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THE ROAD TO XENU

by Margery Wakefield

I.  IMPLANT STATIONS IN THE SKY

It was a sunny, crisp day in late October as I slowly walked  home
to my little apartment on East Ann Street.  The sky was a bright and endless
blue, and little gusts of breeze stirred the leaves on the sidewalk into small
whirlwinds.  Fall was my favorite season.  I liked the nippy bite of the air
that made you want to walk faster and brought the blood to your skin and
hinted of the frostier winter air to come.

As I entered the apartment, I looked around in satisfaction.  I had only been
in this apartment two weeks.  The apartment had been decorated on my meager
student budget, but I hadn't done badly at all, I thought, as I looked around
me.  With two small cans of paint I had transformed a few old boards into a
bookshelf, using some old bricks I had found in the back yard.  And an Indian
print bedspread from the flea market covered the old worn sofa.  Another
Indian print fabric served as a tablecloth for the small table against the
wall.

Anything Indian was "in" these days with the most "hip" students, the ones I
worked with at the coffee houselike my friend Bob who painstakingly
taught me to do horoscopes.  I had spent my whole paycheck last month buying
all the books and tables I needed to cast my charts.  And like Tom, a
philosophy major who had introduced me to books by Edgar Cayce on
reincarnation and past lives.

And my friend Julie, whose brash, cynical personality contrasted sharply with
my own shyness.  Julie seemed to know everything about the world.  Her parents
were wealthy, and Julie had always had the best of everythingthe best
clothes, school in Europe, the most expensive summer camps, even a car.  Being
accepted by Julie meant you were "in."

I knew Julie because I had been assigned as her accompanist at the beginning
of the semester.  We were both in music school; she played the cello and I
accompanied her on the piano.  We had been busy preparing for the recital
earlier today in which she played the Lalo Cello Concerto.

Everything had gone fine.  Afterwards, as she packed up her cello, she asked
me to meet her for dinner at the Chinese restaurant on State Street.
"Sure," I agreed, honored by the attention of someone as popular as Julie.
Then, mysteriously, she added, "I have something important to tell you."
"Like what?" I asked curiously, but at that moment her teacher interrupted,
wanting to talk to her about her performance.

"Later," she said with a small wave, dismissing me.

Now, relaxing on my sofa, I looked at my watch.  Plenty of time to make it to
the restaurant.  I quickly changed into a wool skirt with a turtleneck sweater
and an Indian top to wear over it.  And of course, my appleseed necklace that
I wore everywhere.

When I reached the restaurant, Julie was waiting.  We found a small table
against the wall.

"So what's the big secret?" I teased her, after we had ordered.
"Well," she said, "I want to tell you about something really important.  This
is the biggest thing that's ever happened to me.  I have just made the most
incredible discovery."

"Well what is it?" I asked her.

"You remember the week I went to California to visit my brother?  About a
month ago?  When I didn't get back on time for Monday classes?"
"Yeah," I replied, "and you sure have been acting different since you got
back.  You're never around the dorm any more.  Everyone's been asking what
happened to you."

"You won't believe this when I tell you about it.  It's just too
unbelievable."

"Well, tell me."  I was starting to feel impatient.

"Margery, you just have to find out about Scientology," she said intensely. 
"It's the most important discovery of the century."

"You're kidding," I looked at her incredulously.  "That's the weird lecture we
went to.  Where they had that little machine they hooked you up to.  They
asked if anyone wanted to try it.  We laughed all the way home," I said
remembering the night several weeks before when a group of us had gone to a
free lecture on campus about Scientology.

We heard a lecture, something about the mind, and then the lecturer gave us a
demonstration of a "meter" that was supposed to be able to read your mind.  I
didn't remember much of what was actually said at the lecture.  I just
remember how we all laughed as we walked home, mimicking the lecturer with his
little brown box.

"Margery, listen," Julie insisted.  "This is serious.  This is too important
to joke about."

"But you went to the lecture.  It was silly.  Being able to see into your mind
with that little machine."

"I know," Julie said softly.  "I thought it was silly too.  But I went back
the next day because they said they had a free personality test, and I thought
it would be interesting to take it.  They took me to a house they all live in,
and I saw a movie about Scientology, and it explained about how this is a
brand new science of the mind, and how they could handle problems that no one
else ever could before.  Margery, I really think you should find out about
this," she looked at me seriously.

"Like what kind of problems?" I asked a little uneasily.

"Look, this is a brand new science.  They have a whole new theory about the
mind.  This is a thousand years more advanced than psychiatry.  They really
understand the mind like no one has ever done before.  They can get rid of all
sorts of things.  Like headaches.  And asthma, or colds.  Anything.  Even
cancer.  And it's 100% guaranteed.  If it doesn't work, then you get your
money back."

"I wonder if it could help me with my anxiety attacks?" I wondered out loud. 
I didn't know how much Julie knew about my problems.

"Sure.  This is a science of the mind.  If you really understand how the mind
works, then you can cure anything that is psychosomatic, right?  The only
reason that psychiatry can't cure you is that they don't know how the mind
works.  If they did, then they could cure you.  But they don't.  And
Scientology does."

I was quiet.  No one at the dorm and none of my friends at the restaurant knew
the extent of my problems.  Last year, my boyfriend had died in a freak car
accident.  I had been in too much shock to really cry at the time.  I just
couldn't believe that he was gone.

But shortly after his accident, I had started to have anxiety attacks in the
middle of the night.  I would wake up covered with sweat, and terrified.  I
could never remember dreaming anything just before I woke up.  But I would
wake up in a panic, sometimes frozen and unable to move.  This had been
happening at least once a week.  I was scared that I was going crazy.  In
between these attacks, I would feel normal, although I felt a general
uneasiness about something I couldn't identify.

I had woken up screaming in the dorm one night, and Julie was one of the girls
who had appeared at my door, wanting to know what had happened.  I was
embarrassed, and just told them I had a bad dream.

But the second time it happened, the dorm mother insisted that I go see the
school counselor.  I had to go once a week to see this lady, who I thought was
kind of strange.  She would just sit there and not say anything.  I didn't
like going to see her but I didn't want the embarrassment of any more
screaming episodes either.

And this year, other things had started to happen.  Sometimes I would be
walking to class, or to the music school to practice, and suddenly I would
feel vaguely terrified, like something terrible was going to happen.  This
feeling would usually last for a couple of hours, then it would go away.  But
I felt uneasy.  Something was not right.  I was afraid of something, and I
didn't know what it was.

"Do you really think that Scientology could help me?"  I looked at Julie
cautiously.

"I think that if it is a problem in your mind, then Scientology can take care
of it," she answered.  "Anyway, what have you got to lose?  There's no risk. 
If it doesn't work, then you can go back to your counselor.  But yes, I think
it can really help you."

"So how do you do it?" I asked.  "I mean if I just wanted to try a little of
it?"

"Well, first I would have to take you over to the center to get permission to
audit you," she started to answer.

"To what?" 
"Oh, to "audit" you.  That's their word for what they do.  It's like
counseling but it's called auditing.  Audit.  Because it has to do with
listening."

"Oh.  OK, I guess.  So how does it work?" 
"Well, once I get permission to audit you, then we'll just go to your
apartment and I will audit you.  When I was in California I took a course, and
I am now an auditor," she said importantly.  "I learned more in that course
than I have in two whole years of college."

"Do I have to be hooked up to that machine?"

"Oh, yeah.  That's the E-meter."

"E-meter?  What's that?" I asked.

"The E-meter.  It's short for electro-psychometer.  You hold onto the cans
that are attached to it, and your thoughts register on the dial of the meter. 
I'll show you exactly how it works tomorrow.  You'll see.  It really works."
We finished eating our dinner, paid the check, and Julie walked me home.  She
came in, and we sat in the living room until 3:00 AM talking about
Scientology.

Julie told me that Scientology had been founded by an engineer named L. Ron
Hubbard, that he had unravelled the secrets of the mind, that he was a
wonderful person who just wanted to help mankind.

She said that the central part of the organization of Scientology was called
the "Sea Org," short for "Sea Organization," and that this was a group of
mostly young people who lived on a fleet of ships in the Mediterranean with
Hubbard, helping him to get Scientology centers started all over the world. 
The motto of the Sea Org is "We Come Back."  This, Julie explained, is because
Hubbard and the Sea Org had come to earth thousands of years ago to "salvage
the planet," and at that time they had failed to complete their mission.  So
now they were back to finish what they had started, to help save this planet
from disaster.

Julie explained that through auditing, everyone on earth could be "cleared" of
their "reactive" minds, the destructive part of the mind that was responsible
for all the suffering on earthfor sickness, insanity, war, for all of our
negative experiences.

If people could get rid of their reactive minds, Julie said, then there would
never be anymore sickness.  No one would ever get depressed again.  And
everyone would get along.  There would be no more fighting.  No more wars. 
And it was Scientology that had made this impossible dream possible for the
first time in history.

"If you really want to help other people," Julie looked at me carefully, "then
you need to find out more about Scientology.  As an auditor you will really be
able to help people with their problems.  You will see miracles right before
your eyes.  I know, because I have seen them."

"What kind of miracles?" I wanted to know.

"Well, things like fevers going away, colds going away, people being able to
take off their glasses and throw them away.  I've heard stories in California
that some people with withered limbs actually had them grow back right in the
auditing session."

"There is nothing on this planet as advanced as Scientology," she continued. 
"This is the beginning of something really incredible."

Julie talked on about the people she had met in Los Angeles, about how
powerful they were.  Some of them, she said, even had supernatural abilities
to do different things.  Some of them, the ones who were "Clear," could travel
outside their bodies at will, and could read other people's thoughts and move
objects around with their thoughts.  And there were levels above Clear, called
the "OT levels," where even more incredible things were possible.
"OT levels?  What are they?"

"The OT levels are the levels above Clear." She explained that "OT" stood for
the words, "operating thetan," "thetan" being the Scientology equivalent of
the soul.

"There are eight levels above Clear, and on these levels you learn the secrets
of this universe.  You learn the history of this universe for millions of
years in the past, and you also learn all about your own past, your hundreds
of lives before this one.  You learn to remember all of them."
Talking about past lives didn't bother me, because I had been reading Edgar
Cayce books, so I was familiar with the idea of reincarnation.  I could accept
the idea of past lives because many of my friends believed in them.  Many of
the people who worked at the coffee house were into Cayce and past lives, and
it seemed to make sense to me.  Maybe that was why I had so much talent at the
piano, I suggested to Julie.  Maybe I did it in a past life.
She agreed, "That's why playing the piano is so easy for you.  What you're
really doing is just remembering it from some other life."

"Maybe I knew Beethoven," I laughed.

"Who knows," she answered.  "Maybe you were Beethoven."

Julie said that we all had hundreds of past lives, going all the way back to
the old space civilizations of the pasthistory that wasn't even recorded
on this planet, but that you could remember through auditing.
"I will tell you a secret," she said.  "And this is something I'm not even
supposed to tell you at this level.  But this planet is really a prison
planet.  Everyone here has been sent here from another planet a long time in
the past.  Everyone here is either a criminal or a rebel or revolutionary from
somewhere else.  That's why this planet is so screwed up."

"But if all this stuff happened to us, why can't we remember it?" I asked.
"Because of the implants," she answered.  "See, when people were sentenced to
come to earth, it was like being sent into eternal oblivion.  It was the worst
sentence you could get.  Because of implants.  A long time ago, the implant
stations were set up to keep us captive on earth, to keep us from ever
leaving."

"These implant stations are white buildings out in space.  When you finish a
life here on earth, you leave your body, but you are subconsciously programmed
to return to the implant station.  In the implant station your memory of the
life you just lived is electronically erased with machines which emit high
powered electronic beams, then you are programmed to go back to earth for
another life.  But you will always keep going back to the implant station,
life after life.  We have been doing this for millions of years."
"So what's different about now?"

"Now there is Scientology.  Hubbard is the first person in all these millions
of years to have figured it all out.  In Scientology for the first time, you
can get rid of your return commands so you don't ever have to go back to one
of the implant  stations.  Then you will be free to go wherever you choose."
"Where would you go?" I was beginning to get dizzy with all this strange
information.

"Well, to another planet, or to another galaxy.  There's hundreds and
thousands of other worlds out there.  There's no limit to what you can do. 
There's so much to see.  It's exciting.  And once you learn to `exteriorize,'
then you can go wherever you want."

"What's `exteriorize?'" I had to ask.

"That's when you can leave your body whenever you want to and you can travel
anywhere in the universe.  You just think of someplace and you are there,
instantly.  And you can see and heareverything you can do in your body,
only better."

I was getting tired, so Julie got up and walked toward the door.
"I'll see you tommorow about 1:00," she promised, "for your first auditing
session.  See you then."

"Tomorrow," I agreed.  "Thanks for the dinner."

It was hard to settle down and sleep.  I had endless dreams that night about
space ships and strange sceneries, bizarre dreams about white buildings up in
space with electron guns just waiting to pin me to the wall....


This was my introduction to Scientology.  Why did I believe such bizarre
stories?  Why was I so gullible?  Why did no small voice inside me warn about
possible danger?
There is no simple answer to this question.  Part of the reason had to do with
my chaotic and dysfunctional home.  I grew up in a family where there was
chronic discord.  Sometimes it seemed as if my parents were too busy battling
each other to notice me.  I grew up feeling abandoned and alone.  I learned to
take care of myself, then later to help take care of my two brothers and baby
sister.  But there was never a solid foundation to my world.
Part of the answer has to do with the fact that I didn't have a strong
religious background.  I did go occasionally to Sunday school, but that was
usually a fairly unexciting experience which I discontinued as soon as I was
"on my own."

