Showing posts with label reincarnation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reincarnation. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Same Soul, Many Lives
A blast from the past and a touch on the future for the start of the New Year!
Monday, November 26, 2012
MY SOUL FLEW HOME.
1997 (Date estimated: back entry taken from my grimoire before it decayed entirely)
A vision/dream.
MY SOUL FLEW HOME.
I think this was the first time I've come home since I slept to astral travel out and search for Juvinich. I did that lifetimes ago, and I stepped to earth as I always have been; an adolescent, the Earth equivalent of 14 years old, and small.
I walked down from the mountain and to my castle. All around me was lush vegetation; the plant leaves were enormous and succulent. I went to the back of the castle, which was covered in vines and overgrowth as if it had been in ruins for a very long time. This was a definite change (in my mind) from when the place was inhabited and cared for. I remember noticing how brown everything was. I entered through a small side door; a servant's entrance and not well-known. I had often used this door when not wanting to be noticed.
I walked through the halls, noting the disrepair of my home, and suddenly the regent came around the corner. He was a redhead with wiry hair and a beard. He stopped short and exclaimed, "You're back!!" as if overjoyed, and then he encased me in a bear hug. Immediately, he called for servants (there were only three) and arranged to have me cared for. We walked through the audience chamber, and sitting in my mother's chair was the regent's daughter. She was blond and her hair flowed like shining silk. She was not happy that I had returned and complained loudly. She must have been in her twenties.
They put me in my old room, and how overjoyed I was to see they had kept things the way I had them! It was a small chamber, and most of the decor was red-brown. My couch was there - gods, how I miss my couch at times - and I immediately went to sleep on it.
Time passed, most of it with me spending time in my bedroom among my familiar things. The regent spent a lot of time playing with me; he taught me this chess-like game. I was aware he was acting like the father I had never had in that life, and I adored him for it.
Came a day - perhaps three days after my arrival, no more than a week - that I finally ventured onto my balcony that adjoins my bedroom. I love that balcony. I started to sway and dance to myself, and I began singing, in English, "I am the princess of Shiro, and I have come home." I was very aware that I had switched to English.
And then, I was picked up by an invisible force; the castle was rejecting me, it was trying to throw me off and dash me to my death on the ground below. It was all I could do to cling to the wall and repeat, "I rebuke you I rebuke you I rebuke you," over and over again as if I were fighting a demon. When I realized I could not rebuke the castle - the very thing I commanded by rights - the force stopped. I picked myself up and the regent came.
"Who are you really?" he demanded. "The castle would not have rejected the REAL princess! Who are you?!"
Somehow, I knew the regent's daughter had gone into the controls of the castle to try to throw me off, but I said nothing about that. Instead, I opened my mind in the old way of communicating through mind/dream speech. I began to tell the regent what had befallen me after I had left. It began with me selling myself to the winged folk in the caves for the sake of my people, and working my way up through their army until I was a great general of much trust and importance. The winged folk would send me to destroy and conquer - I was very good at it.
And then came a day that I was transporting my people via starship from one destination to another. (Think trains for Comanche and Lakota Indians.) I knew the kingdom's regent was on-board, so I went down to visit him. I opened the door and... to my horror... the regent was sitting on a cell bench, but he had died ages ago and all that was left was a skeleton with a red beard. I ran to the cargo hold and opened the doors to behold my people - the people I had sold myself to save - and what had been done to them. Genetically manipulated, all of the people who were once revered to be the most shining and beautiful creatures in the cosmos were monsters such as ogres, walking skeleton creatures, and distorted things turned inside out.
I was furious. I made a speech. I was passionate. I cried, "Let's fight!" and they cheered. I opened the cargo bay doors, and they streamed by the hundreds out into the ship to attack my own regiment. I turned to my second in command, a blond young man with a somber/troubled expression, and said, "So begins my rebellion." I would have returned my thoughts to the regent to face his shock or wrath, but I found myself being wrenched out of the dream instead. I fought it; I didn't want to leave my home, but after much fighting I opened my eyes to (my ex-husband). He had woke me and complained he had to send his demon to wrench me back to Earth.
Dammit, I was home. The place needs me, I was home, and (my ex-husband) wouldn't let me stay.
________________
This vision/dream happened to me at a time when I was just beginning to truly explore what was in my head. In a sense it's where my story begins and is probably where I should have started this journal. My home was a place in the stars very far away and my people, as far as I believed, had been decimated in a huge invasion by "the black shelled beasts" who enslaved us and scattered the empire to the winds.
It was much much later I learned that among the UFO community there was the legend of the Lyrans that matched my story - well, except for the Pleiadian-born propaganda about the people having been too warlike as a reason why they fell apart. The way I remembered it, we chose to remain neutral and did not act to save our outlying regions which were falling prey to invasion and persecution by a new race of beings on the outside.
Also at the time there was a plague happening, something I came to call the "soap bubble disease." Basically people would just suddenly fall sick and fade away. I thought maybe it was because their souls were too old and were popping like decrepit bubbles. I had memories of watching my father fade and then my older brothers - and that the rest of the family had also met to tragic end after tragic end so that it was only me and my mother at the end.
I was the only survivor among my siblings.
So we as a race acted to create a bridge between us and our enemies.... and to try to save our dying creed. That was how I and my siblings came to be. We were created with immortal souls, a genetic blend of all races. We were the symbol of unity. My mother was from one of the more oppressed races and had been married in to my father. It was very important that he had midnight black hair - that black that's rare even among humans today - and she was a fiery strawberry redhead. I had my father's hair. Something I also learned much later was how black hair was reserved for the Lyran nobility, so again another match.
She wore a grieving mask - which was traditional like we would wear black today. As a small child watching her pass by me in the hallways of our large "ant hill" I was given the impression that being forced to be queen made her sad. Now I'm older and I think it was much more than that.
(Stop me if I've talked about this here before. I honestly forget what I've talked about and what I have not; it gets confused in my mind.)
So these memories stand and have always stood foremost in my mind, like a beacon summoning me into my future.
My older brother and I were talking on the phone today, and the subject of these things and how we used to look forward to our roles in the future came up. He complained that someone had tampered with the plan. Things had fallen behind, some things had been changed. And our roles had been diminished.
But I look at this ever bright memory in my mind and how things are happening today and I'm just not sure. We expected one thing out of fate, the cosmic plan, and our lives without really understanding what we were being "told". So we interpreted things according to our juvenile fantasies. But I look at how things are happening, at where I stand today, and where others stand, and I think things are happening just as we expected them to be... from the government oppression to starvation in the streets. They're all things I wanted desperately to avoid, tried frantically to find a way off planet to avoid them by, and am now watching at the age I was told they would happen. My feelings about leaders and acts of Congress are the same now as they were at the age of 10 - I just understand why I felt the way I do now. So that watching history unfold around me has given myself a deeper understanding of myself and my memories more than anything.
And that bright memory which I got to relive quite literally in 1997 still calls me home... the thing that has changed for me is I no longer want to go "home" in order to escape this mess. I want to go home - there - because it's a place I can do something about things.
A vision/dream.
MY SOUL FLEW HOME.
I think this was the first time I've come home since I slept to astral travel out and search for Juvinich. I did that lifetimes ago, and I stepped to earth as I always have been; an adolescent, the Earth equivalent of 14 years old, and small.
I walked down from the mountain and to my castle. All around me was lush vegetation; the plant leaves were enormous and succulent. I went to the back of the castle, which was covered in vines and overgrowth as if it had been in ruins for a very long time. This was a definite change (in my mind) from when the place was inhabited and cared for. I remember noticing how brown everything was. I entered through a small side door; a servant's entrance and not well-known. I had often used this door when not wanting to be noticed.
I walked through the halls, noting the disrepair of my home, and suddenly the regent came around the corner. He was a redhead with wiry hair and a beard. He stopped short and exclaimed, "You're back!!" as if overjoyed, and then he encased me in a bear hug. Immediately, he called for servants (there were only three) and arranged to have me cared for. We walked through the audience chamber, and sitting in my mother's chair was the regent's daughter. She was blond and her hair flowed like shining silk. She was not happy that I had returned and complained loudly. She must have been in her twenties.
They put me in my old room, and how overjoyed I was to see they had kept things the way I had them! It was a small chamber, and most of the decor was red-brown. My couch was there - gods, how I miss my couch at times - and I immediately went to sleep on it.
