Showing posts with label milab. Show all posts
Showing posts with label milab. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
MILAB vlog "The White Commentaries" July 18 2014
My old Jaded From Jacksonville vlog rebooted. This time I rant about the personal hurt from listening to interviews with two researchers I had reached out to and grown fond of, and how they dismissed people like me as not worth helping more or less. I also make a comment about chick flicks, maybe mention some of my memories that no one cares about, and comment sarcastically on all of those people who channel the Council on High.
This vlog is put out knowing that a lot of researchers are up front about how they're not counselors and can't "help" you in that way. I'm more addressing all those out there who claim to want to "help" when really they just want something for themselves, or their own worldview is too narrow to be anything but harm.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Friday, July 18, 2014
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Hyperspace 04-29-2014 James Bartley
http://youtu.be/QWs4Ph-vDPQ is the address if it doesn't work.
James Bartley has been doing some serious and in depth work about the reptilian problem as well as the MILAB situation for years. He's genuinely passionate about what he does and his stuff is pretty deep. If you haven't read any of his works now is a good time to start.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
PROJECT CAMELOT: INTERVIEW WITH MELINDA LESLIE - SUPER SOLDIER SUMMIT
When I first heard about Leslie, I and my roommate went through hell and finally found her research phone number. She claimed to research MILABS like us, right? And we'd just finished watching a Youtube video where she talked openly about being confronted by a reptilian and being threatened into silence. So we felt she would be open-minded enough for us and would actually listen where no one else had given two shits before.
She reacted very badly in our direction, she didn't even let us finish telling her anything. She wanted to take the video down lest she be considered insane. She accused us of not being real, demanded to know if I'd even bothered to get regressed to find out for sure. When I tried to tell her that yes I'd tried and the experience had turned out very badly, that the therapist had brought out "the Babbler" and it was just a nightmare she sat for a moment in silence... and then went right back to her tirade at us.
And she got stuck very hard on her own word for MILABs; insisted we not use the term MILAB anymore. As if it was somehow going to help matters.
So here she is in this interview talking about how she'd worked with oh so many people, and she's "learned" to listen and take new evidence, and maybe four years plus later she has learned her lesson. But I on the other hand have been badly burned and couldn't trust her research or her, for that matter. How do I know she's learned?
I mean, she was all about telling someone about her reptilian experience to be on a show only to waffle in private. And yelled when the real thing turned to her looking desperately for some clue, something. That speaks volumes to me.
Perhaps her research is good. Maybe we just caught her on a bad day or she resented being called like that. (It's not like we could find an email address.) I encourage you guys to look into her and decide for yourselves. I keep in mind that people are told to stay away from me, that I am isolated by the program very much on purpose. That affects things in ways it probably won't for you.
One thing I note is she talks about how spirituality is now being brought into the research. I don't feel that meditations are bad, mind you, and can be used for research. But I object to it being brought in to the degree it is. It's becoming about documenting evidence and doing research and more about becoming a religion based on what you wish you were and what you think you imagined when that reading may or may not have been real. No one is double checking their facts anymore, and the posturing has gotten much worse as a result. The balance is broken, and that is bad. Period.
I remember what Karla Turner said, "They do NOT behave as angels." We've forgotten the message she lost her life over and we talk about angel guides and psychic boxes... but they do NOT behave as angels. Yes, learn your psychic powers. No, don't put yourself in a place where you can believe any lie you are told.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Eve Lorgen - Archons, Djinn and ETs Disrupting Spiritual Communities
It's basically a good interview although they ranted way too much about how women should be in power and how much women are better a bit way too much. Yes, the patriarchal mentality has proven to be a problem. But when one of them said you won't find any matriarchal cultures anywhere on the planet and Eve said she thought there might be some cults left in India, I felt like maybe they'd been blowing smoke out their asses the entire time.
But I have a degree in anthropology. I clearly remember studying about more than one matriarchal culture while in class. That still exists.
Maybe that's the propaganda, because one anthropology theory is that going patriarchal is a natural evolution of civilization. So we're told it's been stamped out and only primitive neanderthals would have been matriarchal. And so we come to the conclusion that women leading makes things somehow inferior.
Who knows.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Monday, October 7, 2013
Memory, before confirmation
I should take a moment to tell you about my team. It's September 13, Friday... and one of my RSS feeds has turned up with some remembered material from a super soldier. I saw it and realized I needed to record down what I myself remember before reading the article and listening to the interview, lest I color my memory or confuse things up.
I'm going to talk about what I thought was my past life, an alter ego who was in the military. I named her Taus, as I've mentioned before, but the truth is I have no idea what her name is or even if she has a name. She considered herself very beautiful, but she was also untouchable. That only made her more pretty, she thought, because there were so many who could not have her. And we always want that which we cannot have.
In the real world, the story starts when she's very small being taken through her bedroom window to meet the hunters and hang out. There was one time she knew she was being placed back in her bed after an adventure, and she could feel the presence in her room. "Don't open your eyes," a woman's voice kept saying. "Don't open your eyes. Don't open your eyes."
So she opened them - she probably would have kept them closed out of fear, but being told not to open your eyes will get a human to do that every time. Next to her was a silhouette, something she can only describe as a big-headed burglar. It was a small man and his head was shaped like one of those caps from the 1880's, like Andy Cap.
She screamed, and of course her parents came running. She told them there had been someone in the room, but who would believe her? No one of course. It was just a dream.
For the rest of the time I will talk about here, she was plagued with night terrors. She was either running for her life, fighting something, being told about the end of the world, watching people die... the list goes on and on. At first her parents always came running, but then came the night when she was about 6 when no one came no matter how much she cried and wept. From then on her night terrors were faced alone. 36 years later she still has them on occasion, when visited by a bad spirit. The spirit always leaves disappointed: she isn't that scared of night terrors anymore.
In the other world she started out in the Pit, working there under Gromatesch. Maybe she was 3 or 4. He was a reptilian, and he lorded over things holding this staff that had a gem in the top. Gromatesch would kick her sometimes to get her out of the way, but overall she wasn't acknowledged by him much. I may have pictures I drew of it when I was in high school still. I'd have to look. He was a gatekeeper, and she was just a small servant who fetched and carried for him. In this Pit people were kept in cages, kept low to the ground, where they had to eat and sleep in their own filth. She had gotten used to the smell there, where it was stifling hot. In the distance you could hear people scream on occasion, or cry.
When she was only slightly older, she was moved to another division to work under a man who she always called Black. Black as in his name. Black because he tended to wear Black suits. He was nice and talked to her like she was a real person, and she liked being treated like a little adult. Most of the time with him that I can remember was spent doing things around his office or running down the halls of the complex. It seems as though she could go just about anywhere she wanted to, because she was "Black's Pet", and there are half-remembered hints of games involving colors and shapes. Complex puzzles, and if you go deeper a white room.
It was during those early years she also underwent various other treatments - none of which I can really remember until something on the TV happens to make me uncomfortable. The clearest memory of those treatments is being pulled under sand, having to watch people drown. Nights when she was asked to leave her parents in return for promises of ponies, living in big rich houses, and other luxuries. (She almost went one night, but at the last minute gave a tearful goodbye to her mother and awoke crying back home with her parents where she belonged.)
Only slightly older, and she was sent to the camp in the jungle forest. I'm just not sure the jungle times weren't made up, so I hold those memories in high suspicion. But I can still remember the layout of where things were, the packed dirt of the area. It had a high wooden fence of tall stakes. The gate, which was wide enough for a small car or perhaps a jeep, faced I think to the west. I tend to put gates to the west, so that's probably just a think. You're enter into the gate and see the area. It was roundish. Starting from the left and going around: there was a longish area with stalls and woven doors. Maybe quarters. Maybe horse stalls. I never went into them.
Next to that there was a small storage area with boxes and by that, the place where equipment was kept. Mostly I think it was radios and other things for communication. Next to that was an open area with a pole holding up a vinyl tarp. Then there's a space that I can't remember what was there, but I think of water when I try. And by that, the largish tent directly to the right and a few paces from the gate. That's always where she went directly. She'd report there and inside was a skinny man with black hair. He was like a young Black. She thought of him as "greasy" and he was horrible. He'd kick her and yell at her like she was a dog. He'd send her out into the jungle and from there she had to find the "rebel pockets", the places where people who were resisting the government would build little villages and hide them.
The villages were always well sheltered and inside was real village life. She resembled the people who lived there so she was perfect. She'd show up and they'd take her to be a child from another ruined village, bring her in, feed her, set her to a chore, and sometimes even forget she was there. After a day she'd slip back, contact the greasy man, give him their location, and the last time barely got out of the village in time before the air strike came. She stood on the edge of the village watching things burn and hearing people cry, but she felt nothing. She did this twice at least.
