Hand signals are a common mode of control for victims of ritual abuse and mind control. There was a hand signal program I was taught when I was very little, that was sung to the song Frere Jacques, with the nursery rhyme, Where Is Pointer? The common song/game is played by singing; "Where is Pointer? Where is pointer?" And then you put up your pointer finger and say, "Here I am, Here I am. How are you, today sir? Very well, I thank you …run away, run away…" Then you put your hands behind your back. I was taught the version:
"Where is silencer?" With a finger held up to the lips commanding silence.
"Where is kingpin?" With large pin inside the middle finger, that I was poked with just before singing, "run away, run away."
"Where is little man?" Holding up a pinky finger while singing, "Little man can't run away."
"Where is thumbkin?" Holding up a thumb and being thumped on the head while singing, "You can't run away."
In conjunction with the traumas at church and school, my father reinforced my programming with the use of fairy tales, among them Disney themes and The Wizard of Oz. I watched the Wizard of Oz every year and at other times my programmers laced in other programs and hypnotic commands in a creative way that allowed the movie themes to keep me under control. Although I could not consciously remember what I was programmed to forget, this use of fantasy, used in an effort to keep amnestic and to scramble what I had actually participated in, was very effective …almost foolproof.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, after having watched the Wizard of Oz, my father would traumatize me in order to cause me to dissociate, which created the perfect trance state for programming. In this altered state, he would tell me that "over the rainbow" was a bridge to the «other» world, and that I could walk over the rainbow bridge into the other world and it would remain separate from my everyday world. He told me that what happened over the rainbow would feel unreal, like a dream. After encounters that I was supposed to forget, I was conditioned to the word "home." It began with "There's no place like home" being associated with being back in my bed, sleeping, after a night of being used in child pornography or prostitution.
Later my mother, father, or others would say these words after my use in Washington, D.C. in the White House or other places I was sent under program. For years these words functioned as a way to reorient me back into my everyday world, without carrying back with me the reality of what had happened. I was instructed to, "sleep and wake up at home in my bed with the Land of Oz so very far away. That place that felt like a fairy tale …that I must have made up …was only a dream …was now very far away." I was now on the other side of the rainbow and was conditioned to believe that those experiences never really happened, that they were only a dream. Later in my teen years all it took was for my mother or father to say, "Honey, you can sleep all the way home," and I was conditioned like Pavlov's dogs to respond to the word «home» with total and complete amnesia of what had just happened to me.
If my subconscious mind threatened to divulge the secrets, my father programmed me to "wake and eat chocolate chip cookies to remember to forget." And for years, the next 40 years, as this powerful programming commanded, I awoke out of a sound sleep if memory of this secret world seeped up as I entered first theta and then delta brain wave sleep patterns. Following program, I robotically walked into the kitchen to eat chocolate chip cookies in order to «re-mind» myself.
Another Oz theme that was used to program me was the song, "If I Only Had A Brain." During a programming session, a man whispered in my ear, telling me, "It's safer not to have a brain, it's easier not to have a brain; all you have to do to stay on track is to follow the yellow brick road. Then you won't be scared like the cowardly lion and you can keep your heart which you will need to get you down the yellow brick road to the land of glitter and gold, glitter and gold, glitter and gold. Follow the yellow brick road to somewhere over the rainbow way up high." In my trance state, this verse went deeply into my subconscious mind and was an evervigilant internal reference to remind me to forget, and could be enforced by any of my controllers when the need arose to keep me from unlocking repressed memory.
Alice in Wonderland was used as a theme to program in 'time awareness. My programmers said, "See the rabbit who says, 'watch the watch, watch the watch, and feel your eyes grow sleepy and tired so you can no longer watch the watch but you know it is always there ticking away, keeping perfect time. It knows what time it is so you won't ever have to worry about what time it is for the watch will keep perfect time. And now at the count of three I want you to wake up …1, 2, 3…" he snapped his fingers, "and awake. Good girl!"
There were other programs based on fairy tales and Disney themes. Other survivors around the world have also reported many of these same common themes.
