how i was spiritually raped and left for dead (part 13)

to read this story from the beginning, click here.


on january 1st, 1892, irish immigrant, annie moore, stepped off the gangplank, exiting the steamship nevada and stepped on to ellis island. twelve days earlier, she had boarded the ship with her 2 brothers, leaving the the emerald hills of the only home she'd ever known to be reunited with her parents whom she had not seen nor spoken to in four years.

annie moore was the first immigrant to ever land on ellis island. she was warmly greeted by the press and was presented with a gift by the citizens of the united states of america, a 10 dollar gold coin.

it was her 15th birthday.
as i stood in the vast open space of ellis island's great hall with my wife on one side of me and my daughter, tightly clutching my hand, on the other side, i imagined what it would be like for a child to leave the only life she'd ever known—to travel to a new land, a different world with different customs and norms, escaping poverty or tyranny, possibly, but also entering a world of new and exciting possibilities.

what did ellis island look like through annie moore's eyes? what were her thoughts as she first spotted lady liberty, her torch held high, clutching the tabula ansata...tabula rasa, treading on broken chains, standing tall over the horizon? did she imagine the possibilities? was she able to quell her racing thoughts and consider her own potential as she approached this great land?

surely, she was comforted by the fact that she would be reunited with her parents. it was the sole reason she'd come to america. but was the promise of a new life sufficient to eclipse the sadness of leaving her friends, her culture, her home?

when we had first arrived in pennsylvania, several months earlier, we were welcomed by some of the kindest, warmest people i'd ever known. like refugees, we had arrived with few resources, few possessions. we lived in a room in the finished basement of a relative of one the program's supporters. our belongings were stored in the warehouse of a man who owned a trucking company. the families who had brought us to pennsylvania provided meals (and company) for us on many nights.

racheal had screwed up the withholding on our pay, so most of the money i'd saved prior to leaving arizona went to pay our taxes. it took several months to get the program licensed. as a result, we were unable to generate income for quite some time. one of the men who'd helped bring us to pennsylvania put me on his company's payroll. this helped to provide some income, while i worked with kids and parents, finished the licensing requirements and found a suitable place to to house the program.

we eventually leased a facility to house the program. it was half of a duplex on the main street of a small borough. it had previously housed a mom and pop style counter restaurant, so it was mostly an open space in need of a lot of internal construction. a local contractor volunteered to lead the construction project and several families from the local community worked long days framing, painting and hanging drywall. they built the facility while i counseled kids and parents out of the glass enclosed patio of one family's home.

the home in which we were staying was on a large piece of forested land with 3 other homes, all owned by members of the same family. on the property, there were running streams, hills, a golf course, soccer and baseball fields, and a large pond-style in ground pool.

in the off season, the pool was home to turtles, frogs and tadpoles. my wife and daughter would go to the pool each day, sometimes collecting tadpoles. they would go on long walks exploring the land. we often spent the evenings with one of the families who had brought us to pa and lived in another house on the property where we were staying. we would have dinner and long talks. sometimes, we would walk the paths which meandered throughout the acreage.

at night, i had nightmares. these nightmares continued increase in frequency and intensity. it was the first sign that, although i had left the cult behind, it hadn't left me.

*****

complex post-traumatic stress disorder c-ptsd is defined by susan roth, ph.d., et al as: a psychological injury that results from protracted exposure to prolonged social and/or interpersonal trauma with lack or loss of control, disempowerment, and in the context of either captivity or entrapment, i.e. the lack of a viable escape route for the victim.¹
c-ptsd is characterized by the same symptoms as post-traumatic stress disorder, which may include anxiety, depression, flashbacks, recurrent nightmares and the avoidance of reminders of the traumatic event.² but, it is differentiated from ptsd in that it describes the pervasive negative impact of long-term, chronic, repetitive trauma and includes the elements of captivity, loss of trust, sense of safety and self-worth, as well as the loss of a coherent sense of self.³
cult victims frequently suffer from c-ptsd. in addition, they may have difficulty making decisions, since, while in the cult, decisions were always made for them. they may also be preoccupied with thoughts of their abuser, the cult leader. thoughts of the cult and it's leader may change frequently. for example the victim may attribute absolute power to the leader, then they may become preoccupied with revenge, then a desire for the perpetrator's approval.

cult victims often experience a sense of helplessness, guilt and shame, distrust for others, loss of the ability to sustain faith, hopelessness and despair, and a feeling of being completely different from everyone else. they may find it difficult to relate to others and may be unable to establish meaningful relationships. some will isolate or withdrawal from others completely at the first sign that they are being judged or that their trust has been broken.

former cult victims often search for a rescuer, someone to tell them how to act, how to be, someone to give them approval. many end up being re-victimized. in cultic-studies circles, the act of falling in with another perpetrator is sometimes referred to as cult-hopping.

one of the most devastating effects of cultic trauma concerns variations in consciousness. cult victims may lose touch with their emotions, repeatedly relive traumatic events, experience episodes of explosive anger, and have periods of dissociation, where they become detached from their mind and body.

i had nightmares. i had had these nightmares while i was still in arizona and, though i'd experienced a temporary reprieve, i continued to have them after moving to pennsylvania.

in time, we found a town home to lease and moved in. roxanne had started school, but, although she had always loved school, she began to cry every morning, begging us to let her stay home. we realized that her life had been turned upside down. she had lost all of her cult friends and family and had moved across the country. we decided to let her stop going to school and begin again at the start of the next term.

we enjoyed our new freedom. we took frequent trips to new york city, philadelphia, and washington d.c. roxanne eventually started at a new school, where she excelled. she developed friendships with other children.

my wife and i became increasingly more intimate. i loved our new life. the program opened and we began to have a steady stream of clients. i was enjoying my work and feeling a sense of success. i did some good things. i also made a lot of mistakes.

and though the program would be successful in many ways, it would also prove to be the greatest block to my recovery from the trauma i'd endured in the years prior to my arrival in pennsylvania.





so,
so you think you can tell
heaven from hell
blue skies from pain
can you tell a green field, from a cold steel rail?
a smile from a veil?
and did they get you to trade
your heroes for ghosts?
hot ashes for trees?
hot air for a cool breeze?
cold comfort for change?
and did you exchange
a walk on part in the war, for a lead role in a cage? ~ roger waters



somewhere in the distance, i could hear the ring of my cell phone. the ringing sound seemed closer and closer, until...snap. the mental fog cleared and i looked down at my right hand, resting on the shopping cart handle and holding my ringing cell phone. i hit send. “hello,” i spoke into the phone.

“where are you?” it was my wife.

“i'm at the grocery store.” i was slightly irritated. i had just left the house. she had sent me to the store to pick up a few things. in my other hand was an index card. vanilla extract, hot dog buns, lemons, milk, eggs, provolone—there were just few items.

“you've been gone for over an hour,” she said.

i looked at the cart. it was empty. i looked at my watch. i had entered the store an hour ago and had become lost, detached. i had wondered around the grocery store, stopping and starting, drifting off, in and out.

this was my first dissociative experience. it was strange, but i rationalized. i had simply become lost in thought, i told myself.

a few days later, i was certain that i saw bob and george driving down cedar crest boulevard in george's black mercedes. the car was turning right and i was in the left lane. my heart began to race. i flipped my car around and took a hard left on the road where they'd turned. though i was on my way to work at the time, i spent over an hour driving up and down the winding rural roads, trying to find the black mercedes.

later, i came to terms with the fact that there was absolutely no chance that they would have driven george's car all the way from arizona to pennsylvania.

a few days later, i worked up enough courage to call a number that was listed in the back of the book combating cult mind control. it was the number for the international cultic studies association (formerly american family foundation). it was a help line.

the phone was answered by carol giambalvo. carol is an expert on cults and thought-reform. she is also a former cult victim. she was/is the director of icsa's cult recovery program's and co-founder of the recovery, support and referral network, refocus.

when she answered the phone i said, simply, “i was in a cult.” i immediately broke down and began to weep. i was also terrified. my heart was pounding. i began to perspire.
i was driving my car when i made the call. i didn't want anyone to know i was calling. i had the feeling that, in calling icsa, i was doing something gravely wrong.

carol was nurturing and empathic. since i had difficulty speaking, she filled in the blanks. she shared her experiences and told me that she too had become part of the leadership of her cult. as we talked, i began to become a little more comfortable. i was feeling relief, though i was still weeping.
i looked up just in time to see a yellow toyota stopped in front of me. i hit the breaks, but it was too late. i crashed into the yellow toyota with tears streaming down my face.
i was immediately overtaken with the realization that this crash was the result of my phone call to icsa...my betrayal of bob. i was immediately consumed with fear. it was total.

what was i thinking. i knew the terrible things that happened to those who'd left bob's program...and to tell the program's secrets to an outsider, worse a “cult person.”

i had a sick feeling, the kind of feeling you get when you impulsively do something that causes devastating and irreversible damage. the kind of feeling a drunk driver gets when he realizes he has run down and killed a child. “they must have tapped my phone,” i thought. then, “they don't need to tap my phone. she (bob's wife) knows. she knows everything.” i was so sorry. i wanted to take it back. i had used “the c word.” i told secrets. i had sought council from someone who was outside the circle.

i couldn't get out of the car. i wanted to disappear...to cease to exist.

my car was undamaged, though the yellow toyota was smashed in. i pulled it together enough to exchange information with the woman driving the toyota. then, i got back in my car and sat there for a while before driving off.

my thoughts raced. i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. then an involuntary mantra pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. i pounded on the steering wheel. i pulled my hair, grabbed my stomach, wanting to rip my guts out.

i took a hard left, drove my red t-bird to the fish hatchery and parked. i was breathing rapidly. i made a conscious effort to slow my breathing, to stop my racing mind. pleasepleaseplease. i'm so sorry. i promise. i promise. i promise.

i needed forgiveness, absolution.

i didn't dare pray.

