OUT OF THE BLUE

I saw the orange light.

About a week and a half ago I was walking my dog.

 I don't sleep at night, for all I keep trying. So I've this habit of walking my dog somewhere between 3 am and 6 am on occasion. It really depends on how much I have to do - just because I'm not sleeping at night doesn't mean I'm wasting my time tossing and turning or watching TV. My broken sleeping mechanism is one of the reasons why I'm self-employed, so basically I work graveyard.

 This time when I left I was pretty sure I left at 5 in the morning. I remember expecting the sun to rise at any minute, or perhaps I was under the impression it was already rising. The thing here is I can't really remember my mood when I left the house, that some vague idea of my feelings on the matter.

 I decided to only walk around the neighborhood, so around and around I went. It was still dark out, so at one point I happened to stop and look up to the stars. That's when I saw it: the orange bright object coming down at a direct vertical angle from the sky. It wasn't directly over me. It looked like it might have been over the neighboring town, which is about 15 minutes from my house.

 I remember a sense of panic when I saw it, because I knew it wasn't an airplane and there I was outside and completely vulnerable. But the panic was iced over with a plastic calm, as if I wasn't supposed to feel that panic. But it was there.

I watched the light descend for about thirty seconds and started walking back to the house. I rounded a corner and looked at the sky again. The light was gone.

 When I got home, I was very disorientated about what time it was and this annoyed me. The clocks read 3:30 or so, and I felt like they should have read after 5. It was still dark and I couldn't get it out of my head that this was wrong. It should have been light outside.

 Two days later - probably last Saturday (a week ago) or so - I woke up very very dehydrated with severe vertigo. I had to go to the hospital. Two days after that I noticed the yellowing bruises all over my body. They were fingertip shapes, but way too small to be from my hands.

 I told my husband. But beyond that, who am I going to tell?

Don Phillips, Contractor, USAF, CIA, Lockheed Skunkworks.

Again, with the Disclosure

I'm noting that folks here in the USA think that nondisclosure in regards to UFOs and "alien" entities is a global conspiracy.

So for your mind-opening educational pleasure, here is a list of countries that have participated in disclosure so far.

1. Argentina
2. Australia
3. Brazil
4. Canada
5. Chile
6. China
7. Denmark
8. Finland
9. France
10. Germany
11. India
12. Ireland
13. Japan
14. Mexico
15. New Zealand (Additional Report)
16. Peru
17. Russia
18. Spain
19. Sweden
20. Ukraine (not in English)
21. United Nations
22. United Kingdom
23. Uruguay
24. Vatican City

The Secret Space Program and Breakaway Civilization Richard Dolan Lecture

Interesting event happened today.

I received an email inviting me to interview for some sort of Experiencer group TV thingie. I'm not sure what the project is myself. They said, "Our (name deleted) team and television production are looking for fellow experiencers who would like to share their extraterrestrial encounters with our team for on-camera investigation and research. Each member of our team and production crew is involved with ongoing alien encounters, so no one has ever assembled a better group to seek out answers to the alien phenomenon. (Name deleted) was created after my alien visitors told me to seek out those like myself and then look within. Our cosmic scavenger-hunt has begun."

It took me a while to decide what I was going to do. I was tempted, but weighing my options and my past ... experience (for lack of a better term) I decided best not. So I sat down to decline. I did it as gracefully as I could, taking time off from work to explain why. This is what I wrote, taking out some names to protect folks:

"Hi there and thank you for contacting me.I'd love to help you out, but I've learned a horrible lesson. The minute I do anything UFO related under my real persona, for some reason it's like no one notices I'm there. Or I get called a liar. Or researchers like yourself take what they want and then dump me like a bad girlfriend. All of this is very emotionally draining and painful, and I've gotten pretty jaded in regards to those who claim they want to help. It's pretty consistent they don't. The last MUFON researcher I bothered with, well. Let's just say he wanted fame, which he got, and when I stopped playing ball he dumped me. Meanwhile his partner treated me like I didn't have the right to learn or know anything but it was perfectly okay for him and his cousin to use me to learn how to astral travel and do things his cousin ended up abusing in an unethical way. And being attached to this stuff was actually hurting my author career - which is weird because so many big names are doing okay being attached - so it's like an identity crisis version of the Alien Lovebite. And it's frustrating to sit and listen to people talk about things you relate to but the minute you open your mouth everything goes sour, no matter how nice and accommodating you try to be. Can't even get memberships in forums....But my point is, I'm not up to another episode where I get used, dried up, and thrown away. I get attached to people and I'm tired of being used.

