George Bush was often a part of the illegal drug activity in Mexico. It felt as if he followed me and my family around on our vacations; no matter where we went, he and "the boys," showed up. I realize now our vacation spots really revolved around our controller's agenda but in those days I had no way of knowing that. It seemed like Reagan was just a puppet and Bush made all the arrangements, did the thinking, planning and carrying out of the deals. At meetings and social gatherings, Bush made the connections and cut the deal while Reagan just acted oblivious — which is not to say he didn't know or wasn't aware, he just wasn't ever the mastermind. Bush was ruthless and brutal; the end justified the means. He even had a red handkerchief he kept in his pocket for wiping blood off of Kelly or me. He had high expectations and often expected us to do things that he had inadvertently forgotten to tell us, at which point Kelly or I got slapped, beaten, or dealt with in other torturous ways. There was a time on Maui when a Secret Service agent came to my aid saying to Bush, "Sir, I don't think you told her that." That was the end of his job; Bush fired him on the spot. One day Bush took a pocketknife out of his pants pocket and I was terrified that he would use it on me, but instead he used it to cut the skin off a green apple. He told me I'd be next to have my skin cut off in the same slow, torturous manner if I didn't cooperate.
I saw the Mexican leaders more frequently at the White House than in Mexico; they were usually brutal and violent.
Craig's Uncle Lyle Curran, who worked for NASA, specially arranged for us to purchase a timeshare; the Presidential Suite, at the El Cid Hotel, in Mazatlan. My husband purchased the use of this suite, for the same week in April, every year for the next 25 years. My family and I always thought we were going there for a vacation. But that was never what occurred. On one such vacation, a man in a suit met Kelly and I just after we had bought our 'strawberry banana smoothies' at the hotel shake stand. Later I discovered that these drinks, although very healthy, were programming cues that were installed at an earlier time when we were taken to the Santa Monica Pier and put on the Carousel Ride. A man put both of us on the horses and told us, "tied together, you are one." There was other mirror programming and suggestions that created confusion over where I started or ended physically, and Kelly began or ended. There were to be no separate identities.
Anyway, we had on our bikinis and this suited man followed us over the bridged overpass that led to the Presidential Suite. As we went into the room he slipped in behind us. He told us to sit down on the bed. He put earphones on both of us, and injected our forearms. Kelly sat with one leg folded under her, in half Indian style position. We were body programmed and different body positions meant different things. George Bush arrived, dressed in a tan suit, and Kelly was «prepared» for him. Bush, a couple of Mexican leaders, and one other man had a meeting in our suite. I sat next to Bush at the meeting while he accessed my mind files. When the meeting was over George waited until everyone left the room, shook their hands politely at the door and when they were gone he went into the bedroom where Kelly was waiting. I sat robotically at the table.
Awhile later, when Kelly came out of the room, she had a smile on her face. Per programmed conditioning, she always wore a smile but she didn't look good to me. Bush left with two Secret Service agents that were parked outside the door to the suite. One of them called him, "Geo."
Another time Henry Kissinger was sitting with George Bush at a meeting that took place at the large dining table in our Presidential Suite at El Cid with two Mexican men. I was there to be used in mind file capacity. There were other such meetings that took place at our family timeshare, at El Cid, in the "Presidential Suite."
"Honesty is the first chapter of the book of wisdom."
Chapter Twenty-nine: Back to the Future
In 1985, after a head-on collision and the ensuing healing process necessitated by the auto accident, my direction and course were irrevocably altered. I left my position in my husband's dental practice, returned to college and attended Pepperdine University in Malibu to begin classes to fulfill the requirements for a degree in Psychology. But as always, in addition to the coursework leading to my degree was an alternate, hidden agenda, planned and orchestrated by my controllers. Along with attending classes at Pepperdine, I was used in the Malibu area for experiments that furthered parapsychology research, as well.
At Pepperdine there were experiments and research on the nature of higher consciousness, how the brain intercepts thought, why some brains process higher thought and others don't, how pure diet and water effects the brain, the effects of meditation on the brain, remote viewing and out-of-body experiments. I was programmed to meet with a group in a small room at the University where we watched movies. My attendance was carefully tied to my use in the projects and with Ronald Reagan. There were others in the room robotically watching the movies. They treated us like monkeys.
Among other things at Pepperdine, tests were done on studying and learning in altered states of consciousness. I began reading endless books on psychic phenomena and began being psychically trained and further experimented on. Each day at lunch I reported to the large cross that graces the hillside at the University, in order to sit in the small area inside and go into a meditative state. I did this each and every day and felt as if I was communicating with the whales and dolphins in the vast ocean that spanned the panoramic view from that location.
Part of the experiments focused on telepathic communication and my controllers were sending messages to me via satellite systems to see if I could pick them up. They tasked me with these assignments that had to be performed in the ocean or near the ocean so it would be easier to pick up the telepathic messages sent over the airwaves that they were broadcasting to me. There were times I consciously thought I was just going to go for a drive, to have the day to myself, when in reality I was instructed and directed to different locations. One day I drove into a remote canyon high in the hills above Malibu. I positioned myself on top of a mountain in my beach chair and sat all by myself and read a book on Edgar Cayce. When I looked to the sprawling mountaintops, my eyes focused on all sorts of satellite dishes and instrumentation on the hill in front of me. After spending a few hours there I returned to my home in Agoura Hills. Later that day, the phone rang. I picked it up and a man asked me questions before saying, "We see you picked up the message about where to go today and followed our instructions impeccably. Good work and be waiting for the next set of instructions." Click, he hung up. Robotically I hung up the phone and went on like nothing had happened. Immediately this slice of reality submerged itself deep within the programmed recesses of my mind, and was kept there until a later time when I was reaccessed.