The third installment of the first draft of a novel written by our old friend Terra Cognita. For the next little while it is our Sunday Serial.
Terra welcomes all suggestions and feedback — this is draft — you can note them in the comments.
Time, Place, Form, and Event
Chapter 13
Her hands on her hips, Brenda stared down at Joan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she said. “Jesus, fuckin, Christ.”
I turned to Doug. “You never called an ambulance, did you?”
“Why? You think we need one? You think some paramedic is gonna bring her back to life?”
No. But they might have been able to revive her. “Maybe we should call the police,” I said.
Brenda turned to me. “No.”
“No? Then who should we call?” The coroner? A funeral parlor? Her husband, Bill? Her son at UC Santa Cruz?
“Just shut up for a minute. Let me think,” Brenda said.
I muttered three “fucks” of my own. Then added, “I’m gonna step outside for a few. I could use some fresh air.”
“Don’t move,” Brenda ordered. “Sit right where you are.”
I closed my eyes; my head fell onto to my crossed arms resting on the table. A couple of minutes later, I cracked an eye. Brenda hadn’t moved. She just stood there in her Sea Org whites.
The Sea Organization, SO for short, was the upper echelon of management tasked with running Scientology worldwide. The best of the best. Many of them had been in Scientology for decades and had served with L. Ron Hubbard on one of his legendary ships. Others had been born into Scientology families and had joined staff in their early teens. No one within the church was more dedicated than those of the SO. None were more respected. And none were more hardcore.
Six months earlier, Brenda had been sent to Santa Barbara to whip the org into shape. Which essentially meant, she was sent to get the place hustling and bustling; hire more staff; get more new people onto services; and get more money flowing into the org’s coffers.
She looked up and said, “The first thing is, we’re not gonna tell anyone about this. What happened here this morning stays between the three of us.”
“What?” I said. Not quite believing what I was hearing. She had to be kidding.
“We need to nip this in the bud. Prevent the public from hearing about this and leaking it to the press.”
“But…”
“No ‘buts’ about it, Rick. If this got out, the PR would be horrendous.”
“But it’s gonna get out. There’s no way to cover up something like this. And we gotta tell her husband Bill what happened. We can’t keep this from him.”
“No, of course not. But he doesn’t have to know his wife died here in the sauna.”
“Then where the fuck do we tell him she died?”
“Watch you language, Rick,” Doug said. “You’re talking to the ED.”
“Whatever,” I said. “It’s just that…we can’t cover up something like this. We gotta tell the truth. Besides, nobody’s guilty here. Nobody killed her. She just…I don’t know…had a heart attack or something. There wasn’t any foul play involved.”
“I’m not sure you understand what’s involved here,” Brenda said.
Apparently not.
“If the press got ahold of this, they’d skewer us,” she continued. “They’d paint such a black picture of Scientology that the public would have nothing more to do with us. You gotta understand, Rick, the press hates us. They’re owned and operated by SP’s, suppressive persons. Who make their money on scandals and bad news. If this got out, nobody would ever do the Purif ever again. Ever. At least not here in Santa Barbara. And think about this: They’d twist things to make it look like you were responsible for what happened. Like you were the one who caused her to die.”
“I wasn’t responsible for what happened,” I protested.
“No, you weren’t. But that’s not the way the press would slant the story. They’d make it sound as if you forced her to stay in the sauna beyond what she could take.”
“What? No! That’s ridiculous.”
“Of course it is. But that’s how the press thinks. It’s the way they operate. You’d become the scapegoat, Rick. They’d paint a picture with you as the villain. It’d be front page news. Above the fold. ‘Local Woman Dies in Sauna at Scientology Center’.” Your name would be featured prominently. Your family, all your friends, the whole town would identify you with Joan’s death.”
“But…”
“Rick! Believe me, that’s the way the press operates. Your life would pretty much be over in this town. You wouldn’t be able to walk down the streets without people staring at you. Talking about you. Pointing. ‘Whoa…there’s the boy that was with that woman who died in the sauna. Lot of people think he was responsible’.”
“Fact is,” Doug added, “you could be tried for manslaughter. And if convicted…” He sighed and shook his head.
My head plopped into my arms.
Chapter 14
In between finishing the Comm Course and beginning the Purification Rundown, I caught a cold. Which in Scientology warranted a trip to the Ethics Officer—EO for short—the man charged with making sure everyone in the organization was performing optimally according to LRH’s definition of ethical and moral behavior.
I walked upstairs and down the hall to Ray’s dull-ass office and knocked on the open door. Besides a pair of four-drawer filing cabinets behind his desk, and the two chairs in front of it, there was no other furniture. A faded seascape adorned one wall. The other three were bare. The worn beige carpeting begged to be replaced.
Ray gestured to the chair on the other side of his blonde-wood desk. I could tell it’d come from IKEA by the special black screws holding it together. “You finished reading the bulletins?”
Much of what LRH wrote was published as Hubbard Communication Office Bulletins—HCOBs for short. Printed with red type on eight and a half by fourteen inch paper, they typically ran from one to four or five pages. Frequently, HCOBs were referred to as “red on white.”
“Yep. Read em all,” I replied.
“What’d you think?”
“Made sense.” Half of it, at least.
He’d had me read a half dozen HCOBs regarding suppressive persons—SPs for short. Scientology taught that man was basically good, but due to past trauma, a small percentage had taken on the “valence”—the characteristics—of a suppressive, bent on destroying everyone. According to Ron, SPs were stuck in an incident that happened many lifetimes ago, and forever after, battling a foe that no longer existed. To an SP, all people were enemies. All. Every last person walking the face of the planet had to be vanquished. The worst thing that could happen—to a guy like me—was to be somehow connected with such a person. If your father or mother happened to be a SP, you were screwed.