In the real world, her parents would watch documentaries with her and her brother. Documentaries about Pompeii always excited the night terrors because she always relived another past life in which she died young. Documentaries about UFOs - back then no one knew about abductions or thought of abductees as crazy people, and she had no idea her night visions and daydreams were real - fueled the imagination. She wanted to meet the aliens she decided, so age 10 she started going to her back yard and mentally calling the ETs.
Now there are those who say the MKultra and kidnap op program find abductees after they've become so, but who is to say it can't also be the other way around? In her case, something she always knew from infanthood, she was an old soul. She even had a sense of who she was, things she had done, and things she could take up doing. She knew she had been important once, and she also knew that once doesn't always apply to the now. She spent hours every morning doing yoga in the living room floor, age 4. She had no idea what yoga was. It was just part of her routine, as if she'd always been doing it. (She is now fat and doesn't do it anymore, btw.) She littered the woods around the house with booby traps and paths, hiding places, and thought of plots daily to handle invaders should they come. She had no idea why she did it, it was just who she was. She'd always done things like this. She'd always played with fire.
So about age 10 her night terrors changed, and she decided meeting the aliens wasn't such a nifty idea anymore. At first her dolls would come to life after everyone was asleep. She used to scream, wake everyone, and thus escape the "death" the dolls planned for her. So they shut down her ability to scream, so that she spent those dreams trying and trying to scream... straining her vocal chords and not producing a sound. And then they would catch her. She never could remember what they did to her. She could only remember the terror and dreaded the dreams. It got so she never played with her dolls anymore and felt uncomfortable having them face her with their blank eyes.
Nearing teenage years and the night terrors changed into a bright light coming to collect her. In that light she was going to die, she always knew, and the dolls would come. They'd cut her open in the white room while she was awake - trying to kill her. Always trying to kill her.
She wanted to escape the real world so badly. It was a frightening place. It was a place doomed to end, and even though she had no way out she wanted a way out. So she and her older brother looked into alternative realities, portals, Earth timelines, whatever they thought could get them away. They tried opening mirrors, random spots in the woods, they didn't care. Anyplace was better than there.
Shortly after her menarche, a blonde man came through the mirror. She named him George, but he never gave her his name. He took her places: boat rides on the local river, had her help him solve some crimes, and made love to her in the reeds. She really began to look forward to going to sleep, to seeing him again.
But the last time she saw him was in an abandoned house where she had to look into a mirror to see him. He asked her to marry him, and at first she said yes. She really did like him. But suddenly a woman in red velvet skirts came from far away - she was an ancestor from very distant that was irritated she had to come. But she was the only one willing because this child's soul does not belong with the family. "When you hear the puppies barking, watch out for your soul." The puppies barked and the girl turned to her lover, aghast. "You're just using me! No I won't marry you! I rebuke you!"
He was gone, but not forgotten... and heartbroken. He'd come at night for a while, and the room would get very cold. Objects began to sling across the room at her head: bottles, heavy things. Her father finally came one night and told George to go away and not come back. That was the last she ever saw of George.
For months after that her belly swelled. Her mother told her at first that this was normal after a first period, but as time went on she started to wear her clothes baggier and baggier. She didn't swell completely like a woman 9 months along, but she certainly felt heavy and expectant. After a while her mother began to ask her, are you pregnant. Are you pregnant.
She said no of course, because George had only been a demon and a dream. She was still a virgin.
Then one night she dreamed of giving birth to a baby girl. The birth happened in her bedroom and she was attended by men in black suits who took the child right away from her. She can't remember if they said anything to her. Her belly went flat and she resumed a normal cycle average to any teenage girl.
But the alternate world changed forever. At first she was chased in her dreams by the men in black suits who wanted to capture her. She gained the power to turn into a wolf and run away, which she sometimes would do. But on another level she returned to being Black's Pet. She was older now, so she also would go with the black suits to run errands. After the errands in the hall and the office, she'd leave the holding area immediately upon return and go down the hall as quickly as she could. There was a nursery there, where her little girl was being kept. She was allowed to visit as much as she willed, and for a while that was enough. The nurse would meet her at the door and put the baby in her arms, and for a while all was right with the world.
But when the child began to walk she decided that was no longer enough. She began to kidnap the child. She'd take the girl with her, run to the hangars, grab a plane or some small flying vehicle and take off. Those dreams always ended with being chased by a big Kodiak bear. With a single swipe of its claws it could tear apart metal roofs like a knife through butter. To this day she hates bears.
There were other times, too, when she was called to shapeshift. Often it was a wolf, a small black one, and she'd spend the night running with the neighborhood dogs. One night she got into a fight with the alpha male and she woke up with scratches all over her face the next morning. She never changed like that again, but she kept expecting there would be a permanent change one day. She always thought that would be into a wolf, but one night she awoke knowing she had changed and stumbled out of her room. She made it to a mirror by the front door and looked. She gasped, "No," because she wasn't a wolf as she had always hoped. She was a phoenix - bright red and fiery with feather down for hair and red staring eyes with slitted pupils. It was a shock to her system that night, so she stumbled out the front door and fainted on the grass. She woke the next morning in her bed with no idea if that was even real.
There were often times, about once a year, that she found herself in someone else's body. They were girls that usually shared some trait with her in some way - it always surprised her, though, if she was in the body of a blonde. In various locations around the world, she would spend the night isolated while the men in the other room prepared to sacrifice her. Sometimes she felt trapped and wanted out, wept and once even did try to escape. The end was always the same with the alter and the knife, or the water, or even just symbolically killing her by having her sing about it. Year after year after year... it didn't stop until she was in her thirties only a few years ago.
She named her astral daughter "Jennifie" because Jennifer means White, and Jennifie looked just like her pale blonde father. When Jennifie got older she wold help her mother on missions. When she was about 14, she came to see her mother one last time. She showed her mother a set of buffalo tracks and another set of symbols - now forgotten - as a message for the future. And then "Taus" never saw her baby again.
She still misses her.
She became an "untouchable" - her word - meaning she was to stay pure and have no sexual relations with anybody. It was a confusing time. There are memories of looking down on the concept of sex slaves and feeling sorry for them... while at the same time feeling incredible amounts of envy. She wondered what it was like: was it as good as the owners seemed to think it was? And why wasn't she pretty enough to be taken to bed too?
These feelings tore into her psyche, and she still has problems from it today.
Things went silent in the other world for a while. "Taus" married, had children, and settled down for a bit before her ex husband was hit on the head and got abusive. The most that happened to her during this time was living in the forest and setting the guards by the road: tall thing, leaflike creatures with a bow and arrow in hand. To keep her from leaving.
From there it's been a struggle to put information together, to figure out what happened when, to understand. Digging up memories she also figured out that while she was handling her children she was also working her way up through the ranks. Her contact with Black grew less and less, but he was still always there. She made it into an elite team that she called The Six - although when one member died she started calling them The Five. So they could have had any name.
They wore black suits, which also served as temperature controlling armor, and spent some time in a tundra environment. She was not a nice person during this time, she was shocked to remember. It took her a long time to come to terms with that - but it can only make sense. She started out calling in air strikes. Why shouldn't she graduate to handling them herself?
They worked as a team on some missions, but mostly they commanded over others and would meet to discuss plans and future movements. She loved those guys and misses them to this day. Two girls, four guys. Later four guys and only her. One's name was Paul, so she always has thought. But she could be wrong. He saved her once, but she can't remember how now.
She was also married, and her relationship with the silver-eyed man can only be described as that of handler and slave. She loved him more than anything, and their marriage was actually a break of the traditional law. But they cleaved to one another and could never think of going to anyone else. Until the day he died in battle and her heart and mind broke in half.
So that in the real world she ended up in a memory rut for a long time, unable to remember anything past her first life in a small valley named Shiro that may or may not be real. She couldn't function, she couldn't do anything much although she tried. There was something broken inside of her and she just didn't know what it was. When she finally did remember silver-eye's death again, she nearly died that time. She suffered a nervous breakdown and her entire mental matrix, so carefully built by her handlers over all that time, had to be rebuilt. Then she began to heal.
But before the nervous breakdown in New Jersey where she lived, she was attacked psychically for the longest time. The leader was a redheaded woman. When she met that woman in the flesh at a local party, she was surprised. And the woman, oblivious, talked long about how she and her group had detected Lucifer living nearby... and they had been working to kill him. Because Lucifer deserved to die.
She was standing outside of her body one time in the apartment and a samurai stepped through the door. He bowed, she bowed, they leaped to the fight. She woke up with scratches on her face and no clue who won. She would really like to know who won.
