Tuesday, 21 June 2016

The Stolen Diary

With Him are the keys of the Unseen, the treasures that none knows but He.  He knows whatever there is on the earth and in the sea.  Not a leaf does fall but with His knowledge; there is not a grain in the darkness of the earth, nor anything fresh or dry but is in a Record clear.  It is He who does take your soul by night, and has knowledge of all that you have done by day; by day does He raise you up again; that a term appointed be fulfilled; in the end unto Him will be your return; then will He show you the truth of all that you did. 
Noble Qur'an  Vl:59-60


The techniques implemented to traumatized a Mk-Ultra subject especially when the subject is a child transmit long lasting effect upon the survivor.  Mental constrictions occur when one attempts to remember an event so horrifying that in the moment of the event a mental showdown cloaks the piercing reality. Once clothed in a state of emotional shock reality's perception becomes distorted leaving specific details of a situation wavy, blurred, nauseating.

Did Freddie Mae, run to the address of 4719 Kensington Place that day, or did she walk?  I think the fear on my face may have caused her to run.  How soon after her sprint did I enter the house.  How could she?  I pondered as I snailed my way to the house?  After all the difficult she and her husband experienced prior to having a full termed birth. After all, the baby is only three month.

Faith?  How far can it take us?  Freddie Mae's belief and desire for a child propelled her into an action which was most definitely a leap.  She had a discussion with her minister.  She made the decision that she should respect his advise.  She crossed the street one summer day grabbed my arm and stated, "Don't be afraid.  Don't think me stupid or foolish.  This is what my pastor told me to do and at this point, I have nothing to loose and so much to gain.  My pastor told me to touch some part of your body and to pray"  Nine months or near the ninth month later a healthy baby girl was born this is wanting couple.  Some three months after the birth the child was murdered.  A statement was made prior to the diabolical act that they did not want anyone with any spiritual acumen to have a positive high profile in that decade or for decades to come. One of the consequences of this sinister decision was the killing of a child.  The child seem a easy sacrifice for the Lucifer agenda.

When I arrived at the location of 4719 Kensington Place the day when Freddie Mae grabbed my arm and prayed,  I did place the state of my confusing and hopes in a journal, a diary, a sheet of loose leaf, or a ripped page from a spiral.  With there being no one  in my life I could talk with concerning the spiritual phenomena, supernatural activities, or whatever the appropriate word or phrase needed to describe the valuable and venerable position, I as a child had been placed; I had to turn to expressing my felling in writings.

Once I arrive in the house on the day Freddie and Luther child viciously murdered, I remember seeing Freddie pleading with someone not to hurt her child.  Two men both member of organized crime attempted with powerful physical force to cause me to puncture the soft spot in the infant's head.  One of the men grabbed my wrist while pushing my middle finger in a downward position.  At first the men attempted to cajole me making statement like, putting a  hole in the baby's head will be fun and good for the baby.  Puncturing the soft spot in the baby's scalp will make the baby happy.   Other things were said that awful day, other terrifying things were done, but the combined strength of two grown men did not prevail where I was concerned, but these men were able to execute their plan via the finger of another child.

The written words which question, what happened yesterday?  What can't I remember?  Why is the neighborhood suddenly so quiet, and sad?

Whatever other sentiments or questions I expressed in my daily writings I do not know as my writings were stolen from me just as many years of my life.  As I struggle to reconnect with life's purpose, some of my confusion and uncertainly come out through writings.  When I wrote the phrase, "Empty volatile fools they be, dancing outside of destiny," I hadn't remember at that writing what had happened to Freddie Mae's daughter.  Yet. some minute traces of a seemingly forgotten experience oozed.

Sometime after the horrifying day of the baby's murder, Freddie again crossed the street this time to state to me that she was putting her life in her hands by telling me that someone was going to try and convince me that I had something to do with her daughter's death but that I was not to believe the,  Freddie further stated that she was in the house, in the room when the murder took place and that the two grown men forced one of the other children to kill her child.

Even today, many years later, I don't know if it was a state of shock or some of the manipulative actions of Mk-Ultra which caused me to forget that brutally inhumane day for so many years.



    

Tuesday, 8 March 2016

Convalescence

 Don't run away from grief, O soul
Look for the remedy inside the pain
because the rose came from the thorn
and the ruby came from the stone---- Rumi

As a survivor of Mk-Ultra for years I have achingly wanted my memories fully restored.  The irony, or perhaps more realistically, the intended programmed factor is that when finally, segments of my past begin to return only the traumatic events of my past surfaced.  The fact that the United States Government and the CIA are the entities behind the behavioral mind manipulations project is the major reason why as a survivor of this program the period of convalescence is so extensive.  I was once told by a government agent that even if my memories were to return that no one would believe my story.  Well, I have grown to realize that my responsibility is to tell what I know; not to attempt any forethought of, or to attempt  to filter through the minds of the American public.

A second reality which I have accepted is that I must tell my story regardless of the ridicule or disbelief I will receive.  I remember a line from Homer which read, "A coward dies a thousands deaths but a brave person only dies once."   In truth the line reads; "That a brave MAN only dies once."  But, I have learned in life that bravery is not bias toward gender.  In any regard, I am not looking to expire any time soon but just the opposite, I am looking forward to living a full rich life free from the prisoner encased within and because of her silence.

