As parts of my personality tried to break free, there were many, many attempts to bring me back into the fold; all of which included torture and trauma. In an attempt to understand what was wrong with me, I began reading every technical book I could get my hands regarding Multiple Personality Disorder. In the 80's, there wasn't much written. As I read I recognized symptom similarities but didn't seem to fit the mold of the 'garden variety' version of MPD, caused by abuse without programming. My search for the truth was unceasing.
Between 1985 and 1990 my husband and I often went to Two Bunch Palms, a spa resort in Desert Hot Springs, which is a neighboring desert city bordering Palm Springs. Craig and I would go for a few days to rest in the mineral pools and utilize the luxurious massage therapy and green clay facemasks that were a part of the resort's celebrity reputation. Once before I went, I watched a King Arthur video and when a shaft of white light shown down on the oracle as he kneeled to deliver a message from God to the king, I began crying and knew at once I needed to go to Two Bunch, alone. Witnessing this, my husband said, "Fine, it's okay. Just go. Do what you need to, honey." I left immediately. Arriving at Two Bunch in the dark around 10 o'clock at night, I was terribly afraid, but didn't know why.
"Two Bunch" as we referred to it, was a 'double edge sword' where I was accessed by Bob Hope and a group of men, including the Council. At the same time I was receiving intense bodywork from professional practitioners, which helped shake loose memories at a cellular level, other dedicated parts of my personality structure who were skilled to withstand torture and humiliation continued to do so on an increased level so that I could continue therapy and healing. I prayed daily for the Holy Spirit to bring to mind those things that needed healing in the perfect time frame, and that is just what occurred. These personalities cooperated over the years of my battle for freedom by absorbing the threats and abuse and, in addition, kept it separate from my conscious mind so I could continue my quest for freedom, unencumbered by fear or resistance. After an intense session with a gentle little old man who was an expert in Trager bodywork, my memories began to increase. During the same visit, I was instructed to attend secret meetings at Two Bunch where I stood back while a group of men talked. My husband was seldom there. I believe one meeting was "The Palm Springs Civic Committee." Bob golfed with them and they had business dealings together.
There were times I was picked up in the parking lot by a silver limo and taken to Bob. Sometimes I wouldn't even get out of the limo; I'd wait for Bob and he would enter to direct me. Other times I would spend the day with him. One night I was directed to a bunch of palm trees late at night to look for the White Owl. Bob Hope ended up being the White Owl I was looking for. At the time, I was unaware that this was a program. I walked outside into the late night breezes to report to the Palm Trees and to Bob, the White Owl.
Late on another night at Two Bunch, in a nightmarish reminiscence of the movie, Stepford Wives, that I had been required to watch years before, I robotically responded to programming as I trekked out to the parking lot in the white robe provided by the spa. A limo pulled up and mindlessly I climbed inside where a man immediately injected me with a drug. When we arrived at a big warehouse-type building in the desert that was like a robot reconditioning facility, the man had to help me out of the limo because I was so drugged. Once inside, doctors in surgical greens placed me on a gurney and started an IV. It may have been filled with a truth serum drug, because that is the type of questions they fielded me. They were trying to identify what I was doing in therapy, what I was remembering. Repositioning me to a chair, they slapped me over and over and I wasn't allowed to go to sleep. If I began to fall asleep, they slapped me again. They were very upset about the therapy and told me lots of lies while they made me look into bright white lights. If I didn't keep my eyes open long enough, they would hold my eyes open and face me directly into the bright lights. They kept injecting my arm, as they yelled at me.
A man, approximately 35 years old, dark-skinned with brown hair, wearing a green tie, tan tweed jacket, white shirt and tan pants, entered the room. He directed the doctors what to do and told them what he wanted to find out, then they supplied the drugs, electroshock and lights. Returned to a metal gurney, he asked me questions over and over that didn't make sense to me, while I sat on the edge of the gurney with my head hanging down, totally out of it. He showed me pictures of people, men usually, and asked me questions about them and kept slapping me. Parts of my personality system would not comply and talk to him and it was making him very angry. In response, he took something sharp to the bottom of my feet. Then he called in the bright lights, and when my eyes could no longer stay open as he commanded, he had another man hold my head up, prop my eyes open and direct the lights in my eyes. They kept this up for what felt like forever. Then he laid me down and put a long rod up my vagina to shock me as he said, "She'll talk, just give her time — we have all the time in the world."
But I was dissociated deep within myself and really didn't care if they killed me or not. I had been conditioned from birth to take what they dished out and if I died, I just wouldn't have to endure any more. No more suffering, it would be over. His frustration level saturated, this man instructed his assistants to lay me down and they took an electric sheer, the type you use to clip a dog, or prep a person for surgery and ran it up my pubic hair, up my stomach, all the way up to my chin. He said it was something to remember him by, "To keep remembering what happens if you don't comply."
After I'd given up and was «gone» they pulled a plastic cap dotted with little metal electrodes over my head. They told me over and over that they would make it much easier on me if I would just cooperate and quit therapy. But I didn't stop. They had to carry me out to the limo and when we arrived back at Two Bunch, the man accompanying me snapped his fingers in my ear and commanded, "Snap out of it!" and followed up with the suggestion that I was very, very tired and wanted a nap. Slowly, I trudged back to the room and went to sleep. I don't know where Craig was.
Desert Hot Springs was a place of horror for me as I attempted to get well by working hard in therapy with Stuart and Margie. I remember Stuart saying to me after I continued to show up day after day with more pieces of my painful past to process in therapy, "I have never seen anyone who is more motivated than you; it's like you're running a marathon."
I responded, "I don't feel like I'm doing this fast enough." No wonder — neither he nor I consciously knew that I was still being tortured and reprogrammed; reporting to the Federal Building, to UCLA, to my political abusers and to Bob Hope when assigned. Consciously, I thought Two Bunch Palms was a place where I went to get rejuvenated to do more abreactive work in order to recover. But even in the midst of the chaos there was a divine plan and timing to my life; I just had to be extremely patient.
As my healing defiance continued, I was returned to Two Bunch. One night I got dressed to go eat in the restaurant. There was a very large clock that hung over the entrance of the restaurant and my instructions were to, "walk to the clock at 6 o'clock." But instead of going inside, I was instructed to turn and walk to the parking lot where a man in a white suit drove me by limo late at night to a club. He took me inside and seated me in a maroon colored booth tucked away in the darkened club. Sonny Bono came out and told me to enter the cleared area. He was twirling a whip like he was going to lasso something. Then he cracked the whip. He did it over and over and it terrified me, because I felt he was going to hit me with it. Sonny said there was nobody there to hear my screams. "Scream all you like," he said laughing. Jokingly he added, "I kinda like it." He went on to explain that he was "giving me what I deserved for trying to break the mold."
