FreedBodyThetan
Patron
My name is John Cullison, and this is the introduction to My Story.
A warm spring afternoon became my first real interaction with Scientology. As I flowed down University Way (a.k.a. "The Ave") with (and sometimes in spite of) the rest of the copious foot traffic, I spotted a young woman standing very near where I had seen an unattended stack of Dianetics books a couple weeks earlier. Making eye contact is all it takes. Smiling, she approached me and asked me if she could ask me a few questions...
Already curious about Dianetics, and intending to buy a copy and read it, I agreed to undergo the ritual known as "body routing" and soon found myself heading through the dirty glass door to the stairs that led to the University Way Mission's quirky office space, sitting atop the contiguous retail space that lined The Ave. The space was pretty bland -- very few decorations of any sort, long office tables against walls, the occasional fake (or was it real?) plant, a few closed doors visible down the long hallway toward the rear, not much activity. The young woman, whose name completely escapes me, sat me down, handed me a personality test, and gave me directions.
I answered honestly, and I was soon directed to a young man, Jerry, in a nearby office, who went over the results with me. There are ten categories that the test is designed to assess -- empathy, ability to communicate, how active one is, etc. The results did not surprise me in the least. My chart showed what looked a lot like a bell shaped curve -- very low on the ends, considerably higher in the middle. Jerry had no need to try to convince me of the validity of the test -- I already knew I had issues.
Following the analysis, Jerry was desperate to try to sell me a course. I found this a bit annoying, as all I wanted to do was get a copy of Dianetics and read it. I explained this. He pushed. I held my ground (I should have marked that day on my calendar). Finally he relented, sold me a copy of Dianetics, and I was on my way out.
When I got the book home, I began reading it right away. Over the next few days, I read after work, and I was entranced. I finally had an explanation for why I was such a whatever-I-was-this-week. It was all laid out, how the pain and unconsciousness lead to words becoming hypnotic, which, to me, totally explained why a parent with low coping skills might instinctively inflict pain and bark orders to try to compel her children to obey...
I kept reading. Not only did it explain why people got so messed up, it also provided a solution! I was a bit annoyed that it required someone else, but I could see how having help might not be a bad idea. I was positively giddy that maybe this would be the answer I'd been seeking!
I kept reading. Then, about the fifth day, I had a sudden, gut-wrenching moment of self-realization.
What if all the crap I had done to others was a part of it? Would I want to be telling that stuff to someone else?
I spent the next couple weeks going over the book, satisfying myself that it had nothing to do with what I had done to others, only what others had done to me. Certain that Dianetics was just undoing the hypnotic commands associated with the words in painful experiences, I got brave and returned to the Dianetics Center.
On my return, the young woman was not standing outside. In fact, the place seemed to be a bit deserted. I climbed the stairs and started wandering around, attempting to find someone. Teresa wandered out of what I would later learn was the course room. Seeing a stranger wandering around, she asked that tired old cliché, "May I help you?"
I stammered a bit, not quite knowing what to say. "I'd like to find out about going Clear," I replied. She didn't hear me. "I'd like to go Clear," I said. Teresa smiled -- were those golden dollar signs I saw sparkling in her eyes? -- and led me to an office to meet The Registrar.
I am, for better or worse, a "nice" guy. As many devout Scientologists will tell you, "nice" is a synonym (based on etymological studies) for "stupid, foolish, and ignorant". Nice guys finish last because they let people walk all over them -- thus, the argument has some merit, I'll admit. Unfortunately, the only alternative I knew was best described as "asshole", and I was tired of the problems that persona caused.
My first experience with a Scientology registrar was not so bad. I signed up for the Hubbard Dianetics Auditor's Course, and I was also sold some tapes, a hardback copy of Dianetics that I did not need (as a "nice" guy, I let this slide), and a course pack. I also bought twenty five hours of Dianetics (Book One) auditing. I really wanted the auditing. I needed the auditing. I had asshole to exorcise! But in the meantime, I was on course, studying away.
