Since I last posted I've had three $cientology dreams. I couldn't remember the content of two of them. In the most recent one I was on staff. It was a Wednesday night and my stats were still down from the week before so I had that feeling associated with impending down stats. I was rooming with a person I had known when I was on staff in the seventies. Neither of us could sleep so he decided he wanted to go out to a coffee house and I went with him. On the way there he stopped in a shop and bought a white mug. We went into the coffee house and ordered coffee. He asked the waitress to put the coffee in his mug. She brought us the coffee. The coffee shop's mug was identical to my friend's mug. While we sat there drinking and talking another six or so staff members came in milled about exchanged conversation mostly about $cientology. Finally we finished and paid our bills. Then the person I was with took both mugs and put them in his pocket and left. I woke up with that down stat anxiety. I don't like that feeling at all.

Wieber, sometimes I dream about flunking a college course, and wake up with a sinking feeling. Then I realize how lucky I am because I do not have to go to the college anymore.

I agree. However, I have found that by writing down the content of these dreams, when I can remember them, and posting them here has the effect of diminishing the frequency and potency of those types of dream.

When I first left the frequency, intensity and weirdness of the Scientology dreams was fairly extreme. I averaged one a night that I could remember, they would have a negative effect on me for the rest of the day and I reached a point where I would stay up way past the point of being tired in anticipation of more $cientology dreams.

After writing them down and posting for some time I found the frequency of them diminished. Then the intensity started to go and after that they became less weird. The ones I've had recently, in most cases, are mild and don't bother me much, but I would very much like it if they never happened again. So as insipid and stupid as they may now be, I plan on continuing to write them down and post them because doing that seems to make them go away.

I also find it interesting to read about the dreams that other people who have left $cientology have had. Sometimes I am astounded at how similar to mine their dreams are.

Wieber, if talking about the dreams helps, then keep doing it. I was not trying to discourage you from describing your dreams. I would not suggest, though, to try to analyze the dreams because they do not have a hidden meaning (I do not believe in psychoanalysis because it is illogical).
People who were subjected to harsh treatment in Communist countries share your point of view that putting dreams on a paper, or a computer screen, diminishes their intensity. I know several individuals from East Germany and Poland who use the same techique of writing about the dreams that you do.

I wasn't a Scientologist; very close to being audited by a member from the Montreal COS, but Narconon
Canada wanted a Sec Check first. The ESTO Officer, a long time church member, continually attempted
to teach me. I would be called into her office and the Demo Kit would come out about me being in a different
Valence because I was pissed at the Execs etc. I had to sit for two days, facing a person who would command
me to act out different Tone Scale levels. The ED said he wanted to turn my bone marrow into "Solid Bone"
so that I wouldn't be so emotional when giving speeches to the Students at Grad. WTF!!! They were trying to
take "ME" away from "ME" it felt like.

I spent 11 months at the Narconon compound. Five months as a patient and six months on staff. I lived there;
ate there; worked there; 24 hours per day.

Every night, I would have horrific nightmares, talking and yelling in my sleep, security officers told me. I would
sometimes wake up in cold sweats. I still have bad dreams, but much less intense in the past few months. My
physician, who was a doctor over in Vietnam during the war, came home suffering from the same as I do - - PTSD!

Last month, I asked him how long it took before he felt ok again? He said two years and he was much better.

The issues I still have, is during my waking hours; especially at my stressful day job. Sometimes when an event happens
that flashes me back to the Narconon compound, my breathing gets shallow and I become dizzy and very stressed. My boss
is awesome and keeps an eye on me, telling me to "go take a break, Dave". Just that alone helps volumes.

I'm much better than two years ago, but do realize there is still a ways to go -)

.

I recommend you read Captive Hearts Captive Minds by Madeleine Tobias and Janja Lalich. The whole book is worthwhile but the piece on triggers may be very helpful for you.

I can't remember much from this last dream. I was in $cientology and in trouble. I think they were preparing to put me through a committee of evidence prior to declaring suppressive or something like that and I was actually in a fearful state.

The woman I was dealing with was some bigwig from the sea org. She had fairly short well coiffed gray hair and wore a nineteenth century type gown in sea org blue with white lace collar and sleeves and yellow accents.

I think she was telling me how if I cooperated things would go easier on me. I looked at her, took in a deep breath and said, "I am not a $cientologist." She disappeared. The dream image went white and I woke.

