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Of Mysterious "Dream" Churches,
“Demonic Ewoks” and MK Ultra
Carissa Conti
© June 30, 2022

carissaconti@protonmail.com

This was a story I originally intended to post on my Gab as a multi-parter …..but which I soon realized would need to be broken up into 100 parts to even make it possible. It’s important enough though that it’s worthy of putting on my website. Anybody who’s read my website, and including my book “Chasing Phantom,” and enjoyed it probably could appreciate this story, as it’s yet another story about “the weird and the woo.” This one happened to take place in 2007 primarily, and which exemplifies why I can never just relay a story to anybody. Because there’s always a bezillion layers of never ending weirdness folding in on itself. It’s never just straight forward and simple, “one thing happened….the end.” This one is no exception, starting with a full on strange neg entity encounter…….and ending with MK and MILABs, possible suppressed memory flashbacks, a major important possible confirmation about my lifelong abductions/MK puzzle that was directly given to me by my so-called “mom” when I was 16, and which I left out of “Chasing Phantoms” (but shouldn’t have I now realize), scary level spot-on tarot card readings and pendulum dowsings, past life closure, and “wow….!” level synchronicities that just kept happening as I attempted to compile it all into the write up you’re reading now.

*****

In July 2007 I decided I needed to take a trip from where we were living in Charlottesville, Virginia back to the town where I lived as a kid in Connecticut from ages 7-16, in order to make peace with the place once and for all. Some of the worst experiences of my life happened while living there, and as a result for years I’d been plagued with dreams that always took place “in our old house in Connecticut.” As well as the yard, the surrounding woods, our street, the school bus stop, on the bus itself, and the tract home neighborhood in general. Including the repeating theme of running up the street in slo mo, always trying to “catch the bus.” All of it was the constant “go-to” dream theme, mostly benign, though indicating unresolved subconscious traumas/obsession with the place.

By 2007, when I was 32, it was absolutely OUT-OF-CONTROL. I was dreaming about it all in some form or another pretty much every-single-night. Truly. There was a serious problem on a subconscious level, and it needed to be dealt with.

I knew something needed to be done, and since I’d just finished a temp job and had time off I decided I would physically drive up there and literally “confront it,” find a way to make peace.

The temp assignment finished up on Friday, July 13th. (I know, right.) I planned to pack up over the weekend and take off early Monday morning, arriving Monday evening. Avoid the weekend traffic and sold out motel occupancies, as everybody packs every motel and hotel in eastern and southern CT to go to the Indian casinos, especially during the summer.

Then on Saturday the 14th I woke up in the “half in/half out” lower astral realms I guess it was, I’m not sure, to find an……It…..crouched next to the bed, whispering fast and furiously to me in unintelligible gibberish. Brown/black in color, covered in “fur,” probably only about 4 feet tall max, which covered the face as well. Tom nicknamed it the “Demonic Ewok” after I described it to him. Its arms hung down between its bent legs, seeming to stare intensely at me (though I couldn’t see eyes) while furiously whispering intense gibberish.

whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….

It was so brazen, that even though I was fully “awake” and staring right at It, like um….HELLO….WTF? It didn’t care. Never paused, didn’t stop, just hellbent on whatever It was doing/saying. Determined.

whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper…. whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper…. whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….

I finally broke out of the half in this realm/half in that realm state and found myself fully back in “my” realm. It was no longer next to my bed. (Though as I’ve since learned from another “lower astral critter” encounter, it most likely was still there…….just in the lower astral, which I now couldn’t see since I was fully awake and back in this realm.)

By that point I was starting to consciously realize some things about the mathematical timing of this trip. The date of the trip, 7/16/07, was exactly 16 years to the date of when we moved from CT after the divorce, getting on that plane at Bradley International in Windsor Locks, end destination: LAX…..and exactly twice a lifetime later, since I was now 32. And where I’d be checking back into the same exact motel that my “family” stayed in together the last time any of us were ever in the same room together. O.o

It was so mathematically perfect that it screamed of ritualism.

Needless to say, I canceled my trip on Monday.

Though by two weeks later, at the end of the month, the urge to take this trip was still so strong that I caved in and decided to go after all. It was still the same motel, in the same month, twice a lifetime later….but at least it wasn’t the exact same day, like originally planned. O.o

Because of the “Demonic Ewok” I made sure to do MASSIVE protective intents for myself, envisioning angels and such surrounding me and my car for safe passage all the way up there and back, since I’d be going it alone, and racing along on busy interstates surrounded by tens of thousands of other cars. Two in the front, and two in the back. Meanwhile Tom would remain back in Cville.

The trip itself went off without a hitch, completely safe and protected as I drove through Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York City and up through Connecticut, and with the absolute most perfect beautiful weather imaginable. So it was extremely pleasant. I really did feel like I had angels actually surrounding my car, not like it was just something I was imagining, or wishful thinking.

But then….some weird things started happening in the middle of all that innocuous summer beauty that brings a COMPLETELY unexpected and bizarre layer to it all.

(On a funny, random, but still kind of weird side note worth mentioning is how on my way there I thought back to how there was nothing to do and no good places to eat in this town. They didn’t get a McDonald’s until 1990, just before we moved. To say it’s a sleepy, semi-rural farming town [though situated right off the very busy 395] is putting it mildly. As I drove I thought to myself, “There BETTER be a Wendy’s there now!!” And as I exited the 395, onto Lathrop Road, there it was. A Wendy’s that hadn’t been there before, directly across from the motel. The only other fast food restaurant to ever open there since that one damn McDonald’s in 1990. Makes me wonder…. would it have still existed in this timeline had I not had that thought? dun dunn DUUUUNNNN. O.o )

The day after arriving was my big day to tour the entire region where we’d lived, just exploring and seeing everything after being away for many years. But most importantly….. to see it/experience it through my adult self, in a positive way. Overwriting powerless, childhood experiences, and rewriting the subconscious, which was the entire point of this trip.

Surprisingly I still had the entire region completely mapped out/photographically memorized in my mind. Granted, I’d visited once back in December of ’94, and then once again in June of ’95, which was the last time. (The Wendy’s was not there then either! ;D ) But still, I’d been away for two decades basically, with only two visits in all that time, and an insane level of life experiences in four other states in the middle of it. And factoring in how when I did actually live there I never drove my own self around. I was always driven by others, since I didn’t have a license or a car. But yet I had it all photographically memorized, and like I’d never left. That was wild to me.

So as I was driving down Route 12, entering into the town of Jewett City, I realized that one of the buildings on my right – a long, two storied deal made of grayish colored stone?/brick? with the rows of windows – was in fact the scene of a “dream” (memory flash?) I’d had within the past couple of years. I couldn’t remember exactly when I’d had the dream, but it was vivid enough for me to remember it as I drove past, which indicates that it was relatively recently, anyway. The “dream” had taken place in the Fall time though, with the colored leaves, mainly yellow.

Back when I had the “dream” in Virginia I didn’t recognize or know the building itself, though I recognized/somehow “knew” I was on Route 12…..as it often goes in either dreams, or actual memory flashes. You just know. And guess what…..it turns out I was right. O.o It was Route 12. However I’d just assumed the building itself was made up by my subconscious. But no. It was in fact real, as I was now realizing. So it was a stunning moment when I recognized the scene as being a “dream” I’d had in the past couple of years, only, during a different season. There were even trees in front of this building that theoretically could match up to the trees I saw in my “dream”/memory.

But why I would have dreamt about that building?? I wondered. We only rarely passed through Jewett City as there wasn’t much there to go to at the time.

I would later learn after getting back to Virginia and doing research that this building is (now was) a Catholic school, across from the corresponding Catholic church.

While in Jewett City I’d decided to park my car and walk around its “downtown” just for kicks. Why did I do that? We didn’t live in Jewett City, and the place held no meaningful memories for me. (barely any memories at all, actually.) So why I would have decided to full on park my car and get out and walk around is weird…. but I felt compelled to. And as I was walking on the sidewalk a church across the street started chiming at noon. Playing the Wizard of Oz’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” of all songs. The one and only time I’ve ever heard that song played on church bells. And the song was chiming right as I was standing in front of a (now closed) real estate agency called “Monarch Realty.” (as in royalty, not the butterfly, with a crown in the logo.) O.o

I looked back and forth between the word “Monarch” and the church directly across the street chiming “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” at the same time, feeling surreal and creeped out, despite the hot and sunny summer morning, only because I recognized both as PROMINENT MK Ultra symbolisms/triggers/systems, written about in multiple sources. (Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler, Cathy O’Brien, etc.) Hello, Monarch (butterfly in this case) Mind Control Programming, going Over the Rainbow. (Both programmings are sexual in nature.)

After realizing the gray stone building from my “dream” was really real, followed by the Monarch/Somewhere Over the Rainbow thing right after, on top of the strange compulsion to even park and get out of my car in the first place means I became so creeped out that I decided to GTFO, ASAP. I don’t know what TF is happening here, but I’m going straight back to my car. !! O.o

Later I decided to go drive around another neighboring town called Moosup, which we also only went to here and there when I was a kid, as there wasn’t anything there worth going to. (The only memorable thing for me from Moosup was the Aldrich Public Library, in a neat looking 1800s house, which still exists to this day. When I was younger, even grade school level, I LOVED historical/old/vintage stuff, so that place stuck out for me.)

By strange compulsion I picked a street we never actually went down the few times we did go there….and that’s when I saw a distinct/unusual brownish red colored (Catholic, as I would later realize) church situated on a small green grassy hill…..that once again, I recognized as the scene of yet ANOTHER vivid “dream” that I’d had within the past couple of years. In the “dream” the church had been next to a school that was situated to the right……….which it actually is in real life too, as I was now seeing. O.o So once again the “dream” was accurate. And in the “dream” I was walking up steep-ish steps heading inside, with other kids/adolescents around me, and the school to the right. And as I saw now in real life, there were indeed steep-ish stone/concrete steps leading up into the front of the church. So it was another stunning, shocking moment recognizing a real life scene I was in as being from a dream. I just sat there in my car looking at this church going “WTF?!?!?!” to myself.