******

my friend lives in a house
lives in there all alone
with locks on every door
windows are made of stone ~seeking in tongues (1992)




he did things to me that i'll never tell. not because i'm afraid of him, but because they are too painful to recollect.
in an instant, without hesitation, without remorse, he snuffed out flames that had ignited and inspired me since childhood. i won't even think about these things. they remain hidden, stuffed deep down in the inside me, in the places where the fires once burned.
the most damaging, however was the systematic induction of phobias deep within my psyche. so as i made an attempt to start a new life, to build a treatment program, i faced recurring nightmares, flashbacks, false sightings, and periods of dissociation.
i was lost. i didn't know myself. i didn't know which beliefs were mine and which were planted by the cult. as i worked with kids and parents, i was constantly struck with the thought that i wasn't even certain that i believed in what i was telling them.
i instructed kids to avoid their friends they had been using drugs with. was this sound advice or just a way to isolate them so that they would become more pliable? i had told young people to “stick with winners” for years. i couldn't be sure that it was the right thing to do as opposed to a step toward indoctrination that i'd learned in the cult.
to be sure, much of what i did was cult-inspired. though my motives were pure, i perpetuated the legacy of my abuser on many occasions. one of my greatest violations was that of hiring former clients to work with me. i had always subscribed to the idea that, to help a drug abuser, one had to be a reformed drug abuser. no one else could understand as succinctly where they were coming from.

i would later realize that this was a mistake. it rarely turned out well for the client/employee.

perhaps my greatest transgression was my insistence that the 12-step approach was the only acceptable path to recovery. as a result, many kids adopted the identity of addict/ alcoholic when they were simply normal teens who liked to blow off steam by smoking pot and drinking booze. others, who really did have a drug problem, were denied opportunity to enlist an approach that may have been effective where 12-step recovery had failed. they were often blamed for their failure by those within the 12-step community who claimed that they were unwilling to “turn it over to god.”

one thing i'd learned all too well while in the cult was how to shelf my thoughts and feelings in order to “perform.” so, even though i struggled to find myself, even though i often lacked confidence, i was able to present as though i was solid. i don't mean to say that i was proposing ideals that i knew to be false, only that i sometimes struggled to parse truth from my cult mindset. it is common for cult victims to drift in and out of the cult mindset and it was no different for me.

in time, i worked up the courage to again call carol giambalvo. she was able to recommend several therapists who specialized in cult recovery and, fortunately, there was one who lived about 45 minutes from our house.

my wife and i met with him together. the experience was liberating. he talked about bob's wife by name. without hesitation, he said, “she has no power.” he told us that she couldn't enter our dreams or read our minds—that she had no psychic abilities. he explained how she and bob had used eriksonian hypnotic techniques as part of an effort to plant fears deep within us.

he also described many of the symptoms i was experiencing. he taught us about floating (or dissociation) and the internal panic that often accompanies it. he also directed us toward literature that would help us in the recovery process.

i began to devour this material. my understanding of cults and thought-reform increased. it helped me to gain some degree of control over my state of being.

on the other hand, i was working everyday in an environment that was full of triggers. without fully realizing it, i was being retraumatized on an ongoing basis. the language, the slogans, the issues, even the act of sharing openly with the young people and their families triggered floating episodes and continued to reinforce cult doctrine. even attending aa (which i don't consider to be an inherently dangerous organization) would cause me to become lost in the cult mindset. there were too many similarities, too much of bob's doctrine consisted of ideas, stolen from aa and then twisted or amplified to be used as a means of dispensing my sense of self. i eventually stopped attending aa meetings.

as a family, we began attending church on sunday mornings. it was a large, mainstream, evangelical-free church. the people were friendly. i liked the staff and began seeking counsel with two of the church's ministers.

in time, i was asked to audition for the church band. they needed a new drummer. i ended up playing drums for the band and we performed in 2 services every sunday morning. we also did cantatas and festivals several times each year.

playing the drums again brought me tremendous joy. i hadn't played in years, but the task of learning new music every week enabled me to get back some of my musical skills. i also began to return to my christian faith.

it started like this. i was in church one sunday and thinking about my past, the trials i'd experienced and also my daughter. i remember saying to myself, i'd give my life, without hesitation, to spare my daughter the emptiness, the separation from god that i'd felt. instantly, another thought popped into my head: “don't you know that jesus feels the same way about you?”

i couldn't shake that thought. was god speaking to me? i had struggled with feelings of worthlessness. i had felt unlovable. damaged. though, since leaving the cult, my life had improved in so many ways, i'd also left behind a sense of purpose in life.

while in the cult, i had believed that i was a player in a higher cause. i could rely on the stated mission that we were saving the world and the ongoing reinforcement provided by the cult's doctrine, its leaders and its members. the transition from being a major player in “the” divine movement to change to world to that of a piece of cosmic dust, floating through space and time with little or no substantial impact often left me with a sense of emptiness.

at times, those who counseled me would point to the idea that, through my work as a drug rehabilitator, i was, in fact, making a difference. but did it matter if a kid stopped using drugs? would it save his soul?

in the cult, drug use was the root cause of all that was wrong with the world. every crime, every broken home, every injustice, from the fall of the roman empire to the failure of the united states to prevail in vietnam, to the high divorce rate, to child abuse, to spousal abuse, to illness and disease, despair and death, lifelessness and loneliness could be blamed on the use of alcohol and other drugs. drug use was the original sin and sobriety was the quintessential step toward physical, mental, emotional and spiritual ascendancy.

now, sobriety was just sobriety. and i was just a guy trying to help people achieve it.

but this idea that god loved me (in fact all of mankind) the way i loved my daughter, my family, spoke to me. i knew something about sacrifice. i loved my wife and daughter enough to endure ongoing, long-lasting, excruciating pain--to place dominoes.
was god willing to do the same for me?

so it was on this simple idea, god love me like a father loves a child, upon which i began to rebuild my faith. i stripped away all of the doctrine and dogma associated with religion and focused on one simple concept.

grace.

(to be continued)



notes:
1. roth s, newman e, pelcovitz d, van der kolk b, mandel fs (1997). "complex ptsd in victims exposed to sexual and physical abuse: results from the dsm-iv field trial for posttraumatic stress disorder". j trauma stress 10 (4): 539–55. doi:10.1002/jts.2490100403. pmid 9391940.
2. american psychiatric association (1994). diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders: dsm-iv. washington, dc: american psychiatric association.  isbn420610.
3. herman, judith lewis (1997). trauma and recovery: the aftermath of violence from domestic abuse to political terror. basic books. pp. 119–122. isbn 0465087302.

how i was spiritually raped and left for dead (part12)

click here to read this story from the beginning


the men who committed the atrocities of september 11 were certainly not 'cowards,' as they were repeatedly described in the western media, nor were they lunatics in any ordinary sense. they were men of faith - perfect faith, as it turns out - and this, it must finally be acknowledged, is a terrible thing to be. - Sam Harris

is faith a virtue as pope gregory i proclaimed?

in 1632, galileo galilei published his book, dialogue concerning two chief world systems, a comparison of the copernican and ptolemaic views. according to the ptolemaic view, the earth was the center of the universe. copernicus, on the other hand, claimed that the earth orbited the sun. as a result of his book, galileo was convicted of “grave suspicion of heresy” by the inquisition. he was condemned to hell and sentenced to house arrest for the remainder of his life.

and although copernicus' ideas were verifiable through observation, parishioners were not only forbidden from believing that which could be proven by mathematics and observation, they were denied access to writings which even mentioned these ideas. publication of all of galileo's works, past and future, was forbidden.

what was the basis of the rejection of copernican thought? a book called genesis, written by an unknown author and determined by the political powers of the time to be inspired by an unseen and mysterious “holy spirit,” who, as one-third of a triune god, had placed these men in a position of authority to rule over the lives and wealth of the masses.

**********

it's not so hard to understand why i was able to suspend critical thought and blindly follow bob, even to my own peril. i, like most of us, had always considered faith a virtue. many of our greatest artists, thinkers, leaders and humanitarians were men and women of faith. mother theresa, martin luther king, johann sebatian bach, benjamin franklin, george s. patton, ronald reagan, mahatma ghandi, anne frank, harriet tubman, malcolm x and muhamed ali all relied on their faith in god.

when faith clashes with observable fact we are often asked to deny that which we can see, touch, taste, smell and hear, or at least reinterpret our observations, retrofitting them to support faith in that which cannot be physically observed.

bob was a master at manipulating one's faith. he understood the extremes to which a faithful individual might be willing to go. he depended upon it, exploited it to achieve his agenda.

speaking of clayton's death, bob said, “he chose it.” rejecting the fact that clayton suffered from a life-threatening illness which had been diagnosed using state-of-the-art, replicable, scientific techniques and ignoring the fact that bob himself, had denied clayton the treatment which likely would have saved his life, he claimed that clayton's death was due to a deep-seated spiritual shortcoming—the desire to take the easy way out.

as evidence, bob cited his own previous bout with hepatitis. but he failed to mention the fact that he had contracted a different and very curable form of hepatitis, hepatitis-a, or that his hepatitis was cured using mainstream medicine.

nearly everyone in the program began saying, “clayton chose it.” in fact, it was the explanation for any one who died in the program.

i remember one kid, a 15 year-old boy, who had been banished from the program following multiple relapses. the boy died as a result of huffing glade room deodorizer. when i asked a young girl, a friend of his, how she felt about losing her friend, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “he chose it.”

