Knowest Thou The Meaning of Potential?

The very sound of his name set off a reaction in you. It triggered into existence some kind of a primal threat that exploded your consciousness into a state of panic, and an acute awareness that readied yourself for a fight or flight response.

I remember a day in jolly old England when I had taken a break from Ron’s Saint Hill Special Briefing Course. Tooling through the magnificence of the British countryside was magic. The cool air giggled as it played with the warmth of the sun, and together they gave birth to a refreshing breeze, The sky was a deep sensuous blue and big puffy white clouds adorned the sky. It was my favorite kind of day. Every one of my meat body preceptors was basking in a sea of pure delight. Every glimpse of the intricate and voluminous cloud  patterns served as an enticing invitation to bask in a favorite fantasy or two. 

Traveling along in my little blue stick-shift English Ford, that was Betsy’s latest body, I wound up the narrow pathway that traversed it’s way past an old English farm that was dressed in grasses that swayed to the sound of some unheard symphony. So beautiful and magnificent was the setting, that I feel it a crime to use the limited power of words to describe it

This excursion away from all the magic happenings I was experiencing as a result of my 1965-1966 studies, is about a year and a half ahead of where we left off in the last chapter of these chronicles. However, a happening of that time so beautifully aligns with the story I want to tell you, that I feel its of value to jump forward to one of my 1967 adventures at Ron’s Saint Hill Manor College in Sussex England. After that story, we will jump back once again to the 1966 courses I was taking at the LA Org, for it was nearly time for the Angels to return to the City of the Angles. (And I am not referring to the baseball team.)

Barbara, the beautiful, sexy red head, who was the receptionist at the Ron’s English college, sat by my side, a pleasure akin to the glory of the countryside we were passing through. It was the first and only time that I ever felt that there was something wrong with Betsy’s latest English car body. What was wrong, was the stick-shift that separated me from the opportunity to sneak a feel of Barbara as we continued on our Sunday afternoon trek. (Betsy if you remember, was the name I had given to the spirit who had joined me when I bought my first car, the blue bullet-nosed Studebaker. When that beloved car exploded on the realization that we were going to England, Betsy left that car body. She met with me just after my arrival in England in January of 1967. Then together we boarded a magnificent English steam train, just like Harry Potter, and off we went to East Grinstead. It was in fact Betsy who picked out her new body but until this very moment I didn’t know that, for she just informed that, “that was the way it was“. Anyway back to the English countryside.)

Barbara was a bit perplexed by the fact that the passengers of dozens of other cars that passed us, “On The Wrong Side of The Road”, continually flashed their lights at us and joyfully waved. Barbara felt it was some kind of a mystery, like “who was that mysterious guy that I was talking about at opening of this chapter, the one who‘s name struck fear in the hearts of men.”

I suspect that Lou Jordan, The Old Timer who had created the Love, Sex and Marriage seminar that got me into all of this stuff, had told Barbara some things about me, for he to was at Hubbard’s Saint Hill College. Louie knew that I had a crush on Barbara, and he wanted to assist me with my plans to add carnal knowledge to the Hubbard curriculum. Unfortunately he, or “Liza’s Boyfriend“, who was also there at the college, had told Barbara what a great and special OT guy I was. Unfortunately it backfired, for after just one more date, Barbara decided that I was too far above her, and thus her willingness to do the things I wanted to o went up in a puff of smoke. It really made me mad when that happened, and I wanted to vent my anger at The Old Timers for painting a picture that  put Barbara off. I didn’t want her to think I was above her, I wanted us both to experience the pleasure of my being above her. It was probably Liza’s Boyfriend who ruined my chances. Louie was just too cool to do something that messed things up.

As we finished traveling up the winding narrow English Country road, we emerged into a vast expanse of grass that was also swaying to the string section of some ethereal symphony orchestra that our ears were not tuned to.
It was an amazing sight. From where we parked, the grass sloped upward at gentle fifteen degree angle. To our left it tilted away from us as if it were the blanket of some sleeping giant who legs went on forever. To our right it rose slightly upward, and in the distance it curved its neck into a sharp ninety degree turn and then disappeared into a distance toofar for our eyes to see.  

Entranced we began walking slowly upward. Off in the distance before us, our computing intellects told us that the expanse must be slanting downward, for at the limit of our sight it seemed to join the sky.

We walked slowly and serenely, daring not to utter a word that would disturb the comforting feeling of peace that had permeated into our being. Not one squawk did we hear from the seagulls that glided in graceful patters above our head, for they to, it seemed were caught up in the majesty of the moment.

Gently we picked up one foot and then the other, and gently and carefully we put them down again least we trample on this living sea of nature that caressed and welcomed us.

