padma1-deactivated20130514 asked: Hi there, I want to purchase an Harmonic protector and I've read in your blog that you used one. Could you share a bit more for me please? Many thanks. Padma
Hi there, and thanks for saying hello. I do use a Harmonic Protector that I purchased several years ago from ToolsForHealing.org. However, you can read about them in depth on Ken Adachi’s site:
http://educate-yourself.org/dc/harmonicprotectorinfo10sep03.shtml
My personal experience may differ from others, and of course there are those who say the device is completely useless and ineffective, so after reading my thoughts about the Harmonic Protector you’ll have to decide for yourself if it’s a worthwhile investment. I make no claims as far as its healing and protective effects save for what I’ve experienced for myself. The Harmonic Protector was one of the first alternative healing devices I decided to experiment with when I came under all sorts of attack and negative interference from what Robert Bruce calls “negs” or, more precisely, negatively-oriented other dimensional beings. I was really skeptical about the device, but then just a few years prior I’d never heard of organized stalking or imagined that any type of other-dimensional being would any kind of interest in me, so I was ready to try anything. My etheric field was extremely weakened then, and from what I’ve read about the Harmonic Protector is that it helps to strengthen and protect one’s etheric field. Some people claim to actually feel the Harmonic Protector’s energy when they put one on, but I’m not that sensitive, I suppose, so I didn’t feel anything when I began wearing mine. However, I knew it was providing me some stabilizing benefit when a primary harassing neg who was interrupting my sleep nightly (with electric jolts, extremely violent thought projections, twisted manipulated dreams, and most troubling, physical sexual assaults while I slept), demanded within my dream state that I “take that off!”
I found this behavior very curious because more intelligent negs rarely lose their cool when harassing or interfering. They’re hateful and condescending, but it’s also of the most vital importance to them that they maintain an air of complete calm, control, and dominance over their targets. This was one of the first times that this particular neg (who is of reptilian origin) completely lost his composure. I attribute this to the subtle effects of the Harmonic Protector, my act of defiance, as well as the beginnings of my personal seeking for methods to protect myself from negative-oriented interference outside mainstream thought.
I’ve had one very personal confirmation of the Harmonic Protector’s effects that I will always remember. I was vacationing one week years ago with relatives in Minnesota. This was during a time when I was being heavily stalked and getting only an hour to two hours of sleep per night due to negative interference. I’d been outside playing with my infant nephew in what I thought were secluded woods behind the house where we were staying. I was holding my nephew when suddenly my Harmonic Protector jumped and gave off a quick buzzing sound against my chest. It startled me because the device had never done anything like that before. I don’t know how or from where the thought came to me, but I knew instantly that I’d been “beamed” from somewhere. I’ve since read similar accounts from accounts from Carol Croft, who developed the device. I took my nephew and went inside immediately. He’d been perfectly fine and healthy, but within an hour he came down with a fever of over 100 degrees and had to be rushed to an emergency room. I’m certain there is a connection, but it’s one of those things that I can’t reasonably prove (among many since then) but the experience strengthened my belief in the Harmonic Protector’s abilities.
What Is “Dream Manipulation” ?
What is dream manipulation? Dream manipulation is a control and manipulation device or reinforcement programming technique used most often by non-human negatively-oriented sources (particularly reptilians) operating within a target’s dream state. Dream manipulation is intended to produce a negative behavioral response in a targeted individual during waking hours. Enhanced feelings of isolation, rejection, doubt, fear, and an encouragement to participate in unhealthy or unwholesome behaviors paired with subtle yet powerful hypnotic suggestions or compulsions are often repeated within dream manipulation scenarios. Among those whose families show a history of negative interference (I can trace negative interference in my own family back three generations), “no-talk” reinforcement programming is also common. These scenes, which can be externally projected from an organic, negatively-oriented source into a targeted individual’s dreaming state, are often vivid, in color, and paired with hypnotic suggestions and compulsions. Dream manipulation sequences and hypnotic suggestions are often placed close to the waking hour so that the memory of the interference is retained when the sleeper rises to waking consciousness.