Then there was a third one. Came across another church in the area, in Central Village, that triggered a memory of another dream I’d had within the past couple of years. The “dream” had involved a typical white church, smaller in size, with the steeple, in what I’d recognized upon waking as being Connecticut, despite not living there for many years. Once again, you just know. And same as the church in my “dream,” the real life church was situated near a main intersection. Though in my “dream” it had been night, in the winter, and it had been snowing, or about to snow. In the “dream” I had been standing in the parking lot, looking upwards at the orange colored streetlights reflecting off the low lying snow clouds. Just a “moment in time,” most likely before going in inside. Doesn’t really sound like a dream to me though. More like an actual memory. :/

In the second Moosup “dream” I was definitely heading inside. In the third it seems I was about to head inside. So that’s another pattern worth noting. “Heading inside/about to head inside” ….and that’s where things always end. Nothing beyond that.

In the first dream, for me to be about to “head inside” it wouldn’t align, since there was no main entrance to the school facing Route 12. However…..there was a Rectory directly to the left of the old Catholic School, as I saw on Street View when researching. And if – theoretically – I were heading inside the Rectory, glancing to my right, then the trees in front of the Catholic school building that I saw in my “dream,” which were mainly yellow in color, would in fact align from that specific view point.

And there was also a fourth, but non church, related “dream memory.” O.o I’d had a couple of dreams during the same time period as the church “dreams” that took place at what I thought was an apartment complex (but which is actually a condo complex I now realize, no difference really). In those “dreams” I was standing in a doorway, at night, about to go inside. But that’s where it always ends. Same as the church “dreams.”

I had that particular “dream” a couple of times actually……but only remembered them when driving to my old middle and junior high schools, which were connected together. When heading down the downhill driveway, back to Route 14-A, I saw the apartment/condo complex from my “dreams” across the street. And realized….holy shit!!!…..as several “dream memories” that took place there from recent times resurfaced.

Some may say, Okay, well, the apartments/condos were across from your school, you “saw” them all the time from 4th – 8th grades, so that explains why they could have been in your dreams……. Except again A) these “dreams” were happening at least 15 years since I’d gone to those schools, and had since lived in four other states with endless other life experiences and adventures, and B) They were happening at night. I never saw that complex at night in my everyday, “real” world while “bussing to and from school,” and C) I was seeing them from the vantage point of being IN the complex, standing in a doorway of one of the units…….about to go in. So the logical explanation doesn’t fit.

So it was shocking to find yet another “recent dreamtime place” that I recognized during my 2007 visit.

Growing up we didn’t go to church, and Joe and I weren’t given any real religious education. Not until I was 15/9th grade, during the divorce, did my “mom” suddenly start making me and Joe go with her to our local (Catholic) church there in town. Oddly enough though that church was never one of the regional churches I mysteriously dreamt about years later as an adult. (That whole crazy time period during my parents’ two year, drawn out divorce from hell that lasted for all of 9th and 10th grades, then extending into 11th/12th in California post-divorce, was one of the most bizarre and abusive time periods of my life. It’s when my “mom” lost whatever was left of her mind and made me her nonstop abuse target with never ending rage, hatred and jealousy, vicious verbal abuse and minor physical. I’ve talked in other articles, and in one interview, about her severe Borderline Personality Disorder, with the hefty dose of Narcissism. But as noted in the “Hidden Puppetmasters” article, just linked, there was also a demonic manipulation component happening as well with her.)

So….why was I now having dreams many years later, 3,000 miles away, of Catholic churches/schools, and a possible third church, and then a condo complex, in the region where we used to live in Connecticut during my childhood, but which we never actually went to, nor paid any attention to, back when we did live in that area?

I have no idea what the implications of this are, only that this isn’t normal and can’t just be swept under the rug. What am I saying here, that I was brought to these places? (for some nefarious purpose?) And it resurfaced in my mind, all those years later? After all, the Catholic church in particular is frequently implicated in scandals, with ties to mind control activities.

It threw me for a loop because I’ve never had any other dreams or memory fragments about these churches/schools. But I do know that my life got REALLY strange during the divorce time period, and that my family was weird in general, and obviously “stuff” has been in my life since childhood. But I never considered that it was THAT kind of “stuff.” I always assumed it was hyperdimensional/”aliens” as well as MILABs (and it is, based on all the evidence and memories) somehow tying into my dad’s time working for military intelligence, reporting to the NSA. But not like, being brought to churches or something where shit is done to kids/teens.

Now, I make mention in the Appendix section of “Chasing Phantoms,” that by the time I was 15 or so, during 9th and 10th grades, I had retreated into a zombified, tranced out stupor, complete with black out periods, and with a lot of weird psychological issues in general, tying into the above mentioned worst, and most abusive time period of my life, which was triggered by my parent’s divorce.

But what if it wasn’t triggered by the divorce? Because let’s face it, Joe had even jokingly asked me when he was 6 and I was 13 “….if Mom and Dad got divorced who would you want to live with?” Even he knew at 6, back in 1987, that they were headed for splitsville, despite the fact they didn’t have fights in front of us. It was obvious they weren’t happy. Just matter-of-fact facts, so when they finally did decide to split it’s not like it was any big shock. Please. If anything it’s Good, now you guys can move on with your lives and finally be HAPPY maybe. There was absolutely no reason whatsoever to be sad about this situation. Especially since from the moment the divorce was announced our “mom” knew she was going to move us to southern California/Midway City, Orange County, where our grandmother, her brother and his wife all lived (who were all originally from Brooklyn). So I just latched onto the whole “we’re moving to California!!!” like nobody’s business. That’s all I cared about. Get me the fuck out of this place.

In addition, despite whatever negativity I’d gone through in life I was still quite clear, alert, alive and normal right up through the end of 8th grade. But once the – not surprising in the least – divorce kicked in during the first month of 9th grade, but also “coincidentally” once my mom started bringing us to church at the same exact time, I completely tanked. That’s when I suddenly sunk into numbed depression, where I could just stare at the wall for hours and hours, became – LITERALLY – tranced out. Which later morphed into mild dissociative states by Fall/Winter of 10th grade. Then full dissociative blackouts by 11th grade, and all the while being obsessed with suicidal ideation.

I lost something in myself during those years, and it completely set the stage for the entire rest of my life. A general apathetic indifference to life/living. I now saw it all as a complete and total joke, and spent many years subconsciously – and not so subconsciously – trying to actually get myself directly killed, or get my body to die young, so I could GTFO of here. Taking in my cat Kitty as a stray, starving/skin and bones kitten in 2000 helped stave that off though, as I decided to rein myself in for her sake, since she was completely reliant on me. I will always remember that “moment of commitment,” I guess you could call it, when I sat there on the floor or me and Joe’s apartment, in the living room/dining area, stray kitten Kitty in my lap, as I thought ahead to the fact that she could live up to 20 years……and whether I was up to that. Was I willing to give myself up for her, for up to 20 years potentially? She will most likely also die before me. So I’ll also have to deal with that. Was I willing to go through that? Of becoming insanely attached to her, only to lose her? I looked down at her in my lap.

We obviously know what the answer was. It only ended up being 12 1/2 years, vs. 20, and traversing four states, after a 4,500 mile cross country roadtrip from Portland, Oregon, to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and I’ve never regretted it. She was with me through it all.

But the first time I became aware of the mild dissociative states was Fall/Winter of 10th grade, 1990-1991, as just mentioned. I was jolted from a trance state by my “mom,” as I’d gotten up from the dinner table in a zombified/autopilot state and headed to the spice cabinet, apparently looking for the cayenne pepper. After getting back to the table she cut into my trance state by coldly pointing out, “You’ve been putting cayenne pepper all over your food lately.”

I “awoke”/”came to” seeing myself holding the jar of red pepper over my food that under any normal circumstances shouldn’t have red pepper added to it, and then looking up and around at my “parents” and Joe (who was just turning 10) at the table who were all looking at me. (Despite the fact they were going through the divorce they were forced to live under the same roof for the entire two years that the divorce dragged out, as mentioned. Which is why all of us were eating together. We didn’t usually though anymore by that point, but were on that particular day.) Suddenly “remembered” retroactively how I’d been putting cayenne pepper on everything I ate, for who knows how long. Also immediately realized it had been an unconscious attempt to jolt myself “awake,” make me finally FEEL something, shock me back to consciousness. Because I wasn’t feeling anything anymore.

But apparently even cayenne pepper wasn’t working either, as that had now become another mindless autopilot task that wasn’t registering. So a “solution” that had originally worked, and which my subconscious grappled at to jolt me awake out of a perpetual trance state, was also just getting tuned out.

Any normal mom would have been concerned though over their kid putting cayenne pepper all over their food in a depressed, zombified looking trance state. Not my “mom” though. Just coldly pointed it out, but never questioned it, nor felt the slightest bit of maternal instinct concern. She had NONE of that. We had zero bond or connection dating back to when I was a baby. She never bonded with either Joe or I, don’t have any memories of being held or hugged by her. We may as well have been somebody else’s strange kids that she was being forced to babysit. It eventually got to the point where she wouldn’t even refer to Joe by his name. O.o Only referred to him as “your brother” with slight disdain/blame, like he was my deal, and my fault and problem when talking to me about him. Eventually, when he was 12, she stopped doing most anything for him and tried to pretend he just didn’t exist. I stepped in to fill in the cracks, with clothes, food, help with homework and general care where needed.

Same deal with my “dad” though. Zero concern, warmth, empathy or love once I hit a certain age and was no longer a small “cute” child that could be totally controlled. Mentally checked out. Somebody else’s kids that he’d been forced to deal with, whom he’d side eye with cold disdain. (The side eye was coupled with the upward head/nose tilt, so looking down/sideways at you with the tight, slightly pursed lips and general coldness. Exactly like a reptile.)

By 11th grade in Mission Viejo, SoCal I was experiencing full on missing time where entire days, and at one point, a whole week, were blacked out. Gone. Zero recollection of ANYTHING. I was apparently going to school, and my job, like a good little programmed zombie on autopilot, but completely blacked out on any of it.

The one thing I wasn’t doing though during my dissociative states was eating. So I fell to 97 pounds during that time, at just under 5’3”, looking gaunt and skeletal.

