Showing posts with label reptilian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reptilian. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Monday, October 14, 2013
Party on the Dark Side
There is a place I have been to many times, so much I can give you a firm layout. It's on a beach, and it's an open air bar. The framework is pale wood, like bamboo or pine. There are two or three bars and many twinkling lights; it's a very clean bar - not at all like any I've been to in the waking world. And always when I go, it's filled with people. There are a lot of people, as if there were some huge social function going on.
There is a deck that goes around the back of the bar, behind the enclosed part of the building. The deck can be reached from the open air parts, however. It overlooks the ocean, which is about an acre away. There are trees, too, so that you can see the waves crashing through the break. They twinkle deep blue in the moonlight sometimes.
Standing on the deck looking at the ocean, there is the beginnings of a boardwalk to your left. It's usually closed and locked, because no one is allowed to go down it. You can't reach the waves by walking across the yard, either. The yard is filled with deep roots and marsh. You'll get stuck trying to cross, especially in the dark. I know because that happened to me once.
I always want to go to that beach when I'm there, though. It's just where I prefer to be. You can tell it's a private beach. How peaceful it must be to walk on along that sand with the waves washing your toes.
But that is not where my dream journey began last night. No, it began in an apartment building on the second floor. The apartment I was in was empty and the walls were a pale yellow. There was a light brunette doctor there - maybe she's the one whose been with me since I came here to Louisiana. Maybe she dyed her hair. She had on her lab coat but did not hold her clipboard.
I was escorted into the room and stood with her near the center. There were a lot of other people there, but they were more background color to me. I was aware of them, I was aware of their movements. I didn't care to register them as more than "people in the room with me doing these things".
The doctor told me that the angels, both good and evil, had to come and convince me to choose between light and dark again. It was important for me to remember who I was. (Again with the remembering. As if it pays my bills or something.) She stepped back a few steps and the "angels" came at me.
As far as I was concerned, they were trying to kill me so as they came close I lashed out with my hands and killed them one by one. I was very methodical about it, and wasn't really there enough to remember more than the blood spraying everywhere.
After about twelve or so, the doctor told me that both Archangel Michael and Lucifer would approach me now. And from the wall before me a man did walk forward; a very very tall and skinny man with curly short brunette hair. As he approached I expected him to be the Archangel Michael but as he neared my psychic field I realized this was not the holy good person I should expect. He saw that my third eye was wide open and staring and he snorted derisively to himself, shaking his head a little - I realized that was actually a private reaction and I wasn't supposed to see it so I did not react.
As he got within two feet of me I became aware of a cloying scent about him. It wasn't anything I can place: not cologne, not decaying flesh, not fruit or meat or anything like that. It was actually confusing, this heavy musky scent that was just on the sweet side like a well made meat pudding. It was this scent that made me decide I had been approached by Lucifer - because demons, real demons, smell like death. But it was also confusing. I kept thinking he smelled like death, but I knew he didn't. I've smelled death. This was not the smell of death. It was a smell I knew, I just couldn't remember.
And I had a sense as if I was supposed to know him from previous times - I think this is the impression the doctor was trying to give me.
He took me to the bar, then. I can't remember the journey or what he said to me in the meantime, but I know things happened. My memory glosses over those part and skips to the bar, which was filled with people. I recognized every face I saw, held conversations with many people who always nodded cordially as if greeting me was expected. Some faces I thought I knew from jobs I held in the past, but these people weren't quite it. Most of them were young and Caucasian, although there was one brown woman with salon styled hair that held a conversation with me for a few minutes before taking her drink and moving on.
Lucifer came up to me after a while, just as I was turning to walk away from my spot and find something to do. We went to the deck out back to look at the waves, and he brought himself very close. He put his arms around me and bent down to bring me into an embrace. His nose nestled by my left ear.
I thought he was going to kiss me, and I was filled with a dark protective rage. With my right hand, I grabbed the top of his head and jerked him back by his hair. "I will kill you," I growled.
Patiently he let me do that and locked his brown eyes with mine. When he didn't move, I let him go. He talked to me in a matter-of-fact voice, but I just can't remember what he said. It was something about me remembering, about it being an innocent act, and some other things that suggested it had to be. I just can't remember, and it's frustrating. Whatever he said, I let him bend down again to wrap around me without moving.
He brought me into his chest then and pushed my head against him as if I were a small child. Surrounded by his arms and his scent, I realized how familiar this embrace was. "I remember this," I said. Trustingly I put my hands on his sides. I wasn't committing to a full embrace just yet, but the feeling of being back into this cocoon made me relax.
"Yes," he said. "And do you remember the feeling of my back against your hands?"
I place my hands fully on him then, with my right hand a little further onto his back. His back did feel familiar to me, and I said so.
We broke apart and he spoke with me, but now I can't remember. He wanted to live it up for the night. There was a party going on and it was our role to play it out. About two or three young women approached us, as if they were also there with Lucifer, and everyone started to get into the swing of things. I was forgotten for the moment, and that's when I noticed I was near the boardwalk's gate. I could see the waves in the distance.
For the first time, I decided I was going to that beach come hell or high water. And I jumped the gate. As I did so, I remember noticing for the first time that I was wearing a white cocktail dress. The cloth swirled over my legs as I easily jumped over - and my legs were thinner I also noticed. I was also shocked at how easy it was for me to do it. As if the gate weren't that tall or I was healthier.
I went down the boardwalk in the dark. In no time I was at that coveted beach. The waves moved in an out rather quickly, but it seemed natural to me. I remember as I got there, I bent to look at something in the sand. I looked back at the deck where I could see Lucifer and the others dancing. I wished they would join me - I guess because it would be nice to have someone share my interests.
On the waves were several dozen Cabbage Patch dolls, all moving in and out with the waves. They had been abandoned by their children, I knew, and my heart went out to them. I approached them.
There was on doll who was new. He had black curly hair. He approached me, but I can't remember what we talked about. I ended up holding him in my lap while I sang to the dolls. I told them how sorry I was, that they had been left behind. That I hoped their children would come back.
Then I put the doll down and started to take my walk.
When I woke up in bed after all that, my mind was filled with Lucifer's embrace and his cloying scent. And I have spent all day replaying the moment when I threatened his life - like an animal trainer with a frightened tiger, I realize he was. He handled me well.
My husband complained to me when he got up and someone had messed with his CPAP mask. That only happens to him when we go on a journey. I wonder what his was like.
There is a deck that goes around the back of the bar, behind the enclosed part of the building. The deck can be reached from the open air parts, however. It overlooks the ocean, which is about an acre away. There are trees, too, so that you can see the waves crashing through the break. They twinkle deep blue in the moonlight sometimes.
Standing on the deck looking at the ocean, there is the beginnings of a boardwalk to your left. It's usually closed and locked, because no one is allowed to go down it. You can't reach the waves by walking across the yard, either. The yard is filled with deep roots and marsh. You'll get stuck trying to cross, especially in the dark. I know because that happened to me once.
I always want to go to that beach when I'm there, though. It's just where I prefer to be. You can tell it's a private beach. How peaceful it must be to walk on along that sand with the waves washing your toes.
But that is not where my dream journey began last night. No, it began in an apartment building on the second floor. The apartment I was in was empty and the walls were a pale yellow. There was a light brunette doctor there - maybe she's the one whose been with me since I came here to Louisiana. Maybe she dyed her hair. She had on her lab coat but did not hold her clipboard.
I was escorted into the room and stood with her near the center. There were a lot of other people there, but they were more background color to me. I was aware of them, I was aware of their movements. I didn't care to register them as more than "people in the room with me doing these things".