Time passed, most of it with me spending time in my bedroom among my familiar things. The regent spent a lot of time playing with me; he taught me this chess-like game. I was aware he was acting like the father I had never had in that life, and I adored him for it.
Came a day - perhaps three days after my arrival, no more than a week - that I finally ventured onto my balcony that adjoins my bedroom. I love that balcony. I started to sway and dance to myself, and I began singing, in English, "I am the princess of Shiro, and I have come home." I was very aware that I had switched to English.
And then, I was picked up by an invisible force; the castle was rejecting me, it was trying to throw me off and dash me to my death on the ground below. It was all I could do to cling to the wall and repeat, "I rebuke you I rebuke you I rebuke you," over and over again as if I were fighting a demon. When I realized I could not rebuke the castle - the very thing I commanded by rights - the force stopped. I picked myself up and the regent came.
"Who are you really?" he demanded. "The castle would not have rejected the REAL princess! Who are you?!"
Somehow, I knew the regent's daughter had gone into the controls of the castle to try to throw me off, but I said nothing about that. Instead, I opened my mind in the old way of communicating through mind/dream speech. I began to tell the regent what had befallen me after I had left. It began with me selling myself to the winged folk in the caves for the sake of my people, and working my way up through their army until I was a great general of much trust and importance. The winged folk would send me to destroy and conquer - I was very good at it.
And then came a day that I was transporting my people via starship from one destination to another. (Think trains for Comanche and Lakota Indians.) I knew the kingdom's regent was on-board, so I went down to visit him. I opened the door and... to my horror... the regent was sitting on a cell bench, but he had died ages ago and all that was left was a skeleton with a red beard. I ran to the cargo hold and opened the doors to behold my people - the people I had sold myself to save - and what had been done to them. Genetically manipulated, all of the people who were once revered to be the most shining and beautiful creatures in the cosmos were monsters such as ogres, walking skeleton creatures, and distorted things turned inside out.
I was furious. I made a speech. I was passionate. I cried, "Let's fight!" and they cheered. I opened the cargo bay doors, and they streamed by the hundreds out into the ship to attack my own regiment. I turned to my second in command, a blond young man with a somber/troubled expression, and said, "So begins my rebellion." I would have returned my thoughts to the regent to face his shock or wrath, but I found myself being wrenched out of the dream instead. I fought it; I didn't want to leave my home, but after much fighting I opened my eyes to (my ex-husband). He had woke me and complained he had to send his demon to wrench me back to Earth.
Dammit, I was home. The place needs me, I was home, and (my ex-husband) wouldn't let me stay.
________________
This vision/dream happened to me at a time when I was just beginning to truly explore what was in my head. In a sense it's where my story begins and is probably where I should have started this journal. My home was a place in the stars very far away and my people, as far as I believed, had been decimated in a huge invasion by "the black shelled beasts" who enslaved us and scattered the empire to the winds.
It was much much later I learned that among the UFO community there was the legend of the Lyrans that matched my story - well, except for the Pleiadian-born propaganda about the people having been too warlike as a reason why they fell apart. The way I remembered it, we chose to remain neutral and did not act to save our outlying regions which were falling prey to invasion and persecution by a new race of beings on the outside.
Also at the time there was a plague happening, something I came to call the "soap bubble disease." Basically people would just suddenly fall sick and fade away. I thought maybe it was because their souls were too old and were popping like decrepit bubbles. I had memories of watching my father fade and then my older brothers - and that the rest of the family had also met to tragic end after tragic end so that it was only me and my mother at the end.
I was the only survivor among my siblings.
So we as a race acted to create a bridge between us and our enemies.... and to try to save our dying creed. That was how I and my siblings came to be. We were created with immortal souls, a genetic blend of all races. We were the symbol of unity. My mother was from one of the more oppressed races and had been married in to my father. It was very important that he had midnight black hair - that black that's rare even among humans today - and she was a fiery strawberry redhead. I had my father's hair. Something I also learned much later was how black hair was reserved for the Lyran nobility, so again another match.
She wore a grieving mask - which was traditional like we would wear black today. As a small child watching her pass by me in the hallways of our large "ant hill" I was given the impression that being forced to be queen made her sad. Now I'm older and I think it was much more than that.
(Stop me if I've talked about this here before. I honestly forget what I've talked about and what I have not; it gets confused in my mind.)
So these memories stand and have always stood foremost in my mind, like a beacon summoning me into my future.
My older brother and I were talking on the phone today, and the subject of these things and how we used to look forward to our roles in the future came up. He complained that someone had tampered with the plan. Things had fallen behind, some things had been changed. And our roles had been diminished.
But I look at this ever bright memory in my mind and how things are happening today and I'm just not sure. We expected one thing out of fate, the cosmic plan, and our lives without really understanding what we were being "told". So we interpreted things according to our juvenile fantasies. But I look at how things are happening, at where I stand today, and where others stand, and I think things are happening just as we expected them to be... from the government oppression to starvation in the streets. They're all things I wanted desperately to avoid, tried frantically to find a way off planet to avoid them by, and am now watching at the age I was told they would happen. My feelings about leaders and acts of Congress are the same now as they were at the age of 10 - I just understand why I felt the way I do now. So that watching history unfold around me has given myself a deeper understanding of myself and my memories more than anything.
And that bright memory which I got to relive quite literally in 1997 still calls me home... the thing that has changed for me is I no longer want to go "home" in order to escape this mess. I want to go home - there - because it's a place I can do something about things.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
On the existence of past lives
One of the big questions I have right now is, "Are my past lives really real?"
As a Butterfly I've been lied to. I've had an entire history stuffed into my brain that I never truly experienced. I've had memories twisted to make them just enough truth to be solid with just enough lies to carry their training home. And I came out of it wondering what was real and what wasn't - for the biggest thing to me, to anyone who understands how things work the way I seem to do, it's essential to remember that you are the sum of your memories and experiences.
As I've mentioned here before, this means a lot I once believed in has been set aside. I have a plethora of past life memories I now hold suspect. This morning I woke up remembering not a past life, but the time when I was about five years old and my friend's older "brother" molested us both in the woods between our houses. She liked it. She wanted more. I bit his dick in my small child passive way. I didn't want to do that. I wanted to play with mud and climb trees. I still would prefer to get dirty and climb trees.
I used to hold a ritual every year and friends would come to it. But one friend betrayed me and undermined everything I'd worked for. It wasn't the first time that had happened, but it was the final straw. I dissolved everything and walked away. It's been a few years since then.
I decided to try again this year, but to keep it small as I wasn't thinking of anything more than a small friendly thing. As always the energies began to align themselves - for our thoughts and intents are very powerful - and people began to come to me. Past life professionals. Priests. Etc.
And my friend betrayed me again - she made other plans and talked about rescheduling for a later time. I realized today that it's going to be too cold this winter for that other time. So I'll hold the ritual by myself and walk the path alone - as no one I know will ever have the fortitude to walk with me to the end. Or to keep from greedily wanting to sit in my place.
And interestingly the past lives have been brought up again. The professional did a search and found a couple I remember. She said she was my husband and my wife during those time but alas - I am married to the being that was my husband or my wife all those times if my own past life memories are true. And his personality quirks are exactly the same as I reminisced to friends all those years waiting for him to find me again. He hasn't changed a damn iota, frustrating as it can be sometimes.
I am told that souls will live more than one life at exactly the same time. So while you are here, now, reading this blog you are also a small boy in Siberia freezing his toes off. I don't believe that. It amazes me how people will take one tiny facet of knowledge - the existence of these past lives - and forget about how we touch memory pockets as a racial standard and do often find ourselves exchanging ideas and feelings.
You can argue all you like about how time isn't really linear, how everything is actually happening all at the same time, blah blah blah. This is true. It is also true that time is shaped like a helix, a spiral - as is most important things in the universe; the true shape of chaos. In order to jump from one moment of time to another you don't think to yourself "I will go to the same moment that happened a year ago today" and step sideways. A part of you must plot which angle to go, where that point in the spiral is, where to step into lets you try to co-exist something else at the exact same time and explode. There are people who go on and on about how the universe is a hologram and thus it's an illusion.
