Showing posts with label military. Show all posts
Showing posts with label military. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
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.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
CIA / MK-ULTRA Hearings - Survivor Testimony 1996
The thing that kind of bothers me is this woman (Kristie Nicola? She wasn't clear.) was born in 1966. I was born in late 1971. That's not that many years apart. But the hypnotherapist I went to told me I was too young to have been part of anything like this, that matters had been stopped long before that.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
Dolls2
Sleeping in that bus became a fight between me and my parents. I'd hang around in their house as long as I could, watching TV and trying to fall asleep on the couch. Then my father would announce it was time to go to bed, and I'd fight it as far as I could. I'd beg, and I'd plead, and I'd tell him straight up how afraid I was. He'd yell and threaten and eventually I had to walk across the dark back yard by myself to that dark, cold bus and wait in the night for the next nightmare. When it came time to get up for school in the morning I was always so tired and worn out.
After a while, the dreams stopped. My father eventually came into some money which he used to build rooms onto the trailer for my little brother and myself, giving my older brother the bus to himself. The events around me transformed from being haunted by dolls to being chased by men in dark suits, meetings in the night with people in uniform, and memories of helicopters. I had a nightly courtship with an incubus, missed my period for nine months after my menarche, and fell in love with the "dream adventures" I began to have.
Sure there were plenty of nights I was still chased by dolls, and even zombies. But with the coming of the men in the business suits - I called them FBI agents - came a sense of dream empowerment. I soon figured out I could do all sorts of things in my dreams. I also figured out that if I got angry enough, I could do all sorts of things in real life. Maybe I couldn't float pots and pans and hit my chasers in the face like I could in my dreams, but I could tell you things. And sense things. And I knew that when it came to pendulums and card-reading, I was the child who was taking after her father.
In the dream world I had a daughter who looked just like her incubus father - pale and golden. I named her Jennifer, after King Arthur's Guinevere, because that means "White." My dreams molded again to me stealing Jenn from an on shop nursery and being chased by a giant kodiak bear again and again. I wanted my daughter back. I soon learned a healthy respect and fear of bears... to top off my other fears I had gained through the years.
Through all of this, I also learned to speak to "my spirit guides". I didn't know who they were: I didn't try to give them faces of famous dead people like so man people do. If they were Red, like myself, that was fine. If they weren't, that was fine, too. All I knew was they'd tell me things, like when to take a walk down a road so I could find that lost kitten who needed my help. Or when to take a walk at night to "meet with the fairies" - meetings I don't remember if I had them at all. They reassured me when the bullying was too much, they told me of this great destiny I had. They told me they couldn't tell me what it was exactly because if I knew, "I would refuse to accept it."
The nightmares at the bus door were all but forgotten by then.
I'd slip off into the woods to talk to them, to vent, and relied on the blowing wind as their answer. My entire waking world had grown to be far from mundane. All grown up as I am now I would say I probably had built the perfect escapism story, except for the physical confirmations I got time and time again. "Go this way and you'll find something," and I would. "Call so and so and this will happen." And it would.
"When you are in your 30's all of the things you are here for will begin to happen." I had to wait a long time for that one.
So much has happened since those days long ago; too much for me to put into this short story. I want to skip over the hard times, the good times, the fluffy times and go right into after I'd realized I wasn't dealing with fairies exactly, had grown to call my guides "The Fishbowl" and started seeking answers to why things were how they were around me in my life.
After a while, the dreams stopped. My father eventually came into some money which he used to build rooms onto the trailer for my little brother and myself, giving my older brother the bus to himself. The events around me transformed from being haunted by dolls to being chased by men in dark suits, meetings in the night with people in uniform, and memories of helicopters. I had a nightly courtship with an incubus, missed my period for nine months after my menarche, and fell in love with the "dream adventures" I began to have.
Sure there were plenty of nights I was still chased by dolls, and even zombies. But with the coming of the men in the business suits - I called them FBI agents - came a sense of dream empowerment. I soon figured out I could do all sorts of things in my dreams. I also figured out that if I got angry enough, I could do all sorts of things in real life. Maybe I couldn't float pots and pans and hit my chasers in the face like I could in my dreams, but I could tell you things. And sense things. And I knew that when it came to pendulums and card-reading, I was the child who was taking after her father.