The doctor told me that the angels, both good and evil, had to come and convince me to choose between light and dark again. It was important for me to remember who I was. (Again with the remembering. As if it pays my bills or something.) She stepped back a few steps and the "angels" came at me.
As far as I was concerned, they were trying to kill me so as they came close I lashed out with my hands and killed them one by one. I was very methodical about it, and wasn't really there enough to remember more than the blood spraying everywhere.
After about twelve or so, the doctor told me that both Archangel Michael and Lucifer would approach me now. And from the wall before me a man did walk forward; a very very tall and skinny man with curly short brunette hair. As he approached I expected him to be the Archangel Michael but as he neared my psychic field I realized this was not the holy good person I should expect. He saw that my third eye was wide open and staring and he snorted derisively to himself, shaking his head a little - I realized that was actually a private reaction and I wasn't supposed to see it so I did not react.
As he got within two feet of me I became aware of a cloying scent about him. It wasn't anything I can place: not cologne, not decaying flesh, not fruit or meat or anything like that. It was actually confusing, this heavy musky scent that was just on the sweet side like a well made meat pudding. It was this scent that made me decide I had been approached by Lucifer - because demons, real demons, smell like death. But it was also confusing. I kept thinking he smelled like death, but I knew he didn't. I've smelled death. This was not the smell of death. It was a smell I knew, I just couldn't remember.
And I had a sense as if I was supposed to know him from previous times - I think this is the impression the doctor was trying to give me.
He took me to the bar, then. I can't remember the journey or what he said to me in the meantime, but I know things happened. My memory glosses over those part and skips to the bar, which was filled with people. I recognized every face I saw, held conversations with many people who always nodded cordially as if greeting me was expected. Some faces I thought I knew from jobs I held in the past, but these people weren't quite it. Most of them were young and Caucasian, although there was one brown woman with salon styled hair that held a conversation with me for a few minutes before taking her drink and moving on.
Lucifer came up to me after a while, just as I was turning to walk away from my spot and find something to do. We went to the deck out back to look at the waves, and he brought himself very close. He put his arms around me and bent down to bring me into an embrace. His nose nestled by my left ear.
I thought he was going to kiss me, and I was filled with a dark protective rage. With my right hand, I grabbed the top of his head and jerked him back by his hair. "I will kill you," I growled.
Patiently he let me do that and locked his brown eyes with mine. When he didn't move, I let him go. He talked to me in a matter-of-fact voice, but I just can't remember what he said. It was something about me remembering, about it being an innocent act, and some other things that suggested it had to be. I just can't remember, and it's frustrating. Whatever he said, I let him bend down again to wrap around me without moving.
He brought me into his chest then and pushed my head against him as if I were a small child. Surrounded by his arms and his scent, I realized how familiar this embrace was. "I remember this," I said. Trustingly I put my hands on his sides. I wasn't committing to a full embrace just yet, but the feeling of being back into this cocoon made me relax.
"Yes," he said. "And do you remember the feeling of my back against your hands?"
I place my hands fully on him then, with my right hand a little further onto his back. His back did feel familiar to me, and I said so.
We broke apart and he spoke with me, but now I can't remember. He wanted to live it up for the night. There was a party going on and it was our role to play it out. About two or three young women approached us, as if they were also there with Lucifer, and everyone started to get into the swing of things. I was forgotten for the moment, and that's when I noticed I was near the boardwalk's gate. I could see the waves in the distance.
For the first time, I decided I was going to that beach come hell or high water. And I jumped the gate. As I did so, I remember noticing for the first time that I was wearing a white cocktail dress. The cloth swirled over my legs as I easily jumped over - and my legs were thinner I also noticed. I was also shocked at how easy it was for me to do it. As if the gate weren't that tall or I was healthier.
I went down the boardwalk in the dark. In no time I was at that coveted beach. The waves moved in an out rather quickly, but it seemed natural to me. I remember as I got there, I bent to look at something in the sand. I looked back at the deck where I could see Lucifer and the others dancing. I wished they would join me - I guess because it would be nice to have someone share my interests.
On the waves were several dozen Cabbage Patch dolls, all moving in and out with the waves. They had been abandoned by their children, I knew, and my heart went out to them. I approached them.
There was on doll who was new. He had black curly hair. He approached me, but I can't remember what we talked about. I ended up holding him in my lap while I sang to the dolls. I told them how sorry I was, that they had been left behind. That I hoped their children would come back.
Then I put the doll down and started to take my walk.
When I woke up in bed after all that, my mind was filled with Lucifer's embrace and his cloying scent. And I have spent all day replaying the moment when I threatened his life - like an animal trainer with a frightened tiger, I realize he was. He handled me well.
My husband complained to me when he got up and someone had messed with his CPAP mask. That only happens to him when we go on a journey. I wonder what his was like.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Blood
I have had RH negative blood. I'm type AB. And when I was pregnant with my son, my blood was RH negative. But my husband's blood was RH positive. This put my son at risk of dying an infant death - something that happened to my eldest brother - so they gave me a shot to make the problem go away. So that after the birth my blood was RH positive.
I can't remember if my blood was negative or positive when I was pregnant with my daughter, but I do remember the shot which they gave me because of what happened with my son.
I found an article talking about how if you have RH negative blood and a high IQ you might be part alien.
But I look at my family history and the fact that my family grew up watching documentaries and smart people things, and I gotta say: if you're raised in a smart environment there's a pretty good chance you'll end up smart. No reptilian blood required. RH negative may just happen to be a human condition that might account for the millions of cradle deaths over the centuries, and nothing more. Like appendicitis.
It's like people saying that glamoring is an alien trait, or something for humans with alien blood. And it's all so messed up. Apparently the Sumerian Annunaki took their DNA and created the modern human race out of Lucy, but yet there are only some select people who have alien DNA. Do you people realize how stupid that sounds? If the Annunaki or some other alien race perpetuated a rushed evolution of humanity through mingling of their DNA, then *everyone* of human descent has this proverbed alien DNA. Ergo, therefore, and other simple logic that gets thrown out the window. And what this means is you're not effing special for being able to point to your extra rib and say you're not quite human because it simply is not true.
And maybe it's my red background that gives me the following knowledge, but glamoring is not a strictly alien talent. It's not something select people are given by their alien masters in this day and age. It's a very *human* trait. If you track back shamanistic glamoring and shapeshifting, you'll find a common theme. Shamans can do it - they're taught to harnass this ability by their mentors. Lycanthropes did it, and others. I mean sure there are predators that have used the ability to prey on human kind. But there are just as many humans who can do it. If you connect yourself inside and listen to yourself you have a better chance of finding it.
And some people think you have to be born an innate shaman to become a shaman. Well that's bullshit too. Yes, there are some people whose gifts are strong enough that being a shaman is the best course. It is a proven fact that practicing magic will balance hormones and calm someone with depression or some other chemical imbalance. In other words, magical people have a medical need to be magical. However, there are other people who just wanted to be it and went out and learned. One of the best psychic leaders the government ever employed started out as a guy that was recruited just because, that had no imagination whatsoever, and he grew to be very strong indeed. Alien blood not required.
Now don't get your panties in a wad. If you think you're part reptilian/annunaki/martian because of your RH negative blood maybe that's true. But because it's not *necessarily* true I have to question using that as a deciding factor of your human ancestry. And if you're telling me it's always true because some alien contact told you it was true, I have to swing back to Karla Turner's philosophy:
The aliens have been proven to be consummate liars.
