During a mesmerizing performance last night in Clearwater, Florida at the Flag Down anti-Scientology conference, Jamie DeWolf made a stunning revelation. He’s authenticated bizarre writings that had been attributed to his grandfather, L. Ron Hubbard Jr., who was the son of Scientology’s founder. They paint a disturbing portrait of the influence of the occult on the Hubbard men as they used Scientology in its early days to further their personal aims.
We first wrote about Jamie in the summer of 2011, when we named him one of the “Top 25 People Crippling Scientology.” Though he wasn’t very well known even among former Scientologists, we said that the Bay Area performance artist had huge potential to make a major impact on how Scientology and his great-grandfather, L. Ron Hubbard, are viewed. Since then, Jamie has been working hard to make good on that prediction. A boost from Upworthy in March helped a lot, and he’s continued to hone his writing about his family tree.
Jamie revealed some of that new material last night in Clearwater in a spellbinding hour-long performance which was captured on video (it starts about 6 minutes into the clip below). During that performance, Jamie revealed that he’d only recently obtained an unpublished manuscript written by his grandfather, who went by several names — L. Ron Hubbard Jr., “Nibs,” and Ron DeWolf.
Jamie found that in 1981 his grandfather had written a memoir he titled “The Telling of Me, by Me.” Jamie read the introduction and some pages of bizarre material in which Nibs talked about learning the occult from his famous father.
Video streaming by Ustream
Jamie actually first ran into those occult writings when we brought them to his attention several months ago. Arnie Lerma had posted a portion of them online some years ago, saying that they were from another work that Nibs had helped write in the early 1970s. During our research, we discovered that the occult pages couldn’t be from that earlier work, but Arnie couldn’t help us determine where they were from. When we brought them to Jamie’s attention, we told him that we couldn’t be sure where they came from or if they were authentic. And until last night we didn’t know that he’d found out their actual origin.
Jamie tells us that he’s been probing his family members for more information about his grandfather. And that’s how he learned that the family still had material that belonged to Nibs which had been left behind after his 1991 death. In that material was the 1981 manuscript of “The Telling of Me, by Me,” including the introduction and occult section that Jamie made public last night.
Jamie doubts that the full manuscript will ever be published because of agreements that his grandfather made with the Church of Scientology before he died. But at least we have this glimpse, read aloud by a master storyteller. We’ve transcribed just a portion of it for your perusal…
I’m the son of God. I mislead you slightly. I’m the son of the man who creates gods. Again, I mislead you slightly. I’m a son of the man who created and founded Dianetics and Scientology, which creates gods. I’m a son of L. Ron Hubbard. This book is my dying declaration. My last will and testament. My father will order my death. My father does not use the word ‘murder.’ He prefers to use the word ‘suicide.’
I’ll give you a full tour, a tour that will cost you only a little sanity, a little reality, a queasy stomach maybe, or even an erection, an aching clitoris, a hard nipple or two. You may want to rush into the nearest church, or run out of one. A view on this tour will make a terminal ecstasy or permanent celibacy.
I left the orgs, as they’re called, November 23, 1959 at 9 a.m. sharp while I was at our headquarters in Washington D.C., 1812 19th Street. At that time, I fully intended to entirely forget the whole sorry mess. The con. The mountains of bullshit and beast-shit. I tried. I failed. I am still failing. Thank God for failure. If I’d been successful there wouldn’t be this book.
Just when people think they have me or dad brought to the ground in a box, we click into the realm of the great beast. This isn’t science fiction, fantasy, or insanity. Ask the thousands of people I’ve personally known and who have dealt with us personally. We are mindfuckers. Real mindfuckers in the real world.
Dianetics and Scientology is the largest, oldest, and most powerful cult in existence. Period. I am one. He has hordes of people and cash. The house odds are in his favor. That’s all. I’ve always been ready, willing, and able to put my life where my mouth is. Let’s all see if he is. I hope so. I pray so. Come out, Daddy. Come out, wherever you are. Pick your weapons and battleground. I have a book to give you.
I do not intend to replace L. Ron Hubbard. I do not intend to assume command of the junk pile. I resisted the numerous offers, both internal and external. My gauntlet has been openly thrown. Let him, and him alone, pick it up.
What the hell is Dianetics and Scientology? It’s a religion. A religion of self. It’s one man’s religion. One man’s labyrinth. A trip of L. Ron Hubbard’s. A trip he lays on everyone else as ‘the trip,’ their trip, your trip. A science fiction story he wrote and forced into reality within the heads of others by the will of L. Ron Hubbard. The self-created fantasy of one man brought to deadly reality for others by a simple word: agreement.
What LRH drummed into my head by his magic tech was, “Do what you will is the whole of the law. Do only that which satisfies the Will.” What the hell does that mean? I didn’t find out myself, consciously, that is, until mid-December 1952 when my father was giving a series of lectures in Philadelphia. Not from the lectures — privately, in his hotel room. He deemed it proper at that time to openly initiate me into his sources. He gives me the first of a series of books. Books and content to be kept forever secret. He says, to reveal them is to cause instant insanity. Rip my mind apart. Destroy me, he warns. Secrets, techniques, and powers he alone has conquered and harnessed.
