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Sunday, April 29, 2012

Blanche

Dr. Karla Turner pointed out one day that the only fact we had about the experiences abductees describe is that these experiences are verbal tellings of what has been perceived. The problem is that the aliens, and these days the military, have the ability to control what is perceived, to make the abductee believe they are going through something completely different. So it is that we see a beautiful woman instead of a hungry Reptilian, or think we're giving a speech when really we're being experimented on.

When I was a child I lived in fear of my dolls, because I knew they were going to come and try to kill me. I had a doll that was about 2 feet tall; one of those dolls that's meant to be a life-size buddy to a small child. That doll freaked me out. I woke up many times in the night thinking she was right next to me by the bed, reaching for me to grab me.

Back then my family was extremely poor. Our trailer had been repossessed at one point, and my father had converted an old school bus into a passable home. We had all lived in it at one point. Then my parents managed to get another small trailer, which they placed at the near front of our 1 and a quarter acre while the bus stayed in the far back. The bus was then divided into two rooms; one for me, and one for my older brother.

There was an entire yard away from my bedroom and the trailer where my parents now lived with my youngest brother. I was already an insecure child who felt abandoned. So when my dreams were pervaded with images of bright lights, of me clinging to the bus door and screaming while I tried not to be sucked into that horrible light, I basically became a nervous wreck. Getting me to go to bed became a fight between me and my father, who'd yell and scream and finally resort to violence while I wept and told them how terrified I was.

Couldn't I just sleep on the couch? No. To bed with you.

But I perceived my predators as my dolls - which I now know is a common thing. Many people perceive them as dolls. I have memories of countless nightmares where I'd be in bed and a doll would be on the bed waiting for me. Even though it appeared to be a harmless Barbie or baby doll, my reaction would always be one of abject terror. The doll was there to do evil to me. To kill me, or hurt me horribly.

When I was younger I could scream myself awake, but there was one time the doll said, "Go ahead and try to scream." And I tried. I kept trying. But no sound ever came out again.

This is the power of the perspective that they use to hold power over you.

When I was 14, to my knowledge a succubus came through one of the mirrors in my bedroom and wooed me. He wooed me a long time; took me places, things like that. He was a pale man with curly blond hair. I called him George because back then I called everything George.

One night he asked me to marry him, promising me great beauty if I said yes. (He dressed an image of me in a white Sioux wedding dress with romantically long fringe, pale brown hair, and a perfect figure.l) I said yes at first, but then this woman came from far away and claimed to be one of my ancestors and got me to say no. I'll never forget the hurt on George's face. It was like that moment in the Labyrinth when dummy spoiled girl says "You have no power over me."

And then he proceeded to haunt my bedroom and drive me outright nuts. Throwing things at me, making the room cold in the summer, etc. Dad got mad and told him his ass was just as good as kicked, and I never saw nor felt George again.

But I also stopped having my period. Mind you, I'd only had one and sometimes a girl doesn't have another for a full year. But my belly got bigger and my mother kept asking if I was pregnant (and you know, I was a kid I had no idea) and then one night I dreamed the men in suits came and took my child from my body. It was a girl. They let me see her and then they took her away.

And from then on every time I went to that "other world" I'd do what I was there to do, get relieved for the night, and waltz happily over to the nursery, pick up my young'un, and make a run for it. :-) In that fashion I got to watch her grow up, sorta - so it's hard to say if she's a figment of my imagination or not.

But somewhere along the way I decided her name was Jennifer, after Guinevere, because she looks like her pale father. I'm not sure what they call her. That's my name for her.

Thus. Jennifer White - this name is my badge of experience perceived.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Big head


So when I was a very small child, before I started school, I kept having these dreams of .. something... sneaking out my bedroom window or something like that. I can't fully remember right now. Back then I loved Hong Kong Phooey and the Pink Panther, so in my waking life there were a lot of burglars wearing that cap they're famous for. I forget what kind of cap it is. I'm fond of 'em too. They're classy. ;-) 

In this one particular dream I'd met on the road in the woods with the others the way I normally do. And it was time for me to come home. So the nice men and lady brought me home. And as I was coming out of it a woman's voice kept saying "Don't open your eyes. Don't open your eyes."