Neodymium Magnets vs Electronic Harassment (Nocturnal Sexual Assault from DEW or Negative-Oriented Beings)
The above YouTube video was created by a man who believed that some type of covert organized stalking and electronic harassment campaign was being perpetrated against him by secret government or military operatives. He reported that due to the continued electronic harassment, including shocks, burns, and who knows what else, he’d lost 133 continuous hours of sleep. He was found dead on some train tracks somewhere in the UK, an apparent suicide. I don’t believe that human lives have to end this way.
How to Build a Basic Water-Crossing Barrier
Last summer I read in Robert Bruce’s handy Practical Psychic Self-Defense that a water-crossing barrier is a good first-line of defense against neg interference. Negs come in many different types, but for the most part they don’t put forth much effort to cross water. Armento, however, is reptilian. He is also deranged. He probably doesn’t realize that he’s not supposed to cross water, but prolonged meth use will do that, I guess. And negatively-oriented reptilians in the physical dimension are more than likely a different story, anyway. Bruce agues that “All spirit entities, when manifesting strongly enough to affect the physical dimension, have subtle electromagnetic properties. The energy within a manifesting negative entity can be grounded, and drained” (p. 230).
The Harmonic Protector
Arguably one of the wackier looking but equally as effective object/devices in my arsenal against interference from negative other-dimensional energy-type beings, which some call electronic harassment and encompasses an array of different mysterious signs and symptoms reported by TIs, is this:
Friday, December 7, 2012
A dream I had one morning about two weeks ago of watching from the sidewalk as a man crossing the street was suddenly struck by a car and seeing his shoe and a pocketful of marbles fly out of his pockets, scattering in different directions, makes more sense to me now. The was perhaps intended to show me what might have happened if I hadn’t made the connection between the strange sound like a beating of wings very close to my right ear three weeks ago while I sat at my desk working on homework and an increased feeling of fatigue and disorientation I’d begun to experience during the shortly afterwards. There have been more than a few reports of sufferers of Organized Stalking and Electronic Harassment (“OS/EH”) being struck by oncoming cars. Perhaps this type of negative attachment I’d noticed plays a part in distracting Targeted Individuals (“TIs”) who are fatigued, become distracted by tactics like street theater, and wander (or are psychically compelled through and intensification of fear within the mind complex) to enter traffic and are struck by cars.
About one week after hearing the strange beating or pulsing sound and feeling even a mild displacement of air close to my head, the disorientation became clearly pronounced, approaching panic within my mind, enough for me to realize that something was definitely wrong, and so I performed the banishing ritual immediately along with my usual series of prayers and the asking for help that the negative attachment that had been clearly invisibly (etherically) placed be released that was intended to create a severe imbalance within mind.
After the banishing ritual and prayers I felt relief. The next afternoon I received my “brain coat” in the mail from LessEMF and sleep wearing it regularly. I noticed almost immediately the change in my ability to focus and concentrate when completing algebra problems for homework. The “brain coat” which is a piece of lightweight, breathable shielding fabric sewn into shape to fit comfortably over the head and ears, can be purchased from LessEMF here.
RE: Gang-Stalking: Psychological Murder by Sociopaths & Money-Hungry Zombies
Response to Lucy Tonic re Gang-Stalking: Psychological Murder by Sociopaths & Money-Hungry Zombies
I read your Yahoo posting and in typing my comments it became super-exceedingly long, so I’ve included them here. In your blog posting, you have touched upon something it seems few have recognized.
I was born in San Francisco. I am familiar with the streets along which you were, or are, being stalked. I lived in San Francisco, off an on, for 20 of my adult years. In about 2003, at the time when I was living in an apartment in Hayes Valley, I became increasingly aware that something strange was going on around me. It started subtly with comments made by strangers in passing that seemed to be directed at me, but I dismissed as my own imaginings and much nonsense. One afternoon I was waiting for the light to change at the corner of Hayes and Gough Streets when two men wearing business suits walked closely by me. One of them looked directly at me and seemed to laugh and say, “It’s about survival now.” I’d never seen the two fo them before and there was no way I could reasonably connect their words to me personally, although it was plain to me, at least, considering this activity had been going on for weeks with homeless men, women pushing their children in strollers, and many many people who seemed to be sharing my location amongst each other via cell phone (“Yes, I see him. He’s in front of Bank of America on Market and Van Ness.”) had something in particular to do with me.
