Showing posts with label CELTA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CELTA. Show all posts

Wednesday 4 May 2011

Mind Control: A personal story.

The first steps on a very strange trail.

I have rather a privileged and fortunate position regarding my ability to comment on the cult known as freemasonry and the social control collective known as the Illuminati.  My family on my father’s side have the cursed royal blood originating from the Yorkshire based Fitzwilliam family at Wentworth. This was something that my nana always went on about, and how someone told her father that our family would always be ‘looked after’, needless to say like so many promises from those in the establishment and in a position to confer unlimited wealth, it never materialised. And so I forgot all about our aristocratic pretensions until some very strange things started happening to me.

Looking back on this period in my life feels like Alice returning to the Wonderland, albeit rather a frightened and uneasy one, I didn’t quite have the natural fearless authority of Alice as she negotiated the underworld.  I was working as an English teacher at a very small language school in the French Massif Central, when some six months after starting I was enrolled on a course called a BAFA (Brevet, formation animateur ) which basically allows you to supervise children and run holiday camps, basically it’s a kind of scout leader qualification and an uncanny number of French young people above the age of sixteen seem to have one. In my instance the course took place in a very remote rural village deep in the volcanic mountains of the Massif central. The course was to last 8 days and was what they call ‘intensive’ which is a rather ambiguous new euphemism for a particular peculiarly personally invasive kind of training. I have undertaken several of these so called ‘intensive’ courses over the years but the BAFA was my very first and it was quite a shock, it was in fact an initiation. The first step of a descending pathway that would have led me to hell and the life of a slave robotised by terror, had I not finally woken up to where I was being taken.

Initially I had no suspicions that there was something unusual about the course, I arrived with my bag packed with changes of clothes, towels, and the bathroom products I would need for the 8 day duration. I was shown to my dormitory which I shared with 3 others. Things started taking a turn for the unusual after the third day. The course was very demanding and the amount of information was intended to overload the mind. Each morning a new time table would be put up on the white board, the complexity of which was quite mind blowing and it was necessary to study the time table for about half an hour each morning in order to know what was happening that day and where. Indeed one session of study wasn’t enough and it was quite impossible to copy any details from the timetable as it was simply too complicated so one constantly felt throughout the course that one was perhaps not quite in the right place and one constantly wondered if one had missed some information or instruction from the timetable. In addition to the courses there were assignments to complete and simulation activities to prepare. In all it was very exhausting, the day began at six in the morning for no very good reason at it seemed that lectures and activities seemed to last all evening. There was no time alone that wasn’t spent working on something or studying something relevant to the course.
Looking back the first peculiarity of the course, when I first noticed something ‘special’ about the training was an activity where we, the thirty odd trainees were in a room and instructed to move about the room without bumping into any of the other people, we were told to adopt a special walk as we crossed and circled the room. The facilitator then made a sound, not of words but more a collection of vowels, like a mantra, which we were to repeat as we walked around the room. During this experience, about 5 minutes in, I started to feel unusual, slightly light headed but happy, almost ecstatic. I realised then that there was slightly more to this training that I had initially considered. It seemed that here was a kind of transcendental technique, or at the very least, a way to relax people.  I recently communicated with a person who was involved in the Illuminati through her grandmother and husband, who informed me that her grandmother had taken her to the lodge where there was a strange kind of music being played while they walked around and around the lodge while a variety of Hebrew characters were flashed to them. It seems to me that the intention was to create a mild trance in order that the symbols permeate the subconscious mind in order for use and recall at a later date.

After this experience I felt a closer bond with the people around me and relaxed my guard and considered to myself that I might actually enjoy the training. And so the first objective had been achieved by the trainers, namely that my guard had been dropped and I had begun to trust those around me (not always a good idea in these fraught times, there are predators everywhere) and I accepted the validity of the course and considered that it would do me some good. In retrospect the course did me an awful lot of good but certainly not in the way intended.

The programme stepped up and rather than a feeling that I was getting closer to my fellow trainees  (following the trance inducing activity of the previous evening) I awoke up to find the pressure had been doubled and there was even more work to be done. I also found that the people I shared a dorm with and people who it seemed I was getting closer too, were suddenly cold, almost robotic, in their speech and interaction with me. This confused me at the time and, as was intended, led me to question myself, analyse my behaviour, and ask myself it there was something I had done to upset them, or indeed if there was some fundamental failing in my personality that made people treat me in this way. And so I became further disempowered  by  concerning myself with the opinions of the other trainees.  Later on in this book I will seek to concretise an awareness in how these techniques work by deconstructing the film Shutter Island. 