I'd love to help you on a research basis, because that would help me, but I don't have the resources... and I'm sure I'm not sexy, witty, young or thin enough to help out. =^-^= So what I will do is give you the link to (my) free book. It's a simple account. There's nothing unusual in it, and it's not complete because I can only work on it here and there. But there it is. Maybe there's something in it you can use"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/4990

I figured from here I'd never hear from them again, but they gave me a prompt reply before the day was over. When I saw the email in my box, I was actually surprised to see it. For a fleeting moment, I naively thought to myself that maybe they were interested in creating a real support bond, something that would let me participate. This is what I got:

Just so you know I'm not a researcher, I'm an Experiencer and have been my entire life.  It's sad that you judge me without ever talking with me and my work has always been about supporting fellow Experiencers and creating ongoing relationships.  Anyway this is the reality you've created in your imagination and I'm not here to force anyone to share their experiences.  So sad that you judge...

Wow. Just. Wow. "On-camera investigation and research" = researcher. Maybe I shouldn't have over explained. But on the other hand, maybe he shouldn't have assumed. And furthermore: he's "not here to force anyone to share" wtf?!?! I could have sworn I shared by linking him to a book that is my experiences that he could have for FREE. I wonder if he even gave it a chance.

And thinking further, that entire email was me sharing an experience. Isn't that what the fuck he asked for? If he wants to bond people together, he needs to learn to deal with the damage other jerks have done. I'm not the only one that has been kicked around, although I'm probably the most vocal.

My response: You weren't being judged. I'm just tired and worn out. There were key phrases in that message such as "anything UFO related" which means "anything beyond researchers". Also not once did I call you a researcher. I just stated the last researcher I dealt with did those things. 

So sad you're more worried about how someone may or may not be judging you versus when they open up and share the very pain you claim to want to experience with and help.  You could have handled my message, really the entire situation, better. Glad I've developed the habit of putting things on the table to see how people really are. I didn't judge you. But it's interesting how you turn it around to judge me. But, that is that.

Ha, I just checked. Mercury is in retrograde. Go figure. Well. Good luck to you. 


****

Upon re-reading I do see where I called him a researcher. Shoot. So I shot another email: Okay I see where I called you a researcher. Sorry if I got that wrong. You approached me like one. However, the rest of what I have to say still stands. Apologies. Moving along, good luck. I won't email you again.

I've been through I think 20 people, looking for a way to get answers? And that's just in my later adult life. They weren't all researchers, but they all did end up being bad for me whether they meant it or not. I've been used, lied to, manipulated, had my programming tampered with, thrown out on my ear, and lost my children. Damn this shit, if I'm going to worry about this guy who can't even read a letter straight. If he misunderstands my initial contact, I can't imagine how bad he'll do with anything else I have to say.

Just checked. Mercury is in retrograde, and that isn't helping I'm sure. Man I hate it when Mercury is in retrograde. I've been getting bs like that over what seems to me to be clear statements all week.

James Bartley - MILABS & Reptilian Concept of Human Ownership

Karla Turner and Elton Casey Turner - Living With Abduction (1993)

Dr. Karla Turner was a brave woman who gracefully faced down her critics and other "Ufologists" who weren't willing to accept that maybe the picture were darker than they thought it was at the time. She didn't enter into ufology for fame. She did it because no one had any answers for her and she realized if you want a job done right you have to do it yourself.

Of all the research I've stumbled across her has been the most objective, indepth, and honest. Yet no one will discuss what she found. Yes, it's terrifying what she found. You SHOULD be scared. And ready to face it, know about it and do something about it.

These videos should be shared often. And her research should never be forgotten.

And the Rocks Cried Out (and Creeped Me Out)

I once went to one of those weekend spiritual gathers. I had hit a strange bout of insomnia before it so by the time I got to the gather I was pretty sleep deprived. I drove up from Florida, exploring along the way.

Two weeks of not sleeping. I was the first one to arrive. I stepped out of my car, put my left foot on earth at the spiritual grounds, and was greeted with a very loud "You're here!!!!" from everything nearby. It was like the rocks practically shouted. (No the rocks didn't shout.)

I spent the next several days being stared at and poked at by every spiritual anything in the area.

