Chapter Twenty-five: Baby Monarchs are Born

Craig and I decided, at least I thought we decided, that it was important for me to take additional means of birth control to insure that we did not conceive a child while I was working to put Craig through dental school. Dr. Stoddard referred me to Dr. Harold Lusk, a Hollywood OB/GYN who, on my first visit, examined me and told me not to worry, that my female reproductive organs were in such bad condition that I could never have children. I was so devastated that I couldn’t talk, much less question the doctor. I drove home numbed by the news. Later that afternoon, sobbing through my words, I told my husband that I would never be able to have children.

Craig called Dr. Lusk immediately and was told that I had a disease called endometriosis, plus fibriod tumors and cysts, that the doctor explained were common in upper and middle class women when they put off having children until later in life. I was only 22 years old! He told Craig that if he performed surgery on me it might be possible for me to get pregnant, but that we would have to start the process of trying to have a child, immediately. Over the next year, I had two major surgeries for what I was told was to correct the damage, and began the medical process of dealing with what I was told was infertility. When, after the two so-called surgeries, I didn’t get pregnant, as a last resort, Dr. Lusk gave me a fertility drug called “clomid,” and soon after, I became pregnant. I continued working as a dental assistant until I went into labor and gave birth to our first child, Kevin Craig Ford, on October 19, 1975.

The Birth of Kevin Craig Ford

Late at night, as my labor progressed, we were met at the hospital by a group of anxious hospital staff. Craig phoned ahead alerting them that Susan Ford was on her way to the hospital. They thought I was Susan Ford, the President’s daughter. I guess this was understandable due to the fact that Nixon had stepped down and Gerald Ford was now President. They thought I might have twins, since I was so huge, but after an intense natural childbirth, Kevin was born and was immediately taken away from me for what seemed like a very long time. They told me it was standard procedure despite the fact that there were no complications. But later, suited men came into my hospital room. One man took a syringe and some type of drug out of his briefcase and, while he was readying the injection for me, I began screaming, “Where’s my baby? Where’s my husband? What did you do with my baby?”

As he injected a drug into my arm, he said in a calm, emotionless voice, “You see me but you don’t see me. You can’t see. You can’t see me.” Waiting a moment for the drug to take effect, he said, “You need to calm down. just calm down. down. down. down. down… one …two…three…going down …deeper now …going down. You’re in the well, next to hell, and everything that happens there, oh well, or is it oh hell? You’re there.”

Taking my pulse, he continued, “This is our baby. Don’t ever forget, it belongs to us. You will hand him over when cued. You will not react. You will simply hand him over, like he is a sack of groceries. Do you understand? Nod your head if you understand.”

I nodded.

“Good, very good. This way no one will have to get hurt, we don’t want that do we?”

I shook my head no. I felt very drugged.

“Good,” the man said hypnotically. “Bad things happen if you don’t obey. Very bad things.”

I felt very sick, very tired, and very terrified. I couldn’t breathe, I was too scared. “They’ll take my baby,” I thought, terrified beyond words. Frantically I worried, “Who will watch my baby, what are they doing to him? Help, I can’t get help. No one can hear. I can’t talk, I can’t tell. THIS IS hell!” Afterwards, of course, I couldn’t recall or think about any of this traumatic event.

After a brief hospital stay, Craig and I brought Kevin home and began trying to parent this baby who would not suckle at my breast and cried non-stop.

I was programmed not to lock the doors to our home in Agoura and often men in suits let themselves into our house. They always had guns and sometimes a knife. These men usually came in threes — one to handle and torture my baby, one to torture me, and one to guard the door. The men said they had a “little treat for the baby.” They went to Kevin’s room and took him out of his crib, where he was sleeping. They held Kevin in front of me and threatened me, with a gun pointed to my temple. They said that if I didn’t cooperate they would cut his penis off, or slit his throat. At times they would cut him and make him bleed. Watching helplessly, as they hurt my baby, was the single worst nightmarish feeling and experience. I wanted my husband to help me. I wanted him to protect us, but he never did. Now, I understand that he never could.

The men did different things each time they came to harass us. At times they took Kevin into another room and while they had him, another man restrained me. I stood silently and helplessly while I tried to listen to what was happening to my baby. The agonizing silence was intensely painful and was always followed, after what seemed like forever, with the screams of a crying baby in excruciating pain. God, the screams and the torturous crying were nearly unbearable to listen to. I was so helpless. I could not help myself, nor could I help my son. Another time they asked me if I wanted to see a “blue baby” and then one of them proceeded to stick his thumb down my baby’s throat until he turned blue. The lead man always said that if I cooperated and did a better job, they would not have to subject my son to this. But they tortured us no matter how well I did my job.

And, it is said that America is the land of the free and home of the brave. Where oh where have we strayed, so far from the ideals set forth for this country?

One day my infant son was swinging, peacefully sound asleep in his wind-up swing, when they came. They threw a glass of water into Kevin’s face to wake him up. He cried and the suited man picked him up and carried him around the side of the garage out of my sight. Dying inside, I waited anxiously, hoping they wouldn’t hurt him again. After the silence came the horrifying crying and screams. The suited man carried him back, his baby bootie was off and blood was dripping all over. Holding a razor blade up to me, he said, “Solve this problem my little cutie.” He handed me my screaming son, who was dripping with blood. When they left, I took Kevin into the house and sat with him on the couch, sobbing, rocking him, and trying to stop the bleeding with a towel I wrapped around his little foot. He cried so hard that he was sweating and sniffling, gasping for air and sobbed himself to sleep.

Our neighbor, Ron Peters, was one of Governor Ronald Reagan’s bodyguards. He was usually around when I was used with Reagan in California, but didn’t appear to be the lead man. I never knew when these men would barge into my home. Sometimes they even arrived in the middle of the night. When this occurred, I was programmed to walk to the front door and open it, and the men in suits would push their way in. They often pushed me into Kevin’s room and closed the door. Craig always slept and never woke up to protect us. It was always the same torture, horror and threats to both my baby and me, and when they were finished they would leave. These hellacious experiences happened over and over and over again. At times, in those early years, there were instructions given over the phone in the middle of the night, but later on there was programming done that paired tones on the phone with different instructions. I responded robotically to the different tones I heard on the phone. A programmed part of me knew the instructions that matched the tones and knew just what they meant and how to respond.

As my programming dictated, I robotically delivered my baby to my father’s welding shop where I handed him over, probably for further trauma programming, and left.

This kind of trauma, tied to my maternal instinct, was enough to keep all the programming intact. It kept hidden the awareness of my use in high security work for the government and other secret criminal activities I was involved in without my knowledge, consent, or awareness. In my conscious waking state as well as my sleeping hours, I was unable to think about what was happening to me and my family, but after Kevin was born I began to have excruciating migraine headaches. I also had stomachaches, colitis and constant pain in my female organs. My body was expressing what I could not.

My husband graduated from dental school and immediately set up a dental practice on Topanga Canyon Boulevard in Woodland Hills. I continued to work out of our house, doing dental lab work, so I could stay at home with our baby. I also began working part-time at Craig’s office. During the hours I worked away from home, Kevin was left at a babysitter’s house in the old neighborhood where I grew up in Woodland Hills. When he was out of diapers he filled a long-awaited slot at Little Oaks Preschool, in Thousand Oaks, California, where he, and later, the rest of my children were further ritually abused. The fact that I had put my baby on a preschool waiting list just weeks after he was born was not a detail I could reflect on. Nor, did the fact that I left him at the home of this babysitter who gave me a very dark, gnawing eerie feeling that wouldn’t go away, ever hit me mentally. I could not, due to the mind control I was under, consciously think about any of this.

Each year my husband and I would attend the American Dental Association’s annual convention, which was often held in Anaheim, California. In addition to the regular dental convention agenda, I was programmed to switch and then slip off to side rooms where I presented the latest in mind control technology for the dentists who wanted to own the best assistants money could buy, complete with all the latest enhancements available. Then at night we went to Disneyland. On several of these nights the park was closed to the public at large, in order to entertain the dentists and their families. Our controllers never missed an opportunity to combine functions so that they could accomplish two or more things at once. Of course, at Disneyland my family and I were reprogrammed and reconditioned in order to preserve our high level programming. Nothing was ever what it seemed and often there was an alternate agenda, a parallel reality going on at the same time as a publicly acceptable event.

Back in Agoura, there were nights I was triggered to walk out of our home on Valley Heights Drive to the waiting car of Secret Service agents or other men in suits in order to be flown to many different destinations. Clothes were always provided and were kept separate from those I wore at home, lest I gain access to my memory by the sight of clothing I had worn on a “government mission.”

Drugged

My husband’s dental training came in handy, as he was adept at injecting my arm with drugs that our controllers wanted me to have. There also were flat, round, chalky tasting tablets, the size of Rolaids, that he gave me at times before I was taken away by the Secret Service agents. There were lots of drugs given to me orally and intravenously over the years and I never knew what they were, I simply dissociated and complied when they were administered.

Around this time, my husband announced that he had located a beautiful piece of property in an exclusive area of Agoura, called “Old Agoura.” Wanting to share his find with me he drove me down a little one-lane country road that led to a secluded dirt road. We entered a beautiful rural area, dotted with huge oak trees everywhere and there was a beautiful stream that went through the land. Craig introduced me to Aaron Funk who was the owner of one whole side of the street. This stranger announced that he was hand-selecting his neighbors for this exclusive area, and we were to be among them. This property was located less than a block from the entrance of Bob Hope’s 2,324-acre Jordan Ranch. Within days, an agreement was struck, and although my husband was fresh out of dental school, and our funds were extremely limited, he made a financial deal with Mr. Funk to purchase the acre of land for $78,000. This close proximity to Bob Hope’s property factored into my family’s abuse, heavily. (See appendix for map.)

