 
Do you wonder what it's like to be haunted by things you can't see? To be terrorized by your own toys? To have no one believe you, not even the people who claim to make it their business to listen?

Jennifer White knows.

This is the personal, true experience of an abductee who didn't even know she was an abductee – until someone tripped over her furniture and a researcher pissed her off.

# A Bright Light Over My Bus

## A Living MKUltra Memoir

Jennifer White

White, Jennifer  
A Bright Light Over My Bus

First published 2013, Jennifer White  
Published by the Writers of the Apocalypse

Sixth release  
Copyright 2013 - 2017

Edited and put together by K. J. Joyner.

Cover art © efks at dollarphotoclub.com

(License notes) ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

If you'd like to support Jennifer White's quest to find the truth, please visit  her Youtube channel and drop her a line. The more help she gets the closer she gets, the more she can tell. It's true: knowledge is power. She really wants to share that power with you.

This is a living book.

The author has spent her entire life trying to make sense of what has happened, to understand why, and to remember greater detail. When she remembers something else, she adds it here. But. Because she holds every memory with suspicion and is careful lest she or someone else is lying to her(self), this doesn't happen as quickly or as often as you might think.

She has chosen to write it as if she was being interviewed in order to make an attempt to get her life in linear order. You can also see her video blogs she has used to help her write this book on her Youtube channel. Just visit her website, www.twilightcurtain.com to find more about her, her research, and relevant links.

# Contents

I am a Milab

The Family

Childhood

Incubus

First Handler

Spirits

Past Lives

The Fishbowl

Love Life

Missions

Abductions

Sacrifice

Therapy

Soul Numbers

The Story Isn't Over

Healing

# A Bright Light Over My Bus

## I Am A MILAB

Do you know what a MILAB is?

MILAB is a condensed word coming from 'military abduction'. Basically, it's a person who is being abducted by the military for covert operations. Usually the MILAB is a person who is also being abducted by or in contact with extraterrestrial persons, and the government is trying to uncover information as a matter of "national security".

There are a lot of stories about how the government tries to get this information from we the people. They don't walk up to your front door at decent hours, knock, and wait to get invited in for tea. They don't trust you to be patriotic or cooperative in any fashion like that at all. Consistently, MILAB after MILAB say the same thing: they're abducted in some fashion, taken to some obscure location, and are often drugged and brutally interrogated. Then they are returned home with promises that the experience will seem like nothing more than a dream to them. Thousands of people will tell you some version of this scenario. With so many people reporting the same thing again and again, it stops looking like a coincidence and begins to appear as something of a fact.

As I said before often for the MILAB, events happen as if it's a dream. This is by design. The government has gotten good enough with their own abductions they even fool people into thinking it was aliens all along, or fairies, or mermaids. Whatever. I seriously thought I was seeing elves and fairies my entire life. In an odd way I was*, but it was something deeper than that.

Nearly all MILABs report being mistreated by their abductors, the handlers. And let's face it, being taken in the middle of the night without prior permission is a violation of your civil rights and takes away from your dignity as a sentient being. The program that handles this ongoing scenario is a total abuse of power founded in mistrust. Handlers live under assumption that civilians are worthless, not even worth being treated as the human beings.

I call the night trips with the government 'work'. Sometimes I also consider them to be missions. You'll meet all sorts of people on these missions: famous people like Ozzie Osborne, politicians like JFK, and other MILABs you may or may not remember. There's a whole host of characters.

After 'work', your subconscious retains these memories. It pours them into what I call the well of information. A MILAB is programmed only to be able to access certain parts of that information when in certain modes of being. These modes of being can be an alternate personality or a belief given to them while under a drugged hypnotic trance. However the well is always there no matter who you are told you are at any given point in time. Little things will surface from time to time. One of the little things for me manifested itself into doodling faces.

It used to be when I was in high school, I'd spent my time doodling the faces in my head. Sometimes I would meet a person I had drawn on the edge of my Algebra or English homework, and I would be confused as to why they didn't recognize me. I couldn't understand how I knew their faces in the first place. I thought maybe I was seeing the future. Now I know: it's because I probably saw them at work and they remember less than I do.

The way I see it, there are at least two types of MILABS. There are the butterflies, those who went through the rigorous training in what many people call the MK Ultra Program. It's not pretty, the type of training they used to do, and there are a lot of books documenting the torture, mental anguish, and overall _yuck_ of it all.

From the best I can figure out, I'm a butterfly type. I didn't come to this decision lightly. I certainly wouldn't lay such a claim out of some twisted need for fame and attention. (Trust me. Under my real name, I get plenty of both.) It's just my own training matches the Butterfly aspect of the program over the more military aspects, even though I ended up on the military side later in life. I don't know why that is -- but something inside of me says it's because my program was cancelled. Or I fucked up when I decided to get married and have children. No major life of fame for me.

Some things that helped me to figure these things out are the early books by Fritz Springmeier. It doesn't matter that he was thrown in jail after he wrote them. Neither does it matter if he was innocent or guilty. When my husband, who was helping me at the time, came across his books it was like I'd found a piece of myself I never knew was missing.

For example, there were nightmares and dreams that had repeated themselves over and over again. These things were a direct match to what Springmeier had documented in his research. They were actual training and exercises to break and mold my mind into the shape my handlers wanted.

Once broken, a human being's mind will split and often a new personality will be 'born'. This birth can be so complete, the original person in a body may never know this split exists and vice versa. This is one of the many complicated ways the human spirit has to protect itself. These personalities are called alters.

The MKUltra program induces alters in a subject purposefully. Springmeier documented extensively the various types of alters a single subject may have. They range in all shapes and colors. They can be blind. They can be a doll, or a sex kitten slave (the most widely known one), or a black princess slumbering deep inside like some uber security program. When I saw this list I felt something stir inside of me because I knew all of these things. I not only knew them, I had seen them after a fashion.

My husband had to read the books for me for the most part, and in that I missed out. I would try to read them and fall asleep, or I would find myself putting the book down and doing something else as if I literally had no attention span. This wasn't like me. Fortunately my husband was interested at the time.

The thing about Springmeier's work that turns off a lot of people is his need to put everything into a Christian point of view. To him everything is the work of the devil, or without Jesus you can never break free of the programming. It goes on and on like that in his books.

When looking at his work, one has to learn to get past the ranting and just look at the facts. (Actually you have to learn to do that a lot when gathering research. There's merit to the phrase, "Just the facts, ma'am.") There's a lot of information in his books. Some people say that a lot of his information is misplaced, and maybe this is so... but he was also a pioneer in uncovering the current MK Ultra situation and how a butterfly is put together.

The thing about early work in any field of study is there are going to be misconceptions, errors, and lacks in information. But you have to start somewhere. Also I've not come across any information put out by anyone lately that is so accurate to my situation as that of Springmeier. So I take the good with the bad.

When it comes to butterfly training, I'm talking about things like being drowned, hunts, and what Springmeier called, 'Black princess programming'. These are all things that have haunted me my entire life. To find them documented by someone who was working with a slave in the program created a feeling of solidarity I didn't have before. I knew finally what was going on, sort of, and felt more secure. You can't buy this sort of confidence. If more people had it, there'd be a lot less crap going on in America I think.

There were many people over the years that tried to make me sound crazy, that even convinced my mother that I had PMS insanity, and overall just worked to undermine me as an individual. I don't know why it's always been so important to the people around me to hurt me this way. I'm not anyone influential, and I don't aim high on the political scale. I've never hurt anyone, and during the brief time I worked in civil government I kept my oaths of privacy and turned no stones.

It's almost as if I'm a targeted individual, but I actually doubt that. If you don't know, there's this very insidious branch of the black programs that experiments on and targets average citizens with heat, microwave, sound and telepathic weapons (to name a few). A targeted individual suffers a lot, and many will go to great lengths to defend themselves against the weaponry. They will put tin foil in their windows, special paint on their walls, and buy special clothing.

Be an outspoken TI and you're immediately branded a paranoid fool. This rather reminds me of how people were ousted as insane when UFO sightings were first being reported by innocents that happened to remember the encounter. Later, the sightings were accepted but anyone who claimed they had been abducted would immediately be branded as insane. How can this be any different? Especially in light of the evidence many targeted individuals are gathering.

You see, there is a growing movement that has documented everything about the weapons they can. This ranges in the realm of technology, science, and even political paperwork that would normally be buried if it were not for the drive of these people. They're trying to put together court cases and go through the proper channels to have these programs shut down. I hope they succeed.

In the bad old days, a butterfly's training involved a lot of physical stimulation. I'm given to understand the media butterflies like Michael Jackson and Lady Gaga are still put through it on a regular basis to keep them obedient and their minds conditioned. I've already said this, I know, but I write this book in spurts and don't always remember what I've said in one spot to another. I apologize for repeating myself, if I am.

The main part of a butterfly's training is the forced creation of their split personalities. The alters are taught -- programmed -- to do various functions.

A single butterfly can have thousands of people inside of them, all individual. They can be a cook one day, a sex kitten the next, and each alter will have no awareness of each other to corroborate what's going on and come to a safe conclusion.

I think when it comes to my internal matrix, as it were, I've counted at least a dozen alters. Turns out with me, at least a few of us are what the professionals would call "co-conscious". Instead of only one person being forward at a time, as with the ideal butterfly, several of us will be. The lead personality, usually me, will be the one to go through the daily motions of whatever is going on. But I have had emergency alters come forward in extreme situations and not remember what happened next. I only know that when that happens, the people who interacted with these particular alters end up wanting to avoid me from then on. They never tell me why. They just won't talk about it.

I also know, and have long known, that a lot of the physical stimulation has been replaced with a cheaper technique that's just as effective. They use hypnotism to put traumatic memories into people's minds for example. I have this memory/fantasy information in my head of a special chair sitting in the middle of a barren room. The lights are very bright in there. The subject is hypnotized and made to visualize a shock therapy sequence or something like that. They're told that this has been happening to them over a long period of time.

With these fake memories in place, the victim will react as if the event really did happen. In one session, a single victim will basically undergo several years of shock therapy. Saves money, speeds up the process, and is just as efficient if not more so.

I knew about it, and I've always known about it. I actually remember standing in my apartment years ago thinking to myself, _Oh they've started doing it that way now'_ But how I knew that isn't something I can consciously recall. I just knew they started doing it, as if I was aware of when they switched processes completely. I remember very clearly the day I was thinking about it, because I was mentally comparing my past with the new process. Without really knowing why I was so proud of this situation or even what I was proud of, I used to secretly revel that I was one of the last to go through the physical and old-fashioned way of doing things. Now that my memories are a bit more complete and a lot more makes sense, I have dealt with this and it's just a thang to me. This is how healing works, I think.

Implanted memories are used in other things besides butterfly training. They're used to confuse MILABs on events they will have participated in. So you took a team of five to Mars, and now it's time to go home but you want to make sure they don't get the details correct. No worries! The system puts them through the process and gives them these fake memories, called screen memories.

Screen memories can have nothing to do with what really happened. For example, there's a case documented by Dr. Karla Turner in which a woman remembered being taken aboard a ship and asked to read to a very appreciative crowd. When, through hypnosis, she got past that screen memory the events turned very ugly and frightening.

Something I've noticed is that when concerning screen memories induced by the government (and not by aliens), the false memory has parts that will overlap with the real event. For example, let's say you were shipped to Mars for a month to stand a guard detail by the stargate. Marks is very sandy and the ozone layer doesn't protect your skin against the sun the way it's supposed to happen here. You return home with an unusual tan.

During your return stay debriefing, you are implanted with a memory of standing in a parking lot for an usual amount of time. at the beach. If you're not someone who goes to the beach, then it would have been a hot day and you noticed a sandy lot nearby. There will always be a flurry of details different yet remarkably similar to the truth.

Your mind will then cross reference everything, and this creates confusion for you. What do you remember really? It's almost impossible to tell. Add to that the human capacity, almost automatic instinct, to make up memories for themselves and you have a well-managed mind trap many people never figure their way out of. Pepper in some ego, and your MILAB is yours forever.

Implanted memories are used as part of experimentation. What happens when someone thinks they killed someone else? That's a famous one right there. Or, let's see what happens when we take away that young mother's memory of her son's first steps and make him think he danced instead. Let's make them miserable and see how long it takes them to break, so we can study the breaking point of the common man. How many licks does it take?

They're used to garner your loyalty. They're used to get you to willingly do things you wouldn't normally do. They're used to put you in the middle of training scenarios. The possibilities are pretty much endless for the handlers now that they have programming the human soul down to a science. The truly scary part is their science is getting better all of the time.

The second type of MILAB in my world view is made up of people that have been conditioned by the aliens for pickup and have the military using the same conditioning for their own nefarious uses. This type of MILAB has its own layers with a lot of the members claiming to be super soldiers, or people who have had their abilities enhanced to make them stronger soldiers. Think the Million Dollar Man or Captain America, but real to life.

They are the most common type of MILAB to come forward. I only know of this in an offhand way, because (as I mentioned before) although I started a butterfly I ended up lumped with the masses. I don't know much about it, really. It's just this thing that happens for me once in a while.

I can tell you that when they abduct the common MILAB, they usually will administer a drug cocktail based on scopolamine. This drug is like a truth serum while serving as a 'liquid restraint'. You become very obedient and docile when under the influence of this drug.

No one knows what they're after when they abduct a MILAB and abuse them this way. Sometimes a MILAB will be herded in with other MILABS and forced to wait in line as people are interrogated one at a time. The interrogations sometimes are about where the aliens are located. Sometimes it's not clear what the questions are all about.

James Bartley, prominent researcher with a focus on the Reptilian alien race, reports that many times a female MILAB will be picked up by the government immediately after an encounter with a Reptilian entity. Apparently these encounters increase human psychic ability for a brief time, and the military swoops in to take advantage of it by making the MILAB remote view or do other psychic tasks.

Here's something else I know. You can rise up in the program when you're either type of MILAB. You can be given command over other MILABs, and you can even be set apart so that you do your work consciously. But how you got in and what your origins are will always be what they are. You can't change that.

I am a MILAB. But. I am also so much more. As are we all.

* If you compare the mythos from ancient people worldwide with current knowledge we have of today's alien abductors, you get almost a direct match. Spooky, huh.

## The Family

Usually when you come across one of the more vocal 'super soldiers' and MILABs, you're going to be inundated with a long history about how they're the Chosen Ones(TM) because they're Native American or their parents were super spies, etc. I guess my family history isn't that different.

But I learned to be careful with sharing it over the years. When I was younger and a lot more naive, I'd tell just about anybody where this body came from. I hung around primarily other people with metaphysical interests, and I thought it was something I could share. Boy did I want to share.

It worked well until the day a new person came into my life, got to know me long enough to get my story, and publicly claimed my history as their own. In fact, I've had that happen a lot. I've even sat in my living room crying tears of drowning hurt as I watched a very tender memory I'd shared on the internet enacted step for step in a popular cartoon movie that came out a couple of years after the fact.