Sadly, this Dianetics Center did not actually have any Dianetics (or any other) auditors, but it could bring in an independent auditor with some arranging, and so I was able to go in session eventually.
As anyone familiar with Scientology will tell you, being actively involved in a course and having auditing paid for is no reason not to find ways to use up even more of your time evangelizing, and Scientology's chief evangelists are its registrars. I spent many hours getting Scientology explained to me. The first time was a bit of a shock. Brad, the Mission's registrar (among other duties), showed me the grade chart all the way up to OT levels (giving me an instant spiritual hard-on), as he explained about this thing called Scientology and that I was, in fact, in a church.
That moment -- sitting in Brad's office with the realization that Scientology is a religion -- really stands out in my mind. I had already been disgusted with this world's religions. I did not think the world needed another one. Dianetics, however, sat there, a tempting morsel, something I was eager to pursue, and now, apparently, they have stuff beyond Clear?!? So I told myself that I would try it and see. If it doesn't work out, I'll leave: no harm, no foul.
Each day or so there was another book Brad wanted to sell me. I bought and read them all: always hardback, always relatively expensive -- as a rule, I did not buy hardback books, but Scientology would never sell you a seven-dollar book when a thirty-five-dollar book is available.
Well before I finished my Dianetics auditing, I had my Purification Rundown (Purif) and TRs and Objectives Course paid for (Brad had encouraged me to get a $4,000 loan from a credit union I belonged to through my mother's place of employment -- remember "nice guy"?). I actually only received twenty of those twenty five hours of Book One auditing I'd paid for, because I was arbitrarily scheduled to start the Purif on some day, only I still had five auditing hours due me when that day arrived. After you've started the Purification Rundown, you're on your way up The Bridge, leaving lowly Book One behind. See: "nice guy".
Largely hidden from me, Scientology was about to unveil a new advertising campaign in the form of Dianetics gymnatics mats at the Good Will Games. Held in 1990 in Seattle -- some at the University of Washington, just a stone's throw from the Mission -- the Good Will Games was a very high profile event, and Scientology wanted to be a part of it. Scientology's bigwigs wanted this advertising campaign to be a big hit, but standing between International Management and its lofty advertising goals was the University Way Mission. Posh, it was not. Somewhere you would want to bring dignitaries, it was not. As a small mission barely paying its $500 monthly rent on time, sitting above The Ave in an office space that no one else was interested in, University Way Mission needed to be something that International Management would be proud to show off to the thousands upon thousands of visitors walking by every day, something to reinforce what would, of course, be a spectacular marketing success.
A bold plan was hatched -- not a plan anyone with a lick of sense would have agreed to, but certainly Scientology's executives have been known to be rash on occasion. I have to wonder if this plan was given an official name, or if it just came on some checksheet to be initialed. Regardless, I cannot decide who is more at fault for what happened next: the Mission's own executives, or International Management.
Curiously, the landlord of the existing Mission facility was threatening to double the rent from $500 to $1000 per month. Naturally, having a storefront on The Ave would generally command a premium rent, and the landlord wanted his due. Too bad the space was so unappealing, or it might have been worth it, really, and the University Way Mission would not have been the embarassment that it was to International Management.
Faced with the threat of increased rent that it couldn't readily afford and demands from up high that the Mission staff posh up, the Mission Holder and Executive Director, Brent, went looking for a new space nearby. Unfortunately for all involved, he found one.
On the northeast corner of University Way and NE 45th St sat what was then the First Interstate Bank building. The lower portion of it was all bank, and this was easily accessed from wide double-door facing the corner of the two streets at a diagonal. Heading east, however, NE 45th St inclines, making the building somewhat recessed into the hill, and moving the sidewalk up to another entrance to the building -- to a top storey that was completely unused by the bank.