When I was to be used at parties — like at the Queen Mary the night of a supposed dental party we attended where I was later taken away to service Bob Hope and Alan Cranston — first Craig put some liquid drug into my drink and I drank it as instructed, “Drink it like a shooter, one gulp and it’s down.” Then Craig gave me some drug from a plastic bag that he pulled out of his suit pocket. He took the white powdery substance and wet it on a mirror, put the liquid into a syringe and injected it into my arm. At different times, he gave me shots in a variety of places — my arms, thighs, hip and buttocks. Sometimes he tied a rubber tourniquet very tightly around my arm before he gave me the injection. These injections hurt sometimes, especially the ones in my lower arms near my wrist. Sometimes he would try to use veins there and the shots really stung. My husband was an expert in laying out this drug paraphernalia in preparation for readying me for an event. He knew my arm like a road map and where to hit the good veins.

A man in a suit frequently delivered a supply of the drugs to our house, intended for me. He left it high in the top corner of the garage, taped to the wall. I saw Craig retrieve it from that location on a number of occasions.

My husband also injected me before porn was filmed. They were still using me in porn in my 30’s. Craig injected me, just before my use, oftentimes when I was in someone else’s car ready to be taken to my assignment. If one of the kids came up at that time, he would yell at them to get back in the house. Sometimes there was a certain smell to certain drugs, almost like sulfur. When porn was filmed in the dental office, “Dr. Ford” injected me or gave me some tablet or wafer to eat, beforehand. I don’t know what the deciding factor was as to whether the drug was given interveniously or orally, but I sat in the dental chair and watched as my husband mixed up the powder on the dental tray, liquidized it, placed the liquid into a syringe and then shot it into my arm. Only then could they start the porn. I was always drugged before filming pornography.

As our children grew older, they also were drugged before they were used.

While retrieving some of these drugged memories, I didn’t feel any emotions. It was as if I was just a «doll» and not real. Rag doll is a very common program theme among female slaves. Bob used to refer to me as his doll.

It took two years after retrieving these drug memories before I could actually begin to feel the pain and betrayal of this act performed, unconsciously, but still, by my own husband. And, until I had a sufficient amount of memories of our early cross-programming, I could only see my husband as a perpetrator, and not as the victim of the same evil system that he truly was.

The Birth of Our Second Mind Controlled Child
Bob Hope’s “Little Filly” and George Bush’s “Bush Baby”

In 1977 we decided, or it was decided for us, that it was time to have a second child. I kept saying I wanted to go to Maui to conceive this second child after dental school. Actually, our controllers had planned it all. Craig and I arrived on Maui and he told me to dress for dinner. Being in the mood to celebrate, Craig made us a Hawaiian cocktail in our hotel suite. It tasted like a combination of a Mai Tai and a Pina Colada, and it must have been drugged. I drank the drink as we watched the beautiful Maui sunset from our balcony. Then I went into our bedroom and dressed in a beautiful clingy, long purple dress and we went out as my husband had told me I thought to dinner. Instead of what I thought was going to be a lobster dinner, I ended up staying in a hospital for a few days. In fact, I was flown from the island in a helicopter, with a facemask on through which I was breathing some kind of drug, to a hospital where they did something to me (I believe Kelly was genetically engineered) and I was in this hospital for awhile. The doctors wore green surgical scrubs and did something to me vaginally. I don’t know exactly what. They had test tubes, the glass kind that were very long and slender, and they looked at each other over their green facemasks. They didn’t speak out loud but their eyes looked very serious. I had an IV in my left arm that was tied to a board with cotton and gauze around it. After that night I became deathly ill, severely nauseated, and I don’t really remember much else that happened on that trip.

When Craig finally picked me up after they finished with me, they had me dress once again in my purple dress, and then Craig took me to the awaited lobster dinner. At that time there was a switch in my personality system and I didn’t (couldn’t) consciously know what had transpired. But that is how I really got pregnant with Kelly. Craig and I weren’t allowed to have sex for awhile, but were allowed to as they said, “enjoy it in your mind.” Kelly was the classic blonde, blue-eyed prototype, with large cheekbone structure, and all the right things they wanted for her to be sexual. Years later, Sylvester Stallone would comment that Kelly looked to him like a little ‘Bo Derek. The UCLA doctors were in correspondence with other doctors on Maui. When I got pregnant with Kelly on Maui in June of 1977, they monitored this conception heavily. When we returned to the mainland, I found out I was actually pregnant. I began spotting and my doctor recommended I go to bed, which I did for a few days until the spotting ceased. Kelly has a personality named Papaya, in honor of, and use for, Hawaiian experiences. As I remembered this experience, in obedience with my programming, my heart started racing and I felt like I was having a heart attack.

Our daughter, Kelly Suzanne Ford was born on February 23, 1978, and from then on Kevin wasn’t always the main focus of the torturous trauma — Kelly was.

The torture and trauma began right after her birth. While we were still in Valley Presbyterian Hospital in Van Nuys, California, three men in suits came into the hospital room and closed the door. They took my new baby girl out of her bassinet, held her up and put a pistol to her head. Another man put a gun to my head and the third man stood guard at the hospital room door. The man holding the gun to my head said, “If you fail to follow our instructions, just one time…” he clicked the gun, but nothing happened, “we will just have to kill this precious little one.” Then the man holding Kelly took a wad of Kleenex off my hospital tray, wadded it up and put it into the glass of water on my tray in order to wet it. He held my precious baby girl faced downward and forced the wad of wet Kleenex into her mouth, interfering with her ability to breathe.

With a gun to my head, I watched in absolute horror and terror, as my baby girl choked and gagged and then went limp in the man’s arms. I thought she was dead. Then he said, “That’s all it takes. It’s as simple and easy as that.” He took Kelly into the bathroom and did something to revive her because she was breathing again, and began crying loudly. The man literally threw her into my arms and said, “Mama, your baby is crying, maybe she’s hungry.” Then, they forced me to breastfeed her in front of them while they watched and then they left. The hospital nurse never knew they were there and since I was programmed, I was unable to think or remember it had happened so that I could get help. That was one of Kelly’s first life experiences — one of her first birth traumas.

As an aside, I will share with you the reader, that as I sought recovery and understanding of what was wrong with me, I attended groups for people suffering with Multiple Personality Disorder. It was an enlightening time of new understanding as I met and shared with other Multiples, some who were RN’s, intensive care nurses and therapists also attempting to heal. It leads me to wonder if some of the nurses and doctors in the hospital who attended the birth of my children were themselves programmed and controlled? In one particular Christian group I attended for Multiples who had been ritually abused, in the opening prayer, an MPD’d, ritually abused nurse prayed for the Lord to heal one of us so we could expose this atrocity and get help for the others. As she made her request, I knew it would be me that would heal and go for help. I healed as fast as I could, but help didn’t come as quickly as I would have liked.

When Kelly turned three months old, our family moved into a large doublewide portable home on the recently purchased Chesebro Road property in Old Agoura, where we began life as «chosen» neighbors. Soon we had an architect draw up plans to build a large two-story home. The open, undeveloped area provided access to our family in many ways. Aaron Funk moved away and we were left on the street with only one neighbor. Helicopters could land in the adjacent area, and Bob Hope’s Jordan Ranch would later be used for countless encounters; none of them were pleasant.

Our lives went on and, as programmed, I dutifully delivered my little daughter to Point Mugu Naval Weapons Base in California where military men took her from my arms wrapped in a beautiful pink blanket my mother knit for her. They kept her for a long while and then brought her back out to me. Sometimes when they needed to have one of my children for programming I was instructed to park my car on Las Virgenes Road, just past Agoura Road, and the men in suits picked us up and drove us the rest of the way to Point Mugu.

As Kelly grew a little older, at around age two our programmers laid her by my side on a gurney where we were both hooked up to sensors all over our bodies — head, chest, and pulse points (wrist and neck artery), in order to monitor something. What exactly, I don’t know. The men working on us wore surgical greens so I assumed they were doctors. Kelly and I were drugged and totally out of it. I watched as my little baby daughter’s eyes rolled up in her head like she was convulsing. Sometimes they put a mask over our faces to further drug us or injected drugs into our forearms and sometimes there was even an IV bottle left to drip for us both. There was one IV bottle, with the tubing split into two, one for me and one for Kelly. They also hooked us up to sounds delivered through earphones and often added bright lights. It felt like they programmed Kelly and I through sound and light by hooking us both up to wires. It seemed like we were getting a blood transfusion, but we were connected to wires instead of tubes and there was no blood.

There were also water experiments. They put me into a metal ball with a door and plunged me into the water, spun it and immersed it deeply. It was hard to tell what was going on from my position inside. It was very dark and very confining. I just pretended I was somewhere on the beach until it was over. If I had to guess, I would say they were doing experiments and research on the mind and the brain. Sometimes we were encapsulated and were weightless. There were all different sorts of chairs; some were for electroshock. One had a headrest with a band on it and straps for our wrists and straps for our ankles. They would zap me, and Kelly would be in the same kind of chair facing me and then they would zap her. It was horrific to watch her being tortured. They would have to almost carry her off when it was through because she was so out of it. The electoshock was usually the last thing they did. But before the electroshock, sometimes we were subjected to virtual reality machines, like moving rides we entered with a video screen showing pictures with lights and sound. After we were in it for awhile, they took us out and tested us with EEG and EKG equipment and asked us to fill out questionnaires, or they would ask us to write down the answers to questions they casually wrote down. The questions were related to what we had just seen, how we experienced it, and how we felt or there were questions about different personalities within us; maybe they were checking our programming or our inner systems.