Black began to spend a lot of time talking to her as the turn of the century grew near. She loved the talks, the lectures, the visits in her apartment, the teachings. And then he was gone and it was time for her to face trial - which everyone must do at the cusp of their age to see if they shall be allowed to live. She was assigned a young man who wore a large sun on his blue robes. She'll never forget how she lay on the couch as he sat down beside her, ran his hand through his brown loose curls, and said, "Um, okay, wow, this is what I have to work with?" She could feel his shock. He had been expecting this dangerous movie grade sexy Angelina Jolene and instead he was sitting next to a dumpy single mother of two having to defend and guide her through the trial. Poor guy, she often thinks to herself. She wonders what became of him. He seemed nice enough.
She can't remember the trial, only the first time standing on the sands at the bottom of the place she calls "Fishbowl" with all of them staring at her. Those horrible eyes.
She isn't dead so she must have been allowed to live. And from there the dream world took the shape that it still holds today 13 years later. She has a triple life.
She sits at the top of the Fishbowl and looks down on the sand. The description of her seat is "on high with stars overhead". There is a canopy around her and she is slightly isolated. There are two groups of men who will attend her: one is seven members, the other is twelve. And from those days on she has been tugged back and forth as good thing are thrown her way and bad things.
Always growing up she had been pushed into being a cruel person, and she just didn't want to be. She'd killed a crab once and that moment was the moment that determined her need to be kind forever. In the end she's not a kind person. Life has not been kind and these days she thinks that being good has only gotten her abused, so she wonders why she bothers. But then there are moments when she really just wants to be good and not do harm.
So sitting on high she is tugged often between good and evil, as if deciding one way or another is important somehow. She doesn't know. When she thinks about it, she gets an image of herself drinking some tea and ignoring the council pressure. Behind her is a window with a stained glass eight-pointed star. It opens into space, and on solstices they will draw or pull the curtains as a symbol of the next government cycle.
Lately there is a new council with three members that have taken to sitting behind her. They think they are closer to her than the other two groups are. She hasn't not made up her mind yet.
And she doesn't remember her times in the Fishbowl very well when she goes. When she goes.
She also is picked up by those in charge of that night's work and goes to underground train stations, portal rooms, and various things. She isn't treated like she was when Black had charge of her. Most of the time she is followed around with people holding clipboards. When she is left alone she'll sneak off like she has always done and look around. There have been a couple of times she was compelled to do her nails, trim her hair, and try to look as nice as possible. Those times always coincided with secret government meetings and other functions. But these days at work are not the fun they used to be.
And in the real world she works for a living. She's got cats and a dog. She puts her dream world into the stories she writes in the hopes that others will remember and say 'Hey, how have you been?' And maybe they can then tell her what happened to the spacestation she was on when it was attacked - she had been shoved into an escape pod by the underlings who were more concerned about her safety than letting her turn around and find out what was going on. And maybe they can tell her - what happened to Paul? Where is her lawyer?
And most importantly: has anybody seen Jennifie?
I'm going to talk about what I thought was my past life, an alter ego who was in the military. I named her Taus, as I've mentioned before, but the truth is I have no idea what her name is or even if she has a name. She considered herself very beautiful, but she was also untouchable. That only made her more pretty, she thought, because there were so many who could not have her. And we always want that which we cannot have.
In the real world, the story starts when she's very small being taken through her bedroom window to meet the hunters and hang out. There was one time she knew she was being placed back in her bed after an adventure, and she could feel the presence in her room. "Don't open your eyes," a woman's voice kept saying. "Don't open your eyes. Don't open your eyes."
So she opened them - she probably would have kept them closed out of fear, but being told not to open your eyes will get a human to do that every time. Next to her was a silhouette, something she can only describe as a big-headed burglar. It was a small man and his head was shaped like one of those caps from the 1880's, like Andy Cap.
She screamed, and of course her parents came running. She told them there had been someone in the room, but who would believe her? No one of course. It was just a dream.
For the rest of the time I will talk about here, she was plagued with night terrors. She was either running for her life, fighting something, being told about the end of the world, watching people die... the list goes on and on. At first her parents always came running, but then came the night when she was about 6 when no one came no matter how much she cried and wept. From then on her night terrors were faced alone. 36 years later she still has them on occasion, when visited by a bad spirit. The spirit always leaves disappointed: she isn't that scared of night terrors anymore.
In the other world she started out in the Pit, working there under Gromatesch. Maybe she was 3 or 4. He was a reptilian, and he lorded over things holding this staff that had a gem in the top. Gromatesch would kick her sometimes to get her out of the way, but overall she wasn't acknowledged by him much. I may have pictures I drew of it when I was in high school still. I'd have to look. He was a gatekeeper, and she was just a small servant who fetched and carried for him. In this Pit people were kept in cages, kept low to the ground, where they had to eat and sleep in their own filth. She had gotten used to the smell there, where it was stifling hot. In the distance you could hear people scream on occasion, or cry.
When she was only slightly older, she was moved to another division to work under a man who she always called Black. Black as in his name. Black because he tended to wear Black suits. He was nice and talked to her like she was a real person, and she liked being treated like a little adult. Most of the time with him that I can remember was spent doing things around his office or running down the halls of the complex. It seems as though she could go just about anywhere she wanted to, because she was "Black's Pet", and there are half-remembered hints of games involving colors and shapes. Complex puzzles, and if you go deeper a white room.
It was during those early years she also underwent various other treatments - none of which I can really remember until something on the TV happens to make me uncomfortable. The clearest memory of those treatments is being pulled under sand, having to watch people drown. Nights when she was asked to leave her parents in return for promises of ponies, living in big rich houses, and other luxuries. (She almost went one night, but at the last minute gave a tearful goodbye to her mother and awoke crying back home with her parents where she belonged.)
Only slightly older, and she was sent to the camp in the jungle forest. I'm just not sure the jungle times weren't made up, so I hold those memories in high suspicion. But I can still remember the layout of where things were, the packed dirt of the area. It had a high wooden fence of tall stakes. The gate, which was wide enough for a small car or perhaps a jeep, faced I think to the west. I tend to put gates to the west, so that's probably just a think. You're enter into the gate and see the area. It was roundish. Starting from the left and going around: there was a longish area with stalls and woven doors. Maybe quarters. Maybe horse stalls. I never went into them.
Next to that there was a small storage area with boxes and by that, the place where equipment was kept. Mostly I think it was radios and other things for communication. Next to that was an open area with a pole holding up a vinyl tarp. Then there's a space that I can't remember what was there, but I think of water when I try. And by that, the largish tent directly to the right and a few paces from the gate. That's always where she went directly. She'd report there and inside was a skinny man with black hair. He was like a young Black. She thought of him as "greasy" and he was horrible. He'd kick her and yell at her like she was a dog. He'd send her out into the jungle and from there she had to find the "rebel pockets", the places where people who were resisting the government would build little villages and hide them.
The villages were always well sheltered and inside was real village life. She resembled the people who lived there so she was perfect. She'd show up and they'd take her to be a child from another ruined village, bring her in, feed her, set her to a chore, and sometimes even forget she was there. After a day she'd slip back, contact the greasy man, give him their location, and the last time barely got out of the village in time before the air strike came. She stood on the edge of the village watching things burn and hearing people cry, but she felt nothing. She did this twice at least.
In the real world, her parents would watch documentaries with her and her brother. Documentaries about Pompeii always excited the night terrors because she always relived another past life in which she died young. Documentaries about UFOs - back then no one knew about abductions or thought of abductees as crazy people, and she had no idea her night visions and daydreams were real - fueled the imagination. She wanted to meet the aliens she decided, so age 10 she started going to her back yard and mentally calling the ETs.
Now there are those who say the MKultra and kidnap op program find abductees after they've become so, but who is to say it can't also be the other way around? In her case, something she always knew from infanthood, she was an old soul. She even had a sense of who she was, things she had done, and things she could take up doing. She knew she had been important once, and she also knew that once doesn't always apply to the now. She spent hours every morning doing yoga in the living room floor, age 4. She had no idea what yoga was. It was just part of her routine, as if she'd always been doing it. (She is now fat and doesn't do it anymore, btw.) She littered the woods around the house with booby traps and paths, hiding places, and thought of plots daily to handle invaders should they come. She had no idea why she did it, it was just who she was. She'd always done things like this. She'd always played with fire.
So about age 10 her night terrors changed, and she decided meeting the aliens wasn't such a nifty idea anymore. At first her dolls would come to life after everyone was asleep. She used to scream, wake everyone, and thus escape the "death" the dolls planned for her. So they shut down her ability to scream, so that she spent those dreams trying and trying to scream... straining her vocal chords and not producing a sound. And then they would catch her. She never could remember what they did to her. She could only remember the terror and dreaded the dreams. It got so she never played with her dolls anymore and felt uncomfortable having them face her with their blank eyes.