When I was five years old my mother and father took me to the newly-opened Disneyland in Anaheim, California. As we walked down Main Street, we ran into Walt Disney and my father stood aside as Walt Disney, larger than life to me, bent down and shook my hand. He told me that if I would write to him he would write back to me. I didn't consciously remember anything else after that. What happened next, though, as I later recalled, was that Walt Disney looked at my father with eyes that said important things I couldn't understand. My father then led my mother in the other direction and I was left alone with Walt Disney. My parents never said goodbye or anything, they just left me and walked away. I was terrified and confused at realizing that my parents just disappeared. Walt took me to an office, lifted me up on a big desk that had a glass piece on top and told me that he was my real father. He said the Mickey Mouse Club was my real family-where I really belonged. Everyone was always telling me I belonged to a different family than my parents and I didn't understand, it was all very confusing. Walt Disney seemed nice but I wasn't with him very long. He called another man in and that man took me by the hand and led me away. This man was a very bad man and he really scared me. He took me into another room and gave me those viewmaster box glasses to look into. He showed me pictures in them that were so scary that other parts of me had to come to see them. It was too much for a little girl to see. Dead things-cut up bodies, dead cats skinned with big eyeballs and their tails cut off, people cut up, etc. We had that toy at home but mine had cartoon pictures in it. This event involved several of my personalities.
Next, the man took me to scary rides and poked me with needles in my waist and legs while he said things during the Alice in Wonderland ride, like, "This is not really happening. I am not really sticking this needle in your leg. You are just like Alice. You also ate the large mushroom and feel funny-this is not real." He kept laughing and acting like all this was fun and games and really amusing, but it was terrifying and confusing to me, and I couldn't understand why he was hurting me. Parts of me split off as they withstood the abuse and I pushed the experiences deep into my subconscious mind as my programming dictated.
Then the man took me to Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and sexually abused me by taking off my panties and pushing me up and down on top of his penis while we were going through the dark, enclosed ride. During many years that followed, I got hurt on Mr. Toad's ride. I was instructed to be extra sexy and wild and crazy in order to be «good» and not get hurt. If I did it right and performed on cue, then I didn't get hurt when it was over. When we came out into the light from the darkened ride, it was over and if I did it right I could stop and go back to my Mommy. If I did it wrong, I had to do it all over again until I did it right. They always hurt me real bad if I made a mistake. I tried my best. It seemed like I had to stay at Disneyland for a long time, but at the end of the long day, I got to have a pretty balloon that I looked at as I laid in the back seat of the car all the way home. I was devastated, exhausted and out of it during the ride back to Woodland Hills, but looked up at the pretty Mickey Mouse ears balloon or the Mickey Mouse balloon within a balloon, before I finally fell into a long deep sleep.
We went to Disneyland yearly, often for birthday celebrations. On another visit, a suited man escorted me to the front of the Snow White ride. As he guided me on board the boat, he flashed a badge to the attendant and explained that he had special permission to take this special guest on the ride. We entered a boat and rode through the canals while he refrained the fairy tale themes. As we passed them by, he stuck needles in my thighs at different times after he finished a line about a story. All the classic fairy tales drifted in front of us-the Three Pigs and the Big Bad Wolf. He told me that the big bad wolf could always find me and get me, even if I was in the well-built brick house, and that the wolf could huff and puff and blow my house down. He told me my parents couldn't protect me from the wolf either because he was big and bad and wild. I can still hear the Big Bad Wolf song playing. The man kept poking me with the needle and it hurt. I kept watching his hand with the needle trying to anticipate the pain and he kept telling me the scary stories. I didn't know what to do and couldn't get away because we were in a boat and I couldn't get off. Then he almost choked me to death in the front of the boat but kept talking and telling me the fairy tales, as if nothing had ever happened. I was terrified.
Later on, in the dark of the night a man in a suit took me on the Matterhorn and stopped the rollercoaster ride at the waterfall where he told me everything that happened was washed away and gone forever. He made me get off the ride and stand on the rocks high up inside the Matterhorn all alone in the dark that night. I was really tired. He said they were leaving me there alone because I didn't do it right and I didn't listen well. I was terrified in the dark, wet, rocky area that was whooshing with the sound of the wind and cars from the ride speeding by. But it got even scarier when the area fell silent. Cold and tired, I was left totally alone for what seemed to my child self like forever. When the man finally came to get me, he asked if I was ready to be good. Then he said a lot of words while he carried me to my parents. Handing me, all limp and wet, over to my mother, he said, "She's asleep." My mother was crying, my father was smiling and the man in the suit said, "It's been done, she's now ready for the next level."