Hi folks. Doubt if anyone here remembers me, I was such an infrequent poster, and haven't been here in years. Honestly i thought all this was put behind me, including the "ex-scn" phase of my life. I guess it was a tad selfish of me to abandon other "exes", but I wanted it all to just be over and have a regular life again.

I am back because of an Scn dream it went like this:

I'm in a room with the cast & crew from a major motion picture. They are having a good time, laughing & what-not. They are taking the Comm Course. I am myself, other than the fact I'm with this film cast (I have NOTHING do do with Hollywood), I am just me. I am giving them check-outs and drilling & helping them through it just as if I was doing it as a better-trained Scn student helping out the course sup because of the crowd. I am enjoying it, believing this low-level stuff to be totally fine. They are enjoying it, too. As we go, these celebs & such start asking me questions about The Big (Scn Tech) Picture. I realize the upperstuff is bullshit, so I regress into standard patter but really trying to get them to drop it and just focus on the simple stuff. This kills the mood: they can sense something is wrong, I am no longer enthusiastic & now feel guilty, then I remember I am in etics trouble and shouldn't even be talking to these folks.

i wake up quite unhappy. Not freaked out or anything, just irritated that, after cutting all Scn ties nearly 15 yrs ago, I still have it percolate up from time to time.

My dream tells me a couple of things:

1) I enjoyed my early years. A lot of us around the same age & background started around the same time & really clicked. It was a nice group to be with, and I miss them (as they were, some of them became insufferable, some had lives ruined, some (like me) just walked away, never turning back).
2) Subconsciously, I yearn for that type of collaborative environment again. The film cast/crew is just representing that (I tend to listen to commentary tracks on DVDs and all these cats like to talk about is "camaraderie" & "collaboration"). My early years in Scn definitely had that vibe.
3) I still hold on to my biggest guilt: I went along with the lie once I started to realize it was a lie, which only helped the church propagate it. I began to hate drilling new students because if I did it right I would help the church get their hooks into them.
4) there is still a latent fear of Scn "ethics" that makes it an effective plot point in my dreams.
5) I still remember some of the tech even though I recycled all my books years ago.

I guess the moral of my little story is "you can't run away from your own past." This stuff will stick with me, whether I want it to or not, for the rest of my days.

I agree, "you can't run away from your own past." This stuff will stick with me, whether I want it to or not, for the rest of my days."

But now you have perspective and you know what was good and what was bad. Belonging to a group and experiencing the camaraderie is what most religions are about. The 'us or them' mentality gives you a way to define yourself and your relationship to others. Be glad you can recognize the good and bad, some people never do understand the difference.

I agree. I worked at a mission in the 70's, where the camaraderie and affection for the folks I worked with, most in their 20's, was amazing. I have been out of Scientology for 20+ years, and have found there are lots of activities out there where you can share a real kinship with other folks. After leaving Scn, I have for many years played hockey and that group of friends are as close as those I had when I was on staff, socializing on and off the rink. I have some close friends who are passionate about ballroom dancing, and others who are motorcycle riders, and these folks thoroughly enjoy that activity and the folks they dance with are also close friends. There is nothing unique or exclusive about the social bonds that Scientologists feel. You can have those bonds, but without the guilt and the many other negative aspects that go along with belonging to this church. And you can have time for a variety of interests and activities. When I was on staff, there was time for little else but "clearing the planet."

For those few of you who know my backstory, this is not surprising but since I have started reading Sweeney's book I have been having screaming fearful nightmares. I have been out of the cult now for 35 years. Sweeney is a brave soul. I'm amazed he escaped the experience semi-intact and even more amazed he chose to write about it so soon afterwards. I still am afraid all these years later to even spill my horrors.

My Kafkaesque dream about Sea Org.

In my dream I joined Sea Org for the second time, this time as an anti-Scientologist; I wanted to obtain more data on RPF conditions.

The Sea Org complex consisted of a main building and 5 smaller buildings; my workplace was one of those little buildings. My workday begun with the description of my duties given to me by my senior, I was supposed to collect the Internet data on several companies and device a plan suggesting how they could be approached by WISE. I was not planning to carry out my assignment, so I was not paying attention to by boss’ verbal instructions.

The room was large and clean; there were 20 people working on the computers in it, they all were nice to me. I spent the whole day asking them about their Scientology experiences. None of them was a former RPFer; I was a bit disappointed by the lack of RPF information. I decided to spend the next day in the main building.

