Country Retreat: Main Property

This excerpt is the second in a series of Country Retreat posts, penned by blog-contributor Charlie Chaplin:

The Friday of my first Country Retreat, I headed over to the Billerica space after work.  Several of us were meeting there to carpool and caravan.  Parking was limited at the New Hampshire space, and those of us who had never been there were to follow the veterans to avoid getting lost (entering the  address into a GPS device was naturally forbidden).  I was one of the drivers, because I was going to return home later that night.  The following morning my wife and I were traveling to New York, where she was to attend a wedding.  In fact, I had expected to exclude myself from the retreat entirely, but after discussing it with Michael I agreed to be there for that first evening until 10 PM (and of course pay the same $65 fee for the retreat as everyone else – our monthly tuition covered nothing outside of Tuesday/Thursday classes).

When I got to Billerica, Michael said we were waiting for two last-minute invitees.  One was my friend Jake (not his real name), who had joined the school a couple of years earlier after I brought him to a lecture.  He and the other late invitee had been in school for a much
shorter time than any of the rest of us.  I felt a slight prick to my sense of status, and some jealousy that Jake was going to have the full weekend experience without me.  I went from wishing I’d been able
to fully extract myself to wishing I were staying the entire weekend. At the same time, I was excited to share this inaugural experience with him and felt it added to our friendship.

To explain the surprise late additions, Michael mentioned that two of the initial invitees, both fathers with wives outside of school, were not coming.  Of one in particular Michael said, “his wife won’t let him come,” with obvious contempt.  Apparently this fellow’s wife was keen neither to allow him to take their three young children out of state for an entire weekend to some unknown place with unknown people, nor to accept being left to care for them on her own during his absence at this mysterious event.  In retrospect this seems entirely
reasonable, though at the time, I experienced a flicker of camaraderie with Michael as he implicitly invited me to join in questioning my fellow student’s manhood.

Robert had invited students with young children to bring them along, up to age ten.  He assured us (and insisted we assure our spouses) that during the retreat the children would be looked after by experienced caretakers.  Their time would planned and prepared to keep them entertained and well fed.  He described it as hearkening back to a time when communities were more tight-knit and people looked out for each other.  Our little group would be like a temporary village, and the children would benefit from this experience, so rare in contemporary American society.  I bought into this romantically nostalgic notion, only regretting that my own wife would not be able to experience it with me.  As I had many times before, particularly during Christmas parties and the work leading up to them, I envied those couples who were in school together, able to share these experiences and, most important, not lie in order to cover for them.

Jake rode shotgun for that first drive up, though I remember nothing of our conversation en route.  The trip took roughly an hour, much of it through winding back roads and small towns.  When we pulled into

Country Retreat: Driveway to Property

the long, unpaved driveway and got our first glimpse of the location under the twilit sky, a definite energy filled the air.  The property
was beautiful and serene, typical New England countryside.  Twenty or
thirty people were there already.  We unloaded my car and helped
others unload theirs, then had some time to look around.

We had parked at the main house, mostly surrounded by woods with a clearing on one side, where a path led to the smaller second house.

Country Retreat: Secondary House

Both were nicely renovated and decorated, the results, we were told, of past aims by older students.  Each house had a kitchen, a living room and several bedrooms.  Most of these were dormitory style, designated for men or women, with two or three twin beds, one for each student who would sleep there.  The main house had more rooms and a much larger living room, where all of our full group meetings took place.  There were private rooms for married couples with children and rooms set aside for children with only one parent present.

For dinner, pasta was set up buffet style on tables in the kitchen. This was prepared mostly by the older students who had taken off work to arrive early.  We all gathered and ate together.  After the children were put to bed, we had a meeting with the entire group to talk about plans for the weekend, discuss the assigned commentary and have the opportunity to ask for help.  The whole evening seemed enlivened by a spark of vitality and sense of community, everyone happy to see each other and dine together, and our meeting had a sense of lightness and good humor that often seemed lacking in our regular classes – finer vibrations, as we would say.  As a newcomer to the retreat, I felt welcomed by the older group and sensed their excitement at having us there with them.

When I left, between 10 and 10:30 PM, the meeting was still going, and I felt awkward about walking out of the assembled group.  I felt some disappointment, like I was missing out, leaving the party early, but I
was also happy to be getting home, and enjoyed the drive through the dark back roads, listening to music on the way.

The next Tuesday evening before class in Billerica, a few of us gathered in the small office room to receive copies of the newly assigned commentary.  A couple of other students told me the aims they had stated over the weekend, and I stated one for myself.  These aims were multi-part, with two or three specific internal efforts, incorporating something in the spirit of the commentary.  For example, if the commentary focused on worry, one part of an aim could be to observe and separate from worry.  The other parts might be to
externally consider one’s spouse, and to make intensified efforts at self-remembering or relaxation.  In this way I suppose the aims resembled daily affirmations.  Since we had never stated multi-part internal aims like this, they felt substantial, and I was hopeful that remembering my aim every day would yield positive results.  The others also seemed to feel this hope, and appeared to enjoy heightened states of mind after the weekend they had just experienced.  I felt I had missed something really fine and worthwhile.  Michael told me he wished I had been there for the whole event, and that he was sure I would have just loved it.  I expressed regret and said that I probably could have stayed if I had really pushed it.

I was determined to get the full experience at the next opportunity.

Country Retreat, Pt. 3 – School Style Rejuvenation

The Five-Week AIM

“Your AIM is your GOD.”

aim/ām/

Verb: To point or direct (a weapon or camera) at a target

Noun: A purpose or intention; a desired outcome.

Synonyms:

verb.  direct – intend – point – level

noun.  purpose – goal – object – end – intention – target

When a lost soul finds “school”, the institution offers AIM almost immediately. Much like the idea of intention, AIM is a counter  to the human tendency to give up on the things we wish for, set out to do, accomplish, have. “School” teaches that when we set out to “do”, we hit intervals where the progress slows down, or even reverses. Most people tend to give up during these intervals.

Repeatedly “school” will remind you that as you are (you and anyone without “school”) you are aimless. Without awareness of Aim, a little known law, man is simply a jumble of reactions with little true will toward a clear end.  It’s difficult to have true aim even with this knowledge, but impossible without “school.” Most “students” can verify their aimlessness readily. Most people can cite when they’ve given up on things in frustration — changed their mind once starting a project, or lost interest.