November 24, 2012: Bi-Location / Invisibility Suits
Throughout the month of June of this year I’d been subject to a type of distraction, not entirely unfamiliar to other subjects of what some call “electronic harassment.” Most often, in the hours of early morning, between 4:30 and 5:00 am, I would sometimes feel a large hand physically poke me in the side in bed, or I’d feel something give my mattress a forceful shake, startling me awake. One morning, I recall being woken by a voice close to my ear shouting, “Wake up!” But of course no one was there and I was alone in my bedroom when I opened my eyes. I was never sure how Armento was doing it, how he was transporting himself from San Francisco, where I believe he still lives, to Chicago.
The shit monster can’t pass through wooden doors, and no tentacle, talon, tube or waterless cloud seems to put forth much effort in reaching me if my bed is removed to a foot or more away from a wall lined with PVC and clean running water coursing through it. As you can tell, I’m a little astonished by the idea of a real, live shit monster that came out of my bathroom a few weeks ago early one morning. After that I’ve become a hand-washing, surface disinfecting fiend.
A wooden headboard would probably be of great benefit and I’m now trying to figure out how much fabric to order from lessemf.com to make a flat grounding sheet. Poking around in a dirty, dust filled warehouse yesterday seems to have excited some cold symptoms, but at least it won’t put me in the hospital for two days on antibiotics, as has happened in the past. I will remember to disinfect and wash my hands more often.
I had to resort the banishing ritual, prayers, and ask for help, as I’d read in the Law of One that those who serve the Light can only become engaged and offer help or assistance when it’s asked for, otherwise they can only send Love, which is great, but being young, and often blind or distracted, I need a little something extra. I address my calling simply and directly, in the name of Jesus Christ, to my friends, guides, helpers, protectors and teachers and “because I can’t see and don’t know what to ask for, consider the questions asked, the requests made, and the permissions given” to protect, help, and assist me. I follow a something of a model I revised from a reading of a request Don Elkins made to Ra when asking how to provide better comfort and a clear channel for Carla Rueckert who was acting as channeler for the Law of One material.
At any rate, after the banishing ritual, I asked for help in clearing something out of my room early this morning that must have entered my apartment with me yesterday evening while I was out, and decided to stay, or couldn’t leave, having crossed over the water barrier with me and having no way back out again. I’m beginning to wonder about the differences between random, wandering spiritual beings and those that are clearly sent, like the shit monster from the bathroom that didn’t just find its way here, and the malevolent beings I’d been preoccupied with over the many weeks prior which clearly displayed a much higher intelligence than the more simple beings that only seem to know how to do one thing, that being astral sexual assault.
And if those other beings were sent, who sent them? I can think now of only three with that much interest in where I go and what I do, and one of them never could keep his big fat mouth shut.
I couldn’t sleep very much last night. With that thing here waiting for me to sleep deeply enough to attempt to molest me and the fog of interference that seems to surround it, there just seemed a lot of energy in my room. I lay in bed thinking about probability/possibility vortexes, and wondering why I felt as if I were being kept awake, how rituals like the banishing ritual and prayer affect these probabilities, as well as association with others of the same, or at least a similar temperament and/or perspective affect them as well. It’s probably much more difficult to manipulate probabilities of one more finely enmeshed in a day-to-day existence with other selves than someone like me who spends a great deal of time alone.
I wonder how many people wrestling with addiction attribute their struggle solely to “inner demons”, a purely psychological battle of will? I was thinking about how many meth addicts I knew, after prolonged use, began to refer to crystal meth in the third person, as “Tina”, as if the substance were an entirely separate, conscious entity. Perhaps it’s the mind again, reaching for something but not quite making the connection that there is, indeed, an external, intelligent influence acting upon them, and they’re resting on the idea of it being the drug, the thing they can see with their eyes. All of these people with absolutely no shielding waging a battle clearly not in their favor against something often highly intelligent and unseen that can reach, invisibly, through bedroom walls to powerfully manipulate one’s dreams? Perhaps the model for treatment can be improved upon.
