LIFE WITH MY LIVE IN COMPANION, HWEIG

By Ida M. Kannenburg
Used by permission
fromThe Missing Link magazine.

In the beginning of our association Hweig managed to terrify me with his explanations of who he was and what he was doing and what he intended to do. I was most fearful that my mind was going to be taken over by an alien personality, that I would be possessed by another entity, and that I, myself, would be forever banished from this earth! I was not agreeable to that!

After years of this mental telepathic constant contact, I feel I am very much myself, even more so, for I know myself so much better. I have had to face up to myself. And Hweig is still only Hweig, a rascal, though an endearing one.

Believe me this Hweig:Ida or Ida:Hweig collaboration and understanding has been reached with a great many battles between us, a great deal of stomping and yelling on my part, and a great many sighs and apologies on his.

People, curious, have been asking me many questions. What does it feel like to have someone talking inside of your head? Is Hweig always there? Does he give you answers to your problems? Does he prophesy the future? Does he ever interrupt when you are talking to others? Can he converse with you right now? How about privacy, is he always listening in and observing? Does he always know what you are thinking? Who is he anyway? Is he a person like us?

And so on. These questions are so often repeated I thought Hweig and I could answer some of them by this means.

What is it like to have a telepathic live-in companion who always seems to know everything I do and think? Well, sometimes it is sheer aggravation; I am married! And sometimes it is absolutely hilarious!

To myself, one of the biggest questions has always been: Why is Hweig a constant companion? Is he a monitor only? Why do the UFO personalities, whom he claims to represent, possibly care what I say and do every minute? I am not anyone. Why is my daily routine of such importance to them? Why did Hweig so entrench himself in my mind and in my life that I cannot dislodge him, no matter what I do? I have begged, pleaded, wept, screamed, but after reaching many compromises he is still with me.

Hweig has put me through some very painful processes, but he declares they were necessary in order that he learn my levels of tolerance and modes of reaction so that the best possible use might be made of my peculiar talents and abilities. Certain limitations had to be overcome, or at least ameliorated. And when I cuss him out from time to time I am only letting him know the limits of my compliance.

Eventually I told Hweig, "If you are really real, and a human being like us, and I should ever meet you, I am going to march right up to you and poke you in the nose for all the mischief you have given me."

He said, "If you do, I will turn you over my knee and spank you."

To specify, here is one incident with my live-in companion I found amusing and exasperating at the same time.

Hweig had been nagging and pushing me to get some writing done and I had been bending over a hot typewriter for weeks, even months. I had been doing nothing except eating and sleeping and typing all without noticing that I was gaining weight. I began to have fierce pains along and between my shoulder blades which I thought was from typing so much. One day I woke up to the truth! My bras were too tight. Believe me, that can cause a real backache. So I said to my mother, "I am going to walk over to the mall and buy some new bras. I need a size larger."
As I started down the road Hweig said, "You will need two sizes larger."

"I said, "I do not! I know what size clothes I wear!"

"You'd better get two sizes," said Hweig.

We argued all the way to the store. I picked out some bras I thought would do, arguing with Hweig all the while. When I took them up to the counter, a lady was checking out, so I had time to read a little sign: "No lingerie may be returned after leaving the store." "You'd better try them on," said Hweig.

I gave a great exasperated sign and said, "All right! Just to keep you happy I will!"
And do you know what? He was right. I did need two sizes larger. But how did Hweig know that?

This was very puzzling. What was the extent of his prying into my life and actions? More troubling than that, what was his purpose in doing so?

I began to act like a paranoid cat watching a mouse hole. At the slightest sign of activity on his part, I pounced.

I weighed and measured and analyzed and worried over every word he uttered, the way he uttered it, the time and place and conditions under which he uttered it, and counted every sigh, every laugh. I tried to detect his emotions beyond his words. Was he a little angry? Was he impatient? What was the reason behind what he said?

In all my cat and mouse surveillance I have learned how very human his emotions are. He is quite softhearted, very patient, gentle, considerate, a great tease, and his jokes are often on the ribald side. Sometimes he puts his foot in his mouth and then is cut off quickly.
"Oh-oh," he will say, "I'm not supposed to reveal that!"