Well I'm all grown up now, and I've learned that I'm not the center of the universe. It's important when finding the truth about your metaphysical situation you get that straight, because the answers aren't just inside of you. They're inside of everyone else. My history is not any more special than someone else's may be. I just know how to tell it better than many people do is all. Maybe certain people could take a few classes on the fine art of storytelling rather than steal someone else's history. Or something.

The main reason why I don't want to bore you with too many details here (and I don't) is because these things are only factors that lead to the shaping of my body and my childhood environment. They're not why I was chosen to be a MILAB. They're just factors in my original makeup, the thing that helped me to come into being. These things I'm going to touch on may be why my father did what he did and possibly was chosen for what he may have done. Or my mother. But they're not why *I* was chosen.

Okay. I'm Native American. I don't mean I'm Cherokee and Irish or some other blend, something that only says that I have an ancestor that was Native American but I'm not. No. I'm Native American. Period.

Yep. I'm red just like every other red person in the world that is not part of the program. Or they're part of the program, but on such a low key level it doesn't matter. Or they were part of the program until they socked someone in the eye, and now they're a targeted individual. You see, being red isn't enough.

Anyway. I come from a small tribe located by the Great Lakes, and I am the direct descendent of the founding chief on my father's side. On my mother's side is an alleged tie to the famous Pocahontas. (No, really, it says 'alleged' on the family tree.) There are also a couple of kings and members of minor royalty, most of which are not direct through Pocahontas's marriage to John Smith. I'm told a famous African princess and former slave named Mahjagheen(sp?) is in my family tree as well. (I haven't bothered to verify that. Don't really care.) I wouldn't be surprised if there were also ninjas. I'd like it if there were ninjas.

Let me hold up a tiny flag of victory here. Ooh. I have royal blood. Just like a shit ton of other people in the Western World who are MILABs and *not* MILABs alike.

Let me tell you what else is there.

Hundreds of German shepherds. Not the dogs, although they probably owned the dogs. I mean people who walked the land. European tribal stock, old stock, earthy stock. There are also lots of Native Americans who never made chief (although one did win a bronze medal at the Olympics). There are folks who worshipped snakes, folks who only became Wild West photographers, housewives, a radio star, and a good many folks who never amounted to anything. Okay so I have this strain of DNA. See how far we didn't come.

The result is I'm very resistant to hearing about how special someone is based on the fact someone else in their history was special. Your grandmother isn't what makes you special. YOU are what makes you special. I realize that this is also the old way(tm) of thinking, but as far as I'm concerned that's also neither here nor there. It's just how I see it.

I don't know much about my father's side of the family because he was taken away from his mother when he was young. He knew her of course and grew up with relatives. I tried to get close to her when I was a child, but as with most of my family I was pushed away. She was never a grandmother to me. Told me never to call her that.

The things my father told me about himself personally, though, are things as a child I put on a pedestal and never wanted to let go.

He was born with a double veil on a stormy night. If you don't know what that means (and few people do anymore), sometimes a baby is born with some of the womb membrane over their head. That's called the birthing cap or a veil. In the old days of midwives, a midwife would lift the veil either up or to the side in order to give the child extra powers. If you lift the veil one way the child gets mental control such as the gift of ESP. If you lift the veil the other, the child gets more physical powers such as telekinesis. My father had two veils, so the midwife lifted both ways. Or so he says.

My father had a very colorful life that I could write an entire book about, if I had the time and knew enough to do so. He claims to have stepped through time to be with his Native American spirit guide and the village. (Knowing what I know now, I realize he describes your classic screen memory for an alien abduction.) He has went slipshod through the layers and found himself in one of the ley lines that claims so many people from Earth year after year. (His story about how he got back is filled with fear on his part.) He just seems to have always been in the wrong place at the right time.

The part that stands out the most in relation to this book is how he was one of the first to participate in the government psychic spy programs.

Years ago, he told me he'd been in it when it was just getting started. He'd answered an ad in the paper or something like that to test for psychic powers. He never has given me many details, and he probably never will. One minute he says he failed the tests in the first week and never did anything again. The next minute he talks about how he gave them visions and warnings for years to come, and how it was his foreknowledge of the 1980 eruption of Mt St. Helens that finally convinced him to quit because his warnings were completely ignored. Then later he says it wasn't the 1980 eruption that did it, but an earthquake in California. I sure wish he'd make up his mind.

The only real proof I have that my father really did this thing are two events. The first is when I got a copy of Jim Marrs' _PSI Spies: The True Story of America's Psychic Warfare Program_. With excitement I read the first couple of chapters in the hopes that my father would be mentioned.

I learned a neat thing about a guy named Swann and a chinchilla, but no Dad. I set the book down and decided, screw this. I had super powers, didn't I? Sure I did. Dad used to do psychic games with me and my older brother all of the time, and my interest had never waned. I even used to have a group of folks I would remote view with once a week. Fine then. I'd go look for myself.

So I set about to remote viewing the past to see for myself what it was all about. Remote viewing, by the way, isn't easy for me to do. None of it is, really. It's like trying to pick up extremely heavy cinder blocks with just my fingers. I can do things quite easily when I'm excited. I can be a super being complete with cape and capital letter on my chest when I'm the right kind of keyed up. But this wasn't me being excited, this was me being curious. I had to focus and concentrate very hard.

I was rewarded with finding myself standing in a cold and round room. The walls were concrete and it was damp. There was a round open door in front of me, and it was open. When it opened it swung outward from the room. It was made of metal and had one of those wheel door locks in the center. Beyond it I could see a barren pale colored hall. The walls were made of those large cinder blocks you see in some older buildings.

There was a woman coming down the hallway with a young man. I could hear them talking, that's how I knew. She was giving the young man a tour of the facility.

They got to the door and stood on the other side of it, out of my sight. I can't remember what she said now, or what he said, but she basically told him what the room was for. I think the young man declined an offer to see inside the room, and then the door slammed shut with a very loud clang.

This busted me out of the vision abruptly. It's very hard for me to stay in these things when I manage to get them; anything can make me slip back into consciousness. Usually the realization, "OMG it's working!" does it. But this time it was the slamming door.

I couldn't get back there no matter how I tried, and after a while I gave up.

I called my father the next day to tell him what I saw.

As I was telling him about what the woman was saying, he interrupted me very excitedly to finish out what I saw. He described the door. _He remembered the event._

Now that I'm thinking of it, I wonder if I find a facility with a round door or metal area like that will I have found another clue? Maybe I was on a submarine? I think I'm going to start trying to find out. Moving on.

The second circumstantial bit of proof I have to my father's claim isn't even something he was there for. At the time my husband was in the military, and he was deployed to Afghanistan.

I had a vision during that year, narrated to me by someone who was trying to stop a coming massacre. There was a mission in which our troops were laying things across the desert sands to get somewhere, but the enemy knew about it. I can't of course remember the details now. But I knew that if it wasn't stopped an entire unit was going to be boxed in and die.

I tried very hard to get my vision out there, but of course no one would listen. I tried Alex Jones, Jim Norrey... and finally I was told about this gentleman who used to be director over the Stargate program.

The Stargate program, if you don't know, was a government-sponsored program established in 1978 at Fort Meade, Maryland. It was supposed to investigate psychic potential and focused mostly on remote viewing. (Pun not intended.)

The former director was in business for himself in those days, so I was able to get his phone number. In desperation I called him. He listened to my story and it kind of got weird from there.

At first he told me he didn't know anyone who could pass the information along, but I could tell him the dream anyway. So I did.

Then he said maybe he could find someone. The tone of his voice made me feel like he wasn't going to admit at first that he could get the vision to anyone, but after hearing my story he thought maybe it was important after all. I got this impression of a white point of light from him: someone overseas that he might contact that he hadn't talked to in a long time.

In the meantime I could feel his mind reaching out to me. I could feel him probing me, you know? I figured maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like he was trying to read who I was. Again, maybe it was my imagination. But anyway, I put up my shields.

He asked me who my father was. I'm not sure why.

So I told him. "Fred White." (Not his real name obviously for the purposes of this book.)

"Fred WHITE?!" my contact cried. Then he recovered himself and said, "Is that... ah... your maiden name?"

I told my father that I'd gotten in contact with this man much later and he said, "Oh yeah? How's he doing?"

But overall? I have no proof of my father's activities. He's a big Indian Bullshitter. He might have lied.

My mother's side isn't half as colorful, although there are some interesting things. The problem with my mother's side is although I can look at a family tree that lists all these Illuminati bloodlines, I know next to nothing about my immediate family itself.

My maternal grandmother was a radio star. She and her sisters used to perform on the radio during the Great Depression. They cut a single album that I've never gotten to hear, because a distant aunt got it and refused to share.

My grandfather never told me much about his family except that his own grandmother had been raped in a silo by a Black man right after Lincoln freed the slaves. His mulatto uncle was his favorite uncle as a child, but his uncle's grandchildren are ashamed to have White (and Native American) relatives. His family 'over yonder' were 'snake worshippers', and he went to church with them as a boy. But if you asked him about it as an old man he'd tell you he'd found the TRUE way didn't you know.

He found the TRUE way one day when he was so sick he thought he was dying, and he went to a church to pray. He started out at the front of the church praying on his knees. He got jolted by lightning and found himself in the back of the church praying on his knees, but also completely healed. A miracle, he'd tell you. Jesus is alive.

I just think it's safe to say that abductions run in the family.

My grandfather also told me that when he served in the military during World War II he was just a desk jockey. At his funeral it turned out he'd done a bit more than that: something to do with carrying cargo back and forth and some other things that could only be hinted at. It's tempting to think to myself that he was on super uber secret missions! But usually it's just mundane stuff that hasn't been declassified, or people didn't know enough about to talk about when the time came.

And my mother. When I was a kid, she would talk to me about past lives. It's mostly her influence that has helped me to be someone who remembers as much as I do on my own.

The only metaphysical thing I know about her is something she told me once. She lived in France in a past life, she said, and her name was Aimee. She was a seamstress.

She always did love to sew and she was really good at it. She told me that her sewing skills were mostly from past life memory. She even made a corset once from that memory.

## Childhood

Growing up, my folks liked to watch a lot of documentaries about UFOs. It was of interest, I think, more to my father than my mother although she enjoyed the shows as well. As a child, I probably took it for granted... when my father would play "psychic cards" with my older brother and I, how he taught us to use the pendulum, or would talk for hours about things he had seen, done, and how the paranormal world worked. This was the norm for me.

UFO Documentaries back then aren't really that different from now - except talk of what happened to people who made contact of the third kind (abductions) was rare. It was equally rare to talk about the horrors many people faced, from stolen babies to rape to painful experiments. Hell, it's almost as rare still today what with all of that drowned out by people preaching love and light from the same entities that do these frightening things.

I don't believe in the love and light preachings – not because I'm cynical. Even though what happened and is still happening to me cannot always be described as very pleasant, I think I didn't formulate my own opinion until I stumbled across the research of Dr. Karla Turner. She stuck to the facts, kept hope and conjecture out of it, and looked at the bigger picture. Because of her, I was able to step back on my own experiences and take a new look. And that look starts with my childhood.

Fernandina Beach, Florida. Back then Florida winters were still really cold and I had no idea I lived only an hour from a naval base in one direction and an hour from an air force base in the other. And, apparently, an hour and a half from an army base in the only other direction left being as Fernandina Beach was on a small island.

So I'm a child of 10, or 11. Maybe younger... and it was my fervent hope to be picked up by one of these saucers. After all, we only knew that aliens possibly few the ships back then. To see one - oh! To be taken aboard for a ride! This sort of adventure was the crème de la crème for me.

I didn't want to be on Earth - never felt like I fit in really and was bullied at school - and I saw the aliens as a means of escape. For a while I'd step out into my backyard and think as hard as I could, _Here I am! Please come get me!_ And of course no one came.

It was hot weather - summertime I believe - when my mother was hanging clothes on the clothesline and I and my older brother were puttering around in the grass nearby. Suddenly she stopped what she was doing and stared into the sky. "Look!" my mother said to us, "There's a UFO!"

So we, all three, stopped and stared in the sky for a while. I didn't see it at first and when I did think I saw it, it was nothing more than a grey dot in the distance that didn't seem to move. I was actually disappointed that it didn't come closer or wasn't, at least, close enough for me to see better detail.

After a while, my mother got bored and went back inside. My older brother had gotten bored and wandered off a long time ago. It was only me standing there, staring at the sky, and hoping. After a while I gave up, too. I can't remember if I saw the UFO wink out of sight or not.

Probably not.

The incident was forgotten over the next year or so. We were a poor family - what with the new fishing laws squeezing the already-thin wallets of generation shrimpers like my father - and real life seemed so much more important. At one time things had gotten so hard on our family, our trailer was repossessed and my father had to convert an old church bus into something to live in. He did a good job, too. There were hard wood floors, a built on bathroom, a functional kitchen, and two separate bedrooms in the main bus area. My parents and my little brother slept in one area. I and my older brother shared a bunk bed in the other.

Our living conditions were changing for the better, though. My parents had managed to get a one bedroom trailer and the bus was stowed in the far back of our acre yard. My little brother was getting too old to sleep with my parents, so Dad converted the church bus again into a two bedroom suite for me and my older brother. My little brother was given a space in the trailer with the parents.

I hated sleeping in that bus. I was caught between feelings of being abandoned by my parents, jealousy that my little brother got to be in the house, and insecurity over being so far away from Mom and Dad at night. I was already given to having night terrors....

Yeah, the night terrors. I was that child parents dread; the one that wakes up screaming every night for their mommy because the monster under the bed had crawled out to eat them. My nightmares were colorful, too. I saw demons battle, ran from flash lava, and saw the world end hundreds of times. No two nightmares were alike except for one thing; the demons were always coming to get me.

They were triggered by just about anything, too. Let's say for example we watched a documentary on Pompeii. I'd spend the next several days reliving a futile race against flash lava. (I now know that was probably a past life in Herculaneum, which I didn't know existed until a lifetime later.)

If we watched a documentary on Mt. St. Helens, it would be more nightmares about earthquakes. And flash lava.

Or demons chasing me. Or all at once while I climbed higher and higher in the mountains, trying to survive. Not to mention the dolls; the dolls were always coming to life to get me.

At first, when the dolls would come, it was a helpless situation for me. I was a kid. I'd wake up crying and screaming. Then things changed as I got older and I figured out that all I had to do was scream and it would end it. My scream had the power to discourage them. When I figured it out, you better believe I was coming out of my nightmares screaming even more than ever. One night I sensed it: the dolls knew that I knew. I woke up screaming that night anyway, because if you have a weapon and you're a child you're going to use it.

But the next night when the dolls came in through my bedroom door, I opened my mouth to scream and nothing came out. I tried to scream, to wake up, to do the thing that had protected me but I just couldn't. My only protection had been stripped from me. Even today if I scream in my sleep, I will feel my throat freeze and the whisper of nothing coming out as I strain.

I was four, five, six, seven... and these terrors plagued me. So the situation didn't help me at all. It probably made it worse.

But on a side note, my parents were doing the best they could. As I said before, we were very poor. We were probably lucky to get food on occasion, and I can remember my parents going hungry just so me and my brothers could have something to eat. They meant well by building that bedroom bus for my brother and me. They were providing as best they could.

It's just that as a terrified child, I couldn't understand all of that.

At first, right before being exiled to the back yard, things weren't as bad. Sure I was always given to waking up screaming in the night, so much that my parents had stopped coming when I cried years ago.

That night she stopped coming, though, I wonder if it's because she chose notto come or because she couldn't come. I had woken up from another one of my terrors of things coming to get me as I often did. I lay in bed and called for my mother over and over again, but the house was dark and silent. For the first time in my life no one answered.

I kept feeling like they weren't coming because they didn't want to. The thought actually entered my mind, "She's not going to answer anymore because she feels you're too old for this."

I never called for help again after that. I would wake up crying and screaming, and I have always dealt with my night terrors alone ever since.

At first this put me at the terrors' mercy. For years I hated to sleep, and my dreams were plagued. Even today, middle-aged as I am, I've got emotional issues attached to this. I work through them as anyone must, but they're there.

Thing is, as I got older I started to get a handle on it. I think being cornered like that for so long as a negative dream feast eventually was a liability for the problem. When I was in my teenage years I would often be taken by the black program on zombie hunts, in which I was the prey being chased through the woods or around my school campus.

As far as I knew at the time, it was just more nightmares. I didn't find out that I wasn't alone in this sort of scenario until recently.

One time though the hunter had me cornered in a school portable in the way they always did, and I just kind of snapped inside. I started to fight back. Telekinesis? I developed it real quick, and I was throwing everything at him that I could.

A few days later I was taken for another hunt and once again turned on my hunter. I can't remember how I fought back that time.

Another time shortly after that I turned on my hunter, but my telekinesis was capped. I could feel myself straining the "muscle" but nothing would work. The man got too close, I launched my body at his face. I was going to defend myself, period.

They stopped hunting me after that. Or maybe I just don't remember.

But I'm digressing.

Through the years I thought nothing of the reoccurring dreams I used to have of my dolls coming to life, always to come and hurt me. I would never have confessed, of course, that I was terrified of my Raggedy Anne doll. To be honest, I thought I had gotten the idea from a book I had read. The doll in that story would come to life, too. And, I thought, this only happened in dreams.

I hated to be alone, too. I always felt like I was being watched - unless I was in the woods. There I would find peace. But around the house I was jittery and always looking over my shoulder, especially when no one else was home. But I couldn't tell anyone how I felt. My parents had no patience for my insecurities, and I didn't have much in the way of friends.

My time in that back yard went from bad to worse in just a matter of weeks, it seems now that I think back on it.

My older brother was given to doing weird things, and being his bus mate with only a thin wall of pressed board between us was dreadful for one who tends to sleep lightly. Night after night I was kept awake to the Pink Floyd's _Dark Side of the Moon_ , and if I did fall asleep I had vague, uncomfortable nightmares that left me exhausted in the morning.

"I'm doing an experiment," my brother told me loftily when I complained to him that I wasn't getting any sleep.

In the meantime, my dolls also seemed determined not to let me get any sleep. I was waking up to them in different positions than they were in when I went to bed. My brother confessed once to rearranging them on me one time as a joke, and although I knew this another part of me wasn't reassured. I stopped being able to cope with being in my room alone, because when I went in there even with my brother nowhere around the oppressive presence of something waiting to get me lingered in the air.

Then the nightmares took it up a notch - and I still remember the first one. I was awake in the room, and it was night, and I was sitting on the floor by my bed. Suddenly I got up and went to the door - my room was on the side with the revolving bus door - and I opened the door to look out. Out of nowhere, this bright light enveloped everything and all I could do was cling to the bus door lever for dear life, screaming and crying in terror.

Night after night, it was the same dream. Sometimes instead of the horrible bright light, I'd dream of waking up in my bed... only it also wasn't my bed. There were gauze curtains everywhere and my dolls were standing around me going to cut me up and kill me. Or my dolls were coming for me from outside, and I had to keep that door closed against them.

I had dolls of all sizes and shapes, but the one I feared the most was what we'd call a My Size Doll now. She was about the height of a tall two year old. I had named her Mariah, after an old song by the Browns. Before it was over, I had taken to shutting her up in my toy chest and putting heavy things on top of it to keep her from getting out. It never seemed to work.

The nightmares never carried past the opening of the door, my screaming terror. And I couldn't scream my way out of it. I was a nervous wreck when it came to that bus, although I lived in it for many years to come.

Sleeping in that bus became a fight between me and my parents. I'd hang around in their house as long as I could, watching TV and trying to fall asleep on the couch. Then my father would announce it was time to go to bed, and I'd fight it as far as I could. I'd beg, and I'd plead, and I'd tell him straight up how afraid I was. He'd yell and threaten and eventually I had to walk across the dark back yard by myself to that dark, cold bus and wait in the night for the next nightmare. When it came time to get up for school in the morning I was always so tired and worn out.

After a while, the dreams stopped. My father eventually was able to build rooms onto the trailer for my little brother and myself, giving my older brother the bus to himself. The events around me transformed from being haunted by dolls to being chased by men in dark suits, meetings in the night with people in uniform, and memories of helicopters. And of course being chased by zombies, as I mentioned before.

I had a nightly courtship with an incubus, missed my period for several months after my menarche, and fell in love with the 'dream adventures' I began to have.

Sure there were plenty of nights I was still chased by dolls and zombies. But with the coming of the men in the business suits - I called them FBI agents - came a sense of dream empowerment. I soon figured out I could do all sorts of things in my dreams. I also figured out that if I got angry enough, I could do all sorts of things in real life. Maybe I couldn't float pots and pans and hit my chasers in the face like I could in my dreams, but I could tell you things. And sensed things. I knew that when it came to pendulums and card-reading, I was the child who was taking after her father.

## Incubus

It's February of 2017 and my perspective on this has changed a little with the addition of more information. The way I used to see it: My older brother and I were very set on escaping this world, we hated it here so much. One way we tried to get away was to build a portal between the parallel worlds using the mirror in my bedroom.

We never succeeded, and after a while we gave up. My brother forgot about it and the adventure ended for him. But for me, it had only just begun.

There was one night while I was in the dream state, a blonde man stepped through my mirror. I can't remember how he introduced himself now, but before that first night was over he had whisked me away like I was Little Nemo in Dreamland.

He took me to the river nearby, to an arm that even on the boat with my father I knew I had never gone. We had a small boat of our own, and he had fashioned an adventure for me just like the Goblin King did for Sarah in _The Labyrinth._ (I hadn't seen the movie yet then, I don't think it had come out yet.)

I used to want to be a detective like Nancy Drew, so that was what he and I played at. I was a police detective, and he was my partner. But I'm not sure we were solving a crime out there on the river in that little boat. That's what he told me, but we ended up doing other things instead.

I knew nothing of sex, but that 'dream' was so vivid and in detail there's no denying that something happened. I was 14 years old: much too young for things like that.

I named my nightly visitor George−I named everything George back then−and looked forward to his visit. He took me to so many places, and now I can't remember them at all even though I try.

One night he took me to an abandoned old house and stood me in front of an old mirror. In the mirror was not my reflection, but the reflection of a beautiful woman in a Cheyenne wedding dress. I still remember the fringe and detail to the regalia; at the time I wanted desperately to be connected to my Native American heritage. So if you wanted to woo me, this was definitely a smart move.

I wasn't me, either. I had fair brown hair and was tall and slender. In school I was told often that I was ugly by the other students simply because I wasn't White, so I had come to equate looking like that with being beautiful. I was struck by how graceful I appeared.

He said to me, "If you marry me, I will make you beautiful."

At first I said yes. But then something happened, it was like my flow with George was interrupted by this other entity who was very annoyed that she had to come. She came from far away, and she wore a velvet red skirt such as you see a Navajo wear. She told me not to marry him and induced a vision of puppies barking to get me to say no.

So I turned to George and told him, "You're just using me. No! I rebuke you!"

I will never forget his face when I did that. I really do think I broke his heart. But damn I was just a kid, and even if he was emotionally attached to me I was only 14 years old and being handled while in an impressionable dream state. If he truly wanted to be my husband he probably should have approached me on my level instead of doing what he did, but don't get me started.

He disappeared and was gone, and in the mirror was only me. I tried to get my reflection to change many times but it was just me. My adventure with George was over.

After that my dreams carried over very much to the physical realm.

At night about the same hour George used to come for me, my room would get very cold. That's when I realized that George probably was a demon. (Now I know he most likely was a Reptilian.)

Things would fly across the room at me when I tried to sleep. Heavy things. A heavy bottle of water I kept in the room to water my mice with landed in the garbage can next to my head one night. It had literally flown at me from its spot by the bedroom door.

I told my father about that the next night when the room was freezing cold as George waiting for me. My father went into the room and announced to George that if he didn't leave, he was going to never leave alive. George never came back after that.

Meanwhile my period, such as it was, stopped completely. I had only just started my menstrual cycles, and I know that for young girls it's common to miss your period for up to a year after your menarche.

But for me, not only was I missing my period but my stomach swelled. I thought nothing of it, being a kid, until one day a girl at school shouted to the world at large how pregnant I looked. I started wearing real baggy clothes after that.

After a few months my mother started to ask me repeatedly if I was pregnant. I knew the answer should be no, but being a kid who wasn't sure of anything I could only tell her I didn't know. But aside from the dream realm I figured I was a virgin, so unless I was having Jesus Christ the answer should have been obvious.

Then one night in the dream world I gave birth. My memory of that has always been very hazy. I was in a room, and the "FBI" were in attendance. A daughter was born, and a nurse showed her to me before taking her away.

She looked just like her incubus father - pale and platinum blonde. I named her Jennifie, after King Arthur's Guinevere, because that means "White." (And this is why that is the name I choose to give to you.)

That was my perspective then. As I look more and more at the work of researchers like Dr. Jacobs and Derek Tyler, I realize that my story is a typical scenario straight out of the alien hybridization program.

My relationship with George was very controlling. He dictated everything we did, and it was all for the sake of us having a union, the type that would bring about children. His looks matched the countless descriptions of a late generation hybrid male, and when I turned him away? He didn't receive my rejection in a healthy manner.

He didn't try to win me back, or reason with me, or do any of the things someone raised in a healthy environment would have done. He turned to being abusive instead, and he took his emotional pain out on me.

The truth is if he'd talked to me things would have been different. I loved him with all of my heart, and there's still a soft spot inside of me for him today.

According to Dr. Jacobs' research, late generation hybrids are given "projects" - that is to say they're assigned a human that is in the program to be theirs. That is their mate, the one they will have children by. A lot of children.

Late generation hybrids by the time I met George looked almost perfectly human but still had some ways to go. Hybrids being allowed to live amongst humans was just starting in this phase of the invasion.

From what I've picked late generation hybrids, being raised without human morality of any sort, do not know how to handle their emotions being essentially special outer space snowflakes that were never spanked. They view their projects as possessions, have no concept of personal boundaries or mutual respect, and overall? George was very unhealthy for me but I loved him anyway the way someone in my position is bound to do.

I still wonder about Jennifie; if she's real or imagined. Or what. I have tried to get psychics to find out for me, but they give conflicting reports.

I recommend anyone who wants to understand more about the hybrid breeding program to pick up _The Threat_ by Dr. Jacobs, and from there go to the rest of his research. He has been specializing in this scenario for 50 plus years and the picture he has put together is a scary one. One I am very content to fight against in my own cowardly way for the sake of humanity.

## First Handler

The dream world changed for me again, and I was spending a lot of time aboard a floating giant craft with my chief handler.

Now my chief handler was someone who had been with me for as long as I can remember. Often when I went "to work", I'd end up spending most of the time following him around. For most of my young life, I just kind of acted like a shadow to learn by observation (I guess).

He trusted me alone in his office a lot when I was a kid. I still remember that office, too. There was this big wooden desk, some matching wooden bookshelves that were full of things, and papers on the desk.

He had this black book that he kept, and in it (if I remember correctly) were a lot of names and addresses. One of my alters stole it one night and managed to sneak it home.

I remember that still so very clearly. This alter is a strong one and sometimes she'll talk to me in my sleep in ways that I'll remember. This was one of the first times she had ever done that. She was telling me that she had stolen the book and hid it under my mattress.

Under her instructions I pulled out the book and looked at it. She told me that it had a lot of important information in it. I remember looking at the pages, but I can't remember if I could read yet back then.

The book was in my room for a few days, maybe a week, but I could only remember to look at it when in the dream state. There was one night my alter was very amused because our handler was looking for his book and the entire office was in an uproar about it. She told me she would get into a lot of trouble if it was found out that she'd stolen that book, but she wasn't afraid.

The book disappeared after that.

For a while I forgot it. But there were times I'd remember the book so strongly I had to look for it. I knew it was physically in my room at one time, and I couldn't let go of the feeling that it should be there. I would tear apart my room looking for it. I was in my late teens looking for it, even.

I guess my first handler got the book back, huh.

He was an older man when I was a kid; probably in his 40's or so. His hair was mostly grey and he always wore a dark suit. He was kind to me, and I liked to be around him.

As the years went by with him, my time went from just watching as he went about the office handling affairs to having conversations with him. He taught me a lot, I know that, but I can only pull up information now and again. I can't begin to tell you what it was he taught specifically. I think, though, that he was the one that told me that remembering was the key to my survival.

After Jennifie arrived, he was there more than ever. Maybe it's because I became a slight problem for the program. They had my child, but I wasn't content to let it stay that way.

I'd go "to work" and do what I'd come to do, usually around my handler, and then it came the time where I was trusted to be my myself as he had done since I was a kid. I'd walk my happy ass down the hallway (we were usually aboard a large air ship of some kind) to where I knew the nursery was.

When Jennifie was a baby I'd walk in and tell them I'd come to visit my child. And sometimes that's all I would do. But as I got older and more aware that I should have been the one raising my child and not a bunch of nurses, I'd walk in and take my child out. I'd keep going, too. I was determined to steal my child back.

As Jennifie got older she could sense when I was coming and she'd be waiting for me by the nursery door. She was such a beautiful child! There was one time she was waiting for me, and we took off together. We made it to the hangar where we stole a ship and flew away.

But always these things ended in tears. Stupid dream state. I don't know if they programmed it in me to perceive this or if something really was coming, but always this giant Thing that I saw as a Kodiak bear would hunt us down and take her back. Never failed.

I don't like bears. At all.

I did get to watch my daughter grow up, though, in this way. The last time I saw her she was about 14. She was so beautiful. Her skin was fair, and her hair was pale blonde. She was small, but not like a Grey. Just small. My mother was small like that, and those kinds of traits run through the women of our specie. Her size could have been because of anything.

After Jennifie was moved on from my life, my handler's attention got very serious. Our nightly talks became nightly lectures as he worked to pass on a lot of stuff. Maybe he was trying to pass on everything he ever knew? That would be neat. It would be nice if I could remember past vague recollections. Either way, we got very close. I really looked forward to our nightly chats. I thought I was talking to spirit guides, of course, but I still knew.

Then one night he was gone. This happened when I was living in New Jersey at the turn of the century. I don't know if he died or if he retired, but the person who came to replace him was a young man with curly light brown hair. He wore a blue robe that had a huge star on the front.

