by Terry 36 Replies latest watchtower bible
Of the four groups no one group would share a sense of reality with the others.
The Russell group wouldn't be able to comprehend why all the elaborations had been added to doctrine.
The Rutherford group would be a bit more inclined to rudeness and argument.
The Knorr group would find the teachings of the other groups impossible to believe.
The post 1975 group would be the most horrified at the level of ignorance and gullibility in the others.
You have an amazing story to tell Terry, thanks for sharing it.
I didn't know about the draft debacle, f**king up your life, for what? Jerks!
The group amnesia is amazing, I went to meetings in the 80s, and NO ONE ever mentioned 1975, even though I found out that a family we knew had sold their house & were in debt, all covered over & forgotten!
CHAPTER NINE
(Morbid musings)
Imagine what complaints Jesus endured from his select group of followers on a daily basis!
Add to that the complaints from the leaders of Jesus' own religion, Judaism, as they scolded and chided him.
Now, take a moment and compare that to the total clampdown and eerie silence enforced among Jehovah's Witnesses when it comes
to questioning authority or expressing skepticism about its leadership.
Get the picture?
Jesus could handle it and he expected it. The Governing Body can't handle it and the refuse to accept it.
The most obvious difference is that Jesus was confident of his view of truth. It was simple, positive and pro-humanity.
The Governing Body of the JW's version of "the Truth" is complex and ever-changing, it is negative and anti-human.
Other than that?
Well, that should be enough to make my point.
The best defense against a bad idea is a better idea. Not censorship.
At its most basic, the complaints against those who leave Jehovah's Witnesses because of disaffection are wrong-headed.
When something doesn't work for you in your life, serve your human needs and leaves you overwhelmed by the indifference to your sadness--how would it be sane to hang around and pretend everything was fine?
Being a JW has to work for you or it works against you!
What good does it do anybody to hang out with the cool kids if they treat you like a gopher and a yes-man?
And isn't that exactly what form the supression takes among the disaffected at the Kingdom Hall? They are plugged into a publicity machine like
rodents on a giant ratwheel and expected to speed up and never rest.
Think what a foreign notion it is to imagine Jesus ranting at his apostles to "get your stats up and report your hours for the month..."
What were the Apostles, really? Were they magazine salesmen, propagandists or conversion experts charged with gorging crowds with new followers for the sake of a statistical increase over the previous year?
No, the Governing Body at headquarters know fully well they have invented a twisted system of "make work" activity just for the sake of keeping the wheel turning lest anybody have enough strength left to complain.
After all, they have never actually established their Truth as carved in stone and unchangeable, have they?
Noooooo. It is ephemeral as a snowflake. One minute it is there and the next melted away.
Believe it today, change it tomorrow and forget it next week.
Better hurry to the next door because the ice cream of the Truth is going to melt in your hand!
I like your comparison between the GB and Jesus. They're worlds apart. The GB truly are modern-day Pharisees -- this thought first occurred to me when I read the definition of the word "Jesusism" one or two years ago (long after many of you guys noticed), but I have only become more convinced of it since then.
But Terry, don't forget to tell us about your life! There's a lot left to cover -- your life under parole and after prison (and maybe more details of your time in prison -- your life and relationships with the other brothers, etc.), how you eventually ended up here....
CHAPTER TEN
(Conversations with myself)
I read a book a long time ago by a famous actor you'd all know if you saw his photograph, Anthony Quinn.
It was his autobiography which he titled, Original Sin.
In the book he uses a literary device from time to time which I consider brilliant!
His older, mature self holds conversations with his younger, immature self and the tension between those extremes serves
to contrast and compare what happens to us all as we age. In effect, we become.....a different person altogether!
Oh sure, there are common links.
For one thing, we keep the same birthday, name, parents as we age while simultaneously we change in hundreds of ways as we are shaped by experiences.
Our traumas, dramas and baby mammas make us something so different from who we WERE. Eventually, the only thing that links us to our old self is SELF-FICTION.
Fiction: we are the same person only older. Yet, we aren't.
Below is Old Terry O.T. and Younger Terry Y.T. having a conversation and revealing the transformation from egg to caterpillar to moth/butterfly.