Part of the reason is that I was an adolescent, and like most adolescents I
felt like I knew everything there was to know about life, while actually
knowing very little.  I was naive.  I expected adults to be wise and to know
the answers.  And I expected that I could trust them.  So when Julie told me
that this man had discovered some new science, I did not question what she
said.  I had been conditioned for seventeen years by my family and by the
educational system not to question adults.  If they said they knew the
answers, then they did.

Part of the reason is that I was vulnerable at this time.  I was suffering
from a form of mental illness which had been terrifying for me, the symptoms
strange and frightening.  The possibility of finding an answer to this and an
end to the suffering was the real bait which caused me to "bite."  Once Julie
had promised me that Scientology could give me relief, I was hooked.
And part of the answer has to do with the fact that I was never warned.  The
word "cult" was not in my vocabulary.  No one had ever told me to beware of
strange people with strange stories, free meals, or impossible promises.  I
walked into the trap full of trust and hope, never suspecting that a noose was
slowly being drawn tightly around my mind, trapping me unknowingly and
unquestiongly in one of the most dangerous cults ever to exist.


II.  YOUR NEEDLE IS FLOATING!

The next day I woke up wondering whether the events of the
previous night had been real or just part of a bizarre and elaborate dream. 
My answer came in the early afternoon when Julie arrived with her E-meter in
hand.

The meter was a rectangular box, a little bigger than a cigar box, with two
hinges on the sides securing a removable top.

We pulled my small table into the center of the room and Julie proceeded to
"set up" the E-meter.

She removed the top of the E-meter, using the side hinges to attach it to the
back of the meter where it became a prop to keep the meter at an upright
slant, facing her.  On the face of the meter was a large dial under a plastic
case with a thin needle resting at the left side of the dial.  During the
"session," Julie told me, I would sit opposite her at the table, from where I
would be unable to see the face of the meter.

Only the "auditor" is allowed to see the needle "reads" that would indicate
which part of my mind to explore, Julie explained.

But first she wanted to give me a demonstration of the meter.  As I stood
beside her, she took two small juice cans from her purse and connected them to
the leads attached to the meter, and told me to hold onto the cans.  Then she
switched the power knob on.  As she turned another knob, I saw the needle
float lazily to the middle of the dial, then to the far side of the dial and
then back again to the left side.

"Your needle is floating," Julie informed me.

"What does that mean?" I asked, watching the lazy movement of the needle.
"Well, when the needle is just floating back and forth like this with no
interrupted movements in either direction, it means that nothing in your
reactive mind is currently being restimulated.  Here, I'll show you."
"Watch the dial," she commanded.

Suddenly Julie reached over and quickly gave my arm a sharp pinch.  "Ouch!" I
cried.  I wasn't expecting that.

But as she pinched me, I saw the needle suddenly veer all the way to the right
side of the dial.  Yet I hadn't moved.

"Now," said Julie loudly, "remember the pinch."

As I mentally focused on the pain in my arm, I saw the needle again make a
smaller movement toward the right side of the dial.

"See, the needle reacts to your thought," Julie explained.  "And the reason we
use it in auditing is that it can `see' below your conscious awareness.  When
I ask you questions, the meter will give me your reactions at a subconscious
levelthings you may not even be aware of."

"So this machine can help you read my mind," I laughed.  "Amazing!" 
I remembered how ridiculous the whole idea of the E-meter had seemed at the
lecture several weeks earlier, and how we had laughed about it on the way
home.  For some reason, it didn't seem so silly now.  The way Julie was
explaining it, it seemed to make sense.

"Are you ready to get started?"  Julie asked, motioning me to the chair across
from her.  She pulled several sheets of blank white paper and some pencils out
of a small portfolio she had been carrying, and set them on the table to the
right of the E-meter.

"Sure.  What do I do?"  I could feel that adventure lay ahead, and I was eager
to get started.

"Just hold the cans in your hands in your lap.  Don't move them if you can
help it.  I am going to ask you some questions about yourself, and we'll just
see what happens."

"Now," she gazed at me intently, glancing down every few moments at the meter
dial, "Tell me more about your anxiety attacks."

"Well, they started about a year ago, right after Bill died.  I was just
walking along the street one day when I began to feel this awful feeling of
terror.  It seemed to start in my stomach.  I just had this feeling of terror,
like something terrible was going to happen.  I was too scared to move.  I
just stood there.  Finally it went away.  But it's been happening more and
more...  I don't know, I seem to be afraid of something, but I don't know what
it is."

"OK," Julie said, "that's fine."  She was writing rapidly on the paper as she
spoke.  "You had a read on the phrase `a feeling of terror.'  So that's what
we are going to run."

"Run?"  Another word used in an unfamiliar way.

"Oh, that just means that we are going to use a Dianetics technique to take
this feeling of terror back to its root.  Once we get to the earliest time you
had this feeling, and you are able to reexperience that earliest incident,
then the feeling should go away and never bother you again."
"How do you know if it's the earliest incident?" I wanted to know.
"I can tell by the E-meter.  The needle moves in a certain way when you have
reached the earliest incident.  Now, let's get started."  Julie continued to
adjust the knobs on the meter.

Then she looked at me and said loudly, "Locate an incident containing a
feeling of terror."

"All right," I thought back.  "Yesterday.  Just before the recital.  I started
to experience fear.  I had the feeling that something awful was going to
happen."

"OK," Julie responded.  "What was the date of the incident?"
"Yesterday," I answered.

"All right, what was the duration of the incident?"

I thought back.  "It only lasted a few minutes.  About fifteen minutes."
"OK.  Close your eyes.  Go to the beginning of the incident and scan through
it to the end.  Then tell me what happened."

I closed my eyes and followed her instructions.  I could "see" yesterday's
events very clearly in my mind.

"All right.  I'm there."  I described the event to her.

"Now, is the incident erasing or growing more solid?" she asked.
"It seems to be more solid," I said with my eyes still closed.
"All right.  Now I'm going to ask you if there is an earlier incident
containing a feeling of terror."

"Well, yes.  I had that feeling last week during a class."  With my eyes still
closed I began to visualize the classroom.

"OK.  Now move to the beginning of that incident," Julie commanded.  Then she
asked me the same questions about the date and duration of the "incident." 
Again, at her commands I could clearly visualize the classroom.  The familiar
feeling of terror started its spread from my stomach to the other parts of my
body.  I was beginning to have a familiar feeling of panic.

"Is it getting more solid?" Julie inquired softly.

"I think so.  I'm starting to feel really scared."

"OK.  Now think back and see if you can find the earliest time you had this
feeling of terror."

With my eyes closed, I looked into the blackness, trying to follow Julie's
command.

I don't see anything," I said honestly.

"OK.  Just relax and see if anything comes to your mind.  It doesn't have to
make sense.  Just anything at all.  Look for the earliest time you felt
terror."

Suddenly in my mind, I saw the picture of a foot.  A tiny foot.  Then a hand.
"Well, I see a foot.  It doesn't make any sense.  I just see this little foot. 
And a hand.  And I feel scared.  I don't know what's happening."  I looked
anxiously into the darkness, wanting to see more.

"All right.  Go to the beginning of the incident and tell me when you are
there."

"I'm there," I said uncertainly.

"Scan through to the end of the incident and tell me what happened."
"Well, I see this little foot and this hand and it's pulling the foot.  It's
holding this baby upside down and spanking it.

It's a baby that's just been born.  And I feel scared.  Really scared.  I feel
like I don't know what's happening."

Julie looked at me expectantly, but in silence.

"That's me, isn't it?  That was me in the picture.  I was being born.  And I
was scared."  I opened my eyes and looked across at Julie, wanting some kind
of confirmation.  But she just continued to look at me as if she was expecting
something else.  But what?  I closed my eyes again.

Then I noticed that the terror inside me was subsiding, and I felt myself
slipping into a state of deep relaxation.  The picture started to fade away
into the darkness, getting smaller and smaller.  Then something unexpected
started to happen.  I opened my eyes and looked straight at Julie.  Suddenly I
started to laugh.  For no reason I just started laughing as if I had just
heard the world's funniest joke.  The laughter seemed to come from deep inside
me, and I couldn't stop it.

Julie just sat there, looking at me, with a fixed expression, unsmiling,
apparently not sharing any of my mysterious mirth.

After I had sobered up, Julie continued to stare at me and then said solemnly,
"I'd like to indicate that your needle is floating.  This is the end of the
session.  You can put down the cans."

"That's it?  That's all there is to it?  You mean my anxiety attacks are
cured?"

"Well, you just have to wait and see.  There might be other feelings involved. 
Just wait and see," Julie answered as she turned off the meter.  She folded up
the sheets of paper and started packing everything away.  "Now I want to take
you over to the center.  Come on.  You have to see the Examiner."
We drove to an older house not far from the university.  I still had a
lingering feeling of elation from the mysterious session.

As we walked in the house, I was directed to a small room off to the right.  A
sign over the door said, "Examiner."  In the middle of the room was a table
with an E-meter already set up in the middle of it.  A young boy of about high
school age was sitting at the table and he motioned for me to take the chair
across from him.

"Pick up the cans," he commanded as he looked at the meter and adjusted the
knobs.  Then he looked across at me and said solemnly, "Thank you.  Your
needle is floating.  You can put down the cans."  Then he smiled.  "You have
to come and see the Examiner after every session," he explained, seeing my
obvious confusion.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because, if your needle isn't floating or if the tone arm is reading too
high," he said pointing to one of the larger knobs on the meter, "then you
might have to go directly into a Review session.  To correct what went wrong
in your session.  That's all.   But you are fine.  Your needle was floating
all over the dial." 
He looked at me with satisfaction.  Then he got up and I went out to rejoin
Julie in the hallway.  The boy handed Julie a piece of paper and quickly
disappeared into another room.

"Come on.  I want you to meet everyone." 
We walked into the living room where several people were sitting as if they
were waiting for something.  It reminded me of the reception area in a
doctor's office.

Julie introduced me to an older woman who was seated at a desk piled high with
papers.

"This is Rita," Julie said as the woman smiled at me.  "She's the director of
the center."  Then she looked over toward several people sitting on some sofas
in the center of the room.  They all seemed to be about my age or a little
older.

"Margery just had her first session," Julie announced triumphantly.
"Oh, wow.  That's great.  Congratulations," several of them came over to me
and hugged me and shook my hand.  
"I can tell just by looking at you that it was a success," the older woman
beamed at me as she got up and took me by the hand.  "Now come and I'll show
you around the center.  We'll have to get you signed up for the Communication
Course."

"The Communication Course?"  But my question was lost as she began to
introduce me around.  There were more hugs.  I felt like an honored guest.  I
responded to their friendly smiles and warm congratulations.  I had never seen
so many apparently happy people.  They could all have been on drugs, but their
eyes were clear and direct, and they had a relaxed alertness that seemed to
belie any drug involvement.

Julie told me that we had to get a "C/S" before she could audit me further. 
She explained that someone called the Case Supervisor had to look over the
notes she had taken during our session, and write down for Julie the
instructions for our next session.  This written page of instructions was
called a "C/S."

She explained that the other people in the living room were either auditors or
their "preclears" and that they were also waiting for a "C/S" before they
could resume auditing.

"Look," Julie told me.  "I have some work I need to do.  Why don't you stop
back around seven tonight and we'll see what's next?  I'll meet you right by
the front door."

"OK.  Thanks."  As I walked toward the front door, I saw a small poster
hanging in the hall that had a picture of Earth done in crayons, and black
lettering below that said, "What would you be doing if there were only seven
days left until the end of the world?" 
"Strange," I thought, but quickly dismissed it from my mind.
As I walked home, it seemed to me that everything was a bit brighter.  I
seemed to be unusually alert, noticing the bright, metallic colors of the cars
parked along the street, and the unusual vividness of the leaves on the trees. 
I had smoked marijuana a few times at parties, and this seemed curiously
similar to the heightened perceptions I had when "high" on grass.  Everything
just looked more vivid.

When I got home, I went in the bathroom and looked into the mirror.  Something
caught my attention.  Suddenly I felt a rush of euphoria as I looked at myself
in the mirror.  A thought was forming somewhere deep in my mind, making its
way to the surface like a bubble.

"That's not me," the thought made me simultaneously confused and elated.  My
mind was racing ahead as I tried to grope for some sort of mental order.
"That's not me."  Again I looked into the mirror, into my own eyes.
"That's my body.  But it's not me.  I am different.  They're right.  I'm not
my body, I'm something else.  I am different than my body."  Then I felt an
explosion all around me.  It seemed as if the walls had just exploded all
around me.  I looked around.  Nothing had moved.  What was that explosion? 
This was wild!
I decided to go back to the house.  I needed to talk to someone.  Something
was happening to me.

As I walked I noticed that the colors around me were still unusually bright. 
And I still had the feeling of euphoria.  I was feeling like at any moment I
could explode into a million tiny particles.

I walked up the steps and into the house.  I found Rita talking to someone in
the living room.  She saw me, and quickly came over.

"What is it?"  She put her hand on my arm.

"I'm not sure.  I just had a very strange experience."  I told her about the
colors and the brightness I had observed on the way home, and then my thoughts
as I looked into the mirror and the strange explosion.

"OK.  You need to go in and see the Examiner again and tell him exactly what
you have just told me.  It's OK," she looked at me reassuringly and smiled. 
"Don't worry.  This has happened to other people.  You're just going a little
faster than usual, that's all."

She didn't seem to be alarmed.

I was again seated at the table with the young boy, and I repeated what I had
told Rita, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

He was writing down notes as I was talking.  Then, after staring for a long
time at the E-meter dial, he finally looked up at me and said with an
expressionless face, "Your needle is floating.  You can go and wait in the
living room."

So I went and sat in a chair on the far side of the room.  The other people in
the room seemed to be absorbed in reading or in quiet, private conversations,
so I just sat there, wondering what I was waiting for.

