A New Resource: sharonganscult.com

This site has come to my attention lately — http://www.sharonganscult.com/

It changes often, but today’s iteration encourages current “students” to leave the ranks. It provides an email address for those who want to reach out and addresses the following “school”-bound fears and obstacles:

1) Losing friends

2) Losing marriage or relationship with another “student”

3) Working for a “school”-based business

4) Losing “the work”

It suggests taking a 3-week experimental hiatus from all things “school”.

When I think back, the only thing that kept me from taking a break was my belief in the institution and the control I gave it — I felt like I had to ask permission. I knew the answer would be no. I bought into some idea about “not letting the work go cold for more than 48 hours”, or something like that. I felt “school” lording over me, as if monitoring me from above, documenting all of my sinful and “coarse” thoughts and feelings. I am amazed at the amount of control I gave this thing over my time and life.

Yep. If you’re thinking about a break, take it. I believe you will soon discover that “school” isn’t God, can’t control your life and you might even get some perspective on the experience and start to feel the freedom that comes when not participating in its bi-weekly indoctrination rituals.

It’s a sweet freedom. It’s your life. I encourage you to reclaim it.

Happy Thanksgiving – Gratitude List

You always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.

This is my fourth “school”-free holiday season and I find I have much for which to be grateful. Many of these things came directly from my evolutionary tenure. Every “school”-free day contrasts sharply with my “school”-dictated life, highlighting what leaving the hallowed halls brought to me:

1) A well-honed bullshit detector – while, I have never regretted leaving the institution, I also don’t regret the experience. I do wish that I’d listened to my rebels sooner — five years and roughly $20,000 is way more than I wanted to invest in this con game. However, allowing “school” to yank me around for a time did prove valuable. It reminded me of that childhood lesson from the The Wizard of Oz: everything I need, everything you need, exists within me, and within you, already. The wizards who tell you otherwise, offering pat and overly simplified advice, alleged informed by convenient interpretations of certain esoteric ideas is, at best, deluded and at worst, sociopathic.

2) A trusted connection to my inner moral compass and path — Every “school”-free day bears gifts in ways to embrace this connection. Every moment, good, bad, challenging, boring, heartening, frustrating, inspiring — whatever comes — offers me the opportunity to honor what feels right to me and leave behind what doesn’t. I’m free from the cognitive dissonance that wrestled with my inner sense when it didn’t line up with the outer party line. I own my time and life, for better or worse: I spend my days with those I love and doing what I want. I am free to share whatever I experience, feel and think with whomever I’d like. This freedom constantly reminds me that every breath is a gift. It is my responsibility to use my remaining breathes wisely, instead of giving them away. And, by the way, I have a lot more energy.

3) An unencumbered holiday season — The holidays are no longer strained with the unnecessary “school”-sponsored usurpation, otherwise known as The Christmas Party. All accompanying marital stress fell away. My friends and family no longer wonder why I am so unavailable and what could possibly be keeping me busily scrambling around. In fact, now that they all know about the illustrious group and its infamous Christmas party, we’ve had a lot of laughs, and lemme just tell you, keeping secrets takes a lot of energy.

4) A reconnection to my inner creative voice — at some point I will research and write more extensively about the cult-usurpation-of-your-creative-energy phenomenon. For now I will simply say that in 2006, when I joined an “informal discussion group”, I hoped that the it would strengthen and affirm my creative dreams. Five years later, I felt severed from those dreams — songwriting, prose writing, even simple morning pages, ala The Artist’s Way, all felt impossible. The flow of ideas and music that had been with me since childhood shut down. Before my tenure — however insecure and lost I felt — those ideas outlined my dreams and woke me up in the morning. They provided a sense of purpose, and I honored them, despite uncertainty about how to shape and define that purpose. Once I left the cult and started writing my story, I reconnected to that creative voice. Recently songs again began outlining my dreams and waking me in the morning. Welcome back!

5) A clarity of purpose – In leaving the cult, I freed my time. In freeing my time, I freed my mind. In freeing my mind, my voice came forth to tell this ridiculous tale. In putting out this blog, I released my psyche from “school’s” cancerous secrecy. This is my experience of freedom of mind. Secrets cloud and shroud. Clarity arrived when I stopped carrying them around. I believe the purpose of artistic creativity — in whatever modality — is connecting to this authentic voice and empowerment through the expression of your truth. I believe this because I found all the healing I needed within the creative process.

6) My marriage — When I left the cult, I suddenly found myself home more, sharing time with my husband. I suddenly found more energy, physical, emotional, cognitive and psychological to give to him. When I stopped protecting the “highly-evolved esoteric institution”, I suddenly had more to share with him. I left “school” because I knew my marriage would end if I didn’t. But I didn’t realize the damage inflicted until I confessed the inner workings and heard him him talk about his experience of “school’s” highly evolved “help”, as it increasingly dismissed him and our marriage as “only a life thing”. I’m thankful that instead of tearing us apart, we’ve used “school’s” education to strengthen our commitment.

