Psychic Forces at Work? – A Memoir

(Kevin Annett is a former Canadian United Church Minister who was defrocked in 1997 for drawing attention to Church involvement in genocide and exploitation of Aboriginals. For more information, read “Kevin Annett Rips the Mask from Power”.)

In the spring of 2002, I came to know a deep river gorge, a few miles from our house, in Kanaka Creek Park in Maple Ridge. It was there that I began to stay, more and more, moving into a prayer state with such ease and longevity that it surprised me.

I was led there. For I had never been a person given to much meditation, my impatience and impulse to act always making simple prayer an impossible thing for me to do. Yet sitting in the shower of an evening waterfall, the dying sunlight lancing peace into me, I knew suddenly that prayer is not something we do, or plan, or engage in with an effort: it is the water in which we swim, all the time, a core reality that we have forgotten, or rather been made to forget, in the make-believe of our conscious rationality. It is an avenue to a source.

I had to jettison any religious notions I had to really understand this, and to begin to know myself. For our natural higher consciousness, if you like, our connectedness to the universe and to all things and all truth, somehow gets surgically removed from us in the course of growing up in this culture, and something else gets implanted within us: a barrier of some kind that keeps our true selves imprisoned, and our vital spirit contained and siphoned off somehow into a machine entity that controls our minds and lives. We are not ourselves anymore. And formal religion – the system that makes us believe that deity and truth lie outside us rather than within us – is a key part of that machine-master that makes us enslaved.

Intuitively, I knew all of this in a flash one evening by the river. Our slavery became apparent to me as a fact, not simply as a horrible notion.

About that same time, not coincidentally, and as an answer to my sudden inner question – “How then can we be made free?” – a woman named Lorisa contacted me out of the blue and said she needed to speak with me.

As it turned out, Lorisa was a psychic healer – that’s the colloquial name I’ll use for that which can’t and shouldn’t have a label – and she had been given a message to contact me and offer her immediate help and protection.

“From what?” I asked her, as we sat in her plush Vancouver home.

“From who, really” she replied. “I can’t name them. It’s too dangerous. But you are in great danger from forces that have been trying to destroy you for years now, ever since you began talking about those children who died in the Indian boarding schools.”

Skeptical by nature, I was about to ask how she knew that, when she began to provide me with all sorts of personal information and incidents about my life and family that no-one could have known.

My back and arms began to acquire the proverbial goosebumps. Lorisa continued.

“I dreamt about you and then began working with my team, channelling light towards you from the higher Chamber of Souls. I saw a lot. Are you ready for this?”

I nodded.

Lorisa shut her eyes and began speaking.

“I see it, it’s like a huge machine, looks like a big gun really, it’s in an underground facility in the Sierra Madre mountains in northern California. Government thing, heavily guarded, lots of military there. It’s a weapon they’re using for psychic warfare. It pierces the dimensions but they don’t know what they’re unleashing, they can’t control it yet.”

She paused and began to look scared, and confused, but she continued.

“But what does this have to do with you … why are they so worried about you … something about the children who died, the water, the minerals they need. Something about, the real purpose of the churches. I don’t know. But I see two Indians who hate you, they’re bad medicine men, they live in Port Alberni and they are into the dark arts. They kill people from a distance. They have …”

Lorisa shuddered, and paused.

“One of them, he has long braids, a man in his fifties, he went to the Alberni residential school, he hurt many of his fellow students there, he killed a child … that man has been sending very bad medicine your way, for years. He has built a … it’s like a cage around you, designed to keep people away from you, to keep you isolated and alone. I can see it. It’s still all around you. Here.”

She sat there, not reaching out at all, but something touched me. I felt young, suddenly. Free. Quiet inside.

“I’ve drawn it out of you … Oh no. Oh no. It’s back again! How can they … how can it return so quickly?”

She opened her eyes for the first time and stared at me with horror.

“It’s back around you, in you. It’s been re-inserted, automatically, by something they call …”

Lorisa shut her eyes again and finally said,

“The Replicator. It inserts like, a probe, back into the targeted person, into your highest shakra, the top of your head, where you’re connected to infinity, to keep you trapped, shut off from help and growth. Keeps you psychically jailed. But you have them all over you. Oh my god.”

Lorisa stood and hurried from the room. She needed a break.

