You Are One Hundred Percent Totally Correct 
 

One of my greatest spiritual  accomplishments was the chronic discovery that everyone actually is one hundred percent totally correct all of the time. The confirmation of this powerfully freeing realization occurred many years after the Church’s declaration that I was an evil, nasty suppressive person who would turn you into a potential trouble source if you had the misfortune of getting too close to me.

For a long time I did not agree that I was a nasty suppressive person who infected my fellow man with the disease of not being able to function smoothly in their progress in life or their progress along the road to total freedom.

Then after my confirmation of the fact that everyone is totally correct all of the time, I realized that they were in fact one hundred present totally correct all of the time.

It may take a bit of time for you to wrap your wits around this concept. It certainly did for me,. However, I assure you that the rewards of discovering that it is true are phenomenally freeing and rewarding.

So with your permission, I will share with you some of my ideas on the subject of your being totally correct. Then we can get back to the story of what magical things happened after I graduated from the Northrop Institute of Technology. For if you remember, that is where The Johnny Raff Chronicles left off.

From our point our view, it is somewhat obvious that we always are one hundred percent totally correct, but there is a lot more to it than that. In fact, to a great degree, this is the thing that determines the degree to which we are OT. This is the thing that determines how much conscious and deliberate magic we have or do not have in our lives.

However, before we explore the idea that there is a lot more to this than the simple idea that we are totally correct from our point of view, let us first examine the idea that we really are totally correct from our point of view.

There are fundamentally two functional definitions for the word viewpoint:
    1, It is a point from which we view or perceive things. It is a location - a place, and
    2. It is our ideas, considerations, opinions and attitudes regarding another person, place or thing.

“I think” it was wrong of “The Church” to tell everyone that I was a nasty suppressive person. “The Church” thought it was a good idea to tell everyone that I was an SP. Well, from our prospective points of view, “I” and “The Church” were and are one hundred percent totally correct. “The Church” had the opinion that I was an SP, and I had the opinion that I was not. We were both correct from “our points of view“.

“The Church” didn’t simply view who and what I was from a particular location in space. They choose to create ideas, considerations, opinions and attitudes regarding me, and at the time, I chose to do the same. Form out points of view we were both one hundred percent totally correct.

I know that this dissertation may seem a bit obvious and tedious. However, I invite you not to fall into the trap of thinking you now know everything there is to know about this already. I once got the idea that I knew all there was to know about a subject, and it got me into a lot of trouble. In actual fact, it completely shut off my ability, my OT ability, to consciously and deliberately create miracles for myself. So please bear with me. We aren’t going to look at this for too long, but maybe this looking will spark in you and me a cord of knowingness that leads to the life magic we are all seeking.

Of course from one point of view, “The Church” didn’t do anything, because “The Church” is not a living, breathing being who can see, hear, smell, feel, taste and experience the pure magic of knowing what life and the universe are all about. “The Church” is composed of a number of individuals that have their points of view. It was these people who collectively decided that it was a good idea to declare me to be an SP based on their viewpoint that I actually was. Or maybe their leader took control of the situation and told them to declare me because he felt it was a good idea to get this so called Magic Thetan out of the way. For who knows what havoc A Magic Thetan might do. He might even do the dastardly thing of convincing people that they were OT before they completed all of the OT  courses, and that would be a disaster of monumental proportions. Well regardless of whether it was the group think or some individual who did it, it was a set of created opinions that got me declared.

Actually “The Church” really is alive. It really can  see, hear, smell, feel, taste and experience the pure magic of knowing what life and the universe are all about. It really is a living, breathing consciousness that you can talk to as easily as you can talk to me or anybody else. However, that is another subject entirely and if we start going into that right now, we will be here all year. Actually we will be here through all of eternity. So let me curb my aberration here and now. Let me cut off my aberrated tendency to wonder off of the subject at hand.

So we all have viewpoints all of the time, and from our point of view, we are always one hundred percent totally correct all of the time.

People spend a lot of time, a lot of their precious time, defending their points of view. “He really is an SP they say.” “No he’s not“, another retorts. He’s a great guy.”

“Yes he is.” “No he’s not.” “Yes he is.” “No he’s not” “YES HE IS!” “NO HE’S NOT!!” And there goes our precious time. There goes our precious attention units. There goes our joy, and there goes our love. All because we CHOOSE to engage in the social wars games of defending our points of view.

The really insane thing is that our viewpoints need no defense. We created them so why do we need to defend them???

If we don’t like the idea that someone or something is opposing our points of view, all we have to do is create the viewpoint that everyone loves and supports our points of view.