7) Real friendships with real people – One of “school’s” most insidious aspects is the isolation. If you “follow school rules” to the letter, you find yourself in an invisible prison; it eats up more and more of your “only life”. If you leave, you are stonewalled. Additionally you are to pretend like it didn’t happen — “don’t leak”. If you run into a fellow disgruntled at Trader Joe’s both of you are to ignore each other. How crazy making. If you break “school” rules, you find that relationships, friendships, have their own organic rhythm. There is nothing evolved about a group that micromanages and engineers “essence friendships”. I have learned so much about the strength and character of my fellow disgruntled(s) by breaking the “non-fraternization rule.” They no longer embody the flat one-dimensional “school” perpetuated cult identity of the group.

On that note, I will end by offering the hope that your “school”-free existence has benefited you, as mine has benefited me. Because when you find your feet walking a path, directed by your internal compass, to your true north, as Dorothy says, there’s no place like home.

Happy Thanksgiving and here’s to a “school”-free holiday season! Cheers!

“School’s” Legal Tactics

Recently, some of you readers noticed that I removed River of Joy’s series on “school” “experiments”. Your concern is duly noted, as “school” appears to be monitoring this blog and adopting a tactic of harassing those around me. The evolved institution’s legal arm sent a cease and desist letter demanding that those posts be removed.

Many cults use legal bullying to silence criticism; after all, anyone can file a lawsuit — the stated claims don’t have to be true to file. Scientology is famous for this tactic as outlined here:

https://www.princeton.edu/~achaney/tmve/wiki100k/docs/Scientology_and_the_legal_system.html

Last spring, I spoke with a couple who were sued by a cult named The Gentle Wind (I’m trying not to make fun of that name, The Gentle Wind). The cult lost. You can read about that case here:
http://cyber.law.harvard.edu/wg_home/clinical/gwp

By the way, for a general compare and contrast between The Gentle Wind, and “School”, visit this couple’s website: http://www.windofchanges.org/index.html.

Is “school” following the lead of those larger, more successful cults? You have all had your own experiences of “school” and can come to your own conclusions based on those experiences.

Meanwhile, I have taken the “offending posts” down — for now — while I consult with various lawyers.

Stay tuned.

Past “School” Morphing

When I was a starry-eyed believer, I silently accepted “school” rules and traditions as wisdom passed down from “secret esoteric schools” through the ages. Recently “disgruntled ex-students” from “school” past, debunked some of these “ancient esoteric teachings”, revealing them as past “school” morph-ing.

The next few posts depict and link these past revelations with the new millennium “school”.  Let’s begin with “school’s traditional Christmas Party” — brought to us by the eighties, the era of Madonna’s proud declaration, “I am a Material Girl”:

Morph 1: The Christmas Party

One December, during “school’s” annual usurpation of my holiday season, I sought “help” from King Robert for the  perennial marital tensions. A “school education”ensures that its students have zero time for personal holidays; “only life things” — i.e. family, friends, work, colleagues — must be secondary to the big party if one wants to “evolve”.

Among other things, Robert told me, ” … it’s during the holiday season that you benefit the most from ‘school’.”  His brow wrinkled, he wondered how could my husband have any complaints? Didn’t he sense my evolution? Didn’t he get how he benefits from my “work”?

… never mind that I was rarely home; when I was home, I was exhausted and distracted; that the top secret calling devoured my time and energy while intentionally excluding him, as well as bleeding into our time at home with top-secret-holiday-party-tasks (I recall unsuccessfully trying to secretly cut out invisible snowflakes in our living room, only to leave a trail of tiny white paper snippets in my path, which he — of course — called me out on); never mind that our family holiday had to wait until the shindig was over (of course, a more evolved woman would have bought presents and decorated the house after Christmas party prep, between the hours of 3-6 a.m, after which I would go to work).

I was puzzled, too… was I missing something? I mean … this wasn’t rocket science: my husband was lonely. I was neglecting him for the “higher calling”. How do I explain the top secret nature of my critical snowflake-making without leaking??? How do I tell him, “I really don’t want to neglect you during the holiday season; but these demands from the invisible world are critical to my evolution and only benefit you, too!” Even in my “school” coma, I realized that any sane person, left in the dark to wonder why those snowflakes were more important then him/her, would have been saying to his/her spouse, “WTF?”

Nonetheless, my evolved leader appeared stumped by my husband’s complaints, as though no other “un-schooled” spouse had complained before. Of course, I didn’t know then that all three of Robert’s marriages were “school” arranged. As was typical, I started thinking, “There must be something I don’t understand — something only Robert can understand. Maybe, if I tried harder, if my vibrations were finer, I could enlighten my husband into a state of bliss and turn his emotion dial to the happily accepting setting. He would then, of course, say, ‘I understand that your annual disappearing act is an ancient esoteric tradition necessary for your evolution and our betterment! Thank you for doing THE WORK! and benefiting me invisibly.’ ”

Recently “ex-students”, circa 1985, revealed the Christmas Party tradition as an outgrowth of the eighties. One of them told me,“We saw the inaugural Christmas extravaganza that has since caused so much horror to the participants.”