Early in  life for me there was no lack of ambition.  I spent some of my elementary years being educated in Russia and Great Britain.  Since childhood for me was during the early to late fifties as a female child being educated in Russia was very fortuitous, since during this period of time  the Russians did not discriminate according to gender where education was concern. 

I had a exuberant passion for space exploration.  My young mind was fascinated by the thought that man would one day have the ability to land on the moon.  Many a night,  I sat staring  wistfully at the stars and when possible, not only would I stare at a full moon but with lips widely parted smile in wonder at the luminous sphere in the sky.  As mentioned prior on this blog, I had been enrolled into an accelerated educational  program and the level of courses I took was based on  ability not age or grade level..

Ofttimes, in life, when you do something for others, something good happens to you.  I had wanted to begin this post with a different Rumi quote but could not locate the specific book that contained the quote.   Then, yesterday. when my granddaughter was visiting she wanted to play with a specific toy which, also, I could not at first find.  Subsequently, as we looked into plastic storage boxes where I had previously searched  for the Rumi book,  there tucked quietly in a corner of the bend was the book.; and as a day gone right, we also found the toy she wanted.  In any event, here is the poem:

The difficulties of  winter and autumn.,
            the heat of summer,
    spring like the spirit of life,
winds and clouds and lighting--all these
       help to make distinctions clear:
            so the dust-colored earth
may bring forth all it holds in its heart,
       whether ruby or dull stone.

In this blog, I have shared many of the traumas and exploitation's which I have endured in life.  There are still other brutal and vile incidences which have not yet been posted.  Nevertheless, when I read a poem such as the one above, I attempt to look for the metamorphic benefits in my life: such as,  am I wiser, stronger, braver, more courageous?   Have I in any way evolved into a more compassionate, caring, giving human being?  How can I decipher the, was, from the, is. and find a distinction wherein. 

Prior to Mk-Ultra ,  I practiced law, was a married woman and mother.  I was very involved and active in my communities both faith-based and local.  Being involved in what I considered worthwhile causes was second nature to me.  I believed I had a purpose in life and daily I went about attempting to fulfill my purpose.   I, then, possessed a strong sense of direction and a even stronger sense of certainty where my destiny of serving was concerned. 

Then, two men entered the home of this mother, this wife, this attorney, and most importantly, the woman whose primary goal in life was being committed to doing God's Will.  These agents forced me to leave my home, my son, my marriage, my life on the disguise of needing to protect me, ( as then, I was tentatively scheduled to be a witness against members of organized crime.)  According to the agents, when another young woman who was scheduled to be a witness in the same case was murdered, the decision was made to place me in protective custody. Whatever my goals,  ambitions, or responsibilities were bore no relevance to the governmental agents and agencies; as it was their interest, their goals, their objective which immediately usurped mine.

After I was taken out of my marriage, my former husband developed an intimate relation with a   colleague.  That specific situation should have had no connection to my life but the porous relationship of existence caused the jealousy of my former husband's lover to spew over into my life.

In the epic writing of Lucian;  A Greek satirist of the second century A,D.  In his masterful play:   "Dialogues of the Dead"  he asserted that  kings, philosophers, aristocrats and people of wealth and prominent prior to travel through death rid themselves all of the superficial baggage collect throughout  life.

My husband's paramour, had not made this journey and  much of the vile baggage he had collect throughout his life was released on me. This person held a powerful position within the US government and being a person of substantial financial means presented an opportunity. He used both his position and his means to go beyond the so-called protective order and he caused one of the most degrading, and excruciatingly painful events of my life.  He used his position of power to enter into an area of governmental sources which are not open to the public.  After all, a protected witness, is not one anyone outside of the enforcement should be able to locate.  Yet, I guess with the right amount of influence and currency, what should be can be altered and the colleague  found out where I was living and he brought about the most vile and extremely cruel incident in my life.

An example of a dialogue in the play is found below: when Hermes, a character in the play is talking with a philosopher.  In Greek Mythology. "Hermes is the god of commerce . invention. cunning, and theft, who also served as message and herald for other gods, as patron of travel and rogues, and as the conductor of the dead to Hades; identified with the Roman god Mercury." (The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language definition..  


"HERMES
Off with your clothes first; and then we will see to the rest. My goodness, what a bundle: quackery, ignorance, quarrelsomeness, vainglory; idle questionings, prickly arguments, intricate conceptions; humbug and gammon and wishy-washy hair-splitting's without end; and hullo! why here's avarice, and self-indulgence, and impudence! luxury, effeminacy and peevishness!—Yes, I see them all; you need not try to hide them. Away with falsehood and swagger and superciliousness; why, the three-decker is not built that would hold you with all this luggage."

In Lucian.'s  play when one is traveling from life to death they must be loaded onto a boat which will take them to their final destination.  As noted in the above quote, unnecessary characteristic are not allowed on the boat.  Farther along in the epic, a king comes to the juncture and is told that he must leave behind his arrogance, his false pride, his jealousy, and a number of other pompous qualities  which would cause the travel to be burdensome.