The aliens have proven to be manipulators, life ruiners, and baby thieves.
The aliens tell their pets they're special and give them "missions" that never hold true. ("I'm a super powerful alien because I have RH negative blood!" equals "I'm special!" by the way.)
And even if the aliens are telling the truth, it is only hearsay. And hearsay does not hold in a court of law, in logic, in the scientific process. Hearsay, in my experience, only holds in church. And in church, hearsay is nitpicked by the people who only say what they want to hear.
Get me some reptilians willing to give me blood samples. Give me their human hybrid children. Let me test that DNA to prove a family connection. And then let me see that RH negative or positive connection. I'm willing to look at some real data. But lately I've noticed that not many people are collecting hard data anymore. It's scary, how badly we're undercutting ourselves in our desperate need to feel special.
It isn't that you aren't special. It's just that you're claiming to be special for things that everyone has. I believe in deeds. It was a deed that put this wheel into motion. It will only be deeds that can free humanity and allow us to take our rightful place as sentient equals in the universe.
Monday, April 29, 2013
A History of the Otherkin
A long, long time ago I was a very devout Otherkin.
This was before I knew what UFOlogists knew, or MILABS, or anything of the kind. And I believed with all my heart and soul in the Otherkin subculture movement. I would have laid down my life to help those people I thought of as brethren.
Well, things happen. Negative things, positive things. For example. I watched others in the community wave their peacock feathers "I was a princess in another life" and butt heads over who should rule this or that, or who should be the supreme princess. Or prince. Or in one guy's case the sole heir to the universe that was somehow also elected as the supreme leader through an intergalactic election.
But my inner guides said not to say anything about who I was; just to say "yes I am this" and let it go for the truth would win out and the REAL others would see who I truly was on their own. Some did, with mixed reactions. One actually got on his knees and swore fealty. Another who was also claiming to be "this" started a flame war at me - silly upstart bard.
Mostly there were other things: backstabbing things. Petty politics things where I was talked bad about by the very people I would have done anything to protect - accused of doing things I never did. Called names. Talked down about. One guy tried to take advantage of me, and when I told him no and dared to speak out got me ostracized. My life was hell so long as I stayed with them, and I couldn't quite get that this was because I was going against my natural shamanistic flow. These days I know how power works, and your place in the universe. And I still marvel at how my life literally did a 180 degree turn for the good when I walked away from the Otherkin forever, saying "You are lying to yourselves, and I cannot be one of you any longer."
Their final malicious act: to take my new husband to the side to "have an intervention" because they were concerned that he was with me. They wanted us to break up. No one knew we were married yet - I had convinced him to keep it a secret. Surprise to them. And I found out months later at least two of those same people were members of the Otherkin thing. So it goes.
I was no innocent, but I was certainly trapped by a circumstance of my own making. There are a lot of good people in the Otherkin movement - for some reason I only met them briefly and couldn't recognize good people for bad. I thank my lucky stars I finally woke up and got away. Because when looking into the UFO culture I saw a 100% match between what the scientists were finding out vs. what the Otherkin were remembering on their own.
Still, I did take a lot of good away from those years. It wasn't the Otherkin that taught me to trust people less, but it was the Otherkin that taught me how to predict what someone will do next. Like when the first LOTR movie came out and I said "You watch. We're going to get people joining up saying they're Tolkien elves, but I'm telling you this is going too far. Tolkien's elves were a metaphor." I was ignored, pointedly. And sure enough, they came. That event I think was my first eyeblink at this fabricated nonreality.
I have a necklace a true dragon - the only true dragon I met out of the dozens claiming to be dragons reborn in the Otherkin community - that I cherish. When she gave it to me I was at a point in my life where the memories of my other side were very strong and just getting on the edge of painful. And I felt like no one would ever know who I truly was. I would always be invisible.
It has the Chinese royal seal on it: peacock, dragon. She handed it to me and said, "This is for you, because when I look at you this is what I see."
I stood there holding that necklace and the tears just fell down my face. And to this day it's my special thing, guarded carefully.
Another good thing I brought out of being with the Otherkin is the Allthing. It's a yearly gather I hold near to wherever I live at the time. I have a website dedicated to it that I usually ignore at http://thingstead.wordpress.com/. The old website used to be http://anotherotherkin.tripod.com - but it no longer fits. Still, when I think to deal with Thingstead I'll hung up the old website and pull things over. Today I pulled some things over from the old Book of Shadows section.
And found on Google a history of the Otherkin where my old website is mentioned.
I am not in the least bit interested in reading the history, although it's clear I am mentioned somehow. Not when I think of all the false talk that happened behind my back; the lies, manipulations, etc. I can't trust that history to be true.
And I am so tired of lies.
I don't wish to discuss the Otherkin here any more. Ever. But they were so much a part of my life, I wonder if I can make that possible.
This was before I knew what UFOlogists knew, or MILABS, or anything of the kind. And I believed with all my heart and soul in the Otherkin subculture movement. I would have laid down my life to help those people I thought of as brethren.
Well, things happen. Negative things, positive things. For example. I watched others in the community wave their peacock feathers "I was a princess in another life" and butt heads over who should rule this or that, or who should be the supreme princess. Or prince. Or in one guy's case the sole heir to the universe that was somehow also elected as the supreme leader through an intergalactic election.
But my inner guides said not to say anything about who I was; just to say "yes I am this" and let it go for the truth would win out and the REAL others would see who I truly was on their own. Some did, with mixed reactions. One actually got on his knees and swore fealty. Another who was also claiming to be "this" started a flame war at me - silly upstart bard.
Mostly there were other things: backstabbing things. Petty politics things where I was talked bad about by the very people I would have done anything to protect - accused of doing things I never did. Called names. Talked down about. One guy tried to take advantage of me, and when I told him no and dared to speak out got me ostracized. My life was hell so long as I stayed with them, and I couldn't quite get that this was because I was going against my natural shamanistic flow. These days I know how power works, and your place in the universe. And I still marvel at how my life literally did a 180 degree turn for the good when I walked away from the Otherkin forever, saying "You are lying to yourselves, and I cannot be one of you any longer."
Their final malicious act: to take my new husband to the side to "have an intervention" because they were concerned that he was with me. They wanted us to break up. No one knew we were married yet - I had convinced him to keep it a secret. Surprise to them. And I found out months later at least two of those same people were members of the Otherkin thing. So it goes.
I was no innocent, but I was certainly trapped by a circumstance of my own making. There are a lot of good people in the Otherkin movement - for some reason I only met them briefly and couldn't recognize good people for bad. I thank my lucky stars I finally woke up and got away. Because when looking into the UFO culture I saw a 100% match between what the scientists were finding out vs. what the Otherkin were remembering on their own.
Still, I did take a lot of good away from those years. It wasn't the Otherkin that taught me to trust people less, but it was the Otherkin that taught me how to predict what someone will do next. Like when the first LOTR movie came out and I said "You watch. We're going to get people joining up saying they're Tolkien elves, but I'm telling you this is going too far. Tolkien's elves were a metaphor." I was ignored, pointedly. And sure enough, they came. That event I think was my first eyeblink at this fabricated nonreality.
I have a necklace a true dragon - the only true dragon I met out of the dozens claiming to be dragons reborn in the Otherkin community - that I cherish. When she gave it to me I was at a point in my life where the memories of my other side were very strong and just getting on the edge of painful. And I felt like no one would ever know who I truly was. I would always be invisible.
It has the Chinese royal seal on it: peacock, dragon. She handed it to me and said, "This is for you, because when I look at you this is what I see."