I would love to learn more about its inception, so please consider this post an invitation to share! Since “The Christmas Party” is not an ancient tradition, seeded in esoteric schools of yore, how it did come about?

Morph 2: The Non Fraternization Policy
Morph 3: Drug Use
Morph 4: Recruitment, or “Making New Friends”
 

 

Past Morph 2: Non-Fraternization

“Sealing The Invisible World”

When I enrolled in “school” in August, 2006, the leadership made clear that my classmates and I should not acknowledge each other should we have chance encounters outside the hallowed halls. These were not “school” sanctioned and they told us … “It’s very important to seal yourself off; don’t leak the invisible world!

I envisioned centuries of “students” silently floating out of mystery schools across the globe, spreading “fine vibrations”; infusing healing energy into “sleepwalking humanity”; awakening the world for all salvation. I imagined “students” encountering each other outside the “schoolyard”, exchanging surreptitious smiles and floating off to save lost souls.

I was lucky! I’d stumbled into an exclusive lineage, an elite few, who could “save civilization” through practicing “THE WORK” – i.e. allowing “evolved teachers” to micromanage personal decisions, control “un-schooled” relationships and usurp time and energy in service to the higher “aim” of mo’ recruits, mo’ money, while installing a monthly I.V. drip from my bank account into Sharon’s retirement fund.

Recently another “disgruntled ex-student” squashed this  “school” myth, telling me, ” I witnessed the creation of the ‘no fraternization’ rule (I remember why and where that happened)”. I have since learned that, back in the wild seventies and superficial eighties, “teachers” encouraged “students” to socialize, work together, live together, sleep together etc, etc, etc. But one rotten apple spoiled the barrel — ruining the fun for every one! A relationship went sour and the woman had two brothers in the New York City police department – I guess that didn’t bode well for corporate headquarters.

While in my “school” stupor, I took that “rule” to heart. Once day I encountered a fellow “student” at the Harvard Book Store; a “younger student” who said hello to me; horrors! I thought, “She must not understand ‘the rules!’ ” Concerned for her soul, and mine (of course), I quickly informed her that we weren’t supposed to be talking. Needless to say, the next recounting of “non-fraternization” as a “school” style ancient ritual is among my favorites. An ex-student of the nineties told me this:

“No talking – well, that one was blown apart for me when I was sent on babysitting duty for a student who was going through a crisis. She was very wealthy and an older teacher and I were to go with her to her country house and be with her so she wouldn’t drink. Sharon said she thought the student was pregnant, and the woman was supposed to go to Betty Ford. None of this happened and she wasn’t pregnant and she drank the entire time. And she called and visited with non-school friends all weekend, leaving me with the teacher who did nothing but gossip about everyone in school all weekend. She was deaf to my hints that we shouldn’t be discussing this, saying ‘Oh who cares!'”

So much for “not leaking”.

Morph 2: The Non Fraternization Policy
Morph 3: Drug Use
Morph 4: Recruitment, or “Making New Friends”

Morph 3: The “No Drug Use” Rule

One evening in “class”, a fellow “student” casually mentioned smoking pot. A “teacher” sternly told him, “You do know that smoking pot is against ‘THE RULES’.” Given her admonishment, I assumed that “school” considered drug use an avoidance of doing “the first line work, or work on the self”.

Needless to say, when a corroborator shared this next bit, I thought, I must share this on the blog (it’s also great source material for the musical that I’m going to write one day, “School” — My Five Years in a Cult):

“ … in 2000 Sharon asked, first her son, and then someone else (after he left) to procure hash for the teachers to smoke at the Christmas party. Some kind of cannabis product was present at teachers’ meetings thereafter.”

Recently, some fellow new-millennium disgruntled(s) confirmed that Boston-branch “teachers” keep the  tradition of “teaching” while toasted alive. Before “classes” our “teachers” hid in the “teacher’s lounge”. A few privileged and trusted servants delivered the aristocracy food and beverage Downton Abbey style. Once upon a time, I had imagined the royalty planning the evening’s secret esoteric teaching in that room, perhaps meditating and praying together. Instead, I guess, they were gossiping and consuming libations; perhaps some were rolling joints and blowing enlightened smoke rings before making a grand appearance in the “classroom”.

“Class” always unfolded via the same bi-weekly ritual: we waited in the “classroom” silently, reverently, for a “teacher”; eventually, either “teacher” Michael would appear and announce, “Time for TAI CHI.”, OR “teacher” Paul would appear and announce “Time for BODY WORK.” We few, we proletariat, would dutifully file into another room to either, follow Michael through the tai chi form, or “move every part of our body in circles” on Paul’s instruction. Once we plebs were sufficiently “relaxed” the “teacher” would send us silently padding into the “classroom”. There we would await (in silence, of course) the grand entrance of whomever was heading the evening’s lesson — don’t leak, no unnecessary talking, no fraternizing!

After several minutes of silence, a more highly evolved being would stroll in and take his/her seat at the front of the room. Usually, that “teacher” would announce, “Let’s read self observations.” We would kill a good first hour, or so, reading out of our “self-observation notebooks”, essentially confessing our sinful, broken, dysfunctional, coarse and heavy thoughts and/or “negative emotions.”

Academic cult researchers reveal this routine as typical cult techniques. The “body work” and/or tai chi are hypnotic devices that make the “student body” more susceptible; the reading of “self observations” convenient confessions so leadership could hone in and utilize our weaknesses towards the higher purpose of world domination… “Oh, my Grandma, what big teeth you have!” … ” The better to eat you with, my dear!” Humiliation, and fear of humiliation, proved a very effective social engineering tool within the hallowed halls. I guess you would have to be inebriated to justify this manipulation as necessary for “evolution” year after year.

In thinking about drug use in “school”, I remembered a scene from early in my tenure.  As a newbie, or “younger student” (“school” was still courting me at this phase) a fellow “classmate” escorted me to a “class outside of class” — another brand of “all-night-school-party”. The drug-free magic of the evening had me giddy with wonder, a true believer, but my euphoria was briefly interrupted. An “older student” and “teacher” stopped to chat with me; as they zealously expounded on the benefits of “school” and how happy they were for me , an unmistakeable pot smell permeated and circled us. When they walked away, the cloud did too. I felt confused and disappointed; but — as was typical — then I thought, “They must know something that I don’t know about smoking pot.”

It’s amazing to now see how quickly I dismissed my doubts and blinded myself to these inconsistencies; I really wanted to believe in “school”!

Morph 2: The Non Fraternization Policy
Morph 3: Drug Use
Morph 4: Recruitment, or “Making New Friends”

Chapter 2: How to “Join”a Cult — Repost

midvale-school for giftedThis spring, organizers of a literary event invited me to read a narrative version of Chapter 2, How to “Join” a Cult. I have heard now repeatedly that no one “joins a cult”. People join groups that speak to something in them. Once in these groups, people discover that the presentation doesn’t fit the package. Once in for a time, you might find yourself thinking, “I didn’t sign up for this … ”

Sources tell me that “school” has whittled down the five-meeting recruitment process to three meetings. The overall deception, and manipulation, however, remain the same.

On that note, here is the Chapter 2, How To “Join” a Cult rewrite:

Step-by-Step to Cult Membership for Lost Souls & Recruiters

You’ve always wanted to join a cult, but didn’t know how. You could visit Scientology’s local branch office, but you’d prefer something a little more “private” — the smaller, more secretive, harder to find, cottage-industry cult — like, say, a “secret esoteric mystery school”. This step-by-step guide will refine your vibrations to generate the “magnetic center” and attract the right recruiter to you.

You, on the other hand, are seeking lost souls for your secret cottage-industry cult. It’s challenging — and sometimes dangerous — but your imperative mission to awaken sleeping humanity calls! You must find and save lost souls; fellow soldiers who seek meaning and purpose; those who long to connect to something bigger then themselves; those who will join the effort to safeguard secret, society-saving, esoteric ideas; those who will surrender everything else to this higher purpose until the grave, or senility sets in … whatever happens first … at $350 a month. To learn how to instantly recognize your devotees, bait your line and hook them every time, read on!

 Step 1: Be Broken Heart-ed, Discontented and Constantly Questing:

Rain saturated Boston in spring, 2006. Every day I stepped off the train into the latest deluge. Jeff and I started dating in March. For years we practiced tai chi with the same teacher. One night we joined with classmates to hear music, after which we peeled off from the group and went to the nearest pub. His blarney entertained me and — as was typical of me — I found the storyteller attractive; the dysfunction played out in the typical way with a new twist.

At the time, I was completing final projects and preparing to graduate from a writing program. I was launching a new career — I hoped. The new relationship raised additional hopes — after a unimpressive roster of failed romances, maybe I had found the one. My life was beginning to turn around, I hoped.

But Jeff’s gifted gab starting digressing into random and disconnected thoughts. “Context, Jeff?” I would tease him. “If you want me to know what you’re talking about, context would help.”

One day, he abruptly disappeared and avoided my calls. We were through, I figured. But just as abruptly, he apologized. We were circling Walden Pond — our break up locale — he took my hand and revealed that interactions between us were playing out in his head. The storyteller had been spinning imaginary conversations — he was angry at me for things I had never said, in response to the things he had never told me.