SPs were the cause of pretty much every adverse condition in life. Everything from cancer to stubbing your toe was attributable to some kind of connection to an SP. They were responsible for everything from poor grades and failing businesses to genocide and world wars.
People connected to SPs were said to be a Potential Trouble Source—PTS for short. SPs and PTS people went together like dogs and fleas.
Ray sat up in his chair. “So…you see how your cold is due to PTSness?”
“I guess. It’s really not that bad, though. It’s pretty mild. Hardly any congestion at all.”
Ray shook his head and smiled. “The severity of an illness isn’t the issue. All sickness, however serious, is caused by a connection to an SP. Heart attack, flu, a simple cold…they’re all caused by the same thing.”
I nodded. As if I fully understand—and believed—the theory.
“So what we need to do is discover the source,” he said.
“Like who the SP is, right?”
“Exactly. So I’m gonna do a Ten-Aug on you.”
“A ten-what?”
“Remember reading the bulletin about locating SPs? It was written on August tenth. So we just call em Ten-Augs.”
“I remember. The one where you ask me the first time I remember having such symptoms. Sometimes the SP is in present time—PT. Other times, the SP is in the past.”
“Exactly. So that’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna locate the SP and then work out a handling.”
Since I hadn’t been able to locate an SP in PT, Ray asked me to remember the first time I’d experienced my current cold symptoms. After ten minutes of racking my mind, I recalled a time sitting in class in third grade. My nose had been running and besides my sleeve, I didn’t have anything with which to wipe away the snot. My teacher, Mrs. Fallandorf had been wholly unsympathetic.
“Great,” Ray acknowledged. “Is she the one?”
“The SP?”
“Right. Is she the suppressive?”
“Well…she was sort of harsh. Or strict. Kinda old-school. Like she wasn’t above ridiculing people in class. I remember one time she told this girl, Sally Hansen, that she had a really messy desk. Which caused Sally to cry. And Mrs. Fallandorf was not at all sympathetic. Like not in the least. She made me sit in the cloak room when I had the runny nose.”
“So she was the SP?”
“Yeah, I guess she was. I never liked her.”
Ray smiled. “Good. I’d like to indicate Mrs. Fallandorf was your item.”
I smiled back. I’d located my first SP!
Chapter 15
I sat up and opened my eyes. Doug sat next to me at the small, round table. Brenda stood, staring down at Joan. I glanced at my watch. Forty minutes had passed since “the incident.” The room still smelled like shit.
“So…you gonna call the authorities?” I asked. Like dial 911.
“No,” Brenda replied.
Doug crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. I followed suit.
“But I am going to make some calls,” she said. “In the meantime, you two sit here. Don’t move. Don’t touch the body. Don’t go anywhere.” She closed the door behind her when she left the room. So much for ventilation. I heard her talking in the hall but couldn’t make out the words.
I turned to Doug. “Man, this is so fucked up.”
“It is,” he said. “Let’s just not do anything stupid to compound matters.”
“Like call the police?” I said sarcastically.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You heard what Brenda said.”
“But they’re gonna have to be informed sooner or later. And the longer we wait, the more suspicious we’re all gonna look.” Especially me.
“Not necessarily.”
“But what about when they ask why we didn’t call em sooner?”
“Because we didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what? Didn’t know until an hour or two later that she’d passed out and died in the sauna?”
“Or died somewhere else altogether.”
“Dude, are you fuckin insane? Like you’re suggesting we mover her somewhere else?”
“You gotta admit, if she died at her own home, like in the shower, it would simplify things.”
“But things are already simple! The heat got to her; she had a heart attack; she died. Happens all the time.”
“Except it doesn’t happen all the time, Rick. That’s the thing. People don’t die in saunas while doing the Purif. In a Church of Scientology. It’s like Brenda said, if the press got a hold of this, it’d look bad for the org…and really bad for you.”
“But I didn’t do anything!”
“Which could actually work against you.”
“What?”
“You didn’t do anything to prevent this happening.”
“Like what? What was I supposed to do?”
“See that she was in distress.”
“But she wasn’t. She was totally okay when I left to take a break.”
“Was she? Was she really okay? Or were you negligent?”
“No! I was not negligent! She was okay when I left to take a break.”
“You sure? Like totally?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Just pretty much?”
“Dude, all I can tell you is that she looked fine when I left.”
“And you think the police or the DA is gonna accept that?”
“Why the fuck wouldn’t they? It’s the truth.”
“I can imagine them not accepting her death as an accident for lots of reasons. Not the least of which is that she died here in a Scientology org.”
I was beginning to realize that not all the public believed Scientology was good. I shook my head.
“And you cleaned up the shit,” Doug said. “You touched the body.”
“You told me to!”
“But they don’t know that. They might think you were trying to cover up something. And you didn’t call 911.”
“Because my cell was out of juice! You’re the one who didn’t call an ambulance.”
“Because she was already dead.”
“But you didn’t know that when I ran upstairs and told you.”
“But I did when I saw her lying here. I knew she was dead then. And think about what Brenda was saying about the press. They’re not gonna accept you’re totally blameless.”
“Why the fuck not? Again, I was just sitting here in this chair when she…keeled over.”
“Because they’re the press. They make their living out of making mountains out of mole hills, of concocting stories where none exist. I could totally see them spinning this to make it look like you were to blame. Like maybe you and she didn’t get along…something like that.”
“We got along just fine! I liked Joan.”
“So you say.”
“It’s the fuckin truth.”
“I’m just saying man, that if the press got ahold of this, they could blow this whole thing totally out of proportion and you could end up looking like the villain here. Hell, they could even say you were having an affair. That the two of you were involved.”
I shook my head.
