Ruling Class
by don - 2022-05-10 12:13:24 ( in education, research) [php version] rebuild
If you haven't read her book, here's a lot of it:
1.
Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America
* trance.movie
* trance-formation.com
*About Trance*
Cathy O'Brien was sold into Project Monarch, one of
the 149 known sub-projects of the CIA'S MK ULTRA
Experiments that began in 1953. These secret
programs were initiated by governing jurisdictions
in an effort to understand and utilize mind control
to further another agenda. Being a victim of the
elite's Monarch Program. as a slave Cathy was
exposed to many world leaders at the national and
international levels.
Through her rescue and healing process, she was able
to reclaim the memories of what she witnessed while
under mind control. Her story provides insight into
how we've been controlled in the past, where we are
going as a nation and how to reclaim personal and
collective sovereignty. This is her story. This is
our story.
Directed by: Adrienne Youngblood
Produced by: Adrienne Youngblood, Isabella Antinoro,
Roger R. Richards
Starring: Cathy O'Brien
Categories: Documentary, Disclosure
Follow Us:
* Gettr
* TikTok
* Telegram
Parent Post
Quick reply to this message Reply
Reply With Quote Reply With Quote
Multi-Quote This Message
Bookmark Post
2.
Remove Your Thanks
The Following 14 Users Say Thank You to RunningDeer For This Post:
Ryan
(29th March
2022), Bluegreen
(Yesterday),
BMJ (8th
April 2022), ClearWater
(30th March
2022), DNA
(29th March
2022), Franny
(Yesterday),
Harmony
(30th
March 2022), leavesoftrees
(30th March
2022), Mark
(29th March
2022), mojo
(Today),
mountain_jim
(29th March
2022), Orph
(Today),
TomKat
(Today),
wondering
(29th
March 2022)
3.
Yesterday 23:11 Link to Post #82
*Bluegreen*
Bluegreen is offline
United States Avalon Member Bluegreen's Avatar
Join Date
18th July 2014
Location
Ø
Language
¿
Posts
8,310
Thanks
40,838
Thanked 40,759 times in 7,618 posts
Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America
*/Warning: Graphic/*
_*/Chapter 1/*_
*/MY INTRODUCTION TO HUMANITY/*
*/By Cathy O'Brien/*
My pedophile father, Earl O'Brien, brags that he began
substituting his penis for my mother's nipple soon after I was
born. My multigenerational incest-abused mother, Carol Tanis,
did not protest his perverse actions due to (reportedly) having
similar abuse as a child which caused her to acquire Multiple
Personality Disorder. My earliest recovered memory was that I
could not breathe with my father's penis jammed into my little
throat.
/The late Earl O'Brien -- Pho Michigan Sports Hall of Fame/
Yet I could not discern his semen from my mother's milk. I do
not recall thinking, but I AM
aware through education that this
early sexual abuse distorted my primitive concepts of feeding,
breathing, sexuality, and parental perceptions. I recall as a
toddler being unable to run (I could barely walk) to my mother
for help as my instincts demanded.
Through my gulping sobs, my terror rose as I tried to clear my
throat of my father's semen and draw a breath of air. My mother
finally arrived at my side. Rather than comfort me, she accused
me of throwing a temper tantrum and "holding my breath". She
responded only by throwing a glass of cold water in my face. I
was shocked! As the water splashed my face, I knew she would not
help and it was up to me to save myself.
I automatically Multiple Personality Disordered. I was, of
course, too young to logically understand that what my father
was doing to me was wrong. I accepted his strangling sexual
abuse as a normal and natural part of my home life, and split
off a personality to deal with the pain and suffocation to
satisfy his perversions. Therefore as a child, I was
dissociative of my father's abuse. I was totally unable to
recall his sexual abuse, even in his presence, until I saw and
felt his penis.
By the time I joined the Brownies, my father's sexual
exploitation of me included prostitution to his friends, local
mobsters and Masons, relatives, Satanists, strangers, and police
officers. When I wasn't being worked to physical exhaustion,
filmed pornographically, prostituted, or engaged in incest
abuse, I dissociated into books. I had learned to read at the
young age of four due to my photographic memory which was a
natural result of MPD/DID.
Government researchers involved in MK-Ultra Project Monarch knew
about the photographic memory aspect of MPD/DID, of course, as
well as other resultant "super human" characteristics. Visual
acuity of an MPD/DID is 44 times greater than that of the
average person. My developed unusually high pain threshold, plus
compartmentalization of memory were "necessary" for military and
covert operations applications.
Additionally, my sexuality was primitively twisted from infancy.
This programming was appealing and useful to perverse
politicians who believed they could hide their actions deep
within my memory compartments, which clinicians refer to as
personalities.
