Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve blogged here, and I hope to fill in more details eventually. Meantime I need to tell you the Good and the Bad – the beautiful camps and the highway crash.
Meantime, life continues to amaze me – as I’ve seen so much beautiful Nature – and human-made things like the planosphere above – made of solid slabs of – redwood? – with crystals (lighted!) that mark the stars! I saw this in Slab City – in a community called East Jesus – but I’m getting ahead of myself.
In September of 2016, I found myself unexpectedly homeless! I’d felt moved to sell my home in Silver City, but had been unsure until I was promised a small (and humble) but MOST lovely place to live in Nature – by a friend who managed the place. However, after I sold my home and moved all of my belongings from New Mexico to Arizona, I learned that the current tenants of the home I’d been offered had chosen not to move, leaving me with nowhere to go and 4 storage lockers jammed to the ceilings with my possessions in chaos – and winter approaching and winter clothes impossible to find.
Since I didn’t want to live anywhere else nearby, and couldn’t afford to rent indefinitely, I opted for a new/used travel trailer and a new/used truck, and I hit the road looking for a new location that “called.” Nothing called, but “the road.”
My first year, I traveled all around the West, visiting long-lost friends and incidentally visiting many beautiful places.
For my second year, I knew I wanted only one thing:
To Be of Service
September 2017, I spent the entire month doing annual maintenance on both vehicles – and then headed out in search of whatever Service work Spirit might lead me to. My first week after the maintenance was done I spent working for my old best friend from grade school and high school, helping her move.
On October 7, just forty miles from my storage lockers where I intended to take care of one last reorganization, my trailer seemed to be remote controlled*, went into a most extreme series of increasing fishtails (despite my having experienced them and having pulled out of them before – easily, I could not control them this time), and the trailer fell over, pulling over my truck and me in it.
Thankfully no other vehicles were involved. I awoke from unconsciousness, hanging sideways in my seat restraint, freed myself carefully, climbed out the back window of the truck, and proceeded to convince myself and everyone else that I was “fine.”
(*The timing and circumstances of this crash were both extremely weird. I’ll explain them both later.)
Day four, I woke in extreme pain, realizing that my bed sheets (taken with my mattress from the trailer, opened up during the crash on the highway, and then laid as they were on the floor where I slept) were filled with road grit from the accident – that I’d never noticed the last two nights! I also sensed for the first time that my spine was severely messed up and I had a concussion and could feel my brain swelling – and would for the coming weeks and months. Having not realized that, I’d done an incredible amount of work to move my belongings for the previous 3 days – work I should probably not have done.
Eventually both spine and brain were healed; however, not wanting to burden anyone (after all, I had just left my long-term community and was now where I knew only a few people and not that well), I carried all my own (ten) bags and boxes everywhere, into and out of each home that gave me shelter, tried my best to do for myself, cooking and organizing as well as I could, but unable to find the mental or physical energy for necessary things I thought I could do for myself – but couldn’t: remember to pay bills, find the supplements like fish oil that I desperately needed, etc. It was an extremely forlorn and painful time. I moved 10 times in 10 weeks.
Mid-November, I was so depressed by the moving and situations that didn’t help healing (like loud TV when I desperately needed to sleep), that I HAD to find my own home. After two weeks of searching the Internet, comparing prices and driving a few rigs, on November 29 I purchased a new/used rig – no truck and trailer this time, but a truck and camper, both older and more beat-up than my crashed rig, but what I could afford with the partial payment from my insurance company and a little borrowed money.
The Rubber Tramp Rendezvous
After 6 weeks of re-outfitting (it takes longer than you might imagine), I discovered online the CheapRVLiving.org site and the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous it sponsors every January – for people living inexpensively on the road. South of Quartzsite, Arizona, it was too near to not attend, so I traveled there alone, picking up a solar panel kit on the way.
