It wasn’t the cult that made me do these things. I am as unaffiliated as the man stranded on the island who built a swing. We all thought he was out of his wits –or maybe that’s all that was left—but here we are all on the same universal pendulum and no one ever says a damn thing about how fuckin crazy we all are not to jump off. Minds and cells all jostled from a lifetime of the up-and-down, back-and-forth, yet we still convince ourselves we know what is best. Go down swinging, that’s how we like it. What do I care about a guy who got it right in his dizzied brain? How was I supposed to know that jumping is the only way off this nightmarish ride?
What would it be like to love everyone again?
Here we are on a mountainside, sitting on a sandstone boulder rising above a mixed coniferous and deciduous forest. We are close friends, brought together as only God can do; if I were left to my own reason I wouldn’t have chosen these. I wouldn’t be happy like I am now. We all have instruments and we play ancient tunes, ancient not so much in the songs themselves but when we all learned them: knowing the beats before we were born. We listen to each other as questions come up and we meditate. We answer one another, if so led to do. Sometimes we dance and sometimes we smile. There are tears as well, remembering. And even though there is a slight fog throughout the valley, we can still see the denser white of campfire smoke rising in threads through the fog, stippled about the sides of the mountains lining the valley. We are not the only group of brethren communing with each other, the land, and God. This is holy feat. Such societies exist throughout the world, though as sparse as the sacred campfire rings. And as the metaphor suggests, they are indeed the light of the world.
It sounds like something city people need: answering questions not by thinking but by writing and letting the treasures from the subconscious rise up and out through the pen. I like dancing with the Hare Krishna’s because they love God too, and I like their music for uninhibited praise. If you loved people as you so proclaim, then you would humble yourself before them. How can you show love by baring your pride and inwardly writhe with envy? Be effective missionaries.
© 2016, Amaya Engleking