I was helped up off the floor where I was huddled and delivered to a group of men in suits. They said I was the guest of honor, but it wasn't fun. They said I was stirring up a bit of trouble back there in Southern California and they just wanted to make sure that nothing bad happened to me. They took a long time to tell me all this, slowly, calmly and smoothly, before another man took me to a dressing room type of partition in a back room and, holding me up by one arm, threw me up against the wall and beat the living breath out of me. I ended up in a heap on the floor with my mouth bleeding. Giving me one final kick with his pointed boot, he said, "There, that ought to do ya."
Another suited man came in and began "taking care of me," he said, while he took pictures of me all beat up to send to my family and friends, and he told me over and over, things that didn't make sense to me like, "You are a queen. You will always be a queen; you have no successor so you must always remain the queen. It's a matter of privilege; you must remain the queen." His last instruction was, "Lay by the pool and get a tan," that I was going to be visited by "the man." I knew the man he spoke of was Bob Hope.
After I was returned and spent the next day recuperating and tanning by the pool, I was picked up again. On the way to see Bob they said my clothes weren't suitable to see him so they stopped at a dress shop in the Springs and one of the suits went in with me and picked out white slacks, a yellow shirt, a gold belt and sandals. Throwing my clothes in the trash he said, "these are more befitting."
We met Bob in a public place. I was taken to him and he broke free for a moment and came over to me, "Tsk, tsk, is this anyway for a woman to be showing a good example to her offspring?" He was referring to my attempts at freedom.
To further frighten and intimidate me, he pulled a picture out of his coat pocket of Kelly and I naked together and said, "The time will come my fairy princess to speak of better things," and he continued, finally commenting that he needed to, "teach me appreciation." Roughly, he took hold and squeezed my collar then abruptly let it go and walked away, like he was through with me. Unfortunately, he wasn't. I was taken back to Two Bunch where I left the new clothes in a massage room and returned to my room with another white robe on.
Another occasion Craig was with me at Two Bunch, when late at night a limo picked us up in the parking lot. We were taken some place and reprimanded for the therapy I was doing and were threatened with the "loss of many things," if I didn't stop and if my husband didn't make me stop. A man in the limo took hold of Craig by the shirt and warned, "Bob doesn't want to have anything happen to his important asset. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," my husband replied. He was very scared and for some reason I started laughing.
Within seconds the man delivered a blow to my face. I felt the stinging of my cheek as his attention turned to me, "Do you find something funny, young lady?" I became very serious and stopped laughing.
I didn't have any way to know then the uphill battle I faced, the magnitude of the system I was attempting to break out of, or the many obstacles, heartaches and abuses I would have to withstand over time in my battle for freedom. Despite the threats, my husband continued to pay $3,000-$5,000 a month for psychotherapy and bodywork, for four more years of my recovery. My controllers found the fact that I was in therapy amusing, totally assured that I was processing from anywhere but the National Security guaranteed, mind-controlled area of my brain. Since they saw me as a robot, they didn't worry about being discovered. Plus, they felt their secrets were protected by their sheer incredulity.
I was programmed to report to the Federal Building, which was in very close proximity to Stuart's office and to UCLA. I went upstairs to the 7th floor, exited the elevator and went down two doors on my left. I was told, "You will find a room with a view," which cryptically meant there was a closed circuit television for instructions. Further I was told, "Sit down, soak up the view, then go back downstairs and try to read the newspaper in the stand and report back if you can." Due to programming against it, I couldn't read it but always followed orders and tried. I was at the Federal Building often. It was a place of "orders headquarters" from Henry. He gave me instructions over closed circuit television when he couldn't gain access or time with me anywhere else.
I had a lot of disguises to wear into the Federal Building. Hats, dark glasses, old baggy dresses, or skirts I'd throw on over my short shorts. I received closed circuit instructions at other locations also, like in rooms in hotels or at corporate offices, office buildings in Los Angeles, Santa Monica, or in the San Fernando Valley. But, at times, Henry had something urgent and needed access to me immediately, so he sent me to the Federal Building. I also delivered my own medical reports from UCLA to the Federal Building to send back to Henry. I guess it was like a mind control report card. My continual breakdown created more need for "check-ups."
During this time as my memory began bleeding through, per program, I suffered with severe migraine headaches and other programmed responses to this security breech. In another of a series of containment efforts, Bob directed me to hike up to China Flats, a small waterhole area located on the Jordan Ranch, down the street from my home. He told me to meet him there at 4 p.m. Bob was flown in on a two-seater helicopter. This meeting was intended to bring me back in line and was not much different from the little chats he and others had been giving me. Like always he started out very calmly and before he was through ended up shouting at me as he paced all over. He always said a lot of, "When are you ever going to learn?" in between the programs he triggered me with and he called me, "my child." What he and others didn't understand was that I was not any more capable of really controlling of myself and my actions than I had ever been. The actual problem was that now I had parts of me who were becoming conscious, which was triggering the acting out of their program commands and this was disrupting my usage and threatened to destroy their plan for my life. In my soul I wanted to be free, but it would take time to accomplish that.
One day, Henry and George Bush were having a "meeting of the minds," as they called it, to decide what to do with me since the efforts to keep me 'in line' and 'on line' were continually failing. As I sat in 'park mode, overhearing their conversation, George Bush said, "We're going to have to waste her Hank."
Henry replied, "George, we have to be rational and calmly think ahead to the future. Just look at the situation we are faced with. This isn't one isolated case. Sure, she has been my closest watched, but if she's breaking down after all we've done, then the others can do the same thing. We could have a world of trouble on our hands and I don't mean that lightly. We have got to restore her and send her back out there. We'll need a hundred of them like her to help keep the others marching in line. We'll just create a new scenario. It's our game, we can create it anyway we choose, like we always have. I just need some time to figure out a plan. Take her out now and we actually will lose control. We can use her to learn from our mistakes to correct them next time. I'm sure I can devise a plan that will capitalize on this. I just need time to go back to the think tank."