O.T. Hi there. You don't know me...yet. But, I feel like I know you!
Y.T. I have a good memory for faces. I don't know you. How do you know me?
O.T. This is going to sound weird, wacky, wild and wonderous, but, I'm YOU at the age of 66!
Y.T. You mean I'm actually going to end up ugly?
O.T. Ouch! Let's not get personal. I prefer we stick to....facts....experiences....opinions and such. I'd like to interview you.
Y.T. What for? If you ARE me, only older (and uglier) I can provide no surprises.
O.T. I understand what you're saying--but, trust me--there is much each of us can learn about ourselves by having a chat with our doppleganger.
Y.T. I'm still in shock. I take pretty good care of myself. I exercise and am trying to build up my body so that I can look like Steve Reeves....
O.T. Ah--ha ha ha--yeah! I remember that! He played the first Hercules in movies back in 1958...
Y.T. ....my point is that----obviously---I completely FAIL to achieve my goals! That is devastating to discover!
O.T. Ummm, okaaaay. Okay. How about we avoid the physical and concentrate on the more elusive aspects of human development. Shall we?
Y.T. Easy for you....for me, difficult!
O.T. Yeah....well. Let's start with how old you are right now.
Y.T. I'm 18. I just graduated from High School. Where do you--or I---end up working?
O.T. I don't want to give away any spoilers here.....I wanted to point out something to you. You just registered for the draft. You're a Jehovah's Witness...
Y.T. I'm suddenly filled with apprehension. Where is this going?
O.T. I'm just saying...I happen to know you aren't considering going to college.
Y.T. Right.
O.T. And I..uh you--know that Jehovah's Witnesses can get caught up in the draft...
Y.T. Ohhhhhh.....noooooo....
O.T. Right. You will end up NOT getting a formal education. And you will end up in Federal Prison!
Y.T. What am I supposed to do with that? Complain? Cry? Put on a brave face? This isn't pleasant news, believe me.
O.T. Don't get upset. You will CHOOSE that for yourself. More or less.
Y.T. Don't go cryptic on me!
O.T. What I intended to imply is there will be considerable influence wielded upon you to do one thing and not another.
Y.T. Keep going.....
O.T. I won't play games with you. Here is the bad news: I'm not what you are BECAUSE OF what you will do. It changes me and you. Or, you into me.
Y.T. I lose faith? I can't buy that! I KNOW better than that!
O.T. Don't get up a head of steam yet. It is the domino theory at work. One thing impacts another thing and so on....one little thing after another....
Y.T. HOW--just tell me how? How do I fail to serve Jehovah?
O.T. Way way ahead of the story. Calm down. You DO serve Jehovah.
Y.T. Then what? I end up losing my faith AFTER I serve Jehovah? What for?
O.T. Cause and effect and the passing of time can wear away a mountain!
Y.T. Well, thank you Confucious! That is spectacularly unrevealing.
O.T. Look. I know what your thought processes are. They are disconnected from the real world. Your religion--my OLD beliefs...are and were "imaginary."
Y.T. Sigh. This is great. I get stuck in a conversation with an evil slave---and guess what? IT'S ME!!
O.T. Don't be too quick to jump to conclusions and indulge in name calling. Especially about yourself! The fact of your life is that you are training to be a blacksmith in a world full of automobiles! You are obsolete and in the wrong century! The real world is going to stomp your ass in the ground!!
Y.T. I'm listening...
O.T. For you right now it is 1965. You don't know it yet--but, the Watchtower Society is going to start something rolling that will snowball worldwide and then fall flat. False prophecy sort of thing. Starting next year, in fact, 1966.
Y.T. I can't help but hear this skeptically, you realize?!
O.T. Be my guest. A fact is a fact. And a false prophecy that occupies every Jehovah's Witness in the world is a waste of time. You will go to Federal Prison for NOTHING. You will become a full time Pioneer when you get out and preach this false prophecy FOR NOTHING.
Y.T. Is there a point?
O.T. Yes! My point----OUR point--is that we WASTE OUR YOUTH for absolutely NOTHING!!
Y.T. Based on what, exactly?