I stood there holding that necklace and the tears just fell down my face. And to this day it's my special thing, guarded carefully.
Another good thing I brought out of being with the Otherkin is the Allthing. It's a yearly gather I hold near to wherever I live at the time. I have a website dedicated to it that I usually ignore at http://thingstead.wordpress.com/. The old website used to be http://anotherotherkin.tripod.com - but it no longer fits. Still, when I think to deal with Thingstead I'll hung up the old website and pull things over. Today I pulled some things over from the old Book of Shadows section.
And found on Google a history of the Otherkin where my old website is mentioned.
I am not in the least bit interested in reading the history, although it's clear I am mentioned somehow. Not when I think of all the false talk that happened behind my back; the lies, manipulations, etc. I can't trust that history to be true.
And I am so tired of lies.
I don't wish to discuss the Otherkin here any more. Ever. But they were so much a part of my life, I wonder if I can make that possible.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Speaking Of.... slrp
While we're on the subject of reptilians, I think I should share two of my wide awake physical brushes with them. Now, this has nothing to do with being approached by a reptilian in the night when I was just beginning a comic about them that was meant to portray them in an utterly ridiculous light. That was a purposeful encounter, and those you must always examine suspiciously because so much can be and has been faked. Lies are all around us.
These were two accidental encounters, and that's why I hold them to be so real. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong time, maybe. Depending on your point of view.
The first time was when I and my daughter moved to a small town located about three hours east of St Louis, Missouri. My husband was in Iraq at the time, and we had just bought the house of my dreams - and I mean it was literally of my dreams. The thing I had dreamed about, wished for, and hoped for my entire life right down to how the open bar looks in the basement. We were leaving Jacksonville, Florida behind - and that being a hotspot in which I witnessed a lot of things - so I thought moving to this little town was going to be a nice quiet change. I was in for a scarey surprise.
We got there, settled in after some drama with the local officials who went so far as trying to accuse me of stealing my husband's identity in order to forestall the final signing of our house's paperwork, and life set to resume. In fact if you see my video blogs you can even see when we moved and notice the change. And all should have been a hustle of unpacking and learning our new town.
But I, being taught to feel and be aware at least on a low skill level, couldn't sleep at night. I could feel them all around me - there was a huge cluster of minds all watching me. They were aware I was there, they were watching carefully, and the foremost emotion they put out was wondering if I was a threat. It was very uncomfortable, and I was a bundle of nerves. I only slept during the day, when the "psychic eyes" seemed less trained on me and it felt safe.
Being an author, I got booked to make a public appearance in Joplin, Missouri. My daughter who was about fourteen at the time, and I loaded into the car and we started driving. We had to go through St. Louis to get there and hit the city sometime in the evening, but even as we hit the outlying farmland areas on the outside of the city I could feel them. It was scarey - more minds than I had ever felt before, and I knew I was sensing a large scale movement above ground that was very special. The minds were all bend and shaped in that way people get when they have an intense purpose.
We crossed the bridge into St Louis, passed the arch, and as my daughter oggled the sights and crooned I felt them moving around. There were hints of water, smells of underbrush, and then suddenly it just shut off. I knew, then, that they had ground their prey. And I knew it was a young girl. I said to my daughter that they had caught someone. A couple of more miles down the road, when we were a little past halfway through St Louis, and the city went on amber alert. A young girl had been taken. It was the saddest confirmation I had ever received in my life.
The rest of my time living up there was spent in fear, knowing I was so close to one of the reptilian hives that still practices the girl hunts when my daughter was just at the right age they seem to prefer. After a while the minds stopped watching me at home, but I never stopped watching out for them.
When my husband was on his second deployment to Afghanistan I saw one in the flesh. I was in Hobby Lobby - I kid you not - looking for supplies when this woman happened to be in the same row as me. I looked at her, and she looked at me. I could feel her attention - not sure how I got it - and her eyes were black pools. They were beautiful eyes, mind you, but they didn't look right... and as I stared briefly I could find no hint that they were because of contact lenses.
"N... nice eyes, "I literally stammered.
She thanked me and I ducked to the next row. You'd think that would be it, but I could feel her following me as I talked with my friend... first about the woman's eyes in one brief sentence, and then about whatever mundane thing I could find. The woman followed me from row to row, her always on the other side, as I pretended to shop and act like I'd noticed nothing weird. I saw her head cocked when there was a gap, listening.
So, because the situation was both scarey and a bit provoking, I decided to try a trick from Babylon 5. Babylon 5 being a TV show, well, you can't take any of it seriously. But what the hell. I started playing Mary Had A Little Lamb in my head over and over. I focused on that song while continuing the conversation.
That was when the reptilian ... or whatever she was... decided I wasn't anything and went away.
I tried very hard to get my MUFON contacts to come to the area and investigate with me, but they never would. And that is where that tale ends.
These were two accidental encounters, and that's why I hold them to be so real. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong time, maybe. Depending on your point of view.
The first time was when I and my daughter moved to a small town located about three hours east of St Louis, Missouri. My husband was in Iraq at the time, and we had just bought the house of my dreams - and I mean it was literally of my dreams. The thing I had dreamed about, wished for, and hoped for my entire life right down to how the open bar looks in the basement. We were leaving Jacksonville, Florida behind - and that being a hotspot in which I witnessed a lot of things - so I thought moving to this little town was going to be a nice quiet change. I was in for a scarey surprise.
We got there, settled in after some drama with the local officials who went so far as trying to accuse me of stealing my husband's identity in order to forestall the final signing of our house's paperwork, and life set to resume. In fact if you see my video blogs you can even see when we moved and notice the change. And all should have been a hustle of unpacking and learning our new town.
But I, being taught to feel and be aware at least on a low skill level, couldn't sleep at night. I could feel them all around me - there was a huge cluster of minds all watching me. They were aware I was there, they were watching carefully, and the foremost emotion they put out was wondering if I was a threat. It was very uncomfortable, and I was a bundle of nerves. I only slept during the day, when the "psychic eyes" seemed less trained on me and it felt safe.
Being an author, I got booked to make a public appearance in Joplin, Missouri. My daughter who was about fourteen at the time, and I loaded into the car and we started driving. We had to go through St. Louis to get there and hit the city sometime in the evening, but even as we hit the outlying farmland areas on the outside of the city I could feel them. It was scarey - more minds than I had ever felt before, and I knew I was sensing a large scale movement above ground that was very special. The minds were all bend and shaped in that way people get when they have an intense purpose.
We crossed the bridge into St Louis, passed the arch, and as my daughter oggled the sights and crooned I felt them moving around. There were hints of water, smells of underbrush, and then suddenly it just shut off. I knew, then, that they had ground their prey. And I knew it was a young girl. I said to my daughter that they had caught someone. A couple of more miles down the road, when we were a little past halfway through St Louis, and the city went on amber alert. A young girl had been taken. It was the saddest confirmation I had ever received in my life.
The rest of my time living up there was spent in fear, knowing I was so close to one of the reptilian hives that still practices the girl hunts when my daughter was just at the right age they seem to prefer. After a while the minds stopped watching me at home, but I never stopped watching out for them.
When my husband was on his second deployment to Afghanistan I saw one in the flesh. I was in Hobby Lobby - I kid you not - looking for supplies when this woman happened to be in the same row as me. I looked at her, and she looked at me. I could feel her attention - not sure how I got it - and her eyes were black pools. They were beautiful eyes, mind you, but they didn't look right... and as I stared briefly I could find no hint that they were because of contact lenses.
"N... nice eyes, "I literally stammered.
