White Witch in a Black Robe: A True Story About Criminal Mind Control - Softcover

Hoffman, Wendy

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1911597906 ISBN 13: 9781911597902

Verlag: Aeon Books, 2019

Inhaltsangabe

A memoir about how secret high-level mind control, the ways heads of governments and religious organizations participate in this, as well as the healing process and ultimately, how the mind becomes whole again.

The memoir begins with the author's childhood in a multi-generational cult family, her ordinary life in the normal world and her simultaneous secret tortuous world.

Hoffman describes her world travels as a satanic cult queen and prophet, encountering well-known and influential people.

The final section portrays the process of weaving the pieces of her mind back together with the help of a therapist, and adjusting to life with a whole mind.

This is an important book for survivors of mind control and ritual abuse, their therapists, and the general public, revealing one of the world's best-kept and grimmest secrets.

As the author says in her introduction, 'This book is not for the delicate or for those who are convinced the world is fine just the way it is.'

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Wendy Hoffman has published three memoirs, The Enslaved Queen  (Karnac Books, 2014, new edition by Aeon Books, 2019), White Witch in a Black Robe (Karnac Books, 2016, new edition by Aeon Books, 2019) and A Brain of My Own (Aeon Books, 2020, Karnac Books 2023). The Enslaved Queen has been translated and published in Germany (Asanger-Verlag, 2021). Her book of poetry, Forceps, was also published (Karnac books, 2016) along with a book of essays, From the Trenches, written with Dr. Alison Miller (Karnac Books, 2018). Her fourth memoir, After Amnesia, is published on the SmartNews and Survivorship websites (2022). Her poetry book Belonging is forthcoming from Kelsay Books, Fall 2023.

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White Witch In A Black Robe

A True Story About Criminal Mind Control

By Wendy Hoffman

Aeon Books Ltd

Copyright © 2019 Wendy Hoffman
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-911597-90-2

CHAPTER 1

PART I

STREAMS OF CONSCIOUSNESS

Act and don't remember

If you have a whole undisturbed brain, it is difficult to fathom a divided brain. If you have a dissociated brain, people with whole brains seem similarly weird to you.

This is what you need to know about the butchered brain: It is separated into distinct parts. One part doesn't know about the others and usually thinks it is the only one. Each split in the brain thinks of itself as a complete person with characteristics and functions and an unchanging chronological age. It thinks it was born that way and doesn't know that evil people separated it off through torture, terror, and lies. The whole brain houses many sections of these disenfranchised pieces of mind. When a piece comes forward, it overwhelms all other parts. When it recedes, the others don't know it has been out.

This is the story of a chopped up brain whose pieces walked through life within an open-faced and wavy, dark-haired girl-woman. It is also about this person's integration, when all the splintered parts of the tortured brain came together as a whole, almost normal mind, the mind it was meant to be before criminals tore it apart.

Because of how sealed off my memories have been, I don't believe I could have retrieved them or excavated them from within my internal unknown structures had I not had professional help from someone who is courageous and also an expert in organized, criminal mind control. Very late in life, I found a mind control investigator and researcher, Also known as a clinical psychologist, who agreed to help me find myself. Had Dr. Alison Miller not done so, I would have died believing mostly the falsehoods the controllers planted in me to keep me from the real memories. My memories included the trainings parts of my brain received to be queens, Illuminati heads, seers, prophets, psychics, sexual slaves, prostitutes, soldiers, porno actors, spies, thieves, memorizers, reporters, cult therapists, mules, ordinary people, and killers. I may be forgetting to list some of the functions of those who existed in tightly sealed communities and ghettoes that resided within my squeezed brain.

I relied on body memories to bring me back to my true self. In the beginning, I would feel a sting under a front upper tooth and rush to the dentist. Or my left hip would ache so badly that I made an appointment with an orthopedist. Or my head would start shaking and I wondered whether I had developed a disease. I didn't know yet that head shaking is an after-effect of electroshock. I had to be deep into therapy before I realized the dental pain echoed torture in my gums and that a gang of men had routinely kicked my hip. My body expelled many such reverberations.

