Tuesday, 6 October 2015


"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


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.