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.

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.