My Name is Jean Ann Eisenhower
and I’m a “targeted individual”- TI.
That means: at some point,
I got on a powerful someone’s shit list.
I was baptized and “confirmed” Mormon
but only because my mother made me,
but I’ve ignored the church I promised to respect,
and have even implicated it publicly in sexual crimes.
I allowed myself to be drawn into a sorority,
only after putting up a heroic resistance,
but they found my weak points, reeled me in,
and I deactivated two weeks after making my solemn vows.
I failed to honor my nation and keep its secrets.
Instead, I exposed the lies of the FBI
in a failed assassination attempt against my colleague.
I told the whole world.
The attacks on my life, begun in childhood
have accelerated over the decades, and now
accelerate through the years.
And it’s becoming unbearable.
Computer interference. Identity theft.
Phone tapped. Grapevine slander.
Home break-ins. Car sabotaged.
Amnesic medical and other events at night.
Biopsy scoop marks. Healed scars.
Taser burns. Drug effects.
Injection bruises. “Donut” bruises.
Tones and videos projected into mind.
Unconsciousness, missing time.
Unusual waking with tones or electronic vibrations.
Exhaustion, heart problems, heart attacks.
I wonder what to do.
Telling people goes pretty much nowhere.
The targeting people are a network,
with tentacles into the media,
churches, law enforcement, everywhere –
including the highest reaches of power in the world.
No successful response is likely to be political,
or legal, or even social in the mainstream.
I can respond emotionally, and I have.
And I work every day to heal my emotions.
I can respond philosophically, explore the meaning
of our world, beyond the crafted worldview.
I can respond spiritually, lift myself above the mire
of this world, in which children are sold
into experiments, fracturing their minds
and stealing their souls.
“How shall we then live?”
Rebellions will be quelled, activism misdirected.
Only in myself do I have any power,
and with my relations in the cosmos.
This is the shift I’ve been trying to make –
to design my life for less connection
to our material world, where I am attacked,
and more to the world of Spirit.
Perhaps it’s what the spirits have had in mind for me all along,
dogging me, provoking me,
driving me back
to their wilderness, away from the dangers of civilization.
Perhaps they are not evil beings, per se, who rape the children.
Perhaps they are simply creators,
slicing lower chakras of humans
for some worthy purpose, unaware of how it feels to us.
Perhaps they are my helpers
igniting a fire to move me, for a good I cannot see.
Or maybe my pain, our pain,
physical, emotional, and psychic,
is just a cost of doing business on Earth,
a cost born by us, but not personal.
Or maybe it’s a very personal challenge,
a spiritual challenge,
to see, through pain, beyond the illusion.
Maybe pain is the messenger
to wake up.
Those in pain may be the lucky ones.