Doug wasn’t finished. “Are you willing to have your life turned upside down? Have every nook and cranny looked into? Every little secret—however innocent—revealed? Because that’s what would happen. The press is relentless. And because she died under suspicious circumstances, the police would be obligated to look into your life, as well. You’d be totally under a microscope. If you’re hiding anything, believe me, they’d find it.”
I wasn’t a criminal. I didn’t rob banks. Aside from smoking a little dope now and then, I was a model citizen. That said, there was a thing or two I wouldn’t have wanted to have exposed. Much less publicized in print or online.
Chapter 16
“Alright,” Ray said. “We’re gonna do a little ethics interview, now.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
We’d just finished the 10 Aug where we’d found my item, Mrs. Fallandorf. I wasn’t convinced she was the reason for my cold. I felt uncomfortable sitting with Ray in Ethics and was eager get back to course.
“These interviews are standard,” he answered. “We do em on everyone. They’re basically used to get at the things that hold a person back and which prevent him from making gains in auditing.”
“Like what?”
“Like if it turned out you were a criminal or were taking drugs or involved in some kind of group opposed to Scientology. Things like that. The only way a person can truly go free is to unload all those things.”
“Kind of like confession in the Catholic Church, right?”
“Kind of. Except this is much more scientific and instead of just saying a few Hail Mary’s, we actually have the technology to move people out of the conditions they’re in and make them better.”
I thought about my own “condition.” Last summer. The times, they were a changing. But still…
“Pick up the cans, please,” Ray said.
I sat up straight and reached for the soup-sized, aluminum cans attached to the e-meter via an electrical cord. Ray explained that a very small current ran through one can, through my body, out the other can, and back to the meter. Which had a dial on the front that supposedly registered what was happening with me. Like depending on which way the needle moved, it could tell if I’d flashed on one of those incidents in my mind that had been holding me back. Ray assured me e-meters weren’t lie-detectors. I wasn’t so sure.
I leaned back in my chair and tried to calm my anxiety. And fears. And not think of all the shit I didn’t want revealed.
“Okay, so I’m gonna ask you a list of questions,” Ray said. “You don’t have to do anything.”
“But what if I think of an answer?”
“Just sit tight. At the end of the list, we’ll take up any reading item.”
“Reading items being those that ‘read’ on the meter, right? Like the needle moves in a certain way.”
“Exactly.”
“So I just sit here and do nothing.”
“Essentially, yes. Couldn’t be easier.”
Ray adjusted a short stack of paper on his right on which he’d record everything, adjusted a knob or two on the e-meter, and began the inquisition.
Every question conjured up some sort of answer but, as instructed, I remained silent. Which I appreciated. Several of the questions demanded answers I wasn’t willing to divulge. Not yet anyway. Maybe sometime in the future when I was more confident. And enlightened.
I ended up telling Ray all about my use of illicit drugs. Which was mostly just smoking weed. And which turned out to be not such a big deal. According to Ray, everyone did drugs these days—and was one of the major reasons why society was so fucked up. He had me read a few Scientology policies on the subject before sending me back to course.
Chapter 17
Brenda locked the door behind her when she returned. Doug raised his eyes questioningly. Joan and I didn’t move.
“Help is on the way,” Brenda said.
“Yeah? What’s the haps?” Doug said.
“I talked with people in LA. They’re sending up a team to handle this.”
“What does that entail exactly?” I asked.
“It means you two just sit tight until they arrive and don’t do anything stupid.”
“If they’re coming from LA, they won’t be here for at least two hours.”
“And your point is?”
“I don’t relish sitting here—with Joan—for the next two hours.” I might have passed out from the stink by then.
“Tough shit. Deal with it.”
“And after they arrive, then what?”
“We’ll see.”
“Listen, Brenda, the longer we keep this from the authorities, the worse it is. The worse it becomes. We should just call the cops right now and get it over with.”
“No! We’ve been over this already. We have to handle this so it doesn’t blow back on Scientology.”
“But there’s nothing to blow back. Her heart gave out, or whatever. That’s what happened. There was no foul play. Shit happens. Like she died of natural causes.”
“Tell me, Rick,” Brenda chortled. “What is natural about taking massive doses of vitamins and oil and sitting in a sauna for five hours?”
She had a point. “Okay, I admit, it’s not natural. But it’s not criminal either. We aren’t breaking the law.” At least I didn’t think we were. The Food and Drug Administration might have had other ideas.
“It’s not a matter of whether all this is legal or not. It’s all about public perception.”
“I’d rather have the public think slightly less of us than be arrested for obstruction of justice.”
Brenda shook her head. “Really? That’s what you think?”
“Well…yeah.” I could always move to another town if things got too rough around Santa Barbara. If I got arrested and sent to jail? Not so much.
“In case you didn’t know, Rick, we’re not playing a silly little game here. We’re battling for the salvation of mankind; for the very survival of the human race.”
“You don’t think you’re being a little overdramatic?”
“Look around you? You think things are getting better? People are better off now than they were ten years ago? When any second the whole planet could turn into a blazing inferno. Look at who’s running Washington. You think this guy is totally sane? We’re closer to nuclear war than you think. And the only way we’re gonna reverse this downward spiral is through Scientology. We’re the only ones who have the technology. Nobody else does. Not psychiatry. Not the education system. Not corporate America.” She paused and shook her head. “It’s up to us to save the world, Rick. We have the tech. We have the solution. It’s our responsibility.”
I couldn’t prove she was wrong—or have a witty rebuttal—so I didn’t say anything.
“So this is why we have to treat this situation very carefully,” she said. “We can’t afford any backlash.”
Doug nodded. “Totally.”
I starred at a watermark on the table.
Brenda put a hand on my shoulder and leaned in so I could smell her lavender-scented shampoo. Which made me think of her naked in the shower. Which wasn’t a wholly unpleasant image. But still, felt kinda weird. And totally inappropriate.
