The Price of Remembrance

Maybe I’m an extreme case.  I hope so, seems pretty damn extreme to me.

I think I’ve figured out a key piece of my experiences.  These are the ones that made my soul hurt.  A feeling like someone took a dump in my soul and a feeling of shame that no matter how much I prayed I could not be forgiven of.

This was the feeling I had after a certain type of experience I had.  I would wake up with this feeling, felt like I was saturated in “sin.”

These expereinces involved me in someone else’s consciousness as in I could see through their eyes and feel as they felt.  They would always die, usually in strangulation/suffocation or in some non-instant death.  I would feel them fighting for life, then the darkness would overtake them.  I would be left in that darkness.  I would have to stop fighting to live and give in to death.   Sometimes this would happen up to three times a night.  Really messed me up in real life.  (Unfortunately, I can’t tell the exact timetable with my ritual abuse experience but it’s definitely close to when I my stomach ulcer, so maybe at age 7 or 8.)

I’ve mentioned these experiences before.  I thought this was some way to get me to dissociate.  Giving into the death experience being the point when I left my body and an alter could then take over.  It could have been a virtual reality situation set up to accomplish this.  I also thought they where to kill my core personality so the inter dimensional being attached to me could take over completely.  The feeling of being in the back seat of my consciousness is consistent to my experiences when an alter of mine is activated.  Or maybe this could also be the only level of awareness I was capable of when my consciousness was taken over by the inter dimensional beings.

However, I think it was much worse than that.  My friend and fellow milab Ted was telling me about his experience as a child training and having to kill puppies and sheep or be faced with various forms of torture.  He mentions a pain amplifier.  I remember the feeling of this machine, an internal body wide feeling of all your pain receptors being activated all at once at various levels of intensity.   Either you comply or like me, dissociate.

I never thought I was killing those people but when I looked into this possibility I was flooded with those same feelings I had as a child, a soul hurt, a loss of my innocence that I could never get back.  It’s been about a week since I went down this possibility and I have struggled mightily to find my center again.   I had these death experiences for years.  If I estimate how many, it’s in the thousands.  Not to dive into the deep end of self important indulgence, but the thought of having killed that many people makes me weep.  That’s a lot of blood on my hands, not to mention the karma.  It was a devastating realization, felt in my bones, opening up some soul crushing scars.

The real intentions of these projects was to influence and kill people from a distance with no physical evidence which lines up with my use in the projects if Project Stargate in the 70’s was the start of this type of research.  Ask any dark magician or anyone that really knows about ritual magic, the energy needed for these types of activities is a joint venture between the person and the entities being conjured.  The energy creates a portal between the unseen realms and this one through your body and innate ability to manifest in this realm.  The entities involved then latch on to your genetic quantum signature and follow, not only your family line, but also you in other incarnations.

Having finally found my feet again, I realize that feeling, that level of awareness was completely lacking any connection to All that Is.  It was like being trapped in some far edge of the the emotional spectrum.  As if I my whole emotional expression was cut off and expanded in these tight bands of mental awareness.  This level of awareness is the base line consciousness of the Grey Aliens.   (what a sad existence those beings, no wonder they are so ruthless and kidnappy.)

Lucky for we humans, there is a force in this universe, both wordless and ever present.  This force is Grace.   It defies the world of of the logical mind.  It is the essence of forgiveness.

This is the force that the Greys have been cut off from and probably why they feel like what they do is justified.  They need human awareness to access this world.

There is an echo in their collective conscious.  It is one of supreme regret and loss.  It is covered up by their collective hum or focus, but it’s there.  This gives them the guile to act and yet in every acton somewhere they know these actions lead them further away from their intended goal.

When I deal with these beings, I offer them what they have ran away from all these millennia and timelines.   I offer them Death, a clean death, a chance to be reborn in All that is, to take the leap that we humans do so Gracefully at times: die well.