Well, duh. I opened my eyes and looked to my left. On the wall was a huge silhouette: a tiny body and a head that I took for a head with one of those caps on. Naturally I screamed bloody murder, and the parents came running. There was a burglar in the house, I told them. I don't think they believed me.

Grew up with a lot of night fears, though.

Before that when I had a crib I'd wait for the folks to go to bed. As soon as the house was dark and quiet I'd climb out of the crib and go stand at the front door window, waiting. I'd just look out and wait.

And to this day wherever I live, after a while one of the windows will form black smudges along the side from where I'm apparently sleep walking as I wait.  My house in Illinois still has the smudges - at least it had better. The girl staying there for me was told never to wash them off but I'm given to understand she's turned my room into her room so anything can happen. However there's hope. The window in my bedroom is starting to sport the smudges. It's a hard window to get to. I must be really desperate to watch and wait.

Reticulans all must die. One squirt of a good weed killer on the right planet, and our problems are over. ;-)

Seems to me, though, in a mundane sense these events I mention here are the true start of my story. The rest I talked about earlier: it's a story in my head. It may not be real. But these things here, now. They are.

I didn't wake up from a nightmare and scream. I woke up, turned my head, saw something while already wide awake, and screamed.

And I never forgot.

To this day I'm nervous about shadows in the dark.


I want to make note that three days ago I woke up with a big shoe burn on the back of my left ankle. It hurt to the touch and was red; as long as my hand.

And my muscles hurt, too, like I’d done some really super intense work out.

That night before, I’d been trying to stay up and work but was hit with an overwhelming need to sleep. Oh well, I thought. I’ve been staying up all day so it’s only natural to want to sleep at night. So I went to sleep.

And woke up early the next day: usually a sign that I’ve been somewhere.

But who can say. I wake up with weird spots like that all of the time.

I think if that is gonna keep happening, they should give me an hour and make me work out. I’m flabby and out of shape. I mean, there should be SOME benefits to this shit. Seriously.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Brightly Lit Rubix

I've only heard from Dorica one more time since my session with her. She emailed me to ask when was another good time. I told her that since I work at home my times are very flexible. What was good for her? And that was that.

Well, she thought I was lying to myself anyway: slipped up and said so. So this is to be expected. You move on. You help yourself the way you've always done. You hope your one-sided answers aren't lies.

While listening to the audio tape for American Conspiracies by Jessie Ventura, I got to a part where he mentions how he was approached by another MKultra subject. This person, Ventura said, claims to have been picked because of his Native American ancestry. I was driving the car at the time, so all I could do was shake my head and mutter in disagreement while my husband smiled at me in amusement.

Abductees aren't chosen because they're Dakota or Cherokee or some other bullshit reason like that. If that were the case, only Americans would get picked up. Military abductees are no exception. That sort of racism does not happen in the program.

It's a handy distraction, though. This sort of lie works very well and all levels of the "great secret world" use it to keep the rest of us in control. "You're special. You shall be our prophet. You have a message to tell the world," distracts the willing subject to the point they give up everything to follow this directive they've been handed. They get so full of themselves in being special they forget the power of unity against the menace. They fight to get more attention from being special to the point they even undermine what another is doing. The spotlight is everything.

I have to wonder: back in the days, just a generation ago, when being Red was even worse than being Black in our society, how many people would have been told they'd been chosen for this because they were Red? Not many if at all, I'm willing to bet you.

Because nowadays being Red is the same as saying "I'm born with innate natural powers of psychic Mother Nature prowess." And the ignorant think it without trying. The stereotype is there, seeped into our bones through television and radio. And we, the stupid idiots, fall for it again and again. And again.