My Uncle Bob helped my father decorate my bedroom in red, white,
and blue paneling and American flags. He provided assistance in
scrambling my mind according to Project Monarch methodologies.
Fairy tale themes were used to confuse fantasy with reality,
particularly Disney stories and the Wizard of Oz, which provided
the base for future programming.
I had personalities for pornography, a personality for
bestiality, a personality for incest, a personality for
withstanding the horrendous psychological abuse of my mother, a
personality for prostitution, and the rest of "me" functioned
somewhat "normally" at school. My "normal" personality provided
a cover for the abuse I was enduring, but best of all it had
hope- hope that there was somewhere in the world where people
did not hurt each other. This same personality also attended
Catechism, a weekly class at our Catholic church, St. Francis de
Sales in Muskegon, Michigan.
I continued to maintain an illusion of normalcy for school,
excelling in my studies due to my photographic memory and in
spite of my chronic "day-dreaming". I had plenty of friends and
played enthusiastically at recess, expending large amounts of
energy in my subconscious effort to escape my own mind. And I
lost myself in the books my father suggested I read: the Wizard
Of Oz, Alice In Wonderland, Island of the Blue Dolphins, Disney
Classics, and Cinderella—all of which were used in conditioning
my mind for what soon would become mind-control programming.
My television viewing was restricted and monitored in keeping
with my father's gained knowledge. I was, however permitted to
watch the "best" of movies: The Wizard Of Oz, Disney Classics,
Alice In Wonderland, and Cinderella—over and over and over again.
When I was in second grade, my Brownie Troop marched in the
Memorial Day Parade in which then Michigan State Senator
VanderJagt also participated. At the end of the parade, he took
me into a nearby motel and had me per-form oral sex on him
before sending me back to where my Brownie Troop was waiting. My
Brownie leader and peers thought it commendable that VanderJagt
took me with him. They gathered around to hear all about it. I
noticed a white splash of semen on my sash, and hurriedly
explained that he had "taken me for a milkshake" as I wiped it
away. Having to cover for his perversion to my Brownie Troop
infringed on my school personality, and the "normal" remainder
became even smaller.
/The late Senator Guy VanderJagt/
With the memory of this incident compartmentalized in my mind, I
made no conscious association to VanderJagt when my third grade
teacher announced that we were taking a field trip to the State
Capital in Lansing, Michigan where he was in session. Once at
the Capital, I was ushered away from my classmates and taken to
an office where he was waiting with his friend and mentor (soon
to be President) Gerald Ford.
VanderJagt lifted my skirt, pulled down my panties, and placed
me on his desk for sex with him and Ford. Afterward they laughed
as VanderJagt placed a small American flag in my rectum and
instructed me to wave it. He then presented me with a Kennedy
pen inscribed with the motto that would lead me for the rest of
my mind-con-trolled existence, "Ask not what your country can do
for you. Ask what you can do for your country."
VanderJagt then escorted me back to the balcony of the
Legislature where my classmates were gathered. He put his arm
around me in front of all my classmates and presented me with
the American flag he had just had me wave for him and Ford with
my rectum. My school personality split off again, but I still
maintained the hope that somewhere, someday, I would find a
place where people didn't ... what? I could not remember what I
was seeking to escape.
/_Trance-Formation of America_/
https://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/s...sformation.htm
Parent Post
Quick reply to this message Reply
Reply With Quote Reply With Quote
Multi-Quote This Message
Thanks
Bookmark Post
4.
The Following 3 Users Say Thank You to Bluegreen For This Post:
ClearWater
(Today),
mojo
(Today),
RunningDeer
(Yesterday)
5.
Yesterday 23:34 Link to Post #83
*Bluegreen*
Bluegreen is offline
United States Avalon Member Bluegreen's Avatar
Join Date
18th July 2014
Location
Ø
Language
¿
Posts
8,310
Thanks
40,838
Thanked 40,759 times in 7,618 posts
Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America
/Each chapter is a major undertaking, and some chapters may not
be transferable to this format. The idea of doing the whole book
is intriguing but daunting, to say the least. We''ll see how
this goes .../
***
*/THE RITE TO REMAIN SILENT/*
*/_Chapter 2_/*
When Pierre Trudeau was elected Prime Minister of Canada in
1968, I often heard it said, "Pierre Trudeau is one of Ours, you
know." I first heard this phrase cryptically referring to
Trudeau's loyalty to the Vatican when Father was discussing
him with my father one Sunday after mass. This fact circulated
quickly among those I knew who were involved in the
Catholic/Jesuit aspect of Project Monarch.