From the beginning of your tenure, you will state “five-week” AIMS. At first your aims will be driven by your wishes and desires, and you will hear aims from fellow students that will range from writing books, to getting more exercise, to cleaning out the basement, to learning how to cook.  Since you will be surrounded by support and accountability, you will likely experience a significant increase in accomplishments, new experiences, a new level of persistence.  Your life will appear to open up and you may be amazed at how it is changing.  Therein lies the hook; you become more willing to listen to and heed “instruction.” Soon you will come to believe that without school you can not “do”. “School’s” persistent reminders that “As s/he is, woman/man cannot do” shores up this fear and thus the umbilical chord is implanted and fed.

Fast forward two years, school’s  “higher AIM” will start siphoning away your aims, though “school” won’t divulge its AIM.  “School” insinuates that it shares more of its super-secret knowledge with you when you are “ready” ( i.e. sufficiently indoctrinated). Despite being kept in the dark about so many things, your own Aims will begin to be geared towards “instruction” you’ve gotten in school, or to the increasing school obligations.   The longer you are “in”, the more the instruction and obligations insert between you and your internal wisdom and deeply-held wishes, which you will soon come to doubt. “School” will begin to dictate your emotional reactions, your thoughts, your time, and your daily activities by its allegedly higher doctrine. This doctrine will fall under the title of “school’s” AIM. And at this point, it has driven this idea into your psyche:

“Your AIM is your GOD.” Translation – “SCHOOL is your GOD”.

“AIM” (i.e. “School”) as God will soon wedge in between you and what is called your “little life” by certain illustrious teachers. When “AIM” is God, it justifies plowing over anyone or thing that will keep you from “making your AIM”. If a spouse wonders why you are never home, or a friend asks why you are so busy, if your child is starting to act out, they must either be appeased by your fine vibrations, or shoved out of the way for the more worthy efforts of the “3rd line of work” (i.e. “work for school”): throwing parties, inviting lost souls to “presentations” and recruiting new students to join the masses, keeping phone lists with encoded names and numbers, “setting meetings”, attending the meetings, keeping notes to be used for the intended student’s dossier, phoning in your latest successful or failed recruiting efforts to your “aim partners” etc. Your efforts feed the higher calling of shoring up Sharon Gan’s retirement and Park Plaza condo fund. A fund, by the way, that no one in school would ever divulge to you. You will be told, however, that your efforts serve to further your personal evolution.

In having been an unknowing cog in the Sharon Gans income-generating machine, I have learned this: If AIMS are not internally driven, if your AIMS are dictated to you, rather than generated from a deep place within you, then your aims are not your own and, therefore, not “YOUR GOD”. They therefore will only suck you dry, rather than serve your betterment. This is especially true when the “aim behind the aim” is in reality simply a sinister and cynical soul-sucking machine, constructed to benefit a woman you might meet once or twice.

It is likely, though, that you won’t meet this “highly-evolved teacher”. Because my limited Sharon Gans encounters revealed a crazy-looking, nonsense-spouting, mean queen. She was escorted into the room with such over the top pomp and circumstance, that the reverence surrounding her was worthy of that which bowed to King Tut. Of course “school” offered no explanation for its theatrics.  It inferred her royalty through presentation. Her unannounced surprise entrance with Robert, doting and glowing, escorting her and her flowing gowns, bright blue eyelids and heavy black eyelashes on his arm to her throne was meant to be a “shock” and awakening of sorts; the students tasked to serve refreshments tumbled over themselves to cater to her every need. Robert then turned to the “class” and grandly announced, “Ask your questions” without introducing this strange creature.

The first time I was privy to this dog and pony show, Sharon’s first act of higher teaching was to accuse a “student” of lying and throw her out. This woman was saying something about yoga and angels and Sharon ripped her to shreds verbally, followed by “Why don’t you just leave.” I was one of the “youngest students” at the time and I briefly  woke up and considered walking out the door with the damned. But, instead I sat in cowed silence, uncomfortable and increasingly disgruntled, tolerating the rest of that night’s “class”.

I did notice that, at a certain point, the bi-annual Boston-area Sharon circus no longer came to town, so several of the classmates who came after me, knew nothing of this queen’s existence. Whether you know of her or not, though, the longer you are “in” school, the more your “little life” is treated as an insignificant sidebar to her, “school” and its secret higher AIM, as described above. And if you are “in” you may never learn the truth about the “highly-evolved royalty” that your life has now been sublimated into serving, with the idea of AIM as GOD leading the way.

Your God is your temple within. What your life serves should come from that temple, fueled by clarity and love. Your job is to stop and listen to the still, small voice whispering to you from that inner sanctuary. S/he will and should dictate your true aims and purpose. And you certainly won’t access this temple or hear the still, small voice when scrambling around to meet those unspoken school aims fueled by fear and secrecy.

Country Retreat

The following post is the first installment in a four-part series on a “school” phenomenon called “Country Retreat”. The writer is generously contributing his story at my request. (Thank you!)

I was first invited to participate in CR, or Country Retreat (though some mistook the abbreviation for Commentary Reading, for reasons that will soon become clear), in January or February of 2009.

By this time, class had moved from Belmont to Billerica, and was increasingly running well beyond the normal 9:30 PM end time.  My wife was typically in bed before I got home on class nights.  The next morning she would sometimes ask when I had arrived – not in a suspicious or accusatory way, simply out of curiosity.  Nonetheless, I was feeling increasingly anxious about it.  Every word I uttered as cover for school activities was feeling more and more like a lie.  I had recently put in many late nights for choir and band in the months leading up the Christmas party, and often had random appointments for third line (recruiting), which I typically explained as “meeting
an old friend from work for coffee”.  This didn’t make sense to me, so I thought it must seem strange to my wife.  I had good friends known to her whom I hadn’t seen in months, so why was I meeting with random ex-coworkers she’d never heard of?  Still, it seemed like the most
plausible explanation for these random appointments.  One time I had to meet with my aim partner, and in trying to tell my wife (without telling her, of course) who this person was, I could feel my face flush red.  I still see it as a minor miracle that she never expressed any suspicion.

One night at the beginning of class, several of us were taken aside for a private conversation where Robert proposed that we join some of the older students for a weekend in the countryside.