“So you onboard, Rick?” she asked.
I took a breath. “I guess.”
“‘I guess’ isn’t good enough. I need to know if you’re with us or against us.”
“I’m definitely not against you,” I replied.
“But are you with us?”
I took a deeper breath. “I guess so.”
“Good.” She walked over to the small bookcase attached to the wall, grabbed Fundamentals of Thought by LRH, and set it down on the table in front of me. “Here, read this while you wait.”
Considering the state of my mind—and Joan resting on the floor—my concentration wasn’t great.
Chapter 18
Doug left with Brenda, leaving me alone with Joan. Who apparently wasn’t in a very talkative mood. I made it to the end of the first sentence on the first page of Fundamentals of Thought before tossing it Frisbee-style across the room. I just missed the vase of fake flowers.
I thought of the people I would have called had my cell phone been operational. Damn! Why hadn’t I charged it the night before? I didn’t believe in fate or karma or any of that type of stuff but couldn’t help thinking that some group of sinister gods were upstairs playing tricks on me. I pictured them unplugging my cell, one saying to another, “This ought to be good. Let’s see what happens now.” Those pesky gods.
I didn’t need a cell to contact the police. I wasn’t locked up in the room. I wasn’t a prisoner. I could have walked out the back door and jogged up the seven or eight blocks to the police station on Figuroa Street. “I’d like to report an accident,” I pictured myself saying to desk sergeant.
But what if they really did arrest me? What if some over-zealous assistant DA just out of law school and out to make a name for him or herself, decided to get ahead by hanging my sorry ass out to dry? Like what if he or she convinced a jury that I’d pushed Joan off the bench? Or that she’d fallen over on her own volition but I’d done nothing to help her? Why had I waited over an hour before finally contacting the police? Why had I cleaned up her “mess” before calling the police? What was I trying to hide? Just because my cell phone had been dead didn’t mean I couldn’t have run for help. Or called 911 from one the Org’s land lines. God! I’d been a frikken fool! I wished for a do-over.
I glanced at my watch. Twenty minutes had passed since Doug and Brenda had left—leaving me all alone with Joan. Which was as morbid a situation as I’d ever been in. By far. I willed my legs to stop their tapping. Worked for about a minute.
At least I could change out of my swim trunks and get dressed, I thought. I looked down at Joan and said, “Gonna shower and change.” Don’t go anywhere.
I walked to the bathroom where I’d left my clothes on the shelf. I turned on the shower and slipped out of my trunks and waited for the water to heat up. The hotter, the better. I could have gone to sleep under the warm spray but stepped out of the stall when the water began to cool.
I dried off, pulled on my jeans and tee shirt and slipped into my flip-flops. I left my towel on the floor, ran my fingers through my hair, and returned to the Purif room. And to Joan. My life was so fucked.
Good work Terra. The plot moves briskly along and you do a nice job of character development with “our hero” too.
Richard,
Don’t forget I have a large piece of paper that says I am OT!
Yep, George. You’re the cream of the crop.
I’ve been tracking your research into the occult and theosophy background of scientology for two years. Let’s see if I have this figured out. Mr. Hubbard deduced that “Man” (thetans) were trapped in the material world, particularly meat bodies. Through diligence and innate ability he figured out how to extricate thetans from this trap.
Having attained such freedom himself, he decided that meat bodies still had benefits, but the imperfect models on earth were deficient and needed improvement. No self respecting thetan would choose to inhabit such a vehicle.
If I come across Mr. Hubbard in the ether before you do, George, I’ll be sure to inform him that work is well underway and genetically pure bodies will be available in a few short generations of earth spacetime.
Terra might even include a mention of this in his story about seeking Nirvana through scientology, although this part is rather advanced.
Richard,
I now think that, despite her greatest resistance to the idea, Madame Blavatsky re-incarnated as Hubbard but could not break through his mental barriers inherited from his past karma. If you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you.
Terra, this is gripping. This is good stuff. I read it and my heart started pounding, I swear.
This is pressing EVERY button on the console with me!
I want to KILL that Sea Org hag Brenda! And I want to scream at the injustice to the dead victim, to her family, and to the trusting, well, meaning, honest, innocent “I” narrating the story who is being covertly set up to take the entire blame.
While reading, I was silently screaming at HIM, “Don’t listen to her! Don’t listen to ANY of them! Listen to your instincts. Go NOW to the police and tell them the entire story! Its NOT too late! Go NOW!”
Good stuff, Terra, no kidding. Can’t wait for next week!
Thanks, Aqua.
“Brenda put her hand on my shoulder and leaned in so I could smell her lavender scented shampoo..” I thought S.O. members were prohibited from using scented products, per some Hubbard order?
I just now read the previous comment from P.W. Dilettante, did not realize someone already pointed this out. Sorry for the duplicate comment.
I’m going to be excited to read the finished book, especially after the helpful edits and the little details that people catch.
I find it fascinating that many people commenting read Terra Cognita’s fictional story as autobiographical. In all seriousness I suggest that future installments at least clearly note that the story is “fiction based on facts.”
Even that is not really accurate regarding the sauna occurrence since it’s possible that some very small number of people have died BECAUSE of the purif, tens of thousands of people did not.
You’re right, Richard! On the first reading I neglected to read Mike’s preamble so I thought TC’s fictional story was autobiographical and was horrified that an obese middle aged woman unused to exercise had been CS’d for the Purif! Whew I was reacting all over the place!
Incensed, I re-read from the top and was relieved to understand it was just fiction! So that was my bad.
In any event, leaving aside any claims the cult makes about the benefits of the Purif, I’d say its all right and at the least provided someone doesn’t have a weak heart and is in overall decent health.
Then again, I’ve heard horror stories in recent times of people being on the Purif for MONTHS.