Nearing teenage years and the night terrors changed into a bright light coming to collect her. In that light she was going to die, she always knew, and the dolls would come. They'd cut her open in the white room while she was awake - trying to kill her. Always trying to kill her.
She wanted to escape the real world so badly. It was a frightening place. It was a place doomed to end, and even though she had no way out she wanted a way out. So she and her older brother looked into alternative realities, portals, Earth timelines, whatever they thought could get them away. They tried opening mirrors, random spots in the woods, they didn't care. Anyplace was better than there.
Shortly after her menarche, a blonde man came through the mirror. She named him George, but he never gave her his name. He took her places: boat rides on the local river, had her help him solve some crimes, and made love to her in the reeds. She really began to look forward to going to sleep, to seeing him again.
But the last time she saw him was in an abandoned house where she had to look into a mirror to see him. He asked her to marry him, and at first she said yes. She really did like him. But suddenly a woman in red velvet skirts came from far away - she was an ancestor from very distant that was irritated she had to come. But she was the only one willing because this child's soul does not belong with the family. "When you hear the puppies barking, watch out for your soul." The puppies barked and the girl turned to her lover, aghast. "You're just using me! No I won't marry you! I rebuke you!"
He was gone, but not forgotten... and heartbroken. He'd come at night for a while, and the room would get very cold. Objects began to sling across the room at her head: bottles, heavy things. Her father finally came one night and told George to go away and not come back. That was the last she ever saw of George.
For months after that her belly swelled. Her mother told her at first that this was normal after a first period, but as time went on she started to wear her clothes baggier and baggier. She didn't swell completely like a woman 9 months along, but she certainly felt heavy and expectant. After a while her mother began to ask her, are you pregnant. Are you pregnant.
She said no of course, because George had only been a demon and a dream. She was still a virgin.
Then one night she dreamed of giving birth to a baby girl. The birth happened in her bedroom and she was attended by men in black suits who took the child right away from her. She can't remember if they said anything to her. Her belly went flat and she resumed a normal cycle average to any teenage girl.
But the alternate world changed forever. At first she was chased in her dreams by the men in black suits who wanted to capture her. She gained the power to turn into a wolf and run away, which she sometimes would do. But on another level she returned to being Black's Pet. She was older now, so she also would go with the black suits to run errands. After the errands in the hall and the office, she'd leave the holding area immediately upon return and go down the hall as quickly as she could. There was a nursery there, where her little girl was being kept. She was allowed to visit as much as she willed, and for a while that was enough. The nurse would meet her at the door and put the baby in her arms, and for a while all was right with the world.
But when the child began to walk she decided that was no longer enough. She began to kidnap the child. She'd take the girl with her, run to the hangars, grab a plane or some small flying vehicle and take off. Those dreams always ended with being chased by a big Kodiak bear. With a single swipe of its claws it could tear apart metal roofs like a knife through butter. To this day she hates bears.
There were other times, too, when she was called to shapeshift. Often it was a wolf, a small black one, and she'd spend the night running with the neighborhood dogs. One night she got into a fight with the alpha male and she woke up with scratches all over her face the next morning. She never changed like that again, but she kept expecting there would be a permanent change one day. She always thought that would be into a wolf, but one night she awoke knowing she had changed and stumbled out of her room. She made it to a mirror by the front door and looked. She gasped, "No," because she wasn't a wolf as she had always hoped. She was a phoenix - bright red and fiery with feather down for hair and red staring eyes with slitted pupils. It was a shock to her system that night, so she stumbled out the front door and fainted on the grass. She woke the next morning in her bed with no idea if that was even real.
There were often times, about once a year, that she found herself in someone else's body. They were girls that usually shared some trait with her in some way - it always surprised her, though, if she was in the body of a blonde. In various locations around the world, she would spend the night isolated while the men in the other room prepared to sacrifice her. Sometimes she felt trapped and wanted out, wept and once even did try to escape. The end was always the same with the alter and the knife, or the water, or even just symbolically killing her by having her sing about it. Year after year after year... it didn't stop until she was in her thirties only a few years ago.
She named her astral daughter "Jennifie" because Jennifer means White, and Jennifie looked just like her pale blonde father. When Jennifie got older she wold help her mother on missions. When she was about 14, she came to see her mother one last time. She showed her mother a set of buffalo tracks and another set of symbols - now forgotten - as a message for the future. And then "Taus" never saw her baby again.
She still misses her.
She became an "untouchable" - her word - meaning she was to stay pure and have no sexual relations with anybody. It was a confusing time. There are memories of looking down on the concept of sex slaves and feeling sorry for them... while at the same time feeling incredible amounts of envy. She wondered what it was like: was it as good as the owners seemed to think it was? And why wasn't she pretty enough to be taken to bed too?
These feelings tore into her psyche, and she still has problems from it today.
Things went silent in the other world for a while. "Taus" married, had children, and settled down for a bit before her ex husband was hit on the head and got abusive. The most that happened to her during this time was living in the forest and setting the guards by the road: tall thing, leaflike creatures with a bow and arrow in hand. To keep her from leaving.
From there it's been a struggle to put information together, to figure out what happened when, to understand. Digging up memories she also figured out that while she was handling her children she was also working her way up through the ranks. Her contact with Black grew less and less, but he was still always there. She made it into an elite team that she called The Six - although when one member died she started calling them The Five. So they could have had any name.
They wore black suits, which also served as temperature controlling armor, and spent some time in a tundra environment. She was not a nice person during this time, she was shocked to remember. It took her a long time to come to terms with that - but it can only make sense. She started out calling in air strikes. Why shouldn't she graduate to handling them herself?
They worked as a team on some missions, but mostly they commanded over others and would meet to discuss plans and future movements. She loved those guys and misses them to this day. Two girls, four guys. Later four guys and only her. One's name was Paul, so she always has thought. But she could be wrong. He saved her once, but she can't remember how now.
She was also married, and her relationship with the silver-eyed man can only be described as that of handler and slave. She loved him more than anything, and their marriage was actually a break of the traditional law. But they cleaved to one another and could never think of going to anyone else. Until the day he died in battle and her heart and mind broke in half.
So that in the real world she ended up in a memory rut for a long time, unable to remember anything past her first life in a small valley named Shiro that may or may not be real. She couldn't function, she couldn't do anything much although she tried. There was something broken inside of her and she just didn't know what it was. When she finally did remember silver-eye's death again, she nearly died that time. She suffered a nervous breakdown and her entire mental matrix, so carefully built by her handlers over all that time, had to be rebuilt. Then she began to heal.
But before the nervous breakdown in New Jersey where she lived, she was attacked psychically for the longest time. The leader was a redheaded woman. When she met that woman in the flesh at a local party, she was surprised. And the woman, oblivious, talked long about how she and her group had detected Lucifer living nearby... and they had been working to kill him. Because Lucifer deserved to die.
She was standing outside of her body one time in the apartment and a samurai stepped through the door. He bowed, she bowed, they leaped to the fight. She woke up with scratches on her face and no clue who won. She would really like to know who won.
Black began to spend a lot of time talking to her as the turn of the century grew near. She loved the talks, the lectures, the visits in her apartment, the teachings. And then he was gone and it was time for her to face trial - which everyone must do at the cusp of their age to see if they shall be allowed to live. She was assigned a young man who wore a large sun on his blue robes. She'll never forget how she lay on the couch as he sat down beside her, ran his hand through his brown loose curls, and said, "Um, okay, wow, this is what I have to work with?" She could feel his shock. He had been expecting this dangerous movie grade sexy Angelina Jolene and instead he was sitting next to a dumpy single mother of two having to defend and guide her through the trial. Poor guy, she often thinks to herself. She wonders what became of him. He seemed nice enough.
She can't remember the trial, only the first time standing on the sands at the bottom of the place she calls "Fishbowl" with all of them staring at her. Those horrible eyes.
She isn't dead so she must have been allowed to live. And from there the dream world took the shape that it still holds today 13 years later. She has a triple life.
She sits at the top of the Fishbowl and looks down on the sand. The description of her seat is "on high with stars overhead". There is a canopy around her and she is slightly isolated. There are two groups of men who will attend her: one is seven members, the other is twelve. And from those days on she has been tugged back and forth as good thing are thrown her way and bad things.