This top storey was indeed grand, by Mission standards. Double glass doors led to a wide stairway, which went north, then turned and headed west into what would become the reception area. All along the south and west sides of the building were real offices with plenty of space and windows looking out over The Ave or NE 45th. Making a U-turn to the left as one topped the stairs would lead one to a hallway down which were the (enormous) restrooms and, at the end, a small room designed for showing movies. To the north of reception was a huge empty room whose original purpose was unclear -- maybe huge employee meetings? The room had several doorways, some leading to the main hallways with all the offices, and others to even more rooms. Some would become course rooms. Others would become storage areas, basically chaos contained.
Below, at entrance level, was a second small area at street level. Comprised of two rooms, the first was completely visible from the street, with its own entrance (perpendicular to the main entrance) and would be the new testing center's reception area; the larger room behind and to the north would be where "raw meat" would take their first steps to Total Freedom via the personality test.
It looked like an ideal space for the Mission. Plenty of decent offices, plenty of course room space, a movie room, a separate testing facility... it was everything a Mission could want and then some. And when Brent went to visit the vice president of the bank to negotiate acquiring this otherwise unused space that the bank had no idea what to do with, the vice president did not even bother to run a credit check on the Mission, figuring that its ten years in the area was good enough credit for him.
The elephant in the room was the price. As you might expect, renting out a space that large was not cheap, and in this case, the five-year lease that was signed had a sliding scale that increased the monthly rent as time went on. Starting at $3,000 per month, far more money than this Mission without any auditing staff at all was accustomed to making, the lease would eventually reach its maximum monthly rent at $5,000.
The only policy in force the day that lease was signed was "glow it right", but they figured, they're going to have to make more money anyway, what does it matter if it's $1,000 or $5,000 a month? Both figures were just numbers with no particular meaning (other than "more than we got now"). In some ways, this self-inflicted crisis was a bit of a blessing, because it really brought out the worst of Scientology, stripping off any social pretense and making it all about the money, all the time. Paying rent became such an overriding concern that virtually any means of getting income to be able to pay rent was considered acceptable, no matter whatever other problems it might have caused.
And it caused problems a-plenty.
A warm spring afternoon became my first real interaction with Scientology. As I flowed down University Way (a.k.a. "The Ave") with (and sometimes in spite of) the rest of the copious foot traffic, I spotted a young woman standing very near where I had seen an unattended stack of Dianetics books a couple weeks earlier. Making eye contact is all it takes. Smiling, she approached me and asked me if she could ask me a few questions...
Already curious about Dianetics, and intending to buy a copy and read it, I agreed to undergo the ritual known as "body routing" and soon found myself heading through the dirty glass door to the stairs that led to the University Way Mission's quirky office space, sitting atop the contiguous retail space that lined The Ave. The space was pretty bland -- very few decorations of any sort, long office tables against walls, the occasional fake (or was it real?) plant, a few closed doors visible down the long hallway toward the rear, not much activity. The young woman, whose name completely escapes me, sat me down, handed me a personality test, and gave me directions.
I answered honestly, and I was soon directed to a young man, Jerry, in a nearby office, who went over the results with me. There are ten categories that the test is designed to assess -- empathy, ability to communicate, how active one is, etc. The results did not surprise me in the least. My chart showed what looked a lot like a bell shaped curve -- very low on the ends, considerably higher in the middle. Jerry had no need to try to convince me of the validity of the test -- I already knew I had issues.
Following the analysis, Jerry was desperate to try to sell me a course. I found this a bit annoying, as all I wanted to do was get a copy of Dianetics and read it. I explained this. He pushed. I held my ground (I should have marked that day on my calendar). Finally he relented, sold me a copy of Dianetics, and I was on my way out.
When I got the book home, I began reading it right away. Over the next few days, I read after work, and I was entranced. I finally had an explanation for why I was such a whatever-I-was-this-week. It was all laid out, how the pain and unconsciousness lead to words becoming hypnotic, which, to me, totally explained why a parent with low coping skills might instinctively inflict pain and bark orders to try to compel her children to obey...
I kept reading. Not only did it explain why people got so messed up, it also provided a solution! I was a bit annoyed that it required someone else, but I could see how having help might not be a bad idea. I was positively giddy that maybe this would be the answer I'd been seeking!
I kept reading. Then, about the fifth day, I had a sudden, gut-wrenching moment of self-realization.
What if all the crap I had done to others was a part of it? Would I want to be telling that stuff to someone else?
I spent the next couple weeks going over the book, satisfying myself that it had nothing to do with what I had done to others, only what others had done to me. Certain that Dianetics was just undoing the hypnotic commands associated with the words in painful experiences, I got brave and returned to the Dianetics Center.
On my return, the young woman was not standing outside. In fact, the place seemed to be a bit deserted. I climbed the stairs and started wandering around, attempting to find someone. Teresa wandered out of what I would later learn was the course room. Seeing a stranger wandering around, she asked that tired old cliché, "May I help you?"
I stammered a bit, not quite knowing what to say. "I'd like to find out about going Clear," I replied. She didn't hear me. "I'd like to go Clear," I said. Teresa smiled -- were those golden dollar signs I saw sparkling in her eyes? -- and led me to an office to meet The Registrar.
I am, for better or worse, a "nice" guy. As many devout Scientologists will tell you, "nice" is a synonym (based on etymological studies) for "stupid, foolish, and ignorant". Nice guys finish last because they let people walk all over them -- thus, the argument has some merit, I'll admit. Unfortunately, the only alternative I knew was best described as "asshole", and I was tired of the problems that persona caused.
My first experience with a Scientology registrar was not so bad. I signed up for the Hubbard Dianetics Auditor's Course, and I was also sold some tapes, a hardback copy of Dianetics that I did not need (as a "nice" guy, I let this slide), and a course pack. I also bought twenty five hours of Dianetics (Book One) auditing. I really wanted the auditing. I needed the auditing. I had asshole to exorcise! But in the meantime, I was on course, studying away.
Sadly, this Dianetics Center did not actually have any Dianetics (or any other) auditors, but it could bring in an independent auditor with some arranging, and so I was able to go in session eventually.
As anyone familiar with Scientology will tell you, being actively involved in a course and having auditing paid for is no reason not to find ways to use up even more of your time evangelizing, and Scientology's chief evangelists are its registrars. I spent many hours getting Scientology explained to me. The first time was a bit of a shock. Brad, the Mission's registrar (among other duties), showed me the grade chart all the way up to OT levels (giving me an instant spiritual hard-on), as he explained about this thing called Scientology and that I was, in fact, in a church.
That moment -- sitting in Brad's office with the realization that Scientology is a religion -- really stands out in my mind. I had already been disgusted with this world's religions. I did not think the world needed another one. Dianetics, however, sat there, a tempting morsel, something I was eager to pursue, and now, apparently, they have stuff beyond Clear?!? So I told myself that I would try it and see. If it doesn't work out, I'll leave: no harm, no foul.
Each day or so there was another book Brad wanted to sell me. I bought and read them all: always hardback, always relatively expensive -- as a rule, I did not buy hardback books, but Scientology would never sell you a seven-dollar book when a thirty-five-dollar book is available.
Well before I finished my Dianetics auditing, I had my Purification Rundown (Purif) and TRs and Objectives Course paid for (Brad had encouraged me to get a $4,000 loan from a credit union I belonged to through my mother's place of employment -- remember "nice guy"?). I actually only received twenty of those twenty five hours of Book One auditing I'd paid for, because I was arbitrarily scheduled to start the Purif on some day, only I still had five auditing hours due me when that day arrived. After you've started the Purification Rundown, you're on your way up The Bridge, leaving lowly Book One behind. See: "nice guy".
