This afternoon, I came outside to dry my hair after showering, and found the air temperature 78° and the wind just slightly gusty. The sun at 3 o’clock, the sky clear, the desert still green from the rains a few weeks ago, and the desert I greet each morning and say goodnight to each night seemed to bless me with such good energy, I could only stand still with my eyes closed and let it sink in.
Then a healer inside me, a resident or maybe one who just comes in now and then, took me through a series of slow motions like tai chi, then collapsed me down, my head to my knees, then twisted me very slowly in one direction and the next, rolling across with my head bowed and rotating, all so slowly that every muscle fiber after another hummed with joy. Then we rose again like a tree slowly twisting and swaying in the wind, then slowly returned to this pose that I don’t know about, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was an asana: my feet apart, toes wide, knees bent, arms bent beside me, palms forward, shoulders relaxed, breathing full, loving the stretch in these muscles that don’t often get used, finding slightly new variations with a slow twist, relaxing.
I believe we all have inner healers that can help us release stress in our bodies without lessons or classes, give us the same benefits of an expensive massage, get our lymph system moving, get our blood fully moving, our nervous systems made happy, and healing begun.
I was supposed to see a new doctor on Tuesday, but the night before they sent me an extremely long agreement I was supposed to sign with numerous sections requiring my initials throughout.
In the first section, there were some paragraphs I didn’t like. In the second section there were more, including one that gave them permission to audio and videotape me but forbade me from audio or videotaping them.
Next they promise to give us copies of our files except for anything they might write that had to do with psychology or psychiatry. I once told a psychologist I thought I was a mind control subject, and while he never responded and we never talked further about it, he wrote delusional in my file, and that has dogged me ever after.
Given my status as a mind control subject, this felt threatening. So the next morning I expressed uncertainty about signing it to the check-in person, and I was not allowed to have my appointment that morning.
The truth is, I trust modern medicine as practiced in the United States for its emergency care and diagnostics, but I do not trust it for its prevention advice or treatment. For those needs, I see a naturopath.
So I’m crafting a letter to thank the system very much for its opportunity to avail myself of its services, but I will decline their offer.
I will pay for my own healthcare and state publicly in every way possible that I refuse CPR, intubation, or any hospital admission. My angels will take care of me, or I will pass on to the next life. 
I’m not looking forward to dying, but when I go, I’d prefer it be by mountain lion.
Death should be a last experience of life, not one more of technology, whether fast as in a car crash, or slow as in needles and tubes, monitors beeping and motors keeping organs alive for years.
No, I can think of no better way to go than knowing I am at that very moment sustaining the life of another living being, especially one as beautiful as a mountain lion.
Too many in my family have died of Alzheimer’s Disease. My grandmother I watched go for a full fifteen years, the last ten of which she seemed to have no recognition of sound or movement or her very own life, much less recognition of her family and our caring for her. None in my family want this to be our fate, yet we wonder: How do we help another dodge the law to achieve our lbreak from a mindless “life”?
I have notified my family that if the time comes I am like my grandmother, or otherwise unable to respond to others and care for myself, I want to go on a “vision quest.” I may not have that understanding then, but they may tell the authorities with conviction that that is indeed what I demanded.
They are to take me deep into whatever mountain range is convenient and help me to the highest possible place, far off the trail, within the mountain lion’s seasonal habitat. There we may have a ceremony. They may hug me, wish me a good journey, and go away. Leave me no food, no shoes. I do want a good sleeping bag, since at this moment I cannot imagine tolerating the cold (allow me this idiosyncrasy as another last request), but leave me no tent.
If you want, you may return in two weeks or so to gather my remains, or simply verify that I am gone. But you are not to come back sooner or try to change my course.
I may die of cold or starvation or even a fall, should I be ambulatory and try to move around. But the most glorious way to die, if I am lucky, will be by major predator – such as the mountain lion.
Few of us have had the pleasure of seeing a mountain lion in the wild, even though the animal used to have the largest range of any native mammal in the western hemisphere. Also known as cougars, it is the second largest cat in North America, second only slightly to the jaguar. Despite its size and weight, it moves with rolling grace, with hardly a sound. Stalking its prey, it often approaches very close before charging swiftly to make a kill. The attack is made toward the head, to break the animal’s neck.