i had not lost my faith, just my faith in bob. in fact, it wasn't that i'd lost faith in bob, but instead i came to recognize that he was lost. i vacillated between the belief that he was a sociopath, who had been a con-artist from the very start, and the belief that he had been pure at one point, but had lost his way, adopting machiavellian methods to protect his power and wealth.

he had begun his career as a drug rehabilitator in 1971, when he was employed by an episcopal priest to lead a group of teenagers in a church-sponsored, youth support-group. a woman, who later became his wife, was running an alateen group at the church. many of the kids in the alateen group were smoking pot and using other drugs, so they became some of the first members of the new support-group.

bob would hang out with the kids. he would tell wild stories about his experiences on the streets of baltimore and his time in the federal penitentiary. the kids would hang out at night and prank the local community. when someone in the group reached 30 days without using drugs, bob and the group would get drunk and celebrate. bob told me this. he also said that he slept with some of the girls and that he even dropped acid with some of them. he claimed that his soon to be wife straightened him out, telling him he could no longer use alcohol and must remain true to her. abstinence from alcohol became part of the program's view of recovery.

the program continued to mushroom, partly due to bob's charisma, but also due to the hard work and deep pockets of local businessmen who were the beneficiaries of houston's oil boom.

bob helped a local up and coming rock star break his heroin addiction. the star achieved national fame shortly thereafter and it is through this individual that bob may have become connected to one of the nation's most well-known actress/comediennes. she was seeking help for her daughter who had been using drugs, so she sent her child to houston to be treated in the program which bob now claimed to have personally founded.

impressed with her daughter's progress, she went on national television and plugged bob and his program. this caused parents from around the nation to inquire about the program. kids were coming in from around the country. new chapters began to pop-up throughout texas and in other states.

bob had also begun working for a houston-based hospital, where he was being paid to oversee an inpatient unit which worked side-by-side with his support groups. he was making good money. he was also becoming somewhat of a celebrity.

all this came to a halt when, in 1979 and early 1980, he became the focus of two national news expose`s, one on 60 minutes and one on 20/20. when it was determined that he was being paid to use his position with a non-profit organization to fill hospital beds for a for-profit hospital and that he had been using harmful cultic practices to maintain control, he was fired.

he then exploited another celebrity who had befriended him to start another non-profit program in california. he opened a private for-profit treatment program and again used the non-profit group to funnel kids into his for-profit fee-based program.

in time, his for-profit program was shut down by the state and he was fired from the non-profit. he was found to be promoting racist ideals, using cultic methods and attempting to circumvent the state's authority.

we knew he'd faced these challenges, but we were never told the whole story. instead, we were told that he'd been run out of the texas-based program by a manipulative rival who had lied to the board of directors and that his problems in california were due to a local investigative reporter (who bob claimed was also a child pornographer) that went after him in order to start his own youth group, presumably as a means of getting close to kids.

it was easy to imagine that bob had started out pure, but had become tainted as a result of being victimized in the past. he was terrified of the media. he maintained that no news reporter or news organization could be trusted—that he had trusted them in the past only to be destroyed by them. we were taught defensive measures. no one was allowed to talk to the media under any circumstances. if the media contacted anyone from the program for any reason, bob would hold an emergency meeting to discuss the “threat.” all of the programs became private, for-profit entities so that we could maintain control. we were careful about what we said to outsiders.

at times i would think, perhaps bob had just become too insulated. there were no checks on his power. he was paranoid. then, i would put the pieces together again. he had been released from the penitentiary just prior to being hired by the episcopal priest. he had a long history of illegal and unethical activity. he was hurting people. he lied without hesitation. he never expressed remorse. he was glib in the face of others' trauma. he had left a path of destruction behind him everywhere he went. in fact, there was not a shred of evidence that he had ever demonstrated a single genuine act of altruism, only his claims and those of his followers.

his philosophy for treating drug abusers was unconventional and there were no studies to demonstrate its efficacy, only his claims to have saved the lives of thousands. still, even after seeing failure, destruction and death, even after recognizing that most of the kids we worked with eventually returned to drugs, after having to defend the organization from those who called us a cult, after realizing that all of bob's most loyal supporters had left or been cast aside, after my awakening in the santan mountains, i believed that his philosophy regarding drug rehabilitation was sound.

i was waiting for my opportunity to connect with my wife and get my family out, but was still mired in confusion about bob, his initial intent and the validity of the program that we were delivering to the kids.

it was excruciating at times. i had set out to help people and i still held the belief that his approach alone could save the lives of dying teenagers. i had been so indoctrinated to believe that nothing else worked that i feared what would happen if this program no longer existed. it would be years before i would realize the truth: that very few kids were actually dying from drugs use, and; that scores of other doctors, therapists, and programs were succeeding in helping kids get off drugs.

my internal struggle continued--guilt, fear, anger, loneliness, loyalty, love. is leaving the right thing to do? is there any way to stay and lobby to correct the mistakes we were making? perhaps, as bob had often stated, i was using my intellect to destroy myself. he had told me that my intellect was my worst enemy—that i needed to stop thinking, to have faith, to trust the universe.

i was torn..observable evidence vs. longstanding faith.

to make matters worse, i was still undergoing constant indoctrination. though i'd made a decision to leave, i still had to go to work every day. i still had to attend staff purposes, as well as all of bob's lectures. i still had to endure frequent confrontation. i had no meaningful contact with the outside world. perhaps most devastating was the fact that the only tool i knew for resolving my internal conflict was the program's doctrine.

i had to turn the doctrine around. up to this point, faith had meant sticking with the program, accepting bob's ideals even in the face of contrary evidence. fear was the opposite of faith. to reject or question bob was to give in to fear. now, i had to tell myself that to stay with the program was to give in to fear. i determined that perhaps god had intervened—maybe he had given me the clarity to see bob for the sociopath that he was. maybe i needed to depend on god to help me escape with my family. maybe god was watching over me.

i couldn't maintain these thoughts for long periods. i would stop my car on my way home every day and take time alone to clear my head--to return the truth. i was not yet free, but i began to be able to imagine what it would be like to be free.

each day i struggled with these conflicting thoughts. each day i hit the streets on my rollerblades. each day, i parked my car on the way home and cleared my mind, reminding myself of who bob really was. each day i placed dominoes.

a year after i had returned from my sabbatical in the santan mountains, the opportunity arose. after lying to my wife for a year, i decided that this was the time to tell her the truth. this would either be the beginning of our escape from this cult which had destroyed virtually every part of our essence, the beginning of a new life, or it would be the end of our family.

i was about to lay some heavy stuff on my wife. i was about to tell he that i'd been conning her and everyone else she considered dear to her. over the last year, i had stashed nearly $10,000.00 in cash, escape money that she didn't know about. i would show her the money. i had no way to know whether she would agree to leave or whether she would take our daughter and run to bob and his wife. this could be the last time we'd ever speak to each other.

things had not been going well between us. we had recently been allowed to take an overnight trip to the grand canyon. it was our first vacation in years. we had arranged for one of the young women on staff to take care of our daughter so we could be alone.

just prior to our trip, my wife had consulted with bob's wife. she had gone to her seeking her blessing to have a baby. my wife desperately wanted another child and this desire was growing each day.

i don't know exactly what bob's wife told her. it was between them, not for my ears. i do know, however, that my wife returned from her discussion terrified. as a result of her conversation with bob's wife, she was unable to be intimate with me. it cast a cloud over our vacation. bob's wife had planted seeds, causing my wife to be afraid that, if she let go, i would impregnate her as a manipulative means of gaining control over her.

this carried over after we returned home. bob's wife was able to convince her that becoming pregnant would destroy all of my her spiritual progress. further, she claimed that i was somehow manipulating my wife, causing her to have the desire to have a baby, so i could keep her down and maintain control. she told her that she looked to men to make her happy and that she needed to learn to be happy on her own.

my wife had had long standing issues with her own mother, who had neglected her throughout her life. bob's wife accused my wife of being, “just like your mother.” she ultimately tore my wife apart and used the other girls in the program to break her.

my wife had approached her with the desire to have a baby and she had responded by launching a total push effort to destroy our marriage.

i was not privy to any of this, but i could tell my wife was devastated. she had begun to withdrawal from bob's wife, her longtime mentor. she was afraid.

so i told her everything. “i'm not happy,” i said. “this is not the life i want. i've lost my passion.”

i reminded her of our lives before the program, the intimacy we shared, our dreams for the future. we talked for hours. it was the first time in years that we'd talked openly. i told her everything.

from that point forward, we were no longer alone.

“what should we do?,” she asked. i showed her the money. “we have to leave,” i said.

i laid out a plan.

leaving wouldn't be easy. in the real world, if one wanted to quit his job, he would simply put in notice and leave. coworkers might hold an office party. employers would provide a letter of reference. everyone would wish him well. but this wasn't the real world.

in this world, to leave meant to die, if not physically then at least spiritually and symbolically. leaving bob was tantamount to betrayal. we would lose all of our friends. in fact, they would ultimately see us as the enemy, part of the “them” in the group's us and them worldview.

we lived in a world where bob's wife used hypnosis to plant phobias in others, a world where she could enter one's dreams and cause emotional catastrophe, affecting one's thoughts actions and sanity. those who had left, often experienced devastating health problems, a return to addiction, incarceration, insanity, and death—or so we were told.

upon leaving, we would enter a world we did not know. for years, we had been separated from the outside. we'd come to believe that it was a dangerous place, filled with evil. no one could be trusted. we had no connections. no friends. no family. no job prospects. no resources. no history.

after devoting my entire adult life to this work, this program, this man, i would leave with no verifiable employment history. i knew bob would never give me a letter of recommendation. he would not make himself available to verify my employment. in fact, he would do everything within his power to insure that i would fail in any endeavor i undertook. it was his way. he simply couldn't tolerate the idea of anyone having any success for which he could not take full credit.


my wife was afraid that they would take extreme measures to make us stay...or that they would try to separate us and try to get one of us to stay. bob's wife was trying to end our marriage, and she wasn't accustomed to failure. she understood the the tremendous ability of bob's wife to influence, to spin one's head, creating doubt and confusion. she also knew that bob's wife was capable of quickly employing and exploiting the one's peers to manipulate them. her power should not be underestimated.

bob would not see it coming. as far as he was concerned, i was a loyal follower who saw him as near deity. over the past year, i had been calculated in fostering this idea. i had sat at bob's feet while he told me of his plans to go overseas and spend a month with the buddhist monks, a trip which would be paid for by one of bob's wealthy followers.

