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.