But understand what a hologram really is. And get to know the rest of the story. The world is a hologram in that we see by light bouncing off of real SOLID EXISTING objects. Our eyes capture that light. And the REAL SOLID EXISTING objects are basically hard light in a sense while being in a sense something else. It's a hologram because it's makeup remains what it truly is while we interpret that makeup in our minds through our own perspective, skewing the truth enough for us to understand. It's real. It's there. The places with in the various dimensions that make it up like space and time are real and they're there in their place while co-existing at the same time. The universe is only one layer while being a hundred thousand million different layers all at once - and it just doesn't have to be so complicated. All you have to remember is you are you and time is time and although you're within it, you're not it.
YOU are not "time". You are a tiny mote in the great framework of the universe, and if you have the power to time travel (and we all do) then you have the power to live linearly yourself. I myself, I know for a fact, prefer to remain what I like to call "Orange juice concentrate" - meaning I keep my soul being very small like a tiny firefly. I insist on living linearly - I remember the past. I know what happened in the past. I dislike a lot about the past. I choose not to live in the past as it were. I have strong memories that do that for me. I live in them when I wish to make a visit.
Because of how I choose to be, I can fly very fast, am the fastest in the cosmos. I like to sleep in stars or meditate for ages - it's very relaxing - and if pushed my tiny size packs one hell of a wallop.
I wasn't a nice person once. I will always find it amusing when I go to sessions (on the super rare times I can afford them) and the guide's expression changes as they first try to struggle with why I'd want to remember, why I did the things I did, the pain THEY feel from touching it if they go into places they shouldn't ought without permission, and wonder why it is I'm here suffering the way I do when I long ago paid my dues in full. It's an interesting phenomenon of the human condition for me.
And someday someone will do more than wonder and drop it and I will have some more of the answers I seek here. Which I think is what most of us desire most of all.
If, mind you, past lives are real.
As a Butterfly I've been lied to. I've had an entire history stuffed into my brain that I never truly experienced. I've had memories twisted to make them just enough truth to be solid with just enough lies to carry their training home. And I came out of it wondering what was real and what wasn't - for the biggest thing to me, to anyone who understands how things work the way I seem to do, it's essential to remember that you are the sum of your memories and experiences.
As I've mentioned here before, this means a lot I once believed in has been set aside. I have a plethora of past life memories I now hold suspect. This morning I woke up remembering not a past life, but the time when I was about five years old and my friend's older "brother" molested us both in the woods between our houses. She liked it. She wanted more. I bit his dick in my small child passive way. I didn't want to do that. I wanted to play with mud and climb trees. I still would prefer to get dirty and climb trees.
I used to hold a ritual every year and friends would come to it. But one friend betrayed me and undermined everything I'd worked for. It wasn't the first time that had happened, but it was the final straw. I dissolved everything and walked away. It's been a few years since then.
I decided to try again this year, but to keep it small as I wasn't thinking of anything more than a small friendly thing. As always the energies began to align themselves - for our thoughts and intents are very powerful - and people began to come to me. Past life professionals. Priests. Etc.
And my friend betrayed me again - she made other plans and talked about rescheduling for a later time. I realized today that it's going to be too cold this winter for that other time. So I'll hold the ritual by myself and walk the path alone - as no one I know will ever have the fortitude to walk with me to the end. Or to keep from greedily wanting to sit in my place.
And interestingly the past lives have been brought up again. The professional did a search and found a couple I remember. She said she was my husband and my wife during those time but alas - I am married to the being that was my husband or my wife all those times if my own past life memories are true. And his personality quirks are exactly the same as I reminisced to friends all those years waiting for him to find me again. He hasn't changed a damn iota, frustrating as it can be sometimes.
I am told that souls will live more than one life at exactly the same time. So while you are here, now, reading this blog you are also a small boy in Siberia freezing his toes off. I don't believe that. It amazes me how people will take one tiny facet of knowledge - the existence of these past lives - and forget about how we touch memory pockets as a racial standard and do often find ourselves exchanging ideas and feelings.
You can argue all you like about how time isn't really linear, how everything is actually happening all at the same time, blah blah blah. This is true. It is also true that time is shaped like a helix, a spiral - as is most important things in the universe; the true shape of chaos. In order to jump from one moment of time to another you don't think to yourself "I will go to the same moment that happened a year ago today" and step sideways. A part of you must plot which angle to go, where that point in the spiral is, where to step into lets you try to co-exist something else at the exact same time and explode. There are people who go on and on about how the universe is a hologram and thus it's an illusion.
But understand what a hologram really is. And get to know the rest of the story. The world is a hologram in that we see by light bouncing off of real SOLID EXISTING objects. Our eyes capture that light. And the REAL SOLID EXISTING objects are basically hard light in a sense while being in a sense something else. It's a hologram because it's makeup remains what it truly is while we interpret that makeup in our minds through our own perspective, skewing the truth enough for us to understand. It's real. It's there. The places with in the various dimensions that make it up like space and time are real and they're there in their place while co-existing at the same time. The universe is only one layer while being a hundred thousand million different layers all at once - and it just doesn't have to be so complicated. All you have to remember is you are you and time is time and although you're within it, you're not it.
YOU are not "time". You are a tiny mote in the great framework of the universe, and if you have the power to time travel (and we all do) then you have the power to live linearly yourself. I myself, I know for a fact, prefer to remain what I like to call "Orange juice concentrate" - meaning I keep my soul being very small like a tiny firefly. I insist on living linearly - I remember the past. I know what happened in the past. I dislike a lot about the past. I choose not to live in the past as it were. I have strong memories that do that for me. I live in them when I wish to make a visit.
Because of how I choose to be, I can fly very fast, am the fastest in the cosmos. I like to sleep in stars or meditate for ages - it's very relaxing - and if pushed my tiny size packs one hell of a wallop.
I wasn't a nice person once. I will always find it amusing when I go to sessions (on the super rare times I can afford them) and the guide's expression changes as they first try to struggle with why I'd want to remember, why I did the things I did, the pain THEY feel from touching it if they go into places they shouldn't ought without permission, and wonder why it is I'm here suffering the way I do when I long ago paid my dues in full. It's an interesting phenomenon of the human condition for me.
And someday someone will do more than wonder and drop it and I will have some more of the answers I seek here. Which I think is what most of us desire most of all.
If, mind you, past lives are real.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Eagles
The best lessons on how to do stuff comes from play and
experience. So.
Dad raised both me and my older brother with the basic skills. The first thing I ever learned to do was predict future children using a pencil, needle and thread. Years later we graduated to the psychic card game; you know the one, where you guess shapes? Only we used aces. I always failed miserably at it while my brother was excellent. Never had the umph, I suppose. At least once Dad would project at me and I'd receive and get them right, but never could "go out" and hear and read. Was rather frustrating.
Then we kids did as kids in a magical environ will do: took to it on our own. Each of my siblings and myself are seven years apart. So when my brother was 16 we turned serious: tried to build a inter-dimensional portal using our energy alone, that sort of thing. It was my job to find folks at school who were possible "others" and bring them home. Then “Matt” "lead" the group, which also bothered me. I mean there I was doing all the grunt work, then it came time for him to do the fun stuff with energy work and I'd get to do a little. And then I had to go to bed or, in later years, I was purposefully excluded. Bothered the crap out of me.
The groups used to do things like pick on local energy entities and stuff. Thought we were demon hunting: thank you Hollywood. Group after group was formed, usually by me with “Matt” taking over. The last one with “Matt” was a real disaster. We'd brought in our cousins on that one, and the oldest was already spiteful by the time I was five. Apparently my older brother was doing some illegal things when I wasn't around.
Magical kids act like eaglets, too. The oldest will push the littlest out of that nest to die. In my case when I finally caught my stride and started to figure out what I could do, my brother took steps to stop it. He "sealed" me he said; claimed I was too powerful. Well, what this means in modern terms is he rewired me. Never could get past it. It's like... having your ethereal spine broken permanently. It was horrible too, like being wrapped in chains and stuck in a glass jar. Sometimes I'm still there, but meh. That's another story for another day.
My little brother... never got training and went schizophrenic nuts. Part of that is also my brother's fault: he did a lot of bad things to my little brother. They're bad things my mother still denies. Part of it is my fault: I was a very violent and angry older sister. Too jealous for my own good. And the rest is simply because no one would help him when he could have been helped, and now it's too late.
