Barbara Hartwell

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Independent Investigator, Intelligence Analyst, Journalist. Former CIA (NOC, Psychological Operations) Black Ops Survivor. Sovereign Child of God. Minister of the Gospel of Jesus Christ (Ordained 1979, D.Div.) Exposing Government Lies, Crimes, Corruption, Conspiracies and Cover-ups.

Monday, February 21, 2022



He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High, who abides in the shadow of the Almighty,

will say to the LORD, "My refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust."

For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence;

he will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler.

You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day,

nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness, nor the destruction that wastes at noonday.

A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand; but it will not come near you.

You will only look with your eyes and see the recompense of the wicked.

Because you have made the LORD your refuge, the Most High your habitation,

no evil shall befall you, no scourge come near your tent.

For he will give his angels charge of you to guard you in all your ways.

On their hands they will bear you up, lest you dash your foot against a stone.

You will tread on the lion and the adder, the young lion and the serpent you will trample under foot.

Because he cleaves to me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows my name.

When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will rescue him and honor him.

With long life I will satisfy him, and show him my salvation.

Psalm 91

God has blessed me with gifts of the Spirit and with the presence of Angels, who have watched over me, protected me and kept me from harm for as far back as I can remember.

There were times when I could see them; at others I only felt their presence, but knew they were there. I saw them in waking visions and in dreams, and have often thought of what Paul says, when describing his visionary experiences: Whether in the body or out of the body, I know not; God knows.

Much of the time, my perception of the Angels involved no effort on my part; I did not seek them out. At certain times they came in response to my prayers, when I was under some form of threat; and at other times I knew from their sudden appearance that they had prevented harm to me before I was even aware that I was in danger.

At times, they visited me and gave me detailed instructions, they issued warnings, and they advised me on what course of action to take. The most dramatic incidents involving Angels were those in which they saved my life, usually at the last minute.

I should also make it clear that my prayers are always to God, not to Angels. They are His messengers and do His bidding. They do not act independently, but always according to His will.

It is my hope that these true stories will be an encouragement to others, whether or not they “believe” in Angels, or have had similar experiences. I don't believe these incidents of Divine Intervention are unusual, rather I tend to think they happen to many people, who perhaps just have not understood that the supernatural realm is real, as is the power and greatness of God, Creator of Heaven and Earth. In my view, every answered prayer is a miracle, as is the faith which leads to salvation, by the grace of God.


NOTE: This is an excerpt from an old report, edited for brevity and clarity. The government had a habit of tampering with my cars, such as cutting brake lines, puncturing tires, etc. which at times led to arranged car crashes. So far, I have survived them all, albeit with serious injuries. Also, I should mention that I was trained not to wear a seat belt, which may seem odd, but there was a reason for this. I don't know what CIA training is like today, but I'm sure it is very different, due to the electronics which now control almost everything. In this case though, the seat belt was broken, as stated, so it is a moot point.

I lost the vision in my right eye in 1986, after I suffered severe head trauma from an 'arranged' car crash. The date was October 13, 1986, a date that has had ominous significance throughout my life, as many strange (and always dreadful) events have occurred on that date.

I guess somebody decided I was supposed to die in that crash, but evidently God had other ideas for me, as I survived through Divine Intervention.

I was driving alone, on a lonely country road, when suddenly my car went out of control for no apparent reason. I let go of the wheel and prayed for help. Somebody, out there in the spirit world, heard me.

The car, accelerating toward the guard rail, came to a stop by jamming itself precisely between two metal posts which made a convenient break in the guard rail. It was the ONLY break in the guard rail, on the edge of a rocky cliff. Far below, at the end of the rocky embankment, was a reservoir. As it happened, the car fit perfectly between the two posts and stopped me from going over the edge of the cliff.

The seat belt on the driver's side was broken, so I was thrown hard from one side of the car to the other, striking my head three times. I was in shock and trauma and wandered the road side for a long time before a passing motorist stopped to help me and called the police.

I was taken to a hospital by ambulance. The idiots at the hospital gave me a neck brace and released me. Apparently, they didn't realize that I had a severe concussion; temporary amnesia and that my vision was blurred in the right eye.

Perhaps because they saw no blood, and because I was trained to always keep control of a situation; a stiff upper lip; never to show my feelings and to keep things close to the vest, they thought everything was just fine and dandy.

A few days later, I was readmitted to the same idiot hospital, when the symptoms became severe and I realized that I could no longer see out of my right eye. I was given all sorts of tests, but not one of the idiot doctors, not even the neurologists, could explain the loss of my vision. I later realized that the loss of vision was caused by a government implant which had jammed into my optic nerve on the impact to my head. This was later confirmed by an ophthalmologist, who knew of my history.

(And FYI, I called the doctors idiots because that is what I thought at the time, but then, I have never trusted doctors, as most of them in my life, from childhood on, have been CIA-issue.)



The year was 1970. I was a college student living in Manhattan, in an old 3-storey brownstone on the upper West side. At the time, I had a dog named Pasha. My apartment was on the third floor and my front window looked out at the street.

