revolutionary action | Garden Healing Church

I just watched a few videos on Gaia TV, interviews with Sebastian Martin.

It inspired me to write my memories of my connection to Pleiadians, in context with other important aspects of my life. It seems our lives were quite different, but they do seem to fit into an overall picture which is encouraging to me.

In November 1999, I remembered leaving my home in the Pleiades. I felt “young” (100 years old?), very well educated , going on a mission with fellow Pleiadeans, watching the Pleiades recede from a rear window, wondering what it will feel like to be gone for a very long time. No Earthly emotions.

We joined a convention of other races in space (the Alliance?), concerned about the Earth, agreeing we couldn’t decide whether to intervene or not until we had more information. (One faction suggested things were so bad, Earth should be destroyed, blown up.)

A group of us volunteered to incarnate here to gather more information. And, while we’re here, try to introduce positive ideas into the social consciousness.

I did not know what I was getting into when I agreed to be born into the heart of mind control. The first time I was tortured, about one day old, I left my body, looked down briefly at the room, then flew up over the clouds and called to my colleagues, whom I assumed had witnessed my experience because it was so intense and we were still psychically connected. I assumed they would agree with me that we should all leave, because the agreement was to stay together or leave together, and this was far worse than I had expected. But my colleagues said that the families they were born into were worth staying for, and they assured me they believed that was true for most of the planets inhabitants.

I was momentarily stunned at their majority opinion, but our colleagues who did not incarnate agreed to provide me extra support, and I accepted this.

For some years, I left my body a lot, until they told me I needed to slow down the frequency. They somehow closed the portal I had been using, and I got used to staying, waiting for them, with sadness.

Soon I quit trying but was so happy whenever the portal opened, always when I was in my bed, before I fell asleep, and I would see the vortex above me (to my right), knew I was leaving, going to see my people, then I would suddenly plop back into my bed, with no memories of what had happened, but deep gratitude, confidence and assurance that everything was going to be okay, and I knew I was cared for.

One day, when I was still fairly young, I came back with a new feeling of huge disappointment. They had told me I had to be patient for an even longer time now, abut that they would be watching and helping me always, but I wouldn’t be able to talk to them for a very long time. And it was even best if I would forget about them in my Earthly personality. And I did.

Through the rest of my childhood and into my 30s, I had no particular beliefs about the other realms. In my 30s, however, I met environmentalist pagans and was invited to their ceremonies in the forest, but I tip-toed away, not sure what I believed.

Years later, I found myself saying that if something we call Spirit existed, It would let me know. And soon I had a healing involving trees talking to me, encouraging me to hug one of them, and then an incredible frequency of energy pouring down through me that I described as feeling as though I’d had a radio inside me tuned to static all my life, and the radio had just been turned off. I struggled to find more words to describe it, using crystalline and clarity. I would never be the same again.

When my son got cancer (later healed), and I realized I had to divorce my abusive second husband (who was my mind control handler), I had a nervous breakdown (highly recommended), and had my first realizations that I had been sexually abused as a child.

The next year I realized I was a “multiple personality,” and moved out to the desert to build a small strawbale home off grid. There, I began years of experiences others called shamanic.

All my years of wondering if something called Spirit existed, I refused to read “spiritual” books. I did not want to have anyone else’s ideas frame my experiences and possibly twist them. And I was flatly disinterested in the subject of aliens.

One weekend, I joined environmentalist friends camping in the desert, where one man insisted I look at the Pleiades through his binoculars. I was talking to someone else and didn’t want to look at sparkly things in the sky. He insisted further, and with much irritation, I looked. To my absolute astonishment I was shocked to feel powerful sensations of home and longing that made me want to cry. I couldn’t hold back and blurted out that I thought I was from there, then immediately slapped my hand over my mouth in embarrassment. I had been programmed by our culture making consistent fun of people who believed in things like this. I continued confused and silent about the experience for years.

As Y2K approached, I became concerned that I wanted to be a more careful documentarian about my strange experiences, so I decided to change my journaling style into something closer to a science journal. Instead of bemoaning my distressing situation of being a victim of sexual abuse, divorced from abusive men, alone and confused, with weird things continuously happening that seemed too much in a single person’s life, I decided to simply document precisely what I had experienced, separate from what I assumed it meant, and separate from my emotions. Sometimes I would write about a different category of spiritual events, where the 3-D world suddenly was shot through with the revelation of other dimensions and beings.

On the eve of Y2K, I burned all my journals from the 80s and 90s (unfortunately). And began my science journals. (Today I have three large boxes of journals, which I’ve summarized into a database with over 1,100 lines describing events or select parts of complex events.)

Powerful experiences unfolded in the coming years, with spirit animals, natural animals, angels, Jesus, Isis, orbs, UFOs, aliens, and people I assume were government agents. It seemed too much.

Finally, I went to the library and brought home the maximum number of books allowed on one subject – almost all of them about aliens – and I began to read what others had experienced.

It would be many years before I recognized that I had disability to interact in other dimensions because I had become so familiar with other realms by leaving my body so often during childhood abuse.

One morning I woke with a surgical incision on my neck that seemed to have been done with the very highest technology, likely alien. (Five years later a nurse practitioner noticed it, and asked when I’d had my thyroid surgery.)

Eight years after realizing I was a multiple personality, I would realize I was also a mind control subject. It was Earth shaking to me, and I wrestled with my life purpose and whether it would be better to not be alive, so as not be an asset to people abusing other people so terribly.

By happenstance, I reconnected with an environmentalist-pagan acquaintance, who came to live with me, and help me believe I had a purpose in staying alive.

