Secrets of Past Lives: What Millions of People Discovered and Why You Should Know

By Wayne Cook

A group once counting millions of practitioners successfully uncovered fantastic amounts of information concerning the universe. Discovering anything about the universe outside our small world is an extreme rare event in history. Technically, such depth of information never occurred at any time on Earth, including data recovered by the Magi. This group, Scientology, recovered a profound amount of data, some of which is related within Secrets of Past Lives. Millions of practitioners independently acquired this information before evil destroyed them as a group. Before the downfall, hundreds of thousands of people and more recovered much of the secrets contained within this work. As there are no further people recovering in that church, there is no longer need to keep their secrets from you and from being lost for eternity.

For the most part, this book is about you. Your history, your past and what is in your present. Also, Secrets reveals how ability and sanity at least equal to the sanest person you ever met this life can once again become your own without the need of that lost church. Sanity turns out to be nothing like most of us were led to believe.

This book contains myriad aspects of this universe in its complexity and its utter simplicity never even suspected, such as what is going on in our world, the solar system, the local group and the entire universe. Revealed are a few great mysteries of science, secrets of Ancient Egypt, continental drift, why we are here, astronomical oddities and a vastly greater understanding of life.

You will learn of who controls the core of space and why. You will find out why no one is in control of the remainder. You will discover what causes sunspots, variable densities of space, how our atmosphere smells and why. You will learn why magic does not work well unless it is fun. You will find out why gurus sit on mountaintops. You will find out why and who keep this vital and fascinating data from us.

In our past, as we gazed at stars and saw magic and mystery, as we attempted to live on Earth, we fell to share opinions of what is reality from those who yelled the loudest. Our world became a twisted, warring, dangerous place no person should endure. This book dedicates to removing millennia of misinformation to set our sights once more on finding reality out of the ranting of Authority. To the chance of fulfilling our greatest desire: to discover a way to rejoin better worlds. Although reading these secrets is dangerous, you may key-in deeply, you will never look upon life the same again. It is not easy, it is not without risk, but wouldnt you rather know?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532034756

Wayne Cook

The author, born in California to a woman whose sanity could describe as questionable, found his earliest life forced to eke out sustenance as a toddler and a very young child from the contents of trash bins and garbage piles. In an unforgiving world of bullies and depravation, a world even succumbed to the actions of deviancy, the author managed to survive those earliest of years living scare above an animal. Surviving on slugs, ants, and spiders for sustenance, looting the often well defended resources of neighborhood dog bowls, with the occasional handout from good neighbors so cautious of mothers wrath, this author managed to survive. Victimized, abused, neglected, through very real torture, and ceaseless invalidation drove this author entirely insane. Through the works of a religion now failed us, the author gained full recovery, but such is not reason for the writing of this book. The recovery continued beyond reaching quite a stable goal of good, solid sanity. The recovery is continuing beyond sanity as recognized on Earth. This recovery grew vastly beyond the damage done to a child, to the recovery even from countless disasters of many other lifetimes. As past lives, called whole track, open to levels never considered possible, this returns sanity only dreamed on Earth. At least a part of my whole track I give to you. We can all now recover more than we recognize we had even lost.

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Copyright © 2017 Wayne Cook.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-3474-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-3475-6 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 04/20/2018

CONTENTS

Introduction

Adventure

The Challenge

Grumpy Old Man

Jew Boy

Fighting The Kaiser

Feel Lucky

Passion And Pain

Too Rough Passion

Rare Friend

Abandoned

Similar Spirits

The Sea And Peril

A Land Of Danger

Thetan In Search Of Theta

Sanity Process

A Word On Significance

Bluecoat

Swordsmen And Guns

French Love

Error In Auditing

Our Similar Banks

English Shipping

Genetic Mixing

Cause Of Bad Memory

The Inconsequentiality Of Death

Lost Goal

Genocide

The Rifle

Breed Fast Or Die

Flintlock Multiple Kills

God, Gun, And Country

Separation From Theta

Killing Babies

Honor

Indian Sex Offerings

Indian Beauty

The Crime Of Compassion

So Much To Run

No Time For Sights

Eternally Alert

Molesting

Thetan Club

Aberrant Time Line

Dancing Delight

i, Molester

Roman Love

Die For Her

Saber Cat

Roman Compassion

Just Like Grownups

Horny Heaven

Extraterrestrial Mind Control

No Police, No Remorse

The Shower

Making Of Sex

Blanketing

The Best Life On Earth

Wife And Honor

Loss

Captain Of The Good Ship

Sea Monsters

Admiralty Declined

People Of The Fluid Sands

Enough Already

Us, Again

Evil Rules For A Thousand Years

Child Rapes

Entrapment

Last Report

No Swimming

Self-Disability

Genocide And The Sea

The Pharaoh’s Sword

Nightmares

More On Nightmares

Business Tycoon

Significance And Evidence

Glowing Faceted Orb

Brave Kitten, Nasty Opossum

Limited Key-In

Pride And Conquest

First Life

Cat Show

Another Saber Life

Mine Dining

Savage Advancement

Dog’s Life

Talking Dog

Web Of Comfort

The Coin

Ball Of Intention

White Religion

The Coast

Acid Bath

Acknowledgement

Too Little, Too Late

A New Plan

Low Worship

Home In The Fast Lane

Space Apartment Complex

Velocity In Space

The Bomb

Handy

Urgent Cognition

A Line Of Spacecraft

Unpleasant Sex

Inferior

Again, With The Whip

Another Low Life

Auditing Out Pain

The Pain Of Deadly Sea Battles

Pain And Deck Cannon

Unexpected Insanity

Again, With The Pain In The Chest

Discipline

Safe Passage

Exciting New Sport

Machine Of War

You Did What?

Whoa…

Failed Hunt

Battle Suits

Time Lord

Energy

Sane People

Bald Climax

The Religion

Human Bodies And Entrapment

More On The Religion Of The Three Rocks

Appropriately Humble

Confused Spinning

Drop Everything

Time Gaps

Spider Mine

Spiders

Spider Hat

Spatial Postulate

Blue Balls Of Desire

The Pool

Ghost Train

Unpleasant Advertising

Spider Girl

Girl On Board

Making The Making Of Babies

A Big Creation

Creation Methods

Dangerously Good Postulates

Damnable Video Devices

Invaders

Density Variation

(Do Not) Do As I Say

The View

Uncertainty Consequences

Lost Communication

Aladdin’s Weaver

Flight Interrupted

Mind Reading

How To Acquire Real Magic

Drug Use

The Race

The Bank

Open Honesty

Attributes Of Sanity

More On Open Honesty

Magic Medicine

Clear Communication

Control And Psychosis

Early Practical Joke

War In Heaven

Spook In Space

Greed And The Game

Zipping

Restricted Play

Bigger Rock

Lava Lamps

Baby

Danger Bay

An Honorable Death

Drop Me Off Anywhere

Breathing Problem

Mr. Big

Rock Slam!

Rock Slam’s Appearance

Children As Food

Naked Baby Butts

More On Mind Reading

The Race

Affinity Vikings

A Good Girl Does Not Swallow

God’s Praise And Punishment

Dark Cloud

Get A Body Today

Dropped Bodies

White Light At Death

More On Vikings

Clears Pushing Bodies

What Turns It On, Turns It Off

What Is The Bank?

Pretty, Pretty Me

Oops

Loss Of Confusion And Summoned

Bad Persuasion

Required Reporting

Imps Are Little Boys

The Important Nature Of Art

The Imp Returned

Upon The Eternal Ocean

Pretty Discs

Cuteness Expanded

Humor

Repetitive Motion

Bad Landing

Ultimate Handgun

Good Designs Never Change

Bad Challenge

Dying To Meet Him

Thick Necktie

The Ceremony

Fast Docking

Monster Showman

The Thrill Of Being Eaten

Praying Mantis

Necessary Child Murder

Another Child Engram

Is There A Fat Man Aboard?

Who Is For Dinner?

Do Not Add To Confusion

Tin Immobility

Turn It Down

Nothing Happened

Not Tantalizing For Metal Heads

Thinking Cap

Invader Aftermath

Roman Baby Care

Shell Game And Crab People

Life Is A Globe

Three Times As Busy

Dull Droid

It Will Never Teach Me

Almost The Best

Well, Duh…

Disjointed Stuff And Fluff

Biggest Love

Military Freedom

Honkin’ Big Mother

Good Girl

Culinary Crime

Pass The Sally

Eat And Run

Less Food, More God

Untouchable

Favorite Sickness

Have You Lost Weight?

Ancient Egypt

A Sword For The King

Those Eyes

The Vacuum

Isolated Religion

Terrors Of The Night

Spotting Sanity

Complexity Added

Lost And Found

Ultimate Rediscovery

Empire Of Reed

Successful Illiterate

Ability Gone

Spinning Coma

Book Of Confusion

Revenge

Robot Pride

The Wolf

Push And Pull

Power Of Light

Jet Jewel

Home Delivery

Swamped Prediction

Roman Entertainment

Of Mice And Meal

Share And Share Alike

I, As God

Say What?

Logos

Informative Satellites

Wrong Choice

Wrong Choices

Spider Doorway

The Best Life

Cause Of Perversion

Oops

Fairies And Fun

Invader

Separate From Suppressive Influences

Time Lord Trap

Scary Invasion

Invader Me

The Emperor

Invader Them

Buddha Me

Brief Explanation

Outside Of The Mest Universe

Infinite Fear

Cruel Cuisine

No Drifting Around

Child Fright

Opposite Reality

Just Buy A Ticket Already

Vital Understanding

Body Builders

Bobble Bodies

Ship Rebuilding

Neutron Nerves

Do Not Scare Children

Forgetter

Opened Reactive Mind

Total Recall

Waterway In The Sky

Drugs

Prime Confusion

Beloved Psychotic Breaks

Evil Me

The Importance Of Manners

A Nice Body

The Connectedness Of Thetans

Anatomy Cafeteria

Chainsaw Barber

Know And Oh, Oh

Gala Event

Suppressive Rule

Wisdom Described

The Good Fight

Reality And Love

Snow Blind

Being In The Theta Eternity

Feeding Roman Pets

Guard Him With Your Life

No Romeo

Dampened Fun

Mystery

Advanced Primitive

Fire

No Pain, No Gain

Seeing Is Not Believing

Another Theta Trap

Non-Confront Confronting

Too Much Doorbell

So Cool

Two-Terminal Universe

A Way Out

Rape Chain

Inappropriate Tool

Dangerous Test

Back To Inapropriate Tool

Do As You Are Told

Scaring Children Again

Little Robots

Good Thetan, Bad Thetan

Lower Than An Invader Grunt

Ancient War Techniques

God Against Savages

Home

A Test

Art And Advertising

Advertising

Art Again

Get That Wagon Moving

Invader Darts

Social Nature Of Sex

The Plagues

Pain = Insanity

My Name

Powerful Repercussions

Inversion Bomb

Technical Details Of The Inversion Bomb

Life On A Big Planet

Give Us The Information

Political Correctness Is Punish

More On Inversion Bombs

City Of Light And Theta

Invalidation/Validation

Silence In Session

Sticky Thought Implants

Enjoying Unpleasantness

Too Quick Death

Gay Attacks

More On Time Lord

Greed On Earth

Orbital Sightseeing

Electronic Bridge

Beam Me Up, Scotty

Interesting Symbol

The Cloud

Symbols

Flying Appetite

Between Lives

Genetic Entities

A Consideration

Life As An Animal

Animal Revenge

Programmed Unreality

Floating Houses Of Heaven

A Few Views And Insights

Most Useful Information

Feel Bad = Focus Attention Outward

Epilogue

About the Author

INTRODUCTION

There is a universe, fascinating, fantastic and immensely pleasurable held away from us solely by our own minds. Cracking through this barrier to infinity opens floodgates to more than just returning sanity; it shows a universe in detail never imagined upon our world. When I attempted to get up this bridge toward recovered abilities in the nineteen-seventies and eighties, I found myself stymied by those who successfully made the wondrous trip refusing to talk about their discoveries and past lives. I thought it might be advantageous to share these exciting things to return the thrill of getting up the bridge once more. We cannot make it out of our obscured minds without communication. After what happened to the Church of Scientology with their current evil veil of secrecy, it appears I was right all along. Communicate. Secretiveness, excessive amount of refused communication over our whole tracks (past lives and between lives) does not free us of our obscuring minds. The technology of L Ron Hubbard does. The Church of Scientology is not the technology.