I couldn't go anywhere down a path without everything lining up along the side like they were watching the Queen of England go by. They grouped in sizes according to day, too, starting with the little folk and ending with tall ones that loomed over me like trees in the end. And the last few days were spent with me standing in the middle of the water hole as far from land as I could get while watching spiders, dozens and dozens of spiders, climb the rocks to try to get close to me. I mean I was inspected by *everything*.

I was kind of keeping to myself about it for a while. Even if I didn't think I was imagining it, there are just some things you get used to I guess? Getting stared at a lot, even if it had never been quite like that before. Then one of the volunteers, who had just got into voudoin and accepted her spirits into herself, tricked me into her camp to interrogate me all night long. It was like here we go talk talk talk, BTW what ARE you? Everything here is so excited to see you and I want to know what the hell is going on.

I never gave her a straight answer because I wasn't sure myself back then. I told her to ask them what the hell, and she said they're confused. They're saying they have never seen anything like you before. At the time I took that to be slightly disappointing (it would have been nice to know what they saw). I also felt and now even more realize, wait a minute. If they recognized me when I got there then why are they confused and wotnot? Something doesn't add up, unless volunteer was lying or being lied to.

And I don't remember most of the conversation at all. The only part that is clear is when I happened to look around into the night and saw one of the leaf elves off in a guarding position - which is what they do, and no I couldn't tell you what kind of alien they are or what they are - and then it took a draft on a cigarette. My mind was utterly blown, and I went off at the volunteer for a while freaking out because this elf wasn't being all Tolkien at me. It was smoking a cigarette while eavesdropping from about a dozen or more feet away, and that was just so... mortal.

After the talk, the peeping died down (although the spiders did have to take their shot and did) and then the gather was over. I forget where up North it was. I can't remember but I think that was also the year I was given that dream by Hubbard or whichever writer that was.

I was driving home and was just north of Kingsland, Georgia when it hit me while crossing over a bridge. Someone had decided to pull me out of body. It was so strong I couldn't fight it. I pulled over just in time at the bottom edge of the little bridge onto the grass and passed out.

I opened my eyes in the middle of a ritual fire pit and looked up while the volunteer, the gather leader, and a third man stared at me. I can't tell if you if they tried commands or what they were after. I can only tell you it almost killed me.

I woke up in a few hours and went on home. Confronted the leader about it but he denied it indirectly.

I also believe one of the group members who had died just before the gather was using me to channel. I kept hounding this one girl to say things to her even though I didn't know her (she was close to him), and I couldn't control these feelings of abandonment and being left out when people did things like a memorial and I wasn't invited because I didn't know the dragon. Things just kept coming out of my mouth and I had no control. I had gotten some sleep by then, so it wasn't sleep dep. I mean as soon as I set up camp I could finally rest. The sleep dep was over.


As a result of this being used like that I made a complete ass of myself.

So I also took on a new rule. My body. Go get your own, dammit. I've been pretty adamant about that rule. I can channel just like Hollywood, but... no. People are assholes and they don't like to get permission. It's not fair to anyone when that happens.

Disclosure!

"Jennifer White" has something to say about a newspaper article. Woo hoo.

For those who don't know, Jennifer White is a fictional character I play whose life and personal situation are based on my real life dealings. Some parts of her are fictional. It's up to you to guess which parts.

 If you find interesting news articles related to UFO or paranormal activity, send it my way. I'll even give you the address I'm not living at. =^-^=

Dolls

My older brother was given to doing weird things, and being his bus mate with only a thin wall of pressed board between us was a nightmare for one who tends to sleep lightly. Night after night I was kept awake to the Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, and if I did tend to fall asleep I had vague, uncomfortable nightmares that left me exhausted in the morning.

"I'm doing an experiment," my brother told me loftily when I complained to him that I wasn't getting any sleep.

In the meantime, my dolls also seemed determined not to let me get any sleep. I was waking up to them in different positions than they were in when I went to bed. My brother confessed once to rearranging them on me one time as a joke, and although I knew this another part of me wasn't reassured. I stopped being able to cope with my room alone, because when I went in there even with my brother nowhere around the oppressive presence of something waiting to get me lingered in the air.

Then the nightmares took it up a notch - and I still remember the first one. I was awake in the room, and it was night, and I was sitting on the floor by my bed. Suddenly I got up and went to the door - my room was on the side with the revolving bus door - and I opened the door to look out. Suddenly this bright light enveloped everything and all I could do was cling to the door lever for dear life, screaming and crying in terror.