She thanked me and I ducked to the next row. You'd think that would be it, but I could feel her following me as I talked with my friend... first about the woman's eyes in one brief sentence, and then about whatever mundane thing I could find. The woman followed me from row to row, her always on the other side, as I pretended to shop and act like I'd noticed nothing weird. I saw her head cocked when there was a gap, listening.
So, because the situation was both scarey and a bit provoking, I decided to try a trick from Babylon 5. Babylon 5 being a TV show, well, you can't take any of it seriously. But what the hell. I started playing Mary Had A Little Lamb in my head over and over. I focused on that song while continuing the conversation.
That was when the reptilian ... or whatever she was... decided I wasn't anything and went away.
I tried very hard to get my MUFON contacts to come to the area and investigate with me, but they never would. And that is where that tale ends.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Lizards in Action
I was actually looking form something completely different when I came across apparent footage of a Reptilian body guard at a government function. I sat, I watched, I backed up, and I watched again. Usually when I watch things that people put out on the internet like this, I figure it's not completely real. There have been plenty of things I saw that were apparently just cases of people wishing things were there. But this time, well. I'm going to treat this as real, the debate isn't whether it is or not.
There was a reptilian who once came to me to discuss a story I was writing. Apparently my representation of them as a people was a matter of grave concern. I was in Tampa at the time. I'll never forget how I stared at his orange jump suit, studying the folds in the cloth, wondering why on earth he had to wear such a human military thing unless he was part of the American army. And I remember, also, how humanoid he appeared. Not at all covered in ridges or anything like people picture them.
The ridges can show, but well, let me show you the footage.
Let's be serious in our exploration, and what I'm going to say I know from my head. I haven't opened any books to study what others have to say yet. I will begin tonight now that things have been confirmed.
1. He weaves back and forth. While weaving back and forth, his ears are out and look rather like a frill. (For an example of a frill see further down the post.) He's attentive, looking around, and being very watchful. Mind you, I've seen lots of humans act like that and me too when happy so the behavior is 100% off... but there's more.
2. When he stops looking around and being attentive, he "shapeshifts". That's not really shapeshifting, and I'm not really sure why people call it that. It's not even close to glamoring, which is another skill entirely. If you look, the frill has went down and the ridges shift much like if you flexed your muscles. He basically is expressing an emotion, state of being, or feeling. In this case I took it to mean "all looks clear, am going to stand down a bit now."
3. His humanoid features become even less pronounced when he stands down and he manages to look even more "alien". Even in the dark of the room you can tell he's different. No need to enhance the footage or zoom in. Just compare and contrast.
Something that I find amusing is we'll compare ourselves to apes, find all sorts of similarities with chimpanzees and use them as a model to understand ourselves better, but we can't seem to make the same connection with the other natives of this planet. And it's so much common sense, that I think even without a BA in anthropology I'd get it.
Some of the reptilians are of early reptile descent. Some are "hoary" lizards. And some regard themselves as avians and are a little vain about it. (One of my alters included.) This reptilian, I think, is closer to the dinosaur breed, the ones closely linked to birds. (If you didn't know, birds are dinosaurs evolved. Our modern lizard is from a different ancestor in many cases.)
Birds and some reptiles have some behaviors in common because of that common ancestor: weaving when on the look out or threatened, having a frill, and being able to shift parts of their bone structure to suit certain things.
So you learn them, you learn their body language, you learn how to talk to them. Know thy enemy, if you must. If that one is one of the enemy.
And with this little bit, their apparent shapeshifting and even what that guy was doing there becomes defined, real, touchable, a little mundane and above all - more on a serious level for us to process, understand, and decide how to react to without a bunch of mumbo jumbo getting involved.
Here's a couple of lizards. And a snake, weaving.
This is also the part where I suggest once again that if reptilians think we should still be in the food chain, they can be just as tasty.
There was a reptilian who once came to me to discuss a story I was writing. Apparently my representation of them as a people was a matter of grave concern. I was in Tampa at the time. I'll never forget how I stared at his orange jump suit, studying the folds in the cloth, wondering why on earth he had to wear such a human military thing unless he was part of the American army. And I remember, also, how humanoid he appeared. Not at all covered in ridges or anything like people picture them.
The ridges can show, but well, let me show you the footage.
Let's be serious in our exploration, and what I'm going to say I know from my head. I haven't opened any books to study what others have to say yet. I will begin tonight now that things have been confirmed.
1. He weaves back and forth. While weaving back and forth, his ears are out and look rather like a frill. (For an example of a frill see further down the post.) He's attentive, looking around, and being very watchful. Mind you, I've seen lots of humans act like that and me too when happy so the behavior is 100% off... but there's more.
2. When he stops looking around and being attentive, he "shapeshifts". That's not really shapeshifting, and I'm not really sure why people call it that. It's not even close to glamoring, which is another skill entirely. If you look, the frill has went down and the ridges shift much like if you flexed your muscles. He basically is expressing an emotion, state of being, or feeling. In this case I took it to mean "all looks clear, am going to stand down a bit now."
3. His humanoid features become even less pronounced when he stands down and he manages to look even more "alien". Even in the dark of the room you can tell he's different. No need to enhance the footage or zoom in. Just compare and contrast.
Something that I find amusing is we'll compare ourselves to apes, find all sorts of similarities with chimpanzees and use them as a model to understand ourselves better, but we can't seem to make the same connection with the other natives of this planet. And it's so much common sense, that I think even without a BA in anthropology I'd get it.
Some of the reptilians are of early reptile descent. Some are "hoary" lizards. And some regard themselves as avians and are a little vain about it. (One of my alters included.) This reptilian, I think, is closer to the dinosaur breed, the ones closely linked to birds. (If you didn't know, birds are dinosaurs evolved. Our modern lizard is from a different ancestor in many cases.)
Birds and some reptiles have some behaviors in common because of that common ancestor: weaving when on the look out or threatened, having a frill, and being able to shift parts of their bone structure to suit certain things.
So you learn them, you learn their body language, you learn how to talk to them. Know thy enemy, if you must. If that one is one of the enemy.
And with this little bit, their apparent shapeshifting and even what that guy was doing there becomes defined, real, touchable, a little mundane and above all - more on a serious level for us to process, understand, and decide how to react to without a bunch of mumbo jumbo getting involved.
Here's a couple of lizards. And a snake, weaving.
This is also the part where I suggest once again that if reptilians think we should still be in the food chain, they can be just as tasty.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Anger concluded
Now, this brings me
back to an earlier point in my story. Anger can be very liberating and a very
powerful force. I’ve faced people down who tried to make me angry on purpose
just to get at what was within, and truth be told I don’t like to get angry.
But Jill’s quick decision and subsequent dismissal of myself and my need was
all it took.
I had the normal
reaction. I and my friend ranted a while, appalled at Jill’s bent. Didn’t she
listen when we had told her we’d done things together? We marveled. And that worked to steer me away from being
too angry for a little while. But my friend had to go to sleep sooner or later,
and so I was soon left to my own seething thoughts.
It was like a window
opened in the back of my mind, and all of that light which used to surround the
bus in my nightmares streamed forth. I remembered the dolls, my terror, and the
years of loneliness and fear that still haven’t left me today. I remembered
reading an article about how many abductees , especially those that have dealt
with Greys, report stories almost identical to mine. And in that moment I
realized those weren’t dreams. They were nightmares, yes. But of the waking
kind.
A whole new
understanding of my past fell into place. I did remember, to some extent. It
just wasn’t what I hoped to remember.