Some days later it became clear that a full psychological test was being carried out and my reactions and demeanour analysed and noted, the programme and behaviour of the other ‘trainees’ being modulated in line with the needs of the test and my responses. That evening we all went out for a drink in one of the local cafe bars, the place was surprisingly crowded for a midweek evening in a remote French village but at the time I thought nothing of it, everyone seemed pretty determined to get drunk for some reason, I didn’t particularly fancy taking part in their heroic endeavours as I have previously explained, the odd aloofness of most of the trainees made me feel uncomfortable and I didn’t much fancy getting drunk in unfamiliar company. However a drink was offered to me and I asked for a verre of rouge, that is, a glass of red wine.  As soon as I asked for the drink there was an odd moment, everybody looked at me and there were noises of disapproval, I felt myself turning red and again examining myself and wondering what I had done wrong this time.

Needless to say the evening passed uncomfortably with people seeming to ignore my attempts at conversation and my being more or less ostracised. These methods are the tried and tested methods used in order to psychological disrupt someone in order eventually to break them completely. Break their sense of self, independence and pride. The new age refers to this as breaking the down ego, in order apparently that we achieve some kind of enlightenment. The techniques are as ancient as mankind itself, and harks back to shamanism and the secrets of the ancient Egyptians, through to the Greek mystery schools such as the Eleusinian mysteries where ancient allegories were re-enacted and sex and murder was actually part of the rites which were witnessed by the inductee and who was sworn to secrecy about what he had seen under pain of death. Then Roman subterranean cults such as Mithraism were the initiate would be installed in a special underground pit while a full grown bull was placed above the pit on a grille and was slaughtered releasing the blood into the underground pit. This is one of the few secrets of Mithraism to have slipped through the millennia aged secrets of the cult and no doubt modern equivalents of these rites are still carried out today, particularly by wiccan societies and especially by Satanist groups.  The effect of these rites were to terrorise and profoundly unsettle the mind of the initiate and set the way for a gradual change in their behaviour  and perception of reality itself. The modern day secrets of the freemasons were passed on from the Knight Templars and led to the rebirth of empire, signalled by the classical laurel leaves whose symbol harks back to the Roman empire and whose symbol has been successfully rewoven into the fabric (literally in the instance of the Henri Lloyd logo) of modern society.

To resume the story, later that evening  we returned back to the centre, somewhat worse for wear, when one of my roommates took me to one side and brought out a marijuana joint and asked me if I wanted some. A ploy of entrapment and compromising the target frequently employed by the secret societies. I smoked some of the proffered joint and we returned to the centre. To my surprise a last minute seminar had been arranged, only somehow I had not been informed so when I returned to the centre I found everyone in their seats and left me wondering why I had somehow been excluded from being informed about it. As I sat down, in that characteristic self conscious, self negating way that one does when one is acutely embarrassed at entering a seemingly important meeting late and unprepared, I saw all eyes turn to me and I felt a sudden light headedness, the strangest thing of all was that I heard a voice commenting on how I was feeling. The light headedness became as fuzziness of self and I had the impression that somehow, by some mysterious psychological process, I was merging with the group and losing my idea of self. I heard somebody say in French: ‘he’s feeling it now, he’s joining us’. I knew they were referring to me and at that moment a proverbial penny dropped and I realised that all was not as it seemed and I realised I had no idea at all what was going on or what I was involved with. At that point my sense of self reasserted itself and rejected the thought of becoming a part of this seeming group awareness. This seemed to be the evening of the great revealing  and the slight sense of embarrassment and unease I had been feeling turned more to terror as my time in the centre deteriorated into a voyage to the Twilight Zone.

Back in the dorm I was feeling hemmed in on all sides, ‘trapped in a square’ as the masons have it, a phrase which refers to someone who is totally under control of his brother masons and can turn to no one for help or assistance. The psychological results of this situation where the individual can no longer make choices of his own which will not somehow be detrimental to himself, where the free will and ability to act independently become completely dissolved, and that person loses his focus and his ability to undertake any task that he is not specifically told to do. He becomes a literal slave and his own psyche is his gaoler. Any attempts to break the programming and assert his own wishes result in a feeling of disorientation, weakness and panic, until he gives up the attempt and settles back into the role of slave.

