Memory is a funny thing: it is malleable, and prone to err. Add to that people’s tendency towards projecting their own assumptions, perceptions, and emotions upon an event – or an event not wholly glimpsed or heard – and you can fall far from the truth, as any good lawyer, policeman, or psychologist can tell you. People’s minds are subject to change; even their own perceptions can be fooled. Add to that people’s tendency to color the truth with their own emotions (which, in turn, are based upon their own perceptions, which in turn are often based upon a societal view) – and white becomes black, with no shades left in between.
We don’t trust memories – not much. There are several varieties of them (or at least in ‘our’ case – I don’t know about you). There are the “true memories”. These are things which we remember because we have never forgotten. There are no changes to those things. We can (generally) place them in time and space. We know where they began and where they ended. There may be ‘gaps’ in those memories where we shoved something aside (retreating into our minds) – but they are there, have always been there, and until my mind begins to falter and fade, will remain.
Those are the kinds of things I’ve listed in my blogs and stories: true memories – things I remember that I (or ‘we’, meaning a part of myself) – never forgot.
Then there are the so-called ‘recovered’ memories. We are highly suspicious of them – they smell like fish – as does any ‘addition’ to a memory we might already have (e.g. remembering ‘something else’ to add to a true memory of ours). We discount them and very rarely list them.
And then there are the memories where we are not sure. There are a bunch of them regarding our Puerto Rican Adventure where we saw some things, went through some things – and they were really weird.
Now technically they could have been a hallucination – however, they were much too real. And if they had all been a ‘dream’ – well, then I wouldn’t be here. Somehow I got myself to the airport – and I didn’t do it alone. I ‘seemed’ to have help – lots of folks – and it was really weird.
So was the flight outta there – ‘sleeper’ agents and all. There was something really weird going on there . . . unless I was truly mad and had gone off my skipper – and it certainly did feel real. It had all the traits and outtakes – it was too solid of an event – and if so, then . . .
it was really weird. And if THAT was so then perhaps what happened earlier was so – it certainly did have that ‘real feel’ – however, if that is true then there was a whole lotta other stuff going on (perhaps something to do with an MKULTRA thing, or some adherents to the MKULTRA principles, or who knows? A religious cult or two? A family thing? We don’t know and it’s really confusing . . . no way to ever tell, either.)
MKULTRA. I don’t think “we” were part of that program; not at all . . . but a later one, one which (according to my dad . . . and some other folks) is still going on. A “kinder, gentler” program which is still running, churning out individuals to do certain things . . . items which might be needed, but which are (for the moment, anyway) ‘deactivated’ except in the need of war, nuclear apocalypse, national disasters, and whatnot . . .
however, some of those units are getting old (and unit, by the way, refers to ‘single individuals’). This is just speculation of course, but then I remember my ‘training’ – and I know I was not the only one. There’s got to be more of ‘them’ (meaning ‘people like me’) out there. Ones who were trained as a small child to bear – and fight back – during a nuclear war or a foreign invasion of our land.
Now this is a ‘true memory’, something I am remembering: five of us standing by our bicycles, ‘playing war’ with the soldiers. We are in the edge of the woods watching two groups of tanks attack each other – they are American tanks, they are on maneuvers, and so are us kids – in a way. It is up to us to live and join – or simply ‘give it up’ and ride away . . .
But they had given us (or at least me – I imagine several others of us had gotten them) – the “Survival Evasion Escape” manuals (thick books, cream colors, thick typeset writing on the outside) . . . given us the ‘story’ – the situation (35K tanks ‘over there’ vs. 5K of ours, nuclear war, stuff like that) – giving us reason to participate in their war . . .
I remember standing around with a C.O. outside his APC (it was running, it was cold, and there was snow on the ground. We’d just finished eating some old C-rations; warmed by the small fire the G.I.’s had built and we had huddled around) . . . talking about the tanks we’d seen and the troops in the field. Going to the edge of the woods and pointing out their locations . . .
and then he giving US orders (me and my friends) to go over there – make friends with those folks – mislead them . . .
Instead, we went over there . . . and misled them . . . into attacking their own. (and we felt VERY good about it).
Training: how much was real, how much was self-induced, how much was just part of being an Army brat stationed overseas?
How many of ‘you’ (meaning military brats) participated in the training?
Did any of your dad’s try to hypnotize you?
Did you learn about things like hand-grenades, jumping from parachutes (the old towers, remember?); how to plant a grenade in a can, booby traps and things – things meant to take out grown men (and certainly would a child)?
I think most Army brats remember “Army Day”. But how many participated in “Army Day” year around? Most of us I am thinking . . . but some more than others. Some really put their nose to the ground – in a big way.
I know we did.
When I think about it: associated with the Army and the military for the first 26 years of my life – born into it, bred into it – lived and breathed it – Soldier dad . . . then joining the military (was a Marine) – then a later contract with the Army doing something else a number of years . . .
Then even now – just last year (or was it two?) . . . that military manual – several of them as a matter of fact, and me automatically ‘doing my thing’ – and then them disappearing . . . strange.
I just blame it on bad memory. But even still . . . sometimes . . . hallucinations? Imagination? Or really something real? We refuse to buy into all ‘our stuff’ – meaning that the Army actually ‘had a plan’ – or that we were in one . . . but then we get that creepy weird anxious feeling that makes us want to go furtive and glance over our shoulders to see if some spies might be there . . . someone watching over us . . .
and then we say ‘no’.
Why not. After all: to say ‘yes’ would mean an even bigger mess . . . and might actually give some truth to those things we’re feeling . . .