Part 52: Barbara Schwarz reveals shocking news!
BarbaraSchwarz
became possessive of me. He ordered me to clean his closet, as if I
would his personal slave. He also told me that I would be not the
first woman that he has beaten, if I would no do as he says.
I had only 100 German Marks with me when I came to the Special Unit in
L.A. in 1984. Dieter Kaffzik who constantly wanted me to visit with
him coffeeshops, German greedy never paid for me, but he loaned me a
few bucks, which I paid back to him while still in L.A., after Juergen
sent me some money. Barbara Ellington had advanced me approximately 50
Dollars and Juergen wired her the money back from our account right
after I returned to Germany.
I surely had enough of Dieter Kaffzik and tried to get rid of him by
running and hiding. It seemed to work, but there were suddenly other
guys chasing me. Nobody of them behaved like grown ups, nobody
approached me in any adult manner, it was terrible. One day I ran in a
Jewish synagogue to get rid of those men that did not grant me
personal space to be and breath. There was an old rabbi, who friendly
took my hand, called me his daughter and asked me if he can be of
help. I told him that some guys are chasing me and stayed with the
rabbi till the Scientology infiltrators were gone. If they really had
my protection in mind and not my persecution and nothing otherwise
evil, why did they not come in the synagogue and told the rabbi that?
Hoping that you would have come back, Marty, or that I was finally
treated with respect by the others, I returned to the orgs, but this
was not what happened. The running however had one good aspect: I got
physically really fit.
Soon those guys that had chased me through town showed up in the orgs.
I remember esp. one tall guy, who had planted himself outside of that
small room that I had, and he did not allow me to leave it. What was
so terrible for me leaving that room? Were they afraid I could have
another talk to the friendly rabbi?
My tolerance level of being wrongfully locked up in small rooms had
come to an end. I really could not stand it anymore. To get out of
there, I lit my mattress on fire. There was access to water in the
room, otherwise I would have not done it. One of the guys rushed in
and extingusihed the flames, before I had to do it.
Marty, I got out of the room, but I would not more work with fire to
get out of a wrongful incarceration. What I did not knew back then is,
that the German still existing Nazi secret service, mindcontrollers in
other words, talk also in my subconscious mind through body and middle
ear implants they installed secretly. If criminals would lock me up
these days, I would talk so long in the conscience of those people,
till they let me go and would lock themselves in. I got calmer and
wiser, Marty, the "fire-devil" doesn't exist anymore.
B. Ellington, with a broad 1.1. smile wanted me to move in the very
basement of the org, a tiny chamber without a window, just a mattress
on the floor. (And no accesss to water, because they knew I would not
lit anything that was not right next to a water source.)
I told her that under no circumstances I would move in that cell, so
she made arrangements out side of the org for me with friends of her.
They drove me to a private house in L.A., that belonged to an American
woman and her Swiss husband. Nothing in that house indicated that they
were Scientologists. They had not even the decency to introduce
themselves to me, they did not tell me the street name and number of
their house either. He was a big man, who ate all the time, otherwise
said no word, she allowed me to talk to her little son, but after she
put him to bed, she became as unfriendly as everyone that participated
in the conspiracy to disconnect me from Scientology.
I was so tired to be treated like that by insane people and I also had
to get the cheese air out of my lungs, so I sat on the porch of that
house and realized that I would be not able to find any sleep if I
don't take a walk. So I did. I had not planned to go far, just a few
blocks, but apparently I was so deep in my thoughts, that I missed the
street that would lead me back to the house. In other words: I was
lost.
Especially after you had left, Marty, I tried to reach Ron in my
thoughts and asked him to hear me, to explain the unbelievable
infiltration of Scientology by criminals to me, to help me that others
would grant my rights, to lead me in the right direction and to make
it happen that I can see you again. I felt that Ron was with me, that
he was independent from his body watching over me, but suddenly during
that night it was as if he called me, and then there was a
disconnection. It was terrible. For a moment I thought that Ron is not
more with me.
Only a real dumb person can't imagine any spiritual connection to
others. I had this connection always to Ron, but also to you, Marty,
because this is how I figured out that you are wrongfully
incarcerated, even if all lie to me that you are not.
This night, the beginning of May 1984, I felt Ron gone. I tried to
reach him again in spirit, but I did not feel him there for a while.
The orgs were infiltrated by people that came directly from hell, you
were gone, Marty, and Ron just had died. I felt like on the Titanic,
right after she broke in two pieces. It felt like the end of the
world, everything was painfully grey and hopeless.
Speaking of the Titanic: Only a few moments after I realized that Ron
was gone, a flash flood broke from the sky. I was used to rain, it
always rains in Germany, but this strom was as if an ocean wave rolled
over Los Angeles. The streets became rivers in absolutely no time and
I didn't knew if I had to swim back to the orgs.
The rain stopped eventually, but I was mourning. I knew what just had
happened. Ron had heard me asking him spiritually for help and he
wanted to come to my rescue. He died with my name on his lips, when
the German still Nazi secret service had their medical doctors rush in
and they killed him with a deadly injection.
As Ron doesn't depend from a body, he soon joined me again
spiritually, but he had no body anymore.
Barbara/Sarah
Read in installment no. 53, about my last day in L.A. and that I was
not the only one that knew that Ron was murdered that early May day of
1984. (I bet you felt it too, Marty.)