This series of emails began on April 14, 2001. It was presented, as can be seen, as a factual account of the life of one Vincent Bridges. The recipients were Ark and Laura Jadczyk and members of their online research and discussion group. The reader may wish to read how this “bio” actually checked out HERE.
Montauk, Mind Control, Magnitite and the Holy Grail, or: Who is that Shadow being and why is he following me?
First of all, let’s get one thing clear. We are all here because we chose to be here. Because we have made that choice, we’ve opened ourselves to a little more awareness than the control systems like to allow. This creates turbulence.
Our sermon for today is likely to create even more turbulence. Our topic and the conclusions we will reach are very unsettling and disturbing to be aware of; how much more disturbing then to remain ignorant or to discount the possibilities?
As a side note, I saw one once. After a session or a class years ago back in Winston-Salem NC, Darlene and I went to a supermarket. I was wide open from whatever it was we had been doing, and as soon as I saw this guy standing line at the check-out counter my astral-critter vision kicked in. I was so shocked that I grabbed Darlene and pulled her over behind the racks and demanded to know what she saw. She didn’t see it, but felt a creepiness around the guy. What I saw was this big tick-like creature locked into the top of the guy’s head with ugly suckers. As we watched, the guy picked an argument with the check-out girl, and the creature swelled and sent more suckers into the guy. Eventually he left, and we came out from behind the rack. The kicker: a few weeks later, we’re watching TV and the guy is shown being pushed into a police car, arrested in Charlotte for a string of six sex murders in three states. I guess the creature went looking for a new host.
Now Laura has written at length in other places about Spirit attachment and release, and her conclusion that it is the rare person without a few is absolutely correct in my view. In my couple of hundreds serious abuse and MDP clients I’ve seen it all, and the reason I used to get progress where the shrinks and psychs at BGmed didn’t was my somewhat pragmatic occult background. I was taught, before I was a therapist, to call a possession a possession and what to do about it. A background in low country SC voodoo does come in handy sometimes…
But that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Because I was sort of court of last resort, I got all the truly unusual cases. And so, I started to pick up evidence of what I called the Program.
Now, I knew that something like the program existed, or at least people I knew thought it existed, as far back as 1977 when I heard Kerry Thornley talking about how Oswald was programmed. And then Jonestown, and since Jim Jones was a local celebrity of sorts, I heard more than enough to convince me that something very strange was going on with that one. And then, I started my own personal descent into the realms of darkness. I was recruited as an Operator.
In the interest of full disclosure, and since you can’t understand how I know what I know unless you have some idea of how I found out, I need to reveal some of the obscure episodes in my own background.
In the winter of 1977 – 78, I was in grad school in History and Classical studies at UNC, working part time as a freelance writer, including books reviews, etc. for the Psychical Research Foundation at Duke, part of FRNM or the Rhine Foundation. A lady came through town doing psychic readings and the PRF picked her up as part of the team. She however was obviously looking for talent, and definitely not interested in Bill Roll’s return to Amityville kind of trip. To make a long story much shorter, we became acquainted and before she left she gave me a letter from a guy in California and a list of phone numbers.
The letter was an ego stroke offer to go study magick, all expenses paid. My freelance rock’n’roll journalist career was in a slump, grad school was going nowhere, and frankly I missed San Fran and the high life. I bit, big time.
At first, everything was great. My career took off because they knew everybody in the business. The magickal training was great too. I was learning and experiencing faster than I had dreamed possible, and for a sensation junkie like me, this was heaven. Suddenly, my proposed thesis on the origin of the Tarot cards looked academic and tame. These people had real power and the information to back it up. Somehow, stupid me, I never thought to ask what the pay off would be.
By the summer of 1979, my basic magickal training was over and other subjects and tasks started coming up. In a very weird way, I was sort of assigned to write a novel about Aleister Crowley, Hitler and the more unsavory aspects of WWII’s black magick. I was paid for it, although it took until 1981 to see print, and then in a heavily bowlderized form. To do this, I was “given” access to every bizarre Nazi document in existence. One of my friends in the group even got me access to the archives in Washington to look up certain strange practices of the SS. Again, I didn’t question any of this, it just happened, so go with the flow, don’t think too much, have a good time.
When my research was done and a rough version of the book was circulating to publishers, I had the pleasure of a visit by the head man in the Order. This guy is still around, going by the alias of Dr. Christopher Hyatt of Falcon Press. I become one of his main magickal student flunkies, and for the next six months or so I did nothing but follow him around through one bizarre episode after another. The most interesting of which was international drug and gun running. I kept thinking: This is gonna make a great movie/novel one day. To which a small voice would reply: if you survive.
