Larking With Scientology
By inform@Primenet.Com (the inFormer)
1 Jun 1995 05:32:31 GMT

LARKING WITH SCIENTOLOGY

Capt. Bill Robertson was a legendary figure in the history of El Ron Hubbard's
missions into intergalactic paranoia. Once, when I was Chief Cramming Officer of
the Flag Land Base in Clearwater, he even dragged my formidable self forcibly
across the length of the 10th floor ballroom to scream at me in a more
convenient location.

He was, however, no match (a mere OT) for my previous "teacher" and best friend,
Simotus. Simotus knew me before I became involved with scientology. He bemusedly
warned me to watch out when he saw me getting involved. Even though he could
never abide scientology's dogma or regimentation, in the late 60's he checked
into scientology as an interesting social phenomenon. He also wanted to keep an
eye on his friend and former "student."

Simotus is the type of person who can instantly tell where another is "at,"
especially if the other is on a weird power trip. For this reason he was
apparently "immune" to the Power and Authority of Capt. Bill and his fleet of
earth-locked Cosmic Missionaires.

In recounting one of his many forays into the cult, Simotus has written a
humorous perspective on serious social issues we face in the form of gangs,
religious terrorists and fanatics of all persuasions. He also introduces us to
his own specialty subject -- "LARKING."

Simotus . . .

+--------------------------------+

When individuals familiar with techniques of logical, clear thinking first
encounter an apostle of, or literature promoting scientology, there is,
predictably some confusion. This stems from the incongruity of combining science
(systematized knowledge typically dealing with the replication of physical
processes or events) with its antithesis, religion. Religion is based upon a
faith that magical moments have actually occurred, and that they can or will
again.

During the "Golden Age of Scientology" many students of life were looking for
answers to the meaning of existence, as well as answers to more personal and
mundane problems. These ranged the gamut of personal adversity, from excessive
drug use, to social- sexual ineptness. Scientology not only had answers, but
offered these seekers of truth help and comradery in implementing them. The Org
(Organization) grew and became a sort of mecca to a wellspring of urban
pilgrims.

There are, however, always a few individuals who like "mixing it up," i.e.,
irresponsibly "Larking" within societies' otherwise serious functions where
respect and deference to dogma is the norm. Larkers cannot be serious about
anything. Even scientology's most sacred activities are regarded by them in
perspective as sociological frivolities. When Larkers attend formalized
gatherings of these "enlightened" activities, they are not seeking Truth with
the proper humility -- they are looking for a good party.

Scientologists threw truly sparkling parties! The reason? Scientology is itself
a unique blend of: 1) Science fiction; 2) The Emperors New Clothes; 3)
Behaviorist Psychology, and; 4) Dale Carnegie . . . or so our Larkers report.

Dale Carnegie's contribution to scientology, greatly enhanced their parties.
This "fun factor" is not to be minimized. Being a member of a great church which
promises to cure all planetary and personal problems adds to the friendly and
supportive interaction that is found in these events. It not only dispels the
usual awkwardness of boy meeting girl, but lends a fervor and intensity to such
a meeting. How could one not attend?

Throughout these otherwise enjoyable events, there remained in the Larkers'
minds, a nagging curiosity about the fundamentally conflicting identity of this
religeo-scientific sect.

One day two Curious Larkers decided to visit A.O.L.A. (Advanced Org, Los
Angeles) to question the officer in charge about these Great Issues. A phone
call was made and an appointment was set for two hours hence. When the Larkers
arrived -- on time -- the A.O. was locked and no one responded to their loud
knocks. This non-event mystified our heros, since the "Clears" and assorted
"Operating Thetans" that staffed the place were reputed to have total recall --
perfect memories. The basic L.A. Org was close by, less than a block away, so
the Larkers decided to walk over and pay it a quick visit.

Only junior scientologists, non-OT's, were available at the L.A. Org for
conversation, and they knew nothing about the whereabouts of their senior AOLA
Sea Org Officers.

The dozen or so people milling around in the reception area at LA Org, suddenly
burst into exuberant clapping and cheering. It seemed a young lady had just
"floated" the needle on an E- meter. (A device that monitors minute changes in
electrical resistance, and reputedly indicates the state of tension or
tranquillity of the initiate. When he or she momentarily achieves tranquility,
as measured on the E-meter, he or she is advanced one rung up the ladder toward
becoming an evermore capable "Thetan.")

After witnessing this heart warming ceremony, our Larkers strolled out onto the
flagstone veranda and tried to decide what to do next.

Suddenly a column (platoon) of some two dozen young men and women jogged into
view on the sidewalk across the street, in perfect military lock-step. Some wore
"civvies," but most wore the impeccably white uniforms of the Sea Org Staff
complete with white, plastic construction helmets (Sea Org emblem decals takily
displayed on the front), daggers, blue ascots and white jack boots. They were
quite a sight in downtown LA!

Hmmm . . .thought our Larkers. This occasion seems perfect for Larking . . . .

One of the Larkers, Simotus (his Larking name) made a dash across the street and
quickly overtook the moving column. Silently joining the formation, he passed
the stragglers in the rear, and advanced toward the middle of the platoon as
they all ran in unison.

The platoon rounded a corner, cut across the street (Simotus advancing a few
more positions) and bolted into a parking garage beneath a two-storey apartments
building. As the single file column jogged smartly into the building, everyone
held up his or her right fist -- clenched in a salute of resolute solidarity.
Simotus, having nothing against ritual or ceremony, clenched his right fist to
honor and observe Whatever (and to safeguard his less than inconspicuous
intrusion).