Brief exchanges with youths, one 22 year old and a 17 year old online. The 17 year old was interesting. He seemed not to have remembered messaging me once before and this time he merely unlocked his private pics with no message. I asked him why a man less than half my age would message me, a man who’s also hiv positive, and he replied that he was finding older men attractive lately, which is entirely reasonable, as when I was seventeen I was enterprising enough to obtain an ID that allowed me entrance into bars that were restricted to those 21 years or older, as I found men my age at the time very dull. But that was more than twenty years ago, and I neither drank and still had yet to have my first drug experience, and I noticed from reading this one’s profile that he hadn’t answered the questions that identified himself as either positive or negative, or if he smoked or did drugs. Generally the absence of answers to these questions is intended for one to read between the lines. He was negative but would fuck positive guys to get high. He told me was looking to party the last time we chatted anyway, so I knew he did drugs.
He certainly looked human, but it doesn’t matter whether he is or is not. Humans can be animated just as easily as one sticks a hand up a sock puppet, especially if they’ve been partying, and have allowed their minds and bodies be compromised by a shadowing unseen being or entity. Humans can move their mouths and not even know what they’ve just said if something powerful enough has temporarily possessed them. I note this to hold true in my experience with being gang-stalked and the subject of organized harassment whereby one singular, powerful negative being (or several lesser beings, or some combination thereof) were able to manipulate large groups of people around me, and move where I moved, having observed my habits unseen for a time before I became aware of the harassment. This is how groups and masses of complete strangers were able to know intimate details about my private life and converse within my hearing about them, disorienting me, and also why strangers were prone to behave in such strange, often aggressive ways toward me. It’s much like a pack of wild dogs or hyenas behave in the wild when stalking prey, only these beings use humans as tools to weary their game and remain unseen.
I’ve seen this unseen manipulation of humans many times, once with a young girl at a pharmacy in Brooklyn where I’d gone to have a prescription filled when I was being stalked across the country by negs. That little girl in Brooklyn spoke in a voice that wasn’t even hers, and when I asked her to repeat what she’d just said, she’d had no idea.
It was never any question that I might fall for such a stupid trick as to get involved with some seventeen year old kid, not after Kurt, who was more or less a professional manipulator and drug addict, and even he had otherworldly help to sway those around me into believing lies, but for me, how much I would tell this kid was the question.
I rode the train and sat in front of a man who was about seventeen one day last week and I kept turning to look at him, trying to imagine what kind of frame of mind a forty year old man would have to be in to have sex with someone that age. I eventually sent back a message to this seventeen year old person online that he was way too young for me, and that I do remember him messaging me before, and that I remembered he’d told me that was looking to party, which couldn’t interest me. On his profile he said that he was a top, but that I know for a fact that no top who does meth stays a top and that I knew personally men who would intentionally lie about their status just to fuck, and even as I read his reply that he wasn’t in any kind of fucked up situation that I’d warned him he might find himself in, I received messages from not one, but two of such men wanting to know if I was looking. If you’re seventeen and looking to get high with forty year old men online whose faces you can’t even see you’re in more of a fucked up situation that you can even imagine, I thought. But I let it go. They never listen, I thought, not at seventeen.
I’d began to feel the physical rush of coming on while laying in bed one morning, coupled with the dreamlike visual sensation of getting high, and I’d begun to wonder if I would do that again, even with all this shit, this plastic tubing snaking around the perimeter of my bedroom and the wound just now finally healing in my leg that was being used as a point of entry for negative attachment, a metallic sheet that I sleep with my feet beneath every night, and magnetic insoles in the bottom of my shoes … I was actually laying in bed and wondering if I would ever get high again, if I would ever make it that easy for them again … and then I noticed that my bed had become pushed too close to the wall, over time.
The mattress was over the line of PVC, the water level of which was already low. It was five in the morning and I was laying awake and I thought that I’d wait and fix these things in the morning but then I thought again, Move the bed. So at five in the morning I got up and emptied the nearly stagnant water that was being fed through the PVC that functions as a water crossing barrier and pushed my bed a foot away from the wall in each direction. I returned to sleep and did not again experience the same powerful physical sensations I had of getting high earlier, during the night.
It’s so easy to forget, to become acclimated, once the pain is gone. The actual physical sensations of the rush just after a hit are gone now that I’ve made adjustments to the position of my bed. Darkness is clever. Having noticed this, there were probably several, more subtle things that I missed being better informed and insulated now.
I was wondering why such great attention was paid to me this time at the cessation of habitual drug use and not so much during previous times, when it seemed to me that I was just as earnest in my intention, but eventually gave way to familiar patterns. These thoughts have led me to consider what Ra speaks of when he talks about prophesy. In a reading of the Law of One sessions with Ra I came across the idea of “possibility/probability vortices”, the strongest of which were being read to gain some information as to the path of my eventual choosing.
Ra states in the Law of One, Session 65:
Consider the shopper entering the store to purchase food with which to furnish the table for the time period you call a week. Some stores have some items, others a variant set of offerings. We speak of these possibility/probability vortices when asked with the understanding that such are as a can, jar, or portion of goods in your store.
It is unknown to us as we scan your time/space whether your peoples will shop hither or yon. We can only name some of the items available for the choosing. The, shall we say, record which the one you call Edgar Cayce read from is useful in that same manner. There is less knowledge in this material of other possibility/probability vortices and more attention paid to the strongest vortex. We see the same vortex but also see many others. Edgar’s material could be likened unto one hundred boxes of your cold cereal, another vortex likened unto three, or six, or fifty of another product which is eaten by your peoples for breakfast. That you will breakfast is close to certain. The menu is your own choosing.
The value of prophecy must be realized to be only that of expressing possibilities. Moreover, it must be, in our humble opinion, carefully taken into consideration that any time/space viewing, whether by one of your time/space or by one such as we who view the time/space from a dimension, shall we say, exterior to it, will have a quite difficult time expressing time measurement values. Thus, prophecy given in specific terms is more interesting for the content or type of possibility predicted than for the space/time nexus of its supposed occurrence.
I got my magnetic insoles in the mail yesterday and wear them in the foot bed of my house slippers. I think the next pair of insoles I buy will be the kind with the layer of padding. They’re made by Nikken and are called Magsteps. I’m not sure what benefit they’re having yet against neg interference as I only started wearing them yesterday, unlike the grounding sheet that I noticed benefits from the first night of use. The insoles are regularly priced at $60.00 from the manufacturer but I got them for $45.00 on eBay. I don’t feel the odd pinprick sensations or intense itching on the soles of my feet anymore that signaled the initial stages of a negative re-attachment I’d notice most often when sitting at my desk. That’s one thing. There hasn’t been another effort to sexually assault me while I’ve slept in a few weeks, since I last noted it here, but I still wear the underwear guard to bed at night and still sometimes wake aware of a powerful suggestion in my mind that I should, that I really want to visit the nearest bath house. It’s strange how quickly these compulsions disappear moments after I open my eyes and I think, “A bath house ? Why would I want to go there ?” I’m guessing that these places are rife with negative-attachment opportunities, along with my enhanced or as Ra would say “energized” susceptibility to disease. I used to enjoy places like that, the way one might enjoy an indoor theme park, but it’s better to live and so I’ll live without them as a source of entertainment.
Last night I was up more often than I had been in previous nights, but that’s usually the case when I get something new in the mail like my insoles, or I’ve made some improvement or gesture toward engaging in normal everyday-type things with other people. The online harassment has ceased completely, like so many other negatively-influenced things that have when I took direct notice of them.
Still, there’s no reason not to stop doing what I’ve been doing. I wear my Silver Terminator strapped to my arm, or keep it close at hand in a pocket when I leave the house.