This is when the Fishbowl got real active with me all of a sudden, but that's a story for another section.

## Spirits

Like so many people through life, I also learned to speak to "my spirit guides". The truth is, though, I didn't have a word for them. They were just Them. I didn't know who they were: I didn't try to give them faces of famous dead people like so many people do. If they were Red, like myself, that was fine. If they weren't, that was fine, too. All I knew was they'd tell me things, like when to take a walk down a road so I could find that lost kitten who needed my help. (Generations of her descendants live at my parents' house still today.) Or when to take a walk at night to 'meet with the fairies'−meetings I don't remember if I had them at all. They reassured me when the bullying was too much, they told me of this great destiny I had. They told me they couldn't tell me what it was exactly because if I knew, "I would refuse to accept it."

The nightmares at the bus door were all but forgotten by then.

I'd slip off into the woods to talk to them, to vent, and relied on the blowing wind as their answer. My entire waking world had grown to be far from mundane. All grown up as I am now I would say I probably had built the perfect escapism story, except for the physical confirmations I got time and time again. "Go this way and you'll find something," and I would. "Call so and so and this will happen." And it would.

"When you are in your 30's all of the things you are here for will begin to happen." I had to wait a long time for that one. And let me tell you, I had gotten that silly Hollywood idea that nothing happened for you unless you were 25 and under. The arguments I had in their direction were huge. I wanted things to happen *now* and not later.

## Other Selves

One thing in my jaded days that I find amusing is how many people, some of which that are even aware they're in 'The System' will mistake their alternative selves as spirit guides or even guidance from God.

I used to do that. I couldn't quite understand when one of my friends and my father said I had an "alter ego". There are things I've apparently done - outbursts of loud emotion at high school awards or when I went to see the Dalai Llama - that I honestly don't remember, but I have this vague sense that they definitely happened. (The way people around me reacted kind of affirms that feeling.)

I finally had to come to grips with the fact that I had alternate personalities. I didn't want to. As a matter of fact, one of those personalities tried to approach me when I was 14 about it.

I was standing in my bedroom doorway, and I was seriously bored that day. I stretched my arms over my head and said out loud, "I don't know what to do."

"I know what to do," said my own voice inside my head, clear as a bell.

I was filled instantly with a stern reaction. I don't know what feeling it was, it was just a feeling of sternness. I wasn't afraid, or worried. I snapped at this inner me, "Don't you EVER talk to me again!"

And she didn't, as far as I know, for many years. I even asked her to speak to me once when I was older and had gotten a better sense of what was going on in my head. (I still didn't know about the MK Ultra program yet, though.)

"I have always been here," she said to me once. I don't remember what she was replying to. I never understood it, and the lack of information used to send me in circles of confusion. Who was I really? Was I really from Lyra, or was I just a human and she was the one from Lyra?

I've come to realize that in a lot of matters, it's usually been this voice that guides me. I don't' know her name. She toyed with having an identity, I toyed with names. She toyed with internal "looks" she could go by: short hair, long hair, being a cat person, etc. I just chased her inside my mind, like I was chasing a ghost, as I have grown more and more desperate to reach her on some equal footing.

In the end she has decided she's a fox. When I was a child I was really into foxes, drawing stories about humanoid foxes that were Vikings and my people constantly. (It turned out I was drawing a past life.) I guess she decided to go full circle.

She's never told me outright what she does or how she got in my head. In my imagination, I picture her as something like my programming's version of the ultimate hacker. She can go anywhere, be anything, do anything, and assume anything. If she wants my body she can take it without a struggle, but she's usually quite respectful of our boundaries together.

She helps me find the others in my head so that I can rejoin with them, which is something I've been working on for years. But beg as I might, she won't rejoin with me. She says she must be the last one to do it. Period.

She approaches me when I'm trying to fall asleep sometimes, to teach me things about myself. She'll narrate things to me, and show me images of information that has been lost because of the programming. I remember she came forward once and patiently explained over and over again how to open my mental box. When I am touching her in this way, I am often filled with despair and feelings of hopelessness as if what we're doing to become a single being isn't enough.

There is one time I remember the best in which she came to me while I was in the alpha sleep state. She told me to look, and she held up a box that had colored sides. She went through a sequence with it, sort of like what you would do with a Simon Says game, and looked at me. Then she did it again.

Something woke me briefly and when I went back to sleep there she was with the box, showing me the sequence again.

Thanks to the work of Springmeier I know that the box and the sequence she was showing me was the key to a lot of the programming done to be my the government (or the aliens, depending on the theory you believe.) If I could remember that code, I could put a lot of things back together in a hurry. I honestly feel this would be good for the fight we as the human race face. If only I could find someone to help me get it down.

Anyway. Sometimes when "dreaming" what I'm actually doing is traveling through my mental matrix the handlers built. In this matrix is an old gothic cathedral style church, long dirt roads, and lots of open spaces you don't dare get caught alone in or the chittering demons will get you.

I managed to capture the fox while in this world once. I had her in my hand−she was very small, like a doll−and she threw hundreds of "poppet" dolls at me to distract me and get away. I remember them because they were made of rough canvas bag cloth and their lips were sewn shut. I found out later that these dolls are talked about in Springmeier's research.

There was this other time, my husband and I found this South Korean tv show called _My Girlfriend is a Gumiho._ It's about a nine-tailed fox spirit that wishes to become human.

The fox−she's a silver fox−pretended not to care at first but became very emotionally invested in the show. One night after we'd finished watching I was laying in the bed. She started to tell me something about our past.

I didn't know this, but apparently I had my own TV show. She said this to me, that it was our own TV show, and we were the leading star.

For an instant I was reliving it. It was a shoot out scene with plains clothes cops, they were ducked behind a car. I was off to the side in an alley watching them shoot at the bad guys into the night, whomever they were.

As usual, this startled me out of it.

When this happens I'm filled with such a sense of despair, that I can't get further with this. If I could find this, I know, I'd have a very important piece to the puzzle.

I don't know what it's like for everyone else, if they're as co-conscious as me or even if it's common. I don't have anyone close to me to talk to about it, not really. The times I thought I had someone close to me, it turned out to be a very bad situation so the fox and I have learned to deal with our isolation in peace.

We're co-conscious because the fox is... a matrix keeper? Maze runner? She's the one who keeps shit straight and maintains "the void", etc. She doesn't want to die, she doesn't agree with a lot of her orders, she's pretty rebellious, and often chuckles to herself at how they picked the wrong person for the job.

I used to be horrible at remembering the encounters, and I've spent many a long hour kicking myself that I'm not better at it... or as good and skillful as she is. As powerful as she is. From where I sit I see her as a goddess, high above and forever unreachable even though she's me.

The drive to get hypnotism, to find someone to "help", I think that's also her feelings. Because I feel how frustrated she gets as well, that I can't seem to find the key to unlock what she's desperately trying to do.

So far she's never been wrong on how to proceed in my quest for truth. She says beware of some data, I beware and am later very glad. When I go against her advice I pay a very high emotional price. I almost didn't make it out of it one time; I almost lost my mind.

If she and I can't become one in the way that keeps our sanity, I'll die. Or she'll die. One of us has the fox bead and the other is the fox to put it into mythology terms. Maybe it won't be a death like you think of it, but it will be a death. and I'll never be able to come back again.

This has never happened to be before, not in any life. It's a completely new experience for me. Even as I type this, I know, no one understands this enough to care. Or if they understand, they're not emotionally invested enough to care... I used to beg for help from people when I was younger. I told them I was going to die. And no one cared. So you struggle alone because that's what has been left to you, and even those you consider friends can't be bothered to have their heart pricked by your pain. They can't. They aren't with you, on your level.

Spirit Selves may just be alters. I've managed to track down but a few of my alters. This is what they are and what I think they do.

1. Me \- The front alter. I'm the boring person that never gets to have any fun.

2. A kitsune - The fox I mentioned. I think of her as the hacker in my head. She's very tricky and I view her as the single most powerful one of them all. She can go to any part of my mind where alters generally are forced to stay in their little place much in the same way I am forced to be in the front all of the time. She's also very clever and yes, I am very jealous.

3. Lots of poppets with mouths sewn shut. I saw them once when I was on a mental journey and the kitsune threw them at me.

4. The doubter -- This person makes it a point to tell me often that anything I do will not work when it comes to spellwork or practicing any mental power. I have worked very hard to "devour" this person and assimilate them back to myself so any doubt I have would be healthy doubt.

5. The babbler -- This person I met to my regret at my one and only hypno regression session. She's very clearly the one that you see when someone has been activated to look nuts and even said to the therapist that she knew he was one of us. How mortifying.

6. About 2 little kids. I work hard to stay in front cuz they're whiny.

7 The blind one - She's very strong psychically. She's so strong that the only time I got to be co-conscious when she came forward, I remember keeping my eyes shut while knowing where every single thing was within a mile around me. There's an anime called Elfen Leid. I think of her as the monster women in it. She also doesn't have a name and gets pissed if you try to give her one or call her by something. She will tell you that's not her name but when asked what it is, she goes blank because she doesn't know

## Past Lives

October 22, 2014, 0100 hours  
Dear (Name Redacted),

A while back you had asked me if I had had non human lifetimes. My answer was yes, but those memories are all the ones under the suspicion telescope. The origin life, which happened in what people now call Lyra, is the strongest in my inner trinity. Because so much of what I remembered that had happened was the same things that everyone else was saying (with some exceptions, being as everyone was saying channeled information that was just enough off to make my home sound bad. Good old propaganda.) I wasn't as iffy about it as everything else.

But what I've heard in your interview tonight just fixed my hubris. Ha ha. You said the key word and I was so thrown off, I tossed my light pen to the desk and broke it in half.

When you said there were mountains, I had to pause Youtube. I sat here with tears in my eyes. California. Why does it always have to fucking be California.

I won't go into the Lyran's life. Especially now since I know it's probably a lie. But I'll go into this. On the home world, to which I can give you flight route directions and pinpoint the black hole you have to avoid (it's a strong one, right in the way damn thing), there was the castle thing. It was more a busy hive where everyone would live. It was carved of rock that sparkled pink in the morning and evening sun, and it was situated in a valley. A lot of the plants there had blue to them, and really I just remember things in shades of blue except for this giant pink thing.

I used to try to draw it. I think I sent you the only surviving picture. I never could because although I knew about it, I couldn't *picture* it. I thought, must be my bad memory. But now that I'm a bit more experienced I know this is also a sign of being told something as opposed to having experienced something. (Mind you, I have trouble picturing things I experienced so this doesn't mean that much.) So when I did draw it, I just drew this shape that always ended up looking like one of those tall anthills. The only thing for sure I've always remembered about it was the tube that would run from the very top, where I "lived" (cue song, Girl in the Tower). It was kind of like a plexiglass laundry shoot or something. Very steep, but big enough for a cart. I'd always wanted to ride down it. Maybe I did, although I doubt it.

I have always called it The Anthill.

I had already pinpointed some of the exercises I remember from early training to the Edward Air Force Base area and generally things to the west. So now I add Tehachapi to the list. And now I face palm. Obviously the proper response to this is to get my butt to the Tehachapi Anthill. But how, dammit. How in the world can I go, perpetually broke, and if I go... how in the world do I find my way around. I mean, in a way that will matter. Without getting arrested. My little ID will only get me to the commissary.

Obviously the thing would be to get me there. The trick is to get me there and say "we need to go here" and let me lead the way. I know things instinctively. (Conscious choice, early teen years.) Like, when we were at Fort Polk I was getting carried to the training grounds there quite a lot. Husband and I were in the car going to a location spot in there and there was this side road. I told him, this is the way - even though this was my first outing there. And I knew the way perfectly. But I couldn't have told you directions consciously. I had to be put in a situation where I had to use the information automatically.

I would also have to justify this sort of trip with the bigger picture because it's so petty and personal. I've known for many years that one function that I do here is to find each holy nexus, so to speak, and... kind of... stand there. I dunno why. But bridges do that, so who knows why. It's just what I'm s'posed to do. I've found a few so far and done that. I go, and uh... dragons peek down from the skies in curiosity sometimes? This is why I was so excited over finding the information about the global matrix and the Temple along the grid points. It was in line perfectly with the memories and what I'm supposed to do. So I could find a spot near there and do this, and then it wouldn't be a totally selfish trip.

Part of a quest like this is to be willing to have your foundations in yourself challenged, to grow and to learn. And to be able to throw things out and say, "Okay not true" like the belief that aliens have a lot to do with things or believing you're the last of a Lyran Royal bloodline. And accepting that things telling you outside information can lie, and they can lie well. They can pluck at you.

The day I came to the revelation on my so-called origin, I was sitting in the backyard of my parents' house. I was maybe 14. There was a clover patch back there and I used to just sit there poking at the flowers... and talking to Them. I used to talk a lot to Them; mostly petty kid stuff. Nothing important. How magic works, stuff like that. I was sitting there internally silent that day, poking at a clover. I was pondering my past lives, wondering who I was. It was a big topic around the house at the time; reincarnation

I knew that my past life wasn't something that was over and done with the way people make it out to be. You are always who you are, and I knew that what I was then would remain who I am now. So I sat there and came to a conclusion. "I'm just a slave," I decided. I wasn't sure where it came from, because I remembered so little. But this was the revelation about myself.

"No," They said almost audibly (rare). "You're our princess."

And my mind opened up to this pink and blue world, and a family tree, and an entire history involving a family culture that depended on DNA manipulation in order to maintain it's sovereignty and superiority to those that would live in the valley below. It was such a powerful feed, I was stuck in side of it for at least 20 years. I couldn't get past this thing. Someone had to be sent to force me to move on. I wanted unicorns, and cotton candy, and my fluffy world. I'm pretty sure through the years I made up some facts to comfort myself the way people do. The bare bones of it aren't near as interesting.

I have to go to The Anthill. I have to see this for myself.

And on that day in October, I could say beyond a shadow of a doubt that when The Fishbowl tells you you're a princess, don't believe them. Or at least, doubt it heavily. It is a well known fact that "they" will lie to you. They tell you how important you are to distract you, to get your ego up. And out of control ego cripples you from getting anything done on this world.

So. Most likely I'm not some Lyran princess. Oh, I've got blue blood way back sure. In my family tree there are various members of English nobility, a king or two, an entry that reads "alleged descendent of Pocahontas", and lots of German shepherds. And that's just on my mother's side.

And I'm the direct descendent of my tribe's founder on my father's side, okay. But the rest most likely is a lie, and as such should be held in suspicion. And never, ever, wallowed in.

I'm actually hesitant to talk about Lyra and my years there. When I was still stuck in the rut of remembering it, I used to talk about it all of the time. There was one incident that I remember very clearly in which I was at a gathering, and a curious outsider was there. I can't remember the question they asked that I got to answer (normally the people in attendance were the glory hounds)... what I do remember is sitting there on the floor looking the outsider in the eyes as I spoke to her. And I was aware of how everyone at the gathering was listening with everything they had.