/The late Pierre Trudeau/
The summer after Trudeau was elected, my father took the family
to Mackinac Island as usual. Climbing on a large statue on the
grounds of the Governor's Mansion, I could see across the field
to the Grand Hotel. I noticed Canadian flags flying amongst the
American flags that lined the front of the old hotel. As I slid
down off the statue, Guy VanderJagt approached with a drink and
a cigarette in his hand. Palling my hair into place he said,
"Straighten your shirt, I've got someone important for you to
meet," "I knew someone important was here because of those
flags," I said, tucking my shirt in my pink shorts.
"When I was at the Vatican," VanderJagt began, "I was told that
Prime Minister Trudeau is a friend of the Pope. He thinks like
one of us. A true Catholic. He likes Cathy-licks."
/VanderJadt/
VanderJagt led me upstairs in the mansion, where Pierre Trudeau
was lowering the window shades in a dimly lit bedroom crowded
with antiques. VanderJagt closed the door behind me. Trudeau's
tuxedo coat was neatly draped over a chair, which left him in
his formal pants, while shirt, and a bright red cummerbund which
caught my eye. "I like your sash," I said. "Hasn't anyone taught
you Silence yet?"
His somber, gruff attitude was softened by his smooth, silky
voice. Triggered into the part of me that endured the Rite to
Remain Silent, I assumed Trudeau knew all about interdimensions
according to my deliberately formed perceptions. I could not/did
not understand that interdimensions actually equated to the
inner-dimensions of my own compartmentalized mind. Likewise, I
did not understand that "Keys to the Kingdom" referred to
knowing the codes, keys, and triggers to my controlled mind.
"Guy said you like Cathy-licks," I said, repeating what
VanderJagt had told me. "Are you the Keeper of the Keys?"
Trudeau seemingly bore his cold, dark eyes right through me.
"You can learn more from the school of thought than you can by
asking precocious questions. Haven't you learned that children
are to be seen and not heard?"
"Is that a precocious question?" I asked. "What is a precocious
question?"
Trudeau sighed with impatience. "That is irrelevant. What
matters is that you shut your mouth, still your mind, and enter
the school of thought. Silence is a virtue. Listen to the
silence in the stillness of your mind. Go deep inside your
mind," he slowly led. "Deeper and deeper where it's quiet and
still..."
Trudeau expertly manipulated my mind with sophisticated hypnotic
language. Not only did he enlist my Silence for the pedophile
perversions he indulged in, but he instructed my "school of
thought" in a manner that equated to programming. He laid a
foundation for Air-Water programs that is a mirror- dimensional
theme often used by NASA and others involved in Project Monarch.
Playing off his own name "Pee-Air," he added a perverse twist to
the theme that he accessed each time I was prostituted to him.
Had I been capable of fear, I would have been afraid of Pierre
Trudeau. Trudeau's slow, deliberate movements masked the brutal
power of his body much the way his smooth, soft voice pierced my
mind and intruded on my thoughts. The icy cold touch of his
effeminate, manicured long fingers contrasted with the heat of
his perversion ... a perversion for which he blamed me and my
"temptuous, contemptuous ways".
I was slow to grow into adolescence. By the time I was thirteen
years old, my breasts were tender and beginning to swell, which
made me "too old" for VanderJagt's pedophile perversions. When
my father brought me to Mackinac Island for routine prostitution
at the Political Retreat, VanderJagt introduced me to a new
friend he had made now that he was in Washington, D.C. as a U.S.
Congressman-U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd, Democrat from West
.
Source:
https://youtube.com/watch?v=8BouPR8ZczI
Byrd had been a U.S. Senator as long as I had been alive,
serving as Senate Whip and later as President Pro Tempore of the
Senate and as the all powerful Senate Appropriations leader.
Byrd commanded attention and respect from all who came in
contact with him, particularly from my father.
When we were left alone in his room, he loomed over me in a
threatening stance. His cold, blue slitty eyes locked onto mine.
I undressed and climbed into his bed as ordered. I was
momentarily relieved to find that his penis was abnormally
tiny—so small it didn't even hurt! And I could breathe with it
in my mouth! Then he began to indulge himself in his brutal
perversions, talking on and on about how I was "made just for
him" due to the vast amounts of pain I could withstand.
The spankings and police handcuffs I had previously endured were
child's play compared to Senator Byrd's near death tortures. The
hundreds of scars on my body still show today. With VanderJagt,
sex was a matter of "how much I could give," whereas with Byrd
it was "how much I could take". And I was forced to take mote
pain than any human could logically withstand. I was dedicated
to Byrd at age thirteen which meant he would be directing my
future in Project Monarch, and my father would raise me
according to his specifications.
My MPD/DID existence became more regimented from that point on.