 

Secret Space Program Memories

Throughout the second half of my life, I’ve been working on this epic, sci-fi space opera.  I have note books full of outlines, diagrams and timelines of a galactic war in which humans are used as man power in another species war.

However as soon as I try to write a scene or any part of the actual story, I can’t get about a single sentence down.  I then mentally spin out of my connected, expanded consciousness into thoughtless hours of staring at a piece of paper.  My hand seems disconnected from my mental control.  Whatever interesting scene that I have in my mind’s eye, vanishes and I’m left in this totally disconnected, anxious state of mind.

I realize I’ve disassociated.  (Shit.. That only took my whole life to figure that out.)

In the past, I was very nomadic, enjoying the change of scenery and hoping to start anew, over and over.  Although there was a strengthening of my intuition and ability to manifest as I could always find a cool place to live, work, good coffee shop, nice camp spot.  You know road magic…

However, I knew that I was really just running away from something….something that turned out to be myself.  I moved every 6-9 months since I was 13.  I was a mess most of those 25+ years.  After a brief period of getting settled and grounded in my new city, I’d be all feeling good and confident, ready to write my magnus opus, The Book of Earth (the hypothetical title).

I’d get all dedicated, set aside time everyday to write.  Nothing happens…

Then I focus on just writing whatever came to my mind, only to end up staring at the words “Chapter 1” for hours.  The frustration would build up, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.  Things would get weird in my life.  The magic would leave me and my sleep patterns would get all messed up.  Soon I would get that “unwelcome” feeling again, then enacting my personal cognitive dissonance protocol by abruptly moving to another place.

There’s not a worse feeling than not having a place to belong, to not having a true home.  But that is a space that one must foster within.  I kept looking for the place to ground me, instead of making home in my own body.   This lack of home seems to grow from that childhood feeling of not belonging to Earth or this reality.  Many “experiencers” had similar feelings I bet.  It seems to come with the territory.

Even now, just trying to write about what I’m classifying as SSP psychic asset memories, sends me into a causeless anxiety.  I don’t really even care about remembering, I just want my sovereignty back and get rid of the emotional hangover of being used… just to be able to think about certain things and not get sent into some mental abyss.

I have memories of the first day of SSP school.  We were all wearing light grey, off white one piece flight suits.  I was late and everyone else was already seated in a large auditorium with 3 large screens.  One of our C.O.’s was an older black woman.  I was happy to see other races for some reason…  I remember some little girl smiling at me and saying “hi” telepathically.  The speech started and that’s all I remember.

I had a “dream” earlier this year of being used as a seer or early warning system. They would put me in a trace by something through an IV.  I fell asleep to wake up in a battle torn city full of collapsed and damaged colonial style multistory buildings.  There were palm trees and it felt like the tropics, south pacific-ish, western side of Australia maybe…

Anyways.  As I’m looking around, a soldier emerges from some underground hatch in the rubble, looks around and says, “That wasn’t that bad.”

I look at him and then point to the horizon-filling, gigantic black, boomerang or cylindrical ship descending through the clouds.  He says, “Oh shit!” in a defeated voice.

I wake up in the same large, multi-bed hospital room that I was in the beginning, all by myself though.  For a couple of moments, I realize this might be my chance to escape.  I think about running, but I know we’re about to be attacked.  The base is completely empty of people and eerily still.   Everyone has already prepared for the attack and underground or in bunkers.

I hide behind some trees, but then think back to my visions and realize that spot gets destroyed.  I then decided to join the others in my assigned bunker, granted I felt about 14 or 15 age and body wise in this dream.

I get to my bunker.  There’s a choke point where I have to climb over a cement barrier, only to feel a gun muzzle poking me in the chest when I straighten up and I wake up here in this time.