We have worked together for so long that his emotions will often leak over into mine. I will be very sad or euphoric or even come close to tears when I have no reason for doing so. I will say, "What's wrong, Hweig? Something is happening?" And he will answer, "A plan has been canceled," or, "I've been given the go ahead on a pet project." Or, "A dear friend is leaving us."
So I find my emotions can be affected by his. Talk about a live-in companion, how close can you get?

When there are unhappy days in my personal life and I am feeling most disconsolate, I can feel a warmth gather around me, and Hweig will say, "Don't worry, Ida. Don't cry. Everything will work out right. It will be fine."

I take this, not so much as a promise but as consolation offered by a dear friend.

Often Hweig has said, "I can see through your eyes and hear through your ears." I could not imagine how this could be accomplished. Direct questions never brought satisfactory answers. However, I do take showers with my eyes shut.

How could he see through my eyes and hear through my ears? Under hypnosis it was revealed there had been a UFO encounter many years ago at which time technological implants had been made. Consciously I mainly remember seeing a blazing red object come in over the desert at midnight. Bit by bit in these later years other remembrances are coming to mind.

Does such an implant sound implausible? Not when we read in the science magazines about brain implants in monkeys. Such a short step to audiovisual implants in humans.

With such mechanical devices that allow this, plus psychic abilities which permit further mind invasion and control, an alien, or an Earth, civilization could conduct any kind of surveillance, and their subject would have no defense against it, just as I have no defense against Hweig's constant surveillance.

The "aliens" can do this now. How long before Earth science can do the same? Or can they do it now? Can the "aliens" be Earthians?

I am not trying to scare talk. I am trying to relate what has been to me by persons whom seem compassionate and responsible. Can this be done in the near future by others who may not be as compassionate and responsible? Indeed, they could be utterly reprehensible! It is time to study what this kind of mind control, life control is all about. The first place of information should be those contactees who have experienced it.

Hweig is very careful not to cause me any embarrassment. Except for one thing. When he gives out with a hearty laugh, I laugh too. I do not intend to laugh. I do not want to laugh. I don't see anything to laugh about. But HE does and I laugh, and in a manner and to a degree that is not mine. "I am only trying to cheer you up," he says. "I do not like to see you despondent."

Hweig is an enormous tease. I suppose it does get boring and tedious always listening in to me 24 hours a day, though sometimes he takes a vacation for a week or so and someone else monitors. I try to tease Hweig back. The only trouble is he always know what I am thinking as soon as I know it myself. Therefore, it is very difficult to play any kind of joke on him. I managed it just once. I was looking for a special skillet in the pantry and talking all the while, interiorly of course, and so rapidly that for once Hweig did not keep up with my thinking.
I said, "Not that skillet, it is too large, and that one is too small, that one is for square eggs, ah, this one is just right."

Back came a quizzical little query, "Square eggs? I don't think I ever heard about square eggs!"
I doubled over laughing to think I had really had the better of him, just once. A long time later he played a little joke on me, and said, "That is to get even for the square eggs. I never will live that down!"

Now doesn't that sound like a very human person, one not connected with my own subconscious?

I have included these little anecdotes here to point out a very important fact. Such incidents prove, to my own satisfaction at least, that Hweig is not an alter-ego, my own subconscious, nor a tulpa. He is a very physical human being, quite separate from myself, and very much like us.
There are several things I can do to drive Hweig up the wall. If I sneeze, or forget and whistle, he will say, "Please warn me when you are going to do that. A sneeze sounds like thunder and a whistle pierces my eardrums like a dagger."

Of course there is the problem that everything I can see, he can also. Not only Hweig, but his immediate "crew." Since their observation is through technological implants the whole scene can be played upon a screen, like our television, so Hweig says. I have tried to explain this to people, but no one takes me seriously except my dear sister.

"You mean he can see what I am doing right now? she asked.

"If I look at you," I answered. "And that is why simple situations can become rather delicate."
Another reason why I believe Hweig cannot be part of my personality is our difference in food tastes. I used to order extra dill pickles with a hamburger until Hweig came into my life. Now I cannot eat pickles, nor peanut butter, nor bananas. Hweig calls bananas "monkey food." He says he cannot tolerate sour food of any kind, and that peanut butter stuck in his throat though he liked the taste. I advised him to eat it with honey or jelly. Later he said honey was fine and was eating it with gusto. I was too.

To be continued