This screaming siren should have sent me scrambling away at warp speed. Nope. With hope and a savior complex as my motivator, I gave our romance a second chance. Predictably, disappearing-act round two began, with the heartwarming addition of Jeff complaints flooding my email inbox. I wrote back: don’t email me. If you’ve something to say, call. The stream accelerated into a relentless river of pressured, cruel and accusatory messages. I blocked him, put pen to paper and wrote four sentences:

Jeff,

I need to end this. Don’t contact me.
Sam has your stuff. If you want it back, call him.

Best,

Esther

I sent the letter; the rain clouds burst. I was drenched inside and out.

Step Two: Magical Grocery-Store Encounter

Remember lost souls are everywhere. Stay awake during your day-to-day comings and goings! Let your “aim” guide your every moment. Your “Aim is your God”! While shopping at Whole Foods, ask yourself who in here is longing for “freedom”. Arm yourself with prepared questions, such as “who do you admire in history?” Strike up a conversation, develop rapport, be positive, but don’t linger! Keep it fast, friendly and upbeat; don’t give your new “friend” time to question – less is more. Say, “I have to run, but I’ve really enjoyed talking to you! We should get together sometime. Can I get your phone number?”

Uncomfortable with the hidden agenda? Remember, you are doing this poor soul-less, sleepwalking slob a favor by introducing him or her to “The Work”. Only you are “awake” enough to sense his/her “magnetic center”. Remember how “The Work improved your life!” Once upon a time, someone was awake enough and bold enough to do this favor for you.

Don’t mention the expectation of lifelong tenure at $350 month; the eternally, exponentially expanding group demands; the alienation from friends and family outside the group. In fact, don’t mention the group. You are simply making a “new friend”. Finally, for your safety, give your target recruit a pre-established answer phone — i.e. a voice mail.

Shortly before Jeff’s email onslaught, I attempted one last conversation.
“If we are going to break up, let’s at least be adult about it; let’s have a summit,” I said. “I’ll pick up some food. Come over and we’ll talk.” He agreed.

On summit night, I shopped at Whole Foods Market. Waiting in the cashier’s line, I ruminated over my failures – 40-years old, temping for $15/hour, “career” aimless and amorphous, another failed relationship, blah, blah, blah. Enveloped in self-pity, I was vaguely aware of the family behind me. A pretty, dark-haired woman, pointed to a magazine cover and said to her daughter, “What to you think of that?” Her daughter looked at the photo — a Zen garden — and rolled her eyes. Then the woman asked me, “What do you think?”

Inside me something said, “What does she want?” I dismissed that thought. “It looks awesome,” I replied, wistfully. The question felt strange, but the garden looked green and peaceful; beautiful and serene – a perfect contrast to my despair, unrest and discontent. I wanted to crawl inside the magazine cover and sit in that garden. Bing! Cult recruitment was off and running.

Lisa, a painter, and her husband, Josh, a writer like me, engaged me in conversation. We shared consternation(s) about squeezing our passions between life’s obligations. I complained about my boring and meaningless temp job. The cashier frantically rang up items over our blather, as the line extended behind us. They briefly pulled me out of my morass, so when Lisa said, “We should get together.” I said, “Great.” We exchanged information and parted ways. I drove home to be blown off by my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

As my relationship unraveled, Lisa left messages persistently and patiently — undeterred by my slow response. I was busy falling apart, after all. I was busy letting Jeff shred my heart. I was busy feeling old and lost and crappy. I was busy weeping with the sky.

One day I was home. The phone rang, I answered. We scheduled a “meeting”.

Step Three: Five meetings

Pursue patiently, until you set up a meeting. In the first two meetings  gathe information — is your potential recruit employed? What is his/her job? How much money does he or she make? Married or single? Does he or she have children? Does he or she long for purpose, question reality — have a “magnetic center”? For “your safety and privacy” refrain from talking about yourself as much as possible.

In meetings three and four, insert “secret” esoteric ideas into conversations; do they spark interest? If yes, tell the new recruit, you want to introduce him/her to a “friend”. Your more experienced colleague will establish whether this recruit is appropriate.  We don’t want just any old lost soul; our recruits must have “magnetic center”. They must be transitioning, or unsatisfied, vulnerable in some way. Oh and, by the way, if said recruit works for law enforcement, military, or the media, your more experienced colleague will reject them.

Lisa and I took walks, drank coffee, wandered museums and met for lunch. The magical new friendship felt like a divine intervention — orchestrated from above, right when I needed some hope. She asked me a lot of questions and listened attentively. I revealed more and more about my discontent with myself, and my life. She told me almost nothing about herself. Generally, I tend to be a listener and ask questions, so the dynamic felt uncomfortable and yet I looked forward to our visits.

One day I said, “I don’t know what it is about you, Lisa. I talk so much about myself.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” she asked. “It’s different.”