Oddly enough, the next evening, the entire southwest side of Australia had a power outage for a couple of hours and there was a huge object that created a long line of pings of this website.  (www.meteorscan.com)

There’s a whole set of memories of waking up on alien planet and has seen major destruction.  In the story, this (headache hitting me as I try to write this, right on queue) “me” is one of the only survivors of a genetic project to create a clone army of humans.  As the only survivor there is a protocol to save the data from the experiment in a psychic download.  This story ends with “me” hijacking an alien fleet ending up after many battles around orbit around Earth.

The fantastical and self aggrandizing elements of this story has always kept me from taking any of this too seriously.  But ever since I’ve embraced the possibility that these experiences might have happened and quit thinking of it as something I’m making up, I’ve been able to write about it.

I always said I wouldn’t mention my “abilities” until I was able to manifest them in this waking life.  I’m sorry folks.  I really thought I could do it and show people that this level of awareness is inherently false and that we humans are capable of so much more.

It’s like they’re right there, at my fingertips yet I have no way to access them, leaving me looking like some jackass telling tall tales.

No need to talk about if you can show it.   But….

though…

Waking up at an Underground Base

The blurred colors of my vision come into focus to a sterile, metal-walled, medical laboratory type of set-up.  I’m strapped to a metal table that’s angled vertically.   (It’s interesting because my first experiences of being in a cloned body are almost always of some lab coated person walking away from my with a syringe.)  I feel like I’ve been pumped up with pure anger…  My attention focused on the present, wondering how am I going to express the violence running through my veins.

This focus stays with me through the entire experience.  It taps into a much deeper rage, of supreme injustice.  I cannot tell you how much I hate all these people.  It’s a rage at a molecular level, a searing of the energy around me, slowly building, coiling itself into an electric whip.

This particular day they had me in a body much older than what I was at the time.  In real life, I was only five or six, but the body I was in was much older, much stronger.  I awoke to the usual rush of consciousness, tapping into the strength of my shoulders, sensing my awareness travel into my extremities.  Whatever they have injected me with this time turns my usual rage into a blinding white light, burning me alive, and when the pain gets to my head, I shatter into a thousands shards of of pissed off glass.  They glitter in my mind’s eye, a brief moment of stillness.  I couldn’t handle the emotions illicit in this body.  Then l feel a rumble like a wall breaking and the rage is total. The white hot energy has filled every cell of my body as I feel the constraints getting tighter across my chest and shoulders.  My perspective is changing and I feel my head break free from the strap across my forehead.
All the little humans in their white coats scurry around this way and that like frantic little cockroaches.

I smell their fear and I am disgusted by them.  My right arm breaks free and I grab the panicking white coat as he tries to step back.  In half a second I’ve ripped out his larynx with my teeth and rip is arm off his body for good measure. The satisfying taste of his blood as the rush of endorphins reaches my awareness, slightly offsetting my rage. The constraints no longer holding me.  They will all pay for this I say to myself as I survey the room.

My body moves so fast I feel like reality doesn’t focus until I pause to make sure I am the last thing the white coats see as I’m ramming my clawed hand through peoples torsos, ripping arms out of sockets, slinging their remains across the room.  Their fear colors them in hazy red aura, I can see images of loved ones and regrets as life leaves them, some frozen in fear as I feel their neck crush when I tighten my grip. The smell of blood and organs fill me with more rage as I charge at the thick metal doors.  Bursting through I am met by loud bangs, sharp pain across my body and then a warm glow.

I wake up in my bed.  I cry and whimper to myself, my six year old self not able to comprehend what just happened yet knowing somehow I was that monster. This shame and fear shook me to the very core of my being.

I don’t remember that happening again, although I know this being. That form is connected to a whole race of beings.  If I stay in that body I will be overtaken by their consciousness.  Their sick, morbid truly psychopathic frame of mind.  It dirtied my soul enough just from that one encounter.

However the lab coats were fascinated by me so I had the honor of experiencing that place every time I went to sleep.  Somehow they were able to modulate that awareness in me, it must have something to do with the drug they gave me.  Because once I finished the “training”, I had close to that same speed and strength yet I don’t remember being a giant humanoid reptilian.