“Doug left with Brenda, leaving me alone with Joan. Who apparently wasn’t in a very talkative mood.”
Great line, pithy and pointy. Reeks of Raymond Chandler.
Poor Rick is getting fucked-er and fucked-er with every moment that passes in this budding cover-up. He missed his chance to contact police early on, when the time was right. Now, with the body ripening, he should call a lawyer, but what’s a penniless cult member to do? And besides, he’d sorta promised Brenda, and anyway her imaginary shower scene was fresh on his mind…you might say he was ‘of two minds’, or more exactly, ‘of two heads’.
Maybe Rick believes that LRH covered this scenario perfectly somewhere, some time. Of course – LRH wrote the Purification Rundown, so maybe he covered this exact scenario somewhere. If only Rick had the right color ink on paper, the right lecture tapes, or even someone underneath him to pass the blame to.
The plot thickens, and it’s all good.
Disclaimer:
These comments concern some make-believe fiction only,
Not a religion, re-animated being, or his fan club.
Any resemblance to persons alive, dead, or
mostly dead is part of a vast galactic conspiracy.
Signed, Ammo ‘The Scientio-Logical Cobbler’ Alamo,
Author of “if the shoe fits, run with it” and the pre-quel
“if the shoe fits, make someone else wear it”.
Haven’t read any of your other parts of the book, but I’m sorry you went through all of that! Even more sorry to hear about Joan, just lying there the whole time. Sometimes I wonder if dead people might still have consciousness or be able to hear their surroundings. Unsettling thought!
Chapter 17: should be “stared” at the watermark. (Not starred)
I also wouldn’t call them soup cans. Just cans.
And I didn’t really appreciate the focus on the worn out rug, the Ikea chair or the lavender perfume fantasy sequence or the shower you took, but if it all happened like that for you, then that’s your story. It’s just, if there is a dead body on the floor, all of that seems inappropriate and distasteful to steer our attention onto that as opposed to the end of this poor woman’s life, just happlessly ignored for the sake of the org staff’s egos and worries of becoming embroiled in scandal. The only appropriate thing to do would have been to call the police first thing, or try cpr, or something. Otherwise it is just a cover-up, pure and simple, and that is the main plot that I think needs focus. Not the shower, not the lavender perfume, not the rug. The rationalizations one makes in his head, the phenomenon of cognitive dissonance could be brought up, defined, somehow touched upon, more, somehow, maybe. Maybe you brought this up in prior chapters though. I don’t know. It is very telling that you just listened to your superior and just fell back in line of command and did what you were told, instead of listening to your inner morale and sense of what was right and wrong. You “compromised with your own reality” which LRH harps upon in that code of honor of his. How SO and org staff and scientologists in general wrestle with that contrast of what they know as societally acceptable right behavior (calling the police) and then what they are told to do or believe or how to act or the org chain of command trying not to make big waves or get in trouble internally. That that can trump the other seems to be the real scandal. No one accepting any responsibility for a death in their building… the care with which a life or death can be disposed of. One empathises with Joan, just lying there, presumably on the floor. All of that seems to be the main storyline thread. A life ignored. All under the pretext that they take great care and consideration into your life and your triumph over pts-ness. That inner battle over who owns your next move, or if you are really the master of your own piece on the chessboard.
May Joan rest in peace. Who was Joan? Did we find this out in previous chapters? Sorry.
And may you find some solace in processing all that you’ve been through. Writing can be very therapeutic!
Hi Sun Yellow,
This is a fictional account based off Terra Cognita’s experiences in $cientology.
Oh phew! That is a relief to hear!
Still, I could do with a tad more concern for the corpse of Joan in the storyline. Fiction or not. Or somehow delving a little deeper into how scientologists view the body as a vessel and nothing more. Like they feel Joan is no longer there as a being, even though her corpse is right there. How that view of life and death and the afterlife short-changes those who are dying or dead. Like in Aaron Smith Levin’s video explaining their way of viewing the elderly or sick as just getting ready to “drop the body”, or how scientologists can become callous to those needing end of life care, as they just figure that beings like Joan will go pick up another body in no time, so why grieve over the “Joan” we knew?
Sun —
Every $cientologist is pretty much uncaring when it comes to issues/sickness/dying/emotions/etc of other $ci’s. That’s probably why Terra is so brutal is his description of Joan’s death.
Aside from that, all the CO$ cares about is their PR image. They couldn’t give a shit less about someone dying on their watch. See Lisa McPherson’s horrific story. It’s awful beyond words.
It’s believable… but I keep feeling it *shouldn’t* be believable. I kept thinking “Scientologists are the most unethical people on the planet.” Which is probably unfair to some. I just get so angry at how manipulative and uncaring Brenda and Doug are, and unfortunately, that is believable, given Hubbard’s commands.
Is this supposed to be a true story or a kind of composite of these kind of experiences?
Cat W.: I’ve certainly drawn on my experiences within Scientology, but this story is pure fiction.
Something tells me someone may be getting badly framed here.
Now that Rick is knee deep or hip deep in sh*t with the Joan incident I’m curious to know how or if he gets out of it. I confess that if I had the book in hand I’d probably jump forward to get the answer.
A couple of years ago when Mark Rathbun was still running a normal scn blog he had recently published his “Texas Tropics” fictional novel which I bought. On his blog I mentioned that I hate to waste time reading a detective, mystery type novel with a lousy ending so I read the first two chapters and then skipped to the last chapter and I said I thought it had a good ending. Mark replied, dryly, “Thanks for the promotion, Richard.”
Hey – What did he want – I hadn’t read the whole book yet!
Thankfully you have a good sense of humor Terra Cognita. Probably one of the reasons you are able to cope with all that you went through.
