as the masses understand them.  They’re the conditions under which our souls are forged, sometimes in fire, and sometimes in other ways, through beauty, as you also enjoy – in music, art, dance, garden design, service to community, all of which have lifted you to rapture at times.  Don’t forget those times.

Good Week, Hard Week, Great Lesson

Last week was fun.  We recorded some pretty decent renditions of three Woody Guthrie songs and one of our friend’s songs; I had time to trim or edit them and upload them to Youtube.  I felt free and good enough to exclaim about it – and my gratitude.

(Sometimes I am reminded of the tribes who “superstitiously” never say a nice thing about a child because they believe there are spirits who will then try to reduce the child’s attribute.  Sometimes when I say how good things are, I remember the last time I said that and thought I should have kept it to myself.)

This week has been hard.  After days of back pain, on Tuesday I had to have a “rib end” reconnected!  Yesterday, I yawned and suddenly was gripped with the same pain – lasting all day.

At the end of the day, when I’d neurotically completed all the things I thought were more important than taking care of my pain, I meditated, relaxed and talked to my body – for no immediate result.  So I went to sleep, with a prayer and instruction to my body to return to where it knows it’s supposed to be.  I woke with no pain.  Yeah!

Nevertheless, I followed my partner’s advice, and got more x-rays today.  They only showed what I already knew:  I have osteopenia, arthritis, bone spurs, and degenerating disks – and occasionally a disk slips – way too easily, in my estimation.  I accepted a prescription for high-grade, generic Ibuprophen, and on the way home bought a heating/vibrating thing molded to fit around the neck.  I drove home feeling fragile and sad.

I’ve known that sitting at a desk is bad for bone density.  I thought my diet heavy with organic greens – and my attitude and lifetime of exercise – would protect me.

My Lesson

My sense of fragility turned to nauseous anxiety and a need to cry.  As I was about to climb onto the bed in a fetal position, a voice said, No.

Instead, I faced north, into a concrete wall, not toward my alter on the west.  I wondered why, and knew immediately that, just as I’d never really used my alter like an alter (just a place to keep photos of loved ones and spirit friends and miscellaneous iconography), I needn’t focus there now; this was about focusing inward.  Since I didn’t like the energy of the concrete wall, I turned toward the window on the east.

Suddenly I felt a familiar stream of energy sitting on my aura, feeling pretty good, but I stopped it (for the first time) – consciously and not ambivalently – to state to myself that I didn’t know if this was for my good or not, and I wasn’t letting it in until I knew.  (My intention to hold off has been overridden in the past when I wasn’t assertive enough.)

After a split-second, silent call to spiritual help (I guess for the purpose of identifying myself with my powerful cosmic tribe), I got the message to simply “go inside,” find the energy source of who I am, and amplify it; if the beam wasn’t harmonious, it would be repelled.

I didn’t need any rational process of discernment to decide what to “do.”  There was no perceiving, discernment, or doing – nothing to do, but amplify who I am.

So, I turned my attention fully to my infinite self “inside.”

For a second or two, I tried to put words on my thoughts or feelings – as if my rational mind needed to identify who I was – but I dismissed that rational effort quickly and went into another state in which I felt very calm and powerful inside – suddenly realizing that I felt like a colleague of my powerful helpers on the other realms.

Then, the energy beam that had seemed to be resting on my aura (not yet pulsing through my spine, as I realized it was the type that has done that before), was now pulsing outside and away from my aura, as if pushed back by my energy.  Within seconds the pulsing had faded and retreated, while I sat on my heels and felt my own calm energy filling me, unaffected by whatever that had been.

Then my cat jumped on my lap, purring mightily, and I found myself writing this essay in my head.

Are these spiritual attacks I’m learning in the eleventh hour how to deal with?

Or is my own Help prodding me with pain and mysterious beams to wake up and begin more seriously to “study energy,” as I exhorted us all to do last week?

Whichever, the answer is the same:  Quit being such a slave to worldly priorities; instead, give yourself time to work with the energies in your body!  Get to know them.  Open to learning how healing happens and whatever else can be learned in this state.


Regardless of pain or the fun of singing, I must find a way to overcome my aversion (irrational and counter to my spiritual longings, therefore I assume is programmed) so that I can experience, consciously and more often, my own energy nature and accelerate my learning.

I’ve craved this for decades and finally am willing to answer the question of why I so consistently resist:  I am almost certainly programmed against it.

So what do I do about that?

Since everyone has a different psychology (though we programmees might have identical programming), and because it’s naive and dangerous to broadcast our spiritual warfare strategies (though I’ve dumbly done it), I won’t describe my approach.  I’ll let you know how it goes though.

Ideas (for myself and others) accepted.

Be awake and aware.

Now I’m going to take my partner’s other advice:  I’m going to take the rest of the afternoon off.

Love, power, and awareness to you ~


Taking a Break – with a Positive Spin?

I woke this morning with the conviction that I could not heal with an audience, because if I begin to report success, our adversaries (undoubtedly monitoring this blog) will have to intervene.  (We all know this.)  Therefore, I believe I need to take a break (or quit entirely?) and just post now what I think are key ingredients for a chance to heal.

I described some healing basics in an earlier blog, but I want to add or emphasize three key elements here.

1) Since our dissociativeness (multiple personality) makes us “forget,” it’s imperative to use a single journal (not a few, like I used to do) and to re-read it regularly, summarizing things occasionally, and maybe putting them on a calendar to look for patterns.  This satisfies our need to understand rationally and is probably necessary to understand and heal our mental fractures.

2) Since this is a multi-dimensional world and our mind control utilizes “spirituality,” and spirituality and multiple dimensions are both basically concepts of energy perception, it is also imperative that we become students of energy, beginning with understanding, noticing, and tracking the energy changes in our own bodies.  For me, this makes prayer and meditation a more tangible, active, “real” experience.  I believe – for me, at this stage of things – it is the most important key to spiritually protecting myself and beginning to heal.

3) While we sometimes need to give ourselves time to break down and go deep into grieving, we also need to take time to strengthen the rest of ourselves – the parts of us that love to cook, socialize, garden, dance, sing, or whatever – and that means we have to “forget” this stuff now and then.

Now, I realize this might seem to only encourage our splittedness, but since our splittedness has been used against us for so long and by others, I see no reason to not use it for our good – for whatever periods of time we need to build strength.  Everything in nature flows and evolves in rhythms, and we must give ourselves permission to bloom when we can.

So, while I had intended to track my healing with weekly reports on into an unknown future, I think I must stop after just these two – for the reasons I state above, plus the fact that responding (as carefully and laboriously as I do) takes a lot of time and emotion, which is not sustainable at this rate, even though it’s rewarding to me and, I believe, useful others.

And so:  I will be “signing off” for awhile.  As I wrote in Comments on the last blog, responding to Artemesia, I am feeling much more empowered and want to leave you (for awhile) with that.

I’m also feeling I need to do my next phase of healing work with no “audience” (even though last week I thought readers were essential), for the reasons I’ve already stated, as well as because sometimes I think it’s best to take things lightly.

Lightly?” you demand?  (I would.)  Yeah, it seems crazy to suggest taking mind control healing lightly.  I know.  I know.  But taking it seriously doesn’t work either; at least no one yet has blogged about how they’ve done it with serious focus.

Just the opposite.  Most every writer on this topic has either shut up, died, or been mercilessly harassed.  So, it seems we are being forced to go this path alone and not try to help each other, at least not in such a public forum as this.  Simple reality.

Without the ongoing give-and-take of an audience (though essential in the last few weeks), I think I’ll be better able to “take things lightly” when it is my season to do so, and work on healing with more energy when it’s time.

At some point, I’ll blog again.  (Already I feel a couple blogs emerging, not timely, but general.)

As for the harassment, I’m going to keep documenting it for myself, maybe here, but I’m going to do everything in my power to not give it too much of my life energy – which may be their purpose!  I’m going to try to say to myself, “Oh, those guys, trying to get my attention again, trying to get me off track,” and then just get back on the track I was on.

Will I be able to do it?  We’ll see.

I envision my life proceeding like this:

Daily meditations on my energy, remembering my own power, learning more about it, increasing its strength, connecting only to spirit help which I know deep in my heart is my tribe and only watching or ignoring the rest (and protecting myself from it, when necessary).

Devote myself to my community, by supporting local farmers and food producers, offering solar ovens and passive solar consulting, singing, gardening, and being a friend.

Then, during periods when I’m strong, I’ll approach healing again.  I know they want to stop me from this, and that’s the reason (at least one of the reasons) for their regular harassment – to knock us down and keep us from having the strength to go there.  But hopefully, I can persevere anyway.

Anyone mind a “positive spin” on this?

“What!?” you say….  I know, but I think of this frequently and want to write it today:

I often think that we MK subjects (or at least those of us aware and struggling) are in a better position than the masses of humanity, at least the masses of “Americans.”  The masses are hypnotized in front of their televisions, going to jobs they hate, drugging themselves to keep going (okay I do that sometimes too), but accepting all the stupid, irresponsible, abusive (slave-making) elements of our culture.

We, on the other hand, do not accept these things, because we see the lies.  So, regardless that we suffer such pain, I’d rather be in my situation than chatting mindlessly about my recent purchases at the mall and what was on TV last night.  I think there’s a whole lot more hope for us.  I know we are more compassionate people.  So, whatever we go through, I’m grateful that I’m awake.

And even though our cure still seems illusive, I know I am (and you are) more alive than most.  And I’m grateful.  So very, very grateful.

Now, I’m setting off to create community and beauty in any way I can.

Adios for now.

And peace ~


Second Weekly Report: Prayer, Sexual Healing, and Weird MK Story

Three parts:

1)  Programming to Ignore Prayer?

2)  Sexual Healing in Progress?

3)  MK Acquaintance with Weird Story Involving Me

1) Ignoring Prayer?

I often wonder, “Is it just me (resistant to prayer and meditation), or am I struggling against programming to avoid prayer?

I assume it must be programming, because I know through experience that checking in with my Spiritual Family is very good for me.

(I broke through my last two weeks of intense struggle and pain, culminating in suicidal despair, when finally I seriously prayed.)

But afterward I had to ask:  Why do I, so often, have to get to the brink of death before I do?

Ever since I’ve known about mind control, I’ve accepted that programming is done on many levels, including the mundane, including interference with the simple desire to have a daily habit of prayer, meditation, or spiritually “checking in.”  I experience this negative program working in me often.

A voice says something like this:  “You’re already connected to your spiritual help.  They already know what you need, and sitting down for a ritual blah, blah, blah only implies that they won’t be in touch unless you go through some silly ritual.  You’re slowing your progress to act so much like a kindergartener.  Besides, nothing happens when you do.”  And other assorted untruths and half-truths.

I imagine some folks might have a program to keep them from even considering such a “stupid” thing – people who understand this is a multi-dimensional cosmos, highly populated, and yet can’t believe that some of the beings might actually be potential allies.

(If you’re one of them, please consider that the same way that aliens have been made to seem silly with cartoons, so have spiritual allies been presented with diminishing cartoon images, such as angels or “Jesus,” who has great power for me.)

What do we do about our programmed resistance?

First, I have to remember the full truth – why it is good and important to check in daily and connect with my Spiritual Allies:

– I can sense my body’s energy field and sometimes sense something out of kilter and talk to my Help about it.  The awareness alone is incredibly important, and connection to spiritual help equally so.

– I can practice energy-clearing skills.

– I can think about the highest priorities for my day and make my commitments to them.

– I can look beyond the day to my larger healing work (and other purposes for being here) and ask for guidance about how to progress.

– I feel centered, directed, and supported.

This is my experience yet again today.  Thank Goodness!

With so much at stake, though, it blows my mind that any idea can ever talk me out of it – but it does sometimes, and for weeks at a time.

I’ve prayed often for help with the resistant voice, and now I’m praying for that again.

I’ve also created a new journal, in which I’ll log my meditation/prayer experiences daily – so I can’t “forget.”

2)  Probable MK Acquaintance with Weird Story about Me

Last week, a local acquaintance, reader of this blog, and probably an MK subject, said he was beginning to remember an amnesic event a year ago that involved me, and he thought I’d want to know.

By way of protection, I had him visit with my partner present, and we videotaped the conversation with two cameras (good thing too, as one quit in the middle).

The man’s story culminated in something called an “Alien Love Bite” – as he recalls alien beings creating a one-way, heart-to-heart bond between us, which has tormented him all year, as I am not drawn to the relationship.

It was a very weird thing to hear, with many possible interpretations, any number of which could draw me in to the drama.

I chose not to be drawn in, while sympathizing with his plight and all of our isolation.  I told him that it was his spiritual work to “cut the cord” that he believes the aliens used to tie him to me, that it was not my work, though I also did a cord-cutting ceremony, just to be sure.

I didn’t mean to sound callous, but we each need to protect ourselves.  And even though isolation is sometimes terribly painful (I know), it is also possible to learn a great deal alone – sometimes more alone than with others.

3) Sexual Healing?

I had an interesting sexual experience last night, that I feel is a step toward healing.

It began by my recognizing that I’d had the first “un-shattered” orgasm that I could remember in many, many years.

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

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

Those who’ve read enough on this site know that I was ritually cut three times in my g-spot, one back to front, the other two side-to-side, cutting my g-spot into six squarish nodes.