I was kept physically worn down to the point of exhaustion in
order that I be sufficiently receptive to my father's limited
hypnotic programming capabilities to condition my mind for mind
control. The pornography I was forced to anticipate in became
much more violent immediately after Byrd, switching me from
predominantly pedophile and bestiality themes to torturous
versions of sadomasochism (S&M).
My father and mother worked in tandem daily to "break my
spirit," destroying any remnants left of my self-confidence,
tearing down my self-esteem, and thus annihilating my free will
urges. They conditioned/taught me my dreams were reality and my
reality were dreams, that black is white and up is down. "Good
night, sleep tight, dream about your mommy and daddy" is what I
heard every night. This was intended to confuse my mind to
believe incest in the middle of the night was "just a bad dream".
My father also instructed me to watch Alfred Hitchcock's
horrifying movie The Birds with him. This reinforced in my mind
the movie's theme that there is "no place to hide from the
birds/Byrd".
I was quickly beginning to lose all ability to question anything
but my own judgment. It was easy to believe that there was
indeed "no place to run, no place to hide," which is a necessary
and primary psychological basis for government/military mind
control. In later years, "who ya' gonna call?" and Ronald
Reagan's quip "you can run, but you can't hide" echoed deep
within my mind. After all, even if I could think to seek help,
who would help me? The police? The church? My parents? Relative?
Politicians? School? There was no one left that would help me, I
sensed.
My television programming was then expanded to include the shows
that every Project Monarch Mind-Control slave I knew had to
watch: I Dream Of , The Brady Bunch, Gumby And Pokey, and
Bewitched. I could relate to the Genie pleasing her master, who
was a Major for the Air Force in I Dream Of .
This served to confuse the reality of my own experiences with
the fantasy of television production. I told all outsiders that
my family was "just like the Bradys". Through Gumby And Pokey I
was led to believe that I was as flexible as these animated clay
performers. Therefore, I was capable of being physically
maneuvered into any sexual position.
Meanwhile, my father took us all to church every Sunday, and my
mother stayed busy having babies to raise in the Project. In
true pedophile fashion, he surrounded himself with children by
coaching little league sports, chaperoning school and Catechism
activities, and becoming involved with the Boy Scouts. All of
this made him appear to be a model citizen and "pillar of the
community". The illusion was fanned. The parts of me that knew
otherwise had no choice but to remain silent.
Parent Post
Quick reply to this message Reply
Reply With Quote Reply With Quote
Multi-Quote This Message
Thanks
Bookmark Post
6.
The Following 2 Users Say Thank You to Bluegreen For This Post:
mojo
(Today),
RunningDeer
(Today)
7.
Yesterday 23:43 Link to Post #84
*Bluegreen*
Bluegreen is offline
United States Avalon Member Bluegreen's Avatar
Join Date
18th July 2014
Location
Ø
Language
¿
Posts
8,310
Thanks
40,838
Thanked 40,759 times in 7,618 posts
Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America
*/My First President/*
*/_Chapter 3_/*
*/By Cathy O'Brien/*
In addition to routine trips to Mackinac Island and Niagara
Falls, my family often took camping trips to "get away from it
all". In reality, I was taken to key places for ritual abuse,
prostitution, and pornography. In the fall of 1974, my father
announced we were going to go camping "back in time" to an
old-fashioned festival in the small remote town of Cedar
Springs, Michigan for their annual Red Flannel Days celebration.
My mother told me to pack my jeans and sweaters and my Catholic
school uniform which she had washed and pressed for the occasion.
Cedar Springs was quiet, with the festival events including
dilapidated amusement rides set up in a small parking lot, and
contests where local farmers pitted their mules and horses
against each other to see whose could pull the most weight. The
main (and only) street of town was lined with the few local
businesses, including the town's red flannel underwear "long
s" factory. In the center of town, a mock, single, jail cell
had been erected to hold any and all parade participants who
failed to wear the required red flannel underwear.
The jail was guarded by quasi Keystone Cops. I was amused when
the townsfolk began lining up to march in the parade, with very
few remaining to watch it. A mentally retarded man carried the
baton to lead the parade, followed by kids on bicycles,
hay-wagons of old folks, a grade school band and people
walking-all in their red flannel underwear. The grand finale' of
the parade, the town fire truck, was approaching, surrounded by
numerous motorcycle police.
I heard folks whispering "the President is coming". I assumed
they meant the President of the underwear factory. I was wrong.
I watched in horror as the fire truck rolled to a stop, and
Secret Service helped then President Gerald Ford as he stepped
down to the pavement.
My father was excitedly tugging on my arm, half dragging me
through the wall of Secret Service agents, to talk with
President Ford. I looked around nervously as my father made the
necessary arrangements with Ford to prostitute me to him later
that evening. VanderJagt, who never missed a parade it seemed,
was signing autographs. As he smiled at me, someone roughly
grabbed my arm. Nervous and startled, I screamed.
