Chapter 15: Persecuted But Not Forsaken Book: Mountain Refuge

Chapter 15 — Mountain Refuge

Rays from the sun awoke me as I found myself slumped over in the front seat of the car at a rest stop near Greensboro, North Carolina.

My goods were overflowing into the front seat, but the station wagon was a good thing; there was plenty of room for things important to me.
Groggily, I exited the car and took a walk—still wondering what I had been through for not only the last four years since I had left Cherokee but especially during the last month.

The knot on the back of my neck now was about an inch in circumference. I just figured it was from stress on the nerves, but knowing what I know now, I was more than likely implanted right before the energy attack occurred at the carrier case.
I got back in the car and drove five more hours to exit the familiar cutoff to Cherokee. This time, I would not be driving back.

Thirty minutes later I stopped at a familiar shopping center in Waynesville. It was dusk, and the view from the parking lot of the setting sun over the mountains was awesome. Lots of land was visible. As I scanned the horizon, I thought again about what had happened, where I was coming from, and where I was going. It all seemed so senseless and confusing.

Sitting there in the parking lot for an hour brought me painful memories: a hearse circling the house at late hours; the Virginia Beach policeman tailgating my car for two miles just after I visited the FCC trying to figure out who was following me, and the four men blocking the exit door in a small foyer when I was trying to deliver mail near the university; and there had been five times as many state troopers on the road the night I left with some state helicopter following me to the state line.

I got back in the car after getting a snack at the grocery store and drove over Soco to mom’s house.
I greeted her and then went straight to bed, but when I awoke, I still felt confused and dizzy.

I thought, Oh no, not again! This is the place where I always get better, not worse!

This is the place where I would come to get well from the wounds in life, and now someone has seen fit to come here. This is where I recovered from a debilitating leg injury and nursed myself back to health in 1981, and the place where I recovered from hernia surgery. The sound of the running creek below the front yard gave me peace, and the flowering trees on the mountainside shed their sweet aroma on me.

What is causing this?

I tried to put the aggravation aside and enjoy the day but the dizziness continued. As I lay in bed, an airplane could be heard in the far distance, something I had never heard before at mother’s house. Shortly thereafter, the room felt like it was swaying. I knew the disturbance was external.

I had great knowledge about how to heal naturally, but I would least make an appointment with a chiropractor in Waynesville to look at the knot on my neck.
And the doctor could substantiate why I left my job.

It would be more than just the planes that would be seeking my whereabouts.
As mom and I were driving her car to the chiropractor’s office, a late model black Ford car began to follow us. The car was quite noticeable in the middle of autumn on the Reservation four-lane highway where there’s hardly any traffic in November – before the casino came to town.

I slowed down, and he slowed down. So I stopped right in the middle of the road. He did a U-turn and disappeared.

Mom later told me the FBI asked for permission to conduct surveillance of her phone conversations, but this guy wasn’t a FBI guy.

Six weeks passed and I felt much better. The knot went down on the back of my neck and I began to eat decent food. But now I was in need of money, to make the support payments for Sarah.

The sick leave pay from the Post Office would help but I wanted to go to work somewhere but not in Norfolk after the murder attempt.

Fortune came my way, and in early March, I got a temporary job with the local fire crew.

This only lasted three weeks but it did a lot for my morale after what I had been through. I was physically active again, and I started back to church.

And then in April, I was able to get a seasonal job with the Park Service.
By letter, I quit the Post Office after an argument about them not doing enough to protect me from direct energy attacks as I was casing my mail.

Someone had used direct energy on me at that post office; I was disturbed while carrying the mail, and then saw fit to manipulate the Inspectors to harass me.
I should have figured something was going on when one of the carriers suddenly went down with a pinched nerve and went into surgery, and then arrived weeks later with a brace on his neck. He was their practice guy. His case was about five cases down from me, and he had been in good physical condition.

And then new supervisors were brought in from other cities. These supervisors I did not know, and they began to treat me roughly, going so far as to hide behind bushes and catch me driving my postal vehicle fifty yards with my door open on hot day to give me a ticket and take my license. They took me off my regular route and put me on a walking route – right behind the Post Office – where the perpetrators could continue to target me from the apartments in back of the Post Office.