Half an hour later, the young boy appeared in the doorway.  He held a manilla
folder in his hand.  Then very loudly, he shouted out, "That's it!  Margery
has just attained the state of keyed out Clear!"

Suddenly the room came to life.  At once, everyone was looking at me, and
clapping.  They were all smiling.

"Speech, speech!" they were shouting while the clapping turned rhythymical.
"Well," I stammered, crimson from all the unexpected attention, "I feel really
good.  I'm not sure what has happened to me, but I feel great."
The clapping continued.  Finally, Rita's voice came from the doorway.  "OK,
everyone.  That's it.  You can go back to your reading." 
The clapping stopped as suddenly as it had started and everyone turned back to
their activities.  Julie had appeared in the room with Rita.  They were both
laughing as they came up to me.  I must have looked very confused.
"What in the world is keyed out Clear?" I managed to ask them.
"It means," Julie replied, "it means that you have just temporarily achieved
the state of Clear.  Sometimes the reactive mind moves out of the way
temporarily and you actually feel like you would if you were Clear.  I can't
believe this happened to you after just one session!"

"Margery," Rita saw that I was still confused, "the only way to really get
Clear is to do all the grades in Scientology that lead up to Clear."
She led me over to a large chart on the wall, printed in red.  It was labelled
in big red letters at the top, "The Bridge to Total Freedom."  There were rows
of little boxes on the chart and I quickly understood that each level on the
chart represented a different level in Scientology.

"You are here," Rita pointed to the lowest level, "and Clear is here,"
pointing to a level halfway up the chart.  "You must do all these levels in
between to become a real Clear.  However, because you have achieved the state
of keyed out Clear, I'm afraid that you can only be audited from now on by
someone who is Clear or above," she motioned to the levels at the top of the
chart.

"What about Julie?"  I looked toward Julie who was standing there silently.
"She's not Clear, so she can't audit you here anymore.  We don't have anyone
here who is Clear yet, other than myself.  I'm Clear, but I'm not
tech-trained, so I can't audit you either."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"  I was feeling even more confused.
"I'm afraid," Rita looked at me smiling broadly, "you're going to have to go
to Los Angeles to continue your auditing.  You have suddenly exceeded our
ability to help you."

"I can't go to Los Angeles.  I'm in school.  Here."  I looked helplessly at
both of them.

"Margery," Julie said slowly, "you will just have to make a decision.  You
really don't know much about Scientology yet.  It goes way beyond anything you
can even imagine.  Look at these top levels."  She pointed to a level just
above Clear.

"These are the OT levels.  When you get to these levels you will achieve
states of mind that before this time people have only dreamed about.  And if
you go to L.A. you can train to become an auditor yourself.  This is just the
beginning of a great adventure for you.  There are no limits in this game. 
There is no problem that auditing can't handle."

"And besides," she continued, "didn't you tell me that you wanted to help
people?  Well, there isn't anything you can do that will make as much of a
difference as becoming an auditor.  This is the most powerful stuff in the
whole world, in fact, in the whole universe.  Just think about it."
I was dizzy.  Los Angeles?  I thought about the life I had here in Ann Arbor. 
Somehow things weren't the same.  Somehow working in the coffee house and
going to classes seemed pretty dull compared with the events I had experienced
in the past two days.  This was an adventure.  What did I have to lose? 
If it didn't work out I could always come back.

I made a decision.  I looked up at Rita and Julie.

"OK.  I'm going.  I'm going to L.A."

"All right!," Julie grabbed me in a big hug.  "This kid's gonna go Clear!" 
"OK," said Rita.  "We're going to have to make some phone calls.  Let's get
busy."  She looked at me proudly.  "You have a wonderful adventure ahead of
you.  I promise you, you will never be the same again."

She would never know how true those words were to be.


III.  FOR THE NEXT ENDLESS       TRILLIONS OF YEARS

I stared out the window as the plane dipped into the
greenish-yellow smog bank blanketing the city below.  Five minutes earlier the
captain had announced our descent into Los Angeles.

I was thinking about the adventure that lay waiting for me in the city that
was beginning to materialize below as we cleared the smoggy haze.  I was also
thinking of Julie's last words to me as we parted at the airport in Ann Arbor. 
"Remember," she said with a smile, "the true test of a thetan is to make
things go right."

The past three days had been a blur of activity.  I had to formally withdraw
from school, leaving behind a slate of incomplete classes.  My school record
read simply "Withdrew for personal reasons."

I called my mother and asked if she could come and help me pack up my things. 
"I'm going to California to study Scientology," I announced.
"What's Scientology?" I could hear the suspicion in her voice.
"It's a new science of the mind," I informed her.  "It's the psychology of the
future.  I am going to train to become an auditor.  A new kind of counselor. 
I'll be able to really help people."

She arrived the next day, pleading with me to at least finish the semester
before beginning my odyssey west.

"What kind of school is this Scientology anyway," she wanted to know.  "I've
never heard of it and neither has your father.  Are you sure it's accredited?"
"Mom," I remonstrated, slightly annoyed that she was not willing to share my
enthusiasm, "what does it matter if it's not accredited?  It's new.  It's
light years ahead of traditional psychotherapy" (I had heard that phrase at
the center).  "I'm going to be able to really help people.  You know that's
all I ever really cared about."

Unconvinced, but seeing that I was not to be dissuaded, she helped me load my
meager belongings into the back of the station wagon.  "We'll just keep
everything for you in the basement until you come back."  As she drove off, I
looked back into the empty apartment and thought, "Well, there's no turning
back now.  L.A., here I come."

The wheels of the plane made contact with the runway and I was abruptly jolted
back into the present.  I retrieved my one small suitcase and asked directions
to a bus headed into Los Angeles.  Inside my purse was a slip of paper with my
destination, "820 South Burlington Street.  Celebrity Center," and a name,
"Antonio Ferraro."

I probably looked like any other student in the late sixties, in my Indian
print dress, leather sandals, and appleseed necklace.  An hour and a crowded
bus ride later, I stood outside a low wooden building on the corner of
Burlington and Eighth Streets in downtown Los Angeles, in the MacArthur Park
district.

The large sign on the building said "Welcome to Celebrity Center."  A smaller
sign on the door read, "A Center for Artists.  Church of Scientology."
I had been told that the main Scientology center, the Los Angeles "Org" (or
organization) was located a few blocks away on Ninth Street, but that
Celebrity Center was a special center which catered to artists and to
celebrities in the motion picture business.  Because of my musical abilities
it had been decided to refer me here.

The front door was open.  I walked in and was immediately greeted by a short,
older woman with clear blue eyes and an eager smile.

"Hello, dear," she greeted me, putting her hand on my arm in a friendly
gesture.  "Can I help you?"

"I'm supposed to ask for Antonio.  I just came from Ann Arbor."  I gave her
Rita's name.

"Oh, yes.  We've been expecting you.  I'm so glad you're here.  Come.  Let's
find Antonio and get you started."  I followed her into a large room just
behind the reception area.

The room was somewhat dark and it took me several seconds to adjust to the
lighting.  Then I saw several long rows of tables with about a dozen people
sitting, obviously absorbed in study.  Some of them seemed to be working in
pairs and were quietly conversing.

I was immediately struck by how quiet the room was, like a library.  The only
sounds were the low murmur of voices and the sound of rustling papers.
A woman in a white uniform was slowly circling the tables, observing the
students.  She held a clipboard in her hand.  As I watched, she would
occasionally write something on the clipboard, then wordlessly hand a pink
sheet of paper to one of the students.

At the front of the room, an older man was seated at a desk piled with manilla
folders.  A sign on the desk read "Registrar."  The older woman, who had
introduced herself as Aileen, lead me to the desk.

"This is Antonio," she smiled.  "Antonio, this is Margery.  She's just come
from Michigan to do some training with us.  I know you'll be able to get her
oriented."  She took my hand.  "We'll talk later.  The most important thing is
for you to get started on course."  She averted her intense gaze, and looked
at Antonio with a knowing smile.  He nodded, then looked at me and pointed
toward a chair next to his desk.

"Welcome," he looked at me, also smiling broadly.  "Welcome to Scientology,
the Road to Total Freedom."  It was a phrase I would hear many times in the
coming years.

Antonio gestured toward the classroom.  "This is our courseroom.  This is
where we teach the Dianetics course, and where you'll learn to become an
auditor."  He paused, then looked at me as if he were wondering whether or not
to let me in on a secret.

"Miracles happen here every day.  Miracles.  You'll see."

I looked back at the room.  Over to the side of the long tables were other
students, in pairs, seated in chairs facing each other and staringly
wordlessly into each other's eyes.

"What are they doing?" I asked Antonio.

"They're doing `TR zero.'  TR stands for Training Routine.  It's one of the
drills on the Dianetics Course.  It's a drill to improve your eye contact, and
your `confront' as an auditor."

"Confront?"  I was puzzled, not remembering ever having heard the word used as
a noun before.

"That means the ability of the auditor to accept whatever the preclear says or
does in the auditing session without any reaction from his own case," Antonio
explained.

"Case?"  Another new word.

"Case, yes.  Case is a word we use for the preclear's reactive mind.  It is
also called a `bank.'  When the person's reactive mind or bank is restimulated
it means that he is `keyed in' or `banky.'"

I looked at him and laughed.  "Did I just land on a different planet?  I feel
like I'm learning a whole new language."

"That's because Scientology is different from any other subject.  We use new
words so that people studying our courses don't get Scientology ideas confused
with ideas in other subjects, like psychology."

"What are those people doing?" I asked, pointing to a smaller table at which
two people seemed to be making small figures out of clay.

"That is the clay table.  In all of your courses here, you will be asked to
demonstrate the concepts that you are learning in clay.  You have to actually
show the ideas in clay.  That is to add `mass' to the `significance' of the
written words.  Hubbard found that people get sleepy when they read for long
periods of time.  When you add mass to their learning, by having them do
practical drills or demonstrate things in clay, they are more alert, and can
study for longer periods of time."

At another table, I noticed another student with headphones listening to a
tape recording.  Occasionally, the student would chuckle out loud at something
he heard on the tape.

I looked back at Antonio.  "This is different from any classroom I've ever
seen before.  It's not like school at all."

"You are in for many surprises in Scientology," Antonio beamed.  "Your life
will never be the same again."

"Yeah, everyone keeps saying that."  I looked out again at the strange
classroom.  "So, Antonio, what do I have to do to get started?"
Antonio pulled out a long piece of paper printed with green ink.  "This is a
routing form," he said as he started to fill out the form.  "We'll just get
you routed onto course."

After several routine questions, he asked me how much money I had brought with
me.  "Five hundred dollars," I told him honestly.  "Maybe a few dollars more."
"Well, that's great, because that's exactly the cost of the Dianetics course,"
he looked at me happily.  "You'll be able to get started right away."
"I thought the first course was the Communication Course?"  (In Ann Arbor I
had been told that my first course would only cost fifty dollars.)
"Yes, many people start with the Communication Course, but in your case, you
can go directly onto the Dianetics Course.  That will save you some money. 
And all of the materials from the Communication Course are included on the
Dianetics Course, so you won't lose anything.  And I can see that you have too
much awareness to need the Communication Course.  You are ready for
Dianetics."

I accepted his explanation, but there was an obvious problem.  "But what will
I do about a place to stay and a job.  This is all the money I have."
"That's no problem," Antonio assured me.  "We will find a place next door for
you to stay.  Right now all you have to worry about is just being on course. 
Everything will be taken care of."

So I dug into my purse and handed Antonio my total savings.  After I had
signed the routing form in several places, Antonio led me over to the woman in
the white uniform.

"This is the Course Supervisor," he informed me as he introduced me.  "She
will give you your course pack.  And if you have any questions, she's the
person to ask.  We'll have time to talk again later."

With none of the smiling warmth of Antonio and Aileen, the Course Supervisor
stared at me with an expressionless face.  "Sit over there," she motioned me
to an empty seat.  "I'll get you your pack."

A minute later she handed me an two-inch thick legal sized packet which was
bound and printed in red ink.  "DIANETICS", with small letters at the bottom. 
"Copyright, L. Ron Hubbard."

The first few pages of the pack were marked "CHECKSHEET."  Each item of the
checksheet was numbered, and there were spaces after each item which were
obviously to be initialed after each item was read.  Some of the lines had a
star before them, with the explanation that all starred items were to be
"starrated" by another student.  I would be quizzed on these items by another
student who then had to initial my sheet.

As I looked through the pack, I noticed that some of the pages of the pack
were printed in green ink.  At the top they were marked "HCO POLICY LETTER." 
Further on in the pack were other sheets printed in red and marked "HCO
BULLETIN."  At the top of all the pages were the words "HUBBARD COMMUNICATIONS
OFFICE, Saint Hill Manor, East Grinstead, Sussex."

I turned to the first page after the checksheet.  It was a green page with the
title "The Aims of Scientology."

"A civilization without insanity, without criminals and without war," the
essay began, "where the able can prosper and honest beings can have rights,
and where Man is free to rise to greater heights, are the aims of Scientology.
"First announced to an enturbulated world fifteen years ago, these aims are
well within the grasp of our technology.

"Non-political in nature, Scientology welcomes any individual of any creed,
race or nation.

"We seek no revolution.  We seek only evolution to higher states of being for
the individual and for Society.

"We are achieving our aims.

"After endless millenia of ignorance about himself, his mind and the Universe,
a breakthrough has been made for Man.

"Other efforts Man has made have been surpassed.

"The combined truths of Fifty Thousand years of thinking men, distilled and
amplified by new discoveries about Man, have made for this success.
"We welcome you to Scientology.  We only expect of you your help in achieving
our aims and helping others.  We expect you to be helped.