As I continued to break down even further, I overheard Henry Kissinger say to a man I didn't know, "We may as well monitor her closely and watch how she breaks down. We've got a lot of others like her out there that are going to need tending to. So we'll learn from her how to best take care of the others." Through my therapy with Stuart, Henry was hoping to seal up the holes in my consciousness that were leaking memory of my past, especially the over the rainbow parts of my life experience that I was programmed not to remember. They were attempting to do a repair in my mind from my childhood so it would shore me up for further use. They also wanted to set me up to keep others locked into programming, while they listened to me lecture on how I got out, which I wouldn't really have accomplished. After the culmination of their plan, they felt they would have the masses' minds under control and would no longer need to continue the charade since no one would be able to think to question anything that was occurring. They felt this would greatly simplify the human condition so that those self-chosen elite who were qualified could exist in peace and have superb quality of life. Henry said he had been witnessing too many robots cracking up and he needed me to be restored so I could complete the business that was planned for me with the contacts that, over the years, had grown to know and love me. He said I had put in the time and had gained an intimate trust with many important key players and I had to finish out my time by continuing to be of service to the people that had grown accustomed to me. So they shored me up with therapy, submerged me in the new age healing program lock-ins and began getting me conditioned to not be with my husband so much. Craig and I had been inseparable for many, many years, so this was a slow but steady change.
Henry had me peruse the leading bookstores, buy a variety of new age books from different categories, read them and report back a synopsis. This gave him plenty of current 'rages, he called them and data that he could tap into to devise a strategic plan for the future.
And Henry's plan soon emerged. One day after my therapy session, men in suits accessed me in Westwood as I went down the stairs that faced the back parking lot and confiscated my whole journal. Skimming through it, one said, "She's written out a whole agenda." They told me I didn't need to worry about this anymore, that they would be glad to handle it for me. And they walked away with my journal. Then I had to report for more reconditioning in their attempt to shut down the leaks. This was in the late 80's. Henry felt it was crucial to monitor me heavily until I'd made the transition fully into the new 'persona' they were creating me to be: increasingly a more independent woman, very together, good speaker, writer, etc., for the future. In this way I could serve as an attraction and ultimately a containment person, with an agenda of speaking out about satanic ritual abuse. Then others would miss the real story about the mind control while their own programming would be sealed even tighter by words they would program me to deliver. "Like one of those Chinese finger puzzles," Henry said referring to the containment web. This was all done so when they transferred me to Hawaii, the transition would go smoothly.
After I fled California to Kauai, what I was still not yet aware of was that as parts of me celebrated their freedom, other programmed parts were still intact, fully programmed and still serving "the cause" my controllers dictated. Actually my "flight to freedom" was not yet fully realized; instead it turned out to be a clever plan my controllers devised in order to use me to the fullest during the stepped up culmination years of their plan. They went about destroying my marriage and having me watch movies that superimposed the reality they wanted me to believe. I was directed to watch the movie Shirley Valentine and when I went to the Whole Life Expo, a psychic that I walked by reached out to me and told me that I would be making a trip across the oceans to a new life. My life was still out of my own control and unbeknownst to me I continued to serve their plan, only now from the tiny island of Kauai.
Feeling lost, disoriented, and missing my family I left behind, I sought out places of solace on the island. One day I had an incredible experience. The white sand beach on Kauai felt warm beneath my skin as I allowed my body to melt into the relaxation of the soft sand, basking in the warm gentle rays of the Hawaiian sun as the wind gently caressed my aching body and spirit. The sweet smell of the pungent plumeria flowers that I laid near my head continued to waft a heavenly aroma. My body felt exhilarated from the swim in the beautiful blue Hawaiian sea water. The uplifting Christian praise music that played through my Walkman lifted me ever higher, soothing and easing the tension in my wounded, terrified, disoriented mind and body. As I rested, I once again heard, very clearly, the words of the Holy Spirit, "Doesn't one so wounded, deserve to heal in the most beautiful place in the world?" Tears of acknowledgement streamed down my cheeks and dropped onto my large magenta beach towel.
Silently I cried out in desperation and despair, "God, I miss my kids and my husband. I'm so confused, I feel lost and weak, what should I do? Help me Father, please help me." Soon I felt comfort as the Holy Spirit wrapped His huge loving, soothing arms around what I was to later discover was this most wounded of souls. I fell into a deep, peaceful slumber, momentarily letting go of all of my cares and burdens and was entered into that peace that passes all understanding. And I began to realize the meaning of those words learned so long ago in Sunday school. This peace, enveloping me in the midst of the chaos and confusion of my life, gave the promise of hope. And this time it wasn't Bob.
When I awoke from this peaceful slumber, I was guided by the Holy Spirit to take a walk. Silently, I was led in the direction of an old sign that read, "This is the site of an ancient Hawaiian refuge, a sanctuary for natives escaping unjust accusations and retaliation by their accusers where those seeking protection can find refuge." Tears came to my eyes as I realized 1, too, was being allowed to take refuge there. And for the moment I felt safe. The Holy Spirit gently nudged me, like a loving father caring for his young, in the direction of the crescent shaped rock wall bordering and enclosing into safety, the small swimming beach called Lydegate. I stopped to take in the incredible view, the turquoise blue waters, sending wave upon wave crashing into the large rock fortress that protected the beach. I marveled at the glorious sense I felt that the Almighty Creator of the heavens and the earth was gently rocking the world, thus creating the beautifully graceful, never ending wave formations.
Breaking my thought the Holy Spirit spoke again, calling me by the nickname He has used over the years, "Starshine, look to the right of the large rock beside your foot. There you will find a gift."
Hardly believing my ears, I questioned, "A gift for me from my Heavenly Father? Was I hearing correctly?"
Curious now and with the anticipation of a small child awaiting the opening of the first gift on Christmas, I bent to discover what sort of gift from God was there for me to receive. Reaching out, my hand found it before my eyes, and I pulled the small object from it's home on the sand and held it before me, carefully examining each and every detail. It was so tiny, so intricately detailed and so, so fragile. The paper thin shell remains of the mini sea urchin was so extremely fragile that I was afraid I would crush it and break it simply by holding it.
As I continued gazing on this miniature gift from God, I listened with quiet intent as my Heavenly Father spoke to me once again, "My child, you are so precious to me. I will hold you in the palm of My hand, just like you are holding this small gift from me. You need to know that as this shell is extremely fragile, so are you at this time, in ways you have yet to understand. Do not fear, be patient with yourself and know that I am guiding you step by step. Most of all remember, you are never alone."