“you're going to be disappointed,” i said. “i think you will find that you're lightyears ahead of all of them. while they've been sitting on the mountain, you've been changing people's lives, changing your life, my life. if you go, you go to teach...that will be your lesson.”

in order to manipulate me, bob would need information. he would need to understand my motivation, why i was leaving. i would make sure he remained in the dark. i wouldn't allow him to read me. i would not demonstrate anger or give him any reason to believe i doubted him.

i told my wife that i would call bob and tell him that i needed to speak with him immediately. this would cause him to panic; it would throw him off his game. then, i would go to his house and give 30 days notice, simply stating that i was unhappy.

he would need to try to come across as though he knew where i was coming from, that he was cosmic enough to know the answers without asking questions. since he didn't know what was motivating me, he wouldn't attempt to try to explain or counter things. he would look for cues, but i wouldn't provide them. he would, in fact, be shocked by my announcement. he'd be off balance, confused. this would prevent him from trying to manipulate me.

my wife decided that she wanted to avoid any further contact with anyone from the program. she had been working with rachael, doing the books for the program. she decided that, once i talked to bob, she would drop off all of her bookkeeping materials at rachael's house with a letter of resignation, effective immediately.

i would go to work every day for the next 30 days. i would also look for work outside the state, where they couldn't find us. at the end of my 30 days, we would leave, moving wherever necessary to obtain a job.

the next day, i called bob. my phone call and conversation with bob went exactly as planned. he was thrown. he offered to send me to pennsylvania where he was trying to launch an outpatient program. he also offered to contact a friend in branson, missouri to help me obtain a job in the live entertainment industry, a line of work which he knew i'd had a passion for.

after i left his house, i picked up my wife and we dropped the bookkeeping materials and resignation letter in rachael's foyer, using the key she'd given her to access her office when she was not home.

the smear campaign started within days. bob spread rumors, one that we were running away because my wife had gotten pregnant. he said that i was a pedophile, that i had been stealing, using drugs. he searched for reasons why i would simply walk in and announce my resignation without seeking his approval. where he could find no answers, he created them, filled in the blanks. without reservation, he said whatever he wanted to say about me and my wife. he couldn't possibly accept the fact that i was on to him.

from my perspective, everyone in the program was an agent of bob. i assumed that when i was speaking to them, i was speaking to bob. i knew that bob was telling them exactly how they should interact with me, how they should treat me, where they stood with me.

when i walked into a room, everyone would stop talking. people would leave.

i was responsible for the counselor training school, but they wouldn't let me anywhere near the trainees. so i focused on making sure all the paperwork and records were up to date. i also made sure that the curriculum was organized for whomever might take over the training program.

i was told that i no longer needed to attend clinical staffing at the residential center, staff purpose, or clinical meetings for the outpatient program. i went to the hospital every day and met my responsibilities there.

i had one other responsibility as well. i was writing the policy and procedure manual for the new pennsylvania program and working on getting it licensed for bob.

the push to open the program had begun with several pennsylvania parents, some of whom had sent their children to arizona for treatment. they had created a loosely structured committee to raise money. bob had agreed to send a director to run the program and to provide the counselors. he had asked me to get the program licensed.

i tried to reach bob, to remind him that, since i was leaving, he would need to inform the people from pennsylvania that i wouldn't be completing their policy and procedure manual. he would need to find someone else. he wouldn't take my calls. since i couldn't reach bob, i tried to go to george. he wouldn't take my calls either. i showed up at his office, but he closed his office door and instructed his staff to inform me that he was busy. after several attempts, i gave up.

a couple weeks passed and i knew that no one had informed the pennsylvania families that i was not going to get the program licensed, soi decided to call them myself.

i told them that i was leaving bob's organization and that i would not be completing the p&p. to my surprise, they offered me the job as director of the program. i explained further. “i don't think you understand,” i said. “i'm not going to be working with bob in any capacity.”

thay responded, “so what?”

i was not accustomed to this kind of response. no one did anything without bob's blessing. how could these people decide that they would simply move forward without him. i tried to be more clear.

“i am leaving bob's organization because of philosophical differences. if i were to come there and run the program, it would be my program, not bob's. we would have no affiliation with bob, no support from him. he would interpret it as though we stole his program.

bob had already sent 2 young counselors who had just recently graduated from training. they had been holding support group meetings and sending paying clients from pennsylvania to bob's arizona programs. he had made at least one trip to pennsylvania to meet with the parents, young people and community leaders. he had invested a lot of time and energy and considered the pennsylvania operation to be part of his national organization. if he lost the program, he would be livid.

the families in pennsylvania felt no loyalty toward bob. in fact, they thought he was a nutcase. not only had they found him obnoxious and arrogant, but they had been waiting months for him to send a director and were beginning to believe that he wouldn't be able to produce one. they told me they had asked for me, but that bob refused to let them anywhere near me. bob had never discussed this with me.

the truth is, he didn't have anyone to send. opening a program in pennslvania was legally and politically tricky. no one within the organization had the experience and knowledge needed to make it work within pennsylvania's tight regulatory environment.

i agreed to fly to pennsylvania and meet with the families that were backing the project. i would fly in over the weekend (i was still working for bob—fulfilling my 30-days), meet with the parents, tour the area and discuss the terms. if we all agreed, we would move forward.

it would be critical that no one other than the parents who were backing the program knew anything about my coming to pennsylvania. everything was done cloak and dagger style. the pa staff and many of the kids in the pa support group were communicating with folks from phoenix on a regular basis. if bob found out that i was considering taking the program, he would immediately pull the staff, leaving the group with no guidance. further, he would likely attempt to sabotage the entire pa operation. he would also instruct the counselors to exploit their relationships with the kids in the support group, causing them to believe that i had malicious intent.

i knew bob couldn't be trusted. interestingly, so did these parents who were backing the program. bob had thought he had them completely convinced that he was the solution to their local drug problem. he was wrong.

my plane circled over the statue of liberty as we approached newark international airport. below, i could see the twin towers through the window. as we touched down, i felt excited, fearful, apprehensive and hopeful all at the same time.

a couple, one of the sets of parents who'd been funding the pennsylvania program, picked me up at the airport. we drove across the new jersey/pennsylvania border and stopped at a restaurant to meet two other couples, also program supporters, for dinner.

that night we all met in my hotel suite. we talked for hours. i was deeply impressed with these fine folks. they were committed to helping their kids and the community.

the next day, they took me to tour the area. the trees and the grass were a stark contrast to the arizona desert. the local parks were filled with children and families. the community was vibrant. it seemed like an excellent place to raise our daughter.

we had dinner and more discussion. i had insisted that they review my c.v. and ask me questions. we also discussed the terms, if i were to come to pennsylvania.

i went home on sunday night and discussed everything with my wife. together, we decided that moving to pennsylvania was the right thing to do. so, i contacted the folks in pennsylvania and accepted the offer.

we all decided that, since bob couldn't be trusted, we wouldn't tell him anything until after i had arrived in pa to take over the program.

ten days later, our cars and belongings having been transported to pennsylania, my wife, my daughter and i boarded a plan to the east coast to start a new life.

i had had my first contact with one of bob's programs 16 years earlier. i had devoted nearly my entire adult life to his organizations. i had joined forces with bob accepting his promise of love—believing that through the principles of love and honesty we would change the world.

we were walking away from the only life we had known and into a world we didn't understand--one we had been taught not to trust.

i had given everything to bob, to this dream of setting free those who had been enslaved by drugs, fear, emptiness and trauma. i was a true believer. not only did i believe that unconditional love for others had the power to affect the world both physically and spiritually, i believed in bob's love for me.

now, at age 35, i was escaping his torturous love, saving my own life. saving my family.

i showed our daughter the glorious statue of liberty, through the window, as our plane approached the newark airport. it was the first time she'd ever seen it.

you said
love is a temple
love's a higher law
love is a temple
love is a higher law
you asked me to enter
but then you made me crawl
and i can't keep holding on
'cause all you've got is hurt ~ u2


to be continued

author's note: part 12 of how i was spiritually raped and left for dead was one of the most difficult parts to write, because it represents the death of a dream. for 16 years, i had devoted my life to a dream, that of saving lives, changing lives, changing the world.

though i made many mistakes along the way, hurt a lot of people (right now, i'm thinking of you steve s. and willie v.), i was always motivated by that dream. i often worked 12 and 16 hour days...sometimes longer. i endured sleepless nights, bouts of true poverty, frequent moves from city to city, self flagellation, criticism, loneliness and brutal confrontation. i sacrificed my own health, both physical and mental, to tend to the needs of my brothers and sisters, to serve a higher purpose.

i had known, without any doubt, that this was my purpose.