"Scientology is the most vital movement on Earth today.

"In a turbulent world, the job is not easy.  But then, if it were, we wouldn't
have to be doing it.

"We respect Man and believe he is worthy of help.  We respect you and believe
you, too, can help.

"Scientology does not owe its help.  We have done nothing to cause us to
propitiate.  Had we done so, we would not now be bright enough to do what we
are doing.

"Man suspects all offers of help.  He has often been betrayed, his confidence
shattered.  Too frequently he has given his trust and been betrayed.  We may
err, for we build a world with broken straws.  But we will never betray your
faith in us so long as you are one of us.

"The sun never sets on Scientology.

"And may a new day dawn for you, for those you love and for Man.
"Our aims are simple, if great.

"And we will succeed, and are succeeding at each new revolution of the Earth.
"Your help is acceptable to us.

"Our help is yours."

And at the bottom was the signature of L.  Ron Hubbard.

That sounds really great, I thought.  I initialled my checksheet and turned
the page.

Next I started to read a biography of Hubbard.

Hubbard, I read, was born in Nebraska in 1911 and was raised on his
grandfather's cattle ranch in Montana.  He could ride before he could walk. 
As a teenager he spent several years traveling in Asia, studying with Lama
Priests and "other warlike people."

Later he enrolled at George Washington University, and was a member of the
first course in nuclear physics.  He later led an expedition into Central
America to study savage cultures.

He was crippled and blinded at the end of World War II but cured himself by
applying to himself his discoveries about the mind.  He was twice pronounced
dead, but later given a perfect bill of health.

With the publication of Dianetics, the "Modern Science of Mental
Health" was established as a worldwide organization.  "Scientology is the most
vital movement on Earth today....  Every week thousands of new people are
introduced to its great benefits."

The biography concluded, "The long sought bridge to total freedom for Mankind
was complete."

Next, I read an essay in green ink titled, "My Philosophy," by L.  Ron
Hubbard.

"I like to help others," I read, "and count it as my greatest pleasure in life
to see a person free himself of the shadows which darken his days...
"I have lived no cloistered life and hold in contempt the wise man who has not
lived and the scholar who will not share...

"There have been many wiser men than I, but few have traveled as much road...
"I have seen life from the top down and the bottom up.  I know how it looks
both ways.  And I know that there is wisdom and that there is hope...
"No man has any monopoly upon the wisdom of this universe.  It belongs to
those who can use it to help themselves and others.

"If things were a little better known and understood, we would all lead
happier lives.

"And there is a way to know them and there is a way to freedom.
"The old must give way to the new, falsehood must be exposed by truth, and
truth, though fought, always in the end prevails."

Again, on the bottom, was the signature of L.  Ron Hubbard.

The next essay was called "Safeguarding Technology."  In it, Hubbard stated
that, "In fifty thousand years of history on this planet alone, Man never
evolved a workable system.  It is doubtful if, in foreseeable history, he will
ever evolve another.

"Man is caught in a huge and complex labyrinth.  To get out of it requires
that he follow the closely taped path of Scientology.

"It has taken me a third of a century in this lifetime to tape this route
out....

"Scientology is the only workable system Man has.  It has already taken people
toward higher IQ, better lives and all that.  No other system has.  So realize
it has no competitor...

"Don't let your party down.  By whatever means, keep them on the route.  And
they'll be free.  If you don't, they won't."

In my mind, I could almost hear a band playing.  Patriotism I never knew I
possessed was stirring inside me.  At last, I thought, after eighteen
depressing years of frustration and failure, maybe I have finally found the
winning team.

The next essay was even more intense.  It hinted of danger.

"When somebody enrolls, consider he or she has joined up for the duration of
the universenever permit an open-minded approach.  If they're going to
quit let them quit fast.  If they enrolled, they're aboard, and if they're
aboard, they're here on the same terms as the rest of uswin or die in the
attempt."

As I read on to the end of this policy letter, I came to a paragraph that I
had to read twice.  Did it say what I think it said?
"We're not playing some minor game in Scientology.  It isn't cute or something
to do for lack of something better....  The whole agonized future of this
planet, every Man, Woman and Child on it, and your own destiny for the next
endless trillions of years depends on what you do here and now with and in
Scientology."

"Wow," I thought.  "Heavy."  This was more than I had expected.  But then,
really, what had I expected?
I looked around the room at the other students who were quietly studying.  I
suddenly had the feeling that I had not only arrived in a different city, but
in a different world.

Whatever had been important to me before, now paled in comparison with what I
was discovering on these pages.  I was being led into a new world, with new
ideas, new words, new people, and new priorities.

In one day my priorities had shifted from the mundane unimportances of my
barren life as a college student to the profound ideals I was discovering in
these pages.  It was almost scary.  In reading Hubbard's words, I felt a
challenge.  Challenge to go beyond anything I had ever expected of myself, or
imagined myself capable of.  Here was a chance to be and do something heroic.
How often, I wondered, does a person have a chance like this?  A chance to
make a universal difference in life.

Goodbye, old life, I thought.  Somehow, after reading just these few pages, I
knew I would not be returning to college any time soon.

Instead, I walked eagerly and trustingly into the world of Scientology,
without so much as a backwards look.  If this was the ship called Scientology,
I was aboard.


IV.  FLUNK FOR LAUGHING!  START!

Just as I was finishing the last policy letter in the first
section of my checksheet, the Course Supervisor called out in a loud voice,
"That's it!  Afternoon break!"  At once chairs were pushed back and study
packs closed as everyone filed out the front door into the parking lot.
There was a long square log bordering a small garden by the front door which
served as a bench for the students during the break.  Several students were
lighting up cigarettes.

I noticed a girl about my own age sitting by herself.

"Hi," I ventured.  "I'm Margery.  I just started the course this afternoon."
"Hi.  Welcome.  I'm Kris," she reached out her hand.  "So what do you think so
far?"

"It's pretty wild.  This is different from anything I've ever done before.  I
guess I'm still wondering if it's all real.  Maybe I'm just having a very
strange dream."  I laughed as I turned up the sleeves of my dress to take
advantage of the hot California sun.

"Oh, it's real all right.  I wondered at the beginning too.  But the auditing
really works.  That's what convinced me.  I've had so many wins from auditing. 
Now I just want to get up the bridge and go OT.  That's where it's at."  She
stared abstractedly into the distance for a few seconds.  "How'd you get in,
anyway?"

"A friend at school.  In Michigan.  Everything's happened so fast.  If you had
told me a week ago that I'd be dropping out of school and coming to
California, I would have thought you were crazy.  But here I am."  I shook my
head as she offered me a cigarette.  "How about you?  I mean, how did you get
in?"

"Oh, my whole family's in.  My brother got in first, then my parents.  Now my
parents are in the Sea Org.  They're on the ship.  And my brother's an auditor
at the Org," she pointed vaguely in a southwesterly direction.
"I would have joined the Sea Org too.  It would be cool to be on the ship with
Ron.  But I have a small part in a film, so I can't leave right now."
"Ron?"  I looked puzzled.

"Ron.  Hubbard.  He likes us to call him Ron.  He's neat.  He really cares
about everyone.  Wait till you listen to his tapes.  He's funny.  But he's a
genius to have figured out how the mind works.  I mean, no one else for
thousands of years has been able to figure it out."  She looked at me, her
eyes sparkling.

"Have you ever met him?" I asked her.

"No, but I would give anything just to say hello to him one time.  He pretty
much stays on the ship.  I am so jealous of my parents.  They get to work with
him every day.  I could have gone on the ship, but I want to become a famous
actress first.  That's the best way I can help the third dynamic.  By getting
my acting into power."

"Third dynamic?"  The question was just out of my mouth when I heard a stern,
"That's it.  End of break.  Let's get back on course.  And I want to see some
stats this afternoon!"  The uniformed Course Supervisor stood in the doorway
looking very military.  She had a red lanyard around her neck to which a
whistle was attached.  I waited for her to use it but she didn't.
The students quickly followed her into the courseroom and took their seats. 
As soon as everyone was seated, the Supervisor called out, "All right. 
Start!"  The classroom was quiet once again.

I looked at my checksheet.  The next section was called "Training Drills." 
According to the instructions I needed a "twin" to do the drills.
I went up the Supervisor.  She looked around the classroom.  "OK," she said. 
"I think George needs to do TR's.  Go have a seat and I'll get him," she
pointed to the pairs of chairs in the back of the room.

A minute later, an older man approached and stretched out his hand.  "Hi," he
said warmly.  "I'm George.  I hear you need to do TR's."

"Yeah, I guess," I hesitated.  "I've never done them before."
"That's OK.  Let's read the bulletin," and he opened his pack to the same page
I was on.

"TR 0 Confronting," I read.  "Purpose: To train student to confront a preclear
with auditing only or with nothing.  Training Stress: Have student and coach
sit facing each other, neither making any conversation or effort to be
interesting.  Have them sit and look at each other and say and do nothing for
some hours.  Student must not speak, fidget, giggle or be enbarrassed..."
"All right," George looked at me pleasantly.  "I'll be the coach.  We do this
for two hours.  Get comfortable."

I adjusted myself in the chair and put my hands on my lap.

"Ready?"  George sat in a similar position directly across from me.  Our knees
were almost touching.

I nodded.

"OK, start!" George commanded.

I looked into George's eyes, wondering what was going to happen.  He looked
back at me with a flawless, unblinking stare.  I blinked my eyes.
"Flunk for blinking!  Start!"  George said sternly.

"You mean I can't even blink?" I asked incredulously.

"Flunk for talking!  Start!"  George said, still maintaining his perfect stare
into my eyes.

I tried to return the same perfect stare he was giving me.  My mouth started
to quiver.

"Flunk for moving your mouth.  Start!"  George was merciless.
All right, I thought to myself.  This is serious.  Then I thought of
something.

"George," I interrupted.  "Wait a minute.  If I flunk, does that mean we have
to start the two hours over again?"

"That's it," he said, temporarily ending the drill.  He smiled at me and said,
"Right.  The two hours will start over again every time I say `Start.'  When
you can do TR 0 flawlessly for two hours, then we are finished with the
drill."

Before I could ask him anything else, he had resumed his staring and
commanded, "Flunk for talking!  Start!" and we were off again.
I tried as hard as I could not to blink.  Soon I could feel the tears welling
up in my eyes.  My eyes were burning from the salty liquid.  But I forced
myself not to blink.  George continued his seemingly effortless blinkless
stare.

As I stared into George's eyes, I began to see an aura of colors around his
head.  The colors were flowing in streams around his head.  Then the colors
expanded into the whole room.  I watched with awe as the whole room became
filled with flowing colors.

Meanwhile my pain was increasing.  The tears started to run down my cheeks. 
Inside I was crying with pain.  But stubborness competed with the pain.  "If
he can do it," I thought to myself determinedly, "then I can do it too."  I
was feeling pain in my whole body.  I was suddenly conscious of the chair, and
it felt painful against my body.  I wanted desperately to move and to ease the
pain of the chair against the pressure points of my body.  This was torture.
The time went on.  I began to have sensations of my body being contorted out
of shape.  The flowing colors in the room became even more vivid.  I was
feeling strangely dizzy.  I wondered if I was going to pass out.  I was
feeling light-headed, almost like I had felt once at the dentist when I had
been given gas before having a tooth extracted.

How much time had gone by?  I continued my stare.  I wanted to look down at my
watch.  I wondered how were we going to know when two hours had gone by.  The
thought of having to sit here until the Supervisor called the dinner break was
not a good thought.

The time continued to pass by.  The excruciating pain at the point where my
hipbones met the chair seemed to be going away, and I was beginning to feel a
sense of expansiveness, as if I were expanding like a balloon into the space
in the classroom.

Suddenly I had a rushing feeling of euphoria.  I felt as if I was floating,
looking down at everyone from a thousand points all over the room.  This was
better than anything I had ever experienced on marijuana.

"Far out," I thought to myself.  The pain was gone.  "I feel like I could sit
here like this for a thousand years."  I was enjoying the expansive high.  The
colors were gone.  Instead, I saw the room with crystal clarity.  I felt an
unaccustomed serenity.   I could just stay like this forever, I was thinking,
when suddenly George reached forward and tapped my shoulder.
"That's it," he said quietly.  "You have just passed TR 0."

"Wow," I said.  "I don't know if I can even stand up.  I feel like I have been
blasted out of my head."

"Exactly," he looked at me and smiled.  "Congratulations.  Most people don't
do that well the first time.  I can see that you are going to be an excellent
student."

I tried to move my head.  I was still feeling like I was located at some
remote point from my body, making motion difficult.  I tried to stand up and
stretch, but felt dizzy.  I felt as if I was moving my body by remote control.
 George looked at his watch.  "Well, we don't really have time to do any more
before dinner.  Why don't we continue after dinner.  That will give you some
time to enjoy your win from TR 0."  He seemed to understand that I was still
trying to get back in control of my body.

"Don't worry," he assured me.  "You are probably just feeling a bit exterior. 
It takes a little getting used to.  I'll see you here after dinner."
I opened my pack, and looked at the next drill.

"TR 0 Bullbait," I read.  "Purpose: To train student to confront a preclear
with auditing or with nothing.  The whole idea is to get the student able to
BE there comfortably in a position three feet in front of the preclear without
being thrown off, distracted or reacting in any way to what the preclear says
or does.

"Training Stress: After the student has passed TR 0 and he can just BE there
comfortably, `bull baiting' can begin.  Anything added to BEING THERE is
sharply flunked by the coach.  The coach may say anything or do anything
except leave the chair.  The student's `buttons' can be found and tromped on
hard."

I read it over a second time but I still didn't understand what we were
supposed to do.  I decided to go up and ask the Supervisor.