This universe may seem bizarre, but that is only because we are not familiar with anything beyond caveman viewpoints for a very long time. What is natural may seem strange, but I believe you find comfort through the return of truth. We have all known what is in this book in the past. You will know again. As well, you will learn what caused you to forget these exciting things. The universe, the real universe, is far more enjoyable than you may consider possible. It was designed for our pleasure. Seemly, only on Earth can we find viewpoints of pain.

In the decades of open communication were published such works as; Have You Lived Before This Life and A History of Man. No one collapsed upon the release of this data. Millions of people climbed out of their pain and suffering to return to a universe of enjoyment and affinity solely because they communicated there was a way out. I will communicate. However, I warn you this work is not like what published prior. It is sometimes fiercely graphic. You may choke at some of the things you will read. Be brave, but beware and be braced.

In the decades of open communication were published such works as; Have You Lived Before This Life and A History of Man. No one collapsed upon the release of this data. Millions of people climbed out of their pain and suffering to return to a universe of enjoyment and affinity solely because they communicated there was a way out. I will communicate. However, I warn you this work is not like what published prior. It is sometimes fiercely graphic. You may choke at some of the things you will read. Be brave, but beware and be braced.

Some items are very unpleasant. I came to realize that the rest of the universe has this data and they do not drop what they are doing to run arms flailing down the street. Others have read this book with no ill symptoms. Please however, read this with the caveat that what is contained within this book can key you in; it could be dangerous to you.

Let us get started.

ADVENTURE

Opening past lives in proper Scientology auditing sessions relieves the pain from the past lodged within our present. The pain, emotional and to a much lesser degree, physical pain, prevents us from looking at our past lives. Even much of our past from this life remains hidden. Relieving those very specific points of pain opens more than just a happier life. Clearing out pain brings forth a universe of data. The following are reports on various past lives, areas and times between having different bodies primarily during events that contained great pain or loss (great loss is an emotional pain). This pain keeps past lives, events, and areas between lives held in suspension while blacking out our perceptions.

Our universe opened to the recall many, many people running through events in their pasts. By keeping this knowledge secret along with a church no longer freeing people, no one can make it out of our confinement on Earth. Freedom requires communication. I present a collection of past events forming a viewpoint on reality never exposed in any age on Earth beyond small snippets and hints. These are traumas of the distant past still affecting me until run out in auditing sessions. The mind holds severe trauma in suspension. Similar traumas occurred to you. This book could harm you as these things come forth from your mind without relieving them. However, no knowledge at all guarantees no chance to recover. I therefore risk you to save you. I wish you great luck in this exploration.

THE CHALLENGE

In my life just preceding this one, a bull of gigantic proportion to my then small body gored me deeply. It mauled and slashed my waist terrible and lethally. I was a young girl running with her friends in the hills of Southern California, an area of rolling hills and clear skies. The girls teased me into baiting the bull. This is a thoroughly dangerous game whereby one risks charging horns for no purpose other than the thrill of zipping to the center of the stockyard, there to claim the safety of a feed pen. I was a bold little tomboy. Without thinking of consequences, I accepted the challenge. The huge bull, although probably not too large as bulls go, came at me in a terrifying blur amazingly quick. I suppose that I had never seen this beast coming at a target before. I had no idea that it could burst into such awesome speed. With the bravado of youth, I ran for all I had within me, but that bull had me down in a heartbeat. The screams of my failure brought aid all too late.

A key-in point came up in auditing. A key-in is an event bringing an engram of a painful moment from the past up into the present. As when bringing up a touchy point of an argument, it brings with it past pain and misemotion into restimulation. A time in this life, I saw a near duplicate of that feeding enclosure positioned in the center of a corral in Northern Illinois. Seeing that duplicate activated this engram for me back in the late 1950s. This was the key-in point. This engram, hid away in my mind lay dormant, riddled with fear and pain until a very similar pen brought that unpleasant death up in my bank, but not up to my memory. The engram would have keyed-out as soon as it appeared, making it quite harmless. The pen, the feeding enclosure, and the dirt field were very closely similar of the scene in the engram. It was no wonder that I keyed-in on so gruesome a death.

The house in my just previous life showed wallpapered planks on the inside walls. It was a farm or ranch situated quite possibly near Bakersfield, California. In that life, with its deadly challenge, the bull won. The death was so touching as I lay on that bed for the first time in the sacred, forbidden parent’s room. I came awake just as the doctor was quietly moving toward the door wearing a dark looking cloth coat. He carried a classic black leather medical bag. My mother sat next to me trying so hard not to move me while hugging me as close as she dared to avoid further damage to the small wracked body of her daughter whom she loved so dear.

Mother sat bravely straining not to cry as she held onto me refusing to allow the one she achingly loved to slip quietly away. I watched as her desperate desires failed. Mother’s reddened eyes pled for me to hold on, but her precious darling child could fight for life no more. I wanted to speak, but I found myself confused. I was lifted slightly into mother’s caring arms while finding myself unable to think clearly enough for coherent speech. Under dreadful onerous effort to animate a body so torn, I attempted a weak plea for warmth. A great deal of blood had flowed from my little girl’s body. I felt fine other than extremely tired and deeply cold. I struggled to speak. All that I had in me was but a weak, ‘Mommy…’ before disconnecting from my dying little girl’s body. My mother tearfully repeated, ‘Do not leave me dear… Stay with me…’ All mother could do through her own pain of love-soaked tears was say repeatedly, ‘I love you little one. I love you…’ My body lay drained and damaged beyond hope. I separated from that pretty, little body. As I disconnected fully the body gave up its last efforts and died.