Largely hidden from me, Scientology was about to unveil a new advertising campaign in the form of Dianetics gymnatics mats at the Good Will Games. Held in 1990 in Seattle -- some at the University of Washington, just a stone's throw from the Mission -- the Good Will Games was a very high profile event, and Scientology wanted to be a part of it. Scientology's bigwigs wanted this advertising campaign to be a big hit, but standing between International Management and its lofty advertising goals was the University Way Mission. Posh, it was not. Somewhere you would want to bring dignitaries, it was not. As a small mission barely paying its $500 monthly rent on time, sitting above The Ave in an office space that no one else was interested in, University Way Mission needed to be something that International Management would be proud to show off to the thousands upon thousands of visitors walking by every day, something to reinforce what would, of course, be a spectacular marketing success.
A bold plan was hatched -- not a plan anyone with a lick of sense would have agreed to, but certainly Scientology's executives have been known to be rash on occasion. I have to wonder if this plan was given an official name, or if it just came on some checksheet to be initialed. Regardless, I cannot decide who is more at fault for what happened next: the Mission's own executives, or International Management.
Curiously, the landlord of the existing Mission facility was threatening to double the rent from $500 to $1000 per month. Naturally, having a storefront on The Ave would generally command a premium rent, and the landlord wanted his due. Too bad the space was so unappealing, or it might have been worth it, really, and the University Way Mission would not have been the embarassment that it was to International Management.
Faced with the threat of increased rent that it couldn't readily afford and demands from up high that the Mission staff posh up, the Mission Holder and Executive Director, Brent, went looking for a new space nearby. Unfortunately for all involved, he found one.
On the northeast corner of University Way and NE 45th St sat what was then the First Interstate Bank building. The lower portion of it was all bank, and this was easily accessed from wide double-door facing the corner of the two streets at a diagonal. Heading east, however, NE 45th St inclines, making the building somewhat recessed into the hill, and moving the sidewalk up to another entrance to the building -- to a top storey that was completely unused by the bank.
This top storey was indeed grand, by Mission standards. Double glass doors led to a wide stairway, which went north, then turned and headed west into what would become the reception area. All along the south and west sides of the building were real offices with plenty of space and windows looking out over The Ave or NE 45th. Making a U-turn to the left as one topped the stairs would lead one to a hallway down which were the (enormous) restrooms and, at the end, a small room designed for showing movies. To the north of reception was a huge empty room whose original purpose was unclear -- maybe huge employee meetings? The room had several doorways, some leading to the main hallways with all the offices, and others to even more rooms. Some would become course rooms. Others would become storage areas, basically chaos contained.
Below, at entrance level, was a second small area at street level. Comprised of two rooms, the first was completely visible from the street, with its own entrance (perpendicular to the main entrance) and would be the new testing center's reception area; the larger room behind and to the north would be where "raw meat" would take their first steps to Total Freedom via the personality test.
It looked like an ideal space for the Mission. Plenty of decent offices, plenty of course room space, a movie room, a separate testing facility... it was everything a Mission could want and then some. And when Brent went to visit the vice president of the bank to negotiate acquiring this otherwise unused space that the bank had no idea what to do with, the vice president did not even bother to run a credit check on the Mission, figuring that its ten years in the area was good enough credit for him.
The elephant in the room was the price. As you might expect, renting out a space that large was not cheap, and in this case, the five-year lease that was signed had a sliding scale that increased the monthly rent as time went on. Starting at $3,000 per month, far more money than this Mission without any auditing staff at all was accustomed to making, the lease would eventually reach its maximum monthly rent at $5,000.
The only policy in force the day that lease was signed was "glow it right", but they figured, they're going to have to make more money anyway, what does it matter if it's $1,000 or $5,000 a month? Both figures were just numbers with no particular meaning (other than "more than we got now"). In some ways, this self-inflicted crisis was a bit of a blessing, because it really brought out the worst of Scientology, stripping off any social pretense and making it all about the money, all the time. Paying rent became such an overriding concern that virtually any means of getting income to be able to pay rent was considered acceptable, no matter whatever other problems it might have caused.
And it caused problems a-plenty.
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