Cobwebs, Waffles, & Bubbles

10:06 AM
7/21/09

***

When will I ever get around to the projects I want to accomplish...the home and my writing? How can I prioritize them and then follow through? I know what I want to do. I tell myself, it's just a matter of scheduling & prioritizing. Yet, it seems some sort of crisis arises, and the home and writing projects get pushed lower on the list. So, how can I allow those projects to rise to higher levels of importance? Or maybe they aren't that important.

I've recently (beginning in May) had at least four face-to-face conversations about "cults." In these conversations, I realize that I still have a difficult time calling The Way a "cult," even though in these conversations I called it a "cult." But at the time and afterwards when I mull over the conversations, I realize that my feelings waffle; emphasis on the words, my feelings waffle. (That was supposed to be funny.)

In at least three of these recent conversations, I found my self (internally) jostling my head to clear cobwebs. As I think about that now, I picture the more-cognitive me gently blowing the cobwebs. They aren't sturdy, like spider webs. They are old and worn. The wind from my pursed lips causes them to part from the center, causes space to open up so my sight is clearer, instead of translucent.

The most recent conversation was this past Friday night. The most recent before that was Thursday night. Friday was with a longtime friend. Thursday was with a person I met at an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway. That's two nights in a row, which is a rare occurrence for me. In the Parkway conversation, the stranger (who didn't feel like a stranger once we became engrossed in some deep subjects) and I conversed for about 2-1/2 hours! Due to my health adversities, I don't think I've been able to converse like that in years. Both conversations began at late dusk and went into the night. No artificial lights were needed.

On Friday, my longtime friend and I sat on my back porch as the night sounds serenaded. As the evening rolled along into total sunset, we noticed the tree frogs joining the chorus with the crickets as the cicadas were bowing out. The porch box fan was on high, but we could still distinguish the different voices. The outside porch lamp was turned off. Our eyes had naturally adjusted to the fading sun and the gradual darkening.

Our conversation had begun around 5:45 PM over supper at a local Japanese restaurant. After the restaurant, we landed at my home for dessert - ice cream. Through supper and into the evening, our conversation flowed along about health, animals, sex, dying, reincarnation, nature...

Toward the end, my friend shared about the resentment she had held onto after leaving a local humanity-service group, a group of which she was a founder and later left, a group she says she misses and would like to return to at some point, a group she says has evolved (I infer) into a more healthy organization.

As I was relating back to her what I thought she might be communicating, I found myself trying to explain "doctrine over person," which to me is fundamental in fundamentalist groups, a defining factor of a "cult." (Hmmm, perhaps I should use the term toxic cult.) And I felt myself falling woefully short of trying to convey my thoughts. And I thought to my self, and maybe even said aloud, After all the reading I've done on this stuff, and my experiences in the cult and anti-cult movements, how can I still not articulate well what it is I'm trying to share?

Shortly thereafter, and after my friend had left, I found my self internally jostling those cobwebs. My feelings and thoughts followed a similar path as they had the night before after my conversation with Parkway dude. Set feelings aside Carol. What are the facts? I thought of James (RIP dude). my ex-Jehovah's Witness friend from Australia who helped me (maybe more than any one person) in cutting through the fog that would cloud my head after my experiences at GreaseSpot Café and with John Knapp. (Both of which fell more into the anti-cult camp.) I thought of a poem I'd written in 2001 while still in The Way, at a time when I as struggling with mood swings and learning how to apply cognitive behavioral therapy.

As my internal dialog went back and forth recalling my life, I relaxed. There are identifying facts that corroborate The Way as a "cult" (or rather toxic cult). When I calm my mind and emotions, I can identify those factors. And it's understandable why I waffle; my entire adult life has been engrossed with cultic circumstances, some incredibly good and some traumatizing. Now, in the current political environment, these cultic conditions seem to be the norm.