After a couple of epics, including one where I made the run to Mexico and back on my own, I was invited out one evening to go sailing with the boss and some very special friends who had things they wanted to discuss with me.
So, here we are, in a large sail boat drifting off Sausalito on a warm August night. Just as I ‘m thinking that my life has turned into a gangster movie and I don’t even like guns, the boss and his friends come on deck. They own the boat, and a stranger pair of rejects from the Addams clan I’ve never seen. He’s had hair transplants done to give him an exaggerated widows peak, and she’s in full aging Mortitia drag. Indeed, when we came on board, I thought she was a drag queen.
We chit-chat for a while. They introduce themselves as Michael and Lillith, and we talk about magic, Crowley, Nazis and a variety of such subjects for the better part of an hour. Testing me, is what I thought at the time. And then, smoothly, the conversation shifts.
It happened so smoothly, I didn’t notice it, but suddenly the question were no longer academic, but personal. Did I believe this…hadn’t I experienced that…didn’t I understand the other…etc.
I remember the chill to this day. A warm still night, and even through my jacket it felt like the cold of outer space. That jolted me somehow, and I started asking questions. And I didn’t like the answers.
Highly condensed, here’s what they told me: (Keep in mind that it is THEIR belief system.)
The earth and everything on it is the property of a higher dimensional being who is on its way back to claim it. Our only choice is controller or slave, but those who choose to serve will be rewarded. This has been in the works for a thousand years and will soon reach fruition, in the next 20 years or so. The Nazis were part of it, but incomplete. Now, they’d get it right.
Stunned, I wanted to know how they thought I fit in. They said that I was being offered the chance to become a conscious operator with my pick of the New Age infiltration projects. Only hitch, I’d have to undergo my initiation, which in simple terms involved doing something so disgusting and illegal as to make my participation in simple smuggling look tame.
I blanched, and they reminded me that I was already in pretty deep.
No shit. Well, finally scared back to my senses, I said I needed to think about it, but yeah I’d play along. That made them happy and we spent a few perverse hours discussing orgies before I got off the boat. I left the next day for a UFO conference back in Tuscon, literally shaking in my boots. I had been to the very edge of the pit, and I wasn’t sure if there was a way to get out. I avoided them and the issue until October, when I got fired from my job. Without telling anyone, I hopped on a bus and escaped to North Carolina. By the time Hyatt found me, eight or nine months later, I was too deeply entrenched to remove easily. I played drug causality and pretended not remember anything and I suppose that helped. Anyway, they left me alone after that.
In fact, all of this scared me so bad, what it said about me I mean, that I went into therapy and before the decade was out was a therapist myself. I rationalized what the weird people had said as fantasy and wish-fullfilment role-playing, enhanced by substance abuse, all around, and my own criminal nature projected outward. (Can you say Jungian transactional!) I never thought it was real, in any way. You meet a lot of crazy people in the occult underworld.
And then, just as my practice got going in the summer of 1989, I met Dr. Andrija Puharich. This is the guy who discovered Uri Geller and is a key character in the Stargate Conspiracy by Pinknett and Prince. It happened by pure accident or cosmic synchronicity, take your pick.
Dr. P. was in hiding on the Reynolds family estate in Devotion North Carolina, and he felt that they were closing in. I suppose that the fact of one of his benefactors took a swan dive off a hotel roof in Tampa had something to do with that. Anyway, he was looking for students he could explain things to. He called the New Age story in Winston-Salem one day and invited anyone who wanted to come up to Devotion for lectures.
I was at the top of the list, since I had followed his work from the late ’50s through the late 1970s when he seemed to drop off the map. I was ready to hear anything the man had to say. Over the course of that summer, we became friends, mainly, as he liked to say after a few shots of good vodka, because I reminded him so much of Ira Einhorn.
The story Dr. P. had to tell, as it finally emerged over months of conversations, was quite different from what I had supposed. First off, he said Einstein was a dupe, and that the only original thinkers in this century were Tesla and Reich. Tesla he certainly knew about, as he was one of the world’s foremost experts. Reich he mentioned less often, but obviously held in high regard.
But the technological stuff was only part of the picture. What he really wanted to talk about was mind control, something that at that point I had no idea he was involved with.
His story was that he had done a few things for the government in exchange for a free hand in his own research, and just as he was making progress, they reneged and burned his lab and sent him into exile. Seems he expected the devil to keep his end of the bargain, which I suppose is wishful thinking on Dr. P’s part.
What he did for the government is still not exactly clear, but in addition to the ELF/Tesla warfare stuff and the psychic operations section, all of which have been more or less reported, he was also involved in the birth of the Program.
