Dealing with Harassment: Part 1 – Svali Blog Post 2018
Dealing with Harassment: Part 1
One concern that survivors who attempt to leave cult groups mention is the issue of harassment. After all, groups that have invested time, money and thousands of hours of effort into controlling the mind and developing “useful” skills in an individual do not want to lose that person for several reasons:
- They need that person’s skills
- Pride: it makes them look bad if someone leaves
- Fear that others will get the same idea.
Harassment is real, and it can be quite intensive, based upon the group the person left, their money and resources, the individual’s position within the group, and how much personal investment in “getting the person back” the group’s leaders have.
In these blogs, I will describe some of my personal experiences with harassment: these are autobiographical and part of my history. You will learn about both the good things I did, and some of the incredibly stupid things I did, in response to cult harrassment. Hopefully, by sharing my experiences, it will help encourage others that they are not alone; and help people realize there are different options than they were taught by the groups for dealing with harassment.
Some of the experiences I describe I went through for several reasons:
-I was top leadership (in the “top 4”) for an international occultic group when I left, and their head trainer; which made leaving unacceptable to the top leadership at that time – I was considered a security risk
-my brothers, sisters and children (who by this time were in the early 20’s) were all at the time I describe part of the leadership council for this group, and several had a vested interest in “bringing me back” for punishment
-I have a tendency to speak my mind, and to make top leadership angry with me (by doing things such as writing articles or giving interviews)
Eight years ago, I bought 11 acres of land up in northern Arkansas. I had been free of the cult for two years; and in the early fall my best friend and I decided to go and homestead on the beautiful, wooded land with a pond fed by a stream. There was a small shack on the land, and we built a cement floor, installed a wood stove, and proceeded to clear the brambles, cut wood for the winter, and work on improving the property. Things went well, until in the middle of winter, we found evidence in the snow that others were visiting our property: footprints that came in and out over several fences. We also saw men in military uniforms walking the perimeter of our property; when we walked towards them to ask what they were doing, they left rapidly.
One night, we heard splashing in the stream that ran past our small residence; upon going out the next morning, we saw bootprints in the mud; someone had waded in the stream until they were slightly downhill from our cabin; the footprints then led to just outside our cabin. The bootprints were small, nearly child-sized; next to them were adult prints. The next night, we sat up, and heard activity outside our cabin. I took my pistol out (I had been practicing my marksmanship after breaking presentation programming to be afraid of guns), and my friend and I shot into the bushes where we had heard the noise coming from, telling the intruders to “Leave, now, in Jesus’s name!” There was silence.
The next day, the noise began: a low-pitched rumble that seemed to go through the ground, and that caused waves of nausea; and a higher pitched, incessant noise that was in the same range as “ringing in the ears” but much louder. This noise caused almost immediate pain.
Each day, the noise continued, and my friend and I became seriously ill, with joint pain, fatigue and horrendous pain throughout our bodies. Finally, I packed a bag, jumped in our truck, and told my friend we needed to get off the land. We stayed in a motel that night. The noise stopped entirely, and while we both felt “buzzy” for the next few hours, we immediately both felt better.
My friend and I both deduced that we were being hit with a combination of both low frequency and high frequency waves. My friend went online, looked up the symptoms of being exposed, and we both had every single one. We decided to leave our land, since the pain had increased the past day to an alarming amount. The next day, we went onto the land, packed our bags as quickly as we could. Within minutes of our going onto the land, the high pitched noise started, much louder than before, and we were literally staggering and both almost passed out. We grabbed what we could, jumped into our truck, and ran, leaving our land abandoned and feeling grateful we hadn’t died from the intense pain caused by the electronic tech waves.
On the Run through Four States
Because it was winter, we left in the middle of a huge snowstorm. This ended up being a blessing, because it would slow down those looking for us. I cannot describe the feelings of being pursued, and trying to get away; it is NOT romantic or anything like movie depictions. We were both tired, hurting and afraid. We both prayed a LOT.
We found a motel to stay in (that didn’t require ID), painted our truck a different color, and spent two days resting, doing our laundry in the tub and sleeping lot more than normal; we were both recovering from the tech wave effects, and our bodies were attempting to recover.
I was angry at being chased off my land, which I had loved. I was upset that this was happening. And I had no idea what we would do. My friend and I went to a neighboring state. My friend did not have a legal ID (this friend had stayed hidden for many years, and had successfully left an intelligence agency located overseas), but helped with the driving. After my friend drove for four hours, we were in another state, and I felt an urgency to take over the wheel. “I’m fine” my friend said, “I can keep driving”. But I insisted. We pulled over, I took the wheel, and ten miles down the road, we came to a police blockade; they were checking the IDs of all drivers. If my friend had been driving, we would have been stopped, and possibly risked a fine or even jail.