“It’s a chance to work together in a less formal setting and build your essence friendships in a new way,” he said, his voice just above a whisper because we were having a private meeting, but otherwise beaming with the magnanimity of his offer.  We hesitated and glanced around at each other.  Finally, Deanna (not her real name) asked, “Is this mandatory?  I mean, we’re invited, but do we have to go?”

I was relieved to hear her give voice to her skepticism, thanking her in my mind.  I mentally boosted her signal and perhaps even mumbled my own reservations.  Robert’s face fell, brow knotted.  “Well of course, it is an invitation.  I thought you would all be excited about this
opportunity, but if you don’t want to do it, we don’t have to.”

Deanna said, “You could still do it without me.  I’m just not sure I can add anything right now.”  At this point, beneath the silence one could hear that a few others would surely decline if it were possible to do so without suffering disapproval.  Deanna’s spoken resistance emboldened me, though I can’t remember if I expressed my reluctance or someone else did theirs.

Robert shook his head sadly and shrugged his shoulders.  “Ok, we don’t have to do it.  I thought you would be excited about it…”  He walked away, leaving us to talk amongst ourselves.

We stood in a circle and looked at each other.  Daria (also not her real name) said the retreat sounded exciting to her.  It reminded her of the stories we had read about Ouspensky’s adventures with Gurdjieff’s group, how they experimented together for periods of time at a house in the country.  Those stories painted a picture of sincere seekers making real progress in their work on themselves.  Maybe this was just what our group needed – expanded time in a more relaxed
space, closer interaction with the older students, and the promise of a clear next level.  Perhaps this could breathe new life into our collective and individual work.  Some others agreed, and I began to
feel the potential value and importance of this event.  Soon we were all, Deanna and myself included, talking about how we could make it work, it would be a good opportunity, it would be a good stretch, and so on.  I’m not sure about everyone else, but by the time Robert returned I had fully bought in.

I can’t remember if it was Robert or Michael who told us what we would need to bring: a couple of changes of clothes that could get dirty, work gloves, and a set of nice clothes.  The retreat would be in New Hampshire, about an hour away, at a property owned by the school.  We would arrive in the evening on Friday and leave on Sunday.  Some older students would take Friday off work and go up early, but since this was our first retreat we wouldn’t have to this time (though a couple of the women ultimately did).  The weekend would give us the opportunity to use some of the school ideas in practical ways by working around the property and on creative projects, as well as provide a new kind of setting for meetings and discussions, a place to grow our being and our essence friendships.

Not much detail was given at that time.  That initial discussion was just to get our buy in and come up with potential dates so they could plan the event.  In the weeks that followed, we were involved in some of the planning, but they generally wanted as much as possible to be a surprise.  Eventually we learned that the nice clothes were for Saturday dinner, where the school’s culinary all-stars would be responsible for the menu, fine food and wine.  The only other key thing we learned about in advance was the commentary assignment.

We were each given a two or three page photocopy of an entry from Maurice Nicoll’s commentaries on Gurdjieff and Ouspensky’s teachings, which we were to read at least once per day leading up to the retreat. We were paired up into aim partnerships, so we could keep each other honest about reading the commentary as well as state aims that we would call into each other periodically.  Aim partners exchanged voice mail numbers.  By that time we all had private voice mail lines exclusively for school purposes.  When writing down each others’ numbers, we would encode them in some way, such as reversing the last two digits.  I would never add my aim partner’s number as a contact on my phone, even though it was going to be in my ‘dialed’ numbers list at least once per day unless I purged it (which just seemed too much like paranoid behavior).

Now I was paired up with my CR Aim Partner (in addition to my two LifeAim Partners), with a daily Commentary Aim (in addition to my five week Life Aim, my Self-Observation Aim, and our Third Line Aim), with an assigned commentary to read (in addition to other reading assignments).  Almost immediately the excitement of this new opportunity was tempered by the anxiety of having one more obligation, and the dread of having to come up with a decent cover story for a whole weekend away.  Within a week the excitement was all but overwhelmed.

Part 2: First Visit

Another ex-student who left in January, 2012, wrote the following post describing her experience and decision to end her “school” tenure. She departed independent of the  mass exodus. Her story was posted on esoteric freedom, so it disappeared when the blog was illegally removed:

Several months ago, I was asked to help lead a Bible study program at my church. It’s on Tuesday nights. When I was asked to do it, I felt this amazing surge of relief. I at last had a reason, other than money, to walk away from school. And I do have the academic credentials to do it, even though I felt those were diminished by our teachers. I did four years of continuing education in Hebrew and Christian scripture, church history and theology through the Sewanee School of Theology, associated with a university in the south. I’d read the Gnostic Gospels long before Robert assigned it to me and told me not to be “literal.” I am not literal in my view of any of the Bible.

I said yes to leading Bible study, but that I couldn’t do it until the beginning of the year. I felt committed to the Christmas party. Then I started wobbling. Maybe I would tell the church I couldn’t do it after all. But a meeting with my financial planner in early January, and the knowledge that I was not going to be able to come up with the next month’s tuition when it was due, sealed the deal.

I walked out of school the night of January 5 totally disgusted with ‘help’ that Robert gave a couple of people. I got home from work on Friday and had a message to call Carol right away. She wanted to know if I had seen a sheet of paper that was being passed around among some students and she made some remark about the “no fraternization policy.” I said I hadn’t seen it and she hung up.

Then I sat down at my computer and started googling “OSG esoteric.”

The esoteric freedom web site came up immediately. And soon I was looking at Robert’s face and reading that he’d been married to Jeannine once and more recently (perhaps still) to someone else associated with school. And he wasn’t alone in this “creatively insincere” interpretation of “no fraternization.”

I was curious about the sheet of paper that had been passed among some of you and toyed with the idea of coming to class one last time on Tuesday, Jan. 10 to see what it might have been about. But what I read Friday night and continued to read over the weekend made me realize I couldn’t sit in the room with Robert ever again.

I spent that entire weekend almost unable to tear myself away from esoteric freedom and the “Robert Klein Pages.” I was mesmerized and horrified.

I was hoping that someone of you would be able to find me since my first name is not usual. And somehow, someone did and (student x) called me. I was thrilled!

Tonight I’m missing Bible study so I can listen to the State of the Union and maybe see the Northern Lights. It was nice to know I could call my co-leader and tell her I wouldn’t be there without fear of consequences.

I’m sure those students who remain in the old mill building have been told we were all asked to leave for some transgression or other. I hope they can see through the charade.