Upon that great bed, I found a painless death. I suffered a deep regret in losing that life. My dear mother was a loving soul. I lived the thrill of a fine, exciting young life with good friends and a mother who really did strive to help me through life to create a better place for me to live. It was a fascinating new world filled of curious wonders to explore. It was a brief life of fun, true love of my family and of good, close friends, all whom I deeply regretted leaving. On my parent’s comfortable bed, I succumbed to a very touching demise.

This engram showed me there is still love in the most primitive of surroundings. There were no gunslingers in that Old West. The foul gunslinger is regrettably in the next engram.

GRUMPY OLD MAN

The life lost to the rage of a wild bull in times far less gentle than I would prefer brought this earlier life up in session. This life showed a somewhat strange effect in that it refused to come to me as anything but the life immediately before the one reported above. The events of this life however occurred during the earliest part of the nineteen-hundreds maybe thirty years before the one cited above. It was not the life before the little girl dancing with the bull, yet my time track at this point wanted that to come up next. There stood between this life and the little girl at least two other lives cited later. What lodges into the mind, the hidden part of the mind called the bank, does not contain time. It has pain, primarily emotional pain. It is the next item of pain I can now handle that comes up as the next item within the bank. Attempting to push a regular time sequence into these events would be a futile task at best. I write what I can as these things come up as that is how we found them in the bank. Engrams are confused and often disjointed affairs that come when they come. The items first out of the past before this current life tend to be somewhat near to this life. This occurs because these items have relatively little pain or emotional charge within them, which I can handle this early into opening the bank. Recovering the little snippets of Theta (spirit freed and returned to us from the bank) as the small amounts of charge are released make us slightly stronger. With greater strength come greater engrams holding greater charge. It takes some clearing up before lives in other worlds begin to show. Much release of Theta accrues before heavy incidents begin to arise in auditing sessions as we become extremely strong.

I was a horse rancher in that life. I resided in the hills somewhere possibly over the Los Angeles basin in California. Life there was very hard and the work never slowed. Being so remote, the risk rarely slackened as well. My wife had died a while back. God, I missed her. Although we bickered rather constantly, she was, as I found so hard to say, the reason for and the person who made life worthwhile. These sentiments were deeply true, but at that time, men did not say such things. Men of the West were gruff creatures in rough times. Pioneer people were hard and sometime mean in a mean time of constant danger and extreme, hard work. My life was hers yet I could never utter a word of my love for that fine woman.

The life of a breeder fell to the labor of horses in need of constant attention. The water needed frequent pumping, the fences raised, feeding, veterinary care, ditches demanded digging to ease the infrequent rains into manageable streams to keep the place from miring under mud every winter. All metal demanded to be re-wrought; hammer welded, or entirely rebuilt every few years from the ceaseless wear of a difficult profession.

Should you see pictures of old ranches showing houses a bit run down, that is why. Even a strong man cannot keep up under such an extreme workload. It would require a large crew back then to keep a house looking anywhere near as well kept as any house you see today. Now, one person can keep up with the workload because you can buy paint readymade, wood already cut, power tools, and power for the pumping of water, the moving of loads, washing clothes, mowing the lawn… Today’s lists of comforts are as never-ending as were the endless chores back then. There is no wonder at the comparative dilapidation of our early homes. In the all too wild Old West with not a single modern convenience, it was a difficult, exhausting life even with two people devoted to the labors. For one man now alone, it was too much.

In those days, I never stepped a foot out of bed without quickly strapping to me my well-tended six-gun. Carrying this pistol was my primary mode of dress. That weapon showed to me in session as a thing black and of serious lethality. It was possessed as well of deadly accuracy. Many men of the era were not too adept with their weapons in the old west, contrary to the opinion of dynamic western movies and story. Some of us were quite well acquainted with the weapons of our era. Rattlesnakes and highwaymen were real threats to a lonely ranch back in those days. There were as well wildcats, bears; much less intimidated back then, and there were those most dreaded wolves who often did not give any warning before being surrounded by a pack, quickly cut down for their dinner.

To this day, I am prone to grow angry when I hear about some goofs allowing wolves to repopulate the land. Eventually these animals are going to kill children. That is what they do. Wolves are large carnivores unregulated by the pill or social convention. Their population regulates entirely by how much they kill. They kill. They eat. Until they evacuate an area of life, then they starve until they can move elsewhere allowing their prey to build up again. Wolf population regulates solely by starvation. Only disease, or falling to the rare predation of a hungry bear, to another encroaching wolf pack, or to man, do wolves diminish their population. Their primary foe is starvation. These carnivores will eat anything, breed at high rates, and they can kill anything that moves as they hunt in packs. To them, the killing of huge caribou is normal dining. Just think what they will do someday to a family of picnickers.

Because of those problems and other considerations, a gun was serious business, but it also meant the occasional antelope, deer, rabbit or any such creature as could adorn a spit or pot.

That six-gun still used black powder as its propellant. Although by then we were well in the nitro age, my weapon used the old-school propellant. It was cheaper and you could make the powder yourself from component ingredients that you could acquire or buy in boxes like those containing charcoal or niter. Still and all, that weapon of mine was a deadly force. Black powder was cheaper, it increased a horse’s value to rear it unafraid of gunfire, and that cost bullets, many bullets. That practice explained as well my adept usage of the weapon.

I was quite an angry old man back toward the end. It was not that I did not have an interesting life. I did and it was, but those damned horseless carriages were coming on-line ruining the horse market. I had worked out, although I do not know how, but I mentioned in session that one horseless automatic motorcar eliminated the need for seven horses. That could quite well be true. Those damned carriages were unbelievably efficient even in their earliest days. They started right up instantly with a few cranks without the need for twenty minutes or more invested in extracting the coach from the barn, gathering up the horses, putting on the harnesses and reins and what all else… Not to mention the fodder, grooming, shoeing, health maintenance, etc., required of the livestock. In addition, those cars were exceedingly fast. A typical trip provided a wild-eyed fifteen miles an hour whereas a horse could do that speed if pushed and more but for only a brief, short sprint. These horseless carriages could perform such astronomic speeds for all the day is long. I had heard somewhere that a horse and carriage could do ten miles an hour for ten minutes. That sounds about right. I hated those damned automobile contraptions.