In the dream world I had a daughter who looked just like her incubus father - pale and golden. I named her Jennifer, after King Arthur's Guinevere, because that means "White." My dreams molded again to me stealing Jenn from an on shop nursery and being chased by a giant kodiak bear again and again. I wanted my daughter back. I soon learned a healthy respect and fear of bears... to top off my other fears I had gained through the years.
Through all of this, I also learned to speak to "my spirit guides". I didn't know who they were: I didn't try to give them faces of famous dead people like so man people do. If they were Red, like myself, that was fine. If they weren't, that was fine, too. All I knew was they'd tell me things, like when to take a walk down a road so I could find that lost kitten who needed my help. Or when to take a walk at night to "meet with the fairies" - meetings I don't remember if I had them at all. They reassured me when the bullying was too much, they told me of this great destiny I had. They told me they couldn't tell me what it was exactly because if I knew, "I would refuse to accept it."
The nightmares at the bus door were all but forgotten by then.
I'd slip off into the woods to talk to them, to vent, and relied on the blowing wind as their answer. My entire waking world had grown to be far from mundane. All grown up as I am now I would say I probably had built the perfect escapism story, except for the physical confirmations I got time and time again. "Go this way and you'll find something," and I would. "Call so and so and this will happen." And it would.
"When you are in your 30's all of the things you are here for will begin to happen." I had to wait a long time for that one.
So much has happened since those days long ago; too much for me to put into this short story. I want to skip over the hard times, the good times, the fluffy times and go right into after I'd realized I wasn't dealing with fairies exactly, had grown to call my guides "The Fishbowl" and started seeking answers to why things were how they were around me in my life.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Time to be super
List of "super soldiers" or MKultra militant operatives that have come forward that I know of. I might be confused on some of them. I dunno.
Anya Briggs
James Casbolt (Michael Prince)
Max Spiers
Cathi Morgan
Alara Blackwell
John Urwin
Solaris BlueRaven
Sheila House
James Rink
Richard Rodgers
Duncan O'Finoian
"Soldier X"
Axe
Aaron McCollum
Michael Relfe
There are many more I'm sure.
The super soldier "creation" timeline according to everyone else.* This is fitting myself and others I have found in as best I can, knowing that such fittings are mostly theory.
Pregenerational Era
1930's-1940's - Nazi Germany. Hitler is approached by super men about which he talked about in Mein Kampf. They were tall, blonde, beautiful, and better than everybody else. If you need a visual, their description matches that of the Pleiadians. Because of this contact, Hitler gets the idea that his ethnic background was meant to be tall, blonde, blue-eyed and perfect. He sets into place programs to breed the German native into the super race matching this description. Among them was the drive to create a super soldier.
(On a side note, Hitler's scientists also managed to build working prototypes of antigravitational-powered saucer ships... that resembled the Pleiadian ships by... well... a lot.)
Prototype Era
early 1950's - 1960's. After Project Paperclip, in which America shipped Nazi scientists to America after Germany lost World War II, many secret projects were instilled in the American government system. Among them was the famous MKultra - a mind-altering project that tested many subjects in the quest for the perfect Manchurian candidate and super soldiers. Out of MKultra came side projects with names like Project Bluebird. Project Talent was another such project. Project Talent's mission was to scout children with exceptional abilities and talents, see them trained up, and have them shipped to participate in other related projects.
During this time the first American "super soldiers" were scouted from military units, through Project Talent, and other means and incorporated into the budding "super soldier" system. The first super soldiers to be were put into training.
The U.S. psychic programs were also put into place and would be acted out on for many years to come.
Around this time, John Urwin was recruited into the The Sixteen, a special task force who undertook many secret mission in the Middle East.
