Struggling toward freedom

When trying to explain to people the facts surrounding the control of most of our planet by an occult, super-rich cabal, and their nearly completed attempt to form a one-world governmental, religious and financial system, there seems to be one thing most people can’t accept. Folks have a hard time believing that their leaders could be evil enough to perpetrate the kind of atrocities necessary to carry out such a plan, despite history being replete with examples of just such behavior on the part of rulers and governments. I would like to relate to you an experience I had many years ago which has followed me down to the present day. I believe it will serve as a window into the deeply ingrained spiritual corruption which infests our governments.

It was in the late 1980′s when I began to investigate the outrageous corruption evident in the US government. I had been incarcerated in the Federal Correctional Institution in El Reno, OK since 1986, and had learned among many other things that the CIA was running cocaine into the US to fund their black budget projects. (projects that the then DEM congress would not fund without knowing the details of). The largest of these at the time being the funding of the Nicaraguan rebels, of course. Now I knew that the Federal Prison System was full of political prisoners because I had met several, read their cases and had seen the clear evidence of it. These were people who were railroaded into prison for failing to be sufficiently obedient to the powers that be, getting in the way, or attempting to expose the crimes of said powers. I thought, in my youth and naivete that I might be able to get the attention of such a one who was connected to this CIA drug-running and so learn the truth of it. My little expedition was to lure a much bigger fish than I was prepared to land.

My method was quite simple, but turned out to be more effective than I could ever have imagined. When asked what I was ‘in for’, the single most asked question in any prison, I would reply that I was running guns to El Salvador and trading them for cocaine which I would fly back to the US. Soon I was to be forcibly introduced to a man that had been doing just that. Some eight or nine months after I had began my little ruse I was attacked by a normally docile co-worker in the prison industries where I worked. I was later to learn that he was paid off for this act with a long requested transfer to a prison closer to his home. The resulting fight landed us both in “the hole”, meaning disciplinary segregation, the result of which is that you lose your job, your cell, whatever clothing you had accumulated, and when you are released back into “general population”, in this case after 60 days, you are housed in the oldest building on the compound, which originally was the only cell house, (circa 1927; think shawshank redemption)until a bed becomes available in your regular unit. When released, I just happened to be placed in the cell of a recently arrived CIA captain who had worked under Admiral Poindexter and had caught a beef while involved in the Iran-Contra dealings. The story he told me was among the saddest things I ever expect to hear.

I suspect the two names this man used in prison were pseudonyms, as a search of federal inmate records turns up results for neither, and since to reveal a CIA agent’s name(real or invented)is probably a crime, (unless you’re King George or The Duke of Oil Cheney) I will proceed without naming him, other than to call him Jim. The first night I spent in a cell with this man is printed indelibly on my mind. He was very unimposing in stature, probably 5’10” and 150lbs., but with a quiet confidence and piercing blue eyes that seemed to cut right through you. His intelligence was immediately evident, and I was later to find that he had a photographic memory. He didn’t ask about me, but instead began to tell me about himself. He was 30, a Captain in the CIA and worked for Adm. Poindexter. I avoided the obvious news-related Iran-Contra questions and asked how a 30yr old makes it to Captain. He smiled without mirth and replied that you have to have an early start. Our conversation was interrupted by the evening count and then chow. We took chow together and afterward had a long walk around the enormous recreation yard during which time I brought him up to speed on the various characters on the compound (both convicts and guards)and then showed him the locations of the different departments. After a trip to the band rooms for a jam session and to let my band-mates know I was out, we returned to our cell for the night. I had gotten the impression that he was not at all happy about his situation and so, emboldened by this and his earlier candidness, I decided to try some more questions.

After dusk I sensed a change in Jim. His countenance had fallen from reserved to downright dark. His gaze had grown even more intense but his eyes were seldom meeting mine, now being directed elsewhere on my person. As a young man in prison for some years now I knew how to interpret this but ignored it and asked again how he came to be a Captain in the CIA at so young an age. He asked if I disbelieved him and then reached under his bunk and brought out a portfolio full of papers. He moved over closer to me and produced from the folio several letters from Adm. Poindexter, and some directives on official CIA letterhead, none of which were of any import of course but pertained to his incarceration. Before I could address how convincing these might be, he began to tell me his story. He told me that he was born to very poor Appalachian parents who couldn’t afford to take care of him because of his hemophilia. Now my mind was racing. A thirty year old hemophiliac who was a Captain in the CIA??!! He said that after his parents had consulted with a social worker about what to do, that they were visited by a CIA agent who offered to compensate them for allowing him to take the child and “care for him”. He was basically bought by the CIA. Jim told me that his “Rabbi”, which in the CIA is what they call a mentor for lack of a better term, used him as a sex slave throughout all of his youth, and put him through “conditioning” which made Jim ready for the different roles he would be used in. Now I had read about “Monarch” mind control techniques in which children are subjected to cruel tortures and traumas which cause them to dissociate and break down into multiple personalities. (ever see the movie Sybil?) The individual personalities are then conditioned to serve particular roles and are programed to be brought up with certain commands. As I gazed at the now blank face of my new cellmate, I knew I had come face to face with just such a programing victim, and that I had probably unknowingly triggered his sex slave personality to surface. I tried to ask about the specifics of his programing, but he grew quite disoriented and I had the distinct impression that he was flipping between personalities. I knew then that I had triggered some programing device and the words of a song from the occult influenced band Led Zeppelin came to mind. The song is called Houses of the Holy and the lyrics that came to mind were:

So the world is spinning faster
Are you dizzy when you stop
Let the music be your master
Will you heed the master’s call
Oh-whoa-oh, Satan an’ man

Said there ain’t no use in cryin’
‘Cause it will only, only drive you mad
Does it hurt to hear them lyin’
Was this the only world you had
Oh-oh

So let me take you, take you to the movie
Can I take you baby to the show
Why don’t you let me be yours ever truly
Can I make your garden grow
You know-whoa, that’s right

Keep in mind that triggers for such poor programed souls are often hidden in music, movies, etc. I was quiet for a while as he leaned against me, waiting to see what would happen next. He slowly recovered and then surprised me by asking what I thought of his looks. Unsure of what to say, I muttered whatever compliment I could think of. He then told me that the reason he had such a square, strong jaw was that it was artificial! He then proceeded to tell me how a plane crash in Central-America had left his jaw shattered, and I briefly remembered a news story about such an occurrence, wondering if this was he. Now there was a fourth part to Jim’s mystery: A 30yr old CIA Captain hemophiliac who had survived a plane crash requiring reconstructive surgery! So I asked the obvious question. How does a hemophiliac survive a plane crash in the jungle? He told me that it was the religion that his “rabbi”, who I was to later meet called “the whiz”,had indoctrinated him into. He said that his faith was called Santeria and that it was his “communion spirits” that supernaturally preserved his life in times of crisis. I laughed despite myself and asked if Santeria wasn’t a mix of voodoo and Catholicism. Suddenly he was himself again and said that the spirits were no joke and asked if I would like him to call up a spirit for me to see. At this point I had no doubt he could do what he claimed and for the first time was a bit frightened. Now I’ve always been a believer in Christ as Savior but was far from Him at this point and knew what happens to those who use His Name in presumption. I was also not about to consent to some spell the result of which I was wholly ignorant of. He could see my fear and let go a low soft laugh that I never heard again and which I never will forget. I did not sleep that night but prayed more than I had the previous 10 years combined. I never saw Jim’s alternate personalities surface again, but I knew one of them was the sex slave as he had admitted to being used as such. Obviously his dominant personality was the CIA agent, but were there others? It was disconcerting to say the least to be locked in a small cell with such an unknown quantity every night, and I was quite relieved when beds came open in our respective units and we were no longer cell-mates.

In the months that followed, Jim got me a cushy job in the business office in administration and suddenly everyone on the compound, guards included, were treating me with a new found respect. This, more than any paperwork I was shown, proved to me that he was who he said he was. I also saw the evidence of his hemophilia when a spill on the basketball court sent him to the infirmary for shots of clotting factor. Eventually Jim told me that he wanted to recruit me into the CIA. Now I was smart enough to know that the only thing the CIA could want me for was to be a fall guy to do their dirty work, who if eliminated was no loss. However, I enjoyed my new found privileged status and played along, pretending to be interested.

My conscience began to bother me concerning Jim and his spiritual condition. I knew that he had probably never been exposed to the truth and that spiritual darkness was all he had ever known. Now I was definitely on prodigal son status, but had always been a believer, having received a love of the truth at a young age. I broached the subject from a philosophical point of view, asking him about good vs evil and his beliefs. It seemed that he didn’t believe in a Creator, just a balance of opposing forces the stronger of which was evil, which would eventually prevail. I couldn’t get him to talk of the practices of Santeria much, but he did admit that it included using sacrifices, both animal and human. He was willing to listen to my views of biblical Christianity, and seemed mildly amused by them, but if I mentioned the name of Jesus he ended the conversation abruptly. Eventually Jim let me know that he wasn’t interested in continuing that line of conversation and that I should just drop it. Not long after this I accidentally caught Jim’s jaw with my elbow during a basketball game, separating the hinge of his artificial jaw. He spent the next four months with his jaws wired shut. I had nothing but sympathy for Jim and would never have harmed him intentionally, but it seems that this incident, combined with my attempts to share the truth with him has earned me the unending enmity of the occult elite.

Some two months after Jim’s jaw was healed, he left FCI El Reno saying only that he was being transferred, and that I would be contacted by his “rabbi” when I was released from prison. I never got Jim to talk about the drug running in the CIA, but from that day to this I have been under attack from the occult forces that control our government. Always the goal has been the same; to force me to submit to their illegitimate authority and accept their evil rule. Since 911 they seem to have made their attacks “legal” through the “patriot act” and have convinced the populace through gross slander, demonization and vilification of me that I deserve whatever they wish to do to me. Those who do not agree with their methods are intimidated into doing the beast’s bidding with the threat of similar treatment. Even those who claim to know that the government is made up of lying, slanderous, satanists are intimidated into obeying those they claim to oppose when it comes to me. I can only discern that the truth I have been exposed to is truly dangerous to these filth-bags, and that their slander of me is intended to discredit my testimony and at the same time gain for themselves a poster-boy for why the surrender of all rights and due process is a good thing. Think of me what you will, just know that whatever you allow the government to do to me, you are allowing them to do to you, your children and grandchildren. Also remember that whoever you give yourself to, to obey, the same is your master. The truest form of worship is obedience.

My struggle has ever been, and continues to be, one of spiritual truth and physical freedom. I seek not that anyone should think well of me for I know that I, like every other, deserve no such consideration. My only desire is that all those who have received a love of the truth be exposed to all the truth that God has made available to us. The rest is up to God.

Please know that the time is very short and that while physical preparation is important, that your spiritual condition is what really matters.

Struggling toward freedom,

Patrick Craig Lemmons