There was no fresh food as I was a horse rancher now desperately in need of customers. I was so proud of those pipes I installed leading water from the hand pump over right next to the house. However, there was much leaching from those lead pipes. I liked to think at the time that robbers were still interested in stealing my horses. Such history was the only life that I knew. I was all alone, sick from malnutrition and bending under the strain of extreme overwork. I may well was in intense pain from rotting teeth and injuries. I was an angry, bitter old man in an uncaring world. When those two young men came running up to the fence by the horses unannounced, at about seventy yards, without thinking I shot them dead. One shot each in their chests.

They were boys really. Even as a very stern, callused old man, those murders tore me up inside. I do not know what came over me to do something so gruesome, but I did it. I did not show it at the time, one did not in those days, but it hurt me to no end to have murdered those innocent kids just out for a good time who wanted, just like today, to see great, strong horses strutting about.

I brought their bodies into town and left them with the sheriff, as was the custom. I then went back to the lonely hills where one never saw another soul as horses were going the way of gun toting old men who kill visitors. I could not have taken it when the distraught mothers arrived to collect their own laboriously reared and raised, now dead young boys.

I had to run that out in session. I felt awful right up to this life. The interesting thing is that things like that do not go away with time. In the bank (That part of the mind we do not examine) there is no time. Painful events like that double murder stay with us forever. Read Dianetics, the Modern Science of Mental Health to learn of what I speak. Ron mentioned the importance of this book in understanding people and the mind. You will not gain an understanding of recovery without the basics and that book imparts these critical insights.

The ranch house stood as a single story, old looking shed about forty or fifty feet wide. All the wood was plank, of which I was so proud when I built it. There would be no log cabin for my wife and me to live, although there might be many a leak. The structure showed no paint not long weathered away, sun faded or worn to near eradication. The corral was of logs whittled down at the ends to fit within the holes cut into fence posts. There were no nails as the expense would was extreme for a horse rancher. The corral had definitely never met a paintbrush.

I was a gruff old man. I died shortly thereafter, straining over a cracked fencepost.

I learned that life in the exciting days of yore were not exciting near so much as exhausting and downright dangerous. I have a new appreciation for just what we went through in those trying times.

The age of promise and advancement of the human condition was not there yet. We were so near the shining age where the backs of men may unburden of ceaseless labor for meager survival, to stretch straight and proud for an opportunity to work hard with as well some time to relax. A paradise of labors done by machine not seen before in history was about to change our world. The next article covers just this turning point.

JEW BOY

Another life found me all the way over in Europe. I was a Jew. I was in Europe, then America the next life. There is the possibility that I came over to America as a Thetan (a spirit) free of any body after my demise in Germany. As my auditing progressed, I found many instances where I departed one area in hopes of finding better havens of good people elsewhere. The life as a Jew was some twenty or thirty years after the grumpy old man with a gun. We often tend to pick up a body right near where we lost the last, but not always. We tend to prefer familiar people, familiar times. How I got to America from Germany is a mystery. I suppose that I could devote the time to recall just how I got here, but honestly, it just does not hold the interest it once did to know all the details of my many recent lives once I get the major nasty events out of a few of them. It does not drive me any more than it would drive you to know how many blades of grass are in your front lawn.

Eventually all my lives will be an open book. I will be able to read over each one to find the what, when, where and why behind them for pleasure or knowledge and this incalculable ability will be mine for all eternity to come. Ron said we are dealing with the preclear’s next two hundred trillion years. That is an eternity of eternities by anyone’s reckoning. Odd, with such treasure increasingly at my disposal, I now have little interest in pulling the data up beyond getting at those damning engrams. This condition sounds extremely familiar to me. Everyone who made it up the bridge in the past enjoyed this condition. Those who succeeded years past, before the Church of Scientology fell to quickie methods. Quickie is the quitting of an auditing area under a specific question (called a command) give to you in session before clearing out everything within that question. Ron specifically said not to commit quickie Grades on anyone. Those early clears before quickie sessions entered the church, lost interest in telling the whole world about their tracks. The interesting point is that the saner you are, the less you feel impelled to be the center of attention. Your attention focuses outward. You find less attention focused on the need to advertise your wins in climbing the bridge or push others into getting your viewpoint or doing anything beyond just enjoying living the game of life. Sane people are calm, quiet, and extremely rare on Earth. It may happen that I too lose interest in writing about my adventures and discoveries as I clear up my many woes. The change in me is coming. I will write fast.

Extremely important here to mention is that Ron developed the Expanded Grades and he never suggested that anyone ever take the shortened version put out by the church. In all my comments throughout this book, I refer to Expanded everything on the bridge. Shortened versions of the Grades and levels are a suppressive act committed by the Church of Scientology. This is not true auditing. The Church of Scientology is not Scientology.

It was such a wonderful life for me then, near unto magic for a nice Jewish boy at that time. There was promise in the air. The world was changing so fast it made your head spin. Everything in the future looked to be so much easier and brighter than the near past. The whole world was gaining in these exciting newfound ways. We Germans however, were not enjoying that bright future. We struggled under deep debt from our failed world conquest of the First World War, but the promise for the future was there. Unscrupulous banks have ways to assure debt never pays up. Such thinking back then and there I picked up in session.

I rode in a lighter than air ship, a real Zeppelin. I distinctly recalled thinking at the time as I related to my auditor that there was no finer way to travel whether on Earth or in Heaven than through the magic glide of a ship upon the silent air above. It seemed to me that I had no need of the perfect life and blessed death as I was in heaven already.

I recalled in session as well those strange looking new automobiles that I thought I was seeing in America in the engram. They were probably American cars, but as the incident came clear, I realized that I was in Germany. These were cars transitioning from the vertical design of the twenties and thirties with the tall narrow grills and everything arranged on a car appearing to rise from the ground up like tall buildings, to today’s cars where they look designed to sit flat on the ground with low hoods and wide seats. Today, our cars looked designed and made horizontally. These transitional, strange cars advertised as new, exciting vehicles to drive us into a bright new future during a time when we desperately needed a bright future. We Germans were in the throes of a massive depression. The losses of the First World War had crippled us. The flourishing good times passed us. There was only hardship and want. We knew nothing else but struggle for the short years of my young life as a German.