Generation 1
late 1950's - 60's. Interestingly this overlaps the prototype era by several years. The first "super soldiers" were utilized in various important missions, including assassinations and reconnaissance in the Korean and Vietnam War. Splitting a super soldier's mind into alters in the well-known MKultra method was also introduced and experimented with.
Duncan O'Finoian claims to be a generation 1 super soldier.
Generation 2
late 1960's - early 70's: As with Generation 1, this era overlaps it's predecessor by several years.
Generation 3
Late 1970's to early 1980's Another overlap, this is also the age of the implant. Nanotechnology and cybernetics were also coming into play in regards to building that perfect soldier. (This is not as far-fetched as it sounds. In the late 1970's, Eric Drexler began to work with inventing the process that would later bring about the molecular machine wonders we know about today.)
Apparently, the obsolete, last wave of this generation came out around 1984 or '85.
Although I was born in 1971 and had most of my "dreams" and "weirdness" in the 1980's, when puberty's heightened hormone output but me at a peak for training, I have always been proud to be "the youngest" of my team. And that I was also the last to be slipped into my team's program before they changed training and assembly tactics. I also have always been proud to be "the last" to have experienced certain training live in the flesh (like being buried in the sand) while today they merely implant such memories by hypnotic suggestion. I was proud of this before I knew there were others like me. I've just always known.
As a later generation friend and I have observed together, there is a certain soldier hierarchy in the waking military between those that have deployed, seen combat, or have not. There is also a certain hierarchy for those of us who experienced physical training vs. simulated training. Physical experiencers get better props. :-)
Generation 4
1980's to an unknown date. Super soldiers were now able to be trained for optimum use in the field. Remote viewing had been add to their perfected skill set by this time. A standard formula for "super soldier teams" was now in place with each member of the team specializing in one specific skill. (One can remote view, one can fight, etc.) Organ replacements and more cybernetics came into use, as well as the widely-spread practice of implants for tracking, hormone/mood control, memory filtering and even necessary termination.
Operation Spyglass also happened during this time.
Generation 5
Apparently we are in the Generation 5 super soldier era or beyond, where super soldiers are literally grown as clones with fake parts and probably no souls. They seem to be operated during missions by remote viewers, usually also military personnel (and thus super soldiers), like one does a video game (to use Alara Blackwell's terminology.)
The super soldier time line how I see it.
Prototype Era - 1930's to early 1950's. The Nazis started it. Project Paperclip finished it and the first "real" super soldier was America-owned.
Generation 1 - 1950's to 1970's. The process was perfected during this time so that a good many soldiers were produced that were well on their way to what we would consider a super soldier now. The psychic programs came into play heavily sometime during this and the MKultra scandal, when the program was revealed to the public and the some people sued and won against the federal government, caused many of the programs to be moved and revamped for optimum safety and secrecy.
Generation 2 - 1970's to 1990's. "Super soldiers" produced at this time were more refined, their functions better placed to their innate abilities, likes and dislikes as well as personality. Of course some of these would have been "generation 1" projects that overlapped into generation 2 for whatever reason.
Generation Now - This goes from whenever Generation 2 faded out until now. Sure the ways to build them "better, faster than before" have changed and will always be improved upon but the basic framework has been set. Why fix what isn't broken?
I have no idea about clones, but I can tell you I've always detested the concept of putting "bad photocopies" into use in any part of our daily lives.
How do I fit in all this?
Aside from the little bit I have said here, I just don't know. I'd welcome someone's insight. Dang it.
*Disclaimer: I'm not vouching for most of these events. I'm just trying to put the pieces together based on what little information I'm able to glean past the "lookitme" posturing.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Super Soldiers and the Fish that Bloop at Them
I've noticed this trend with the super soldier group that, in order to be validated as a super soldier, you have to have had some sort of military service in your verifiable history. Failing boot camp still qualifies you. I'm sure there are exceptions, but this seems to be the overall rule. Furthermore, the self-proclaimed super soldiers seem to be fighting amongst themselves. You've got the older guys who don't believe the younger guys, the younger guys who don't believe the older guys, and the women who cat fight amongst themselves. They point fingers at each other if they haven't had "enough" military service, are "pencil-necked skinny guys", are "confused" in what they remember; you name it.