So I told Jill what I
remembered. I told her about Jennifer, my incubus, and most importantly the
bright lights. Her tune changed after that.. she said she wished she could put
me under hypnosis, to see if Jennifer’s birth was real, and to see what else I
could remember. The three of us began to make plans on coming to her – she lived
in Louisiana – to see what we could do.
And then,
unfortunately, Jill took a paranoid turn on us. Before it was over, she was
accusing my friend of sending squirrels to attack her. (I kid you not. Squirrels.)
And there went another researcher.
But
even so, I had made progress. Glorious progress . I knew about the soul
snatchers now. Some of the information my guides had told me as a child was
confirmed as well. I could go on feeling like I was leading a double and triple
life – because chances are I was. And even though I didn’t get “deprogrammed”
or hypnotized, I did get some information and a step to some answers.
I’ve
since met other researchers, one of which was with MUFON. The MUFON researcher
never took my story seriously and I soon had to separate myself from that
environment, as it was a drain of money I just didn’t have. The other
researcher went the way of Jill and the others before her: his life went to hell.
But at least he didn’t go crazy. I’ve just realized researchers are fragile
things. If I get too close their worlds go boom. So I don’t get too close
anymore.
Instead,
I am sometimes my own researcher. I owe Jill for pointing me in the right direction
when no one else would. And I thank her for it.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Untouchable
Researcher and I have been discussing things back and forth. She thinks she can use my story in a book. I say she's welcome to it: if it can help someone all the better. That's a good thing.
I don't want to say her name here, so I'll simply name her Researcher. So far she's a good and wise person; has driven me to pick up projects I thought I'd never be able to pick up again. She's also a fantastic writer. I love to read her things. And I dare hope we're becoming friends; that most precious of universal gifts.
She asked a series of questions for her research, and one of them had to do with childhood abuse in the family. Now, I now that many people in The Program talk about how they were so severely abused by their parents, or their father sold them into sexual slavery, or some other horrible story. I know that without that historic abuse in your life some researchers will decide you lie and are not part of the Program at all.
Well. I have no family abuse in my life. Sorry to disappoint.
My father, now, he was abused very heavily: he had been taken from his family when he was a kid and spent his life being passed around. That has to do with the stigma of being "Native American" in those days. Hell, even when my first born child was born I had people trying to take him from me before he was a few hours old. The government takes Indian children away from their parents; end of story. The government does not trust us. That's the rest of the story. We are still "The Indian Problem". That's the story in a nutshell.
Part of my father's history is he'd been bequeathed a bunch of land by his grandparents. It was a house, a small island of maybe an acre wide; things like that around the town I grew up in. Then the government gave him to some distant cousins to be fostered. While fostering him they beat him with two by fours and homesteaded his land out from under him. Nice, huh.
(But even so that branch of the family had a strong "witch" named Fanny who would pain her moods and cause the weather to change - so I was told by my father's cousin who was called my aunt. And that so-called aunt also fancied herself a psychic; used to work with the local police and everything.
She used to freak out at the tricks my older brother and I used to do, but that's not important. She was ignorant. Enough said.)
So some abuse my father suffered through that carried down. He just had a fierce temper. He didn't sexually abuse us. Again, sorry to disappoint. He just would get mad and spank us very hard, then spank us again for crying.
There was a couple of times he lost his temper and left my brother weeping softly on the floor. That could be considered abusive, I suppose. But when you people think of abuse, you think of some sort of daily torture with constant bruises. That wasn't my life. So I dunno if abuse is the proper term so much as he was rough. And we feared him.
Mom, too... not abusive so much as distant from me. Yes there were times she would not respond to us at all, as if we weren't there. She once told me I was ugly. When my little brother was born, her attitude towards me changed so visibly I resented my little brother a lot. She's different now and doesn't remember any of it, of course. But I have a chipped tooth from one of her slaps still today.
But still on that when I went to school during the freezing winters - yes Florida used to have those with busted pipes and sheets of ice and everything - with shoes that were popping open it wasn't my mother. It was that we had no money. And no, we didn't get food stamps or some magical tribal check. I've never qualified for food stamps; not when I was a child with my mother, not when I was pregnant with my children, and not when I was a single mother with two small babies in diapers.
No, the sexual abuse happened with an unrelated church man - who was a three time offender but had been allowed his kids back anyway. I was friends with them, and practically lived over there. I was ... maybe 10, 11, or so. I was either over there or my grandmother's house.
I was also the star witness when he went to court the final time. Not sure why it was me, but yeah. You'd think his daughters would have made better witnesses when it was his oldest daughter who made the call. But these men in suits took me into a room with a long table without my parents, sat me down, and proceeded to ask me very serious adult questions about the situation. I was... maybe... 14? 15? Although it seems to me I was 13: I tend to age revert though.
They didn't ask me for details on what he had done. They just asked one time if he had done it, and I said yes. "I know because I had a dream and woke from it." So then they asked what do you want done with him?
And I answered, "House arrest, counseling. He's a sick man." I was repeating that last part from a counselor who, during the initial interview to see if I needed mental treatment for this, had told me about how the molesters think they're having real sex with you. And that they often don't realize they're abusing you.
That counselor had explained a lot to me that day as if I were some sort of college student, and through it all I was repeating what my inside me was saying. "BE sure and tell them you know it's not your fault it happened." Etc. So I got out of that with a clean bill of mental health, which was a very important thing for some reason. And when the counselor was talking I was thinking, "Liar. That man was training me to have sex with him in the future." Which was obvious: if you'd heard him talk all those years.
So this 4 time offender who had molested his own daughters, me, the neighbor's girls, and a couple of small girls one of the daughters was babysitting, was given house arrest and counseling. To the letter on what I'd said they should do, I might add. =^^=
Go me, empress of everything. Except the Military Graphic Arts department, but that shall change someday. Because SOMEONE who knows what they're doing needs to take over. Some of these posters around here. Day-um.
Through most of my young life I held on to my virginity like some talisman. It was important not to lose it. Young boys came asking point blank for sex, and I turned them down. I've been pushed into bushes, approached, you name it. I skirted all the dangers as I held onto myself; partly because I knew I had a chosen mate, partly because I didn't love those boys, because I didn't want to get pregnant, etc.
There was an inner knowledge that I was an "Untouchable". No one was allowed to tup me in that way; I was exempt for some reason. I told this to a boy once who was asking me to have sex with him. I don't know where I got the idea.
But even today I must recognize that most of my sour sexual experiences are the result of desperation and poor choices that happened after my first marriage ended. Not because of the Program, not because of some dark agenda.
I recognize there probably was some sexual training in there somewhere, I just can't find it. There were times I "dreamed" of demons rubbing my body, exciting me to a sexual frenzy only to leave me unsatisfied. Between the way the other kids treated me at school, the abuse, and the years of knowing I was "Untouchable" I've developed this serious sexual hole in me; I can't feel sex hardly at all. I have a hard time getting into it - I can't just throw myself into it and care the way so many women claim to do. And if my husband doesn't have sex with me I begin to feel ugly and undesirable; my morale takes a serious plunge into the sewer.
I was Untouchable because I was meant for something else. But that's the extent of my knowledge. Well that’s part of the point of this journal: to help me remember and figure things out.
I don't want to say her name here, so I'll simply name her Researcher. So far she's a good and wise person; has driven me to pick up projects I thought I'd never be able to pick up again. She's also a fantastic writer. I love to read her things. And I dare hope we're becoming friends; that most precious of universal gifts.