I am re-posting this account of the 2012 Exodus, as requested. As I recall, the Great Escape unfolded in three parts:

1) Upon reading the esoteric freedom website, 007 decides to leave, but not without informing his classmates. He goes to his last class, surreptitiously distributes flyers to some and speaks directly to others.

2) Some colleagues return for one more class to spread the word and pass out flyers, putting flyers on cars and confronting “teachers”. 

3) In this class, “school” interrogates its students as described below.

I welcome those of you who experienced this event to contribute to the following account:

Twelve of us left the younger class of 21 students early in January. Three others had left in the summer of 2011. The majority had been in school for less than four years. The following is an account of what happened on the night of the mass exodus, and my reasons for leaving school.

The Heretics

After the class of January 5, a Thursday, some students were given a folded flier, others were contacted by phone. Over the weekend, a teacher called all students twice, asking first if they had received a piece of paper, then a phone call. The teacher reiterated that the papers had to be destroyed, and that we were not to talk to anyone but teachers or sustainers. I had not been contacted and was beginning to feel left out.

Before class on Tuesday, January 10, X happened to walk into a coffee shop where I was reading a book, sat down at my table, gave me a folded flier and told me to read it later. It is hilarious to me now, given my issues with secrecy, to think that I whispered to X then: “You know we’re not supposed to talk to each other?” After a walk and a talk, where I learned of the many who had decided to leave school together (having concurred that OSG was a cult), I realized it wasn’t going to be the same class at all, with all the youngest and brightest gone. I had been planning to leave school for some time – this was my opportunity. X woke me up.

The Inquisition

It was quite apparent that night that a major upheaval was underway. We were greeted at the door of the classroom by teachers telling us class would be in a different format that night. There was no body work. Eleven of us, half the normal class, sat in a semi-circle in silence, with one teacher overseeing the group. Waiting, perfectly still, not knowing what was happening next. One by one, we were asked to go into the big room, where other teachers in pairs made us sit with them to have a talk.

The questions were about the pieces of paper and the phone calls – were we contacted? (read contaminated). I don’t know how the other conversations went, but I admitted that yes I had been contacted, just before class. I told the teachers that up until then I thought a disgruntled former student was at it again, as had happened in the past, someone who “had gone off the deep end” as we were told, leaving leaflets on windshields and disparaging school with “slander”. But no, I found out that this was a large group of the best, most dedicated recent students, who had done such a great job at the Christmas party that for the first time in years, teachers didn’t have to take notes. While I wasn’t part of that group, I always had issues with the secrecy rules, as they well knew, and brought up again my old questions.

One of them was about the black book. Early on I found and brought to school the books by Ouspensky and Gurdjieff (The Fourth Way, In Search of the Miraculous, The Psychology of Man’s Possible Evolution) from which the black book is retyped with the names deleted.

Teacher:
“How did you better understand the ideas once you knew what book they came from?”
Me:
“I was no longer distracted by wondering where this text came from, which had a context in place (Russia) and time (1920s). It seemed more legitimate to know the source. How are the ideas better understood by not knowing their source?”

No direct answer to that. Only that it didn’t matter.

Me:
“If they are concealed because they are but one strand among many other teachings, and that this school is not strictly about Gurdjieff and his student Ouspensky, then why not say that?”

We kept exchanging questions past each other. There were no explanations, just restatements of how things were supposed to be. I repeated that I never understood why we couldn’t talk about the ideas of the work with others outside of school. It seemed to me that something so deep and important deserved to be shared, and that if we couldn’t talk because we would leak energy or distort the ideas, then we couldn’t talk about religion either.

“This is not a religion.”
“I know, I’m making the analogy to something sacred.”
“Why didn’t you bring this up in class for discussion?”
“Because I didn’t want to break the good mood that often permeated class, be the one to sow doubt. Besides, the few times that that ‘I was given help’ about secrecy, I was told to follow the rules, that it was good for me to obey without explanation since I had too much self-will. Ergo, no explanation.”
“Class is the format to bring up questions.”
“I like this one-on-one discussion format. It’s too bad that it is caused by such dire circumstances, but it would have been good to have these asides regularly.”

More conversation, mostly on my part, prompting sighs on their part and comments that I wasn’t being very clear.

”Well, you can appreciate how that leaves us. The rules aren’t going to change. We can’t afford to have a loose cannon like you. How do you want us to respond?”

“If I were you, I would say: ‘These are the rules. Can you abide by them? If not, you should leave.’”

So they did that, and I told them I would think about it and give them my answer soon, on the school number. It was decided that there was no point for me to stay longer – there was vague talk of having a half hour class after each student had been questioned – and that I could therefore go get my coat in the classroom and leave. But that before that, I should give them the piece of paper X handed me, as they insisted on collecting them all. I told them that paper was in my car. (I had the paper with me all along, but wanted to be able to peal off the yellow sticky note with X’s phone number on it, without them seeing it. Creative insincerity.)

The Excommunication

In the classroom, I handed out a hand-written note to Y that said I was leaving school, wanted to stay in touch, and here was my contact information. Without touching it, Y blushed and looked petrified. Another student also saw the note with horror. “Oh, oh. This is not going to go down well.” I thought to myself. The tension in the air was palpable – you could cut it with a knife. I was smiling and feeling happy. With a flourish I put my coat on and walked out of the classroom. I felt like saying goodbye to everyone, thanking all for the good times and great discussions, but the faces were so gloomy, the silence so loud, the vibrations so far below zero, that I just walked out.

I learned later that while I was in the big room, one of the younger students had waited for most students to be in the classroom, courageously announced that he was leaving school, distributed papers (quickly collected by the teacher) and said goodbye.

A teacher escorted me to my car. (All students’ movements were escorted that night.) The parking lot was abuzz with frantic activity. Someone had written on car windows, and a team of older students was hard at work removing the offensive writings (which one couldn’t see in the dark of night). My car was one of those being cleaned, so I couldn’t leave right away. I opened the passenger door, rummaged through bags pretending to look for the paper, took it out of my pocket book, removed the sticky note with the phone number, plunged the paper in a bag, retrieved it, and straightened up outside the car. “There, here is the paper.”

Escorted back to the building, I am left in the little room, waiting to be told that my car is ready and that I can leave. After a few minutes, Robert enters, thundering, holding my note to Y in his hand.

