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Dianeticted
After having read the book on dianetics, I contacted the church of scientology of Quebec. They wanted to take me aboard their high priced science. But there was a 20 hours dianetics session for 200$, as a starter, a real deal compared to their other offers.
They wanted to make me an auditor at the cost of 10 000$. All All I wanted, was to test the waters.
So Marjolaine decided to diagnose for cheap.
She was a tall blonde with generous hips, and easygoing, my type!
We started with docuementing the good and clear memories, the ones that we can access easily, to finally try to explore some moments of non-conciousness that were easy to locate.
In my case, an operation under anaesthesia. I only needed to close my eyes and answer his orders, brief, precise and neutral.
They were repeated as needed, exactly the same.
My good memories worth of mention, not many of them, the less pleasant ones too. However, I stuck on my appendectomy. The doctor was very brusk and silent. It was in the evening, after his workday, and he wasn't in a mood to joke around.
He cut abruptly and I heard only one sound clearly, that of my sectioned appendix falling at the bottom of a bucket.
After, I was taken care of by a nurse to give me time to fully awaken, but I was pissing on the bed before I could come back.
The noise she made woke me up, but she wasn't happy. It was still an urgency, so I wasn't on an empty stomach. They took me grumbling to a room.
It was starting well, ''priming'' by the book, I was discovering without too much problems the engrams, the unconscious painful moments that left their mark in my psyche.
I found a moment, where when I was a baby, I was mistreated. I fell from the table and in her natural anxiety, my mother held me so......
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....tight that she almost broke my neck. I came to remember, but it was later that scientology made me realise that at this moment, I was beginning to refuse reality. We were progressing slowly to the preborn, what has happened between birth and conception. There were some ''bumps'' here and there : Morning sickness, occasional coits, but 2 instances diserve to stand out, one shows the limits of dianetics, and the second one it's ''finesse''.
A memory, conscious or not, should contain all elements of reality, and Marjolaine's work was to help me explore all the aspects of an incident.
The 5 senses contribute to the memory, + the feeling of the moment. Scientology searches for the way we integrated it mentally, being refusal,
self-pity or acceptance etc...
The first incident placed me on a bed, looking with bitterness a toilet, the open door, bright and yellow and the noise of someone flushing.
I was a foetus, so I had for the occasion the eyes of my mother and her feeling. But Marjolaine did everything she could to keep me from lingering on this event. In their gibberish, I had taken my mother's valence. The foetuses and the young children often identify with the strong personality in their surroundings.
This valence game is so common that it sometimes last for years, even a lifetime.
It's thinking you are someone else, litteraly, because he or she is successfull.
Anyway, in the way she conducted this episode made me suspect there was something Taboo.
If there was only the native tongue which we inherit from our mother, it would be so little.
But it was only a lot later, and from my own innitiative, that I finally solved this enigma.
The second incident, the word doesn't describe exactly the situation of then: in prenatal, I was feeling threatened, but I was incapable of localising a specific event. It's very simple, I was the first born of.......
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.....a couple with incompactible rhesus factors. The two last months of my mother's pregnancy, I was feverish constantly. But again, it wasn't my mother's fault, the antibodies that she was producing made my life hard, hence the difficulty of identifying the source of the risk.
It wasn't an incident, but a condition. It's like I was cheated before I was born. My 4 brothers and sisters couldn't make it sadly. Dianetics wasn't equipped to detect such conditions. At least, not Marjolaine, always focused on precise events.
But i managed, with the informations that she helped me extract, to resolve the problem et kept it only for myself. Eyes still closed, we drifted to the prenatals, previous lives, the favorite terrain of scientology, even though they don't mention it in the book I have read. Scientology was born from dianetics to supervise those manifestations, I suppose. After all, this life was pretty ordinary. As for the others, I was quite confused. The memory I still had from it was relative to violent ends. I started developping a twitch during my auditing sessions with the always placid Marjolaine. As if I was receiving a violent hit in the abdomen that shook me and threw back my head.
She didn't make a whole lot of it at the beggining.
It was in Sicily in a trench. My brother in arms was dead and I received a piece of shrapnell in the abdomen. I felt the majestic landscape with a blood red sunset, but I wasn't accepting this premature death. There was a lot of bitterness. Going back the track of time, it's at the medieval hands of a french older brother that I received the hit that killed me, always in the abdomen. This one, I think, I diserved.
Again, before that, I was some sort of despot from Normandy who made his wive's lives very hard. I was old and suicidal. I tried to push my last conquest, a beautiful woman with attitude, to kill me, I suceeded.....
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To her great dismay, she was the only one to stand up to me. Evidently, the auditor tried to make me speak more about it: Names, dates, positions. I could describe very well the surroundings and what was said, but it looked like I had the rest of the data all wrong.
She wanted dates and names. In vain.