/Susan Ford and her father, Gerald/
The crowd laughed as a Keystone Cop threw me in the jail,
scolding me for not wearing my red flannel underwear when I was
talking to the President. I was trying to be inconspicuous in
hopes no one would see me with the likes of Ford, but then, they
did not know him as I did. The Keystone Cop rattled on and on
about "how lucky" I was until my father paid my bail and I was
released from the cell.
That night, I wore my Catholic uniform as instructed and went
into a dissociative trance as my father drove me to the local
National Guard Armory where I was prostituted to Ford. Ford took
me into an empty room, pushed me down on the wooden floor as he
unzipped his pants and said, "Pray on this". Then he brutally,
sexually assaulted me. Afterward, my memory was
compartmentalized through use of high voltage. I was then
carried out to the car where I lay in the back seat, muscles
contracted, stunned, in pain, and unable to move.
When we got back to Muskegon, my father sent me to the beach as
always, to let the repetition of crashing waves against the
beach "wash my mind free of memory" while I watched the sun set.
I was totally locked into the belief that truly there was "no
place to run," not even to the President of the United States.
Parent Post
Quick reply to this message Reply
Reply With Quote Reply With Quote
Multi-Quote This Message
Thanks
Bookmark Post
8.
The Following 3 Users Say Thank You to Bluegreen For This Post:
(Today),
mojo
(Today),
RunningDeer
(Today)
9.
Today 02:15 Link to Post #85
*Bluegreen*
Bluegreen is offline
United States Avalon Member Bluegreen's Avatar
Join Date
18th July 2014
Location
Ø
Language
¿
Posts
8,310
Thanks
40,838
Thanked 40,759 times in 7,618 posts
Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America
*/The Most Dangerous Game/*
_*/Chapter 4/*_
When I learned of a pending rendezvous with Senator Byrd in
Traverse City, Michigan (VanderJagt's headquarters), I stole
some candy at a local convenience market hoping to go to jail
and escape my encounter with Byrd. I was caught, and the police
were even called. But, of course, my poetically powerful abusers
would not allow for me to have a police record. The entire
matter was not-so-mysteriously and suddenly dropped. My only
"punishment" was to have a conference with the school principal,
Father Vesbit.
Father Vesbit knew I was part of Project Monarch, and handled
the matter accordingly. He raped me in the school's private
chapel after school while holding a Satanic ritual involving
several of my project friends. Kids often attached nicknames to
their teachers, and there were only a few of us who knew the
reason why Father Vesbit was called Father "Fuzzbutt". His
backside was covered with thick black hair. He "counseled" me on
several occasions, once remarking, "I thought kids in your
situation were all part of the Exchange Student program."
My Uncle Bob Tanis was visiting our house soon after that. He
had flown in from what he claimed was a "black ops" Air Force
Intelligence operation. I know now that in typical CIA mode of
operations, he was relating a story of lies salted with some
truth. His point was to inform me that the Catholic Church is
"justified" in its involvement with our government due to the
Priests' "hearing confessions from mobsters and spies".
/33rd Degree Mason Uncle Bob Tanis/
He also explained that Exchange Students were "spies in the
making" that Priests found, through Confession, were problems.
Thus they were considered expendable and transferred out of the
country. He then suggested to my father that I see the school
guidance counselor, CIA Operative Dennis DeLaney, immediately.
My father enthusiastically told me that DeLaney was a long time
friend of his from St. Francis who "knew how to handle kids like
me". Arrangements were made for me to see him after school.
DeLaney began by informing me that he was "aware of everything"
and that he knew just what I needed "to put me back on track".
He said that my family needed to lake a trip to the Teton
Mountains of Wyoming. He even provided maps and information in
an envelope for my father. He turned off the lights in his
office, and turned on a slide projector. He showed me scenes of
the numerous waterfalls of the Tetons, all of which were to
"wash my brain" of the reality that I was performing oral sex on
him as ordered while the slides ran. Then he scheduled a follow
up appointment for further "counseling".
This trip to the Tetons would provide a change of scenery tram
the usual Mackinac/Niagara Falls trip, but I could no longer
hope for a change in the direction life was leading me. I was
told my life was "predestined," and all I had to do was follow
the road stretched out before me, i.e., the "Yellow Brick Road".
I was destined for Wyoming, but would not know why until I arrived.
I confirmed the family trip to the Tetons when I saw DeLaney for
my follow-up "counseling". He informed me that he had already
talked to my father about the trip, as well as our upcoming trip
to Disney World in Florida. I was not surprised to learn of an
additional trip. Nor did I have the capacity to become excited,
suspicious, or apprehensive. I was aware that DeLaney was
heavily involved in Project Monarch, not only because he was
accessing my sexual personalities again, but because he was
helping to pave the way toward my destiny of total mind control.