So there I was, 15 and someone no one ever listened to. Mom fell off the porch and hurt her back? Go get help I said to my little brother. Got ignored. My little brother's gifts were the kind that, traditionally, would have gotten him apprenticed to a shaman. You gotta help him start practicing and focus I said to my father. Got ignored. There were bright lights and nightmares. Got ignored.
So when I noticed the phones were tapped I didn't say anything for a while. I'd pick up the phone and listen to how the wires were tapped; listened to two guys negotiate bringing something over, realizing they were being listened to, saying shit and hung up. One time they crossed and I accidentally got a neighbor on the phone: girl from up the street. Then there would be clicks and I guess they got their shit straight.
Then the black vehicle started parking at the edge of the yard to watch us. Now by then I'd already had a life of nightmares involving being chased by things, the feds, turning into a werewolf, whatever. (All separate stories.) And there's this car watching us like in some FBI movie. And it would *only* come watch when it was just me at home.
One day I decided I was gonna get them so I barreled off the front porch and started to run for the car. It peeled away like crazy. After that it parked a house farther away or on the other side. But it still came around.
I told my parents and they didn't believe me.
Soon after I came home from school and went to the bus, which had become my older brother's bedroom. (The rest of us were in a slightly bigger trailer by then.) He wasn't there, so I asked my mother. She was all incredulous that I didn't know he'd been arrested a couple of days ago. (Well, duh. They also never tell me anything.)
Seems the spiteful cousin had turned in my brother. So for the next few years we had to deal with that stigma. It was not fun, being blamed for things you never did by an entire town. Maybe my brother did them, but the rest of us had no idea.
A couple of weeks into the trials my spiteful cousin wrote the newspaper a letter about how we were Satan worshipers.
That was also not fun.
By that point in time I had a book I'd written, because I'd felt it was what I was supposed to do. It covered a lot of past life material, a DNA family tree, how to do things, the works. My brother, too, had another persona. All stories for another day.
I burned that book in the back yard because my senses said it was wise.
And then I buried myself into my own head and went mundane for a while, which meant I stopped writing as much and read a lot of books.
There were a couple of times I "reawakened" but had to rebury for one reason or another. And then I started dating Mr. Wrong.
Mr. Wrong... was a demon, and I mean this literally. That’s what he fancied himself as, being a he was a member of the Otherkin the same as I. (The Otherkin consider themselves apart from humanity for one reason or another. The majority do this because they feel they are an elf or some other myth that matches how they feel inside. I was very devout to the subcommunity at the time, not knowing as much as I do now. These days I’d tell you point blank they’re probably all abductees or associated with that problem in some way. Their stories almost all match the UFO side – but because Otherkin use words like fairy and unicorn, people don’t take them seriously. When they should be on some level besides “these folks are practicing escapism.”)
Dad raised both me and my older brother with the basic skills. The first thing I ever learned to do was predict future children using a pencil, needle and thread. Years later we graduated to the psychic card game; you know the one, where you guess shapes? Only we used aces. I always failed miserably at it while my brother was excellent. Never had the umph, I suppose. At least once Dad would project at me and I'd receive and get them right, but never could "go out" and hear and read. Was rather frustrating.
Then we kids did as kids in a magical environ will do: took to it on our own. Each of my siblings and myself are seven years apart. So when my brother was 16 we turned serious: tried to build a inter-dimensional portal using our energy alone, that sort of thing. It was my job to find folks at school who were possible "others" and bring them home. Then “Matt” "lead" the group, which also bothered me. I mean there I was doing all the grunt work, then it came time for him to do the fun stuff with energy work and I'd get to do a little. And then I had to go to bed or, in later years, I was purposefully excluded. Bothered the crap out of me.
The groups used to do things like pick on local energy entities and stuff. Thought we were demon hunting: thank you Hollywood. Group after group was formed, usually by me with “Matt” taking over. The last one with “Matt” was a real disaster. We'd brought in our cousins on that one, and the oldest was already spiteful by the time I was five. Apparently my older brother was doing some illegal things when I wasn't around.
Magical kids act like eaglets, too. The oldest will push the littlest out of that nest to die. In my case when I finally caught my stride and started to figure out what I could do, my brother took steps to stop it. He "sealed" me he said; claimed I was too powerful. Well, what this means in modern terms is he rewired me. Never could get past it. It's like... having your ethereal spine broken permanently. It was horrible too, like being wrapped in chains and stuck in a glass jar. Sometimes I'm still there, but meh. That's another story for another day.
My little brother... never got training and went schizophrenic nuts. Part of that is also my brother's fault: he did a lot of bad things to my little brother. They're bad things my mother still denies. Part of it is my fault: I was a very violent and angry older sister. Too jealous for my own good. And the rest is simply because no one would help him when he could have been helped, and now it's too late.
So there I was, 15 and someone no one ever listened to. Mom fell off the porch and hurt her back? Go get help I said to my little brother. Got ignored. My little brother's gifts were the kind that, traditionally, would have gotten him apprenticed to a shaman. You gotta help him start practicing and focus I said to my father. Got ignored. There were bright lights and nightmares. Got ignored.
So when I noticed the phones were tapped I didn't say anything for a while. I'd pick up the phone and listen to how the wires were tapped; listened to two guys negotiate bringing something over, realizing they were being listened to, saying shit and hung up. One time they crossed and I accidentally got a neighbor on the phone: girl from up the street. Then there would be clicks and I guess they got their shit straight.
Then the black vehicle started parking at the edge of the yard to watch us. Now by then I'd already had a life of nightmares involving being chased by things, the feds, turning into a werewolf, whatever. (All separate stories.) And there's this car watching us like in some FBI movie. And it would *only* come watch when it was just me at home.
One day I decided I was gonna get them so I barreled off the front porch and started to run for the car. It peeled away like crazy. After that it parked a house farther away or on the other side. But it still came around.
I told my parents and they didn't believe me.
Soon after I came home from school and went to the bus, which had become my older brother's bedroom. (The rest of us were in a slightly bigger trailer by then.) He wasn't there, so I asked my mother. She was all incredulous that I didn't know he'd been arrested a couple of days ago. (Well, duh. They also never tell me anything.)
Seems the spiteful cousin had turned in my brother. So for the next few years we had to deal with that stigma. It was not fun, being blamed for things you never did by an entire town. Maybe my brother did them, but the rest of us had no idea.
A couple of weeks into the trials my spiteful cousin wrote the newspaper a letter about how we were Satan worshipers.
That was also not fun.
By that point in time I had a book I'd written, because I'd felt it was what I was supposed to do. It covered a lot of past life material, a DNA family tree, how to do things, the works. My brother, too, had another persona. All stories for another day.
I burned that book in the back yard because my senses said it was wise.
And then I buried myself into my own head and went mundane for a while, which meant I stopped writing as much and read a lot of books.
There were a couple of times I "reawakened" but had to rebury for one reason or another. And then I started dating Mr. Wrong.
Mr. Wrong... was a demon, and I mean this literally. That’s what he fancied himself as, being a he was a member of the Otherkin the same as I. (The Otherkin consider themselves apart from humanity for one reason or another. The majority do this because they feel they are an elf or some other myth that matches how they feel inside. I was very devout to the subcommunity at the time, not knowing as much as I do now. These days I’d tell you point blank they’re probably all abductees or associated with that problem in some way. Their stories almost all match the UFO side – but because Otherkin use words like fairy and unicorn, people don’t take them seriously. When they should be on some level besides “these folks are practicing escapism.”)
Mr. Wrong didn't mean to, but he's the one that woke
up things fully. He was on the internet with me, and we were experimenting with
seeing one another. During the course of the fun I decided to start looking at
other things. I found myself getting smaller and smaller until I was whirling
past protons and neutrons and finally got to the center. I was so small light
couldn't filter things in color. I told Wrong what I was seeing. He said he
didn't believe me, but the next day he sent me photo shots of the first
photographs taken at that level. He said they were from only a couple of weeks
ago. They were exactly as I'd described. I'd simply gotten that tiny.
From there it just got to be a deliciously wicked game that I used to pick on the Council On High. (Lotsa stories there, explanation on them will hopefully come later.) And it was like I just knew all the tricks of the trade. I knew you could time travel already, touch things, manipulate, how many it would take to change the past, how to hack certain environments, you name it. I just knew as if I'd always known. And we did them all.