These new cars were cavernous inside as the sudden horizontally widened platform of the vehicles left the designers wondering what to do with all that extra head and shoulder room so they built with huge spaces inside, until they were to get used to the idea far off in the distant future of the nineteen-fifties. Only then did car designs show reasonable interiors like those that we enjoy today.

During my young life in the nineteen-thirties through such hardship, but promise, those damned Nazis started taking control. I recalled that Mom, Dad, little Sis and I managed to escape those Nazi bastards who had taken our home and our beloved country. The out-of-control psychotics gained control once again, so common in history. When a society allows the weird to gain acceptance, the hell in their future can be atrocious. We, the good people of young Germany apparently have a flaw. We are too accepting of evil. We do not clamp down on speakers of evil, as they were to do in the fabulous America of the 1950s in the future and still do in Scandinavia today.

This is not to be confused with being savages, where evil runs rampant without a word toward moderation leaving evil utterly unconstrained. There does appear, however, to be a trait among Germans that allow for the inexcusable to vent their entheta (the opposite of sane viewpoints) on occasion without attempts to control or dampen those vile acts. This excessive acceptance leads inevitably to some psychopath or other taking control every now and then as a psychotic spewing negative reality attracts other psychotics. When evil bands together and gains power, it draws even more psychopaths from everywhere leading to predictable consequences.

We Jews realized that once again we were under dire threat so common in our histories. Father wisely boarded us onto a steamship headed for England or America. We had cleared the harbor and we were blessedly free of the evil taking rampant use of our tendency toward the gentle handing of those ungentle souls; the out-of-control psychopaths who joined the Nazis. Whatever horrors had so worried my parents were not to claim us. We made good our escape although it was a very close thing. I recall the relief we felt at that time in my auditing session. As we fled that intense evil, the ship of our salvation began to turn.

Back in port, the Nazis hounded my father for our bank accounts. They went after all our family’s money. I gather that the torture was horrible. These Nazis had already perfected data extraction through hideous means. Then we, mom, little sis and myself were off to the camps. I never saw my father again.

Sis, mom, and I, forced to strip, then led into a line where the most awful thing imaginable happened to a little girl shoved into line with us. The guards let their attack dogs rip her to screaming shreds. That poor child died in an agony unspeakable right there for all to witness. The little girl, she was not large, scare more than a toddler, punished for the crime of unthinkingly stepping out of line.

I know… That scene of incredible brutality was in a movie. It happened to that little girl right in front of me, mom and sis nonetheless. Everything is off the track. We saw it before somewhere in our past lives, our tracks. The keying-in of that scene from that movie made this evil sure to come up in session as the movie keyed-in the atrocity in my current life, made now less enjoyable. It still makes me sad. I was and I am horrified and sickened at such cruelty set upon a defenseless, innocent little girl. I suppose I always will be so broken. My auditor has thankfully dampened much of the pain.

A long time we spent in camp. I do not have any details about the time elapsed since first we were roughly shoved in, but we were very thin when we were stripped again of the rags they provided us to wear and marched off to the gas chambers. I do not see why anyone should find the need to make our gassing so painful. Many gases would not have provoked such intense agony before death. Nazis, Zulus, Ancient Romans, all such psychotic governments dramatize the worse that done to them onto other people probably not even in the same galaxy as when their initial torture was inflicted eons past. That is the bank in action. The dramatizing psychotic never looks, never cares who he harms. He only dramatizes.

German Shepherds I found were such wonderful dogs back then they were used as, well, shepherds. They as well found homes as tender, loving family pets until the Nazis got their hands on them. They were helpful, intelligent animals that would not hurt a fly and we loved them so dearly and were so proud of these creatures that we even named them after our dear country; German Shepherds. They were like beagles in that they just did not have a mean bone in them. It was only after the Nazis came into power that these loyal, attentive, obedient dogs learned a new and vicious manner of work. Like pit bulls, these dogs were incredibly desirous of following orders. German Shepherds would strain to do anything we may ask of them. The Nazis provided that stigma carried over to this day as these highly intelligent dogs are used by militaries everywhere, but those who have them in their families know that these creatures are not evil. Kind and attentive, better describes them. In addition, they are obedient. They try harder I think than any other creature on Earth to do what we desire. That is how those monster Nazis could make them into reflections of themselves.

It is fascinating how much data you can recover from past lives. For instance, I did not know the condition of the perfect life and blessed death. As well, did you know that the domes in Jewish synagogues represent the eternal flame to god? We Jews could not put any kind of flame symbol on the top of our domes making the dome represent an eternal candle because that would give our presence away to the Romans. Now, rather than a flame symbol atop the dome, the whole dome represents the eternal flame to the glory of god. Even Jews I meet today do not know that, although I am sure there is a scholar out there somewhere who does.

I did so love being a Jew. We were the best educated, we had the soundest financial investments, the brightest potential futures and most of all, we were not regular folk. We were the Chosen Ones. Hooray! A fine life filled with promise was that one. I derived great enjoyment from being a chosen one. As a plus, I was a cute boy.

These engrams tend to show up in no logical order. In this next event, I was not a German.

FIGHTING THE KAISER

One life I was in the trenches. English, I was. We were fighting the Kaiser and his gang when I caught a round at a peculiar angle. It was from the enemy lines but from the extreme left flank, or should I say left trench? The bullet knocked a chunk out of my neck stunning me so badly that I never told anyone that I was still alive when tossed onto that pile of corpses. The near frozen dead soldiers smelled similar of rotting cabbage. Tossed upon that pile, left to die at my leisure, all and all it was just as well. There was no medicine or surgery to save an injury that severe back then. As it was, it turned out to be another painless death so I am not complaining.

That was the first time I saw airplanes, back during that war. It was the ultimate war, the Great War. This war literally encircled the entire world. There was no place unaffected by that titanic struggle. It was a world at war.