Mountain lions do not usually attack human beings, especially if deer, their favorite food, is available. But if a human being were an easy target, such as myself, then there is no reason to believe the mountain lion would not take advantage, as most predators are also opportunists by nature.
If I had any awareness of myself and my surroundings, I believe the pain of the attack would be easily outweighed by the thrill. Perhaps I would be surprised as, in a flash, a lion would be at my neck. Or maybe, despite failing faculties, my senses would come alive in the solitude and silence of the wilderness, and I would smell and hear as sensitively as wild things.
Sitting or lying quietly, I might hear the cat from a distance pause, then slowly approach, pads settling softly on the forest duff, its breathing intermixed with the breeze.
Then the charge. In the silent blink of an eye, the huge body would be at mine. One-hundred fifty pounds of warm fur, perfect muscle, not breath and bounding hunger. If I am lucky, I will see its eyes, intent, without malice, about the deed it must do for every meal. It has been a killer since its fluffy spotted babyhood.
The house cat I tried as a child to cuddle, too aloof, resisting, would be upon me now with a vengeance. Soft fur, and warmth, its weight would surprise me. And its teeth would sink with perfection, consummating our exchange.
Before the warm rush of blood which would make me cold if I could feel another minute, I would perhaps inhale the big cat’s breath. In adrenalized alarm, I would gasp as the big cat, in exertion, exhaled its hot breath – sweet, rich, but not with the oxygen I would otherwise need.
Before it broke my neck, perhaps a low sound would emerge from deep in the cat to my ear, anticipating its satiation. Fur on my neck, like a lover, almost purring. Claws embracing. Its stomach even then churning chemicals to make me part of it.
Its heart would beat calmly then, after mine had ceased, slow and steady, sixty beats per minute, as the owner licked its paws and cleaned its face and departed to nap, as it has for thousands of years.
Art copyright Asante Riverwind 1987 Text copyright Jean Eisenhower 1987
Asante and I produced our art and writing in 1987, though we wouldn’t know each other or begin our collaborations until 2002.
It’s been 40 years since I quit using soap on anything but my hands.
The idea began with a doctor who, in my 20s (50 years ago), told me to never use soap on intimate parts. “Your skin has oil ducts for a reason. Don’t use chemicals to remove what Nature designed. Just water.” So I quit using soap. End of problems.
One morning ten years later, in my 30s, as I used copious amounts of lotion all over my body, as I did every day, I wondered whether I could quit using soap all over me.
It would be totally contrary to every bath commercial I’d ever seen in my life, of watery soap bubbles running down the shoulders of a happy, beautiful naked woman.
I would see if I could go soapless on the whole of me. I would just use water and scrub with a loofah to remove dead skin cells, excess oil, other natural exudations, and dirt. And hope to feel a different sort of clean in my newly naturally cleaned skin. But I didn’t just feel as good; I felt much better.
Loofah is naturally antibacterial and smells like loofah even after a year, whereas a damp used washcloth can smell pretty terrible after a single day.
After the first day of using no soap, I knew I’d never subject myself to that habit again. (What has the culture been doing to us?!)
Next I tried quitting soap on the soles of my feet, using only water and a foot brush. My athletes foot went away forever.
For my armpits, I used a separate loofah and water. (Afterward, a sprinkle of baking soda, maybe essential oil, or nothing.) Totally fine.
Soap dries out our skin, creating microscopic cracks for bacteria to thrive in, excrete in, and make us stink. Healthy skin, allowed to do its natural thing, can heal those microscopic cracks, giving bacteria no easy home.
After that, I needed to decide whether to stop my daily face regimen. Since I was a teenager, with excessively oily skin, prone to acne, I’d used a dermabrasion treatment every day of my life. My skin stayed smooth and very young looking, because it had to constantly renew itself. I tried replacing the product with a scrubbing glove, but that seemed to require enough pressure to made me worry I’d stretch my skin too much. So I quit using the glove and returned to my daily dermabrasion – until I was a nomad and quit taking daily showers. Then I used it much less, but still used it.