During Christmas vacation of 1974, my father flew us all to
Disney World by route of Tampa, Florida. Ignorant of geography,
it did not occur to me that Tampa was out of the way to Disney
World until my father drove the rented van to the gates of
MacDill Air Force Base. Military personnel met me there and
escorted me into the base TOP SECRET high tech mind-control
conditioning facility for "behavioral modification" programming.
This was the first in what became a routine series of
mind-control testing and/or programming sessions on government
installations that I would endure throughout my Project Monarch
victimization.
/MacDill AFB – Tampa, Florida/
Whether I was in a military, NASA, or government building, the
procedure for maintaining me under total mind control remained
consistent with Project Monarch requirements. This included
prior physical and/or psychological trauma; sleep, food, and
water deprivation; high voltage electric shock; and hypnotic
and/or harmonic programming of specific memory
compartments/personalities.
The high tech equipment and methodisms I endured from that time
on gave the U.S. government absolute control of my mind and
life. I had been literally driven out of my conscious mind and
existed only through my programmed subconscious. I lost my free
will, ability to reason, and could not think to question
anything that was happening to me. I could only do as I was told.
After the MacDill Air Force Base experience, my home life
worsened. The controls and conditioning that my father and
mother executed on me tightened even more. I was no longer
permitted to have any contact with my own brothers and sister (I
only had one younger sister at that time). This stopped me in my
subconscious efforts to protect them from my father's abuse, and
left me with a desperate, empty aching for the loving
relationships I previously shared with them.
Of course, I never was able to protect them any more than I
could defend myself or later protect my own daughter. However,
until government programming began, I had routinely "baby sat"
them every evening and took them for long walks that lasted for
hours in my feeble attempt to keep them out of my parents'
range. Subconsciously I believed I was making a difference. The
day my youngest brother told my mother he much preferred my
company over hers was the day I could no longer be near him or
my other brothers and sister.
Apparently I was making enough of a difference that my parents
were compelled to separate me from them. I was ordered to my
closet-sized bedroom in the garage as soon as I got home from
school or work. I could not speak to, look at, or hug my
brothers and sister. I was not permitted to eat dinner with my
family, although they let me out of my room to set the table,
wash dishes, and do other chores. If I ventured from my bedroom
to use the bathroom and was caught by my mother, she said,
"nobody rattled your cage" and ordered me back to my room in the
garage.
In the summer of 1975, my family drove all the way from Michigan
to the Teton Mountains of Wyoming. I was ordered to ride in the
back storage area of the family Chevy Suburban since 1 was
forbidden to associate or communicate with my brothers and
sister. So I dissociated into books, or into the metaphorical,
hypnotic suggestions from my father and tranced deeper as I
watched the prairies seemingly endless sea of "amber waves of
grain" streak past my window.
Once when we stopped at a gas station, my father took me inside
to show me a stuffed "jackalope" mounted on the wall. Due to my
tranced, dissociative state and high suggestibility level, I
believed it was indeed a cross between a jack rabbit and
antelope. It was 100+ degrees in the Badlands when it cooled
down at night. The intense heat of the day accentuated my ever
increasing thirst. My father was physically preparing me though
water deprivation for the intense tortures and programming I
would endure in Wyoming.
Dick Cheney, then White House Chief of Staff to president Ford,
later Secretary of Defense to President George Bush and Vice
President to George Bush Jr, documented member of the Council on
Foreign Relations (CFR), was originally Wyoming's only
Congressman. Dick Cheney was the reason my family had traveled
to Wyoming where I endured yet another form of brutality— his
version of "A Most Dangerous Game", or human hunting.
Parent Post
Quick reply to this message Reply
Reply With Quote Reply With Quote
Multi-Quote This Message
Thanks
Bookmark Post
10.
The Following User Says Thank You to Bluegreen For This Post:
(Today)
11.
Today 02:24 Link to Post #86
*Bluegreen*
Bluegreen is offline
United States Avalon Member Bluegreen's Avatar
Join Date
18th July 2014
Location
Ø
Language
¿
Posts
8,310
Thanks
40,838
Thanked 40,759 times in 7,618 posts
Default Re: Cathy O'Brien: The Tranceformation of America
It is my understanding now that "A Most Dangerous Game" was
devised to condition military personnel in survival and combat
maneuvers. Yet it was used on me and other slaves known to me as
a means of further conditioning the mind to the realization
there was "no place to hide," as well as traumatize the victim
for ensuing programming. It was my experience over the years
that A Most Dangerous Game had numerous variations on the
primary theme of being stripped naked and turned loose in the
wilderness while being hunted by men and dogs. In reality, all
"wilderness" areas were enclosed in secure military fencing
whereby it was only a matter of time until I was caught,
repeatedly raped, and tortured.