For comparison, here's a normal g-spot. The photograph was supplied by a friend in sex education. You can see it is ribbed and round.

For comparison, here’s a normal g-spot. The photograph was supplied by a friend in sex education. You can see it is ribbed and round.

This causes my orgasms to be, usually, fragmented.  Energy gets stuck, it seems, in dead-ends.  Enough said.

Yesterday, an acquaintance (probably MK’d also) made reference to prostitutes in Las Vegas hotels performing privately for clients.  While having sex last night, I had an image of that scenario come to mind, and I mused for a moment (hardly sad anymore, just “what it is”) on the fact that I believe I was mind controlled to be used for something similar and probably was for much of my youth.

With this performing-for-others scenario in my mind for just a short while, I was surprised to have my first “natural-feeling” orgasm in many years – and thought that that was exactly the opposite of what I “should” have experienced.

Instantly, though, I had another memory:  a suspicion I’ve had for years that I fell out of favor at some point, which was the reason I was sexually punished by either the cutting I received and/or a hypnotic command that “I would never experience a good, natural orgasm again in my life, except for ‘their’ pleasure.”

This old suspicion felt immediately validated.

This was not a welcome realization by any means, but any awareness feels useful and a step toward healing, so I accept it.

I am fascinated that this unfractured orgasm happened while imagining myself young, presumably without cuts, but with my cuts existing “in reality.”  But it’s not strange when we consider that our energetic bodies may remain uncut, which I believe they do.

And this reminds me of another related experience:  Years ago, in bed before sleeping, at a time I was mourning my wounds, I heard a kind voice suggest I “touch my wounds.”  At first I took it metaphorically and just thought about them.  But the voice suggested I touch them literally.

So I did.  I reached inside and held my finger in the deepest cut, which often brings up feelings of pain and revulsion and just held my finger there while I cried for a while.

Suddenly, my finger was not in a cut, but on a spherical organ, tightly-ribbed as a g-spot normally is.  I lightly stroked my finger back and forth in amazement.  My g-spot was a tight round thing, ribbed for the first time I’d ever experienced it (too prudish in younger days), and I gasped at the realization that it had been recreated, right there and then.  It was a miracle.

Then I said, “I don’t believe it!” and my finger dropped back into the cut, and the ribbed organ disappeared.

I am so sorry I said those doubting words, as I really did – for those moments – know that I’d been healed.  But I’d lost the healing by doubting.

Still, I believe in healing.  Perhaps this exemplifies our need for witnesses in our lives to support us and say, “Yes, I experienced it too!”  Or maybe it was only meant to be temporary for some reason.

In any case, I do believe in healing, and want to encourage others to believe too, even though mine didn’t stay.  It still changed me.  I believe I can experience healing again and am in the midst of some sort of healing now.  Sometimes it just may require time, and a few steps, with our faithful participation along the way.

And sometimes healing doesn’t show (or can’t be felt) in the physical, but is there on the energetic plane – as my body seems to have been whole last night with that imagination of my youthful body, even though I was being used by others.

I’m not sure the entire meaning of the experiences I had last night, except that I know I’m becoming more aware of my programming, the torture I’ve been dealt, and the possibilities for more healing.

Everyone, keep the faith.  Keep track of your mental patterns.  Be creative in finding “work arounds.”  Believe in healing.  I believe we’ll make it.

Re-post: Cosmic Detox and the Crumbling Matrix by Zen Gardner

Sometimes things like this ring true for me.

Other times I am suspicious of people who say, “Nothing to fear.”

I certainly pray the Matrix is crumbling.

by Zen Gardner

Having any weird experiences lately? Good and bad? It appears these vibrational changes and the accompanying wake up are having some freaky consequences. Is the matrix breaking up and releasing its captive energies?

It’s nothing to fear.

Strange things are going to abound as we move into this next phase. Don’t be alarmed, but as the matrix starts to crack it will yield up caged energies of all types, again good and bad. It really is nothing to worry about but if you’re prone to fear it would be helpful to be near stronger people and/or spend extra time reading and watching uplifting information.

continued:  http://www.zengardner.com/cosmic-detox-and-the-crumbling-matrix/

Week One Report on New Healing Approach

No great success with my new approach, but few interesting lessons – two I believe are Most Important (near bottom).

1) Monday, woke with bruise, inside which I thought I saw two dots, but chastised myself that I was imagining things in my natural freckles.  The bruise faded by Thursday, revealing two clear dots, spaced just like the Taser of November 2010.  Are they upping my harassment because I’m posting more, hoping to shut me up?  (It hasn’t worked before.)

2) Wednesday, was given X-Ray report on my back pain:  narrowed disk space between vertebrae, with bone spurs, and displaced C-7.  The crazy thing is that in the last few years, I’ve had my C-2 out-of-whack, and even my C-1 pushed up under my occiput (skull)!  I have no one problem; it’s all random, as though I’ve been thrown around – which might match the scalp soreness.

Some medical person lately (X-ray tech?) asked me whether I’d been in some terrible accident and seemed really surprised when I told her No.

3) Wed/Thurs night, woke from dream of someone whispering something – thought it was me.  Thursday morning, woke from dream that had three parts, neat and in order (sounds like a command structure – maybe given in previous dream?); could only remember a) an emotion, b) something not an emotion, c) a desire to tell someone something.  Interesting.

I think/hope my programming is breaking through to my consciousness.  I’ve been praying for this.

That it’s all vague now is okay.  I don’t believe our situation is simple.  If the wraps come off bit by bit, that is probably for the best.

4) Woke Friday with weird and possibly promising dream.  In a vast building of gray, with people walking around like they do in airports, I was following the principal of a grade school who was trying to hide from me.  Caught up with him, cornered, just looked at him, and he cowered.

I also saw computer-type menus of “commands” in rectangular boxes – and they were all “grayed out” – which is what a menu does when the commands are inoperable!  Great dream.

Also, I knew that the top two lines were different from the commands below; the second line I knew, and the first line was probably the “folder” or title for the commands that followed.  I wonder if the second line was the passcode, and my awareness of the passcodes is working its way to consciousness!

Seems fast, but not really; it’s not here yet, fully.

However, I’ve been exhausted all day, having difficult time focusing.  Needed a nap and still dragged myself out of bed, and am still exhausted.

5) Corresponded with a lot of good folks in blog comments as well as by email – took up most of my week, it seems.  And it was good.

(Have to stop myself from diminishing the importance of this correspondence and other writing – it may be my survival, more important than my livelihood, I think we can agree.  Anyway….)

I have “concluded” (as if anything ever is) that I will keep my spiritual Help to myself and thereby allow others to discover their own connection/s, but want to emphasize that I believe this is the Most Important Task.

We also discussed “energy healing” and “kinesthetic healing” – which I’ll describe simply (though it’s not simple) as getting in touch with our energy bodies, learning how to sense energy disturbances, and then learning how to work with them and heal whatever is there – with help in the beginning, but working toward personal proficiency (as opposed to becoming dependent on someone else).  This I think is the second most important thing.

Our protection is our responsibility and is a constant, active process.  I’ve known that, but as soon as “they” leave me alone, and life gets comfy, I “forget about it,” slack on spiritual protection work, and then something attacks.

I guess this is how some folks can argue that we don’t need to demonize the Other, but call it the Loyal Opposition, as if it’s doing us some good – forcing us awake, like rudely rousing a wounded person to run from a fire.  (Weary sigh.)

Whatever… the lesson of this week is:  

You’re called to warrior work, like it or not.  

Join your tribe on the other dimensions.  

Learn to know yourself energetically.


And now I’ll go watch the old movie, Bound for Glory (David Carradine plays Woody Guthrie) – and get a dose of fearless singing in the face of oppression.

Sometimes I really believe this craziness of our era will split the Earth reality into two different dimensions, one fulfilling the Illuminati dream, and another going toward all the Goodness that is possible, and maybe even more dimensions, a la Michael Talbots Holographic Universe.  Believing this, I try to keep most of my life energy moving toward our visions of a better way to be with each other.

Therefore, tomorrow, I’ll demonstrate cooking in solar ovens at Earth Day.  Planning stuffed red bell peppers.  My other alters will be happy.

And maybe I’ll sing a few songs with my partner on stage.  (He writes great music, and I’m working to get more of it, and better recordings, linked online for him.  I’m grateful for his support!)

Resonating with Love ~


Back in the Light – from another dimension?

I feel as though I’ve come out of a hole, into the light again.

The event that triggered the week of darkness seemed so small:  just a couple of new scoop marks.  But those caused me to look at my last 18 months of anomalous experiences – so much, so traumatic, all at once, that I was truly overwhelmed to see and remember it all.

I felt stunned, trapped, caged, bewildered, overcome, and helpless.  Ready to give up the fight, leave the planet.

And now I’m okay and ready to fight to again.

What does it all mean?  Which is the real reality?

The darkness I experienced (and of which I photographed the results)?  Or this mundane “reality” in which I need to prepare for Earth Day, water the garden, hang out the clothes, and maybe watch the chipping sparrows which have recently shown up in the yard?  Both.

Obviously (to me), we do move between dimensions.  I live in this dimension most of the time, and I also get dragged – like Persephone – into hell, another dimension, for awhile, then released back here.  (Though some of the amnestic stuff happens very much on this dimension too, I assume.)

The multi-dimensionality of our world is the only explanation that makes sense to me.

Thank goodness even physicists say it’s the only way that they can explain the world too!  (It’s nice to have science agree with us sometimes.)

So we all have the challenge of learning to live in both worlds and make sense of it – without any help from the dominant culture.

We’ve not been trained in extra-dimensional negotiations; to the contrary, we’ve been trained to believe it doesn’t exist, so the few of us who have an inkling about the other realms usually don’t have an easy time finding guidance and may think we’re on our own, or may follow some false guru down a crooked path.

But we do have help.  Problem is, our Help is on other realms populated with other beings, some of whom are Not Help.

So we must build our spiritual connections with family in the other dimensions.

When Christ (supposedly) said we would “do all these things and more” [healings, etc], I do believe he meant we’d learn to negotiate the other realms.  And I don’t believe he’d give us that challenge if there was no help.

I even had a “message” once that my most important work was to understand the bridge between these dimensions – in 1994 – 18 years ago!

Jean!  Wake up!  Honor your spiritual messages!  


Time to get serious.  This is not a game.  And it’s not a delusion I should ignore, despite my shrink’s assessment and common New Age advice to only look on the positive side.

It’s time to believe my own experience, and believe the physicists: there are more worlds here than just this one, and we need to learn how to protect ourselves from beings of the other worlds and how to connect with our help there.

Just because it’s difficult doesn’t mean it’s okay to fail.

No slacking.

Plan for Healing – will it work?

I have a new intention to promote my healing – helped along, it seems, by all the experiences I’ve posted about in the last few days and the support I’ve experienced from you all.

I believe this plan is better thought-through than previous intentions – though I’m aware of one major weakness, for which I’ll welcome suggestions and thoughts.

First, I plan to make myself open to my inner wisdom in a mediation walk every day.  (I’ve never yet been consistent with intentions to sit still, so I’ll now go walking and get my exercise while I’m at it.)  How I’ll keep this intention, I’ll explain in the last part.

Second, I plan to keep a single journal – only one, not different ones and random sheets of paper, but one, to represent my unified mind, and to facilitate greater awareness and my alters coming together.

Third, I’ll do self-hypnotherapy or other inner exploration a couple/few times a week, sometimes with my partner’s assistance, and document it.

The fourth aspect – the part that will assure I don’t slack on the other three parts – is to end my isolation by posting my progress for an audience who will be expecting to hear from me.  I hope this will hold me to greater accountability than I’ve ever sustained before.  You’ll recognize – and I’ll recognize – if I’m not doing my work!

But the major flaw, I’m sure most of you will recognize, is the problem of reprogramming.  How do I assure that that doesn’t happen?  Especially when I post my progress.

A naive person would say that I’ll learn my command cues right away and thereafter be protected from them, but we know it’s not that easy.   There are multiple command cues, and each one comes with trauma that – it seems – must be remembered or experienced in some manner for the cue to be recognized.  To recognize all the cues at once would require experiencing all the trauma at once – which no psyche could do – why we remain split.

So, how did I convince myself that this plan would work?  How did I think I’d escape reprogramming?  Was it just denial and hope, with which I pulled myself out of my funk and got back to functioning – and now that I’m functioning again, I have the strength to realize that my plan is seriously flawed?

Maybe.  But let’s think about it.

I’m going to brainstorm all the ways in which I could be protected while I do this work.

1) Don’t leave the house until the work is done.  Don’t answer the door.  Don’t answer the phone.  Don’t go on-line.  But that doesn’t protect one from energetic transmissions, which I have felt, moved away from, felt them as if searching for me, moved again, and went to bed, where they found me again and then, needing to sleep, I just lay in bed and accepted that there was no escape.  So, this seems out (for me).

2) Depend on my spirit help, my cosmic family.  I am ashamed to say that I’ve been inconsistent with my trust in them – probably programmed to be inconsistent.  If I could make this a major part of my work, with reminders surrounding me, with my partner to remind me and pray with me, with a circle of friends supporting me – I think this is the best hope I have.