One story goes that they came to him with a request to design a way to communicate with agents without exterior evidence, and so he designed a microwave ear-implant hearing device, to which he did indeed hold the patents. Another goes that he had invented it on his own and the government came with an offer he couldn’t refuse. The version that he told me suggests that he designed it to specs the government had already worked out for purposes that had nothing to do with any overt application.
When Dr. P. finished his residency in 1942, he was drafted into the Army. But he didn’t become a regular Army doctor. He was assigned to Psy-Ops and the White Section of intelligence. In 1944, the OSS recruited him to work on Yugoslavian sources, since that was virtually his native language. What he worked on was Tesla manuscripts, presumably stolen from Tesla’s apartment after his death. In 1946, he was discharged from the Army, but used his OSS/White section connections to start his own research group. Enter the Round Table Foundation, where all the fun begins.
Dr. P. told me that it was all funded as part of an on-going experiment in mass propaganda, mind control in other words. The idea was to use psychic abilities to buttress a new mass religious belief system that would ultimately be under the control of the government, or whoever is really in charge. For ten years, roughly, the RTF was at the forefront of the project.
All of this is recounted in some depth in the Stargate Conspiracy, so I won’t rehash it here. Two points however: I witnessed several trance demonstrations of channeling controlled by Dr. P., one for the sole purpose of disabused me of any belief in the reality of the phenomenon. From these demonstrations, the only conclusion is that it was all a trick of the unconscious being manipulated by operators such as Dr. P. for various purposes. But Dr. P., even though he knew how it was done, didn’t believe that was all there was to it.
In his darkest moments, he would admit that though they cracked the mechanism behind spiritualism and mediumship and could control, to a certain degree, the phenomenon, there was something behind it that was ultimately out of human control. Something came through their trick doorway, and after years of manipulation, Dr. P. had finally seen it for what it was. And what he saw scared him so bad that he tried to quit, to back out on the deal, and he had been punished.
The second point is that Don and Carla of Ra fame also were connected to Dr. P. and the Nine. Ra himself said that he and the Nine were the same contact. Soon after the Elkins made contact with Dr. P., in 1978, he had his change of heart, his lab was burned down and he fled to Mexico. Ra however continued until Elkins’ suicide in 1984.
I remained friends with Dr. P. until his death in 1995. And during that time, as my practice grew and I uncovered more strange stuff, his help was invaluable. By the time he died, I had seen six confirmed cases of the Program, and a dozen or so more inconclusive.
One case was from a strange little town in E. Texas, another was from Michigan, a third was from Wisconsin, the fourth was Washington DC, the fifth SF and the sixth from western NC. From these, and others shared by researchers and therapists, a very interesting, though not quite comprehensible, pattern emerged.
Somebody had been playing multigenerational mind games all the way back to the 1920s. The program of the 40s and 50s was the second wave, with the third wave coming in the seventies, and the fourth was happening as I watched in the mid-90s.
I asked Dr. P. once about Montauk, and his answer was curious. He said it was all a pre-emptive cover story in case the real information should ever surface. I said what real information, and he told me, flatly, that experiments of a rather extreme kind had been done on some selected service men in the 40s, exposing them to powerful ELF frequencies, and that the story was put out to divert attention. No time travel, no dimensional hoodoo, just an attempt to effect their DNA by massive ELF entrainment. Everyone died of course, but not before producing some stunning effects and mutations. Why this was done, or what they did with the information, Dr. P. didn’t seem to know.
However after his death, I received a bundle of his unpublished work from 1980 to 1994, and in that was a paper called Universal Information Transfer through ELF Stimulation of DNA in which he draws upon information, unsited of course, that could only have come from the Montauk type experiments he mentioned. He concludes that ELF can be used to carry very specific information to DNA, and interestingly enough that this mechanism is related to psychometry, and is in that sense a form of time travel.
Soon after I asked Dr. P. about Montauk and the Phil. Ex. stuff, I told him my story about being recruited as an operator. Other than being amused that I didn’t know who I was talking to that night, he had very little to say. when I pressed him, he simply commented that I was lucky, very lucky, perhaps luckier than was good for me.
Fast forward to the late spring of 1999. The ensuing decade had demonstrated the truth of Dr. P.’s comment. I was luckier than was good for me. By the time I ran into Laura in cyber-space, I was convinced however that luck had little to do with it.
I was being used and manipulated as an independent operator. In a way, paranoid as it sounds, it made perfect sense and was the only explanation for my somewhat unique position at that moment.