One of the seven deadly sins, jealousy, ejected itself into my life with nearly deadly consequences when my former husband's intimate partner, needing according to him, to have me taken off the pedestal which my husband me on; contacted a coworker.  This person was bribed into giving me a substance which rendered me unconscious and unaware of my circumstances .I was then kept against my knowledge and will for a period of time.  Even though, I am a Mk-Ultra survivor, I do not understand nor did I know the techniques that can put a person in a hypnotic like state.  While being held in a stupor., I was  photographer and painted in the nude.  I learned later that the images were widely circulated due to the fact that the perpetrated of these indignation stated that his motive was to have my husband think less of me..

During the period of time in life when I made my own decision, I always dressed in a conservative professional manner.  I valued my intelligence and abilities and contributions. Personal provocative dress or any type of physical public exposure would never be sanctioned by me.  Yet, for a while according to what I learned, such photos of me were circulated.  I guess the results wanted by the perpetrator did not manifest as the abuse went much, much further. 

I once saw one of the painting done of me in the nude and it was clear that I was not a willing subject as my head was dangling as if it  was not attached to my body.  A few times during this period,, I have minute moments of awareness and  I overheard someone giving direction hearing statements like,  "Can't you manage to get her head more upright.  She's nearly drooling."   An unknowing rag doll, a marionette, an object of someone in a position of power envy. What a dangerous situation to be placed  in.

I have no way of knowing how seeing the images  of my naked photos effected my pedestal stance where my former husband was concerned but my situation did not improve..  A female acquaintance who I had no reason not to trust, lured me to a place where I was told would be a party.  Once at the located I was drugged and put into a situation which was so horrifying that one of the individuals in the room stated that if those holding me were going to follow the instruction they were waiting to receive, that she was going to leave the room.  It seems that a loaded gun had been placed in my vaginal area and that a phone call awaited where the instruction to either pull the trigger  or not would be given.

One of the reasons I titled this post, "Convalescence,"  is the fact that an emotional recovery requires an intentional rehabilitation just as a physical injury does.   I think it is important to state at this time that on one, I mean, NO ONE, who was involved in what happened to me  has ever had to answer for their crimes.    I have  gone back and forth a number of times as what I should title my book,  "The Protected Witness"  is just one of the titles. 

One of the essential components in recovering from trauma is releasing the strong hold of protective self.  There was a time when I would have found revealing the above fact too humiliating to share.  It's like being defaced.  Physical nakedness is minute compared to the depth  and disclosure of emotional scares when your very ethos has been disregarded and minimized. 

I have decided to place excerpts from a work-in-process novel on this blog.  I have been working on the manuscript for a number of years.  I won't want my continued efforts to become void of fruition.  I might be able to understand the why's behind the fact that my novel has not been published, the fact that recovery is not completed.  Consequently, I will place what I consider some of the most significant chapters on this blog.  It is amazing that gross injustice does not change. 

Below please find segments from the manuscript written by me titled, "From the Broken Glass to the Sheet of Ice."

As an introduction to the excerpt, I will give a brief overview of what is called psycho-driving, a technique in behavioral manipulation in programming. 

“Trauma-based mind control programming can be defined as systematic torture that blocks the victim’s capacity for conscious processing (through pain, terror, drugs, illusion, sensory deprivation, sensory over-stimulation, oxygen deprivation, cold, heat, spinning, brain stimulation, and often, near-death), and then employs suggestion and/or classical and operand conditioning (consistent with well-established behavioral modification principles) to implant thoughts, directives, and perceptions in the unconscious mind, often in newly-formed trauma-induced dissociated identities, that force the victim to do, feel, think, or perceive things for the purposes of the programmer. The objective is for the victim to follow directives with no conscious awareness, including execution of acts in clear violation of the victim’s moral principles, spiritual convictions, and volition.
Installation of mind control programming relies on the victim’s capacity to dissociate, which permits the creation of new walled-off personalities to “hold” and “hide” programming. Already dissociate children are prime “candidates” for programming”. [5. Ellen P. Lacter, Ph. D., The Relationship Between Mind Control Programming and Ritual Abuse]
As readers of this blog if you  have some understanding of the techniques used against victims of mind control the excerpts from my novel can be more understandable.  The excerpt which I will now include tells of the reaction of a child during a psycho-driving period who had been forced to sleep for months while continuous tape-recordings are played.   Several mornings, unknown to- her captors, the child would wake-up.  This excerpt is such a morning.
Many children awaken with a sense of belonging and feeling secure within their immediate environments.  The reflective thoughts which allow children to develop the sense of belonging were not there for this captured child.   Nurturing memories. like the sight of her mother's smiling face and approving glances were stripped from the child's consciousness.   The only repeated memory which visited this captured child was the memory of a pair of pink slippers.
Aleah, walked from the bedroom where she was being  kept.  Descending a flight of stairs she located a long vertical window where she sat.   Seated on the landing, she stared at the sky's emerging wonders.  The colorful morning sky's hues triggered memories beyond her missing pink slippers,  An affixed gaze recalled the ballerina's  movements contained in the jewelry box which was seated on in her mother's nightstand  in her parent's bedroom.   The flourished movement of a dancer's skirt jumped from within the colorful smeared sky.  The enormous balloon of dawn carried within its' ascension, the color of Aleah's bedroom walls, along with some the coloring in the dress of her favored doll.  The energetic ball of morn emitted splinters of her treasured past..  Her outdoor sandbox, the swing set, the backyard playhouse.  Yet, her mother name, the own name, the wading pool, the antiques dolls, the porcelain tea set, her precious friends were like an evaporated specter.
Luckily, within the pigmentation of dawn, while seated on this landing, a few sprinkles of her yesterdays' returned before the furlong child drifted back to sleep.  Nodding limply, Aleah's forehead  touched the window's pane.   After a few seconds, the penetrating  feel of the cold glass against her soft young skin  jolted her awake.  Soon, again, she nodded forward.   Resting her forehead on the window's pane, for a while this seemingly motherless child found a momentary sense of peace. 