3) Be my own spiritual protection, a warrior for myself like I’ve never been before, with all the visual and friend reminders I need surrounding me, keeping me constant, not flagging half the time, to overcome whatever programming I have against that.  Well, just because I’ve failed in this and trusting in my Help in the past, doesn’t mean I’ll continue to fail.  If we keep trying, I believe that we can find the key, so I will keep this intention strong also.

4) Move into a protected space?  Someone recommended a Vipassana meditation retreat, which I looked into despite my initial suspicions.  I concluded I’m still suspicious or at least untrusting that the place would be safe.  There’s every possibility that another programmer could be inside, either as staff or another participant.  So, that doesn’t work for me.

5) That reminded of Colin Ross’ healing centers, specifically for MK subjects.  Has anyone heard of anyone going through one?  It would seem that they would know everything about this and be the perfect place – if one had the money.  But, shoot, they could be infiltrated by now as well.  Anyone heard anything?  It seems that, for there being three of their centers in the US, someone would be talking about them if they worked.

6) Any other suggestions?

For now, I’m left with 2 and 3 being my only protection – and I don’t mean “only” in a diminishing way.   Our spiritual help can work miracles, I believe, as can we, when we are fully in our power.

But for me to be fully in my power will take more willpower and intention than I’ve yet rallied for myself in all these years of desiring healing.

Of course, I’ve been mostly alone or not ready this last decade.  And now I have a wonderfully supportive partner and a more complete understanding of the seriousness of this situation, having tried and failed enough, I guess.

So, today’s the first day.  I just returned from my walking meditation.  The details of my prayers I’ll keep to myself, but will post the broader picture of the week at the end of the week.

You all have given me new courage that I’d lost in isolation.  Thank you.  Your gift is huge.  I do believe we could be helping save each others’ lives.

Let’s keep on.

Peace, love, and healing ~


In Denial about My Healing

I think I’ve been just a little naive about how far along I’ve been in my healing.

Just because life seemed okay, and I’d had a number of amazing experiences of alters recognizing each other, and I recognized a controller in the community, and recognized other people to avoid, I thought I was on the way, and doing pretty dang good.

That was the thinking of a fractured part of me, who makes her way fairly well in the day-to-day world.

And sure, she does okay (though she has a hard time recognizing people sometimes).  She does okay because she doesn’t have a very good memory, so with everything so spotty, things feel alright.

So I could go on the radio and talk about healing (as “a person in healing,” I said), but I didn’t have the understanding last week that I have today: that I have lots more healing to do.  What I shared on the radio and outlined in a blog, “Suggestions for Healing from Mind Control,” was a very good foundation, I’d say, to get one strong and supported for the real work ahead.

The realization of the harder work came about when I went through my “anomaly journal” to create a table with dates and categories to tabulate.

I noticed repeating patterns, counted them, and realized some significant trends in my life, which I detailed in my “Summary of 18 Months of MK events” blog  and my “MK Summary” video.

From those summaries, I further summarize:

1) The largest amount of mysterious stuff going on feels very negative.  (Or do I only write down the negative?)

2) Only a small amount of metaphysical stuff going on feels like it supports my soul.  (Or maybe I should make sure that I’m noting this good stuff.)

3) I still forget a lot, and I forget to pray, even though I know it’s a sabotaging alter telling me to wait or quit being so formal or something else dismissive.

4) When I look at it all together, I’m amazed that it makes such a clear pattern – which I failed to see.

What am I to make of this?  

Shame for having been in denial?  Let’s not waste the energy.

Denial has been an important part of my survival, as it is for many.

So maybe our path is to acknowledge just as much as we can, and no more – a little at a time, and more and more, enough to work on, and not too much to overwhelm.

So, here I am, pushing myself, teaching myself, healing myself, breaking into another realization that there is yet more I must do.

What do I want to do?

Recognize and break my command cues.

I don’t know that I’ve followed any commands in at least a year, maybe two – but every bruise on my body could have entailed a command that I just don’t remember.

I don’t know, but I suspect so.  Maybe they’re testing me all the time, and I just don’t notice.

I know I’ll feel more confident about my freedom when I consciously recognize a command cue and don’t obey.

Do we ever know?  How, if we don’t recall amnesic events?

Have others woken up to recognize their cues?

Is everyone more aware than I am?

Or are we all struggling on this level?

Or am I the kindergartener here?

Suggestions for Healing from Mind Control

Recently, I was interviewed by Tami Urbanek (http://webtalkradio.net/shows/journey-for-truth/) about healing from mind control.  (Two interviews should be there, the second specifically about healing, the other about mind control.)

For those without an hour to spend listening, I’d like to outline my suggestions here – after I disclaim any idea that I am fully healed.

I am still very much in healing, though the “events” that might cause problems with normal social functioning and earning a living are very few; sometimes I do experience them, but they’re rare.

Why I think I have anything to offer is this:  Almost everyone in our culture is mind controlled to some degree, but most of it is subtle and seductive and people don’t want to see it; so it requires someone with a more extreme experience to see it clearly, and someone not too totally messed up to be able to talk about it, and someone with “nothing left to lose” to have the guts to talk about it.  Here I am.

What I’ll share here is what I’ve done to get as far as I have – bits and pieces of good advice given me, mixed with things I discovered intuitively and now know was essential to my healing.

1. Use paid counselors (psychiatrists and other therapists) wisely.  They have a lot to offer for help with depression, grief, strengthening “boundaries,” neuroses, relationship issues, assertiveness, etc., but they will be worthless or worse if you are in denial about something outside our culturally- accepted “reality,” such as having been a subject of mind controllers or having experienced “alien” beings, in which case, they’ll encourage your denial.

If you choose to use them, please ask about whether they use a “client-centered approach” with you, and then read about it yourself, so you understand your role, your power in that approach, and then use that role to begin directing your own healing with their help.  If they say they’re doing that, but they’re not, leave.

Remember that your healing work is huge, and an hour or two or three a week will not be enough.  And it will be costly, and insurance is not likely to cover it.  So use them when needed, but plan to do most of your work on your own.

You may also be encouraged to take pharmaceuticals if they try to pass you off to a psychiatrist.  Avoid that if you can!  Psychiatrists have bought into a system that was at the very heart of mind control in the first place.  One of the worst perpetrators, Ewen Cameron, was the President of both the American Psychiatric Institute and the World Psychiatric Institute, and neither of those organizations have disclaimed him.

Having said that, I’ll admit that I once used Zoloft for a short time when depression had me unable to get out of bed and my partner begged me to consider it.  I used a fraction of what was prescribed and discovered that suddenly I could get out of bed again and be hopeful about life and my healing.  One day, I realized the pills were making me “too happy,” so I cut them in half and then took the half dose only every other day, and kept reducing my dose until I was off them and functioning again.  That was back in the mid-90s, and I’ve been prescription-free ever since.

I also saw a psychiatrist last year, mostly to make an official record of my wounds (I was pissed off at the government, and wanted to tell them so).  At the time, I had wanted to apply for disability, as I was having a very hard time functioning at my work.  He called me paranoid and delusional and wanted to put me on pharmaceuticals, which I refused.  However, the mind controllers seemed to let up on me, so maybe it was a good decision.  But it may have also been dangerous, and I don’t recommend it, unless you get a strong intuitive hit to do so.  But avoid their drugs.

I had a friend kill herself a couple years ago when she was trying to remember her childhood abuse and her psychiatrist was over-medicating her.  Her grief had been compounded by the fact that the drugs were making it difficult for her to remember how to operate her computer or even wake up with three alarms going off full blast.  Whether she intended to drive off the highway or just fell asleep at the wheel from her medications, we’ll never know.

Avoid numbing drugs, please.

Another warning about the shrinks:  Even though some I must credit with keeping me alive and sane, others may be mind controllers themselves.  I believe that in the past I have submitted to them and paid them hundreds of dollars.  (Got away before it turned into thousands.)

If you ever distrust them, don’t tell them everything.  If you’re not sure you trust them, pay attention to your body; it knows.

Use the same precautions with support groups and with friends.  This is the beginning of developing some natural human capacity that was nearly destroyed (to a great extent but not totally) by your mind control.  Deciding who to trust is one of your first steps to healing.

2. Take care of your physical body and space.

Eat the healthiest food you can, then learn more about nutrition and continue to improve it as long as you’re alive.  Learn about organic food, raw foods, seaweeds, allergies to wheat, etc., and keep learning more.  Nutritional Healing is an excellent resource (but I take the supplements advice with a grain of salt – they’re expensive; I spend my money on organic food).

Protect your sleep.

Protect yourself from anyone dangerous (physically or emotionally) to you, including family.  Move, if necessary, aiming for peace.

Protect yourself from unnecessary noise.  Enjoy quiet whenever you can.  Radio “news” is so unnecessary.  I used to produce it, and I no longer believe it is necessary for civic functioning; it may be detrimental.  Shut it off, unless you really want to escape your mind; but remember that whatever is in our minds is what we’re needing to work on.

Protect yourself from unnecessary light.  Do you know that unnatural light and too much constant light messes with our minds and bodies?  When I was a hermit, one of the most amazing things I discovered was regaining my circadian rhythms with the slow quieting of light in late day and slow regaining of light each morning.  Now, I’m back in a town, but I use lights very sparingly, and it is soothing.  When I go to others’ homes, constantly lit, it feels weird.

Ditto all the electronic gadgets and radiation in our environment.  I’ve added switches to everything electronic in my home, so everything can be turned off.  It not only saves money, but quiets the energetic environment.

If you feel like being a hermit, as I was, consider it seriously.  I think it was the smartest thing I did for myself.  I went for years without listening to music or anything else on the radio, and was able to indulge in paying attention to myself, my spiritual connections, my dreams, etc.

I thought I would stay a hermit forever, but I returned to society when I was ready.  Leaving was perfect.  Returning was perfect.

Get exercise, get into nature, do yoga (it helps heal the rift in our body-knowing).

Clear your physical space.  If you need, “pretend” you’re aiming to have a “zen” environment – actually, that is a great goal, but just pretend, if you need a push to get started.  Clutter can be an outward manifestation of the disorganization of our minds.

Recruit a friend if you need help.  Read books about it.  Check out Oprah’s videos on it, and get going.  I needed help.  Another friend of mine took years to get started, but she’s 80 percent through sorting all her possessions.  You can do it.

Changing your physical space will remind you you’re on a healing, clarifying journey.  One friend has a beautiful piece of art on her wall that says, “Breathe.”  Use whatever you need to make your home a nurturing space.

Remember to breathe.  I once took a class in breathing!  It un-stuck some memories and freed my body to more properly breathe and provide me oxygen!  Essential.

3. Take care of your emotions.

Accept that your healing will take time.  Our wounding is complicated; MK is like a machine and is probably best removed one piece at a time, though sometimes big sections may be disassembled at once.  Be patient.  We think we want to magically, immediately become “normal” or free, but it might be too much of a shock, and then we’d only be rescued, but not learn anything.

On the other hand, be ready for big changes to happen spontaneously!  Sometimes they do, and then we sit back, in awe, in gratitude, so amazed at the perfection of life, which can change our grief into wisdom and make us so glad we’re here.

Every healing will be different, your own unique path to your own unique wisdom.  Yours will contain its own metaphors, and lead you toward your own soul’s goals, and no one can give you a map.  It’s your own unique process of discovery, which will make you the wise one you’re on the way to becoming.

To get there, be ready to have your worldview shattered.  John Mack calls it “ontological shock” – shock in having everything we thought was real suddenly shift.  It’s okay.  It’s the path of everyone who gains wisdom, to realize that this crazy world is not what we think it is.

Remember that the trip gets better and easier.  There are ups and downs, certainly, but for the most part, the path is upward if you focus there.  Keep your focus on what’s positive.

Know that you are very strong to have gotten as far as you have – even if you’ve considered “opting out.”  So have I.  I have a friend who once said that he didn’t believe that anyone was truly committed to being alive if they hadn’t considered the alternative.

I’ll also admit that many times I have not been fully committed to living, but only staying here because I didn’t want to hurt my children.  But thank goodness, they kept me here!  Eventually, after slogging through deep depression, I remembered the joy, found a purpose, and then discovered it was a profoundly important journey I was on, to discover who I was beneath all the programming and to develop my soul’s wisdom and strength.

Focus on those possibilities.  See yourself as a warrior, destined to break through each block placed before you, and make the development of the necessary warrior skills for each battle your main goal in life, before all else.

Honor that vision.  The world needs more warriors now.  And those of us who’ve seen and experienced the darkness up close and personal, we understand the other side better than anyone.  Even if we don’t know what to do about it now, we are still important resources of information on this planet.  Honor your place.

“Timely retreat is an important skill of the warrior” – or something like that – from The Book of Runes, by Ralph Blum.  Sometimes we’ll be brave; sometimes we’ll take care of ourselves and back off.  Use your intuition, and honor that impulse as well.  It’s a warrior’s skill.

Know you’re not alone.  There are many in this struggle.  At least 20,000 children are estimated to have been used as we were.  One day we’ll be written of in history, like the Tuskeegee victims and radiation-injected children and many, many other victims of our sometimes insane world.

The point?  I’m not sure beyond what I’ve said already.  But just don’t fool yourself that you’re alone.  You’re not.

Consider that your journey is like that of any Hero, questing after something for which the Hero is willing to risk his or her life.  In some cases, it’s literally true, and it has felt that way often enough to me.

Our quest may be essential for our collective destiny and evolution.  Honor it, even when it’s painful.

Figuring things out, even “only” inside our own heads, may be the most important thing we ever do in this life, more important that just about anything, other than caring for our children – or maybe sometimes more important than even that.  I’ve certainly put it ahead of my “retirement,” for instance.

Practice compassion always.  Many “crazy people” may be multiples, not doing as well as we are.

Practicing compassion also extends to yourself.

Select your friends carefully.

Select carefully the physical things you choose to put in your environment.  Recognize what colors please you, what sorts of things, and put away or give away everything else.  Get rid of junk; everything has energy and affects us.  I once burned 20 years worth of journals!  They carried too much bad energy.

Create time to sit quietly every day.

4. Develop your spiritual life with prayer or meditation.

I do believe we have tremendous help in the other dimensions.  They may be angels or gods, but I don’t use those words for them; in fact, I try to avoid using words for them at all, except their names have power.  I feel they are my family, who have cared for me since I was born here.  Sometimes I call them “spirit help,” but lately I’ve begun to call them “my cosmic family” or “cosmic tribe.”

Strengthen whatever connections you have by, at least, “checking in” daily.  Some of us, because of ritual abuse, have serious problems with prayer or petitions or anything ritualistic.  I’ve struggled with it a lot.  But when I check in with my help (cosmic family), I make more consistent progress, have greater peace and confidence that I’m on the right track.

I made a self-hypnosis recording to help me sit still – only 12 minutes long – which directs the listener in a manner that supports self-direction.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvMan6q2L60&list=UUSiwW3DHxWECeTlQoW0PY3Q&index=5&feature=plcp  Others might find it a useful tool.

(I meant to post in the notes below it the entire text of the session, but realize I haven’t yet.  I intend to do that soon.  If I don’t, please remind me.)

Our resistance to ritual is understandable, and I still avoid ritual situations.  Go beyond ritual; communicate from your heart and express your feelings in whatever manner feels true to you.  Sometimes they will be gestures or actions that seem ritualistic, and that’s okay if it comes from your heart.  The point is honest communication.

Beware spiritual imposters.  The spiritual realms are filled with beings, intelligent, ascended, un-evolved, tricksters, and more.  “Discerning the spirits” is an important spiritual exercise – sometimes I think the very most important.

Then learn to protect yourself.  I find that focusing on my own good heart and my positive spiritual contacts is far more successful than putting up shields or protection against the others.

Ask specific questions, and learn to listen.  Ask more questions, if necessary, then act on the answers you’ve been given.

You may want to record the answers to your petitions, to hold yourself accountable and later check the advice in hindsight.

Be open to spontaneous healing and other amazing events.  Make time for them.

Read about spiritual practice, if you feel drawn to it, but let your journey be self-directed.

Use meditation to move your focus away from all the craziness of our world and toward your self-identity:  your values, the goodness in yourself and others, your energy (calming), and your emotions (balanced), and your help.  Know that this is real.

Meditation has been the primary consciousness tool used throughout all cultures known through history; it will support your prayers and your healing.

5. Write to learn and focus.

Keep a journal, at least a brief one, so you can remember what you’ve learned.  It will amaze you as the years go by and give you a sense of direction, responsibility, and accomplishment.

Writing will also assist your own psychotherapy, by helping you recognize what are your issues.

If you need help knowing how to begin, there are books about keeping journals and probably articles online.

I’ve also used audio- and video-recording lately, which may be easier for some.

6. Try self-hypnosis.

I became a certified Transpersonal Hypnotherapist, and though I have not worked with clients for years, I respect the possibilities, but think it is far more important that people learn to do this for themselves.

Carla Emery’s Secret, Don’t Tell: The Encyclopedia of Hypnotism has an excellent section on using self-hypnosis to understand and undo the effects of mind control.

(It also has an excellent summary of CIA mind control and other examples of unethical hypnosis used in Europe and the United States in the last hundred-plus years.  It is an excellent compendium.  If you want to buy it, please buy it from Carla’s widow at http://www.hypnotism.org.  Not Amazon, please.  Addall.com is a great alternative.  Avoid Amazon.)

Keep in mind the primary goal of breaking the amnesic block, disabling the hypnotic key/control, and disabling all programming.

Remember:  Go for the feelings; they are the clue to everything (not the ideas that pop up in the mind, which can be programmed).

Remember:  You don’t have to be afraid of remembering too much; you can control that.  You can ask to remember at whatever pace your inner wise one knows will allow you to heal most swiftly and comfortably.

Techniques can include working alone (with your inner wise one) or with a trusted friend.  Begin with a goal to understand an event, a feeling, or a symbol.  Use your rational mind to debate both sides, but ultimately go for the feeling meaning.

If images are frightening, don’t confront or avoid; use visualization to change it, even if only little by little over time.

Use self-hypnosis to envision yourself in a healed state.

7. Educate yourself with books and videos.

I used to read a great deal about this, then became saturated and quit.  My list may not be the most current, but these are titles I’ve appreciated a great deal and recommend, followed by videos:

DC Hammond, “The Greenbaum Speech” (not real title, but what everyone calls it), online here:  http://www.empty-memories.nl/science/greenbaum.pdf

Colin Ross, CIA Mind Control Doctors and Military Mind Control

Carla Emery, Secret, Don’t Tell

John Mack, Abductions and Passport to the Cosmos – for those with alien experiences  (John Mack has the outlook that things blowing our minds is a necessary experience for opening consciousness; alien cruelty may be accidental, not intentional.)

Ann Diamond, A Certain Girl

Svali, online, both print and video

Peter Levine, Waking the Tiger, Healing Trauma

Alison Miller, Healing the Unimaginable: Treating Ritual Abuse and Mind Control

Check your medical library for literature on multiple personality, now called DID, Dissociative Identity Disorder.
There’s also a lot of literature for the lay person on MPD with a focus on healing, including many biographies, some written by compassionate MD’s.  Very interesting.
The Sleep Room on DVD
The Franklin Scandal – search online for the title and the word video.  It’s a bootleg copy of an almost-final cut of a History Channel video that was squashed before airing.  It is sometimes removed, then replaced elsewhere.
The Manchurian Candidate – both the Frank Sinatra and Denzel Washington versions depict mind control done to adults.
Men Who Stare at Goats – this somewhat-comedy contains elements of truth which explain a few motivations.
Also search online for government mind control, and watch my collection on You Tube/ParadigmSalonVideo:  http://www.youtube.com/user/ParadigmSalonVideo?feature=watch
Final warning:  Too much reading and video-watching may not be healthy.  It’s scary stuff and better not to focus on it too much.  Read/watch just enough to understand.  You can always return later.  Too much of anything can be toxic.
My last words:  Recovering from mind control is a very serious challenge for survival of body and soul.
In more inspiring terms, I see it as a challenge to deeply consider the state of one’s consciousness, because that’s what’s required, and that’s what might be the gift in all this horror.
Almost everyone has been given this challenge, though most got it easier than us.  But we have received more information and have more potential.

Now we just have to do the work, our own unique work to reclaim our minds.

It’s the holiest grail….

And every day I’m grateful.

The struggle to regain consciousness and integration is difficult, but it can be done, and the reward is greater than you can know:  to gain the prize, we must first develop subtle skills, intuition and strength, and that in itself is fantastic:  we deepen our souls like others can’t even imagine.  So keep the faith….


Riding the Balance between Denial and Obsession

“And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”  

— Friedrich Nietzsche

Two weeks ago, I gazed too long into Nietzsche’s abyss, and it gazed back at me.  But after the incapacitating pain and suicidal thoughts, I broke though again into “normalcy” – and better!

The Hard Two Weeks

I’d compiled a summary of my anomalous experiences of the last 18 months – so much it was a severe shock to my psyche – and I hadn’t even remembered all the events.

Before the first week was over, I discovered a new strange bruise on my arm, which I ignored, but later it faded to two little dots, like the Taser burn dots.

That week, I also got X-ray results, indicating numerous degenerative issues with my spine.  I remembered a technician and a doctor surprised that I’ve never been in a serious accident.  I couldn’t tell them that I just wake up in pain some days, with no reason to be hurt, but learn that my C7 or C2 is out of place – different directions on different days, oddly – or that my C1 is shoved up under my occiput (skull) – all for no apparent reason.  I feel like a very poorly-treated lab animal, and often think that is exactly what I am.

Earth Day began horribly.  I’d been trapped, for hours it seemed, in a nightmare in which someone was trying to come in the house, and I kept trying to scream, but could make no sound – for hours.  And another dream of a family member in shock, having had a gruesome accident.  Then an adopted cat woke me by jumping on the bed right in front of my face.

My brain and body were miserable from the hours of trying to scream, but I went to Earth Day and did my best to be cheerful while demonstrating solar ovens.

That night, I journaled that I didn’t see the point in living anymore, and made lists of reasons why leaving is a good idea (#1:  I may be programmed, still, to do things I don’t want to do), and made a list of things I should do before I die.

Suggestion for my epitaph:  “Part of her tried damn hard.”

That night, I prayed to be healed, and implied that if something wasn’t done soon or immediately, I might not believe anymore in any Help (Wow:  contradicting my #1 rule articulated just four days ago!) or any moral reason to keep on living under my circumstances.

The Break-Through

The next morning, Greg asked how I felt (dreading my answer, I’m sure), and I described feeling somewhat free of “the stuff,” but that it was still nearby, and I was simply choosing not to look at it.

Since a friend was coming over to sing, I rallied myself again.  He’s a folk music historian and banjo/guitar player who has performed for his living for decades – and suggested that we see how we sing together, as he’d like to put together a Woody Guthrie show with us.

I love that Woody “spoke truth to power” and thought this would be a wonderful change for me – from written word to song; from lonely, quiet work to singing with friends for an immediate audience; from personal confession to songs for everyone.

To our delight, our singing together was next thing to magical.  Spontaneously, we all decided to take a few songs to Open Mike, where I had the most relaxed and successful performance of my life – and my partners, both professional musicians, were as excited as I was.

This was significant!  My performance fears, I believe, have always been related to my sexual abuse on stage as a child.  So, to feel totally relaxed onstage felt absolutely like a healing.

A local photographer, a regular at these events, posted this photo of me on Facebook (that’s concentration and passion – I was happy and “totally into it”):

The next day, my partner and I spent the afternoon at the river, where I articulated the purpose of this essay:

We in healing must ride a fine balance between denial – which keeps us from awareness and healing – and obsession – which can overcome us with grief.

I haven’t yet done much work around the things that I let into my awareness two weeks ago (except for grieving) – or the things I continue to remember that aren’t even on the list yet, or the years of stuff that preceded this list – but they’re not brushed under the rug.  I will continue to try to understand them and not forget them.

My second point:  My deepest despair is usually followed by a break-through.

I guess my prayer was partly answered – though someone else might suggest that my decision to “not look” (right then) was the cause for the end of my two weeks of horror.  Maybe it’s all a slow process, and my not looking temporarily was part of the answered prayer.


I still have this 18-month list (and more memories surfacing almost daily) and am not sure of my responsibility to it.  I have assumed that I need to look at it, suss out the patterns, draw conclusions, and do something to heal!

Meantime, an acquaintance in town, who shared with me similar stuff about a year ago, has emailed to say he’s remembering things that he thinks I need to know.  Opening another can of worms….  I will probably talk with him, in time, in a safe environment, not alone, when I have the energy.  Whew, this stuff never seems to end.

My last report on healing concluded with these two commitments/suggestions: know your spiritual help and know your energetic body.  Obviously, I tested my relationship with my spiritual Help, and it seems that they responded.  And singing has always been a test of my ease within my energetic body, which also tested positively this week.

Soon, I’ll begin my first energy awareness/healing sessions with a professional and friend.  Hopefully, it’ll help me have strength and clarity to look at that list and know what to do about it.

Ride the balance, everyone.  It’s turbulent sometimes.  But when things settle down, something is usually healed.  It feels like painfully slow going, but now and then a break-through gives us hope for more.

Now, I’m going to sing….

Three New Videos

I’ve just added three new video essays – all shorties – to my YouTube channel (Paradigm Salon Video):   http://www.youtube.com/user/ParadigmSalonVideo?feature=mhee

The first, “Alien Terminology,” 3 minutes long, discusses the terms alienET, and extra-dimensional, and the problems with their usage.

The second, “Aliens and Mind Control,” 7 minutes, gives a quick overview of the evidence for alien involvement in mind control from history, religion, and contemporary testimony.

The third, “Cultural Mind Control,” also 7 minutes, discusses seven ways that our culture is, intrinsically, mind controlling.  Of course, by being aware of these dynamics, by avoiding these elements of culture, one can become more conscious of one’s consciousness!

Since we all have been subject to these consciousness-dampening effects, awareness can only help.

If you’d like to be notified of future short video essays, please subscribe on my YouTube channel.  Thanks!

Empowering “Daily Intentions” Self-Hypnotherapy

Hypnotherapy and mind control do have history together, regardless that the profession often denies it.  Instances of unethical, even criminal, hypnosis have been recorded by US and European courts and medical authorities for over a century.  And CIA mind control researchers published extensively in the field of hypnosis in the 40s and 50s particularly.

So, why would I participate in this profession?  Because the tool of hypnosis is useful, like a knife or a vehicle, and can therefore be empowering.  It can help one understand the depth and power of one’s own consciousness, unconscious, and subconscious.  It can also impress one of the need to protect one’s mind from cultural and other programming – which are ubiquitous.

I also want to explore the potential for using self-hypnosis to protect oneself from cultural and other programming and possibly help one de-program oneself – or work with another to accomplish that.

Therefore, I renewed last week my “Transpersonal Hypnotherapy” (TM) certification.  I had been trained and certified in this spirit-acknowledging modality over six years ago, and I had a very successful first year, helping friends with various issues, for which I received immensely encouraging feedback, such as “This was the most important therapy of my life – and I’ve had lots! – because you helped me get in touch with my Inner Wise One!”

I just created my first new “Daily Intentions” self-hypnosis recording, which I’d like to share with others.  It is non-specific, leaving space for you to fill in your daily intentions, with spirit guidance and protection.  Please read the script (below) and mentally make any adjustments that you need.


Also, I want to strongly encourage anyone considering hypnosis to choose a professional who 1) uses “formal induction,” 2) works with you to create a script with all the elements that work specifically for you, and 3) records your session and lets you take it home immediately.  I’ll write more about these issues in a later post.

Meantime, here is the script for this session I originally created for myself.  Please read it first, and only use the recording (above) if you feel it is in your highest interest.

This is a “Daily Intentions” Self-Hypnosis by Jean Eisenhower.

Do not listen to this recording while driving.  Also know that you are free to accept or reject or amend all suggestions in this recording.

It’s time now to get into a comfortable position.  Uncross your arms and legs, and take a few deep, relaxing breaths.  Invite your spirit family to be with you now.

With each breath, notice how your whole body begins to naturally relax.  Any tension just begins to float away, like mist, and you release your breath in the same soft way.

Remember a time when, after a day of inspired, physical labor, you finally relaxed, allowing yourself to sit or lie down with no demands at all.  Your limbs are gratefully relaxed, and you feel that gratitude throughout your body, grateful for healthful rest.

Focus on your relaxation:  so easy… so natural… becoming more relaxed with each slow, deep breath – connected to your spirit family.

If you happen to relax so much that you fall asleep, you will hear the word “Now” and wake up just enough to focus again intently on your   intentions.

With every word, you are becoming more deeply relaxed and focused, with your mind intent on every aspect of your vision of change, evolution, growth.

Now, as you continue to breathe and relax, you find yourself able to focus intently on the vision you’ve created and for which you’ve asked for help and support of your spirit family.

Any sound besides my voice, such as footsteps, a doorbell, or siren, will only remind you that you can relax even more deeply, unless there is need to do otherwise.  Any unnecessary noises besides my voice will help you to relax more deeply, and more deeply.

Now….  This state of relaxation is so easy, so natural, it is fascinating to you to become more focused on your skill, appreciating that it also feels so good, is so good for you – physically, mentally, and spiritually – and you know that you can return to this state anytime, easily.  It is such a gift to give yourself, to be in such a beautiful state of healing rest, yet focused mentally, alert to your body and mind and your  spirit, all evolving toward your vision.

Now sense now the energy field that surrounds and encompasses your body.  Sense – or imagine – the connection between your body and the highest, most loving intelligence in the cosmos.  Now sense – or imagine – the connection between your body and the Earth.  See yourself as a beautiful energy stream, flowing from the Source of Loving Intelligence to this material plane which is this Earth, and back again.

You are a wonderful flow of intelligent, creative energy from Source to Earth and back.

Now….  the Source of Loving Intelligence shines a special light of protection through you – and around you.  Enjoy this beautiful, comforting, loving light.

And now….  Your spirit family focuses protection on you, freeing you from all old programming or new programming that does not serve your highest purpose.  Only those members of your spirit family who work in your best interest have any ability to direct or encourage your actions.

Now, any attempts by old programming, or any attempts by new programming, even cultural programming, from any source, will only make you aware of it, able to easily reject the commands and better understand your own independence and free will.

All old karma is now released.  You are free to act in accordance with only your own personal intention and the guidance of your spirit family.

Now, to reach the deepest levels of your knowing, we’re going to count from 5 to 1, and when we reach 1, you will be in your   deepest state of relaxation, open to the highest vision you have for yourself, open to the help of your spirit family who loves you and desires to fully support your highest visions.

Now, 5, relax just a little more deeply into your very focused attention, allowing the tiniest bits of unnecessary energy to float to away from you, allowing you to focus more and more your mind more clearly….

4 – You can relax now a little bit more, knowing that you are discovering your very wisest self, very much at ease.

3 – This deep relaxation and focused attention is so fascinating and feels so good, it relaxes you even more to realize, with gratitude, that you have the power to go to this deep, calm place of inner wisdom.

2 – In this deeply relaxed state now, supported by and protected by your spirit family, you have access to infinite wisdom to direct and empower your life for the Highest Good of yourself and others you care for.

1 – You are now in the magic place of intention, vision, and creation.

You have dreams and visions of what is the highest good for your life.  Take a moment now, and describe those dreams as they are now evolving and as you see them taking place in the future for the good of all.

Have confidence that your family, your spirit family, wants to hear your highest dreams, wants you to commit to them yourself with words – even if you might not see the entire picture, even if you would humbly prefer that they make these decisions.

If your spirit family’s perspective is larger and might not quite fit your vision, you are confident that they will lovingly incorporate aspects of your heart’s desire into the plan they know will help you best unfold your dreams, allowing you to see  the larger picture when the time comes and make adaptations.  This is the purpose of your daily meditation time with your spirit family.

Imagine your dreams coming true now.  Invite your spirit family to dialog with you.  Open your heart to receive what they have to offer.

Speak your dreams of accomplishment, power, love, joy, satisfaction, and service to self and others.  We’ll take some time now.

[pause 40 seconds]

You are grateful.

And now, it is time to bring your vision… your knowing… your perfect inspiration… gently, quietly maybe, really into your everyday world.

I will count now from 5 to 1 now to allow you to draw this vision back into tangible reality.

5 – you will remember everything you’ve heard, felt, and experienced here.

4 – you are satisfied, and gratified, to have felt and experienced the reality of your dreams, supported

3 – you are more in touch with the room now – and know that your dreams can be manifest in this world

2 – you are feeling more aware of everything around you, feeling your hands and feet, maybe wiggling them

1 – you are wide   awake again, your consciousness focused on your dreams evolving into our material world, this fantastic place of creation.  You are confident and feeling wonderful!


Being social. I doubt natural humans had a concept for “social.” I believe it just was.

Not today. Now ties of family and tribe are stressed or broken, and we are “civilized,” made part of artificial groups, brought together through economic class, school, and workplace. There are advantages that have come with these changes, for certain individuals as well as to all, but I want to look at on particular cost, to see if it might be mitigated.

My first experience of life, like most everyone I know, was changing pairs of rubber gloved-hands which soon placed me in an “isolette” – isolated from germs, I suppose, but also from my mother.

If that harmed me, I know it also harmed her, and it hurt me again when they kept my children from me for days after their births except every two hours and then just long enough for nursing.

All this, I’m sure, prepared us for the world to come, in which we’d be more easily convinced to sacrifice things of the heart for the needs of industry.

I got extra treatment, but that story is not necessary to make my point today: we’ve all been mind controlled to some degree. Baby boys, uniformly for decades, were sexually mutilated at birth for a totally bogus reason, which might explain the violence, including sexual violence, in our culture, as well as our nation’s ability to raise troops to go so readily to war: we have generations of men who have to prove something, because once they were totally powerless to stop a profound psychic pain, something to do with their manhood, but they can’t quite figure it out, so they need to act it out.

This massive change in human consciousness, called “civilization,” has been resisted throughout time, from the heathens and pagans (literally, heath dwellers and forest dwellers) who were murdered as part of Europe’s economic machinations to move people into the cities to worship in cathedrals, to the Sixties’ recognition of the mind-numbing state of the nuclear family – or was it just the family in front of the TV?

And now the human connection, citified into what we call a “social life” is becoming even less so, and we don’t even mind the descriptor “virtual,” which means, “almost, but not quite.”

Am I satisfied with virtual? Not at all.

And yet, as a writer, it’s my medium.

And I’ve complained about this plenty. I know I’ve lived other lives far more satisfying – connected – than this one. And I don’t blame myself or anyone; it’s just what we have become as a people (directed by whom is the salient question), and some of us have harder experiences than others.

As one of those getting harsher treatment, I believe it’s my role to holler. And I can’t really see that it’s my role to do anything else, even if no one wants to hear. Tough. It’s what pain cells do, and the human body does well to listen to those signals.

Even though I was not raised to be social, I give it the old college try. Each year, more of my parts pull together, and I do better and better at socializing, so much that some people, catching me on a good day, would never believe how hard socializing can be for me at other times.

A successful night out to dinner, for instance, requires the focused attention of I-don’t-know-how-many parts of me, after which I feel an energy lag while all the experiences of the other evening are brought back to the rest of me and revisited, like a girl going home to her sick sister to tell her what she’d missed at the dance.  Of course, the sister has thoughts and feelings about it and and needs to do a little reliving, imagining, or opining – and that takes time. If I’m too busy, I may suffer with a sense of disintegration and must stay home, sometimes, for weeks at a time.

I love my solitude (thankfully), though I use it – ironically – for the even-more removed version of social-ness – the virtual world – so I can rail against our loss of human connection, destroyed in favor of human resource extraction.

I don’t see clearly the way to change things, but I believe if more people would acknowledge that we are mind controlled, and it pervades our culture from birth on, together we have a chance.

Personally, I work in the system when I see a chance to inoculate it with better ideas that might spur change, I invest energy in new ideas like Permaculture, and I invest myself in understanding the other dimensions and gaining facility in communicating with helpful energies.

Since I’m a recovering mind-control subject, everything I do needs to be judged. It’s everyone’s responsibility.  But not only with me – with everyone. We are all mind-controlled to some degree, some of us more insidiously than others.  Mind control is the biggest threat to human consciousness – the foundation of our ability to perceive clearly and act rationally, individually and collectively.

The damage to us has not been an accident, but is an intentional, ubiquitous, historical practice, now refined to great power, and not to be ignored.  It underlies everything.

So I keep yappin’, telling of my experiences, asking others to let me know if they think I should consider other explanations for my perception of reality.

I believe we live in a multi-dimensional cosmos, far more amazing than most of us acknowledge, with a complex history of which human evolution and manipulation are only a chapter, maybe just a footnote, though it’s everything to us.

Sometimes I think we’re like the patient on the table with everyone praying and weeping for us to wake up.  The hospital is in a war zone, but they’ll save those details till we’re more awake.

Other times it seems our cocoon is cracking and about to break open, and it’ll be a beautiful and amazing day.

Often events are a tangle or dance of things greatly opposed.  And it works.

Crashing waves against the cliff.

The bramble and the vine.

Compost and new shoots.

My Story

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

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

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

My Story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* Powerful systems are often brought down from within.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dawn Healing: To Know Myself

About dawn this morning in front of the fire, I discovered a new, simple meditation posture in which I – surprisingly – easily experienced my energy field and felt it connected to other realms.

Then I was disturbed to sense my aura behind me entirely collapsed (interesting, since I’ve had my neck and back out of whack since October 22, and two chiropractors either couldn’t repair it or it slipped back while I was driving home).  I tried, with intention, to repair my crushed aura but couldn’t.

Then I turned my attention to the other-dimensional beings who have contacted me in the past and who feel like guides and/or members of my cosmic tribe.  For some reason, it was easy connecting today, though it hasn’t been for many months.

With the first being, I realized a crippling sense of (it’s embarrassing to say this) unworthiness and sobbed out loud for a moment until she said, “That’s your programming.  You can let it go.”  I understood, felt it deeply, let it go, and then sensed my inner core brighten, expand, and strengthen.

Turning to my second guide or friend, a writer in a past life, we briefly noted writing as a positive consciousness tool which can also become an unnecessary and distracting obsession (she wrote obsessively also in a past life).  We agreed that writing about “everything” might be useful for healing, but publishing “everything” is not.  I’ve known that, but it was good to have it come more fully into my consciousness, and it eased a lot of pressure I’d been feeling.

With two other cosmic connections, I felt and acknowledged that my understanding of them has been twisted by cultural caricatures, as they are “famous” people.  I tried to perceive beyond those caricatures but got the message that we’ll deal with this block on another day.

Silently, I enjoyed the energies around me – except for the back of my aura which still felt crushed.  I tried different intentions and eventually was able to lift away a whole battery of attachments that seemed to be programs, especially programs to keep myself intensely busy (a life-long habit).

Even though I often wrestle long and hard with spiritual challenges, these fell off easily as I expanded my energy field behind me.  Then I scooped them together, saw them melt down, gave them to spirit help to dispose of, and announced to the room, “I replace these programs with my own programs to spend enough time to know myself.”

I sat for a while longer, feeling amazingly well.

Later in the day, I caught up on my sleep.  And in the evening, my partner and I did the most heavenly harmonizing for hours.

I am grateful.

My Million-dollar Question

Yesterday, I posted that I intended to blog only about spiritual power and ignore any dark stuff that intruded into my life.