I believe the LORD prompted me to drive before reaching this point.
My friend and I were praying continuously. We stayed at a motel and the next morning, continued driving. I didn’t feel comfortable with the area, neither did my friend, so we continued driving two more days until we were in yet another state.
Finally, we headed to a state to the south. We found a cheap motel (the kind that charges hourly rates) and checked in without ID, since we didn’t want to be found. There were loud parties, and it seemed obvious that quite a bit of drug dealing was going on in the rooms around us. We laid low, prayed, and started looking for a job.
God Comes Through
After searching for two weeks, my friend and I saw an ad in a local paper. We answered, interviewed, and were hired to work on a horse farm. I loved the idea; I had raised horses myself for several years, loved them, and best of all, a smaller camper was included to live in, next to the barn.
We stayed and worked on the farm for over nine months. During this time, we drove the owner’s truck, and never used our ID. It was difficult for my pride; our employer knew that we didn’t use ID, and from the looks he, his wife, and his uncle and the uncle’s wife next door gave us, I knew they thought we were criminals on the run. Obviously, the idea of getting cheap labor ($100 a week in pay) overrode the owner’s scruples regarding the past of those he hired.
I learned how to feed the horses (there were seven), clean stalls like a pro (my own horses had lived in a field with a lean to; this was luxury horse housing); and loved exercising the mares. I had one favorite with a bouncy gait and a temperament to match, and also helped break a young gelding.
Meanwhile, I was developing my talents as an artist (after all, cleaning barns and taking care of horses didn’t take all day, and I was bored; in my previous life before running, I had worked 80-hour weeks). I started painting oils, and over time, participated in several art shows and held a one-person show at a luxury restaurant in the “big city” a half hour away. Living under an assumed name, I was glad for the peaceful life; there was no harassment from the cult, and it was a wonderful time.
After nine months, I went to visit a local upscale furniture store in a nearby city that the farm owner’s wife suggested I go, to market my paintings at. My friend was with me. The store owner was extremely friendly; visited my art site online, and seemed interested in selling my oils. My friend and I then went to get an ice cream; but suddenly, I felt uneasy. “I think I knew the store owner” I told my friend. “I don’t have a good feeling about this; we need to get to the truck and go.” My friend was unsure. “Are you sure? Don’t you think you are being a little paranoid about this?” my friend said. We walked back to our truck, and saw the store owner outside with a pen and paper, writing down the license number of the truck (it was the farm owner’s, not mine, and registered to him). As soon as he saw us, the store owner scurried back inside. “Oh, sh-t!” I said. My friend and I went to our truck and left.
Once Again, It Starts
Over the next two weeks, there were a lot of new “visitors” to the horse ranch; individuals interested in looking at the horses (one was for sale), in buying hay, etc. One couple held a picnic in the field outside our camper and asked to come inside to use our bathroom. I refused, not wanting to give them a chance to view the inside of our place, and suggested they go to the main house, which had three bathrooms.
The husband of the couple took a camera out, and started taking photos of the camper, of my friend, and I (I turned away). I asked him to stop; he insisted his hobby was photography and that he “couldn’t resist” taking pictures wherever he went.
My friend and I prayed; we realized our place was being scoped out, and didn’t know what to do. That night, the horses in the barn became restless, and my favorite mare whinnied, at 1 am. I went out to check; as soon as I turned out the outside light, I saw a figure dart away from the barn, leap over the fence, and run into the nearby woods. I told my friend, and told my friend we needed to make plans to leave right away. My friend agreed; my friend wanted to give our employer notice for two weeks.
When we went into the barn, we saw evidence that the intruder had entered the stall of the mare that had whinnied (fortunately, she hated strangers, and gave the alert); the water tray in the stall was bent from the intruder stepping on it; from that point, he had a perfect view of our home. My friend and I were wondering what he was doing in the barn.
Two days later, my friend and I felt a low, deep vibration that was all too familiar; the feel of ELF waves. This was followed by bursts of very high-pitched noise (sounding like a dog whistle in frequency) that could barely be heard. My friend and I started experiencing joint swelling and pain; were unable to sleep, and began feeling the nausea and pain. I was terrified; I didn’t want to go through Arkansas all over again. Two days later, we packed our truck, and left in the early evening, leaving before the two weeks was over. My friend and I were exhausted, nauseated, feeling “buzzy” and experiencing joint pain all over. We drove our truck to a nearby city, and found a cheap motel to stay in.
Chased by Helicopters
We slept for five hours; then at 2 am, we heard a door slam next door to our room. Within a few minutes, we began hearing odd noises: high-pitched noises; and a phone ringing in odd patterns. “We have to leave, they’ve found us” I said to my friend, who agreed.