Always growing up she had been pushed into being a cruel person, and she just didn't want to be. She'd killed a crab once and that moment was the moment that determined her need to be kind forever. In the end she's not a kind person. Life has not been kind and these days she thinks that being good has only gotten her abused, so she wonders why she bothers. But then there are moments when she really just wants to be good and not do harm.
So sitting on high she is tugged often between good and evil, as if deciding one way or another is important somehow. She doesn't know. When she thinks about it, she gets an image of herself drinking some tea and ignoring the council pressure. Behind her is a window with a stained glass eight-pointed star. It opens into space, and on solstices they will draw or pull the curtains as a symbol of the next government cycle.
Lately there is a new council with three members that have taken to sitting behind her. They think they are closer to her than the other two groups are. She hasn't not made up her mind yet.
And she doesn't remember her times in the Fishbowl very well when she goes. When she goes.
She also is picked up by those in charge of that night's work and goes to underground train stations, portal rooms, and various things. She isn't treated like she was when Black had charge of her. Most of the time she is followed around with people holding clipboards. When she is left alone she'll sneak off like she has always done and look around. There have been a couple of times she was compelled to do her nails, trim her hair, and try to look as nice as possible. Those times always coincided with secret government meetings and other functions. But these days at work are not the fun they used to be.
And in the real world she works for a living. She's got cats and a dog. She puts her dream world into the stories she writes in the hopes that others will remember and say 'Hey, how have you been?' And maybe they can then tell her what happened to the spacestation she was on when it was attacked - she had been shoved into an escape pod by the underlings who were more concerned about her safety than letting her turn around and find out what was going on. And maybe they can tell her - what happened to Paul? Where is her lawyer?
And most importantly: has anybody seen Jennifie?
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
CIA / MK-ULTRA Hearings - Survivor Testimony 1996
The thing that kind of bothers me is this woman (Kristie Nicola? She wasn't clear.) was born in 1966. I was born in late 1971. That's not that many years apart. But the hypnotherapist I went to told me I was too young to have been part of anything like this, that matters had been stopped long before that.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Friday, June 21, 2013
An old image, a new revelation
Driving puts you in an automatic trance - when you first start to learn hypnotherapy you most likely will be told that. When you're as close to remembering as I was, it means information is bound to pop into your head. This happened to me one day when I was driving the hour's drive from my house to the nearest art supply store.
The image that popped into my head was, I thought, that of some sort of thermal reactor power source. I grabbed a handy scrap of paper and sketched it as soon as I could, but unfortunately I wasn't able to give the detail I had seen. The diagram in my head didn't have much for labeling, but in that instant I knew what each part was for, why it did what it did, how deep everything was, the works. What came out on paper was this:
It's very deep, I can't remember how far deep, and doesn't need to be near a river although in this case I was thinking of it being near a river - but I also was about to drive over the Mississippi River. The heat and the cold have different levels, with the heat occupying the top half of the walls. The scribbly lines there is water in a containment unit that encompasses the entire thing. And it's a few years later since I've drawn this and I can't remember what the rest means. This was a quick sketch of how the unit used the earth's natural temperatures and natural resources to power itself and things attached to it, such as a facility. I wish I could remember exactly how it worked, because that explanation there isn't very close.
Today I was listening to a clip from some interviews concerning the Malmstrom incident. A diagram was put up of the facility and I have had to stop the footage. Here is what I see.
It's my design. These missiles are not thermal power devices as far as I can tell: not even the same creature. Except that later in the interview the gentleman mentions the missiles are self-supporting. And it's what was in my head.
I don't know who personally designed the thing - most likely definitely not me - but I do know one of my dominant other sides of life works on things like this. She's repaired space objects, she has a team, and... I knew about this.
I wish I could remember. I don't want to die not remembering.
I had a dream about implants last night. Ha! My fault for worrying about them so much. The thing was behind my ear again, but it was flat so that the lump would be faintly noticeable. But I knew it was there and kept picking at it.
The image that popped into my head was, I thought, that of some sort of thermal reactor power source. I grabbed a handy scrap of paper and sketched it as soon as I could, but unfortunately I wasn't able to give the detail I had seen. The diagram in my head didn't have much for labeling, but in that instant I knew what each part was for, why it did what it did, how deep everything was, the works. What came out on paper was this:
It's very deep, I can't remember how far deep, and doesn't need to be near a river although in this case I was thinking of it being near a river - but I also was about to drive over the Mississippi River. The heat and the cold have different levels, with the heat occupying the top half of the walls. The scribbly lines there is water in a containment unit that encompasses the entire thing. And it's a few years later since I've drawn this and I can't remember what the rest means. This was a quick sketch of how the unit used the earth's natural temperatures and natural resources to power itself and things attached to it, such as a facility. I wish I could remember exactly how it worked, because that explanation there isn't very close.
Today I was listening to a clip from some interviews concerning the Malmstrom incident. A diagram was put up of the facility and I have had to stop the footage. Here is what I see.
It's my design. These missiles are not thermal power devices as far as I can tell: not even the same creature. Except that later in the interview the gentleman mentions the missiles are self-supporting. And it's what was in my head.
I don't know who personally designed the thing - most likely definitely not me - but I do know one of my dominant other sides of life works on things like this. She's repaired space objects, she has a team, and... I knew about this.
I wish I could remember. I don't want to die not remembering.
I had a dream about implants last night. Ha! My fault for worrying about them so much. The thing was behind my ear again, but it was flat so that the lump would be faintly noticeable. But I knew it was there and kept picking at it.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Dolls2
Sleeping in that bus became a fight between me and my parents. I'd hang around in their house as long as I could, watching TV and trying to fall asleep on the couch. Then my father would announce it was time to go to bed, and I'd fight it as far as I could. I'd beg, and I'd plead, and I'd tell him straight up how afraid I was. He'd yell and threaten and eventually I had to walk across the dark back yard by myself to that dark, cold bus and wait in the night for the next nightmare. When it came time to get up for school in the morning I was always so tired and worn out.
After a while, the dreams stopped. My father eventually came into some money which he used to build rooms onto the trailer for my little brother and myself, giving my older brother the bus to himself. The events around me transformed from being haunted by dolls to being chased by men in dark suits, meetings in the night with people in uniform, and memories of helicopters. I had a nightly courtship with an incubus, missed my period for nine months after my menarche, and fell in love with the "dream adventures" I began to have.
Sure there were plenty of nights I was still chased by dolls, and even zombies. But with the coming of the men in the business suits - I called them FBI agents - came a sense of dream empowerment. I soon figured out I could do all sorts of things in my dreams. I also figured out that if I got angry enough, I could do all sorts of things in real life. Maybe I couldn't float pots and pans and hit my chasers in the face like I could in my dreams, but I could tell you things. And sense things. And I knew that when it came to pendulums and card-reading, I was the child who was taking after her father.
In the dream world I had a daughter who looked just like her incubus father - pale and golden. I named her Jennifer, after King Arthur's Guinevere, because that means "White." My dreams molded again to me stealing Jenn from an on shop nursery and being chased by a giant kodiak bear again and again. I wanted my daughter back. I soon learned a healthy respect and fear of bears... to top off my other fears I had gained through the years.
Through all of this, I also learned to speak to "my spirit guides". I didn't know who they were: I didn't try to give them faces of famous dead people like so man people do. If they were Red, like myself, that was fine. If they weren't, that was fine, too. All I knew was they'd tell me things, like when to take a walk down a road so I could find that lost kitten who needed my help. Or when to take a walk at night to "meet with the fairies" - meetings I don't remember if I had them at all. They reassured me when the bullying was too much, they told me of this great destiny I had. They told me they couldn't tell me what it was exactly because if I knew, "I would refuse to accept it."
The nightmares at the bus door were all but forgotten by then.
I'd slip off into the woods to talk to them, to vent, and relied on the blowing wind as their answer. My entire waking world had grown to be far from mundane. All grown up as I am now I would say I probably had built the perfect escapism story, except for the physical confirmations I got time and time again. "Go this way and you'll find something," and I would. "Call so and so and this will happen." And it would.
"When you are in your 30's all of the things you are here for will begin to happen." I had to wait a long time for that one.
So much has happened since those days long ago; too much for me to put into this short story. I want to skip over the hard times, the good times, the fluffy times and go right into after I'd realized I wasn't dealing with fairies exactly, had grown to call my guides "The Fishbowl" and started seeking answers to why things were how they were around me in my life.
After a while, the dreams stopped. My father eventually came into some money which he used to build rooms onto the trailer for my little brother and myself, giving my older brother the bus to himself. The events around me transformed from being haunted by dolls to being chased by men in dark suits, meetings in the night with people in uniform, and memories of helicopters. I had a nightly courtship with an incubus, missed my period for nine months after my menarche, and fell in love with the "dream adventures" I began to have.