Night after night, it was the same dream. Sometimes instead of the horrible bright light, I'd dream of waking up in my bed... only it also wasn't my bed. There were gauze curtains everywhere and my dolls were standing around me going to cut me up and kill me. Or my dolls were coming for me from outside, and I had to keep that door closed against them.

I had dolls of all sizes and shapes, but the one I feared the most was what we'd call a my size doll. She was about the height of a tall two year old. I had named her Mariah, after an old song by the Browns.  Before it was over, I had taken to shutting her up in my toy chest and putting heavy things on top of it to keep her from getting out. It never seemed to work.

And the nightmares never carried past the opening of the door, my screaming terror. And I stopped being able to wake up and scream my way out of it.

I was a nervous wreck when it came to that bus, although I lived in it for many years to come.

My How the Mighty have Fallen

Religion is not a good thing if you want to move beyond your shell and fly into the cosmos. It keeps you from learning, and in many respects it even dumbs you down. Ironically the moral structures are usually quite good ones. But take most morals, wrap them in religion, and you've got the perfect brainwashing program. 

Because of this I feel Christianity being used to "free" people from abductions or the MKultra programs only makes them believe they're free while re-enforcing the patterns, commands and numbness. People turn to these programs and later report they're not getting picked up anymore, but is this true really? I think it's more that they don't *remember* being picked up anymore.

After all, it's our human minds that are being tampered with. When we remember something that happened, it's usually coupled with religious overtones of some sort. Or fear. Something used to put us into the control pattern.

So you pray about it. And when you pray, you're entering a semi-meditative state while putting out a command your subconscious remembers. So it stops on some level for you.  But there are abductees who can attest that although your memories are blocked out once again, it doesn't stop at all.

There are people who portray aliens as demons, and because Western culture hasn't completely made that mental connection between "demons are a fairy tale" to "aliens match the description of demons almost perfectly but are physical" there seems to be a short circuit when the information is relayed to other people. So some people consider aliens to be noncorporeal, fourth dimensional beings that can phase in and out between layers while others consider demons to not be aliens at all. The whole schematic problem between the old word "demon" and our current word "alien" is a giant brick wall, and no one seems to be able to step through or around it.

It's time people got a grip.

They have technology that allows them to walk through molecular objects, but that doesn't make them so beyond our level of existence that they're more alien than alien. They're very physical. They can be fought back against. They can be shot. And they're certainly physical enough to grab you to pump out your stomach juices, subject you to sexual experiments, and take you aboard their very physical space craft for a quick tour.

And because they're physical, meditation and prayer isn't going to stop them. You can be sitting by your bed praying as devoutly as possible,and they'll still walk right in, pick you up and walk you outside while you keep praying.

I don't feel any religion used as a tool to stop abductions is the right approach. Rather, I think they simply just flat need to be stopped. Abductions are a physical phenomenon. Then obviously we need a physical way of blocking them.

Today, as if to highlight my point of view, my mother reminded me of where my family stands in the realm of the metaphysical. "Did you know you guys live only an hour from Cassadaga?" I'd asked her on the phone.

"What's that?" she asked me.

Cassadaga was established about one hundred years ago in Florida as a sister psychic community to another place of the same name in New Jersey. (Or was it New York?) It's populated by only psychics, and I read recently that you're not allowed to live there without passing a series of tests.

My mother said, "I don't believe in that stuff."

You used to, Mom. When I was a kid before my little brother was born, Dad used to make pendulums using a pencil, needle, and thread. You'd ask what were my kids going to be, and you wrote the answers down and kept them in a wooden chest underneath the fish tank. You had books on astrology that I read nearly every day - especially the part about being a Sagittarius - and loved to watch UFO and ghost documentaries.

You once told me that you could sew a corsette from memory and had done so before when you were a teenage. You'd explained that you were French and your name was Aimie, and you were a seamstress back then. So you remembered how to make the clothes you sold for a living. And even today you sew when you can, and you're good at it too even though you're the first to tell people how you have not talent and can't do anything.

But then I found a "Cherokee" tribe in GA when I lived there, and I wanted so much to be a part of a larger red community than I knew. And I introduced you to them. They worship the "Creator" in a thinly-disguised Christian way, with a Christian pastor that preaches every Sunday,and you and Dad flocked to them. (And I used to beg you guys to go to church with me when I was a kid. Ha.)