She asked a series of questions for her research, and one of them had to do with childhood abuse in the family. Now, I now that many people in The Program talk about how they were so severely abused by their parents, or their father sold them into sexual slavery, or some other horrible story. I know that without that historic abuse in your life some researchers will decide you lie and are not part of the Program at all.
Well. I have no family abuse in my life. Sorry to disappoint.
My father, now, he was abused very heavily: he had been taken from his family when he was a kid and spent his life being passed around. That has to do with the stigma of being "Native American" in those days. Hell, even when my first born child was born I had people trying to take him from me before he was a few hours old. The government takes Indian children away from their parents; end of story. The government does not trust us. That's the rest of the story. We are still "The Indian Problem". That's the story in a nutshell.
Part of my father's history is he'd been bequeathed a bunch of land by his grandparents. It was a house, a small island of maybe an acre wide; things like that around the town I grew up in. Then the government gave him to some distant cousins to be fostered. While fostering him they beat him with two by fours and homesteaded his land out from under him. Nice, huh.
(But even so that branch of the family had a strong "witch" named Fanny who would pain her moods and cause the weather to change - so I was told by my father's cousin who was called my aunt. And that so-called aunt also fancied herself a psychic; used to work with the local police and everything.
She used to freak out at the tricks my older brother and I used to do, but that's not important. She was ignorant. Enough said.)
So some abuse my father suffered through that carried down. He just had a fierce temper. He didn't sexually abuse us. Again, sorry to disappoint. He just would get mad and spank us very hard, then spank us again for crying.
There was a couple of times he lost his temper and left my brother weeping softly on the floor. That could be considered abusive, I suppose. But when you people think of abuse, you think of some sort of daily torture with constant bruises. That wasn't my life. So I dunno if abuse is the proper term so much as he was rough. And we feared him.
Mom, too... not abusive so much as distant from me. Yes there were times she would not respond to us at all, as if we weren't there. She once told me I was ugly. When my little brother was born, her attitude towards me changed so visibly I resented my little brother a lot. She's different now and doesn't remember any of it, of course. But I have a chipped tooth from one of her slaps still today.
But still on that when I went to school during the freezing winters - yes Florida used to have those with busted pipes and sheets of ice and everything - with shoes that were popping open it wasn't my mother. It was that we had no money. And no, we didn't get food stamps or some magical tribal check. I've never qualified for food stamps; not when I was a child with my mother, not when I was pregnant with my children, and not when I was a single mother with two small babies in diapers.
No, the sexual abuse happened with an unrelated church man - who was a three time offender but had been allowed his kids back anyway. I was friends with them, and practically lived over there. I was ... maybe 10, 11, or so. I was either over there or my grandmother's house.
I was also the star witness when he went to court the final time. Not sure why it was me, but yeah. You'd think his daughters would have made better witnesses when it was his oldest daughter who made the call. But these men in suits took me into a room with a long table without my parents, sat me down, and proceeded to ask me very serious adult questions about the situation. I was... maybe... 14? 15? Although it seems to me I was 13: I tend to age revert though.
They didn't ask me for details on what he had done. They just asked one time if he had done it, and I said yes. "I know because I had a dream and woke from it." So then they asked what do you want done with him?
And I answered, "House arrest, counseling. He's a sick man." I was repeating that last part from a counselor who, during the initial interview to see if I needed mental treatment for this, had told me about how the molesters think they're having real sex with you. And that they often don't realize they're abusing you.
That counselor had explained a lot to me that day as if I were some sort of college student, and through it all I was repeating what my inside me was saying. "BE sure and tell them you know it's not your fault it happened." Etc. So I got out of that with a clean bill of mental health, which was a very important thing for some reason. And when the counselor was talking I was thinking, "Liar. That man was training me to have sex with him in the future." Which was obvious: if you'd heard him talk all those years.
So this 4 time offender who had molested his own daughters, me, the neighbor's girls, and a couple of small girls one of the daughters was babysitting, was given house arrest and counseling. To the letter on what I'd said they should do, I might add. =^^=
Go me, empress of everything. Except the Military Graphic Arts department, but that shall change someday. Because SOMEONE who knows what they're doing needs to take over. Some of these posters around here. Day-um.
Through most of my young life I held on to my virginity like some talisman. It was important not to lose it. Young boys came asking point blank for sex, and I turned them down. I've been pushed into bushes, approached, you name it. I skirted all the dangers as I held onto myself; partly because I knew I had a chosen mate, partly because I didn't love those boys, because I didn't want to get pregnant, etc.
There was an inner knowledge that I was an "Untouchable". No one was allowed to tup me in that way; I was exempt for some reason. I told this to a boy once who was asking me to have sex with him. I don't know where I got the idea.
But even today I must recognize that most of my sour sexual experiences are the result of desperation and poor choices that happened after my first marriage ended. Not because of the Program, not because of some dark agenda.
I recognize there probably was some sexual training in there somewhere, I just can't find it. There were times I "dreamed" of demons rubbing my body, exciting me to a sexual frenzy only to leave me unsatisfied. Between the way the other kids treated me at school, the abuse, and the years of knowing I was "Untouchable" I've developed this serious sexual hole in me; I can't feel sex hardly at all. I have a hard time getting into it - I can't just throw myself into it and care the way so many women claim to do. And if my husband doesn't have sex with me I begin to feel ugly and undesirable; my morale takes a serious plunge into the sewer.
I was Untouchable because I was meant for something else. But that's the extent of my knowledge. Well that’s part of the point of this journal: to help me remember and figure things out.
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.
Friday, January 30, 2009
vision
The Reptilian woman (possibly a naga) stepped forward to me. "For once we loved (left?) those eggs you (left before)."
She was actually quite beautiful with an orange patch around her lip area. Her voice was sultry.
I forgot what I was thinking about; the days in the yoga Buddha monastery type place I think. I wasn't asleep yet, hence my ability to sit up and write it down.
Edit: February 2, 2009 [08:00]
Naga personage: So clearly you felt it too all weekend.
[08:00] Naga personage: Only geological reference I could find was the eruption in Tokyo.
[08:00] I'm afraid it hit the nursery.
[08:00] 32 eggs shattered, 14 cracked but survived.
[08:01] http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,475291,00.html probably retaliation for shooting down the ship.
[08:02] Naga personage: Not sure who the orange marked female was but it is *certainly* significant that they may have mentioned the emotion of love with respect to the eggs.
Edit: February 2, 2009 [08:00]
Naga personage: So clearly you felt it too all weekend.
[08:00] Naga personage: Only geological reference I could find was the eruption in Tokyo.
[08:00] I'm afraid it hit the nursery.
[08:00] 32 eggs shattered, 14 cracked but survived.
[08:01] http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,475291,00.html probably retaliation for shooting down the ship.
[08:02] Naga personage: Not sure who the orange marked female was but it is *certainly* significant that they may have mentioned the emotion of love with respect to the eggs.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Reptilian visit, dream
As no one really knows, I'm the main artist and writer for www.akashikonline.com. This is a comic where I put in a lot of heavy information and material while making fun of the universe at the same time. It's great because my teammates are awesome in their parts; be it art, lettering or helping me write funny things.
Anyway, I was drawing nagas for the next page. Only I was really tired and really loopy. So somehow the naga ended up having a snake puppet on his right hand.
That was when I said, "OK. Too sleepy for this. I go bed now."
My ritual, because this is not my house, is to make sure lights are off. If a light has to be on for people to see by I pick the dimmest, most efficient one. But usually I turn off all of the lights. However last night I was too tired so chose the light and made it a point that it was the only light on.
My cell phone, which had been in use, had half of a battery left. So I did not plug it in.