“What about you?” I asked. “How did you meet your husband?”

She shifted in her chair, and looked down. “We met in an acting class. It’s hard to explain.” She changed the subject. It struck me as odd, but I followed her lead. Five years later I would leave “school” and learn that many “schooled” couples “meet in an acting class”.

At the time, though, my need for validation overrode suspicions. Lisa had a gentle presence and a great sense of humor. We laughed a lot and discussed fascinating topics and global mysteries. I wondered about the meaninglessness of my day-to-day existence: another failed relationship; empty temp job; a persistent and unending longing to pursue my songwriting and connect that art form to a passion – grabbing for the brass ring and always missing. She appeared to understand without judgment and won my trust through her patience, kindness and ability to empathize.

“Is this all there is?” I would (stereotypically) wonder our loud. “There has to be more to life.”

At meeting 4, she popped the big question:
“How would you like to meet other, like-minded people? I get together with a group of friends on Tuesday and Thursday nights. We discuss life’s big questions and ponder ideas.”

According to Lisa, people came and went. They laughed a lot. These ideas, she said, provide guidelines on how to live, tools if  you will. Suspicion, curiosity and hope poked at me; but hope took the lead – maybe, just maybe, I’ve finally found something that can help me break out of a cycle of constant failings. My self judgment steamrolled over lovely friendships, dysfunctional but loving family, musical and artistic passions and academic degrees from the Harvard Extension School, Lesley University and Hiram College.

This pervasive self doubt, and persistent longing for things that felt unattainable, namely musical and artistic pursuits, made me the perfect target for “school” – a win for the ambitious cult recruiter.

“Sure, why not.” I replied.

She wanted to introduce me to a “friend” and then informed me of the first required deception, a.k.a. “clever insincerity”: “It is very important that you not tell anyone about this. It’s private, just for you.

The secretiveness should have been a red light. It was a red light. I disregarded it. The seductiveness of “privacy, just for me” outweighed my suspicions; besides that, I trusted her.

Step Four: Meeting Robert — “Just for Me”

At the fifth meeting, introduce the new recruit to Robert. He will make the final call.

Torrents fell in sheets and buckets, again, when I met Lisa and a slightly round, very tan, bearded man named Robert at Pete’s Coffee. I commented on the steady deluge hitting Boston that spring.

Robert replied, “It has been said that raindrops are angel’s tears, and that the angels are crying.”

Wow! I’d been raining all spring — the thought of crying with angels cinched the deal — let the magic begin! As we sipped lattes, Robert expounded on how each human — in purest form — is an “essence” visiting earth from the “starry world” – earth is not home. We journey here, he said, to learn something about an essential weakness. I heard those angel voices rise and saw sunbeams part the dark clouds of my  dirge. Finally! I’ve met others who could explain and understand my lifelong befuddlement and sense of not belonging to this world!

But Robert had moved on — he pontificated on other ideas and I kept asking him, “What do you mean?” He finally said — with a wee bit of exasperation leaking out — “Well, I’m trying to tell you.” On looking back, I see that his entire rap was an introduction and exposition on the “ideas” to come. I was unable to absorb all the new “knowledge”. He was outlining the “school” experience, should I choose to accept the mission.

At one point in this final meeting, Lisa and I shared my post-Hurricane Katrina, disaster relief adventure with Robert. In 2005, I joined with Scientologists and handed out bottled water and gallons of bleach in Mississippi. I’d shared several crazy scenarios with Lisa previously, so we were laughing about something Scientology related. Robert’s face darkened — his voice tightened as he said, “They don’t get it.” Then he stopped himself. He dismissed the conversation abruptly, as though swatting away a fly. We followed his lead.

He asked me – as had Lisa – whether I’d like to meet “like-minded people” and try out a free “five-week experiment” called “school”.

“Does it have another name?” I asked.
“No just ‘school’.” He replied with a smile.
“Where do we meet?” I asked.
“When we start a new class, we’ll let you know.” He replied.
“Is there a cost?” I asked.
“Look, if you decide to continue after the five-week experiment there’s a tuition fee. It really depends on each student,” he said.
“O.k.,” I told him. “I’ll try it. All I can say is it feels right.”
“Great. Just remember that it is critical to not to tell anyone about this. It’s private. Just for you.”

Like Jeff’s quirky and odd behavior, I brushed past the flashing red lights  — the secrecy, or “privacy” as “school” likes to call it, was screaming step away from the cult recruiters, ma’am; it was also seductive and special … “just for me.”

I didn’t tell anyone and I waited for the new class to begin – after all, what could a five-week experiment hurt?