"Excuse me," I approached her.  "I don't understand this drill.  Can you
explain it to me?"

She looked at me with disapproval.  "What word don't you understand?" she
asked coldly.

"What word?"  I was puzzled.

"Yes.  According to the tech, if you don't understand something in the
materials, then it means you have gone past a word you didn't understand.  You
need to find your word and look it up," and she handed me a dictionary that
had been sitting on the table.

I felt confused, but decided to take her advice.  I looked through the passage
I had just read.

I looked at the word baited.  Maybe that was it.  I turned to the b's in the
dictionary.

"Bait," I looked through the definitions.  "3.  To tease or goad, especially
so as to provoke a reaction," I read.  That sounds right.  I read the passage
again.  It seemed to make a little more sense.

Just then the Supervisor called the dinner break.  I went over to Antonio who
was still seated at his desk.

"Well, how was course?"  Antonio smiled at me.  "I heard you did TR 0 like a
pro.  That means you'll make an excellent auditor."  He didn't give me a
chance to reply.

"I suppose I should show you to your accomodations."  He got up from the desk
and led me to the front door.  We walked around the corner to a large blue
house directly behind the center.

"This is our staff house," he explained as we approached the house.  "You'll
be staying here until we can find you permanent accomodations."
"But how am I going to pay for it?" I asked him.  "And what about food.  I
don't have any more money."

"You can pay us back by becoming a top-notch auditor," he smiled.  "You'll be
eating with us in the staff dining room.  Come, I'll show you."
First he took me to a small room just off the hallway in the front of the
house.  There were three beds in the room.  "I think this one is unoccupied,"
Antonio said, pointing to the bed just inside the door.  I put my suitcase
under the bed.

"Now, let's go eat."  We walked back to the dining room where Aileen and six
or seven other people were already eating.  "Take a plate and help yourself,"
I was told.  The food was served family style.  I hadn't eaten on the plane,
so was famished by this time.  And I started to feel the fatigue of the long
day and the unfamiliar events.

I listened to the conversation at the table.  I realized that I didn't
understand much of what they were saying.  It really did seem like a different
language.  Many of the words sounded familiar, but they seemed to be using
them in ways I had never heard them used before.

"This is really an upstat dinner," Aileen said.  "The cook must be in power."
"Yeah," one of the others, a blond haired man in a navy blue uniform with a
gold braid, laughed, "after he got over his ARC break about three unexpected
people for dinner."  He looked at me.

"Is this a new PC?" he asked Antonio.

 "Yes," Antonio replied, introducing me.  "This is Margery.  She's just been
selected here.  Julie is her FSM.  Her stats are already in affluence after
her first day on course."

"Outstanding," the blond man looked at me approvingly.  "We need some new
blood in Tech."

I was too busy eating to ask any questions.  I just tried to understand as
much as I could of their unusual conversation.

After dinner, I volunteered to help with the dishes.

"No," Aileen answered, taking some plates from my hand, "you're not hatted to
work in the kitchen.  And we have a kitchen I/C here to take care of
everything."

"Hatted?  Kitchen I/C?"  I thought I would never learn all the new words.
"I'm sorry," Aileen put her arm on my shoulder.  "I keep forgetting that you
don't know our words yet.  I guess I've just been here too long."
She continued, "Every job in Scientology is called a post, and for every job,
no matter how menial it is, there is a pack of materials which a person
studies to learn or `be hatted' on that post.  For example, Kitchen In Charge
is a post, and only when a person has been hatted on that post can he take
over the job."

"Anyway," she looked at her watch, "you need to be getting back on course."
We walked back to the center together.  I looked at the lush vegetation
surrounding the house.  "I can't believe it's the end of October," I said to
Aileen.  "I've never seen so many beautiful flowers.  At home everything is
brown this time of year."  I admired the bottlebrush bushes lining the
sidewalk.

"I guess we take it for granted," Aileen admitted.  "I am usually so busy that
I don't take time to notice."

"Do you ever have time off?" I asked her.

"Well, we have personal time on Saturday morning.  That's about all.  But I
don't mind the long hours.  I feel honored to be helping Ron.  We have a
planet to clear, and that's a big job.  And there may not be much earth time
to do it in."

I remembered the poster on the wall of the house in Ann Arbor.  "Why?" I asked
her.  "Do you think something's going to happen?"

"We are the only organization on earth that can prevent a nuclear disaster,"
Aileen replied.  "Ron says we have about seven years to clear the planet. 
That's all the time we have.  And if we fail, then that's it.  This planet
will no longer exist."

"But how can Scientology prevent a nuclear war?" I asked her.
"By getting everyone on the planet clear.  When people no longer have their
reactive minds, they will no longer be interested in petty disputes over
territory.  There will be no more war.  But unless we succeed, this world is
doomed.  Technology has advanced much faster than man's ability to use that
technology in a sane way.  That's what happened on this planet thousands of
years ago.  We tried to prevent a disaster once before, but we failed.  We
cannot afford to fail again."

I walked silently beside her, thinking about what she said.

"So there was civilization on the earth in the past and it was destroyed by
atom bombs?" I asked her.

"Yes, thousands of years ago.  Before any recorded history that people know
about today.  But you'll find out more about that in your auditing."
We arrived at the center.  I went in and took my seat.  "That's it," the
Supervisor called out.  "Start of class!"

I met George over by the chairs.  "I'm not sure what is meant by bull
baiting," I told him.

"We'll just do it and you'll see," he suggested.

 We took the same chairs we had used that afternoon.  "Get comfortable," he
advised.

I relaxed in the chair and put my hands in my lap.

"Start!" George commanded.

I sat and again stared into his eyes.  It seemed much easier this time.  I
began to relax and enjoy the same expansive sensation I had experienced
earlier.

Suddenly George leaned forward.

"I see what you're up to," he said to me slyly.  "You're trying to seduce me
aren't you?  You just think I'm an easy lay."

I stared at him, not moving, not sure what to do.

"I know you girls from Michigan," he continued, his voice becoming louder. 
Some of the students at the tables were looking in our direction.
"Your reputation has preceded you.  I know what you're interested in.  It's
SEX," he said the last word very loudly, his face very close to mine.
My eyes were beginning to tear.

"I know all about you.  You're just interested in one thing, aren't you?  And
here I thought you liked me for my mind," he continued, disgustedly.  Some of
the students were beginning to smile.

"You're not interested in my mind at all, are you?  You just want my body. 
That's it, isn't it?  You just want my body?" Now he was leaning over to me
with his face next to mine.

I started to smile, losing my composure because of my embarrassment.
"Flunk for smiling!  Start!" he said loudly.

"You just want my body, don't you," he repeated this a few times.  I tried
desperately to control my muscles.

"Say, you know what, you look likea hippie.  Just look at those beads." 
He reached over and took hold of my appleseed necklace.

"You must be a hippie.  A trippy hippie.  Come on, tell me the truth.  Do you
like to trip?  Did you ever trip and have sex?  How do you like it?  Sex, I
mean.  Are you good in bed?  I'll bet you are.  You Michigan girls are always
good in bed."  My eyes were tearing and I was in excruciating pain.  I
blinked, and the tears flowed down my face.

"Flunk for blinking!  Start!" George said sternly.

"Yeah, I know all about you Michigan girls.  Say, what kind of hairstyle is
this?"  He reached over and pulled my hair.

 "I've seen better hairstyles at the zoo.  And those clothes.  Really," he
said with mock sarcasm.  "Couldn't you find something that fits?  Or don't you
want to show off your body?  Say, do you mind if I look at your body?"
I was feeling humiliated.  Even more tears were flowing from my unblinking
eyes.  My mouth started to twitch.

"Flunk for twitching!  Start!"

 "So you have a button on your body?" George continued.   "Well, we'll just
have to work on that.  What don't you like about your body?  Come on, you can
tell me."  I just continued to stare.

"You know," he went on, "you could stand to lose some weight.  Just a little
though.  I don't like girls who are too thin.  But you have that country look. 
That wholesome look.  Are you wholesome?  I'll bet you are.  Maybe you've
never had sex.  Maybe you're a virgin.  Hey, I've never met a virgin before."
I decided that what I had to do was to look at one point on his face and
concentrate on that instead of on what he was saying.  I chose a spot in the
middle of his forehead.  This seemed to make it a little easier.
Suddenly he clapped his hands in front of my face.  I jumped.
"Flunk for moving!  Start!"

He clapped his hands again.  I didn't move a muscle.

He leaned over and blew in my ear.  "Did you like that?  Did you?  I could do
it again." He leaned over toward me.  I followed him with my eyes, but didn't
move.

"Very good, Margery, very good.  You are doing very well.  I think you'll make
a fine auditor.  That's it.  You pass TR 0 bullbaited."

I tried to relax my body.  Strangely, now that I was doing TR 0, I couldn't
seem to stop it.  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to blink.  My
eyes felt like they were coming out of my head.  I still had the "high"
feeling I had during TR 0.  I felt like I was "stoned."

George clapped me on the shoulder.  "Don't take it personally," he advised me. 
"It's just part of the drill.  Now it's your turn to bullbait me."
I looked at him in shock.  "I can't do that," I looked at him desperately.
 "Why not?" he smiled.  "It's just part of the drill.  Everyone has to do it. 
It isn't anything personal."

"I know, but I don't want to hurt your feelings."

"That's just the thing.  There isn't anything personal about it.  It's just
part of the training to be an auditor.  You're actually doing me a favor by
finding my buttons and flattening them.  Go ahead.  Just try it."
"Start!"  He sat back and resumed his TR 0.

I swallowed.  "All right, mister," I started in.  "You gave it to me and now
I'm going to give it right back to you.  Think you can take it?"  I noticed
his eyebrow move.

"Flunk for moving your eyebrow.  Start!" I told him.

"Think you can take it?" I repeated.  "What kind of man are you anyway?  How
could you ask me all those embarrassing questions?  Those things are none of
your business."  I just sat there, unable to go on.  I started to laugh.
"George," I told him, "I just can't do this.  I'm not used to it."
He relaxed and smiled.  "OK, I guess we've done enough for one day.  Your
confront will come up.  It won't be long before you will be able to bullbait
anyone.  But that's enough for now."

He shook my hand.  "We'll finish the TR's tomorrow.  You might like to listen
to a tape of Hubbard for the rest of the class tonight."

He showed me where the tapes were filed in a file cabinet in the back of the
room.  He handed me a tape.  I plugged in the headphones, wound the tape
leader around the take-up reel and started the tape.

I heard a booming voice.

"Welcome to the Saint Hill Special Briefing Course," Hubbard intoned to his
invisible audience.  "What's the year?" pause, "A.D.  what?"  Someone answers
from the audience  "A.D.  15?"  (I later learned that Scientologists number
their years from the date Dianetics was published.  Therefore A.D. 15 to a
Scientologist would be 1965.)
 "OK," continued the mellifluous voice on the tape.  "What planet are we on? 
Earth?  What in the world are we doing on Earth?" Laughter came from the
audience.

Hubbard's voice had a hypnotic effect.  He sounded so confident, so certain of
himself.  Strong and confident.  I continued to listen to his voice as he told
spellbinding stories about different things he had done in his life. 
Anecdotes about his experiences in the circus, as a seaman, as a photographer,
as a pilot.  It seemed as if there wasn't anything he hadn't done.
After a while, I found it very difficult to follow his train of thought.  Some
of the sentences didn't make any sense, and I wondered what the point of the
tape was.  But I found myself unable to stop listening.  There was something
about Hubbard's voice that was compelling.  Maybe just the fact that he
sounded more sure of himself than anyone I had ever heard before.  Even on
tape he exuded the jovial confidence of a man who had life firmly under
control.  "Life is just a game," he instructed his audience, "not to be taken
seriously.  Seriousness equals mass." That's a new way of looking at it, I
mused.

The events of the day were beginning to catch up with me.  I found myself
yawning.  The Supervisor came over to me.

"Take off the headphones," she commanded with her yet expressionless face.  I
complied immediately.

"Find your MU," she said tersely.

"My MU?" I said with a tired voice.

"Yes.  Your misunderstood word.  The only reason a person yawns when studying
is because of a misunderstood word.  So you'll have to find your word, then go
back earlier in the tape and listen to it again."

"I think I'm just tired," I looked up at her.  "It's been a very long day."
"Don't Q and A," she sounded annoyed.  "According to the tech the only reason
a person yawns while studying is because of an MU.  The tech is never wrong. 
So find your MU.  That's an order."

"OK," I answered meekly.  I went to find a dictionary.  I also noticed a
Scientology dictionary lying on the table.  I looked up the expression she had
used: "Q and A."

"Q and A," I read, "means question and answer.  It means one did not get an
answer to his question.  It also means not getting compliance with an
order..."

I rewound the tape, and started it up again.  Did I really have a
misunderstood word?  Couldn't I just be tired?  I wondered about her
statement, "The tech is never wrong." Something bothered me about that, but I
wasn't sure what it was.  I went back to listening to my tape, trying to
locate a word I hadn't understood.

Soon, however, it was 10:30, and I heard, "That's it.  End of class.  Let's
gather around to report our wins."

There was the sound of chairs scraping against the floor as everyone squeezed
in around one table.

"All right," the Supervisor stood stiffly in front of us.  "Who had a win
today?"

"I did," one of the students volunteered.  I looked over to a young, slim boy
sitting across from me.  "I was auditing a PC (preclear) today, and he totally
keyed out.  I really cognited today that this really does work, and I can
actually help people.  I just feel really good about the tech, and I'm
grateful to Ron for giving it to us."

The rest of the class applauded.

"Yeah," another student joined in, "I did a touch assist today, and the pc's
migraine headache blew.  This stuff is dynamite." More applause.
"My PC finally ran past lives today, and she had a big win," a third student
volunteered.  "I can't wait to do more sessions."