I helped Mr. Wrong, too. I got him a place to live with my credit. He found a job he never would let me know about - but I can tell you he wrote information gathering programs and worked in DC. He got his legs back and suddenly I was a nuisance, you know? I'd exercise, and he'd do things to stop me. I was just starting out on being an independent artist; he'd sit beside me and tell me to just give up and stop trying. But when he threw me away, I kept going.
From there it just got to be a deliciously wicked game that I used to pick on the Council On High. (Lotsa stories there, explanation on them will hopefully come later.) And it was like I just knew all the tricks of the trade. I knew you could time travel already, touch things, manipulate, how many it would take to change the past, how to hack certain environments, you name it. I just knew as if I'd always known. And we did them all.
I helped Mr. Wrong, too. I got him a place to live with my credit. He found a job he never would let me know about - but I can tell you he wrote information gathering programs and worked in DC. He got his legs back and suddenly I was a nuisance, you know? I'd exercise, and he'd do things to stop me. I was just starting out on being an independent artist; he'd sit beside me and tell me to just give up and stop trying. But when he threw me away, I kept going.
Oh I had to heal as we all do - when I left him he had me so
fucked up in the head I genuinely wasn't sure what sex I was anymore. Nobody
I've ever spoken with has understood just how bad treatment that really was.
The ones who knew him are always "but you are the one who raged, who
ranted, he was always so quiet and perfect. He was a nice guy."
He was a fucking psychopath... and is the reason why I don't trust "professional" help. Nothing like going to a professional with the guy hoping she'll see how he's hurting you only for her to side with him and feed him horrible things to say about me. I have a temper, that made me evil. My passionate nature ensures I will always be the bad guy. Interestingly, that's how I remember my past lives as well. So.
So when I finally stood back up again I walked faster. Even past a nervous breakdown, being called the bad guy at least two more times in large dramatic affairs of doom and destruction, remembering my "eternal mate", and all sorts of sordid drama. It was like my spinal cord was repaired, sorta, and now that I had this stolen piece of myself back again I could only be held down for the time it took a person to heal emotionally. Then I'd bounce back up again. I never could do that before: before I'd go down and never get back up again because so much of me was already missing. I made other friends and taught them. And so forth and so on. Until today.
Funny thing about it all: I used to rely heavily on card reading. I had a pack that belonged to my grandmother. They were regular cards that she and I played games with for years. My best senses came from those cards. My mother went on one of her God trips and they simply disappeared. I know what happened to them - one of two things. My mother also jealously kept anything related to my grandmother away from me. Still does to this day. If it's mine and mom finds out it's attached to Gramma, she finds a way to get it from me and hide it.
After those cards disappeared I've tried reading with other cards but it never was the same. With Gramma's cards I could predict things to the minute. There was one time my South American boyfriend, Danny, had moved to Maryland. I just sat at the table for days reading over and over again, and they kept telling me over and over again he was coming to get me. When he came to the door with his mother (she was a sweetheart) I had a bag packed by the door ready to go.
He came to the door like he was going to surprise me. You should have seen his face when I smiled that he was there and said "HI!" because I'd been expecting him. So he announced he had come to spirit me away... and I said, "I know. I'm all ready!" and picked up my bag. Hehehehe.
But when the remote viewing came back and the other skills that don't require a tool as much, the card reading died even more. It's like I traded one for the other. Even so I can only do these things under certain conditions. I don't walk. I limp.
And another thing? My spelling has went all to hell.
He was a fucking psychopath... and is the reason why I don't trust "professional" help. Nothing like going to a professional with the guy hoping she'll see how he's hurting you only for her to side with him and feed him horrible things to say about me. I have a temper, that made me evil. My passionate nature ensures I will always be the bad guy. Interestingly, that's how I remember my past lives as well. So.
So when I finally stood back up again I walked faster. Even past a nervous breakdown, being called the bad guy at least two more times in large dramatic affairs of doom and destruction, remembering my "eternal mate", and all sorts of sordid drama. It was like my spinal cord was repaired, sorta, and now that I had this stolen piece of myself back again I could only be held down for the time it took a person to heal emotionally. Then I'd bounce back up again. I never could do that before: before I'd go down and never get back up again because so much of me was already missing. I made other friends and taught them. And so forth and so on. Until today.
Funny thing about it all: I used to rely heavily on card reading. I had a pack that belonged to my grandmother. They were regular cards that she and I played games with for years. My best senses came from those cards. My mother went on one of her God trips and they simply disappeared. I know what happened to them - one of two things. My mother also jealously kept anything related to my grandmother away from me. Still does to this day. If it's mine and mom finds out it's attached to Gramma, she finds a way to get it from me and hide it.
After those cards disappeared I've tried reading with other cards but it never was the same. With Gramma's cards I could predict things to the minute. There was one time my South American boyfriend, Danny, had moved to Maryland. I just sat at the table for days reading over and over again, and they kept telling me over and over again he was coming to get me. When he came to the door with his mother (she was a sweetheart) I had a bag packed by the door ready to go.
He came to the door like he was going to surprise me. You should have seen his face when I smiled that he was there and said "HI!" because I'd been expecting him. So he announced he had come to spirit me away... and I said, "I know. I'm all ready!" and picked up my bag. Hehehehe.
But when the remote viewing came back and the other skills that don't require a tool as much, the card reading died even more. It's like I traded one for the other. Even so I can only do these things under certain conditions. I don't walk. I limp.
And another thing? My spelling has went all to hell.
Sometimes I wish I could talk about these things to my
husband in depth. To be honest I don't think he completely believes me. There's
been a time or two he has slipped up and made a comment that sounded like he
was only tolerating his wife's weirdness because that's what you do. He saw a
UFO once when he was in Afghanistan, and there have been times he's waken up
tired with the bruises and wotnot. But when I bring something up - like the
specter I saw in the house the other night - he just listens and has to fight
to find a sentence to respond with. I can't turn to him with too much. He has
no desire to follow.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Brightly Lit Rubix
I've only heard from Dorica one more time since my session with her. She emailed me to ask when was another good time. I told her that since I work at home my times are very flexible. What was good for her? And that was that.
Well, she thought I was lying to myself anyway: slipped up and said so. So this is to be expected. You move on. You help yourself the way you've always done. You hope your one-sided answers aren't lies.
While listening to the audio tape for American Conspiracies by Jessie Ventura, I got to a part where he mentions how he was approached by another MKultra subject. This person, Ventura said, claims to have been picked because of his Native American ancestry. I was driving the car at the time, so all I could do was shake my head and mutter in disagreement while my husband smiled at me in amusement.
Abductees aren't chosen because they're Dakota or Cherokee or some other bullshit reason like that. If that were the case, only Americans would get picked up. Military abductees are no exception. That sort of racism does not happen in the program.
It's a handy distraction, though. This sort of lie works very well and all levels of the "great secret world" use it to keep the rest of us in control. "You're special. You shall be our prophet. You have a message to tell the world," distracts the willing subject to the point they give up everything to follow this directive they've been handed. They get so full of themselves in being special they forget the power of unity against the menace. They fight to get more attention from being special to the point they even undermine what another is doing. The spotlight is everything.
I have to wonder: back in the days, just a generation ago, when being Red was even worse than being Black in our society, how many people would have been told they'd been chosen for this because they were Red? Not many if at all, I'm willing to bet you.
Because nowadays being Red is the same as saying "I'm born with innate natural powers of psychic Mother Nature prowess." And the ignorant think it without trying. The stereotype is there, seeped into our bones through television and radio. And we, the stupid idiots, fall for it again and again. And again.
I was not picked for this program because I'm Native American. The possibility does exist that I was picked because my father very briefly was tested and used during the origins of the psychic programs years ago. There are connections there. Most likely, from what I've gathered, I was picked up because I was already an abductee.
I was told by a researcher - a rather zealous one who later decided me and my friend were going to psychically attack her through the squirrels in her front yard - that there are program workers who are trained to read auras. When the find someone not in the program that has the holes in their aura that mean they are victims of alien involvement, they tag that person to be picked up. That's how you get pulled in. Or at least it's one way.
It's also the way that makes the most sense. There are countless people who are both abductees and later on MILABS. Well, I suppose they can be counted. I just don't prefer to make an attempt to count that high. I don't have the time.
Well, I could tell you these things forever and I suspect no one is ever going to listen. So that's that.