“Did you write this?”
“Yes, I wanted to stay in touch with Y.”
He tears it in front of me, red with anger.
“You have violated Y’s privacy! You are not to contact students, you know that. So you are leaving school? You have read all this slander and…”
I interrupt him, my own anger rising at this theatrical display:
“I did not read any slander.”
Robert’s thunder calms down to a breeze.
“You are leaving independently, on your own?”
“Yes.”
“This event is a terrible denying force – it always happens when good … “
“You know I have always had issues with the school’s secrecy. I had a talk with the teachers just now that clarified where I stand. I can’t abide by the rules, including this one. Thank you for the truly good classes I have enjoyed over these past years.”
“You received a lot of help over that time (a standard line, not really true for me). I wish you luck in your life.”
With a very conciliatory tone now:
“If at any time you want to come back, you can ask that it be with a different framework, questioning the rules.”

These were not his exact words, but that was their meaning. I didn’t absorb this on the spot, my mind already out of there, but in retrospect, how could this even be possible? The other teacher’s words were more realistic: “The rules are not going to change.”

Exit Robert. More waiting. Enter another teacher, downcast, restrained. “Let’s go.” As I leave with him, he says with disgust: “What you did is despicable!” “What? My note to Y? I just wanted to stay in touch!” Down the stairs. No response. I’m truly hurt by his reaction. I liked this particular teacher. Will these be the last words I hear from school? (Yes)

In the parking lot, many cars standing still with their lights on, people running around. You’d thing there was a police raid. I couldn’t drive away fast enough. I stopped several blocks away, left a message on the school number confirming that I had decided to leave school. Once home, another message to Robert, and a final one to my sustainer. Done!

***

From the beginning, I was always on the fence about school: attracted to the ideas, to making aims, to the accountability of the group, but turned off by the secrecy rules, group therapy and recruiting methods.

Therapy

The group therapy I hadn’t counted on: it wasn’t part of what my recruiter had mentioned in the beginning. Sometimes the discussions were useful, meaningful, and general enough to apply to all of us. But often I felt that a student was being put on the spot and raked over coals, unnecessarily analyzed or berated about very personal issues. By teachers who are not trained in therapy, psychology (despite their claims of knowing ancient psychology), or psychiatry. Students’ advice to each other was more helpful and more affectionate. An underlying theme was that we were supposed to have difficult relationships with our parents, the key to unlocking our potential. Another theme was that professional work didn’t matter: there was no respect for work schedules or commitments. Personal relationships, marriage, even the birth of a child, were “events”, to be discounted and subordinated to the higher life of school. The moral tone that was used to talk about class attendance, being on time, and work on the Christmas party I found particularly annoying. Of course, this was only because I had too much self-will.

Secrecy
I broke the secrecy rules often, sometimes without realizing it, and was always amazed at the overblown reaction of the teachers. When I brought the Ouspensky and Gurdjieff books to school, I thought the teacher I talked to was going to have a heart attack: “Oh my God, what have you done? Stay here in the little room while I go get Robert!” I was instructed to cover the books with paper, if I must have them with me, and I did.

I talked about school with my mother, with whom I was very close, and who had taught philosophy. For reasons of her advanced age, where she lived (outside the US) and her language (not English), I didn’t think much “leakage” would come out of that. But no, that was forbidden too. Robert made me promise to not talk about school or the ideas of the work, to anyone, at anytime. And I obeyed, for a long while.

I met Y at Al Gore‘s presentation of his book Our Choice. We were in line together, waiting for him to sign our copies of his book, talking about how great it would be to bring these ideas of sustainability to school discussions. We were both grilled in class for this taboo encounter.

My questions about secrecy kept accumulating: these books are published, what is the point of concealing them? If we highly value the school’s work, as we are asked to do, why not share our positive experiences with those who are close to us? It may very well be that ancient schools had to remain secret because members’ lives were at stake as heretics, but this is definitely not the case today. These ideas are not threatening any social order or political power. If the issue is that we would distort the ideas by talking about them, then how is any knowledge gained? We discuss ideas to learn more about them, to explore and verify their applications, and gain others’ perspective. We would never talk about religion, science, philosophy, love relationships or intellectual pursuits, if we lived under the risk-of-distortion rule.

Recruiting

I thought the third line of work was extremely devious: recruiting unsuspecting people with half-truths, off-topic conversations about this and that, gaining their trust only to hand them over to the older recruiters, a vast bait and switch operation. We were never allowed to say up front: “I’m part of a school of thought. This is what it’s about. Would you like to join?” I brought several people to the presentation on Eleanor d’Aquitaine and Hildegard von Bingen. The follow-up calls they received came close to harassment. One of them asked me: “Who are these people? Why is this woman calling me all the time? Can’t she see I don’t want to respond?”

I told her that it was a school. She told the caller she didn’t want to join a school. When this came back to the teachers, they asked me to not do third line of work, as I was almost “sabotaging” the work. I was overjoyed and relieved at not having to lie. It’s a wonder they didn’t ask me to leave then.

Your Truth, Even if Your Voice Shakes

One of my intentions in writing this blog was to invite my fellow “classmates” to tell their stories. This year writing mine set me free from the experience.  The memories and betrayals don’t devour my attention anymore. I no longer obsessively check this blog for comments 😉

I recommend this process highly to those of you who have the yen to write. Today I feel happy, joyous and free and vast amounts of gratitude that I left before “school” inflicted irreparable damage. Because I left just in time,  and allowed my voice a venue for “confession”, the experience made me stronger. My time is now truly mine; and I am thrilled with the community of posters who have contributed.

I need to take a break from posting; other passions are vying for my attention.  After all, I don’t want to give away another five years. And yet, I don’t want the conversation to end either. I would like to offer this blog space as a community forum and extend this invitation —

Many of you have nodded to stories untold; would you be willing to tell them here? Here are some I would like to see:

Veronica:
BullFrog, or anyone else who knew Veronica, are you willing to tell us more about who she was? What was her last name? Where did she live? Does anyone know how she died? Would be possible to find an obituary?

“School” Ideas:
Odysseus, Cara, River of Joy, or anyone who feels they have some understanding of the ideas misused by “school”– I would love it to turn the ideas or “work” phrases widely misused in “school” into key words for Google searches. I had envisioned taking one idea at a time and writing a post on each, defining it and “school’s” misuse of it.  I have two hesitations — the first being that this task would devour a lot of time and the second being that my understanding was limited since that I didn’t know about or have access to the original source material initially. Would any of you be willing to choose a favorite, or least favorite idea(s) and write about them here?