I started to say, "I was born in a blue valley," and they interrupted me, as if on cue, and guided the outsider to other topics. I know now it was because they knew I was going to go to that rut and didn't want me to speak of that place.

I also think they were very rude.

I don't speak of my alleged home world very often anymore because I've moved past the rut. I've since found what it was inside the story I was desperately trying to find and understand. I wasn't telling the story just to tell it. My heart was searching for something. Telling a story is a documented way to heal, as many clinical doctors dealing with PTSD will tell you.

For the sake of this book, though, I'll tell the story again. Sort of. I'm going to try to cut out the parts I'm sure I made up for myself, and stick only to what I was shown in the clover patch.

## I was born in a blue valley.

I don't remember my name especially, or even the name of the valley. What I do know - or rather, what I was shown - is that this valley was the capital's capital. The nation it headed considered itself the origin of the universe, the center, with borders that were far and vast. They considered themselves a peaceful culture, preferring to stay out of conflict, while at the same time considering themselves the *only* culture. There didn't seem to be an acknowledgement of any other nations, as if all nations and all specie were part of this universal whole.

The climate was temperate with foliage that mostly had large leaves and a blue tinge. Try as I might I never could remember the fauna especially, except maybe this deer looking thing with staglike antlers and extremely spindly legs. There were streamlets and quiet pools of water to bathe in on the mountainside, if you were into that sort of thing. The valley, by contrast, was something like a plains grassland with no trees that I can recall. The grass was very tall. It grew in golden stalks that went over my head, and it seems like there always was a gentle breeze coming down from the side of the mountain.

The valley was also sheltered almost completely by the mountains with maybe one pass going in and out at ground level. If you wanted to get in any other way, you flew in or walked the trails over the mountains. The mountains, though, were the older kind without snow peaks. Years of foot travel back and forth had made the pathways easy to follow.

Near the center of this grass bowl more near to the mountain pass entrance is a giant rock... I never could find a word for it. It was a castle of sorts, but it didn't look like any castle you'll find here on Earth. It looks more like someone had bought one of those grow your own crystal kits and used it to grow their own house. It spiked up in different levels and had a tall spike at the top - very sharp looking from the ground. It was made of a milky white mineral that glittered pink the morning and afternoon sun. I tend to simply remember it as pink.

The top spike is where I lived. There was also a clear tube that ran from just below my balcony window and spiraled around the castle to the ground. I don't know what it was for. It was just there.

The rooms inside were angularly cut much like any room you see in our houses today. I can't remember them very well - except my bedroom of course. Ha. I more remember the caverns underneath the castle, but mostly because I got to astral travel back there a few years ago. There's nothing like a visit "home" to refresh your memory.

I'm not sure when I started doing it, but I have come to call this castle "The Anthill". That just seems like it's name. And it reminds me of an anthill, so why not.

Years later in 2017 after writing the above tidbit, I wonder about those memories more than I used to. Maybe they really were implanted. For example, one cultural thing I have always "known" is that my "people" would blend themselves with other species of the galaxy. The core premise for this was the notion they were trying to blend with everyone, kind of like being part of some weird diversity soup, in order to be holistic in their place as lords of the universe or whatever.

Now I know more about the hybrid breeding program and see what it's doing to humanity. And I wonder.

I was in my early adolescence when my universe ended, as it were.

When it comes to the more fantastical of my past life memories, I often suspect that they're implanted memories. I will get validation once in a while from outside sources, but I'm still very careful. The strangest of the past life information I am about to share with you is all stuff that's been in my head for my entire life, but it sounds insane when I type it out. And I say to you, "This may be stuff they stuck there to confuse me. And if you think it sounds crazy, look up the accounts of the strange white clouds the Native Americans reported when the ships first came to their horizon. And ponder."

## Earth

I'm not sure why, but of all the places in the galaxy this seems to be the place I spend most of my time in. And if I'm not here on planet, I'm sleeping in a star somewhere. It isn't that I can't go home. I actually look forward to the day I get to and even have been allowed to see it. It's just... I dunno. Not the way.

The very first time I came here. I was maybe five in my first life. We, the establishment, were set on a mountainside, and the ground all around was muddy with tracks like you'd see in a building zone. Furrows and bulldozer type things. It was this rich red-brown, more brown than red. No green. Just mud and dirt.

It's only one of two memories I have of my first birth father from back then. I was in a room with him that had big windows that overlooked the ground. And it jutted out like a balcony sort of. Round. Just set inside the side of the mountain like some sort of mushroom or something.

When I think of the structure I always get this sense that there was nothing holding the room up per se. It just... jutted out of the side of the mountain.

There was a big oval or roundish table in the middle, with chairs. I can't remember the type of material, but I do remember the table and chairs were a darkish color. And there were about five or six other individuals in the room. My father was at the head of the table away from the windows, and I was there in the room with him.

I suppose I should have been with a babysitter, except that wasn't America nor our modern Western culture. I was just with him that day, and that's all I can tell you on that.

Little kids get bored, so I walked to the windows and looked out at the mud and dirt. My father came and picked me up. "Don't get too close," he said to me and carried me away from the windows as if I'd fall out through the glass or something.

He was a very gentle man, at least he was with me. His hair was black like mine. I used to fancy that he had two stripes of blue/grey where I had a single one going down one side. But that may have just been fantasy.

He died a few years later. That's my second memory of him, the sad air of the Anthill as he faded away and everyone held their breath for this sad thing. And my older brother also fading away in the same way.

I don't remember going back home to Shiro and the Anthill. I didn't return to Earth for a very long time.

## Coming Back to Earth

When Heaven fell... I came back and stole a body. You don't do that.

Okay this is going to take a bit more explanation. I see that. Here goes.

I was home on Shiro a few years after my father died. My mother had assumed the leadership mantle and symbolic mask, and things just weren't very well in the cosmos. Of course not being someone who dealt with the politics on a personal level, I only remember what I'd picked up on as a preteen.

There were factions that were rebelling while at the same time our borders were being encroached upon by a new, rather violent race. "The Black Shelled Beings." I think of them as insectoids, but I am pretty sure I don't remember that very well.

We in Shiro, being the hub of our network of nations, had chosen neutrality in these matters. People were not appreciating my mother's decision on that matter.

And uh... one day when I was away from the Anthill out in the fields of flowers the Black Shelled Ones attacked. It was a massacre. People running everywhere.... just... yeah.

I survived because a friend who lived in the Anthill grabbed my hand and dragged me to safety in the hills. It was from those same hills I stood and watched the survivors loaded into ships to be carried away. Into slavery, I think. Even today when I find a supposed historical account given by some Pleiadian or even a government whistleblower they pretty much indicate that. Although I do get tired of hearing how we were such a warlike people. Obviously not if we were taken by so much surprise and flattened so quickly.

From here my time in Shiro changed. There was no one left, just me. My friend, after getting me to safety, had run back to his fighter ship to try to defend the capital. I didn't see him again for years.

I already preferred to spend time out in the fields and the forests, but from there I stayed in the wild because I was afraid to go back. I would stand just close enough to look at my crumbling home but I rarely ventured down. I stayed in the shelter of the trees, out of sight, and living in a cave up on the side of the mountain. I stayed that way for years alone.

My friend returned one day after I was pretty much completely grown - although my people don't age the way we do here. I was still pretty young and still am back in that place. He came, he visited, he left. I was once again alone.

His return visit made me aware of how alone I was. I was content with things as they were until then. I got very despondent, and I wanted to see other people. I couldn't jump in a ship and fly out, and I thought there was no one on the planet but me. So I chose to astral travel out.

I can't remember the process of how I did it. I know I went to my cave. I've since remote viewed - carefully!!! - to find out and have discovered that my body is in some sort of stasis unit. (I say this knowing full well that this may also be information implanted by the handlers.)

There are other stasis units back home, too. A lot of the people during the attack had made it in there. Their bodies are there, waiting. Some bodies have died because the people that owned them have died. But. There it is.

So I astral travelled out.

Stop a moment and think of our universe as a giant several layer cake. The top layers get lighter and lighter the higher you go. Go real high and you get to the frosting, which is pretty floofy. On the other hand, if you travel down you get to denser and denser matter until you hit what's called "Down Below". Down Below is very dense, and only a few beings can live there.

Well, I chose to go up. It was the natural direction to take, and I'm flying along having the time of my life when suddenly my vision is filled with the presence of this giant being.

I mean he was a big big big big BIG being. If I had to try to translate what he looked like into an Earth picture, I'd draw a big round face. That's all it would be, is a big round beach ball head and face. Gentle looking, but with a giant crack for a mouth and only the sense that this thing had eyes and ears.

I froze in place. This thing seemed to have come out of nowhere, and it noticed me.

It said, "What are you?"

I can't remember my answer, but I'm sure it was something like, "Uh... squeak!"

The next thing I know, this creature is rudely opening his mouth and swallowing me whole. I didn't even have time to react. It was done with a feeling of, "I am choosing you." Except I didn't like it's choice.

Inside its mouth I railed to be set free. I could feel it's presence around me, but not quite touching, and begged it to let me go.

"I need someone like you," it said to me. "I am going to change you to be like the others, so that you can survive in my realm."

"I don't WANT to be like the others," I argued back. I was very prideful of my unique qualities.

I begged and cried and wailed to please be let go, and if nothing else not to change me into something I was not. The creature finally relented. He explained that in order to live with his people (I'm not sure why it was decided I was going to live on that level.), I had to be changed at least a little bit. So we came to a compromise. I would stay who I was and would only be given a few bells and whistles, things that would let me "breathe".

Being changed by this being was relatively painless. It was like being flushed down the toilet, I guess, because I was pushed by some force through to the other side of the being's head. I came out there an entirely new creature.

I remember feeling pretty. That was probably a programmed response. Again, if I had to give you imagery the best I can ever describe it is... I was a human before and I walked out with wings and a halo. I could fly.

The new land I had come to was very light, very airy, very much in one of the upper layers. My new role was completely different than what I wa used to back on Shiro. There were no fields of grass to run in, but I was okay with that. I was an errand keeper and message runner, and I liked that quite a lot.

People in this new land were each attached to groups of various numbers. I remember each team's name, sort of, but only as direct translations. There were the Lightning Givers, the Wind Bearers, Name Givers, etc. The names were usually metaphors to whatever it is you were tasked to do as your job in this place.

My team, the Light Bringers (not to be confused with the Lightbringer), were basically auditors. We would go from place to place and see truths in things. One of their member, the third, had been transferred to another group and I was sent to fill the new gap. So I became number three. And that was basically my name, I think.

I don't think the numbering worked with these teams the way the Star Trek universe did with the Borg. But I admit I used to joke that I was Three of Pi because it reminded me of it.

There was a fellow being up there that did not like how things were. I only remember how sharp his energy felt and how his color was basically red. (We each resonated in a color.) He wanted to change the order of things and decided he would cause a civil war of sorts.

In this place causing a civil war wasn't hard because everyone was programmed to simply obey orders. If you were of the right department and held the right sway, you could set son to kill mother and not have an issue. He decided that's what he wanted.

And I remember that he didn't just want to do it cleanly. He wanted bloodshed.

We didn't make a move without our Queen Bee's permission, though. When the red one came to my department and told us we would fight on his side, I went to the big.. head... face creature. I used to go to talk to the head creature a lot, as a matter of fact. I'd bring it news of what was going on, reports of what I had seen, and really I spent a lot of time talking to it. Naturally when something like this came up I would run to it first thing.

I told it what the red one wanted. It said to me something along the lines of, "Let him. If this is what he wants, he has my permission."

So I went back and passed his blessing to the red one. Weird huh.

What happened after that's a bit of a jumble. I mean, I know that everyone took sides as if we were choosing what side we would play in a football game.

The battle was basically an all out free for all. I fought, sure, and everyone killed something I'm sure. If you didn't kill a fellow being, well there probably was a harmless rabbit nearby. Back a few years ago when I could remember this a lot clearer than I do now, I vowed never to share the fighting techniques used in that battle. I've since heard other people mention the exact same techniques so I've stopped worrying about that.

When it was over, the red one was declared the victor. This is when he did the unthinkable.

He lined my team up in front of him along with a few other teams. I, being the youngest, stood at the very end.

He ordered us to stand still and submit to being killed. _Thank you for your service_ , right?

Then he personally, starting with the oldest, started killing us one by one. The best way I can describe how he did it was he was stabbing each one in the heart while cutting their throat and disemboweling them at the same time.

One by one, right in front of my horrified eyes, I saw my comrades fall silently and disappear into nothing.

At this point, to borrow a Christian metaphor, you can say that my pride is what lead me to my downfall. I had been so proud of being unique, and it was that uniqueness - that special sense of self and core of my makeup - that saved my life. I wasn't compelled to stand there and mindlessly obey like the others did. I ran for my life.

I fled down.

Now the big face thing (I keep wanting to call it the Giant Head, ha.) had made me a very fast flyer. All of my team were, we were the fastest flyers around. So I'm flying as fast as I can away from the killing.

I guess because there was no catching me, the next best thing was to shoot me in the back. The shot fucking burned, too. The weapons we fired on that level were basically soul shot weapons. Being an entirely light being at that time, my ectoplasm or whatever you call it was pierced by a burning light bold. I don't know how to describe it. I think of it as plasma lightning, sort of.

It passed clean through my right shoulder, but I wasn't slowing down. I went down layer after layer after layer and kept flying, probably long after any pursuit had given up even. And I found myself back on my own familiar layer after a bit.

I couldn't go back to Shiro. I remember floating there in the darkness, and it felt cool compared to where I had been. It was kind of like stepping into cold air conditioning inside on a hot sunny day. I was frightened and knew if I was found I was dead, so I went to the only other place I knew.

Earth.

I remember flying down and not really paying attention to how things were. I was in a hurry to hide. I think I was also going by instinct, because I can't remember stopping anywhere, pulling out a map, and planning anything nefarious. I was just doing what felt right in the moment as fast as I could.

As luck would have it, I found a small family of people that somehow I knew were distant cousins to me. There weren't that many people in this small holding - I would find out why later - and as luck would have it the female of the home was pregnant. Very pregnant.

There are certain conditions that must be met for a soul to fit inside a body perfectly. I try to explain them in another part of the book. Also there used to be this rule in the cosmos: you don't steal a body. Ever.

But this baby was my best chance at survival. I have no idea if there was a soul in it. Probably not. It was probably going to die or was already dead, because occupying a body that already has a soul in it is like trying to get into an already too full clown car. I stepped into the baby and have been here on Earth ever since. And I was perfectly camouflaged.

It was risky, I might add. There were cosmic laws back then about body theft. Travel from one mode of existence was actually quite common back then. Some bodies were like time shares. They'd been vacated by their previous owner, who was not coming back, and someone who wished to live in this dimension would take the body if it fit them well. But to take a body that was already belonging to someone was not tolerated, and the punishments were harsh.

I don't think I cared at the time, though.

Now the thing about that fucked up story I just told is, I say at the risk of repeating myself, I'm not sure how much of it is true. Part of it actually matches a mission I'm pretty sure I was on this lifetime in the black program, and the rest is just weird. I could never explain fully how it was on that upper layer. It was a very alien place.

