My Scientology wins: A personal testament of OT powers

[Today’s guest post is by Pete Griffiths]

I’m not totally certain when I began to get OT wins, but I knew when I first came across them that I had to get me some of that wondrous stuff.

It began innocuously enough with my desiring something rather minor — but quite unattainable — and then I somehow attained it. Gaining more time was a common one, when I was late for a very important date. Finding milk in the org fridge when there was never, ever any was another minor miracle. Or teabags. Or coffee. Or sugar. Or toilet paper. Everyone was broke, and yet the next person through that door bought a book. Obviously, I had OT powers.

When body routing outside the org, I must have postulated a thousand times that the next passerby would respond to my, “Come and do a free personality test!” I would estimate that one in a hundred, or less, did so. Them postulates don’t always stick.

My reactive mind was like a huge sleeping dinosaur, probably a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and I had been poking it with a stick and now it was slowly waking up and was pretty angry about being disturbed but I was ready for it. Look out, Reactive Mind, you are going down. I was buzzing on something like a drug in those early days.

Once I had completed my Dianetics auditor training and they let me loose on my own pre-clears, I began to imagine that I could picture everything they told me, only it was a mirror image of what they were looking at. I put this to the test by asking questions like, is that to your right? And if they said yes, I would gloat as I was obviously seeing what they were seeing in reverse. If they said no, I would vainly consider that they were getting it wrong as I could see their mental image pictures better than they could. I was able to envisage the outcome of incidents before the pre-clear even mentioned them. I was getting good at this.

Going to Saint Hill, Scientology’s UK headquarters, really opened up this area of OT wins as I met people who regularly communicated with all the disembodied spirits that were hovering around the place. These thetans clearly knew by instinct that this was the place where they might find the freedom that they were supposedly seeking.

I tried and tried to postulate a few quid so I could buy some food but that never happened. When I complained to my Executive Director about my lack of pay he suggested that I go to the Stables and eat with the Sea Orgers. He assured me that they wouldn’t mind in the least. I opened the door and it was like one of those scenes in a movie when the whole place goes silent and everybody looks at you. It had been pretty noisy with spoons and forks scraping at the rice on the plates and then deadly quiet as they all froze in mid-mouthful and just looked at me. No way. I’m not putting up with this, I’d rather starve. I left and as I walked away I heard the scraping spoons and forks start up again.

One lovely Sea Org girl told me how her husband had solved a 300-year-old murder and freed a thetan just by walking through the woods. He apparently told her that when walking through the woods that he became aware of some enturbulated theta and a voice telling him to stay away. Being a brave Sea Org member he didn’t stay away but went to investigate further. The warning became more insistent and the SO guy tried to “get in comm” (communicate) with this enturbulated being. The story was that 300 hundred years previously this guy had murdered a girl and buried her in the woods and had been guarding the location ever since to prevent anyone from finding the body. Of course it would have been easy enough to confirm this by digging up a body but this never happened. OT wins are never put to the test like that.

Another young fellow told me quite sincerely that his mother had made a bottle of coke appear out of thin air as they sat in a café with no money to their names. We just believed him. I mean, why would he make that up?

One night upon leaving the org fairly late, after midnight certainly, I became aware of a commotion on the street in the direction I wanted to walk. It was like a full-scale riot with dozens of drunken revelers engaged in a pitched battle with each other. As I neared the fracas I considered taking evading action by walking down a side street but then quite consciously made the decision to just walk right through the mass melee and remain untouched. Bodies were flying in all directions, punches and kicks were thrown and booted and I could feel the brush of air as some flew by closely and I just walked right through totally unscathed. The area of battle was confined to the footpath and was approximately 12 yards in size. I just carried on walking home without looking back, congratulating myself on my OT powers.

If I sold a load of books it was down to my OT powers. Like the morning I went out on the street with six books and sold the lot in about twenty minutes. Needless to say, I didn’t do that every day.

I claimed to have been in a road traffic accident, flying through the air at a 45 degree angle from the road and about six feet off the ground seconds away from landing in a lower field when I postulated, “No, this isn’t going to happen,” and the car miraculously turned in mid air and next thing I was speeding along the grassy verge at about 70 mph bringing the vehicle to a gradual stop. Yay me!

Better than that, after I blew the org, starving and broke, I started a new job in a shop in a tourist resort where parking was almost impossible, especially as my shift was in the evening. I decided that whenever I pulled up to the shop there would be a space just for me. Guess what? There was! It lasted about two weeks, with me getting ever more incredulous until eventually somebody parked in my place. How dare they?

I used to go around postulating that things would go my way constantly so it should have been no surprise when things did work out the way I wanted them to. Everything was postulated, every little thing, from waking up and drinking coffee to going to bed at the end of a fruitful day. Except that isn’t how it panned out. Some days we had no coffee. Some nights I went to bed exhausted and hungry. Some days I sold no books, and got nobody in through the door when body routing. Sometimes you could not postulate your stats up no matter how lightly you tried. Ron wrote somewhere that postulates were very light and not done forcefully and so if my postulates failed, I considered that I had been using too much effort, in fact things being described as “efforty” was a big no-no in Scientology.

The daily grind for three intense years at the org was trying to find the balance between this wishful thinking, or postulating, and effort, and ultimately MAKING IT ALL GO RIGHT no matter what counter-intention or counter-effort you encountered. And of course when it all goes wrong it’s your fault.

I can now postulate with no effort at all, “I am so glad I am out of the cult!”

— Pete Griffiths

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