There was a morning when I was getting dressed for school in the Fall of 11th grade (where I was getting dressed with head to toe black, but completely unconsciously, not planned, not “trying to be Goth” or something) and finally “came to,”/waking up from a trance state. Finally SAW my reflection in my dresser mirror, and how skeletal/gaunt I was. Was immediately alarmed. Which led to trying to remember when I’d last eaten. [ synch – The word “remember” from Billy Joel’s “You May Be Right” on my Classic Rock playlist that I had loaded up lined up exactly when I was rereading this/editing] which led to realizing that I couldn’t even remember the day before…………….which led to realizing that this lack of memory extended to the entire past week. I had no recollection of ANYTHING for many days. Couldn’t account for any of it. School, homework, my job, interaction with my couple of friends and my boyfriend…….eating…….none of it. Gone. [On another funny note, the chorus of that Billy Joel song is “You may be right, I may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic you’re looking for / turn out the lights, don’t try to save me / you may be wrong for all I know, you may be right…” Kind of fitting I guess as I try to make sense of this sordid tale….]

And no, there was no mention of my scary weight loss from my “mom,” zero concern over my gaunt appearance. That was par for the course by that point in life.

So even though I question how I could theoretically have “STUFF” happening to me that’s completely blacked out to THAT level, I can actually understand how….when thinking back on 10th and 11th grade, and the way I was apparently still going to school and work in a disassociated state, but with some other part of my mind “taking over” and doing the bare minimum. Yet with zero recollection of any of it. Just….gone.

But that’s why I always say real life isn’t quite like Hollywood portrays it. At least in my case. Hollywood makes movies like M. Night Shayamalan’s “Split,” which is an awesome movie, no doubt. But real life is a lot more subtle. I wasn’t answering to another name, wasn’t operating in some completely different persona, with a different age, gender and name. Whatever “took over” for me when I “skipped out” did the bare minimum of what it needed to do, and it still responded to Carissa. It recognized that school, and the job for money, were absolute priorities, bare minimum. So nobody around me knew the difference. Never heard a peep from anybody at school, my job, my friends or boyfriend in 11th grade that something was amiss in terms of “consistency.” Even though I myself had zero memory of anything, it held the body, like a placeholder. Yet somehow forgot to eat, as it always does, as I’ve learned. Eating is not the “Placeholder’s” priority. Food was ALWAYS the first thing to be shoved aside, for me, during extremely stressful times when the “placeholder” took over and the rest of me checks out. (It’s been many years since I’ve experienced this phenomenon, btw.)

And that’s reality, versus Hollywood. Though I have actually experienced alternate “personas,” as mentioned in “Chasing Phantoms,” that while also not responding to alternate names did in fact have different personality traits. Making it something that I haven’t read about elsewhere, other than what seems to be Gunther Russbacher’s “Mind Control in Amerika – 5 Easy Steps to Create a Manchurian Candidate,” also mentioned in CP and on my website. We always typically hear of all or nothing, black/white scenarios. Either you’re fully blacking out with full on alternate personalities that take over, responding to different names, ages and genders, and with their own personality traits. Really dramatic! and Hollywood!! Or nothing is happening at all, and your mind is completely healthy and whole and functional!

But I’ve been in the middle – with these “persona overlays,” for lack of a better way of putting it, that do seem to have their own personality traits…..but which always still respond to “Carissa.” And again, the only source of which I’ve come across that describes this being Gunther’s. My brother Joe also experienced this, but even more so, since he did actually start responding to other names along with his black out periods, also detailed in “CP” in the section that talks about Gunther Russbacher. We were both “split,” but Joe even more so.

What’s interesting in my case, versus other people who describe having MK’d alters, is that my core personality/ego is just SO intense (something that was once noted by a very talented intuitive – it was the first thing she picked up when she tuned into me, the intensely strong ego core that wasn’t like other people she’d tuned into she said) that it seems, in my opinion, that it won’t allow for any of these other personalities to have their own names, and be able to take over to THAT level. The “NEED FOR CONTROL” is INTENSE. It’s always “CARISSA.” Period. Even when my “mom” asked me around the age of 6/7 if she could nickname me Carrie I was immediately like “NO!” extremely adamant, annoyed and even offended. Inside I was thinking, I’m CARISSA. Period. THAT’S my name, and the ONLY name I will ever respond to!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Don’t ask me where that was coming from at only the age of 6/7. !!! (Once again……intensely strong ego core, and even at that young age. And maybe it was triggered by already existing MK programming that was going on under the radar, of which I had indications of, and which was trying to fragment the mind. So that was my six year old self’s effort to “hold on to ‘ME’. “NO! You can’t call me by another name or tell me I’m somebody else!! I’m ME!! I’m CARISSA!”)

The dominating alpha over the other sub personas that at best, are allowed to have their own traits based on what’s needed when taking over the body…but nothing else. “I’M ME!!! NOT YOU!!!!” And most of the time while NOT actually blacking out. They’re allowed to take over….while the main personality is still operating, responding to “Carissa.”

I’ve experienced this as well on a couple of occasions, creating a LITERAL split mind operating at the same exact time. The closest thing to describe it would be like a “split screen” on a TV show. It’s wild. In one instance one personality was bawling its eyes out hysterically while the other had no idea that was even happening. (Bawling hysterically to my bestie Mike, who was also one of my roommates, in December of ’95. I was 21, and my car had gotten destroyed in a nasty car accident earlier that afternoon on the 5 freeway, just south of L.A.   Car started out in the far left lane, and wound up three lanes over, in the far right lane after being knocked around like a freaking pinball from another idiot driver. Came to a rest almost completely backwards, tires popped, front end destroyed….directly underneath the exit sign for “Florence Avenue.” The name of my dead grandma. Emerged from my car in a daze, standing smack in the middle of the freeway in the middle of rush hour, gazing up at that sign in wonder. Until a nice Hispanic UPS guy still in his brown uniform on a motorcycle pulled over and led me to the side of the freeway by my arm, concerned, and a White woman in the passenger seat of a car said to me out her open window as they slowly passed by me, “Are you okay??!” as I just gazed back at her, not responding.

NOT my fault, accident ruled in my favor by the responding officer on the scene after examining the physical evidence, which corroborated my version of events of how I was hit, and sent careening into the guard rail, repeatedly, over and over between the rail and the car that was hitting me….then all over the entire freeway. I completely gave up trying to control any of it, squeezing my eyes shut in helpless 21 year old kid panic, listening to the horrible sound of crunching fiberglass, thinking over and over “please don’t let me kill any little kids….please don’t let me kill any little kids….please don’t let me kill any little kids….” just over and over. Until finally it was over, and my car was in the far right lane. Miraculously not hitting a single other car despite jam packed rush hour south of L.A.   A total impossibility. It was like there was a bubble of protection put around my car. Full insurance pay out, with an extra $100 on top of that. Not sure what that was for though. Mike was the one who came to pick me up from the Santa Fe Springs police department where the responding officer had brought me to wait for a ride. Mike let me know that the freeway was in full “Sigalert” by that point, according to the radio, due to the accident creating a back up. And when talking to the responding police officer at the scene, dealing with the chick who hit me, being driven to the station, calling Mike, being driven home, and into the rest of my night, I was completely emotionally flat and numb, expressionless, speaking monotone. Detached, disconnected, yet paradoxically completely alert.)

But later that night, when hanging out with Mike, I had no idea I was even crying about the entire situation, because I was still “seeing through the eyes of the other personality.” Everything looked normal to me. We were just hanging out. So when I heard him go “oh no!!! Don’t cry!!” all concerned and suddenly looking alarmed, leaning in towards me with wide eyes, I thought to myself, completely puzzled, “What is he talking about??” Truly mystified. Seeing the room through normal, non-crying eyes, feeling fine. Then a few seconds later “I” merged in with?/fully switched over to? the other side of me that had apparently been losing its shit over the accident. “I” had no idea though until Mike told me. And now I was sobbing hysterically, just crying and crying and crying and crying, unable to stop. “I” would have kept operating in some false reality that thought we were just hanging out, talking, totally chill, having no idea that I was actually bawling my eyes out. THAT’S disturbing. O.o If I was able to do that then, for a short period of time………then what’s the limit??? How long would I be able to operate in a delusional state, “seeing” a false view of myself navigating through a world that’s not actually happening if I’m not being interrupted and jolted back to the true reality?!?

That’s what I mean by the weird “split screen” phenomenon and how intense the ego core is, and how it’s refused to fully relinquish control. And the part of me that devised the cayenne pepper solution is also the same ego core part of me that still had that fight, still trying, trying, trying to gain the upperhand on whatever was trying to defeat me into oblivion.

Related to this, I’ve also seen how in abductions when I’m drugged/tranced up and They’ve been trying to get me to do ick things, I’m fighting back. Despite the drugging/hypnotic trance. My core ego self is still fighting/pushing through with everything it has, and saying “NO!….NO!……” A fighter of epic proportions. (which also explains the banged up marks I’ve gotten on my body out of nowhere. Go to bed fine, wake up with fight marks. Or get fight marks in the middle of the day out of nowhere. Scuffed up knuckles, scratches, including large, freshly formed and barely coagulated scratches, bruises, raw fingernail gouges, the pics of which are included in the attached link; waking up with a severely messed up back when I went to bed just fine, and which lasted for several weeks, you name it.)

Which means for a full blackout to happen, where I’m walking around in a zombified stupor with no recollection of any of it later on, something truly next level needs to be going on.

Even in my journals from 12th grade I referenced blacking out, with regards to my mom’s behavior. Wrote one time about how, as usual, after one of her extremely abusive tirade rampages where she was saying the most horrific things that no mother should ever say, and for no reason, that’s the most important part – these rampages would just happen out of nowhere, for no discernable reason – I just “blacked it out,” as I noted. So within ten minutes of it happening my mind had already “deleted” whatever she’d said. So I knew something REALLY bad had happened, we’d had yet another fight, but my mind had no recollection/knowledge of any of what she actually said, as I wrote in my journal, feeling far away and numb. So when I think of the things that I do remember – as bad and completely next level as they are – I have to realize that it’s still not as bad as the shit that I was instantaneously deleting. Can only imagine what those things were.