They claim to have a plethora of adrenaline-rush skills, among them super speed, super fast reflexes, the ability to suffer dangerous events without getting hurt and/or killed, and psychic abilities associated with telepathy and telekinesis (usually employed for remote viewing).
I don't know about super soldiers in person aside from own experiences. (Among them being the time I traveled to Atlanta Georgia to see the Dalai Llama speak. I looked up - it's my habit to look around and observe - and saw very burly, very over-muscular men in fatigues pacing the rafter/roof area of the coliseum where we were. And there were service guys everywhere monitoring entrances back and forth, too, in suits and ties with little insignias about the size of a dime on.)But it seems to me that "super soldier" should not and probably does not refer to an over-abundance of muscle like at least one self-proclaimed super soldier is saying. And looking at the pattern of the self-proclaimed super soldiers, and my own patterns, I think super soldier isn't about looking like Superman. It's about being "super" in some way, be it with the ability to remote view or being able to "slip through molecules" to run really fast, or anything like that. Thanks to comic books and the public media, we have this vision of super heroes suddenly sprouting muscle and looking like Greek gods the minute they realize they're super. Considering all of the regular soldiers I've known in person who were mere "pencil-necked" guys that survived multiple deployments, let alone a super soldier who would supposedly go in under special circumstances, I just fail to believe that's the case.
Maybe there are grunts out there with that muscle rippling around even as I type. I just feel it's equally as possible there's a tech out there with very little muscle and a "seeing cube" (like a crystal ball but milky white) doing his soldier like duty. And there may even be an intelligence gal over on the corner writing down what the tech sees while the grunt guards the door. Who knows.
______________
But I need to stop to tell you about the Fishbowl, which for me is the final culmination of all of my experiences I am talking about here. I have met a lot of people out there who have realized when I am finished talking about it that they, too, are in touch with the Fishbowl. I had one tell me she was an ambassador. :-) So maybe this will help you as well, to give you the view from the other side of the room.
I have to with the dreams of going to a far away place in the middle of the woods and hanging with "hunters". And I'll be posting entries from my dream journal that have to do with the Fishbowl.
Now that I think about it, I realize why I thought of them that way - so maybe I'm repeating myself but I've just come to a revelation. I thought they were hunters because they all carried rifles and had bags and pouches on their clothes like a hunter would wear. But knowing what I know now... I'm sure you can see where my thoughts are leading. I can't prove any of those thoughts of course. But I was a small child, before I could even comprehend a conspiracy theory and the movies people claim to get their ideas from had even come out. And there it is.
These dreams happened as far back as I can remember: I was 3, then 4, and I looked forward to walking down the dirt road to meet those hunters. They always greeted me in a friendly way - and although I can't remember what we did, I liked them.
And then that dream happened that I talked about here in April where I was told not to open my eyes.
So this other presence stayed with me my entire life. There are a lot of layers, so many that I think I might end up going to this blog for years to come. The pinnacle of things has been overseen and manipulated by a group of people I came to call The Council on High. Sometimes I call them "those old men" (even though there's at least one woman) or "those bastards". And I call the round coliseum place they meet in "The Fishbowl" because, when you're trapped at the bottom being reviewed or whatever, it's like you're in a fishbowl with everyone staring at you and tapping the glass.
My awareness of the Fishbowl grew slowly over the years.When I was a kid I thought it was God. Later I thought it was spirit guides. At least one preacher decided I was possessed at random and held an exorcism over me (I used a made up word instead of using a curse word to be considerate of everyone there. Should have used the curse word.). After that I didn't know who it was and stopped wondering; I just knew they were there.
They told me I couldn't marry, couldn't breed until the mate they had chosen came along, told me I would be in my 30's when things finally began to happen according to "The Plan", told me when I defied them to have children how long it would before that marriage broke apart, and even today sometimes I'll get told something that's going to happen. And overall they've been right, even with "The Plan". So on some level I know they're there as a real force.