But it doesn’t work that way I hear your programmed, aberrated, fixed opinions and attitudes say. It doesn’t work that way. The universe doesn’t just suddenly transform because you change your viewpoint. The universe doesn’t magically become what you want it to be because you arbitrarily change your attitude, your habitual mode of regarding things. (which by the way, is the definition of an attitude - “a habitual mode of regarding anyone or anything.”). You have to get OT, really OT, before you can make everything change at The Speed of Thought, and I’m not even sure that its even possible to get to a state of unlimited power. I am not even sure if it is even a good idea for anyone to have that kind of power, for everyone knows that absolute power corrupts absolutely. What if an SP got that kind of power. My God the havoc he would reek.

Well my dear friends and eternal loved ones, let me let you in on a secret. Everyone does not know that absolute power corrupts absolutely. In actual fact, only an infinitesimally small percentage of the beings in the MultiVerse create and cling to that viewpoint, for most of the beings in the MultiVerse  know with absolute certainty that if you buy into that idea you are likely to become the effect of it. It is only a very small percentage of the beings who hold to the viewpoint that absolute power will be misused, and most of them are inhabiting a small, out of the way planet, called Earth.

Actually everything does change at “The Speed of Thought“, and actually you are OT right NOW. You are an unlimited totally powerful being right NOW. You are just using your unlimited ability to limit yourself.

You are one hundred percent totally correct. If you say it doesn’t work that way, you are one hundred percent totally correct and the universe itself will prove you are right. It will tenaciously defend your fixed opinion and your “habitual modes of regarding things” forever, or for as long as you choose to cling to the viewpoint that it all happens a certain way and no other way.

I again apologize for ever thinking that you were not right. Please accept my heartfelt and sincere apology, for it is absolutely and eternally true that you are always ONE HUNDRED PERCENT TOTALLY CORRECT.

So on with the Story

So NOW, my Northrop Institute of Technology communications circuits exam was just a memory. Thank God.

I had graduated, and I was subsequently, and delightedly, got hired by the Space Systems Division of Douglas Aircraft in Huntington beach California.

I was working on the rocket they were going to send to the moon. I was in the prestigious position of being a rocket Scientologist, and in about thirty years or so, my beloved wife Carolyn would give me a tee shirt that said, “I really am a rocket scientist.”, and with that tee shirt, I would entice people into the viewpoint that this was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

I had purchased form my roommate a blue 1961 Bullet Nose Studebaker car for fifty dollars, the one that looks like a bullet coming and going.

In order to fully appreciate all the magical things that were about to happen to that car, you must first fully appreciate that when I bought the car, an all powerful, unconditionally loving OT spirit showed up and took on the body of the car, I named her Betsy and she loved the name and the female identity I had blessed her with. Together we traveled the highways of the MultiVerse and she has been with me ever since. Over the years we have mutually agreed to get her a new car body, but regardless of the body we dressed her in, she never left, and I suspect she never will.

Daily I would travel about a hundred and twenty miles at eighty miles an hour or more in the forth lane of the freeway. I would travel from my apartment in Inglewood to the to the towering moon rocket assembly buildings of Douglas' Space Systems Division. Here I would stare in awe and wonder as I thought about the amazing OT WOGS that were able to put this all together. The Scientology technical dictionary tells us that the word WOG refers to a “Worthy Oriental Gentleman”. It was meant to symbolize someone who wasn’t trying to accomplish anything of value in life. Unfortunately, however, it got turned into a derogatory word by people who fell into the trap of thinking that because they were in Scientology they were better than the people who were not. It used to really piss me off when some of my Scientology colleagues had the gall to think badly of people just because they were not in Scientology. I remember taking one particular idiot down to the Bonaventure Hotel where I had him observe this magnificent creation from a lofty height. “You see this”, I said. “WOGS built this, and before you look down on them again, I suggest that you see if you can design and built one of these. Then you can determine if you still want to refer to “these wogs” as people who are less than you. Until then I suggest you keep your derogatory ideas to yourself. Then you will be the only one who suffers from your stupidity.”

After I completed my attempts to write a computer program that would tell the Saturn Moon rocket to fire is tiny course correction engines so that it could get its ass back onto the path it was supposed to be on, I got back into my blue bullet Studebaker and off I went at eighty mph or more to my Church of Scientology courses. Often I stayed after course so that I could discuss with my fellow classmates the many magical things we were  learning, This was especially true when the fellow student was a strikingly looking, sexy woman, like Phyllis, the one gal in our class that had the ability to get me to wonder off of the materials I was studding. Often these after class sharing sessions would go on and on. So it was not uncommon for me to remain at the org, or a local coffee shop. until after midnight. However, sooner or later, I would jump back into MY Betsy Car, dash up a freeway ramp and accelerate her up to a speed that was considered to be illegal from the viewpoint of a number of highway patrolmen.