So there’s an established history of me doing this “black out” and immediate erasing of horrific stuff thing for anything that was “too much to handle.” I’m VERY good at this, apparently. Mentioned another instance of doing this in Part II of “Chasing Phantoms” as well. Something very horrific was said by “Them”….and I IMMEDIATELY deleted it, because it was just that bad. I remember the first thing they’d said, which was still next level as far as most people would be concerned, but apparently not as bad as what came after. O.o The second thing they said, whatever it was, shocked me into full mental meltdown. Instant delete.

As it was, around the same time the church “dreams” started happening (memories resurfacing?) around 32, 33, I started also spontaneously remembering very inappropriate sexual related stuff that my dad had said to me when I was 15/16. All of it suddenly started appearing in my mind around the same time period. It’s weird. On the one hand it could be false memories/programming being remotely instilled in me. But I later did pendulum dowsings (about the churches thing), then tarot readings on it all, which said otherwise, and which I’ll be getting back into. It’s been said in the world of MK research that once a person hits 30 and beyond the memories start to surface for whatever reason. That’s apparently the basis for the whole “getting thrown from the Freedom Train” ritual sacrifice thing at the age of 30. Get rid of the MK’d slave before they start to remember things. So maybe it makes sense why I started remembering weird, suppressed things during this time, post-30. I was still alive.

But when those memories of my dad resurfaced around 2007, my face immediately got hot with embarrassment/shame, as if it was my fault that he was saying those weird things to me. I remember the full context of where we were and why he was saying what he said, which indicates they’re real memories and not fabrications. But I buried them for years. They’re also completely him, based on the rest of his personality. They’re exactly the types of things he would say. Very realistic. It’s also in line with bizarre things he liked to tell me about when I was little as well. Just zero social and emotional intelligence on his part, zero knowledge of how you’re supposed to raise kids, but especially little girls. You don’t tell little girls all about how Catherine the Great, who was one of the rulers of Russia, apparently liked to fuck horses, and how she would have them brought into her bedroom and hoisted with ropes and pullies over her bed so she could get down. You also don’t tell little girls in great detail all about the doings of Vlad the Impaler, who liked to kill and eat people and drink up their blood. I was probably about 9? 10? when I learned about Catherine the Great, and about 6 when he decided out of nowhere that I NEEDED to learn all about Vlad, because that one happened when we were still living in Massachusetts, and we left Mass when I was 7. Literally wrote out this two page or so explanation thing about Vlad, and his history, and everything he did, on yellow notebook paper and made me read it. O.o That’s how I know I was bare minimum at least 6, since that’s when I learned to read. It only took me about two weeks to learn how to read (via Phonics) and once I did I took off on an insane reading obsession, reading everything I could get my hands on, voraciously. So by the time I was 7/First grade I was at a level that was already several grades ahead. Which is why I could fully read and process his weird, handwritten nonsense. But I can still see it in my mind, standing there in the kitchen in Westfield, the sun coming through the windows, and his handwriting, on the yellow pages, just the whole deal. He loved to tell me about things that he knew would scare me/freak me out as a little kid, and just sit back with a smile, enjoying the fear. Another time, when I was about 5-6, he decided out of nowhere that I needed to know that Guess what, someday the Sun is going to go Nova. And explained what that meant, and what it would do to Earth. I remember my 5-6 innocent little kid self panicking at everything he was telling me and asking, “Can we dig down into the ground to hide???!” [from the sun expanding and engulfing the entire Earth.] Nope! he gleefully told me, reveling in the worry/panic this scenario caused me. And just leaving me sitting there on my bed, wide eyed, realizing “There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.” :/

As far as anything I’ve remembered, and determined via pendulum dowsing later on, he never actually touched me. But he said some things that to this day, at 47 years old, I’ve never repeated outloud to anybody, feeling embarrassed/shameful and like it’s somehow my fault. Even though I was just a teen. It’s because of this that I fully understand when abuse victims say they feel shameful, and like it’s their fault. I get it, completely, and I wasn’t even a FULL ON sexual abuse victim. But I definitely still get it.

I decided to do a pendulum dowsing on the church thing though after returning back to Virginia, to try to get to the bottom of things.

Pendulum dowsing for those who may not know involves using a pendulum, usually constructed out of a semi-precious stone and/or actual quartz-based crystal that hangs from a chain, while asking questions. You establish what direction “YES” “NO” and “MAYBE” will swing in (vertical up and down, side to side back and forth, and/or clockwise/counter clockwise circles) and then proceed to ask the questions. Ideally your subconscious takes over, and makes the pendulum swing in the correct correlating directions……and consistently. That’s the key. And ideally you should also FEEL “connected.” Because there have been times I’ve attempted pendulum dowsings where I wasn’t feeling truly connected. And then times where I was. You should ideally be able to feel the very obvious difference.

The pendulum I was using was purchased at the then-Quest Books in downtown Cville ~2006, a pretty pink Rose Quartz deal hanging from a silver chain, that I still have to this day. I once used it, along with a homemade pie chart numbered 0-9, to divine the winning Pick 3 Virginia Lotto numbers, winning $1,000. Tom was there when I divined the winning 3 numbers, where the pendulum kept giving me the same three numbers, in the same order, over, and over, and over, and over. And he was there when I purchased the tickets at the Shell gas station on Pantops (both “exact three,” and “any combination” just to cover all bases). And he was there when I suddenly burst out “OH MY GOD….!!!!” when looking at the Virginia Lottery results on their website for the 9 p.m. draw, and the way I started bouncing all over the entire living room, freaking out. But then it never worked again after that, because I became so freaked out when using it that it affected my ability to work with it. ;D (my hand was literally shaky, just so freaked out that IT HAD ACTUALLY WORKED!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!! O.o )

But the first question I asked the pendulum when dowsing the answers to the whole “Church Mystery” was, Was I actually really brought to these places??

YES. Got that several times during my line of question.

Was it during 9th and 10th grade?

YES. Got that several times.

Was my mom involved?

Maybe…. Got that several times. Maybe…. Maybe….. Maybe…..

If it’s not a full YES, but not a full NO either then it means the answer is something not so straightforward. Think…..keep digging. So, possibly she wasn’t in her right mind when she did so??….

YES. Got that several times.

Another possibility is that she would just drop me off and leave me to the wolves. And a “dream”/memory I have from age ~5, mentioned in “Chasing Phantoms,” where my mom was talking to the “White Coats” while I waited off to the side, in some facility, matches that idea. (Will return to that in a little bit.) So while not “participating” she was still “involved.”

Was my dad involved? Did he know about it?

NO. Got that several times. Interesting. But makes sense I guess. He didn’t have anything to do with church, and just worked all the time during those two drawn out years of the divorce from hell, trying to stay out of the house as much as possible.

So was it all through my mom?

YES.

The pendulum dowsing in this particular session was strong, clear and defined, and consistent in the answers. It isn’t always so, which is why I even entertain the possibility that what it was saying was correct. The pendulum moved in a strong defined way between the Yes, No and Maybe answers, always answering the same way to each question.

So that was the pendulum reading. Now regarding my mom: Flashback to 1996, when I was 21 and working as a front desk clerk at a hotel in Anaheim, California, right next to the main gates of Disneyland. (Which I’ve STILL never gone to once, to this day. I’ve always had an inexplicably intense distaste for the idea of Disneyland, and wanted NOTHING to do with it. [Possible tie-in holdovers with MK programming, which utilizes a LOT of Disney, and which I have evidence of in my own personal situation, from Peter Pan and Tinkerbell to the Disney cartoon version of Alice in Wonderland, and so on.] And even though ironically I had to know everything about the place for my job, which was selling Disney vacation packages as one of their hotel booking deals. So in 1996 if I was checking you in and handing you your custom vacation package with tickets, and brochures, etc., that you’d spent years saving up for so you could take your family to southern California on your “DREAM VACATION!!!” I could tell you everything you needed to know about Disneyland with relation to our hotel: “THE SCRIPT” that I repeated verbatim, over and over, hours a day, to most everybody I checked in. From Disneyland’s operating hours, to the parking, and/or the free shuttle, depending on your choice, to info about the then-Electric Light Parade, to the nightly fireworks show, to you name it. Yet, had never been there once myself, and DETESTED the idea. Weird burning hatred for even the word “Disney,” let alone “DISNEYLAND” that nobody around me understood.)

So I tried asking my VERY psychic Filipino boss Edwin, who was the Front Desk Supervisor and whom I was buddies with, about my so-called “mother” and what was going on in that situation, because it was just so next level bizarre. Edwin was 48, and I viewed him as kind of a substitute dad figure. (What I was thinking all at once, but not actually conveyed to him, was the way we never had a bond, even when I was a baby. The way her touch made me cringe/feel revolted, by the age of 6. The way I wished she was gone by the time I was 9, while also fantasizing at that age about being able to get away from her and be living on my own, in a “running away and hiding” scenario. The way I proclaimed to my friend Mary at age 10, on the swings on the playground in 5th grade, about how when I’m an adult I’m going to kick her out of my life and I will never see her again!!! She was this hideous thing I needed to escape from.)

Edwin didn’t know these details due to anything I’d already told him. But he didn’t have to. He’d already demonstrated several times over his beyond freaky deaky level “ALL KNOWING” psychic abilities that just got inside your head. And important to note, he normally never had any issues revealing (innocuous) tidbits about my life, including predictions and such. (He predicted Tom, confirming my own later independent vision about Tom coming into my life, down to the age/time period when it would happen; as well as accurately telling me that I would never get married, nor ever have kids. Which was already my plan. Even though I was great with kids, babysat for years and kids loved me [because I never forgot what it was to be a kid, and never forgot how they perceive the world, and what makes them happy and the things they think are fun] I didn’t want anything to do with any of it. In large part due to what I was witness to and subjected to growing up. But also because I knew “it wasn’t what I came here to do” / would interfere with my life mission…..though I never told Edwin that either.)

However in this instance Edwin just got this tense look on his face when I asked about my “mom,” and looked away, avoiding eye contact and instead focusing on his computer. He refused to even GO there, wouldn’t touch that subject with a ten foot pole.

Normally Edwin got a bit of a kick talking about psychic stuff and being able to reveal his abilities. (Only to me though. Out of all the employees at that job I was the one he bonded with/clicked with, which kind of mystified my coworkers who puzzled over our weird dynamic. With me only he openly talked about his psychic abilities and past life stuff, because he knew he could, because he knew I was different.)