Y2K in “School”

Recently a “disgruntled ex-student”, circa 1999, contributed this story to the blog in her comments. It illustrates cult-ish “school” lunacy so beautifully, that I decided to give it blog-post prominence. Even The Christmas Party pales in comparison. I recall December 31st, 1999 — the build-up to Armageddon, culminating into my dullest New Years Eve ever. Read on to learn of “school’s” enlightened preparation for world’s end! I hope you laugh as hard as I did — after all, laughter is the best medicine:

Y2KAh yes, we remember it well:

For several years, anyone not in a coma had been conscious of stories on the possible chaos that awaited the world on January 1, 2000. Everyone except Queen Sharon.

In late spring/early summer of 1999 it somehow penetrated her “mind”. I remember the night she deigned to tell her students that she had “become aware” of this “very dangerous thing called Y2K”. We all looked at each other. Not only was everyone in the room “aware”, but most people had recognized that government and business had been working for a couple of years to make sure there were NO large disruptions, if they even happened. Most experts believed that — at worst — computers would simply turn their dates to 1900 and continue to function.

Of course anyone could see that this could cause obvious problems with say, paychecks and shipping dates – so, everyone had been WORKING ON IT – HELLO? Even the cult classic (oops, unintentional pun … sorry!) Office Space, was about a guy, bored with his job – CORRECTING CODE FOR Y2K. And by Summer 2000, Office Space was already OLD.

But She Who Must Be Obeyed had spoken; Bright people who knew better said, “There is a lesson our teacher wants us to understand.” Minor league idiots bought it hook, line and sinker (and by ‘idiots’, I mean people who really, really, by their position and intelligence, should have known better).

For example: a fairly bright woman (so I thought) who made a lot of money in sales, had hysterics when I told her that I was skeptical and started berating me, telling me that global business would stop; society would break down; credit cards wouldn’t process. She finally stopped when I asked her if she didn’t think that credit card and shipping companies hadn’t thought of that and would really, really want to prevent it?

She either actually thought about it, or decided that I was “closed” to my teacher and later in 2000, when I left, and even later, when I was vilified, that must have been a “sign” of my “negativity to school”. I still think it was just common sense. But hey, what do I know? I actually LEFT SCHOOL!!! Can you believe it?

That night, we were ordered to go home immediately and pack an escape bag – it was to include many, many, many things: survivalist style, for each family member, a sleeping bag, down jacket, rain jacket, clothes you could layer, various pants, shoes, socks, flashlights, extra batteries, dried food, water, liquor to trade with devos*, a gun if you had it (again, devos), gold if you had it, jewelry (same), hat, compass – the list went on.

Those who actually packed a bag
a) spent a lot of money.
b) found them too big and too heavy to actually carry.

People who lived in the suburbs were charged with filling their houses with the above, and getting generators. We were “assigned” to different areas and houses. “You go to A’s and you go to J’s and you two go to this one and you five go here and we’ll all meet to fight the zombies.” If you could, you were supposed to get to the Country Retreat at Pawling, so we could “all be together”.

For months this became a school focus: people took archery classes so we could learn to shoot animals and protect ourselves. We had a well-stocked first aid box and a well-stocked liquor supply. Construction was stepped up on the property. We bought food that would keep as a trial – and as a result ate potatoes for months. (They don’t actually keep all that well).

We talked about the impending doom in class and our fears (some of us) for the World To Come. People bought generators. People spent money to do what the queen demanded. For New Year’s we all had to leave the city. We all had to call in and say where we were going to be. In a few cases a number of people ended up at the same home out of town and had little parties – that sounded like fun. I was with non-school friends and called my “school” friends at midnight. I felt very connected, having finally had a decent Christmas party experience.

Nothing happened. Y2K was never mentioned by anyone in “school” again. Eight months later, I was gone with ten percent of our school. So, I guess for corporate headquarters, it was a disaster of sorts, after all.

Footnote:

* Devos – This is a term known to people in little “l” life who read bad science fiction; it means people who have devolved instead of evolved. We hope that if anyone from “school” is taking notes on this, that they report this term to Robert and Sharon for their usage when describing the “disgruntled ex-students”, as in “they are now devolved – devos.” Please remember that you heard it here first and there are copyright usage fees.

About Sustainers …

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain …

Last night, while stuck in an I-95 construction zone, I found myself mulling over sustainers. Recently a contributor confirmed something I have now heard from “disgruntled ex-students”, near and far, past and present. It deserves the spotlight, because it’s such an egregious lie, such a contrived “school”-perpetrated deception. It is also ridiculous, so I can’t wait to make fun of it in that future musical.

Here’s the comment, gleaned from a much longer story that you can read here: “I realized that school was a fake. I had seen sustainer reports by accident, so I knew how teachers knew supposedly secret information. Now I knew that none of them had any kind of advanced insight or knowledge or ‘secret powers’. I used this to temper my life in school the last three years so I could survive.”

Yes folks, it appears that your “private” relationship, those “confidential” conversations, were reported back to the “leadership”. I guess “school” kept a notebook — a dossier if you will — on each and every attendee. Our sustainers, fellow “disgruntled(s), were responsible for keeping us compliant, attending and contributing financially.