I had been trained in the occult disciplines, the tarot, astrology, geomancy, invocation, evocation, the BRP, the LRP, the SIRP, the hexagram rituals, and so on right through the most arcane part of the GD curriculum, including talismantic, planetary and Enochian workings. Even if I didn’t take the final bait, they knew that I would surface sooner or later. With that background, I’d either self-destruct or surface somewhere in the NewAge or pagan community. And so I did, in 1987 and 88. And interestingly enough, given all the other connections that I was unaware of at that point, I chose a Melchizedek group that focused on the Keys of Enoch. So, it would have been fairly easy to keep an eye on me and see what I made of certain things that came my way.
At the same time I was getting a rep as a Jungian transactionalist with good hypnotic technique. I’d already been doing some past life regression work as part of the Duke diet clinic’s package, but I left the therapeutic model so open that it didn’t force any conclusions as to the reality of past lives. Seemed to work though.
So, one day a young lady calls and asks about a hypnotic regression because she’s going to be married in a few weeks and can’t stand for her boyfriend to touch her. Could it be a past life thing, she asked? Well, I ended up with my first sexual abuse survivor trauma abreaction. Her therapist was so impressed, I soon had the entire group. And it just kept growing from there.
And then I met Dr. P. As we became friends, I learned a lot about hypnotic technique, and much other weird stuff as I mentioned before, but not much direct information about how the Program, such as I understood it then, actually worked. In 1990, my practice exploded, and Dr. P. was absorbed by the attempt to save a mutual friend’s life through alternative cancer treatments, so it was more than a year before we had time to talk again. By then, I had had my first Program survivor.
|Run-down Duplex apartment (at right) occupied by Bridges during time he claimed his “psychotherapy practice was exploding.”|
So the first thing I wanted to know when I saw him again was what was this all about? Could something like this really be going on?
He not only assured me that it could, but that it was true and that what I had found so far was the tip of the iceberg.
It started with the eugenics programs of the 1920’s, which focused on intelligent children with certain types of skills, psycho-motor, intellectual, intuitive and so forth, and then followed these children and promoted their welfare, education and entry into places of authority. By implication, Dr. P. himself was an example of this. He was smart tracked at age seven, then given every opportunity, going not just to college but medical school, even though his family had absolutely nothing. And then he ended up in the Army, working for high level spooks.
These folks, on both sides, seemed to survive the war just fine, and they were also in charge of creating the brave new one after the old one ended. The threat of the Communist menace to our way of life, a somewhat new twist on the old nazi anti-Semitism, became the rationale and the cover. All in the name of national security.
By the late 1940s plans were underway for a new world order based on eugenics and mind control. Certain populations were selected for destruction, others were to be ghettoized and used for propaganda value and others were to be mined for workers and collaborators. Within the larger mass control project developed the Program. During the war, it had been discovered that various kinds of direct mind control was possible, and after the war this was given a high developmental priority.
Psychological profiling of high school students started in 1950, and soon a large crop of individuals with the correct psychological flaws were available to the Program. Oswald was apparently an early example. But it wasn’t just the odd psychopath here and there they were looking for. Business and community leaders, military types and intelligence people, all were recruited so that their kids could be used.
By the late 1950s, three distinct varieties of Programming had developed. Green, as in Greenbaum, Vera Green etc., was the active agent code. It was expected that some of these would be caught after use, so they were loaded with protective and self destructive programming. Blue, as in blueridge, bluebird, bluebubble, etc. were sleeper/observer codes. These folks were designed to remain in the background, maybe going their whole lives and only being triggered once or twice. Because they were supposed to be deeply hidden, these types were not given the same kind of screening and exit programming. There are several different categories of each of these groups, but Greens and Blues never crossed programs. In other words, an active agent would never be doing observer work, and an observer would never take an active role.
The third group was the Red, as in redstick, redtail redsky. These were special operations people, triggered once to do very specific acts and then left in place since no programming showed above the background psychological dysfunction. Manson and Bundy are two extreme examples.
My very first Program survivor held the key, although I still haven’t figured it all out. Briefly, although with details, here’s her story:
Her daddy was a noted OSS officer, serving in Italy and the Balkins before coming back to nice cushy job at Fort Meade. When she six, in late 1948, she was taken to a hospital on the base and put through some bizarre experiments. First she shocked, mildly but continuously and in unusual places, then she was drugged, frightened and tortured in a number of ways, then paralyzed and taken home. This happened for months, perhaps years, with strange tests and evaluations going on. Then, when she was eight, her father committed suicide and her mother fled back to NC.
That might have been the end of the story, except that when she was 17, a friend of her father’s showed and she ended up in his care, so to speak. the next two decade were a complete blur, until she woke up at 37 married to a mafia hoodlum and with a 12 year old son. When I say woke up, I mean that literally. She eventually got loose from that one and made it back to NC. And since then, she was basically being paid to keep quiet and raise her son. The break came when dad showed for the kid, and the kid went with him. My client became a paranoid recluse and MPD, of a sort, developed.