And it may just be 100% not real. The aliens, the handlers, and anything to do with the black programs stick shit in your head to keep you in control. And I've heard even stranger shit from other people. Stuff that makes my story boring.

But anyway. I've been here on Earth (mostly) ever since. And I've been:

A Catholic young maiden who prayed every day to get out of her arranged marriage

An idiot who got trampled by a mastodon

Some dumbass defending a hill in some Neolithic type battle setting. I dislike nose guards to this day.

Cat.. person.. tiger...thing

Slave boy in Herculaneum, died in flash lava. This particular life haunted me in nightmares starting from toddlerhood until I got a sense of why.

Blood hound

A king's son and invading general (This one took me a long time to feel secure about.)

A concubine in Rome

Elephant handler crossing the Alps!

Dumbass would-be ninja/rebel who can tell you intimately how painful it is to be an arrow pincushion

A Buddhist monk

Orphan teenager tried as a witch by her horny cousins

A high priestess of Diana, of some other place in a desert with big birds and giant headdresses, and really I've been stuck in temples for most of my time here I suspect.

And my favourite: one badass hot looking momma of a pirate. HOOAH!

Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I did a youtube video talking about past lives. I'll link it here for your fun. The embed might not work so I'm also including an url link:

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rx0PxOXlftY>

## The Fishbowl

The Fishbowl is my personal term for 'The Council on High'. I always knew I was in contact with them on some level, but it wasn't until I was already a mother that I began to figure out just who they were and what they were all about.

They pretty much warned me away from a lot of things in life, and have been a constant thing. Almost like a group of several hundred invisible friends. When I picture the building the people work in, I picture a giant Greek or Roman amphitheatre. It's round, and each level of chairs is called a tier. The bottom level is a sand floor, like something you'd see gladiators fighting on, with a pool of water, a pedestal, and a giant gong.

What's really cool is when I encounter other people who also deal with the Council on High, they pretty much describe the exact same terrain.

The pool of water is used to review histories and other fun things. I'm sure it could be used as a Baptismal too. Whatever.

The pedestal is for people to stand when they're talking or are up for trial - yes, we judge. Yes. We have trials.

There's this event that I call the Great Conglom. I talked about it on Youtube when I was younger, so I really don't want to go into it here. Besides, if I tried to tell the story of the Great Conglom this book would be all about it with just a few things on the side. It can be a long story. So I'm going to gloss over as best I can.

Basically, as many people will attest, there are thousands if not millions of us who come to Earth on a cycle. We come because there things we have to do here. This last time I didn't want to come, let me tell you. I was quite content to sit meditating in my star, not bothered by anything. But the time came and some folks were sent to get me. So, as if my habit (in case you haven't gathered), I ran.

They chased.

I ran here, I ran there, I ran everywhere. I don't think it was a very long chase, to be honest. I did hide out in a star nursery for a while, which is another one of those cosmic no-no's. Ha ha... After I thought the heat had died down I emerged and went to what I can only describe to you as a bar. It was just a place where people hang out, maybe get a drink, and I showed up.

Immediately I was surrounded by others who kept pressuring me to come back to Earth. Peer pressure sucks. I relented.

So then the Great Conglom happened. Basically it was a massive cosmic call to anyone who would volunteer to do this big thing. I remember it in vague terms because my mind tries to translate things to match this realm of existence. So let me lay the scenario out for you.

Picture a giant football stadium. It's the stadium to end all stadiums. You're sitting in the prime box seats, and you're looking toward the end of the field but the stadium is so big you can't see the end of the field. Now, you're sitting next to me so you can see me sitting there watching people come in. Be sure to picture me real real real bored.

There are a few people sitting in this area with us. I can't remember them real well, so I can't describe the to you. There's just this vague sense that they were there. They did most of the talking. I kind of would point sometimes and say, "I like that one." But I think mostly I yawned and wished I'd been left alone.

There are lines and lines of people on the ground below. We're so high they look like tiny dolls waiting in line. The lines stretch as far as the eye can see, even past the stadium. You have this knowledge that the lines keep going down the city block even. There's that many people.

The lines are pretty calm and quite as each person waits their turn. Picture about five of these lines, with all their soul colors, but there may have been more. When each person's turn comes up, the line slowly shuffles forward. The people up front are offered a possible task, and if they want it then they have to be accepted. Some people that come forward have something specific in mind that they want to do, and they say so.

That was the Great Conglom, which has happened more than once.

It's common thinking in these self-centered times to assume that Sparkle, who waited in that line for days, was picked to be the President's 5th grade teacher (for example) because they were the only one who could do the job right. The truth is Sparkle, Billie Bob, Joanne, Fred, Munster, and a lot of other people were all chosen for the same job as a failsafe. If Sparkle is unable to do the job when the time comes - or they become unfit for some reason - then it would be someone else's turn. The next person would then step up to fill the empty position, and the great mechanism of the plan could keep going smoothly.

Going back to the Fishbowl, it's comprised of a lot of people who stood in that metaphorical stadium waiting their turn. I've seen the Fishbowl change hands on more than one occasion because the people involved had gotten too greedy, self-centered, or even died. The bowl will stand empty a day or two and then fill right up again as the next people that were in line arrive to take their place.

Each level of tier in the Fishbowl doesn't necessarily mean rank, unless you get to the top of the bowl. At the top there's a canopied seat. Gauze curtains hide the occupant from view, although they can see out just fine if they desire. To the right and left of that seat are two councils. One is of twelve people. One is of seven. And just behind the seat elevated a little is an even more personal council of three.

I sit in that seat when I go there. If I choose to. The proper term for where I sit is "I sit on high with stars overhead." That doesn't mean anything except that it's a street address. If I sat on the third tier from the sands, for example, I'd say I sit three up from the gravel or something.

And although I probably shouldn't be open about where I sit, it doesn't make sense to hide it either. So yes. That is where I sit. Whoopdee doo. Trust me, it's no big deal.

It was slightly at the push of the Fishbowl and slightly at the push of my inner instinct that I began to seek out UFO researchers as a way to get my story out. I've been in contact with Budd Hopkins, Eve Lorgen, James Bartley, Melinda Leslie, and most recently James Rink all in my search to find someone to help me find the truth. I reasoned that if others got to be hypnotherapy patients and have their memories brought forth, why couldn't I? The reason I've learned is because I can't. No one wants to deal with it.

But in the early days when I was just discovering what the Fishbowl was, I hadn't gotten that far. But even so when I did figure it out, I had already been turned away by a lot of researchers. One told me point blank that I wouldn't be able to tell him anything new for another book and he didn't need me. It was very frustrating because my information was all I had to offer in exchange for their help. I didn't have any money, being a single parent. Hell, I still don't have any money.

I just wanted to know the truth of why I was having my dreams, why it was some of my experiences matched alien abduction phenomenon, and how I could remember what I was supposed to have forgotten. I didn't want any healing. I wanted my memory back.

## Love Life

As an adult, how I was being treated in the program had shifted completely. Having children against their orders was a real game changer for me, I guess. I think it's safe to tell you that I was originally going to be a media Butterfly. It's what I was going to do, and even today when I write a song or work on one of my comic books a lot of the "how to" that comes out of me is stuff that's been buried inside for my entire life. But that wasn't going to happen anymore. Children changed everything.

There were times I'd spend the entire night listening to music, sometimes music that wasn't released on the radio until a while later. There were times I dreamed of UFOs, of walking, of routine things involving fixing hyper drive engines. My dreams, like my real life, had settled into a mature monotony seriously lacking zombies, Kodiak bears and dolls. I didn't miss the zombies and bears, but I hadn't seen Jenn since she turned 14 years old. I often wondered about her, although for all intents and purposes she was just a figment of my imagination. I no longer remembered the bright lights in the bus. Or being chased by my dolls.

Do you know about Eve Lorgen's Alien Lovebite theory? I can tell you about that intimately.... It seems like there was always someone being sent to me only to be taken way tragically. And it always seemed like they were taken away by madness. With my first husband, by example, I was told by The Fishbowl that I couldn't mate with him because he wasn't the one planned for me.

Boy did I argue over that one. I wanted children. I wanted domestic bliss. So they told me, fine. But I'd only get to have him 2 years.

Two years later, he got hit on the head for the second time and had what is called a personality change. He got horribly abusive - not that he wasn't already a bit of a jerk before - and he sued for divorce shortly thereafter.

Another I was with, I'm not sure he meant to stay. And his story is kind of a pathetic one. But even though it's pathetic, it's also the turning point that pushed me towards the truth. Up until then I thought I lived in a world of fairies and cosmic ghosts. Sure, I had what I called "sci-fi material" in my head but the fact that I remembered (for example) being a person on another planet never quite sunk in.

And I kept getting approached by people who were contactees with Greys with the same message. The Greys had commanded them to work with me and listen to me. The Greys were on my side. Blah. Blah.

I was too dumb to figure it out. Sure I'd heard of the Greys. They were the only alien I had heard of, and some part of me just didn't quite get it.

This happened in Jacksonville, Florida−which I now know is a hotspot for UFO activity. So when my ex and I were awakened one night by someone tripping over a lamp in our bedroom, I didn't think it was anything physical at all.

The lamp tripped, and it woke me up. The problem is sometimes, especially when listening to head sleep music as I was then (the music box I think it's officially called), I will wake up the wrong age. Sometimes I'm an old woman. This time I was a small child. So I started crying for my mommy. And my boyfriend... we'll call him Dick. Imagine how stupid he must have sounded: "Show yourself! Show yourself!" while not getting out of bed.

The room was filled with a thick orange light. I had this sense that if I wanted to, I could reach out and grab it. It streamed in through the bedroom window. I remember thinking someone had floodlights on, and I wondered how anybody could put floodlights out that bright without pissing off the neighborhood.

I'm sure you know how these things resolved. We were disturbed, but we also somehow fell right back to sleep. And the next day I started doing research on wil o th'wisps, because the scenario matched that legend. What I found was surprising. Instead of that fairy tale, I came across other UFO abduction accounts that matched perfectly. And that's how I learned I had been getting picked up by the aliens after all these years after all. They just never thought to tell me. A letter in the mail would have been nice, at least.

The event traumatized Dick something bad. I mean, I'm not one to watch horror movies because my vivid imagination and memory doesn't let detail go. But you know that movie _White Noise_? That oh so not really scary movie? Dick was so shaken by what happened that night he refused to watch that movie. In fact he yelled at me about it. (He wasn't a healthy person to be with, really.) He kind of hinted he remembered what had happened but he never would tell me... and these days I would hold anything he had said in doubt anyway. He had lied to me about a lot of normal life things, so who knows what bullshit he would have made up. The fact that he wouldn't tell me suggests, even, that he was lying about remembering.

When Dick left me, he did so in such an underhanded way that I was devastated. I remember the first night he was gone, I was in the bed asleep and I felt them come into the house.

I knew they were at my bedroom door, and they were calling me. Every time they spoke to me, I'd hear the words in my head but they sounded like bells. It was like being abducted by Tinkerbell.

"Come on, Jennifer," they'd say to me.

"No," I responded back in my head, probably for the first time in my life. The way I lost Dick had made up my mind. Up until then I'd spent my entire life doing what I thought was the right thing, helping the Fishbowl and serving some super large cosmic purpose. And every time I turned around, I was losing loved ones around me. I'd had enough.

So they tried again. "No," I said again. "You want me to work for you, you bring Dick back. You stop tearing up my life. You put things back the way they're supposed to be. I'm cooperative and loyal. I deserve to be treated well. Not this bullshit."

The scenario I know now is like something from Eve Lorgen's Alien Lovebite Theory I mentioned before. And I'd had enough of it. I'd had enough of being pushed around; of having my world torn down because making me upset somehow heightens my gifts. And I was tired of being molded and shaped and then never given anything important to do to show for it. So yeah. I continued to lie in the bed and yes, I told the aliens to fuck off.

It's documented. I remember at the time I was in contact with my first UFO researcher, a kind woman named Barbara Lamb. When I told her about the event the next day she confirmed the bell sounds. So there was that at least. But I digress.

The bosses, masters, aliens, whatever; they tried again. "Get up," they said. "It's time to go to work." They told me to get up at least three times, and the last time I told them, "You fix things first. You make Dick come back to me first. You stop fucking up my love life first. I refuse to work anymore for you, to be abused by you."

Things went black immediately thereafter and I had a dream. Well, after a while of picking things apart you soon learn to tell what a dream is and what a hypnotic trance is. Dreams are a hell of a lot more vibrant, for starters. Trances are like you're acting with a big glass suit all around your mind and body. So you're aware things really are happening, but you're also separated from reality. It's two completely different feelings.

So I was standing on a nearby beach, and it just happened to be a beach I used to visit often at night for no real reason. There was a small beamship, one of the saucer ships, floating just off shore. I was aware of it. I could even kind of see it's dull grey-silver husk in the dark. I could tell it was the size of a large car, because it was a personal vehicle.

Standing between me and the ship was a dark brunette man. He was taller than I am by at least a foot. That would make him over six feet. I thought of him as my father. But it was obvious he wasn't my biological father. And I was giving him orders; I told him to step up the plan because I "didn't have much time left."

When I woke up the next day, I woke up knowing that they, the 'owners', identified themselves as fathers and mothers to us as a means to create an emotional connection. I'm sure it works for a lot of people. For me, it was more important to have that sudden new bit of information. And even more important when I found reference to it in an alien research document years later.

I considered this a physical event with the Fishbowl.

My time with the Fishbowl only got to be more active like that, but the truth is there's not much to talk about. I've used my mind to remote view its location once; this was during a period of inactivity. I remember being surprised to find it. Apparently it's a big disk like structure that orbits the other side of the sun from us evenly so we never see it.

I stood in the empty hall and I picked an object up. It was so cold there I could feel it burning my hand, even though I was only "rollercoasting" to look at things. It was quite the different experience.

## Missions (And the Handlers that Fuck them Up)

My husband was a soldier in the army, and he was deployed to Afghanistan about two years into our marriage. This was the most active year I have ever had in the black program. It seems that nearly every day something was done to keep me upset. Either my husband's first sergeant separated him and a few other guys from the entire unit that was deployed and denied them permission to call home to their families, that same first sergeant was not letting these guys have weapons _in a live war zone._

Day after day the army was used to do something to piss me off. And night after night I was going to "work".

I remember when my husband's unit first deployed, I was given over to this shitball little handler. He must have been maybe 24 years old, tops. Blond. Very skinny. Extremely full of himself and did not, I repeat did not, know how to handle a butterfly. Especially not one like me.

My husband takes old fashioned courtesy with me a little bit seriously. If we're in public and I say to him, "I'm thirsty," I don't have to get the drink. He gets it for me. He also gets the door and insists on carrying in the groceries.

So I'm sitting with this little bastard handler the same night my husband has shipped out. We're in a busy setting as there are people everywhere, and this stupid little shit has told me that he's my husband as a means to control me.

I said to him that I was thirsty, as there was what I took to be a concession stand nearby.

He was involved in a conversation with another handler who had someone else standing behind him, and they were very deep in mundane conversation. When I said I was thirsty, the handler impatiently said to me, "Get it yourself. You know how."