I had classes at the same times and days during the week, so my schedule was fairly predictable. One morning, I was home, as there were no classes that day. I had just woken up when I heard the buzzer which was inside the small vestibule of the building. I asked, Who is it? from the intercom, but got no answer. I looked out the window to see who it might be, as I was not expecting a visitor. But there was no one there, not that I could see.

But the buzzer rang again. Again, I asked who was there, got no answer, and I looked out the window, but no one was there. This kept happening and rather than ignore it, I decided to walk down the stairs to see what was going on. I put my dog on her leash, and we walked down to the ground floor. There was no lobby, per se, only a small vestibule and the door leading out to the street.

I can't think why, but I still had on a floor length flannel nightgown. I even remember that it was Lanz of Salzburg, the brand I had always worn. Pasha and I went out the door and looked up and down the street. It was quiet, with no traffic, and it was snowing. And no one was there.

So I turned around and we entered the building to head back up the stairs. When we had taken a few steps, Pasha pulled on her leash and began to growl. Then, I heard a voice in my ear, warning, Don't go back up there.

Feeling the danger, I turned around and we walked back out into the street. Not being properly dressed, in the heavy snowfall, it was difficult to stay out there. But knowing better than to go back inside, I prayed for help to come. Ten minutes later, a police car turned off the avenue and cruised down the street. I stepped into the street and flagged down the car. The police got out and asked me what the problem was. I'm sure they were wondering why I was out in the street, in the snow, with my dog, wearing only a nightgown.

(When I think back on it, I wonder too. Except, there must have been a reason at the time, perhaps that I felt the need to get out of there quickly, and take my dog, as if I had sensed the danger.)

I explained to the police what had happened and that I did not want to go back up there, as I believed there was someone lying in wait. The police told me to stay where I was, and drawing their guns, headed up the stairs. Then I heard one of the cops shout, What the hell!

They came back down the stairs and one cop, showing his hand, coated with grease, told me that when he tried to open the door to my apartment, the door knob had been covered with grease, which they showed me when I followed them back up the stairs.

The perp must have been in the building, they explained, and greased the doorknob when I had come down the stairs. The police searched the building (only 3 floors) but there was no sign of the would-be assailant. I asked the police to wait until I got dressed and gathered some things. I made a call to relatives who lived on Long Island and the police gave me a ride to their home. I knew then that I could never go back there, as this was not a random incident, but a mortal enemy who had planned to kill me. But I had been saved, by Divine Intervention.

I had gone back to the apartment only once, to pick up my possessions, accompanied by my relatives. I finished out the school year by commuting from Long Island. But I was heartbroken to have to find another home for Pasha, who in some way also served as my guardian angel, as animals often do.

















I had taken a road trip with some friends, from New York to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. We were staying at a beach hotel. One day I decided to take a swim by myself. Thinking back on it, I did many foolish (even stupid and crazy) things when I was younger. I was not exactly a dare devil, but I was less concerned with dangerous situations than most others I knew.

The ocean was calm that day and once I got beyond the breakers, I just kept going, swimming straight out, far from the shore. I can't remember why I did that, but I do remember that I felt like I was in a trance state, unaware of how far out from the beach I had gone.

Then, I saw them. There were two barracuda, just under the surface of the water, about ten feet away. I felt like I would panic, but instead, I prayed. Lord Jesus, help me! I quickly reversed my direction and headed back to shore, swimming as fast as I could. As for the barracuda, they ignored me, as if I were not even there. When I got back to the beach, and told my friends what happened, they thought I was crazy. But after that day, I never swam out into the ocean again, but stayed always close to the shore.










On June 28, 1983, the Mianus River Bridge, spanning between Cos Cob (a section of Greenwich) and Riverside, CT collapsed. It was a route I traveled often, as I lived and worked in Connecticut for a number of years. I was visiting friends in Greenwich and we had gone out to dinner. By the time we got back, it was late, but I had planned to drive home, as I had appointments the next day. And I would have had to cross that very bridge (I-95) to get home, at the very time of the collapse.

My friends had invited me to spend the night at their house, but I declined the offer. I had got to my car, started the engine, and was backing out of the driveway, when I heard a voice say to me, Don't leave! Stay here tonight. The message was so clear that I knew I must heed it. I stayed the night, and we heard in the morning of the tragic event. This was not exactly a close call, but close enough, and it is something I can never forget.


I was living in a beach house in Milford, CT on Long Island Sound. This was the year I finally managed to break free of CIA operations. I was being heavily persecuted and one of the tactics used against me was directed energy weapons (pulse beam microwave assaults).

It was late at night and I had gone to sleep, when suddenly I was jolted awake, with extreme pain shooting through my head. It was far worse than any migraine I ever suffered, the pain was indescribable.

I became violently ill, with projectile vomiting, and I was so weak I barely made it to the phone to call a friend who lived in Greenwich, to get help. Shortly after the phone call, I passed out. An Angel appeared, and he was speaking to me. He gave me detailed instructions on how I could “get back into my body” (I won't relate them here). I did exactly what he told me, and soon woke up. I don't know how much time had passed.