Deeply touched by this message, yet completely without understanding of the ways in which I might be as fragile as the tiny, delicate shell that I held in my hand, I cautiously wrapped my fingers around it and went back over to my place on the beach. Lying down, with the gift still carefully held in my hand, I contemplated, "How could I be that fragile?" As I thought, the only explanation I could come up with was how at times, due to the many still unintegrated multiple personality states I often found myself in, I was often unable to perform even the simplest of tasks. For instance one afternoon, alone at Kay's, so far away from my home in California, I found myself hungry yet unable to even think to remember how to go about making my lunch. Feeling two years old and indeed locked, for the moment, into a very childlike personality, I could not even begin to think how to make myself a sandwich. The perfected gears in my mind were not turning on their own, as the sophisticated machinery created by Henry Kissinger, Bob Hope and others, broke down and came to a screeching halt. And where it stopped, left me often locked into the mindset of a two-year-old. I just couldn't function. And so I thought, perhaps this was the type of situation that my Heavenly Father was aware of and was reassuring me that He was there for me, all I had to do was trust. Broken and unable to do anything on my own, yet with the trust of a child, I allowed myself to relax into His promise.
Later that night as I got ready for bed, I placed the tiny, fragile shell on my windowsill, to remind me of the promise. And so it was that God led me to healing and complete recovery, in His time, and in His way, so that I could be with you to share His message today. For God wants all of the wounded, mind-controlled slaves to be freed and he has tasked me with the assignment of being the fiduciary, His trusted servant, willing to facilitate the release and healing of those wounded souls locked into the bondage of mind control. And so if you find yourself not free, God will make your way to freedom, and will lead you every step of the way, just like He did for me. He has promised to make your way. Jesus said, "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." All you have to do is ask.
Interwoven into the many experiences I had where the Holy Spirit came to guide me, were also other experiences where the parts of me that were still programmed realized that I was still not free. Soon after I moved to Kauai, without my conscious awareness, I was delivered to
Barking Sands Missile Weapon Site, located on the south shore of the island, and at other times serviced people like Ronald Reagan, Bob Hope and his friends on the golf course in Princeville. George Bush met me at the tiny Princeville Airport in order to direct me into further assignments and threatened me in his attempt to keep my renegade freedom fighter personalities under wraps.
In spite of my controllers' attempts to shut down conscious access of how I had been used, I continued to have flashbacks of many of my political experiences and I began to more fully understand the way my programming worked. These memories, that often included my family, gave me a fuller picture of reality and helped me understand why I couldn't yet safely return to California. As I grieved the loss of my husband and children I had left behind in California, I was spiritually guided to thank God no matter how bad things looked. I found myself sobbing through my tears as I cried out, "Thank you, God, I love it!" even as they eventually took custody of my children away. The Holy Spirit continually showed me that no matter how it looked, I was still in the right place. And while it appeared that I served two masters, all along God knew that I was still in service to a greater plan that I would need to experience and be a part of in order to chronicle it and share it with you now.
The friendly recovery network I was connected to while on the island of Kauai was still carefully held within a network of programmed people so I would be surrounded by the programming themes intended to keep me in bondage. It is a very clever plan. I was welcomed with loving arms by Kay Snow Davis and Charles Davis. But mixed in with incredible love, healing, and Holy Spirit insight, was also a secret agenda, one that to this day I believe they also were unconscious of. Charles drove me around the island to welcome me and orient me to my new surroundings. While we drove, he set in barrier blocks within my mind that would later block memory of my use at different areas including large hotels, like the Westin, Hyatt, Princeville, CoCo Palms Resort, and Garden Isle Inn.
The Westin Hotel on Kauai was full of big white statues, huge indoor pools, waterfalls, and large cultural art pieces. Kay took Kelly and I there one evening, when Kelly was visiting, and as we walked around the hotel, she hypnotically laid in number systems from one to eight, designating different areas. Later when I received the little post cards in the mail, alerting me to my assignments, I could decipher the simple codes. All they needed to say was W- l and I knew that would mean the Westin, a room on the first floor. An eight would mean the far restaurant and so on. Each hotel had a letter assigned to it and numbers identifying areas where I was to go.
Not yet in touch with the many reporting personalities I had that were still intact, I thought I was safe. Actually, I was contained by many things in my environment. First I was contained by the network of programmed individuals I was living amongst as their programmed statements and hand signals continually reinforced my 'remember to forget' programs. My memory was also blocked by the endless visual images that were linked in my subconscious mind with hypnotic program commands to forget. Many of these images in my daily environment were things like the large building-size murals of whales, dolphins and rainbows that I drove by every day. I was also still reporting back to California to old friends and other people who I didn't know were programmed. Then, I was reporting to the 800 numbers I was instructed to. The containment plan was and is large, and will continue to work very effectively — until enough people are able to see what is actually happening.
I was actually kept very busy on assignments, yet consciously thought that I went to the beach every day. There were blocks of assignments but I never was to enter a hotel from the same direction twice so I wouldn't be detected or become a familiar face to the wrong people. Some places Kay cued me to and other places Charles did. But I was cued to large hotels all over Kauai and some of the neighboring islands.
I was programmed to stand on the corner of the highway and was picked up by a military jeep and taken to Barking Sands Missile Range. There were underground facilities and if the base was threatened, even for the security of classified, top secret information, then they had missiles and bombs set to go off which later would be explained as an enemy attack. I don't believe the military guards knew exactly what they were protecting. When I'd round the corner with a senior officer-in-charge, they'd look surprised at first, but I was waved through before being taken to a high-tech operations room. Once inside they sat me in a large thick metal chair that spun and did all sorts of torturous things, but they told me my mind was numbed so I couldn't feel the pain. They numbed my mind with hypnotic suggestion while my body spun. Then I was instructed to lean into position to look into the big goggles. The pictures I saw began with a bee and other nature scenes and then it all went so fast I couldn't see the individual pictures. That way the information went directly into the subconscious mind without any conscious intrusion or filters to connect the two. As long as the programmed information bypassed the conscious mind they felt I couldn't remember because I wouldn't be able to connect the information.
When I was to meet Reagan on the island, I received a post card in the mail and it had the date, time and place on it to meet Reagan. When he came alone I met him at the Princeville Airport. He arrived anonymously by helicopter with Secret Service agents. A limo was waiting inside the fence to the airport and the helicopter would land right by it and Reagan would be rushed off the helicopter, and hurried into the limo and we'd be taken to the Princeville Hotel.