The supervisor interrupted.  "We have a new student today.  This is Margery,
from Michigan.  Would you like to share your wins with us tonight?"  I
realized that everyone was looking at me expectantly.

"Well, everything is all so new to me.  I'm not really sure.  I guess you
could say I keyed out when I did TR 0.  I didn't think I would be able to do
it, but toward the end I felt like I could sit there forever.  I felt really
good at the end," I volunteered, not wanting to let them down.  I felt
relieved as they began to applaud.

 I hadn't even had time to think about everything that had happened during the
day.  When did this day begin?  I thought back, trying to remember.  That
morning in Michigan seemed like an event from the remote past.
A few other students shared their "wins," then we were dismissed.  I walked
back to the house looking up at the bright stars in the western sky.  Could it
really be possible that I was still living in the same world, and these were
the same stars shining that night in the faraway Michigan skies?  Already that
world seemed to be fading into the distant past.  This was a different world
entirely.  And I could feel myself already starting to become a different
person.

Even now, walking back to the house, I felt like I could almost touch the sky. 
The heady euphoria from the TR's was still with me.

 The Road to Total Freedom, I thought as I looked up at the starry sky.  I
wonder where that road will lead me?
 If only I had known the answer to that question then, I could have saved
myself a twelve-year nightmare.


V.  DO FISH SWIM?  DO BIRDS FLY?

I was in a strange city in which the buildings were all a monotone
shade of grey.  I stood in the middle of a wide street as hundreds of people
ran past me, shouting at me and motioning for me to follow them.  I sensed
danger.  Everyone seemed to be running toward an opening at the side of the
street.  It looked like the entrance to a subway station.  As I ran down into
the dark opening, a door closed heavily behind me.

In the darkness I saw people huddled together, some crying, some silent.  I
understood suddenly that this was a bomb shelter.  I was in some city of the
future.  The faces around me mirrored the terror I was feeling inside. 
Suddenly I felt the impact of something hitting the ground above us with
tremendous force.  The earth was shaking violently.  Several people near me
were screaming as panic began to spread.  I knew there was no hope.  The earth
shook crazily as all life above us was destroyed.

I opened my eyes.  Sunlight was streaming through the front windows.  Oh, I
thought with relief, it was just a dream.  Then I realized that the earth
really was shaking.  The pictures on the opposite wall were swaying back and
forth against the wall.  "What in the world?" I said out loud.
On the other side of the room, a man with deep blue eyes and a dark suntan was
watching me with obvious interest.  He was dressed in a white uniform with
gold braid hanging from the shoulder.  He sat on his cot, putting on his
shoes.

"Don't worry, it's only a tremor."  He seemed oblivious to the shaking room. 
"We get them all the time."

I didn't say anything, but lay there clutching my sheet and waiting for the
shaking to stop.  Finally, it did.

"I've never felt anything like that before."  I was trying not to let my voice
reflect the panic I was feeling.  "If that's just a tremor, I'd hate to be in
a real one."

I looked curiously at my roommate.  The room had been empty when I came back
from class last night.  I had fallen into an exhausted sleep, and did not
remember anyone coming into the room during the night.  The third bed also
looked like it had been slept in.

"Sea Org members must not get much sleep," I commented.  "I didn't hear you
come in during the night."

He looked over and smiled.  "We can't be thinking about sleep when there is a
planet to clear," he said moralistically.  "We can all catch up on sleep
later.  Ron says that every minute of time is like a gold coin that we have to
spend.  And how we spend them may very well determine the fate of the earth."
He looked over at me challengingly, and I suddenly felt guilty for being in
bed.

"What time is it anyway?" I asked, not seeing a clock anywhere in the room.
"It's about 0800," he answered, using military time.  "Aren't you supposed to
be on course?"

"Oh, no, I'm late," I wailed.  I grabbed my clothes and ran to the bathroom
down the hall.  Within seconds I was sprinting toward the center.  No time for
coffee this morning.  I just had a second to glance appreciatively at the warm
morning sun, already high in the sky.

I walked into the courseroom, and looked around for George.  He was busy
giving a checkout to one of the other students.  As I looked in his direction,
trying to catch his attention, I heard a voice behind me.

"Miss Wakefield, you're late."  It was more accusation than observation.  I
turned around to look into the steely eyes of the Course Supervisor.  "I'm
afraid you'll have to go to Ethics."  She handed me a pink sheet of paper on
which she had written, "Late for class.  To Ethics for handling."
"Ethics?"  I looked at her for an explanation.

"Ethics.  There in the back.  You'll see the sign on the door."  She pointed
down the hallway to an office in the back.

Obediently, I headed down the hall and knocked on the half open door.  On the
door was a sign: "Ethics.  Master at Arms."

"Come in."  The voice sounded like that of a child.

I peered into the room and saw a young teenage boy seated at a desk behind an
E-meter.  "Well, what is it?" he looked at me coolly.

"I was late for course," I explained, handing him the pink sheet.  "I'm afraid
I overslept.  I was extremely exhausted last night."

"Do you have some counter-intention to being on course?" he looked at me
accusingly.

"Counter-intention?" I asked.

He handed me a Scientology dictionary.  "Look it up," he ordered.
I took the dictionary and turned quickly to the c's.  "Counter-intention," I
read.  "A determination to follow a goal which is in direct conflict with
those known to be the goals of the group."

"You need to locate your counter-intention that caused you to be late for
course," he said matter of factly.

"Well, I think it was just that no one woke me up.  I don't have an alarm
clock.  I would buy one but I spent all my money on the course."  I looked at
him helplessly.  Why was I feeling guilty?
"I'd like to indicate that you are in a condition of danger," he looked at me
coldly.  Why was I feeling so defensive around this kid, I wondered to myself. 
He couldn't be older than thirteen or fourteen.  Yet he had the demeanor of
someone much older.  He spoke with the authority of an adult accustomed to
commanding others.

"What is a condition of danger?"  I was feeling more and more insecure.
"Here," he said, handing me a set of papers in red ink, stapled together, and
titled, "Conditions."  "Go back in the courseroom and starrate this HCOB" (I
guessed that HCOB stood for Hubbard Communications Office Bulletin, which was
printed at the top of the first page).  "When you have finished that, come
back and see me.  And make sure you look up your misunderstood words."  He
looked down at his work, and I realized that I was dismissed.
I went back into the courseroom, and began to read through the bulletin he had
given me.  "Conditions.  A condition is an operating state, and oddly enough
in the physical universe there are several formulas connected with these
operating states."  Then there was a table of twelve Conditions, reading from
top to bottom: Power, Power Change, Affluence, Normal Operation, Emergency,
Danger, Nonexistence, Liability, Doubt, Enemy, Treason, Confusion.
For each condition there was a formula.  The formulas were to be applied one
step at a time, I read, until the entire formula is completed, at which time
the person may apply to be upgraded to the next higher condition.
The formula for the condition of Confusion, the lowest condition, was:  "FIND
OUT WHERE YOU ARE."  "I wonder what that means," I thought.  I looked
carefully through the sentence.  I understood all the words, yet it still
didn't make any sense.  But I decided not to ask.

"Treason," I read next, "is defined as betrayal after trust.  The formula for
the condition of treason is FIND OUT THAT YOU ARE."

I continued to read.  "When a person is an avowed and knowing enemy of an
individual, a group, a project or organization, a condition of Enemy exists. 
The formula for the condition of Enemy is just one step:  FIND OUT WHO YOU
REALLY ARE."

The next formula was more complex.

"When one cannot make up one's mind as to an individual, a group, organization
or project a condition of Doubt exists.  The formula is:
"1.  Inform oneself honestly of the actual intentions and activities of that
individual, group, project or organization brushing aside all bias and rumor.
"2.  Examine the statistics of the individual, group, project or organization.
"3.  Decide on the basis of `the greatest good for the greatest number of
dynamics' whether or not it should be attacked, harmed, suppressed or helped."
Then after one had examined the statistics of the group one currently belonged
to, one would, "Join or remain in or befriend the one which progresses toward
the greatest number of dynamics and announce it publicly to both sides."
"Dynamics."  The word was being used in a new and unfamiliar context.  I
picked up the Scientology dictionary.  "Dynamics," I quickly located the right
page.  "There could be said to be eight urges in life," I read.  "These we
call dynamics.  These are motives or motivations.  We call them the eight
dynamics.

"The first dynamic is the urge toward existence as oneself.  Here we have
individuality expressed fully.  This can be called the self dynamic.
"The second dynamic is the urge toward existence as a sexual or bisexual
activity."  I blinked.  Did I read that right?  I looked again.  Yes, that's
what it said.  "This dynamic actually has two divisions.  Second dynamic (a)
is the sexual act itself and the second dynamic (b) is the family unit,
including the rearing of children.  This can be called the sex dynamic.
"The third dynamic is the urge toward existence in groups of individuals.  The
school, the society, the town, the nation are each part of the third dynamic,
and each one is a third dynamic.  This is also called the group dynamic.
"The fourth dynamic is the urge toward existence as mankind.  Whereas the
white race would be considered a third dynamic, all the races would be
considered the fourth dynamic.  This can be called the mankind dynamic.
"The fifth dynamic is the urge toward existence of the animal kingdom.  This
includes all living things whether animal or vegetable.  The fish in the sea,
the beasts of the field or the forest, grass, trees, flowers, or anything
directly and intimately motivated by life.  This could be called the animal
dynamic.

"The sixth dynamic is the urge toward existence as the physical universe.  The
physical universe is composed of matter, energy, space and time.  In
Scientology we take the first letter of these words and coin a word, MEST. 
This can be called the universe dynamic.

"The seventh dynamic is the urge toward existence as or of spirits.  Anything
spiritual, with or without identity, would come under the heading of the
seventh dynamic.  This could be called the spiritual dynamic.
"The eighth is the urge toward existence as infinity.  This is also identified
as the Supreme Being.  It is carefully observed here that the science of
Scientology does not intrude into the dynamic of the Supreme Being.  This can
be called the infinity or God dynamic."

I finished reading the lengthy explanation.  So this is a new way of
categorizing and thinking about life, I thought.  All right, I can handle
that.  And I felt relief to know that Scientology believed in God.  (I was to
find out much more about that later in my Scientology career.)
I went back to reading about Conditions.

The next condition was Liability, for which the formula was:
"1.  Decide who are one's friends.

"2.  Deliver an effective blow to the enemies of the group one has been
pretending to be part of despite personal danger.

"3.  Make up the damage one has done by personal contribution far beyond the
ordinary demands of a group member.

"4.  Apply for re-entry of the group by asking the permission of each member
of it to rejoin and rejoining only by majority permission."

The formula for Non-Existence was simpler:
"1.  Find a comm (communication) line.

"2.  Make yourself known.

"3.  Discover what is needed or wanted.

"4.  Do, produce and/or present it."

I wanted to yawn, but I looked warily at the Supervisor circling the tables,
and decided to suppress it.

Next I read through the Danger Formula, the one which apparently applied to
me.  The formula read:
"1.  By-pass habits or normal routines.

"2.  Handle the situation and any danger in it.

"3.  Assign self a danger condition.

"4.  Get in your own personal ethics by finding what you are doing that is
out-ethics and use self-discipline to correct it and get honest and straight.
"5.  Reorganize your life so that the dangerous situation is not continually
happening to you.

"6.  Formulate and adopt firm policy that will hereafter detect and prevent
the same situation from continuing to occur."

So what I have to do, I thought to myself, is simply get someone to wake me up
in the morning so that this doesn't happen again.  That's easy enough.
I read through the Conditions bulletin again, trying to grasp the material. 
According to the theory, if I successfully apply the formula for the condition
I am currently in, which is Danger, then I should be able to move up to the
next higher condition.  For me that would be Emergency.  Part of the Emergency
Formula had to do with changing your operating basis.  "You have got to
stiffen discipline or stiffen ethics because life itself is going to
discipline the individual."  That meant that I was going to have to become
very disciplined about getting to class on time, I realized.  Well, that's no
problem.

Once out of Emergency I would be safely in Normal Operation.
I sighed.  I didn't realize that oversleeping could be so complicated.  I
would be sure not to do it again if I could help it.

I finished reading the policy, then went over to George and asked him to check
me out.  He did, and I passed easily.  Now I was ready to return to the young
dictator in Ethics.

He looked up as I entered.  "Did you apply the correct formula?" he asked
stiffly.

"I think so," I looked down at him awkwardly.  "Mostly, I just have to find
someone to wake me up every morning."

"Well make sure it doesn't happen again or you'll find yourself in Liability,"
he warned me.  "OK.  You can go back to course."  He initialed the pink sheet
and handed it back to me.  "Take this back to your Course Supervisor."
"Let me ask you a question," I said.  "These conditionswhat do you use
them for?  Are they just used on the course?"

He looked at me condescendingly.  "The Ethics conditions are one of the
greatest gifts we have from Ron.  A Scientologist uses the conditions in every
area of his life.  Every area.  You can apply the conditions to everything you
do.  If you think about it, no matter what you do, you are always in one of
the conditions.  The trick is to always know which one you are in and then
apply the correct formula.  If you do that, you can never lose."
"Thanks," I offered him, grateful for such wisdom from one so young.  This was
a different way of looking at life.  I was going to have to give it some
thought.  I was beginning to feel like I didn't know anything, and that I had
a lot to learn.  Scientology was indeed complex.

I returned to course and handed the pink sheet to the Supervisor.  She nodded,
and I returned to my seat.

"Ready for more TR's?"  I looked up to see George standing beside me.
"Sure," I replied, eager to progress on the course.

We went back over to the chairs in the back.  To my surprise he handed me a
copy of the book Alice in Wonderland.  I opened the Training Routines
bulletin we had used the day before.