i loved the people who, for 16 years, had been my family. i was devoted to them and to bob.

i had loved bob deeply.

i'm not a saint. i never was...not even close. but i had a dream.

enjoy the video.

seeking in tongues

how i was spiritually raped and left for dead (part 11)

part 1 is here
part 10 is here

part 11: my confession

“keep your friends close, but your enemies closer" ~michael corleone

i was laying on the floor of a basketball court, flat on my stomach, with a domino between my right thumb and forefinger. before me were parallel rows of multicolored dominoes each standing on end, threatening to topple the next domino. the parallel rows of dominoes extended for several feet, then formed complex geometric patterns, diamonds, triangles, rectangles, before converging to a single row which led to a single, precariously-positioned domino, threatening the trigger of a mousetrap which lay the far end of the basketball court, in front of an weathered, antique, wooden wheelchair with a wicker back and steel wheels.

my wife sat in the wheel chair and in her lap was my 5 year-old daughter, roxanne. roxy was wearing a cotton sundress with fishies on it. she clutched her stuffed dog, kimberly in her left arm and held my wife's hand with her right. on her lap was a bundle of dynamite.

two wires looped out of the bundle of dynamite and extended toward the floor. they were attached to the mousetrap in such a way as to cause the mousetrap to act as a detonator. trip the mousetrap and complete the circuit, causing the bomb to explode.

i carefully placed the domino on the floor and reached up to get another. directly next to me, on my left, was a little red wagon. it was painted and polished, fire engine red, with pristine, shiny black rubber wheels that had thin whitewalls. the wagon said “radio flyer” in white uppercase letters. the little red wagon was filled with a mound of multicolored dominoes, fluorescent orange, red, yellow and lime-green.

i slowly turned my head to the side and took a much needed breath, taking care not to allow my breath to upset the dominoes.

as i reached for another domino, i was aware of the reflection of the red wagon on the highly-polished, hardwood, gymnasium floor.

my wife had jumper cable clips attached to each of her arms. the clips had thick, black wires connected to them which led to group of several car batteries. if i stopped placing dominoes, or went too slow, the batteries would deliver an electric shock to my wife and, through her, to my daughter, causing each of them to shake violently.

i turned my head, took another breath and placed the next domino on the prescribed mark which had been painted on the floor with a black magic marker.

i continued with the excruciating process—not too fast, not too slow. no margin for error.

i looked back over my shoulder. the gymnasium floor stretched on and on, a hundred yards or more. i looked back at the wagon. the white uppercase letters had become scrambled—unintelligible nonsense. i placed the next domino.

i knew that i had to place all the dominoes according to the prescribed pattern in order to disarm the bomb. i knew that if i hesitated, my wife and daughter would receive another devastating electric shock. i knew that if a single domino fell, it would start a chain reaction that would cause my family to be blown to pieces.

on my forehead, a bead of sweat surrendered to gravity and dropped, slow motion, crashing on polished hardwood floor. i wiped my brow with my forearm and carefully placed the next domino.

my eyes were fatigued from the reflection of the overhead, fluorescent lights of the hardwood floor. the task seemed endless. my arms and shoulders ached. as i looked up, reaching for another domino, i saw my wife and daughter, exhausted from relentless fear and anxiety. then, from underneath the bleachers to my left, a rat appeared, twitching, moving aimlessly, starting, stopping, sniffing, twitching. with no particular direction, the rat moved diagonally in one direction, then another, closer to the geometric patterns of the carefully placed dominoes.

i watched the rat carefully, peering at it, then back as i placed the next domino.

another rat appeared, twitching and sniffing, from underneath the bleachers. then another...and another. i turned my head to the side, took another breath, placed another domino.

i had been vaguely aware of george, who was sitting dumbly on the top row of the bleachers. i glanced up at him. he was wearing shorts, tube socks and an oversized coyotes hockey jersey, with a fat, red polka-dot, clown tie. he donned a royal blue, plastic, souvenir batter's helmet. two cans of grape soda rested in can holders which were affixed to each side of the batter's helmet. he was sucking grape soda through “silly straws” which looped from the cans of soda to his mouth.

a large fishbowl sat on the bleacher, directly to his right. the fishbowl was filled with half a dozen red and blue betas. george held a chopstick in his hand and was dipping it in the water, taunting the betas, provoking them, causing them to attack the chopstick and then each other. in the other arm, he held a red, rubber dodgeball. sucking his silly straw and taunting the goldfish, he seemed oblivious to the life and death that was happening beneath him.

i gingerly placed another domino.

there were now dozens of rats aimlessly wandering, twitching and sniffing, moving closer to the geometric patterns.

i stayed calm, focused. i had to keep placing dominoes. i had to figure out how to intervene before the rats reached the dominoes. i had to be meticulous, taking care to place each dominoes in its proper position.

i turned my head and took a breath. i placed the next domino.

i was keeping an eye on the rats. how could i scare them off? i was keeping an eye on my wife and daughter. i became aware that i should keep an eye on george, who, as a result of his mindlessness, might do something that would cause the dominoes to topple, killing my family.

i placed another domino.

i had been lying on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, placing dominoes for as long as i could remember. no matter how many dominoes i took from the wagon, the mound of dominoes never shrank. george in the bleachers. rats on the floor. the lives of my family hanging in the balance. it was all i had known.

as i reached for another domino, trying to think of a solution to the rat problem, careful not to stop placing dominoes, not to move too slow, i glanced up at george. he had grown tired of the fighting fish. he dropped the chopstick in the water, abandoning it. then he looked down at the rats. i heard a muted beeping sound. beep...beep..beep.

i placed another domino.

beep..beep...beep. the sound grew louder. the rats moved closer. george sucked his grape soda. he scratched his balls, bored. my arms and shoulders ached. red hot pain shot down the nerves of my arms and back. i turned and took a breath. sweat hit the floor. george stood up. beep...beep...beep.

i placed another domino.

just then, george lobbed the red rubber dodgeball toward the ceiling in a high, lazy arch so that it would ultimately bounce on the floor where most of the rats had congregated.

i jumped top my feet and began to run toward the ball so that i could intercept it before it could bounce and then crash into the dominoes, but i had snowshoes strapped to my feet.

as i ran, i began to slip and slide on the glossy, hardwood floor. the beeping grew louder, more ominous. beep..beep..beep.

i began to slide across the floor and past the arc of the red rubber ball, until i crashed into the wall and the ball crashed, slow-motion, into the large multicolored domino diamond, causing a chain reaction as each domino crashed into the next. beep...beep...beep.

i attempted to get to my feet but the floor was too slick.

beep...beep...beep. i opened my eyes and looked over at my beeping clock radio. i hit the snooze button, then grabbed the radio and turned off the alarm.

i had a sick feeling. i could hear my wife and daughter talking in the next room.

i jumped out of bed and headed for the kitchen to grab some coffee. “hey kiddo,” i said to my daughter who was sitting, crisscross applesauce, on the family room floor. “morning daddy,” she said. my wife was in the kitchen, reaching for a plate. how'd you sleep?” she asked. “like a baby,” i replied, as i poured my coffee.

i went out back, lit a smoke, took a sip of coffee and began to calculate.

it had been several weeks since i had returned from the santan mountains. so far, things had gone relatively well. i had managed to convince bob that i had been transformed—that i had found my 'true, sociopathic, male self.' my wife and i had shared some wonderful moments. still, i hated having to be manipulative. i hated myself for being a liar. i wanted to tell my wife everything. i wanted to end the charade.

i pushed it all out of my mind and began my daily exercise of assessing current threats and determining how i would approach those who needed to be placated.

in a couple days we would have to attend a pool party at bob's house. these situations could be tricky. bob, his wife, george and his wife would all have to be dealt with simultaneously. each represented a different threat. each had their own need for their particular brand of adoration.

bob's wife would be watching everything, setting traps. someone would offend her during the swim party and would end up facing her wrath. i needed to make sure it wasn't me.

i crushed out my cigarette and went inside. then, as i did each morning, i strapped on my rollerblades and headed out the front door and into the street.

rollerblading was my respite. i began moving through the streets of my neighborhood, picking up speed, letting my mind drift.

as i picked up speed, my stride lengthened. the arizona sun was brilliant, warming, energizing. now, as i hit top speed, the wind blew back my hair. houses and trees flashed past me. my mind was spinning free. i jumped the curb and headed southeast on a bike path that winded behind an elementary school and then to another road which led to bob's neighborhood. i skated past bob's street, around the neighborhood loop and back toward my house.

i returned home an hour later, took a shower and headed for work.

during my half-hour drive to work, i thought about my current situation. for years, i had valued honesty above everything else. i had kept nothing from bob. every thought, every feeling, transgression, my fears and dreams, all of my motives, my internal struggles, pain and joy, doubts, questions and concerns were all shared with bob.

keeping a secret from bob was tantamount to blasphemy. for years, i had believed that if i were to withhold anything, to keep any thought as my own, i would risk devastating consequences, not only for myself, but for my family and friends as well. “we're only as sick as our secrets,” we would say. we saved lives. we had answers that no one else had. young people would live or die based on our spiritual prowess--and confession was critical to maintaining spirituality. one lie could destroy everything.

of course we lied to outsiders, but we were justified in doing so. they weren't ready for the truth—couldn't handle it. it would be dangerous and irresponsible to expose someone to information they weren't equipped to handle. anyone outside the program, armed with knowledge of the program's inner workings, represented a threat.

now, the greatest threat to me and my family were those within the program, the people i'd trusted, opened myself to, the people who called themselves “family.”

shortly after i arrived at work, i got a call from bob. he was in a panic.

clayton, bob's best friend, was in the hospital. he had been throwing up blood and it was discovered that he was experiencing liver failure, cirrhosis, as a result of hepatitis-c, which he'd contracted years earlier from an infected needle.