But not this time. He totally shut down. I tried to press, but he just shook his head, continuing to focus on his computer, frowning. The tenseness is what got me. He’d never looked like that before with any other subject we’d talked about. Whatever was going on with her was so bad he wasn’t even going to go there. Not even a smidge.

There was another incident, when he and I were talking about past lives. He revealed that this life was supposed to have been a “clean slate” for me, his phrase, since I’d been beating myself up lifetime over lifetime for things I did long ago (details which were independently confirmed by another intuitive friend I had years later). And instead this life has been the absolute worst of all, in terms of what I’ve allowed to be done to me.

As he told me that his eyes filled with tears, seeing/feeling everything that had gone on – things I now realize that I didn’t consciously know at that time, due to a fragmented/compartmentalized mind. But he SAW. He knew, and it affected him intensely. He turned and ran off, embarrassed about starting to cry.

There was more he and I discussed about that supposed life, and all the supposed trickledown effects it’s had on every incarnation since then, where I’ve chosen shitty circumstances for myself to beat myself up forever and ever, never forgiving myself. In a way “counseling” me on it, which I’ve taken to heart all these years later. So those talks weren’t for nothing, and Edwin may be a large part of what helps me finally “break the pattern” on a soul level. (What’s funny is that when I was telling Tom about it he said the exact same thing, verbatim, that Edwin said…..but which I’d forgotten until he said it. But it was something to the effect of, How I’d blown that past life situation out of proportion. It wasn’t as bad as I’d made it out to be in my spirit self, so therefore the ongoing self punishment wasn’t necessary. When he said that my eyes got huge, because I remembered that Edwin had said the same exact thing, 20 years earlier.)

Another time I brought up to Edwin the way in which I REALLY feel like I should be able to move objects with my mind, and do all this other psychic stuff. But I can’t!! And it’s maddening!!!!! He frowned and immediately confirmed like a stern parent, with his slight accent, “YES! You DID used to be able to do that!! But you ABUSED it!!!!! So it was taken AWAY from you!!!!!!” In the same way Tom has “joked” that he could easily imagine me psychically throwing pyramid blocks at people’s heads who’d pissed me off back in the day. (Tom’s wry “jokes” are usually always based on real psychic intuition and/or straight up premonitions.)

Because yes, it apparently all traced back to Egypt, as confirmed by several people. Like the time I was in a Sav-On Drugs in the middle of the night in late 1994, and saw a calendar featuring photography of random, real life Egyptian temples and scenery. And one pic of one particular temple entrance, with its sandstone coloring, and its design, and piercing blue sky in the background, made me involuntarily < gasp! > outloud. My entire body jerked with the recognition, as I stood in the middle of that drugstore aisle “thousands of years later,” looking at this calendar of pictures in a spinning rack. I “recognized” what I was looking at. In the same way we will all IMMEDIATELY recognize pictures from this time period, should we see them in future lifetimes, thousands of years from now. Trust me, you will. Your soul will gasp with the gut punch recognition and emotional connection. Because this time period was your LIFE. You LIVED it. You were HERE.

Also explains why I walked out of the movie “Stargate” in the theater in 1994, because I was so pissed that it didn’t accurately represent the “ancient” Egypt I “knew”/“remembered.”   “That’s NOT how it was!!!!!!!” >:( There weren’t fucking….SPACESHIPS flying around, bombing shit, and doing whatever TF that movie showed. ;D At least, not during the brief, ~25 year lifespan window that I experienced during the Hyksos time period. (Edwin wouldn’t directly tell me when I lived, but gave me clues to research, which I did…sitting on the floor of Barnes and Noble that very night, pouring over ancient Egyptian history books. Until I came back to work the next day proudly determining it was the Hyksos dynasty. Which he wouldn’t deny, smiling in a quietly pleased way. And trust me, if you guessed something wrong he wouldn’t hesitate to let you know. ;D )

Me and Edwin were a riot together though, that’s all I can say. ;D But whatever’s gone on with my “mom” it was obviously something to a WHOLE other, extremely nefarious level that Edwin wasn’t prepared to discuss, and he didn’t even want to GO there.

*****

Factoring everything together:

  • “Dream” when I was 5 (more like vivid memory; it was abnormal for me to have “dreams” like this at this age – this was the only one of its kind ), where I was in a facility, standing around waiting for the adults to lead me where to go next. This was mentioned earlier in this piece, as well as in Part II of “Chasing Phantoms.” I look over to my right and see a Caucasian guy in white coat (the “White Coats” as I call them)……talking to my mother. My dad’s not there. But whatever this is, she’s clearly involved in it/voluntarily working with Them. More details of this memory are in “CP.” This was the same exact time period, ~5, when I awoke in bed one morning and felt something funny going on “down there.” (Also discussed in “CP.”) And upon investigating I found some dried amber colored crusty stuff on me. NOT normal for any little girl. Mystified, I picked it all off, but did report it to my “mom” later. My ~5 year old self wasn’t sophisticated enough to realize that I should have left it all on there before telling her, so she could see it for herself, as proof.

When I was later discussing this incident with Joe in Portland, OR in early 2002, when he was 21, he immediately recognized what I was talking about, and said it was dried iodine. Then proceeded to discuss how he knew this and what he remembered seeing of the procedure. (Also discussed in depth in “CP,” which is available as a free downloadable PDF, so, not trying to make a buck or something.) He said it had to do with being implanted, something he claimed to have witnessed Them do to females, and where they do it internally, to hide it. The iodine would have been used as a disinfectant in the procedure, and again, the details of which he provided.

During the same time period when Joe explained what had gone on to me with the implant/iodine he created a signal detection devise using an old style rotary phone. The phone base was what could detect the actual signals, due to the magnetics and electronics that he repurposed, and the receiver is where you could hear any signals being generated. [in the write up on my site called “The Vortex” I talk about Joe’s inexplicable and genius level knowledge of all things electronics and radios after I got him back in my life in 2000; he never studied the subjects a day in his life, just “knew” everything there was to know about it all, like it had all just been downloaded into his head, which I discuss in much more detail in the Vortex write up.]

I later ran the details by Tom, who’d majored in physics and electrical engineering at university, and he confirmed that Yeah actually, that’s legit what Joe did with the phone, it could actually be converted into a signal detection devise. And meanwhile when Joe moved the phone base over my entire body from head to toe the only place that generated a signal was when Joe hovered the phone base over my uterus area. I was fully expecting up by the head/ears, but……nothing. Only in front of the uterus/reproductive organs, every time. O.o We both looked at each other like, whoa….wtf?! Wow! Probably also explains why I was so convinced as a kid and teen that “something was wrong with me” with regards to my reproductive system. I was just convinced I was damaged, broken, you name it in there, even though I was perfectly healthy. But I always felt something was really wrong in there. I think I was subconsciously remembering stuff poking around in there as a kid during abductions, and my innocent little kid mind who had no idea what was going on or why internalized it all in an alarmed way, thinking my female parts were all messed up and broken. Maybe they even told me lies about it all, who knows. But I carried that with me well into adulthood, just assuming that I’m all messed up in there, even though I actually wasn’t, and for zero logical reason.

Joe also explained the other strange things I remembered seeing in this same facility “dream” with the White Coats, things that were later corroborated by research papers online, which he would have had absolutely no way of knowing about. Joe didn’t hang around online, and certainly wasn’t reading scientific research papers in his free time. He was a professional MK’d criminal.

  • An incident when I was about 16, when we still lived in Connecticut. This is what I left out of Chasing Phantoms, but realize in retrospect that I shouldn’t have. Me and my “mom” were outside at the picnic table in our backyard during the late spring/early summer on a sunny warm late afternoon. Would have been ’91, just before we moved to SoCal. Normally I did everything possible to avoid having to interact with her because she was such an unpredictable/mood swingy, viciously abusive nightmare, so I have no idea anymore why we were together at the picnic table. Seems we had been eating out there, since it was the spring/summer and all. But she decided to broach something to me…… about how there was a guy (supposedly) from her past (whom she refused to name or provide ANY details about) who, because of “who he is” was always going to be watching us for the rest of our lives, and would always be able to find us, no matter where we lived.

It was a doozy of a revelation that made zero sense, so I naturally pressed for details. Who is this guy? How do you know him?? WHY is he going to be following us for the rest of our lives??! How is he able to find us??!! All to no avail. She just looked at me with her giant, cowardly, “deer caught in the headlights” look, refusing to say anything more, only just reiterating that he was out there, watching us and would be following us forever. Just decided to drop this bomb revelation teaser carrot……..then bail out. :/ Something that absolutely pisses me off. If you’ve got something to say then fucking say it, or GTFO, is my attitude. Don’t play around. So I never got anywhere with that revelation. But that was my “mom.” Scared, chickenshit, piece of shit coward bully. Too scared to say what needs to be said, too weak to stand on her own in life without a man, so weak she’ll do ANYTHING for a man – including male Thems – and abuser of kids in order to get her power back.

I decided to leave this out of Chasing Phantoms because back when I was originally writing the book I was still marginalizing my “mom’s” role in things. And there was zero answers and no follow up to speak of on this. So I just left it out. Now however I realize this is one of the most important pieces of information that has ever been given to me. I literally have one parent directly confirming, in a scared state, that there is “some guy” (maybe more) out there that is monitoring and following us…..for forever. And who’s in such a high up position in this reality that he can find us anywhere, anytime. It doesn’t get any more “holy shit”/direct confirmation than that, and it means that I’m NOT imagining what I think has gone on in my life. I’m NOT crazy or delusional.