Lost in a trance, we continued onward drawn by an ocean breeze that promised us a grand view of the sea when we at last reached the pinnacle of this ocean of gently flowing grass.

Closer and closer we came, as we continued to peacefully traverse the remaining distance to the ocean view that was soon to be. Closer and closer we came to the top of the hill. A hint of excitement and delicious anticipation began to creep its way into our serene countenance. Entering into the final moments of our journey to the top, it began to grow in intensity. Mental images of the sea sprang into our consciousness - a magnificent view of crashing waves breaking at the end of a gently sloping expanse of grass that was the twin brother of the undulating  meadow that rose before us.

Another exciting mental image jumped into being when we realized that in just a few more steps we would be there, Having been energized by a new surge of excitement that threatened, like a hungry dragon, to consume our serenity, this new mental image becoming crystal clear. It presented us with a thrilling preview of what was to come - a take your breath away image of a carpet of grass that swayed in harmony with a crashing musical crescendo that highlighted the sea of nature that sloped gently down to waves breaking on a sandy shore below.

Then suddenly we were there, and the just as suddenly, our mental images of a gently sloping brother to the sea of grass we had just traversed exploded out of existence, and a feeling of “utter terror!” took its place, for we had nearly fallen off the edge of The White Cliffs of Dover.

There had been no warning, no sign, no hit of an indication of what was to come. One second we were basking in a marriage of serenity and excited anticipation, and in the next, we were assaulted by a feeling of utter dread as if every ounce of adrenalin in the universe were flying forth in a desperate attempt to rescue us from certain death.

For some time my body continued to shake from head to toe. It trembled like a San Francisco Earthquake as I sat on the solid unmoving ground and did what I could to convince my frazzled brain and nerves that we were all right, that we were no longer on the edge of a chalk white cliff that plummeted hundreds of feet to rocks below. I held and hugged Barbara to assure her that we were alright. At least our near descent into the abyss had resulted in something of value.

We lay on the cool grass. We buried and rubbed our faces in it. It was an effort designed to comfort the sea of adrenaline that had come to our rescue.  “Were OK now“, we assured it. “You can go back to from whence you came“. Nervously and cautiously the hormone tentatively agreed to return home. As it tuned and slowly began its journey back to the adrenal gland that it had came from, it turned back to face us, and like a protective mother, it shook a chemical chastising finger at us, as it cautioned us to be more careful in the future.   

We continued to lounge on solid, unmoving ground for about an hour or so, and then I decided to crawl carefully forward to get a view of The White Cliffs of Dover that had scared the shit out of me.

It took quite a while before I was able to enjoy the magnificence of this vista, and to correct the inaccurate mental images I had of it just prior to the instantaneous materialization of the terrifying mental image of my falling to my death, that now flickered in and out of my consciousness at an ever slowing rate.

For, if you remember, when we were serenely walking up the gentle slope of grass, I had imagined that we would encounter a twin slope that lead down to the ocean shore. So when I carefully crawled back for another look, my sight of the actual physical reality initiated a CLEARING process that ejected the false mental images, and replaced them with the “real” one.

At first my tentative efforts to explore resulted in the appearance of more fear. Then, when my crawling lead me to the actual edge of the cliff, I was again hit with an intense feeling of terror that swamped all of other senses into a catatonic state. Go up to the roof of a really high building, go to an edge that had no protective barrier, stand on the edge with your shoes half on and half off the ledge, and then lean forward in the hope that this will afford you a visceral experience of the terror we had experienced.

That was the kind of terror that surged into existence when “His” name was mentioned by one of my fellow students at the Northrop Institute of Technology.

Just in case you may have forgotten, I opened up this chapter with the following lines:

“The very sound of his name set off a reaction in you. It triggered into existence some kind of a primal threat that exploded your consciousness into a state of panic, and an acute awareness that readied yourself for a fight or flight response.”

His name was Professor John Wells, and his reputation of being utterly insane, scared the Heaven out of us, and the hell into us, for we all knew that in the not to distant future, our physics professor, he would be.

I was in my senior year of engineering studies at the Northrop Institute of Technology. The 1963 term had just started, and for better or worse, I was about to enter his class.

Every member in our class had programmed themselves into the practice of always arriving before the coming of Professor John Wells, for all of us instantly knew the dire consequences that would beset us if we were not here when ”HE” arrived.

The first few days of these class were moderately sane. Although the professor did exhibit a number of rather strange and unusual characteristics, he had not gone off the deep end.

Every day he would stride intently into the class like a madman just as the large clock in our classroom indicated the arrival of the exact second when the class was scheduled to commence.