The other morning I was in that between state you often find yourself. For me, my entire life, it's the place where I ponder the meaning of things... or listen to my other selves talk to me or to each other. It's not quite a dream state; more like a large room where we can visit.
There's one person in particular: I don't know her name. She looks just like me - as many of them do - but she's eternally locked in a younger more daring sense of self. I wasn't entirely there, because I was waking up, so my view of her was fuzzy and halfway out.
She brought out a box and used our mental link to transmit the knowledge that what she held was how to unlock my mind. It worked similarly to a Rubix Cube: if you turned it one way, it would flash one color. If you turned it in a different sequence, it would flash another color. She turned it to demonstrate and it flashed red. The biggest deal, she communicated without speaking, was if you turned it in a particular different sequence, my mind would be opened and the box would flash a rainbow of beautiful colors. She began to demonstrate.
I realized she'd shown me this before, when I was much younger. Perhaps I was 14 at the time. But I communicated back to her a mental flash that translates to, "Oh! I remember this! You've shown me this before! Wow, I haven't thought of this in over 20 years!"
Yes, she communicated back to me. And she started telling me again what the box was for from scratch. We got to the part where the box flashed red and I fully came awake.
I told this to my husband and he remarked that it sounded an awful lot like the boxes from the Pinhead movies.
"I won't watch those movies for many reasons," I told him. I have already been warned what's in those things. Nope. No horror Pinhead movies for me, thank you.
If no one will help you, help yourself. Screw the rest.
Well, she thought I was lying to myself anyway: slipped up and said so. So this is to be expected. You move on. You help yourself the way you've always done. You hope your one-sided answers aren't lies.
While listening to the audio tape for American Conspiracies by Jessie Ventura, I got to a part where he mentions how he was approached by another MKultra subject. This person, Ventura said, claims to have been picked because of his Native American ancestry. I was driving the car at the time, so all I could do was shake my head and mutter in disagreement while my husband smiled at me in amusement.
Abductees aren't chosen because they're Dakota or Cherokee or some other bullshit reason like that. If that were the case, only Americans would get picked up. Military abductees are no exception. That sort of racism does not happen in the program.
It's a handy distraction, though. This sort of lie works very well and all levels of the "great secret world" use it to keep the rest of us in control. "You're special. You shall be our prophet. You have a message to tell the world," distracts the willing subject to the point they give up everything to follow this directive they've been handed. They get so full of themselves in being special they forget the power of unity against the menace. They fight to get more attention from being special to the point they even undermine what another is doing. The spotlight is everything.
I have to wonder: back in the days, just a generation ago, when being Red was even worse than being Black in our society, how many people would have been told they'd been chosen for this because they were Red? Not many if at all, I'm willing to bet you.
Because nowadays being Red is the same as saying "I'm born with innate natural powers of psychic Mother Nature prowess." And the ignorant think it without trying. The stereotype is there, seeped into our bones through television and radio. And we, the stupid idiots, fall for it again and again. And again.
I was not picked for this program because I'm Native American. The possibility does exist that I was picked because my father very briefly was tested and used during the origins of the psychic programs years ago. There are connections there. Most likely, from what I've gathered, I was picked up because I was already an abductee.
I was told by a researcher - a rather zealous one who later decided me and my friend were going to psychically attack her through the squirrels in her front yard - that there are program workers who are trained to read auras. When the find someone not in the program that has the holes in their aura that mean they are victims of alien involvement, they tag that person to be picked up. That's how you get pulled in. Or at least it's one way.
It's also the way that makes the most sense. There are countless people who are both abductees and later on MILABS. Well, I suppose they can be counted. I just don't prefer to make an attempt to count that high. I don't have the time.
Well, I could tell you these things forever and I suspect no one is ever going to listen. So that's that.
The other morning I was in that between state you often find yourself. For me, my entire life, it's the place where I ponder the meaning of things... or listen to my other selves talk to me or to each other. It's not quite a dream state; more like a large room where we can visit.
There's one person in particular: I don't know her name. She looks just like me - as many of them do - but she's eternally locked in a younger more daring sense of self. I wasn't entirely there, because I was waking up, so my view of her was fuzzy and halfway out.
She brought out a box and used our mental link to transmit the knowledge that what she held was how to unlock my mind. It worked similarly to a Rubix Cube: if you turned it one way, it would flash one color. If you turned it in a different sequence, it would flash another color. She turned it to demonstrate and it flashed red. The biggest deal, she communicated without speaking, was if you turned it in a particular different sequence, my mind would be opened and the box would flash a rainbow of beautiful colors. She began to demonstrate.
I realized she'd shown me this before, when I was much younger. Perhaps I was 14 at the time. But I communicated back to her a mental flash that translates to, "Oh! I remember this! You've shown me this before! Wow, I haven't thought of this in over 20 years!"
Yes, she communicated back to me. And she started telling me again what the box was for from scratch. We got to the part where the box flashed red and I fully came awake.
I told this to my husband and he remarked that it sounded an awful lot like the boxes from the Pinhead movies.
"I won't watch those movies for many reasons," I told him. I have already been warned what's in those things. Nope. No horror Pinhead movies for me, thank you.
If no one will help you, help yourself. Screw the rest.
Monday, April 2, 2012
And then ....
Before bed I rewatched an old lecture by Dr. Karla Turner. I firmly believe in her philosophy, and she was very good at uncovering information and asking questions no one else seems to want to approach. She had a good way of putting things, too, that kept you alert through her lectures. So I rewatched to refresh my memory, and my husband watched with me even though he truly couldn't care less one way or the other.
In the middle of the night I woke up with that invaded feeling you get when you're either being picked up or dropped off. It didn't feel like I had been asleep for more than an hour. I turned my head to look to my right and saw the little 3 foot tall black shadow. As my eyes adjusted, I felt a realization in the room that I could see it. And the black lump in the semi-dark winked out of sight.
I sat up. My husband mumbled, "Where are you going?"
"There's something in the room with us," I said. Yes, I was a little afraid. I hate nights like that. You'd think after a literal lifetime of it, you'd get used to it. But I guess I never will.
My husband lay in bed still as stone, unresponsive. After a moment I was able to go back to sleep again. When I mentioned the event to my husband tonight, he was noncommittal about the affair. I don't believe he'll ever take this matter as seriously as it should be taken.
I did wonder if Dr. Turner's lecture hadn't made me imagine the whole thing.
The session with Dorica Manu was hard to do, and that's a fact. I don't feel like going through the entire affair: most of it was keeping up the visualization of a talk show host room with a door and a mirror. Mirrors are damn hard to visualize because, to me, they're portals. Which means if I make one in my head, I'm making things that go with it. But I did this in order to call forth my soul, then spirit, then mind.
Interestingly, the technique we did - which is supposed to help me mold back into a single being with my memories intact - is very close to the technique I've been doing off and on while working out on the treadmill or taking a walk for a couple of years now. It's very effective. So I let Miss Manu guide me along and tried not to skip ahead. I tried to be patient when she didn't agree with something one of my inner parts said. I figure: she's been doing this with a lot of people and knows what she's doing.
My soul wouldn't come to the session, although I called with all my might. When she did show up, she was very misshapen and ugly. She was as tall as a building with knobs under her skin like huge calcium deposits or witch carbuncles. Her hair was stringy, and she wore Xena's outfit from that old show.
I won't come because I'm UGLY, she said - and that summed up my entire life. I'd been told I was ugly by everyone at school for 12 years. I was told that by my own mother, by my cousins, my mother's sister, random people at the mall. Either I'm strikingly beautiful or I'm strikingly ugly. Only once was I ever considered plain, and the man who called me that meant it to abuse and hurt so I will never know if he told the truth. He probably lied.
Calling my spirit was more difficult. What I finally got was a mute pale and beautiful version of me. She wore flowing pale robes and had white hair. At some point Dorica had said something about my body or... something... but whatever the statement, my spirit's response was to point out that we trade bodies like snails to a shell. Dorica did not agree with it - and at this stage who can say which is which?
The third was the hardest: she wanted my mind. All of the dozens and dozens of spirits who'd stood outside the room waiting for their turn laughed. They were ALL my mind, and that was indeed funny. This was something else Dorica didn't seem to get quite - and as I ushered everyone into this room I'd created I wondered if it was because there's something else she knows that I don't or because she's never worked with a butterfly before?