O.T. You end up being discarded.....disfellowshipped and all these so-called "friends", brothers and sisters---won't even talk to you in the end!!
Y.T. Good grief---aren't you the cherry on top! How am I supposed to listen to this? You're telling me----no, wait--I'M TELLING ME that I end up a miserable FAILURE at everything I do??
O.T. No no no! On the contrary! You SUCCEED in failing at everything you do because it is make-believe and has no "spiritual" component. You're working for an invisible reward and that is exactly what you get: invisible kudos! Which, translated into reality equals MISERABLE FAILURE in the real world!
Y.T. Disaster! Disasterous! And I can't change it? I can't do anything about it?
O.T. Obviously not or I wouldn't be here as the older you.
Y.T. Well, what about.....I mean.....do I ever get married? Do I have kids?
O.T. Yes. Yes. Yes and Yes. Four times married. And, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. Seven kids!
Y.T. This is some kind of Cadid Camera prank--right? What you're telling me is pure comedy. Outrageous burlesque. It isn't MY life at all!!
O.T. I'm here to say otherwise!
Y.T. What else? Give me all the bad stuff. All of it!
O.T. In a few months President Kennedy will be shot in the head in Dallas.
Y.T. What? By who?
O.T. Now that is a hard question....!
Y.T. You said I go to prison. Do I get out okay?
O.T. You'll be cornered by a rapist in prison who is much bigger than you and---
Y.T. WHAT? Stop! Stop! Stop!
O.T. But, there are good things too. The Cold War will end up being a big nothing. The Russians go broke and it all just fades away.
Y.T. I'm in a Twilight Zone right now!!
O.T. You'll have a series of awful minimum wage jobs as you try to balance being a Pioneer and rearing 3 kids!
Y.T. Yipes!
O.T. You will move to California and develop a 20 year career in the Art Business!
Y.T. Huh?
O.T. Your first wife---who, by the way, is your best friend Johnny's sister, Jo Ann--will become an alcoholic and die behind the wheel trying to outrun the police!
Y.T. No way. No. Way. I can't listen to any more---I really can't I'm terribly upset at all this. It isn't fair. It just isn't fair. I have to live through all this?
O.T. Well, you did choose to become a Jehovah's Witness. Cause and Effect. Cause and Effect.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I'm pretty sure none of us would really want to have such a conversation with our older self if it contained the actual facts of our life YET TO COME!
But, I'm also pretty sure we end up reaping the consequences of the choices we make. Especially when we are trying to do the very best we can.
We can have all the "good intentions" in the world, but, if our choices rest upon imaginary "good" we'll reap the whirlwind. Yes. I've been walking around with a tornado in my back pocket for decades!
Coffee
Riveting stuff....
CHAPTER ELEVEN
(One minute, one hour, one day, one week, one month...etc.)
Have you ever been thrown in jail?
Your average person-if they have--was probably there a few hours because of either a fight or a traffic violation.
A few hours locked up IS NOT JAIL! That is more the discomfort of detention.
Let me tell you what JAIL is.
Jail is sitting or standing where it is filthy and uncomfortable. And standing and sitting with no thought in your head except
wanting to get the hell out of there. Jail is sighing. Jail is cringing if you are locked up with strange looking people you'd never sit next to
in a million years. They stare at you and they look like they are crazy. That's jail.
But, that is not all.
Jail is like a mean stepdad has made you go into a closet and he won't let you out but you don't dare complain. The punishment is mostly
inside your own head.
How can Jail be going on inside your head, you ask?
I'll tell you.
Have you ever made a kid do something they don't want to do? Sure you have. They have a huge come-apart fit! Their world ends and a river of tears and screaming bellows out. If you were beating them with a hot branding iron it wouldn't be worse.
It is all in their own head!
It is like that.
That's jail.
You don't want to be there. You want out. You can't stand it. How much longer?
One thought tumbles after the other and joins "hands" with the same other thoughts in a ring-around-the-rosy carousel.
Call it "natter."
Self-talk.
Brain-buzz.
Your own mind just WON'T SHUT UP!
It is like the worst nagging mother-in-law in a comedy.