So.
The inquisition began.
Only it wasn't an inquisition so much as a discussion as I, to the Reptilian who had come to visit, discussed the nagas. And how the nagas in my brain were not cooperating by coming out onto the paper right. And how sock puppets were not my plan.
He (it was a male, definiitely... I just rather knew it.) and I discussed this via mental telepathy, although I did most of the talking.
The subject of Reptilians came up, and I discussed how I wanted to at least get them *right*.
While he and I were talking, I studied his physique and clothing. I could see all of the knots and natural ridges a Reptilian naturally has. His leathery skin was a nice olive green-yellow. His arms were longer than a humans, but he was very humanoid. His eyes had no whites. They were black. His bumps and ridges were accented with burnt sienna red-brown.
He had on a jump suit that looked like something someone would wear in an air hanger. It was the same color as his skin. It had a zip pocket on the front, and the zip area was white with a black corder. Kind of like a little bit of decoration but it had a purpose.
The whole time I spoke with Mr. Reptile, I kept looking at his legs and jumpsuit studying the wrinkles and folds. And I kept wondering why on Earth his crotch was so baggy. It made no sense to me for him to have all of that excess room.
I woke up at about 5 am or so. I was in bed and heard someone shuffling around. I got up.
Every light in the house was on. No one was about. Everyone was still asleep.
I turned off the lights and went back to bed.
I woke up again and Choshu was using my cell phone, but she had it plugged in the wall. I said to her how I wished she hadn't used up my cell phone battery like that because I needed to use it this morning.
And that was when I learned that my phone was completely dead when everyone else got up this morning.
And that Choshu had had strange dreams all night, too.
So yeah. A real visitation?
Maybe.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
vision, regression
I had a dream the other night that I went to a mansion; wandered up the long walk past the growing green trees and across the great lawn.
I was accepted therein, which was fine for I was without destination nor even a place to hang my head. I was a young person, albeit myself, and I had been to this very place in dreams before throughout this body's lifespan. So I walked through familiar rooms serving this or doing that; neither an employee of the house nor master nor even guest.
The young people came to the front door: Cas and a score of blond college students. I had opened the door to their knock to politely let them in, but when I saw Cas in formal attire (cumberbun as well; silk and dark gray-black with touches of white) I turned my face away in cold disdain. I did not give them the door then, and they had to let themselves in. I would not serve these people who had the nerve to expect it of me.
I wandered through secret passageways: out of the lake-bordered back yard and into a little door hidden behind brick and cobbelstone. The butler showed that to me in a kind way; look at this. So I went inside and down a tiny dark hall to a little hidden room where someone lived. There were silk pillows and silk lanterns, but the old man that dwelled there I cannot remember now.
I wandered out of there from curiosity and to my delight, the secret inside door was next to the pantry door. I wondered perhaps there was a secret within the cellar-pantry as well, so I opened the little white door with the golden curved door handle.
There was a dog inside, and it resembled a red and white shepherd breed. It looked at me and I it. It's sharp knife intelligence probed towards me as if to ask who I was. And perhaps I would have answered for by then I was having the usual dialogue with myself as the wiser, suppressed parts gave me information. The problem is that the butler came and asked me to do something, so my attention was drawn away from the fabulous find. I walked away without shutting the pantry door.
A little later in the dream - I cannot remember when - I realized that the dog was Fenris.
There was to be a wedding, and it would happen in the backyard by the lake. Lindsey was in the wedding dress, and the college kids gathered around her. Cas was on the fringe, not really belonging as is his damnable due. Again I turned my back and gave them a cold sentence; I would not serve them in this either. I walked away towards the little door.
Or perhaps the wedding scene happened BEFORE I released Fenris. I am none too sure.
There is an old wive's tale that to dream of a wedding is to foretell of a funeral. Vice versa should you dream of a funeral. During the rare times I have dreamed of weddings and funerals in detail, this has proven to be so for me.
At any rate, yesterday was my first official hypnotherapy session. Ami-chan was kind enough to guide me. It struck me as very very much like the one time I went to a past life regression, and so I consider that I can experiment to do so for myself in the future. The sessions were taxing for Ami-chan, I suspect, and it was difficult for me due to distractions and insecurity - not of myself but that others would see those secrets I harbor.
The first session was clear enough - more clear than anything I had ever been to before. I saw mountains, but the entire time Kausha had been making fun of Ami-chan so I ended up shouting at the sprite to hush.
The second time, Ami-chan used what she called the elevator method, but when she called upon me to step into that elevator my mind realized that I wasn't sure what an elevator should look like. So I stood before a dumbwaiter or perhaps an elevator from the old days. The top where the doors would be was decorated with intricate gingerbread lattice work, but the room when it came up was of pure white light.
It kept going. Then it came up again and kept going. And came up again and kept going. Finally I took a stick and jammed it still so I could crawl inside.
Inside there was supposed to be five buttons: G, for the ground floor where I stood. A for the first floor, then B, then C, and finally D which would take me to my personal inner Akashik library where I could read the life I have been struggling to regain.
She said for me to hit the A button and rather than go up the elevator took me down. The doors opened and I faced an underground car parking lot... only it was dark and filthy with dirt on the walls. There were cobwebs everywhere, and I knew fear. The other part of myself - she who is separate and possibly the true body's owner - said, "I hope she doesn't expect us to get out here."
I was half tempted to step out because my fear, to me, meant that this was where I needed to go. But Ami-chan directed me to go to the B floor. I did and the doors opened to brilliant blue-green ocean water.
This is the third time a session has presented deep sea water, and still yet I've no clue what it could mean.
The C floor was a wind-blown desert with high sandy dunes and dry air.
While going up to D, the great eye of Metatron greeted me. His eye was blue this time, and it wasn't that he was saying no so much as he "stood" in my way. I flew up to him and asked him to move aside, and after a tiny argument the eye became glass as if to a window.
I looked beyond and there... was the Fishbowl. I hovered over the Fishbowl and beheld the most beautiful aerial view of the place. I could see the tiny seats and the blue panels. And I thought, "Oh! So it's BLUE!" - for when rollercoasting I do not see any color but barely made out shapes and never any sound.
That was when I realized that I was no longer hypnotised but had floated onto a rollercoast; a far seeing adventure.
After a while we tried again. Ami-chan tried the door method that time; there are doors that lead to all the lives and parts of your life you need to know. You know which door to pick.
And yes I did. I stood in the great underground chamber of the kingdom of the Lizard folk; the great round area and faced grey double doors decorated on top with curly engravings. And then I noticed all the doors around me. The room was huge and as I turned slowly I beheld hundreds and hundreds of little wooden doors side by side with barely a foot between them.
So many doors I told Ami-chan... and that was when Choshu made sound behind my left shoulder. I, who was vulnerable in that moment, probed the energy there and saw a pretty shiny dwarf axe engraved with hearts: my interpration of her signature.
And so, with an axe behind me, the mood was split again.
We tried one more time after that by trying to go directly in. And so I stood on the mountain I had originally almost reached when I yelled at Kausha. It was a field of flowers, and upon behelding their spikey white petals I was afraid of what I was going to remember. These flowers, I also knew, no longer grew here on this world.
I walked forward and the sharp leaves cut my right knee. I was small; the flowers reached up just to my thighs. And I wore a woolen dress akin to a 11th century peasant gown. It was faded brown.
There was something like a blanket over a rope or perhaps a makeshift tent. The cloth was thick thick wool and I could see it.
But nothing more.
The need to conquer the fear wells up in me even now.
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