Project Serpa

12 personnelle go to the Reticulae system to live for 13 years. They lose track of time and die. One thing the radio show didn't mention that seemed more than a coincidence was how the ancient legends say the same thing: if you go with the fairies you can never come back or you'll die. How's that for a Merry Christmas? I hope yours is merry!

Party on the Dark Side

There is a place I have been to many times, so much I can give you a firm layout. It's on a beach, and it's an open air bar. The framework is pale wood, like bamboo or pine. There are two or three bars and many twinkling lights; it's a very clean bar - not at all like any I've been to in the waking world. And always when I go, it's filled with people. There are a lot of people, as if there were some huge social function going on.

There is a deck that goes around the back of the bar, behind the enclosed part of the building. The deck can be reached from the open air parts, however. It overlooks the ocean, which is about an acre away. There are trees, too, so that you can see the waves crashing through the break. They twinkle deep blue in the moonlight sometimes.

Standing on the deck looking at the ocean, there is the beginnings of a boardwalk to your left. It's usually closed and locked, because no one is allowed to go down it. You can't reach the waves by walking across the yard, either. The yard is filled with deep roots and marsh. You'll get stuck trying to cross, especially in the dark. I know because that happened to me once.

I always want to go to that beach when I'm there, though. It's just where I prefer to be. You can tell it's a private beach. How peaceful it must be to walk on along that sand with the waves washing your toes.

But that is not where my dream journey began last night. No, it began in an apartment building on the second floor. The apartment I was in was empty and the walls were a pale yellow. There was a light brunette doctor there - maybe she's the one whose been with me since I came here to Louisiana. Maybe she dyed her hair. She had on her lab coat but did not hold her clipboard.

I was escorted into the room and stood with her near the center. There were a lot of other people there, but they were more background color to me. I was aware of them, I was aware of their movements. I didn't care to register them as more than "people in the room with me doing these things".

The doctor told me that the angels, both good and evil, had to come and convince me to choose between light and dark again. It was important for me to remember who I was. (Again with the remembering. As if it pays my bills or something.) She stepped back a few steps and the "angels" came at me.

As far as I was concerned, they were trying to kill me so as they came close I lashed out with my hands and killed them one by one. I was very methodical about it, and wasn't really there enough to remember more than the blood spraying everywhere.

After about twelve or so, the doctor told me that both Archangel Michael and Lucifer would approach me now. And from the wall before me a man did walk forward; a very very tall and skinny man with curly short brunette hair. As he approached I expected him to be the Archangel Michael but as he neared my psychic field I realized this was not the holy good person I should expect. He saw that my third eye was wide open and staring and he snorted derisively to himself, shaking his head a little - I realized that was actually a private reaction and I wasn't supposed to see it so I did not react.

As he got within two feet of me I became aware of a cloying scent about him. It wasn't anything I can place: not cologne, not decaying flesh, not fruit or meat or anything like that. It was actually confusing, this heavy musky scent that was just on the sweet side like a well made meat pudding. It was this scent that made me decide I had been approached by Lucifer - because demons, real demons, smell like death. But it was also confusing. I kept thinking he smelled like death, but I knew he didn't. I've smelled death. This was not the smell of death. It was a smell I knew, I just couldn't remember.

And I had a sense as if I was supposed to know him from previous times - I think this is the impression the doctor was trying to give me.

He took me to the bar, then. I can't remember the journey or what he said to me in the meantime, but I know things happened. My memory glosses over those part and skips to the bar, which was filled with people. I recognized every face I saw, held conversations with many people who always nodded cordially as if greeting me was expected. Some faces I thought I knew from jobs I held in the past, but these people weren't quite it. Most of them were young and Caucasian, although there was one brown woman with salon styled hair that held a conversation with me for a few minutes before taking her drink and moving on.

Lucifer came up to me after a while, just as I was turning to walk away from my spot and find something to do. We went to the deck out back to look at the waves, and he brought himself very close. He put his arms around me and bent down to bring me into an embrace. His nose nestled by my left ear.

I thought he was going to kiss me, and I was filled with a dark protective rage. With my right hand, I grabbed the top of his head and jerked him back by his hair. "I will kill you," I growled.