We managed to get a few to merge, and they turned into a woman of fire. The woman then proceeded to make it a point to stand practically on top of me - and that's when I could hear what was going on in the room better. I couldn't before: I'm not clairaudient. I noticed the change, but I said nothing. I wasn't sure how the observation would be received.
When it was over, Dorica said there was more work to be done and mentioned she didn't quite believe the matter of the soul - cut herself off before she could finish. And I was left wondering: so... does she believe aliens made all that up I just went through, or that I made it up, that I'm lying to myself, what?
And, because the instinct is deep inside of me, I wondered what I had to say to convince her I was telling the truth so we could carry on and get the job done. Or at least to make her happy so we could do more. I didn't go for it, of course.
It's just too early to say anything one way or the other. But I know she's genuinely trying to help me - without shoving religion down my throat.
In the middle of the night I woke up with that invaded feeling you get when you're either being picked up or dropped off. It didn't feel like I had been asleep for more than an hour. I turned my head to look to my right and saw the little 3 foot tall black shadow. As my eyes adjusted, I felt a realization in the room that I could see it. And the black lump in the semi-dark winked out of sight.
I sat up. My husband mumbled, "Where are you going?"
"There's something in the room with us," I said. Yes, I was a little afraid. I hate nights like that. You'd think after a literal lifetime of it, you'd get used to it. But I guess I never will.
My husband lay in bed still as stone, unresponsive. After a moment I was able to go back to sleep again. When I mentioned the event to my husband tonight, he was noncommittal about the affair. I don't believe he'll ever take this matter as seriously as it should be taken.
I did wonder if Dr. Turner's lecture hadn't made me imagine the whole thing.
The session with Dorica Manu was hard to do, and that's a fact. I don't feel like going through the entire affair: most of it was keeping up the visualization of a talk show host room with a door and a mirror. Mirrors are damn hard to visualize because, to me, they're portals. Which means if I make one in my head, I'm making things that go with it. But I did this in order to call forth my soul, then spirit, then mind.
Interestingly, the technique we did - which is supposed to help me mold back into a single being with my memories intact - is very close to the technique I've been doing off and on while working out on the treadmill or taking a walk for a couple of years now. It's very effective. So I let Miss Manu guide me along and tried not to skip ahead. I tried to be patient when she didn't agree with something one of my inner parts said. I figure: she's been doing this with a lot of people and knows what she's doing.
My soul wouldn't come to the session, although I called with all my might. When she did show up, she was very misshapen and ugly. She was as tall as a building with knobs under her skin like huge calcium deposits or witch carbuncles. Her hair was stringy, and she wore Xena's outfit from that old show.
I won't come because I'm UGLY, she said - and that summed up my entire life. I'd been told I was ugly by everyone at school for 12 years. I was told that by my own mother, by my cousins, my mother's sister, random people at the mall. Either I'm strikingly beautiful or I'm strikingly ugly. Only once was I ever considered plain, and the man who called me that meant it to abuse and hurt so I will never know if he told the truth. He probably lied.
Calling my spirit was more difficult. What I finally got was a mute pale and beautiful version of me. She wore flowing pale robes and had white hair. At some point Dorica had said something about my body or... something... but whatever the statement, my spirit's response was to point out that we trade bodies like snails to a shell. Dorica did not agree with it - and at this stage who can say which is which?
The third was the hardest: she wanted my mind. All of the dozens and dozens of spirits who'd stood outside the room waiting for their turn laughed. They were ALL my mind, and that was indeed funny. This was something else Dorica didn't seem to get quite - and as I ushered everyone into this room I'd created I wondered if it was because there's something else she knows that I don't or because she's never worked with a butterfly before?
We managed to get a few to merge, and they turned into a woman of fire. The woman then proceeded to make it a point to stand practically on top of me - and that's when I could hear what was going on in the room better. I couldn't before: I'm not clairaudient. I noticed the change, but I said nothing. I wasn't sure how the observation would be received.
When it was over, Dorica said there was more work to be done and mentioned she didn't quite believe the matter of the soul - cut herself off before she could finish. And I was left wondering: so... does she believe aliens made all that up I just went through, or that I made it up, that I'm lying to myself, what?
And, because the instinct is deep inside of me, I wondered what I had to say to convince her I was telling the truth so we could carry on and get the job done. Or at least to make her happy so we could do more. I didn't go for it, of course.
It's just too early to say anything one way or the other. But I know she's genuinely trying to help me - without shoving religion down my throat.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Intergalactic Historic
I've been watching a lecture by Dan Winters about the Galactic History of DNA. Most of it is stuff I already knew: everything has DNA, a fully ascended being can live in a star (like my soul does), there were the bird people (mine) vs the snake people (my former betrothed) and that's how the structure of the universe went boom. But still: I don't go touting these things so I'm amused when I come across someone talking about it.
The things I mention here are "past life" memories, of course: things I've known and remembered since I was about 14 years old. The memories came upon me bit by bit. and I fully believed in them with a faith that could barely be shaken. But it was shaken, in the end, when I found out the truth about MKultra. When I found out what may be the truth about myself.
The main question I have in my rather normal quest of "who am I?" is: what part in my head is the lie and what part is the truth? This is why I started digging into my head. This is why I started reading articles, books, and reports by whistle blowers. Because we are the sum of our memories and experiences, and I no longer know if my personal sum has been concluded in error.
I could spend a lot talking about who I thought I was in this post, but I think perhaps it's best to nutshell so that I can concentrate on other thoughts that will undoubtedly tie into it later. I was "told" by the information in my head that I was a slave. But also, I was a princess: the last of my kind from the original homeworld of all sentient life ages ago. Some people would then regard me as a Lyran, and I've met a lot who decided I must be angelic. Then of course there are those who taste my primal energy, it's dark flavor, and decry me as evil. I've even been kicked out of card reader booths, smudged in people's homes, and attacked by no less than two separate holy roller churches to be exorcised.
Whatever others decide I am, for me the real importance has been more where I've been. Perhaps it's my Indian (feather not dot) upbringing that had to play with that - a person is who they are not where they stand or who their grandfather was. I think it helped me, this philosophy, so that I remember towering pink granite structures, winged dragon teachers, a flight path to a planet on the other side of a black hole, and a lot more. I also remember the day everything died and the fractured existence we live in now began.
Supposedly my memories are encapsulated in a book Prism of Lyra, but I may never find time to read it as busy as I am. :-)
But when my husband and I got together for me to finally try to find a serious researcher to help me get my memories back (which has largely been a directive almost as if it were an order), we came across how the MKultra program worked. Black Princess Programming, the screaming army, the map of one's soul... and how you're told lie after lie. How you are infused with the soul of a fallen angel (which I finally decided I must be). And...
... my quest to seriously get someone to help me figure out this mess began.
Are you familiar with the story of Christmas Night, when Mother Mary and Joseph came to Bethlehem no inns had any room? So they went from door to door, seeking but never finding until Mary and Joseph finally bedded down in a manger - which is basically a barn filled with animals. That night she gave birth - which leads me to consider perhaps she was already in hard labor by the time they were being turned down left and right for a place to stay. Which makes me think the inns were probably more worried about their bedsheets than a spare room.
That's sort of how it's been for me. When the most painful parts of this mess began, I was (unfortunately) involved with a large subculture called the Otherkin. Mind you, a good deal of them are okay folks - but then there are a select few who prey on the others. And I'd fallen into their trap. My head had been tampered with, and I - giddy from the drug of their attention - gleefully listened when I was told more and more about my supposed past life. I ate it up. But none of us knew what was awakening.
So that when small things began to happen - like I managed to be able to throw energy bolts that could actually move objects - we thought it was because I was manifesting. Or at least I thought so. I'd like to give the others the benefit of the doubt: perhaps they didn't know either.
But when my world crashed and I was flooded with a horrible memory that I can only call the Pit and my "inner self came forward from the past" to take my body over, they threw me away. After all the damage they'd done - like a broken toy. And I had to heal alone.
These days I know what happened was the tampering triggered fail-safes people like me have built into them by the "masters". They'd awakened Black Princess programming - something I'll get into another day - and I became very very dangerous to deal with. I'm a very very different person all these years later. And I'd sooner see those people hanged than made better: it's not in my matrix to feel any other way.