  • “Dream” (also in “Chasing Phantoms”) about a black heli that overlapped a real life black heli incident that was starting to happen outside our apartment in Fort Lauderdale in 2003, when I was 29. But in the dream “They” showed up in their black heli, wanting to know where the “Three Way Radio” was that connected Me, Them, and my so-called “mom.” O.o Hello. So apparently the “radio connection” among all three of us was now broken/lost. (good….another indicator I was doing things right in life. By that point I was finally fully aware that there even WERE “Thems” in my reality, and actively at war with these things/Thems.) I woke up from the dream…only to discover an actual real life black heli harassment beginning to happen overhead. O.o So the “dream” wasn’t just a dream, it was a projection of what was really going on outside. And whatever was going on, It/They wanted to know where TF their Three Way Radio had gone.
  • A dream when I was in my 30s, though HIGHLY symbolic and meaningful, where I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my then-Mazda Protégé as my adult self…….but in our old cul-de-sac in Connecticut. OF course. It’s a gray, cloudy day. My “mom” is sitting in the passenger seat next to me. Then a “Them” black helicopter shows up overhead, intense and threatening/harassing, like a hornet. It’s “THERE FOR ME,” honing in. And like a weak coward my “mom” opens her door and quietly ducks out, “leaving me to Them.” !!!! O.o !!!!!!

The scene jumps to when it’s over…whatever “it” is. Now she’s back in the passenger seat. I frown at her, in my full adult state of mind, and lecture her with a finger wagging mentality that “When They show up you’re not supposed to leave!! You were supposed to protect me!!” That’s where the “dream” ends. (synch as I was typing that sentence – playing my Classic Rock playlist, as always, and “Hope your dreams come true” from “Goodbye Stranger” by Supertramp lined up.)

 

Think it’s pretty obvious what happened. Even if my conscious mind has blocked it all out. It’s something I didn’t realize back when I first wrote “Chasing Phantoms,” or when I did the first big edit in 2010. I’d started to realize it by the time I did the next big edit in 2013, but left it out because it was too much, and too confusing and ambiguous to get into. I wanted to keep the book’s focus on what I did know, even if mostly, and that which could directly help and empower anybody reading it……not on REALLY far fetched side tracking hearsay about mysterious church dreams and idiot “moms” who say weird shit then duck out of the responsibility of explaining themselves.

I’d always marginalized my “mother” because she was literally one of the stupidest, craziest, unstable and most unlikable “people” I’ve met in my entire life, hands down. So understandably it led to me dismissing “its” role in ANYTHING….even when it was right under my nose. So much so that I don’t even consider “it” a person. “It’s” just a bizarre, inhuman, Demon-in-a-Meatsuit, whatever TF that was. Which is still how I refer to it. But by this point I realize its role in things…..and it may have actually been more than my dad, who had the direct NSA connections. Edwin knew too, IMO. That’s why he had such a soft spot for me, and just latched onto me like nobody else who worked there, and even though he was actually slightly older than my dad. White Knight Syndrome, thinking he loved me, as he confessed the last time he ever saw me in life. My 22 year old self didn’t know how to process that bombshell that I wasn’t expecting. 22 year olds aren’t in love with 48 year olds.

I still think that whatever was going on, which I now realize CLEARLY involved “It,” aka my “mother,” was still something tied into my dad/the NSA/military intelligence shit. Because there was no accounting for how it could have been on Their radar otherwise, as far as I can tell. It was a total nobody, from a nothing family, and again, one of the stupidest “people” I’ve ever known, thanks to its heavy duty drug and alcohol use as a teen, which fried its brain. So I believe that it became on the radar due to being the spouse of my Dad. And then it cooperated with Them as an MK target Itself. And it knew it on some deep down level, which is what it was trying to tell me at the picnic table on that one summer afternoon with huge, deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes.

But the way I see it, If you’re cognizant enough to tell somebody about something that is supposedly monitoring and following them forever and forever and out to get them, then you’re able to say No, and step up and protect your damn kids. :/ You can’t have it both ways, where you play along, (synch – once again listening to my classic rock playlist as I was going back and re-reading this and editing, and the word “play” from the line “Pick up my guitar and play” from The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” lined up) but then give some random “moment of clarity” carrot teaser warning, then go back to playing along.

But it may have actually been more of the Key than my own Dad was. Because it seems that it gave permission to these things to do whatever they wanted to its own kids. And it watched on the sidelines. It was there. And my 5 year old self remembers. It, with the White Coats, in some strange facility, talking casually to Them. As I passively and trustingly waited for where They were going to take me next. At her full permission and cooperation.

But that’s why it will always be referred to as an it in my own mind. (And I mean that sincerely…..believe me when I say that when I think about “her” in my mind I always call “her” it. O.o I truly on a deep down level don’t think of it as a person due to a lifetime of what I witnessed and experienced of it doing to me and Joe. I now liken it to a spider. So I “joke” that I was raised by a reptile (our “dad”) and a fucking spider.) It isn’t even a person and doesn’t deserve the designation of a being called such. My six year old self was repulsed by its touch, and by nine I was desperately fantasizing about permanently getting away from it. And when Joe was 10 he told me in the kitchen in Connecticut, “I consider you to be my mom, not mom.” So even he knew as a kid. His child self didn’t even consider it his mother. It wasn’t human. Even Edwin wouldn’t touch the subject of it with a ten foot pole. So…..there you go.

*****

Recently I did a tarot card reading of sorts asking about “It,” specifically asking what Its role was/who It was to me in this life…..something I’ve never actually asked before. Surprisingly enough. Figured it was obvious what It was. But then I realized…….Well, let’s see what the tarot has to say. The tarot always works for me in an uncanny, freaky deaky way.

The very first card I turned over after shuffling and cutting was the Devil. Hand to God, no lie.

I rarely if almost never get the Devil card in readings, so it’s very much NOT normal. Traditional tarot interpretations like to say the Devil has to do with ego and vices and the bonds of physicality, etc. etc. blah blah blah. But guess what? Sometimes it just straight up represents “The Devil.” Demonic forces being around you, or at work in your life, or operating through people.

The next time I ever got the Devil card in a tarot reading? When I finally got around to asking about who/what my dad was. And along with the Magician and the Chariot cards was the Devil, and then a fourth card, something with Swords. But the Devil was the second card I turned over. The Magician was #1. I understand what the other two cards are about with relation to him and are so spot-on that it’s uncanny, especially considering all my dad’s psychic powers and abilities. That’s the Magician. He comes off as quiet and low key, but is actually a very powerful, scary dude when pissed off. And he’s a force to be reckoned with in life in general. He was the Big Boss Man at his jobs going back decades, and he’s the guy that Makes Shit Happen and Gets Shit Done, with momentum. That’s the Chariot. You don’t mess with him. In our other/original timeline where we never left New York, he went on to be a New York City police officer. So yeah, talk about power and somebody you don’t mess with. When I was a baby he passed the tests/requirements for the NYPD, on the heels of his four years in the military, but changed his mind last minute and we left New York altogether….inexplicably. New timeline, here we come.

In an interview I did in 2020 about neg entities and such I briefly touched on the way in which my dad was telling me years ago, in this innocently mystified way (he genuinely couldn’t put it together) about how anybody who’d ever tried to screw him over in life wound up dying shortly after doing so – prematurely, and very violently and bizarrely. He said he even sat down at the kitchen table and wrote out the list of people it was so long. Decapitations, shark attacks, fires, just crazy, abnormal, scary stuff that smacks of demonic activity. When you do the research into demons that’s their classic mode of operation. Vindictive deaths/attacks that go straight to the top shelf level of shocking violence.

So yes, it definitely seems he has some major demon attachments at work in his life, for that reason alone, but others as well that I’ve been witness to. (synch – My classic rock playlist was going, of course, and “Dream Police” by Cheap Trick was on, and the line “I try to sleep, they’re wide awake, they won’t let me alone…” lined up when I was re-reading and making edits; which is also a double synch that a song with the word “police” came on when I was adding/editing this bit about my dad being a cop in another timeline.)

That’s why when he started to indirectly invade my reality back in 2021 I prayed to everything high that I could, God, Jesus, Angels, total Mayday, intermittently all night long to keep the all around “realm breach” that was happening to me, of which included him of all things, out/away. The first time I ever did such a thing in life. And they responded, loud and clear by morning. Which shocked the hell out of me. I truly wasn’t expecting that, but I never gave up. All night long, any time I woke up I’d send the panicked Mayday, until falling back asleep again. And repeated that over, and over, and over for hours. And they showed up by morning, and calmed me down, and took up positions around me. So in the end it was all good. Not a peep of anything to do with him since.

But this reading confirmed what I’ve known for years about him – he’s got Demonic energy/forces operating through him, and especially in relation to me. (So much I’m not getting into here, about his verbal and psychological abuse. When he’d be in Demon mode he hated me with the passion of thousand suns, just full of inexplicable rage, like I’d done something to him when I haven’t, and would say very nasty, UGLY things to me that are completely out of place. Which is another reason I had to give him the permanent boot out of my reality.) But the last time I ever got the Devil in life was the Spring of 2012. Before I knew Kitty had cancer and kidney failure, and where I had to put her down in September. Kept getting the same three cards in my readings, over, and over and over, and over, and over, and over. The Devil, Death, and Three of Swords. (Three swords stabbing through a giant heart in the Rider Waite deck.) Had no idea what it meant at the time in May of 2012. But by June I did, once the fatal cancer diagnosis came through, via the vet.

It’s not normal for me to get the Devil, ever. So when I do………..take heed. And if the tarot’s #1 card choice that summarizes my “mom” and her role in my entire life is that card, and the #2 card to summarize my dad and his role to me in my life, well then………there you go.

Despite all that it was still a bit surprising (synch with my classic rock playlist, the line “It comes as no surprise” by Asia, from “Only Time Will Tell” lined up when re-reading and editing this) to get such blunt confirmation like that, not gonna lie. But also not really. I don’t remember specifically what the follow up cards were after that one in my “mom” reading, but it kind of doesn’t matter anyway I guess, after getting the Devil. !!! That’s straight to the top shelf, absolute worst card in the whole deck, so does it really matter what the other cards were?? I only remember that their meanings all had to do with “betrayal” and “shady shenanigans” basically. Hello. So again, very obvious. Just reinforcing the Devil card.

And that’s who my “mom” was, and how It could be summarized as, according to the Tarot.

I then started reflecting back on me and Joe and our childhoods. I started thinking about the pictures he was drawing at age 7/8 or so, showing people being stabbed to death with the knives, and the blood, and being put into graves, etc. We weren’t allowed to watch horror movies in our house, which is good actually, no complaints about that. But all of which means, there was no way to account for where all this imagery/ideas was coming from with him. And in case people don’t know – he was NOT an evil kid. Not at all. He was a genuinely good soul. Kind and sensitive. The guy who actually beat up the bullies, going back into grade school, defending the weak kids and underdogs. Always. Quiet, unobtrusive, holding back on the sidelines, keeping a protective eye out for anybody who needed protection, including animals, a few of which he’s rescued over the years. That was his instinct – protector. So this was not his own imaginings, coming from a place of just being some “bad seed.”