The RTR was a fantastic event, with an impressive demonstration of humans’ ability to believe in and practice a “gift economy.” When I began working on my photovoltaic system my first morning there, a stranger offered to help – and continued to help after dark (!) till I was almost finished (just ring terminals to go, which I didn’t have). That evening, visiting neighbors, I scored a couple of ring terminals, and finished the job first thing in the morning – generating my own electricity on day two.
Of course, throughout the coming two weeks, I offered to help other women with their solar systems, demonstrated solar cooking three times, led an impromptu rocket-stove building workshop, and gave away a lot of stuff on the “Free” blanket. The entire gathering was wonderful and inspiring.
In Service again
There is much more to tell, especially the Service work I’m doing currently – helping a friend in serious need, whose details I’ll keep private. In brief, I’m honored to be helping again.
As for the “Remote Control”
Uh… Too long a story. I’ll blog on that next.
[I recorded the story in a midnight video here.]
Meantime, I hope this serves as a “catch up” on the last 19 months – not counting the single Travelogue last Spring that had no context. This is the context.
Okay, catch you later ~
(Soon, I hope.)
Yes, yes, I intend to post my first four travelogues soon, but I have to hit the road. So, here’s #5 for now:
Shortly after I moved from my home, someone told me to check out this site, and I finally got around to it today:
I have tried not to talk about this to too many people, which is what the article recommends, but maybe I should have. Hiding, being secretive, is difficult and isolating. Which makes it all feel worse. But I think I did the extreme and told almost no one.
Another recommendation is to never let the harassers drive you from your home. Too late. Not only did I get driven away, but manipulated to sell my home for way too little.
And just as they warn, now I’m nearly penniless and close to homeless, but not exactly. I’m enjoying a lot about my new situation.
If you’re wondering what I’m talking about, check the link above.
The little I’ve shared about this on this site includes this one about the realtor who made my life hell:
and this one covering my entire my life:
and there are a few others.
* Re the link at top: I don’t agree with the author’s last three points, in particular that TI’s waste time feeling sorry for themselves. My biggest time waste is recovering from the attacks, physically and mentally. We’re wasting time doctoring and nursing ourselves back to health in a world that doesn’t want to hear about it.
I also don’t believe Tis are depending on law enforcement. I assume we don’t trust they aren’t in on it.
And I don’t believe anyone should feel responsible to make the reports and go public for the cause. I have, to a limited extent, and I’ve paid a heavy price for it. People should only do what they feel they should.
Peace, Everyone ~
I pass on this essay because it honors dreams, quiet listening, and promises of healing:
In memoriam, Pamela and Elizabeth Mayer
I have a recurring dream in which I find another room in my house that I hadn’t known was there. Once it was a perfect little pantry off the kitchen; in one dream I only discovered it by noticing an unfamiliar window at the back of the house; one time it was a 3-room attic I had to crawl to get into. Each time I awaken from these dreams, I realize that taking up residence in the new room means entering another phase of my life.
In this week’s dream I discovered another bedroom, dusty with piles of old bedsheets and quilts littering the floor. It was a total mess and I’d have to clean it up before I could sleep there.
When I awoke it was clear the dream was telling me to clean up my act from top to bottom, and not a moment to waste.
So, during this quiet time of rainy days in Vermont, I will hunker down and take it on, sifting through all my internal rubbish piece by piece.
I’ve started making a list – a pretty distasteful enterprise, to be sure – and it includes things like the need to self-justify; childish greed; judgments on just about everything; jealousy; vanity – not meanness, I am happy to note, but certainly pettiness.
I suspect that most of us carry around similar sins, and like me, try and hide them. But right now I’d like to try and bring each one of mine into the light, and feel deep into the humiliation of seeing my worst self – no holds barred.
It hurts. But I also find it refreshing to stomp around and shake out those dirty sheets, sneezing from the dust and opening every window to give the room a good airing.
I’m very curious to know how I will use this new room in my house and how I will furnish it. It’s a bedroom, so I imagine I will do some sleeping and dreaming here, but what else?
I’m thinking it might make a good sanctuary room, a space for lighting candles and offering up prayers; a place for quiet reflection, for healing.
Just yesterday I got a clue for this, taking a rain-walk with a friend at Manitou, a forest sanctuary I helped create many years ago on the land of a beloved friend 20 years my senior, Pam Mayer. Pam’s daughter Lisby, a good Berkeley friend, had brought her mother to meet me when she was visiting California, and we sort of fell in love. She was 79 then, and we couldn’t stop talking. So I spent the next summer working with her at this blessed land in rural Vermont, and it changed my life.
My job there was to get to know Manitou’s 235 acres intimately by walking them daily and, as a healer, feel for those places I sensed to be healing sites – like acupuncture points in the landscape. That was where we would site gathering places for community programs.
During those weeks of solo wandering in these dense woods, I came upon a large rockfall that, on closer inspection, seemed to be the ruins of an ancient chamber. I recognized the components: gigantic capstone; stacked-rock walls; deep, hidden ‘cave’ – even though it was completely collapsed in on itself.
Man-made rock formations like this – even intact ones – can still be found around New England, and are often referred to as Indian root cellars, although I suspect they are much older than that, and considerably more mysterious. So it wasn’t a complete surprise to come upon a ruined one in these back woods, but amazing that Pam hadn’t noticed it before.
That day, alone in the woods, I scrambled up the rocks to the broken capstone, sat down and drifted into a doze. Right away I heard a ‘message’ inside my head:
‘Look for a glittering stone, it said. ‘Listen well…’
What was that? I began to listen hard!
That evening I called Pam in high excitement, and over the next few days we came back there together. No, I wasn’t crazy, as both of us were receiving ‘messages’, astonished by the relevant wisdom that came through to each of us. We spent hours each day in the silent woods that summer, surrounded by birdsong and spinning spiders, listening and talking softly of what we had heard. They were teachings, simple but profound, and bonded us even more deeply.
It is many years ago now, but I have followed every instruction I heard there: indeed, I found the glittering quartz stone that first day, and subsequently had a rather remarkable healing with my mother.
We were told in detail what the larger, more cosmic work of Manitou entailed, and what each of our places was in that process. If I had expected to hear something grandiose for myself, I received the opposite. I was told that my work was to confront my own fear and negativity with love and optimism in every way I could think of.
“Start there. The more frightened you are of what is happening in the world,” I heard one day, “the more you must search for the positive aspects, even the humor, in that fear. Use your fear!”
I was urged to learn how to love by looking for the Grand Design of the Universe!
“What is the glue that holds the world together?” I heard one day. “It is love! Know how to love, and you will know just how vast the world is that you live in.”
The ‘voice’ was gentle but uncompromising, and did not tell us how to do what we had to do. That was our job. What it made clear was that our physical world was informed by a much greater reality than we imagined – that only our hearts could intuit the enormity of the invisible, encompassing universe.
Of course I have rarely spoken of this directly and out loud, as it is not the language most of us speak, but at this historical moment in the world when the climate is changing disastrously and the Democrats are as infantile as the Republicans, I think it may be time for me to speak openly of what I learned.
(It is actually why I write these brief, upbeat pieces on serious subjects.)
So let’s try this:
Our little solar system with its tiny jewel of an endangered planet we call “Earth” is only one small part of an invisible, conscious Cosmos of multi-dimensions within and beyond Time and Space. This intricate, but ultimately simple Cosmos has been called by many names in many traditions: ‘God’ is one way. ‘Love’ is another.
The largest, all-encompassing pattern informs the smaller patterns, down to the motions in our cells, in matter itself, and all levels are in perfect balance with themselves, with one another and with the Cosmos.
Everything that we humans do – both individually and as a species – requires that to remain healthy we must reflect the ultimate intelligent pattern of the Cosmos, and that is what we are here to learn. When we deviate from that template, we create mayhem.
