An old friend from Naranjo's first Seekers After Truth group asked if I would be interested in joining her for a “spiritual event.” She gave me no real information about the evening other than it was being organized by a woman whom my friend had met in Scientology, and there was an obligation of friendship.
I also had an obligation of friendship though it would be tested, and it turns out, for much longer than this brief evening in an extremely ordinary American suburb temporarily transported into the intrigue of late Imperial Russia. My SAT friend had responded to Naranjo’s call--I think he might describe it as a suggestion but certainly not a command--to sneak into Scientology and steal their technology. She had been trained as an auditor and reached a rather high level which took an enormous amount of time and energy. Subsequently she quit the official church and worked with a group of renegade Scientologists. Others who responded to the challenge were not as fortunate. Even in the 70’s joining Scientology was not akin to joining your local Methodist Church to give your kids a groundwork in the Judeo-Christian tradition that is the backbone of democracy. It was an insidious cult. In retrospect Naranjo’s cavalier attitude was unethical and shared the distinct smell of cult practice.
I followed many of Naranjo’s suggestions as if part of the shock troops of an esoteric army aimed at recovering the secret practices that would lead to our liberation. I completed the communications course at the Berkeley Mission of the Church of Scientology, something I later learned was akin to a franchise, started by some people who had reached a certain level “going clear.” When I asked about Scientology’s attitude towards being gay, I was told that if I fully understood that the true purpose of life was survival, I would see that I had to procreate and a bit of auditing would clear up any same sex attraction that was lingering in my bank. I said thank you very much but I would not be coming back for any more classes or auditing..
I remember my exit interview quite well. I had to visit the Ethics Officer. I was told that they wanted to make sure that I had no “withholds” regarding my treatment in the Mission. I said no to whatever questions were asked and apparently my needle was floating although I remember being angry with the arrogance.
The Scientologist who was hosting the gathering was a Chinese American woman who lived in the hilly suburb of El Cerrito. It was just before dusk when we began looking for parking between the driveways of the well ordered ordinary middle class track homes. Most of the neighbors were already home from work so it took some time. Eventually we found our way into a large two car garage, complete with monochrome storage boxes neatly arranged on racks above our heads. My memory tells me that there were perhaps 50 people sitting on the folding chairs, but my rational mind can’t squeeze more than 35 into the space, perhaps less. There was a slightly raised platform where the speaker sat. He was introduced by our hostess.
Our medium had been a used car salesman who found his way to Dianetics. Apparently a bit of clearing opened the way for him to channel the Russian mystic gone rogue who could now proffer valuable advice so that we would not repeat his tragic mistakes. I found no answers but maybe I didn’t have any good questions except where did our semi-trance medium pick up the Russian accent. It was pretty hilarious. He did more than a full hour sounding like a drunk Boris Yeltsin.
I held my tongue, paid the requested donation of 5 bucks, it might have been as high as 10, and left rather unenlightened other than knowing that finding parking in the El Cerrito hills after 6 PM was not a piece of cake. I think I turned to my friend and said, well that was something. I don’t know what the financial arrangement was between the host and the medium, but the take could have been anywhere for 350 to 500 dollars, or more--in 1990 dollars. Not bad for a few hours, better than hanging out on an asphalt parking lot trying to sell beat up Toyotas.
Although I tried for many years to keep our friendship alive, this woman from SAT’s early days decided that she would not tolerate anything negative I wrote about our early work with Naranjo and cut off all communication. My obligation of friendship is that I remove her name or any identifying characteristics. If the work we did cannot stand the scrutiny of honest examination, we deny any inherent value in self-exploration. I will do anything to prevent someone from setting foot inside any Mission of the Church of Scientology although I am sure that the truth-speaking ghost of Rasputin is available for consultation. His rates have undoubtedly increased. It was more than 30 years ago.
All the particulars of these events actually happened. What in the name of God were we thinking?