Sure there were plenty of nights I was still chased by dolls, and even zombies. But with the coming of the men in the business suits - I called them FBI agents - came a sense of dream empowerment. I soon figured out I could do all sorts of things in my dreams. I also figured out that if I got angry enough, I could do all sorts of things in real life. Maybe I couldn't float pots and pans and hit my chasers in the face like I could in my dreams, but I could tell you things. And sense things. And I knew that when it came to pendulums and card-reading, I was the child who was taking after her father.
In the dream world I had a daughter who looked just like her incubus father - pale and golden. I named her Jennifer, after King Arthur's Guinevere, because that means "White." My dreams molded again to me stealing Jenn from an on shop nursery and being chased by a giant kodiak bear again and again. I wanted my daughter back. I soon learned a healthy respect and fear of bears... to top off my other fears I had gained through the years.
Through all of this, I also learned to speak to "my spirit guides". I didn't know who they were: I didn't try to give them faces of famous dead people like so man people do. If they were Red, like myself, that was fine. If they weren't, that was fine, too. All I knew was they'd tell me things, like when to take a walk down a road so I could find that lost kitten who needed my help. Or when to take a walk at night to "meet with the fairies" - meetings I don't remember if I had them at all. They reassured me when the bullying was too much, they told me of this great destiny I had. They told me they couldn't tell me what it was exactly because if I knew, "I would refuse to accept it."
The nightmares at the bus door were all but forgotten by then.
I'd slip off into the woods to talk to them, to vent, and relied on the blowing wind as their answer. My entire waking world had grown to be far from mundane. All grown up as I am now I would say I probably had built the perfect escapism story, except for the physical confirmations I got time and time again. "Go this way and you'll find something," and I would. "Call so and so and this will happen." And it would.
"When you are in your 30's all of the things you are here for will begin to happen." I had to wait a long time for that one.
So much has happened since those days long ago; too much for me to put into this short story. I want to skip over the hard times, the good times, the fluffy times and go right into after I'd realized I wasn't dealing with fairies exactly, had grown to call my guides "The Fishbowl" and started seeking answers to why things were how they were around me in my life.
Monday, March 4, 2013
When No One Believes You
The Cassandra Syndrome.
According to Wikipedia: The Cassandra metaphor (variously labelled the Cassandra 'syndrome', 'complex', 'phenomenon', 'predicament', 'dilemma', or 'curse') occurs when valid warnings or concerns are dismissed or disbelieved.
The term originates in Greek mythology. Cassandra was a daughter of Priam, the King of Troy. Struck by her beauty, Apollo provided her with the gift of prophecy, but when Cassandra refused Apollo's romantic advances, he placed a curse ensuring that nobody would believe her warnings. Cassandra was left with the knowledge of future events, but could neither alter these events nor convince others of the validity of her predictions.
The metaphor has been applied in a variety of contexts such as psychology, environmentalism, politics, science, cinema, the corporate world, and in philosophy, and has been in circulation since at least 1949 when French philosopher Gaston Bachelard coined the term 'Cassandra Complex' to refer to a belief that things could be known in advance.
At the time I began to look into this particular issue, I wasn't aware that the situation had a name. I posted a question to the Above Top Secret Forum because of mingling emotions: PMS had me and I was feeling all Cassandra and emo, I've always wondered why no one looks a this particular looming issue experiences face every day of their lives, and I wanted to see what others had to say so that I could compile a list of suggestions to help readers of this blog.
I wrote:
This isn't a post about me, really. I'm going to use my situation as an example because it's the best one I have. For the more dense readers out there, this is me suggesting a situation and posing a question *to you*. As a result I'm going to mention things talked about here before. I'm hoping to discuss what it's like for everyone in this situation and maybe talk about ways each of us cope with it. I looked around a bit before deciding to start this thread and saw that no one really covers this, but it seems to me that this particular problem with being an adbuctee either by the military or by non-humans deserves more than a mere mention on occasion. It's a symptom of the problem that could use a band-aid, so that folks in this situation can concentrate more on solving the bigger problem.
So here I am; I've had some interesting experiences in my life, seen some things, woke up in the middle of things that folks wish I didn't remember. Things like that. When my husband and I first got together he was all about how he believed me and learning things. Four years later, things are different. And the other day he told me a funny story about how he confused someone at work by explaining to them how I was "delusional".
Which wasn't very funny to me... it kind of hurt actually.
Tell researchers your problem and they might, if you're lucky, talk to you long enough to get some information. Then they dump you like so much trash. Or you're told you're a cabal slave and to go away. (Really did happen to a friend of mine.) Or maybe you'll get lucky and find a researcher who will talk to you like a real person, but after a few months you figure out you're being blown off and strung along for some other agenda. (Hello, MUFON!) Go to forums like this one, hoping for some sort of comradarie, and you get blown off. "They're just dreams." And after a while you start waking up in the morning feeling like you're the only person in the whole world, because there just isn't anybody out there for you. And maybe you're better off in a cave someplace, living with bears.
Maybe part of the problem is a handler device to keep you from getting help. Maybe that's just paranoia talking. One thing you know for sure - you're not crazy. The stinking implant in your bird finger didn't get there all by itself. You aren't trying to get attention or convince someone to write a book about you... you just want to feel part of the pack as it were. And maybe get to talk about your situation, figure things out, find the truth hidden in the mess of your brain.
And okay, your personality doesn't mesh with mainstream society so you find yourself distancing yourself from people more and more - especially that MUFON lady who said you weren't "very bright" for not wanting to kill a harmless ladybug. The thing is, in the end you gotta find solace all alone even though connecting with others would be kind of nice. And there's no feeling like the emptiness you get when no one believes you, even those that claim they make it their business to... or your own mate, who used your story as a dating device and now has essentially abandoned you for the stinking SCA.
Now I think for you out there, this situation isn't always to such an extreme. But I'm sure there are those out there who know what I'm talking about. I don't have any advice for it. I keep a personal blog on the matter. I write it under an assumed name, I put information in there on the rare occasions I find time to collect it, and I put my story down, reread, assess, and try to figure things out. My blog is kind of all I have. :-) But it's also been the most reliable method I've had for years.
How about the rest of you?
I got your standard expected answers, of course: negative people putting me down and belittling the experiences I purposefully did not elaborate upon. I also got, however, a plethora of fabulous responses that gave me some real good information I need.
The name of the condition for starters.
Many people talking about their own experiences - which allowed me to see how they cope, think and feel.
And naturally a lot of good replies with good advice that I want to share with you now. So when you're feeling like Cassandra - all alone and surrounded by a close-minded world that spits on your life, keep and remember this list. It will help you, and some of it has helped me over the past 40 years.
According to Wikipedia: The Cassandra metaphor (variously labelled the Cassandra 'syndrome', 'complex', 'phenomenon', 'predicament', 'dilemma', or 'curse') occurs when valid warnings or concerns are dismissed or disbelieved.
The term originates in Greek mythology. Cassandra was a daughter of Priam, the King of Troy. Struck by her beauty, Apollo provided her with the gift of prophecy, but when Cassandra refused Apollo's romantic advances, he placed a curse ensuring that nobody would believe her warnings. Cassandra was left with the knowledge of future events, but could neither alter these events nor convince others of the validity of her predictions.
The metaphor has been applied in a variety of contexts such as psychology, environmentalism, politics, science, cinema, the corporate world, and in philosophy, and has been in circulation since at least 1949 when French philosopher Gaston Bachelard coined the term 'Cassandra Complex' to refer to a belief that things could be known in advance.
At the time I began to look into this particular issue, I wasn't aware that the situation had a name. I posted a question to the Above Top Secret Forum because of mingling emotions: PMS had me and I was feeling all Cassandra and emo, I've always wondered why no one looks a this particular looming issue experiences face every day of their lives, and I wanted to see what others had to say so that I could compile a list of suggestions to help readers of this blog.
I wrote:
This isn't a post about me, really. I'm going to use my situation as an example because it's the best one I have. For the more dense readers out there, this is me suggesting a situation and posing a question *to you*. As a result I'm going to mention things talked about here before. I'm hoping to discuss what it's like for everyone in this situation and maybe talk about ways each of us cope with it. I looked around a bit before deciding to start this thread and saw that no one really covers this, but it seems to me that this particular problem with being an adbuctee either by the military or by non-humans deserves more than a mere mention on occasion. It's a symptom of the problem that could use a band-aid, so that folks in this situation can concentrate more on solving the bigger problem.
So here I am; I've had some interesting experiences in my life, seen some things, woke up in the middle of things that folks wish I didn't remember. Things like that. When my husband and I first got together he was all about how he believed me and learning things. Four years later, things are different. And the other day he told me a funny story about how he confused someone at work by explaining to them how I was "delusional".