My parents had no knowledge of these pictures that he showed to me (I was 13/14 at the time). I saved a whole batch of drawings that he did during this time, including one depicting the whole death/murder/blood/corpses thing. Another involved a UFO, when again he also had no real exposure to anything involving that. And it was during the same time period I had a “dream” involving a UFO parked over our house in the middle of the night while I stood off to the side in our cul-de-sac, watching from a detached standpoint. So…interesting “coincidence” there. (synch – listening to my classic rock playlist while editing this, and “Achilles Last Stand” was on by Led Zeppelin, and the word “dream” [“Oh, to touch the dream”] lined up perfectly.)

As I held the tarot in my hands I reflected back on Joe’s drawing, realizing that for anybody who knows anything about such things his pictures are major MAJOR red flags of Satanic Ritual Abuse. It doesn’t mean for sure that the kids drawing them are victims of that……but it’s absolutely a red flag. Especially if the kids in question don’t watch horror movies. So if I was an investigator into potential SRA cases I would definitely hone in on any child drawing pictures of people being stabbed with knives, with blood drops, and graves/corpses. ESPECIALLY if I also knew that they didn’t watch horror movies.

My tentative theory up until this moment though had been that maybe a neg entity was feeding these images into his head, since he’d been experiencing all kinds of paranormal harassment since he was a toddler. Totally makes sense. So that’s what I was thinking it most likely was as I consulted the tarot, shuffling the cards.

I know for a fact something absolutely has happened to us/been done to us, even if it’s “only” MILABs, or whatever the “White Coats” were that I saw in my mind at age five. So I asked, What was it for Joe? What was he used for? Was he witness to, and/or even involved in, anything “ritual abuse” related, where stuff was being sacrificed?? O.o If the answer was Yes, and he was involved in that/witness to that in ANY way then I’ll get a card that reflects that. If not then I’ll get a benign card that’s nonsense. Because that’s how it’s always worked for me, and it’s what I intended as I shuffled.

Shuffled, then cut the deck three times. The card I turned over was Death. Again, hand to God, on everything Holy in my life.

O.o

I just sat there staring at the card, like, oooohhhhkaaayyy. holy shit. Wasn’t expecting that.

Then I shuffled again and asked about myself, and what I would have been used for, if anything. Something I’ve never actually consulted the tarot about. If I was never used by anything for any reason then I’ll just get a nonsense card. If I was, then I’ll get a card that reflects what it was.

Shuffled and cut the deck three times. The card I turned over was the Lovers. Again, swear to God and everything Holy on my life. O.o The naked image of the male and female. The closest card in the deck that can represent sex.

oooohhhhkaaayyy.

But just to be sure in this case, asking about what had been done to me, I reshuffled while asking the same question again. Cut the deck three times. Turned over the card. The Lovers, yet AGAIN. Hand to God.

I don’t know why I’m always surprised when the tarot works for me. It always has, since my literal first attempt at a self reading at only 15. Had never touched a tarot in my life, and yet it was like I’d been doing it my whole life when I did my first reading by myself. All I knew from the little book that came with the tarot deck, which belonged to my friend Mary (the same Mary mentioned earlier in this piece that I was friends with back in 5th grade/10 years old) was that you flip over 7 cards. That’s it. There was no direction beyond that, other than the booklet that comes with the deck explaining how to interpret each individual card. But not how an entire 7 card spread should be interpreted both individually, and as a whole.

Yet despite the lack of additional direction I could see straight away that the left two cards went together. I could see that the middle three were their own grouping; And then the far right ones also went together. It reads from left to right as well as far as I can tell when staring at it all before me. Based on “left to right” the left two tell a story of what’s been going on in the recent past. The middle three tell the story of what’s going on now, with its own sub-story within the story, as you read those three left to right, from what I could see. And the far right seems to be saying what the future outcome will be, with the last card being the ultimate final outcome. All of this I swear to God about as well.

Only to find out after the fact that this was 100% spot on. That is exactly how to read a 7 card spread, if everything’s working correctly and you have it. Which apparently I did, at only 15, first try, straight out the gate. As I figured out, it should read like a story, like you’re reading words, that together form a sentence. That’s the best way to describe it. I would later do readings for others and could always tell from the moment I was flipping the cards over whether the other person had really been thinking about the question, or were distracted. (They were often talking to others on the side while shuffling the deck, so…..not truly focusing. And the results reflected this.) It was either total gibberish, or the cards “went together”/flowed, completely coherent, telling a story like actual words and language that I could “read.” If it came out as gibberish I’d have them reshuffle, and encourage them to focus…..really think about your question……[i.e.….don’t talk to anybody else around us while shuffling!!!]…….then the redo would always be actual “words/sentences/language.”

But that’s the thing about the tarot for me. When it works, and I’m getting a valid reading, it REALLY works. Which means I will also keep getting the same card over and over, no matter how many times I shuffle, cut and redo, as already illustrated with the whole “Devil, Death and Three of Swords” bit mentioned earlier. Sometimes the card quite literally jumps out of the deck, flying out onto the floor if I try to ignore the results. And will do so multiple times. Flying out over, and over, and over. [The “flying out of the deck” thing has become an actual method of doing tarot readings because it’s happened to such an extent for me. I’ll rely on that first and foremost, before resorting to actual cutting the deck and turning over cards.] One time it was like five or six times (the upside down Tower – i.e., total impending calamity, but which I’m in denial about, which I was, too much of a story to get into here, and which was ultimately narrowly averted), no matter how much I reshuffled and cut. This was back in 1995, in SoCal. Kept turning the card over and getting THAT one. Out of desperation I even put the cards on the floor and spread them all around that way, mixing them up in my efforts to get different results. See….total denial. “NOOOOO!!!!!” Didn’t matter though. Put the cards back together……. cut……and got the upside down Tower YET AGAIN!!!!! (more Hand to God! All of these anecdotes are Hand to God on my life, I promise.) It’s just not statistically possible. And sure enough………..the upside down Tower happened later that night, with an upside down vengeance. O.o Almost all of my roommates arrested, including me, in the back of a cop car handcuffed, with our Miranda rights read to us. Until Divine intervention happened to get me out of the situation. Cop suddenly changing his mind in a weird, tranced out sounding state, uncuffing only me specifically, and letting me go, into the night. (synch – when going back and re-reading/editing – the song “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac lined up on my playlist: “Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night ….”)

But the tarot truly wasn’t kidding. When it tells me “HOW SHIT IS” it needs to be respected, I’ve learned. Since Day 1, age 15.

*****

While on my Connecticut trip in 2007 I decided to pay our old neighborhood/street/house a visit, again to make peace with everything. (synch: when typing that sentence the song “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas was playing on my playlist, and the line “…they’ll be peace when you are done” lined up. It’s not just the word alignment in itself that is the synch, but the entire meaning behind the line.)

I purposely visited in the morning, because I needed to reenact something to-the-letter, in order to get it to stop in my dreams. I needed to visit the corner bus stop, where I was terrorized five days a week by the older bullies, two of the three of whom were boys, and older than me by three, and even five years. :/ But I was only nine when it started. The boys were 12 and 15. The girl was 11. There was another neighbor boy, a year and a half older, whom I had once been friends with, and had been the previous target of the guy bullies, but whom sided with the bullies once they honed in on me……in order to get the attention off of himself. While he didn’t directly bully me per se, he laughed about anything they said, and never defended me, keeping quiet. So he was just as bad in his own way as a wormy little beta coward. Definitely the opposite of who Joe would end up becoming. If Joe ever saw such a thing happening, especially to a female, there wouldn’t have been any words. Just a straight up beat down to the bullies in question, no warning, no messing around. Joe at the time though was only 3. Though he delivered his first beat down at 5/Kindergarten. ;D To an older, 3rd grade bully, no surprise.

The bullying only happened at the bus stop and on the bus by the older kids, not at school, once I was in the classroom and surrounded by all the kids my own age. Once I got to school and was in the classroom everything was fine. Had my friends, both boys and girls, played together on the playground, passed notes in class, went to each other’s houses for birthday parties and also just because, had the boys I liked, who weren’t always the same boys who liked me ;D as life goes, though sometimes it did align ;) and the girls all talked on the phone at night and life was mostly good. But at home at the bus stop and on the bus where the older neighbor kids were…that was a whole other story. Traumatizing nightmare, truly.

Things got so bad I’d be crying and begging my mom to not make me go out there every morning. (Another synchronicity – when originally typing that sentence “….don’t you cry no more” from the same Kansas song lined up. Later on I’d added another paragraph of clarification in between, but originally the timing of the above paragraphs lined up with the song progression. So weird.) But she did NOT give two shits, and would just be pushing me out the door into the wolves den, because as always me and/or Joe were interfering with her TV time. She had all her little Good Morning America type shows to get back to. :/ She could have easily driven me to school, it was literally only 5-7 minutes away, max. There was absolutely no need or reason for me to even be riding the bus. !!!! But she refused. She did-not-care one bit what was being done to me once I was outside and out of her sight, even by boys that were 3-5 years older than me.

