Recently a former student, circa mid eighties, shared some anecdotes from his “school days”. These vignettes so beautifully illustrate “school’s” cultish ridiculousness … well, what can I say … read and laugh; read and see the true nature of this “evolved school of consciousness”. Read and consider whether his experiences ring true to you. For as Robert is so fond of saying, “you’ve all had your own experiences of ‘school.’”
The next 3 posts are a series of vignettes and conclusions from “Secret” “School” Circa 1980:
The-Gang-That-Couldn’t-Shoot-Straight
… most of what I remember about school was its certain Gang-That-Couldn’t-Shoot-Straight atmosphere. From the fact that no one had explained the rules to me in the beginning and I ended up tripping my ass off for the first class with Sharon on to so many other things big and small.
At the time I was there the two older teacher/students under Bob were Geoff and Lou. I came to class one night and Geoff was livid at me: “Where’s Bob? You were supposed to pick up BOB!!!!” Well, that would have required someone telling me in advance that A) I needed to pick up Bob, and B) where Bob lived.
There was a time when the younger class was given an assignment that directly contradicted another assignment. The men did whatever-number-line-of-work by playing basketball every Sunday at 6AM at the Arlington Boys and Girls Club. The school basketball method was a certain Bob-Cousey-dribble-low-make-yourself-small fairly unorthodox and perhapsnotwickedsmart basketball style. I actually enjoyed these male/bondage mornings; but on one occasion the guys who used the gym after us asked if we wanted to play a game. Wez got creamed.
No drugs? Oops …
When I was first recruited my two sustainers(?) didn’t do the best job explaining the rules. In particular, they left out the no drugs part. And when I first began, there was also no rule that you had to be in school for a certain time before attending a class with Sharon or Alex (that later changed).
So during my first month, or so, we were to have a class with Sharon, and for that I took about a half a hit of LSD and walked to class from my house nearby. OK, maybe not the smartest idea, but it was my way of “preparing” to meet the woman whom Robert et all had been talking about in holier-than-thou terms.
Tripping does not good articulation make, so I said nothing until near the end of class when Robert asked me if there was anything I wanted to ask Sharon. I mumbled something about homosexuality (duh), and Sharon responded that male homosexuality “was really about having contempt for women.”
Why I didn’t immediately run a thousand miles from her and this group has been with me for some time. I knew this was false for me, in my life, having so many wonderful woman friends, my great mom, and sister, boss, etc… I saw Sharon then as a bull shitter and a false prophet, if you will … but I stuck around for too long.
When sexuality is deemed “chief weakness”…
I certainly came out to the wrong group. I was in a bad place at the time, new to town, “new” to be ready to announce my sexuality, very unsure of myself, afraid, and unfortunately full of a lot of self-doubt and low self-esteem. I, unfortunately for me, let it be known that I wasn’t happy to be gay.
… my curiosity about being involved in a group such as this, led by a charismatic leader, exploring the universe of thought, trumped any misgivings I had — sort of like being asked onto a spaceship and be away! when where you are, at the time, isn’t so great. My sustainer — of course — went and told all to Robert and the older students; so right off my sexuality became my tour-de-force, my “weakness?” — although never spelled out that way. Besides singing on a bus, or whatever shocks we were instructed to take on at the time, Robert’s plan for me was a little experiment in which I was to rent a hotel room and hire a prostitute. Twice.
… off I went to the Long Wharf Marriott — let’s just say Experiment #1 didn’t “take”; utter embarrassing disaster. And when, a few nights later, Door Number Two opened, I was greeted with, “Hey … don’t I know you? Don’t you work at ______ restaurant owned by the guy who owns the place I work at?” Yikes.