The initial stages of this condition were starting to develop in me. I assumed however that perhaps by listening to some music on my Walkman I would be able to relax and feel a little less strung-out. What I heard as l put my headphones on and tuned in the radio shocked me and left me in a such a state of nervous tension that I could not sleep at all that night, but instead lay there fearful of what their next move would be. There was a looped techno style backing track, it sounded oddly sinister like some kind of music that one would imagine would be used in CIA brainwashing, while a voice over repeated again and again ‘Open the files on the FBI! Keep it a secret! Keep it a secret!’ as I tuned throughout the frequencies of my radio I found the same track on every station, it was hard to decide whether I was going mad or not at this stage but I knew what I was hearing at the time and knew that it was real enough. Final confirmation was given to me as I came out of my bed and saw the look on one of my dorm-mate’s faces who was also listening to his walkman, the look on his face was of pure guilt, as if he was knowingly involved in an unpleasant trick being played on myself and which he knew to be wrong.

 I have since heard from other sources that other people have been sent on similar training courses and were told to listen to their radios at a specific  time of day, they have reported similar strange radio programmes being broadcast, doubtlessly by a local transmitter especially for the purpose. In hindsight I suspect this is a fairly routine way for masons to recruit other members but at the time I suspected I was slowly becoming involved in the French secret services as the messages on the radio broadcast were decidedly critical of American hegemony. What came from this experience more than fear was my sense of anger and how I had been tricked into coming here, clearly I would not have come had I known that I was being involved in some strange initiatory conditioning program.

I was furiously angry yet I maintained composure and even a pleasant demeanour to the strange characters around me. The key to the experience of the course was that the people one assumed to be fellow trainees, the ones you bantered with, slept and ate with, were in fact the real trainers. They were there to break your old character and help mould a new one. Eventually I decided to leave, although I was in some fear that it might not be so simple to extricate myself after so much of their method had been exposed to me. However I made my intentions clear to the overseer who offered me some kind of deal, I was in no mood to compromise with these creeps and so I refused without even asking what the details of the deal would be.

I returned home feeling strung out, annoyed and slightly unstable. I felt like something was going on around me but I didn’t know what. At one point I visited the supermarket and found a couple of French women pointing at me down the biscuit aisle and saying ‘he’s lost his mind, just look at him’. Half of me attributed this to some kind of ‘follow up’ to the BAFA course, a sort of targeted victimisation, while the other half didn’t know what to make of it at all.

Within a few weeks I had put the delusion that I was being recruited for some organisation behind me, and I told myself that  the reason the course had become so unpleasant was because I had smoked that joint. Still it wasn’t my fault, it was entrapment, so with residual feelings of anger and a feeling that my civil rights had been violated by these jokers, I wrote to the Minister for Youth and Sports a detailed letter explaining my grievances. Some weeks later I received a reply and an interview with the local government representative. Prior to this meeting I had imagined that the stress and insidious nature of the course had made me go half mad and started imagining all sorts of delusions: secret agent delusions, elite organisation delusion and another line of thought that I couldn’t quite define, it seemed like I had undergone some kind of death and rebirth and that life would never be the same again, indeed it was hard to know what ‘life’ was at all and what the nature of the world I lived in was all about. This final thought process led me at times to believe that all the things I had taken for granted as real and authentic, such as people places and relationships, might not be what they appeared and that something odd was going on behind the scenes, someone or something unknowable and invisible was orchestrating meetings and coincidences in a rather unsettling manner.

At the time also I was watching a variety of metaphysical movies which seemed to deal with the strange experiences and people I had met, a film such as Jacob’s Ladder for example, which will be discussed along with the true purpose of many Hollywood  movies in a later chapter. These films served only to fuel my delusions even further and I soon started feeling as if I was somehow stuck between two worlds but not at home in either of them.  

Fortunately the meeting, although I was basically tricked out of any right to complain I might have had, helped me immeasurably to get back my natural grounding in reality. Even following the weeks after the course and prior to the interview I was in two minds as to what had really transpired. Part of me found it unbelievable that such a structure could exist and that so many people could be enrolled to take part, the cost must be incredible, I wondered if I had imagined some things and read too much into others. The letter I had angrily written accused the course designers of using Nazi techniques to break the will of the person, not that I knew particularly what Nazi techniques involved, but it seemed about the strongest most righteously indignant invective I could fire at them.