Since then I've went from person to person to person. I've tried major ones like James Bartley and Barry Gaunt. Literally all of them, save one (Eve Lorgen but she's unable to help much), were dead ends. Usually it's because I didn't want to accept Jesus as my lord and savior. In one case it's because I wasn't famous enough to get his attention and hold it. One quit researching to focus on ghosts. And all of them found my way of approaching descriptions and how I see the universe weird at best.
So today I sit here writing this blog because I just don't know any other way. Years ago when my heart broke and I was thrown out on my ear, I tried to find mental help and no one would help me. I had to help myself. Here I am, trying to help myself again.
Who am I? What have I done? And which parts of me can I reclaim? Most importantly: is this real?
Dorica Manu was sent an email with the flash stimulation exercise results days ago. Usually she answers within a day. She's been quiet.
Well, she'd already bit my head off because when she'd first offered to help me I'd been very careful about it. I'd asked a lot of questions about the process - remembering what had happened with those Otherkin years ago. She'd decided I was fucking with her and told me quite sternly she didn't have time to be fucked with. So perhaps my results were too weird for her, and like so many people I've known decided I made it up.
She might respond still. But I've lost hope on the matter.
The things I mention here are "past life" memories, of course: things I've known and remembered since I was about 14 years old. The memories came upon me bit by bit. and I fully believed in them with a faith that could barely be shaken. But it was shaken, in the end, when I found out the truth about MKultra. When I found out what may be the truth about myself.
The main question I have in my rather normal quest of "who am I?" is: what part in my head is the lie and what part is the truth? This is why I started digging into my head. This is why I started reading articles, books, and reports by whistle blowers. Because we are the sum of our memories and experiences, and I no longer know if my personal sum has been concluded in error.
I could spend a lot talking about who I thought I was in this post, but I think perhaps it's best to nutshell so that I can concentrate on other thoughts that will undoubtedly tie into it later. I was "told" by the information in my head that I was a slave. But also, I was a princess: the last of my kind from the original homeworld of all sentient life ages ago. Some people would then regard me as a Lyran, and I've met a lot who decided I must be angelic. Then of course there are those who taste my primal energy, it's dark flavor, and decry me as evil. I've even been kicked out of card reader booths, smudged in people's homes, and attacked by no less than two separate holy roller churches to be exorcised.
Whatever others decide I am, for me the real importance has been more where I've been. Perhaps it's my Indian (feather not dot) upbringing that had to play with that - a person is who they are not where they stand or who their grandfather was. I think it helped me, this philosophy, so that I remember towering pink granite structures, winged dragon teachers, a flight path to a planet on the other side of a black hole, and a lot more. I also remember the day everything died and the fractured existence we live in now began.
Supposedly my memories are encapsulated in a book Prism of Lyra, but I may never find time to read it as busy as I am. :-)
But when my husband and I got together for me to finally try to find a serious researcher to help me get my memories back (which has largely been a directive almost as if it were an order), we came across how the MKultra program worked. Black Princess Programming, the screaming army, the map of one's soul... and how you're told lie after lie. How you are infused with the soul of a fallen angel (which I finally decided I must be). And...
... my quest to seriously get someone to help me figure out this mess began.
Are you familiar with the story of Christmas Night, when Mother Mary and Joseph came to Bethlehem no inns had any room? So they went from door to door, seeking but never finding until Mary and Joseph finally bedded down in a manger - which is basically a barn filled with animals. That night she gave birth - which leads me to consider perhaps she was already in hard labor by the time they were being turned down left and right for a place to stay. Which makes me think the inns were probably more worried about their bedsheets than a spare room.
That's sort of how it's been for me. When the most painful parts of this mess began, I was (unfortunately) involved with a large subculture called the Otherkin. Mind you, a good deal of them are okay folks - but then there are a select few who prey on the others. And I'd fallen into their trap. My head had been tampered with, and I - giddy from the drug of their attention - gleefully listened when I was told more and more about my supposed past life. I ate it up. But none of us knew what was awakening.
So that when small things began to happen - like I managed to be able to throw energy bolts that could actually move objects - we thought it was because I was manifesting. Or at least I thought so. I'd like to give the others the benefit of the doubt: perhaps they didn't know either.
But when my world crashed and I was flooded with a horrible memory that I can only call the Pit and my "inner self came forward from the past" to take my body over, they threw me away. After all the damage they'd done - like a broken toy. And I had to heal alone.
These days I know what happened was the tampering triggered fail-safes people like me have built into them by the "masters". They'd awakened Black Princess programming - something I'll get into another day - and I became very very dangerous to deal with. I'm a very very different person all these years later. And I'd sooner see those people hanged than made better: it's not in my matrix to feel any other way.
Since then I've went from person to person to person. I've tried major ones like James Bartley and Barry Gaunt. Literally all of them, save one (Eve Lorgen but she's unable to help much), were dead ends. Usually it's because I didn't want to accept Jesus as my lord and savior. In one case it's because I wasn't famous enough to get his attention and hold it. One quit researching to focus on ghosts. And all of them found my way of approaching descriptions and how I see the universe weird at best.
So today I sit here writing this blog because I just don't know any other way. Years ago when my heart broke and I was thrown out on my ear, I tried to find mental help and no one would help me. I had to help myself. Here I am, trying to help myself again.
Who am I? What have I done? And which parts of me can I reclaim? Most importantly: is this real?
Dorica Manu was sent an email with the flash stimulation exercise results days ago. Usually she answers within a day. She's been quiet.
Well, she'd already bit my head off because when she'd first offered to help me I'd been very careful about it. I'd asked a lot of questions about the process - remembering what had happened with those Otherkin years ago. She'd decided I was fucking with her and told me quite sternly she didn't have time to be fucked with. So perhaps my results were too weird for her, and like so many people I've known decided I made it up.
She might respond still. But I've lost hope on the matter.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Jaded (from) Jacksonville 18
Just my philosophy on finding your soul mate - what with Valentine's Day
coming and all. -and an old channeled Fishbowl report. If I had more
time to do things, it would not be an old Fishbowl report because it
would be on the 'net by now. But. It's an old Fishbowl report. This is
all old footage from 2009, and it might stay that way until 1. I catch
up and 2. my stolen camera is replaced somehow. Being as insurance
companies are all thieves, I suspect that's not happening anytime soon.
=^-^=
I try to use only work and music I find from open source avenues - so if it was marked as open source, I pretty much thought it was alright. As a result, all of my Jaded in Jax files are open to use under the fair rights act as well as for your own derivative works. Not that anything I do is good enough for that.
I try to use only work and music I find from open source avenues - so if it was marked as open source, I pretty much thought it was alright. As a result, all of my Jaded in Jax files are open to use under the fair rights act as well as for your own derivative works. Not that anything I do is good enough for that.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Jaded in Jacksonville 16
Well, my camera was stolen but I still have things on my hard drive to process and get out.
This is where I took an old rant from last February and cut it up. It's complete with caustic comments, angsty stances regarding getting people fired from the Council on High, news updates involving recent visions, a speech from John F. Kennedy, and macro scenes from my front yard. I was pretty mad at a lot of UFO type people that week due to stumbling across some bigoted jerks, so I was just kind of shooting off at the mouth. This is actually only part of the rant footage. I still have more to work on here to get off my hard drive.
I try to use only work and music I find from open source avenues - so if it was marked as open source, I pretty much thought it was alright. As a result, all of my Jaded in Jax files are open to use under the fair rights act as well as for your own derivative works. Not that anything I do is good enough for that.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Jaded in Jacksonville 14
Ever wonder about what you're here to do
on this Earth? Just what is your role? What are all our roles? Okay,
yeah, I'm not claiming to have the answers. A wise man is a man who
never claims to be wise,. =^-^= But I do give a clue on how to find the
answers within yourself in this particular vlog. As well, Choshu
discusses her role with the Council on High (Intergalactic Federation or
Council of Light or whatever it's being called this month) while we see
some nifty footage of the Buddha Temple in Tampa, Florida.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Jaded From Jacksonville 11
What happens when a golden angel melts into you and you accept your Role
for this World? Ha. I can't answer that for you, but I did tell the
story of what happened for me.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Jaded From Jacksonville 10
A glamorized past life story about being a young Buddhist, long ago. Also experimenting with sound tracks.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Jaded in Jacksonville 9
I talk about a past life memory in which I was cajoled into coming to Earth among other things.
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