The Lyra Project


Lyra was born on a cocoa island near the southern chin of Belize. The closest village was the fishing town of Placencia. Lyra’s father was a psychiatrist and expatriate from Buffalo. He raised his daughter like an exotic toucan. They would swing together in a hammock by the ocean while he read to her. He pulled living starfish out of the water so she could rub noses with their stumpy back. By age six she was diving with turtles for conch and swimming with angel sharks. Lyra’s father was the biggest shark she trusted.

Lyra’s training began long before she could walk. She was motherless but lavishly raised by a team of nurses under the direction of her father. Linguistic training took place at prescribed intervals throughout the night while she slept. Her diet and education were impeccably tended. Since her earliest memory, her dreams were invaded by white angels landing by her bedside to ask her questions until she answered, “Do you see the diamond, Lyra? What color is the diamond?” She remembers the first time she saw one and answered. She remembers the prick in her skin and a smooth, happy lava coming into her arm and reprogramming her receptors. She was being trained to love that shape with every gland in her system. Lyra had been told her whole life she was special. She would learn to fly once she was confirmed. Lyra believed herself to be a real-life superhero in training; an epigenetic Wonder Woman. At age ten, Lyra was finally given her super power by the yellow dentist. Her father brought him in from the mainland and Lyra met him at dinner in an outdoor restaurant in town. The dentist ate yellow fish while wearing a yellow shirt. Lyra asked him if he planned that on purpose but everyone at the table laughed before he could answer.

The following morning, Lyra was given toast spread with a special honey she was required to finish. Her father strapped her arms to a wooden chair in their kitchen. He told her it was time for the confirmation. They were both giddy with excitement. He told her to be brave so she sat up straight and wagged her neck lavishly with enthusiasm. She was suited in her favorite polyester jumpsuit with three white stripes from collar to ankle. The yellow dentist rolled into view decorated with a flashlight strapped around his head like a monocle. He placed a moist cotton ball high on her cheek and blotted her skin. She felt the vapors stinging at pupils as her face slowly went numb. The man’s white rubber glove covered her vision and she felt a pressure in the side of her skull. A needle slipped below her eye like a worm burrowing behind her eyeball. A cold saline concoction squeezed its fingers around her optic disk. Lyra’s macular vision went numb as her right pupil dilated to the yellow man’s satisfaction. Her visual cortex was only seeing peripherally now from her left eye was sent to the right side of her brain. The yellow man and her father were carving a spoon into Lyra’s subconscious.

Her dad had been adjusting a small helmet for her. He placed it on Lyra’s head and the yellow dentist adjusted the eye shield to her face. Lyra was told to close her eyes as she felt two sticky elephant trunks stick to each eye socket forming a suction. Lyra’s nails dug into her palms as she felt the click from the last snap of the viser now squeezed against her face. She was fully inside a muted cavern of helmet pressed in from every direction against her skull. Lyra heard her father’s voice in the helmet’s earpiece. “It’s okay. You’re doing great. Take a deep breath.” The last thing she remembers was a rubber mask sealing itself over her mouth and nose. She tasted a cold chill of mint gas filling her throat and nostrils as her confirmation began.

For the next four hours, under controlled anesthesia, Lyra was programmed through the highway of her visual cortex. Suctioned air from the eye pieces took turns opening and closing and blasting them with light. The right eye was given a kaleidoscope of warmth while the left eye was kept in darkness all timed with injections of pharmaceutical heroin. Under the crescendos of sound and light, every fear Lyra could conjure was brought to the surface and chemically induced with delight. Her oxygen supply was sporadically restricted to induce shock and amplify the result. Fear drips like fresh blood in the open water. The yellow dentist was using it like bait to hook into her subconscious. Lyra’s adrenaline was enhanced, reinforced and tailored with a regiment of cues, sigils, sounds and drugs. Every hour, Lyra’s eyepiece was removed so the yellow dentist could check on his pupil. He was traumatizing her intuition to make room for the machine. Lyra would abandon these parts eventually and become unstoppable. Lyra was a child of the program. The year was 1988. The man she thought was her father was her handler, Savine. Lyra was a programmed thoroughbred raised organically on a farm in the tropics.

Mind control programming is the hacking of one’s mind long enough to edit someone’s primal definition. Savine prunes Lyra’s receptors attaching puppet strings around her archetypes. Our relationship to these archetypes squeezes the juice from our adrenals and gives us our emotions. Emotions are the guidance system of the body and can be used by handlers like a joystick. Every day our adrenal glands are seasoned in the quality of experience. Good times or bad, savory or sweet; we marinate in the sanctity of our life. Raising an alter is the work of a butcher and a breeder. Every day Lyra’s mental tendencies were mutilated, tenderized or salted according to a recipe.

My new book is on shelves now. Click here to get your copy!

The post The Lyra Project appeared first on James True.

Original source:

0 0 votes
Article Rating

Follow James True on:

Notify of
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments