Answer Your Need to Question

Control Your Own Mind

My last essay entertained the concept of walking towards the truth. Now I want to explain how the truth starts walking toward you, too, when you honor your questions, live in them, and become mindfully receptive to answers.

I have always been an outlier and extremely curious about the real story, the hidden truths. Past struggles were a result of valiant attempts to suppress my inquisitive and unusual nature. Since childhood, I wanted to be “normal”. Having done a little improv and acting, I learned from directors that authentic emotion often arrives from suppressing the character’s emotion. My attempt to be “normal” may have increased my curiosity. What you resist persists.

Like in 2006, when I played my songs at a club called VoxPop in Brooklyn, had a disappointing turnout of audience members and packed up my gear in frustration, wondering why I had made the trek. Then the owner and I began chatting. (I love when the internet proves my memory to me!) He was the author of a book called “The Big Wedding” and thought 9/11 was an inside job. I sat there with him long after my show having an absolutely fascinating conversation on his research. Similar things happened when I volunteered for the TN Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty around the same time. I was a bleeding heart lib, but I kept bumping into legitimate data that systemic issues were the result of bloated corruption on the part of (supposedly) bleeding heart libs.

By 2016, I had put a lot of miles on trying to be normal (especially as a wife and stepmom) but my curiosity just kept attracting observations and ideas like a magnet. Out of a tsunami of infertility grief, I began writing a novel. It was about three kinds of motherhood; birth, step and adopted. It involved Hollywood in the 1950s, kidnapping, prostitution, and mind control. Not exactly what the counselor had recommended, but much cheaper and more engaging. Grief had overtaken my life, so I was willing to go to any length to heal. Putting all of my not-normal curiosity into a creative place was acceptable, and the characters felt real and were soothing me.

There is a compelling book by Lois Duncan called “Who Killed My Daughter?” which is the unbelievable story of her daughter’s tragic murder. She had been writing crime novels for years, and a present day search for her daughter’s killer revealed synchronistic details that existed first in her past novels. Truly remarkable. I can’t say for sure I had a similar experience, but it feels appropriate to mention.

I finished a draft of my novel on a fellowship, in a cottage in nature, where all I did was read and write, with breaks to eat some soup or stretch on my yoga mat. It was heavenly. It’s still kind of a mess of a draft, but I believe in the characters and the concept. What’s most significant is that the research for the novel prepared me for the past two years.

The mind control research started because the Black Dahlia crime happened near where we live, and my old next door neighbor gave me a hint about putting it in the novel. That led to entering some pretty dark canals around unspeakable harms and use of humans; torture and mind experimentation. Elite science, military experiments and entertainment have underground intersections. (metaphorically speaking, yes, but possibly literally) I could only read on these things from a place of preparing to fictionalize them into the context of my work, and it was SCARY. In the little cottage on my fellowship, the extremely cold temperatures caused some inexpensive plastic flooring to bubble up and pop, while I was reading. It was very loud, looked like something was emerging from underneath the floor, and absolutely terrifying. I became known to the custodians in this little writer’s colony as the one who was writing the scary book! They were very compassionate. I think a grandfatherly groundskeeper might have even hugged me.

I read about Truman’s public remorse about establishing the CIA. I read the testimonies of Candy Johnson, Cathy O’Brien, and other victims of mind control, trafficking and elite experimental agendas. I know, I know, immediately dismissing victims as “nuts” or “crazy” is the game. (Google will do this for you.) But isn’t that pretty handy? Why are only certain mental illnesses cherished, and not others? If they are deluded, why isn’t it ok to find out why? Only the medicated mentally ill with certain backgrounds and backstories are “correct”? These testimonies require understanding generational ritual incest abuse, which is almost impossible to take. If you want to see where that has gotten us, read the Substack of Liz Crokin. Then decide for yourself what you think of it. The Balenciaga scandal and their public apology in mainstream outlets makes it hard to keep smearing Liz instead of looking at the facts. Let’s hope that calling abuse art is officially over. The leftist bots on Twitter denouncing Liz’s work have run out of hot air fuel, and road.

Decades of meditation and prayer were required for me to metabolize information in my research. After titles on Ram Dass and Tim Leary and LSD experiments, I got to Behold a Pale Horse by Milton William Cooper and Official Stories by Liam Scheff. Interestingly, having read a lot of Edgar Cayce and Rudolf Steiner prior to my research, I found I was circling back to them to soothe and understand what I was learning.