Before I could post  it, however, I experienced my first obvious harassment of the season, then succumbed to my usual desire to “shine light on the darkness,” and posted two more blogs and notified friends on Facebook before crashing into bed, exhausted.

I was ambivalent, however, about those last two posts, which I explained to my partner (for at least an hour this morning), and it all boils down to this:

Is posting, what I think of as “shining the light in the darkness,” really a courageous favor to all souls trying to understand the often-dark realities of this material plane, or is it merely a personal spiritual error to focus on the dark?  

And now I’ve risen, copied those posts to my computer, and deleted them here.  A waste of time?  No, a process.  I had to think this thing through carefully.

For at least five years in a row, I’ve had weird things – very weird things – happen to me every winter:  manipulative people came into my life, extremely clear proofs of mind control were done to me, obvious and strange marks appeared on my body (bruises, burns and scoops of removed skin), and my home was repeatedly broken into, including broken locks.  Last year, I posted everything (consolidated under the heading at the top of this blog, titled “Harassment”), and it was a very difficult winter.

Recently, I couldn’t help but recognize that “the season” was rolling around again, and I began to wonder if the cycle of weirdness would repeat.  So I decided to only post about spiritual power and see whether I could positively affect, as the common New Age platitudes tell us, the reality of my life.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t prepared well enough for things to get truly crazy that very day, and I was caught off-guard and fell into my usual pattern of writing and publishing to cope and hopefully “protect myself.”

But I’ve slept on it and thought it all through (again), and here’s my plan.

First, even though the weirdness usually involves people I think of as the CIA (well-documented reasons will be found elsewhere), my experiment is not meant to influence them, at least not directly.   My experiment is spiritual.

My renewed intention is to post, as I wrote yesterday, only about spiritual power.

If weird things happen, I’ll write about them in my own journals, but I’ll refrain from posting them for now.  (If anyone wants to be on a mailing list to hear about events as they happen, perhaps I can forward my journals to a few friends who also experience this sort of thing, but I will not spend hours crafting the language carefully for broadcast publication.)

That way I’ll deal with my psychological need to document and be heard by someone, but won’t spend too much time on it.

I’m “testing the spirits” here.  If I turn more of my attention to my spiritual help, will that protect me more than posting about the dark?  That’s my million dollar question restated.

If things don’t change this winter, perhaps I’ll return to posting.

If things do change this winter, I’ll consider it an excellent scientific experiment, proof enough for me, that we can indeed change the nature of our reality by changing the focus of our attention.

We all need badly for this world’s reality to change.  And some of us really, personally need it to change.  Let’s see if I can do it.  Prayers of support welcome.

Nature Spirits Described Through History

“Each person possesses within himself [and herself] the powers and latent faculties necessary to become aware of a multi-dimensional universe.”  — Paracelsus

Rebel Western scientists Paracelsus and Rudolph Steiner were included in a fascinating book published in 1997 by Peter Tompkins, titled The Secret Life of Nature: Living in Harmony with the Hidden World of Nature Spirits from Fairies to Quarks.[1]  

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

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

Paracelsus gathered his data by going straight to his source, nature, in which he steeped himself deeply.  Then he asked non-academicians such as herbalists, faith healers, gypsies, hermits, witches and anyone else who claimed knowledge of the healing arts – aside from doctors – what they knew.  He discovered that their lore had a form and structure which matched his own experiences with intelligent forces in nature.

The rebel alchemist defined these spiritual intelligences as “elementals,” which he divided into beings working in the categories of earth (gnomes), water (sprites), air (sylphs) and fire (salamanders).  They all perform the tasks that we in the “First World” today call “forces of nature” and primitive people and other mystics call spirits of mountain, sea, storm, etc.

If these ideas weren’t radical enough, Paracelsus publicly burned the books of Galen, whose writings had held the course of medicine in a highly rational track for over twelve-hundred years, and the works of Avicenna, a Persian physician whose textbook was a standard in Europe for the previous couple hundred years.  He further scandalized his fellow doctors and academicians by telling them that “each person possesses within himself the powers and latent faculties necessary to become aware of a multi-dimensional universe.”

This radical truth, that humans have the potential to perceive a multi-dimensional universe, we still wrestle with today – at least in First World cultures.

Four hundred years after Paracelsus, in the same Swiss canton of Schwyz, Rudolph Steiner expanded Paracelsus’ work with lectures on the role of nature intelligences in the growth and development of all the kingdoms of nature:  mineral, vegetable, animal, and human.

Steiner was born in 1847, in Croatia, a village so remote that nature was a powerful force for him as a child.  He became highly clairvoyant in his young years and convinced of a world beyond that which his parents could conceive.  To master both worlds and communicate about the one to the other, he trained himself thoroughly at the Technical University of Vienna in physics, mathematics, biology, chemistry, optics, botany, and anatomy, and then gained a doctoral degree in philosophy.  His doctoral thesis was that clairvoyance – the practice of seeing into other realms – would have to be integrated into the scientific approach if “the half-truths of materialism were not to drag the world into a materialist and mechanistic disaster.”  (Tompkins 111)

Steiner continued writing prolifically about the spiritual realms and defining a “spiritual science,” in which nature beings conduct the symphony of life, which includes everything in creation, including humans and their psychic powers.  Everything flows according to patterns passed down by higher intelligent beings – everything a manifestation of the Creation.

According to Steiner, if we ignore the nature beings connected to the higher beings, we cut ourselves off from understanding anything real, including our own health and how to heal.  Alternatively, understanding our relationship to the other realms, Steiner encourages, will assure our individual and collective survival.

Steiner explained that information moves through everything alive, including things Western science defines as “not alive,” such as rocks, rivers and sky.  Communication between the upper and lower worlds, he said, is conveyed by nature beings through leaves, petals, trunks and roots to beings who live underground, sometimes called gnomes, who traverse that realm as freely as we move through air.

Specifically, in spring and summer, plants gather secrets from the “extra-terrestrial” universe and sink them deep into the ground of the Earth, where they are absorbed by the spirits living there.  In autumn and winter, gnomes, in particular, carry in full consciousness the ideas of the cosmos and translate them to every rock and mineral in the earth and to the roots of plants.

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

Today, our culture struggles with the concept of beings and vehicles outside our accepted paradigm, because we’ve been trained, since long before Galen, since Hippocrates, to perceive only the materialistic world, authorized by Science, and to deny all else.

According to Steiner, mankind’s “Fall” came about when we denied our ability to communicate with nature intelligences, which communicate with extra-terrestrial wisdom, and thereby cut off our communication with the highest intelligence of Creation.  Our destiny, though, he claimed, was to expand our minds beyond contact with nature beings, to the intelligences above them, after which we would begin to take responsibility for managing and designing material life on this plane.

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

Arrogantly, Western science today labels “primitive” any contemporary or ancient culture which contends that spirits exist throughout the natural world and can communicate with humans.  So when Harvard psychiatrist John E. Mack, working with experiencers of alien contact, dared to consider the worldviews of shamans from the jungles of Africa and rainforests of South America to help him understand a phenomenon that had shattered his worldview, he was met with formidable hostility and ridicule, particularly from Harvard.  The shamans, on the other hand, told him, “We were wondering when you white people would begin to get it.”

As someone who has experienced the profoundly destructive ways of science (as a CIA mind control subject as a child) and who has also experienced the healing powers of nature in a “shamanic initiation” (which also included apparently alien contact), I can’t help but ask the next hottest contemporary questions:  What about the stuff we call evil?  Are some of the spiritual hierarchies not working for our best interests?  Are some of the aliens “good guys” and others “bad guys”?

My inclination for the last few years has been to assume that alien beings are trans-dimensional (aka spiritual) beings, some of them working in our best interests, and some of them seeming to work against us.  And it’s our very important work today to discern which is which.

How they look might not help with discernment.  According to Paracelsus and Steiner, and all the mystics they consulted and who’ve followed them through the centuries, these beings can take any form they want, often choosing a pattern pre-existing in the mind of the person who views them.

I’ve always understood that, so I was keenly interested to see what else Rudolph Steiner had to say on this key question of discernment.  Like many other spiritual philosophers, Steiner refused to categorize things we call evil as evil.  Rather, he said, certain hierarchies of intelligence above us, called angels in the Western world, devas in the Hindu, chose to deviate from the program of perfection by which they’d always been limited and allow themselves free will and thereby allow humans this possibility too.  It opened up transformative possibilities for Creation, but with a risk.  And we’ve seen this risk played out nearly to completion, it seems, in today’s world of nuclear bombs, multiple wars, ongoing slavery, global child sex industries, mind control, global economic thievery, and more.

It is into this world, beginning quite clearly with the advent of atomic bombs, that these apparently trans-dimensional vehicles and beings have suddenly come in great numbers into human awareness.  The question in my mind has always been:  Are they responding to the horrors we’ve unleashed, hoping to mitigate or correct them, or are they orchestrating them?

The execution of wide-spread death, according to the rational Western mind, might be depicted as the ultimate evil.  But death, to Steiner’s mind, is only a recycling of soul back to higher life forms, providing the souls powerful instruction, with no need to name anything evil.

The shamans who came to Mack were also ambivalent about the nature of ET beings.  For instance, the mantindane (African name for grays) were often seen as unwelcome “troublemakers,” but essential for waking up an individual in a shamanic initiation.  So, if we also can accept a less polarizing view of trouble, death, and suffering, we might also perceive our contemporary experience as Mack did:  a “wake-up call to humanity,” or a “consciousness program for the spiritually impaired.”

Many cultures throughout time have told stories of spiritual beings who were liars or “tricksters” – the Celtic Loki, Native American Heyoka, Greek Cupid.  These spirits and all the rest, according to the Greek Dionysus, student of Plato, fill space in “realm upon realm.”  One of Dionysus’ students, Paul of Tarsus, told his followers, and it is now recorded in the New Testament, “You must learn to discern the spirits.”

Steiner might say we must learn to discern the subtle aspects of nature and science, those hidden since Hippocrates’ words were deemed the only truth, with all else relegated to old wives’ tales and superstition:  we must learn to discern the intelligences manifesting in and thereby creating and maintaining every aspect of life from storms to daisies to human life with its glories of music and dance and art and love and wars and all else – far too much intelligence to ignore.

Today, as we watch the world unfold in dramas few want to believe, strange shapes appear in they sky, change colors and morph into different forms.  People from every walk of life, from Peruvian tribes to American Presidents, pilots, police officers and movie stars, report things we’ve come to call flying saucers and alien beings.

Hippocrates put a lid on this for well over two millennia, and now that lid just won’t stay down.  Gardeners in Findhorn have been talking to devas for decades, churches spring up around old teachings of Swedenborg and Blavatsky, books by Blake and Goethe enjoy a renaissance, and Christians reconsider Jesus’ response to his followers amazement at his miracles, that we would “do all these things and more.”

Multi-dimensional reality is forcing itself into the minds of Earth inhabitants, perhaps contrary to the wishes of those in Earthly “rational” structures of power.  Books like The Secret Life of Nature help blow the lid off things, along with those beings we call alien.

Are some of the aliens in league with structures of power, such as our governments?  Undoubtedly.  Are others trying to wake us out of our educated and entertained enchantment?  I’m sure of this also.

But it’s far more nuanced than a simple good-versus-evil drama.  Our personal, spiritual and collective work is to discern these elements – elemental beings, if you will, and all the dynamics between them, between them and us, around us and including us.  Whether they are tricksters and liars, or purely helpers, or both, they challenge us to wake up, discern, and dodge or dance with them into our next evolution.

[1] Tompkins is also author of the #1 New York Times Bestseller The Secret Life of Plants.

Favorite Quote From Rob Brezny

From Pronoia is the Antidote for Paranoia (the next-to-the-last passage in my book):

This is a perfect moment…because you and I are waking up from our sleepwalking, thumbsucking, dunb-clucking collusion with the masters of illusion and destruction.  Thanks to them, from whom the painful blessings flow, we are waking up….

As heaven and earth come together, as the dreamtime and daytime merge, we register the shockingly exhilarating fact that we are in charge of creating a brand new world….

As we stand on this brink,as we dance on this verge, we can’t let the ruling fools of the dying world sustain their curses. We have to rise up and fight their insane logic; defy, resist, and prevent their tragic magic; unleash our sacred rage and supercharge it….

In the new world we’re gestating, we need to be suffused with lusty compassion and ecstatic duty, ingenious love and insurrectionary beauty.

Inspiration from Carlos Castaneda

Last night I was both blown away and comforted by these words,
which cast the unsettling (and sometimes terrifying) fact
of not being able to remember what has happened
– when it is clear something happened
into a context of ancient wisdom teaching
(though it might also have been highjacked,
or highjacking is often attempted,
by modern government technologies):

“Don Juan explained that in a state of heightened awareness
apprentices can behave almost as naturally as in everyday life,
but can bring their minds to focus on anything
with uncommon force and clarity.

“Yet, an inherent quality of heightened awareness is that
it is not susceptible to normal recall.
What transpires in such a state becomes part of
the apprentice’s everyday awareness
only through a staggering effort of recovery.”
[my emphasis]

I know that “staggering effort!”
Thanks, Carlos.