I tried to quit using shampoo on my hair, as many women have successfully, and as was the norm before advertising, but I soon returned to it, enjoying the sensation of stripped locks. I satisfied myself that I was using it less.
My face and scalp were the only parts that did not go totally product-free; and to this day, my face and scalp have been the hardest to rid of Lyme Disease.
40 years, no soap.
I wish everyone could know how easy and inexpensive it is to heal their illnesses and irritations on their own.
While saving money on lotion, soap, laundry, medicines and doctor visits.
And be free of the fantasy that our medical, media, and education systems are actually working for our health.
I’m not convinced this pandemic is actually caused by a virus. This NYC doctor relates information that questions the assertion by governments all over the world:
And my personal experience as a mind control subject and now a targeted individual suggests that governments lie to manipulate and control, and look at us: isolated in our homes – most of us.
Not me.
I’m sitting in Nature as often as I can, a nomad now, traveling from low desert in the winter to high mountains in the summer – all within Arizona! (I think my total mileage this year will be less than 5,000 miles.) I’m visiting a FEW friends who also doubt The Story, missing many other friends, missing visiting even family.
I have Morgellon’s Disease now – which worries me a bit more than this prescribed panic/pandemic. Even though I almost never visit doctors, this year I’ve been prompted to visit quite a few in search of a blood test – and NONE want to help me!
Of course, I don’t want to take any pharmaceuticals for this – but NONE has been offered to me. And all my attempts to get a blood test for the spirochetes that are at the center of the disease – spirochetes related to syphilis and called “extremely stubborn.” They continue to spread all over my body.
I was treating this externally first, since it presents as a skin condition, but after a month or so, I was feeling worse and developing new symptoms: palsy in my hands, brain fog, and worsening heart issues, so I backed off. Soon I read that the disease can be forced to go internally and affect the heart, nervous system, and brain, so I quit all external applications and turned to internal anti-microbials: garlic, ginger, vinegar, Vitamin C, etc., and I quit all sugar. No maple syrup in coffee. No wine at night. No chocolate (except for tiny “cheats”). All my food is fresh and local or organic, prepared by me.
I have no idea whether I’ll heal myself. After all, this disease is “stubborn,” and doctors are busy with other things now, and I don’t trust them anyway. And if I did cure this, or find a way to successfully keep it in check, I’m still a mind control subject, which I don’t believe I’ll ever heal, and this is a really shitty thing to live with.
So I’m just biding my time here on planet Earth, waiting for my spiritual Helpers to give me guidance, which lately has been: Just observe. And so I am.
I’ve told everyone I know: Do not take me to a doctor or hospital under any circumstances. If I die of this, so be it. I’ve had a good life, sort of.
I’m going on 68 this summer. I’ve accomplished things that have helped others. I’m content.
I’ve been neglectful of this site, but I’ve been attending very carefully to my healing.
This past year and a half, I’ve been healing from a highway crash that left me with a whiplash, concussion, totaled car, totaled trailer home, and all my possessions thrown in chaos into storage.
I believe I have excellent evidence that my crash was remote controlled, as I’ve video-blogged about here (a nighttime ramble).
Eleven months after the crash, I felt the last (so far) of a series of interesting events when old disrupted connections were remade and I felt some important parts of my brain “click on” again. Since then, I’ve felt pretty much myself, though I do still notice changes: it’s more difficult and less enjoyable now to read, for instance. And I don’t feel quite as mentally “fast” as I used to be. Oh well. Speed isn’t everything.
The biggest goal of my past 12 months was to sleep as much as I could, to which end, I made it a habit to turn off all screens and say good-bye to friends by 6 pm, so that I could begin to calm my mind for sleep. I might take a shower or groom my feet with warm water – any sort of relaxing, nurturing activity. I keep the lights off except for a “Huglight” I wear around my neck. This cues my brain that’s is getting near time to sleep. On good days, I easy fall asleep by 8 pm. I also use medical cannabis.