The frigid  morning's air placed an arctic chill on the window's glass which disrupted the child's temporary state of rest causing her disbelief.  Repeatedly,  She  placed her right hand, first on the window's pane, then, again on her forward.   Confusion and nausea gripped, and for a moment in this youngster's mind, the only image seen was that of a classical toy whose wooden head moved vigorously in spasmodic motion.  Shaken,  the terrified child, extended both hands mentally attempting to halt the movement of this big brown eyed wooden toy with his painted black lacquered hair  and his quivering body.  

When her hands touched the cold glass instead of the jerking toy, the dazed child walked with the wooden figurine still jousting about in her head away from the landing, through the living room and down the front stairs.   The front door opened, she was pushed, the door locked and the shoe less child wearing  only a sleeveless flimsy  grown stood trembling in the cold. 

Tuesday, 6 October 2015

Honesty

"O believers, remember God Oft,
and give Him glory at the  dawn and in the evening."   The Qur'an

As I journey through internal discovery and recovery, it is challenging to be completely honest regarding my seemingly unbelievable truth..  This morning, as I meditated and soaked in the bath , I thought about a daughter I birthed, whom I have not seen in many, many  years.  This daughter was inseminated against my knowledge and consent which I am sure most if not all who view my blog, will have a difficult time understand or an even more difficult time believing.  The factor of sharing  traumatic childhood experiences and, then, not being believed, haunts numerous survivors of childhood abuse, "Who will believe me?   While other often wonder, will people think less of me due to what was done to me?"

Fear, shame, avoidance, confusion and the feeling of being totally alone makes for a volatile, emotional interior backdrop for an abused child.  Yet, it is when a survivor of an  unfathomable   horror makes the statement,  "I am blessed," that I am in awe.  With that being said, may I say, void of awe, that I am a survivor who is truly blessed,

One evening two different acquaintances introduced me to one of their friends.  Since both acquaintances knew that I am a spiritual path, they selected to bring one man who thought of himself as a Shaman type and the other who professed no accolade identity. As we discussed variant subject over hot cups of tea, at a local Hookah bar. the man who acclaimed no identifying title made a most profound statement. He calmly asked then answered the question.

"Have you ever contemplated that if Adam had legal representation at the time of his disobedience, there is a very good possibility that he would have never been removed from the Garden of Eden?

According to the untitled man, when God presented the logic to Adam, "I have blessed you with the incredibility of life, a garden plentiful and many blessings, how could you disobey Me?"

Adam's sincerely  responded. (according to the seemingly humble man),  "So that I could taste of your mercy."

I don't know if that statement would have prevented the eviction, but it does give pause.

When in the relaxation of my morning ritual, I asked myself are you really going to talk about having been forcefully inseminated, then,when hesitation regarding the exposure of this personally defacing humiliation seeped, I thought about the book, "The Franklin Cover-up", written by John Decamp and having read this extraordinary revelation of documented child abuse, I mustered the courage to share yet another almost inconceivable personal  truth.  

Now, a rapid change of subject.  A large number of years ago, I had been in a Catholic convent for what I believed to be a few weeks for a high school retreat.  One day after having been out of the convent for what I seemed a few weeks, I happened into a high school friend who made a statement which perplexed me.  "I see you didn't make it either?  She then continued, " At least you lasted longer than I did, she affirmed.  "One day, she continued," " In a total panic, after a years in the convent, I phoned my mother pleading with her to come and get me immediately.  I assured her that if she were not at the convent within a few hours that I would find something to jump off of,"  My loving mother. within the hour,  was standing next to me asking had I packed and was I sure that this is what I wanted to do.. " Shortly after my mother's questions, I was home ordering a pepperoni pizza."

The friends's name was Josephine  and when I told her that I had no idea what she was talking about. that I had only been in the convent a few weeks.  And what on earth gave her the idea what I had spent two years in the convent.  After she took several very deep inhales, shaking her head,  her only remark was, "Wow! They must have really done a job on you."

In the face of the many horrors I have experience the feeling of being bless stem from the knowledge of what did not happen to me rather than what did.  I did not turn to drugs or alcohol.  Gratefully, in me, there did not develop sexual promiscuity. hatred or lack of faith.  When a person, especially a child, turns to a faith-based institution for salvation and receives instead deception, dishonesty, violations, much is ripped from the individual's emotionally.  What an enormously invisible interior hole.  What remains is a gaping, shredded, once whole vibrant being.  For me, it was only the strength of faith and the slow relinquishing of pain that begin by healing process.

Those  who did what they did to me and others are not better than us they are just a great deal more powerful.  They are not special, or blessed.  The are not privileged but instead they are deviant and perverted.  Arrogance has been the downfall of societies prior to this one.      