When she was first referred to me she wouldn’t talk. Then one day she wanted to know if I believed in the Devil. When I said I did, she opened up and it all came flooding out. Funny thing was, she remembered everything from childhood, all the crazy stuff, perfectly. What she couldn’t recall in more than vague terms was her missing two decades.
But her alters were all from this period, and some of them were very interesting. They spoke more languages than I could follow and had other skills, such as perfect recall. They all had elaborate backgrounds and personalities, as if each were a complete off the rack identity that could be put on at will. And they only remembered their particular track, with very little awareness that all the others existed.
The story that emerged from therapy as her alters integrated was so strange that I wouldn’t credit it as possible, even with Dr.P.’s input, until I did my own research. Well, not only were her facts correct, as far could be back checked without calling attention to the process, but the more I looked, the more sense it began to make.
OK, here are the key points:
Her childhood treatment, according to Dr. P. who even remembered her father, was standard early Program, with the mild shock being the ELF stimulation. Torture and shock were used to activate the pineal/pituitary to get a reading on its new function, which apparently only manifests itself after a severe threat/shock even with ELF stim. A shunt is used, between the first and second vertebra, to collect a sample of cerebro-spinal fluid. The reason that no hypnotics were used to wipe the memory was because in the very early days, it was thought that the shock of the shunt itself, which causes a kind of paralysis, would be enough to erase the memory. Apparently in most cases, it worked fine. Keep this in mind for later.
After she returned to NC the first time, as a child, she was left alone, although she did remember that uncles and strange friends of her father were always dropping in to check on things, so it seems likely that she didn’t get too far from the Program. She left with one of these uncles when she was seventeen, and from there, things got very weird.
When she remembered, the next few years were like Hollywood. She was dressed up, down and all around and made to learn all sorts of acting drills and scenes. Then, about age 20, everything went black and for two years, there are virtually no memories. Eventually, we discovered the mechanism behind the occlusion, but never successfully unlocked it. By 23, she was a new person, about eight of them actually.
She had no real life. She would be in a hotel room somewhere, and would wake up with the vague memory of talking on the phone to somebody. They told her who she was and what she was supposed to be doing, and she did it. No questions asked. These lucid moments were strung together along different timelines in different alters, so that it was almost impossible to track them all. For instance, one East European alter – we didn’t speak a common language and had to get another alter to translate for us, talk about crowded! – had a whole life that was supposedly taking place in Budapest and Zurich, but only one part of it was real memory. She awoke in a Budapest hotel to a voice and then she traveled as that person to Zurich, did a few things, came back to Budapest and went to sleep in the train station. The next time the alter surfaced in was in my office, almost 30 years later, and she was furious at missing her train from Zurich! Her programmers had simply left that life hanging.
By 1967, she was pregnant, never sure how, and married to a guy who worked at times for the government and at times for Carlos Marcello and the New Orleans mafia. At that point she was semi awake for six months or so after the birth, and began to remember things. Her husband had her committed and she spent a year at Walter Reed and other places. When she came out, she was another person, again. For a decade she was tranquilized into oblivion while nannies and servants raised her child. Then she caught hubby and son doing nasty games in the pool, freaked and woke up suddenly, her last clear memory riding away with her “uncle” 20 years before.
So here we have a code Green agent with clear memories of what happened as a child. And given what happened to her, given what we’ve noted above about Montauk being a code word for ELF DNA stimulation experiments, suggests that she could qualify as a Montauk Kid. Also her genetic make-up was such that she qualified for a breeding program, rather than just self-destruction, when her active service was over.
My first program survivor was doing well. We had recovered as much memory as we needed to allow her to integrate. Dr. P. had verified much of her story, and other parts were independently verifiable. So, I was feeling pretty good about it. My practice was going well in general, proving every day some my basic theories of how the mind/body/spirit complex worked. I was gaining credibility with the Bowman Gray Med School’s MPD clinic, and all was looking bright.
And then, my second program survivor showed up. She presented as a fairly straight forward incest/sexual abuse victim. Her father had severe undiagnosed MPD, which he resolved by the unusual step of becoming a trans-sexual, and several of his alters had viciously raped and tortured his daughter. She had been suffering from an odd form of dis-associative disorder, not quite full-blown MPD, and had been having these spontaneous trances in which she self-mutillated. She would write SATAN with a razor blade on her arm or leg.
Now this was not good, obviously, but it was TBbly upsetting to her, as she was pursuing a career in acting and modeling. Scars of SATAN just don’t make it in Vogue, so…
She had had a lot of therapy, and once we got our approach straight, she made a lot of progress. To a point. Then we began to hit things that looked, from my point of view, like sophisticated post hypnotic suggestion. I’d seen similar things in my first survivor, but these were very slick. The Wall of Chyna, my client named it as a take off on her professional identity.
So, I began to research, calling in every contact and favor I had or could borrow and in about three months of twice weekly sessions, we had most of it defused. It was the worst roller-coaster ride of my career.
At the end of it, I had to face it. Spies, as in my first survivor, were one thing, but what had been done to this young lady was far beyond rational comprehension. The supernatural explanation led directly back to my own heart of darkness encounter a decade earlier. And I found out why Dr. P. had thought it so amusing that I didn’t know the people on the boat…
To put it bluntly, I was left wrestling with the question of what did Satanism and Nazi black magic have to do with the government mind control program? They obviously did, but why?
Briefly, the important pieces of her story:
Her father was a top exec at Ford at the time, and, as he was into a variety of things that would indicate that he was a program person from an earlier wave, we shouldn’t be too surprised that he turned his seven year old daughter, whom he had already been molesting for several years, over to the tender mercies of the program. Between seven and eleven, my client was programmed to be a multiple not for any espionage purposes, but to see if she could “channel” the Evil One.
Now, I had already had several ritual abuse survivors, one from a Christian cult that would make you sick, and a few garden variety satanist using the imagery to make the sin of what ever seem more wicked. But never anything like this.
You see, I didn’t really believe in the devil, or evil as a concrete concept for that matter. It was ignorance, disharmony, chaos, whatever, but evil, as a conscious choice, as a mode of existence, was fortunately or unfortunately beyond my comprehension. I suppose that’s what saved me in California. I reacted to what I thought was their delusions but I never thought that there was anything more to what they believed than that. I sensed the evil, but I couldn’t grasp its reality. Even when my first program survivor had asked, I replied as if I believed in her devil, which I did, not as if I believed in the Devil.
My client changed all that. What had been done to her, and the reason it was done, was simply Evil, and I either believed her story or I didn’t. At the point that I was seriously struggling with this, several strange things happened to convince me that her story was true, but that it was also just another iceberg tip.
The first thing was what I call a “Dr. Strange” case. I had a reputation in the area as a psychic ghost-buster spiritual emergency kind of guy, and I occasionally got calls about various paranormal activities. One day a detective in a neighboring county called with a problem. He had a guy who knew had committed murder, but the body and the weapon were missing, and without a connection they weren’t going to be able to hold him. They had 48 hours to find something or turn him loose. So, they called around looking for a psychic, anything right, and got directed to me because of my dowsing work. They wanted me to dowse for the body.
Well, I said that it’d take too long to dowse, since they had no clue where the body might be, but I might be able to pick up something from the man’s personal items. Big mistake.
So, I’m escorted to the man’s house, which they have been searching for days, and given his old sweaty athletic shoe to work with. They did not tell me that they suspected that he had been wearing that shoe on the day of the murder. I put my hand in, relaxed and started to feel…
Everything he felt, leading up to, during and after the murder. We found the ax hidden with his Bible in the shed, and with a little luck, they found the body. He didn’t know where he was during the attack, and didn’t know very clearly what he had done with the body. The reason – it wasn’t him doing the murder. It was what I can only call a demon.
There had been a hint of something weird about the case from the very beginning. The guy had been turned in by his wife after a domestic violence incident in which she had backed over him with the car. Frightened, she told the cops about his obsession with the then missing girl and that she thought he had done it. She gave them permission to search, but wouldn’t press charges on the domestic assault. He was in the hospital, under guard, and was healing so fast that the hospital was going to turn him loose in a day or so. If the cops didn’t charge him with the murder, he was sure to come back, destroy any evidence and perhaps kill his wife and kids this time.
With the ax and the body, they charged him with the murder. And then something really strange happened. His amazing healing powers disappeared and in less than a week he was dead. In one week he went from ready to be released to dead from the same injuries. The demon had moved on.
Well, I knew the demon had moved on because he paid me a visit. You see, when I became aware of him through the guy’s shoe, he also became aware of me. And he was not happy.
It started one night with strange smells, rotting flesh and worse. Then this almost palpable sense of fear and dread literally descended. Darlene, with her childhood background in Spiritualism, figured it out before I did. We retreated to the temple, battened down the psychic hatches and rode it out, rather like a bad acid trip, until morning. Fortunately, it never came back.
