The Mindstorm
Chronicles
Chapter Fourteen
A work of fiction? A work of non-fiction? The work of insanity?
You Decide.
The memories usually returned in fragments, some period of time, some event would begin me to remembering more and more until something like an entire block of memories returned. But I had to work at it. It was emotionally and intellectually challenging to entertain ideas which most people simply laugh off as so much madness. The thing was that any new notion first appears to us to be madness until we've made the effort to understand it better, some effort to see if there is anything at all to it, even if it does remove us out of our comfort zone, even if it does have us asking ourselves the most uncomfortable truths about ourselves.
Was it all madness? Eventually I began to see it as an adventure of sorts, and adventure of mind wherein the madness was mostly temporary, stemming from partially formed understandings. The trick was to work through the thing until it was better understood but to also become a detached observer in one's own life, one's own thought processes. Well, as much as possible, anyway. In the meantime I'd decided that I would simply have to learn to live with one foot in each world. In one world I was working on some elusive answer to an overwhelmingly enormous problem, and on the other hand I had to go about my life in such a way that none of it seemed all that important, didn't change the price of beans at all. Oh, not that my entire life hadn't been that way, it's just that it never seemed quite as serious before all hell broke loose in my very own life.
What to make of my alters and so forth? Well, I couldn't exactly say. There seemed to be little point in resisting the phenomenon entirely. So long as it was under control enough that the two worlds in which I lived didn't collide I'd be ok. Perhaps I would have wished that the alters just went away so that I could be as normal as anyone else but I couldn't. The fact of the matter is that they were far too interesting and the whole experience just kept drawing me back for more. It occurs to me that the human mind is a vast frontier and that I was attempting, at least, to chart some territories about which I had only heard and seemed to me at the time to be fanciful legends. But then, psychology itself often seemed that way to me, so broad, so uncertain and so mysterious that if it weren't for statistics we would know very little about mind science if anything at all. "How do these medications work?" "We don't know, they just do." "How do you know that they do?" "From the statistical data." My guess, however, is that somebody somewhere knew, but wasn't willing to say, probably because it would have revealed too many secrets about mind control. What I'd learned was that mind control wasn't some small experimental program but rather had become the way that our country was going about much of it's business. Mind control is all about deception and a body could cause much more harm with a lie than with a gun. I suppose that's why to call someone a liar was "fightin' words" in Lil' Miss.
At some point I began to acquire more and more alters of many varying types. As I experienced the phenomena I would categorize them only temporarily, realizing that anyone could only have a limited understanding of such things. I didn't want to fall into the trap of having decided something on what was at best inadequate information upon which to make the decision. All of this, but still the thing was that I was actually learning from my alters, learning things I couldn't have known. While my mind slowly became like Grand Central Station I listened to their unique stories and tried not to be too judgmental. But I suppose what really got me was what it felt like to be a completely different individual. That much is purely indescribable, especially when they're people that one could respect or admire in their own right, whether or not their stories were wholly accurate. What was apparent, however, was that they believed them. Not that they began with any explanation, they simply showed up, began speaking on some topic or another or going about some routine task and eventually they divulged more and more about who they thought that they were and what they thought that they'd been through. And their stories were often quite compelling.
The first ones to show up were the "past life" alters. My working theory is that when a current mind/spirit is crushed that the mind/spirit defaults to some previous experience and breaches the wall that exists between past lives and the current one. Once that door is opened all kinds of things begin to happen, more and more begin to show up. More confusing still is that here we begin to experience a time anomaly wherein the previous lifetimes are experiencing these vision of the future while still in the past. They seem to understand that they're endeavoring to help their future self. Then there are the alters which aren't true alters because they have the same history as my core, or host personality. They're time anomalies, earlier versions of myself speaking to future versions of myself. The child, who we began to refer to simply as Seven because that's the age where things really had begun to happen with the aliens and so forth, though it also included ages six, and every year until about age fourteen or so. After that there was a sort of new era, a different me which became The Hippy Guy until about the age of twenty eight or so.
After that was a lull in which there had been little or no telepathic time travel until the age of thirty two. At thirty two I had been so devastated by mind control that we weren't sure if we'd survive with our memory intact and might lose the important information "we" had gathered in our investigation of MKULTRA and there wasn't even any certainty that I would remain sane or be the same person anymore. And so the person that I was determined to practice a little hypnotic slight of hand and go into a type of mental suspended animation, a courier from the past to perhaps some long distant future when conditions were safe enough to reveal what was learned while preserving some sense of who I was. It was theoretical, it was desperate, it was end of 1987... and it apparently worked. "He" began to surface in 2004 but wouldn't come back to any real extent until 2007. He's known to "the troops" simply as "'87".
