Tag: telepathy

Is it Real, or is it Technology?

Is it Real, or is it Technology?

I feel as if I have been experiencing two different realities simultaneously my entire life. One reality which is concrete and rooted in the material world, the other which is very abstract and bordering on incomprehensible.

I have gone years without any encounters or paranormal activity, only receiving messages every now and then to keep me safe. It has been suggested that it is my higher-self that I’ve been hearing, but I know the difference between my ‘voice’ and this other voice. I know the difference between my own, internal dialogue and this other being with a male voice who I’ve interacted with throughout my life during times of danger, great change, or emotional turmoil.

Since February of 2017, not a day has gone by without my questioning who I have been interacting with all these years. There are days when I believe it’s not a being or person from some other dimension or place in the universe. Sometimes I feel like it is a human from right here on Earth somehow tapping into my thoughts.

During my research, I discovered information regarding the Voice of God technology. It was utilized during the war with Iraq and may have been used on common citizens to cause them to carry out terrible crimes. The Pentagon even admits to working on these types of technologies. Some individuals even claim they are being targeted and harassed by a technology that generates intrusive thoughts. Many think these individuals are delusional but our government is no stranger to covert operations. The first successful transmission of a voice directly into the head of an individual happened in 1974. It was performed by Dr. Joseph C. Sharp of the Walter Reed Army Institute of Reseach.

Have I been part of some type of experiment my entire life? If so, then our government not only has the ability to transmit messages to targeted individuals, it also has the ability to read our minds. Have all of my silent wishes that have come true, all of my discussions with the voice I’ve known since childhood — has it all been part of something I’ve taken part in without my consent? The scientific reports call mind-reading a new technology but we all know the government has these technologies long before the public learns about their existence. Many horrifying experiments involving mind control have also taken place that were never supposed to be leaked to the public.

The fact that one of my uncles, who was previously in the Navy, did Top Secret work for the government for at least thirty years doesn’t bring me any comfort. Nor does the fact that I was born only an hour away from the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. As a child, every time we would visit my aunt who lived in Dayton, Ohio, which was only 22 minutes from the base, an uncomfortable feeling would come over me when we were fifteen or twenty minutes away. The closer we got to my aunt’s house, the more discomfort I felt. I traveled a lot with my parents when I was a child but I never had that sensation during any of our other trips.

I also can’t trust the things I see. Holographic technologies date back to 1947 when scientists were working on the improvement of an electron microscope. Bell Labs, the Air Force, IBM, Nasa, General Electric… they have all been developing holographic technology. When two of my encounters were with blue beings, and numerous sightings I’ve had were of shadowy figures, I wonder if I am merely being shown things someone wants me to believe are real.

How can I believe anything I see, feel, or hear when I know these technologies are out there, and I know our government doesn’t ask permission to use these technologies on the general public? I know I have experiences and encounters that have seemed real, but what if it’s all been ‘magic’?

How can you know what’s real?

How I Met My Husband

How I Met My Husband

My husband Michael had Multiple Sclerosis when I married him. He started experiencing problems in 1988 when he woke up one morning and couldn’t walk. Initially, the cause of his paralysis was undetermined. He began aquatic therapy and steroids and, after two months, the feeling started returning to his legs.

In 1989, he woke up and the entire left side of his body was affected. He said he looked like he’d had a stroke. After numerous tests had been run, including an MRI and four spinal taps, he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and his doctor put him on betaseron. Michael developed neutralizing antibodies which caused an overreaction in his t-cells that targeted the mylan sheath in his brain stem. The treatment resulted in causing partial paralysis in his diaphragm and also caused severe pain in the left side of his brain. He also had lesions in his lower spine affecting the nerves in his legs.

Michael was unable to walk and in a wheelchair for nine months. His doctor told him he’d probably never be able to walk again. He started aquatic therapy for a second time and also had a nurse coming to his home to administer TENS therapy. After a year of therapy and a lot of determination, he was able to walk again with a cane.

Micheal was then put on another medication, Avonex, to slow down the progression of lesions in his brain. The lesion on his brain stem worsened, becoming larger, and at that point his neurologist told him he was probably going to die. He was given only a 20% chance to survive. His neurologist had nine other patients with the same diagnosis who are all now deceased, eight of which died during the first year after diagnosis. Michael was told to get his affairs in order and remove all stresses in his life.

Michael left his wife and children in Arizona, at his wife’s request, and returned to his parents home in San Luis Obispo, California. There, he started meditation and cannabis therapy (which his neurologist had suggested and wife was completely against). He put on his wetsuit and began floating in the ocean almost daily.

His wife had told him that he had a “green light” to sleep with other women while he was in California. He thought that was odd as he would never consider such a thing. A neighbor called Micheal while he was at his parent’s house and asked him if he knew someone who drove a black BMW. He told him that someone who drove one had been staying at the house while Michael was away. Micheal eventually found out that his wife had started an intimate relationship with both her boss and with a fellow coworker she had know for years. She did it “for the children.”

After five months, Michael’s neurologist called to tell him about a new therapy, Solu Medrol, and suggested that he return to Arizona for treatment in the hospital.

Michael returned to Arizona and was admitted to the hospital for intravenous treatment. The IV dosage was supposed to be infused over a twelve hour period but the directions were written incorrectly and the entire infusion was set to be administered in only two hours. In just over an hour, Michael flatlined.

He left his body and saw some type of being that he was afraid of. It had something behind it that resembled a burnt-copper sewer lid. The creature was brownish-gray in color with no hair, a long face, and thin arms. Then he heard someone say, “Code blue! Grab a crash cart!”

He doesn’t know how much time elapsed between the time he passed out and the time the nurses rushed in. He traveled, out of body, down the hospital corridor and into a waiting room. There, he witnessed a Mexican family gathered around one another in tears.

Michael suddenly found himself in what he describes as a large, white room where he heard an unfamiliar, female voice. She told him it wasn’t his time but he could leave then if he wished. Or, he could return and have a new life.

The next thing he remembered was the sensation of hitting his head against a wall, hearing alarms, having something jammed down his throat, and a group of nurses trying to hold him down. They were telling him that he was okay, to just relax, that he had been intubated.

They had used a defibrillator which left burn marks as evidence on his chest. However, his original chart had disappeared and a new, blank chart was left in its place. When his doctor noticed this, he became very angry. The neurologist was told there was an incident but it was merely an anxiety attack. After speaking to Michael, seeing the burn marks on his chest, and hearing what he remembered about the incident, the doctor left the room. He returned to tell Michael that he had ordered an MRI to see if there had been any brain damage from when he had coded.

Later that day, October 30, 1996, his neurologist returned with the MRI images. He placed the images on the wall and said the lesion he had been monitoring for two years was gone. Michael got out of bed, looked at the scan, and saw a healed mylan sheath on his brain stem. The active lesion, the one that was supposed to kill him, was now completely gone leaving only scar tissue in its place. Michael told the doctor he wanted to be discharged immediately. He’d decided that he would more likely be killed by interns and nurses than by an MS attack.

Michael called his wife to to tell her the good news, but she didn’t sound happy about the miraculous healing that had taken place. After picking him up, anytime she made eye contact it was with a cold, unemotional look. The next day, Halloween, she was distant and complaining about every little thing. When I stopped by their house with my daughters, she was irritated and saying, “Why didn’t you put the candy in the bowl like I told you to?”

He left the following day and returned to California. He received a letter from his wife within the first week telling him that she was moving in with her boss. She wrote that she originally thought it would be the coworker and friend she’d know for years, but she had fallen in love with her boss and, therefore, wouldn’t be at their home when Michael returned. On Thanksgiving day, Michael walked into a quiet, empty house that he didn’t leave for two weeks.

I was twenty-nine at that time and in the process of divorcing my first husband. He was an abusive alcoholic and his behavior was getting worse. He was staying out all night, not communicating or spending time with his daughters, going to strip bars, and (I later found out) he had started using methamphetamines and sleeping with a coworker.

He had previously befriended our neighbor who had Multiple Sclerosis. His daughter and our daughters played together almost daily for over two years. Things had changed drastically since our neighbor moved to be with his parents in California due to his worsening health. Not having a person with morals and values to spend time with, my husband spent time with those who didn’t.

If I hadn’t had a group of friends I’d met through the poetry circuit to offer emotional support, as well as college classes to focus on, I know things would have been more difficult for me. I eventually started seeing someone in early October, 1996. He was someone I’d known for a year but wasn’t someone any of my friends could have possibly imagined me with. After two months, I understood why. It’s amazing how well someone can hide their addictions… at least in the short-term.

On the evening of Friday, December 13, 1996, I was driving home from a little coffee shop where I’d just run into another poet I knew. He had asked me out and we exchanged numbers. As I drove, I had the radio on and I was caught up in thoughts about what the upcoming date would be like. Then the voice I’d communicated with since childhood chimed in and told me to go to Michael’s house. Michael had been a friend of my soon-to-be ex-husband and his house was right behind ours. I argued with the voice, as I always did, saying there was no way I was going to Michael’s house. The voice was persistent, saying, “You need to go to Michael’s house.”

I told it to give me one good reason as to why I should go to Michael’s house. The voice said, “You need to invite him to your house for Christmas dinner.” It went on to say that Michael’s wife had left him, taken the kids with her, and that Michael was alone and depressed. “People often commit suicide during the holidays.” I couldn’t argue with that kind of logic, nor could I bear the thought of someone killing themselves, so I went to Michael’s house. 

  When Michael opened the door, he looked so sad and defeated. I sat down with him in his living room and told him that he couldn’t give up on life just because she had left him. I told Michael that he needed to get out of the house and do something. He said everyone was busy because of work or the upcoming holidays. I offered to spend time with him, suggesting we go play a few games of pool, then he asked me if I wanted to go the following evening. I hadn’t told him about the date I had set up with someone else, but I couldn’t say no. Instead, I went home, called the other guy and told him about what had just happened, and we postponed our date until Sunday. I never had the opportunity to go out with that guy because I fell in love with Michael during our pool date and he and I have been together ever since.

 Ten days after my first date with Michael, on Christmas Eve, he and I were out in his back yard staring up at the sky. We saw a falling star and we each made a wish. Then I said (in my head), “If this is the man you’ve promised me, the one I’ve been waiting for, I want a sign. I want to see an arrow in the sky.”

I didn’t dwell on the sign I’d asked for after that but, on February 12, 1997, as Michael and I were driving from Phoenix, Arizona to San Luis Obispo, California to get married, I looked up at the crescent moon in the sky and saw a perfect arrow pointing towards it. Excited, I asked Michael, “Do you see that?!?” He looked up and he was amazed. I then told him what I had asked for and, as I finished, the arrow dispersed. It was a perfect arrow. A solid white arrow with straight lines. People always ask if it was just a cloud that looked like an arrow and I tell them, “No. Absolutely not. Clouds don’t form into solid, white arrows with straight lines.”

On Being Different – My Childhood

On Being Different – My Childhood

  I have always been different from others which made going to school very difficult. I was interested in the paranormal from a very young age and would grab every book in the library on paranormal related topics. This didn’t go unnoticed by other students and was one source of the teasing I received in grade school.

Another source of teasing were my awkward movements. I ran funny and there was, unfortunately, a lot of running going on in P.E. class. Dodge ball was sheer torture for me because I was always one of the people the other team targeted first. Also, because I couldn’t throw the ball very hard or very far.

I was alone most of the time, either in my room or in the woods. I remember my father being very angry and upset regularly when I left the house to explore the woods, located only two blocks from home. No more than five minutes after I entered the woods, I would hear him shouting for me. I would run home as quickly as possibly, but he would start hitting me with his leather belt almost every time. He would insist that he had been calling for me for a long time. I wonder if he actually had been. If I really had been gone for much longer than I’d remembered.

One beautiful, autumn day as I was walking home from grade school, I must have been eight or nine at the time, I heard a voice very clearly call my name. I stopped and looked in every direction but there was no one there. I was perplexed, but continued on home. Shortly after that, as I was walking home on another day, I heard the same voice tell me that I would always be cared for. That time, the voice was in my head. It was a male voice and, by the tone of it, he was in his mid-twenties. This voice would continue to pop in throughout my life to give me guidance, advice, or warnings. I have since come to realize that this has been a telepathic communication with an unseen being who has always watched over me.

When I was nine, I started seeing and reading auras. I don’t know how I learned to do that, but I had fun reading auras and was really interested in doing so for about a year.

At age eleven, I had an experience with telekinesis. It was during the holidays and my aunt, uncle, cousin, and second cousins came to celebrate Christmas with us. Because my mother was the youngest of her siblings and my father was fifty-two when I was born, my second cousins are closer to my age than most of my cousins. One of my second cousins, who I’ll refer to as Bree, is just a year younger than me and she wanted to stay with me overnight. Of course, we stayed awake talking and giggling for a couple of hours before falling asleep.

When we awoke in the morning, we were laying in bed whispering to each other. At some point, I pointed at the decorated, plastic tree glowing from a dresser across from the foot of the bed and asked Bree if she wanted to see the elf ornament climb up to the top of the tree. She said yes, as almost any child would, so I focused on the ornament and the elf climbed to the top of the tree, then climbed back down. Bree was so excited so I asked if she wanted to see it again. In total, the elf climbed up and down the tree three times before my mother entered the room and told us it was time for breakfast.

I remember talking to “them” a few weeks later, as I was washing my hands, and I told them that I didn’t want that ability because I was afraid I would hurt myself or others with it. My husband and ex-husband, however, would tell you that I’ve manipulated objects since that event and without even trying. Always when I’ve become enraged over something.

At age twelve, I started becoming precognitive and that ability only grew stronger with age. It made some people uncomfortable so I learned not to talk about it much. I made the mistake of mentioning it to a Sunday school teacher and she told me it was the devil trying to sink his hooks into me. That was the beginning of my separation from the church. I knew the prophets in the Bible foretold the future and they were respected by others but I, a young girl with similar abilities, was basically told that my abilities came from some evil place. I was very hurt, confused, and I had no one to guide me. On top of that, I also discovered, during a sixth-grade field trip, that I was a medium.

There was an old house that had been almost completely destroyed by a fire but the structure and a few pieces of partially burned furniture were still there. Being young, curious, and lacking good judgement, many of us went to explore the dilapidated structure. What happened to me was very strange. It was like another person, in this instance it was a little boy, inhabited my body and pushed me behind him. I was completely aware of everything I said and did, but I was in the background acting as an observer.

A girl I’d know since I was four and a boy she liked saw me and tried to pull me away from the house. I would scream that I wanted my mother and struggle to pull away from them. The times I escaped, I would start running back towards the house. If I couldn’t escape, I would suddenly collapse my legs and end up on the ground begging for them to let me go. It must have taken them thirty minutes to get me away from the house and back to the place in the park where the other kids were. The little boy stayed in control until we were all on the school bus and a few miles away from the park. I never talked to anyone about that incident until I was in my late teens.

Both at school and away, I didn’t know how to socialize with others, mostly because I wasn’t interested in things other people my age were into. I would talk philosophically and theoretically but my peers never seemed to think that deeply. They all thought I was weird and told me that I thought too much. During summer breaks, I made friends with all of the older people in my neighborhood and would spend my time either visiting with them and my grandparents who lived across the street, or attempting to venture into the woods.

Junior high wasn’t any better. In fact, it was worse. I started attending a Christian school where I was bullied incessantly during seventh grade. It was so bad that I would lock myself in my room and cry almost every day. I couldn’t pay attention in class, couldn’t concentrate on my homework, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about my feelings. My mother was a second-shift factory worker and my father was unapproachable. I ended up failing seventh grade.

During my second go at seventh grade, I made a friend. She and I were inseparable. It’s strange to think of now, looking back and realizing that, in many ways, we were complete opposites. I was timid, she was bold and in your face. I was very feminine, she was more of a tomboy. I was a dreamer and a romantic, she was more of a realist. Yet, we somehow made the perfect pair of friends, probably because we accepted each other despite of our differences.

At age fourteen, I went on choir tour for the first time. We traveled through five states on a bus with every seat filled. I was given an envelope by my parents with the suggested amount of money needed to cover my meals and a little extra spending money. I had never learned how to budget money, nor did I consider the cost of necessities. Needless to say, I had no money left on the last day of the tour and I felt so embarrassed when we made our last dinner stop at a fast-food restaurant about six hours from home.

I stayed on the bus for a while after everyone else had entered the restaurant, but I was too fidgety and got off the bus after only ten or fifteen minutes. It felt good just to get out and walk around. I went into the restaurant to be around familiar faces in this unfamiliar place. As I walked by one table, someone asked me if I wanted some fries. They said they were given an extra one and it would just get thrown away. I thanked them and took the fries. As I passed another table, someone had ordered one too many drinks and I was asked if I wanted it. Yes, yes I did. I was just about ready to sit down at a table to enjoy my fries and soda when someone at the neighboring table asked me if I wanted a hamburger. They said they had ordered it for someone, then found out that person had already placed their order.

I had a complete meal even though I didn’t have a cent to pay for any of it. I heard the voice again. “You will always have what you need.”

Around age fifteen, I became obsessed with astrology. I read everything I could about it, studying the traits of each sign. I knew it so well that I could tell someone their sign after talking to them for fifteen or twenty minutes. I could even correctly guess what someone’s astrological sign was even if I’d never met them by simply hearing someone else talk about them for a while. After playing around with astrology for a year, I left it behind. Probably because I was making new friends, learning to dance, and taking piano lessons.

Finally, during my sophomore year, I was allowed to attend public school again. I’d already made some friends and had a few ex-boyfriends who attended that high school so I felt more comfortable there. By then, I had learned to tune out most people and just be myself. I dressed differently than most of the girls and I hung out with the nerds and the smart kids. It’s funny, but when I stopped caring about what others thought of me, that’s when I became extremely popular. I even went to homecoming with the male model who drove a Firebird. It seemed like everyone in school knew who I was. Also, I had found something in common with most of my peers. Music.

As a teenager with many friends and interested boys calling, I would get up from the sofa, walk to the phone, put my hand on it right before it rang, and then answer it greeting the caller by name. Sometimes the phone would ring and I would yell to my mother to tell the person who was calling, mentioning them by name, that I would call them back in a few minutes. My parents witnessed my psychic abilities constantly but we never talked about it. Maybe they were at ease with it because my father’s mother had similar abilities and one of his sisters used to talk about it when she would visit. Now I wonder if she brought it up so much so that I wouldn’t feel like such a freak of nature.