“Brenda locked the door behind her when she returned. Doug raised his eyes questioningly. Joan and I didn’t move.”
Off Topic:
1st Amendment Audit of Los Gatos (San Jose) Idle Morgue on Saturday, dedicated to Lori Hodgson who lost her children to El Wrong Hubtard’s disconnection policies.
Org is empty except for a couple of staff calling police on people who stop to look at the building. (you can tell the police know the scamologists are lunatics)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0zN8xr3XP9g&t=0s
Very compelling. I like the way you are mixing the two ongoing stories. Lots of minor edits for your consideration.
Throughout: When you use em for them, or fuckin for fucking, make sure to use an apostrophe.
‘em
fuckin’
Chapter 14
Paragraph 14: understand should be understood
Paragraph 19: tenth should be 10
Paragraph 22: need a comma after Fallandorf
Chapter 16
Paragraph 1: don’t need the comma after interview
Paragraph 3: you use 10 Aug here, but referred to it differently earlier—make consistent throughout
Paragraph 11: don’t need a comma after soup-sized
Paragraph 11: sentence 3 is incomplete
Paragraph 22: insert it between and and was after the dash
Chapter 17
Missing paragraph breaks between paras 20 and 21 and 22 and 23
Paragraph 22: semicolon should be a a dash or a comma
Paragraph 24: change question mark after first sentence to exclamation point
Paragraph 24: That people are …. Add that to start of third sentence
Paragraph 24: 10 instead of ten
Paragraph 24: Question mark after inferno
Paragraph 28: water mark should be two words
Paragraph 29: add it. But still, it felt kinda weird
Chapter 18
Paragraph 1: don’t italicize of
Paragraph 4 change to him- (him- or herself)
Holly: Thanks for the edits.
The story brings me back to the day in the Miami Org which I spent in a Sea Org recruitment cycle. It started in the morning and lasted till dark. The sauna was under construction at the time. I was never even close to signing, as I recall. One of my FSM’s developed cancer after OT VIII and died a few months later. Her sister tried to file a law suit blaming Scientology’s e-meter.
I think the story is accurate in describing the highest level of attachment to Hubbard’s “philosophy” and to Scientology. I certainly met a few people capable of extreme behavior. In my own situation, I always looked at “Keeping Scientology Working” as sort of a suggestion which would only be applied when Hubbard delivered something substantial. That day never came so KSW was rejected.
I am doing a lot of reading from books, newspaper articles and letters about religion published from about 1900 till about 1923 when Hubbard would have been about twelve. It is not surprising that Hubbard ended in calling Jesus a pedophile. He grew up in an environment of bad translations, and messed up spiritual phenomena. His OTVIII narrative about anti-Christ written in 1980 was typical of a 19th Century mind. He must have been extremely frustrated during his life to entangle so many young people in a devotion to his every evil word. Hubbard loved to mock Kant because he established limits to reason and thought. But Hubbard never mentions in “The Road to Truth” that Kant evolved in his late years to a study of the higher levels of thought. Ironically, Hubbard stopped his mental development at the end and went into confusion about spiritual beings. Too bad because without the mental blocks at the end Hubbard would have had a 1% chance of being salvaged.
The story did keep me reading.
Still pushing your Jesuit propaganda about “OTVIII” eh George? Actually do the Jesuits know you are doing so, or is this some sort of personal hobby horse for you? The April Fool’s Day OTVIII you were apparently given must have “worked” then as you are still here spreading bile and nonsense about Hubbard or you should have spontaneously combusted by now?
Actually I can’t be bothered with this nonsense anymore. No need to reply George as I won’t be following it up.
Foolproof, the Jesuits forced Hubtard to write that crap about Jesus in his HCOB?
Boy, talk about being a paranoid lunatic.
People, read Foolproof’s posts. THAT is a brain on Scientologyn.
As per usual, poor old Wynski gets his “facts” wrong and mis-reads my remark (deliberately? no – he is daft). Think a bit before you start clattering away on the old IBM PC Wyn, I know its hard with all that is going on in your head, but try, try…
Anyone, with any sense that is, will realize from the content of your post who is the paranoid lunatic here. And only Wynski could twist words like he can. I think this has to be one of your worst and most obvious ones Wyn, you really should take it easy. Still I suppose your usual supporting gang won’t read my text and just start frothing at the mouth.
Foolproof,
I love your comments. This is just getting to be fun. The Jesuits have nothing to with this. I went to a Jesuit school fifty years ago. They are not involved.
I am in a total win/win with you. Think about it. If I am right, by accepting Hubbard, you are forever barred from the state of OT. Since I am right and the OT VIII from the Freewinds is a fact, you are in a double no OT headlock by staying with Hubbard/Miscavige. The chances that I am wrong are slim to none. But if I am wrong, you still get no OT since Miscavige/Hubbard have produced nothing since 1988. You see now that I am the only OT on the planet by your own doctrine. So listen to me.
George
“So listen to me.”
Laughter!
Oh! Titter titter, chortle chortle! You don’t realize this Katherine but this is George attempting to use the real data he learned on the real OTIII to get people to “obey” and he thinks I won’t notice. So have another chortle!
FP —
I WILL have another laugh. Thanks for your permission.
Yes I am doing you a favor no doubt by promoting your daft book on the “subject”. Didn’t you know that there are plenty of other OT levels still available? The “old” 4,5,6 and 7 plus an original 1969 real HCOB on OTVIII. So your daft argument is scotched straight away.