Because sleep is such an important healer, I recommend these tips to others: No screen time after 6 pm. Lights low, very low, after 6 pm. Do all the nice things for yourself in the evening. Play gentle music. (I found an app “Relax Melodies” with a cat purr, night sounds, native flute, a river, lots more.)
When I can’t sleep, I ask myself if my spirit helpers are trying to communicate with me, and I listen.
My health has stabilized now, and I’m getting involved with activist work for mind control subjects and targeted individuals. Recently, I traveled to Washington DC with a few colleagues, to talk to Congresspeople and their aids, asking Congress to investigate the Targeted Individual program.
Midge Matthis, Richard Lighthouse, Susan Olsen, and me in the Capitol.
I am still harassed with electronic weapons multiple times a month.
Most shocking: I discovered implants inside my ears – not the little indiscrete chips that I’d imagined, but fairly big, complex, old-looking technology – in both ear canals. There are a few short videos before this one too.
I sound scared in this video. That was my immediate response, but I’m better now.
I has been shocking to find this stuff in my ears –
and even more shocking to have doctors tell me “nothing’s there” –
and then to have them suggest mental health services!
I’ve been having a hard time, resisting the disabling programming, but I’m doing fairly well nevertheless.
New methods of resistance:
Remember to lie on the Earth, especially now that it’s warm outside.
Take showers (or baths), as water interferes with electronic attacks.
Use music to interfere with electronic attacks.
Look away and get away from the screen when lethargy sets in.
Dance, exercise, sing, chant, howl to ground and interfere with electronics.
Go outside for more walks, communicating with Nature, and good neighbors.
Talking with my new therapist today, I learned the terms depersonalization and derealization – and wondered why and when I’d quit reading self-help books and never followed through with more of it – maybe for the same reason I refused to read books on spirituality for so much of my life:I didn’t want others’ ideas to influence my perception of reality.
But I guess I became open to others’ opinions again recently, and so I’m seeing someone about my dissociation, and today began learning more of what the professionals think about it.Funny, because last time I read the professional literature, I found myself critiquing many authors’ methodologies and presumptions, mainly the presumption that there are no forces outside our five senses or that can’t be discovered by inductive reasoning beginning with the limiting “laws” of physics, or rather a reduced, highly conservative version of the laws, excluding quantum physics for no rational, but purely political reasons – discrediting a larger sector of the population.I had the same experience today – of critiquing professionals’ work – when I briefly read my first two web pages on depersonalization.
Depersonalization is defined by one author as “one of the many symptoms of a panic attack. …a combination of physical sensations, emotions, and thoughts which lead you to feel so disengaged from your surroundings that you wonder whether or not you’re actually in your body. People experiencing this symptom may fear that they’re actually someplace else, watching their body sleepwalk through life while they float around in some kind of spirit world.”
I relate to all of that, though I have fewer episodes of it today and have never experienced it for longer than a minute at a time.I disagree with the author’s assumption, though, that this is not real; I believe our consciousness can really disengage from our bodies, so this is no delusion.
The author later writes, “However weird it feels, it has nothing to do with “losing control.”
I disagree again.When, as a young radio journalist, I interviewed a state politician shortly after entering the field, my consciousness went floating up above me in my chair and said things like, “Wow, you’re interviewing [whomever].I wonder if he can tell how totally flipping out of your gourd you are?What did I ask?What is he saying?How can I ask a follow-up question when I can’t hear what he’s saying, though I see his mouth moving?When he finishes, I won’t have the faintest idea what to say next.Can he see my eyes wandering around the room?Oh, God I can hardly breathe…,” and then I forced myself back into my body to try to finish the interview.I think he saw something was wrong and carried the ball from there.Believe me, when your consciousness chooses to leave your body, you do lose control.Fortunately, I seem to have learned how to keep myself from entering that state in social situations.
The author concluded with decent advice:
“1. Acknowledge and accept the symptom. Remind yourself that it is a source of discomfort, but not danger.
2. Return your attention to the immediate environment, rather than your thoughts of other times and places. Don’t argue with your thoughts, just refocus your attention.
