But this isn't attained by holding one's breath or thinking "right" thoughts or voting Republican ...L. RON HUBBARD
At eight a.m. Richie Blackburn came in and shook our beds. It was time for me to put in an appearance at the Hill.
A big English breakfast was served. Edward Douglas and I poured each other several cups of Nescafe. Juanita Wilkins, the landlord's pretty wife, sat with Sam Veach, PTS-3, stroking his hands tenderly while peering deeply into his eyes. I'd rarely seen anyone talking so sweetly and soothingly to someone so in need of such care. Watching her lovely dark face, I considered "going PTS" myself.
The drive to the Hill wound through pleasant woods and pastures. Six of us were taken in a van by Ralph Wilkins, including Sam Veach, who was going in for his Search and Discovery. The college grounds were dominated by the manor Hubbard had occupied before moving to his yacht. I went directly to Reception, where I was handed a printed form to take around to various offices to be checkmarked as I completed each step of enrollment. This procedure was known as going through lines. Reception sent me to Registration, Registration sent me back to Reception, who then sent me to Accounts. The cost for Power Processing had just been raised. I gave Accounts the equivalent of $1,200 in pounds.
At the Director of Processing Office I was given a slip to pin on my lapel bearing the words I Am On Power Processes. Please Do Not Ask Me Questions, Audit Me, or Discuss My Case With Me. A petite young American lady who had picked up an English accent led me to a cubicle that contained two chairs, a table, an E-meter, an English dictionary and a Scientology dictionary. She told me to pick up the tin cans and she would ask some questions to prepare me for the Power Process.
One of the first questions was "Is there a withhold?" Immediately I was aware that I had god knows how many! The regimented going through lines carrying a checkout form, each step beginning and ending at Reception, had given me some trepidation. It made all the poking fun at the organization come to mind, and now I wondered if I would have to tell the auditor about the hilarity at the franchise such a short while ago.
"There's a read on that. Is there an ARC break with the environment?"
"I guess I'm nervous. Everything is so different here."
"Thank you. Any more on that?"
"I almost froze to death in bed last night."
This cleaned the needle, at least temporarily.
"Have you come here with any hidden standards?"
"That reads. What do you consider that could be?"
"I still can't take my eyes off women's asses."
"Thank you. In regard to `I still can't take my eyes off women's asses,' have you failed to experience a gain?"
"Nothing has changed."
"All right. That reads. Any more on it?"
I winced. The needle was probing deeper. "I want to rub my organ there and come all over it."
"Thank you. That's clean. What would have to happen to make you think Scientology works?"
"Oh, it works."
I got through the remaining questions, some of them about "money," without having to go into my major withholds. She ended the procedure and directed me to wait near Reception for another auditor. During the wait, Reception put me to work in a small canteen across the walkway, stuffing envelopes addressed to people all over the world with the latest Scientology advertisements. The woman directing the project told me to "Put in your Postulates with each one."
My next auditor, this time a young Englishwoman, led me through a procedure she called "clearing the commands." She asked me to define "source," "tell," "no," "condition," and "existing," one word at a time, and to feel free to consult the English dictionary if I was unsure about a definition. When she was satisfied that I understood the words, I was taken to a third auditor, another young Englishwoman, who administered the "Power commands."
"This is the process," she said. "Tell me a source."
"Thank you. Tell me about it."
"Rain falls from it."
"Fine. Tell me a no-source."
"Nothing is a no-source."
"Thank you. Tell me about it."
"Everything is a source."
"No-source" bothered me. Clearing the commands hadn't satisfied me as to its meaning.
"Tell me a source."
"Thank you. Tell me about it."
"It gives milk."
I was running out of responses to the alternating questions, especially "no-source."
"Tell me a source," repeated the auditor. At that moment I got a "buzz" in my head and an intuition that I was going to say something crucial and inevitable.
"Myself," I replied. "I'm a source."
The auditor indicated a floating needle.
I got quick floating needles on the other Power commands: "Tell me an existing condition. How have you handled it?"; "Where have you been?"; "Whom have you known?"; "What subjects would you like to know more about?"
As I was listing subjects, the auditor informed me that I was a Power Release. The whole thing had taken an hour and a half. I was proud of that, and having sped through the process, not in the least irritated over the cost, as Renzo had been. However, I was loath to spend money on possible "extras." On my way back to Reception I gave wide berth to a truck, parked near The Castle, that several times a week brought vitamins from an East Grinstead pharmacy. On the bulletin board at the manor I had seen Ron Hubbard's warning to preclears to take daily dosages of vitamin E and a mixture of several other vitamins he called a "GUK bomb," to counteract the effect of charge being blown off the reactive bank. Vitamins seemed an unnecessary expense.
Reception sent me to Success, where a young man with an intense TR-0 asked me my gains from Power. I didn't wish to tell him there weren't any as yet. "I feel real good about it," I said. "I anticipate many gains, and that in itself is a great gain." "Beautiful," he exclaimed, and recorded my words in his ledger. He directed me to the next desk, where another young man wanted to sign me up as a Field Staff Member -- which would entail my agreement to bring in a certain quota of recruits, for which I would receive commissions or credits. I felt an ARC break looming. Felicia and Gerald had warned me to avoid anything to do with staff. I told the young man I'd rather hold off decision until I had read some literature on the subject. He gave me the Field Staff Member Manual, but seemed unhappy with me and didn't want me to leave with my checked lines slip until I promised to return soon with my decision.
On my way to Reception I thought over the situation. Should I go back next day and refuse him, or just let it go? I was furious with him for provoking these thoughts at the very moment I had wanted to start enjoying my Power Release. I had also noticed his minor panic when he saw he was failing at his assignment. His anxiety was contagious; I was beginning to feel it. I knew that the Saint Hill staff worked all day and into the night for a pittance, trying to earn enough credits to get their first release or two. Perhaps I had dimmed his modest hopes by holding out.
I had to get the Field Staff Member business out of my mind for a while, because the next item going through lines was a security check. A business-like woman scanning an E-meter asked me intimidating questions such as, Are you here to sell confidential materials? Having just attained Power with no hitch, I wasn't nervous and got through the check in time to get back to the manor for dinner.
Sam Veach came to the table in a lighthearted mood. He had had a successful Search and Discovery and now knew for certain that he was a Clear. His eyes moistened when he told me that he was flying back to America to propose to the woman he had loved for many years. His victory over a troubled past and the affection he exuded were touching. After dinner he embraced each of us and left in a taxi.
I got off a quick letter to Felicia and Gerald asking them if I had done the wrong thing with the recruiter. By nightfall I had put the episode out of my mind. Curled up in bed in my igloo sleeping position, I felt the presence of something new, the Power coursing through my body, connecting with greater sources in the dark sky and forests out in the Sussex night.