and had me perform 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.
With the memory of this incident compartmentalized in my mind. I made so 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 VanderJagd 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-controlled 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.
CHAPTER 2
THE RITE TO REMAIN SILENT
On May 7, 1966, I was dressed in white from my Catholic veil to my white patent leather shoes as was mandatory for making my first holy communion. I was standing outside the newly built, twisted concrete structure of Muskegon's St. Francis of Assisi Church waiting for the ceremony to commence when Guy VanderJagt, who was affiliated with the church, strode across the lawn towards me.
Crouching down on one knee, VanderJagt said, 'You look beautiful today. You are as beautiful as your name. Cathleen is Gaelic for 'the pure,' and it is clear to me that you are flawless in your purity. Ann means «grace». It is by the grace of God, not your actions, that you are pure. Pure at heart. You are covered by the blood of our Lord and Savior, just like the cross on which he hung. This is for you.' He opened a black velvet box, revealing a rosy cross necklace. Like the Kennedy inscribed pen he had presented me with at the state capical, the meaning behind the rosy cross necklace would lead me through the rest of my mind-con trolled existence.
VanderJagds pedophile comrade in Project Monarch, Father Don, joined us, reaching deep into the pocket of his robes to present me with a delicate blue charm of the Holy Mother. It was to be worn in conjunction with the rosy cross 'to symbolize your service to the holy Catholic church,' Father Don told me, which I would 'promise to serve and obey'.
As VanderJagt fastened the rosy cross and blue virgin around ray neck, he told me I was now dressed appropriately for the ceremony in red, white, and blue. I could feel his breath on my neck as he fastened the necklace and instructed, 'When Father says 'Body of Christ' and you say 'Ahhh men'… you acknowledge that Christ is God made man, and that you know what men are for. When Father gives you the host, it will stick to the roof of your mouth unless you suck it off his thumb.'
I hurried to line up with my Catechism classmates for the procession into the church for our holy communion mass.
'Body of Christ,' Father Don said, holding up the host.
'Ahhh… men,' I responded as instructed, sucking the wafer off his thumb. After services, VanderJagt and Father Don talked with me briefly while my parents congregated with other parishioners. Father was telling me, '…God has chosen you for work within his holy church. You are a Chosen One[9] , my child…'
Later that evening, VanderJagt attended the reception that my parents were holding for me at our house. He talked with my father awhile, but spent most of his time talking with my Uncle Bob, who had recently flown in from 'a mission over seas'. My Uncle Bob and VanderJagt were friends, and remained so throughout the years. As the party dispersed, VanderJagt drove me back to church for a 'special evening service with Father Don.'
VanderJagt unlocked the rectory door of the old church across the street from the new St. Francis structure, explaining that we had to 'have a very important talk now that I had eaten the body of Christ.' The talk, blood trauma, and sexual abuse that ensued conditioned my mind to readily accept prgramming throughout the years that deliberately merged both U.S. Government and Jesuit mind-control efforts for New World Order controls.
'I work for the Vatican, and now, so do you,' VanderJagt told me. 'You have just entered into a covenant with the holy Catholic church. You must never break that covenant.'
Still capable of questioning at that time, I asked, 'What is a covenant?'
VanderJagt answered, 'A covenant is a promise to keep secrets, the secret that the church knew all along. The Pope has all the secrets locked away at the Vatican. Your Uncle Bob and I have been to the Vatican. It is time you entered into the holy covenant and learned the secrets of the church that were written long before Christ even came into being. The Dominican monks kept the covenant that Noah carried into the new world. They kept the secret with them. It was written on parchment and kept in a secret place in the Vatican. They took a Vow of Silence to never reveal its location, or its content. You must enter into the covenant. You must carry the secret to your grave. Keep it secret from your mom, dad, everybody.'
VanderJagt proceeded to fill my suggestible young mind with biblical interpretation that laid the groundwork for future 'inter/inner dimensional' programming themes utilized by Project Monarch programmers to control the compartmentalization of memory synonymous with MPD/DID[10].
'Christ saw them all,' VanderJagt was telling me, 'They are dimensions, places you can see on your way to death. - That's why they're called die-mentions. You must remember that Christ died and came back to tell us everything he saw while he was on his way to heaven. He was gone three days, but it was much longer than that where he was because time isn't the same in other dimensions. Purgatory is one other dimension. Hell is one. And there are lots of others in between. Oz is another dimension. The sky is not the limit to all the worlds out there wailing to be explored. You can travel in and out of ail these dimensions, learning the secrets of the universe. You have been chosen to explore these oilier worlds for the church. Listen in the stillness and you will hear his voice guiding you[11] on your missions. The rosy cross is like Dorothy's ruby slippers. Never take your rosy cross off, Cathy, when traveling other dimensions and you will always be able to return home.'
Father Don joined VanderJagt in a ritual which bathed me in the blood of a slaughtered lamb, and subsequently, through this hideous blood trauma, locked their stated perceptions and a basis for mind-control programming deep in my mind. This basis for programming was anchored in the Vow of Silence which the Jesuit monks take 'not only to keep secrets, but so they can still their mind and hear their inner guidance.' Certain that the 'Rite to Remain Silent' which they had performed would ensure that I keep their secret Father Don and Guy VanderJagt subjected me to their pedophile perversions. The two joked that I had become 'a good Cathy- lick'.
After the Rite to Remain Silent was installed, the voices of my multiple personalities that I had previously heard in my head ceased. In the silence of deliberately created memory compartments, I could only hear the voices of my abusers who created them… commanding my silence.
Silence for who and what I knew was involved in Project Monarch Mind Control.