Sensing I may be coming to Cherokee one day, I had bought a small lot just across the Reservation boundary about three miles from mom’s house. I had already installed a septic tank.

Anyway, I started building a shed.

One day while working on it, I received a call from the Park Service on the telephone I had connected: they offered me work in the summer months.
This job was something I really needed, for there weren’t many decent paying jobs around Cherokee.

I started working at a campground.

And then I bought a mobile home. It wasn’t much of one, but it would be mine and I could shield myself somewhat better than if I was at mom’s house.

After getting my trailer set up, I was still receiving pulsations hitting my body. Trying to determine the source, I bought several pieces of electronic equipment, and one day, while listening to a Citizens Band radio, which only picked up broadcasts nearby since mountains surrounded the trailer, I heard, “He’s got a radio!”

I then suspected someone at the Recreational Vehicle Park just below my trailer 100 yards was now monitoring me. Searching my trailer perimeter later, I found a stash of stomped out cigarettes behind a bush fifty yards away from my kitchen window.
One of the things perpetrators do is loosen wires like the neutral and ground wires or disconnect them from their proper places and put them near a hot wire – where pulsing will occur throughout the circuit. I doubt it’s a coincidence 18 serviceman died over in Iraq from electrocution, some in the bathroom shower and others in a swimming pool, from a report I read.

It’s bad enough radiological frequencies are disturbing the human nervous system through regular household wiring and the smart meters, for many victims have proved that.

And you would also want to make sure your electrical panel is bonded to a good ground. If you are in question, have the resistance composition of your soil checked out to make sure there is a good ground.

For what it’s worth, I’ve wired houses from start to finish, having been schooled at a vocational school in Norfolk while attending the tenth grade.

Anyway, the targeting continued. Air Force planes would suddenly appear out from the sky and come down over my property, with emanations cutting off my ground fault electrical breaker and causing severe pain to my body.

And whenever I traveled, a small plane would appear just as I arrived somewhere or went somewhere – I presume to get my coordinates.

The harassment was so bad one night, after I had been at the trailer for a couple of years that I called my friend Miriam and asked if I could spend the night with her.

She agreed, and I was so thankful.

(I sure would appreciate anyone reading this if they would go on Amazon books where my book is listed and give a positive review, unlike the one a perpetrator gave to try and stop me from getting this story out.)



Opiod Lawsuits Are Vain for Saving Lives

While the States’ opiod lawsuits may recover costs for community services such as EMS, Law Enforcement, and insurance companies, they won’t stop the disorderly conduct of individuals, suicides, sicknesses, and murders that are taking place from pyscho-tropic drugs and the root of all evil — combined mind control technology in the form of radio frequencies operating through the electrical grid, smart meters, and communication towers that are spread out over the nation.

For townships to save money related costs of drug usage, just look to the cell phone companies and sue them to rid of the antennas that are emanating artificial energy and causing disease, confusion, and addiction to drugs.

Antennas must come down — as the high images of the past did when God intervened and brought down lofty idols that people were worshiping and bowing down to.

Our God is a jealous God who will not take second place to such false worship because he loves us.

God in the Wilderness

God is not only in church but in the wilderness.

Consider his plea to an Egyptian ruler regarding the Hebrews: Let my people go, that they may serve me in the wilderness (Exodus 7: 16).

And we know Jesus went to the wilderness to pray in Luke 5: 16.

At the far western end of North Carolina lies a forest — that has been untouched by loggers, hikers, or rock hounds (gem hunters).

It’s quite an amazing sight to see if you appreciate natural beauty, but if you expect to see clean cut trees, smooth walking paths, and a blue sky peeking through the tall hemlocks, you’ll be disappointed.

This is a forest with decomposed tree limbs and trunks overlapping each other along clear streams, watery musty bark residue covering the ground, and it is very dark throughout.

Our spiritual lives may be as such: things seem to be dark and there is no hope.
But like the forest, know that God is available and can be seen in the dimmest of times.

Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, a light unto my path (Psalms 119: 105).

May we open the word of God to see which is the right way.

And if we have sinned, find Jesus.

In him was life, and the life was the light of men (John 1: 4)

Mail Fraud: Insurance Company in N.H.

I got a letter in the mail yesterday that had a return address of the Office of Personnel Management, Retirement Services.

But it was not really a letter from  the real govt. agency, OPM, which was my employing agency when I was working.

This letter was from some long term care insurance company purporting to be a U.S. Government office, which is illegal.

It had a P.O. Box number, 757, somewhere in New Hampshire, and I’ll try and update this later.

I hope the Postal Inspection Service investigates what seems to be mail fraud by that company.

State of the Union not so Wonderful

While last night’s presidential state of the union report was good from an economic standpoint, there is still the problem of people being targeted by electronic remote energies destroying their health, not to mention their behavior is being manipulated.
There wouldn’t be a M-13 gang or whatever they call it if this targeting energy wasn’t present.
So I hope the cell phone towers come down, the ;microchipping of humans is banned, and the CIA releases its records about the programs that have destroyed many people’s lives.
So the state of the union is not as rosy as it was projected last night on t.v.: it was another distraction from the present problem of electronic pollution that is harming people.

See my book about me being persecuted at Amazon books: Persecuted but not Forsaken by Marshall Lee.

County Recycle Center

There’s too much good stuff being thrown away at the recycle center. This morning I saw a good stainless steel deep pot, books, and a toaster over in the bins. I know there is a bin for good items that the council on aging sponsors but someone needs to check the items in the scrap metal bins for good items.
These centers should host some kind of sale to benefit the poor. Get all the good items out of the bins and put them out for sale would also be good.


Memorial Needed for U.S. Govt. Exp. Victims

I’ve brought this issue up before, but no one seemed to be interested.

But a memorial, museum, or whatever is needed for us victims.

I’ll be glad to be the treasurer for a short time, with funds strictly pre-designated for a memorial, or whatever, voted on by approximately five of us long time ti’s.

Nothing would be used for anyone’s personal use.

  1. A memorial is definitely one goal.

I would suggest a mission statement be first stated (like ending  targeting,  justice for victims, etc . . . ). I guess I’d have to write up a memo of understanding or something.

Anyway, if anyone is interested in helping out or submitting funds for a memorial, just send it here (mail it to my home address) and I’ll open an account at the bank and will give an accounting every quarter or so. And I’ll put it in my will that it transfers to another reputable ti.


Ken Lee

Persecuted But Not Forsaken Book: Chapter 5 (Mk-ultra victim)

Chapter 5 –Junior High School

I made it through Junior High School on talent because I sure didn’t study much.

I spent more time buying candies early in the morning at the drug store to take to school and sell them for a profit before the bus came.

I usually cleared 100%. Sweet-tarts, Jujubes, and an occasional candy bar would fill my bag to sell at school. And I would usually sell all.

Dad came back into my life about 1968 and tried to get me involved in a fraternity called the Knights of Pythias. I hated the indoctrination process.

It wasn’t me to become involved with a bunch of guys that raised hell, drank alcohol, and partied all weekend. I was more like mom, quite, reserved, intuitive, and a nature lover.

The first day of being a fraternal brother at Lake Taylor High School in the initiation process was too degrading for me, making me do pushups, carrying other kids’ books, etc . . . I was already being degraded by my targeting; the last thing I needed were co-students harassing me. I think I actually finished the initiation process one night when they made me drink a quart jar of something ungodly. And then I got flogged.

I don’t believe any of those actions prepared me for being a better person or enjoying fellowship: it reminds me of sadism, and the very actions I now fight against. But anyway, I participated in very little activities of the fraternity, choosing instead to be with my girlfriend Kitty.

I went with Kitty for several years in my teens and now I realized why I felt so comfortable with her in the den at her parent’s house: it was below ground and the electronic targeting couldn’t get to me.

One other memory I have that has been so prevalent was a shopping venture mom and I went on one Friday night after her work. Or maybe it was a Saturday. But anyway, the part I remember most was looking at and being able to select a race car set at a Sear’s store when I was about thirteen. So why is that etched on my mind?