My mind wears a rubber mask.

I imagine everyone wears layered masks, and parades around a variety or panoply of false selves depending on the occasion. Normal people do that out of their own insecurities and ambitions. Mind-controlled people are hollow because their minds were taken away from them. Their controllers instruct these shells of people about what to do and when. Theirs is institutionalized, manufactured falsity.

Scientists, doctors, and trained ordinary citizens use drugs and torture to render children machines that do others' bidding. The commands these perpetrators put in the victims are called "programming".

They take an isolated, barricaded piece from one stream in the mind and another and another and sometimes tie them together at the bottom and twist them together and tell them to act but not remember.

The love bouquet, 1950

Here is an example of what happens in real or ordinary life and also in secret cult mind control life, and how this secret life differs from ordinary life.

I wanted my mother to love me. Despite all the torture and brutality. The garden across the street had magnificent flowers, mostly tulips, red, yellow, bright and majestic with tender, mysterious insides. I picked some, then a few more, then another. Greedily I thought of the beautiful bouquet I would present to my mother, and she would love me. I had just seen another I wanted to pick when the thin, tall doorman in a gray uniform stormed out of the fancy apartment building on this hill, yelled at me and the two other second graders I picked with, and waved a stick in the air. I dropped my love bouquet and raced across the large mowed lawn. I ran as fast as I could though still in the irate doorman's vision. The other children dispersed in opposite directions and ran to their own homes. I rang my doorbell hard and my mother opened the door right away. What a relief! She could have been lying on her bed and taken forever to open the door. She got dressed right in the foyer; my parents had made the dining room into their bedroom so they had to use the hall closets as their large clothing closets. My mother was hooking her flesh- colored nylons onto her flesh-colored garter belt. It was around 1950 and pantyhose didn't exist yet. My sister sat on the love seat being companionable to my mother. Mother loved to have her near.

The doorbell rang, followed by loud knocking, and my stomach swallowed my throat. Mother put the chain lock on the door, stood behind it half-dressed, and opened it a few inches. The uniformed doorman stood in the crack of the open door waving my would-be bouquet like a stick. He hadn't followed me when I ran into the side entrance to the apartment. I didn't know how he had found out where I lived. He must have seen me enter the side door and rang the bells of each of this cluster of apartments until someone told him where the seven-year-old girl lived.

"Your daughter picked these flowers. Your daughter ruined the garden. Your daughter is a thief and has to be punished," he screamed, waving the bouquet of cut flowers madly.

"All right, I'll do something about it," she said and closed the door while he shrilled.

Mother continued getting dressed, barely looked at me, indicated that the doorman was very angry; told me not to pick flowers no matter how tempting they were; and restarted her conversation with Marlene. I thought that had ended the scene, and for over six decades, I didn't remember Act II, not until some girls locked in a small box in me at the base of my internal structure came up to talk.

In the early morning after the previous afternoon's flower-stealing, Max and Uncle Sidney entered my bedroom, picked me up, and carried me down the basement hallway, through the laundry room, down the shaft, and into the lower level programming room in the tunnels underneath our apartment building. This lower level programming room had a padded section of wall and floor. Uncle Sidney, who carried me, threw me against the wall. I felt my bones shudder one after the other as I landed on the padded mat. My grandfather whipped my back, neck, and legs through my summer pajamas. He had a penchant for whipping.

"Screaming, you want to hear screaming. You're screaming. I'm going to show you screaming." He placed earphones on my head. Uncle Sidney turned up the sound full blast. My eardrums curled in from the deafening noise.

"That's what flowers sound like when they are picked. Listen to their shrieking and think again whether you want to draw attention to yourself."

He didn't care that I had picked flowers. He cared that someone had noticed me and knew where I lived. I was supposed to...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Aeon Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2019
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1911597906
• ISBN 13: 9781911597902
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 176
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Naxos Deutschland Musik & Video Vertriebs-GmbH; https://naxosusa.com/; ; Gruber Str. 46b; Poing; 85586; Deutschland