Now just because either you are lying or Miscavige conned you with either an April Fool’s joke or as an experiment to see what fools like you would believe, or some pernicious dude created this “HCOB”, (the last one I tend to favor) doesn’t mean to say that the rest of the world should believe your nonsense. I notice you avoid the silly “spontaneous combustion” “aspect” and concentrate on the so-called politically incorrect controversial aspect no doubt to bolster your book sales. Did it never occur to you to compare the OTIII materials and the contradictory statement in the “OT8” materials about Christ? And why would Hubbard state the totally unnecessary statement about Christ, let alone Lucifer. Now I realize that it is the next day after April Fool’s Day but this is really taking the biscuit here. Still there a lot of folks like Wynski who claims to know the Senior C/S who he says “confirmed” this (see an earlier story in 2017 on this) but then lo and behold, continues by saying that there was 1 process involved – the identity process which nearly everyone else has reported to be fact of the actual OTVIII, without realizing that there a load of daft processes in a 2nd sheet that “accompanied” the original “HCOB” – (I’ve seen them).
A couple of other questions “George”: who was your auditor for the sec check before you started on OTVIII? And – how old are you now, if you don’t mind me asking such a politically incorrect question?
And as for Wynski, he still answered my question on a previous post if he (honestly) believes this shit! Perhaps he has spontaneously combusted in the meanwhile?
FP blathered, “without realizing that there a load of daft processes in a 2nd sheet that “accompanied” the original “HCOB” – ”
Cool, show them. From the course, not from elsewhere. (with evidence showing origin) Or admit your insanity and that you are a pathological liar.
p.s. Glad I answered your question whether I believed whatever you are babbling on about. LOL
Foolproof,
I did not bother to get the sec check auditor’s name. I remember she was female. I am 72. You can figure out how old I was in 1988.
Hubbard carefully said that most of the symbolism in the Bible was mythological. There is no need to compare OT III and OT VIII on that point.
Seriously, who in their right mind would grant any power to any OT level that Hubbard wrote? If you carefully look at his OT levels, you will deduce that they are theoretically impossible anyway. The argument about what he wrote is a dead end. Plain and simple all of the OT levels that Hubbard ever wrote are a failure. The truth of it is that Hubbard used bad translations available from the 19th Century onward. Sadly, he was born too early to take advantage of the advances in science.
I do not need any money from book sales. Remember I am not in Scientology so there is no pressure for donations. A simple life is inexpensive. Besides, I have donated or given away to libraries more copies than have been sold. The OT VIII material that I received was open ended in that there was no specific rundown for the anti-Christ material or the genetic entity. The draft processes that you speak of were not in my C/S. By the way, I did get something out of the level. I covered this on the blogs. In truth, I concluded that Hubbard was kicking us all out of Scientology. Why do you think I left? It was not because of the foolish nature of the Bulletin. It was because, as per C/S instructions, I created my own route. The prep material for OT VIII was History of Man. All you needed to do was use that as a textbook to run the genetic entity part. You should ask me to donate to a sperm bank. Not only am I the only OT on planet earth, I am the only one who can create a genetically pure body for Hubbard. In addition, I knew all along that the material would be pulled. So I created my own elite OT corps. Miscavige in not smart enough to have fooled me. But Hubbard was smart enough to set a trap for Miscavige and the OT VIII Bulletin was it. It was Hubbard’s Insurance policy. He knew Miscavige would pull it. Your eternity is in my hands. So listen to me!
G
Yes ok George. I think you have answered the question now, or rather your ramblings have. Nice little deflection by the way of the contrary data between OTIII and “OTVIII”, whistling with admiration at how you side-stepped that one. And also the “bad translations” one wasn’t bad either, nice and general but not specific at all. Still, you are bound to get some people like Wynski who will be electrified by it all, even believe it. They certainly won’t view it as tongue-in-cheek.
And by the way the auditor who sec checked George White was male. And the George White who was sec checked was already quite old making him in his nineties or so now. Unless there were 2 George Whites? Could be, could be…perhaps you have created 2 bodies for him? Or have you reversed the ageing process?
As I recall, there were two by the name of George White. The reason I know is because I was called in at flag to verify my identity. In fact, there were possibly three in total because she hinted at their confusion. Now there are four because as you may have noticed I named my dummy avatar George M. White.
If you have a pipeline to David Miscavige, tell him to call me. I met him on the Freewinds in 1989 and we never got much of a chance to chat. The food was great on the upper deck, by the way. Tell him I have long passed any upset about OT VIII and that Hubbard is now transparent to me.
George – Laughter!
P.S. For people who don’t “get” satire, I think George is being a BIT facetious about being the only OT on earth and having his own elite OT corps. Laughter!
Keep up the good work, George. These miserable primate bodies are always acting up. I can’t wait for the new models to come out!
Yes George but there is only 1 George White listed as having done OT8 in the completions list and he was the one with the male auditor that went on and did OT8. Unless of course you were operating several bodies at that time? This is definitely a case for Sherlock Holmes, if not the fraud squad. To use Alice in Wonderland – “curioser and curioser”!
Poor old Wynski still doesn’t get it. I am the one originally asking for originals of these HCOBs not the forgeries and concoctions that are floating around. I saw just plain A4 texts in 1991 or so when I first read this nonsense. The “processes” were concoctions as well as the later-poorly-transcibed into an “HCOB” main bulletin. I am sure they can be found on the net somewhere but I am not Wynski’s librarian. How can they come from a course when they were made-up? Get it now? I have exposed him as being the pathological liar here by him stating that a Senior C/S that he knew told him of the Jesus/Lucifer concoction and then said that the process (they actually do now as OTVIII) belonged to the concoction. You can see it all at this link: https://www.mikerindersblog.org/ot-viii-is-lame/ Seems Wynski has been caught out by his concocting of adding 2 and 2 and making 3.
And he still hasn’t answered my question whether he honestly believes that he would spontaneously combust if he did these processes wrongly, in other words does he believe the whole kit and caboodle.
Foolproof,
This is the reply to your other post which is locked out.