As a result one of the first things he wanted to address was why I had accused them of Nazi techniques, something I have since learned about people and perhaps a most valuable piece of advice for getting through this life experience with a full set of marbles tiddlywinks and without going to jail would be that the best way to lose an argument is to throw it away. By nature I am a person always willing to compromise, almost to the point of surrendering my own opinion and point of view, for the sake of peace and harmony. What happened in the meeting was that the good regional director of the ministry of Youth and Sports had cleverly (although it is a common enough psychological trick) directed the issue away from my complaint and instead wanted me to account for why I had called them Nazis, in my moderating and naive frame of mind I went along with his suggestion that my definition had been excessive and rather than holding my corner, the conciliation genie got hold of me and agreed with him. Straight away I noticed I had lost my case completely, there was a change in the air that spelt out clearly enough that the interview was over and I had thrown in my hand. However, due to God’s grace or some innate good quality in the regional director’s character he finished the interview with something that saved my sanity right there: He said “We don’t do this special type of course for just anybody!’. It was a tacit understanding that there was something going on, that they had modified the course for my own benefit and that they were indeed trying to recruit me for something. It would take about seven years of uncertainty and confusion before I finally discovered what it was.

Some months later I left the association  and the strange secret little rural pocket of France and went up to Paris to undertake another training course. This one was called one of the ‘better’ type of TEFL qualifications and was described as ‘challenging’ and ‘intensive’. Fortunately the BAFA experience had prepared me for what to expect and so I went through the course completely refusing to reveal too much about myself and steadfastly refusing to trust any one of the other so called ‘trainees’.

I decided that I would go through the course and try to see if I could tell who was who. Who were the trainers and who were the real trainees like me. There were approximately 20 other trainees on the course, and I easily spotted the ‘facilitators’ within the group, those who seemed to always hold the ‘right’  view about everything and who the other people supported every time, however the one thing that seemed to identify these facilitators is that there was a certain lack of something in their character. They seemed friendly and could converse easily, they didn’t have horns or the mark of the beast  or any other particular identifying mark but there was something that seemed missing about them. The fact that they were playing a part meant there was a certain lack of passion in them, they just seemed to be rolling along with a program.

Their eyes weren’t expressive of any positive emotion, they seldom laughed and indeed if you are receptive to people’s emotions you would notice a distinguishable sadness in their eyes along with a kind of cynicism. If you ever spot anyone who seems to suggest this to you be very weary that this person may not be what they seem. They seem emotionally closed down. The course lasted one month and ran from 9-5 everyday. There was the option to make it residential but I realised that I would be in a much weaker situation in this instance so I made the rather lengthy commute from my girlfriend’s quiet forest home to the centre of Paris every day. Probably was the only way I could have stuck out the endless hypocrisy and downright deceit and subterfuge of the course. It was galling to find that you were being moulded into being a good teacher using immoral means. Straightaway the course held no joy or interest for me, it was just an endless slog, made bearable only by the opportunity to walk around Paris at lunchtime and the return home to the forest and fine wine and good French food in the evening.

Anyway when the month was up I was informed I had passed the course and immediately I left to work abroad and while at the airport I came across the book that would for the first time would clear up the entire mystery of who these people were and how they could afford to run such a cost intensive course on only a relatively nominal 1000 pounds fee. The book was The Biggest Secret by David Icke and for the first time I became acquainted with the force that had been pursuing me, training me and generally trying to scramble my brains: The Freemasons. It all made sense! It fit perfectly. The relief I felt was enormous! Finally all the uncertainty and fear of going mad, all my delusions had been proven right. I wasn’t deluded, something  genuinely was going on.

I'm on FIRE with dat TROOF.

I'm on FIRE with dat TROOF.
Kundalini refugee doing a bit of landscaping.


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For a Few Dollops More....of cat food.

Get back she's gonna blow.

Get back she's gonna blow.

Madonna rolling down the stairs forever....lulz

Madonna rolling down the stairs forever....lulz
Thanks to Long lost soul, wherever you are.

Poptard of the Apocalypse meets Leo.

Poptard of the Apocalypse meets Leo.
Ewwww..... it touched me.