There was a command. The platoon, with its new Larking warrior, halted and fell
in -- a long straight file. A second command (unintelligible to the uninitiated)
sent everyone scurrying to the walls, and more astonishingly scrambling under
the various cars parked in the garage.

Not wishing to be conspicuous, Simotus, too, climbed under a front bumper. He
lay, in silence, waiting for some indication of what next would be required of
his curious troop. Moments passed. A very considerable young woman, weighing
perhaps as much as 300 pounds, crawled over and covered (almost smothering) our
poor Larker with her soft and ample body. Simotus was thus denied escape --
without a struggle.

Still endeavoring to "fit in" with the unusual behavior being displayed, Simotus
offered no resistance to her ministrations, and merely gazed, in passive repose,
into her blue eyes, so full of intent, and waited . . . .

Yet another terse command was barked, and the besmudged troop began to emerge
from beneath their respective automobiles. Our Larker too, began to make motions
toward getting up. The woman guardian atop him slowly withdrew her considerable
presence, and allowed him to once again muster with the platoon.

Simotus joined the middle ranks of the formation, and along with the seemingly
hypnotized group, silently faced the opening from which they all had entered the
concrete garage.

A loud, commanding voice suddenly proclaimed: "There's a stranger amongst us!"
"There's a stranger amongst us!"

Everyone, including our Larker, began to look up and down the line in an attempt
to discover who the imposter might be. But the game was over. The person behind
Simotus pushed him out of the lineup, and there he stood with all eyes upon him.

A large, blustery man, whose uniform appeared not unlike a British Naval
Officer's, came smartly over to confront the infidel and infiltrator.

"Who are you?!" he barked.

"Simotus. Who are you?" Was the reply.

"Captain Robertson."

Simotus knew that Capt. Bill (Robertson) was Commander in the Sea Org and had
worked directly with Hubbard for years. He feigned deep respect by looking down
at the ground, and quietly saying: "Oh . . ."

Capt. Bill's next question was: "Are you a scientologist?"

Since being a scientologist is essentially a state of mind, our Larker answered:
"Yes."

Capt. Bill: "What grade release?"

Simotus: "No grade sir, I am an Operating Field Staff Member." [Note: Field
Staff Members are individuals who proselytize, i.e., encourage "raw meat" to
join scientology. An "operating" field staff member would, if the designation
existed at all, be a self appointed FSM.]

It must have been rather difficult for Capt. Bill to mock-up a "no-grade
release" -- a self appointed scientology salesman -- party-crashing into what
was probably his Atom Bomb Drill. He stood for a moment, stiffly regarding
Simotus, who in turn calmly returned the Officer's steady gaze.

Capt. Bill: "Would you mind coming over to the A.O. and answering six questions
on the cans?" [Note: Tin cans are used as the terminals on the E-meter.]

Simotus: "I would be glad to oblige, sir."

Capt. Bill, along with two other silent operatives, escorted Simotus into the
A.O.

Once connected to the E-Meter in the tiny interrogation room, the 6 questions
asked were: 1) "Are you a Scientologist?"; 2) "Are you now, or have you ever
been, a member of the American or foreign government with the intent to
infiltrate scientology?"; 3) "Are you in a dream?"; 4) "Are you in a hypnotized
state?"; 5) "Have you ever done this before?"; and 6) Have you done this in a
past lifetime?" While several stern officers peered at Simotus over the E-meter,
he confidently answered all questions in the negative except the first.

With that, they seemed satisfied. No further answers were required. Simotus was
released to his Own Larking Recognizance.

At a later date, Simotus returned -- without an appointment -- to once again
knock at the door of the A.O. seeking answers to burning questions that remained
about scientology. A voice from within queried: "Who is there?" The reply:
"Simotus."

The cryptic response: "You have been assigned the condition of Persona Non
Grata, and entry is denied."

What could this message mean? What was his next step on the "Bridge?" Where
could he go now for enlightment? Simotus was nonplused and departed to ponder
the mysterious fate to which he'd been banished.

When he arrived back at Corbett Manor (HQ for the Fellowship and Advanced
Training of Larkers), Simotus asked Jerry Day, one of his close scientology
friends, what to do about the queer assignment.

"Just phone them and ask them how to work out of your Condition." He was
casually told. "They'll probably just lift it!"

Simotus did phone the AO Master At Arms (not wanting to allow the mysterious
conflict to remain unrepaired) and asked him how to work out of the Condition of
PNG. This action was apparently sufficient, in and of itself, to demonstrate
Simotus' sincerety in the grand quest for Truth. And so, to our Larker's
amazement, his "condition assignment" was summarily canceled over the phone and
he was once again "totally free" to proceed to a more interesting Lark.

Simotus

+--------------------------------+

Simotus' true story demonstrates that it really doesn't take much to assuage
cult leaders. As long as you pay lip-service to their megalomania, and behave
like the rest of the sheep, you can easily be part of the action. The danger
exists in adopting the group's lies under the pressure of their staged social
setting.

People too lazy or confused to do their own thinking are at risk. There will
always be plenty of others who, for a price, are delighted to sell others their
thoughts to think.

So beware! With all Capt. Bill's "OT" Power, he died hiding in a lead lined,
underground shelter, fearing the Marcabian Invaders would be arriving in
spaceships any minute. (Kind of reminds one of the garage scene Simotus
humorously described, doesn't it?)

The story of Bill Robertson's life illustrates very clearly the results of
adopting Hubbard's insane thought process . . .

. . . and that's no Larking matter.

Dennis L Erlich

+--------------------------------+

First published in the inFormer in 1992 (or thereabouts).

+--------------------------------------+ Rev. Dennis L Erlich * * the inFormer *
* dennis.l.erlich@support.com + inForm@primenet.com "tar baby"