Patiently he let me do that and locked his brown eyes with mine. When he didn't move, I let him go. He talked to me in a matter-of-fact voice, but I just can't remember what he said. It was something about me remembering, about it being an innocent act, and some other things that suggested it had to be. I just can't remember, and it's frustrating. Whatever he said, I let him bend down again to wrap around me without moving.

He brought me into his chest then and pushed my head against him as if I were a small child. Surrounded by his arms and his scent, I realized how familiar this embrace was. "I remember this," I said. Trustingly I put my hands on his sides. I wasn't committing to a full embrace just yet, but the feeling of being back into this cocoon made me relax.

"Yes," he said. "And do you remember the feeling of my back against your hands?"

I place my hands fully on him then, with my right hand a little further onto his back. His back did feel familiar to me, and I said so.

We broke apart and he spoke with me, but now I can't remember. He wanted to live it up for the night. There was a party going on and it was our role to play it out. About two or three young women approached us, as if they were also there with Lucifer, and everyone started to get into the swing of things. I was forgotten for the moment, and that's when I noticed I was near the boardwalk's gate. I could see the waves in the distance.

For the first time, I decided I was going to that beach come hell or high water. And I jumped the gate. As I did so, I remember noticing for the first time that I was wearing a white cocktail dress. The cloth swirled over my legs as I easily jumped over - and my legs were thinner I also noticed. I was also shocked at how easy it was for me to do it. As if the gate weren't that tall or I was healthier.

I went down the boardwalk in the dark. In no time I was at that coveted beach. The waves moved in an out rather quickly, but it seemed natural to me. I remember as I got there, I bent to look at something in the sand. I looked back at the deck where I could see Lucifer and the others dancing. I wished they would join me - I guess because it would be nice to have someone share my interests.

On the waves were several dozen Cabbage Patch dolls, all moving in and out with the waves. They had been abandoned by their children, I knew, and my heart went out to them. I approached them.

There was on doll who was new. He had black curly hair. He approached me, but I can't remember what we talked about. I ended up holding him in my lap while I sang to the dolls. I told them how sorry I was, that they had been left behind. That I hoped their children would come back.

Then I put the doll down and started to take my walk.

When I woke up in bed after all that, my mind was filled with Lucifer's embrace and his cloying scent. And I have spent all day replaying the moment when I threatened his life - like an animal trainer with a frightened tiger, I realize he was. He handled me well.

My husband complained to me when he got up and someone had messed with his CPAP mask. That only happens to him when we go on a journey. I wonder what his was like.

Cow Mutilations

I listened to Coast to Coast last night and, good thing too because there was a lady on there talking about cow mutilations. Which is something I've never been able to find good information on when I've had time to look. So I listened to her and finally formed a question. "Are all the mutilations on females?"

I'd never heard of this woman before, mind you.

When I couldn't get through on the call line I emailed her and asked because I really wanted to know. She took the time to email me back this morning. There was *one* male mutilation. Oh, and she was a little butt hurt that I hadn't read her books. Lady, I didn't know you existed before last night! You ain't THAT famous.

But in my email I drudged up some memories for her use and shared. This of course meant that I was now thinking of said things when I went to bed. I woke up a bit later the way I do feeling something on my chest. Then my left ovary started to hurt as if it were being cut. This woke me up all the way thinking "The Greys! Are they operating?"

The heavy thing on my chest was my cat and the pain was a cramp I get from time to time. Oddly I thought to myself, still groggy, 'No, stop it!' and it went away.

And you lay there thinking that even if you're telling yourself these things for attention or people accuse you of talking about them all of the time because you need mental help, you can't be consciously dealing with it for attention if you're waking up in the middle of the night scared it's happening again. Not scared your cat is smothering you, that you're being raped by an intruder, or that you're hemmoraghing. You're waking up scared you're on the table again, and that's what you come out of slumber preparing to defend against.

 I've been researching on Skunk Works trying to find something as that is the only real lead I have right now. It's not easy material to find. At least for me: my computers never seem to yield good search results for some reason. Folks who don't live here have come over and seen the difference themselves.

EDIT: she later told me there were thousands of male mutilations. Turned out to be a nice lady.

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.

Jaded in Jacksonville 3

This is the third episode in my video blog series. I only wanted to put it here to make sure it was with the others. Please donate through Paypal to help keep me running. Being able to keep my home means more episodes. If everyone who saw this episode donated a buck fifty I would even have the money to keep job hunting with. Or someone can just commission me. Freelance artists ho.