And I figured this out within the first hour when I was taken to the Tarrant County jail on the 6th floor of the Criminal Courts building.
I was trying to stay calm. So, I broke it down for myself by this soothing conversation:
"Terry, you are here because you are trying to please Jehovah--right?"
Right.
"You have chosen to be here right now. Nobody is forcing you. Okay?"
Yeah.
"If you were on the outside right now you'd either be standing or sitting SOMEwhere--right?"
Uh-uh.
"Well, that's all you are doing here. No different! No different at all. So, go ahead and give yourself permission to be here."
How?
"Just tell yourself you want to be here."
I want to be here? I'm a lying sack of shit!
"Say it again."
I WANT to be here? I mean...I do--I do WANT to be here!
Yeah, it sounds crazy. But, it started to work. It held back the panic attack and outsized terror that could sneak up on me.
I had been sentenced in the courtroom an hour earlier.
There I was, a tall, very skinny Jehovah's Witness 20 year old with shaggy hair and a face you'd never confuse with a tough guy!
I was "fresh meat".
I was sentenced to an Indeterminate sentence that could be anywhere from only 6 months to as along as 6 years in prison.
Here is what my mind told me:
"WHAT? SIX MONTHS? SIX MONTHS? How am I going to stand it in here for six months???"
I automatically assumed the shortest possible sentence and never gave a moment's consideration to the SIX YEARS part of it.
I simply couldn't or I'd snap!
Like I said. It is all in your mind. And it WAS inside MY mind!
I was taken to a temporary holding cell in my cheap suit where I sat and waited.
If you are waiting on an EVENT that has a definite time connected to it---you can bear up.
But--when you don't know what the next event even is---and there is NO SET TIME connected to it.......it can bedevil you until you are ready to faint!
You tend to make yourself nuts. The brain won't shut up!
There are no magazines. There are no books. There is no television. There is just you and your BRAIN THAT WON'T SHUT UP!
I soon discovered that having somebody---anybody WITH you is no help at all. It does NOT keep you company.
Other people in Jail are criminals. Criminals are invariably stupid. And that is giving them the benefit of the doubt!
Stupid doesn't do it justice!
Criminal brains are the lowest form of entertainment!
Conversation sucks the marrow out of your bones and dissolves your soul into a gooey phlegm!
You never...never...never ask another inmate any personal questions! Did I mention never? That's right, NEVER!
Those inmates are touchy. They are nervous. They are pissed. They need to blow off some of that buildup of anger.
And guess what sets them off? That's right---you, asking some dumb ass personal question.
They just suddenly FLIP OUT!
What do you say to another prisoner? Nothing.
If they ask YOU a question look as dumb as them and shrug. Slowly walk away to a neutral corner.
Did I know any of this? Nooooooo.
I was taken to the sixth floor after a long while. I said a LONG while. How long? Why don't you SHUT THE FUCK UP and stop asking stupid questions!! How about I smash your ugly face?
See? How did that feel?
The County jail once every three days throws jumpsuits of random sizes in through a hatch. One giant LUMP of jumpsuits. If you are average size you'll do just fine. If you are very big, or tall or anything unusual.......tough luck!
There is no organized "handing out" of what you'll wear for the next 3 days. You all rush for it and grab what you can.
I was the last one to grab. I stripped off what I was wearing and pulled on the new jumpsuit.
If you think this one piece jumpsuit fit me you are fucking nuts!!
The distance between the crotch and the shoulders was cutting me in half! But, never fear! I would only have to put up with it 3 more days!
Then, the new batch of jumpsuits arrives. And just as short!
As long as I hunched over like Quasimodo I had circulation around my testicles! Do I have to spell it out for you? PAIN!
The cell contained a maximum of 20 prisoners. Unless jail was over-crowded. There is no maximum number when that happens.
Everbody smokes. Everybody.
I was never a smoker. I was an asthma sufferer.
Jail was becoming less than pleasant by the minute.
Everybody rolls their own cigarettes. The only thing that smells worse than cheap tobacco rolled in Zig-zag paper is the people who are doing the rolling.
Some of those prisoners have been in your cell for a long, long time WITHOUT EVER SHOWERING!
