On death and dying

My mother’s impending death prompted a message from her followed by a brief phone conversation that encapsulated our lifelong dynamic. She is compelled to snuff out my light - my love for her. Unable to get up from bed, she yet demonstrated great strength and will power in rejecting me. Just as in my childhood when she was only strong whenever she got some deep revenge on me. Earlier this year, there was a brief window in which I called to forgive her, and I felt her more open than ever. This window closed. My child self suffered a final blow from her, but my adult was present during our interaction and it is all so clear. Love, and her own light, are too deeply buried to ever shine through in her life. And while that is sad for her, it is teaching me to understand and love her and those like her, while I undo the guilt they heaped on me for daring to break from this mold of living death.

The first part of my trauma-based mind control training in Germany was focused on recognizing men’s sexual desires. After this  I received what I thought to be a reward. The handlers seemed more relaxed. I got to pick a cute little creature from a litter. And was told I made a good choice. That was a cryptic comment, the meaning of which has dawned on me only over the last weeks as I’ve been processing the feelings around what I was made to do.

I’ve never met a veteran who has received help with the trauma of having killed. The camaraderie between troops is very much based on keeping a strong divide towards those people considered the enemy. But when you kill, it is like you lose a part of yourself, and it may feel like you can never get it back, because that person you killed can never come back to life. Your act is irreversible. You are powerless to make it right, and this sense of powerlessness drives many into despondency and fatalism, followed by repression of the uncomfortable feelings, followed by denial, followed by the urge to experience once again the release (from all accumulated frustration and anger), followed by negative projections onto to the victim to justify the act, followed by a repetition. Violence, and murder as its ultimate expression, are as addictive as any substance. 

Power addiction offers a temporary release from whatever burdens life has heaped onto you. That release creates such an intense discharge of your emotional load, that you may feel the innocence and power of a newborn babe. That momentary high has you feeling a sense of freedom like you’ve never known. Every negative thought that was ever projected onto you, every humiliation, every form of abuse you have ever suffered is erased in this moment, as it is all channeled to the victim, leaving you entirely free of it. The high experienced in the zone of violence is the most intoxicating, the most liberating in the moment, and the most damaging and destructive in your life.

I know a homeless Vietnam vet who is a fixture in my Brooklyn neighborhood. Once we spoke, and  soon he was describing a carnage of horrifying proportions. In the survival state, he had clearly been taken over by the “fight” impulse, created by the intense fear of his own potential demise. He went wild. He experienced the high of the insane hormonal influx during life-and-death battles, and could not live with the shame of having gotten high on it. He described feeling empty inside. I daresay he ended up homeless because he did not believe he deserved any better. He was in a tremendous bloodbath in which many soldiers and civilians lost their lives, and he never was able to move beyond this excruciating trauma, beyond this devastating event.

It is possible to heal from taking lives, and to return to the fullness of the self. But, it is much harder to restore your innate innocence when lives have been lost at your hands, then when you were the victim. The cute little creature I had picked was to be my first victim. I refused. And I was made to regret that decision. I was still made to strike, and by then it could only be considered a mercy killing. Consequently I was repeatedly told, I was screamed at, that I was a soulless robot.

I had been praised because I had chosen the smallest, most vulnerable of the litter. This German mind control facility housed a Eugenics lab. In some circles it is whispered that the Nazis won the war. I was considered a prime specimen, except for my brown hair and eyes. It was made clear that my intelligence would have to make up for the “deficiency” of the eyes and hair.

From that first time onward, knowing what was to happen to the victim if I refused to strike, all killings were mercy killings. I was made to train on animals, then aborted babies, who were very small but alive when I was brought to them inside the killing chamber.  Like the homeless Vietnam vet, I also started to experience the emptiness inside during the “practice.” Praised for being good at handling the knives, quick and efficient, as a nine year old girl, I felt the pride Nazi’s must have felt - of being special, of being a “good” specimen.

This part, that was dead inside of me, recently hijacked my body/mind system. I was unable to feel except for the pleasure of not feeling, while the images of the past rolled before me like a faraway silent film, with my nine-year old self in it as a character and myself as the observer, without empathy, concern or regret. I only had a nagging thought that nothing meant anything, that my life meant nothing. 

Next came the sense that I am evil. I felt this very strongly for an entire day, unable to distance myself from this idea, as the arrogance reared up from the deep recesses of my mind, connected to the destruction I was made to be part of.  Behind my conviction that I was evil was hidden horrendous shame. This shame was very hard to bear. I was physically unwell during the entire week, feeling as weak as I had to be strong back then, nauseous, and a few times having to stabilize myself or I would have fainted. The discomfort was rounded off by a persistent, dry, energy-sucking headache. The sense of being bad and the shame that were hiding behind the pleasantness of not feeling, as they were instilled not only through my own detrimental actions, but screamed at me during the same week as I was tied down and hooked up with electrodes to the head, as the work to separate my brain hemispheres was being conducted, so I could better dissociate, better compartmentalize, better operate for the network’s nefarious purposes. It was sickening indeed. Then the grief hit. 

These past few days have been spent feeling the pain of what I was made to do as a child, and the grief for the lives that were lost - thrown away  - because a powerful American decided that I should become more like himself, so I could be a better tool for him. Many people, much organization, much thought went into this training. SRA survivors generally have had similar experiences. Killing is the indoctrination into the secret society of this power structure. And once one is thoroughly dead inside, nothing matters, and anything goes.

That is the way of the world, still, today, steeped in ignorance and death and dying. War will never end war. Violence is never the answer - it is a compulsion, a trauma instinct that can be harnessed and manipulated into a tool to keep the earth’s resources in the hands of those responsible for those wars  - those sad, sick, lonely, emotionally infantile power addicts who have lost their heart and soul, trying to compensate with material gain and worldly status, camouflaging their unbearable weakness.

My mother never received enough love in her childhood to break out of her troubled little-girl self, who diligently pleased men out of fear and relentlessly punished me for trying to love her. That love would have brought her back to life, but the pain underneath the harm she caused, and the grief for her own child self, were more than she could face. I love her. I love the suffering soul beneath the body and mind that shut out its light. 

We have what we need inside ourselves to understand everything, and everyone. We all have a killer inside of us, and we would all need to access that part to understand those who manifest it, either through crime or through sanctioned war. Once we can see and accept ourselves completely, once we can break through our shame and embrace every aspect of ourselves, we can clearly see others for what they are, and properly discriminate between truth and lies, see behind the facade and take right action without our own unresolved feelings of anger, hatred and negative projection marring our motivation. 

Only if we can embrace all of ourselves, and gradually undo the vast brainwashing which the external power structure has imposed on each one of us, will we be able to establish the sister and brotherhood of our dreams.