There were other machines we entered where the floor tilted while our feet were tied down and we’d lean over, and sometimes there were mirrors where we looked distorted. There was lots of virtual reality equipment. One apparatus was a helmet with front eyeglasses attached with wires all over. They placed it on me and I saw a visual of lightening striking the top of my head while I was feeling electroshock to the top of my head. Then I heard the words, “You feel no pain. Hit by a bolt of lightning yet you feel no pain.” After all this they tested me neurologically to see if I could walk, touch my nose, etc. Once I was tied inside a big roller and, with hands and feet tied spread eagle, they spun it real fast and then took me out. Kelly wasn’t always there, but she was present more often than I care to remember. I remember the two of us laying next to each other on the gurney with towels over our bodies, IV’s in our arms, with glasses and goggles on and we were totally drugged. There was a dolphin tank at Point Mugu, with an underwater window where they could watch as we swam with the dolphins. Swimming with the dolphins usually signaled the end of it. After that, we were returned to our car that was parked somewhere in Agoura or in the canyon.

I thought United States military officials were supposed to be in service to protect and defend their country and its citizens. Where are the high ranking men of honor that protect and defend the women and children in this country? What has gone wrong?

Genetic Engineering

Soon after I had finished breastfeeding Kelly in 1979, I continued to have severe pain in my female reproductive organs that no one seemed to be able to help me with or understand the origin of. Dr. Galloway, the doctor that delivered Kelly, admitted me to Valley Presbyterian Hospital in Van Nuys, California. Late in the day I was assigned a hospital bed and understood that my doctor had ordered a D & C for me. He explained that this was standard operating procedure.

Later on, I was taken into surgery, a mask was put over my face, and I was anesthetized with some sort of gas. It was nighttime when they performed this procedure on me that wasn’t a real D & C; they really took my ovum for in vitro fertilization with other genetic strains. “Ideal genes, from healthy stock,” they said. I cannot identify the doctors who were doing this to me.

Before I became pregnant with Kevin, they had taken other ovum during times when I was previously hospitalized for so-called “surgery.” They thought I couldn’t hear, but I could hear and see what they were doing. I was out-of-body and could hear and see everything they did. Their perception of reality seemed to be limited to the physical world. They didn’t yet understand that a person could be out-of-body, that it is possible to take your consciousness out of your body to see and experience events in other locations. While my body was lying on the operating table under anesthesia, from my out-of-body position overhead, I could see their side of the table with equipment they used to take my ovum and a special dish with a special solution that they used to put the ovum in. Immediately upon placement of the ovum into the dish, a nurse came in and quickly took it away somewhere.

This is genetic engineering. These people do this a lot — they steal women’s ovum to experiment on. They take good genetic stock. This is why, later on, I wanted a hysterectomy; subconsciously, I wanted to stop what they were doing.

I recorded in my memory files what I overheard the doctors say that night in the operating room: “Her children by her husband are inferior to those created here. We can team this ovum up with superior sperm to create a superior genus. These children will one day rule the world and we will be able to weed out the weaker genetic strains. Room must be made for this advanced race. The plan has been carefully orchestrated. It will come about with “our strains” in leadership. We have chosen the genetic strains of leaders, those whose drive is to lead, and to that end we have “strained in” health, intellect, and leadership qualities. These children will be raised in isolation, like the leaders in the shadows and will be taught advanced skills from birth meditation, diet, emotion modulation, and will be fed a strict diet of higher knowledge. The rulers of the future will be elite in every way, shape and form. We have spliced her genetic health and intellect strains with those perfect physical forms of the intellect donor to create the perfect species — both male and female. These strains will rise to the top. The forms will be so advanced that the normal human species will not be able to compete, and so ours will be the elite — the ruling class — and the lower forms will be the so-called worker-bees. There is no way the normal man can compete. Ours is the elite. We will soon have enough of our people grown and implanted with our direction and our wisdom, and now that we know how to program their minds from birth, we will have total and complete control. They will be ours — a race — a genus we can be proud of, created from the best genetic structure on earth.”

They said, “The future on earth belongs to the scientists. It is time we weed out the inferior races.”

Under the direction of my doctors, I mindlessly and compulsively charted a graph of my temperature to know when I was ovulating. Now I understand why that was so important. They even did an experiment of combining my genes with those of my husband’s best friend and colleague. On one occasion, while he was performing so-called “oral surgery,” while I was under anesthetic, they had him mount me to impregnate me. Then, I was instructed to report to UCLA where they took the sperm-fertilized egg from my uterus. They compared which genetic structure was superior — between those created in vitro and those created by a natural union and then taken from the body to mature.

This determination to create a ‘superior race’ is, as you may remember, the same drive that fueled Hitler’s regime in Germany. One needs only to read Linda Hunt’s book, Secret Agenda: The United States Government, Nazi Scientists, and Project Paperclip, and then visit the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC, in order to put two and two together. If you observe some of the pictures of innocent people in the concentration camps as they are being used for brain and behavior experimentation, it’s easy to ascertain that more was occurring than just the torture of innocent Jewish people for religious or racial purposes. This experimentation was also done intentionally in order to further the understanding of the mind and body, and how people could be controlled.

We as a people have not fully embraced the reality of the horrors in Germany that were perpetrated on victims there, and to that end we allow it to continue to the present, as those who should have been prosecuted for their war crimes often went free. As a matter of fact, through Project Paperclip, many were brought to our country by the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), which was our own intelligence apparatus at the time. They were placed in our major universities and hospitals to continue their unconscionable scientific research. It was through the invaluable wizardry of one of these Project Paperclip Nazis, General Reinhard Gehlen (German Intelligence Specialist), that our fledgling CIA came into being just after World War Il, and the “Cold War” was born.

Len Horowitz, in his book Emerging Viruses: Aids and Ebola — Nature, Accident or Intentional? points to a linkage between Henry Kissinger and General Alexander Bolling. He mentions that Gen. Bolling played a major role in Project Paperclip as well as the Joint Intelligence Committee, a newly formed administrative unit that recruited former Nazi scientists expert in mind control. Their combined research activity soon led to classified projects that paved the way for the CIA’s Project MKULTRA. Horowitz also links Kissinger to oversight of project MKNAOMI, a military program to develop biological weapons having genocidal application. The Rockefellers, who spearheaded a national eugenics movement, supported research activities of similar nature to Project MKULTRA and MKNAOMI through their preWW II funding of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute whose director was, at one time, Joseph Mengele’s superior. As you may remember, Mengele conducted horrific medical experiments at Auschwitz, many that were related to mind control. All of these facts are discussed in Horowitz’s meticulously documented work.

From reading I did after I reintegrated and deprogrammed, I began to understand that the newly created CIA and the Rockefellers with all of their money and foundations, carefully researched and hired top former Nazi scientists to carry on their personal belief in creating a “master (Aryan) race.” They are doing so through mind control experimentation and genetics research in systems within the confines of carefully white-washed hospital or university research facilities, not to mention military bases.

The Holocaust has not ended, it has just gone underground, and the victims are silent due to the mind control they have been put under.

I believe these scientists have fallen short in their understanding that, while the physical, genetic structure a baby is born with is very important, God in His perfection has patterned a life for this child. When this is altered by human intervention, it no longer can serve the highest purpose for the child’s lifetime. It is not just the physical structure that rules a life of a child. A ‘soul’ is born into the body, and if left to the natural order of God in His infinite wisdom, there is a higher agenda and purpose to be accomplished. How can man in his finite wisdom begin to believe that he can out-create the Creator? I don’t believe that physical perfection is the main goal here. Scientists will forever be lost in their own egos until they realize the absolute divine and perfective nature of God.

Dental Office Money Laundering Schemes

Arnold Stengle was our first accountant, but was replaced by Bruce Frank who was an accountant from Soquel, California. He directed me how to handle the dental office books from his Northern California office, and visited our office every now and then in order to further direct me. To give me instructions, he would sit across from me at my little office in the back. I would put my hands up to my head, my elbows to my knees and in “ready and alert” program stance, I would listen as programmed to “every word spoken.” And he always had lists upon lists of 4digit number series. I don’t know what they meant, but I would rattle them off later to different people, especially Reagan.

I also was programmed to report to different banks in the area. One was Safra Bank in Woodland Hills. On a typical day I went to the Safra Bank underground parking and when I entered the parking lot I was programmed to switch to Sharon. Then I went into the bank. When I entered the bank a man in a suit was waiting and gestured for me to go to a woman teller. I did as instructed and handed her the envelopes that two men had just given me in the underground parking lot. I never knew exactly what was in the envelopes, but when the teller opened them there were usually checks and cash. When the transaction was completed, I drove back to the office, switched now to Susan, and not having a clue that I had just been used to perform an illegal banking transaction for my controllers. Years later when I filed for divorce, my California attorney, Doug Wolfe, told me to go sign papers at Safra Bank before the divorce could go through. I remembered feeling really scared, but I went to the bank like I was told and signed a paper a man put out on his desk for me to sign. When I was through at the bank a man later used a stun gun on my back near my waist as he said, “You’re a real waste, do as you’re told to do and nothing more, nothing less, or you will be a mess.”

Reagan Is President and Our Vice President is a Pedophile

Over the years, Kelly was closely tied into the trauma I received. Repeatedly she was tortured and traumatized in front of me in an effort to keep me in line. Her torture fragmented her psyche in order to create multiple personalities within her, so she could follow in my footsteps for later use as a “presidential model.” Unfortunately, she didn’t have to wait very long for that so-called «privilege» as our newly elected Vice President at the time, George Bush, was/is a pedophile and Kelly was created to be, as I later found out from a renegade CIA operative, what was called a “Bush Baby.”

Barbara Bush brought snacks in on a tray to the delight of the children clustered around her husband. The kids munched on animal cookies with sprinkles on top as they listened to the Vice President read them stories. The reality created and the accompanying program he delivered was, “You are what you read.” This was during the time they lived in the house with the flat rock fireplace. The fireplace had a stone bench that you could sit on in front of the fireplace and George had his easy chair near it. There was a brown coffee table and a couch, and hunting pictures of Springer Spaniels holding birds in their mouths and pointing, graced the walls. George was into that sort of stuff.

Barbara thought I was there as a representative of the new educational system being implemented in California, which was true, although I wasn’t consciously aware of it, and she was told that the children were there to demonstrate to the Vice President just how well the new system was working. But later, when the demonstration was over, Bush would take Kelly or another small child to the bathroom or to “show them something special.”

During the time the Vice President disappeared with my daughter, Barbara often made lots of small talk, always smiling, cheery and pleasant, speaking nothing of importance. She talked a lot, especially when her husband was out of the room. I was on edge, even under mind control, as parts of me sensed that my little girl was being hurt. The connection between mother and child often makes physical presence unnecessary to know the status of one’s child, and it was difficult to carry on small talk with Mrs. Bush while my child was being raped. The Vice President brought Kelly back when he was finished. She looked dazed and out of it.

Bob Hope arranged many other times for George to be with Kelly in different and more private settings. There was a weekend retreat home the Bush’s went to in the mountains, so they could relax, and George would take their dog out hunting wild fowl. Barbara stayed inside and baked and did needlepoint, like a typical housewife. I believe that she was unaware that her husband was molesting droves of little girls. George always said he had a special place in his heart for little girls.

Bob Hope Utilizes His Little Filly Asset

When Kelly was brought to Bob’s parties, he gave her as a gift to known pedophiles that liked little girls. Then, he really owned these men. He would act like he really thought it was okay to have sex with a child, to men he knew were pedophiles. Without actually saying it in words, he portrayed that attitude and then after the person had raped the child he would say something like, “Do you know what news like this could do to your career?…to your family?” At the parties, these children were kept in a back room. On nights I was programmed to act as ‘the hostess, I was instructed to escort men back to the room where the children waited for this expressed purpose. I was even programmed to facilitate their choice in which child they wanted for the evening. Sometimes, acting from program, I even offered my own daughter to these men.

Kelly was brought to Bob’s on nights when men who had “younger preference” were in attendance. Bob used that term with people like George Bush. When Kelly was nearly three years old she was provided to George Bush to satisfy his pedophile desires. Bob invited a group of men with “younger preferences,” and later provided them with a group of children, both male and female, for their pleasure.

With people he really wanted to own or use he would take pictures of the molestation with hidden cameras. He knew just how to get to these people. Then afterwards he would show them a picture of the rape of the child and say, “We sure don’t want these pictures, or any others like these to get into the wrong hands and ruin your entire career, do we?” Then he would simply tell the man what he wanted, in exchange for impunity. It usually had to do with getting another «friend» of his into a «key» position in the government, looking the other way when a case came down, or getting a bill passed or vetoed. He knew just how to control these men and they usually complied.

In 1993 as I was attempting to get free and get my first book published, due to the fact that I was not cooperating and “staying in line,” I was raped and then forced, under mind control, to pose for pictures that if shown to others would have totally discredited me, making me look like a perpetrator. In this type of scenario, the media is called in and a person is publicly discredited-end of threat! Back in the 60’s and 70’s I watched as people in positions of authority were set up and compromised in the same manner in order that they could be used. And in the 90’s I watched with horror, as many of the dedicated individuals who were attempting to end this abuse and help the victims, were publicly discredited, often via mainstream media channels.

Hunted by Bush on Hope’s Jordan Ranch

George Bush was one of the men in safari uniform on Bob Hope’s property who hunted me when Kelly was little. Bob was laughing when he laid down the rules. “There will be no running, or hiding, you will simply stroll along the path, skipping, if you like, dancing if you wish, but NO running, until you are TRAPPED. It’s inevitable, there is no escaping it, especially with an expert hunter like George.” Looking me in the eye, Bob said, “Are there any questions?”

I shook my head no.

“Good, then remember, every step you take may be your last.” As a helicopter touched down off in the distance in this rural Jordan Ranch area, Bob said, “Bush will be coming from a different angle.”

I walked down the road, which with every step I took, became more and more like The Yellow Brick Road that I had been programmed since childhood to follow. I was absolutely terrified, waiting to be attacked, killed. whatever; I didn’t know what they had in store for me this day. I walked for a long time and it felt like I was hallucinating along the way. In my mind, playing over and over like a horror movie were Bob’s words, “Every step you take may be your last.”

In my blue jeans and red checkered shirt, I kept walking. I was still walking when it got dark and I was really scared then because I was so far away from where I had begun. My arm ached from the injection they had given me in the bend of my arm and I rubbed it wishing I wasn’t so alone in the world. I was getting frantic, totally panicked by now and I just kept walking. Nothing seemed real anymore. I felt like a caged animal and I couldn’t remember the rules any longer. I was trying so hard to remember exactly what Bob had said, thinking if I just did it right that I wouldn’t get hurt and my children would be safe. But my drugged terror was escalating, and I couldn’t think anymore, I felt like I was losing control.

After what seemed like a very long time, George Bush stepped out from an old outhouse-type structure that was on Bob’s ranch and calmly walked over to me, “Betcha didn’t think I’d ever be hiding in there, did ya?” and he laughed. “Well, I like to play hide and seek a lot but there’s only two of us here so let’s play another game that only requires two, the two of us.”

I nodded, frozen in terror.

“I just happen to have an apple. A beautiful red apple here in my pocket.” He pulled the apple out and said, “I know the game is supposed to be played with a bow and arrow (I’d been accidentally shot with an arrow in the jaw when I was five) but I forgot mine. I did remember however to bring my revolver.” And he pulled a gun out of his other pocket. “Now, this game is called William Tell, and you get to play William. Here, you stand over here, so if I miss, the bullet will go into the tree instead of traveling wildly out of control.”

He placed me in front of an oak tree and put the apple on top of my head. By now I was crying. I couldn’t help it, I just couldn’t control it. “Please don’t hurt my kids anymore,” I begged.

Bush said, “Shhh, don’t interrupt. We’re playing a game now. Now just stand real still and remember your name is William Tell, and this is what happens if you don’t.” Slowly, he cocked the gun and took aim at the apple on my head or me, I couldn’t tell which. Then, taking his time he said very slowly as he took aim, “Ok are you ready for the games to begin? Will you tell?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and he lowered the gun as he sighed real disgustedly, “No, no, you can’t close your eyes, you have to see this coming, otherwise it won’t be any fun at all.”

So, I opened my eyes and George took aim again and said, “Remember this is what happens if you don’t TELL.” He kept aiming and re-aiming trying to get it just right and then he asked me again if I was ready.

“Yes, Sir,” I answered.

He put the gun down to listen to me, then took aim again, “Now what’s the magic message?”

“Don’t tell,” I answered. Immediately, he fired and shot the apple off my head. It blasted a hole in the middle of it and blew out a huge chunk and he walked over, picked it up off the ground and said, “Looks like we both won this time. You wait for your ride, I’ll take mine another way,” and he disappeared.

I tried to see where he went in the dark but I couldn’t locate him. Shortly after, a couple of cowboys that tended the cattle on Bob’s ranch came driving by in their old pick up truck and angrily said, “Get in, we’ll give you a ride back to the end of the road. You’re trespassing lady.” So I climbed into the back of their pick up truck, not even on the seat in the cab and bounced all the way back to the end of the road. Then, I walked the short distance home.

When I walked in the house, Craig said, “Where have you been? I got dinner started and was getting worried.”

“Oh, I was over at the neighbor’s,” I answered, falling into line helping with the kids and the dinner. During dinner, I just wanted to hold Kelly, who was two years old, and kept feeling so glad she was safe, at least for now.

I kept rocking her at the dinner table and it was a good thing my daughter was in my lap or I probably would have appeared as I really was, “psychotically experiencing an episode.” That’s what they told me the doctors would say if I went to them for help. “They’ll say you’re psychotic,” Bob said, “and it won’t take them long to figure it out. It will be obvious.”

George Bush lorded and ruled over me for years once I had children. There were lots of scary program tactics they installed to insure the safety of his use of Kelly and me.

Mission Assignment on Maui

An early experience of cross-programming with Kelly took place in order for me to be used with newly elected President Ronald Reagan and Kelly with Vice President George Bush, on Maui.

My pedophile father, Calvin Eckhart, paid for my husband, young children, and I to vacation with him and my mother to Hawaii. This was a trip to the island of Maui in 1981 where I was taken from my family to be of service to my country, to serve President Reagan and others. Before the trip Bob Hope checked Kelly out at a distance. My father took us to a public park in Reseda, California and, although at the time he was very physically debilitated, he gave Bob a hand signal as we passed by. Bob looked at Kelly and gave my father a wink and a thumbs-up sign and we left.

Like all these «missions» before, I was totally amnesiac of this occurrence and could not remember much of what happened at all during the vacation. At the time, I did not realize I couldn’t remember what happened on the vacation. It was only years afterwards that awareness was available to me. Then, the only thing I could recall about this trip was having dinner at the Charthouse on Front Street, in Lahaina with my parents, husband and children. I remembered that my five-year-old son Kevin ordered lobster, and that was all I could remember about that trip until years later when I returned to Maui without my family in 1991. Then the memories of that earlier trip began flooding back as I sat under the large mango tree located in front of the same place I had been taken to be with Reagan — the Puamana.

It all began like it had every other time before. Three men in suits barged into our hotel room where my family was sleeping and took Kelly and I out of the room. She was 2 /2 years old. Then they took us to another room and tortured us both in front of one another, programmed in some instructions for me, and then they took me away. At that time I didn’t know where they took Kelly. The personalities inside of me that were programmed for use with Reagan and others on this trip never knew what happened to my children during that time. The personalities I had that performed everyday, mundane, routine jobs, were amnesiac to the whole experience-they never knew it happened. Such is the reality of Multiple Personality Disorder and mind control through trauma-based programming.

I overheard my controllers speak amongst themselves explaining that the Puamana was specially selected for security purposes and had the advantage that it could be accessed by both land and sea. Seaplanes could secretly fly in foreign dignitaries at night. It was a gate-guarded complex that was easily protected by the Secret Service, insuring secrecy and privacy.

I was on Maui for a ten-day stay, supposedly to vacation with my family, and was used part of the time as a go-between with Reagan and many other politicians and foreign dignitaries. During the time at the Puamana, my job was to help make Ron and Nancy more comfortable. I researched restaurants and places to order food and did everything I was told to do to help them, in addition to being the «secretary» for mind files use at their meetings and later having sex with Reagan. I took shorthand, but more importantly could secretly «record» everything I heard and saw for later debriefing by Kissinger or the Council.

Nancy could see that I had a credible job, but when she would say anything accusatorily about me, Reagan would deny it and tell her she was just over-reacting and he would kiss her very lovingly on the cheek. All in all, she was not pleased that I was there. She was angry and unpleasant to me. She hated it when I was around. I hated it when she was around too; everyone was on guard because of her attitudes. Reagan occasionally spoke to me about her as if she was unreasonable, but mostly he would defend her, saying she was probably just a little tired or cranky.

I liked it when Ronnie (that’s what he told me to call him when we were alone) and I walked on the beach in the dark together, as there was no one to interrupt us. Nancy never knew where we «really» were because Ronnie would tell the Secret Service agents to tell her that he was going to be in a meeting. They were instructed to keep an eye on her and make sure she stayed inside the room for safety, since it was dark outside. Reagan told them he would need me to be at the meeting, as I was functioning as his secretary at certain times and he would need my help. Then we would go off together to “do business.”

Sometimes we did do business, but more often we would go off alone together and I would give him my “undivided sexual attention.” I also gave him any information I was instructed and preprogrammed to give to him from the Council and others. Once elected, Ronnie said to me, “Can you believe I’m President now? Does it feel any different to you to be here with me?” He often complained about his job and how hard it was. That seemed to be where I translated his words to mean, “Please baby me, pamper me, take care of me, coddle me,” and I did just that. Whatever he wanted or needed, I was programmed to perform for him.

I was assigned a room on the beachfront at Puamana. The room was actually just another one of his rooms a place where they took me to be alone with him. The Secret Service agents acted like they did not see or were not watching, but sometimes I would notice them snickering or smiling at things I did with Reagan.

The Council told me what to do, when to do it, what words to use and what to say later on in the evening to have the greatest impact on Reagan. I don’t think he ever knew I was being “an actress” — doling out the lines I had been programmed to deliver — but he loved it! So did Tricky Dick (Nixon). These tactics worked especially well on old men, and that is exactly what these men were.

This late night rendezvous at the Puamana, in the little pool overlooking the ocean, I bounded out of the pool and began unfastening my bikini top. I took it off and began dancing, slinging it around like I had been trained to do, as I sang, “Let me entertain you,” like I had done for Bob Hope. Reagan was laughing and a bit embarrassed, I guess because of the Secret Service’s presence, but he didn’t stop me. I slowly pulled off my bikini bottom, danced around more and then slipped back into the pool next to him, naked. This personality, specially created and devoted to Reagan, was very comfortable being naked. I never even considered picking up my bikini afterwards. As I climbed out of the pool, Reagan put a large beach towel around me and the Secret Service agents picked up my wet bikini and brought it inside.

The Secret Service agents were usually younger than the Presidents and I could see in their faces that I had their respect and admiration, but was confused as to why. Sometimes after these antics, they would have a little grin on their faces.

The words that went with these little acts were not political, but were used by the Council to entertain and bring Reagan closer to me, to make him want me. They figured if he wanted to be with me, they could use me to slip important messages to him later on after sex, upon awakening or in the evening when he was just dozing off to sleep. The Council knew that, if they could keep him interested and pampered over the years, they could maintain control over him.

I was programmed to make him feel good. I did everything he wanted and helped soothe him when he was troubled or distressed, and I even had some opinions that he was surprised I was “old enough” to have. President Reagan said I was, “wise beyond my years,” but he never did know that I wasn’t really-I just had the Council pre-empting me. I would say that I was so interested in his success and the success of our nation that I read up on things in the newspaper and got a new «idea» or perspective after my research. Or, I would say that an idea just came to me. I don’t believe he knew just exactly to what extent I was being set up for him. The Council knew just what would make a man happy, and more importantly they studied exactly what each man specifically liked or disliked.

Newly elected Vice President George Bush was at the Puamana for this trip, also. He and Reagan were having all sorts of leaders secretly flown in by seaplane to the back of the complex in the middle of the night. My job was to go and greet many of them as they arrived and help them to their rooms in the dark. Some were foreign ambassadors. They had meetings with these men and had a formal gathering one evening in the large banquet room that was used for parties. It was decorated in red, white, and blue, as it was soon after Reagan and Bush had been elected and many of the foreign dignitaries were congratulating them.

I overheard Reagan and Bush talking before the party and Bush told Reagan that this was an important night to lay the groundwork for future negotiations with certain foreign countries. These leaders were flown in, spent a couple of days and were flown back out.

The men from Saudi Arabia had to be flown in on separate days because I overheard them saying that they would not «mix» with the other guests. No one spoke of them afterwards to any of the other guests. They wore their white robes or native dress and were mostly dark-skinned.

George Bush seemed like the leader as far as these negotiations went and I noticed that Reagan “leaned on him” heavily for guidance and instruction. Bush had done his homework and studied the situations and Reagan took his expert advice. Although I don’t remember Kissinger being present for this meeting, at other times, Reagan also took advice from Kissinger.

George Bush pounced on me when I least expected it, often delivering a devastatingly terrifying cryptic message while I was speaking to some foreign ambassador or politician at a White House function, gala, ground breaking, or golf with Hope. But this time we were on Maui at the newly-elected President’s dinner. He waited until no one was around and then said, “I don’t know what the President sees in you. He must have on some of those strange Elton John glasses, that make you look otherworldly like a little green Martian.”

Later at night, I was told to stand out at the beach and wait until I was signaled with a flashing light and then I was instructed to swim out through the surf to the sailing vessel. A man aboard the big white sailing vessel took me aboard and into a darkened room below where a man sitting in the dark delivered a message to me, “You are to tell Reagan it’s a green light. It’s a go. And tell Bush to keep his dirty mitts off this one.” Then he laughed and said, “No instead say, ‘George, the men on high say that they have got this one covered. Anything you do would only interfere in the master plan.” Then he said, “You may go now. Take flight and deliver your messages on cue.”

I walked robotically out of the room and over to the area on the boat where there wasn’t a railing, dove off and swam back to the beach. The Council maintained vigilant contact with Reagan especially during this trip. Reagan was aware that I swam to get information because he commented that it turned him on when I swam to my assignment.

I swam often and had programming that allowed me to swim long distances without tiring. This swim program was often tied to ‘dolphin themes’ in my conscious mind so, in case I began to remember, my thoughts were automatically directed to thinking about how much I loved dolphins. These are the words that directed my swim programming: “Your body is warm as you glide through the water, swimming easily, effortlessly, endlessly through the ocean, like a dolphin. Dolphins deliver messages, and so will you.” Other times I swam out from the beach and waited to hear the sound of a helicopter, and like the dolphin waiting below the spaceship in the movie Cocoon, I waited to be “beamed up.” My programming dictated my reality. I thought that I was living this intentional movie-scrambled reality while the actual event was hidden beneath the surface of this programming. As I experienced the flashback of the actual occurrence, I could feel the cold water on my body, taste the salt water and hear the helicopter. They dangled a rope ladder down and my instructions were to “climb the stairway to heaven.” As I did, I entered the movie reality my programming commanded, and felt like I was on an angelic/dolphin mission. The rope ladder stung the bottom of my feet. When I made it to the top, a man grabbed my arm and pulled me in, sat me down, put headphones on my ears and said, “Listen and learn,” as I retained the message to deliver to the leaders.

One night, the Reagans and a foreign guest went to dinner late in the evening. I was taken along as this man’s escort. (I am sorry that at this time I am not able yet to remember his name.) We went by limo to a restaurant in a large shopping area that had storefronts like boutiques or the French Quarter, with brick walkways leading to the back and flowers alongside. We ate outside at a patio table surrounded by bushes and flowers; it was very private. The Secret Service were with us but kept a low profile, so as not to attract anyone’s attention.

Something happened at the restaurant when Nancy and I went to the restroom. She said something to me about indecently coming on to her husband and then she slapped me. It really messed me up, as slapping was also part of a program to switch me into different personalities. A Secret Service agent quickly took me aside. I had switched into a child personality and was crying, and he could not let me go back to the table like that. He straightened me up, smoothed out the rough emotional edges, and took me back to the table where everyone was finishing up.

Despite this incident, we had a successful late night dinner with this man and went back to the Puamana without being detected. It was the only time I knew of that Reagan went into public during the entire trip. I think this guest had expressed a desire to see the small town of Lahaina. He did not seem too concerned about the security risks and Bush encouraged Reagan to go and entertain him. Reagan and Bush usually went into public places separately for security reasons.

After my use with Reagan at the Puamana was over, I was taken back to my family. I do not know what happened to them in my absence, but just like each occasion before, none of us experienced a break in time, and no one knew that I was gone or that I had «just» returned.

When we returned to California, no one in my family thought of this hidden experience again, as it was buried deeply under programming.

Reagan’s Ranch

I was also taken to the Ranch to visit President Reagan, as I had at times in the past when he was Governor. I was picked up in front of my home in Agoura by a man in a suit and was flown to the Ranch located near Santa Barbara, California. Ronnie insisted saddling up the horses himself when we went riding, even after he became President. He did not want anyone (including Secret Service agents) to do it and so he did it himself! I rode the brown horse.

President Reagan «acted» very romantically while we rode, just like we were in some old movie! It seemed he lived in a type of «movieland» mentality a lot of the time. We rode all over the ranch, down near the Oak grove on the far side. It was beautiful in the springtime, with green grass and wild flowers as far as one could see. We got off our horses and he put his arm around my waist and pulled me to him for a kiss. He explained, “A man needs a young woman in his life to make him feel younger.” I just smiled. I did a lot of that, didn’t use many words, just smiled, and was pleasing, helpful and compliant. That is how I was created to be.

Then Reagan sang, “Younger than springtime.” He took his hat off and put it over his heart while he was singing, just like he was in some musical. He could be very corny.

Later he explained he had barbed wire put in between the wood fencing on the Ranch to keep people out. He said he didn’t like to have to do that, but the Secret Service suggested he go along with it for security reasons. He explained that he did not like to always have people watching him, but that it went with the job now-it was different than when he was Governor, but, he explained that nothing could change our relationship, we would just have to be more careful.

Nancy Reagan was very mean to me, much meaner than Barbara Bush ever was. Barbara Bush just sort of ignored me altogether, whereas Nancy was very angry and controlling. I liked it best when Nancy was not around. When Henry Kissinger or George Bush met with Reagan at the ranch, Nancy served them snacks. I was never allowed to eat, but just sat quietly wherever I was «parked» and recorded information into my mind files whenever I was directed to. Henry knew just how to file it inside of me, all in the correct storage areas for easy retrieval later on. They met at the ranch quite often.

Sometimes we flew to meet big leaders in their own country, if they were at all concerned about the security at the ranch. But most people felt pretty safe there with all of the security systems and the Secret Service agents.

I observed a lot of Secret Service security techniques because at times Henry left me with them when I was not being used. Henry sat me next to the agent at the security monitor and told him to keep an eye on me, but to not feed or talk to me. So, I was able to watch the monitor and listen to the agents. They even had agents placed at the far corners of the ranch all night long for security. Each agent carried a walkie-talkie to keep in touch with each other and the agents in the house. A Secret Service agent was stationed inside the house with television monitors and other equipment to help supervise the agents outside and was always listening to the men in the field with the walkie-talkies. The agents took shifts so that there was always someone fresh and alert manning all the «posts» 24 hours a day and night.

Reagan laughed a lot when he was Governor and in the beginning days of his Presidency, but he acted very differently after he was shot. Kind of like how different Nixon became after the Watergate scandal broke. Like the life went out of him.

Reagan gave me a bracelet on one occasion when we were at the ranch. But I had to turn it over to the men who flew me by helicopter back home to Agoura. Nancy had been gone that weekend. She usually was when Reagan and I were together sexually. But, she saw me when Kissinger and Reagan or Bush used me at the ranch for mind file use. It seemed like she hated it when she noticed her husband perk up when I was around, so she was mean to me. Actually, even under mind control the parts of me that were dedicated to Reagan felt sorry for her, having to be married to him, if he had sex with her in the same passive manner he did with me.

The Conception of Our Third Child Under Mind Control

In 1980, I felt a deep desire for a third child, though I am not sure if I ever really was solely responsible for having decided such things on my own, or if it was up to the Council, Bob, Henry, etc. My husband fought me for months on end, with the logical reasoning that we had the perfect family — a little boy and girl, and for him they were enough. But for me, it wasn’t. I was experiencing excruciating female reproductive pains and had been for a long time, and my pain seemed to increase as time went on. When I sought medical help, Dr. Feldman, my OB/GYN doctor, examined me and said, “You have a large fibroid tumor growing in your uterus,” and his avenue of resolve for my worsening condition was a hysterectomy. Looking back on this situation from where I am now in my more healed understanding, I realize it was indeed this man’s attempt to help me remove my “hysteria.” Unfortunately, I was unable to understand that this hysteria that manifested physically in my innermost female private part, was the cellularly stored terror and devastation of my children and me. I was unable to think on my own, but I could understand what I felt. And, what I felt in my heart was that I wanted a third child and I wanted him desperately. I don’t know if I was programmed to know, but I knew then that this child was to be a boy.

From his authoritative position between my legs, as he examined me, my doctor’s orders were that I could have 30 days to try to conceive a child and after that time I was to return for the hysterectomy.

Craig and I used the “scientific method,” the same method we used in the past to insure that the sex of our third child was a boy. And he was. Daniel Robert Ford was born on March 15, 1982 at Los Robles Hospital in Thousand Oaks, California. I was 31 years old. I have little conscious memory of Danny as a baby. When he was visiting me in the summer of 1996, he looked at me emotionlessly and said, “Mom, I don’t remember anything about my childhood.” He just stated the fact. What was very apparent to me was that my teenage son had no emotion attached to this statement or even any means to think this thought through to understand what it all might mean. It seemed like he was merely reporting it to me and, having done enough of my own healing to realize what this all meant, I was devastated. Understanding now that my children will not be served by remembering anything about their past until they are in a safe, supportive environment to do that, I simply acknowledged his reality and recommitted to doing whatever I could to bring about his freedom.

War Games at Jordan Ranch to Terrorize Kelly and Me

When Kelly was around three years old, we were told to walk down to the “end of the road,” which I knew to be Bob Hope’s Jordan Ranch. Once inside the fence we were injected with drugs in the back of a limo and were told to start walking out onto the ranch. Somehow, all of a sudden, my little daughter was gone. There was a whole group of men in army fatigues who I later found out were playing war games. But in the drugged state of mind they put me in, I had no way to know this was just a game. Bob had a walkie-talkie that he used to radio instructions to the men in army fatigues. He told them what to do and say to us. I know because the guys would listen to their walkie-talkies while I heard Bob say directions like, “Ok, rape her now.”

These guys were shooting their weapons and throwing hand grenades. As I revivified the memory I was able to realize that the hand grenades and gunfire were all fake, but the drugs I was subjected to made everything feel very real and very terrifying. While these men were shooting at me, I was running for my life, ducking under bushes trying to stay alive so I could find my little girl, and the drugs made it impossible to think clearly. They told me Kelly’s life depended on me finding her quickly. A helicopter flying overhead landed nearby and I finally found Kelly, naked and huddling near a small scrub bush. She was very dirty and had cried so much that her little eyes were swollen nearly shut and her face was covered with dirt and tears all mixed together. She was crying so hard that she was shaking and had begun the involuntarily sniffling and jerking that infants do when they have cried for a very long time. I picked her up and took her, as directed, over to the helicopter. Due to the severe trauma, I was unable to retrieve the rest of this devastating experience. This is the type of activity these men needed to use in order to guarantee that, under national security, a mother and her baby daughter would never remember the perverted experiences for which they were being used by Henry Kissinger, Bob Hope and the agenda of our other high-level controllers. When I was deprogramming and really getting beneath my instilled trauma-based programs in order to retrieve my experiences, my programmed mother sent me a picture of Kelly that she had taken. In it, Kelly was crouched down, hiding beneath a bush. Most likely our controllers had my mother send that picture in an attempt to tap into this traumatic memory in order to remind me what my odds were, in order to keep me under control.

Trauma Before Use

After I had my children, they always inflicted trauma on me and one or more of my kids (always with my daughter Kelly) before an assigned rendezvous took place. Those experiences were terrifying and horrific enough so, that my controllers felt very certain I would never gain access to memory of the experiences the trauma was meant to cover. The trauma they inflicted on me and then on my children in front of me, began when they were born.

The following is a vivid example of the kind of programming and torture my family and I had to endure before I was used with a President, Governor, Senator, entertainer, or whoever else they decided they wanted to send me in on. I have no way of knowing what the rest of my family might have been assigned to, in my absence.

This time, we were in Catalina and my husband told the kids that we were going to look at a new hotel complex on the island. When we arrived, three men in suits told us to go into a room where there was a single row of chairs lined up against the wall. We were told to sit down in the straight back chairs. Passively and robotically, we helplessly complied. Kevin our oldest son., who then was nine, was the first in the lineup; then Craig, me, and Kelly, who was seven, and last, at the far end, our youngest son Danny, who was three. One of the suited men took a razor blade or something similar and started with Kevin and slowly and deliberately ran it over the top of his legs, then onto Craig’s, then mine, Kelly’s and little Danny’s. All of us were bleeding and traumatized, in a daze, physically frozen, staring straight ahead. I was terrified and panicked, but sat there, helpless to do anything to protect my children, as a result of years of abuse and mind control programming.

Craig could do nothing to defend the children or me. He couldn’t even defend himself. All of us just sat there like zombies with blood trickling off our burning legs. One suited man informed us, “This is just the beginning,” and they took Danny and threw him up against the wall. With the air knocked out of him and in obvious pain, he crumpled over and crouched up into a small ball, already, at three years old, knowing better than to cry out or make a sound. They always did something horrific and if the kids or I cried out or showed any reaction or retaliation, they would hurt another one of the kids or me even more. Craig simply took his seat and never moved until he was told to. He was totally and completely immobilized.

Watching my children get hurt was always the worst; nothing they ever did to me was ever as bad. Then one of the men took a cotton ball doused with alcohol and dabbed the blood off our legs. It stung badly.

Then the men in suits took me away, and told my family, “run along and play at the beach. Your mother will be along in awhile. You will never even miss her, never even be aware she is gone.” Without reaction, Craig stood up and robotically walked out the door with the kids following in like manner.

After my family was gone, they took me to an empty room, ordered me to strip naked and they began slapping me around until I sank into a shivering, naked ball in the corner of the room. The rest of the day, all night, and part of the next day, I was left in isolation. Food and water were deliberately withheld until I was reunited with my family, which could be up to three days. A man in a suit would come to get me out of isolation and take me to get ready for Reagan or Nixon, or Pete Wilson or whomever. I was instructed to shower and dress in the clothes they provided. Outfits, complete with accessories just my size, were left for me.

After the sexual encounter was completed, I was taken back to the room and ordered to put on my own clothes. Hypnotic commands were given to, “simply walk out and sit down with your family on the beach. You will not notice any lapse of time, but will resume interacting with your family normally and naturally.” On this occasion, I was told to sit down next to Craig on my beach chair and it was as if I had never been gone! No one mentioned another word about it. The experiences were supposedly wiped away from all of our minds as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Each time I was taken, there was similar trauma before they could «safely» use me and be able to insure that my programming and amnesia would remain locked up tightly. All of this for a Governor’s or President’s sexual perversions, or for the fulfillment of the New World Order agenda.

Bob Hope’s Escapades

We owned a large family camper that was fully self-contained and we kept it stocked and packed, completely ready at anytime should we decide that we wanted to get away for a long weekend or week vacation. We traveled regularly on Thanksgiving holidays and during summers, often driving up Highway 1, winding up the scenic and beautiful California coastline. We went to Ojai Valley, Big Sur, Carmel, Monterey, San Francisco, Oxnard, Paso Robles, Santa Barbara, Leo Carrillo State Beach, Emma Woods State Beach, Pismo Beach, San Luis Obispo, and Napa Valley. At other times we went up into the High Sierras, to visit Mammoth, Sequoia, Tahoe, Reno, Yosemite National Park, Big Bear, and Crestline. We also took the children to Six Flags Magic Mountain and, of course, Disneyland.

Bob Hope showed up in many of these locations. It seemed like he was everywhere. I had a number I called to let him know my vacation plans or he would make the suggestion of where to go. When we arrived at our destination, I wouldn’t consciously know to expect to see him but the part of me that was programmed and readied for the rendezvous was instructed to walk towards him when he appeared. Sometimes he would snap his fingers in front of my face or jingle his keys in front of my eyes to get me to respond. He often liked to meet for sex or information exchange in mountain cabins. He would say he needed some time away from the hustle and bustle of city life and I was his plaything. He said I was better than «Jeanie» (the genie) because all she did was come out of a bottle. He said with me he could rub my magic spot and it was magic-he’d come! He usually spoke in clever little lines and phrases. I met him aboard yachts, also, even when I thought Craig and I were simply going sailing with friends. What actually occurred often was a rendezvous with Bob or some leader they needed to get information to. Sometimes Reagan was brought out on a little ocean excursion and ended up navigating right to us. I was then transported aboard with him for sex and messages. Sometimes I stayed all night with him on his transport and then was put back on the sailboat I came on the next day.

Reagan in Mazatlan

I was with President Reagan in Mazatlan, Mexico. In fact, my husband and I acquired a timeshare, the “Presidential Suite,” at the El Cid Hotel, in Mazatlan, where we went in later years.

One evening in the early 80’s, while we were ‘vacationing’ in Mazatlan, Craig and I dressed to go out and I became panicked because I put my contact lens on inside out and couldn’t get it back out. From my attempts my eye was becoming red and ugly. Craig’s father was with us at the time and the two of them thought I was acting very strangely to be so upset about such a little thing. But, my inner system of personalities knew that this would not do when I was nearing an assignment with the President.

The next thing I remembered, I was escorted by the Secret Service to the back door of a dark Mexican Restaurant. I joined Reagan in a booth in the back of the restaurant and waited for him to finish eating. It wasn’t long until we walked out on the beach. We walked hand in hand along the beach with the Secret Service agents following a short distance behind us. As we were walking on the beach that night, Reagan seemed upset and anxious, very nervous. He said he was concerned about the ‘state of affairs. With my pre-programmed sexual orientation, my mind immediately went to the thought of sexual affairs, but as he continued speaking I realized he was speaking of the affairs of the nation. He went on to explain that being President was difficult, that there was a lot more to it than I could imagine. He said he was concerned about the way things were going and was upset with Kissinger about some things he had handled. He said he was very upset with Henry for taking so many matters into his own hands. He said he knew a few hours with me would help him snap out of the mood he was in.

I had been given a few key words by the Council to help Reagan “snap out of it” when he got into one of his slumps. They were very simple phrases like, “everything will be okay,” said while I was rubbing or caressing his forehead over and over. He seemed to respond to that like a kitten going into a purr. I would generally rub him all over, front and back, before climbing on top of him to satisfy him sexually.

We went into a little cabin-type motel on the beach. It was just the two us with Secret Service agents all around outside. The little room was done in Mexican design; a red bedspread in Mexican colors, yellows and blues, and a little pair of maracas sat on a wooden dresser. I had sex with him and then we left; he did not go to sleep as usual. He hugged me briefly outside the motel and kissed me on the cheek before he left with the Secret Service agents.

A Secret Service agent took me back to where I was staying with my husband. It was a very quick encounter; rushed, like Reagan had somewhere else to go.

Craig and I returned to our home in California without conscious knowledge of my “missing time” or of what he did during my absence.

NASA

When Danny was an infant we went for programming together. He was a year old when his innerspace mind files were created in order for him to have a wide range of access points, without the necessity of as much trauma as was necessary back in the days when mine were created. Time had shown our controllers that trauma itself was one cause for the breakdown in slaves. So Danny was exposed to their newer technology, from birth, and Danny and I were both heavily programmed and cross-programmed together.

I was there with Danny when he was 3 or 4 years old. It seemed like a school field trip, but the series of events that unfolded were much different. Danny had on long baggy blue print shorts and a light blue T-shirt. We were sitting with other mothers and children, in the front row of a circular auditorium. Men in NASA suits, who were dressed like astronauts were all around and one of them came over, lifted Danny up and put him into a chair. “Like the real astronauts sit in!” the man explained. This chair had equipment all around it.

Danny smiled so sweetly across the auditorium at me like he was so proud and so happy to be chosen to sit in the big astronaut chair. There was such anticipated excitement and innocence in his joyful smile. Soon the man instructed him to lean back so his head was properly aligned to fit into a silver band and when Danny was in the proper alignment, I watched the NASA official clamp the back of the silver band to fit snugly around his little forehead. Danny looked up at the NASA official, eyes wide with innocence and youthful exuberance, and smiled as the man said to Danny, “Hold on for the ride of your life!”

Another man brought in some sort of visual/optical glasses (virtual reality?) to rest in front of Danny’s eyes and told him to look into the viewer. Then to my horror, the man standing next to Danny gave a cue to another man and I watched in agony as Danny’s little body jolted. They must have been giving him electroshock and God knows what else. After a time, his little body went limp and he was unconscious.

I was dying inside, but knew from many past experiences with his older brother and sister that if I made any attempt to interfere things would only get worse for all of us, especially Danny, so against all maternal protective instinct, I maintained my composure.

Pretty soon the NASA official waved a smelling salt or something in a cotton ball bound with gauze, in front of Danny’s face. He came to abruptly and they released him from the equipment and then from the chair. He was sweating profusely around his forehead and under his nose. As the man helped him out of the chair, Danny looked over at me and several facial expressions quickly washed over him. At first he looked utterly humiliated and embarrassed, which was soon replaced with a look of utter shame that spread over his entire face and down his little body.

He could barely walk over to me and when I stood to help him, the NASA man said, “He’s a big boy, he can do this on his own.”

“Mommy, I feel sick,” my little son said as he hobbled over to me and put his head in my lap. The men did the same thing to several other children, including another little girl from Danny’s preschool, Born Learners. Soon we were escorted out, put on a shuttle back to the airport and were flown home. None of this experience was available to my conscious mind until years later when I began the grueling process of deprogramming. And, to this day, Danny has no memory of this event available to his conscious mind.

Different parts of me took care of Danny and our controllers assigned other parts to take him to places for conditioning.

The Highway to Heaven billboard that we had to pass along Kanan Road on the way to Zuma Beach or Point Mugu dissociated me. Instead of the actual sign, I would experience an internal experience of, “You are going to another plane of reality, one that only exists in your imagination and this Highway is your start off point in going there,” and, I would go into a programmed mode that my controllers called the Highway to Heaven zone. There were landmarks (landmines) all over California that they used in order to keep me in line, “in the right state of mind.”

Danny’s mind files were filled with data early on and expanded after he was three years old. I drove him to Point Mugu or we were intercepted at the intersection of Kanan and Agoura Road, and go in the car with these men. They usually drove a dark colored sedan with tinted windows. Whether I drove or not, these men took my son from me in the car at Point Mugu in the morning, and returned him back to me at the car by late afternoon. He would just limply lie on my lap all the way home, and then I put him to bed in his crib where he slept until the next morning without waking.

Whenever he and I would go to the beach to fly a kite or play in the sand, they always took him away from me and brought him back later. Once some men on a Coast Guard boat took him from me at Zuma Beach when he and I were playing. He was around five. They came up close to shore, yet remained just beyond the crest of the waves. A lifeguard type guy in a red swimsuit that was about 25 years old took Danny by the hand from the beach and swam out to the boat with him. Then they took off with my son, while I stayed on the beach waiting, just sitting all alone, zombie-like until they returned my son. I helped Danny walk back to our brown station wagon and we went home.

Henry Kissinger filled Danny with high-level information, intended to span many years and to be delivered whenever necessary at specific future dates to large crowds of people. Danny had historical files put in, as did I.

At Born Learners Preschool at three to four years of age, Danny started special computer classes that kept him at school long hours, sometimes into the evening. When I asked him if he wanted to stop he always said he loved it, as did his best friend Justin. I believe programmers do more of the training via computer screen now, often using virtual reality. After computer class, I took the two of them to Monarch’s Gymnastics, the same gymnastics school his older brother and sister went to for lessons. I usually waited in the car or ran errands while they were there and I was always so exhausted I could hardly stay awake. I had usually been to therapy abreacting the horrors of my own childhood and hurried home from Westwood to pick up Danny and Justin from preschool, and later on Danny from Kindergarten. I didn’t like Mike, the man who ran the gymnastics center. He had a very bad temper and was often emotionally out of control. Kevin, Kelly and Danny all went to Monarch’s Gymnastics in conjunction with the Montessori preschools.

I thought I would not be able to bear the pain and grief when I began remembering scenarios of the ways in which I had been programmed to be a part of my children’s preschool mind control experiences. This is information I would prefer to withhold because it goes against everything I believe in, but in order for people to understand how this system works, it is necessary for me to share the following. Keep in mind that this scenario could have happened to any three of my children and indeed it did. But once again, I will use an experience I remembered about Danny because, for whatever reason, I have more memory retrieved about him.

This event occurred in Danny’s preschool. On occasion, I helped out in the class. I remembered standing with Danny’s preschool teachers who were instructing the children in a game where they all had to take their clothes off, step onto a colored circle and then take turns doing sexual acts to the child next to them. The teachers were laughing and clapping and everything seemed surreal, just like it always did when programmed events of horror occurred. As the game progressed, with music playing in the background, the children looked progressively more stunned. They were told to walk in a circle and stop on a color. If they didn’t do what they were told, the teacher yanked them out of the circle by the arm and yelled at them. I couldn’t tell what she said but it scared the child into compliance. The games always took place at the same time in the mornings and were centered around colors, music, body movement and hand signals. Hand signals were taught to the children this way and put to music for reinforcement.

There was a VCR off to the side of the classroom where an individual child was placed to watch a special pre-selected tape. The child was taken out of the circle, sat in front of the VCR and told to focus on the movie. This way each child got the individual training they were supposed to have according to what their curriculum planners felt were their strengths and career aptitudes. All of the special private preschools my children went to took this approach. And, ritual trauma and sexual perversion was often the way we were programmed to begin with the children.

Danny completed computer classes in preschool before he was four years old. During my deprogramming process, I was horrified when I remembered that I continually read him the story of Danny and the Dinosaur. As I re-read the story years later, I found a phrase in the book, which states, “there’s no place to run, no place to hide. ” And here again was another example of how 1, as his programmed parent, was used to keep my own son’s programming locked tightly in place, reinforcing the programs that were used to keep the parts of his mind that were compartmentalized for our controller’s use, separate from his conscious everyday awareness. And consciously, neither of us had any idea that any of this was occurring.

Henry Kissinger has been Danny’s main man. He was the one calling the shots and organized the creation of Danny’s mind files for NASA/military use. Danny was, and may still be, scheduled for a major position within NASA one day, following in the footsteps of his grandfather Ford and Uncle Lyle Curran. They have him scheduled to become a scientist or something of that nature. I overheard Henry talking to someone about it.

Danny has very specific programming themes that center around all the planets — Jupiter, Mars, Venus, Pluto, Saturn, etc., and I was programmed to tell him often before he went to sleep, “I love you to the moon and much, much, much, much, more than that. A thousand times more than that. A trillion times more than that,” and on and on until we got to the highest number beyond infinity, and Danny knew that number. For some reason I can’t remember it. I never could. Then, he would go to sleep.

Danny and Kelly both had those neon, glow-in-the-dark stars and planets on their ceilings and so did 1. Danny has tons of high tech information in his brain. I saw him demonstrated at Point Mugu when they put him in front of a group to demonstrate his capabilities. Henry took Danny to different locations to ‘display the technology, showing that a five year old could appear to be genius level, “a computer whiz.” He had mega memory, displaying the intelligence level of what they termed a “Junior College Student.” Danny was seen as having the intelligence of the future and they said he would blossom in high school, whatever that meant. They said that, by then, Danny would be fully functional and used by them extensively in international work. Henry talked a lot about Danny and I remember Danny holding onto Henry’s leg one time when he was demonstrating Danny in front of a whole group of people. Despite the programming, Danny remained very shy until he was 5 years old.

Danny was also traumatized at Disneyland year after year. The Matterhorn ride was one they used before they took him away from me at Disneyland for other programming.

There was further programming done at Edwards Air Force Base. Craig took us all there as a family in our camper and we stayed overnight and were programmed the next morning. Two men in white uniforms came to get Danny and me from the camper and compliantly and mindlessly we went with them. Kelly, in her little strawberry blouse, was crying that she didn’t want Danny to go and Craig held her and spanked her leg to stop her crying. The men took us through glass doors and we were escorted once again to the big chair, where the nightmare started all over. We sat side by side in the big heavy, metal chair while we looked into the large goggles that were placed in front of our faces. Before they began, we were injected with a drug. Earphones played music at times, but mostly sound effects, while they told us we were ‘one’ and the solar system that we saw through our eyes would now exist in the innermost regions of our mind. There was a beautiful visual of the stars and planets and the whole universe. They told us that we each had a system, but that we also had the other half of the other person’s system much like those friendship bracelets that are separated and when they come together they are whole. Afterwards, Danny’s eyes seemed to be moving all over the place at once and not together. Even in my drugged state I was terrified for my child. Looking at what his eyes were doing was scary. Afterwards, they escorted us out and I helped my little boy into the camper and laid him up on the top bed so he could sleep. He lay backwards on the bed and didn’t move, totally out of it for the rest of the day. I walked around outside in this big white gravel parking lot with the other kids in a total zombie-like state. I felt totally drugged out of my mind and I fell asleep sitting up outside. When I woke up, I ran frantically into the camper to check on Danny. I held him and loved him. He looked to me like he was going to die. I said, “I love you Danny, is there anything I can do for you?” He was sucking his thumb by then and without any words, shook his head no. So I just held him.

Kelly was taken to military bases in Ventura, Oxnard, Point Mugu, and Edwards Air Force Base, but Danny went mostly to Point Mugu. The whole family went to Edwards Air Force Base. Sometimes from Point Mugu, they would helicopter Danny away and I never knew where they took him. Parts of Danny were programmed very early on to play the perfect game of chess, in order to take up where I left off in deciphering and delivering cryptic messages.

Catalina Island Excursions

One or two weeks a year were set aside for a planned vacation. Extended weekend excursions were commonplace, often planned at the last minute. But, our August week on Catalina Island, 26 miles off the California coast, was a standing vacation for years. Craig and I went there almost every year from 1971 until I left California in 1991; nearly 20 years. My children still go there with their father and, now that they are older, they have gone independently.

I was used on Catalina Island, for sexual rendezvous with Reagan and/or sometimes other public officials or entertainers. I was programmed to have sex with Reagan at the Wrigley Mansion, the Zane Grey and other hotels on the island. It seems Reagan was usually on the island anonymously; for security purposes, no one was to know he was there.

While I was busy carrying out my duties, I had no idea what my children and husband were up to. It seems likely that there was some reason they had us all there together.

We’re Paying Taxes For What?!

And, I am sure that you the reader were unaware that your hard earned tax dollars were being spent on security, airflight, and high tech programming in order that Presidents and leaders could be extramaritally satisfied sexually, and that messages fueling the success and implementation of the New World Order could be sent and returned via a national security mind-controlled asset. Not to mention the salary of politicians and NSA people like Henry Kissinger who spent countless hours strategizing agendas to carry out their personal plans. I can only imagine the cost to privately helicopter, task a team of Secret Service agents, coiffure, and ready a mindcontrolled operative and then pay a limo to deliver her to her assignment. A few years ago my daughter was transported via ambulance after one of her many suicide attempts, as she carried out her program command to kill herself if she began to remember. That bill alone was unfathomable.

“…but you shall cry out for pain of heart, and shall wail for anguish of spirit.”

Isaiah 65:14

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