There is no such thing as a toothbrush either. The mixture of stale breath, yellow teeth, body odor and cigarette smoke sounds bad to you--does it?
It gets worse.
There are 20 men and there is one toilet!
Let me describe the toilet. Shall I?
The toilet has no toilet seat. Somebody might rip the seat off and beat somebody with it. We don't want that to happen--do we? Noooo.
On top of the toilet comMode is an unusual attachment. It is called your DRINKING FOUNTAIN!! If any of the 20 guys want a sip of water they have to dip their head down and suck the slow stream of the drinking fountain while some other ugly, stinking dude is taking a steaming DUMP!
Yes. That's what I said. Welcome to "let's get dehydrated!"
Are you modest? I was.
Call me silly, but, I was shy about unzipping my jumpsuit and climbing out of it and squating on a seatless comode and letting my bowels loose with 19 other people screaming at me to FLUSH DAMMIT...FLUSH so that a minimum of fecal smell would invade the confined space we shared!!
You must learn to TIME your FLUSH down to the millisecond.
Just as you puckered out to drop the payload you grasp the toilet handle and count down to yourself as though you are Jimmy Doolittle in the raid over Tokyo! Flush too soon and you'll be on the receiving end of monstrous remonstrations. Flush too late----oh my----and you may die!
First day of County Jail: a learning experience.
While everybody is smoking there are always about six guys playing a never-ending game of LOUD dominos. The tile must be slammed on the metal dayroom table with a sweeping motion of the arm like killing a cockroach. The various ethnic groups huddle together and talk out loud with incessant multisyllable nonsense as though complaining and hostility were life itself. Noise. More noise. More LOUD noise. Smoke. Toilet smell. Body Odor.
Did I leave anything out?
Yeah, I did.
That was only the first hour. I didn't know it but I was going to be in that County Jail for 10 full days and nights before being transferred to Federal lockup.
Time doesn't budge.
But, I did some fancy self-talk.
"Time is always moving. Every second is a second LESS I'll have to spend in here. Nothing can stop the flow of time. Nobody can stop it. I'm in a rolling river with stiff current and I'm being carried forward.....ever forward....over the rocks.....into the peaceful waters ahead...."
It worked. Mostly. I had a sense that there was going to be a day I walked OUT.
A very hairy and creepy dude walks up to me and asks me a question. I don't know why. But, I have a problem. I can't understand his mumbling!
For some reason I'm afraid to ask him to repeat it. I don't want to guess wrong and say Yes when No is the right answer. After all, He might---just might have said: "Would you like me to slowly strangle you until your eyes bulge out of your skull?"
Turns out he is asking me for money.
Money, you say? Is there money allowed in Jail?
Heck yeah!
You see, the Sheriff wants to sell things to you and you can't buy them if you don't have any money.
I just happened to have about ten dollars on me. When the commissary cart came around I bought a Three Musketeers Bar.
I had watched what the other inmates do with them. They mash them into a coffee mug and add hot water from the drinking fountain. (Are you surprised the drinking fountain has HOT water? Me too.)
They would mash and mix the candy bar with the hot water until they had a fine beverage. Jailhouse hot chocolate. Yummy.
But, ugly hair dude wants money. Should I suggest an easy payment plan for him? Or should I just hand him all my money and go off and sulk.
You guess.
On about the sixth day of my 10 day stay a new inmate is brought in to the day room.
Oddly enough nobody pays any attention when somebody is added to the cell. I can't figure out why. Is it an unspoken kind of courtesy? No way! What it is ....is the criminal brain at its most feeble incuriousity!
Nobody gives a shit!
The new guy, as it turns out, is an ex-prizefighter from Jamaica. He has a terrible skin condition. My guess was Leprosy. I wasn't eager to confirm that.
He was a very black man with white scaly patches on his skin.
He would scratch it constantly and the skin flakes would drift off like a blizzard in Canada around him. A human blizzard.
I got the creeps from this.
Too bad, huh?
His name, this scaly and itchy prizefighter, was NAT. Like Nat King Cole--only, without any redeeming social value.
Nat looked around and walked right up to the smallest guy in the cell. He violated his space, you might say.