This is where the Kafkaesque part of my dream begins.

The main building had the form of a cylinder, it looked like a smaller, 7-story version of Bonaventure Hotel. I remembered the building very well because it was the place where I did the Sea Org time when I was a Scientologist.

There was an elevator bank in the lobby of the building. Sea Org members dressed in parade Sea Org uniforms (this is the same kind of uniform that Miscavige wears) were standing in front of each elevator. The lines were long, the elevators were slow. All Sea Org staff were small, up to my shoulder. That was a surprise to me. “Why all these people are so short?”, I thought. “The slaves are not supposed to be tall”, said a female voice coming out of the loudspeaker. I decided not wait for an elevator and use the stairway to get to the second floor.

I approached the door leading to the stairway when I heard a voice behind me, “Why are you not dressed in Sea Org uniform? What are you doing here?”. I turned around and saw a man whose height was approximately 6’2’’, he was dressed in blue jeans and chequered shirt. “You are not wearing the uniform either”, I said. “State the nature of your business“, said the man in a command voice. “I am not a Scientologist, I am a plumber. There is a leak in the second floor bathroom“: I said. I expected him to ask me for an ID, but he nodded and said, “You are supposed to use the elevator”.

When the elevator arrived I cut the line and entered it. No one objected me being rude, they all were silent, which seemed to be the norm. “The slaves have never encountered this situation before, they were not told how to react to it”, said the loudspeaker.

I got out of the elevator at the second floor. There was a sofa standing right in front of the elevator door. The room was filled with 12 tables; each table had 4 chairs. All chairs were occupied. At the far end of the room there was a long table with 8 chairs, they all were unoccupied.

I sat on the sofa next to a young woman and begun listening to the conversation taking place at the nearest table. It took me couple of minutes to realize that each Sea Org member was talking to himself. I had no idea what they were talking about, their monologues were a mixture of Scientology lingo and regular English. They all were men, one of them was sobbing uncontrollably but no one was paying attention to him.

The woman sitting next to me was feeling uncomfortable, she was staring at me trying to figure out if I’m a loon. “What are doing here?”, I asked her. “I took the personality test, they sent me here to have a conversation with someone about the benefits of Scientology. Are you that person?”, she said. “There are no benefits, this Scientology shit stinks, just look around you”, I said. “I can see it now. Do you know how to get out of this place?”, she said. “There is a door at the end of the corridor, a stairway is behind it. Walk one flight down, open the red door and you will be out in the street”, I said. She thanked me and walked away.

Seven men entered the room and sat at the long table. They looked normal to me; I approached them and sat at their table. They were talking about Dianetics. “Do you know that Dianetics is crap?”, I asked them. They said nothing in response, but at least they did not object. I delivered a speech about Dianetics’ flaws. They listened attentively and did not interrupt. After I finished they begun asking questions. Our Q&A session went for about half an hour.

“Do you know why Hubbard condemned sex?”, I asked the interlocutors. At that moment the buzzer went off, it was a low-tone noise. “What was that?”, I asked them. “You said the forbidden word and turned the siren on”, said one of the men. “I suppose, the forbidden word is sex”, I said. The buzz grew louder.

Two security guards appeared in front of me. “We have to take you to the ethics officer”, said one of them. “The resistance is futile”, said another guard. I got up. The guards were short and slender, they were no match for me. At first I thought about knocking them down, but then changed my mind. “Talking to the ethics officer could be fun”, I thought.

I followed the guards to the corridor and began yelling, “Sex, sex, sex!”. The buzz became louder, but that was not enough for me. “Masturbation, masturbation!!”, I shouted. The siren howled like a wounded animal.

The ethics officer was a tiny man dressed in a strange pink uniform the likes of which I had never seen before. There were files on the floor, it looked like the room was hit by a hurricane. I could not keep my eyes of the e-meter lying on the officer’s desk. The device had the form of a head of an eagle, there was only one can attached to it.

“He said the forbidden word“, said the guard and pointed at me. “I know, I know, I’m not deaf“, said the ethics officer. He turned to me and said, “We are going to subject you to the most horrific Scientology punishment”. “Are you sending me to RPF?”, I said. “No, you are not worthy of RPF. You will be escorted out of the building and you will stay away from Scientology for the eternity to come”, said the ethics officer. The wooden eagle opened its beak and said, “Amen to that”. I burst into laughter and woke up.