That little action, that one inconsistency, coupled with the emotional anguish his action caused busted me out of the dream. Sure I was still in control, but I also became what the handlers call aware.

Because of this idiosyncrasy I remember a lot of missions, and have come back home remembering them. I hope to sit down and flesh this area out a lot in the future.

## The Plot Thickens

A couple of other things happened in Jacksonville, too. One night I was aboard a mothership or space station. We all wore white jump suits, and I was walking down the outer hall with my team. You could see space out the windows, and although I normally really enjoyed that view I was busy. My team and I, while we walked, were discussing... something.... Important. I can't remember for the life of me what directions I was giving to them.

There was an explosion or an impact or something. It jarred the vessel. I turned to look behind me, because I was concerned for my ship and was going to go back to check things out. But the team, they were suddenly shouting at me. "Go go go go!" They were all pushing me into a nearby pod, even though I didn't want to go. They got me inside and things went black. I woke up in the bed Dick and I used to share wondering what had happened and if everyone was okay. I lay there a long time wondering.

And another time I was sleeping on the couch on a weekend. My daughter was visiting her father, so it was just me and the roommates. I happened to open my eyes and notice a little girl standing near my feet.

At first I wondered why my daughter was out of bed and if she'd had a nightmare. Then I remembered my daughter was no longer that small. And then I also remember my daughter was not home.

This girl creature was slowly coming at me to my head. So I screamed. And screamed. And screamed. I don't know what she/it was holding in front of it but it was like some sort of box. It got all the way up to my shoulder, and by then I'd had enough and was awake and aware enough to do something else. So I started to get up to beat the fuck out of it.

Suddenly the lights were on and all my roommates were in the living room. I'd screamed so much my voice was hoarse and I could barely talk. And I have no idea what happened.

My daughter told me later that was her ghost friend, that she was probably trying to play a prank on me.

I guess "Father" and the others listened to me, too. Things got better for a while. I swore off romance, but many months later I suddenly felt like I had to get ready because a wedding was about to happen. And then my husband came to the picture. He literally swooped me up in a whirlwind and wouldn't take no for an answer. So now I'm married.

Living in Illinois. My friend, who was in a similar boat, and I happened across a researcher who for the sake of this story I'll call Jill. Jill was very friendly at first, and I was starting to have hope. The three of us would spend hours on the phone, where my friend and I would tell her about ourselves. In return she'd give us much coveted information, which for us was confirmation and reassurance. For us, understanding of what was happening was finally within reach to a small extent.

But things just weren't meant to be I guess. "Oh, the music box! Not the music box!" she said to me one day when I told her about my nights listening to music. She moaned things like that often when I'd tell her one of the things I could remember clearly. I no longer remembered about the dolls, and I never talked about Jennifie. This is a problem I think a lot of us face. We're conditioned not to remember, so when we try to tell someone what's going on we can't. The information just isn't there.

Aside from making it so we're not believable, it also limits our ability to share information so something can actually be done about this.

Anyway. In the course of three days, Jill made her decision. My friend was clearly an abductee, because her dreams were always based on spaceships and she never had anything bad to report. But it was plain to see that I had never been abducted by aliens. I was a government slave.

So it was through Jill I learned what a MILAB was - a military abductee. I was, according to Jill, one of many average people in the world whose alien abduction experience was faked. I'd never been in a spaceship. I'd never seen an alien. It was all a lie.

Her attitude about the entire affair was demeaning to me. Because I had military involvement with my experiences, my life was somehow completely invalidated.

She didn't stop there. Jill educated me further. Apparently the government has people trained to find read auras. Alien abductees have "holes" in their aura that's a dead giveaway. Abductees will then find themselves abducted by their own government as part of some grand scheme that no one understands but all can agree is happening.

Furthermore, the government likes to watch for certain souls. Jill wasn't sure I was one of those souls. She just knew there was no way I was an abductee. As a result, she no longer had an interest in working with me. She only wanted to work with my friend - the abductee in question.

That hurt and made me angry at the same time. The more she talked, the more I was stunned and emotionless only to start burning with that anger. The more it has sunk in over the years, the angrier I have become.

Now, this brings me back to an earlier point in my story. Being pushed. Anger can be very liberating and a very powerful force. I've faced people down who tried to make me angry on purpose just to get at what was within, and truth be told I don't like to get angry. But Jill's quick decision and subsequent dismissal of myself and my need was all it took.

I had the normal reaction. I and my friend ranted a while, appalled at Jill's bent. Didn't she listen when we had told her we'd done things together? We marveled. And that worked to steer me away from being too angry for a little while. But my friend had to go to sleep sooner or later, and so I was soon left to my own seething thoughts.

It was like a window opened in the back of my mind, and all of that light which used to surround the bus in my nightmares streamed forth. I remembered the dolls, my terror, and the years of loneliness and fear that still haven't left me today. I remembered reading an article about how many abductees, especially those that have dealt with Greys, report stories almost identical to mine. And in that moment I realized those weren't dreams. They were nightmares, yes. But of the waking kind.

I remembered other things, too.

When I was a toddler, I kept climbing out of my crib to stand at the trailer door and wait. I'd climb up on a chair and look out the window into the darkness. Just standing there.

And when I got a little older, right before I started kindergarten, I started having dreams of actually leaving the house out my bedroom window. I'd meet up with what I thought of as "hunters" because they all carried rifles and wore the same clothes: lots of pockets.

Back then I loved Hong Kong Phooey and the Pink Panther, so in my waking life there were a lot of burglars wearing that cap they're famous for. I forget what kind of cap it is. I'm fond of 'em too. They're classy. ;-)

In one particular dream I'd met on the road in the woods with the others the way I normally do. And it was time for me to come home. So the nice men and lady brought me home. And as I was coming out of it a woman's voice kept saying "Don't open your eyes. Don't open your eyes."

Well, duh. I opened my eyes and looked to my left. On the wall was a huge silhouette: a tiny body and a head that I took for a head with one of those caps on. Naturally I screamed bloody murder, and the parents came running. There was a burglar in the house, I told them. I don't think they believed me.

I realized my contact with things unknown had been going on for a very long time. A whole new understanding of my past fell into place. I did remember, to some extent. It just wasn't what I hoped to remember.

So I told Jill what I remembered. I told her about Jennifie, my incubus, and most importantly the bright lights. Her tune changed after that. She said she wished she could put me under hypnosis, to see if Jennifie's birth was real, and to see what else I could remember. The three of us began to make plans on coming to her – she lived in Louisiana – to see what we could do.

And then, unfortunately, Jill took a paranoid turn on us. Which is normal for people who get too close to me I guess? Before it was over, she was accusing my friend of sending squirrels to attack her. (I kid you not. Squirrels.) And there went another researcher.

But even so, I had made progress. Glorious progress. I knew about the soul snatchers now. Some of the information my guides had told me as a child was confirmed as well. I could go on feeling like I was leading a double and triple life−because chances are I was. And even though I didn't get "deprogrammed" or hypnotized, I did get some information and a step to some answers.

## Abductions

I've since met other researchers, one of which was with MUFON. During that time there was a lot of activity for me – of course I tend to have a lot of activity period. Mary told me I was one of the busiest she'd ever encountered.

The event that stands out for me in the moment, though, was when my husband was home on leave. (These days he's a retired military man, but that was then.) He was asleep in bed and I was up... and I thought I was under water.

By then the knowledge had affected how the trances worked on me, so I'd see things in double vision. So I thought I was in an abandoned sunken Greek city like Atlantis (a favorite scenario for these guys). My bed was a table. Other objects were vases and pillars and things.

Meanwhile while "seeing" the sunken city around me I also was seeing the room for what it was. I was hiding by the bed away from the main bedroom window, where I knew things came to get me to and fro. In fact, that bedroom window *still* has numerous dirty fingerprints from where I apparently stand at it in the night on pickups. Just about everywhere I live, as a matter of fact, tends to develop a fingerprint spot by the window or a door.

I knew "they" were coming for me. I can't remember what I thought they were going to be at the time, but I didn't think they were Greys. This would have been amusing if I'd thought that, actually. There's been a couple of times not during pick up that I thought a lamp in the floor was a Grey or something and I automatically get violent. There's not even any thought to it. I just go for the kill. I hate those bastards. So yeah... no amusement there.

The things streamed through my windows, and came at me. But I wasn't going without a fight. They dodged me as I swung wildly at them. Don't ask me how, but I managed to pick one up and had it by the neck. Looking into its eyes, I suddenly knew... these are GREYS! And proceeded to get murderous.

And it was weird. It was like something happened, the trance deepened, they imploded on themselves and became weird creatures with big lips. I dunno. But it all went black from there and I have no idea what happened after that.

I told the MUFON researcher. No one ever came to check out the fingerprints, or the area, or really gave a damn. Just. Screw MUFON.

There is one time of importance that happened recently in 2014. I had taken to not being able to sleep at night anymore - it's just not safe to sleep at night so I give up - and I was lying in bed tossing and turning. I was wide awake, and I was just thinking of giving up and going to my computer. The fan was on at the foot of my bed, and I had the bathroom light on for a night light. I could see around me quite fine.

I had a new implant behind my left ear that was bugging me a little bit. They'd put it there a couple of weeks before, and I knew I'd been getting picked up a lot recently. I'd even stood outside in the dark one night while walking my dog to watch the orange lights descend down on the neighboring town only to wake up covered in tiny fingertip bruises. Things had gotten quite busy here in Illinois.

So there I am annoyed I can't sleep. Annoyed at my left ear. Annoyed in general. When suddenly it was like the world was switched off with a click. The power in the house was just gone and it was pitch black dark as I lay there.

A rumbling started just outside my bedroom window, the one with the fingerprints. As I lay there in the dark I thought at first, being a Floridian, that it was a storm and the rumbling was thunder from lightning. And I wondered: was the lightening striking in the field by the cul de sac? Because it was very close.

When the rumbling didn't fade away I thought, "Man, that's one hell of a long lightning bolt."

It just kept going on and on. I lay there under the covers, determined to weather out this freak storm. And the whole time I'm laying there trying to make sense of what was happening around me, there were these horrible sounds in my head. It was almost like computer feedback. Of course I didn't fully register that part had happened until after it was over and I could think straight. At the time I was only worried about freak lightning and a storm. (I should have thought it was a tornado like anybody here would do, but yeah. Didn't happen.)

After a few seconds of me being determined I was going to withstand the storm, I kind of started repeating, "Thank goodness I trusted myself," over and over again. I don't know what I trusted, or what I had believed, but I was thankful.

Suddenly the world just went back to normal. You know that silence and click you get when the electric in your house is turned back on again? Not like that. It was just suddenly the lights were on and the fan was running without warning.

When I told a friend of mine about this he said, "Like a scanner?" in regards to the computer feedback. Yes! Yes! Just like a scanner!

The next day I was very tired and sick. Once upon a time when these things happened to me, I'd blame disease. I thought I had fibroidmyalgia or something. No. Nowadays I know that after an abduction the military will abduct you to get information. They give you this scopolamine drug cocktail to keep you in control, and this produces such side effects. I used to think it was jet lag.

I know there are folks who call what the military does "re-abductions" but I don't simply because if they were "re-abducting" me after an abduction, then they'd be abducting me after abducting me. That's not the case. The aliens are abducting me. They are not re-abducting me the same night by coming again. When the military is abducting me, they are not abducting me two times thus a re-abduction on their part. But that's just semantics and it's not important. Just a point of amusement.

The important part here is that when I sat and thought about it, I've come to hypothesize that my new implant stopped the abduction.

## Sacrifice

I am adding this part August 12, 2014. Because I have a bit more understanding.

Every year I go through a cycle. I and my friends: we pretty much call me the Persona of the Sun. We used to joke that I was Jesus Christ, but we know more now. This is because my life seems to cycle with the sun. I do great in the summer and then fall hits, the solstice comes, and I begin to die. What I mean by that is my life really starts to suck. I was born in December, but I hate my birthday because that's always the worst time of the year for me. Bad luck goes to deep levels of worse.

And every year we always noted, even before I understood the science of it, my life would miraculously turn around as if I was reborn on the third day. Christmas, give or take.

It wasn't until a few years after I'd discovered that when I learned about the ancient rites of the sun, the religion that the story of Christ is based upon. For those who don't know, it's basically that the sun goes through a cycle every year. We have spring, the warmth and growth of summer, and the harvest.

During that cycle, the sun actually has a set path it makes across the sky every day. The ancients marked time by it and if nothing else you've seen the elaborate traps set in Indiana Jones or other media productions, all things set for the sun to shine at a certain hour on a certain day in a certain spot to open up a certain something,.

Well, at the end of its cycle the sun hits its lowest point in the sky. To the Egyptians, this was the death of Ra. And the sun stays there for three days.

On the third day it rises by one degree, thus "rising again" and "being reborn".

On the third day my luck always changes and I cycle back up again. For I am linked with the sun, or so we jokingly say.

The problem goes farther than that, I'm afraid. I've never really talked about it in public before because of how crazy it sounds, not to mention it's like tooting my own horn. I dislike doing that.

My entire life I've had "dreams" of sacrifices over and over again: missions, as it were, where I go to be killed. They always happened at solstice, I was usually the one being sacrificed, and the only thing that changed was the wake of the ceremony or the location. Now I feel that feeling like I had to remain "pure" and a virgin for most of my life is actually linked to that, because when I married and began to have children the sacrifice scenario changed.

It went to it happening with me in my body to me being yanked out of my body and going through the sacrifice in the bodies of other young girls. At first that was very disconcerting. I mean there I was, in this body I knew wasn't mine, and I'm feeling this girl's sorrow and confusion. Meanwhile it's me, and it's something I'm used to, and I'm going okay yeah what the heck.

The real disconcerting ones are the ones where I was stuck in blonde bodies. I dislike being a blonde.

The last time I remember happened in an old castle. The poor girl I was in wanted out of it so much she tried to escape. She had her cell phone on her and she texted everyone she knew trying to get help.

At the end of the ceremony she had to sing. There were two other girls to connect with her energy, and together we sang an aria to rise things up. I remember that, but I can't remember the song. I just remember that was what I was there for; to be the Voice and sing.

I remember once when the sacrifice was going to be happening in the woods that year, I told my father about the "dreams". This was before I knew as much as I know. He said to me, "No, they're really sacrificing you."

I said, "These dreams..."

And he said, "They're really sacrificing you." And... that's all I got from him on that subject.

Another part of the cycle is that every year near the end of summer I'm hit with this incredible need to reach out to the other MILABs and abductees. I never quite knew why the need to connect. I just assumed it was because I'm supposed to bring everyone together.

Then I'd have an emotional meltdown - I thought because of the way they put suicide programming in you to make you depressed so you won't pursue information - and I leave people alone until after the sun rises.

This year the need to connect was stronger than usual, to the point that I went to the Fishbowl and really got angry. I threatened that people had better contact me back or else. And yes, I got contact.

But it did no good. After my emotions exploded, right on this year's super moon as always, things petered out and I stopped feeling the need to connect. And then another public celebrity died. As always happens after yearly ritual.