Now I can't talk to you about hardly anything, and if I find myself needing a metaphysical answer my father is the last person I can turn to.... even though I carry his legacy on. You both only watching movies if it's about Indians, you won't hang with anybody unless they're Indian, you won't read a book unless it's about Indians, and really Mom. You're not even Cherokee.

I know what you are, because Gramma told me so. Tukaho, she told me. Tukaho and Irish. But one day I had you in the kitchen and you whined to me, "But I want to be Cherokee." And then just a few weeks ago you told me you were sure there was a direct Cherokee line in the familiy tree, you just couldn't find the connection to prove it yet - not even five minutes after sneering that we have a direct line to royalty in the family tree and can prove it far easier.

And Dad: we are Brotheron. I am a card carrying member of the Brotherton. Because that's what we are. We are NOT Cherokee. But that Cherokee cult has you.  All this after you embraced a religion. And our metaphysical drums were tossed to the fire.

I can find other examples of how religion holds mankind back. Take UFOlogy for example. It has become almost a religion. There are tenements to it that no one wants to break, even when information shows that they should be. That would go against the unspoken rule. And so the scientific process is buried under faith and belief.

We can break from our abduction chains only by realizing what makes us dumb, what keeps us from noticing what is around us.

It doesn't mean you have to stop believe in God. It's just that you have to recognize that God gave you the tools to free yourself. Prayer isn't one of them. Prayer is a communication device; it's a telephone. It's not a gun. But your god gave you a gun with which to fight, if you would just learn to use it. It's called reason.

That is step one to becoming free of the "masters".

Dust

I overwhelmed yet another researcher.

Or maybe I'm just too far gone to deserve the time of day. It's like I burn through researchers the way a chain smoker goes through a pack of cigarettes. I try very  hard to be careful, to respect their boundaries as they have. But they ask questions - do I lie? What good would it do anybody if I lied, no matter how fantastic the story?

She asked. I answered: the things in the blog so far, a lot of them are the result of her questions. She finally told me she was overwhelmed and had to back off for a while.

Of course I apologized: immediately riddled with guilt as I was. What else could I do? And she said it wasn't me. There were the usual stress factors researchers hit when going into this material.  But... so many before her. Dozens. And not just researchers. There was an article writer in England who decided I was "full of shit" because I made the mistake of telling her the tale of how the Western Indians thought their clocks would burn up when the railroad first implemented the time zones and seasonal hour changes. There was a backstabbing story thief who didn't believe ghosts run from me until she put me into a test situation (without telling me) and watched it happen. The specialist with MKultra "victims" who stopped speaking to me because I don't want to suddenly enter some deprogramming Christian agenda without knowing for myself what's really going on. The people who told me I lied about my ex-husband cheating on me, giving me my first black eye, or that my step daughter was being sexually abused by her stepfather and stepuncle.

I guess I just have that kind of face. With "liar" burned permanently across my brow.

Now, I don't know if Researcher will remain in contact me on a friendly level at the very least. She may or she may not. She has dropped off the radar right now because of deadlines and important matters to attend to. And I sit here hitting silent panic attacks all the day long.

Researchers casually say between themselves about how one resource is exhausted and they should break contact this or cut ties that. It's almost as if we, the sources, aren't real people on some levels. We bare our souls to them. For a lot of people the things they reveal about their "other life" comes under a great matter of trust.

And I'm always annoyed and disgusted that the people get tossed aside like pressed fruit. As a matter of fact, I've never gotten a single thank you for my trust in all these years.  It's so that I'd never recommend going to a researcher for anything. 

But Researcher I wouldn't lump in the user category, just the overwhelmed one.The one I place people when I realize I must always keep my wings partially tucked for the sake of their health and well-being. There are a lot of people in that mental category. I don't speak to most of them anymore by their own choice. I hope I'm not losing another friend. Even if we never spoke about this sort of stuff again; I just hate losing a friend.

I already stand to lose so much more I treasure right now. Just. Meh.

Remembering about Dad's involvement in the psychic programs got me curious, so I looked up Mt. St. Helen's. I had always thought it exploded back in the 60's, but I was wrong. It blew in spring of 1980.

Which means I was about 8 or 9 when he quit the program. And I have to wonder just how long he was in it... being as the programs all claim to have been decommissioned in the 70's. Or so I've read.

Eagles

The best lessons on how to do stuff comes from play and experience. So.