A half hour passed, and she returned. I expected myself to be more freaked out than I was. Everything she said rang true in my heart. I knew it was all the truth, every word.

“I’m clearer now” Lorisa said, seating herself on the rug in front of me again. “I’m sorry I had to leave you. I had to know for sure.”

She paused and took my hands in hers.

“Listen to me. They have learned how to operate in the love vibration for seven minutes. That’s why I wasn’t able to detect them at first. They mask themselves and hide among us to do these implants, but they can’t stay for long. I’ve spoken to my team and they tell me that the dark ones, like the Port Alberni bad medicine man, they somehow got a higher entity from the Chamber of Souls to defect to them and bring them the secret of how to achieve the love vibration and hide among us. But they expose themselves eventually because they can’t maintain it.”

“Anyway” she continued, “that’s how they’ve gotten into you. You are filled with these implants – they’re so many we won’t be able to remove them one by one, we’ll have to dissolve them. They are there to sap your spiritual energy, isolate and demoralize you, make people not want to have anything to do with you. Tell me this … people will come forward and want to help you, really praise your work, and then soon after, they’ll suddenly drop you altogether? Right?”

“You got it. That happens all the time” I answered. “Just a few months ago, I spoke at this church in North Vancouver – Training for Power, they’re called. Kind of a new age church. I’ve never had such a warm and positive response. They raised $2000 for me that day, bought 60 copies of my book, and a dozen of them volunteered to help me with my work among residential school survivors.”

“And then?”

“It was like a light being switched off” I continued. “It was unbelievable. Literally, the next week, every single one of them dropped me. Bang. Not one of them returned my calls, ever again. No-one ever called to say why they weren’t going to work with me, all of a sudden.”

“Does that seem logical to you?” Lorisa asked. “I mean, for every one of them to suddenly cut off ties with you?”

“Of course not. Even if the Mounties had have threatened them, surely someone would have told me why.”

“This isn’t about the Mounties” Lorisa said.

She made me lie down on the floor and held her hands over my body, and after some time the young and free feeling returned to me. She looked tired.

“I’ve started dissolving the worst of the implants, but you’ll have to do the rest, with some mental disciplines I’ll teach you. They’ll never stop attacking you, especially that bad medicine man. He’s being paid a lot of money to destroy you, to keep others away from you.”

Lorisa paused, and said with finality,

“This force they’re harnessed, the thing I saw in the California facility, that big weapon: it acts through people as well, it needs people as a channel to get into you. Your ex-wife, your mother: you must separate yourself from them. They’re unwitting channels.”

I asked her why this psychic weapon she saw was being aimed at me.

“That will become apparent, the more you continue in this work. That’s why you can never give up, never stop your research and your investigations. Just don’t stay on the surface, on the apparent wrongs. The residential schools, all that’s a tip of something much deeper and more evil, something still going on … Don’t worry, you’ll learn the truth, but only if you protect yourself from them. Not everyone will be scared away from you. The strongest among us will stay with you.”

The sequel to this incident is even more bizarre, and saddening.

I kept in touch with Lorisa for several months, but with each phone conversation her tone became more wary, even frightened. One day in the fall of 2002, she blurted out over the phone,

“One of my team is in the hospital. They almost killed her! She tried stopping the bad medicine the Indian man is throwing at you, and it surprised him, that you had that kind of protection, and he withdrew, but then something else stepped in, and it hurt my friend … very badly.”

I remember expressing my concern, and asked if she wanted to discontinue working with me.

“No, no” Lorisa said. “I won’t let this get in the way.”

I never heard from her again, after that. Weeks went by. Finally, not being able to get through to her, I went to Lorisa’s home one day and knocked. She gazed at me through the window suspiciously, frowning. It was like looking at another person. Finally, she opened the door.

“You shouldn’t have come here. You haven’t been honest with me!”

“Pardon?” I said, utterly perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve heard about you” she continued, her eyes wild. “People have told me about you …”

“What people, Lorisa? You said that there’s a way for them to make my supporters not want to work with me, be suspicious of me …”

“This has nothing to do with that!” she screamed at me. “Just don’t come here again!”

She slammed the door in my face. I’ve never heard from her since that day.

Reach Kevin Annett at: hiddenfromhistory@yahoo.ca