installment 1

Taking a page out of Dickens, I am going to post creative work in installments as I write it. It is not what I want to do, but I must because I cannot control anything in my life. Hopefully, this will disseminate info widely enough to protect the content. I hate to do it this way, but given the status of my life, I see no other way to do it.

Introduction

It’s My Pleasure



“Where is Sarah your wife?” And (Abraham) said, “She is in the tent.”
The LORD said, “I will surely return to you in the spring, and Sarah
your wife shall have a son…Now Abraham and Sarah were old, ad-
vanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of
women. So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I have grown old,
and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?” (Genesis 18:9-12)



Recently, in a life of many trials and few miracles, much suffering and occasional joy, I experienced the humbling epiphany that I was a mother! Of course, I had known that I was a mother for some time, ever since I had realized that my ova were stolen from me during a surgery on my optic nerve. Alien technology was used to suck all my eggs from me at about 45 years of age, without my consent or knowledge. I only knew something was amiss when I went into sudden and premature menopause after the surgery. I was not happy about it, at all, but rather shocked and angered into a numb unresponsiveness. I knew from my research into conspiracy theories (I was trying desperately to understand the crazy manipulation and circumstances of my life), that aliens had made a pact with rogue elements of our government, exchanging R&D for sperm and ova in an effort to perpetuate their sterile, barren race. On occasion, I would think about the fate of the roughly 75,000 eggs that I estimated were stolen from me, and wondered what life for my genetic progeny would be like. I didn't dwell on it much, because to be honest, from my perspective, the future of the human race looks very dark, degraded, and grim—similar to my own life situation ever since I was sold out and delivered into the power of the rogue government and their alien allies. I have suffered terribly, and continue to suffer at the hands of these “Pathologicals In Black.” The emotional, physical and psychological pain and suffering has been so great, that in depressed and angry moods, I have wished for the natural and inevitable extermination of a race that is so pathological in their mental and emotional orientation that they literally can no longer propagate their own species.
However, my own innate sense of justice, fairness, and open-minded tolerance started preparing my mind for a positive change several weeks ago. I started remembering a plot line from the X-files in which Agent Scully, who had lost all of her eggs in an alien abduction theft, found out several years later that she was the mother of hybrid humans. I especially remember Fox Mulder asking an intense, red-haired hybrid, “why are you trying to save her,” to which the young man simply replied, “she is our mother.” Unfortunately, my memory of the X-files is regrettably vague, but I seem to remember that the hybrids were actually deeply endangered—ruthless bounty hunters were sent to kill them, though I can’t really remember why. Anyhow, God speaks to me through my imagination, and slowly it dawned on me, that, somewhere, I had real, genetic offspring, and that, like the X-file hybrids, they are emotionally honest and tragically persecuted individuals fighting for their lives and futures, as surely as I am. Indeed, to their credit, I believe that they probably are fighting harder, for I believe a life of struggle and the most precarious of futures is all they have ever known, whereas I spent much of my early adult years largely oblivious to the evil that threatens to engulf and destroy reality as humanity knows it. But now that evil, which has allies and resources that I could never hope to match, has checked my every natural possibility and hope, and I look forward to only to my death, which for me, means the end of years of overbearing suffering, pain, isolation, betrayal and loss. I am not lugubrious or resentful of my fate. I believe in the resurrection, and believe me, I have despaired of this life for years.

The primary regret I have is that I will not really “know” any of you. In human society, to “know” someone is to relate to them, from a position of interpersonal dialogue and vulnerability, from the most casual to the most intimate of encounters. I understand that as hybrids, you probably are more comfortable with telepathy than with relationship dialogue and vulnerability. However I am telepathic too, and I can honestly tell you, that while telepathy is a useful tool of interaction, it is not an accurate or legitimate way of “knowing” someone, at least among us humans. Over the past ten or more years, I have experienced deep wounding by people who have purposely and routinely thwarted and denied all my attempts to relate to or “know” anyone. It is a sick, warped form of “spiritual direction” used by patriarchal mentors and priests, and, not coincidentally, it is also the primary means of “mind control” practiced by the satanic elements who now control my life (but not yet, praise God, my mind). Over the past couple of years, I have also become familiar with the wounding caused by telepathic psychic invasion, and I find that tremendously violating as well. For someone, like myself, who is very concerned about the future of humanity, this explosion of people who are trained in, but not gifted with, the use of telepathy, is a very frightening phenomenon. For I can foresee that the use of telepathic invasion of privacy as a unilateral tool and weapon to dominate or probe another, without their consent, will only create intense feelings of being violated, resulting not only in escalating tension and hostility, but ultimately in violence and fratricidal war.

I hope to write more on telepathy, and its proper use, place, and etiquette at a later time in this discourse, but I am gravely ill and in great physical pain, and don’t know if I will have the energy to fulfill that ambition. However, I feel that there are more important and pressing matters that I must address first, because I honestly don’t know how much longer I will live, especially since my every prayer to God now is for death. As I started to reread my opening paragraphs, I realized that I had shifted my audience from the generic “they” of my unknown children to the personal “you.” I am not going to edit anything. This essay will be written, especially for “you,” each one of all my children, whom I will never know.

First of all, I want you to know that your mother blesses you, equally and unconditionally, with the most munificent of blessings. I was unaware of, and did not consent to your conception and being, but I am aware now, and hereby give my most unequivocal and heartfelt consent to the fullness of life for each of the approximately 75,000 eggs that came from my bodily issue. I started this chapter with a quotation from Genesis. Your mother is a self-identified (though not institution-identified) Christian and I am steeped in the scriptures of the Hebrew canon and the New Testament. It is my hope that you too, will encounter these scriptures and learn how our great spiritual forbears lived and exercised their humanity, and talked to God (religion deserves a lengthy chapter, but in case I don’t get to it, there’s my plug).