Last night I would sleep for only an hour and when I’d wake thinking it was light I’d find that only an hour had passed. I heard a rhythmic knocking from one of the neighboring apartments that seemed to go on for hours and thought of the sound my bed used to make against the wall when I was high and having sex with one of the Johns, but I don’t feel any sense of loss for not having any of those people around anymore. John once told me that he liked the dark side, and he smiled with a sense of pride as if this made him somehow cool, and I suppose he thinks that his many years of life experience and a vast intelligence will be enough to someday save him from it.
Not one of those people do I miss. Jack was reduced to using the bloody dregs of whatever remained in used syringes laying around his apartment, pooling the liquid from those he’d collected to get high. Everyone knew and was talking about it, about him, they were shaking their heads as they laughed, getting undressed, shedding their shoes and backpacks in hallways near front doors all over town. Then the sheriff’s department finally came one morning and put all of Jack’s things out on the sidewalk. I don’t see any of those people around who were crashing at his place, the liars, scammers, bag chasers and the thieves who were sleeping on his couch and on the floor having gone back to where they came from as most had already ruined their credit with the dealers and had garnered bad reputations as bag chasers, cell phone and iPad thieves, and Jack is no longer in town. I once saw the one everyone called “the dirty Jew” exiting the park at five o’clock in the morning as I was on my way to a trick’s house. He stood staring at me from across the street and had only one shoe on, and his clothes were all a mess. Year Without a Santa Claus “Heat Miser” hair stiff and probably full of leaves and twigs on his head. He stared after me as a passed from across the street like a zombie. I remember sitting in the back seat of his car once when he was on top, or so he thought, and he’d turned to me and from behind his Prada sunglasses had said, “I’ve been to your place before. We fucked in your bed while you were out West.” I’d heard he’d smashed the windshield of his car and wouldn’t look in mirrors, covering them in sheets and towels at the motels he was moving to and from, and had taken to flushing his stash down the toilet in an instant when they’d started following him. He got sloppy. He got five years. The ones on top seem to stay there the longest. No one ever seems them. They never leave their homes. When they do it’s to a cab outside waiting to take them to the party or the bathhouse and then back again at first light. Everything else they need they shop for online and have delivered, and so stay completely out of sight. And it’s there they remain, growing sick with mysterious infections and growing old, talking about the way things used to be when they were young.
Maybe Matt. He was beautiful, sometimes, and we’d go and sit on the roof of my building and talk, and like so many, he was such a smart man. He cried when I shook my head and said that there would be nothing and no one you can take with you once you, if you, ever decide to leave that place, so I guess he’d rather stay having been there so long. He’d started to wonder about the cameras, where the cameras were hidden and so I told him about being followed, and what it meant when he’d reached that stage. Which isn’t to say that there aren’t ever cameras, because that would not be true. I found one once just barely visible behind chipped plaster and cracked paint in a corner of the ceiling in the filthy, roach-infested single room of a Tenderloin motel once, its tiny red light fixed in the direction of my mattress, so recording the goings-on in some places is not entirely mythical, but or the most part, as I told Matt, that it’s your mind, your very consciousness expanding and pressing against the boundaries of a place, of something unseen and unknown. And they don’t like you. You’ll know you’re being watched, being followed, but you’ll never know who is doing the following, and from where. Some people, no matter how much you talk, will never hear until they’ve seen for themselves. I was like that, too, I suppose.
Last week while waiting in line at DHS I watched who was clearly a once beautiful man on the nod while sitting slumped in a chair waiting for his name to be called, his cell phone held open and slipping from the palm of his hand. I’d wondered if I’d ever seen him before somewhere, online, or maybe at someone’s place, if I’d ever held the torch steady for him as he drew from the pipe. He was still a big man, with huge hands and his handsomeness still evident, his bigness a sure sign of his once and perhaps still desirability in the community, but the flesh around his skull had shrunken away so that you could clearly make out the lines and curvature of the bones. A Latin man wearing a white track suit standing a few people behind me watched him, too.
