High Decibel Dining

My husband and I and some friends were leaving the movie theater after a late afternoon matinée. The four of us are in the age group where moderate hearing loss is routine. We usually consider this when choosing a restaurant, but a very popular Afghani restaurant, The Kabul, was nearby. We were early enough to get a table without a reservation, though our table was right next to the restaurant's entry way. 

 Low decibel level room

The place is still relatively empty, we are full of good cheer, and the conversation flows easily. We begin discussing the movie we'd seen. The waiter is professional and efficient, and the ordering and eating are moving along. Our small group discussion jumps to updates on all of our grown children. The wine is lovely, the food is excellent, and the restaurant is beginning to fill.

On a scale from zero for the average least perceptible sound to about 130 for the average pain level, the decibel count in the restaurant has increased by approximately 20 decibels since we sat down. We all lean toward each other just a bit and begin talking kayaking; the the peaceful joy of being on the water and the potential for injury and death by drowning. The four of us are in the age group where problems with balance can insidiously begin to intrude on our youthful perceptions of ourselves. 

The vibrating crowd

All of the tables are taken now, the restaurant is completely full, and the noise level has increased another 10 or 15 decibels. In the rosy, dimly lighted room, everyone seems to be in constant motion; the waiters of course, but also the customers coming and going, erratically lifting forks and glasses, gesturing, bodies shifting. A loud but convivial gathering.

We lean in a little as it's incrementally more difficult to catch every word. Our friends are soft-spoken. The discourse now shifts to Israel and the upheaval in that part of the world.  I'm fully engaged, listening intently to the conversation. The decibel level continues to rise and I find I'm attempting to read lips as I strain to hear.

I'm facing the door and I notice that a small crowd of people are standing in the entry way, waiting patiently for a table. We've finished our dinner but are reluctant to leave. We all order coffee and baklava.

We're back to our discussion of the changing world order. The decibel level is now roughly equal to an intimate rock concert, but still below the average pain level.  The crowd at the door grows larger, and I begin to feel like French nobility eating leisurely in front of the starving masses. They are not looking quite as patient. 

While the orderly crowd at the door does not truly resemble a mob, these people do want a table in the popular Afghani restaurant, and are growing restive. We are abruptly done with the dining experience and escape to the relative quiet of the streets. 

Paul Haggis Regrets #OccupyScientology

Human beings fervently wish to be special. They aspire to win the trophy, claim the Green Jacket at the Masters, be the last one standing on Survivor or American Idol, be profiled in People Magazine or The New Yorker, or at least be a member of an organization that has the Truth. Preferably a Truth that is not fully understood by less special people.

Paul Haggis, an Academy Award winning Hollywood writer and director, so already special, was recently profiled in The New Yorker because he very publicly split with the Church of Scientology after being a member for thirty-five years. He wonders now how he could have failed to question not only the theology but some of the harsh rules enforced by the Church. With the exception of the particular religion you happen to belong to and believe in, all religious theology sounds rather bizarre when you come upon it cold. Scientology is just bizarre with an edgy kick. 

After obtaining Church documents submitted in a lawsuit against the Church in 1985, The Los Angeles Times printed a summary:

“A major cause of mankind’s problems began 75 million years ago,” the Times wrote, when the planet Earth, then called Teegeeack, was part of a confederation of ninety planets under the leadership of a despotic ruler named Xenu. “Then, as now, the materials state, the chief problem was overpopulation.” Xenu decided “to take radical measures.” The documents explained that surplus beings were transported to volcanoes on Earth. “The documents state that H-bombs far more powerful than any in existence today were dropped on these volcanoes, destroying the people but freeing their spirits—called thetans—which attached themselves to one another in clusters.” Those spirits were “trapped in a compound of frozen alcohol and glycol,” then “implanted” with “the seed of aberrant behavior.” The Times account concluded, “When people die, these clusters attach to other humans and keep perpetuating themselves.”

Scientologists carry a certain smugness that is personified by Tom Cruise. They have the Truth; you don't. Smugness, too, is characteristic of members of all institutions that claim exclusive knowledge of Truth. Scientology just manages to irritate outsiders more vehemently because the church intentionally cultivates celebrities and encourages them to publicly testify. A saintly, purified Tom Cruise seems even scarier than the intergalactic alien ruler named Xenu.

Celebrity Savior 

The Church of Scientology was founded in 1954 by the followers of L. Ron Hubbard, but whether a cult or a church, Scientology is just one more Only We Have the Truth organization. The common underlying assumptions of such organizations are:

• Only We Have the Truth that can save mankind; our followers are Special.
• All non-followers will suffer dire consequences.
• All ex-followers will also suffer dire consequences and we'll make sure of it.

  

Having a lock on salvation gives all such organizations the power to ex-communicate, disconnect or just in general, to cast out anyone who doubts or doesn't conform. While becoming a "lost soul" is a sort of abstract dire consequence, losing close contact with your entire circle of friends and some or all of your family members is immediate. Scientology defectors are full of tales of forcible family separations, which the church almost uniformly denies. The somewhat sanitized version written by L. Ron Hubbard is as follows:

 “Anyone who rejects Scientology also rejects, knowingly or unknowingly, the protection and benefits of Scientology and the companionship of Scientologists,” Hubbard writes. In “Introduction to Scientology Ethics,” Hubbard defined disconnection as “a self-determined decision made by an individual that he is not going to be connected to another.”

Irrespective of the religious founders' or the corresponding deities' original intent for the Only We Have the Truth organizations, the power to "disconnect" another human being, to strip them of specialness, to forever shun them, never turns out well for anyone involved. A church or cult that holds on to its members by threat invites corruption and vindictiveness. The Truth may set you free, but Truth peddling organizations are very reluctant to let you go.

Paul Haggis regrets

The Apostate;  Paul Haggis vs. the Church of Scientology.

by Lawrence Wright

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/02/14/110214fa_fact_wright#ixzz1DmnDpHYz