Those airplanes tended to fly in straight lines to and from the enemy lines. I do not think that I ever saw a dogfight in the air. I am still fascinated with flying things. I have flown many an hour this life in my own little planes, both General Aviation and ultra-lights, now called micro-lights. Those were fascinating contraptions. These new, manmade birds crossed the sky so very high. As god rested unobserving, we mortals stole yet another miracle. We stole fire, gunpowder, and steel ships, now the very chariots of god himself bent to the flight of man. Life on this planet would never be the same again.

The next deals with the rough and tumble times of uncontained psychotics loosed upon our world. The Wild West was very wild indeed.

FEEL LUCKY

One life ended somewhere in my thirties back in America on the plains. I was a strong, hard worker with a family. The wife and I were on our way to California when our old wagon busted an axle, just like in the movies. Many things the movies get wrong. That was exactly right. The left rear axle gave out. The whole axle collapsed as it was a single unit. The left wheel broke free of a true line and the heavy Conestoga wagon stopped. The wagon was quite old, well beyond its useful life, decidedly old and somewhat decrepit.

Back in the days when you had to hew every piece of wood yourself before you could call a wagon anything more than a pile of logs, you tended to make do with what you could afford. Sawn wood in piles, wood made into planks like those stacked in every lumberyard did not exist back then. Never in the history of Earth did such exist. Anything that took that much work to make had more than a backlog. Any wood sawn found use as soon as made. There was nothing cheap. Young people had to deal with old equipment and wagons and often that meant tremendous extra work trying so hard to keep axle and wheel together. There was not even wire back then to help an old transport hold together. If something broke, you replaced the whole unit, you could not bind the thing and carry on with wire, tape and crossed fingers.

The wife and I had been arguing so long that I was not paying attention to the creaking old crate. The back of the wagon gave a screech, sagged, and collapsed. I distinctly recalled the impression of that long screech, crackle and thud as the vehicle stopped us short. There was no skidding to a halt. The wagon stopped instantly. The axle snapped, bending the wheel into the wagon’s side. The wagon train continued around us and was gone. God, I could so have used a helping hand. Leaving people to their fates back in savage times may seem a bit cross, but these were hard times among hard-pressed if hardy folk and a train cannot stop for anyone lest the snows kill all in the party.

I was working myself fast and half to death with the wife nagging me the other half. Our twelve-year-old daughter sat quietly up on the wagon’s seat alongside of my wife. Then two cowboys rode up sporting big smiles. I was very interested in the possibility that these two men could help. It was Indian country, of course. Although the plains stretched as far as the eye could see, I saw no sign of savage warriors. I frantically strove to regain our wagon to get us safely back into the protection of that distant train growing more distant away every minute. I was ever ready with a gun should Indians show up. Sadly, stupidly, I did not take any precautions with these two white men. As they came to a stop a few feet away from me sitting on their horses, the one to my left pulled a gun and shot me in the heart.

I felt bad about leaving both those young girls to those bad men. It came up in auditing for obvious reasons. I recalled in the auditing session that what had keyed-in the incident was possibly a Clint Eastwood western. I recalled feeling unusually bad watching a scene in that movie much like what happened back then and now I know why. It is always best to avoid nasty, irreverent, and evil scenes, books and movies. These things really do key us in. One thing that has become predominately clear in my climb up the bridge is that there must be something lurking there deep in our mind, something must be earlier, for anything less than happy or calm feelings to exist in the present. The bad feeling derived from that movie directly tied into the murder of me and the rape-murder of my wife and child so long past in the wilder part of America’s past.

In a later session, I uncovered another engram underneath this one where oddly, it was in the same life married to the same woman where caught unprepared by three men. We were east of those wild western plains, deep within the endless forest. In a small trading post, one of those three bad men turned on me unexpectedly with a six-gun and made his proposition. I could not refuse as they took turns raping my wife. Our baby daughter lay bundled to one side. I never saw those men again.

That was bad, but what really made this engram stick was the betrayal of logic when my wife dedicated the rest of her years complaining that I had allowed her rape. I had not allowed any such thing. If I had fought these men, my death would have meant that she would die too as these psychotics covered up the evidence of their murder. To have our baby daughter left for the animals to kill so very slowly and painfully was something I did not want to ponder.

It was an interesting engram in that I discovered predatory animals prefer to eat living babies to dead bodies. Even freshly killed bodies were not preferred over a living, defenseless baby. I suppose that to be a survival instinct as there may be no way to tell exactly how long a dead body lay there dead and a fresh new baby was just about the most wholesome meal a carnivorous predator could desire to find. The baby is defenseless so the threat involved in killing something that can fight back is absent as well.

It amazes me how much information extracts from even brief engrams brought up to the auditing table. These engrams accented the dire condition of life on this planet with out-of-control psychotics left to their own designs. It was horrible, but exciting as well. We were truly on our own in a wild place and time.

In an amazing realization, I came to understand why the result of Grade Zero is an ability to communicate anything. When coming into engrams like the above with even realizations about animals preferring to eat live babies, I run the charge out of my bank (part of the mind we cannot view). There is now nothing there troubling me. How can animals eating live babies not trouble me? Well, the pain is run out in session. Now I can talk about animals eating live babies without a thing pressing me into strange acts or resentful mutterings, no urges at all linger on the subject and I have just started my Grade Zero. This is how we regain the ability to communicate anything. All major charge is gone leaving nothing to drive us up the walls no matter what subject comes up. What a magnificent, fabulous ability. I will soon be able to communicate anything without going to pieces or attacking people. I do not even cringe. How many people have you met who could lay such a claim? Communicate anything. If entirely honest: on Earth; zero. This also explains how not one single person ever can regain sanity without first deeply clearing up Grade Zero. Plus, you learn so much about the universe.

The next engram emphasizes being alone.

PASSION AND PAIN

In another life, I was a cute little girl learning to not look at or talk to men. I have a habit of growing large breasts for the fellows when I am a woman and those honkers were already beginning to brag when a relative or family friend raped me. Then, he tossed me like a sack of beans behind the old wheelbarrow upon which I was deflowered, although the barrow may was without the sophistication of wheels. Dad was long dead. Mom had recently died. I was very young, pretty and utterly, totally defenseless. I felt badly alone in the world.