It seems to me that one day, I was having a tea party with my dolls under the embracing shade of an oak tree in the backyard of parents home.  Then, next, I was having my dress lifted up and my panties pulled down my strange foreign men who stated when attempting to examine my vaginal area, "They say that girls of her class are operated on at birth for some kind of identification purpose."

When the man who was suppose to be babysitting walked into the backroom of the small bar where the men had taken me saw what was happening, he became outraged.  "What are you doing to this child?"  When the men explained what they had heard regarding girls born into certain families and the required vaginal surgery, the babysitter angrily asked, "And just how many young girl's panties have you pulled down to find out?"

The men in the backroom answered,  "Oh! "Man it's not like that.  We're not like that"  The sitter, then readjusted my attire, proceeded to walk me back to where I was being kept and continuously asked me, "Did those men hurt you?  The sitter struggled with how to phrase his words when attempting to get answers from me regarding what I had just experienced.  I never answered his questions.  I was under seven year old at the time and I only knew that I felt fear and that I did not understand why the men had taken me or why I was afraid of them.

Since during this period of time, I was caused to sleep for long period of time, I remember little of the aftermath of the incident and did not remember the backroom examination for many years to come.

Personally healing for me is associated with the acknowledgement that I was an exploited and abused child.  The exploitation extended into adulthood and is still seeded in my life as I don't remember my birth name and when I attempt to find answers, powerful sources within the government hinder my attempts.

I pray that through my attempts and the attempts of other Mk-Ultra survivors that the truth of his brutal scar on American History will one day fully be told.
 

Thursday, 16 April 2015

Excavation of Truth

The excavation of any concept of truth can be a most arduous task as the idea of truth is viewed through many prisms of thought.  A factual truth which I can share is that on April second of this year, 2015,  as I sat at my computer, I felt a notable trimmer.  The shaking of the building in which I live lasted maybe five or ten seconds.  However, since, in a nearby community, one less than ten minutes away,  such 3.3 or less earthquakes trimmers had been reported, with a fair amount of frequency.  In the previous six months the mentioned community had at least three such reports.  With that knowledge at hand, I did not panic or become frightened.  I did whatever stop what I was doing on the computer, (probably playing online scrabble), long enough to call a neighbor who did not answer her phone, consequently, I returned to whatever I had been doing that day.  That evening, I watch the news and the report of an earthquake ranging 3. something on the seismograph instrument was reported.  Since I live on the ninth floor of a sixteen floor building, I wondered if I should have felt the trimmer's force more or less than someone living on the first floor.  I did not ponder the location comparatives very long as I was somewhat unmoved by the incident. 

The mysteries and wonders of nature are profoundly complicated, profusely exquisite,  while being continuously miraculous.  At this point, I may be a bit repetitive were a previous post is concerned but I once again want to share the events of a most exquisite and miraculous day in my life.

As a Mk-Ultra survivor during the periods of my programming there were no ordinary days.  For me, awareness of a day could start at noon or perhaps at eight in the evening or perhaps, not at all.  Since, during this period, I live in a place where there were no mirrors, my rudimentary visual concept of how I look vanished like the memories of my biological family and my birth name. 

However, on this particular day, awareness seeped into consciousness as I heard phrases like, ' She's coming our of it.' "Act like she's been at the table all the time."  Other statement made by the children who sat at the dining table where we were all seated when slowly, then suddenly, I became consciously aware of the day.  Any conversation prior to my alertness, I had no concept regarding.  Any jokes,  or friendly banter, any affectionate remarks or family reports, nothing of what had occurred before my eyes opened were recorded in my mental space.  What my mental space did record as I became a part of the day was other children smiling and talking at the table.  Some of the conversational statement ground into my subconscious during the psycho-driving segment of my programming took life.  Someone asked for the salt to be passed.  A statement which had been often repeated in the massive amount of tapes which I had been forced to listen to continuously while in a sedated state.  Other innocuous statements like where's the sugar or pass the bread were sometimes gigged from the mouths of the children at the table.  The statements made were in voices familiar to me as they were the voices I heard on the tapes.  I have surmised that using the voices of the children in the household was done so that once I was allowed  to spend more time awake, these ordinary occurrences would seem familiar, also they would seem to have been occurring for a long period of time.

The only person seated at the table whose voice was not on the types and who had shown me compassion was not an immediate member of the family I was forced to live with, but, instead  a first cousin who had come to live with the family for a period of time.  For the purpose of this post let's call him, Chancy.  In any event, once I was alert, I felt a little comfort at seeing him at the other end of the table directly in front of me.  Chancy once warned me when he came into the apartment very early one morning finding me awake and seated on a platform opening that lead to the second floor of the apartment.  I was seated directly in front of a long vertical window, watching the sunrise.  Chancy warned me not to let the people who lived in the house know that I sometimes got out of bed without their knowledge.  He further stated, that if the people in the house found out that I got up without them knowing they would do something to cause me to sleep longer.  He also told me to try and realize when I might be waking up and to try and train myself  not to move my eyes.  He told me that my eye movements were one of the ways that they knew that I was coming out of it.  As a child of perhaps six or seven when the statements were made to me I did not quite understand the why behind the warning but I did remember it and prior kindness by him and on that day I took comfort at him being at the table.

Chancy was older than the other children in the house and very capable of cajoling them.  When around, he often took the lead in any conversation spoken at  lunchtime.  When he was at the lunchtime table, he did not allow the other children's constant taunts.  I don't remember seeing him at dinner.  Actually, when I think of that time, I remember eating few, if any, dinners in that household.  But on this afternoon, after only a short period, perhaps, less than half an hour, an inner nudging urged  me to turn around.  Had I  turned, I would have been facing the vertical window where I sometimes had watched the sunrise.  The dire complication of a seven year old child having been kidnapped then stripped of personal memories did not elicit this child trusting a inner urging, no matter how gentle.  A peculiar uncertainty draped. I look toward Chancy and saw a look of fear and terror on his face.  He stood then immediate reseated himself.   Chancy pointed toward me seemingly shouting for me to turn around, but I could not hear his voice.  Peripherally, I  saw the other children still seated at the table but my awareness of them became minimal.  With my eyes focused on Chancy, he repeatedly pointed toward the window frantically telling me to turn around. He then Continued the anxious gestures several more times before he inhaled deeply, then exhaled a  tremendous sigh of relief, he statement, " He wants you not me.  I thought that he was coming after him me."   Telepathically,  Chancy repeated, "He's coming after you."

The atmosphere around me began to change.  A quietness, a silence enveloped me while the strong attraction to turn around still prevailed.  I felt that I was being gently pulled away from other children in the room. Briefly, I saw the children around me anxiously talking, yet, I could not hear their voices.  My hesitancy in turning around was not out of fear, but by this time, at age seven, I had experienced brainwashing, (What a gentle term for such a diabolical action, especially when this action is committed against a child).  I still don't understand the reason for the hesitancy, but after a time of resistance, I turned and faced the platform and the window.

When I turned toward the window whatever it was which had caused Chancy's fear, was not visible  to me. The ethereal persuasion permeating me caused me to feel as if I were gliding as I advanced toward the platform.  As I moved forward, awareness of other diminish.  I did not remember the fear on Chancy's face nor my initial resistance.  It just seemed to me that I  flowed across the room  unconnected  to gravity.  Once near the platform, toward my right, the appearance of the archetype of the fallen angel was visible.  The fire engine red creature with its short black horns leered.  I did not equate the image seen with evil for this might have been the first time I had ever experienced the image.   Following, a few more steps, I noticed a second image.  The second image was of a small figure with a round flat grayish looking face and a stick figure type body; he stood to my left.  I found this second image much more attracting and amiable.  Telepathically, I began to communicate with the grayish figure.  This incident happened many years ago and exactness is not possible at this time.  I do recall the grayish image telling me that something was about to happen.  He further told me that I had nothing to be afraid of and that he was there for a reason having to do with energy.  The matter he told me was too complicated to discuss at that time. 

I was immediately fascinated by the extremely intelligent creature who stood to my left.  I found his unusual features and characteristics  intriguing and thought that he was someone I could communicate with , have fun with, play with.  This excitement felt, was very short lived before it seemed to me that the sun was coming too closer to the second floor apartment.  I had been so mesmerized by my newly found friend that nothing else around me held any of my attention.  Yet, as it seemed that the sun was getting nearer and nearer the apartment, I mentally questioned if it would cause the apartment to caught fire.  I wondered if the children in the house would be harmed.  Just as I was becoming more concerned, the intelligent figure assured me that there was no reason for concern.  For an undeterminable amount of seconds, I quietly watched the appearance of the sun graduate closer to the window.  Even at seven, logic caused me to wonder how whatever it was, would be able to get through the thick brick wall of the apartment.  Soon, the concern as to the safety of the children in the house was usurped by a celestial radiance.  This enormous glow of yellow light began to take form.  After a while, I could see the intense light penetrate through the brick wall.  Still,  in a mesmeric state, I watched as the light took form and once the image stood before me,  in total awe, I immediately started to kneel. The completed image now standing before me looked apprehensively upward and slightly toward his right shoulder before he vehemently instructed me not to kneel, when he stated, "I did not tell them to worship me." 

I don't know how much time has passed when the figure to my left told me that he was leaving and that he had served his reason for heralding.  I became sad and disappointed at the fact of his leaving.  I guess without realizing it due to the techniques used in mind control that I did not realize that I missed my friends and having someone to communicate with on my age level  or for that fact, any levels at all.  Before leaving the grayish figure told me to give my full attention to the image standing before me.  The red image languished for a while then cowed backwardly away.  Before leaving it stated in a vile, angry manner, "You would protect her."  then he disappeared.     

The extraordinary figure left standing before me explained to me that when I learned of him on this side of the globe how he looked that day was the way he was perceived on the side of the world where I was now living.  He further stated that he had been perceived in many different way through many different cultures for many years.   Other event of the vision are vague but I do remember being told that it is not good for a person to know too much about their future.  I was told that for a while I would forget about the vision but that these things would come back to me in time.  I was told that I would experience many hardship in my life but that thing would turn out all right in the end.  I think that I was taken on a journey that day before being returned to the platform. 

I don't remember the balance of that day once returned.  I don't remember many days which followed as the programming continued.  I do recall being asked by a number of adults who I did not know to explain what I saw that day.  Many question were put before me.  Question like, "Where was his heart."  "Did he hold it in his hand?"  One would think that such an exceptional experience would be respected and valued but instead I was treated as if I thought I was better than others and harassed and badgered.  The many strangers who questioned me never treated me with kindness. 