I was not picked for this program because I'm Native American. The possibility does exist that I was picked because my father very briefly was tested and used during the origins of the psychic programs years ago. There are connections there. Most likely, from what I've gathered, I was picked up because I was already an abductee.

I was told by a researcher - a rather zealous one who later decided me and my friend were going to psychically attack her through the squirrels in her front yard - that there are program workers who are trained to read auras. When the find someone not in the program that has the holes in their aura that mean they are victims of alien involvement, they tag that person to be picked up. That's how you get pulled in. Or at least it's one way.

It's also the way that makes the most sense. There are countless people who are both abductees and later on MILABS. Well, I suppose they can be counted. I just don't prefer to make an attempt to count that high. I don't have the time.

Well, I could tell you these things forever and I suspect no one is ever going to listen. So that's that.

The other morning I was in that between state you often find yourself. For me, my entire life, it's the place where I ponder the meaning of things... or listen to my other selves talk to me or to each other. It's not quite a dream state; more like a large room where we can visit.

There's one person in particular: I don't know her name. She looks just like me - as many of them do - but she's eternally locked in a younger more daring sense of self. I wasn't entirely there, because I was waking up, so my view of her was fuzzy and halfway out.

She brought out a box and used our mental link to transmit the knowledge that what she held was how to unlock my mind. It worked similarly to a Rubix Cube: if you turned it one way, it would flash one color. If you turned it in a different sequence, it would flash another color. She turned it to demonstrate and it flashed red.  The biggest deal, she communicated without speaking, was if you turned it in a particular different sequence, my mind would be opened and the box would flash a rainbow of beautiful colors. She began to demonstrate.

I realized she'd shown me this before, when I was much younger. Perhaps I was 14 at the time. But I communicated back to her a mental flash that translates to, "Oh! I remember this! You've shown me this before! Wow, I haven't thought of this in over 20 years!"

Yes, she communicated back to me. And she started telling me again what the box was for from scratch. We got to the part where the box flashed red and I fully came awake.

I told this to my husband and he remarked that it sounded an awful lot like the boxes from the Pinhead movies.

"I won't watch those movies for many reasons," I told him.  I have already been warned what's in those things. Nope. No horror Pinhead movies for me, thank you.

If no one will help you, help yourself. Screw the rest.

MILAB, mkultra

The other morning I was in that between state you often find yourself. For me, my entire life, it’s the place where I ponder the meaning of things… or listen to my other selves talk to me or to each other. It’s not quite a dream state; more like a large room where we can visit. There’s one person in particular: I don’t know her name. She looks just like me – as many of them do – but she’s eternally locked in a younger more daring sense of self. I wasn’t entirely there, because I was waking up, so my view of her was fuzzy and halfway out. She brought out a box and used our mental link to transmit the knowledge that what she held was how to unlock my mind. It worked similarly to a Rubix Cube: if you turned it one way, it would flash one color. If you turned it in a different sequence, it would flash another color. She turned it to demonstrate and it flashed red. The biggest deal, she communicated without speaking, was if you turned it in a particular different sequence, my mind would be opened and the box would flash a rainbow of beautiful colors. She began to demonstrate. I realized she’d shown me this before, when I was much younger. Perhaps I was 14 at the time. But I communicated back to her a mental flash that translates to, “Oh! I remember this! You’ve shown me this before! Wow, I haven’t thought of this in over 20 years!” Yes, she communicated back to me. And she started telling me again what the box was for from scratch. We got to the part where the box flashed red and I fully came awake. I told this to my husband and he remarked that it sounded an awful lot like the boxes from the Pinhead movies. “I won’t watch those movies for many reasons,” I told him. I have already been warned what’s in those things. Nope. No horror Pinhead movies for me, thank you. If no one will help you, help yourself. Screw the rest.

Monday, April 2, 2012

And then ....

Before bed I rewatched an old lecture by Dr. Karla Turner. I firmly believe in her philosophy, and she was very good at uncovering information and asking questions no one else seems to want to approach. She had a good way of putting things, too, that kept you alert through her lectures. So I rewatched to refresh my memory, and my husband watched with me even though he truly couldn't care less one way or the other.