Over and over she demonstrated for years not only a complete lack of maternal instinct/love/protection, but actually going out of her way to harm me and put me smack in the path of danger and predators. Starting with letting me roam around by myself for hours at a time beginning at 1 ½ – 2 years old in Massachusetts. (By the time I was ~4 in Mass. I was already going to stores by myself, on foot, navigating traffic, with money she gave me to get rid of me/get me out of her hair. Standing in line at the AM/PM Mini Mart amongst grownups ahead of me and behind me who were way taller than me, understanding how money works and how “buying things in stores/waiting in line/paying the cashier” works. Reaching my arm up to hand my dollar to the guy behind the register, and just the whole deal. Acting like a teen, at 4. Buying whatever candy I wanted, getting my first cavity at 5, ‘cause she was just such an awesome, responsible, mature and wise parent. Then navigating traffic again to get back home. And as crazy as that sounds that’s not even the half of it, truly. I was walking multiple blocks to and from Kindergarten at only 4 and 5, navigating traffic, without adults. And even worse situations beyond that. But how mature and responsible is that for a young child?? It never even occurred to me to deviate. I knew where I was SUPPOSED TO GO!!! at 4 and 5 years old. And did it. Without question. Day in and day out, both ways. Always showed up to school on time, and always returned home back in one piece, on time. [Thank you to Higher Stuff for overseeing it though. Truly, sincerely.] Meanwhile my dad had no idea any of that was going on, since he was at work. Nowadays she would have been arrested. And meanwhile there was me as an adult, who would never have even let my CAT play alone outside. Always was out there with Kitty, on the sidelines, whenever I’d let her out to poke around and have some fun. When I’ve thought back to what my “mom” did with me I’ve actually experienced panic, until remembering…okay, calm down! That was you, and here you are right now! You’re alive, you’re safe, it all worked out! Then I’m like “okay, whew…” but my heart was racing and I was feeling that awful panic feeling at the idea of seeing some small little girl wandering around alone for extended periods of time in urban suburbia like that…for years….)

But since I was at the bus stop in the morning as a kid in Connecticut when it happened then that’s when it needed to be re-enacted as an adult. And I’d driven hundreds of miles to create the re-enaction.

Headed out from the motel in the early morning, and to our old neighborhood, which was only a couple of minutes away. Parked my car in the cul-de-sac in front of the house we lived in for nine years on Cottonwood Drive, and began walking around.

There’s a lot to say about that whole deal, but eventually I walked up the street by the light of the golden summer morning, “HEADING TO THE BUS STOP.” The exact scenario I’d been dreaming about for years. The idea that I would have driven hundreds of miles to get back to my childhood home as an adult to re-enact verbatim a trauma to get it to STOP!!!!!!…..…I don’t know if I should laugh, cry, or what.

But on a side note, this is when I realized unexpectedly that our sun had changed. Even though it was roughly the same time of the morning as when I went to the bus stop as a kid, the sun was WAY more bright, glaring and white. Not as soft and yellow as it was back in the 80s when we lived there during the same time of year. I’d read people online claiming that our sun had changed, but my attitude had been Who knows. Now I knew for certain. This was not the same sunlight we had 25+ years ago. It took going back to my childhood home and trying to recreate a scene from my childhood to see it.

I arrived at the bus stop, aka, “THE STREET CORNER” at Cottonwood and Butternut Lane. Stood there at 32 years old, on a quiet, hot and humid summer morning, looking around, by myself. Thinking about my horrendously bullied little girl self, being terrorized by a group of all older kids, and mostly boys. In essence what I was doing was something a then-internet (and very psychic) acquaintance would have referred to as “collecting up soul pieces.” There were pieces of my soul that had probably fragmented off during this time period. I was here to get them back I guess, and leave on a positive note, no more baggage. Tie up the loose ends. I cannot tell you HOW-MANY-DREAMS have taken place there, on Cottonwood, Butternut, and Dow Road, which was the other main entrance road into the neighborhood. It’s ridiculous. Hundreds over the years, I’d wager. But that’s why I was there in the first place. To get it to stop. But the bus would enter via Dow Road, where there was a bus stop at Dow and Butternut, continuing to Maple Shade, until working its way through the neighborhood, and eventually down through Cottonwood. My bus stop at Cottonwood and Butternut was the last stop. So I could either walk down to Butternut and Dow, which I often did, to get on at the beginning of the route when the bus was empty and non threatening, or wait at Cottonwood and Butternut, and get on at the end….when the bus was packed. Depended on how late I got out the door.

So that’s exactly where I was visiting now, in 2007. Cottonwood and Butternut, the end of the line, when things were the most threatening. Where ALL of my “bus” dreams took place.

Interestingly enough not long after arriving at the old bus stop at Cottonwood and Butternut I saw a school bus arrive into the neighborhood and head up Dow Road, via the old bus route that I knew years ago.

hmmm, I noted. When I’d lived here there had NEVER been any busses in the summer. I figured they must have some kind of new summer school going on now that they run busses for?? I don’t know. Weird, but, okay. I continued my poking around and contemplation and “soul fragmentation gathering” (as I now realize) on this peaceful morning (with glaring white sun). Then it was finally time to leave.

Got in my car and started to take off…….then noticed the same bus from earlier now approaching behind me on Butternut Lane. Again…hand to God. I took off with it right behind me. Headed down Dow Road, exiting the neighborhood, with it right on my heels. Decided to detour into another neighborhood that was halfway down Dow on Colonial Road (once babysat for a family that lived there) in order to get this bus off my butt…..except it followed me into there too. !! O.o And continued to follow me all the way down the rest of Dow, onto Route 12 and beyond. COULD NOT GET RID OF THIS THING.

Only once I got back to Virginia did I realize the interesting “reverse symbolism” meaning of all of this. For years I’d had these dreams that took place at the bus stop of Cottonwood and Butternut, as mentioned, but where I was running in slow mo, fighting with everything I had to run up Cottonwood and “catch the bus!” in time. Which symbolizes being a child, being weak (can barely move/slow mo, relying on this “exterior transportation” driven by somebody else, on THEIR schedule, not mine, and which I need to adjust MYSELF to, etc.) and always “behind the 8 ball” so to speak, while forever reliving my personal traumas connected to that bus stop, and on the bus itself, with the same bully predators.

And now here I was as a full fledged adult in my 30s, back there, deliberately ……..in front of the bus. In my own transportation. Completely in control of myself. I’m not chasing the bus. The bus is behind ME, “chasing” me, and I’m trying to get AWAY from it……not catch it. !! :D So how freaking funny is that?? To me it indicates that progress had been made on another, higher level. Everything had been reversed.

Sure enough after getting back to Virginia I went many months without dreaming about “my old house in Connecticut,” or anything affiliated with it. So it wasn’t for nothing. And it was NICE. It was like a mental vacation, oh my God. !! It did eventually seep back in……..but NEVER to the level of before, which had been every day practically, and completely out of control. An actual subconscious trauma, with left behind soul fragments. Now it was only every once and awhile, here and there. At this point when I’m compiling this in 2022 it’s not even an issue. And definitely haven’t had some traumatic “bus” dream in many years either.

Though actually…..I had a random dream recently that indicated even more progress, complete with even more “reverse symbolism” involving the “Connecticut bus,” AND bus driver for that matter.

The bus driver in question was an early 30s brunette woman who drove good ol’ bus #11 …..of course. :/ Of all the numbers. 11/ “The Initiate,” in Esoterica. From 1987-1991, until we moved. She used to buddy up to the older kid bullies in a desperate attempt to be seen as “the cool adult!” But she would grin, and laugh, and even join in with wry commentary to the bullies, delivered via the mirror positioned above her head.

So as a kid I learned….even the adults won’t help you. Not your own mom, not the bus driver, nobody. In fact the adults are either joining in, laughing, thinking it’s awesome…..or the perpetrators of it themselves. But Bus Driver Lady, can’t even remember her name by this point, would appear in my dreams occasionally for YEARS…..even as an adult. That’s how much of a trauma it was for my kid subconscious self that wasn’t healed, and was still reliving it all in the dreamtime.

But this recent dream took place here in Boca Raton, Florida where we’ve lived for 10 years now, and with me as my current age. That was a first for this type of dream.

I was completely in control in that dream, wise, mature and fully aware of what was happening, of who I am, what time it currently is, my current age and where I currently live. The bus pulled up to my left, opening up the doors, as I walked along the sidewalk in front of where we lived. The brunette childhood bus driver woman was behind the wheel. I glanced over at her, on what was a golden sunny and beautiful morning. (synch – when re-reading that sentence during the editing process the line “…the sun is shining, it’s a new morning…” lined up from the song “Baker Street” on my Classic Rock playlist.)

“No thanks, I’m fine,” I told her calmly, barely even looking at her, continuing to walk. Not even feeling the need to tell her off/chew her out for her immature behavior as a supposed “adult” back in 1987-1991, helping to perpetrate bullying against a kid, grinning, laughing…….joining in. I was already home. Don’t need a ride. And she truly doesn’t matter. Don’t care.

She closed the doors and pulled away. The one and only dream of this kind ever in my life. The ultimate positive ending and closure. And that was the last time she’s made an appearance in a dream.

“Bus” symbolism according to dream dictionaries represents following the crowd, and as mentioned, weakness and dependence in general. Even though I’m not weak and dependent on the outer level, there was still an issue on the inside, but which that recent dream showed was finally resolved on the larger scale. It wasn’t even about some childhood trauma thing at this point, it was about me in general in LIFE. And which recent life situations proved were resolved….matching up to the dream, which also showed that.

*****

I don’t know whether the church dreams?/memories? really were what they seemed to be, or what the pendulum says they were. I have another pendulum dowsing experience that was just “NEXT LEVEL,” showing the capabilities of this medium for getting answers, and which I might post on my Gab in the future. Maybe. Who knows. But in that instance it was the only time when the questions were not only being answered in a clear and consistent way, but where “Something Else” actually took over the process, feeding me actual moving images in my mind to explain/illustrate the situation, along with a telepathic “voice,” since pendulum dowsing wasn’t enough to convey all the details in an effective way. Relating to MK, of course. :/ And also since doing so wouldn’t negatively affect me or be a freewill violation, I take it. The one and only time something of that level has ever happened during a pendulum dowsing. But showing that the process absolutely has validity (as if delivering winning lotto numbers wasn’t enough validation…..) and that when it works…..it REALLY works. O.o

So in that instance where I had full on images and a voice helping to explain things the “pendulum dowsing” turned into full on “channeling” with my Higher Self, the likes of which I’ve never experienced before or since. But maybe it will be a story for a future upcoming post on Gab or something.

At any rate I just present this crazy story for consideration. I hope people reading it can get something useful out of it. My ultimate final conclusion about why I would have agreed to come here, and allow the things that have happened to me to be done to me, as Edwin relayed, is that maybe I knew it could also be used to transcend – to help others with. Every negative thing that ever happened taught me about what was really going on in this reality, and what this place really is, and which I’ve tried to use to help and teach others with. So hopefully it wasn’t all for nothing.