My father carried me out of Disneyland but stopped to buy me a Mickey Mouse balloon to look at, to, as he said, "remember the good time you had." Disneyland was never really fun; there was always pain and torture.
Another night at Disneyland I climbed the steps to the Swiss Family Robinson Tree House. Once inside one of the rooms a man grabbed me, slapped my face really hard and flashed a bright light in my eyes. He said, "Your mother is not your real mother, your father is not your real father. You are made of much greater things, so great in fact that Walt Disney would claim you for his own. So remember what I've said about who your real parents are." When he was finished with me I climbed down from the treehouse, sobbing hysterically with each and every step. My mother was waiting for me at the bottom and took me over to the Fritos snack stand to try to get me calmed down.
It's A Small World ride was purposefully used to create the reality in my mind that I was really just on a ride at Disneyland when later I was taken to foreign countries for use. The programming that blossomed up into my conscious mind after such travel was that I was merely at Disneyland. One day my father accompanied me into the international phone display. I picked up many of the colored phones and listened to the different languages and my mom stood close by while my father appeared to walk away.
But my father really hid behind the phone display and talked like he was sending a message through the phone. Initially, I thought it was someone else talking to me through the phone, someone who mysteriously knew my name. When I caught on that it was my father, I knew better than to let on and continued with the charade. Soon a man in a Disney uniform came and linked arm in arm with me like the characters do in the Wizard of Oz, and escorted me over to the main headquarters near the dog kennels.
On another trip, I was taken on the Jungleboat ride at Disneyland at night. It was very dark and I noticed that no one was in line as my parents guided me through the area where people normally waited to enter the ride. We were all alone and I was terrified, anticipating what was to occur next. I had learned early on, and knew at a very deep subconscious level that my parents were of no protection to me; instead they were often the very ones that delivered me to very terrifying people, experiences and places. This night was no different. I was taken to the very back of the boat and a man in a dark suit emerged, and said, "I will take it from here," at which point my father took my mother by the elbow and escorted her robotically away. I was afraid.
"Laura," the man called out. Laura was my school personality who was programmed to be cooperative and helpful. He said, "Laura, I need your help so that things run very smoothly tonight."
"Yes, sir." I replied, now switched to Laura.
"I want you to turn around 7 times and I will be tying a rope around your waist so we don't lose you here tonight."
I couldn't imagine how I was about to get lost on this big boat, but I complied as he tied the rope around my waist and as commanded, I began turning as he counted, "One, two, buckle my shoe, no, three, four, shut the door. The door to your mind, that is, five, six, pick up sticks, and …seven will do the trick." I didn't know what the trick was but I was soon to find out. "Here, now you just sit down right here," as he pointed to a place at the back of the boat, while he held onto me with the rope like I was a dog on a leash. Before I knew exactly what was happening he lifted me up and plunged me into that cold, dark water. As I hit the water, I was sure that the alligators that I'd seen earlier that day on the Jungle Cruise were going to get me and eat me alive in the dark. The boat was going and I was being dragged behind it. I held onto the rope so that I could stay facing forward. Reminding me of the Wizard of Oz programming theme, the man yelled, "Lions and tigers and bears, oh my." Then pointing into the dark water near me, he tapped into the Peter Pan theme I was also programmed with as he anxiously warned, "I believe there's an alligator there on your left, no I mean on your right, right there behind you, he's swimming right up behind you on your other left." I was frantically panicked; and in an attempt to make it all go away I squeezed my eyes as tightly shut as I could, and held onto the rope for dear life.
"You're a very strong little girl," he called out, "just like your father told me you were. You know, the survival of the fittest." Then he began to reel me back in and lifted me up by the rope as I climbed over the railing to get back on the boat. "You passed that test with flying colors! Your father said that this test would be easy for you."
I felt numb and my teeth were chattering from the cold. My dress was all wet and so were my shoes and socks and panties. I was freezing. My father always did talk to me about the 'survival of the fittest' and how I would be strong.
"You could fly like Tinkerbell does, across the sky at night attached to this rope like you are. Should I leave it on so that you can fly with Tinkerbell tonight, high up in the sky?"
"No, sir," I replied looking down at the rope and shivering.