In the middle of the night I woke up with that invaded feeling you get when you're either being picked up or dropped off. It didn't feel like I had been asleep for more than an hour. I turned my head to look to my right and saw the little 3 foot tall black shadow. As my eyes adjusted, I felt a realization in the room that I could see it. And the black lump in the semi-dark winked out of sight.

I sat up. My husband mumbled, "Where are you going?"

"There's something in the room with us," I said. Yes, I was a little afraid. I hate nights like that. You'd think after a literal lifetime of it, you'd get used to it. But I guess I never will.

My husband lay in bed still as stone, unresponsive. After a moment I was able to go back to sleep again. When I mentioned the event to my husband tonight, he was noncommittal about the affair. I don't believe he'll ever take this matter as seriously as it should be taken.

I did wonder if Dr. Turner's lecture hadn't made me imagine the whole thing.

The session with Dorica Manu was hard to do, and that's a fact. I don't feel like going through the entire affair: most of it was keeping up the visualization of a talk show host room with a door and a mirror. Mirrors are damn hard to visualize because, to me, they're portals. Which means if I make one in my head, I'm making things that go with it. But I did this in order to call forth my soul, then spirit, then mind.

Interestingly, the technique we did - which is supposed to help me mold back into a single being with my memories intact - is very close to the technique I've been doing off and on while working out on the treadmill or taking a walk for a couple of years now. It's very effective. So I let Miss Manu guide me along and tried not to skip ahead. I tried to be patient when she didn't agree with something one of my inner parts said. I figure: she's been doing this with a lot of people and knows what she's doing.

My soul wouldn't come to the session, although I called with all my might. When she did show up, she was very misshapen and ugly. She was as tall as a building with knobs under her skin like huge calcium deposits or witch carbuncles. Her hair was stringy, and she wore Xena's outfit from that old show.

I won't come because I'm UGLY, she said - and that summed up my entire life. I'd been told I was ugly by everyone at school for 12 years. I was told that by my own mother, by my cousins, my mother's sister, random people at the mall. Either I'm strikingly beautiful or I'm strikingly ugly. Only once was I ever considered plain, and the man who called me that meant it to abuse and hurt so I will never know if he told the truth. He probably lied.

 Calling my spirit was more difficult. What I finally got was a mute pale and beautiful version of me. She wore flowing pale robes and had white hair. At some point Dorica had said something about my body or... something... but whatever the statement, my spirit's response was to point out that we trade bodies like snails to a shell. Dorica did not agree with it - and at this stage who can say which is which?

The third was the hardest: she wanted my mind. All of the dozens and dozens of spirits who'd stood outside the room waiting for their turn laughed. They were ALL my mind, and that was indeed funny. This was something else Dorica didn't seem to get quite - and as I ushered everyone into this room I'd created I wondered if it was because there's something else she knows that I don't or because she's never worked with a butterfly before?

We managed to get a few to merge, and they turned into a woman of fire. The woman then proceeded to make it a point to stand practically on top of me - and that's when I could hear what was going on in the room better. I couldn't before: I'm not clairaudient. I noticed the change, but I said nothing. I wasn't sure how the observation would be received.

When it was over, Dorica said there was more work to be done and mentioned she didn't quite believe the matter of the soul - cut herself off before she could finish. And I was left wondering: so... does she believe aliens made all that up I just went through, or that I made it up, that I'm lying to myself, what?

And, because the instinct is deep inside of me, I wondered what I had to say to convince her I was telling the truth so we could carry on and get the job done. Or at least to make her happy so we could do more. I didn't go for it, of course.

It's just too early to say anything one way or the other. But I know she's genuinely trying to help me - without shoving religion down my throat.


Sunday, April 1, 2012

Let us begin with....

