Either people love LA or despise it, and I'm of the former persuasion. My experience in LA was felt amongst an air of a false haze, a cult-like view of existence. I joined Scientology in 1977, where my life changed in both good and bad ways. Scientology's hook is that you're saving mankind, “saving the planet,” and really, for anyone with idealistic sensibilities, this was a perfect vehicle to achieve “meaning” in one's life.
The good experiences in this cult were meeting my first wife and having two beautiful children. My intention in this trip was to connect to my kid's and my ex-wife because I had never truly de-briefed after leaving the cult alone, where my friends who left simultaneously had each other. This is an important point. The psychological effects after leaving a cult can be disastrous if there is no-one you can relate to. My ex had her family and her partner while I had nobody. So this trip would hopefully end any lingering thoughts and doubts about my leaving the church. On a wonderful California summer night, we drank a few beers and related our experiences. Intense at times and certainly sad, we talked to midnight about our life in Scientology, the insanity of our behavior, and the death of our pure and innocent intentions for being there in the first place.
The next day, all three of my kids together in tow, we headed in the rented car to San Diego. I wanted to give my American children the feeling they were on holiday. We arrived at the motel, and surprisingly, the pre-booked room was big enough for the five of us. Once settling in, my oldest son found my brand-new Sony Video Camera. He set it up on the tripod and pointed it straight at me while resting on the bed. Decided to ham it up and tell of our experience in Japan, trying to leave the country.
The story is representative of the entire trip. On the bus traveling back to the airport after our overnight stay in Tokyo, we were suddenly stopped by the police. The bus door opened, and three Japanese police officers entered, yelling orders in their language. These cops were after something/someone, but not speaking their language, could not understand their demands. Looking around at the other passengers, saw that all were rummaging for their passports, so we followed suit. We were seated at the back of the bus. Finally, the little officer reached our seats, and I handed over our papers. It seemed to me he was scrutinizing our passports with undue enthusiasm, wanting to find something or anything out of order. He finally handed the passports back, looking disappointed. Our bus continued to the airport, most of the passengers appearing upset and confused.
Again, this particular trip around the planet, every port of call was the same: undue focus on certain travelers, especially my family. This is not paranoia, but I couldn't deny it at the time and can't deny it to this day.
Our stay in San Diego turned out to be a memorial experience. We all had an expensive dinner at a top-notch restaurant. I remember both my sons, 9 and 14, getting on well together. My oldest took on the natural big-brother role, and while walking back to the motel, carried the little one on his back because he became too tired to walk any further.
The next day, the youngest asked me about all the “old men” sleeping in the streets. I can't remember my answer, but it wasn't the answer he was looking for.
Leaving LA and my kids weren't easy. Our next stop is Denver, Colorado, and on the jet to the city of my childhood, my thoughts danced around memories of past loves, my old friends, and my wish to interview Hunter S. Thompson.
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Wonderful
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