I remember coming back one evening from my job in Huntington Beach. As usual I was in the high speed lane of the freeway, a lane by the way, that was always free of traffic for some mysterious reason. As I traveled merrily along, I had the thought that I had been breaking the speed limit now for several months, and although I felt I had the self determined Old Timer right to do whatever I damn well pleased, and I also figured that it was about time for me to get a ticket for my brash tendency to ignore the speed limit.

Well in the next instant I was totally blown away, for just as I completed my “time to get a ticket thought“, I glanced into my rear view mirror, and there he was, approaching at great speed, his red lights flashing and his irritating siren screaming into the surrounding area.

I was in an utter state of delight as the patrolman emerged from his car and approached Betsy’s rear end. As he approached with his ticket book to hand, I rolled down Betsy’s window.

“You were doing seventy eight”, he informed me in a stringent tone of voice.

“I was doing eighty five,” I replied with a proud radiant smile.
“Yah!”, the offers exclaimed with a tone of amazement in his voice. “And the thing wasn’t burning any oil. What have you got in this old buggy?”

“Just the standard factory built engine”, I replied “but it’s the spirit of the car that makes her fly down the highway with effortless ease.”

We must of talked for a half hour.

He ended up giving me a speeding ticket for going sixty seven miles an hour, which at the time was two miles over the posted speed limit.

Good thing too, because the amount you paid for those tickets was determined by how fast you were going over the speed limit. If the officer had elected to write the ticket for the actual 85 miles an hour that I was going, I would have been in for quite a hefty fine.

That was a really fun experience for me for it was the 1st time that the magical nature of my Betsy Car really astounded somebody. However, it was not to be the last.

Being at “The Org”

My studies in the Church were nothing short of amazing. I was learning things that I didn’t know existed to be learned. It reminded me of the first line in that first study bulletin that I had encountered on the first day of my first course in Scientology, the one where my ego immediately decided that this introductory course was not worth the money I was paying for it. “In order to study anything, there must be something to study". Well every evening, and every weekend, I was discovering many new things to study. I was in fact on the newly created, latest version, of Ron’s Bridge to Total Freedom. I was also rapidly on my way to becoming a Class-IV auditor due to the fact that I was reportedly the fastest student they ever had at the Los Angeles Academy. Both I and my ego were delighted to get that news.

In addition to my course studies at The Org, I was continuing my tutelage under The Old Timers, especially Louie Jordan. I was doing processes and exercises that would not be on the Bridge for years. In fact, some of them never made it to the Bridge. Under Lou’s brilliant guidance, I was taken through a set of spacation exercises that enabled me to feel as if the entire planet were in my space instead of the space I thought the planet was in when I was the fourteen year old youngest member of the Van Vleck Amateur Astronomers club on the campus of Wesleyan University in Middletown Connecticut.

One of the non Scientological areas that I was ushered into by The Old Timers, led me to end, once and for all, my long adherence to the practice of failing to engage in some carnal knowledge with a lady of the opposite sex. Louie and Jerry had introduced me to a woman named Elsa, and Elsa reminded me of Liza Minnelli’s song from the musical Cabaret, “And as for me I made up my mind in Chelsea. When I go I’m going like Elsie” However, in this case, it wasn’t Elsie that went out, it was me.

I went out to Elsa’s house, and there in a beautiful setting dressed with plants and feminine knickknacks, I really got the knack of things.

For the most part I want to keep these Johnny Raff Chronicles PG rated, but in this one instance, I feel compelled to share a bit of X-rated material, for although I am not sure that this particular happening would be called an OT spiritual being experience by anyone else, it was for me.

Thanks to Elsa’s lovely touch and guiding nature, I first entered into carnal bliss in her beautiful queen sized bed, and then, after a rest of an hour or so, I got re-introduced to this special kind of joy in yet another way.

Then three hours after that, as we lounged in the living room, the game was again afoot. After several minutes of missionary bliss, I felt Elsa’s hands pushing on my shoulders. Where she was seeking to push me became immediate obvious. At first I resisted the push, for my sudden realization of what I was being requested to do had triggered a wave of intense nausea that rapidly flooded into my stomach. The sickness then proceeded to travel up my body, through my chest cavity, and up to my blood flushed face and head. Actually, it summed that the sickness didn’t stop until it had fully saturated into the very core of my brain and beingness.