Two days after taking my rainwalk at Manitou, I was surprised to run into Pam’s son Mike in town! I didn’t even know he lived here! We decided to take a walk together in the Manitou woods on my last day in Vermont.
Meeting just before sunset, we wandered the trails, catching up after years – actually, we had only met a few times years ago – and told each other stories of Pam and Lisby, both of whom had since died, Lisby leaving several years before her mother. We stopped at the spot Pam had called “the In-Between Place”, between bog and forest, and as the woods grew darker and darker we found ourselves grieving their loss together.
We wept in each others’ arms, unburdening a shared sorrow that few others might understand, as Lisby and Pam had lived on different sides of the country and had quite different communities. Except for family, most people knew either one of them, or the other, but not both. But I had intimately known both of them, and so had Mike.
The Manitou woods sheltered us in our grief, holding us in balsam-scented darkness, absorbing our tears.
These woods were and are healing sanctuary, still fulfilling Pam’s vision for the land. At that particular moment in time it was a healing container for 2 of the people most dear to her, and I imagined her gazing at us through the dimensions, absolutely delighted!
Mike and I wept until there were no more tears and then we laughed at ourselves, relieved. Before we left the woods Mike gave me a big bear hug so strong I felt my spine crack in just the spot that has needed readjustment for weeks.
A healing joke!
The land heals, and often in unexpected ways.
Please remember that!
BLOG: Musings on the Passing Scene: www.carolynnorthbooks.com/news
“Whatever else happens, either everything is a miracle, or nothing is.”
The first of the three videos can be skipped, but the whole article is a welcome piece of writing.
And here’s a link from it which I also found useful:
Unfortunately, I didn’t read this in time and allowed my tormentors to force me from my home, losing tens of thousands of dollars in the hasty (terrified) process.
Now, just like the article predicts, I find myself in yet another bad situation (wondering if it has also be engineered by handlers), with options narrowing….
BUT, chastened by this article, I will make less-hasty, more cautious choices. AND I will look for the somewhat-local community this article mentions as a way to get support.
Keep the Faith ~
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.
Over two-thousand, five-hundred times I stood with my hand on heart and said “The Pledge,” programming myself to believe I lived in a nation of liberty and justice for all.
Yesterday I filed complaints with the New Mexico Attorney General’s office (and plan to do the same with the NM Board of Realtors) as if our country is just and I might right some wrongs by filing reports with Authorities.
But I know better than anyone that this nation (and planet) is run by a criminal network, controlled by mysterious Overlords – because some of us have been serving them (and their evil pedophilic needs) since we were children.
I keep “forgetting” (acting as programmed) and therefore making stupid choices based on a false reality and false expectations of goodness and justice.
Problem: When I remember the reality, people don’t like me and call me “dark,” and demand I go back into hiding. In that way, society participates in my repression back to programmed status. It’s crazy-making.
But maybe the crazy-making is essentially a crisis to birth a new phoenix.
Or maybe it’s to drive me first into a cave for a period of time for some purpose I’ll one day discover.
Recently I’ve been separated from all my possessions, thrown into chaotic storage in which little can be accessed, stripping from me all my personal comforts and memories.
My cave won’t be available until next year, but a temporary one becomes available Sunday. Soon I’ll move in, to hibernate for who knows how long. Feels right.
I think I should cancel the complaints, let the Punishing Powers be, quit seeking “justice for all,” as if it ever were reality. Quit engaging the Enemy.
After all, I’ve been a hermit, and moving again toward hermit-hood off-and-on for 22 years, and I’ve been lured away once, driven away twice, and now I am returned again, for a final or third try, chased back in fear and frustrated rage, perhaps for good purpose, even if the process feels evil. It got me back, perhaps, where I’m supposed to be – I pray.
I am content with this, to enter my cave for an unknown period of time. But will the world be a better place if I follow through on my legal complaints against organized stalkers? Or should I just leave them alone, and hope they do the same for me?