Even today, I don't burden myself with such specificities.
Our 20 hours contract was nearing it's end and I was still in suspense, regarding those last two events, sinc she told me that she would verify the dates etc. On another level. She wanted to know the why of my title.
For her, dianetician with a certain experience, she took literally the description of the mental that Mr Hubbard did, it was only a mechanism for which he developped a technique to manipulate.
She adressed what he baptised ''ficheur'' (not sure of the right translation for this word as it's a scientology term, the closest I can think of is ''files system''), her language was suggesting informatics.
Beyond my head, she wanted to know from the ''ficheur'' the why of this twitch. The session ended before she found out, and even today, it stays a mystery for me. According to their language, she left me in the limbos, with an incomplete action cycle. Eeach auditor is supposed to be supervised by an officer.
There was someone who listened to me icognito at a certain point, but there was no real follow-up.
I went back often, but they kept offering me their damned scientology instead of thinking about completing the cycle.
They finally realised the situation as I kept rejecting every one of their offers and they clarified the situation. They offered me to conclude the dianetics experience with another final two hours. Those were the best. All the incidents lost their charges. She verified the dates but nothing fitted, but I didn't care. Since I was already there, I asked her to help me go further.
It wasn't very hard. I found myself before the age of speech, in south america, in a tribe where the young wolves threatened my leader position. I must have been a really good hunter.....
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...since I chose to kill a sabertooth tiger, to establish my supremacy with a remarkable feat.
Sadly for me, it was a pair of identical twins that I couldn't notice. I was targeting one, the other one broke my back and since emotions weren't more developped than words, I felt only surprise, nothing more.
However, as well as rectifying some historical data, the insight filled me with comfort, I was there, at the beggining and the theory of evolution wasn't an invention. Then in my leap, I went so far that I was certain that I wasn't on the same planet. Pressed by Marjolaine's questions, I was slipping into a little green men story when, unwillingly, eyes still closed, I raised my hand to hush her up.
I stayed like that a few minutes as defiled a memory so far, so primary, that I had no desire to report it, even today. It was the summum of my experience with these scoundrels.
I had finnished this session to my satisfaction always preserving my greatest revelation from them unless it was a really clever implant, I don't know. I have to say that Marjolaine was taking notes. They had a file of the elements that I just described. Moreover they passed me on the e-meter, some sort of homemade lie detector, to know if I was ready for the next step. I passed this test very easily, but we were in the middle of spring, I neglected my plantations and I was broke, so I started to go less to this church.
At first, I was euphoric : I told everything to my wife, a mistake, I started to become more down to earth, and finally, I lost all interest in my everyday life at the point of loosing it completely.
Like the previous owner, I never really got the end of my field, even with a tractor. Did it have to do with scientology, I don't know ?
Literally soul-less, I went to the church and stayed in a corner, paralysed, waiting for someone...
THIS FAR TRANSLATED
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... me rammasse. Ce n’était pas la déprime, c’était comme l’a si bien décrit Hubbard dans son échelle des tons, le dernier échelon : souhaitez n’avoir jamais existé. On finit par me remarquer et à force de parler, de me faire parler, je parvins éventuellement à faire les démarches nécessaires à trouver les argents suffisants pour subir un traitement de choc scientologique. Un drôle d’ami m’avança 10'000 dollars. C’est que c’est cher l’audition scientologique. Je ne sentais pas que je n’avais pas le choix. Je quêtai sans remords, un peu manipulé, faut le dire. Je retournai à la maison sans autre soin pour l’instant. Ma maison serait bientôt vide, je le savais, je serai seul.
Ma femme m’avait annoncé qu’elle me quittait avec nos trois enfants, et comme je n’avais plus le cœur à l’ouvrage non plus, j’allais tout perdre. Cette maudite église m’avait séduit à ce point-là, jusqu’aux moyens de m’en méfier que j’avais perdus. J’avais trippé en dianétique, mais je payais le gros prix maintenant. L’audition scientologique fut confiée à un dénommé Don, unilingue anglais, mais seul compétent semblait-il ! Elle se déroulait totalement sous contrôle de l’électromètre. Je commençai à réaliser que c’était comme une drogue. Le grand manitou lui-même décrivait le processus comme une succession ininterrompue de gains menant à l’illumination en plus de la clairvoyance, mais l’effet désiré, j’ai l’impression, était d’assujettir de plus en plus totalement et subrepticement le client à sa gammick.
Je n’avais guère le choix, tout était perdu et ils étaient ma planche de salut. Quand j’embarque, c’est sans lésiner. La première session d’audition avec le grand Dan fut uniquement technique. Il me familiarisa avec les descriptions d’un grand livre couvrant les différents degrés entre l’acceptation et le refus de la réalité. J’ai beaucoup de difficulté à mémoriser, alors je lui rabâchai ses préceptes à ma façon et il dut se contenter du fait que je semblais comprendre de quoi il s’agissait. A la deuxième session, nous fîmes une révision de ces règles et…
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… j’entrepris de totalement réviser mon expérience dianétique à cette lumière. A chaque événement, il me demandait de le classer selon l’échelle, me donnait le résultat selon l’électromètre et je confirmais inévitablement que c’était exact.
Je savais le résultat avant même que sa foutue machine ne le lui confirme. Un petit jeu sans attrait et qui ne me fis absolument rien découvrir de nouveau. Le moral remontait un peu, le seul fait d’être écouté suffisait. A la troisième session, ça se corsa. Nous avions fait le tour des découvertes dianétiques sauf évidemment la dernière que je gardais précieusement pour moi. Ce n’était pas un événement heureux, juste nécessaire alors. C’était mon secret et une grande partie de la théorie scientologique traite de la méthode pour les débusquer. Je le sus par après, c’est l’art du « missed withold », une façon très subtile d’exploiter la culpabilité et de déstabiliser l’adepte. Il se mit à l’électromètre, me posant des questions banales. Il sembla soudain hypnotisé par sa machine, répétant sans cesse : « There it is ! »
J’essayai de le sortir de sa transe par deux fois sans succès, finalement j’y parvins en haussant le ton. Il abandonna instantanément l’électromètre et se mit en frais d’exercer un petit jeu à mes dépends. Touche ici, touche là, dis-moi ce que c’est. Ca eut le don de m’énerver pas à peu près. Au début je jouai avec désinvolture, mais à la longue, je m’impatientai. Il me semblait avoir affaire à un fou et j’exprimai le désir d’en terminer et de sortir sans trop blesser son orgueil. Il ne voulu rien savoir et je me mis en frais de lui montrer ce que c’était une porte et une poignée en plus de ses singeries. Touche le livre, dis-moi ce que c’est et je lui rétorquai touche la poignée et dis-moi ce que c’est. Ca dégénéra rapidement.
Je voulais sortir et il me barra le chemin. Je touchais la porte chaque fois que je la mentionnais. Toujours…
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… vitupérant, je commençai à le bousculer. Il était pas mal plus grand, bien que très mince. Je ne voulais pas lui faire de mal, mais il ne voulait pas céder d’un pied. Je parvins quelque fois presque à m’enfuir, mais chaque fois, avec l’énergie d’un désespoir que je ne comprenais pas, il me rattrapa. Je jure que je ne l’ai pas frappé, mais j’imitai un bon coup de poing sans jamais l’atteindre. Finalement, je me calmai, puisque rien n’y faisait et lui déclarai qu’à six heures pile, soit dans dix minutes, je sortirai coûte que coûte. Il se rassit, me présenta les électrodes de sa machine. Je les pris de bonne grâce.
Il était complètement dépité et se parlant à lui-même, il affirma qu’il était à la fois l’auditeur et le superviseur de cas, puis il me laissa sortir. Il était six heures juste. Au deuxième, je fis savoir que je l’avais brassé un peu et tout le monde se précipita en haut. Je sortis le sourire aux lèvres. Quelle belle gang de gnochons. Pour ce qui est de son affirmation, elle n’était pas exacte malgré son souhait. Nul ne peut être auditeur et superviseur de cas en théorie. Il y avait Bob, un autre torontois plus versé en administration, mais qui lui servait de comparse dans ce rôle. J’ai bien peur que Dan fit une entorse au code d’éthique scientologique pour camoufler sa déconfiture. Je revins trois jours plus tard réclamer la balance des sous que je n’avais pas utilisés. C’était terminé quant à moi.
Comme personne ne m’interpellât, je me mis à la recherche du bon Don. Je le trouvai au sous-sol en train de taponner un ordinateur. Il me fit savoir qu’il ne voulait rien savoir de moi et j’en fis de même. Il avait de magnifiques taches pourpres sur la figure et les bras, comme des ecchymoses. Ca me réjouit. Je montai au deuxième, voir la préposée aux admissions et lui réclamai le reste de l’argent emprunté. Elle me fit des yeux noirs, assassins, mais prit note de ma requête. A force d’insister, je reçus un an plus tard, trois mille quatre cents dollars, avec l’endos du chèque plein de déclarations les dégageant…
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… de toute autre forme de recours. Ca m’avait coûté plus de six mille dollars pour six heures d’audition scientologique. Faut le faire ! Mais, considérant que c’était de l’argent emprunté, j’avais fait du profit et jamais je ne rembourserai une damnée cenne. Elle irait direct dans leur gousset étant donné que mon prêteur est encore dans leurs griffes. De plus, malgré tout, je m’en suis sorti plus aguerri, ayant confronté de la grosse marde sans coup férir, vraiment.
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