The real Lois Duncan-esque jolt was when Dr. Northrup wrote me back in the summer of 2020 and we struck up a correspondence that led to our friendship. I had written her into the last chapter of my novel back in 2017; one of the families in my novel ended up in Maine. The really wierd part is that I had forgotten about it. In 2021, as we drove along the Missouri Interstate and I recalled details of the novel, we were both astounded by the power of synchronicity. Chris was raised by open minded holistic seekers. She had read a lot of the aforementioned titles by the time she was a teen, and respectfully discussed them with relatives. Anyone who thinks she is shaken by criticism doesn’t understand that her resolve was built into her upbringing from childhood by her own people. I wish my former Equinox colleague Derek Beres would stop trying to shake her with his podcast. At least we are provided a lot of laughs about how hard he volunteers for a billion dollar Pharma business. For those who criticize Chris’ views on health, I’ll report back personal experience of her stay in my home. She sleeps like a rock, eats nourishing meals, doesn’t snack, does not complain about body mechanics, and has more energy than anyone I know. She was dressed and doing push ups in my foyer as I sleepily descended the stairs the morning after her event. Might that bring back a tish of forgiveness and common sense? Instead of mean emails and podcasts essentially created to shame her for not peddling pills?

If you Google any of these aforementioned book titles, you’ll likely get a strategic association with “QAnon”. That is fortified by a search engine funded by a Pharma conglomerate that profits off illness and demands categorical dismissal of any faction that threatens it. That’s why I avoid category and dismissal prior to investigation. I just learn stuff for myself. (Lots of people do. It used to be a thing, and I want to bring it back.) I’m not interested in a mass dismissal of QAnon, or a groupthink inspired devotion to it. I simply think for myself. I listen to what Chris Paul has to say about Q, which points to chat room communications that inspired people to learn and share. I listen to and recommend Chris’ podcast because he does research. He “escaped” Hollywood culture, and really nails the harm of present day group mind control. I also happened to interview him and after 15 minutes of tech issues because I was new to Zoom, he sat there patiently and waited. When I figured it out, he was chill and kind. That means something to me. Perhaps the primary reason I have ignored mainstream national news for years is because I can’t help picture the hosts of it yelling at assistants.

During the years of all that novel research, I had a terrible case of Trump hate and was completely devoured by the “accepted official story” mainstream narrative. I had absolutely no idea that it had been furnished for me and I was being hoodwinked. I was researching items for creative purposes that would assist an awakening in real life. It began in 2019, when my support for Marianne Williamson’s campaign for President abruptly ended with an aha moment. I questioned why she has talked about supporting children for decades, and not ever actively fought the systemic trafficking of them, often through the very systems built to protect them. (Then she endorsed former online escort Daniel Lee, who is in his last days as mayor of my town, for Congress. BYE, Marianne.)

My creative endeavors increased my mental agility and gave me a sharp skill set for immediately identifying mind control. Little did I know that in time this may have saved the health of myself and my family. Maybe even our lives. I wanted to write something for others, but God was putting me to work for control of my own mind first. It’s getting harder to write about this. Perhaps because I am aware of how many people I love who “trusted the science” and made an appointment that was sold on TV. As the real definition of “the science” is emerging in the mainstream, I hurt for anyone discovering that at best, the forced intervention was ineffective and unnecessary, and destroyed relationships.

I just want people to realize that whatever is on repeat around them is mind control. It is that simple. The most pervasive shaming in the last two years was around questioning. That was very strategic. Questioning everything is a human need and it is a right. Especially when it comes to your body and conscience.

Pick your own sources, remain informed, know who pays for the news you’re getting and know your own mind.

I heard NPR on the radio early in the morning last July when my father in law took us to the airport. It was on very loud for about a minute, as we loaded the car with suitcases. I was awestruck at how much insecurity they were breeding in just one minute; it was astounding to me. I sensed a covert clanging, banging meanness until my husband said “Dad, you gotta turn that stuff off”. Our house is quiet. We don’t hear that, and I am not surprised that NPR is now in the news for layoffs. Harvesting psychological dread and essentially making life awful for others doesn’t prosper a place. And why do they? Who do they serve? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not you.

These days I’d rather listen to the wind and pray. There’s no such thing as normal, and our greatest blessing is being human, granted the chance to punch a hole in heaven and pull down a dose of God’s love, each and every day.