Perhaps the Director of Processing was female. I remember a female at the greeting stage. As I recall, sec checking was very minor because the bulk of it was done at Flag a few days earlier. If it was a male, they slipped him in and he was feminine.
Your confusion about the names and the bodies was actually bait which you took hook, line and sinker. Hubbard completely confused OT levels with Egyptian religion. The ability to project multiple images is an OT ability. I was mocking Hubbard. You fell for it. So listen tome. Seriously, you are so wrapped up in Hubbard you are carrying his confusion. You really need a cleansing.
You go around and around in circles. It’s quite exhausting.
I thought you said you weren’t going to reply to George anymore?
Kay, the only time he doesn’t respond is when his internet privileges get pulled by the asylum staff.
Wynski—
Now that’s funny!
Well one can change one’s mind. Not too hard to understand was it?
Nice backpedaling.
Wait a second, hold the damn phones. I did the purif and a purif retread in the SB org.
I sat in the same sauna someone died in and was not told?? That pisses me the f*ck off.
Badafuco: Wow! We probably sat on the same redwood slats!
🙂
10th paragraph “I closed my eyes; my head fell onto to my crossed arms resting on the table”
“onto to” … . Delete 2nd to
I am enjoying the story!
Chapter 13 10th paragraph…. ?
Eh=Eh: Thanks for catching that.
Chapter 14:
“I walked upstairs and down the hall to Ray’s dull-ass office and knocked on the open door. Besides a pair of four-drawer filing cabinets behind his desk, and the two chairs in front of it, there was no other furniture. A faded seascape adorned one wall. The other three were bare. The worn beige carpeting begged to be replaced.”
This is what caught my attention. Obviously this is NOT a description of an Ideal Org’s Ethics Officer’s office. If it had been Ideal, Rick would have had an ideal experience with the Ethics Officer and this whole scenario would have turned out differently. Rick wouldn’t be a raging SP posting stories on a suppressive blog on the fringes of the internet, he would be on course and getting lots of auditing and making great strides with his spiritual progress moving up both sides of the Bridge to Total Freedom. In an Ideal Org, Scientologists look forward to meeting with their Ethics Officer and benefiting from the sacred Ethics Tech that the Founder left us. And that sure as fuck doesn’t include worn beige carpeting that is begging to be replaced. That has downstat written all over it.
Ms B. Haven: In real life, Santa Barbara has yet to move into their “ideal” org. Many of my descriptions are composites of orgs and missions from my past.
Hi Terra, just having a little fun with my ramblings here. I’m enjoying your story and I like your writing style. It takes me back to some very similar events in a palpable way. Keep up the good work.
Brenda’s hair will not smell like lavender if she is being a good Sea Org member. Her shampoo, soap, laundry detergent, antiperspirant, etc will all be unscented per Flag Order 38 Etiquette (unless she’s being a little rebellious with no superiors around).
LRH didn’t like scents and banned them from the Sea Org. This is why Sea Org dorms smell of BO and feet.
God, I’m getting sick.
P.W.: Good catch. I’d forgotten about that policy.
Minor point. No aluminum cans have been used since the 50s, when Hubbard allowed “aluminum film cans” to be used for children. Today film cans are plastic, but very few use them with the digital option so readily available.
Cans of today are called “tin cans” but more appropriately you would call them tin plated steel cans. “Regular soup cans” of today have a micro thin electro-plated tin plating that wears out really fast, so you can’t use the ones from the store anymore. And they almost all have corrugations.
Soup cans of the 50s were dipped in tin and had very thick coatings comparatively, as much as .003 inches thick.
So today we have “cans” made by a company for Golden Era Productions, steel dipped in tin. For a brief time in the 90s, under the baleful influence of Steve Marlowe, cans were made from tin dipped copper. These were heavy and took forever to “warm up”, leading to the practice of electric blanket can warmers in the auditing room.
I never understood “warming up the cans” unless it was to increase the resistance in the circuit.
Hi Wynski.
For those not familiar, when you first pick up the cans the resistance shown on the meter is pretty high. As you hold the cans over a few minutes the resistance comes down.
This phenomenon has little to do with can temperature. The change in metallic resistance of the cans from room temp to around 90 F is very miniscule.
But there is something happening with the sweat glands in the palms and the surface of the cans. Sweat builds up. It is speculated that the special sweat glands that abound in the palms of the hands and on the soles of the feet have the purpose of improving hand and foot grip for tree-dwelling ancestors of Homo Sapiens. Be that as it may, there is definitely a difference between the initial contact with cold cans and the same system a few minutes later.
Warm cans speed up the process, but it still takes time to establish the moist, highly conductive contact between the skin and the cans that is present during normal operation.
Interestingly the current from the meter seems to affect the process. I don’t know if it is an electrolytic process, like a little battery charging up, or something physiological. But if you let the cans “warm up” and then reverse the current using a switch they have to “warm up” again. We don’t have the person holding the cans change their grip or do anything. They are just relaxed, holding the cans. But the resistance goes way up and then slowly comes down every time you switch the direction of the current.
All minor details not really germane to the issue, but interesting to geeks like me.
“But there is something happening with the sweat glands in the palms and the surface of the cans. Sweat builds up. ”
Thank you. Electrically this is the only thing that makes sense. Yes, I’m versed in the human bio aspects. As far as reversing the current effect, that must be some internal component reacting thermally. I checked with my Dad who designed electronic equip for the Apollo systems and he said that was the most likely explanation
Who would want to spend thousands of dollars for an e-meter if it came with junky old soup cans? The new cans are nice and shiny but are probably expensive to replace.
Bruce: Thanks for the “cans” lesson. I think I’d be better off just calling the cans: cans.
That said, I remember way back when, hooking up asparagus cans to my Mark V.
Wow, great story. Only a person who has dealt with Hubtard’s S.O. could write this accurately.