Since the title of this particular post is; "Excavation of Truth"  it is not the ultimate truth of which I am speaking but indeed the truth of Mk-Ultra.  The truth regarding the deception and chicanery perpetrated against unwitting citizens by sources whom they most likely trusted.  The truth regarding the annihilation of an individuals inherent right to do God's Will due to finite interference.  Thy kingdom come Thy will be done is certainly a statement I completely understand.

Tuesday, 24 February 2015

Unplugged

Sura20:50
Our Lord is
He Who gave to each
(Created) thing its form
And nature, and further,
Gave (it) guidance.

I have always been intrigued by the mysterious, the unexplainable,  the supernatural, the" Outer Limits," type riddles of life.  Years ago when the television show" The Outer Limits," aired, I was a weekly viewer, never missing an episode, and, always attempting to solve the  program's unexpected twist prior to its revealed.

One of the major appeals for me where the storylines in these programs were the subtle logic and moral overtones.  A consistent weekly attraction for me regarding the show was the unstated emphasis that there were consequences for unethical, amoral, or unkind deeds.  These reinforcements of social values were presented coiled within an unpredictable situations and maze of characters.

During the period in my life when the only knowledge I had of self was that which had been implanted, I questioned why curtained things interested me, attracted me, appealed to me or in some inexplicable way resonated within me.  While on a walk one afternoon, I passed a ladies upscale consignment store, properly named, "The Women's Exchanged."  The exchange store had an unique presence in the location, as it was a small business as compared to the others on this two block strip of extravagances.

On the almost daily jaunt, I glanced into the windows of stores  like Sak's Fifth Avenue, and Niemen Marcus.  The two things I knew regarding these stores at the time was that they sold very expensive items, according to the people in the neighborhood nearby, and for me, their display windows held a fascinating appeal while during the Christmas season, the entire area became beyond belief.

The children either those in the household were I live, or the children of the neighbors did not share my love of the opulent blocks of stores.  On the days when I would meandered alone "Maryland Plaza", which was what the area called, I always  walked  alone.   

The reality of the mind manipulated via psycho-driving and electric shocks,  is that the edifice which contains the brain and the neurons which were disturbed and altered function, as in a wondering void. At the time, I never questioned my attraction to the other side of the economic track.  The middle class or, for that matter, even the upper middle class members of society rarely if ever shopped at these very, very high-end stores.

While walking on the plaza, I never felt uncomfortable or out of place.  I was probably under eleven years of age at the time and clothes and fashion were of no particular interest to me. I think it was just that whatever was left of me, which was still contained within me, gravitated to the residue of me somewhere contained in the traces of non-remembered memories.

The brutality of Mk-Ultra with its physical, spiritual, and emotional invasiveness into the innate physiology of the mind, body, and dreams of a child.  Forever, altering the formed development and true nature of those who were exploited. 

The word love is one often used when one talks about the feelings parents have for their children  But what about the concept of being valued.  I felt valued by my parents.  In a home where collectable art and eclectic music, delicate pink crystal and the scent of vanilla pipe tobacco filled its inner structure; there were no contents, regardless of appraisal, more valued than its child.

I was not the neglected child of privilege.  Neither, my parents' ambitions nor their accomplishments waned attention or guidance toward me. 

Then, suddenly, abruptly, callously, the snatching.

I remembered an office where a man waved a heart shaped silver necklace in from of my eyes and he told me to follow his movement of the necklace.  There were times when this man would bring things like a small object from the top  draw of his desk and he would ask me if the object seemed familiar. Sometimes, I would look at the object with a vague sense of recognition.  The external non-verbal signs of raised eyebrows, then a squint, a sigh, a shaking  of the head, finally the, "no.'"

One day the man, who I now assume was a doctor, stood in front of his desk and opened the necklace which he had often dangled in mid-air from side-to-side while instructing me to follow the object with my eyes.  The frequently seen piece of jewelry turned out to be a locket that once opened displayed its content, a small intimate photograph of a woman and a child, a mother and a daughter, a segment of my past, something at the time my mind could not remember or excruciation stopped the memories. 

During this period of time in my abduction, wherever I was held, there were no mirrors in the location.  I don't recall how I got dressed in the mornings nor do I remember changing for bed at night.  I don't recall breakfast, lunch or evening meals nor was there conversation with others.  The few things I remember at this time when I was not yet age seven, were the movement of the locket, the squealing sound of a tape-recording rewinding, and the nothingness which lay between.

The audacious, adventurous, lively, loving, creative child who loved the out-of-doors and the color yellow; who often had tea parties with her favored dolls, who played an imaginary violin when listening to classical music;  this vital and vibrant being's torture placed amnesic cells in her reality.

Monday, 15 December 2014

Recognizing Blessings

Sura 93:1-3

1.   By the Glorious Morning Light,
2.   and by the Night when it is still-
3.   The Guardian-Lord hath not forsaken Thee, nor is He displeased.

When I think of the devastation and the exploitation which I received at the hands of a cruel and indifferent government, for many years, I was stunned, stuck, submerged in an emotional and spiritual level far below my innate capacity.  I became coiled in a suspended emptiness where in journeying through life I became like a zombie enduring an out of body experience.  There were no tears, nor was there laughter, no anticipation peaked, nor were there feelings of disappointment, hope, or joy.  

One day I was child, a daughter, an individual who belonged to a family, a culture, historical lineage and heritage which dating back centuries; then, what felt like the next moment, I was snatched, grabbed, kidnapped.

It was a sun filled day in London, England.  The bellowing white clouds were so pump and fluffy that while seated in the out-of-doors, transformed by the beauty of the day, awaiting the decision of whether or not myself and another child would be allowed to attend the annual Piccadilly Parade,  momentarily, I did not experience the childish anxiousness of jumpy anticipation.  

My fellow cohort did not share my calm appreciation of the day and he had paced throughout the palace like an animal of prey hunger for a conquest.  My father was in diplomatic services which yielded the fact that the family knew people from all over the world some of which actually lived in palaces.  As a child rather you live in a modest home, a mansion, a hacienda or a bubble when there is a parade in town, there is the uniformity of the wonder within a child's imagination.    

I had retreated from the palace in consequence of my friend's nervous pacing and constant questions as when the adults would make a decision.  Being a reticent person naturally, My friend, (well, let's call him John), might as well have been disassembling my emotional components.

"They always wait till the last minute to let us know anything. Why do they constantly take away any enjoyment of fun things that are planned?  A parade, it's just a parade.  What bad thing could  happen at a parade?"

I, of course, did not have the answers to the flurries of question directed toward me, the walls, the floor, the many rooms, or, any other person or object within John's vocal range, which he most certainly knew; nevertheless, there seemed to have been an expectation of me.  That being that I should have been as frustrated and  as annoyed as he where the wishy-washy decision-making adults were concerned.  

The adults did make a decision and John and I were allowed to attend the parade.  And the answer to his question as to what could happen at a parade is contained in the second paragraph of this posting; Snatched, grabbed, Kidnapped.

For well over twenty years I did not remember any part of my life prior to being subjected to the technique of Mk-Ultra.  The complexity and mystery contained within and behind the internal walls of amnesic cells.   I am astonished at what was forgotten.  Amazed that I still have a great deal which I do not remember and graceful that again, I am able to feel hope, joy and the prayerful anticipation that one day, be it the will of God, and my own personal determination, all will be returned to me. 

I, of course, can not get back the years taken from me.  The years away from my parents,  children,  friends, my professions,  my rights, and in many ways my life.  I must believe or rather choose to believe that things happen for a reason in life.  As I have mentioned prior, I was a gifted child.  Placed in an accelerated education program at an early age.  My life of accomplishments started early and my contributions to the global society of which I belonged were becoming eminent, until the day that an entity called government decided that the gifts given to me by the almighty were disposable due to the entities' self-interest.

Although, I could and in my novel will tell of the unbelievable torments, traumas, exploitation that happened in my life.  I will also tell of the phenomenal spiritual occurrence  which have brought me back from despair, feelings of hopelessness and uselessness.   Regardless of the tragedies of life.  It is essential to recognize the blessings.

Sunday, 5 October 2014

Ambivalence

     I have been negligent where posting to my blog is concerned.  It is not that I don't value the wonderful opportunity of having an international theatre for voicing my issues and concerns; the fact is that at times emotionally, spiritually and physical, I need to direct my energies toward creative healing matters like meditations, massage and prayer.

     With that being stated, I must also acknowledge the fact that avoidance and denial are still a factor in my attempt of full recovery.  One of the most important elements of progress toward recovery is having the ability to be grateful. It's a rainy day where I currently live.  A misty, drizzle which has lowered the previously scorching temperature.  Just yesterday, the extreme heat zapped my physical energy leaving many outdoor chores incomplete.  Early this morning with a wide smile on my face, I grabbed my umbrella, eagerly left my apartment, anticipating a favorable interaction with the day.

     I, of course, was very pleased with the thirty degrees decrease in temperature, especially since,  as a way of contributing to the community in which I live, two day a week, I volunteer and deliver meals for the Visiting Nurse Associations' Meals-on-Wheels program.  My volunteer efforts are also a way of me getting away from my personal introspection and viewing life from outside of a mental encasement.  Thoughts, like rain, can saturate. 

     Prior to being used in the Mk-Ultra Project, I was a very successful woman.  Since I possessed a very high IQ, I was entered into an accelerated educational program by age eleven or twelve.  I have only fragmented remnants of those educational years, but, oddly, I remember one lecture type classroom, one professor, one blackboard which occupied the entire front wall of the room and one classmate, a prior friend.

     Although, gratitude pulsates through my daily thoughts, on a secondary level, I question the injustice which is a constant seam in my life.  In the concept of recovery, it is impossible to regain the loss years. The years when I could not be one of the primary influences in raising my children.  The long period of time when my gifted talents lay dormant. The years away from precious friends to say nothing about parents, a husband and most especially self.

     For a while I was having sessions with a psychiatrist and he asked me one day who did I miss the most.  When I responded, "Me"'  after making the comment, I immediately enquired, "Does that make me sound self-center or vain."
    
     "No," Doctor Miller responded, 'That is exactly the answer you should have given."

     I am currently working with an editor with the objective of having my manuscript published within a year or less.  It is important, not exclusively for the survivors, but for each society that wants a civilized and humane management of its judicial system to know and to acknowledge governmental misconduct and inhumane practices.  Humanity has such enormous potential, I question why the masses  allow a demonic few to corrupt and deface our  ethos.