Slowly I’m finding time to be astonished by some things. That poor, sad, handsome man that they operate like a hand puppet now that there’s as much meth coursing through his veins as there is blood … so many baggies, some not completely empty that used to litter the ground everywhere I went, until I began to realize that they’d been deliberately placed there to remind me … the times when I would wake in the middle of the night and notice the incredible amounts of energy that were being exerted over my body in the attempt to get me to piss in my bed, to insult and embarrass me so that I’d think resistance was futile, so much energy that I’d be sweating from the heat. And the shit monster conjured up one early morning that I only heard the awful sounds of when it came bubbling and gurgling out of my bathroom. You know it’s over and you can never go back when they send a shit monster bubbling out of your bathroom. The bathroom door should always remain closed. Now I know. Wash your hands, wash your hands, disinfect all doors and knobs, and for godssakes wash your hands.
Some thing sure did try very hard to get into my pajamas all night last night. Even with the underwear guard on I could feel it trying while my mind was supposed to be engaged in distracting dreams, but sometime this morning I guess it must have just given up. I’d woken at 2 this morning, performed the banishing ritual, cut up slices of fresh red onion and placed them about my room, and went back to bed, determined to stay there and not sit at my computer until morning, as I’m going to have to get into the habit of sleeping most of the night if I plan to be awake and aware to go to work.
I’ve been sleeping well for quite some time now. I suppose for the past few days I’d had no interference, but I can remember waking to the thought of someone’s name being clearly suggested to me, some person named “Jim Nocushion”, and this after I’d revised a post to This Healing Dream about the protective benefits I’ve experienced from wearing an underwear guard fastened to the interior of a jock strap and a bit of Sulfur8 in the jock area to bed bed at night. it’s not as complicated as it sounds, and I’d read that sulfur is deleterious to negs and so, out of curiousity, decided to conduct an experiment with a cream or paste with a small sulfur content. It’s so far worked very well for me, and I’ve been using this method for over a month. The numbness and cold sensations that I’d attributed to the placement of a negative attachment at the end of my penis have ceased, and when I do begin to feel the effects of one, I just apply a little Sulfur8 added to the area, and within ten minutes or so the attachment is dissolved.
I suppose “Jim Nocushion”, along with the previous nights of undisturbed sleep, was intended to suggest to me that I need no longer wear an underwear guard to bed, but then what kind of idiot would I be if I didn’t follow my own advice about being lulled into a false sense of security? I was in bed and thought, I’ll just lay here for a moment and put on one before I go to sleep. I thought again, Better to do it now. If I fell asleep while reading I’d just be setting myself up for an attack, which of course came during the night. I suppose if it had been successful I would have seen Armento’s leering face at the end of it. I don’t suppose it matters now as he’s become just another neg.
I will invest in the fabric to make a full top and bottom sheet in addition to the half sheet of grounded fabric I use now. I’ve noticed that the more of my body that’s covered by shielding fabric, the better. I was browsing the forum at Astraldymanics in the neg abuse section and came across these words by Robert Bruce that makes the case for sleeping grounded quite clear:
All negative energies and entities that trouble humans are bound to the surface of the earth in a thin energy layer that is barely understood. Negative entities can be likened to EM (electro-magnetic) entities, in that they live in an EM dimension. They interact with humans on the EM level, with the EM aspects of the human body and mind. To an EM entity, a grounded/earthed area would appear as a potential well, as a chasm that it cannot cross. If forced into an EM deep grounding situation, the energies of negs are grounded and the neg’s presence close to the physical dimension is demanfested.
One night, a neg became so angry that he couldn’t (astrally) “rape me anymore” due to the protective counter-measures I’ve introduced, that he threatened to (astrally) rape someone else. I didn’t hear whose name he’d called as someone plugged my ears. I think I’ve gathered enough information to suggest a full-sized sheet of grounding fabric for the bed, and although they’re quite an investment, a magnetic mattress pad if one can afford it. Robert Bruce mentions that the feet are the most vulnerable area for negs to attach themselves to and it is through the feet that access to the base chakra and the mind is gained. I’d add sexual contact this this as a prime mode of transfer as well, especially in gay men. At any rate, I’ve been looking at magnetic or grounding insole products. I don’t mind at all my plan of abstinence over intercourse as I’m clearly a target for the enhancement of conditions related to venereal disease, and I’ve also become not-so-oddly allergic to penicillin and resistant to other antibiotics now.