There is an interesting story about the day I came to realize they were real people. I'll probably tell it next week, or some other time.
And I've figured out that in a very real capacity I seem to have a say in at least some of the dealings going on there.At first I did what everyone tends to do; I told myself I was the super uber important leader of the whole thing. I mean I knew I had two councils I dealt with, although I wasn't sure why I needed two separate cabinets. There was the group of 12 old guys and the group of 5 to 7 old guys (depending on who showed up). The smaller group would stand behind my chair at the tippy top of the coliseum and the group of 12 would meet with me in a separate room off to the side.
When I came across a presentation by George Kavassilas talking about the exact same political structure within the Council on High I felt very vindicated. (He, by the way, is also a nice guy.)
When I stopped to wonder how much of what was happening around me was real vs what was false, the Fishbowl was the first thing that fell in doubt. Maybe it was because the most I could get out my "Fishbowl channeler" was talk about the weather. Maybe it was also how I was placated by MUFON researchers and used by others who were in contact... and so many other things... I just had to step back and question the Fishbowl most of all. Was it real, or was it something I made up? Or was I being lied to and it was a big hologram construct?
So I announced formally the Fishbowl was being shut down until further notice. This was a few months ago. I've done it before, but this last time I was more serious than I had ever been. And last October I reopened it up again with this annual camping gather where I and those attached to it go and practice low-level psychic skills. (It almost didn't happen and I forgot to mention here that all went well, even though only 1 person and her fiance showed up.)
I wasn't sure what I was reopening... it just felt right, now that I'm using this blog to figure things out among other things, to start touching base with that again. To see what was there.
In my quest to learn more about the super soldier conundrum and to figure out where I fit in it, I came across Alara Blackwell. Of all the super soldiers out there, I found her interview to be the most believable. So my husband and I tracked her down and made contact.
She and I had a small chat on Skype and to my surprise she, also, was told not to open her eyes after a pickup. And then she started talking about doing things with her spirit guides and how, frustratingly for her, there had been no activity. She hadn't even been able to channel until last November.
It was an interesting confirmation I thanked her profusely for.
They claim to have a plethora of adrenaline-rush skills, among them super speed, super fast reflexes, the ability to suffer dangerous events without getting hurt and/or killed, and psychic abilities associated with telepathy and telekinesis (usually employed for remote viewing).
I don't know about super soldiers in person aside from own experiences. (Among them being the time I traveled to Atlanta Georgia to see the Dalai Llama speak. I looked up - it's my habit to look around and observe - and saw very burly, very over-muscular men in fatigues pacing the rafter/roof area of the coliseum where we were. And there were service guys everywhere monitoring entrances back and forth, too, in suits and ties with little insignias about the size of a dime on.)But it seems to me that "super soldier" should not and probably does not refer to an over-abundance of muscle like at least one self-proclaimed super soldier is saying. And looking at the pattern of the self-proclaimed super soldiers, and my own patterns, I think super soldier isn't about looking like Superman. It's about being "super" in some way, be it with the ability to remote view or being able to "slip through molecules" to run really fast, or anything like that. Thanks to comic books and the public media, we have this vision of super heroes suddenly sprouting muscle and looking like Greek gods the minute they realize they're super. Considering all of the regular soldiers I've known in person who were mere "pencil-necked" guys that survived multiple deployments, let alone a super soldier who would supposedly go in under special circumstances, I just fail to believe that's the case.
Maybe there are grunts out there with that muscle rippling around even as I type. I just feel it's equally as possible there's a tech out there with very little muscle and a "seeing cube" (like a crystal ball but milky white) doing his soldier like duty. And there may even be an intelligence gal over on the corner writing down what the tech sees while the grunt guards the door. Who knows.
______________
But I need to stop to tell you about the Fishbowl, which for me is the final culmination of all of my experiences I am talking about here. I have met a lot of people out there who have realized when I am finished talking about it that they, too, are in touch with the Fishbowl. I had one tell me she was an ambassador. :-) So maybe this will help you as well, to give you the view from the other side of the room.