Another time I was programmed to meet Reagan at the Princeville Hotel on the north shore of the island. He entered through the large sliding glass doorway and I was sitting in a chair in the lobby, instructed to watch for him. This was in 1991 and Reagan had come to the island for a visit. When he saw me he quickly pointed toward the left side of the hotel indicating that I was to walk that way. Immediately I walked in the direction he pointed. As I got out of sight of people and into a back hallway he quickly walked over to me, said hello and told me that he missed me, then he spun me around for programming purposes and escorted me to the elevator. Men in suits followed close behind and he explained that he still had agents guarding him that we would have to contend with. We entered into a large peach colored room that overlooked the bay. Reagan said Nancy was flying in to meet him later and said he just wanted a reminder of me. He went on to explain that he really missed me and he really missed being President. He said he was really surprised just how much he missed it. We had sex in the usual stance, with him passively beneath me. Afterwards he smiled and said, "You've still got it kid." He patted me and I lay next to him until he fell asleep and then I let myself out of the room. I passed the agents in the hallway having a cigarette by the elevator and waited mindlessly for the valet to bring my rental car around. When I returned home, I was in a stupor and went straight to bed, all traces of the memory neatly locked beneath the programming that protected it.
Another day when I drove my Lexus to Princeville, I accompanied Reagan and Bob on the golf course. I rode in the golf cart and was pretty out of it while we were on the green. All I could do was clap and smile when they did well and I kept score manually for them. While Reagan was taking his turn, Bob said to me, "So you think you got away, huh?" Shaking his head he continued, "There are bigger fish in the sea that got away, but you my dear are not one of them."
I smiled and curtsied to Bob, like I had done for years.
Bob softened and said, "Feels like old times out on the course, doesn't it?"
"Yes it does, Bob." I answered just before he began to relive and rehash the past, constantly referring to old times, old movies he'd starred in, old performances, USO tours, old people — THE PAST! He said he loved the Princeville course, loved the view and said that the ocean air was good for him. He had some sinus problems and said they cleared right up when he was out in the ocean air. He never once mentioned sex, maybe he'd become to old.
They didn't bother playing the whole green. Bob wasn't real strong and one time he fell into the golf cart and took a hold of it like he was having trouble seeing and walking. Reagan asked him if he was okay and Bob replied, "Hell yes, let's go on, I'll be fine." I didn't know then that this was to be the very last time I would see my owner in person.
Prince Charles came to the island when he and Di were having marital problems. He came just to relax and get some perspective. The Council instilled a whole agenda into me for the week I entertained, toured, listened, and had sex with Prince Charles. Retrieving this memory made me really nauseated.
In an attempt to rescue my children and provide them with a safe home and believing I was actually safe and free, I brought them to the island. I had no idea that I was still being accessed, and that they were also. Consciously I thought we just went to the beach everyday, while the kids played with friends and surfed. But later I remembered that when they arrived they also were taken to Barking Sands Missile Base. Their programs were stepped up to match my new level after which Danny was very sick and laid on his futon and cried for two days.
While on Kauai, when Kelly was with me for the summer we were programmed to perform as a mother-daughter sex team. We were also filmed in underwater ballet and sex with dolphins and other sea creatures in pornography. Sometimes we swam with underwater sea turtles, they were such docile creatures and they weren't interested in sex. I could relate to them because all they tried to do was get to safety so they could relax and finally be at peace. There was lots of porn filmed on the island. They felt the natural splendor would only enhance the productions and they filmed lots of slaves with dolphins. They filmed us in shimmery suits, or braid wraps, all sorts of fancy hair and body jewels and ornaments or jeweled waist belts while otherwise naked. There was quite a following of dolphin porn lovers. When a male dolphin got excited, his penis stuck up and looked like a Bird of Paradise flower. We all learned that if you weren't scared and approached him lovingly the sexual encounter wouldn't be as painful. There was a rich local attorney named Ken whose job was to sufficiently launder the proceeds. I delivered money to him from Sylvester Stallone and from other less prominent men on the island.
Stallone liked to have group sex with lots of women and he liked Kelly and I together. He had us the first time when we were staying in a cottage in Anahola. As programmed, during the middle of the night I went to my daughter and said, "Kelly, Kelly, wake up, we have work to do.
"No Mom," Kelly said, "I'm tired."
"Wake up now!" I commanded, snapping my fingers drawing my 13-year-old daughter into a wideawake state. I held her hand all the way to the rental car we drove when I first arrived onto the island. We drove to Stallone's house in Anini Beach and parked in the drive. He said that since it was a rental car it would be fine. Kelly and I went into the house and out to a oval room where there were other girls waiting. One was Japanese and another brunette. At first we all just sat and looked at each other, smiling in awkward embarrassment. Sly walked in with a white towel around his otherwise naked body and held his hands out to us. He told us we were waiting for the 5th wheel but she never arrived. He laughed and directed us into the bedroom. He pointed to Kelly and said, "I want her first." He told her she had the Bo Derek look and he kissed her before she began her trained, skillful sexual repertoire. Stallone was snorting cocaine and during the group sex it was my job to remember to offer him more. He had a small spoon that he stuck up his nose to snort the white powder. Kissing Kelly he said, "Bob has good taste." Pulling her hair back and kissing her more deeply he added, "and it's getting better all the time." When he was finished sexually satisfying himself with her he rolled her over and said, "rest little baby," as he went to the other girls in turn. We never spent the night, stayed just a few hours and after Stallone went to sleep I kissed his cheek, took Kelly's hand and we tip-toed out.
Stallone once said, "There's nothing quite like a slave. I love getting them from the underground. You're all so cooperative, don't give me no shit. This is the life I tell ya'. No bitchy, demanding women, not when I can have beautiful, sweet, white women who set me free. It's all about freedom," he rambled, while laying on his back in a seemingly drugged stupor, about "America the Beautiful and the home of the brave." He was high on cocaine. The higher he got the better the animal lover he was to become. That was his code name, "Animal." And when they told me, "the Animal" wanted Kelly and 1, then I knew it was Stallone. I also gave him massages, often in open air areas.
Sly thought the dolphin porn was the greatest new combo and he directed a lot of the porn videos. It was filmed at areas at the North Shore, Poipu or, he had us helicoptered into remote areas for filming. Large cameras were taken out to these remote island areas. I delivered some money from Stallone and from other less prominent men on the island to Ken, the wealthy attorney who had a big beautiful house in Kilauea. I believe it was his job to see that the money was sufficiently laundered.
Sly wore a wet suit but we were always naked in the water. There were trained dolphins that we did water ballet and swam with. When we swam gracefully the male dolphin got excited and started nudging us. We grabbed onto them and went for the ride; if we didn't, they told us, "one wrong move and you could get ripped to shreds." The dolphin actually remembered us over time and the same male would consistently choose the same girl, even when the group size changed from small to large. They got to know us and didn't forget in between. When my sons were on the island they were filmed also. One day after the filming, Sly said to Kelly, "You come back soon, ya here?"
During other visits, where I was supposedly allowed to see my children, Kelly and I were prostituted to Charlton Heston, and I was to Kareem Abdul Jabaar. Taj Mahal, the jazz musician, was on the island to keep other slaves in line through satanic rituals. One time I was programmed to drive to Secret Beach at night to attend a 'gathering' where, unbeknownst to my conscious personality, I was raped in a ritual.
Consciously I thought, as my programmed reality dictated, that I had escaped from my controllers in California and I was now safe. I believed I had rescued my children, and as the summer came to an end, I began the process of enrolling them in island schools. I moved from house to house, attempting to keep our whereabouts anonymous, only to have my stillprogrammed children call back to their father in California and report our current location and phone number. It was terrifying. And I thought I would die of grief and terror when Craig told the kids and I that if I didn't return them to California he would be sending in a police escort to bring them home. Devastated and panicked but not knowing what else to do, I returned my children to their father in California. Shortly afterwards, my attorney notified me that if I wanted to ever see my children again I needed to attend a court hearing in California. Frightened of the danger of being accessed, I called Ted Gunderson (retired FBI official) who helped me hire a bodyguard. I flew to California, where behind the judge's closed doors, I lost custody of my children. My attorney, Doug Wolfe, let me in on the news when he informed me in the Courthouse hallway, "You're lucky to be alive, just get back to the island and get a job."
My children's programmed father and our controllers were now in even more total control of their lives.
Extremely sad and depressed, I returned to the island. The job I took when I returned was to begin to more fully document many of my memories and I began writing my first book STARSHINE. It wasn't an easy task because first I had to undo the endless programs that kept me from being able to use the word processor without a programmed part of me destroying the information I had just typed. But I was determined to do whatever it took to get eventual help for my children. Memories of a political and international nature often flooded my awareness and I documented them each time something new came to mind. Due to the vivid nature of flashbacks I experienced, I spent nearly two years stuck in the body memory part of my Kissinger experiences and had to live with the smell of this cigar smoke and listening within to the sound of his accented voice. Similarly, I flooded with sexual memories about Pete Wilson and Ted Kennedy. Talk about intrusion!
Since I had no money, I hired the 'ocean' to be my therapist and with God's guiding, I actually did some of my best memory recovery work alone on the beach, with the ocean holding the space of peace, love and strength for me so I could delve to the depths of my own mind. With the solid foundation built from years of memory recovery done while I was still in California, and after a year on the island retrieving still deeper layers of memories, and programming, I had a pretty clear picture that something was up — exactly what I wasn't sure. I couldn't imagine why I would be with Henry Kissinger, Nixon or Reagan, or what was so important about me that people were following me and overly interested in what I was doing. But all my memories, held together by the pages in my journals, began to neatly fill in the picture. In 1992, 1 purchased a light and sound machine of my own, and after mastering the fear associated with using some of the same technology my controllers had used on me, I began to more easily recover even deeper layers of memory. Soon I realized the programs that controlled me were broken and nullified as I became consciously aware of them.
But my other secret jobs didn't stop and with my family out of their way, I was now freer and more unencumbered than ever to work for my controllers. George Bush met me at Princeville Airport, a very small airport on the north shore of the small island. Then we would both be helicoptered to Barking Sands Missile Range. When we arrived he and a military officer saluted each other and then he was escorted to an outside structure that had glass doors.
At another time, George Bush met me at Barking Sands Missile Range, for a talk about "getting back in line." I was parked in my Lexus waiting near the entrance when Bush drove up in a military jeep. A military officer was driving him. Bush told me to start my engine and follow him. I followed through the gates that were opened for him into the missile site. He motioned me out of my car and stomped over to me. He stood and yelled in my face about being irresponsible. I had a hard time hearing or understanding him because it was extremely windy. I also think personalities inside of me were attempting to shield me from his barrage of programmed verbiage. He waved his glasses around while he yelled at me. In his cryptic mind control lingo Bush said, "Get into line or Kelly will be on a #9." He was referring to the well known freedom train mind control theme, of being thrown off the train, which cryptically meant her death. Angrily, Bush saluted and told me to get back in my car and get the hell home. He was very angry.
But "category five" Hurricane Iniki changed many of their plans and this act of nature ultimately worked in my favor, freeing me a little more each day. I lost the home that I attempted to recreate on the island to the hurricane, and as I healed my mind, body and spirit, I realized more and more every day that I still wasn't safe. In order to have the electricity to continue powering my laptop, Patrick Stone, the man who helped me write Starshine, (himself an unrecovered victim of mind control), and I were forced to leave the island. Military planes evacuated us to the island of Maui, where we continued writing. There we were continually visited and harassed by men my controllers sent to the hotel that we later discovered was also a "containment center." True to the network containment strategy, our friends on Kauai referred us to this place and we continued writing while we were monitored. It frightened me because I was now conscious enough to realize that I continually ended up in places where I thought I was free, but I wasn't. This was due to the fact that I wasn't fully integrated and half of my programming was still intact and affecting me, still binding me hopelessly to my controllers. In many ways I felt free though, and continued to heal and dedicate my life to service and God. While I, Susan, wrote, my 'inner twin sister' Sharon took the heat and once again endured the physical and mental tortures so I could be free to write Starshine. My dissociative state was now being used in my favor, although it often wasn't easy.
One night while in Maui, I had a dream and saw a map with a check mark identifying Oregon. At that time I was unaware that I was receiving telepathic messages, often at night. I called Margie Paul and told her about the dream and that I felt guided to move. So she talked to a famous movie star that was also her client and asked her to recommend a place. Through that recommendation, I moved off Maui and took what few belongings I had left with me to Ashland, Oregon. I rented a home, referred to me by this movie star's realtor friend, and began writing. Kelly and Danny visited me at Christmas. Soon after, Kelly and I were prostituted as a motherdaughter sex team to Clinton, who had just been elected, but not yet inaugurated as President.