Which wasn't very funny to me... it kind of hurt actually.
Tell researchers your problem and they might, if you're lucky, talk to you long enough to get some information. Then they dump you like so much trash. Or you're told you're a cabal slave and to go away. (Really did happen to a friend of mine.) Or maybe you'll get lucky and find a researcher who will talk to you like a real person, but after a few months you figure out you're being blown off and strung along for some other agenda. (Hello, MUFON!) Go to forums like this one, hoping for some sort of comradarie, and you get blown off. "They're just dreams." And after a while you start waking up in the morning feeling like you're the only person in the whole world, because there just isn't anybody out there for you. And maybe you're better off in a cave someplace, living with bears.
Maybe part of the problem is a handler device to keep you from getting help. Maybe that's just paranoia talking. One thing you know for sure - you're not crazy. The stinking implant in your bird finger didn't get there all by itself. You aren't trying to get attention or convince someone to write a book about you... you just want to feel part of the pack as it were. And maybe get to talk about your situation, figure things out, find the truth hidden in the mess of your brain.
And okay, your personality doesn't mesh with mainstream society so you find yourself distancing yourself from people more and more - especially that MUFON lady who said you weren't "very bright" for not wanting to kill a harmless ladybug. The thing is, in the end you gotta find solace all alone even though connecting with others would be kind of nice. And there's no feeling like the emptiness you get when no one believes you, even those that claim they make it their business to... or your own mate, who used your story as a dating device and now has essentially abandoned you for the stinking SCA.
Now I think for you out there, this situation isn't always to such an extreme. But I'm sure there are those out there who know what I'm talking about. I don't have any advice for it. I keep a personal blog on the matter. I write it under an assumed name, I put information in there on the rare occasions I find time to collect it, and I put my story down, reread, assess, and try to figure things out. My blog is kind of all I have. :-) But it's also been the most reliable method I've had for years.
How about the rest of you?
I got your standard expected answers, of course: negative people putting me down and belittling the experiences I purposefully did not elaborate upon. I also got, however, a plethora of fabulous responses that gave me some real good information I need.
The name of the condition for starters.
Many people talking about their own experiences - which allowed me to see how they cope, think and feel.
And naturally a lot of good replies with good advice that I want to share with you now. So when you're feeling like Cassandra - all alone and surrounded by a close-minded world that spits on your life, keep and remember this list. It will help you, and some of it has helped me over the past 40 years.
- Remember you're not the only one. Even if you have no one to talk to, that doesn't mean you're out and out delusional. If you're reading this blog, you have access to at least some parts of the internet. Do a websearch. You're bound to find out that others are out there, like stars in the darkness.
- Ground and center. It's a very useful technique for clearing your head past your feelings to access the information and understand what is happening or has happened to you. With understanding can come a great degree of self confidence and reassurance. There are many ways to ground and center. Take a walk in the park, or a hot bath. Write a journal, paint a picture, go for a relaxing drive. The point is to find an activity that helps you to clear your mind and relax.
- Meditate. I personally associate meditation with grounding and centering because it's a focused activity that requires you to clear your mind and relax. I can also vouche that weekly meditation at least helps to level out your emotions so that you can find better self-control, which is also essential to understanding your situation and not jumping to conclusions.
- Find someone to talk to that will at least listen if not relate This is probably the most popular method, and whether you're an alien abductee or a shell-shocked war veteran it also is a very effective one. *Contrary to popular belief, your confident does not need to have experienced the same or similar things.* I've worked on Vietnam veteran projects, talked to counselors, and helped a lot of friends through things I could never understand simply by listening so I'm sure of what I say here. What's important is your confident empathsizes, communicates, doesn't ridicule in a thoughtless or mean manner (joking around is great), and is someone you can trust to tell things to. The act of being able to talk it out is what you need, not a clique.
- Keep confidence in yourself and where you stand. There may be times that you wibble. There may be other times that you wobble. But so long as you know you know your truth, you'll have the kind of faith religious place great stock in. That sort of faith can move mountains, they say.
Monday, February 4, 2013
the Farm
I was telling a friend the other day about one of the entires in this blog, and how it definitely is doing what it's meant to do. It doesn't matter if I have no readers. It does matter if I can figure things out. And it was quite the revelation the other day, realizing the "hunters" of my childhood dreams may not have been that. I mean, how many hunters wear military uniforms?
Of course as a child I didn't know those were military uniforms, it's just that hunting was something I could relate to. They carried guns, they carried pouches, they rode in the back of a truck... and my father would hunt and fish and bring home natural game for us to eat. It made perfect sense. It was always dark when I saw these guys, so it may still be that they were hunters and maybe I was watching things through the eyes of their dogs. So even now it makes sense, but I recognize the clothes when my husband puts one on. He's currently in a special training unit, so he doesn't always wear the standard uniform you'll see in the news report. In fact he more often than not just wears straight "greens" - especially when working the training field.
There are some differences, of course, but there it is. For real or not.
I've also seen these greens recently, while in an underground base while wandering in places I shouldn't be.
There is something else I just remembered thanks to writing this entry.
After that incident with the "burglar" in my room, my family moved from where we were to a place more in the country. It was right outside of a hunting club. There were a lot of woods - boy do I miss them! And so my dreams changed from meeting the hunters by being taken to them to meeting them at the hunting club by walking down the road to them.
But also I dreamed there were other things in those woods, and one of them was a big mansion that I had went to. I'm not sure how I got there, but I knew I'd time traveled to do it. It was bright day light and the path leading up to it was how you see many old English mansion; lined with perfectly manicured trees and well-graveled. I went up to the house but didn't go inside. And these days I think maybe it was just a big house for someone who was rich, but as a kid I took it to be a mansion. Light-colored brick; I can remember that much about it.
And then I went again another night, but it had burned down. There was nothing left.
While awake I'd also explore those woods. Sure, we kids knew it was a hunting club. We also knew the land was in dispute for some reason and that not many people went back there anymore. My older brother and cousins went all over the place out there. I mostly followed the pig trails, not really understanding my danger despite my frequent nightmares about getting mauled by wild boars (which eventually faded into more gruesome nightmares).
While exploring in the woods alone, one of the first times I dared to do it, I came across the house of my dreams. I could still see the tree-lined path. I walked up it and found what was left of the house, but there wasn't much there anymore Just some trash and a few bricks. It had been gone a long, long time.
My older brother told me that there were time travel ley lines in those woods, and for most of my life I believed it. Now I wonder just what it was.
Because there was at least one other incident that I'll never forget. We kids had went deep into the woods into the swampy section and found a tiny island in the water. We were building a fort there. Well, the others were much older and forgot about it rather quickly. But I was still very young and kept my interest. One day I decided to go to the Fort and work on it by myself. So I went.
While on the island a little boy showed up. He was very fair-haired and maybe a year or two older than me, but keep in mind we were both under ten. I can't remember how he introduced himself, but we were immediate friends and spent a long time playing together. At one point he asked if I lived nearby. I said yes and told him where. He then said he lived just over the ridge and that he would show me so I could visit whenever I wanted.
We climbed up over a small hill by the island and I looked down into this flatland, almost like a prairie. There was a farmhouse there, those farm fences with the x across them, and cows. The house was white. There was no road or anything, just the house, grass, cows, and off to the left a big barn. I can't remember the color of the barn, just the house. And that there weren't that many cows.
We played on the island a bit longer and then he had to go home. So I went home.
I tried to find the island again, to play with the boy again, the next day. But I couldn't find it. I tromped around in those woods lost for hours. I tried to find it again several times after that, but I never found our island again. And it's like the time I did play with him never happened, just the parts I described. I know we did some sort of kid roleplay the way kids do: things you take for granted so that all you remember is moving around young saplings and each other's faces, smiles. But that's it.
And the area where I lived was Florida. There was no place anywhere near my home that looked remotely like what the boy had shown me.
I never forgot him, though. Nor that day. I've often wondered if he tried to find me to play again as well.
Of course as a child I didn't know those were military uniforms, it's just that hunting was something I could relate to. They carried guns, they carried pouches, they rode in the back of a truck... and my father would hunt and fish and bring home natural game for us to eat. It made perfect sense. It was always dark when I saw these guys, so it may still be that they were hunters and maybe I was watching things through the eyes of their dogs. So even now it makes sense, but I recognize the clothes when my husband puts one on. He's currently in a special training unit, so he doesn't always wear the standard uniform you'll see in the news report. In fact he more often than not just wears straight "greens" - especially when working the training field.
There are some differences, of course, but there it is. For real or not.