- Tuesday, August 23, Western NM Title Company says all paperwork is ready and scheduled closing for Thursday, August 25, 4:30.
- Realtor Paul Richardson called at 4 pm, August 25 to say the paperwork is NOT ready, and closing might be delayed for as much as a week. PROBLEMS : Four utility cut-offs, mail forward, hired help arriving, U-Haul rented, hired help from out of state arrived and his truck returned without him, and he can’t remain a week.
- After canceling everything, but only postponing the U-Haul (the woman insisted), and completely stumped about how to get my helper back to Arizona, the realtor emailed (didn’t call) at 9:55 the next morning to say the paperwork came in and closing will be at 10 or 10:30 – with buyer (he says) refusing to return unless I sign within 30 minutes. PROBLEMS: I have no hired help, and the U-Haul (and ALL the similar-sized trucks in town) were mysteriously all rented overnight, the U-Haul woman seemed baffled and in a state of shock, as though something happened she couldn’t explain – though I still see “my” truck parked there. I consider all my options, including my hired help’s need to return home, and close.
- I rent a U-Haul from Deming and make the three-hour, 120-mile drive to get it.
- Other hired help is found, but can’t work as many hours, so my friend from out of state will do heavy lifting, much of it alone, for 16 hours straight.
- No time to cancel the utilities (which are only read on weekdays anyway) (and the buyer who promises to do it, doesn’t) until Monday, but they won’t be read till days later, so I pay (minor detail) for many extra days of utilities.
- The title company says they’ll deposit my check (in the credit union right across the street) for me as soon as they get it. But they don’t get “authorization” to cash it until Monday, and then their office is “closed for training” Monday-Wednesday, so they won’t deposit it until Thursday – almost a week’s delay. It’s Thursday, they’re acting illegally, and I’m still waiting.
This could be seen as gross incompetence, but my realtor’s behavior was actually worse than all this. (Anyone who wants to see the email trail, I’ll be happy to share it.) At closing (which he did not attend), when we needed to write an amendment to change the date by which I’d be out of the house, the closing officer told me the realtor said, “He didn’t want to do that.”
As a “targeted individual” – someone who’s regularly subjected to all forms of harassment, from electronic weapons-testing (on mind and body) to break-ins to my home, Tasering in the night, etc – I recognize this string of bizarre and unprofessional behavior as “organized stalking.”
The people involved are not necessarily people involved directly with the CIA or Satanist or Mormon Church or otherwise in my lineage network (though some may be on payroll or membership); they may just be former frat boys who promised to be loyal and do what the fraternity told them. Their connection? They’re all in one big criminal network, and often they are called on to cooperate with something they may not even understand. Anyone not in the system is totally unaware of it.
Like in the old film, “Brotherhood of the Bell,” one day, a man gets a call and is required to do some shit against someone he really doesn’t want to hurt, but he has to. It’s the price of having the fraternity support him in all his professional endeavors – giving them all those 5-star ratings and sending him plum referrals for his business, making him successful, and dependent on the devil. He knows that if he doesn’t do what he’s asked, the same dirty tricks will be played against him.
I was promised all this – and threatened with all this – when I was sucked into the “Greek system” as an 18-year old child – and deactivated as soon as I could, despite the dire warning of terrible repercussions. Now, having also become an activist against major corporations, and having also been a mind control subject as a child, speaking up, I’m living the repercussions.
I am a spirit-seer; I cross between realities to learn the unknowable and befriend wondrous beings, for even the most powerful benefit from my humble blessings. I transcend time and space to see that which cannot be seen, and find my way through the darkest of places. I dance between contradictions and surrender myself to paradoxes. I know the physical and the imaginary are of equal value. I commune with the universe and feel the infinite connections running through it.
I am everything and nothing; simultaneously infinitely meaningful and infinitely meaningless. I give and take; I bless and am blessed. And in the end I am simply human, trying to live up to my potential.