I didn't realize that I was still programmed not to notice when I was 'missing time. Healing, integration and deprogramming didn't come as quickly as I wanted it to. Healing took time. But my continued motivation to heal and figure out what this all meant kept me uncovering more and more in regard to my own programming and how the system all worked.
Months later I mustered the courage to move back to California. I desperately wanted to help my children, and felt I was recovered enough and safe enough to do that. I didn't know I still had layers of personalities and programs still intact that would keep me under control, and unfortunately neither did David Neswald, the therapist I worked with there in Southern California. To make matters worse, upon the completion of Starshine, as I readied it for print, my brother, Rick, who was one of my programmed controllers, and whom I had chosen not to see for years, was able to access me one last time. This accessing allowed him to gain entrance to my apartment in Calabasas and rape me, threatening that if I didn't stop with Starshine they would publicly display the compromising pictures that he then took of my children and me. The next morning, I awoke disoriented, terrified, and confused and had no idea the source. But later that day, I «remembered» the horrific scene and was grateful to have at least remembered it because, in the past, it had taken me months, often years to remember traumatic events.
In hysterical panic, I once again phoned Ted Gunderson for further advice on how to stay safe. He told me to get special locks for my doors, and a security system, and I had alarms that I bought for each door so if anyone, including myself, went in or out, they would sound off. I even purchased an alarm that I wore on my body and set it off if anyone of a suspicious nature approached me. It was terrifying, as I realized I was still not able to keep myself safe, due to programming that operated beyond my control. Soon I realized, though, that this traumatic event was actually another «gift» to me, without which I would never have known I was still under program. I continued working in therapy with Dave Neswald who, although well intentioned, was not informed in regard to how my sophisticated government programming worked. I had hired bodyguards in the past and now he and Ted were suggesting that for my safety I hire one again, only full-time now. With very limited funds, and enormous mounting therapy bills, I wondered how I could afford a bodyguard? I compromised and hired a live-in housekeeper who would at least be with me most of the time, as my therapist was afraid that my controllers would switch me with my "twin sister" and take me away. I lived in absolute terror, trying to keep the trauma from occurring not only at my controller's hands, but also at my own. I was scared all the time, because I couldn't even trust myself, not knowing if I would involuntarily switch and put myself or my children in danger. Most of the time, in those days during 1993, I couldn't even complete a sentence when I attempted to communicate and my mind felt confused and exhausted.
I persevered toward getting Starshine into print. When I began to ponder just what the cover should be like, I found a booklet in a craft store with a picture of an angel that I just knew had to be on the cover. The events that occurred later that day, proved to me without a shadow of a doubt that God's angels were indeed watching over me. When I called the artist and explained that I wanted her angel to grace the cover of Starshine, she agreed without question. The only thing she wanted me to know was that this was the angel she had designed for the White House Christmas tree that year! Talk about synchronicities and miracles.
Over the years, as I attempted to heal, break free, write and get my book into print, I was harassed in many ways. Over time, I paid more and more attention to the triggers that were sent my way to stop me from remembering and becoming free. These messages and triggers actually provided a guide, a road map of sorts, toward discovering and dismantling deeper layers of my programming.
For years, I have been tailed, my phones are usually tapped, people have been "sent in on me" in my controllers' attempt to reprogram and regain control of me. Other people were 'sent in on me' in a timely fashion, such as in 1992 when Patrick Stone and I 'bumped into' Dutch Schroeder, his Baylor University coach, who just happened to be vacationing on Maui during the exact same time we were writing the FBI chapter in Starshine. When we had lunch with he and his wife, he told us he was one of Bill Sessions' friends. At that time, William 'Bill' Sessions was still the Director of the CIA.
At other times, men in suits found me in homes of acquaintances, beaches, restaurants, hotels and cabins alike and made their threats; physical and verbal. My car tires were slashed, my mail was tampered with, often held back for months, only to mysteriously arrive in bunches up to two years after the postmark date! Phone messages, powerfully, cryptically encoded and laced with programming intended to keep me under control were played over the phone or recorded on my answering machine.
Shrill sounds and/or tones were also played over the phone to tap into my programming. Disturbing written «triggers» intended to either frighten me into submission or keep me from remembering, were sent by mail. As I ran for my life from state to state, two separate individuals rear-ended my car on the same day, within hours of each other. I was set up and programmed to pose for compromising photos in an attempt to blackmail me should the need arise. And, as I mentioned earlier, during 1993, in my quest to get Starshine into print, I was threatened and warned to cease with its self-publication. And, when I didn't stop, I was raped.
But a breakthrough occurred. Ted Gunderson called to inform me that he had just heard from another woman who lived across the nation, who had also sent him her memory work about being used as a sex slave to Ronald Reagan. Although it was a terrifying time for me, it also was an amazing time of discovery for all of us. Mark Phillips, her so-called therapist and deprogrammer flew across the nation and told me that "Jimmy Carter's people" had called him in an attempt to stop him from meeting with me. I flew Mark and Cathy O'Brien to California to meet with me for the first time and I put on a seminar where they were the featured speakers. Mark Phillips knew all about my programming. Looking back on it now, he seemed to know way too much. He asked me if I had "a twin sister who was two inches shorter than me." This was a very powerful key and code into the programming of my "inner twin sister," Sharon, and this seemingly simple statement controlled my body in a very intimate way from the outside, showing me while in normal consciousness that I was indeed a robot, and not in control of my own body. Shortly after Mark and Cathy's arrival and seminar, a series of events occurred including an accident and ensuing hospitalization of the person that was living with me as my safe person. Mark Phillips explained that I was not safe in California and once again I ended up running. I paid to fly Mark, Cathy and I back to his mother's home in Charlotte, Tennessee where we began my process of what we then called "deprogramming."
Several weeks later, with nearly 10 years of recovery behind me, this so-called "retired?!" CIA operative made dramatic changes in his living arrangements just to "help me deprogram." After relocating across the country, to a home in Arab, Alabama where I paid all domestic expenses for the three of us, a large sum of money for traveling expenses for both he, his girlfriend Cathy, and myself, and a large 'consulting fee, this renegade CIA operative read my lengthy journal entries daily for a year and a half and agreed that in his own words, "the memory work contains absolute elements of fact laced with verifiable details." But one and one-half years, forty-two journals, and $50,000+ traveling and living expenses later, Mark Phillips informed me that nothing had ever happened to me …nothing what-so-ever!