I’ve noticed how the repeated runny nose, watering eyes, sneezing and symptoms of cold have stopped. I’d first noticed this occurred after I’d gotten in the shower. I sleep warmly enough at night, so it was strange to wake continuously with the same symptoms, which long ago led me to wonder if were is some sort of interference at work? I remembered the man and woman and that dream that seemed like reality in my room of a few days ago, and recalled how she’d held a white napkin in her hand before touching the bathroom door before the three of us entered. I thought it was a suggestion to cover my mouth when I sneezed so I’d stop sneezing on them when they were here and I didn’t see them, as I wasn’t covering my mouth since I thought I was alone. I’ve started wiping all the doorknobs now with disinfectant, in addition to covering my mouth when I sneeze or cough (since I never really know anymore who is standing next to me) and now more more (almost daily) symptoms of cold.
I’ve taken up the garden hose as it’s no longer needed, but still leave the PVC tubing and submersible pump system running around the perimeter of my apartment as it’s unobtrusive and I imagine a good first line of defense.
I think I’ve revised THD enough for a while to send the link to a friend about my experiments and experiences. I’d wanted to wait until I was working, to demonstrate further success against neg interference and ritual abuse, but that won’t be for another few weeks, and I’m tired of looking at old posts. I was greeting with another neg attack last night, first the strange suggestion/fixation on meth use, which I watched for a while before falling deeper into sleep. I thought it was interesting how my mind could be triggered to recall the actual sensations of drug use by negs, along with visual imagery before my closed but not yet dreaming eyes, but that was about all there was to be found in watching that unfold.
Throughout the offering, I was wondering, Just what, exactly, is Armento’s job? As an employee of DHS, it would seem that his job is (or was) to provide a service to the community, but which community? Then I began to wonder if his job were not to ensure that a certain portion of the population, hardcore meth users in particular, stayed that way, as well as organizing the occasional ritual murder.
Armento’s apartment, when I visited it in the East Bay many years ago, wasn’t very much to speak of. There was just a minimal attention given to furnishings, so it wasn’t about money, and his job as a case manager at DHS couldn’t possibly have provided him with anything more than a moderate income. When he wasn’t borrowing expensive vehicles from local car dealerships to stalk me through different cities in, he drove a rather beat-up SUV. So, my working theory is that it’s mostly about control for him and others of his negatively-oriented kind. It’s about authority and power, in addition to maintaining a supplying energy to others of his kind. He is reptilian with other-dimensional access capabilities, and he could slam (inject) more speed than anyone I’ve ever met and not even ever high, adding to my belief in negatively-oriented reptilians and lower astral beings’ relying on its use by humans, and that these beings synthesize the drug differently than humans do.
Occasionally, I’m reminded of people I once knew there, usually it’s just some neg, like Armento, who’s somehow managed to make himself appear as someone else in my dreams. I’m not sure yet what effect that’s meant to have on me, though the efforts have been repeated for many years. Last night it was names and faces from junior high and high school, people I’ve long forgotten, but I think these are just recalled as distractions to get close enough to my body to attach energy drains and such. Occasionally, I’m shown images of that place where I used to live, which was overrun with meth when I left eight years ago, so much so that when I’d returned there almost twenty years ago now, before all this began, the city reeked. It smelled to me like death, but I’d never experienced such a sensation before and thought it only my own anxiety over having returned to a place I was only iffy about to begin with.
As usual, it’s difficult to tell what excited last night’s interference, as I’d had many thoughts about further counter-measures, and confirmed appointments with the job placement agency I’ll be working with in the coming weeks, and even a coffee date with a handsome man. Wow ! All of these, positive steps toward an improved style of life.