3. Become more actively engaged with the people, activities, and objects immediately around you. Get back into the conversation and activities that the others are involved in. I think you’ll find that the odd feelings lessen as you get more involved in your present surroundings.”
I’d only add a step 3 alternative:If you don’t want to actively engage with other people right then, don’t.Leave.Say polite good-byes if you want, or just duck out, or something in between.Respect yourself and your immediate needs.When in a safe place, check in and ask what the panic was about; it’s possible there was a person there whom it would be better for you to avoid, or any other number of reasons, electromagnetic, or anything.Honor and follow your instincts.It may be an important part of your healing. In fact, those who follow the shamanic way depend on sending their consciousness away – to learn things beyond this dimension.
It might not be such a bad thing, maybe our other-worldly wisdom calling us to turn our attention somewhere else.
When I first moved to my current small town, I’d just come out of 6 1/2 years of living as a quasi-hermit, experiencing almost daily events that matched the accounts of others who call them “shamanic” and/or “alien.”
I’d moved to the desert to be a hermit, intending to spend the remainder of my life in mystic endeavors. I’d had NO INTENTION to have anything to do with aliens, and the word shaman wasn’t in my vocabulary.
Over the years, though, I came to realize that mysticism and shamanism share the same intentions, so when a friend used to word to explain some highly-unusual things happening to me, I privately accepted the term and all the baggage I personally felt attached to it – but privately.
“Ayahuasca Visions” by Pablo Amaringo
I also kept private, for most of my hermit years, the events that seemed “alien” in nature, even when others told me they saw UFOs, and even when I became aware of indigenous people around the world experiencing them – the Western cultural cartoons and ridiculing taboos had such a negative effect on me.
When my poorly-managed poverty lifestyle caught up with me and I was forced to sell my land, I received enough cash to move to the small town of Silver City, New Mexico, buy a house, and treat myself to a trip to the next UFO conference that might have something to do with spirituality, and I found it. Afterwards, I was inspired to end my silence and share what I knew.
For a few years, I did just that, and published my memoir, but I was subtly harassed at my presentations and decided to quit “for awhile.” It’s now been years that I’ve kept my communications on this subject strictly on the web, never in my social life or anything public in town. And even in my websites I’ve been coy and not told the whole truth of what I know.
It’s very hard to take a stand against a hostile public worldview – even though I’ve spent a lot of my life confronting wrong social attitudes, such as environmental irresponsibility, social injustice, etc. This topic has a greater resistance than those; while they can be discussed publicly, “aliens” cannot, even in most alternative media.
So I’ve been resisting doing the work. I’ve let myself be side-tracked by all sorts of things: my house and studio renovations, my garden improvements, singing folk music, and promoting my partner’s music, but I’ve been getting messages from my Helpers that they’re impatient with me (in a nice way, of course), and it’s time to get back to my work, to quit shirking, to quit freaking out over these events I think of as mysterious “attacks,” because perhaps they aren’t attacks at all, but simply marks left from extra-dimensional experiences for which I have no memory, but not necessarily negative, and certainly not useful to think of in terms of “attacks.”
The greatest understanding of this came when I read the Introduction to Black Elk Speaks, in which he described ignoring his calling and having “demons” attack him relentlessly. I suddenly realized that that felt like exactly what I’ve been going through.
And now another year or two has gone by in which I’ve been stalling.
I don’t know more than this, but I’m intending to be open to guidance on what to do next, to be more available, and more active, to tell more truth, to be open again publicly (yikes), and be of service to others who need someone who’s also been there.
So wish me well as I pick up this work again. Not sure which direction I’ll go, but I’m offering myself again to be of service.
This past year and a half, I’ve been healing from a highway crash that left me with a whiplash, concussion, totaled car, totaled trailer home, and all my possessions thrown in chaos into storage.
Talking with my new therapist today, I learned the terms depersonalization and derealization – and wondered why and when I’d quit reading self-help books and never followed through with more of it – maybe for the same reason I refused to read books on spirituality for so much of my life:
Garden Healing Church 