Cathy O'Brien said, "Well, you should be happy that nothing happened and that your children have not been abused!" I couldn't believe she was saying that, after all the common details of our histories we had shared.
I was devastated and went to bed and could not eat for three days and remained noncommunicative and totally subdued for nearly a month afterwards. After all this time of intensely focused attention on my history, Mark informed me that I had never even been abused, and that I just had a big imagination. But, he had seemed to appreciate that I was around to cover all of his expenses.
I suspect that Mark is some kind of "containment agent" who is being directed through his «handlers» whose motivations ultimately serve the New World Order. Through his containment expertise, the information I have conveyed to you in this book you are now reading was delayed in reaching you by nearly seven years. After I moved, I found out that Mark had initially told Walter Bowart (author of Operation Mind Control and eyewitness to my use with Bob Hope in Palm Springs) that I was schizophrenic, and since then, I have uncovered a string of lies he told others in an attempt to discredit me. I also reconnected with another Kissinger survivor that Mark Phillips had worked with for a time. Mark Phillips told her the same thing he told me — "THIS NEVER HAPPENED TO YOU!" With my trust shattered, Ted Gunderson, Catherine Gould, Margaret Paul, Walter Bowart and many others supported me in what I knew to be the truth of my life. I left that home where I had paid all expenses for Mark Phillips and Cathy O'Brien and went to live in Carbondale, Illinois. I had a slower pace there and life was sweet while the situation lasted. It was a time of rest and recuperation as the final integration I had achieved in 1996, solidified into even greater strength and unification while I remained safe.
After a suicide attempt and hospitalization in California, Kelly was released to me and even went to high school for a short time in Carbondale. My heart was broken when in June, after only being with me for a few months, she announced that she missed her Southern California lifestyle and the rest of her family, and told me she was leaving. Due to her unrecovered, still programmed state of mind, Kelly was not free to make up her own mind, and was often puppeted by our controllers and the inner web of programming that dictated her actions. After she left, an opportunity arose and I moved once again, this time to South Carolina in a quest to open a healing center. All the while, I continued writing my sequel to Starshine, the book you are reading now.
Over the years of my escape, Kelly's programming began to further break down, partially due, perhaps, to the lack of contact with me. In turn a series of suicide attempts landed her again in the hospital. Twice I flew to California and brought her back home with me. During these intense times, Kelly had lucid moments where she told me she knew everything that had happened. She talked to me about white vans, limos, being in London, hand signals, being sexually abused, and made me promise I would write about the drugs and how the doctors drugged her, which she told me was destroying her brain. These medical doctors felt my daughter was psychotic, because they were unaware of her programming. Kelly thanked me in a card on Mother's Day (see photo section) for her freedom, and as we spent time together she relayed more and more events that she remembered, which validated my own experiences.
Knowing what a crucial step it is for mind control victims to wear a watch, I bought Kelly a new watch. One day while we were swimming in a nearby lake, Kelly looked me right in the eye, took the watch from her wrist and purposefully dropped it into the lake. I bought her several other watches and she did the same thing. She was not «allowed» to monitor the time and her programming dictated that she lose it, quickly, before she got hurt for disobeying her program.
My move to South Carolina to plan and coordinate a healing center for mind control survivors fell through but God was not to disappoint me in my desire for the healing center. Although I could not yet see the perfection of the Divine plan, I was soon to begin on a path that would lead me to the creation of a healing center for survivors, a center furnished with the latest, state-of-the-art technology, with the capability of bringing survivors into recovery and whole brain synchrony in a more efficient and quicker manner than my years in 'talk therapy' ever could. The psychotherapy I received, although helpful, didn't touch or recognize the powerful programming that ruled my every action, and couldn't help me learn to not dissociate. EEG Neurofeedback helped me learn to not dissociate and to be more present and attentive.
By April of 1997, Kelly was diagnosed Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) by two separate therapists, one in North Carolina and one in South Carolina. In previous years, since 1988 I had attempted to get Kelly informed, qualified help in and out of California, but her father denied her right to see any therapist who had any awareness of the one thing she needed in order to heal. He interviewed each therapist I recommended, and if they had any knowledge of DID or ritual abuse, he would not allow her to see them. But, once again I created a home and in my attempt to help my daughter, I began studying and training to become a certified EEG Neurofeedback Clinician. I bought an EEG machine and began working with Kelly at home. She responded well to the neurotherapy, but was reaccessed and soon became completely catatonic.
But by the summer of 1997, when my daughter's worsening condition rendered her totally catatonic and non-responsive; unable to eat, drink, walk, talk, use the bathroom or move, I was forced to hospitalize her. Luckily, I found a female psychiatrist who had read my book, was familiar with MPD, ritual abuse and government mind control, and was willing to admit my daughter to the hospital while enacting the security required to keep her safe. While she was hospitalized, another recovered survivor and I gave an inservice training for the hospital staff. I also completed further EEG Neurofeedback training and opened my own business.
One time when I visited Kelly in the hospital, my car window was smashed, my briefcase, mind control literature and the electronic equipment I used to speak publicly was stolen. And to top it off, New Year's Day, 1998, the Holistic Health Care Clinic that housed my new EEG Neurofeedback business and the EEG Spectrum equipment that I used to help victims and non-victims alike, was totally destroyed by fire. Although the official fire department report was that the fire was the result of faulty wiring, I felt the fire was due to arson. To validate my suspicions, and just in case I forgot and needed "re-minding," two bags of the ashes from that fire were mysteriously delivered to my home.
Later in the year when another Bob Hope survivor visited me, I had to call the local police to report a man who was surveilling us late at night outside my home. And, as recently as February 1999, as I sent out the initial copies of this manuscript, my phone lines to my office were cut and I was tailed.
Each time I am harassed, instead of silencing me, it spurs me into greater action, and the result is another radio interview, another book or article, and more speaking engagements. I still stay as public as I can, speaking publicly whenever I am asked, so I can continue to share the truth.
This harassment cannot and will not stop being used against victims attempting to live free, until this dark system of mind control is exposed and brought to light.
"For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father also will forgive you."
"But I say to you that hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you."