He goes on to eventually quote Don Juan:
“Every time I entered into heightened awareness
I could not cease marveling at the difference between my two sides.
I always felt as if a veil had been lifted from my eyes,
as if I had been blind before and now I could see.

“The freedom, the sheer joy that used to possess me on those occasions cannot be compared with anything else I have ever experienced.
Yet at the same time,
there was a frightening feeling of sadness and longing
that went hand in hand with that freedom and joy.

“Don Juan had told me that there is no completeness
without sadness and longing,
for without them there is no sobriety, no kindness.
Wisdom without kindness, he said,
and knowledge without sobriety are useless.”

What it feels like to heal “multiple personalities”

It’s pretty trippy.

First, there was the recognition that I was multiple (though I believe everyone is, to some degree, so this “diagnosis” is relatively benign, though still something interesting to work with, to deepen one’s self-understanding). That came to me the summer of 1994, the evening of the last day of my first year in the Creative Writing Master of Fine Arts program at the University of Arizona. I’d only gone back to school because I needed the income that student loans could provide, because I couldn’t work after my son had been diagnosed with cancer, my husband and I agreed to divorce, I’d been designated the one to move – with my teenage children, who became very bitter – my health insurance company had declared bankruptcy, and my daughter had acted hatefully to me for the first time ever, calling me selfish for making them move.

I’d wanted to work. I loved my work, and the business owner (I was his only employee) had just offered me the plum of a lifetime: ownership of his $3-4 million business – 200 birdwatching tours every year to every continent, including Antarctica – for a percentage of profits, no money down. I felt perfectly capable of taking it, though not sure I wanted to be tied down to any business, regardless of how attractive it was. I’d been written up along with three other women a few years previous as a Supermom – I didn’t recommend it – in a major Tucson, Arizona, newspaper. But now I couldn’t work. I went to work, I stayed all day, but noticed my energy was extremely slow, and then I began waking up at my desk, wondering why I was looking at the wall sideways and realized I’d laid my head down on my desk, but didn’t recall it. And this happened day after day.

It never occurred to me to ask for help. A couple months earlier, I’d won a literary prize for a short story I’d written and had been invited by one of the judges into the University of Arizona’s writing program. For the first time, I considered going back to school and realized it would be perfect: Someone would “pay” me to write and read, both of which would be excellent therapy that I might not be able to afford otherwise. I worried about taking my fragile self into the university environment, but didn’t see any choice.

I had my nervous breakdown before a callous young, witty audience. Humbling beyond belief.

I won’t describe the first year. I wrote about it in RattleSnake Fire. But the night after my last class of the year, an evening class that ended at nine, I rode home through the hot Tucson summer air, coasting downhill toward the dry Rio Santa Cruz, my path occasionally sloping down through a wash where the cold air layered, and I enjoyed the exhilaration of the coolness on my sweaty skin and the physicality of pushing on pedals and making myself move!

The semester was done, and it had been damn hard, all that humiliation, but I’d borne it with dignity, I thought, and it was only half my fault, the difficulty of it all; the rest was the other students’ and their age – and even that wasn’t their fault. This was just one of those accidents of nature: culture had created a lifestyle including the pressure of Supermoms (not sustainable), which cripples people like myself, we are hurt, and everyone has been isolated, communities fractured, no one left able to respond, and humor is one way of dealing, sometimes hurting others’ feelings, or worse, and it happens all around us all the time. This had been the clear, stark, in-my-face reality everyday, and I was the one in the net, laughed at. Because my children needed me, I didn’t kill myself.

Two weeks earlier, I’d come home one afternoon, dropped my backpack onto my bed, and saw a vision of myself from inside, as if I were small and standing inside a big, dark human-shaped barn old enough to have gaps of between the boards which let in the only light. I was amazed and thought, “This thing’s not standing much longer.” Then, a support beam hidden in the darkness dropped from its position, and I knew the barn was coming down soon.

“Okay,” I answered, “but let me get through these last two weeks of school.” The crazy instabilities I’d been experiencing in ever quickening cycles suddenly stopped, and I finished the semester in relative peace.

And now it was over. I had the entire summer to myself, essentially: I would take an independent study, meaning I could continue to get student loans while writing whatever I wanted on whatever schedule suited me.

The idea of three whole months with nothing to do but the writing I’d do anyway was astounding, and I realized this was the first time in my life since my childhood that I didn’t have a schedule. Things had been nearly bursting my seams, and now I’d have time to let them out, thoughtfully, and have time to recover from whatever emotion I was sure would flow. What a gift. Time. I’d never had it in my life.

The summer night was beautiful on my skin and in my lungs as I cruised down side streets and wound along bike paths toward our little apartment complex, our new home. Historic, brick, with the Virgen de Guadalupe painted on the wall near the front gate into the courtyard, where I lived in a little one-room efficiency with a fig tree at my front door. I’d long loved fig trees, since I sat in one at my grandmother’s house and felt truly loved in its arms. So this tree was a sign of good things, and they’d had been happening, slowly. For one, my son’s cancer was gone.

My kids, sixteen and seventeen, each had their own un-rehabilitated apartment, illegal and without water, but they loved being on their own, and they could come to my place to use the kitchen and bathroom, and sometimes we’d have meals together.

Exhilarated by all the goodness, the most beautiful evening weather in Tucson, my sweet little apartment, and the promise of an empty summer, I eagerly set up my writing situation: My writing chair and matching ottoman I’d purchased for sixty dollars (an extravagant amount) at a thrift store many years earlier. The cream and gold brocade was frail, just beginning to pull apart in a few places, but still looked nice. Beside the chair, I placed a cup of hot herbal tea and a quart jar of pure, room-temperature water, along with my journal, pens, pipe and smoking mix, and the little lap desk I’d bought for my son, thinking he’d enjoy writing in bed (“Oh, Mom…” he’d said scornfully, either because he thought it was truly a dorky idea or else it was the little blue teddy bears covering the pellet-filled pillow which made the desk comfortable on the lap.) Maybe I also poured a little wine, or got myself a snack. But I remember thinking that everything was perfect. And after all I’d been through in the last year, I was newly happy about living, mostly happy that this was the first free moment of what would be three whole months of nothing to do, an unbelievable, amazing gift, for which I was infinitely grateful.

Just as some might sit down to indulge in a delectable meal, I paused before sitting down and admired the picture: The reading lamp shown on the brocade, everything I might need right beside me. The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot was there – delicious reading, though at times it bent my mind. I’d begin the evening by reading and see what writing was triggered.

My psychotherapist had told me that I really needed to practice making purchases for myself, because I’d never done it. I’d only acquired things that were cheap or free, except for gifts I gave to others. With his urging, I’d bought myself an India print bed spread in blues, purples and greens, very mystical, and the spread in the uneven glow of my reading lamp caused an upwelling of love and gratitude to flow through my body. Life was good.

Sitting down, I faced the front wall, beyond which was my Black Mission fig, and studied up near the ceiling the crumbling brick wall exposed where plaster had fallen away. The colors were beautiful.

Eventually, I read. Fascinated, pages turned for a while until I hit a sentence that confused me – not unusual, as this was material that sometimes needed to be read twice, but this was confusing in a different way. Something was wrong. I had read the sentence a few times, and I had no idea what I’d read. It was as if someone had removed a snippet of my life completely, erased every word and concept that had flowed. I read it again. Again, I could remember nothing. Fully conscious. And boggled. I’m sure I shook my head. And when it happened again, I realized I had to think of some way to trick myself to get around whatever was going on. I read the sentence aloud, and then remembered.

The sentence mentioned that one famous clinician of people with Multiple Personality Disorder believed that many of them looked far younger than their ages. Immediately, I knew why I’d gone blank. I was often mistaken to be twenty years younger than I was. As for being a multiple, that was freakish, abhorrent, and I rejected it, but also recognized that something else inside was speaking up, saying, “Yes, we are….”

In the moment that I yielded, accepted that maybe it could be true, and a reasonable person should look at the evidence and just consider it, it was as if a lifetime dis-ease had shifted, giving promise of relief. I remembered times of amnesia, and a childhood friend who’d screamed at me that I was a “split personality.”

“This would explain a lot of things,” I thought.  Suddenly, I felt my body ripple as if made of water with a slight electric charge, then the sensation was gone and I felt normal again, except that it seemed my body had been rewired on the cellular level, and energy flowed through me in the most perfect patterns of harmony and health.

I was also aware of the presence of a woman in me, or rather like a three-dimensional covering over my skin, holding all my parts together; and knew that she was the one who would oversee my reintegration. The words, “the integrating woman” came to mind. I couldn’t see her, though, as I “saw” from my left, while she was looking slightly to the right. Somehow, I felt hopeful.

The next morning, I went to the University Medical Library and spent a few hours reviewing all the literature on MPD. When I walked out the door, I actually felt happy. Rather than insanity and hopeless cases (I was ready to be the famous exception), I read that MPD is often caused by childhood trauma (my experience), is often accompanied by high intelligence (my experience), and is considered by some to be fairly common; some researchers even believe that everyone is multiple to some degree. Finally, I learned that, unlike most mental illnesses, once diagnosed, it is relatively easy to cure.

I strode out of the hospital, buoyant at the promise of new life after I healed my alters.

To be continued….

Life is a Series of Breakthroughs

I’ve often said, “Life is nothing if not a series of breakthroughs.”

Just hours after writing my last post, telling friends it was here and that I needed help, I had yet another major breakthrough of my life.

Computer turned off, I sat on my sofa, first feeling alone, but trusting, then imagined streams of light stretching out across the nation between myself and whomever might be praying for me.  And realized that we are a powerful network for each other!

Over these last decades, I’ve had many conscious experiences of my Spirit Help, which have amazed me, changed me, and made me think I’d never feel disconnected from them.  Yet, often I have felt disconnected, unable to find my way back.  I’ve often imagined my Spirit Help “out there,” unwilling or unable – perhaps prevented by spiritual adversaries – to come in close and connect with me again.

After my post, with you in support, I experienced my Spirit Help suddenly close again, actually inside my aura, inside my heart, in various places around me, depending on who they are.  Yeshua I felt literally in my heart.  Other powerful beings in his command reside elsewhere around me.  I spent quite awhile acknowledging everyone and checking in with what exactly is our relationship and how they are here to assist me.

When I lay in bed that night to sleep, surrounded by my cosmic tribe, our auras co-mingling comfortably, we seemed like a litter of spirit kittens, content, warm, fed, cuddling in ultimate comfort and security.  In “reality” (whatever that is!), it may be more true that I am like the single kitten in the comfort of many mothers, but in any case, I slept with a very sweet sense of security I’ve not often felt.  And it has stayed with me all week.  So, thank you, thank you, thank you all.

I’ve continued to pray nightly for all of you who wrote to say you were praying for me.  I love the image of our overlapping prayers wrapping light around our world as I drift into the Dreamtime.

I am Alive Today Because…

I am alive today because someone wrote a book about the horrors they went through as a child.  It let me know I was not alone, so I was able to gather the will to go on living.

Should that artwork not have existed, I would not be here, or I’d be a writhing, drugged mess in a mental ward.  I thank God for the writer who told a story that few others wanted to hear.

Now I’m on the other side, hearing similar stories from people who’ve read my book.  I only allowed myself to write it after I knew I had a fuller picture, beyond the fear, including hope for healing; but in the middle, it’s not “pretty.”

When some claim that the highest or only aspiration of Art is sublime beauty, I think of Neils Bohr who  said, “The opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth” – giving me permission to tell my less-than-pretty stories.  Thanks for listening.

Chapter 4: Minister’s Wife

In college, I had been powerfully persuaded to join a sorority, and couldn’t understand why they would want me.  Eventually, I’d joined, then de-activated, and felt lost my sophomore year.

On a spiritual quest, I attended a Christian gathering and was astounded to learn that Jesus, icon of mainstream America, had spoken against doctrinarism, materialism, sexism, racism, violence, and had thrown over the money changers’ tables.  Even though the words embarrassed me, I “gave my heart” to him – in secret.  I didn’t like to make a scene.

Then I dropped out of college, and hitchhiked across the country with the first man I found who thought it was a good idea.  I felt I had to “get away.”

When our money was gone, in Bradenton, Florida, I took a job at McDonalds, and my boyfriend went to work at the Tropicana juice factory.  Terrifically depressed, at home alone one day with no one but the roaches and TV for company, I knelt before a chair and prayed for direction, promising God that whatever He said, whether I liked it or not, I would do it, if only I had direction.  I’d only expected a vague notion, but to my great surprise, an oval light appeared in the room, and I heard a voice say That’s it – and I understood that “it,” my promise to follow Guidance, was key.

Having seen very few independent women in my life, I didn’t know how to follow anyone but a man, and would find God hard to hear.  Afraid to be alone, I married the boy-man with whom I was living and traveling, and we eventually moved to Phoenix, Arizona, to be somewhat near my parents.

The night before my son’s birth, I felt his spirit come into me, a beautiful light exploding with gentle sparks of fine gold.  My mother was visiting and, when I told her, she insisted we go to the hospital.  We did and, even though I told the doctors the feeling was wonderful, they sent me home with antacid.