The Sustain-er Story:
Is there anyone out there who witnessed the birth of “sustain-ers”, became one, and could tell us more about that experience? What is the process of “becoming a sustain-er?” What types of pressures are sustain-ers under?

Alex Horn:
Another Version of the Story, you seem to have some insight into the man and perhaps some personal experiences; would you be willing to share some of that here?

Bill S & the Nervous Breakdown:
Bullfrog, would you be willing to tell us about Bill S and how his break came about? Like the Veronica story, this seems like important information for those who’ve left school and are wondering whether they’ve done the right thing and/or those who might be attending and starting to wonder what they’ve gotten into.

Country Retreat:
Bullfrog, Charlie Chaplin or anyone who is willing, would you share your Country Retreat experiences?

School’s “Leadership”:
Haven’t Decided Yet, Would you be willing to share school from the perspective of “leadership?” What is that experience like? How does one rise up the ranks from student to “teacher”?  What types of pressures are teachers under?

Le Grand David Magic Company – Cher-Tea,  would you be willing to tell us more about this group? How did it start? How did it recruit its members? What was life like once one was “in”? Did people ever leave? When and where did it meet? Who was this guy, Cesareo?

I would be interested in hearing from anyone who experienced “school” back in CA., under Alex Horn. And I’m open to other topics and suggestions.

I am still sorting out how this would work. But – for starters – if you want to participate, please contact me at hummingbird2916@safe-mail.net. I don’t check that address unless I get a head’s up, so let me know if your message is waiting.

Burning observation notebooks

One year ago this week I made my first independent decision in five  years and left “school”. I would like to mark that anniversary in this post and check in with one my intentions in writing this blog: to sort through and make meaning out of this experience and understand why I chose it and stayed in it for five years. Here are my conclusions:

Why I chose “school”:
As a woman who had been feeling lost since adolescence, I bumbled into adulthood, clinging to artistic dreams, but without the tools or confidence to realize them.  I ached for guidance and sought direction and purpose at every turn, but a longing for something unexplainable (and seemingly unattainable) clamored relentlessly. Ah, but along came “school” – with “aim”, ideas and teachings that touched on everything from the universal, to the personal, to the cosmological, to the historical, to the spiritual and to the psychological. And it came with “help”. “Thank God,” I remember thinking after attending my first classes at the Belmont Lion’s Club. “I have finally found ‘help’.”

“School” may preach that confidence is a fallacy; that it doesn’t exist. I would argue that confidence, or lack thereof, determined my vulnerability to cult marketing; had I the confidence to trust my inner counsel, I may have tried the “five-week experiment”, but I would not have been sucked in for five years.

Why I stayed in “school”:

Observation Notebook Burning

Given that I lacked confidence and sought guidance, I was “school’s” almost perfect target demographic (if I had money, I would have been perfect). Hope fused me to my newly discovered adventure; I longed to believe it was something real. My new “education” addressed body, mind, heart and spirit comprehensively as nothing else had. Over the first two years, I matured in many ways and my life began to reflect that – I went from temp-worker to decently paid copywriter, single to engaged and from seeing myself as intellectually limited to realizing a passion for history, literature and even the previously dreaded sciences. The teaching was helping; the help was working — until it didn’t.

By that time — had I some level of confidence — I would have thought, it is time to move on. Instead, I fell into a common syndrome – the “I’m not trying hard enough” stage show. Many ‘students’ entertain this stage show and the longer one attends “school”, the more “school” exploits the insecurities that orchestrate, cast and choreograph it. “Teachers” reminded us consistently “If you weren’t in school, you wouldn’t have [FILL IN THE BLANK — the marriage, the new job, the lovely home, etc.]”

Fear replaced hope; not trusting my perceptions, I turned to their tutelage, even as my life was deteriorating into the life I never wanted. The more my life deteriorated, the more I questioned my ability to make choices, instead of their guidance – I turned to “teachers” more and more, in fact. I didn’t ask the obvious question: Why am I afraid to say no to instructions given by “teachers” when they feel wrong to me? When I was laid off in 2010, and in a financial quandary, my prevailing thought was,“ Thank God, I have ‘help’!” instead of the more sensible “I can no longer afford to pay the $350 a month ‘tuition’.”

“How did my life get so off track?” I bemoaned myself, “Is my internal compass so out of whack that I can never trust it? Will I have to ask for ‘help’ forever?”

This type of skewed and fearful thinking makes possible the paralyzing dependence fostered by “school”. The leadership reminded us consistently, “Everyone needs help. The student who asks for the most ‘help’ is the student who evolves the fastest.” Thus each day of my tenure, I abdicated more responsibility and inevitably a constant uncertainty replaced my initial optimism. There is no graduation date. Once you’ve entered the den, you begin the march into an unspoken life-long commitment, and “school’s students” “evolve” into indebted bundles of dependent insecurity.

Deriving Meaning – If You Meet The Buddha on the Road, Kill Him:
With one year of “school”-free perspective, I can see that “school” became a mirror reflecting my internal beliefs: I had believed myself incapable, the joy I sought beyond me, my natural strengths and aptitudes for the arts, compassion and empathy unimportant and/or unattainable. “School” was happy to reflect this back adding the unspoken message of you can become a real woman, but only with ‘school’s help’. Otherwise you are doomed to circle the same track of unfulfilled potential until you die.

Thus I turned to false prophets and let them yank me around. The real woman woke up the moment she recognized “school’s help” as a prison with bars constructed from fear and dependence. I became that real woman the moment I said “no” to “school’s” instruction of “Tell your husband to mind his own business.” I finally recognized the blatant disregard for my life, husband and family communicated through this instruction.  The real woman had to embrace the responsibilities and consequences that came along with saying no – this is real freedom, with all of its challenges and rewards.

I have come to believe that every person has an internal compass and it cannot be dictated externally. Once upon a time, mine led me into a false “school” and then – with real help from my husband – it led me out of this “school”.  It may have been a mistake, but do we not learn the most from our mistakes? The moment I said, “No” changed and defined me anew. Today, when I fall into old habits of doubting myself, I can look back at life while in “school” and see the fearful woman who dreaded the sunrise and compare it with life now that every cell in me welcomes each new day. Through my “school” experience, I released myself from the lifelong and constant search for mentoring and meaning; the very mechanisms that led me into “school” fell away the moment I said “no” to it.