The thing is that this particular celebrity was someone I'd met before in "the other side", that side when you're abducted by the government and kept in a dream state. And I was fond of him, not just because I grew up watching him on television. But because as a teenager, every time I saw him on mission he'd stand off to the side. He was always so heartbroken and so sad. My soul just went out to him, you know, because I wanted to make him feel better somehow and there was nothing I could do.

So I felt a connection with him on some level. I can't explain it; mostly because I can barely remember the things I've done "on the other side". I just know there was this thing. And now he's gone. His blue eyes are gone.

And I grieve. Because I tried so hard to get people together. I've tried so hard to remember, to figure things out, while being pushed away time and again by people who know more than I do and could help simply by giving information and helping me to walk. They've pushed me away because I wouldn't accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior. (wtf.) Because I was sexually molested as a child (and that makes me a high risk somehow). Or because, their words, I refused to heal simply because all I want is the truth and to let everything else fall where it will.

And I realize... maybe I'm not trying to rebuild the team when I feel the urge to call. Maybe I'm falling on an old habit. I'm trying to summon rear flank to protect us. I'm turning to the only people in the world with the power to help me.

I have 100% permission to tell my story by the handlers that be. (Update 2017: maybe the handlers gave me permission but I've recently discovered that when I talk publicly about things against the alien program I come back from a pick up covered in tiny fingerprint bruises.)

The beauty of their permission - or treachery as it were - is that everyone around me is programmed not to listen.

So I talk and I talk and I talk.

And it's for nothing.

And now someone I cared about is gone.

## The Bad Luck of Therapy

Something I've been pondering for a couple of years now. There's this well-known researcher who does this guided meditation to bring forth altars and attached outside entities. You know, you go into a room and you invite other versions of yourself in and such.

Well, they did it with me and the usual thing happens for someone in our situation. The room got crowded very fast. When she asked I call forth... I forget what I was asking for. Some problematic personality or something, a giantess came. And she was very very ugly.

I knew immediately what she was from. I was bullied very hard in school and my own mother called me ugly once. I knew. This giantess has never ruled me the way I've seen others get ruled. I'm not driven to always lose weight or wear makeup all of the time. But she's there.

Throughout the meditation things weren't working the way the guide expected them to you know. I know you guys also know how that is. Your safeguards come up; things are geared to throw people off. Or the babbler takes over and nothing but gibberish and crazy talk comes out of your mouth, or something. I was trying. I really was. But no matter what happened, I didn't seem to be making this person happy.

This famous well experienced person... said I was lying about what I was seeing. She slipped up and said it, changed her tune to cover it, but you know I have ears. And they work.

I don't know why I'm thinking about it this morning before going to bed. Probably because I'm fat and my husband retires officially in just a few hours and will be on his way home, out of the army. And I'm fat. And when I get into that cycle that reminds me I really shouldn't have had that ice cream last night and kicking myself for the self-destructive behavior, I remember that exercise. And how I had the chance to confront this thing that's slowly killing me but I didn't know how. And the professional in attendance didn't believe me, like all of the other dozens I've contacted over the years.

And I'm fat. I just wanted to reiterate that I'm fat. LOL.

I hope you guys have better experiences. Not posting it for pity. I guess I'm posting it so that someone can see this and realize that when things aren't going to program, it may mean they're not only genuine but very much so.

I know that if I could get the giantess to transform a lot would change for me. Just saying.

## Soul Numbers

I've been trying for years to articulate it. So here goes.

It's based on molecule harmonics but can be explained with number equations.

Scientifically the human body and its chemical makeup can be broken down into the same equation from body to body to body. Most of our bodies is created from six elements: oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus. (If it makes you feel any better I had to look this up. I never can remember the exact ingredients.)

Only about 0.85% of us is made up from five other elements: potassium, sulfur, sodium, chlorine, and magnesium.

No matter the shape of your body, the ethnic background, or even the presence of a disability this will hold true. I used to have the actual mathematical equation that makes up the entire human body -- yes, even we are a mathematical equation \-- but I lost that a long time ago.

This science stuff only deals with the physical portion of our existence. The other portion, the spirit, also has to do with an equation of a sort. I couldn't begin to describe it to you, or to lay that down on the line. When I think of the equation, I see a bunch of colors and feel a bunch of weights and wavelengths in my mind. But making up something simple algebraic on the spot, it might be something along the lines of x=human body + y(universal wavelength)/z (spirit). But with a lot more factors.

So for the sake of it, we could say that my vessel equation is 10+10/20.

To a fundamental level our human bodies are all alike, but when it comes to a spirit being able to fit into it no two equations are the same. Thus it is that 9 + 11 = 20 for one person while 10 + 10 = 20 for another, and 40/2 = 20 for yet another. It will always equal this prime chemical makeup, for we are this part water and this part iron, etc. Basic alchemy, yes?

Now consider molecule receptors. A receptor is a protein molecule embedded in the plasma membrane surface of a living skill, like that of your skin. It receives the chemical signals your body puts out that tell your cells what to do.

Receptors are pretty specific to what they can and cannot receive because each different type of receptor is, to put it simply, shaped a certain way and will only receive signals that are of a matching shape. The reason why some people are immune to the AIDS virus is because when it attacks the human body, it does so by infiltrating the immune system by a particular receptor. The shapes match as it were, and the virus gets in. The victim experiences flu like symptoms and that's it. Have a nice trip down. However some people don't have that protein receptor. So the AIDS virus can attack all it wants. It can't get inside.

Lucky them.

Each living body, no matter the ph makeup, is a vessel as you know. What is it a vessel for? Your soul, of course.

Imagine that vessel as a jar. The mouth of it, where you would pour your mead or water through to get it into the vessel, is like a protein receptor. It allows something into the jar to nestle inside, hopefully to fit. It's a soul conduit, as it were.

There are various types of jar mouths -- not determined by time of birth I might add the forces of the planets at the time of your body's birth do have something to do with how the vessel is shapes, but it's not even half of what goes on as I said. Either way, each body will develop a certain spiritual receptor that makes the body's number relatively unique, like a fingerprint or retina pattern (although once in a very long while the pattern can repeat).

So assuming a soul receptor which has a number of 5 is attached to the body of a 10 + 10 person. Now you have someone whose number is 25. But it's a very specific 25. It's 10 + 10 + 5 = 25, and that's very very different from (40/2) + 5 = 25. Same end number, yes, but the chemical makeup is the *shape* of the vessel - much like how bottles and jars are not always shaped the same - and it's the shape that you're looking for.

Someone whose soul fits a 15 + 10 = 25 vessel would fit very poorly in a body with a different equation. A body with a number of 46 is not a 25. It's like putting a square peg into a round hole. You can match a soul to a body within a certain number margin. A 111.8 soul can be placed into a body that's a 111.9, usually.

I'm using full equations as an example because a body of 10+10=20 would not be the same as a body of 20-0=20. Sure they're both 20's, but they're not the same equation.

sGo too far beyond the margin and the problems begin. Sometimes the soul can't stay more than a few minutes. Other times the body tends not to cope very well, and you get all sorts of fatal conditions. The body burns itself out, as it were. If the body doesn't burn out you have psychic vampirism, eccentricity, and other fun things.

It can happen very quickly, like with SIDS, or it can happen over the course of time. Folks go crazy trapped in these ill fitting bodies. They develop constant fevers, and finally just fade away.

An ill-fitting body also serves as a shackle. It hampers a soul's ability to stretch its wings, as it were. I often wonder if the reason why we have so many 'dead lights' in today's world is because the those that have managed to gain control of this natural ecosystem are putting people in the wrong bodies on purpose.

DNA does have a little do with this, but not as much as I hear people say it does. Sure, there's that one spirit that prefers black hair or that other spirit that absolutely must have a recessive gene for albinism. Then there's everybody else.

I honestly don't know why DNA is so important beyond a need for the Illuminati to track certain bloodlines for the sake of pedigree breeding. I know a lot of progress has been made in figuring this conundrum out, but I haven't seen that much evidence presented that shored up the presumed facts. I probably will some day.

The only real reason for tracking DNA would be in two parts that I personally mark in my mind. The first has to do with these numbers. Obviously being immune to AIDS is hereditary. So would certain chemical makeups - but understand I'm only spelling out the numbers in a very elementary way. They're actually incredibly complicated to the point that I only have a rudimentary understanding - being as number theory has bored me for eons. The equation gets very very complicated, so you have a body that's end result is 131431423.2343 where another body will be 2222.555. Or you can have a pair of identical twins that you'd think would both be 888.54 but are actually 886.59 and 997.4333.

When putting a soul into a body you want the numbers as precise as possible to what the soul _needs_. Not wants. For example I personally prefer to have hair so black it's blue. It's not a requirement, exactly; it's just what I prefer as a matter of origin vanity. I had a very rare hair color in those days and I was very vain. So that has become my idiosyncrasy; one of the things my soul is identified by.

Assuming my number is 777.8, then you'd want to find a body with that number. This is where 'following a bloodline for it' doesn't work for me as an individual. I happen to know that there's a young woman in Italy -- well she wouldn't be young anymore -- who has my almost exact number. I'd been to watch her many times. I was there for her wedding. She was 14 or so. But blood relation to this body? If so it's so distant it doesn't matter anymore except that the numbers fell in line. She's a brunette. However, I've been placed in blonde bodies - as I mentioned before. It wouldn't have held if the numbers didn't match.

There was a teenager in Afghanistan who wears a bracelet on her left arm. I guess she would be an adult now, too. Her body was a good enough match for me to use her a few times when my husband was deployed. (I didn't mean it! I just found myself there!) But she definitely is no family relation to me.

The second reason, though, I can't get anything to explain to me further about. It's actually tied to how some folks are told 'your bloodlines is special, you are special' \-- which I'm sure you know is just a control tactic. Obviously everyone is special, but has no one thought to ask why are they special? Are they special because their bloodline has a certain chemical ratio that's most useful, meaning it has nothing to do with being an individual?

There are certain number combinations that are literally stamped out --or at least the machine tries to stamp them out -- because it opens the way for some certain people to access their full potential. So you have a 111.8 soul (chosen because it's easier to type) and you want it to remain useful so you stick it in 111.9 bodies. The body isn't a direct match, so the soul's wings are effectively clipped. The body's powers are muted, and other important balances that would otherwise help you to perform to your optimum ability just aren't there.

Letting a soul go into a body which is a perfect match is a danger to your plans or crops or what have you. Should Fenris ever be released, as it were, well... there goes the neighborhood. So you're careful to watch this 111.8 soul, never let it out of your sight, and above all *never* let it have a 111.8 body of the right equation.

Fortunately for that sort of tracking, exact matches are hard to come by. Which is why there are some rare places with preserved bodies (I mean, besides Egypt which was for other reasons altogether I'm sure.): folks were desperately trying to circumvent this problem. You found a perfect body, you did your best to preserve it. Then some fucker pulls it off the moon and fucks you over good. Fuckers.

This is also part of how reptilian possession works. I mean there are just some people who can't be taken over, even though they have skills.

So it makes sense, putting oneself in an alien's shoes, why you'd tend to certain families like a precious poodle strain.

I remained willing and complacent because for most of my life I thought that's what you did. It's what everyone did, and I was terrified -- literally terrified -- of being punished. Later it was because, well, it's not like anyone on the 'outside' wanted anything to do with me. You stay where you feel welcome. Even later, they gave me interesting things to do and kept my mind stimulated -- which also was loads more than anything anyone on the 'outside' wanted. I don't do mundane. It's literally quite painful. And then recently I chose to remain willing because I thought I could be of help somehow.

## The Story Isn't Over

There have been other researchers past the ones I mention in this book for me. The other researcher went the way of Jill and the others before her: his life went to hell. But at least he didn't go crazy.

The most recent one I thought would bring me some hope, but she cried at my story. Reading her husband's blog one day when she was starting to make a distance, I read that they do that. They have a policy that once they get what they want, they dump you. And they get so easily upset. You wanna be a researcher? Prepare to become very fragile.

There have been good researchers, too. It's just I haven't got anything about them to add here yet. But I will get to one day I am sure.

There have been events, understandings, and time galloping along.

Yes, omigod, the Reticulans cut me open as a child. I don't cry about it. For me, the data within are interesting gems I'd give anything to uncover, so I can remember. For me, the not remembering is worse than anything they've done... because the lack is like having your entire life stolen from you. It's a theft that is much like being dead.

I am usually my own researcher. I owe Jill for pointing me in the right direction when no one else would. And I thank her for it. But I had to carry on.

I now know the following.

1. People who report the bright light such as I experienced generally talk about how the lights come from a UFO of some type. Sometimes this is a beamship, which is the flying saucer type we are all familiar with. Other times it comes from a cigar shaped ship. One thing remains the same: this light is always associated with contact with a ship. Sometimes it also is associated with contact with the beings inside said ship.

2. Abductees who grew up worrying about their dolls the way I did are usually those who were abducted by Reticulans – more commonly known as the Greys. The Greys are the small aliens with the really big black eyes. These aliens are famous for wanting to do painful experiments on their subjects. They also steal children, implant fetuses, and tamper with DNA.

3. People who formerly had alien contact of any type that end up dreaming about military operations are usually MILABS \-- they are people who are being abducted by their own government for experimentation. Contrary to popular belief, these abductions do not always happen in the night. I myself have been pushed around when the sun was up.

My information is rudimentary at best. But that is what I know at this time in relation to what I have revealed here.

## Healing

I don't have time for all of the "you must heal" crap others put out there. I'm not interested in that. And besides, this really neat thing has happened over the years.

I've been healing.

Can you believe that? Me dealing with the information out of interest and a quest to fill a need has enabled me to deal with some pretty crappy memories, face the events, and... _heal._

Oh. Noes.

I have a ways to go. I'll probably be doing this the rest of my life. But I'm okay with that. It's all part of the journey.

My chief interest is in remembering what there is to remember, to figure out just where I stand in the triple fold world of MILABS, alien abductions, and mundane life. And I think laying my story out in order is a good step for it.

So this is my story for you to learn from if you wish. Or simply relate to.

You're not crazy. Even if the researchers have blown you off, you know what you know. Take heart in it.

You're not alone.

You can make sense of things. Just put things logically in order, take it slow, and educate yourself.

If you're like me, trying to remember past the murk, then reconsider. Maybe you remember more than you realize. You just have to make sense of the strange pictures in your head. Figure out where that bright light was coming from.

I hope this has been of help to you.

Jennifer White

PS If my life has been a small example then yes. It *is* possible to do something about this. We should stop trying to hand our problem off to supernatural "fix alls" and actually figure out what can be done.

I've had researchers approach me with an "oh well nothing can be done it is what it is" attitude. But it's not true. I don't mean through prayer, btw. That's just another form of hypnotism, and logically if the aliens use God and other deities to control you don't you think they don't know how to program you so that prayer makes you forget? Lots of people proclaimed that prayer made the abductions stop. I've read one account where the person realized they were fooling themselves.

So. Yeah. These are physical fucks. And they can be physically stopped. You have to be willing to look at the facts, ignore the religious dogma that's mounting every day, and recognize when something is not good. And this thing. It is not good.