He laughed real loudly. "You know that you fly with her every time you see her fly; you fly high, high away from all the things you think you remember here, but none of those things really happen; they are all just figments of your imagination. Do you know what figments are?"
I shook my head no.
"Figments are fruit that you eat. And you have enjoyed all the rides here tonight and had a lot of fun and now it is almost time for you to go home. You know, like Mickey says in the song, "Now it's time to say good-bye to all our company, M.I.C.K.E.Y.M.O.U.S.E.; you know the song on TV, the one that you hear when you watch the Mickey Mouse Club?
"Yes," I said, now in total hypnotic, robotical program.
"When you see Tinkerbell and all the beautiful fireworks here tonight, you will remember the good and only the good things that happened here today and tonight. All the good will float up into your conscious mind just like Tinkerbell flies high in the sky, so will all the good things [that happened] fly high up into your conscious mind. You have had the best day here at Disneyland and want to return as soon as you can for more fun."
In a complete hysterical panic, my mother rushed up and threw her arms around me as if she was rescuing me. She threw some sort of dark cloth over me, and she and my father took me off the boat. She took me into a bathroom to change clothes near the Jungleboat ride. My mother ushered me into a stall and began changing my clothes without closing the door behind us. I was embarrassed. A lady came into the restroom and my mom said to her, "My daughter fell into the water and we are changing her clothes."
No wonder it has been difficult, at times, for me to trust my own awareness, even as an adult.
One night, my programmers decided I was to actually replace the real Tinkerbell in flight over the park at night in the dark. The men in park uniforms walked up behind the real Tinkerbell who was actually an older lady and this night she was in costume, ready to fly. The men told her to step aside, that I was going to fly that night. I didn't know where my mom and dad went and I was cold and scared. The woman was very angry. She wanted to do her job and yelled at the men but they told her just to relax, that she would still get paid and that no one would have to know she didn't fly and she could go home early and still collect her paycheck. Still angry she left and the men dressed me in a white Tinkerbell costume and strapped me into the flight harness. After I was secured, a man asked me if I was ready. He showed me where to hold onto the front straps so I wouldn't get my hands or arms ripped off while I was flying high above the Magic Kingdom. The whole experience was terrifying. They must have given me a drug because everything appeared to be in lots of pictures like a camera with a whole circle of lenses of the same picture, like a kaleidoscope. As I flew, I felt afraid that I would fall out and splat below on everyone, but after a little while I became numb. I could no longer think or feel. I must have fainted because when I got to the other end of the sky ride, a few men removed the harness and tried to get me to come to. One man slapped me but that didn't even wake me up, then someone else put smelling salts under my nose and I woke up. I don't remember much else except I couldn't walk very well and had to be carried out of Disneyland. That night there were no stops on Main Street to get toys or a balloon or candy. I felt sick and laid in the back of our old Buick until we got home. My brothers didn't go with us, it was just my mom and dad and me. My father said I was the 'star' of the family. I didn't like being the star if that's how it was, but he seemed very excited about it.
My neighbors, my "second mother" Mary and her daughter Peggy, took me to a Hollywood theatre to watch The Parent Trap, a 1961 Disney Movie starring Hayley Mills. The theme of this movie helped to shape the reality of my inner "twin sister," Sharon. I was Susan and my twin sister was Sharon. This Sharon personality was created in an attempt to further split my mind and was anchored within my personality structure in order to house a vast reservoir of experiences with the elite. Sharon was to identify herself with "high society."
Now of course, my inner twin sister Sharon also had to have programming experiences at Disneyland. To accomplish that our neighbor Mary took me to Disneyland with her daughter Peggy, who was my age. At one point we visited the beautiful Magic Castle that is located in the middle of the Magic Kingdom. As I walked through the Castle, exploring the area, I rounded a corner and as I stepped into a darkened area, a man in a black cape that had been hiding in a dark corner of the castle stepped forward and grabbed me. He put his hand over my mouth so I wouldn't scream and he elbowed me in the stomach before he raped me. Then he took me in the direction of the dog kennels in the front of Disneyland where other bad things happened. Every year, Sharon had to watch the "President Show with Lincoln" that played in a theatre on Main Street and in order to keep her secret experiences hidden from her conscious mind, this twin sister part of me also had to be exposed to many of the same kinds of trauma.