I've also seen these greens recently, while in an underground base while wandering in places I shouldn't be.
There is something else I just remembered thanks to writing this entry.
After that incident with the "burglar" in my room, my family moved from where we were to a place more in the country. It was right outside of a hunting club. There were a lot of woods - boy do I miss them! And so my dreams changed from meeting the hunters by being taken to them to meeting them at the hunting club by walking down the road to them.
But also I dreamed there were other things in those woods, and one of them was a big mansion that I had went to. I'm not sure how I got there, but I knew I'd time traveled to do it. It was bright day light and the path leading up to it was how you see many old English mansion; lined with perfectly manicured trees and well-graveled. I went up to the house but didn't go inside. And these days I think maybe it was just a big house for someone who was rich, but as a kid I took it to be a mansion. Light-colored brick; I can remember that much about it.
And then I went again another night, but it had burned down. There was nothing left.
While awake I'd also explore those woods. Sure, we kids knew it was a hunting club. We also knew the land was in dispute for some reason and that not many people went back there anymore. My older brother and cousins went all over the place out there. I mostly followed the pig trails, not really understanding my danger despite my frequent nightmares about getting mauled by wild boars (which eventually faded into more gruesome nightmares).
While exploring in the woods alone, one of the first times I dared to do it, I came across the house of my dreams. I could still see the tree-lined path. I walked up it and found what was left of the house, but there wasn't much there anymore Just some trash and a few bricks. It had been gone a long, long time.
My older brother told me that there were time travel ley lines in those woods, and for most of my life I believed it. Now I wonder just what it was.
Because there was at least one other incident that I'll never forget. We kids had went deep into the woods into the swampy section and found a tiny island in the water. We were building a fort there. Well, the others were much older and forgot about it rather quickly. But I was still very young and kept my interest. One day I decided to go to the Fort and work on it by myself. So I went.
While on the island a little boy showed up. He was very fair-haired and maybe a year or two older than me, but keep in mind we were both under ten. I can't remember how he introduced himself, but we were immediate friends and spent a long time playing together. At one point he asked if I lived nearby. I said yes and told him where. He then said he lived just over the ridge and that he would show me so I could visit whenever I wanted.
We climbed up over a small hill by the island and I looked down into this flatland, almost like a prairie. There was a farmhouse there, those farm fences with the x across them, and cows. The house was white. There was no road or anything, just the house, grass, cows, and off to the left a big barn. I can't remember the color of the barn, just the house. And that there weren't that many cows.
We played on the island a bit longer and then he had to go home. So I went home.
I tried to find the island again, to play with the boy again, the next day. But I couldn't find it. I tromped around in those woods lost for hours. I tried to find it again several times after that, but I never found our island again. And it's like the time I did play with him never happened, just the parts I described. I know we did some sort of kid roleplay the way kids do: things you take for granted so that all you remember is moving around young saplings and each other's faces, smiles. But that's it.
And the area where I lived was Florida. There was no place anywhere near my home that looked remotely like what the boy had shown me.
I never forgot him, though. Nor that day. I've often wondered if he tried to find me to play again as well.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Time to be super
List of "super soldiers" or MKultra militant operatives that have come forward that I know of. I might be confused on some of them. I dunno.
Anya Briggs
James Casbolt (Michael Prince)
Max Spiers
Cathi Morgan
Alara Blackwell
John Urwin
Solaris BlueRaven
Sheila House
James Rink
Richard Rodgers
Duncan O'Finoian
"Soldier X"
Axe
Aaron McCollum
Michael Relfe
There are many more I'm sure.
The super soldier "creation" timeline according to everyone else.* This is fitting myself and others I have found in as best I can, knowing that such fittings are mostly theory.
Pregenerational Era
1930's-1940's - Nazi Germany. Hitler is approached by super men about which he talked about in Mein Kampf. They were tall, blonde, beautiful, and better than everybody else. If you need a visual, their description matches that of the Pleiadians. Because of this contact, Hitler gets the idea that his ethnic background was meant to be tall, blonde, blue-eyed and perfect. He sets into place programs to breed the German native into the super race matching this description. Among them was the drive to create a super soldier.
(On a side note, Hitler's scientists also managed to build working prototypes of antigravitational-powered saucer ships... that resembled the Pleiadian ships by... well... a lot.)
Prototype Era
early 1950's - 1960's. After Project Paperclip, in which America shipped Nazi scientists to America after Germany lost World War II, many secret projects were instilled in the American government system. Among them was the famous MKultra - a mind-altering project that tested many subjects in the quest for the perfect Manchurian candidate and super soldiers. Out of MKultra came side projects with names like Project Bluebird. Project Talent was another such project. Project Talent's mission was to scout children with exceptional abilities and talents, see them trained up, and have them shipped to participate in other related projects.
During this time the first American "super soldiers" were scouted from military units, through Project Talent, and other means and incorporated into the budding "super soldier" system. The first super soldiers to be were put into training.
The U.S. psychic programs were also put into place and would be acted out on for many years to come.
Around this time, John Urwin was recruited into the The Sixteen, a special task force who undertook many secret mission in the Middle East.
Generation 1
late 1950's - 60's. Interestingly this overlaps the prototype era by several years. The first "super soldiers" were utilized in various important missions, including assassinations and reconnaissance in the Korean and Vietnam War. Splitting a super soldier's mind into alters in the well-known MKultra method was also introduced and experimented with.
Duncan O'Finoian claims to be a generation 1 super soldier.
Generation 2
late 1960's - early 70's: As with Generation 1, this era overlaps it's predecessor by several years.
Generation 3
Late 1970's to early 1980's Another overlap, this is also the age of the implant. Nanotechnology and cybernetics were also coming into play in regards to building that perfect soldier. (This is not as far-fetched as it sounds. In the late 1970's, Eric Drexler began to work with inventing the process that would later bring about the molecular machine wonders we know about today.)
Apparently, the obsolete, last wave of this generation came out around 1984 or '85.
Although I was born in 1971 and had most of my "dreams" and "weirdness" in the 1980's, when puberty's heightened hormone output but me at a peak for training, I have always been proud to be "the youngest" of my team. And that I was also the last to be slipped into my team's program before they changed training and assembly tactics. I also have always been proud to be "the last" to have experienced certain training live in the flesh (like being buried in the sand) while today they merely implant such memories by hypnotic suggestion. I was proud of this before I knew there were others like me. I've just always known.
As a later generation friend and I have observed together, there is a certain soldier hierarchy in the waking military between those that have deployed, seen combat, or have not. There is also a certain hierarchy for those of us who experienced physical training vs. simulated training. Physical experiencers get better props. :-)
Generation 4
1980's to an unknown date. Super soldiers were now able to be trained for optimum use in the field. Remote viewing had been add to their perfected skill set by this time. A standard formula for "super soldier teams" was now in place with each member of the team specializing in one specific skill. (One can remote view, one can fight, etc.) Organ replacements and more cybernetics came into use, as well as the widely-spread practice of implants for tracking, hormone/mood control, memory filtering and even necessary termination.
Operation Spyglass also happened during this time.
Generation 5
Apparently we are in the Generation 5 super soldier era or beyond, where super soldiers are literally grown as clones with fake parts and probably no souls. They seem to be operated during missions by remote viewers, usually also military personnel (and thus super soldiers), like one does a video game (to use Alara Blackwell's terminology.)
The super soldier time line how I see it.
Prototype Era - 1930's to early 1950's. The Nazis started it. Project Paperclip finished it and the first "real" super soldier was America-owned.
Generation 1 - 1950's to 1970's. The process was perfected during this time so that a good many soldiers were produced that were well on their way to what we would consider a super soldier now. The psychic programs came into play heavily sometime during this and the MKultra scandal, when the program was revealed to the public and the some people sued and won against the federal government, caused many of the programs to be moved and revamped for optimum safety and secrecy.
Generation 2 - 1970's to 1990's. "Super soldiers" produced at this time were more refined, their functions better placed to their innate abilities, likes and dislikes as well as personality. Of course some of these would have been "generation 1" projects that overlapped into generation 2 for whatever reason.
Generation Now - This goes from whenever Generation 2 faded out until now. Sure the ways to build them "better, faster than before" have changed and will always be improved upon but the basic framework has been set. Why fix what isn't broken?
I have no idea about clones, but I can tell you I've always detested the concept of putting "bad photocopies" into use in any part of our daily lives.
How do I fit in all this?
Aside from the little bit I have said here, I just don't know. I'd welcome someone's insight. Dang it.
*Disclaimer: I'm not vouching for most of these events. I'm just trying to put the pieces together based on what little information I'm able to glean past the "lookitme" posturing.
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