"Training Routine 1.  Dear Alice.  Purpose: To train the student to deliver a
command newly and in a new unit of time to a preclear without flinching or
trying to overwhelm or using a via.  Commands: A phrase (with the `he saids'
omitted) is picked out of the book `Alice in Wonderland' and read to the
coach.  It is repeated until the coach is satisfied it arrived where he is."
"All right," George looked at me brightly.  "Start!"

I opened the book and selected a phrase.  Then I looked at George and said to
him clearly, "Would you tell me please why you are painting those roses?"  He
was doing TR 0 again, staring intently into my eyes with his serene unblinking
stare.

"Good," he answered.  "Try another one."

"OK."  I turned to another page.  "It's my opinion that you never think at
all," I said, returning his stare.  Why did I feel like such a robot?  Was
this really the way I was supposed to talk to people?  It didn't feel natural. 
But I decided to just do the drills and ask questions later.
The problem was, later never came.

In the next drill, George read statements out of the book, and I had to
acknowledge what he said.  "An acknowledgement," I read in the bulletin, "is a
method of controlling preclear communication."

"It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited," George
repeated to me.

"OK," I answered self consciously.

"What you want to do in this drill," George instructed me, "is to really
duplicate what I say to you.  You should be able to repeat the phrase to me
verbatim.  Let your acknowledgement really tell me that you heard me.  Like
this.  Fine!  All right!  Thank you!"  He modelled good acknowledgements for
me.  I tried it again this time with more confidence.

"I never saw such a house for getting in the way," he said.

"All right," I said firmly.

"Good.  Now what did I say?" George quizzed me.

 
"I never saw such a house for getting in the way," I repeated.
After a few more practice rounds, we went on to the next drill.
The next drill, TR 3, was supposed to teach me to ask a question, get an
answer and acknowledge the answer in "one unit of time."  The questions to be
used were: "Do fish swim?" and "Do birds fly?"

"Do fish swim?" I asked George, trying to maintain my TR 0.

"Well, I'd rather talk about birds," he answered.

Then, following the directions in the bulletin, I said to him gently, "I'll
repeat the auditing question.  Do fish swim?"

"Oh sure, they swim all the time," he answered.

"Good," I acknowledged, feeling successful.

We practiced this drill and also the next one, TR 4, which was the same except
that in this one George was allowed to be even more disruptive.
"Do birds fly?" I asked George.  He pretended to be angry and started to get
up out of his chair.  "This is stupid.  I'm getting out of here," he said as
he headed for the door.  Again, following the directions in the bulletin, I
got up and physically directed him back to his chair.  I had to get an answer
to my question by any means.  It was up to me to maintain control of the
situation.

"Do birds fly?" I asked him again.

"Sure, they fly all the time," he responded agreeably.

"Great!"  I delivered the acknowledgement with gusto.

"All right, pass on TR 4," George said approvingly.  "That was fine."
Now I was ready for the last four TR's which were called the "upper indoc
(indoctrination) TR's."  These TR's, George told me, were to train me further
to maintain control in a session.

In the first drill, I had to direct George around the room using precise
commands, and acknowledging him for each action.

The commands to be used were:
"Look over at that wall.  Thank you."

"Walk over to that wall.  Thank you."

"Touch that wall.  Thank you."

"Turn around.  Thank you."

We did this drill for twenty minutes, until I was starting to feel dizzy.  For
some reason the repetitive commands were making me sleepy.

In the following drill, the commands were the same, but I had to physically
guide George through the required motions.  This one was easy, so we completed
it quickly.

The next TR was called "Tone 40 on an object."  This was a curious drill. 
"Tone 40," the Scientology dictionary explained, was "a positive postulate
with no counter-thought expected, anticipated or anything else, that is, total
control."

George sat beside me and put an ashtray in the chair across from me.  I read
the instructions in the bulletin.  Taking the ashtray in my hands, I shouted
in the "loudest possible voice," "Stand up!"  Then I raised the ashtray off
the chair and held it in midair.  "Thank you," I acknowledged the ashtray. 
"Sit down on that chair!" I shouted, lowering the ashtray back to the chair. 
"Thank you!" I shouted again.

"Not loud enough," George looked at me.  "I don't feel your total intention. 
Theoretically, if you do this drill with complete Tone 40, the ashtray will
rise by itself off the table.  When you give the commands, you can have no
other intention than the commands.  You're still somewhat self-conscious."
He was right about that.  I couldn't believe I was sitting here yelling at an
ashtray.  But if I had to do it, I was determined to do it well.  So I yelled
even louder.  "Stand up!" I screamed, raising the ashtray off the table.  "Sit
down on that chair!"  My voice was getting hoarse.  I lowered the ashtray and
looked at George triumphantly.  "How was that?"

"If I had been that ashtray, I would have jumped off the chair," he laughed. 
"OK, pass."

The last TR, TR 9, was called "Tone 40 on a Person," and was similar to the
last drill except that I was now to scream the commands at a person.  I was to
deliver the commands with total Tone 40, giving the other person no choice but
to obey my command.  I could use physical means to guide him if necessary.
"Walk over to that wall!" I yelled at George.  He just stood there.
"I didn't feel Tone 40," he said.  "Try it again."

"Walk over to that wall!" I screamed, my face red with effort.  I guided him
with my hands.  He moved over to the wall.

"Thank you!" I acknowledged him.

"Turn around!" I screamed.  I tried to channel my complete concentration into
the command.  He turned around.

Thank you!" I was getting a headache.

"Sit down in that chair!" I screamed again, my voice getting raspy.
"Thank you!"

We continued for a few more commands, then George mercifully gave me a pass on
the drill.

We were just in time for lunch.

"You are making splendid progress," George complimented me.  "You will be
auditing in no time."

I guess that's what it's all about, right?"  I still had a headache from all
the yelling.  I would have asked for an aspirin, but I remember reading a list
of rules on the wall that said that any medication, including aspirin, was
strictly forbidden while on the course.

I headed next door for lunch.  "Curiouser and curiouser," I thought,
remembering a line from Alice in Wonderland.  For a moment I had the
feeling that I was on as strange a journey as the Alice in the book.  There
was a surreal quality to the past two days.

Did I suspect, even for a minute, that the seemingly innocuous TR's I was
doing, supposedly to train me to become a better auditor, were actually a
series of extremely sophisticated hypnotic and control techniques that would
eventually lead me into a state of unthinking obedience and robotic response? 
That I was unwittingly, drill by drill, surrendering my mind and my will to
the whims of this bizarre organization, an organization to which I would
become increasingly enslaved as the days and years passed by?
Is it possible that a sophisticated system of mind control, masquerading as
religion, does in fact exist in this country outside the control and wisdom of
the courts and the laws of the land?
Was I being lured into spiritual, physical, emotional and mental bondage
without my knowledge or consent?
I had in fact, with complete innocence and trust, sold myself into a subtle
slavery, slavery from which I would emerge years later raped of my mind, my
emotions, my soul, my finances, and twelve years of my life.  Yet no laws
existed to protect my freedom.  Psychological kidnapping is not illegal.
Is it possible for one's mind to be completely controlled by another?
The answer is yes.

During those sunny days in October, a part of me was dying, my mind and my
soul being sucked out by the greedy vampire called Scientology.  I was not to
exist as myself for another twelve years.


VI.  ON A CLEAR NIGHT YOU CAN SEE        FOREVER

I heard the familiar knock on the door.  "0700.  Time to get up."
I opened my eyes and felt a sharp pain on the top of my head.  Oh, no, I
thought, knowing what was coming.  I pulled myself unwillingly to a sitting
position, feeling the familiar nausea that swept through me as the pain in my
head intensified.  A migraine.

Groggily, I headed for the bathroom.  Maybe a cool shower would help.  But I
knew from past history that I was in for a rough day.

There had been a dreamlike quality to the past few days.  Saving the world, I
thought, was a tough job.  I had been on course for three days now.  For some
reason, I had taken it for granted that the center would be closed on Sunday. 
I had been looking forward for a break from the intense course schedule: 8:00
AM until 10:30 PM with two short breaks and an hour for lunch.  Then,
invariably, at 11:00 PM, after the class muster where we shared our "wins",
there would be an "all hands" called, usually to assemble a mailing, and it
would last until 1:00 AM or later.

When Sunday arrived, I was surprised to hear the usual knock at my door. 
Sunday to Scientologists, I discovered, was just another day in the week.  And
to make things worse, last night there had been an unusually long all hands to
mail out the monthly newsletter.

I stood over the basin, waiting for the world to stop spinning.  I wonder what
they do in Scientology when you get sick?  I had already surmised from some of
the materials on the course that medicine was frowned upon except as a last
resort, and after the superior remedies in Scientology had been applied.
"Antonio," I held my throbbing head in both hands as I looked down at my
friend seated at his desk, "What does a Scientologist do for pain?"
"Why?  What's wrong?" he looked up, concerned.

"A migraine.  I've had them before.  I think it's from lack of sleep.  Do you
think maybe I could be excused from course for one day?"

"Well, to do that you would have to go through Ethics," he looked at me with
narrowed eyes.  "It would probably be better to try and stay on course."
"Ethics?  Why?"  The thought of a return visit to the teenage fuehrer in the
Ethics office was intimidating.

"Because in Scientology there is a saying, `Sickness equals PTS,'" Antonio
answered seriously.  "Potential Trouble Source," he added seeing my confused
look.  "It means you might be PTS, or connected to an SPSuppressive
Person," he added quickly.  "Usually people only get sick when they are
connected in some way to a Suppressive.  And it's the job of Ethics to help
you `spot the SP.'  That, and some Dianetic auditing should handle it."
"I'll tell you what," he added, seeing my discouraged look, "let me talk with
the Course Supervisor and I'll see if I can give you an assist.  Wait here."
A few minutes later he was back.  "Come with me," he said.  He led me to one
of the offices in the back and closed the door.  "We'll do a touch assist and
see if it helps."  He pulled a chair into the center of the room and indicated
for me to sit there.

"OK, now I'm just going to give you a command, and I want you to acknowledge
me each time I repeat the command.  Ready?"

"Sure," I answered, not knowing what to expect.

"All right.  Here we go."  He pressed his finger on my forehead.  "Feel my
finger?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," I responded.

Then he pressed his finger into my right temple.

"Feel my finger?"

"Um-hm," I answered.

Then I felt his finger on my cheek.

"Feel my finger?"

"Yes."

He continued, exerting pressure with his finger at various locations of my
body.  There seemed to be a pattern to the way he was working.  With each
pressure he asked the same question.

This continued for at least a half an hour.  I wondered what the effect of
this was supposed to be.  But I found myself becoming curiously relaxed,
feeling little shivers of energy up and down my spine like one would feel with
a good back rub.

As he continued I became more and more drowsy.  At one point I actually dozed
off into much needed sleep.  As I jerked back awake to keep from falling,
Antonio just continued the curious process.

I could feel my muscles relaxing in response to the contact from his finger. 
The energy was now flowing throughout my whole body.  After what must have
been at least an hour, he stopped suddenly and drew back.  "Well, how do you
feel?" he asked.

"I don't believe it.  I feel great.  The headache is gone.  I can't believe
you got rid of my migraine.  Usually they last for at least two days."  I was
genuinely surprised.  I could still feel the shivers all over my body.
"That's good," Antonio said modestly.  "I'm glad it helped.  And it probably
saved you an unnecessary trip to Ethics."  He looked at me and chuckled.  "Now
you need to go back on course while I write this up as a session."
"Thanks," I said gratefully as I opened the door.

I retrieved my study pack and took my usual seat.  As I resumed my study I
realized that the nausea and grogginess were gone.  I even felt rested. 
"Strange," I thought.  "Amazing."

I opened my pack.

"Auditors," I read the green ink of the next policy letter on my checksheet,
"have since the first session of Scientology been the only individuals on this
planet in this universe capable of freeing Man.

"At times some will forget or choose to ignore the fact that the auditor is
not just another fellow or a guy who works in Scientology.  An auditor is a
highly trained specialist, no matter what level of auditor.  He or she is the
only one who can give Man the truth.  An auditor is very important in clearing
the planet, and this universe.  All auditors are appreciated."
I knew that Antonio was a Class 8 auditor, meaning that he had done the
highest training level in Scientology.  At that time, being a Class 8 was
similar to having a PhD in any other subject.

After my experience this morning, I was more ready to believe that maybe what
Hubbard was saying in this policy was true.  I smiled to myself.  It was
reassuring to know that Antonio was my friend.  From the beginning he had
taken a fatherly interest in me.  And we shared a common interest in the
piano.  Antonio, I soon discovered, was a brilliant concert pianist.
I continued on in my reading.

"Scientology is a science of life.  It is the first entirely Western effort to
understand life.  All earlier efforts came from Asia or Eastern Europe.  And
they failed.  None of them gave greater security.  None of them could change
human behavior for the better.  None of them and they bragged about it could
change human intelligence.  Scientology is something new under the sun, but
young as it is, it is still the only completely and thoroughly tested and
validated science of existence.

"Scientology can and does change human behavior for the better.  Scientology
can and does increase human intelligence.  And Scientology can do other
things.  It is a science of life and it works.  It adequately handles the
basic rules of life and it brings order into chaos."

On another page I read, "In all the broad universe there is no other hope for
Man than ourselves."

I kept reading.

"Let us face the reality of this thing.  The world confronts several crises. 
Man's inhumanity to man is gaining monuments daily.  The time to bring a chaos
under control is before it is well begun.  We're slightly late as it is. 
Brutally, there is no other organization on Earth that can slow these down. 
Factually there is no other know-how on Earth that can plumb the problems of
Man.  So if we don't want all of us to be sitting amongst the charred embers,
we had better get busy.

