The Serrated Stone of Lost Belonging

Sura:94: The Expansion

Have We not expended for you your breast,
And eased you of burden,
Which weighed so heavily on your,
back?
And have We not exalted for you
your renown?
Then surely with hardship comes
ease.
Surely with hardship comes ease.
Therefore, when you are free from one task, resume another task.
Ans seek and strive to please your
Lord.

I have neglected posting on this blog and consequently therein also neglected variant components of self.  As a survivor, the necessity of externalizing penned emotions is crucial in order to heal.  When repetitive thoughts of the perpetrators' abuses are the dominant focus of your day too much positive energy is drained from the body, the mind and the day; consequently again yielding control of ones' vibrancy to the perpetrator. When you walk pass a beautiful flower and the sight and scent of one of nature's most magnificent wonders goes unnoticed the survivors is denying self. As I stated in an earlier post, I am going to start putting excerpts from my novel in this post.  It is still very emotional for me to edit and read some of my novel which can invokes unhealed traumas.   Nevertheless, stagnation suffocates the ability to move forward and live a full and productive life. Sometimes, painful emotions emerge more when I read my journal writings consequently, personally, giving life to the words of my novel. In any event one page of the novel follows.  I am not  going to give an explanation or set-up the page.  The words and action on the page should convey the essence in themselves. Here it goes:

From the Broken Glass to the Sheet of Ice Page 19 
   
     The next time Aleah  awaken, the horrid incident which involved the broken soda bottle intentionally placed in her running path did not come to mind. Rather, on this morning which was presumed to have  followed the previous night, the first lingered thought to penetrate the spirit of this forlorn child was the image of a pair of pink shippers.

     Within the first few seconds of predawn, Aleah momentarily felt herself cloistered in the stabilizing security of her own loving family.  Maintained temporarily with the emerging backdrop of early morn was interlaced her true identity. While clutch in the subconscious jewels of semi-alertness, the gentle child remembered the experience of receiving parental care.  Cradled within the mystical arms of the sacrosanctity of initial light, there was no reason to yearn for the sound of her mother's voice.  The first rays of daylight had not yet awaken the harsh trauma of her abduction. At this early hour, loneliness did not hover like pernicious smoke nor did the serrated stone of lost belongings.

     Yawning in a mantle of sleepiness, Aleah released an inward howl, mother, mother was the repeated mental cry.  Then, like an abrupt surge of noxious fumes, she became suddenly awareness that in this place of barren walls and rug less floors, there would be no pink slippers.

     Yet for a moment while wavering between flexing states, Aleah awaited her mother's strong embrace and loving smile.  During these precious semi-lucid seconds, Aleah remembered her mother's mimicking gestures as she imitated her child's every stretch and yawn.

"From the Broken Glass to the Sheet of Ice."  Page 20

     Aleah attempting to maintain her nurturing memories produced mental archives of the past.  Unlike sticky cotton candy or melting chocolate, her cherished memories instilled more than temporary pleasures,.  Indeed, these priceless recollections developed into an inexplicable of emotional safety for this captured child.

     In the earliest period of predawn, Aleah did not suffer the affects of the captors' rudeness nor were her every actions critically scrutinized. 

     Unfortunately, for Aleah the mornings of private moments were very rare. Often sleeping past dawn her mornings would begin with intrusions into the room where she slept.  A door kicked opened, books intentionally dropped, balls repeatedly bounced, paper bags exploring, balloons loud popped, dresser drawers opening and closing, these were the sounds which introduced her to a new day. 
     Giggles and snickers from the children of the household would soon follow, "Wow, whatever those men give that girl to make her sleep like that must really be strong.  How can she not wake up after all that noise?"

     "Did her eye balls move any while we were making so much noise? One of the children asked. "The men said we are to see if her eye balls move any while we are making noise.  When her eyes are closed if there is movement under the closed lids, she might be waking up". 


     Today is June 12th, 2020, seventeen days after the death of an unarmed Black Afro-American man at the hands of four Minnesota police officers.  George Floyd is the name of the man who pleaded for his life while his hands were handcuffed behind his back, laying on the unsanitary concrete ground with one of the four police officers' knee on his air way; causing asphyxiation and of course death.

     I haven't previously posted news events on this site but the horrid criminal death of this father, this brother, this friend deserves acknowledgement.

     When an ideology, a philosophy, a creed, a powerful political self-interest usurps the value and identity of a single individual the whole of humanity is weakened.  As a survivor of an ideology whose political self- interest justified the dissipation of my civil rights, my human rights, my legal rights, my spiritual rights, and my sacred footprint, it is impossible for me to comprehend how it is not understood that when a butterfly flaps it's wings in China the vibrations reach New York.