The birth was nearly a death for both of us, thanks to the doctor who induced my labor.  I was not as far along in my pregnancy as the doctors had thought, so my pelvic bones had not loosened, and my baby became stuck.  Thinking they were going to lose us, they used a vacuum extractor to pull him through.  I as unable to ask questions because of the mask pumping drugs into me, so was left to my own conclusions:  I’d heard that vacuum extractors were used for abortions.  I was shocked when they showed me a living baby, though he was in a coma for thirty minutes.

On a trip to Ohio, when Michael was six months old and sitting on my lap, my husband drove very slowly in an icy blizzard with two lanes of traffic crawling and stopping.  Once, after sitting in another vehicle’s exhaust, I asked him next time to stop farther back.  Irritated at being told how to drive, he stopped fifty yards back, and smirked.  We were both astounded when, seconds later, a speeding, out-of-control tractor-trailer rig used that space to pull in front of us and exit the highway, where otherwise there’d have been a massive death scene.

My husband announced one day that he felt called to the ministry.  First shocked, I was later embarrassed to find myself in the role of a minister’s wife.  I still loved the “counter culture” and believed that Jesus came to show us how to not be “of this world,” so I was delighted we had found the “hippie church” in downtown Phoenix.  I didn’t want to create our own church, but my husband never asked me.

While playing my role on Sundays, during the week I suffered from nightmares of forgetting my baby in bizarre places and other events even more upsetting.  When Mormon missionaries came to the door, I decided to invite them in to converse, and  soon had nightmares about them.

Within the year, I was able to quit playing “minister’s wife,” as my husband felt called to seminary, in Louisville, Kentucky.

There, my husband found us a job as house parents at Spring Meadows Children’s Home.  While he spent long days at school, I stayed home with our two children, one- and two-years old, and six to eight teenage girls with a variety of emotional issues.   “We” were on duty six days a week, twenty-four hours a day, but it was mostly my work.

One afternoon, working with the girls in the kitchen, I suddenly felt called to find Michael, and walked immediately to a chair in an unused room of the 4,000-square-foot house, and found him choking on a marble.  Without thinking, I swung my arm gently and connected with the center of his back.  A marble popped out, and he looked up, unconcerned, so I figured he’d just begun to choke and hadn’t had time to become afraid.

In Louisville, we discovered a “radical Christian” Church (a common term in the seventies), where the congregation welcomed gays and lesbians, and recycled, ate healthy food, and marched for peace.  Friendships had been rare for me, as I’d allowed myself to become isolated in the housewife role, so these relationships were nourishing and important.  At a Halloween party, a man asked me to paint a tree on his forehead, and I did, adding the roots beneath the tree, so it formed a beautiful circular design – and I felt part of something absolutely sacred.

“We” should never have been given that houseparent job, which turned into my job – six days a week, twenty-four hours a day, with two children of my own to care for.  Within three months, I was a nervous wreck.  After two girls climbed out a window one night during a snow storm, intending to run away, I began having nightmares and woke up one night dry-retching.  Thankfully, the girls had been brought back by the police, very cold, but safe.  I understood their frustrations and desire to be “away,” maybe get married and thereby become free of the orphanage system. They needed so much more than the system or I could ever give them.

As soon as my husband finished his first year, he quit seminary, blaming me for lack of support.  Interested in “intentional community,” we followed some other Christian friends to the Catholic ecumenical community called New Jerusalem, in Saint Bernard’s Parish in Cincinnati, Ohio.  There I started a Third World craft market at Christmastime and a year-round children’s clothing exchange open to the neighboring, more economically-oppressed Parish.

I discovered a community of peace activists, with whom I once leafleted outside Senator Neil Armstrong’s office.  A man, looking very much like the Monopoly banker, refused my leaflet and asked me with a sneer and strong stare, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

At first I was shocked, but after pondering his response to my anti-nuclear material, I decided I understood:  he believed the television – it wasn’t his fault.  And with that was born a vision:  One day, if I were lucky, I’d work to put a different sort of programming on TV.

A local peace group invited me to help organize a five-state peace conference.  Others had planned conferences before and directed my work, but I managed the promotions, poster and mailing design, and registration.  I worked enthusiastically, and the keynote speaker Sidney Lens said it was “the best organized conference” he’d ever been to.  Thrilled at the peace-dove pin I was given when it was over, I thought it a wonderful possibility that I might make activism my career.

Eventually we moved back to Arizona, and my husband found a church he liked, though I absolutely did not.  The people refused to discuss things like nuclear power, ethical investments, or Jesus’ teachings on materialism, racism or sexism.  I attempted to converse on these subjects occasionally, politely, of course, but was told that everyone thought I was making trouble.  Unfortunately, these were my only acquaintances when I decided I needed to divorce my husband.

When he told everyone that the divorce was my idea, the entire church quit speaking to me, though I’d also quit attending.  Soon he told me (truthfully or not, I don’t know) that a number of people were willing to testify in court that he was the better parent, and he said that the most dominant member of the church – who happened to be my doctor – would testify that I was schizophrenic!  He was demanding full custody of our children. I had imagined getting a small rental in town and us sharing custody in a kind and equitable manner.

Maybe the doctor hadn’t really said that.  I’d never been diagnosed with anything worse than depression.  My husband’s mother, on the other hand, had been hospitalized at least twice, he’d told me, for some indeterminate mental illness.  I’d later learn that this is called “projection,” to accuse another of what you fear in yourself.

But I was alone, young, emotionally abused for nearly a decade, physically abused twice (but had forgiven him), and lacking any experience in standing up for myself.  I chose not to defend my sanity in court, worrying thatthose church members might actually intend to lie about me.  And their testimony might be believed and recorded in legal judgments.

I might have gone to my family for financial help to actually defend my situation, but they thought I should stay married.  As my father put it, “You make your bed, you lie in it.”

My husband had promised to return joint custody to me after I’d gotten a college degree and could support myself.  So I bent to the manipulations, and gave him full custody of our children.  I would seethe at Christians for decades after that, and wrote off God and Jesus for a long while too.

After six months without my kids, I woke up as if from a stupor and realized the enormity of what I’d done.  When I asked my ex for mediation counseling to discuss what would be best for the children, he agreed to attend, then cancelled appointment after appointment until one day I slammed the phone into the wall and screamed as I’d never screamed before or since that I would sue him.  He promptly left the state.

I talked to a half-dozen lawyers and learned the hard truth about suing across state lines for custodial rights if you aren’t the one in possession.  I could have followed them, but he threatened to flee the country with our children if I tried to follow.  “I’ll go to Ohio – or New Zealand,” he said, “and you’ll never see them again.”

I moved to Tucson, and missed two precious years of my babies’ young childhood, and they missed me, as my husband left them with whatever woman was willing to care for them while he went to school, and at least one who only did because someone had to – she called me and told me.

Chapter 2: Vibrations Return

Chapter 2 of RattleSnake Fire, by Jean Eisenhower

March, 2004.  Less than two years after the Judi Bari trial, while my boyfriend, Asante, worked late one night, I decided to sleep in the bedroom we’d created in the greenhouse/bathhouse.  Loud metallic rattling roused me and, in my first struggle toward wakefulness, I thought a washing machine was out of balance with a heavy load – then I woke fully and remembered where I was and that I didn’t have a washing machine, or even electricity in that building.

A metal bed frame stored under my bed was clanking on the cement floor, and the whole bed and I were vibrating too.  (Arizona hasn’t had an earthquake in over one-hundred years, and no one ever mentioned any tremblers.)  No sooner had my brain registered the shock of this, than a different recognition dawned:  Oh, this.  And then these words: It doesn’t make any sense, therefore there’s no need to think about it.  Might as well go to sleep.  And I did.  Later I’d wonder if it had been a command, but I then took it as my idea.  Curling my arms comfortably around my pillow, anticipating something familiar and good, I lay my head down and slipped away.

The next morning, I wondered if it was a repeat of the vibrations at the FBI trial.  There, too, they had felt familiar.  But why would it be the FBI now? I wasn’t doing any more environmental work, and I’d never been as successful as others anyway.

Asante had moved his teepees onto my land and become my partner about a year previous and was very familiar with the FBI, having been a radical activist since he was a teen. After Judi’s bombing, her lawyer heard that the FBI was holding another “bomb school” in Asante’s county, where he was stopping a great many timber sales, so that the lawyer worried that his life might also be in danger.  He and his girlfriend had gone on a whirlwind tour, telling everyone about their work, about Judi, and about the newly planned bomb school.  Either they were never in danger, or their tour worked.  We discussed my experience over breakfast, coming to no conclusion.

Rising from the table, I walked to one of my bookcases and, without any conscious intent, pulled Whitley Strieber’s Communion off the shelf.  I’d read it a couple years previously, telling myself I only wanted to see what the rest of our culture had found so intriguing in this #1 New York Times Best-Seller.  I’d found the book credible, and was happy it had “nothing to do with me.”  My life had enough weirdness in it.

Though I had other work to do, I took the book and sat on the couch intending to spend “just a little time” reviewing it, for no particular (conscious) reason, other than to take my mind off things.

Within a few pages, Strieber described sensing himself vibrating before the “visitors” abducted him.  I sank back in the sofa with my mouth open, then with a quavering voice I told Asante that I might have just experienced … (I paused, too embarrassed to say the words) what people call … (another pause – I hated this – Go ahead, just say it – I prodded myself, and inside I withered with humiliation) “an alien abduction!” spitting out the words.  I wasn’t sure I’d rather it be feds.  At least their harassment wasn’t something that would make all my friends think I was wacky.

For months, I continued to have similar experiences (told to nobody but Asante), a few each week, many beginning shortly after I drifted off, and others happening in the middle of the night.

One of those earliest events, on March 19, 2004, I went to bed earlier than Asante again and, after I’d arranged my pillow and was just beginning to relax on my back, I was shocked alert by a laser-like light that seemed to hit me between my eyebrows – so bright, I saw it through my closed eyelids.

Wanting an assuring explanation, I scrambled for one, and thought, Lightning? But I’d sensed being hit directly between the eyebrows, and memory had it coming at a precise angle, not through the sliding glass door, where I might convince myself it had been lightning, but through the eave and wall above and to the left of the door.  My memory was also clear that it had been circular, about a pencil’s width, with a precise, not fuzzy, perimeter.  Like a laser.

Suddenly I realized I was immobilized, which filled me with utter terror.  I tried to pray for protection, but my speech center, including the part of my brain that creates silent speech, was mostly incapacitated.  I was able to drag the name Jeeeeeee—-zzzzzuhz through my brain, but my mind seemed frozen and unable to remember the name of any other helping spirit I had, which added to my fear.  I could accept my body immobilized – but my mind?!  That provoked a terror unimagined until that night.

Then I saw in a picture glass on my right, a reflection of the window on my left, and through it a tall being gliding southward, just a few feet from the house.  After struggling for a few moments with deep-soul fear over my inability to even silently pray, I mentally “tossed” my need for protection, like a basketball, to spirit helpers I imagined gathered nearby overhead.  Then I fell unconscious.

The next day, Asante and I recalled that the night had been pitch black when I’d entered the bathhouse.  It was a first quarter moon, which wouldn’t rise until near midnight, and the sky had been overcast, so there weren’t even stars for the palest light.  There shouldn’t have been light to see anything reflected in the glass.  Years later, I’d read that observations of ETs are often attended by inexplicable light, presumably from their craft.

I’d once ended a friendship with a man the first time he said the word “alien” and clarified, “Yes, as in aliens and UFOs.”  I believed this was all a possibility – and quite likely true – but I adamantly did not want to be friends with people who talked about those things.  And now I certainly didn’t want those things in my life.  I’d come to the country for peace, to read, write, and contemplate life.

Since they were showing themselves to be part of my life, I should have been willing to contemplate them, but I wasn’t willing – probably because the subject is so ruthlessly ridiculed.

Today, I suspect I’ve left this realm frequently over the course of most of my life.  Sometimes it has felt like a vibration, other times I’d slip into a vortex or sense myself turning to “mist” and materializing again.  But as I was taught by my culture, I’d forget it – mostly.

Occasionally, after this happened, I reasoned that, if aliens are visiting the Earth, they need to pick someone for whatever they’re doing, but I couldn’t figure out: Why me? It made sense that their goals might include letting the populace know they are here.  But if that is the case, Why didn’t they choose someone who had more credibility? It was true I’d been a reporter and even won a couple of awards, which might add to my credibility, and I had been respected in various business circles that didn’t know about my activist leanings, but that was all years ago.  Yes, I was a PR person, maybe perfect for the job, but I thought I’d blown my credibility when I’d aligned with Earth First!  So, it seems they’d made a mistake in choosing me.

Later, I would learn there appear to be connections between “alien” contact, environmental awareness, psychic phenomena and, much to my dismay, government intelligence agencies – all of which I was involved with, or they involved me.


Not a Zen-like hermitage

teepee under oaksWhen I set out to become a hermit, I thought it would be more Zen-like, with occasional overwhelming states of bliss when I walked somewhere in nature.

Instead I experienced what is typically described by shamans around the world:  I was grabbed by demons, stripped, terrorized, brought to the brink of death repeatedly, dipped in shit, fooled, tricked, and laughed at.  (All anthologies of shamanic lore recount a similar list of experiences.)

I’ve apologized for myself for decades now, explaining that I wasn’t properly socialized in the first place – and then I went through this.  In the jungle, it would be understood.  In America, it’s not.  But here I am.