I have to with the dreams of going to a far away place in the middle of the woods and hanging with "hunters". And I'll be posting entries from my dream journal that have to do with the Fishbowl.
Now that I think about it, I realize why I thought of them that way - so maybe I'm repeating myself but I've just come to a revelation. I thought they were hunters because they all carried rifles and had bags and pouches on their clothes like a hunter would wear. But knowing what I know now... I'm sure you can see where my thoughts are leading. I can't prove any of those thoughts of course. But I was a small child, before I could even comprehend a conspiracy theory and the movies people claim to get their ideas from had even come out. And there it is.
These dreams happened as far back as I can remember: I was 3, then 4, and I looked forward to walking down the dirt road to meet those hunters. They always greeted me in a friendly way - and although I can't remember what we did, I liked them.
And then that dream happened that I talked about here in April where I was told not to open my eyes.
So this other presence stayed with me my entire life. There are a lot of layers, so many that I think I might end up going to this blog for years to come. The pinnacle of things has been overseen and manipulated by a group of people I came to call The Council on High. Sometimes I call them "those old men" (even though there's at least one woman) or "those bastards". And I call the round coliseum place they meet in "The Fishbowl" because, when you're trapped at the bottom being reviewed or whatever, it's like you're in a fishbowl with everyone staring at you and tapping the glass.
My awareness of the Fishbowl grew slowly over the years.When I was a kid I thought it was God. Later I thought it was spirit guides. At least one preacher decided I was possessed at random and held an exorcism over me (I used a made up word instead of using a curse word to be considerate of everyone there. Should have used the curse word.). After that I didn't know who it was and stopped wondering; I just knew they were there.
They told me I couldn't marry, couldn't breed until the mate they had chosen came along, told me I would be in my 30's when things finally began to happen according to "The Plan", told me when I defied them to have children how long it would before that marriage broke apart, and even today sometimes I'll get told something that's going to happen. And overall they've been right, even with "The Plan". So on some level I know they're there as a real force.
There is an interesting story about the day I came to realize they were real people. I'll probably tell it next week, or some other time.
And I've figured out that in a very real capacity I seem to have a say in at least some of the dealings going on there.At first I did what everyone tends to do; I told myself I was the super uber important leader of the whole thing. I mean I knew I had two councils I dealt with, although I wasn't sure why I needed two separate cabinets. There was the group of 12 old guys and the group of 5 to 7 old guys (depending on who showed up). The smaller group would stand behind my chair at the tippy top of the coliseum and the group of 12 would meet with me in a separate room off to the side.
When I came across a presentation by George Kavassilas talking about the exact same political structure within the Council on High I felt very vindicated. (He, by the way, is also a nice guy.)
When I stopped to wonder how much of what was happening around me was real vs what was false, the Fishbowl was the first thing that fell in doubt. Maybe it was because the most I could get out my "Fishbowl channeler" was talk about the weather. Maybe it was also how I was placated by MUFON researchers and used by others who were in contact... and so many other things... I just had to step back and question the Fishbowl most of all. Was it real, or was it something I made up? Or was I being lied to and it was a big hologram construct?
So I announced formally the Fishbowl was being shut down until further notice. This was a few months ago. I've done it before, but this last time I was more serious than I had ever been. And last October I reopened it up again with this annual camping gather where I and those attached to it go and practice low-level psychic skills. (It almost didn't happen and I forgot to mention here that all went well, even though only 1 person and her fiance showed up.)
I wasn't sure what I was reopening... it just felt right, now that I'm using this blog to figure things out among other things, to start touching base with that again. To see what was there.
In my quest to learn more about the super soldier conundrum and to figure out where I fit in it, I came across Alara Blackwell. Of all the super soldiers out there, I found her interview to be the most believable. So my husband and I tracked her down and made contact.
She and I had a small chat on Skype and to my surprise she, also, was told not to open her eyes after a pickup. And then she started talking about doing things with her spirit guides and how, frustratingly for her, there had been no activity. She hadn't even been able to channel until last November.
It was an interesting confirmation I thanked her profusely for.
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