Lesley -:- The Trainings, another Subjective View -:- Tues, Nov 20, 2001 at 23:24:40 (EST)

__ JHB -:- *** J-M, Best of *** -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 17:49:17 (EST)

__ AJW -:- Thanks Lesley. -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 14:49:48 (EST)

__ __ Moll of Mole -:- Re: Lesley, -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 05:52:01 (EST)

__ __ __ Deborah -:- You're right ... -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 16:16:08 (EST)

__ Joy -:- Waiting for God -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 04:23:34 (EST)

__ __ Joe -:- I remember that, too -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 16:56:31 (EST)

__ __ __ janet -:- here's my mindfuck in that file: -:- Fri, Nov 23, 2001 at 04:35:44 (EST)

__ __ __ __ Vicki -:- Re: here's my mindfuck in that file: -:- Fri, Nov 23, 2001 at 11:19:08 (EST)

__ __ Lesley -:- Re: Waiting for God -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 16:20:57 (EST)

__ Michael McDonald -:- Subjective, indeed -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 00:24:42 (EST)

__ __ Lesley -:- Happy hours, bad jokes, and fall guys -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 15:35:20 (EST)

__ __ __ Richard -:- feudalistic trance line LOL! -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 15:55:56 (EST)

__ __ __ __ Richard -:- Re: feudalistic trance line L (with text)OL! -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 15:58:56 (EST)

__ __ __ __ __ Pat:C) -:- See, Lesley's a poet! [nt] -:- Fri, Nov 23, 2001 at 15:30:23 (EST)

__ __ Frend -:- Indeed, subjective -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 09:16:37 (EST)

__ __ __ Jim -:- What's any of this have to do with Knowledge? -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 13:44:43 (EST)

__ __ __ __ Lesley -:- LOL, very good question -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 15:51:28 (EST)

__ __ __ Asst FA -:- Frend/Alledaine stick to one alias [nt] -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 13:29:28 (EST)

__ __ __ G -:- omelette -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 12:09:52 (EST)

__ __ __ __ Richard -:- Intuition -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 14:07:37 (EST)

__ __ __ __ __ G -:- 'Emotional Intelligence' -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 14:53:57 (EST)

__ __ __ Abi -:- what drivel -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 09:26:13 (EST)

__ __ Pat:C) -:- More! More! Lesley and Mr McD. -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 03:30:19 (EST)

__ __ __ Lesley -:- poetic version -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 16:29:27 (EST)

__ __ Marianne -:- Emotional abuse is worse than physical abuse -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 00:39:22 (EST)

__ __ __ Disculta -:- Yeah! -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 00:50:44 (EST)

__ __ __ __ Pat:C) -:- X-rated. R-rated and PG-rated PWKs -:- Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 03:37:59 (EST)

Date: Tues, Nov 20, 2001 at 23:24:40 (EST)
From: Lesley
Email: None
To: All
Subject: The Trainings, another Subjective View
Message:

The training John attended was the last time I went to do service at Amaroo. And I had a real purpose, I had something to prove to myself. I needed to prove to myself that I could do service without it freaking me out, that in the midst of all the craziness I could perform my service duties creditably and still function as a normal grounded decent human being, I was successful, though sorely tested:
First of all, I insisted on not paying full fare, I was going to be working hard as a member of the catering team, and I did not want to feel like a complete sap, so I paid $10 a day for my board. I shared a tent with a lovely woman and we shared the fun and helped eachother through the rough spots. I kept in touch with home, even had the guts to leave after Dayas and before the training to spend a few days at home; by the time I got back, Prempal was expected at any moment, and the place was bedlam, like the spin cycle of a washing machine on acid.
We, in the catering team, had had such a peaceful and fulfilling time doing service; exhilarating internecine warfare an unavoidable pastime as the results of the extraordinary level of disinterest in considering people’s feelings and needs inexorably came home to roost; the delightful game Prempal played of not saying when he was coming, or what he wanted. Having an old hand at the game as our fearless leader, we suffered much less than we might have. Decisions were made and the ‘training’ at Dayas proceeded. We set it up, we decorated the Lord’s table, the bookings fell through the floor, if not the bills, the Lord didn’t come.
I have to wonder if Prempal didn’t arrive with a bad attitude, perhaps he was already feeling a tad peeved and grumpy, totally speculation of course. But, even from the distant vantage point of waitress to the trainees, it was evident that it wasn’t much fun. The first evening in the dining hall was good, lots of pleasure in meeting up again, and though the anticipation had a nervy edge, of course everyone felt glad that they were there. Well, not everyone, as with every invitation only event, there were distraught people to be found sobbing in the corners of amaroo, but that is another’s story, it is not mine, I was brave and determined, but I was not foolhardy; the last time I had sat and listened to Maharaji, inside myself, I had said to him that I could no longer keep coming towards him, it was now a question of survival, and I had to stand on my own feet.
And as the training continued, I was mighty glad to be on my own feet, and not crawling into the hall for more punishment. Serving Sampuranand his soup was punishing enough.
In retrospect, it was like watching a silent detonation happen behind a silver screen. All I saw, during the breaks, were individuals, either alone or supported by another, drifting off from the hall like grey wraiths, bent over and disappearing; I watched this happen every time I was there. The main body of the group would make it over for refreshments, the word that comes to mind to describe the mood is sullen. It was the industrial strength conversationalists who kept the ball rolling. The level of numb depression rose at lunchtimes, numbers of faces bent over their plates, hunched shoulders; with things easing off at dinner, served in the dining hall back at camp; breakfasts became increasingly brittle.
We were having the usual fun in our team, a good old war of good versus evil, staying human versus hysterical goosestepping; something I believe Mr Rawat refers to as a mutiny. And as a treat for being so good, we were all herded into the back like a pack of indian schoolkids, to await the awesome treat of Maharaji joining us for the last evening. A bit of a party was prepared, a massive castle of a cake, all our hard work was to pay off when the lord of the universe, smiling benignly, would come by to pat us on the head.
I walked into the dining tent, ‘what’s wrong’, I wondered, the customary high spirits of the last day of term were missing, many heads were sunk in gloom, there was an undercurrent of cornered rattiness.
By the time that cake was wheeled out, it was more like a palace of malice than a castle of joy; it had become evident that Maharaji was not going to grace us with his presence, he was not pleased with the trainees, and had retired. Regrettably a lot of withering glances were aimed at the hapless heads of the diners, some of whom were beginning to revive and chat more happily.
I will confess, I had assumed that by the time the training was finished the deconstruction would be over, and reconstructed, they would be happily blissed out. Ah fuck, like any sensible person, I went on a singleminded search for a glass of wine, I figured I’d earnt it, and I figured one of those somnolent bastards who I was friends with, and had waited on, would oblige.
Unfortunately my friends were in the shell shocked category, but, bounding across the field, defying security, and best of all, waving a bottle of wine…… Look, I actually do have memories of having great fun, I also have a memory of having to find a tree to shelter beneath until I could stop crying, and the determination it took to get a grip and get perspective. I remember the warmth, friendliness and humour around the staff campfire, and I remember the ashen faces around the Knowledge Hall.
I remember a lot of the people and the times up at Dayas with warmth and affection, and I also remember the night I spent after the debriefing session, as the finger of blame mirrored through the dark hours. That’s what I had to do to prove to myself that I had done everything Maharaji had asked of me, and then I was free to ask: has he delivered?
It’s a no brainer really: No, he hasn’t.
Some observations and speculations:
I applaud John’s eye for a good joke; the idea of Mr Rawat boasting about how hard he works at keeping his body in shape IS hysterically funny, but on the unfunny side of the tale; that is a tawdry trick to draw the audience’s focus onto his person. This needs a little explanation: I am pointing this out because the most obvious employment of this technique is the darshan line where you kiss his feet, but it nonetheless goes on every time he gets on stage. When you just sit back and watch him ‘playing with the hearts of his premies’, you can see what an elephantine flirt he is.
What a mean trick to play on the trainees, set them up to take the blame for a no show, when all he probably wanted to do was get back to his campfire asap.
The way to recover from a traumatic experience is to be able to talk about it with your people, but on returning to their homes this was denied to those whose family and friends were not training ‘x rated’. In posting, John has done something to remedy that.
And a footnote on the mutiny:
As the extra shifts took their toll, my legs began to ache. I complained about feeling tired, and then I insisted upon my right to complain, I got a bit of head wind for that, but the morning after the training was over, as we sat having breakfast, and were asked to jump to and serve breakfast for the trainees, who had apparently requested an extra day of being catered to separately, I refused. The head wind abated as the sense of being honest about how you were feeling could no longer be denied, comrade Lesley got the nod. I said none of us were willing to serve breakfast, and suggested that rather than freaking out about it, to just accept it. And so the better quality food that had been prepared for the trainees was brought out to the main tent, and we all had breakfast together; a pleasant addition to the tucker for the staff, and the start of reintegration into the human race for the survivors of Mr Rawat’s training.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 17:49:17 (EST)
From: JHB
Email: None
To: Lesley
Subject: *** J-M, Best of ***
Message:

Having given John's Trainings post prominence on EPO, I feel a little guilty about not doing the same with Lesley's perspective, but I think highlighting in the Best of Forum section is sufficient.

John.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 14:49:48 (EST)
From: AJW
Email: None
To: Lesley
Subject: Thanks Lesley.
Message:

That's a really good, informative read.

Thanks,

Anth, here comes the Freedom Train.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 05:52:01 (EST)
From: Moll of Mole
Email: mollofmole@loveable.com
To: ****
Subject: Re: Lesley,
Message:

Fuck you.


---

hummmmmmm is that the whiff of self righteousness premie arrogance I can smell (not you Lesley)

MoM

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 16:16:08 (EST)
From: Deborah
Email: None
To: Moll of Mole
Subject: You're right ...
Message:

Hey you asked Leslie,

hummmmmmm is that the whiff of self righteousness premie arrogance I can smell (not you Lesley)

MoM

... it's not Lesley. Trust your intuition.

It's your own stinking thinking and the residue of Maha's breath from from his last pathetic discourse, of course.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 04:23:34 (EST)
From: Joy
Email: None
To: Lesley
Subject: Waiting for God
Message:

Gosh, Lesley, your story of doing service out there at Amaroo brought back the FEELINGs of what went on in those intensive, full-time service roles, and how crazy it all was. It's been many, many years for me since those times (exited 1982), but your story about preparing to receive the Lord of the Universe and getting everything ready for him and then having him be a no-show brought back memories of a similar experience I had in my full-time service role out at SHIP (Shri Hans International Productions) in Southern California, 1979.

There were about 25 of us who did full-time service out there in this warehouse complex for several years, almost all ashram residents; we were isolated from the main premie community geographically and had satsang amongst ourselves in the front office (when we did at all, which was only about once a week). It was a very intensive service environment and many of those video guys worked 18 hour days, seven days a week. We were only about 20 minutes over the hills from Malibu where Maharaji had his main residence, so he could have come by any time and visited, but he never did.

I remember vividly the feeling one day when Michael Wood had called and said M wanted to come visit us. Everybody had on their best clothes, the place was cleaned and shining top to bottom, and the air of expectation was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Everybody went about their service that day very gingerly, on pins and needles, constantly looking over their shoulder anxiously awaiting at any moment the Lord's arrival. I think we were all dying for this, we'd been isolated and slaving away for so long out there that we were starving for the slightest crumb of recognition from he whom we had dedicated our entire lives to. It wasn't like DECA where he was around all the time, I don't think he'd ever come out there, there were no airplanes or expensive cars to attract him, all we did was produce and distribute the videos and publications.

Well, as the day wore on and on and on it started to become obvious that His Highness was not going to be coming. The sense of dejection and disappointment amongst everyone was unbelievable. It was a very sad and pathetic day. As far as I know, Maharaji never did visit the SHIP complex at Westlake Village and the hundreds of thousands of hours of dedicated service by the group of us was never acknowledged in any way.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 16:56:31 (EST)
From: Joe
Email: None
To: Joy
Subject: I remember that, too
Message:

I remember one time when I was community coordinator in Washington, DC, we had a 'regional' program in Hartford, Connecticut. I remember it was at a High School Auditorium and you had to go through a really bad neighborhood to get to it.

Anyhow, Maharaji was invited and Randy Prouty and others were on the phone with Malibu and apparently there was a good chance M would show up. So, I remember somebody had a connection and we got this nice townhouse for M to stay in. A group of about 10 of us got every kind of cleaner imaginable and 'SCRUBBED' that house from top to bottom to make it worthy of the Lotus Feet. We must have put in 20 hours straight of cleaning and refurbishing.