Like A Brahma Bull who readied himself to gorge out of existence a pompous, splendidly attired, self centered, know-it-all Matador, the professor would walk boldly and briskly into the class. He would then slam his personal books and course materials onto his desk, and then slowly turn in a menacing way toward the class Then, if nobody did anything to set him off, he would begin the days lesson.

His lessons were brilliant, the living refection of a man that forever teetered between genius and madness.

Then it happened. We all knew that it would, we just didn’t know when.

His entrance this day was particularly manic, and we should have been forewarned, for the energy of his movements were ten times more intense that they usually were.

Striding in like an escaped mental patient, he slammed his materials onto his desk with a particularly ferocious intent, and then he turned glaring out at us.

“Are there any questions?”, he asked, as we all sat silently in a mental state of intense anxiety that instructed us not to make a move..

“Well!”, he yelled when there was no response, as he fixed his menacing attention on us with a intimidating glare.

We sensed that at any moment he would explode into a state of utter insanity if he failed to get a response to his question, and then, one particularly courageous student, braced himself in his seat, and then raised his hand.

Immediately the professor fixed his attention on the student, as he waited impatiently to see what this idiot would ask.

“I was having a bit of difficulty with problem number seven” the student said as he worked to speak in a way that would not offend the mad scientist that stood menacingly before him.

Then all hell broke loose.

“You mother fucking, cock sucking, son-of-a-bitch!”, the professor screamed at a volume that threatened to blow the windows out of the classroom.

“You expect me to work your fucking problem.”, he yelled.

“Get the fuck out of my classroom right now, you fucking, cock sucking moron. I will do everything in my power to have you expelled from this school.”

“Get out! Get out!! Get Out!!”, he continued to scream until the poor student was forced to leave the room.

Then just as the humiliated and terrified student cleared the door, the professor turned back to us and screamed menacingly, “Now are there any questions?”

There was a pregnant pause, a pause so intense that it seemed like it would prevent the universe from ever birthing anything into existence ever gain.

And then something happened to me, as the professor continued to ready himself to pounce on the next idiot that opened his mouth.

It was as if the doors of Heaven suddenly opened up and an angel of unfathomable beauty and wisdom caressed me with the way to address and appease the insanity that stood before me. It was not a visual experience. I did not see this angel of wisdom, I just felt her permeating into the heart of my soul.

Suddenly I felt fabulous and I entered into a feeling of serenity that I didn’t know it was possible to experience.

Slowly and deliberately t stood up from my chair, and instantly the professor fixed me with a set of eyes that were about to disintegrate me with a Superman type of X-ray vision.

Calmly, and serenely I looked back at the professor as a genuine love for this misunderstood, unappreciated and unacknowledged genus, flooded into my being.

“Knowest The Meaning of Potential?” I said to the magnificent being that lived in the body of this grand and frustrated professor.

Instantly, a change came over him that I can only liken to a personal visit and blessing of the almighty himself.

His menacing face transformed before my eyes. The red glow that was energizing his X-ray vision up to its full destructive potential, relaxed into an admiring glow of acknowledgment for this student who had somehow mysteriously linked himself to a knowledge of what it was really all about.

“Take heed!”, he said to the class in loud, strong and powerful voice, that at the same time, was laced with a set of loving, proud and excited feelings that hinted of his true nature.

“Thou hast heard a question.”, he concluded.

With that, he turned to the blackboard, and gave the most amazing dissertation on the subject of potential that it has ever been my pleasure to hear.

I have not, as of this moment, the capacity to even begin to do justice to the things he had to say. A trip to the edge of that high building might afford you a modicum of feeling for what true potential is like. Slowly tilting an ice cold picture of water toward you face and body, might give you another sense of what he was talking about. But the true nature and magnitude of understanding needed to Grok the full essence of the potential this professor was telling us about, would require a transcendent experience akin to being one with the Gods

Somehow, the question I had been spiritually handed, had hit a cord in Professor John  Wells. Somehow it had released him from the insanities that sprung out of his frustration over not having students and colleagues who even begin to duplicate and understand the magnificence and intricacies of the truths that dance in his consciousness. Well, if he was brilliant before, it was but a pale comparison to the brilliance he exhibited as he skoke to us that day. It was light years ahead of anything that humans are normally allowed to regurgitate.

His beyond brilliant verbal thesis touched on every known, and unknown type of potential. With him we explored the physics and chemical potentials delegated in our sciences, the many kinds of potentials that exist in human nature, and on to the potentials of us as Gods - potentials that were poised and ready to spring into existence when they were released from the limiting beliefs that we and our culture impose upon ourselves.

He spoke of Meta and Quantum physics potentials that, for the most part, didn’t even exist in the culture and literature of the time.

For a while after that we became friends, and we would share some of the wonders of the cosmos. Then one day he vanished, like a wizard of old, and I never heard from him again.

The whole thing was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, and the visit from the wise spirit that had channeled “The Right Question” into me, was an OT, Advanced Spiritual Experience that occurred years before my introduction to The Old Timers and Scientology.

Back on Course

In the Fall of 1965

An ability, an ability.

An ability regained. An ability regained.

Making the able more able. Consciously and deliberately able - able to be sober - able to be drunk - able in direct response to my thoughts, my ideas and my beliefs.

“And the word was made manifest.”

Daily and nightly, on course and in my mind, I was being subjected to a sea of ideas, a flood of possibilities and a plethora of life enhancement processes, that had materialized in the imagination of a science fiction writer who had transformed himself into a pied piper - a legendary player of enchanting music that entices us to enter a world of infinite and delicious possibilities.   

“It is done unto us as we believe“, the Christ had reportedly said. “and these things“, these miracles, “ye shall do and greater things.”

These ideas energized in my mind the thought that WE MAY ACTUALLY HAVE THE POTENTIAL AND ABILITY TO ACCOMPLISH ANYTHING.

“The second coming of Christ is not the reappearance of the son of God”. my mind re-minded me. It is the discovery that we are God, that we are truly the sons and daughters of the most high, that we are the most high, that we have always been the most high and we are about be the most high again. For we are remembering who and what we truly are. We are RE-MEMBERING ourselves. We are gathering together all the parts of us, the Divine parts of us that we seemingly left behind. We are pulling ourselves together, we are finding and gathering the parts of us that we scattered from one end of the cosmos to the other. We are being true Spirits of Play. We are dissolving the illusion that, as humans, we are separate from the unlimited majesty and power of who and what we truly are. We are bringing the parts of us back together. We are literally RE-MEMBERING ourselves.

These are not concepts that I could have so clearly delineated as I sat on a Scientology course adorned with a stupid-looking, bulky, appearance altering set of earphones on my head. These were not things I could have clearly reminded myself of as I listened to yet another of Hubbard’s taped lectures. These were not things I could say as I basked in the glory of the latest Guru I had the honor to attract. I would have to do years of RE-MEMBERING myself before I could consciously and clearly articulate what I was trying to pull off in the summer and fall of nineteen sixty five. Yet in essence this was what I was feeling in the reassessment of my being as I aligned with Ron’s attempts to materialize a workable path to total freedom.

“We are CLEARING the false illusions that we projected ourselves into "a deep, but as yet un-cleared part of me re-minded me. We are clearing the illusions that daily seem to confirm that we are separate from the intrinsic majesty of who and what we truly are in our most high and most native state. We are “The Good Vibrations” that the Beach Boys sing about. We are “The Awesome Man” concepts that the cool guys and gals of the culture invite us to be. We are the flower children, and we are the unconditional love that they tried to get us into back them. Hell, we are it all, and Heaven, we are it all.

These were not exactly the thoughts I had as I sailed daily though the sea of materials that had sprung into the mind and imagination of a former pulp fiction writer. These were thoughts that took years to congeal into the understandings I have as I write these words today.

In his early days Ron scripted many adventure stories into existence. He invited us to ride with him into the old west, glide though the adventures of a sleuth who turned mysteries into understandings, and fly with space jockeys and heroes who righted wrongs from one end of the galaxy to the other. Now as I portioned out my precious attention units onto Ron’s red on white, green on white and black on blue writings, I was being continually invited into an adventure of my own - an adventure that enticed me into the game of re-scripting my life using the mental and psychic tools Ron had imagined and channeled into existence.       

As I continued to consciously and unconsciously absorb Ron’s ideas into the core of my psyche, I dived deeper and deeper into a promise - a promise that has danced on the lips of philosophers, preachers, gurus and con men since the dawn of time, a promise of total freedom.

Minute after minute, hour after hour, and eternity after eternity I was being drawn in by a constant, never-ending stream of Ron’s ideas, concepts and processes - processes that promised to blow the hell out of pain of Damnation and open wide the gates of Paradise.

Was the promise of total freedom real? Would all this stuff actually work?, or was I being enticed to the gambling tables of a Las Vegas that promised great wealth when the great wealth was actually going into the hands of  the New Age Barnum and Bailey Barkers that asserted that "There's A Sucker Born Every Minute." 

Were all of my magical experiences real, or were they just a set of brain neuron’s that got over excited by a rush of adrenalin that surged into existence with the idea that I actually might be able to get my carpet to fly and my world to fly along with it? Was it all a conjured up illusion coming from my desire to join in with The Great Spirits of Play? Was it all a product of my wild imagination or was it real? Well if I was being a sucker, I was having a ball being one, and I was ready to continue.