Dorica Manu got in contact with me first thing yesterday morning and we had the session as was planned last weekend. I'm glad I hadn't completely lost hope in her: sometimes people do surprise you, even when you're used to 99% disappointment.

I thought perhaps I would speak about the session here, but I had another post planned before that - and after pondering if for a full day I realize I have to do the other post first. I have to start from the beginning so that those who choose to walk with me in this journey can understand fully where I am coming from. I've already mentioned this starting point, but while watching the lecture I mentioned before I knew I was going to have to put it down - to record that I already knew what I know. Because people so often call me a liar.

"I was born in a blue valley." That's how the story begins, and it's a phrase the Otherkin hated to hear coming from my lips. Back then I was in a rut: I had to tell this story over and over again, as if saying it just once didn't make it heard well enough. The truth is I didn't feel heard - and I probably wasn't, unless you want to count the three people who got to know me long enough to hear my origins and then claimed my story as their own. (Sick fucks that they were.) I still don't feel heard today, but I've long since grown past the need to tell this story repeatedly. So here, let me say it here - this time because I have to, not because I want to. At least it's well rehearsed.

I was born in a blue valley in, what I believed for most of my life, to be another planet far away from here. It was the capital home of what I've always described inside as "the shining empire" - and the valley housed "the Anthill", which was a naturally dug out tower of granite, the kind that flashed pink in the setting sun. That was what we lived in, above - and below us in the caverns dwelled the winged dragon people: large warm-blooded dragons with bird-like fur.

My word for that valley is Shiro - and no matter how I've tried I never have been able to find a name for the world itself. It was a blue valley because all of the plants had a blue cast to them - rather like Kentucky blue grass or a blue fir tree. It was a temperate climate with cool rains and short, mild winters. Old, tree-covered mountains surrounded the valley, which was dominated by a sweeping flat plain in which the Anthill stood.

I lived at the top of the Anthill, in a secluded room with a balcony that I stood upon to view the tiny village and golden grasslands below. Years ago I never thought to question why I'd need to be isolated from the rest like that, but now I think perhaps it's because my "makers" felt the need to protect everyone else from my presence. I was different: a hybrid, as it were - a successful one of multiple races and strange blood. In me burned the fire of a sun - and that's what I was, a baby star come to physical flesh and a world that didn't know what to make of it.

But we were humans - and avians - and so the proper term I suspect is "phoenix".

Mind you there were others like me, just as there are dozens that are better than me now. I wasn't unique, just different. I have a memory of my first conscious thoughts - opening my eyes from where I hung suspended in the row of tubes. We were created in sets of fives, and I was very aware of my brothers and sisters. The doctors walked by and did their rounds, checking and always checking. And soon after I first awoke for the first time I reached my energy tendrils out and pulled in the sleeping essence of my siblings back into myself where it belonged: I was not meant to be a tendril. I was not meant to be split. I belonged whole, so I fixed it in my own way. I ate them.

My particular parents - the ones who gave their DNA, eggs, and money for my birth - were the rulers. My father was dark of hair and eye. I barely remember him. There was a plague back then, the plague that actually facilitated the creation of monsters like myself. I've always called it the Soap Bubble disease, because our souls had grown so old and the DNA matrix could no longer support their energy. So like old soap bubbles that float in the air, the souls would pop into nothing. My father died of it. During that time I remember an older brother who also died of it - wasted away on his couch bed with no one nearby, because no one knew what to do.

My mother was a redhead, and this somehow was special. My only memories of her are watching her walk by me as I played in the hallway - she was always so sad. After my father was gone, she put on the Mask of Sorrow - which was a custom, kind of like a mourning veil but it was a stupid mask - and barely spoke to anyone. Certainly not to me. So most of my adult interaction was with the regent - also a redhead. He taught me a chesslike game and was more a father to me than my real one.

There are other memories from this time, but they've always remained undefined. I know I was "exiled" for a short time for being a pain in the ass. I was sent away to a school where I felt even more out of sorts than I did at home. Then I was allowed to return. I don't really remember what my crime was.

I naturally took to weapons of war and not peace - something which drove my elders batshit crazy. There was a building in the back far behind the Anthill where weapons were kept: these gun things that worked like bows and shot heat. Sort of like what the Reptilians use today. I snuck into it and got one of them and was target practicing with Juvinich (my word for him), a boy who'd come as my friend. I accidentally burned down one of the trees that my father had had imported from "Earth". That caused a ruckus.

I loved Juvinich dearly: too dearly. When I was a kid, remembering this stuff, I mistook my memories of these feelings to be a puppy love. But now I have to wonder; was it that sort of love or just an intense fondness for the only person of age who was willing to be a friend?

Although there was at least one other friend: a young dragon girl who, here on Earth with me, remembers some rather amusing things about what a trial I was to raise.

I remember being very small, probably about the equivalent of four years of age, and coming to Earth with my father. The place we landed, also in the mountains, was scraped raw and muddy. There were people tilling the land and building things. My father and a few other men were in a room discussing things. There was a glass-encased balcony there and I stood at the glass, watching things below. My father came and gently picked me up. He said, "Don't fall now" and carried me back to where they were.

And I remember when everything fell apart.

I knew there was political upheaval: you can't miss it when your mother is continuously in the council room seeing people and everyone is upset over nothing. I was probably about 14 of age (equivalent) at the time. I also know we had chosen to remain neutral against what was going on - but I couldn't tell you just what it was.

I had developed the sneaky habit of disappearing on my tutors or whatever it was I had to do that day and hiding in the grasslands. I liked to lay in the grass and feel the sunlight warm my body. I was there that day when the ships came out of the sky. I remember being in the grass, which was over my head, and looking up to see them in flight formation.

They were black, triangular, and sharp. They swooped down on the Anthill and opened up on the people below. I started running home - what else could I do? - as the ships swooped by again and again and again. I got to the edge of the Anthill courtyard just in time for my mother, who was running to see me. She started to run towards me and I her - and that's when one of the ships fired her in the back. Her blood spurted all over my pale blue satin slippers.

So I stood there in shock in front of my mother's dead body, watching everything happen around me. I probably would have died there and this would be the end of my story had it not been for Juvinich, who grabbed my hand and pulled me away from everything. The Anthill was situated very close to the foothills and mountains, so he took me that way. We didn't stop fleeing until we could turn and look over things from a safe vantage. And that's how I watched as the firing stopped, the ships landed, and the survivors were loaded up to be taken away. Probably into slavery - that's what I thought when I was younger.

Juvinich and I stayed deep in the forest on the mountain - there was a cave there - for a long time. One day he left me to live alone. And I stayed that way a long time with  nothing but a few pets to keep me. I learned to hide well: if I saw a ship in the sky I disappeared as quickly as I could.

One time I went down to the emptied anthill and walked the halls. I danced in the ballroom to myself, remembering a party from my childhood. Heh. That stupid movie Anastasia - I've remembered that moment for most of my life. When I saw that similar ballroom scene in Anastasia, I was caught between outrage that it was in the movie and pain at the reminder.

One day the loneliness was too much. I put myself to sleep and astral traveled outward. I met a "Glowbright" in the other realm, who brought me into his mouth, swallowed me, and spit me out as an "angel". But I remained different - because I had to be. I thought I was the last of my kind.

When there was some trouble in Glowbright Land, I fled for my life. I passed the layers of existence until I came back to this 3rd plane and found Earth. I remembered it and zeroed in, came to land here and to my surprise found DNA that was still close enough to me that it could house my energy well. And I've been on Earth ever since, after a fashion. I rarely go anywhere else. This is my home and my star.

But these memories may not be real, you see? There's a lot more to them - a lot more - and when I watch some researcher put together the galactic history of DNA or some other cogness I usually nod my head. Or shake it, saying "Well, they're close but no cigar!"

But if it could be put in my head as an implanted memory, it could be put in other people's heads - where the pieces are coming from.So.