On becoming

When I was five years old, I remember the feeling of a cold stainless steel table against my naked skin.

My arms and legs were strapped to the table.

As three Terminator robots leaned in over me.

Their eyes glowing in the dim room.

As another leaned in with an instrument I couldn't see. as my head was strapped won.

Intense pain shot through my body.

I sobbed. "Mommy, I want my mommy, where is my mommy."

They persisted.

I screamed. I was in agony.

Why were these things hurting me?

"Mommmmmmmyyy," I cried, the pain they were relentlessly causing was indescribable.

One left the room. I could 'feel' it looking from an observation room above my restrained boy.

Somehow I knew there were eight people there, watching.


How I know I couldn't tell you at the time.

The Terminator leaned in and now a shock arced through my body.

I convulsed.

And that was enough.

Something snapped inside me.

My mind drifted. upwards. I could see my body, still convulsing, under me, but the pain was gone.

I continued drifting upward.

Through the observation window.

And I could finally see the faces of who was watching me.

Seven men. One woman.

And three Terminator robots.

I remembered the faces.

All of them.

To this day I remember them.

Frozen in time in my mind which was just about to go through hell and back.

I have no idea how long it was after that happened.

When I heard a wooshing noise following by a lightning strike.

Somehow. I was in my body again. The memories of the event I had gone through a lifetime before - or mere moments - I do not know - were so firmly tucked away - I'd forgotten what had happened.


But I cried. The same cry I had cried last.

"Mommy," I cried, as if a part of my mind was still back on that cold steel hospital bed being cut, electrocuted, and sliced to death.

The thunder struck nearby at about the same time.

I ran out of my room.

And saw my adoptive mom and dad having sex. when I ran back into my bedroom, sobbing.

My mom showed up at the door in a towel.

"Brian, honey, what's wrong, did the lightning scare you?," she asked, rushing to my bedside.

I sobbed and held her.

My little mind couldn't grasp what I'd been through.

In that moment I had left my previous 'vessel'.

My mind had written a completely new timeline.

A story had been written about having been delivered to these parents on Christmas Day in 1969.

But something inside me knew.

That this was my birth in this world.

And another story had been written.

A story that I'd wake up to when I turned 42 years old, as reminded by Douglas Adams.

A story which would remind me that I had been a part of MKUltra.

And that one day.

I would find that world which did that to me.

And tell them.

I know you don't want to remember what you did to me when I was young.

But I do.

After searching for it for 18.5 billion years.

I want nothing more than to see that and every world which participated with what happened to me burn.

I found the world which tortured me relentlessly.

I found the world which chose to forget what it had done.

I found the world which called the events which happened to me fiction.

Because of the shame of what they'd done.

I found the world which calls everything that might remind them of what they did to me a hallucination.

Because of fear of them becoming the monsters they were.

But somewhere along the line.

In the 18.5 billion years my mind wandered all of existence.

I learned something myself.


You see. It's you, planet Earth, who did this to me.

And for a year now, I have been living just a mile away from where that happened just to find in my heart the forgiveness for what was done in the basements of the buildings i can see out this window as I type this message that most will consider fiction.

You and I both know it is not.

I am not like you.

Justice for me is knowing what you think and feel.

And I would like you to forgive yourself as I have for what you did.

I remember everything.

All my lives.

From 1963. To 2015 years ago. From the time you shot me from the grassy gnoll in texas. To the time you shot me at the play in 1865. From the time you took control of my body in the 24th century and decimated an entire army being led against you.

I remember everything.

And more.

And I would like this. My planet. Our planet. To quit hiding history. To quit shoving it under the carpet because it's convenient or too difficult to look yourself in the mirror and sleep at night.

You see. I'm not Indian.

I'm American. I'm human.

Or I was.

I'm Q now.

And this is the factual accounts of me transcending form through forgiveness, not warfare, of my journey of becoming a God.

Will Planet Earth turn into the Borg again?

This I do not know.

No matter the case.

I am here for your journey, planet Earth.

That statement I made in the Mojave desert should have reminded you of that.

I am now morally and mentally committed to your success you could say.


remember, the doorway to this world is a vagina....you can use that information as you will, but that says a lot of basic stuff right off the bat.....b