We decided to check out, even though it was only 3:30 am. As we entered the lobby, we saw the door to the room next to ours open; a woman and man came out, and stood in line next to us. “We’re checking out, too” the woman said to me. They had stayed less than two hours in their room.
My friend and I got coffee and donuts, got into our (ancient) truck and headed out. A few hours later, it was daylight. As I was driving, my friend exclaimed, “Oh, crap!” My friend then stated, “there are two helicopters right above us, following us.” I couldn’t believe this. I pulled over, looked up, and there they were; two black helicopters hovering in the sky at a fair distance above.
“Helicopters?!?!!” I yelled. “How the h-ll are we supposed to escape them?” We got in the truck, and I was driving, tears streaming down my face (I was not faith-fulled at all at this point, as you might have gathered). I was yelling at God instead. “God, what do we do? There’s no way out!! Why are you allowing this??” I was terrified. I knew they would hunt us down, get us, and there was nothing we could do. My friend and I stopped at a rest stop next to a park, decided to walk down to the riverside and pray. As we did so, a couple, one that was all too familiar, came walking nearby. “Imagine seeing you again!” said the woman from the motel, who was wearing dark sunglasses. “We must be going the same way.” She gave a smile that looked more like a smirk. I couldn’t punch her, or I would be arrested for battery; but I hated the insolent smile and jaunty wave she gave as my friend and I turned around and went to our truck. We realized that she and her companion believed they “had” us for sure, and I wasn’t so sure they weren’t right.
As we got into the truck and continued driving, my friend and I were praying non-stop. “God, HELP us! What do we do?” My friend then said “I have an idea. It might not work, but it’s worth a try.” My friend then said, “the next time you see a power station, pull up and behind it. The electrical frequency should block the copters from using their tracking technology.” An hour later, we came to one; I did what my friend said, and parked. We waited. We looked above, and to our amazement, no helicopters. Nothing.
“I know of a better place to hide” my friend said, who had lived in the area several years before. We found a large power station on a river, with woods nearby. We parked our truck in the woods, and took out some enamel spray paint we had bought two years before, and painted the truck in camo colors. The homemade job was not pretty; but our truck certainly looked very different. Meanwhile, I slept on a blanket from the back of the truck, beneath the trees. From time to time, I heard the chop-chop-chop of helicopters far above, and would start awake, terrified. “Go back to sleep,” my friend said. “God is going to protect us.” “I wish I could be as sure as you are,” I said. Faith was not my strong suit at this point. I fell back into an uneasy sleep, then when it was dark, we drove our truck (that unfortunately did not have working headlights) for several hours, until we were out of the state. It was early fall, and we both had no idea of where to go.
“I know of a place a few hours from here” my friend said, who had lived in this state for two years. We finally came to a secluded lake near a state park. We set up camp, and exhausted, slept most of the next day. We ended up camping there for two weeks, and it was a wonderful time of rest and recovery from the terrible pursuit. I felt grateful to be alive, and to God, who had saved my friend and I. I believed at the time that God protected my friend, who had much more faith than I. It wasn’t until years later that I realized that He was also protecting me, in spite of my small faith.
Do Miracles Still Happen?
After camping out, my friend and I chose to stay in a very cheap hotel for a few days (the running water and electricity were wonderful luxuries after roughing it). But we were running out of money. Down to our last $100, we drove south across the state line to a small town, and got a local paper. I found a place advertising a room for $100 a month; we answered the ad, put our last bit of money down, and rented a small camper for the next four weeks. It was damp, musty and scary; but at least we could rest for a bit.
The next morning, my friend and I realized that we needed to find jobs quickly, since we were completely out of funds. I was terrified; after being on the run for the past few weeks, and now penniless, I was also depressed about our situation. My friend decided to apply at a local meat processing plant, since my friend had worked as a butcher in the past, and had experience. “How can you apply for a job without ID?” I asked angrily. NO ONE will hire someone without ID in this day and age; it just doesn’t happen.” (my friend did not have a legal ID, so this was a legitimate question). My friend replied “God will take care of me. He will provide the job if I’m meant to have it.”
I snorted in disbelief, and told my friend, “If God gives you a job without needing identification, then I will believe in miracles.” I had thrown the gauntlet down. I had faith for church services; I was a Christian; I believed that God loved His children. But seriously – a job without ID? Even God couldn’t overcome this obstacle, in my mind.
My friend went inside. A half hour later, my friend came back smiling. “They hired me; and they would like to talk to you; they would like to hire you, too, to wrap meat, since they need extra staff right now.” My mouth dropped open. I literally couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Neither my friend or I would need ID; we both had jobs; and the company paid us in cash at the end of the first day, so we could buy groceries. I realized then that God does do miracles; He had heard my challenge, and chose to answer it.
If what you need is a miracle, God can provide it.
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