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Saturday, August 11, 2012

So We Don't Meet Again

Springmeier is out of jail - if it weren't for his books I wouldn't know what little I do about things. Yet, I've never read past an excerpt here and there for all I've owned his books for years. I got them while he was still in prison, but it was my husband who read things for me. It was my husband who had told me about the Black Princess programming.

And it was learning about the Black Princess programming that made me understand that although I had not been lying when I had told people I was a princess yet a slave in another life, or that I was a reincarnation and an avatar of an old persona - I wasn't telling the truth either. The perspective was skewed by the lack of that all important bit of knowledge: just what it was that I was remembering.

Black Princess programming: she's a deep, buried personality in Flutterbies. When the Flutterby's carefully built matrix is tampered with or damaged, she awakens from her tortured slumber from where she was bitten by spiders and tormented by the lack of her eternal mate. Her job: to restore the mind, delete damaged or traitorous personae, and restore loyalty to the program. Her foremost thought, to find her lover.

It's a very painful process to endure. I don't recommend it.

So in my opened eye as the Black Princess - the Black Peacock was a title I took for myself internally - I saw the world as rightfully mine. Somewhere out there was my husband, the only man in the universe who knew how to be my handler - who could handle me like a animal trainer with his animals - while at the same time being my peer and lover. I was affixed as the separated center of a political world of strict laws that could only be worked around with loopholes. On one side there was a council of 12 elderly men who I spoke with on important matters of certain persuasions. On the other side there was a council of 7. And in the center, behind me, were the three who were my closest. I could direct what I wanted from the world and it would be done.

I wanted caustic leaders in the army reviewed and removed. It was implemented.
I wanted better grooming standards. It was implemented.
I wanted my husband, and he had to be a certain way. "Do things this way," the three told me. And, it was implemented.
I wanted. I wanted. I wanted. It was implemented.

And I enjoyed it - I confess I still would and possibly do. I ponder the state of the world, and I rail against what I feel is wrong. I have a sense of how things "should be" in my nostrils, and if the world is truly my oyster then I want to polish it right. As if I woke up tomorrow to discover I had super powers and a nifty pair of tights.

I know Springmeier is out of jail because I happened across a recent interview with him on Youtube the other day. I watched it for a while. One of his books is being reprinted, and the interview was to hype it up.

I have that book, so I loaded it onto my Nook and went to the pool to begin reading it. I didn't get very far. The book started talking about how Lucifer was supposed to be crowned at the turn of the last century. About councils of 12. Of families and things my innards know and know well.

My crowning happened in various way: they were ascensions. At the turn of the century I believed I was Lucifer - of course now I know much more about that legend and know it in itself is a false front for something deeper and... shinier - and I was having nightmares every night. I was getting attacked in my dreams by a group of people.

I lived in Bayonne, New Jersey at the time. There was one dream I remember in which the redhead who was the leader tried to draw me into a dark area. I told her she'd never trick me nor fool me into walking into her trap.

That weekend at a party, I met the redhead in the flesh. I was shocked.

But I was amused to learn she and her friends had formed a group to destroy Lucifer - they'd gotten the psychic sense that he was nearby and they'd been attacking him by ritual every night.

True story. I swear.

So by general agreement of the ignorant, I am Lucifer. The false front for a shinier story.

And the "astral" event I went through that year was a tribunal, a review of my life. A trial. To see if I was worthy. It was very stressful. If I failed it I would die in the real world.

But I didn't think of that while watching Springmeier's interview. Instead I remembered my scant attempts to contact him or his companions for help in remembering, in understanding what was in my head. Springmeier never responded to my letter. His friend responded but was very plain that I had to accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior and be reprogrammed. My quest for knowledge, taking things slow, making sure of what I wanted - none of that meant anything to them.

When Springmeier mentioned how people would come to him all of the time for help but he couldn't always help individually... I said to myself, "Well. Hopefully they didn't bother him too much."

They have firm and strong beliefs. They wish to be like Jesus. But I have already expressed how I feel about the role of structured religion in the programming process.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

The House My Father Gave Me

When I was about 18 years old, there was a woman who I thought was my friend. Her husband has been put in jail for embezzling, and I hung around her house a lot. I practically lived there. I babysat her kids, often for free, and listened to her wail and moan about the pole dancing culture. I can't remember her name now: maybe it was Lynn.

She couldn't afford where they were living anymore. One day while visiting another friend, I came across a vacant house. I told her about it, and she got very excited. She wanted to rent it. So, being the friend I was, I set about to get the owner's information for her. I found it, too, and she got permission to rent this house.

She promised me a room in that house - and this was a good opportunity for me. Where I lived with my parents, there was no hope. There was no bus system, no taxies, and no one willing to help me get to and from work. To move in with Lynn in that house, which was situated right on the edge of our tiny town, meant I could walk to work. Hell, it meant I could work. Maybe buy a car. Maybe finish college. My hopes were very up over her offer.

The house had a reputation for being haunted - this did not scare me at all. I viewed it with her, and she promised me the first room when you entered the house. It was bigger than any room I had ever had in my poor upbringing.

She got the house, and on the day she signed the paperwork she took back her offer to me. However, she said, I could come over and see the house.

"Give me a rock out of your collection," Dad said to me. I got one out of my little keepsake box: it was a small stone, like the kind you buy in a new age shop. He put it in his pocket.

My father and I loaded up in his old truck and we went over there.

She gave me the tour while Dad touched everything. His eyes were bright in that lit way that meant he was up to something. He touched the walls, the doorknobs, the doors. So while Lynn showed me the living room, he slid his hand across the wall paneling.

Lynn walked away for a moment - I can't remember what for - and I turned to the only door in the house that was closed. "That was supposed to be my room," I said to Dad.

"Do you want to see what's inside?" he asked me.

And then, all of it's own, the doorknob turned and the door opened.

I walked to the door of the bedroom and looked inside. Lynn already had a bed in there. The carpet was green. The light from the window was adequate but not fantastic - much like my dashed hopes to earn a better life.

Dad took out the stone and right there in front of Lynn, he put all of the house's energy into that stone. The feelings I felt in that moment were a mixture of gratitude that my father would do this for me, as well as surprise that he even would. He handed me the stone and said, "Here, Jennifer. Here is your house."

Lynn didn't stay in the house for long. I spoke to her only one time after that; it was to hear her complain that the house had lost its energy. And I guess that was the final straw in my relationship with her. During the time I'd known her, she'd used me for a nanny. She'd *smudged me* because a new age friend had told her I was evil. And she just... wasn't right. A few years later another friend said they'd heard from her and she'd asked how I was.

"I don't care," I had responded - which was very uncharacteristic of me back then. I'd have done anything to be your friend in those days. "She owes me an apology."

And that's the last I'd ever heard or saw of Lynn.

I kept that house with me for many years until the stone disappeared one day.  That was my house; the house that my father gave me.