My friend arrived about 10 minutes later. He wanted to take me to the hospital but I refused. Especially in a case like this, I don't trust hospitals, nor most doctors. And I never would have told them what happened, since I knew they would say I was crazy.

So I stayed in bed for two days, recovering. There was no permanent damage, at least that I knew of. But it was the most violent directed energy assault I ever remember. There were Angels in my room during this time and I knew my cats saw them, as they were reaching up and batting at them, cooing like turtle doves. Animals are sensitive to the spiritual world and perceive things most humans do not. Again, I had been saved by Divine Intervention.
















In May, 1975, I took a flight from New York to Omaha to visit my sister, where I was planning to stay for at least a few months. As I had done so many times, I thought I could run away, to escape the clutches of CIA. Of course, I was wrong, as they were everywhere I went. But that is another story...

On the very day I arrived in Omaha, the tornado struck. My sister was at work and I was at her house when I got the call from her, warning me to go into the basement, NOW. I didn't listen, and I stayed upstairs, looking out the windows, as I wanted to see it coming. I had never seen a tornado before and I have a love of wild weather. Of course, I was a fool. I waited until the last minute, after I received 2 more calls. By the time I got down into basement, the tornado had passed by. I heard it, but it never even touched the house, though when I went outside later, there was destruction all around.

In this case, I did not receive any supernatural warning, nor did I see any Angels. I don't know why I wasn't afraid, but as it turned out, there was no reason to fear, which I probably sensed.



NOTE: This is an excerpt from an old report, edited for brevity and clarity. This was the closest to death I had ever come, to my knowledge.

I cannot remember a time when God was not with me, though I first met Jesus Christ in person on August 21, 1976, when He appeared in all His Glory at the foot of my hospital bed and saved my life, as I was bleeding to death after childbirth, on the way to emergency surgery.

The hospital personnel knew this for a miracle, as the Priest, Father Hybel, from St. Luke's Episcopal Church in Somers, New York (where my son was baptized later that year) had already been summoned and it was believed I had lost too much blood to survive.

Jesus picked me up in his arms and carried me out of my physical body, carried me away from the Earth and into the sky, where I saw all the brightly burning stars. My physical body was in surgery, far below.

Jesus said I wouldn't be allowed to die, as God had work for me to do. Since that time, I'm not sure how well I've done the job God intended for me, I only know I've done the best I could under some extremely difficult circumstances.


I don't remember what year this was, but it must have been some time in the early 1980s. There was a fundraiser, run by Jerry Rubin (the sixties radical) in New York City, at a place called Studio 54. I had heard of this place, but it wasn't at all the kind of place I would ever choose to go. I only agreed to go because it was sponsored by some people with whom I was working at the time.

In those days, I was able to drive on highways and in traffic, before I became disabled from injuries. I lived in upstate NY and I had agreed to pick up a friend who lived in the Bronx, as she didn't own a car.

I hated that place (Studio 54) where the fundraiser was held, from the moment I walked in the door. It was loud and crowded and an extremely offensive environment to me. I hate crowds, I hate noise, and I hate the whole culture of what seemed to me to be a kind of Sin City. 


I found a spot in the Ladies room upstairs, where there were couches, to escape the noise and people, where I spent a good deal of the evening, and read a book I had brought.

The event broke up after midnight, and I went to find my friend. She gave me the directions back to her apartment, and I dropped her off. By this time it was after 1 AM. Being alone, in an area I did not know, I had trouble remembering the way I had come, and before long, I was totally lost.

Worse, I had somehow ended up in the South Bronx, an urban ghetto, where even some of the police I knew had told me they dreaded working. There were burned out buildings and empty lots filled with trash. I had no idea how I would find my way back to the parkway, as I had missed the exit some time before.

I kept driving, but I was only getting deeper in a maze, seeing no way out. Finally, in desperation, I knew I would have to stop and ask directions. I saw a group of young men, hanging out at a corner. I pulled the car over and asked them if they could give me directions. They didn't seem particularly menacing, but I knew I was not in a good situation. One of them offered to get in the car with me, to show me the way. When they surrounded my car, I knew it was time to get out of there. But where could I go? I prayed for help to come.

Just then, a police car came around the corner into sight. I leaned on the horn and flashed my lights, and the young men scattered out of the way. The police stopped and one of them approached my car. I explained that I was lost and asked if they could lead me back to the parkway. So I followed right behind them until they showed me the exit, and I was on my way home, safe and sound.

Again, saved by Divine Intervention. My prayer was answered. Yes, I know the police are not angels, but they were that night, at least for me.

There are many other true stories like this, but these are some of the ones I remember best. What I know beyond any shadow of doubt is that God does answer prayers, He does perform miracles, that His ministering and warrior Angels are real, and that His grace is more real than any dangerous city streets, any predators (human or otherwise), any natural disasters, and most important, more real than any state of fear in which we might live.

Barbara Hartwell

Delivered by the Grace of God

February 21, 2022