From the Broken Glass to the Sheet of Ice Page 24

     An amateur harpsichordist, Aleah's mother played and listened to music throughout the day. Yet, when she woke that fact was not recalled.  The evenings in her home were often filled with her father's musical passion that being classical  Spanish guitar.  Ravel's rendition of Bolero was practically a daily experience in this home where music seemed as essential as linen table napkins and freshly cut flowers.

     No, instead, in this forcefully transplanted existence, there were no sounds of classical music, no sharing of pomegranates, nor the scents of sachets of potpourri contained within every opened bureau drawer. 

     As her petite legs continued to dangle between mattress and floor, again she realized there were no slippers, Aleah placed her bare feet on the cold uncovered floor.

Astonishment

Qur'an Sura18:105

They are those who deny
The Signs of their Lord
And the fact of their
Having to meet Him
'vain will be their works,
Nor shall We, on the Day
Of Judgment, give the
Any Weight.

Note 2451
False motives, pretense, deception and hypocrisy, flourish because people do not take the higher life seriously.  In effect they treat it s jest. Signs and Messengers are sent as a special and personal Mercy from God.

The few follower I have suggested that I post on my blog more often.  I completely agree with this urging and have decided only to place excerpt from my novel on this site but also excerpt from my journals.  As I travel through my thoughts and mood via my journals, we shall learn together the honesty of unfiltered introspective.

September 9th, 2009

Today once again I am taking action where it comes to facing the tragedies of my life.  I am on my way to England where I pray I will be able to get legal and medical assistance.  As I am packing, unpacking and repacking. I make sure that I have the phone number of the medical facility the helps survivors of torture.  It amazes me how the causes of today's global unrest are not tracked to their roots.  Instilled within the properties of societal manipulation are hatred, racism, classicism, and a multitude of  lurid and diabolical projects such as Mk-Ultra.   

The invisibility of Injustice

"The difficulties of winter and autumn,      
                the heat of summer,
          spring like the spirit of life,
winds, and clouds and the lightening-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."
                  Written  by Jula'lu'ddin Ru'mi'

I may have used this quote by Rumi prior in this blog but the contents of this saying in my perspective is so profound that a repeat performance is apropos.  I titled this post: (The Invisibility of Injustice),  which in many ways appears to be factual.  For example, in recent years, due to the development of the technology of modern DNA testing, a substantial number of men have been released from years of wrongful incarceration having been proven innocent of rape charges as a outcome of DNA testing.

If one were to endeavor to collect the data which would document the number of men proven innocent and then released from prison,  Then, too collectively calculate the number of years these men spend away from freedom, the invisibility of injustice could at least begin to take on a statistical formation.

Today, October nineteenth two thousand sixteen, I had an appointment with a doctor for the purpose and hope that he could medically help me regain my memory.  In the session, I briefly explained why I was seeking his assistance and what I wanted from the sessions.  

This blog has been a method for me to expose what has happened to me and for me to release some of the internal emotions which have for too long been pinned.  After this first session, I think that what the intake doctor suggested, that frequent visit with a profession therapist would be of benefit where recovering my memory is concerned.

I was a little unsettled when I first left the doctor's office.  I felt disoriented, having to concentrate on my surroundings so that I wouldn't walk into things.  My first stop once leaving the office was to Starbucks.  I visit this particular Starbucks often, although most of the time I go through the drive-through.  Today, I decided that I needed the short walk from my car to the interior of the coffee shop as I needed to become more grounded.   Oddly, my first thought when I entered the building is that it somehow looked different.  I asked the person who took my order had they done something new to the place.  She looked confused since I had seen her only a few days prior.  She never really answered me but I know that nothing new had been added to the place nor had anything been taken away. This same frequently visited establishment looked fresher, wider, brighter.

I will of course continue my sessions even though at this moment I feel like someone is using a old model can-opener with its serrated invasion onto the exterior and interior of my being.  Mentally, I can see the pointed sharp blade of the opener piercing the thin tin can with the objective of getting to the contents within the can.  The razor jagged wedges are dangerous to the touch but essential for releasing the what is within the can.

Injustice itself can not been seen by the naked eye, yet its effects upon society become more visible each day.  

As I prepare myself to undertake possibly one of the most difficult ventures of my life, I pray that the ultimate success brings hope and peace to others as well.
  
    

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.



    

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. 

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.