"This is no alarmist statement you know.  We are the people who can confront
it.  Past civilizations have vanished, you see.  The Chaldean, Babylonian,
Egyptian, Chinese, Hindu, Greek, Roman, European they did vanish.  Those
little beaten down peasants you see in France were once the proud Romans. 
Those small brown men who sell their sisters on the streets of Cairo were once
the mighty Egyptians.  And it was when those societies looked richest that
they had already started down.  Like this one.

"They all failed because they had no know-how about Man.  Wisdom, real wisdom,
could have salvaged any one of them.  Wisdom can salvage this one. 
Scientology can smooth the way.  But Scientology hasn't a chance unless we get
groups going.  You...can do this."

I felt a tap on my shoulder.  It was another girl on the course named Ellie.
"I need someone to do TR 0," she looked at me hopefully.  "Do you have time to
do it?"

"Sure," I agreed.  "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

We spent the rest of the morning staring blissfully into each other's eyes.  I
experienced the same sensations as I had the first time I did TR 0 with
George.  When the Supervisor called lunch break, I was again feeling the
expansive serenity and blissed-out timelessness I had before.  And by the
looks of it, so was Ellie.

"That's it!  Lunch break!"

I reluctantly came back to earth and shook myself back into more-or-less
normal consciousness.  As I walked back to the house for lunch, I noticed that
the colors once again looked unusually bright.  I felt a soaring hopefulness
inside.  "Oh, Aileen," I enthused, as I took my place at the table, "I'm so
happy to be in Scientology.  I just want everyone to know about it.  Do you
know what I mean?"

"Yes, dear," Aileen gazed at me fondly.  "And I've been meaning to talk to
you.  Antonio and I have been talking and we'd like you to consider joining us
in the Sea Org.  That's the most effective way to make a difference in this
world.  We'll talk about it later."  She and Antonio traded glances.
"The Sea Org," I thought excitedly.  I had heard many stories in the past few
days about the adventures to be had as a part of the most elite group in
Scientology.  I had noticed a poster on the wall at the center.  There was the
picture of a large ship with many smiling faces waving from the deck.  "Be the
elite of planet Earth, the cream of the cream.  Join the Sea Org."  Why not? 
I thought, as I served myself some vegetables.  What do I have to lose?  It
would be an adventure.

I was still lost in fantasy when the Supervisor called "That's it!" to start
the afternoon session.  I turned back to my study pack and determined to keep
my mind on what I was reading.

"We are the only people and the only organization on Earth which have the
technology and the ambition to attempt a clarification of situations which in
other hands are considered entirely out of control, to wit, the atomic bomb
and the decay and confusion of societies."

I turned another page.

"Scientology is today around the world, represented on every continent on
Earth.  As you read this, this very book is being translated into many
non-English tongues and is being distributed to nations whose thronging
multi-millions have never before been touched by Anglo-American thought.
"The use or neglect of this material may well determine the use or neglect of
the atomic bomb by Man.  Scientology is already winning in this field.  In the
same period in history, two of the most sweeping forces Man has known have
come to fruition: a knowledge of himself and others with Scientology, and a
means of destroying himself and all others by atomic fission.  Which force
wins depends in a large measure on your use of Scientology.

"There is not much Earth time.  We must work.

"The mission of Scientology is not conquest it is civilization.  It is a war
upon stupidity, the stupidity which leads us toward the Last War of All.
"With Scientology man can prevent insanity, criminality and war.  It is for
man to use.  It is for the betterment of man.  The primary race of Earth is
not between one nation and another today.  The only race that matters at this
moment is the one being run between Scientology and the atomic bomb.  The
history of man, as has been said by well-known authorities, may well depend
upon which one wins."

I turned another page and continued to read.

"Where Earth pursues her gentle way in her orbit about the sun today there
will be a black orb seared, scorched and defaced with ruin, its air polluted
with radiation, its surface gouged by pocks, the skeletons of its cities
standing black and ruined against a sun which was allowed to set upon the
Anglo-American civilization.  Perhaps there are other planets, perhaps there
will be other times, but here we are right now, our urgings and our strivings
ought to carry forward the civilization which we have about us.  Perhaps it
would be better to start all over and make another one.  I do not happen to
think so.  I think that we can and will continue to create this civilization
and continue to bring Man through despite his folly.  We know how and we can
do it.  It is up to us.  It is up to you and only then we can say with honesty
that it is up to Man.

"Later on, if we make it, what will be your answer to this question: `Did you
help?'"

I sat there for a few minutes, lost in thought.  I thought back to my life at
the university.  What was I doing, I wondered.  Where was I going?  Was there
any purpose to my life?  The answer was no.  Here was something important that
I could do to make a difference in the world.  What was my dream before? 
Becoming a music teacher?  But here I could help save the world from a
possible nuclear disaster.  Which was more important?
The answer was already in my mind.  It was not a choice.  Music could wait. 
The decision was made.  I would join the Sea Org!
I couldn't wait for the break so I could tell Antonio and Aileen.  I knew they
would be happy.  For me it would almost be like having a family.  Antonio and
Aileen were already closer to me than my real parents had been.  They were my
spiritual parents.  I felt happy and secure.  Joining the Sea Org would be
like joining a family.  Signing the papers would just be a formality.  Because
the reality was, that in my soul, I already was a part of the family.  I
belonged.

"That's it!  Break!  Fifteen minutes!"  The usual sounds of chairs scraping
the floor as everyone headed outside.

"Antonio," I approached him with a smile.  "I've decided.  I'm joining the Sea
Org!"

"That's wonderful," he was sincere.  "Let's go share the good news with
Aileen."  We headed toward the office in the back.

Aileen looked up with surprise.  "Aileen," I said breathlessly, "I'm joining. 
I want to join the Sea Org.  I want to help."

Aileen clapped her hands and came over and hugged me.  "My dear, that's
wonderful," she said warmly.  "And I guarantee that you will never be sorry. 
You have made a very good decision.  And we're delighted to have you.  Antonio
and I were both hoping that you would come to this decision, but we didn't
think it would be so soon!  Congratulations!"

"So what do I have to do to join?" I asked eagerly.

"Well, there are just a few things we have to take care of."  Aileen pulled
some papers from her desk.  "We have to go over this questionaire just to make
sure that you don't have any incomplete cycles anywhere out in the world."
And she started asking me questions.

Did I have any debts?  No, I answered truthfully.

Any legal problems?  No.

Would anyone in my family oppose my decision?  I thought about my parents. 
They might not be happy about this latest turn of events, but I knew they
would never try to prevent me from doing something I really wanted to do.  No,
I said to Aileen.

Did I own any property?  Did I have children?  No.  No.

Was there anything at all that would interfere with me becoming a full time
Scientology staff person?  No, none whatever, I said, brimming with eagerness.
"Well, all right, everything seems to be fine."  Aileen signed the
questionaire and pulled out another paper from her desk.

"Are you ready to sign your contract?" she smiled at me proudly as she handed
me the official looking form printed on white bond legal paper.
At the top was the Sea Org symbol of two olive branches surrounding a star,
printed in gold.  Then in very large letters: "Flag Service Org, SEA
ORGANIZATION, Contract of Employment."

Beneath that were two seahorses printed in gold flanking a paragraph which
read,"I, ___________________, DO HEREBY AGREE to enter into
employment with the SEA ORGANIZATION and, being of sound mind, do fully
realize and agree to abide by its purpose which is to get ETHICS IN on this
PLANET AND UNIVERSE and, fully and without reservation, subscribe to the
discipline, mores and conditions of this group and pledge to abide by them.
"THERFORE, I CONTRACT MYSELF TO THE SEA ORGANIZATION FOR THE NEXT BILLION
YEARS."

Then there were lines for signatures.

I looked at it again.  I wasn't seeing things.  I looked up at Antonio and
Aileen, perplexed.

"A billion years?" I asked.  "Why a billion years?"

Antonio looked across at Aileen.  "That's because Ron thinks it will take at
least that long to clear the entire universe.  After this planet is clear,
there are hundreds of thousands of other planets to clear as well.  He just
wants to be sure that your loyalty is certain.  If you're not ready to commit
to a billion years, then you're probably not ready to join the Sea Org," he
looked at me seriously.

"I think what it is also," Aileen interrupted, "is that being a Sea Org member
is not an easy life.  There can be some tough times.  If you're not with us
100%, if you're not ready to make a life and death commitment, then you won't
succeed as a Sea Org member.  This is a big decision."

I swallowed.  I thought again about Michigan and school.  I thought about my
family.

"Well," I said, starting to laugh, "I've never thought this far into the
future before.  I'm not used to thinking in terms of a billion years.  You
don't have any shorter contracts?  Like maybe just a few thousand years for a
start?"

Neither Antonio nor Aileen smiled.  "At the regular Orgs," Antonio explained,
"like the L.A. Org, there are shorter contracts.  You can sign up for either
two and a half or five years.  But in the Sea Org there's just one contract. 
This is it."

I sat silently for a minute, then slowly picked up the pen on the desk.
"Well, here goes," I signed on the blue line.  I tried to comprehend a billion
years, but my mind got lost after the first few million.  "I'm in."
"Splendid," Aileen signed her name on the line below.  Then Antonio signed as
the second witness.

"It's official," Aileen gave a satisfied sigh.  "Welcome to the Sea Org, dear. 
We're glad to have you aboard."  Antonio shook my hand.  "Let's all go have
lunch," he suggested.  "At a real restaurant.  To celebrate."
It was hard to think clearly that afternoon, my mind trying to comprehend the
enormity of the contract I had just signed.  A week ago, I realized with a
shock of surprise, I was sitting in class in Ann Arbor worried about my
grades.  For a minute I wondered if maybe I had died and progressed to an
entirely new life.  That couldn't possibly be any stranger than my life now.
Aileen had given me a packet of materials to read, to begin the indoctrination
process into the Sea Org.  I turned to the page on top.

"YOUR POST," it was titled.

"A post in a Scientology organization isn't a job.  It's a trust and a
crusade.

"We're free men and women probably the last free men and women on Earth. 
Remember, we'll have to come back to Earth some day no matter what happens to
us.

"If we don't do a good job now we may never get another chance.
"Yes, I'm sure that's the way it is.

"So we have an organization, we have a field we must support, we have a
chance.

"That's more than we had last time night's curtain began to fall on freedom.
"So we're using that chance.

"An organization such as ours is our best chance to get the most done.  So
we're doing it!!"

Signed, L. Ron Hubbard.

Just before dinner break, there was a surprise announcement by the Supervisor. 
"There will be no class tonight," she said, giving no explanation.  "Class
dismissed."

Antonio came up to me as I was packing up my things.  "Why don't you come over
for dinner," he invited.  "We have a surprise for you tonight."
"And you're not going to tell me what it is, right?"  I looked at him
mischieviously.

"I'm afraid you're just going to have to wait," his eyes were twinkling.
I walked across Alvarado Park with Antonio and Aileen.  I was appalled to find
that the beautiful park was populated by hundreds of alcoholics, many sleeping
on benches or sprawled on the ground.

Antonio and Aileen shared a small apartment on the other side of the park.  As
we entered I was surprised to see a concert size grand piano in the living
room.  "Oh, Antonio," I begged, "play something."

"Just for a few minutes," Antonio obliged.  "We have plans tonight and we
don't want to be late."  He sat down and began to play a Scarlatti sonata.  I
had never heard Scarlatti played so lightly and effervescently.
"That's wonderful," I enthused when he had finished.  "It sparkles.  Please,
play some more."

Antonio started into a piece that I wasn't familiar with.  It sounded like
Liszt, but it was a piece I hadn't heard before.  It sounded like a dance, I
thought, as Antonio played effortlessly through the complex and brilliant
passages.  "Oh, that was wonderful."  I was enthralled by his playing.  "I
just want to stay and listen to you play all night.  We don't have to go out,"
I pleaded.

"Oh, yes, we do," Antonio laughed.  "By the way, anytime you want to come over
here in your free time and use the piano you're welcome to.  Julie told us
that you're a very accomplished pianist yourself.  Next time you come over,
when we have more time, we'll listen to you play too."

"It can wait," I laughed.  "There's no way I would play now after what I just
heard."

We had a pleasant dinner in the tiny kitchen.  Antonio was entertaining, and
told funny stories about recent happenings at the center.  After dinner I
helped Aileen with the dishes and asked her about her life before she joined
Scientology.

It turned out that Aileen was from Australia where she had been a
schoolteacher before being introduced to Scientology by a friend.  She had
joined the Sea Org immediately, "almost the way you have," she said, as she
looked at me fondly.  She spent several years with "Ron" on the ship, serving
as one of his closest assistants.

"What is he really like?" I asked her eagerly.

"Oh, he's just the most wonderful man you could imagine," she looked at me
wistfully.  "I hope you have a chance to meet him someday.  He is very
powerful.  When you are near him, you can just feel the power he exudes.  And
he is so caring.  He really cares about all of us.  It was his idea to start
Celebrity Center.  He believes that artists are special, and that they should
have their own center.  A protected place where they can create in a safe
space."

I was about to ask her another question when Antonio interrupted.  "Time to be
off," he announced.

Then we headed back through the park.

We reached Celebrity Center just as it was beginning to get dark.  A crowd of
people was thronging outside the center, slowly making their way inside.
"CLEAR NIGHT," I read the sign on the door.  "ONLY CLEARS AND ABOVE CAN
ENTER."

I looked at Antonio questioningly.  "You're with us," he assured me.  "No one
will ask any questions.  Just act as if you belong."

Aileen had already disappeared into the crowd.  Antonio maneuvered over to the
far wall where there was more space.  There was a ledge against the wall.  I
quickly climbed up.  I would have a good view of the stage.

The cur