Dad raised both me and my older brother with the basic skills. The first thing I ever learned to do was predict future children using a pencil, needle and thread.  Years later we graduated to the psychic card game; you know the one, where you guess shapes? Only we used aces. I always failed miserably at it while my brother was excellent. Never had the umph, I suppose. At least once Dad would project at me and I'd receive and get them right, but never could "go out" and hear and read. Was rather frustrating.

Then we kids did as kids in a magical environ will do: took to it on our own. Each of my siblings and myself are seven years apart. So when my brother was 16 we turned serious: tried to build a inter-dimensional portal using our energy alone, that sort of thing. It was my job to find folks at school who were possible "others" and bring them home. Then “Matt” "lead" the group, which also bothered me. I mean there I was doing all the grunt work, then it came time for him to do the fun stuff with energy work and I'd get to do a little. And then I had to go to bed or, in later years, I was purposefully excluded. Bothered the crap out of me.

The groups used to do things like pick on local energy entities and stuff. Thought we were demon hunting: thank you Hollywood. Group after group was formed, usually by me with “Matt” taking over. The last one with “Matt” was a real disaster. We'd brought in our cousins on that one, and the oldest was already spiteful by the time I was five. Apparently my older brother was doing some illegal things when I wasn't around.

Magical kids act like eaglets, too. The oldest will push the littlest out of that nest to die. In my case when I finally caught my stride and started to figure out what I could do, my brother took steps to stop it. He "sealed" me he said; claimed I was too powerful. Well, what this means in modern terms is he rewired me. Never could get past it. It's like... having your ethereal spine broken permanently. It was horrible too, like being wrapped in chains and stuck in a glass jar.  Sometimes I'm still there, but meh. That's another story for another day.

My little brother... never got training and went schizophrenic nuts. Part of that is also my brother's fault: he did a lot of bad things to my little brother. They're bad things my mother still denies. Part of it is my fault: I was a very violent and angry older sister. Too jealous for my own good. And the rest is simply because no one would help him when he could have been helped, and now it's too late.

So there I was, 15 and someone no one ever listened to. Mom fell off the porch and hurt her back? Go get help I said to my little brother. Got ignored. My little brother's gifts were the kind that, traditionally, would have gotten him apprenticed to a shaman. You gotta help him start practicing and focus I said to my father. Got ignored. There were bright lights and nightmares. Got ignored.

So when I noticed the phones were tapped I didn't say anything for a while. I'd pick up the phone and listen to how the wires were tapped; listened to two guys negotiate bringing something over, realizing they were being listened to, saying shit and hung up. One time they crossed and I accidentally got a neighbor on the phone: girl from up the street. Then there would be clicks and I guess they got their shit straight.

Then the black vehicle started parking at the edge of the yard to watch us. Now by then I'd already had a life of nightmares involving being chased by things, the feds, turning into a werewolf, whatever. (All separate stories.)  And there's this car watching us like in some FBI movie. And it would *only* come watch when it was just me at home.

One day I decided I was gonna get them so I barreled off the front porch and started to run for the car. It peeled away like crazy. After that it parked a house farther away or on the other side. But it still came around.

I told my parents and they didn't believe me.

Soon after I came home from school and went to the bus, which had become my older brother's bedroom. (The rest of us were in a slightly bigger trailer by then.) He wasn't there, so I asked my mother. She was all incredulous that I didn't know he'd been arrested a couple of days ago. (Well, duh. They also never tell me anything.)

Seems the spiteful cousin had turned in my brother. So for the next few years we had to deal with that stigma. It was not fun, being blamed for things you never did by an entire town. Maybe my brother did them, but the rest of us had no idea.

A couple of weeks into the trials my spiteful cousin wrote the newspaper a letter about how we were Satan worshipers.

That was also not fun.

By that point in time I had a book I'd written, because I'd felt it was what I was supposed to do. It covered a lot of past life material, a DNA family tree, how to do things, the works. My brother, too, had another persona. All stories for another day.

I burned that book in the back yard because my senses said it was wise.

And then I buried myself into my own head and went mundane for a while, which meant I stopped writing as much and read a lot of books.

There were a couple of times I "reawakened" but had to rebury for one reason or another. And then I started dating Mr. Wrong.

Mr. Wrong... was a demon, and I mean this literally. That’s what he fancied himself as, being a he was a member of the Otherkin the same as I. (The Otherkin consider themselves apart from humanity for one reason or another. The majority do this because they feel they are an elf or some other myth that matches how they feel inside. I was very devout to the subcommunity at the time, not knowing as much as I do now. These days I’d tell you point blank they’re probably all abductees or associated with that problem in some way. Their stories almost all match the UFO side – but because Otherkin use words like fairy and unicorn, people don’t take them seriously. When they should be on some level besides “these folks are practicing escapism.”)