Darlene just read this and commented that I had left out all the good stuff: The huge black dog at the window, the telephone ringing at 3am, the strange noises coming from the empty apartment next door, and so on. She also points out that the demon became aware of me because I didn’t take the proper precautions before I stuck my hand in the guy’s shoe. As usual, she is correct.
And then, within a month of this experience, I got two more program survivors as clients. One was from western North Carolina with an already checkered past. Her last therapist had written a book about her and then left her high and dry to deal with the fallout of a none too clever pseudonym. The other was from San Francisco and had stories about the Presidio child abuse scandal, and my old “friends” from the boat, Michael and Lillith Aquino. Needless to say, both of these came very close to home.
A year or so later, I got another one, from Wisconsin. By that time, I was connected with the abuse survivor community, and could identify the patterns. But the discussion within our little fringe therapy community was divided over the reality of what we were finding. For every “espionage” type we uncovered, we’d find an average of five of the satanic type. Deeper screens? A shift in the programming material itself? The Son of Sam case would suggest that satanism was a part of basic Greenbaum programming, but why didn’t show it up in other obvious Greenbaum types?
Of my five clients, the first was an espionage type, and the other four, with some quirks that we will get to in a moment, were satanist. Michigan was deep corporate elite strata satanism, NC was country ignorance and family witchcraft, SF was military intelligence satanism, and Wisconsin was pure Aryan Bund SS nazi satanism. All five were multi-generational situations, yet each family was widely separated in geography and class from the others. The close ones, Michigan and Wisconsin and DC and NC, were separated by extreme class gaps and therefore unlikely to ever come in contact. The only thing that really connected them was the pattern of the abuse and the use to which those who imposed it on them wanted to make of it. They were all created MPD for the purpose of embodying or channeling what their handlers understood as the Evil One.
The quirk I mentioned is that in all four satanism cases, there was contact, of some sort, with one or more intelligence agencies. It was either in the family, in the institutions where the programming abuse took place, or, in the NC case, an out and out contact from somebody that sounded like a cross between FBI and MIB.
I also had a dozen or so possibles, and one of those, having to do with Jacksonville and one of the first UFO cases, has strange ties to Laura’s own story. But I still didn’t understand the connection between the satanism branch of the Program and the Greenbaum.
(Just as I came back to this a few minutes ago, my Michigan survivor called me. I had not heard from her in a few years, and she called to tell me she was still doing well. In this field complete success stories are rare, and she is one. She’s now a writer, see Rena’s Promise, Random House I think, for an example of her work.)
And then, synchronistically, the connecting piece was dropped in my lap.
An old friend that I knew had intelligence connections – the guy I mentioned in our discussion of Dean’s background – called me up with a strange story. He thought that if anybody might have a clue what was going on, it would be me. A friend of his wife’s, going back to Pentagon days, had gone crazy and started accusing everyone of being a satanist and under mind control. Her husband had had to take their kids away from her and she was on the run, calling them from phone booths along the highway. Could I help?
She called me the next day from a phone booth in Maryland, and we talked enough to convince her that I would take her story seriously. So she hopped in her car and drove straight through to Winston-Salem. She got to my office around six and we talked to midnight, when she left to hide somewhere, she wouldn’t say where or how, and then came back the next day and talked for another four hours or so. Then she got in her car and left. I never saw her again, alive.
What she told me was so bizarre that at first I figured it had to be a plant. They wanted to see what I’d do with such stuff, and then flatten me when I used it. And remember, this was 1993, pre X-files…
She had been in the Program since the mid-50s, what she called the “Stepford Wives” division. Girls with looks and good grades from selected backgrounds were fast-tracked to prep schools and finishing schools, where they received some basic programming, and then “sold off” to Intel and other government types as wives. Many of them ended up married to NASA geeks for the sole purpose of spying on them. Early on, she figured out the game and played along until her handlers discovered she was virtually immune to hypnotic programming. That earned her truly special attention.
The issue of hypnotic immunity was the fly in the ointment for the larger reaches of the program. If a significant number of citizens were flatly immune to your best efforts, then mass control was unlikely. Somebody would always resist. So this poor lady became a guinea pig for the full range of Program experimentation.
They learned that while she couldn’t be successfully programmed, she could be broken. She was put back into circulation, while her pregnancies were monitored and genetically tampered with, causing mis-carriages and abnormal births. Two children survived, both boys, one 13 and the other five in 1993. They had been experimented on since the day they were born, and the eldest, like his mother, was resistant. The youngest however was something else, perhaps literally.