“these fvckin' doctors don't know what they're doing,” he yelled. “they're gonna kill the mother-fvcker. he continued, “get on the phone. find a doctor that knows what the fvck he's doing,” he demanded.

i was responsible for the hospital-based operations and, since i was working directly with physicians and other medical professionals, bob wanted me to exploit those resources to ensure that his friend was getting the best possible care.

i knew i was in a no-win situation. i wanted to help clay. he was my friend too. he had treated me well. at times, he'd befriended me when know one else would even speak to me. i also knew that bob would complain about any doctor, regardless of the doctor's skills. bob demanded absolute control and, since he wasn't a doctor himself, he had no control over this situation. the almighty bob couldn't fix his friend and his inability to maintain control would be manifested in his spitting venom on anyone else who couldn't immediately produce the results bob demanded.

so, i would make some calls. i would find the best liver doctor in the area. i would try to help clayton and quell bob. i knew, however, if bob didn't like the doctor i found, if the doctor didn't immediately give bob the sense of absolute control he required, i would face bob's wrath. he would place the blame directly on me. if clayton died, i would be deemed his murderer.

a show of confidence on my part would temporarily calm bob. “i got this,” i told him. “now, let me go, so i can start making calls. i'll get back to you in an hour.”

i hung up with bob and started dialing.

in bob's organization celebrities were golden. bob desperately wanted fame. he considered himself somewhat of a celebrity. he often dropped names. he claimed to have been fabian's agent. he had hung out with rock stars and movie stars.

clayton was the son of a famous hollywood producer and stepson of a well-known actress and comedienne. clayton was also a talented artist who had worked with aaron spelling, gary fleder, david brown, farrah fawcett and morgan freeman, among others.

bob had known clayton when clayton's career and life had fallen into ruins due to his addiction to heroin. bob had loved clay, not only because of his hollywood connections, but because clay was possibly the coolest individual he'd ever met.

clayton had charisma even greater than bob's. he was physically beautiful, dressed impeccably, and demonstrated total self-confidence. to me, he was an american version of ringo starr.

ten years earlier, as the story went, clayton had shown up on bob's doorstep holding a baby boy. he wept and begged bob and his wife to help him. the baby's mother was strung out. clay was addicted to heroin. he wanted bob and his wife to help him get clean and sober and take care of the baby until he was healthy enough to care for the child himself.

determined to be a good father, clay dug in and got clean and sober. he transformed his life and eventually began the process of rebuilding relationships in hollywood and rebuilding his career. he also fell in love with linda, bob and joy's spiritual daughter. she became mother to his baby boy and the two of them had another child, a girl.

clay, grateful to bob for saving his child, remained loyal to bob. the two became best friends.

clayton went back to work in hollywood and his wife and children lived near bob and his wife, where linda could serve at their pleasure. when bob moved to arizona, linda and their children moved to arizona as well. they bought a house near bob's and clayton commuted to work in l.a. during the week, he would work long hours on movie and t.v. sets. on the weekends he would travel to arizona to be with his wife and children.

it became obvious that this routine was taking it's toll on clayton, but bob needed linda, so clayton continued the grueling routine.

with clayton, i remember the little things--a pep-talk when i was afraid, my first trip to starbucks, listening to harry nilsson in the car, my first time eating sushi as we sat together in his living room listening to frank sinatra.

one weekend, someone had planned a camping trip for all the guys on staff. clayton was in town and decided to come along. there were about 15 of us all together. as was common, we all brought our guns...and we had a lot of them. assault rifles, pistols, shotguns and semi-automatic handguns. we brought them all. everyone except clayton.

for us, owning weapons was almost a spiritual responsibility. many of us purchased unregistered guns at gun shows for fear that the federal government was on the verge of showing up at the homes of registered gun owners and taking their weapons.

bob believed that we needed to be able to defend our families against intruders. but he also believed that, in the future, we would face an even greater threat--“the niggers.”

he would sometimes tell me, “i know you love your family. i know you want to protect them. you don't have to worry; i've got you covered.” he continued, “once we get enough money together, we're gonna buy a big piece of land. then we're gonna build a big fence around the mother-fvcker to keep the niggers out.”

this was his master plan. to buy some land in the middle of nowhere, build a fence, stockpile weapons and hide out from, as he called them, “the niggers,” who were ultimately planning to head to the suburbs and take all the white women.

although clayton was loyal to bob, i don't think be bought this line. and while we were running around in the woods, bullets flying everywhere, clay was kicked back by the fire taking in nature, probably thrilled to have a few hours to relax.

when it was time to eat breakfast, everyone went to their cars and coolers to grab their food. some had cereal bars, pop tarts, or bologna. others had more elaborate breakfast items, eggs, sausage, bacon.

i pulled a couple hot dogs from my stash, reached for my lockblade and began fashioning a stick with which to cook my dogs. clay pulled his chair beside mine. he leaned toward me. “don't eat that crap,” he said. “check it out.” he opened a small cooler which contained premium bagels, cream cheese, nova smoked salmon and a variety of tropical fruits.

we toasted our bagels and sat back together, in the middle of the forest, eating like kings, laughing heartily and watching our friends, fumbling, trying to cook, dropping their food into the fire.

for that moment, i had a big brother, someone to look out for me.

clayton had been my refuge on many occasions. because of his relationship with bob, he could get away with things that the rest of us couldn't. one of those was being a friend to me when others didn't dare say a kind word to me. countless times, when i was on bob's sh1tlist, and therefore everyone else's, clayton would pull me aside. he would put his hand on my shoulder and place his face inches from mine. “don't let all this get the best of you, brother” he would say. “just take care of yourself and your girls. this is gonna pass.” then he'd take me to get a latte or a gelato. we'd listen to choice tunes and talk and laugh.

while everyone else was avoiding my evil karma, clay was ministering to my spirit. he would make me forget about the constant life and death. he would make it so that, for a few minutes or hours, i didn't feel evil. now he was dying.

every call i made, everyone i spoke to, led back to the same name, the same doctor. it was the doctor who was already treating clay. this was good news for clayton, but bad news for me. it meant that, since bob had determined that clayon's doctor was inept, he would also determine that i was inept. he would channel his anger over not being able to control the situation toward me. that's exactly what he did.

i contributed what i could, which meant that i smuggled in a pack of marlboros and a can of ozium so clayton could have a smoke.

but something else happened, something i didn't expect. liver failure is an extraordinarily painful illness and so the doctor prescribed narcotic pain meds. bob began to complain that clayton was taking the medication. “he's laying around getting high and scratching himself like a junkie,” he said. bob was enraged. he couldn't stand the thought of clayton taking opioids. my take was that he couldn't stand the thought of clayton “getting high,” while he had to stay sober.

at the pool party, there were whispers. i began to pick up on the fact that bob and his wife were beginning to turn on clayton. in time, bob would say that he thought clayton had been secretely “getting high” for years.

after a while, clay was released from the hospital. but he wasn't healed; he needed a new liver. bob and his wife forbade this. “if he gets a liver transplant, he'll never be the same, spiritually,” they said. so, clayton took some time off work and began a regimen of vitamins, rest and healthy foods. he began working with a homeopathic doctor. he didn't get better.

bob was increasingly more frustrated at his lack of control. he sneaked into clayton's house and rifled through his belongings. he found half-filled and empty pill bottles and determined that clayton was getting high on the drugs the doctor had prescribed. he didn't consider the fact that clayton had removed pills from some of the pharmacy containers and placed them in his weekly pill container. he never considered the fact that many, if not all, of the medications had no mood altering effect. he never considered the fact that clayton needed pain medication, or that any time a heroin addict suffers an illness that requires treatment with opioids, he may become dependent on the pain meds, ultimately requiring help to get off the meds once the pain passes. he didn't consider clayton at all. he only cared about the disruption clay's illness had caused in his own life.

so clayton became the pariah. bob began to say, “i wish the mother-fvcker would just die and get it over with.” he told, clay's wife, linda, that she needed to make a choice—“him or us,” he said.

here is my confession: as this man, who had been so kind to me, became more and more sick, i was relieved that i was off bob's radar screen. at least for now, i was safe. i could continue to focus on how to get my family out.

i have a lot of regrets about my past, but this is one of my greatest. i allowed clay's illness to serve as a distraction while i plotted to rescue my family. i didn't defend him. i didn't reach out to him or his wife. in fact, i played along. i acted as though bob's reaction to clay's illness was normal, though it was anything but.

in time, bob and his wife turned against linda as well. “she doesn't know how to be happy without a man; that's why she is choosing that mother-fvcker over us.” she was ostracized.

when clayton was readmitted to the hospital, this time in l.a., they tried to demand that she not allow clayton's children to see him. “what you're gonna fvck your kids up by letting them see their dying father laying in a fvcking hospital bed just so he can feel better. that selfish mother-fvcker. if he cared about his kids, he wouldn't want them anywhere near him.”

bob, the man with all the answers, couldn't fix this problem. in the chaos and controversy, created by bob and his wife, clayton missed the opportunity for a liver transplant.

so clayton died in a los angeles hospital, desperate and in pain, as his best friend, to whom he'd always remained loyal, sat in his lazy-boy, eating gummy worms and talking shit about him. and i, having done nothing to stop the travesty, barred the doors and windows, forsaking clayton and everyone else (save my wife and my daughter), plotting, assessing the threat, determining my next move. i placed another domino.


would you know my name
if i saw you in heaven
would you feel the same
if i saw you in heaven

i must be strong and carry on
'cause i know i don't belong
here in heaven ~eric clapton, will jennings

to be continued

how i was spiritually raped and left for dead (part 10)

part 1 is here
part 9 is here

ain't no sunshine when she's gone,
only darkness everyday
ain't no sunshine when she's gone
and this house just ain't no home
anytime she goes away ~bill withers

a horizontal shadow closed, like a curtain, down the wall and across the concrete floor, in sync with the motor of the garage door. as the garage darkened, i took a deep breath and opened the door leading into my house.

inside, my daughter was playing on the floor. my wife came through the opening leading to the kitchen and approached me as i entered the living room. we were both nervous, self-conscious. we hugged and shared a brief kiss.

i didn't know what they had been telling her during my week away. did they tell her that i had left because i was angry at her? did they give her instructions on how to behave when i returned? was i talking to her...or to bob and his wife? in retrospect, i realize that she was every bit as confused as i. that was their game; keep everyone walking on eggshells.

bob had instructed me to see him on my way home, so i had stopped at his house for a brief “pep-talk” about an hour earlier. he had given me 20 bucks and said, “take her out to dinner.” i was pretty sure my wife would be there when i got home; after all, he had told me to take her to dinner. if they would have sent her away, he wouldn't have given me the money. he wouldn't have instructed me to take her to dinner...right?

on the other hand, there was always the possibility that bob was stashing her and my daughter somewhere and that he intended to act as though he had nothing to do with her absence. he could have arranged for her to “show up” at george's house. “i don't know what happened,” he would say. “she freaked out. she's scared. she wants to have a little time to get her head straight” then, he would get me to focus on the upcoming licensing inspections, promising to “straighten her out” for me. of course if this were the case, i'd probably never see my wife again.

i had seen him do this to another couple before. it was another staff purpose night. linda was at our house for some reason. she was on the phone with a young married woman named dana, making arrangements to meet with her before purpose. linda hung up the phone and left. something didn't feel right.

about a year earlier, dana and her husband, jack, were expecting their first child. things were chaotic. bob and his wife hadn't given their blessing and i caught a glimpse of some of the hush-hush efforts to deal with the “problem.”

dana was young, 19 or 20. her husband wasn't much older. i had been a groomsmen in their wedding. these two seemed as though they were meant to be together, as though the world would have remained forever out of balance if they hadn't found each other.

they were also, critical to the program. jack was a phenomenal counselor. he was making more referrals into the fee-based programs than any other staff member. dana was tender and loving. she ran group therapy. she had a way of making everyone feel comfortable. parents and kids alike trusted her.

on the whole, the program was in a tentative spot. it hadn't been too long since bob had split with jim and al and had drawn us all in. we were short on experienced staff, most were green kids who had no real skill. we had gotten outpatient up and running. the hospital was now beginning to run smoothly. also, another couple had recently had a child, unsanctioned. it had cost the program a staff member (the mother), because bob didn't allow pregnant women or mothers to work as counselors at that time.

“we can't handle another baby,” i'd overheard someone say.

bob and his wife had driven from san diego to phoenix and had arranged to meet with dana and jack at a local hotel. the 'buzz' was that they weren't ready to have a baby—that this baby was a mistake. bob and his wife weren't about to let their “fvcked-up bullshit fvck it up for everyone else.” if they insisted on having the baby, they were gone.

dana and jack spent hours in the hotel room with bob and his wife. i don't know exactly what they were told, but i know what i was told. it came down to this. dana and jack had fvcked up by getting pregnant. since it was their fvck-up, it was wrong to force this soul [the baby] into the world when it wasn't the right time. therefore, the pregnancy had to be aborted to save the baby's soul from taking on dana and jack's fvcked-up karma.

after the meeting with bob and his wife, dana had an abortion. it wasn't talked about much. everyone knew what happened. everyone got the message—get pregnant without bob's blessing and run the risk of losing the child.

in bob's program, we all had the same political and spiritual beliefs. one of those beliefs was that abortion was murder. the fact that this couple had been instructed to have an abortion underlined the seriousness of the situation. we were also taught that we chose our parents prior to birth and that we made that choice based on what we knew that we needed to learn during this lifetime.

the only way that we could reconcile this situation was by buying into the idea that dana and jack had been self-centered by becoming pregnant. we were told that they had attempted to bring a soul into this world against its will to satisfy their own selfish desires and that those desires included sabotaging their own spiritual growth. fortunately, they had bob and his wife to stop the birth of the child and rescue them from their self-sabotaging behavior.

within the confines of the cult, their marriage had survived this trauma, but now their marriage would end.

i arrived at the purpose meeting to find the usual anxious climate in the room. dana spent the entire meeting in another room with some of bob's girls. george seemed preoccupied throughout the meeting. jack was terrified.

after the meeting, jack grabbed me in the parking lot. his wife had already left with bob's girls. frantic, he told me, “dude, i'm freaked-out; i think my wife's gonna divorce me.” what he was trying to say was, “dude, i think they are taking my wife away from me.”

i'm sorry to say that i wasn't much of a friend to him that night. it was more than i could handle. and i knew he was right.

jack was part native american. he had a strong chin and high cheek-bones. his skin was dark and clear, and he sported long, silky, dark-brown hair which hung halfway down his back. he was built like a rock. no one messed with jack.

one afternoon, we had stopped at a convenience store to get some coffee. i had filled my styrofoam cup, capped it and made my way to the cashier's counter.

i was not in the best shape at the time. i had had little time for physical activity and had put on about 20 extra pounds. i waited at the counter as a huge, burly, unshaven biker, dressed in leather chaps and a leather biker jacket, leaned on the counter and carried on a casual conversation with the cashier.

after waiting a few moments, i said to the biker, “hey buddy, you wanna move aside so i can make my purchase?”

the biker turned around, stepped uncomfortably close to me, looked down at me and said, “you wanna take it out side...fat boy?” just then, jack stepped in front of me and calmly replied, “i'd love to...and if you talk to my friend that way again, i'm gonna step outside, after i throw you through the window.” the biker stepped aside, held his hand out, ushering me to the counter, and left quietly.

i wish i'd been a better friend that night in the parking lot. i've replayed it in my head over and over, year after year. what if i'd told him, “you're right, they've got your wife, let's go find her?” instead, i told him everything would be okay. i justified it, thinking there was nothing he could do, thinking he needed encouragement when he needed truth.

no one had told me that they were going to end his marriage, but i, just like jack, had seen it coming. in the previous weeks, i had noticed george becoming increasingly more friendly with dana. he would flirt with her and act as her protector. at the same time, he was talking sh1t about jack. he had referred to jack as a “stupid injun” at times and as a “lazy fvckin' mexican” at other times. he had also commented that he wasn't about to let that beautiful girl [meaning dana] have any “little brown babies.” “i ain't lettin' my kids play with any little brown babies...that's for fvckin' sure,” he'd said.

jack went home alone. later that night, he received a phone call informing him that his wife was not coming home—that she was going to spend the night at george and muffy's house.

the next day, jack received a phone call from brian. he was instructed to go over to george's house. probably thinking that this would be his chance to talk to his wife, he headed to george's house. when he got there, his wife was gone. instead brian and george sat him down for a talk.

things happened fast. george, who looked nervous and was probably terrified of jack's physical prowess, did the talking. brian, who was there to provide the muscle in case jack went ballistic, seemed to come across as though he felt bad, that he didn't agree with what was happening.

“dana needs a break,” george said. “we've arranged for you to go to atlanta and get your sh1t straight. if you do, she'll be here for you when you return.” jack said he wanted to talk to her, to hear it from her directly. “she doesn't want to talk to you right now,” he said. “well, i at least want to say goodbye,” jack told george. “she has nothing to say to you right now,” george replied.

jack was in agony. his people had hidden away his wife and built a barrier around her, preventing him from communicating with her. george was a small man. he was nothing. but he used his position as bob's son-in-law to destroy anyone who possessed personal power. he was threatened by anyone who was more capable than him. jack had two things working against him. first, he asked questions, challenged the inconsistencies he observed. second, he was twice the man george would ever be.

jack determined that the best course of action was to do as he was told. he went home and with the help of another staffer he packed his truck. during that time, he would break down and weep. he would call brian and beg him to let him talk to his wife. he couldn't help but think if he could just talk to her, she would agree to leave the program with him. he was tormented. he wanted to be with his wife, to save his marriage.

when he arrived in atlanta, he immediately knew that things were even more screwed up than he'd thought. he was being “handled.” no one would “get real” with him.

a short time later, a new director arrived in atlanta, someone who had been his friend. jack noticed that the new director was being cold toward him. jack also realized that this guy was spending a good deal of time on the phone, talking long distance...to his [jack's] wife.

jack finally figured out that he would not be getting back together with his wife when he was served with divorce papers. there was no discussion, no explanation. he called george on the phone. “dude, what's the deal. i thought if i got my sh1t together i had a chance at getting back together with my wife,” he said. george responded by simply saying, “well, are you gonna sign the papers?”

perhaps some part of him continued to hold out hope even after he was served.

any hope he still had was shattered when, within two weeks of getting the divorce papers, he received a traffic ticket in the mail. dana's car was still in jack's name after they split. when jack opened the envelope he found a photo-ticket. enclosed was a picture of the license plate on dana's car. there was also a picture of his wife sitting next to the the new atlanta director (who had been in arizona) driving the car. he'd been betrayed, not by his wife, but by the people who'd promised to be his friends, his family. the people he'd turned to for years, seeking guidance, the same ones who'd let him believe that, by toeing the program line, he could have his wife back had set him up and given his wife to another man.*

that night jack went to his room where he cleaned and loaded his .44 magnum handgun. he sat in his room. everyone else in his apartment was sleeping. he sat alone until he was able to accept the fact that he would most likely spend the rest of his life in prison. then he went to his truck to head over to kill the man who'd been seeing his wife.

jack sat in his truck, replaying the events in his head. how did i let them do this to me? how did i let them walk in and take my wife?

as he played things out in his mind, he was hit with a realization. if i kill this man and go to prison, it will justify their actions and beliefs. if i do this they win. they get to go on looking like they “rescued” my wife from me and i get to look like a psychopath.

jack went inside, put away his gun and called his family. though he'd been disconnected from them, they were happy to hear from him. his sister wired him money. it was time to go home.

jack was smart. he didn't say a word to anyone. he simply packed up his stuff and disappeared.

to this day, dana is still his one and only true love. but she is gone.

ain't no sunshine when she's gone
and this house just ain't no home
anytime she goes away ~bill withers

dude, i love you man.