Dick Cheney had an apparent addiction to the "thrill of the
sport". He appeared obsessed with playing A Most Dangerous Game
as a means of traumatizing mind-control victims, as well as to
satisfy his own perverse sexual kinks. My introduction to the
game occurred upon arrival at the hunting lodge near Greybull,
Wyoming, and it physically and psychologically devastated me.
/Dick Cheney – Always pissed off/
I was sufficiently traumatized for Cheney's programming as I
stood naked in his hunting lodge office after being hunted down
and caught. Cheney was talking as he paced around me, "I could
stuff you and mount you like a jack lope and call you a two
legged dear. Or I could stuff you with this (he unzipped his
pants to reveal his oversized penis) right down your throat, and
then mount you. Which do you prefer?"
Blood and sweat became mixed with the dirt on my body and slid
like mud down my legs and shoulder. I throbbed with exhaustion
and pain as I stood unable to think to answer such a question.
"Make up your mind," Cheney coaxed. Unable to speak, I remained
silent.
"You don't get a choice, anyway, I make up your mind for you.
That's why you're here. For me to make you a' mind, and make you
mine/mind. You lost your mind a long time ago. Now I'm going to
give you one. Just like the Wizard (of Oz) gave Scarecrow a
brain, the Yellow Brick Road led you here to me. You've 'come
such a long, long way' for your brain, and I will give you one."
The blood reached my shoes and caught my attention. Had I been
further along in my programming, I perhaps would never have
noticed such a thing or had the capability to think to wipe it
away. But so far, I had only been to MacDill and Disney World
for government/military programming. At last, when I could
speak, I begged, "If you don't mind, can I please use your
bathroom?"
Cheney's face turned red with rage. He was on me in an instant,
slamming my back into the wall with one arm across my chest and
his hand on my throat, choking me while applying pressure to the
carotid artery in my neck with his thumb. His eyes bulged and he
spit as he growled, "If you don't mind me, I will kill you. I
could kill you—Kill you—with my bare hands. You're not the first
and you won't be the last. I'll kill you any time I goddamn well
please." He flung me on the cot-type bed that was behind me.
There he finished taking his rage out on me sexually.
On the Long trip back to Michigan, I lay in a heap behind the
scats of the Suburban, nauseated and hurting from Cheney's
brutality and high voltage tortures, plus the whole Wyoming
experience. My father stopped by the waterfalls flowing through
the Tetons to "wash my brain" of the memory of Cheney, I could
barely walk through the woods to the falls for the process as
instructed, despite having learned my lessons well from Cheney
on following orders.
The next year when our "annual" trip to Disney World rolled
around, my father drove, pulling his new Holiday Rambler Royale
International trailer. (I slept outside in a tent because I was
not permitted inside it since "I wasn't family".) My father
dropped me off en route at the Kennedy Space Center in
Titusville, Florida where I was subjected to my first NASA
programming. From then on, I was "obsessed" with following the
"Yellow Brick Road" to Nashville, Tennessee. Moving to Nashville
was all I could talk about. If anyone asked me the question I
could not think to ask myself "Why?", I would respond by
reiterating it was something "I had to do".
I had gone through the motions of my senior year in a
dissociative trance. I became further distanced from religious
values by my religion class teacher. Brother Emmett. This was
due to his promotion of cannibalism via Pier Paul Reed's book
Alive, and by his teachings at a religious 'corseal' retreat I
attended that included occult ritual at ST. Francis Church. I
graduated from Muskegon Catholic Central High School in our
bicentennial year of 1976.
I was led by Senator Byrd to revise my plan to attend Hope
College like I had promised VanderJagt as a child. This new plan
was for me to temporarily attend Muskegon Community College,
because my "real education" was to come through mind-control
programming-not school. In order to be exhausted, as was
necessary for my "real education," I worked three menial jobs in
addition to attending college.
During my first semester of college in 1976, I made plans to
take a trip to Nashville with my Project Monarch friend from
Catholic Central. (She remains an expendable victim to date, and
therefore her identity must be protected from public release for
her safety.) My father explained that I was to stay at the
Fiddler's Inn in Nashville, see the World Famous Printer's Alley
row of sleazy country music nightclubs, and attend the Grand Ole
Opry
On Friday night, as ticket arrangements had been made
through a "friend," in spite of their scarcity during the
Thanksgiving holiday.