It was below ground: I was less targeted.

What may have been a simple event to you reading this was a monumental one to me when I was free of electromagnetic targeting!

There have been certain geological areas where I felt free years later, but the perpetrators eventually covered those areas. One was the Nantahala Gorge in Western North Carolina, which was surrounded by cliffs. Another was a gap in the mountain near Cherokee. I could have stayed there for days enjoying the freedom.

About this time in 1969 Dad re-married, and I lived with him, Mary, and her son in Virginia Beach for a short time. Her son David was real cool and would take me out at night in his mustang. He eventually became a pastor. But he and dad really never got along too well.

While at Virginia Beach, I got a job at high volume gas station at Witchduck Road.

After the summer, I moved back home with mom.

To further complicate my life, forced school busing arrived in the city in 1970, and I would be bussed to an all black school, Booker T. Washington High School near downtown Norfolk

Looking at the dilapidated tilted bus with a near flat tire, exhaust smoke covering the road behind it, and students hanging out the windows made me want to turn around and go back home.

I pleaded with mom, “Mom. I can not go to that school. Is there any way you can send to the new private school that has formed up at the church.”

I’ll think about it,” she responded.

And that was the last I heard of it. But every time I passed the church on bicycle while delivering papers, I envied the little brown church where I could have gone to school.

I attended cross town Booker T. Washington High School for three days, and then I looked for greener pastures, I didn’t need fighting on the bus, mayhem in the classrooms, and the weapons that were exhibited by the students; so I decided that State of Florida would be a better place to spend my time.

So I found my neighborhood friend Brian and asked him to go with me. I had made my plans.

This school situation is not going to work. I can’t learn anything there and I think we ought to go somewhere else.”

Yea, and I’m getting sick of my mother telling me what to do,” he responded.

Meet me over in the field at the end of the turn around tomorrow morning.”

Brian and I met at the parking lot of our good old playground, and we took off in my newly bought Pontiac.

It took us quite some time to get to Florida because I took Route 17 nearly all the way.

We stayed for about three months, up until the time Brian was making his money getting his pictures taken by someone who used a hotel room off the boardwalk.

I got a little paranoid about it all, though I had a good job as a busboy with a rest home and making decent money. But I did get homesick for Kitty, and one day I told Brian I wanted to go back home. I had an empty feeling at our motel room, and I didn’t want anything to do with drugs that Brian was messing with.

One good thing that happened on the trip was that we had stopped off in Myrtle Beach, and I enjoyed the laid back atmosphere. I doubt it’s no accident I’ve made my home near there forty years later.

But anyway, when I got home, Mom was gone! There was no one at the house! And there were no signs of her being there!

I rushed up to the corner drugstore and called Kitty, and she said mom had moved to a neighborhood across the highway.

Groceries at $6.66

She and her daughter had a cartload of groceries in front of me at the express register counter and the mother said to me, “Go ahead. You just got a few items.”

“Oh, no, no .I’m not busy,” I responded. “I gave up hurry a long time ago,”

So the short blond hair clerk started scanning the groceries for prices, and the mother anxiously looked at the dollar number totals on the register computer terminal and exclaimed, “Oh, no! That was 666. Did you see that?”

The clerk frowned, bowed her head and continued to scan the food items.

“Oh, so you know about that system too?” I asked.

“I know it was 666 on there,” she said with blinking eyes and disbelief.

“Don’t matter, as long it’s not the total at the end.” I responded. “And as long as it ain’t on your driver’s license or car license plate!” I added.

She fumbled with her purse looking for more money as the total costs increased, then she pushed some items to the back for return while picking out two $20.00 bills.

You got four days worth of groceries,” I said trying to make her feel better.

“2 days! That’s all I got!” she exclaimed.

Finished paying, she loaded the groceries into the cart and found her way to her car,  on another hot and humid day under the worldly system of poverty and control in this small crime ridden town of America.

Small wrens didn’t care about the grocery store or the 666’s — but they did care about the heat as they scurried on the ground and fed under the shade of a magnolia tree.