***************

beneath the city two hearts beat
soul engines running through a night so tender
in a bedroom locked
in whispers of soft refusal
and then surrender

in the tunnels uptown
the rat's own dream guns him down
as shots echo down them hallways in the night
…
outside the street's on fire
in a real death waltz
between what's flesh and what's fantasy
and the poets down here
don't write nothing at all
they just stand back and let it all be

and in the quick of the night
they reach for their moment
and try to make an honest stand
but they wind up wounded
not even dead
tonight in jungleland ~bruce springsteen


the living room and kitchen were surrealistically bright from the arizona sun that passed through the windows. and although an air of nervousness also filled the rooms of our house, my wife and daughter were there. i had an opportunity that jack never had. i could talk to my wife, look her in the eyes, touch her. i could try to convince her to leave this place of wrath. i could share a vision of a free life, one that wouldn't be permeated with fear and anxiety. we could escape the drama, the constant life and death. this group, this lifestyle had torn us apart, i would tell her. we had lost ourselves. we had been stripped of any personal desire, passion, individuality. we had been beaten down like whores and turned out, devoid of humanity, constantly struggling, performing, in the hope that our actions would make us worthy recipients of a kind word, a smile, a gentle touch from our captors.

i, unlike jack, would tell my wife the truth i had discovered on a mountainside just a few nights ago...but not yet.




later that night, after we'd put roxanne to bed, we sat out back, facing the south, toward the distant santan mountains. they were there, but invisible to us, except in our collective imagination. behind us was the sliding glass door that led to our bedroom and our beautifully dressed king-sized bed. as we talked, i couldn't help but wonder whether we would end the night there, together. it would depend upon whether or not they had given her the green light.

the stars were overhead, exposing the inviting vastness of the universe, but they were were partially washed-out by a streetlight which hung overhead, in the distance, like an all-seeing eye or a spotlight, exposing us, making us vulnerable.

we talked about my first night out, when i was lost in the high desert...the coyotes. she told me how she'd lain awake in the bed behind us, our bed, knowing that i was lost, afraid i would never make it back.

she looked at me, silent, head slightly tilted, exposing her neck, as i told her of my experience. there was so much i couldn't say. i had thought about laying it all out, telling her that i had made a decision to leave, that we should pack up and leave together, tonight. but i also realized that she had been through too much already. i could tell that while i had been away she had been filled with fears and lies. she was obviously relieved that i'd come back. i feared that if i told her the truth, it would be too much for her, that it would push her over the edge.

so i stuck to lesser truths, or greater ones. i talked of my personal transformation. i told her about the courage i'd gained, about connecting with myself. i explained how i'd felt her presence. i talked about the value of being alone. there were parts i couldn't explain and there were those things that, when i put them into words, began to lose meaning. so i became silent.

she moved closer to me and placed her long, tan leg across my thigh. i put my arm around her and she placed her head on my shoulder. the light caused her profile to become a silhouette. i could make out the shape of her red lips, slightly parted as my hand drifted up and down her arm.

she looked up at me, into my eyes. i squeezed her more tightly. she held my eyes with hers. i moved my lips toward hers, then paused. i moved closer, within an inch or two. she closed her eyes. i paused again, intoxicated by her essence. i kissed her.

her skin was smooth and dark against the creme-colored sheets on our bed. we became wholly connected, body and spirit, weightless, as if we were floating through the night sky. we were enmeshed and enraptured, immersed in this moment, oblivious to all things past, unrelenting in a timeless embrace.

exhausted and energized, i gently stroked her hair as her rested head on my heart. we drifted off to sleep.

****************

my heart was beating furiously. i couldn't breath. i stopped and bent forward, trying to catch my breath. there were formless, clouds of blackness all around me and as i ran through them i was blinded by the darkness. shadowed figures loomed in the darkness, stepping into the gaps of grayish light between the dark clouds, reaching for me, then stepping back as if they were mysteriously forbidden from fully exposing themselves to the light.

i continued to run, trying to avoid the dark clouds and shadowed figures, running though the gaps of grayish light, an endless maze.

overhead, a football-shaped, metallic object floated, chasing me. in the middle of the football there was a round lens. the football-shaped metallic object would float through the tops of the dark clouds as it followed me, moving in and out of the clouds, disappearing and reappearing as it moved in and out of the light.

i had to get to the hispanic woman at the little grocery store. she was standing behind the counter, smiling, in a trance, eyes glazed over. i had left my gun on the shelf underneath the counter. i had to get my gun. i had to shoot the lens.

to avoid the lens, i dropped my right shoulder and plowed through the darkness, intent on leveling any shadowed figure i happened to encounter. meeting no resistance, i barreled through and out the other side of the dark cloud and losing my balance, i fell forward.

i awoke with a start. shadows on the ceiling. my beautiful wife lies beside me, her head still on my heart. she is on her side and the light is peeking through the blinds, illuminating the curve of her waist and hip. her leg is stretched across tops of my thighs and bent into a 'v' shape at knee, so that the tops of her red, painted toes rest against the outside of my upper calf.

she is resting peacefully, oblivious. i am awake.

i want to awaken her...to tell her everything. i want to allow her to continue sleeping. i want to cherish this moment. tomorrow, they will ask her about this night. they will want every detail. they will analyze and interpret everything that took place. she will tell them everything, because she believes it's the right thing to do. she will assign the victory to them. they will tell her their plan worked—that i had gone to the desert and found myself. they will not suspect that i have become an interloper.

it kills me to allow her to go back to them, to allow her to be subjected to their lies. they will continue to draw her in, while i, in turn, will wait for my opportunity to rescue her...rescue us. they will build her up, encourage her to continue the spiritual path that they dictate. this “victory” will galvanize her commitment to their doctrine. although it draws us closer tonight, it will ultimately be used to draw her further into their fold, to give them even more control.

they will claim to have saved our family. in time, they will use that power to tear us apart, again. they will say that they had worked miracles to bring us together and that i, being toxic, destroyed everything. they will point to all of the suffering my wife had endured, my absence while in the santan mountains, her fear that i would never return. they will claim that she had welcomed me home and into our bed, creating the perfect environment for me to “change.” they will tell her to be angry, unforgiving, claiming that she had done everything, sacrificed herself, her body, her spirit out of love for me...and that i had selfishly insulted her by returning to my spiritually destructive ways.

even as i lie awake, with my wife beside me, i know this will be their course of action. i don't know when it will happen, but i know that it will. it is their nature, their way.

i have to beat them at their game. i will be the perfect follower, giving testimony to the spiritual wisdom of bob and his wife. i will sit at their feet. i'll work even harder to add to their wealth. i'll jump through every hoop. still, i know it won't be enough. at some point, they will knock me down again. they will find some action, interpret some statement of mine, analyze my body language and determine that i have brought bad karma into the fold. most likely, they will experience a setback and blame it on me.

i know it will come; i just don't know when. but i will be vigilant. i will watch them, their mannerisms, their statements and body language. when i see it coming, i will flank them. i'll endure whatever i have to endure to rescue my family. i'll take whatever abuse they throw at me. rope-a-dope. i am no sociopath, but i will become one...at least for now. i have one advantage; without my family, i have nothing to lose.

but, there is one part that is nearly intolerable. after they fully draw in my wife, after they grant her reprieve, provide her with sweet sanctuary, they will try to take me down. when they fail, they will bludgeon her. they will strip her of everything they have given her. they will shove her overboard and ostracize her, watching her desperately struggle to stay afloat. she will be wounded, but not dead. and here's the rub: once they have beaten her down, when she is consumed with shame and fear, that's when i will finally be able to tell her the truth.

after they beat her within an inch of her life, rape her (but before they can demonize me and build her back up) i will intervene. that is the time when a cult victim is reachable. that is when i will talk to her about cults, how they operate, how this group meets every criteria of a dangerous and destructive cult. i will remind her of our years together. i will remind her of this night. i will tell her about the secret that i could not share with her even as i held her in my arms.

still, how could they do this to this loving, vulnerable young woman? how can i let it happen? it is only because i know that she they will continue to destroy her, over and over, as long as she stays. is there any way to spare her?

i look at the woman i love, head on my heart. i gently touch the angel's cheek. i can feel her breath on my chest. i am enchanted, anguished, liberated, imprisoned. holding her in my arms, i lie.

to be continued



* i think it's important to note that the atlanta director was an innocent. he was a victim just like jack and dana. his communication with jack was limited and censored by the powers in the program. he also believed that dana had ended the relationship without any prompting and without any hint of coercion, as did dana. he was certain that jack and dana's relationship was over for good, because that's what he'd been told. he was also encouraged to get involved with dana by the people who had “saved him from addiction” and guided him spiritually since his teenage years. there are other factors that absolve both dana and the atlanta director which i will not disclose in order to preserve their dignity.