Now each new day presents a chance to practice honoring and following my internal compass, for better or for worse. And as I bumble along, sometimes flying, sometimes crashing, I accept my “school” days as the necessary foray that pushed me into a corner that offered two choices – to follow the route whose road signs are constructed and orchestrated by “school”, or to follow this internal compass.   As I choose the latter, I see that life is a perfectly imperfect and lovely journey and its meaning comes from within.

Clever Insincerity (n)/klĕv-r in-sin-sĕhr–i-tē/

1) Lies (n), lying (n)

2) “School’s” justification for misinformation told to protect and proliferate its own covert aim as follows: keep students desperate, dependent, and insecure; so they will continue to pay “tuition” or “help” and “knowledge” — mine was $350/month — and generate income for Queen Sharon, current leader, and widow of Alex Horn, former leader of a fake Fourth Way school in New York, Boston, and Copenhagen. (n)

“School” employs Clever Insincerity early and often when sincere seekers stumble upon the group.  “School’s” doctrine justifies it with the teaching that “all people lie almost constantly” both by what we say and by what we don’t say.  The difference, we were told, is in the aim behind it.  Sleeping people lie out of self-interest and self-will.  People who want to awaken are cleverly insincere in service to a higher aim.

When recruiting me, Lisa spun “school” as casual. “People come and go,” she said, “they take breaks and come back.” She didn’t say that teachers kick people out and then allow them re-entry if they express sufficient remorse. She omitted the required stellar attendance, $350/monthly “tuition”, lack of graduation date, the dress code, holiday season requirements, and the fact that expenses and demands expand over time.

I bought it and signed on, obviously; but moments of clarity would strike me in class at times: when demands started piling, when certain students revealed decades of attendance, when “teachers” turned a humiliating spot light on some poor slob’s “essence flaw” in front of the whole “class.”  Yes, at these times, my internal rebels started rumbling.  I realized that Lisa had blatantly lied.  Yet, just as quickly, I justified her lies. “After all,” I told myself, “where would I be without ‘school’ and all of its ‘help’?”  I would not have pursued this ‘teaching’ had she been forthright about the demands, the humiliations, the unspoken lifelong commitment. I would have thought it was … well … a cult.” If recruiters told potential students the truth, no one would sign on, many sleepwalking souls would lose their chance to awaken!, and Sharon would not be living at the Park Plaza.

The longer one is in “school”, the more Clever Insincerity comes into play. I could write an endless and endlessly boring book, citing examples. I’ll stick to a few:

• “School” tells its newest recruits that “the work” is an “oral teaching” and omits the original source — Russian philosopher G.I. Gurdjieff. Thus, all of its “younger students” have no knowledge of the myriad of published books and online resources that explore his philosophies. Early in my school tenure, my “sustainer” told me, “You won’t find these ideas anywhere else. You are lucky!”  You can imagine how angry I was when I discovered Gurdjieff, the multiple Wikipedia entries, the Gurdjieff Society, and ordered Gurdjieff’s book Meetings With Remarkable Men from Amazon.com for less than $5.
• The Boston branch nods towards an unnamed and exclusive lineage, insinuating connections to a remarkable cast: Shakespeare, Hans Christian Anderson, Michelangelo, Mozart, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Marie Curie, Martin Luther King, Jesus Christ and more. It neglects to mention its New York headquarters, Sharon Gans, and its true roots – a 1970s California cult poised as the Theater of All Possibilities; it neglects to name the theater’s charismatic and sociopathic founder, Alex Horn and the slew of damning investigative articles published detailing his Strange School.
• “School’s” most clever use of Clever Insincerity may be its “non-fraternization policy”: we were not to acknowledge each other outside the gates. We were to become part of “the invisible world,” fanning out as men and women “working on themselves, evolving in a devolving world, spreading fine vibrations,” blah, blah, blah.  We separated “the work” from “life” by honoring it as sacred knowledge, handed down to us from evolved “teachers”.  We absorbed the message that Clever Insincerity” is thus justified; it protects “school” and its “sacred knowledge”from those who would destroy it.

Imagine our surprise when some of us left “school” and discovered that the sacred knowledge consists of Sharon’s matchmaking, relationship-destroying, and children-damaging machine. It is likely that our silence also protected tax evasion, money laundering, and who knows what else. Certainly Mr. Horn had a reputation for perpetrating physical and sexual abuse. Some say he encouraged this violence within the ranks; some say the abuse continues today. I have never witnessed such acts – I certainly did witness emotional and intellectual bullying. Had we school plebs “fraternized” outside the hallowed halls, we may well have compared notes, begun to question inconsistencies and called them on their shit.

As “school’s” super secret demands and activities increase, “students” will find a corresponding increase in lies told to friends and family. These lies devour time and energy, compounding the time and energy demands “school” already hoists on its devotees. Eventually, “students” who were driven to join “school” by an urge to seek truth, begin to dedicate their lives to a fabrication that they don’t even know exists; they assume they aren’t evolved sufficiently and trust that their “evolved teachers” know and see things that are beyond them. Inevitably, they become unbearably uncomfortable with the lies that isolate them from spouses, children, siblings, friends, etc.

Predictably, “students” bring this struggle up in class and ask for “help”. In response “teachers” offer “Clever Insincerity” as a sacred idea; these “efforts” are not exactly lies, they say, but necessary protection for private and privileged knowledge. After all, not everyone can be in a school, and many would be threatened by the super-secret-sacred Work. The exclusive presentation seduced us. We saw our participation in “The Work” as critical efforts to elevate and save a society careening towards destruction.  Like Lisa, and my sustainer, Karyn, eventually “school’s” truth-seekers find themselves committing acts of Clever Insincerity and justifying them as efforts toward “school’s” secret higher calling and our own personal evolution.  Over time, “students” become cogs in “school’s” propaganda-spouting machine. Their lives become devoured by super-secret, mission-critical activities: planning parties, creating presentations and recruiting tuition-paying students.

