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The following first appeared in the private email list IVy-subscribers,
which is available to all those who subscribe to the
printed magazine, International Viewpoints.
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An interrupted hibernation
by Phil Spickler
8 Jan 2000


       Well, for goodness sake!  After all kinds of fussing around and
nonsense concerned with the latter-day arrival of some pagan holidays having
to do with the winter solstice that somehow got co-opted by a bunch of silly
people calling themselves "Christians," and then having to fend off all kinds
of nuts who were trying to tell me that the world was going to come to an end
(once again the Christians got into the act in this ballpark too) -- well,
after embarrassing, humiliating, and blowing off as many of these folks as
possible, I was finally able to steal away from it all and get into my secret
cave high in the mountains, where I could curl up in solitary splendor and
commence my practice of hibernating until Spring.

       Now I'm telling you, no one knows where this cave is, or in what
mountains, and I was sleeping as peacefully as any grizzly bear might be
expected to sleep.  Well, I started having this dream that there was some
cold air blowing around me, which was giving me a chilly feeling, which made
me so uncomfortable that I started to wake up; and believe you me, I was not
feeling very happy -- angry would be an understatement.  And to my amazement,
I saw a figure -- a figure of a woman -- in my cave, a cave that no one in
the whole world knows where it is.  And as my eyes cleared slightly, I could
see that it was Sehlene, #1 IVy distributor; and she said with a sweet laugh
and a lovely smile, "Here's your copy of IVy 45, Philip," and was off in a
flash, before I could even growl at her or tell her how silly I think
spiritual beings are.

       Well, now that I was awake, it was hard to get back to sleep, and so I
turned on the central heating in my cave and the lovely lighting system and
commenced reading IVy 45.  Of course, I'll have to say, with due modesty,
that the article by that fellow Phil Spickler would certainly take first
prize, or perhaps second at least, after anything that Frank Gordon writes;
but certainly would be 'way up there in the popularity contest.  That boy
certainly has a way with words.

         Once I started really reading IVy 45, I couldn't put it down, even
though a couple of the articles made me feel I'd like to.  But I'd have to
admit, under torture or duress, that I really (Ugh!) liked everything that
everybody had to say.  (Boy, what a sickening generality that is!)

      Anyway, now that I was awake, I went ahead and cranked up the old
laptop and tuned into the Subscribers List, just in time to see how close
some of the subscribers are to letting one another know what an idiot they
each think the other is.  This seems to be a very common and much-enjoyed
Internet sport, and although I went through a spell of attempting to
discourage it, under the mistaken notion that folks that write in to the list
like one another or even worse _should_ like one another, I'm now able to sit
back in my cave and enjoy the interchange of misunderstandings, downright
beautifully-worded service facsimiles, hurt feelings, self-righteous
indignation, and both overt and covert classical efforts to get in the last
word.

       I kind of resent this, because I had hoped, through the careful and
incisive use of the English language, to establish, once and for all, the
right to the last word.  But everywhere I look on the subscribers list, I see
usurpers, and realize, as the New Year dawns, that I'm going to have to get
more verbal, even verbose (a small crime on this list) and see if I can
regain my rightful place of being more dangerous to the list environment than
anyone else.  And of course the fact that Sehlene has brought me out of my
hibernation has me extremely cranky, you might even say "banky;" and
therefore woe betide those who have recently placed their soft underbellies
close to my raking talons (claws, that is).

      But on a more humorous note (if that's possible), I enjoyed some parts
of John Mace's article on drugs, even though in that article he seemed to be
saying something quite different about the kinds of clients that he would
like to work with and that would be worthy of auditing versus the other two
kinds.  To quote John from p. 14, and I hope not too badly out of context,
"So there you have it!  If people need help, they need help and that is all
there is to it!  No arbitrary rule should interfere with that, especially if
it is not based upon hard, proven facts."  This just sounds to me a lot
different than what John said in his recent article that has gotten so much
communication going about counselling and clients, and so I'd like to ask
him, if he can get a few minutes away from captaining that great ark that
he's sailing though the waters of Perth, to let us know if he's changed his
mind about what he said in his much earlier article, or what?

       Now I know that sounds a bit cranky, but as I pointed out to you, I AM
cranky, and I don't mind telling anyone on the subscribers list that that's
the case; but when you're in the valence, or as John would say the identity,
of a Rocky Mountain grizzly bear that's just been disturbed from the delights
of a long winter's hibernation,  you're going to be real cranky -- in fact
you're going to bite the head off of anybody that comes near you; and after
wading through all of John's article about identities, which I thought was
going to be about drugs, I wish to heck he would get out of the identity of
teaching about identities and talk some more about what it really takes to
fully handle folks who have had or are having drug difficulties.

       Just like I wish some folks would break down and admit that behind all
of their upsets and hurts in connection with L. Ron Hubbard, and behind all
their efforts to not-is or minimize the giant stature of L. Ron Hubbard, in
other words under all of that broken, pain-filled, gigantic amount of upset,
is just as great if not greater an amount of love, if not adulation, for the
old redhead, and come right out and say it.  In fact, I'll say it for them:
"I have loved, and still do love, L. Ron Hubbard, in spite of all of his
faults, and I forgive him everything."  That would be nice, because as my
friend and fellow bear pointed out to me recently, isness is a lot closer to
as-isness than not-isness; and when someone gets straight on that, he will,
with greatest ARC, be able to put L. Ron Hubbard to rest -- so sayeth the
cranky grizzly bear.  Heck, any auditor sitting down with someone and hearing
them rattle off that chronic ARC break would know that prior to it was an
enormous amount of ARC, and help them recover it.

       I can't think of anyone to claw up or chew up at the moment, because
I'm starting to feel friendly again, and I just remembered that there were a
few bear hunters that I put in the freezer this fall, and I think I'll get
one of them out and roast him up and have a nice feast before I go back to
sleep.  Before I leave off I'd just like to tell Bernie, of the famous
Wimbush clan, that if I were he, I'd be very proud to be getting so much
attention from my dear friend Rowland Barkley, the deep tranceforming shaman,
and be sure and derive the benefit that is being offered without having to
fight the battle of "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who knows the most of all?"

      I can see by the timer on my oven that the carcass of that bear hunter
is at just the right temperature for a midnight feast; and so, with all best
wishes to the subscribers list and its founder, I remain, sincerely yours --
       Ursus horribilis