Sharon was created to be Catholic, and Mary and Peggy often took me with them to Catholic mass. (They didn't know about my connection to Henry Kissinger.) I was taught about Holy Water and genuflecting and the Stations of the Cross and Confession and Hail Marys and saying the Rosary. Peggy let me borrow her rosary beads that had a little blue enamel picture of the Blessed Mary on it. I learned to say, "Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee," over and over again for each bead. We always had to wear a hat or a scarf. They had a lot of rules you had to follow. Had to get that Holy Water and dab it on yourself at your Stations of the Cross; forehead, heart then each shoulder, before you genuflected upon entering the pews. Then we knelt down and said the Rosary for a very long time. With my childlike consciousness, I thought it was a dumb thing to do and kept asking everyone why we had to say that and what it would do, but all everyone ever said was that I asked too many questions. During the many times I attended mass with Mary and Peggy, I silently prayed to the statue of the Blessed Virgin and asked her to help me, although I was unable to «think» about why I needed help.
Sharon was a "child of the elite" and later on, serviced the elite, such as the Rockefellers. She was often the sexually-oriented personality when I was used for sex and mind file work. «Sharon» was my highly sexual counterpart and «Sue» contained the messages in mind files.
To further my split conditioning, there was a small stone building in a cemetery where the men in suits locked me in for the whole night. They took my clothes away from me, pushed me into the dark room and closed the door. It was cold on the concrete floor and I could feel spider webs in the corners. It was scary, so I just sat down on my feet in the corner, hugged my legs to my body and closed my eyes.
After awhile, an angel appeared. She said her name was Maria and that I was being prepared for the future. She said that she and other angels would help me and I would be "sustained." I didn't know what that word meant but felt like it was okay because I felt so much love from her. While my spirit self was sitting next to her on a bench, my physical body was still in that concrete room. She told me she would be very close to me later when I was older and could understand more. She explained that these people were unkind because they didn't understand, but that my angel friends loved me very much and would be there whenever I needed them. All of a sudden, before I was ready to leave her, I was back in the cold concrete cubicle, still sitting squatted on my feet and she was gone. I felt like I had traveled somewhere and I wanted to go back there because it didn't hurt and wasn't cold there, but I couldn't figure out how to get there. I had to wait for the angel to escort me. Everyone was always escorting me everywhere-on earth and in heaven. When the men came to let me out, it was still dark and they dropped me off at home. Entering the breezeway, I went through the back door, into my room and went to sleep.
Now of course, in order to insure that Sharon's memory was kept separate from my conscious mind, trauma had to be induced to create the dissociative barrier. Among other traumas, I was taken to St. Mel's Catholic Church in Woodland Hills and was molested by a short fat "Father," at the back of the church in a side room. This priest who spoke with an Irish accent and smelled like alcohol, pulled my hair while he sexually satisfied himself in my mouth. When he was finished with me, two men in suits escorted me to an awaiting limousine. I had short hair and wore a felt poodle skirt, flats, white socks and a white blouse. It wasn't unusual to see limousines lined up in front of this large Catholic church for use at funerals or weddings. It was nearing dark and once out of sight of the public, these men were very rough with me. They threw me into the back seat and once inside the limo I laid on the seat in a fetal position, rocking myself, terrified out of my mind.
Arriving at the new McDonald's, one man told me, "Look at the Golden Arches, they are your Highway to Heaven. Whenever you enter to cross over, you won't remember having been here." I went in as Sue and after I was drugged I came out as Sharon. I had no awareness that Sharon was me. In my internal, subconsciously created reality, I believed Sharon to be my physically separate, twin sister, but consciously I had no knowledge of any other part of me except Sue. All I knew was there were lots of times when I was told that I would be allowed to see my twin sister, my secret twin sister. I felt sad. I missed her desperately and I felt that she was always in danger and needed me. The man who was present to create this part of my programming was a very affluent and locally well-known and respected Catholic OB/GYN doctor, named Dr. McGinnis. He told me that I could find my twin sister in the bathroom, so I ran there to find Sharon. The doctor and another man followed me as I ran into the small one room bathroom that I entered from outside McDonald's, in tears desperate to find my twin sister. Once inside, as directed, I looked around and came out and told the doctor that he could come inside, that there was no one else there. I felt very robotic. Entering the small bathroom with me, he locked the door behind us and told me to sit on the floor in the corner of the stall. I did as he instructed. He took my arm and put it up on the toilet lid, slipped a rubber cuff around my arm and got a big needle out. As he injected the drug into my arm he commanded, "count backwards from three."