That life probably went smoothly thereafter. That was somewhere in the beginning of the prairies, the Eastern portion of the endless grassy plain. Just about everything in America back in the good old days was ‘endless.’ We had a vast continent to explore. There is no wonder why Americans have such a positive outlook on life. We learned to do everything ourselves, that translates even up to the present, and we had room to do whatever we wished. You just cannot have endless with hope. In addition, we Americans have the 1950’s set of optimistic thinking and foundation for our industry, ethics, and industriousness as a tremendous boost to today’s optimism. That foundation of integrity covers under Greed on Earth, The American Way, and elsewhere.

The homestead was a ramshackle place of unpainted wood and hardship. I found increasingly long periods of idleness as the last of my direct family had died leaving no one to teach me the tools and tricks of living a difficult, primitive life. I suppose that man took an exasperated justification to my idleness, although I wanted to work, of course. I was just too young to know the types of work that was required of me after all my family passed on to Heaven.

What I discovered about the good old days is there were none. Every day was a work until you drop, then sleep to begin your work the next day, sort of affair. There was never a day off, as you see in the movies. There was only work, hard work, harder work, and ever-harder work to stay alive and work until you died of overwork. I am surprised that we managed to educate our children at all. It was difficult to release small working bodies from their chores long enough to gain such meager education as we gathered back then. However, children sent off from their chores to school were children not underfoot needing constant training and attention at home. It could as well be that the school’s taught children how better to learn the endless tasks needed doing at home.

This next is about the nasty part of leaving the out-of-control psychotic unrestrained.

TOO ROUGH PASSION

When I was a woman somewhere in the American colonial forest, one man bit off my nipple after we had made love. I feel that I did nothing in the revenge area as a real Scientologist, not associated with the failed church, learns eventually that all one’s enemies are oneself. To be reactionary is to be stimulus response yourself. It is insanity in action. However, in the ‘control your out-of-control psychotics’ imperative, I am sure there was not a soul who did not hear from me of that man’s evil act, especially when he was within hearing. Even as savages, we had our ways of dealing with the out-of-control people of our communities. The Quakers took this do not be reactionary knowledge too far with nothing done to corral sociopaths. They were on the right path. However, right on a wrong world is still imperfect.

I sense that I healed up fine and that the rest of that life was reasonably all right. We were savages at the time in a brutal era. We had no real contact with anyone not very nearby in the forest and psychotics so easily roamed about harming people then faded into the woods and horror stories. Life there was no bed of roses so much as a tangled mesh of thorns. Polite conversation in those fine times tended to be a lot of yelling at each other without shooting someone. Still, it was an adventure-filled life. We were opening an endless world.

L Ron Hubbard mentions that one’s sexual desires tend to return after sufficient auditing. Now it makes perfect sense to me. With nasty things like having a nipple bitten off leaving its dark, unobserved effect lurking in the bank it is no wonder should I lose a bit of interest. In a room where you were regularly beaten, you do not must remember all or even any of the beatings, or even that you were beaten, to feel bad when near that room. Engrams are there in your mind and therefore in your present. Those engrams keyed-in do affect you right now, today. Now, that item of the missing nipple and so many others like it bother me no more. My body seems to be younger. It is wonderful that life can so turn around and be such fun again.

That biting off my nipple explains why I had such thoughts in my current life. Should such a thing key-in as it apparently was and were I to fall into complete psychosis, I could have done such incredible evil to some poor girl myself. I would be dramatizing the incident because it was there in my mind, focused upon, given attention and made to seem so real. Attention on the bank gives power to the bank. The bank works in just such a manner I found. The thought is there. The intention of that evil man is there and the bank tends to associate more to the winning side of painful events. It tends to create a condition where the bully is paramount to the victim. So, your thoughts tend to match that of the evil of the event, not saintly goodness, victimized. If there were no bank, there would be no evil running rampant on our streets. I mean that absolutely. There must be something there in the past for inappropriate behavior to exist in the present. This is not just an observation; it is a law of the universe. Thanks to Ron, that incident will trouble me no longer.

Scarcity breeds value. If we found gold everywhere, it would be of no value. This next item deals directly with a scarcity of greatest value.

RARE FRIEND

Somehow or another I made it to England in another life where I was working in a shipyard. The industrial revolution had arrived and we British were leading the way for the world. We were grabbing the benefits just for ourselves, but the revolution was catching on quite well on its own.

Mom and I were having a rough time of it. She was one of those few true friends I so crave and find so gruesomely rarely on this planet. I would have done anything for her. We were living under what looked like a pile of rotting boards leaning against a wall. It was not a house, not even a shed; it was just a rack of misshapen, mostly rotted wood leaning against a wall providing a space to crawl into out of the worse of the rain although it was by no means a dry place.

As a lad, I found employment. I was a very small boy scarce up from toddler. I worked in a shipyard in Southern England. I would run errands, papers, parts, whatever needed to wherever needed. During my auditing session, I recalled the name of the city and later found it on a map, but it does not come to mind right now. The place might be Weymouth south of Bristol (I looked on a map for clues) but I would need to check with my auditor to be sure. He, of course, would never let me look at my auditing session reports even had he written the name down, which seems doubtful. The city name did come up in session and it was accurate. It was the same name today as it held back then.

During my shift, I ran with great enthusiasm anything that I could carry or drag to all points of the shipyard. Later, I guided down by hand huge metal beams and other large items brought by crane. I found extra money picking up small scraps of metal and selling them off base to help dear mother. I was quick, but far too young to pay constant attention. I got my head crushed between a load and a steel bulkhead or ship’s hull. After the loss of the body, my worries were toward dear mother who now must go it alone.

In my auditing, I found that young people and those in too happy of a mood tend to lose their sense of threat in the world. You just cannot convince a happy toddler to watch out for danger. Risk is not our natural state in the universe. Fast moving trains, forest fires, packs of wolves do not endanger Thetans. Only in our unnatural