I remember going back to the hall after being awake for 30 hours and sitting listening to Prouty give satsang as it became clear that himself had no intention of leaving the paradise of Malibu for the working-class reality of Hartford. But of course, M didn't say he WASN'T coming, he just let us work out butts off and then just didn't show.

We then had lots of satsang about "lila" and about how Maharaji was teaching us to surrender, and about how "service" is a fulfillment in and of itself, etc.

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Date: Fri, Nov 23, 2001 at 04:35:44 (EST)
From: janet
Email: None
To: Joe
Subject: here's my mindfuck in that file:
Message:

I was in the Alive! Kitchen unpaid staff of the premie 'demo' restaurant in the center of Manhattan in late 1973, just pre Millennium. Maharaji stayed out on Long Island at what had been the private home of our restaurant owner, Jimmie LoDato, before he got Knowledge and offered his family's house to the maha and the Holy Family when they were in town. We got word that Mj was talking about coming to the restaurant one day that fall, maybe it was in october, so we all dressed to the nines and operated the restaurant in the usual pre-tipped off Darshan frenzy described by Joy and Joe above.
Now, add to this the unthinkable:
my father the perfectionist, the highpowered CEO who kicked ass at Sperry Rand during the first flight to the Moon, the formidable executive who got his name in Who's Who in America, the man who gave me my lifelong obsession with perfectionism and personal unforgiveness, calls me at the restuarant in midmorning and says he's in the city and he's coming down to eat with me in the afternoon at the Kitchen.
It's a wonder i didnt faint dead away.
No, I kept my focus and steeled my concentration, strung to the max for the apparent inevitability of having my worldly father encounter my (his) Lordly Father right there on ground zero while I was showing hundreds of regular customers to their tables and serving their orders on a new york city workday.
the pitch was unbearable.the pace was blinding. my father walked in and I showed him to a table. I had to tell the others why I had to sit down with him and couldnt 'do my service' for the duration. I sat myself facing the door so I would know when maharaji walked in.
That little pricktease.
He drove into midtown. He had his driver circle the block in the Rolls. He called the office from a block away and asked how the premiewere. He played cruelly with our expectations. I did my best to not waste my father's time while he took his occasion at his table. I was so tightly strung, I didn't know whether I wanted the two of them to meet, or not. The premie in me wanted it. I was so sure if he laid eyes on the Man Himslef, y father would instantly see why I had thrown away my University promise and my great brain to follow this stunning figure.
The real human in me didn't wnat it to happen. I gave equal possibility that my father would size up the guy who held me so captivated, and would slice him to nothing in a few succinct observations, and would pay the check and take off for more real life important things.
And that I would have ruined my chance at the rare times I could be with my father since i grew up and could not live at his home anymore.

In the end, maha decided he didnt want to come in after all. He rounded the block one last time and went elsewhere in the city, leaving us exhausted and frowning, our patrons slightly confused at our strange change in attention and alacrity to their needs.

I think my gut knew what my brain wouldnt face, that day: seeing my father and my guru in the same palce would have wiped out for all time whatever fantasy i held the maha-and myself- in, and my world would have collapsed, right there. and there would have been no one within reach, who would have known how to help me, once it happened.

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Date: Fri, Nov 23, 2001 at 11:19:08 (EST)
From: Vicki
Email: None
To: janet
Subject: Re: here's my mindfuck in that file:
Message:

Janet, that must have been excrutiatingly painful. I could feel your dilemma! At least your dad came to see you. That's rather ironic isn't it? The 'lord' doesn't but your unenlightened father does.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 16:20:57 (EST)
From: Lesley
Email: None
To: Joy
Subject: Re: Waiting for God
Message:

Yes, I remember spending three days scrunched up on a square foot of floor in the Palace of Peace, London, one Vaisaki, awaiting the Lord who, it turned out, was in Malibu; right to the end the satsangers kept saying if we long for him to come enough, he will.

In a way, learning has been taking place, as people have imploded from focussing on the 'thirst and yearning, fulfilment' deal. People have devised all sorts of ways to protect themselves from feeling the full brunt, and that I think is part of the difficulty in communicating with premies, they don't want to dismantle that and go back and look at the whole premise of the thirst and the fulfilment, to see if it is relevant to them.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 00:24:42 (EST)
From: Michael McDonald
Email: mcduck@echo.net.au
To: Lesley
Subject: Subjective, indeed
Message:

Though I hate to disgree with my good friend, that training was not all grey wraiths and gloom. I spent many happy hours drinking red wine and sharing bad jokes with old friends (who possibly may not be old friends any more). Sure it was intense and my later deconstruction of the manipulative techniques John Macgregor has outlined was a principal reason for my 'exing', though it must be said there was light among the shade. I can confirm that John is dead right when he says people were set up for a fall.