And here’s where all the threads of our story converge on the Gordian knot nexus point of maximum weirdness. When they wanted her for something, she simply hit her up with drugs to knock her out and did it to her. However, over time, she developed a tolerance for the drugs and would be half awake for the last few hours of whatever. And so she woke up one night in 1987 to find herself having sex with something that looked like a cross between Night on Bald Mountain and an iguana. She freaked and a group of people held her down while “it” finished. Several of the people she remembered enough to identify. One was her husband, another was Michael Aquino.
When her son was born, after a painful nine months, the husband was beside himself with glee. He got a promotion, they moved to a gated compound in West Virginia, and even she was treated marginally better. And then the tests began. People flew in from around the planet to run a battery of tests on her infant son. She was being kept drugged more and more heavily, several times causing near overdoses. Finally, she figured out that was what they wanted her to do, and tried to go cold turkey.
It was too much and she completely fell apart and spent two years in a state hospital. With an incredible amount of determination she fought her way out, made a deal with her husband to come home, spent six months playing Stepford wife, her favorite derogatory term, while she planned her escape. Two weeks before, she had done it, grabbed her oldest son and split the compound. She had a suitcase full of cash and an untraceable car and would have made it except she trusted the wrong people. They caught her, but they were Company guys, and so they took the kid back to his father and let her go. Why? She wasn’t sure.
We reached this point just before mid-night that first night, and after she left I sat in my office for a long time pondering that question. I woke my friends up, and they were uncertain how she got their number. He remembered her husband all right, but his wife hadn’t been in touch with her in 20 years. They had no idea how she got their current number. It was unlisted.
So, they let her go, and she came, indirectly, straight to me. I was not comforted by the thought. But was her story true, or just a clever trap for an over zealous researcher? That I couldn’t figure out.
When she came back the next day, I asked her how she got my friend’s number. She said it was in her address book, so she assumed she had looked it up at some point. OK… So I questioned her about the reality of her memories, and she admitted that they were fuzzy with gaps caused by the drugs. But she was sure about the thing that raped her. We went back over her story and it matched, nothing grew or changed in the telling, although certain little details emerged. Her youngest son had been a vicious sociopath by the age of three for instance.
By the time she left, I was almost convinced. But the questions why and how she got to me were still unanswered. We talked about what she wanted to do next. Her plan was to get a lawyer and sue for custody of the eldest son, and blow the thing wide open in court when she revealed the father of her youngest and her entire story. She had been on the phone already and there was a lawyer in California that wanted to take the case. She was on her way to meet him from there, driving straight through and stopping only to sleep.
She never made it. A few days later I got a call from a detective in Memphis who wanted to know if I knew anything about her. She had been found dead in a motel room under suspicious circumstances and she had my card. I explained as much as could, and he wanted to know about suicide. I said she was distraught enough to have any number of accidents, but she’d never commit suicide, she was on a mission. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, obviously, because he repeatedly pressed me on why I thought that and did know what her mission was? Finally, he got it that I wasn’t going to help his case, so he hung up.
One strange thing though. I was getting ready to move my office to Chapel Hill and had let my cards run out. The lady had certainly never picked one up in my office. So where did the one the detective in Memphis described to me come from?
And then, in October 1993, I got the following letter. It had no heading or letter head and bore a Las Vegas postmark.
Good to hear from old friends, what they’re doing and all, isn’t it? We’ve been admiring your work, and we must tell you that we couldn’t be more pleased. Doubt you would have been so effective even if you had taken our offer.
So there it is, I thought. These guys are still fucking with me, whatever this was supposed to mean. It could mean that the whole thing was a set up, right back to Dr. P. and the Melchizedek crowd. Even my sample of clients could all have been planted to see how I did in following the dots.
Well, I fell into a months long Sherlockian funk, that fortunately coincided with our several moves so I had time to think as I packed and unpacked endless boxes of books. Then one day, I got it. They had sent me samples of the truth because that was what they wanted. That was part of their plan for me since the beginning in a way. The question was, what would I do once I had the truth? Reveal it and take the flack? Join up back up out of despair? What? And then it hit me. They didn’t care which I did, they would make it work out to their benefit either way.
So I did neither. My new partner and I worked out a plan. She would take the professional flack and work within the emerging treatment community to get the word out and to find more cases so we could see if my sample was skewed or accurate, or even if the whole thing was another form of mind control. I went to work on the technical end looking for therapies and gizmos that would aid in the recovery process.
We worked at it until early 1997, when everything fell apart due to heavy pressure on my partner. Psychic attacks, Love Bite vampires and office break-ins forced a change. I went into semi-retirement, retreating to Mt.G. with a few remaining clients who were willing to drive. One them was my last survivor family, although I didn’t know it then. They were from a town in E. Texas that just seemed to pop up no matter which end of all this you started from.