I listen with hypnotic fascination. The books; some recently republished, some over 1,200 years old, some 5,000 years old.
“Gifts,” he says.
He is excited, fearful, cautious. he is tense. Unimparted secrets imparted for the first time. I open the books, intending to only thumb through. I am awed and amazed; I know these books! How could I?
He answers: “They were used to conceive you. And birth you too. I’ve read them to you while you were asleep. Drugged too. Hypnotized too. For years,” he says.
“Katie too. And Polly too. Scores of women. Blood and pain women. My Scarlet Women,” he says. “Souls torn open,” he says. “I’ve made The Magick really work,” he says. “No more foolish rituals. I’ve stripped The Magick to basics. Access without liability,” he says. “I’ll teach you. Learn well, my son, for you shall take my place. Be likened unto me. Fashioned by my hand. Entering the Golden Dawn with me and carrying it to the stars and beyond,” he says. “Scarlet Women of your own,” he says. “Plenty. For They are the secret to the Doorway. Use and consume. Feast. Drink the power through them. Waste and discard them. Sex by Will,” he says. “Love by Will,” he says. “No caring. No sharing. No feelings. None,” he says. “Sex and love reversed,” he says. “Blind love through sex. Love isn’t sex. Love is no good; puts you at effect-point,” he says. “Sex is power,” he says. “No, sex is the route to power,” he says. “The route to the Doorway. The Doorway to power,” he says. “FInd your Scarlet Woman,” he says. “Create your Causation,” he says. “Make your own Scarlet Women,” he says.
“Scarlet?” I ask.
“Yes, Scarlet. The blood of their bodies; the blood of their soul,” he says. “Release the Will from bondage,” he says. “Bend the body. Bend the mind. Bend their will,” he says. “Beat back the past,” he says. “Free your Will. Unfetter the Will from the past, from the future,” he says. “The present is the only thing. No consequences. None answering. No guilt,” he says. “Nothing is wrong in the present. The Will is free — Total free,” he says. “No feelings. No effort. Pure thought. Thinking alone; separated. The Will postulating the will,” he says.
“Will, Sex, Love, Blood, Door, Power, Will. Logical,” he says. “The Doorway of plenty. The great Door of the Great Beast. Him. You. Me. Our Will. Our Power. Our Reality. Ours Alone,” he says.
He repeats an incantation; invokes the Door opening to the realm of The Beast. The Great Beast. I vomit. I hurt. I feel the power flood through the Doorway. I shine. I am well.
Father says again, “Never tell or much worse will happen.”
I nod. He commands me to read. I have trouble. I keep trancing. Father has commanded. I read. “The Book Of The Law.” “The Sacred Magic Of Abra-Melin.” “The Sex Magic Of The Ninth Degree Of The O.T.O.” And later, many more textbooks. Many more hours of learning. Of practice with Dad. Practice alone. And use. An academy of religious arts and sciences. The academy of power. Hubbard power. Personal power. Not Scientology power. Great power. Beast power.
Dad was correct. Very right on. It worked exactly as he said. It still does and always will.
People mistake L. Ron Hubbard and his Scientology. They see the apparency, and not the actuality. By design. Scientology does not work as stated; but as intended. As intended by its creator L Ron Hubbard. To keep the Doorway open. To remain in the realm of the Great Beast. To feed the hunger of the Will. His Will. When he emptied the purse of man and the heart of women; it seeks onward and outward. Appetite. Forever appetite.
Scientology is the snare. The passion flower. the Cloak of Lights. The glow of power. A power always wanting. Always needing. The Will never satisfied.
Keep the books under lock and key, he says. I do for years. I burn them as a symbolic gesture many more years later. For I am my own exorcist.
A couple of notes: Hubbard’s first wife, Margaret Grubb (1907-1963), was known as “Polly,” and their children were Nibs (born in 1934) and Katherine (1936-2010), known as Katie or Kay. (Both Katie and Polly are mentioned in the piece as having been exposed to the occult material by Hubbard.)
In 1981, L. Ron Hubbard had been in deep hiding for a year. He was so secluded, Nibs and his attorney, Michael Flynn, believed that Hubbard had died and his estate was probably being looted. So in 1982, Nibs — by then he had changed his name to Ron DeWolf — filed a lawsuit in a Riverside County probate court in an attempt to gain control of his father’s estate. Hubbard proved to the court that he was still alive (even though he never appeared in the courtroom), and the suit was dismissed. Hubbard remained in hiding until his death on January 24, 1986. Nibs died from complications of his diabetes five years later, in 1991.
While his court case was still going, in 1983 Nibs gave a famous interview to Penthouse magazine. In it, he made some rather outlandish claims — for example, that his father had come up with the money for Saint Hill Manor, his UK estate, by selling secrets to the KGB, including plans for “an infrared heat-seeking missile” that had been pried from an engineer with the use of Scientology auditing.
Some wondered if Nibs hadn’t inherited some of his father’s penchant for tall tales. And how much of what Nibs wrote in 1981 about his father imparting his “Scarlet Woman” occult magic actually took place is something we’ll probably never know. But we can imagine why Scientology never wanted this material to see the light of day.
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