By Bernie Wimbush


Back in 83 when they declared me a Suppressive Person, never to be allowed back, I was, to put it mildly, shattered. I had made auditing, cracking cases and getting results my life. I enjoyed it and I believed I was bloody good at it. Now, it seemed, I had nothing. No support, no materials, no more upper levels.

After commiserating with myself for a short while I got over the ‘woe is me’ and took the viewpoint that no one was going to take my trade away from me. I loved it and it was too important to me and my preclears.

I employed a salesman to sell my wares and I sat in the chair and audited PCs or if there were none, debugged the salesman, Des.

I’d always believed that auditing could handle anything and my instruction to Des were, “Promise them anything and I’ll work out how to deliver.” The idea was to sell a good chunk of hours and if I hadn’t fixed it by then I’d keep going for free until it was fixed. We never promised refunds and only a Org plant ever asked. Got a shock when the judge threw out his case and awarded me costs.

So this client appeared. As a young lad he lived on a farm with a brother and went to school on the bus. So they get home early and no one is home. As fourteen year old boys tend to do, they decided to go shooting kangaroos or rabbits or something.

They grabbed Dad’s 12 gauge shotgun and off they went.

As they tip toed through the bush like a herd of elephants the game disappeared. So a new one was invented — “Hands up or I shoot” calls the 14 year old, confident that the safety was on.

Well guess what? It wasn’t — and the picture of his brother had stuck in present time for 40 years at this stage.

He always had this picture in his mind. He had tried everything to make it go away – but it would not budge.  He’d had it psycho-analyzed, counselled, evaluated, drugged and God only knows what.

“How many hours do you reckon?” was the question. I looked it over. It could mean drug handling, other practices, etc. This could be a major piece of work. Luckily he had the money and he was the one wanting to get it handled.

I asked what happened and he went through it in detail. I have run a lot of engrams and by the sound of this he had covered every nook and cranny. There was no earlier similar, and seemingly nowhere to go.

What makes it persist?

A lie can do that.

So I asked about the lie.

Apparently no one had asked that. Turned out he lied to the police about the accidental nature of it, and then he realized that no one would have done anything. He had only been 14.

He laughed as he spotted what had not been known or observed about the situation.

He thought it was funny that he had been so hung up on it.

And there was a win and I knew it.

Being wary of simple key outs, I asked him to come back tomorrow. Session time had been 5 minutes.

Tomorrow, and he was still in the win.

Next week I checked again.

“No I haven’t thought of that picture since last visit.”

The next month? “Didn’t think of it until you asked.”

One very happy customer.

We simply unhinged the lie, and it vanished.

One thought on “Stuck picture

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