Then there are the channeled alters, personalities who I don't think to be precisely myself but rather someone else, such as Michael. The purpose to all of this is that the troops, whatever their nature, are helping me to survive the onslaught of psychological torture delivered via the direct energy weapons. It makes for a better defense if the oppression is shouldered by more than one "person" and it makes for some interesting counter offensives, such as the expletive laden pronouncements of my military types, the wise guys and sometimes even Michael himself. The mind controllers want me to participate in their treason and to help them to cover it up, but only because they seem to have a hard time understanding the word "anathema" and how that best describes my reaction to absolutely everything about them. The fact of the matter is that if you were to see me on some days you'd think that I was the one with the demon, spittin' and cursin' and carrying on so. But you'd only think so because you'd only be hearing one side of my conversation with these damned Space Race Satanist Nazi carpetbaggers.
The whole thing is so interesting that I spend most of my time just sitting around talking to, well, the walls by all appearances, but appearances can be deceiving. And whenever there's much to be done, or whenever I'm simply past the point of exhaustion the aliens step in and give me some relief. A couple of years ago I had a past life alien alter show up. Aliens don't have names, per se, they have telepathic images instead, but for the sake of convenience we named the alien alter Elian.
The fact of the matter is that I could begin to write about these things and never stop, there's just that much to it. The thing itself, however, isn't the easiest thing to write about and so the enormity of it all prevents me from taking any systematic approach and about all I can do is write about my thoughts of the moment, sort of like a diary and just leave the reader to make what they will of it. True enough, that some folks will think that I'm crazy. But to me, crazy is as crazy does and talking to the walls is about as crazy as I ever actually get. Besides, I can be just as rational as anyone else, I just make room for exploration of matters which hardly seem rational at all. And like religion I know I'll be ok if I just refuse to take myself or anyone else too seriously. That's not to say that it isn't all very serious, or that there is nothing to take very seriously. What it means is that I maintain a sort of standard wherein everything is evaluated per it's reasonableness. It might not seem reasonable that I would be channeling an archangel, but if he's being very reasonable he has my ear. And per my attorney alter, if any reasonable man would declare him reasonable, then that is a thing which speaks for itself even if the source of reasonableness has more to do with belief than anything that can be reasonably proven to exist. Likely, Socrates existed, but you'd need a scholar to prove that he did, but this shouldn't deter one from an understanding of philosophy as attributed to Socrates.
And Michael, being immortal, has more tales to tell than anyone could live long enough to hear.
It may surprise people that I wouldn't describe Michael as particularly religious, rather I would call him deeply theosophical, that is, that he has a command of divine philosophy which simultaneously holds half of any and all religions in contempt and half of any and all religions in the deepest appreciation. He's very fond of quoting Jesus "By their works ye shall know them." Jesus showed up a few of times as well. Once when he wanted to see the future, and once after he'd just been beaten and raped and was very, very hungry. The very first time he intimated that the cramps were what hurt the worst when he was on the cross.
All of this, of course, is the way that I experience it. Until I can prove anything about any of this at all, however, I make few demands of whoever reads these chronicles to believe there is anything more to it than however it appears to them. As for me, well, like I said I walk with one foot in both worlds. Perhaps it's only my mental condition which has caused me to experience all of this and perhaps it's much, much more. If it is much, much more, then it's only fair for me to ask God, Michael, Jesus, the aliens or whomever to prove their own existence to everyone before they can rightfully ask me to speak to the matter of their existence to anyone beyond just admitting to my very strange experience with it all. That's only reasonable and they accept that very well. But if what they're telling me is true, and I have no reason to believe otherwise, they're prepared to prove their existence and the result could only be described as apocalyptic. Well, and it all makes a good deal of sense to me, "The mystery of God to be finished" and all.
Bear in mind that as a Universalist I don't hold religious ideas to be mutually exclusive, would tend to blame politics for those who do, and personally favor a substantially Taoist view of the Universe. Therefore an apocalypse would turn out to be whatever it turned out to be. I try not to impose my expectations on the Universe.
Today I'll be thinking about this on the long walk from town into the countryside where my mother lives. And just like most every time I take that walk I'll be missing my ol' dog, Lad. I was sixteen when he passed away from old age. I'm 53 now, and I dare say that I never got over it. What I wouldn't give to see him again. I couldn't have asked for a better friend. Truly a once in a lifetime friend if ever there was one.
Oh my God, Three Chiefs. Three Chiefs was a heavy, heavy trip.
End Chapter Fourteen
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