The nauseating sickness continued to grow in intensity as the pressure of Elsa’s hands continued to insist that I slide to a lower and lower part of her feminine anatomy.

I have never been one who could easily refuse anyone anything. To a great degree one of my greatest joys in life occurs when I am successfully able to bring joy and pleasure to another. However, I was just not ready for this, and my resistance to the pressure of Elsa’s hands must have been very apparent to her.

“Think!“, I mentally said to myself. “Think!, and think fast“.

“What’s going on here?”, I asked myself.

“It’s obvious what going on“, I psychically replied to the chattering voices in my nauseated head

“The lady wants you to do something that is making you sick“.

“Think, think!”, I said to myself again.

“She must obviously really like what her hands are attempting to get you to do. In fact, she probably loves it“.

“Ok, OK. OK, if she loves it“, I reasoned, “than it is something that can be loved. And with thought, all of my nausea disappeared as if it had been strapped to the side of one of the solid fuel rockets that we periodically exploded into the heavens at breakneck speed.

By the time Elsa’s hands and arms had completed they task of taking my head, face and mouth down to the desired destination, I was ready to perform.

All my nausea and all my sicknesses was gone. I was in a really keyed-out state from my realization that anything that anybody liked, could be liked. So I went to work doing the very best job I possibly could.

To my utter delight, Elsa later reported that it was the best oral sex she had ever had, and I never told her of my journey through the sea of sickness.

_________________________________

It was a beautiful sunny day in Southern California. The two of us sat at the bottom of the hill waiting for the light to change, he in is beautiful red Corvette convertible and I in my blue 1951 bullet Studebaker.

It was a steep hill, a really steep one, possibly the steepest in the LA area.

The light changed and we were off.

We weren’t racing each other. We were simply going up the hill.

About half way up, Betsy effortless glided past the Corvette as it was standing still. Well. it must have hit a cord in the fellow’s ego because he suddenly put his foot to the metal in an attempt to overcome the sense of male humiliation that must have been flooding into his consciousness.

Just as we reached the top of the hill, where we had to stop for another light, he caught up to me.

“My God!” he remarked as he twisted sideways to face me.

“What have you got in that thing?”

“Just the stuff she came with“, I replied as the guy’s mouth dropped open.

“Geeze“, he replied in utter amazement, “I sure hope my car runs that good when it’s that old“.

“I do to", I sincerely replied. “Have a great day“, I remarked as the light changed and Betsy shot off leaving the Corvette for dead.

Chalk up one more for Betsy, for this was the second guy I knew of that she had brought into a state of awe and disbelief. There may have been a bunch of others, for I seldom paid much attention to the cars I zoomed by, but if there were, I knew them not.

One of the most quietly dramatic happenings occurred when I slipped into a Chevron station to fill Betsy up. Although there were a number of times when Betsy demonstrated that she could go an amazingly long distance when the gas gauge said she was empty, I never thought to see just how far she would go on an empty tank of gas. So I was still in the habit of filling her up when I finally got around to noticing that the gas gauge said she needed some sustenance.

As I drifted into some wild imaginings of what magical things I might be able to do when I got all of the Scientology basics under my belt, the gas station attendant attended to Betsy’s needs. This was still the time when there were gas station attendants that actually attended to things.

“You want me to check the oil?” the guy asked breaking me out of the world I was in and back into the so called physical universe.

“Aaa... Sure… I guess so”, I stammered for in all the time that Betsy and I had been together, I never thought about oil. In fact I don’t think I ever even opened the hood.

At the time I wasn’t much of a mechanic. In fact when it came to cars, I was no mechanic at all. Although I was real good at fixing all sorts of things when I was growing up, cars were never my thing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved cars as much as the next guy, but I was never into how they ran or what you did to fix them when they didn’t. That was my brother Mike’s domain. He was a pure magician when it came to cars and motorcycles. His ability was akin to that of my uncle Jim’s when it came to cars. Uncle Jim was the guy you went to when mechanical things didn’t work. When I was growing up, he was the toy fixing wizard. When some mechanical device would not perform as was supposed to perform, you brought it to Uncle Jim.

Latter in my Johnny Raff Chronicles - The Early Years, I will share some amazing stories with you about the amazing family I was blessed with.