When we were deciding whether he would come live with me, multiple signs delighted us, including us waking throughout the night in our camp and me repeatedly seeing the Pleiades over his head.

Over the years, I came to realize he was continuously distracting me from my spiritual and meditative life, so I wondered whether he was yet another handler, and I asked him to leave, and he did. He had also interfered with my livelihood, I was in debt, and someone seemed to be sabotaging all my efforts to get work. I was also feeling like a sitting duck for alien and government harassment, so I sold my home and left (as if I could escape them).

I had experienced small grays, very tall ones with military bearing, ones that took me up in a beam and moved me through two portals, ones that took me up into a huge triangle ship along with my pagan partner, and one Draco with military bearing who immobilized me, put a device to the back of my head and made me unconscious. I had also been stopped on the highway, lost two hours of time, and had something implanted in my vagina. And with two guests visiting my pagan friend and I, we witnessed a UFO shot down and listened to the reconnaissance mission as it passed by on the highway. (My home was not too distant from Fort Huachuca, a major Air Force intelligence base.)

I had no context for understanding these varied experiences, and was afraid to tell anyone. (I had been consistently called a liar by my mother after I had talked about my sexual abuse at the age of four, so I was careful to always tell the truth and afraid to tell a truth that no one would believe.)

However, when I read Whitley Strieber’s book Secret School, a book about his memories of being in some sort of training on another dimension, I decided to write him. After a year he wrote me with an emotional story about having intended to contact me immediately, but some sort of mind control was stopping him. Soon after, I was interviewed by him and Jim Marrs.

A local Native shaman visited and offered himself as a teacher by way of a gift of a white eagle tail feather, but my mind control seemed to freeze me so that I could not say a word, and he and his wife eventually drove away.

After I sold my home and had money, I would attend consciousness conferences and be surprised to have Native people approach me and tell me things I had been wondering for years and needed to know. In one case a group of Native women seemed delighted to see some other-dimensional beings traveling with me over my head.

In medicine journeys as well as mundane life, I frequently had Native women on another dimension drop into or emerge from inside me and take over for a short while.

A European shaman and renowned consciousness researcher, Ralph Metzner, offered to write the Foreword to my book if I would write it, as he had been encouraging me to do, so I did, and he did. (My book was well praised, but has been “shadow banned” on Amazon, and all the reviews of my book have disappeared.)

Also at consciousness conferences, I seemed to have been recognized by people involved in mind control. They never initiated contact, but when we passed in a hallway, they stared and I could psychically hear their mental wrestling with how to act as if they hadn’t recognized me.

After a YouTube video about my book went modestly viral, views suddenly stopped, and the numbers in the thousands began running backward. It was clear the controllers did not want me to communicate.

In September 2009, I had a vision of a translucent egg-shaped ship approaching Earth, just letting me know it was nearby and wanting me personally to know that. I was too afraid to think of anything too good happening for me, so I held it in a place of wonder, but not belief.

Soon, I seemed to have been made a guinea pig for various government experiments, especially in frequency weapons. I woke up with taser burns, biopsy scoop marks, strange bruises, joints out of place, and eventually an inoculation with Lyme Disease (an event from which I came back to consciousness earlier than the doctors expected, and heard one man tell another that this would kill me slowly).

I became disabled, quit my job, was unable to pay for a doctor to help me understand what I had, left my new home, and lived in an RV for five years, camping in Nature.

As a nomad, I realized I was still being targeted with various experiments and harassments wherever I went.

Nevertheless, living in Nature for five years, on Social Security, not working, I had time to think about my life, and remember the positive parts about it, including the mystery of why I thought I was from the Pleiades.

My mind control had included suggestions to never believe anything good could come to me, so it was a big struggle to remember the positive things that have come to me throughout my life:

Coming here to do good and relay information to others.

Having spontaneous healing and channeling flow through.

Having been healed myself when in despair and not expecting help.

Some of my experiences I’ve never known for sure whether they were from my helpers or my controllers – experiences like downloads that force me to stagger to the nearest chair, dreams about spaceships, beams of healing energy, and the emergence of an inner warrior who can immediately and easily dismiss an evil spirit intent on threatening me. None of these things did I desire. Possibly because of my mind control, I wanted it only to be average and normal, definitely not have to be associated with extraordinary things.

Because I’ve been socially sabotaged, isolated, and lied about for decades by family and handle-husbands, I’ve been very uncertain about how I’m supposed to accomplish anything. Because my angels (Pleiadian colleagues?) keep healing me, I believe there must be something I’m supposed to do, but I do not understand how to accomplish anything, given my situation.

Currently, I have my professional/activist website, separate from my mind control website, separate from my Garden Healing Church website, which I just sat down and wrote as if channeled one day, and haven’t done very much with. I keep my mind control stuff and my spiritual stuff separate from the rest of me. Because easy because of my MK and being a “well designed” multiple and four fear of being called crazy. I did finally put links between them a few years ago, but I never tell anyone in my main group of friends and acquaintances about what is in the other sites.

Why? Having been isolated and sabotaged and discredited, it’s hard to be vulnerable with information other people simply don’t believe.

Also, my efforts to communicate so often result in punishment.

Also, I hesitate to state anything with certainty when we live in such an environment of lies. I don’t want to be wrong.

(The videos I watched were part of Gaia TV’s Cosmic Disclosure: Pleiadian Agenda with Josh Golembeske.)

JeanEisenhower.com

by Jean Eisenhower

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.

Asante and I produced our art and writing in 1987, though we wouldn’t know each other or begin our collaborations until 2002.

Garden Healing Church

Grateful for Healing in Nature – for all of us mind control subjects

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