Initially, my lies were mainly those of omission. Friends would wonder vaguely why I was so busy and unavailable to them. For the first couple of years, I said that I was in a never-ending tai chi teacher-training program. I didn’t lie to my husband, though.  Even before we were married, he knew that every Tuesday and Thursday, I would be attending these exclusive and secret meetings and initially he supported me. We used to laugh about it and refer to “school” as “Tuesday/Thursday Thing”, or simply “Thing”. When “thing” threw me into full Christmas party planning and throwing, I told him about the big party; otherwise it would have looked like I was having an affair – what with the late nights and insistent critical and shadowy phone calls. And even though he knew what I was doing, we still fought almost every holiday season.

But when “school” tagged me for the “3rd line of work”, otherwise known as recruitment, I found myself telling full-fledged lies: I would say,  “I’m meeting Phyllis for coffee” instead of confessing, “I’m off to save lost souls”, or “I have a super-secret, mission-critical, “school”-recruitment-strategy meeting.” This set up an internal conflict: The “good student” in me justified these deceptions as a peace-keeping tool while making aims to make the world a better place, but the deceptions poked at my rebels, who whispered, “How can lying to your husband really be an act of higher calling?”

Given time, and the insidious brainwashing, many a sincere seeker becomes quite adept at “Clever Insincerity” even as each wrestles with the internal conflict. School justifies this conflict as a friction that is necessary for personal evolution; thus loyal devotees endure the ever growing “friction” that becomes their lives and “school” remains, surviving the investigative newspaper articles, a subsequent cross-country re-location, and a growing list of enraged “ex-students”. Amazingly, this “truth-seeking” institution still stands on an infrastructure of smoke and mirrors after more than 4 decades.

Perhaps you are in “school” right now, newly recruited and wondering, “What is this?  What do I make of this idea of Clever Insincerity?” Allow me to respond: “School” is a cult. Clever Insincerity is a euphemism for lying. And, if it is truth you are seeking, within “school’s” walls you will only find unspoken agendas fueled by deception.

Hello Cyberspace Blogsters,

I wanted to make sure you all know about this newest blog: Clever Sincerity

I received this comment today from a blogger/commenter with moniker “Sleepwalker” in regards to the removal of the esoteric freedom blog:

“There are other copies of much of the material on the internet, especially the dossiers. I’ve started a site to keep track of them and other material as well which should be more resistant to legal interference. I am still looking for ideas on resources to post if anyone has suggestions.”

Check it out! Thanks, Sleepwalker … more on “Clever Insincerity” soon!

GSR

As a “school student” I often heard “teachers” bandy about the phrase “the non-expression of negative emotions” as a behavior to work toward.  What are negative emotions?  The list is familiar to anyone with breathing lungs and a beating heart:  guilt, resentment, anger, impatience, jealousy, hatred, self-pity, etc.  You get the gist.  We identify these feelings and work to “not express” them lest we send out coarse vibrations to the world and hamper the soul-making machinery going on inside us.

Taking this idea a step further, “school” also preaches that “negative emotions are not real.”  I struggled with that, too, for I can waste a great deal of time stewing in the “not real.”  Somehow the idea of the “non-expression” of “not real” emotions only made them more visceral, prominent and consuming.  Taking it up another notch, we were also to work on “not expressing” both internally and externally, i.e., not through thought, posture, facial expression or conversation.  Well, in practice, rather than a doorway to freedom, it became a recipe for insanity.

“Non-expression” coupled with “self-observations” started imprisoning me behind the navel-gazing bars of neurosis, anxiety and self-judgment.  So my burning question to teachers was, “What does it mean to ‘non-express’ and how does an aspiring soul do it without becoming consumed by the presiding emotion?” Many “students” broached this question. “Teachers” responded that “non-expression” is NOT suppression; yet they never could define what it is and/or how to do it.  So what did many of us “students” do?  Suppress!  It doesn’t take a trained professional to know what that does to a psyche.

Before my “school” days, I had stumbled into therapy. Through that I began to see “emotions” as different energies — some light and nourishing, some heavy and consuming. I’d learned that these energies could be transformed when not desperately shoved into some psychic dark corner.  I’d discovered that the heavier and more consuming feelings (i.e. the ones we want to deny) were usually vying for attention because they had messages.  I learned to listen; I learned that my need for expression was healthy, and ultimately expression is what transforms  “negative emotions”; expression, I learned, quiets the inner cacophony that blocks you from hearing the message beneath the feeling. When you can hear them, the messengers often inspire action. (Little wonder “school” wouldn’t want its minions to be inspired into action.)

While in my school stupor, despite this powerful prior knowledge, I fell into judging myself for needing to express “negative emotions”.  I stopped recognizing my crucial messengers and started feeling crazy and stuck. The crazier I felt, the less I trusted myself, the more I steeped in self-judgment (i.e. a “negative emotion”) and the more I turned to “teachers” for guidance. I desperately wanted to understand this idea of “non-expression”, and yet I never fell completely asleep to one messenger. This voice consistently asked, “At what point can I trust myself again? ‘Teachers’ can’t follow me around all day making every little decision.” And the “negative emotion” of resentment towards “school” for this teaching started permeating those dark corners and shedding light on a justified anger.  Anger announced, “This institution is hijacking your life, and you are letting it happen.”

Now that I’ve been out of the cult, I see that this “non-expression of negative emotions” idea, however real in its true form, is used by this cult as a powerful tool of manipulation. You begin to doubt your perceptions, therefore yourself. You fear that your “negative emotions” are sending “coarse vibrations” out into the world and attracting unwanted events and misfortune. This fear feeds on itself and induces an emotional paralysis and does indeed attract unwanted events into your life — events that are a result of your growing insecurity.  Your perceived need for school grows.  A perfect circular prison.

“Teachers” also warned us to look out for  “suspicious I’s” under the guise of helping us see that suspicion is not helpful to us – it keeps us from opening our hearts and lives to new experiences.  But perhaps these messengers, Suspicion and Anger, are rising up because there is something to be suspicious of and angry about.

If you realize all this, you can see how “school” needs to paint the given “negative emotion” as shameful.  If we honored Anger and Suspicion, no one would stay in school, pay the tuition, put on parties, prepare refreshments, repair and upgrade teacher-owned houses in New Hampshire, spend precious free time recruiting new students, etc.  It would all cease to exist, as would the lifestyles of those at the top.

Anger and Suspicion can be loyal guardians that say “no” to vultures and parasites, when embraced and channeled rightly. They can protect your energy and sanity and life. Ironically, my “suspicious I’s” often began rattling around loudly when hearing the term “the non-expression of negative emotions.” All I can say is that when I finally listened to these messengers, they saved my sorry ass.