very strangely to be so upset about such a little thing. But, my inner system of personalities knew that this would not do when I was nearing an assignment with the President.
The next thing I remembered, I was escorted by the Secret Service to the back door of a dark Mexican Restaurant. I joined Reagan in a booth in the back of the restaurant and waited for him to finish eating. It wasn't long until we walked out on the beach. We walked hand in hand along the beach with the Secret Service agents following a short distance behind us. As we were walking on the beach that night, Reagan seemed upset and anxious, very nervous. He said he was concerned about the 'state of affairs. With my pre-programmed sexual orientation, my mind immediately went to the thought of sexual affairs, but as he continued speaking I realized he was speaking of the affairs of the nation. He went on to explain that being President was difficult, that there was a lot more to it than I could imagine. He said he was concerned about the way things were going and was upset with Kissinger about some things he had handled. He said he was very upset with Henry for taking so many matters into his own hands. He said he knew a few hours with me would help him snap out of the mood he was in.
I had been given a few key words by the Council to help Reagan 'snap out of it' when he got into one of his slumps. They were very simple phrases like, 'everything will be okay,' said while I was rubbing or caressing his forehead over and over. He seemed to respond to that like a kitten going into a purr. I would generally rub him all over, front and back, before climbing on top of him to satisfy him sexually.
We went into a little cabin-type motel on the beach. It was just the two us with Secret Service agents all around outside. The little room was done in Mexican design; a red bedspread in Mexican colors, yellows and blues, and a little pair of maracas sat on a wooden dresser. I had sex with him and then we left; he did not go to sleep as usual. He hugged me briefly outside the motel and kissed me on the cheek before he left with the Secret Service agents.
A Secret Service agent took me back to where I was staying with my husband. It was a very quick encounter; rushed, like Reagan had somewhere else to go.
Craig and I returned to our home in California without conscious knowledge of my 'missing time' or of what he did during my absence.
When Danny was an infant we went for programming together. He was a year old when his innerspace mind files were created in order for him to have a wide range of access points, without the necessity of as much trauma as was necessary back in the days when mine were created. Time had shown our controllers that trauma itself was one cause for the breakdown in slaves. So Danny was exposed to their newer technology, from birth, and Danny and I were both heavily programmed and cross-programmed together.
I was there with Danny when he was 3 or 4 years old. It seemed like a school field trip, but the series of events that unfolded were much different. Danny had on long baggy blue print shorts and a light blue T-shirt. We were sitting with other mothers and children, in the front row of a circular auditorium. Men in NASA suits, who were dressed like astronauts were all around and one of them came over, lifted Danny up and put him into a chair. 'Like the real astronauts sit in!' the man explained. This chair had equipment all around it.
Danny smiled so sweetly across the auditorium at me like he was so proud and so happy to be chosen to sit in the big astronaut chair. There was such anticipated excitement and innocence in his joyful smile. Soon the man instructed him to lean back so his head was properly aligned to fit into a silver band and when Danny was in the proper alignment, I watched the NASA official clamp the back of the silver band to fit snugly around his little forehead. Danny looked up at the NASA official, eyes wide with innocence and youthful exuberance, and smiled as the man said to Danny, 'Hold on for the ride of your life!'
Another man brought in some sort of visual/optical glasses (virtual reality?) to rest in front of Danny's eyes and told him to look into the viewer. Then to my horror, the man standing next to Danny gave a cue to another man and I watched in agony as Danny's little body jolted. They must have been giving him electroshock and God knows what else. After a time, his little body went limp and he was unconscious.
I was dying inside, but knew from many past experiences with his older brother and sister that if I made any attempt to interfere things would only get worse for all of us, especially Danny, so against all maternal protective instinct, I maintained my composure.
Pretty soon the NASA official waved a smelling salt or something in a cotton ball bound with gauze, in front of Danny's face. He came to abruptly and they released him from the equipment and then from the chair. He was sweating profusely around his forehead and under his nose. As the man helped him out of the chair, Danny looked over at me and several facial expressions quickly washed over him. At first he looked utterly humiliated and embarrassed, which was soon replaced with a look of utter shame that spread over his entire face and down his little body.
He could barely walk over to me and when I stood to help him, the NASA man said, 'He's a big boy, he can do this on his own.'
'Mommy, I feel sick,' my little son said as he hobbled over to me and put his head in my lap. The men did the same thing to several other children, including another little girl from Danny's preschool, Born Learners. Soon we were escorted out, put on a shuttle back to the airport and were flown home. None of this experience was available to my conscious mind until years later when I began the grueling process of deprogramming. And, to this day, Danny has no memory of this event available to his conscious mind.
Different parts of me took care of Danny and our controllers assigned other parts to take him to places for conditioning.
The Highway to Heaven billboard that we had to pass along Kanan Road on the way to Zuma Beach or Point Mugu dissociated me. Instead of the actual sign, I would experience an internal experience of, 'You are going to another plane of reality, one that only exists in your imagination and this Highway is your start off point in going there,' and, I would go into a programmed mode that my controllers called the Highway to Heaven zone. There were landmarks (landmines) all over California that they used in order to keep me in line, 'in the right state of mind.'
Danny's mind files were filled with data early on and expanded after he was three years old. I drove him to Point Mugu or we were intercepted at the intersection of Kanan and Agoura Road, and go in the car with these men. They usually drove a dark colored sedan with tinted windows. Whether I drove or not, these men took my son from me in the car at Point Mugu in the morning, and returned him back to me at the car by late afternoon. He would just limply lie on my lap all the way home, and then I put him to bed in his crib where he slept until the next morning without waking.
Whenever he and I would go to the beach to fly a kite or play in the sand, they always took him away from me and brought him back later. Once some men on a Coast Guard boat took him from me at Zuma Beach when he and I were playing. He was around five. They came up close to shore, yet remained just beyond the crest of the waves. A lifeguard type guy in a red swimsuit that was about 25 years old took Danny by the hand from the beach and swam out to the boat with him. Then they took off with my son, while I stayed on the beach waiting, just sitting all alone, zombie-like until they returned my son. I helped Danny walk back to our brown station wagon and we went home.
Henry Kissinger filled Danny with high-level information, intended to span many years and to be delivered whenever necessary at specific future dates to large crowds of people. Danny had historical files put in, as did I.
At Born Learners Preschool at three to four years of age, Danny started special computer classes that kept him at school long hours, sometimes into the evening. When I asked him if he wanted to stop he always said he loved it, as did his best friend Justin. I believe programmers do more of the training via computer screen now, often using virtual reality. After computer class, I took the two of them to Monarch's Gymnastics, the same gymnastics school his older brother and sister went to for lessons. I usually waited in the car or ran errands while they were there and I was always so exhausted I could hardly stay awake. I had usually been to therapy abreacting the horrors of my own childhood and hurried home from Westwood to pick up Danny and Justin from preschool, and later on Danny from Kindergarten. I didn't like Mike, the man who ran the gymnastics center. He had a very bad temper and was often emotionally out of control. Kevin, Kelly and Danny all went to Monarch's Gymnastics in conjunction with the Montessori preschools.
I thought I would not be able to bear the pain and grief when I began remembering scenarios of the ways in which I had been programmed to be a part of my children's preschool mind control experiences. This is information I would prefer to withhold because it goes against everything I believe in, but in order for people to