"One…" I started.
"NO!" The doctor yelled angrily. "I said backwards, starting from three."
"Three, two," I slumped over and passed out.
He began slapping my face and I couldn't wake up but he called out, "Sharon, Sharon, Sharon."
Finally after lots of slapping, Sharon said, "Yes."
"Get up and walk out to the car." The doctor commanded. Sharon obeyed.
He carried his black doctor's bag and we took off as soon as he got into the limo. I overheard him say to the driver that if he ever got caught he would just take his black bag and say he was on an emergency, that way no one would ever question him.
We drove down Ventura Boulevard to a jewelry store. The doctor and I went in, myself still switched to my twin sister Sharon. He told the store owner I was looking for a present for my mother, but I wasn't really. These people always told lies. He put a diamond bracelet on my arm and said, "You're used to jewels, remember?"
"Yes," I said, smiling. It was true that Sharon was used to riches.
"That is all you need to remember, that you're used to jewels." As we turned to leave, he called out to the owner at the other end of the store to say that we were finished shopping.
Next, I was dropped off at a big house somewhere and taken downstairs to be filmed in child pornography. There were men in leathers and chains with guns. A man ripped my clothes off and sodomized me while another guy watched as it was filmed. Then I was chained up, whipped and filmed more. They liked it when I cried out. They said I had to, in order to make a good film, but I really wanted to be quiet and keep all to myself so it would ruin the film. They put a baby on a wooden table and killed her while I was being raped and they said her lifeblood was filling me and that I liked taking the baby's life into me. I didn't really. I didn't want them to hurt the baby, ever. But I had to smile and laugh while they filmed it or they said I would be killed, also. They made these snuff films often with babies or little girls. "The younger, the purer," the men said. They believed fetuses were the best to get the purest untouched lifeblood. They often ingested the flesh afterwards, and sometimes the heart, while it was still beating. It was terrifying, vile and disgusting. And they fed it to me for the filming. I was always forced to smile.
After it was all over I was taken by limo back to McDonald's, into the same bathroom where some man snapped his fingers in front of my face and said, "Susie, you've fainted," which, by calling out that name, switched me back into my conscious personality. Once revived, these men drove me to my street, dropped me off and told me to walk the highway to heaven into sleep. In program trance, I walked the short block home, went through the breezeway into the back door, and climbed into my bed. It was dark outside but the yellow porch light was on and I knew my way through the house with my eyes closed.
That night, alone in my bed, I said the prayer I usually said with my mother or my grandmother each and every night, "Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom His Love commits me here. Ever this day be at my side. To light and guard, to rule and guide."
I beg of you, dear reader, to be open to the possibility that these sorts of atrocities did happen, and that they are still happening to other children today, even right now at this very moment. Please open your heart and know that this could be true so together we can all put a stop to the abuse that terrifies and threatens to destroy the children.
McDonald's was often a part of my abuse whether I was in California or later away from home when after use in different states or countries, they took me to "The Golden Arches" and gave me coke (later aspartame-infused diet coke with a twist of lemon) and french fries. McDonald's was a very powerful program for repressing events of national and international usage.
By the tender age of five, 1 was conditioned through torture and high tech hypnotic tect and electroshock, to hurt myself in many ways should I begin to remember the secret activities, was a part of. Per programmed suggestion, if I began to remember I would stub my big toe c burn myself on the stove, thereby removing my focus from the remembered secret experienck and re-routing my attention to my wound. I was instructed where to cut my wrist in order to take my own life, should I begin to remember or tell. There were also accident programs instilled t insure my death if I began to remember. Endless programs were installed int in my life that were available for later use in suppressing my hidden activities
Over the years, I was told the following while I was being tortured, in an~ you remember, you will kill yourself; if you tell, people will think you are crazy and will loc you up in a mental institution; if you don't obey us, we will kill your family or your dog and ca if you tell, we will kill you." I had witnessed killings for years and knew these were not id threats.
My programmers also created within me, reporting personalities that were instructed to tell on me in regard to anything I did that was stepping out of line. This common feature of mind control is reported by many survivors.
"He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."
"See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven."