Like Ally in the Steven Spielberg movie “Taken,” the US Military tracked me as I came into my human body from the spiritual plane when I birthed this Janet. Aware of my higher levels of existence, I had difficulties integrating into this human form. Since I had agreed to incarnate, I also decided with divine creation to go unconscious and fully emerge in physical form. To fully participate and enjoy human life, I had to suffer amnesia like everyone else.
I left behind clues for myself and only agreed to this sublimation of my soul if I was permitted to awaken over time and become conscious of my eternal self and multi-dimensional existence. I’m not sure who I was negotiating with and who has enough control over my free will that I have to bargain with them to get permission to remember. Some parts are clear as mud. But I realize that on some level I am both and that connection to my polarity of self and apparent other is reflected through all planes of existence from the lowest level here in third-dimensional physicality to the highest one at Source itself.
My mission is to experience this process of memory suppression in order to learn how to emerge out of it and move beyond it to consciousness and teach others how to do the same.
Janet (which means little God), began her journey and I, the soul with eternal awareness go in and out of consciousness in order to remain committed to life and the eternal process which permits humans to become conscious while learning the necessary lessons to grow and evolve.
I remain connected to higher beings which seem to be external to myself and not myself and to other parts of myself, my other incarnations and inter dimensional manifestations of myself that simultaneously exist. Mainly I focus on me, as human life is complex and simple, highly stimulating and boring, exciting and confusing all at once.
My mother felt confused, unable to integrate, and fully experience motherhood. If humanity had a more advanced society, Mother most certainly would not have been permitted to raise children. On other worlds in the cosmos, children may be created from a variety of DNA to maximize his or her or its potential and are grown by others to optimize the education process of the soul. But here on Earth humans are not logical, are very emotional, simplistic, and programmed. They often subject dependent, tiny young people to older people who are incompetent or unqualified to be around children let alone be responsible enough for their total care and upbringing.
My mother aborted me, either consciously or through her reluctance to be a mother again, and I missed coming into form two years earlier (1952). I knew I had to come into my human avatar within a certain time frame so I would be close enough in age to my current husband, Sasha so that we could relate and the age difference would not be too ridiculous. As it is, I made it in just in time as we are 14 years apart in age. We needed to be relatable with each other, and as it is, he is a “War Baby” and I am a “Baby Boomer.”
I, Janet, barely survived this infancy and toddler process of human existence. My mother was not really fully integrated, would be deemed mentally incompetent in most civilized cultures. But here, on Earth, she is/was my mother and just because I came out of her womb that sufficient and made her fully qualified to raise, groom, educate and moderate me till I reached adulthood.
My father was a secondary parent in those days as he was expected by society to go out and earn a living whereby he could support and wife and three children through his labor. In 1950s through the early 70s his solo income was barely sufficient as he was a mailman. We really could have used the income my mother would have generated. But since it was not socially acceptable in those days for most women to work outside the home and rear children at the same time, my mother stayed home to raise me. Needless to say, we were both miserable. But somehow, I survived.
Adapting to a human body proved most difficult. I had trouble controlling my urine and feces and wore a cloth diaper around my bottom to catch both whereby once those fluids projected out of my body they became cold, mushy, stinky and unbearably uncomfortable. Since I could not talk, I was limited by screams that often resulted in cries and tears. I had little to no control over my emotions and I was subject to frustration, anger on up to rage waiting for my mother to respond. I don’t recall my father ever changing my diaper. As soon as I could gain control over those body functions, I vowed to never do such disgusting things again to myself. Somehow, by pure will and determination, I was successful.
Infancy was torturously slow and boring. I entertained myself by going out of body, visiting the in-between life place and traveling to other worlds. I was gone more often than not. I had such a precariously thin thread, barely an attachment to my human body at first; I would often forget that I owned a body at times. But there was this nagging thread that held me to form the astral chord and when stimulated or tugged by mother or other humans who woke me through sound or action, it jerked me back into the body often resulting with me feeling strong emotions and tears. Sometimes I’d awaken to horrible sensations of intense hunger. And there was always that disgusting reminder of cold urine and feces in the early years.
The people around me could be interesting if they found me interesting and attempted to engage me. I could fully understand what they were saying early on. But my vocal cords were under-developed, and I had difficulty coordinating the lips, tongue, air and at first, lack of teeth then later dealing with teeth to form the appropriate sounds to communicate — also, teething hurts.
When I did begin succeeding in articulating my desires and needs, I progressed too fast and terrified my mother, who swore on some level she had given birth to a demon seed. Mother, Christian, was programmed in ridiculous human doctrine, feared me on some level. Telepathically I picked up that she both loved me and thought some demon was responsible for my existence. Later it dawned on me that maybe I was ritually created through some satanic demon process. When I read “Rosemary’s Baby” in my middle teens, I swore I had stumbled upon “the truth.” But I dismissed it at that time while secretly curious about that movie and its sequels. Since those characters responsible for my conception are now long dead, I suppose we’ll never know.
I spoke too early too soon and too much. Mother was freaked out by my ability to speak full sentences and articulate elaborate concepts way beyond my years. She wished me dead. Since I was telepathic in those days, I got it. But I knew I was protected, so didn’t think too much of it.
When Mother came in and saw me flying around the room, she freaked out. I was able to levitate and astral project. While Mother was in the other room doing laundry, watching TV and ignoring me, I’d entertain myself by practicing my levitation skills. I’d usually make three or more trips around the room then plop back into the crib with a loud bam. Then I’d laugh hysterically and do it again. June typically ignored it, so I was safe. But for some reason, she decided to check on me as I enjoyed myself to the extreme, and she busted me. She freaked of course because babies in this reality don’t fly you well know.
At that point, my extraterrestrial/interdimensional guides and interdimensional friends knew they had to intervene or I would more than likely experience some unfortunate “accident.”
After I was born, my mother told me that she was sick the entire time she was pregnant with me. She said the birth was extremely difficult. They medicated her, knocked her unconscious, so I was delivered with forceps pulling at my head, pulling me out by force. Mother, unconscious when I took my first breath, was not present there to experience the hormones released at birth fully.
“Hormones, labour and birth: an introduction
You know your hormones are going to be working hard at this time but you might not know exactly what they’re doing. You’ll in fact have four major hormonal systems active when you’re in labour and giving birth. These hormones are:
- oxytocin (the love hormone)
- beta-endorphins (the hormones of pleasure and transcendence)
- epinephrine and norepinephrine (the hormones of excitement)
- prolactin (the mothering hormone).
Here’s what impact all four will have on you…
Oxytocin or the love hormone
Oxytocin is the love hormone, which is why it’s released during sex, orgasm, birth and breastfeeding. It makes you feel more affectionate and selfless, and its main function in labour is to bring on contractions. You’ll get a surge of oxytocin in the final stage, so if you’re having a vaginal birth it will help you along with pushing.
Oxytocin reduces stress, calms you down and helps with pain during labour. Impressively, your baby will also produce oxytocin before and during labour. It hangs around after birth, helps you feel more relaxed, well-nourished and bonded with your baby. It helps with the let-down reflex during breastfeeding and protects you against postpartum haemorrhage.
Beta-endorphins or the pleasure hormones
Endorphins are naturally occurring opiates, similar to morphine and heroin. Like oxytocin, they mostly appear during sex, pregnancy, birth and breastfeeding. Beta-endorphins reduce pain and suppress the immune system, which is important so that it doesn’t act ‘against’ your baby. If you’re stressed during labour, that can make you release excessive beta-endorphins, which may inhibit oxytocin and slow things down. That’s why keeping things as calm as possible is a great thing in labor.
Epinephrine and norepinephrine or fight or flight hormones
You’re likely to get a high level of these hormones if you don’t feel private, calm, safe and undisturbed and they can then inhibit oxytocin. Yet in the late-labor stage if you perceive danger or stress, they may paradoxically stimulate contractions so you give birth more quickly. A rise in epinephrine when you’re in the later stages of labour increases your levels of prostaglandin and cortisol to help with contractions. This will make you feel a sudden rush of energy and will cause several strong contractions and will help you push. These hormones help your baby too by protecting them against a lack of oxygen. Your baby will have high levels of these hormones during birth but they’ll drop quickly once you sooth them afterwards.
Prolactin or the mothering hormone
Prolactin is the mothering hormone. And it’s the major hormone for breastfeeding. Prolactin starts to increase during pregnancy and peaks at birth. Your baby produces prolactin in the womb too.”
“Hormones and your feelings after birth
Lots of women get the baby blues during the first week after birth of her baby days. You might feel down or depressed, emotional or irritated and likely to burst into tears at any second.
Don’t despair though: these symptoms are totally normal. They’re due to the sudden hormonal and chemical changes that happen after you give birth.
If you feel like you are suffering from something more extreme and it isn’t going away though, talk to your GP or midwife. You might be suffering from postnatal depression and should get some support or help right away.”
Father was forced to wait in the “Waiting Room” with all the other fathers. Back in the 1950s parents and family members were forced to wait down the hall and often on a different floor in the “waiting room.” During the birth, chemicals are released so that everyone bonds, falls in love with one another, and on a soul level, commits to the newborn child, to his or her well-being, and to care for that child all the days of their lives. Interaction with the baby furthers the bonds, but the initial bonds are critical.
As a consequence of the sterile, unemotional reception, I suffered from what I call the “Stranger in a Strange Land” phenomena. I never felt truly connected to those people who raised me. We didn’t bond like we were supposed to bond. Mother suffered from post natal depression. Of course, since we didn’t know much about it, she was not diagnosed so no attempts to correct her behavior were undertaken. She had been ambivalent about having another child her entire pregnancy. She was sick the entire time as well. Her sister had twelve children so my mother felt pressured that she had to become a post war baby factory as well. But mother didn’t like being a mother. She felt anxious, nervous and lacked the patience required for the task.
I felt like I had been dropped off on this strange planet, abandoned by my true family who for some unknown reason left me and returned to the stars.
I, Janet, barely survived this infancy and toddler process of human existence. Mother, split into her subpersonalities, never fully integrated, would by current standards be deemed mentally incompetent in most civilized cultures. She was undiagnosed schizophrenic. What made her split into so many multiples?
That’s what Illuminati families do. They spit their children into alters to control and manipulate them. Subsequently, mind split and continually mind-wiped, split people never figure out what’s going on. The Illuminati does that to world leaders, like Presidents, CEO’s and the like, so they never realize who’s managing strings of all the puppets. This manipulation has been going on since the beginning of humanity and continues to this day, to the Presidents including the current President, Donald Trump. This control is beyond party politics. I would learn more about how this works much later in life. I’m still discovering more each day as people come forth to tell their tales.
But as a newborn, tiny and fragile, I barely clung to life. Extraterrestrials helped me stay connected for I was here on a mission, and I had committed my soul fully to the task. Many times I would want to go home. Several times I lay on death’s door. But I would soon come to learn that death is not an option. There’s no escape from this perverse matrix. The only way through it is to change it, and that’s the main reason I’m baring it all, is so that we, humanity, have a chance to not only survive but to make life more enjoyable, more liveable, more worthwhile.
But here, on Earth, back in time to February 1954, the woman who bore and birthed me is/was my mother. And just because I came out of her womb that sufficient and made her fully qualified to raise, groom, educate and moderate me till I reached adulthood.
My father was not expected to do much of the daily parenting chores as my mother because in those days Dad was expected by society to go out and earn a living whereby he could support and wife and three children through his labor. In the late 1950s through the early1970s, his solo income was barely sufficient as he was a mailman. We really could have used the income my mother would have generated. But since it was not socially acceptable in those days for most women to work outside the home and rear children at the same time, my mother stayed home to raise me. We were both miserable. But somehow, I survived.
Adapting to a human body proved most difficult. I had trouble controlling my urine and feces and wore a cloth diaper around my bottom to catch both whereby once those fluids projected out of my body, they became cold, mushy, stinky and unbearably uncomfortable. Since I could not talk, I felt limited and resorted to loud noises and screams that often resulted in cries and tears. I had little to no control over my emotions, and I was subject to frustration, anger on up to rage, waiting for my mother to respond. I don’t recall my father ever-changing my diaper. As soon as I could gain control over those body functions, I vowed to never do such disgusting things again to myself. Somehow, by pure will and determination, I was successful.
Infancy was torturously slow and tedious. Bored stiff, I entertained myself by going out of my body and visited the in-between life place and traveled to other worlds. I was gone more often than not. I had such a precariously thin thread, barely an attachment to my human body at first; I would often forget that I owned my body at times. But there was this nagging thread that held me to form the astral chord. When stimulated or tugged by mother or other humans who woke me through sound or action, it jerked me back into the body which evoked strong emotions followed by tears. Sometimes I’d awaken to horrible sensations of intense hunger. And there was always that disgusting reminder of cold urine and feces in the early years.
The people around me could be interesting if they found me attractive and attempted to engage me. I could fully understand what they were saying early on. But my vocal cords were under-developed, and I had difficulty coordinating the lips, tongue, air and at first, lack of teeth then later dealing with teeth which helped me form the appropriate sounds to communicate. Also, the teething process hurt likecrazy.
When I did begin succeeding in articulating my desires and needs, I apparently progressed too fast and terrified my mother, who swore on some level she had given birth to a demon seed. Mother, Christian, was programmed in ridiculous human doctrine, feared me on some level. Telepathically I picked up that she both loved me and thought some demon was responsible for my existence. Later it dawned on me that maybe I was ritually created through some satanic demon process. When I read “Rosemary’s Baby” in my middle teens, I swore I had stumbled upon “the truth.” But I dismissed it at that time while secretly curious about that movie and its sequels. Since those characters responsible for my conception are now long dead, I suppose we’ll never know.
I spoke too early too soon and too much. Mother was freaked out by my ability to speak full sentences and articulate elaborate concepts way beyond my years. She wished me dead. Since I was telepathic in those days, I got it. But I knew I was protected, so didn’t overthink of it.
When Mother came in and saw me flying around the room, she freaked out. I was able to levitate and astral project. While Mother was in the kitchen doing laundry, watching TV and ignoring me, I’d entertain myself by practicing my levitation skills. I’d usually make three or more trips around the room then plop back into the crib with a loud bam. Then I’d laugh hysterically and do it again. June typically ignored it, so I was safe. But for some reason, she decided to check on her baby who was enjoying herself to the extreme, and I was busted. She freaked of course because babies in this reality don’t fly you well know.
At that point, my extraterrestrial/interdimensional guides and interdimensional friends knew they had to intervene, or I would more than likely experience some unfortunate “accident.”