My brother Mike didn’t really know Uncle Jim when I was growing up, because he simply wasn’t around. He had not yet taken on one of these human meat bodies that Ron referred to as. “a low combustion carbon engine that runs at 98.6 degrees on a low combustion fuel generally derived from other life forms”. I loved that definition. It was somehow really exciting to think of my body as a carbon engine that injected the low combustion fuel that we call food. I imagined the fuel going in, especially things like my mothers incredible Italian dishes, like lasagna, baked egg plant, baked zeeties, and especially her try to find the words grand enough to do them justice deserts, like her chocolate cream pie that she covered with a cloud of lightly sweetened whip cream, and her ice box cake that sent people into seventh Heaven the moment it touched their taste buds.

Yah, it was real fun to imagine these food fuels descending down a pipe and into the chemical furnace called the stomach. There, as it slowly burned at a low temperature in the process we call digestion, it gave off heat as all burning things do. I could imagine that heat being transported to all the parts of the body so that the brain could tell the body what muscles it should and should not contract. This was a set of mechanics that I could get my spiritual teeth around. However, as I said, it was my brother who became the car and motorcycle wizard. He was the one who would know exactly why the gas station attendant was taking so much time under Betsy’s hood. He would be the one who would understand the guys incredulous remarks when he came back to face me.

“That car won’t run.”, the gas station attendant said to me ignoring the fact that I had just driven in a minute ago.

“What do you mean, it won’t run”, I replied.

“It won’t run!”, he insisted.

“It’s got no compression“, he asserted with mechanical certainty. “It won’t run!”

I stared at this nut in utter disbelief. How could he possibly think that when I had just into the station a few minutes ago. Well maybe it was a little longer than a few minutes.  The guy, as I said, had been under the hood for quite a while. But how could he possibly think that my beautiful and wondrous Betsy would not run. I have to admit that I was angered a bit by his assertion that my Betsy could not longer dash down the highway, and my anger made we think of one of Ron’s Axioms. The one that asserts that we need to develop a tolerance of stupidity if we ever hope to get things done..

“Come and see for yourself,” the gas station guy insisted as I reluctantly extracted myself from Betsy’s body in response to his invitation for me to observe the obvious fact that my car would not run.

Well he didn‘t know who he was dealing with. I had done all of Ron Hubbard’s Obnosis drills. There was no question in my mind that I could OBSERVE THE OBVIOUS. As far as I was concerned, we were master observers who had the ability to look at the obvious with crystal clarity, and with  no mental interfering chatter whatsoever. Well at least I was able to do that. I am not sure if my ego could pull off the acute present time awareness it took to truly observe the obvious, but I obviously could. I even felt that I was as good as Ann the Fair Witness.

In "A Stranger In A Strange Land", the Robert Heinlein science fiction classic that I talked about in an earlier chapter of The Chronicle, there was a wondrous character called  Ann the Fair Witness. She was a person who always reported only what she could perceive, nothing more and nothing less. If she was looking at the front of you and could not see your back, she would not assume you had a back, and if someone asked her if you did, she would say that she did not know. She would report  only what she could observe.

Well as I looked under Betsy’s hood with the gas station mechanic, I began to feel like I was "A Stranger In A Strange Land", for despite my considerable ability to observe the obvious, I could not see why the mechanic was so adamantly insisting that Betsy would not run.

“See, she hasn’t got any compression”, he kept insisting.

However, I could not see.

I could see that he had taken off some kind of removable housing that laid bear the valves, or the pistons, or whatever they were, but I could not see why he felt that beloved car would not run.

He kept saying things like, “Look!, you can see the ground”, through the pistons, or the valves or something like that. But for the life of me I couldn’t see what he was seeing, maybe it was my lack of mechanical knowledge that prevented me from seeing the things that he felt were so obvious, or maybe it was my certainty that Betsy could run circles around the supposed mechanic. Regardless of what it was that preventing me from seeing what he was seeing, he could not get me to join him in the consideration that the car would not run.

So I just asked his if she needed any oil, to which he sheepishly replied that she did not, despite the fact that I had never checked the oil.

So I went back to the front seat while he put back together what ever it was that he had taken apart.

Then I thanked him, started the car, and dashed up the adjacent ramp and over into the high speed lane of the freeway where I accelerated to the eighty plus miles an hour that was our normal traveling speed.

As I went flying up that freeway entrance ramp, I remembered catching a momentary view of the station mechanic in my rear view mirror. He was standing there staring at the rapidly accelerating Betsy. His mouth was wide open and his face was frozen into an expression of utter disbelief.

 

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As always, I wish you all that you wish for yourself, and if your life is not everything you want it to be, may you have the wisdom to pretend it is.

Love to you and yours.

John M Rafanello,
The Magic Thetan