Nat's hair was in dredlocks and they dangled like those corks on a string on Australian hats intended to keep flies out of the face.
These dreds danced as Nat invited the poor little guy to "Trade licks wit me, mon."
x
Everybody in that dayroom suddenly perked up. Nobody stopped doing what they were doing---they just...sort of...noticed.
Here was Nat's game proposal:
You haul off and punch Nat on his extremely bulging bicep with your fist. As hard as you can.
Then...........wait for it.......................wait for it...................Nat will haul off and punch your scrawny bicep with his powerful giant-knuckled fist, in return!"
Better than the Superbowl--eh?
But, never fear!
What was this unfortunate schmuck supposed to do---plead with Nat on his knees to allow him to NOT play this lovely game? Nope.
He just swallowed hard and shrugged a bit. He fired off what I'd call a "buddy" punch. It seemed to say, "We're the best friends ever!"
Nat did not appreciate this gesture. Not sporting to hold back. Gulp!
"Awwww, mon--you can do much, much better than that. Really hit me this time---go on----I give you first punch again. Go first."
Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.
The little guy pursed his lips and closed his eyes in a blink that was slow motion. I personally think he was bidding earth goodbye.
He readied his punch a bit, drew back and let fly with a solid SMACK on Nat's bowling ball sized muscle. A fine job, indeed.
Nat smiled. It wasn't a Mary Tyler Moore "turn the world on" kind of smile, either.
It was Hannibal Lector is going to have your frontal lobe for a snack kind of smile.
The boxer stood straight, bounced on his legs, and took aim and then let loose with a bone-cracking jab that sent a tsunami wave through his victim's
arm all the way down to his ankle bone and back up again. I could feel it. The other inmates felt it. Jesus, the Martian colonies could feel it in outer space.
To his credit as a man, little dude took it like a good sport. True, his eyes rolled back in his skull and he went white in the face--but, he remained standing.
We all let out a pent up breath in a whoosh of relief. Empathy is a real bitch!
Nat spoke. "Okay, mon--let's go again. Best out of 10 wins."
Wins?
What did that even mean?
And so it went....hour by hour. Day after day.
It was pure sadism.
I learned something from it, however. I learned how to make myself invisible!
I told myself: "If he can't see you he won't ask you to play."
How do you become invisible? You go psychotic and convince yourself you are invisible.
You HAVE TO BE! So....you are.
I was praying like crazy. Literally crazy.
The first day some strange inmate walked up to me right away and asked me to change nightcells with him.
You see, each prisoner is assigned a cell within the larger day room. There were five of these night cells.
Four metal bunks to a cell.
He wanted me to switch.
I told him I didn't think I should because I might get into trouble.
He seemed frantic.
That night I heard him being "punked". He would be beaten up until he relented and gave it up.
What does "gave it up" mean? Don't ask. You don't really want to have that in your head, do you?
I convinced myself that Jehovah had given me the wisdom to not switch cells! Thanks Almighty! Much obliged.
On Wednesday evenings a preacher would be allowed in. There is a narrow catwalk outside the bars where guards can stroll by
if necessary and that is where the preacher remained. There were only 4 guys willing to give him their attention. They prayed and he read them scriputres and left.
I had asked for my bible and on the second day I received it through the slot to the outside corridor. The cover had been ripped off. Only the bound pages remained dangling. You see--a cover to a bible might be used to commit some violent act. So, they removed it.
Now I had reading material!
I also asked to write a letter. One small sheet was given to me and I wrote with teeny capital letters. Bravely putting on a good cheery
attitude, I crafted my missive so my parents wouldn't worry themselves sick.
I had prearranged with my mom a secret code word. I told her if that word appeared in my letter I was being abused. She should alert the media--or whatever--and get me outta there!
Well, in all my stress I had forgotten the word. I accidentally used it by mistake.
What do you think was the result?
Nothing.
My mom had forgotten all about it, too.
I didn't catch this until two years later when I went back and read the letter my mother had kept.
Thanks for nothing, Mom!
(to be continued...)
and through it all, Nathan H Knorr ate and slept like a king
oz
Wow, Terry..... This should be published!
Coffee