Mr. Wrong didn't mean to,  but he's the one that woke up things fully. He was on the internet with me, and we were experimenting with seeing one another. During the course of the fun I decided to start looking at other things. I found myself getting smaller and smaller until I was whirling past protons and neutrons and finally got to the center. I was so small light couldn't filter things in color. I told Wrong what I was seeing.  He said he didn't believe me, but the next day he sent me photo shots of the first photographs taken at that level. He said they were from only a couple of weeks ago. They were exactly as I'd described. I'd simply gotten that tiny.

From there it just got to be a deliciously wicked game that I used to pick on the Council On High. (Lotsa stories there, explanation on them will hopefully come later.) And it was like I just knew all the tricks of the trade. I knew you could time travel already, touch things, manipulate, how many it would take to change the past, how to hack certain environments, you name it. I just knew as if I'd always known. And we did them all.

I helped Mr. Wrong, too. I got him a place to live with my credit. He found a job he never would let me know about - but I can tell you he wrote information gathering programs and worked in DC. He got his legs back and suddenly I was a nuisance, you know? I'd exercise, and he'd do things to stop me. I was just starting out on being an independent artist; he'd sit beside me and tell me to just give up and stop trying. But when he threw me away, I kept going.

Oh I had to heal as we all do - when I left him he had me so fucked up in the head I genuinely wasn't sure what sex I was anymore. Nobody I've ever spoken with has understood just how bad treatment that really was. The ones who knew him are always "but you are the one who raged, who ranted, he was always so quiet and perfect. He was a nice guy."

He was a fucking psychopath... and is the reason why I don't trust "professional" help. Nothing like going to a professional with the guy hoping she'll see how he's hurting you only for her to side with him and feed him horrible things to say about me. I have a temper, that made me evil.  My passionate nature ensures I will always be the bad guy.  Interestingly, that's how I remember my past lives as well. So.

So when I finally stood back up again I walked faster. Even past a nervous breakdown, being called the bad guy at least two more times in large dramatic affairs of doom and destruction, remembering my "eternal mate", and all sorts of sordid drama. It was like my spinal cord was repaired, sorta, and now that I had this stolen piece of myself back again I could only be held down for the time it took a person to heal emotionally. Then I'd bounce back up again. I never could do that before: before I'd go down and never get back up again because so much of me was already missing. I made other friends and taught them. And so forth and so on. Until today.

Funny thing about it all: I used to rely heavily on card reading. I had a pack that belonged to my grandmother. They were regular cards that she and I played games with for years. My best senses came from those cards. My mother went on one of her God trips and they simply disappeared. I know what happened to them - one of two things. My mother also jealously kept anything related to my grandmother away from me. Still does to this day. If it's mine and mom finds out it's attached to Gramma, she finds a way to get it from me and hide it.

After those cards disappeared I've tried reading with other cards but it never was the same. With Gramma's cards I could predict things to the minute. There was one time my South American boyfriend, Danny, had moved to Maryland. I just sat at the table for days reading over and over again, and they kept telling me over and over again he was coming to get me. When he came to the door with his mother (she was a sweetheart) I had a bag packed by the door ready to go. 

He came to the door like he was going to surprise me. You should have seen his face when I smiled that he was there and said "HI!" because I'd been expecting him. So he announced he had come to spirit me away... and I said, "I know. I'm all ready!" and picked up my bag. Hehehehe.

But when the remote viewing came back and the other skills that don't require a tool as much, the card reading died even more. It's like I traded one for the other.  Even so I can only do these things under certain conditions. I don't walk. I limp.

And another thing? My spelling has went all to hell.

Sometimes I wish I could talk about these things to my husband in depth. To be honest I don't think he completely believes me. There's been a time or two he has slipped up and made a comment that sounded like he was only tolerating his wife's weirdness because that's what you do. He saw a UFO once when he was in Afghanistan, and there have been times he's waken up tired with the bruises and wotnot. But when I bring something up - like the specter I saw in the house the other night - he just listens and has to fight to find a sentence to respond with. I can't turn to him with too much. He has no desire to follow.

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.

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.

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.

We the Lamps Three

Today I was supposed to have a meditation session with Dorica Manu: she and Dr. Corrado Malanga have made a lot of advances in alien abduction research. Even though I'm not strictly an alien abductee, I had approached them one day through their website. They were my last hope, having tried everyone else, and I thought it couldn't hurt.