Part of retaining membership included reporting on our “progress”. Teachers would then, cleverly and insincerely, bring up private matters in class at key moments — as though psychic, as though they could see and know more because of their “efforts”; because they had been “doing the work longer”.

It brought back a scene in “class”: a “student” was asking for “help”. I can’t remember the context; I do remember that her inquiry was not related to relationships. After careful contemplation the “teacher” offering her guidance tipped his head to one side as though thinking, paused dramatically, then announced, “I sense that you are lonely.” His presentation was so tender, so empathic, that I was suitably impressed.

“Wow! How could M be so tuned in?” I recall thinking. “I consider myself an empathic person and I didn’t pick up on her loneliness!”

Obviously, this moment stayed with me. Perhaps my memory imprinted it because I had briefly experienced transcendence through this higher being. Or I sensed the deceit in his presentation. Maybe some cell in my psyche woke up briefly, allowing awareness of that gnawing feeling that all “school” attendees get —  that sense of “something doesn’t feel right about this.” Most of us dismissed our perceptions, deferring to those “wiser, more evolved teachers.”  For many of us had come to believe and repeat this phrase: “The more evolved ‘teacher’ must understand something that I don’t”

In the past, I have put out a call for any former sustainer to write a guest post about his/her experience.  Perhaps it’s too hard to dreg this up, but if anyone whose been a sustainer could contribute some insight here, I would appreciate it. Perhaps a current “student” will find this blog and recognize the con job. Or perhaps your insight will provide peace to a former student who is still wondering if s/he has left “the source”. Either way, your truth would help to pull back the curtain, expose the wizard, and be of great service to those either seeking information and/or affirmation.

 

 

 

The No More Secrets Policy: Truth as Medicine


When I first left “school”, I believed that each “student” had made a personal choice about “joining” and “staying”. I left because I finally saw how my participation was damaging my marriage, but I was still unable to consider that the group, itself, was destructive. Even as I realized that Robert’s claim of “school” as “the source” was delusional, at best, I vowed to keep the silence out of respect for my colleagues; but when I started uncovering “school’s” seedy past and deceptive recruitment and retainment practices, I formulated my new life policy: No More Secrets.

I “broke the rule” of “no internet research”, mostly because my silence and the accompanying isolation were starting to make me insane. The strange, confusing and intense experience I had recently left was playing out in my mind like a movie. I saw myself giving my power away, surrendering my voice and my perceptions over to those who were “more highly evolved”. I saw myself allowing the institution to micromanage personal decisions to my detriment, usurping five precious years of my “only life”, hurting my marriage and other essential relationships through the practice of “clever insincerity”, steering me away from my passions, squashing my true nature and voice– ironically my essence —  and painting me into the prescribed cult identity of helpless, entitled and unemployable Jewish American Princess.

Even though I was no longer in “school”, its “don’t leak the experience” rule had locked me into a strange and invisible cage, still isolating me from the “un-schooled” — i.e. everyone else.  Contact with the “schooled” was also “against the rules”, unless it was via a “school”-sanctioned teacher conversation. Essentially, I had no outlet or resource to process and heal from this bizarre experience. I was strangely and invisibly alienated from everyone, locked into this secret.

My first month out of the cult, and several hundred miles of travel made me realize that I needed to speak out to save my mental health and it was the best decision I’ve ever made. The blog — i.e. breaking the rule of silence — freed me from the damaging psychological, cognitive and emotional prison. The end result is that I have emancipated myself in every way — I have never felt stronger, clearer and more self assured. Every day reminds me that I am free and I live in a state of gratitude, because I can refer back to my “school” days and contrast them to today. The stark difference between life “in school” and life without “the source” begs the question: source of what?

My No More Secrets policy is the key to my emancipation. I posted my story in cyberspace for this reason. With nothing to hide, I am free to tell it to whomever, whenever I feel it best and right. Secrets lock you into an invisible prison. “School” counts on secrecy on all levels. Secrets fuel the operation and keep it going. I have found healing in telling my story, letting go of that burden, and so can you.

You don’t have to take your story to your grave. You don’t have to blast it out to cyberspace either. But tell it to someone; even one trusted person will give you some relief. No more secrets. Secrets are cancerous. They will eat you up inside. Let them go.  Know that when you give voice to your experience, you reclaim your truth and your true identity. Know that the more people who are telling their stories, pulling the curtain on the Wizard, the more exposed this cult will be and less able to perpetrate its twisted version of “evolution”, also known as life long and dependent “students” who will pay $350 every month.

I imagine most of my readership lives in America, although, I have noted visits from various countries in Europe, Africa, the Middle East and even Asia, which is very cool. Regardless of your location, those of us who lived the “school” experience can practice our Freedom of Speech. In the land of the free and home of the brave we have civil rights and we can speak out against that which has proven odious and harmful.