Source:
https://youtube.com/watch?v=t_SkF5igE6o
I never thought to associate Fiddler's Inn with Senator Byrd's
fiddle playing when my friend and I arrived in Music City,
U.S.A. Nor did 1 find it odd when a country music "star"
entertaining at the Black Poodle nightclub in Printer's Alley
began directing my activities. My friend and I were provided
with free passes to the Black Poodle to encourage us to return
each night where entertainer and CIA operative Jack Greene and
his Desperado band were playing.
During breaks between sets, Greene and his band would sit with
my friend and me to manipulate our suggestible minds. I was told
it was "my destiny" to have met band member, Wayne Cox, who had
been trained for paramilitary mercenary operations under
Louisiana's U.S. Senator J, Bennett ston, I soon learned
that everyone associated with Greene was involved in his CIA
"Freedom Train" operations.
When I told Greene that my friend and I would not be returning
On Friday night due to attending the Grand Ole Opry, he told us
that he would be working the Opry that night. He made
arrangements for us to come back stage and see him immediately
following his segment. He explained that the "security" guard at
the Opry, Nashville Metro Police Lt. Bob Ezell, was a good
friend of his and would let us in.
At the Opry, my friend and I sat in the audience watching as
Jack Greene introduced his "special guest," U.S. Senator Robert
C. Byrd. At the sight of Byrd, I went into a pre-conditioned
deep trance and robotically went through the motions of
following Greene's instructions. Once backstage, Greene pointed
out his dressing room, which he was sharing with Senator Byrd,
and ordered me in. The personality that had been sitting in the
audience had perceived Byrd as an entertainer and could not, or
would not, think further.
But as I walked into the dressing room and saw Byrd perched on
the edge of the mirrored vanity in his boxer shorts, I switched
into the child personality that had known him as a U.S. Senator
on Mackinac Island since age 13, and responded sexually.
Afterward, Byrd was claiming me as "his," excitedly telling me
that he had "always wanted his own little witch". I soon learned
the enormity of this statement.
Jack Greene's band member, Wayne Cox, later told me that playing
music behind Senator Byrd at the Opry was not the only way he
"backed him". He also backed him politically and in Freedom
Train operations. Cox then made arrangements for my friend and
me to stay the remainder of our trip at his trailer in
Hendersonville, Tennessee. There was no choice but to comply.
/O'Brien's future husband, Wayne Cox/
The following night, after Jack Greene completed his show at the
Black Poodle, he drove my friend and me to a nearby
participating after-hours club, the Demon's Den. There, Cox was
to pick us up and take us to Hendersonville. Instead, we were
slipped a drug and taken "on a tour" of Union Station,
Nashville's then abandoned train station, where supposedly the
only train still running through there was the Freedom Train.
Senator Byrd's attempted cultivation of superstition through my
Catholic schooling should have maximized the impact of the
occult ritual I was subjected to in the tower of the old stone
and slate turn-of-the-century train depot. But the pain and
horror was sufficiently effective in itself—even without my
adhering to superstition-to produce the intended mind shattering
results. Cox took my friend and me on a "flashlight tour"
through the rubble of Union Station, until we came to a homeless
man sleeping on the ground.
/Nashville's (then) abandoned train station/
Cox ordered me to "kiss the railroad bum good-bye," then shot
him between the eyes while I was still only inches away. He then
used a machete to chop off the man's hands, which he put in a
zip-lock bag. He then led us up the rickety stairs into the
lower of the old depot. There Jack Greene, his band members, and
others dressed in black robes were gathered around a black
leather alter in a room lit by candles and draped in red velvet.
In total shock, I was laid on the alter and subjected to rape
and torture while the participants indulged in sex, blood, and
cannibalism ritual.
The next day I woke up on Cox's couch, vaguely aware that I had
suffered a "bad nightmare". When I stood up, I passed out from
blood loss. I was bleeding profusely from the vagina. It was all
I could do to prepare to drive back to Michigan, and my friend
was certainly not in a stable frame of mind to help. I did not
know what happened to me, nor was I able to question it. I had a
new "obsession" on my mind. I had been programmed at the ritual
to move to Nashville and marry Cox, as ordered by Senator Byrd.
Back in Michigan, I made the announcement to my parents that I
was moving to Nashville to marry Cox, as it was
"predestination". What they would not tell me was that my father
had just literally SOLD me to Senator Byrd in exchange for
lucrative military contracts that made him a millionaire
overnight—a millionaire on a sixth grade education—a perverse,
child exploiting criminal, immune from prosecution, working as a
CIA operative for the U.S. government!
That mind shattering occult ritual I endured in Nashville marked
a new life of wealth and prestige for my father white thrusting
me into a new phase of my torturous existence-and I had no
choice in any of it.
similar posts here ... and elsewhere