They have a website dedicated to the Flash Mental Stimulation: it's a mental visualization exercise to help... do I don't know what. It's a good exercise, though.

Well, the appointment fell through - as things usually do in my life. My husband was summoned to the field last minute and forced to stay there and my daughter wasn't planning on doing anything to give her mother space. So I cancelled. However, Mrs. Manu asked me what happened with the flash mental stimulation - as we're still trying to coordinate.

In the exercise you visualize three lamps: Mind, Spirit and Soul. You pay attention to their colors, their size, all sorts of things. You turn on Mind first, then Spirit, then Soul. Always Soul last.

The first time I tried it, I got nowhere. So today, as my daughter decided once it was too late to go off with friends and my husband is working the night shift and sleeping so he can't call me from the field, I had time to myself. It was too late to rescue my appointment. So I did the exercise again.

By visualizing, for those that don't know, I'm referring to a meditation technique the requires the use of imagination. So I imagined I was in this round room that was so dark I couldn't see anything. With my eyes closed I did my best to picture it without controlling the images that came to mind. They had to develop on their own as a treat from my subconscious.

I sat myself in a chair in the round room: the chair, it turned out, was ornately carved wood with a plush red velvet seat. Okay, fine. I like comfort, I'm good with that.

The three lamps, I knew, were in a triad around me at perfectly spaced points. Mind to the front (because it was going to be the first list, but I could turn and face any one really), Spirit to my right just behind my ear, and Soul to my left similar position.

So I was expecting them to be these floating round globes because that's how I draw the lights in my comics. And I was thinking, maybe color. I got an impression of the color green for a moment but I'm also wearing green right now, and overall I wasn't surprised to find my visualization was chiefly fuzzy, black and white and faint. I just don't visualize by force. 

I told the first lamp to turn on by waving my right hand. Not sure why I chose that action or any of the subsequent actions; it just worked. The lamp turned on. It was round, yes: it was a round crystal ball atop a very finely-carved pedestal. The detail was more than a Corinthian column: it was tarnished silver, the column pedestal, with a platform for the lamp that wrapped around the bottom of the globe in curls or leaves... I could see the detail but I'm not good at retaining detail.

The globe was barely lit. The light flushed up from the bottom and made a gradient through the ball so that it almost looked like a crescent moon. It was about chest height and bigger than a basketball. Very smooth like a glass globe (I touched it). I tried very hard to see its color but the most I could get was a faint impression of yellow; a soft yellow light.

I went back to my seat and turned to face the spirit lamp. I snapped my finger to get it to light; right hand. It basically flamed on: it was a large fat flame coming out of a similar pedestal as the first. There was no color, though. I could almost hear the sound it would have made, though. The light was pretty bright, too. I thought, Ha! Well, okay, an old-fashioned lamp is still a lamp.

It was face height and as big as my head.

So I automatically turned to face the Mind lamp again when I summoned the Soul lamp. I wasn't looking at the Soul lamp when I did. I turned it on by reaching up with my left hand and pulling a chain; like one of those chains on a ceiling fan. It went click. And out of my peripheral vision I saw the lamp turn on. It was huge. At first I thought: what, it's a big disk like the Ra disk from ancient Egypt or something??

I turned to face it. It was very huge. At least bigger than the wall of my living room: like a maw of circle. It didn't glow, it was just there, and after a second I realized it wasn't a lamp at all. It was an eclipse. The sun or moon (not sure which) was crossing the light from left to right, and only a small sliver of light remained at the bottom right: you've seen eclipses. IT was at that point where things are almost completely eclipsed.

I felt guilty looking at it and broke out of the room. Got a grip on myself. Went back in.

With my wings (oh hell I dunno. Seemed good at the time) I wrapped the three lamps into a ball and smushed them together with my hand. At first I thought they'd become an old fashioned storm lamp, but I felt like I'd chosen that form just because and kept smushing. It was just a flash, the storm lamp.

When they were blended, they were like a melted candle. But instead of a light it was just smoke; very thick mass of smoke.


Do I have any idea what it means?


Not really.

Jaded in Jacksonville 19

Just my personal thoughts and feelings in regards to Pleiadian belief vs. what I was taught and believe my own self. No more. No less.

Aug 2009 MUFON meeting in Memphis Tennessee with Angelia Joiner