The most depressed person was an instructor who spent days moping around the campfires. It was very sad, given his/her record for inspiring satsang. See you for coffee, Lesley.

Michael

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 15:35:20 (EST)
From: Lesley
Email: None
To: Michael McDonald
Subject: Happy hours, bad jokes, and fall guys
Message:

Of course you're right, it wasn't all gloom, though I would guess that most of the good times happened in the evening after dinner, and I wouldn't have seen that, though I did see the cheerful way people would pick up a glass and head out of the dining hall for the campfire, or wherever they were headed.

In recording my observations about the mood, I was in no way characterising the people involved, or casting nasturtiums at their purpose or intent. I think this is an important point; we have been through some pretty seriously 'deconstructing' times, and in talking about it we gain a lot, it runs deep though.

When I read Marianne's post to me, for a while I just had to sit and absorb, let her understanding touch me. And in honour of that, with a little belch to get started:

I was criticised, I was criticised a lot, from the sound my shoes made, and with an unconscious cruelty, on up. For a couple of people nothing other than utterly servile behaviour was acceptable. I was criticised if I spoke to a friend when I served their food, I was criticised for being friendly for fucks sake. That was one hell of a head wind. Some people seem to go into a feudalistic trance at the sniff of a lotus toe.

On the subject of setting up a fall guy, is that conscious or unconscious cruelty? With sympathy, I wonder what 'frend' thinks.

I might switch to a juice, oh who am I kidding, coffee it is, love Lesley

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 15:55:56 (EST)
From: Richard
Email: None
To: Lesley
Subject: feudalistic trance line LOL!
Message:

Some people seem to go into a feudalistic trance at the sniff of a lotus toe.

Spiritual feudalism may well be an interesting way to describe PAPAM (people around people around M). Stay near the castle at all costs. I know it was true for me.

Good one Lesley!

Richard who can't always remember the past much less live in it.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 15:58:56 (EST)
From: Richard
Email: None
To: Richard
Subject: Re: feudalistic trance line L (with text)OL!
Message:

Some people seem to go into a feudalistic trance at the sniff of a lotus toe.

Spiritual feudalism may well be an interesting way to describe PAPAM (people around people around M). Stay near the castle at all costs. I know it was true for me.

Good one Lesley!

Richard who can't always remember the past much less live in it.

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Date: Fri, Nov 23, 2001 at 15:30:23 (EST)
From: Pat:C)
Email: None
To: Richard
Subject: See, Lesley's a poet! [nt]
Message:

[nt]

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 09:16:37 (EST)
From: Frend
Email: None
To: Michael McDonald
Subject: Indeed, subjective
Message:

I empathise with John, Michael and Lesley.
I dread the invitation to attend a training but I always end up going.
And there's always a point when you think, you'll never come again, like the guy at Amaroo who said it was like 'a medieval penitence session''.
But to me it's like going climbing.
After all the effort and money, someone will always say 'Hey guys, why are we doing this? Let's turn back'.
And we all laugh and keep going.
You can't make an omlette without breaking eggs.
Generally I play it pretty safe, I need at least a little danger.

Frend
.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 13:44:43 (EST)
From: Jim
Email: None
To: Frend
Subject: What's any of this have to do with Knowledge?
Message:

Forgive me for asking what to you, fresher vintage premies, might seem a little obvious, but what does any of this training shit have to do with Knowledge? I always thought that the meditation was the elixir of change, not bully-boy EST-type harrassment. Things can only drift so far before they're someplace else, no? Does M ever address this and explain what exactly he's trying to accomplish with all this nonsense?

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 15:51:28 (EST)
From: Lesley
Email: None
To: Jim
Subject: LOL, very good question
Message:

As you follow the switchback path it gets hard to remember salient points like that, I suppose you could argue that it was always a path of meditation AND devotion, and the trainings were supposed to synchronise your devotion, teehee.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 13:29:28 (EST)
From: Asst FA
Email: None
To: Frend
Subject: Frend/Alledaine stick to one alias [nt]
Message:

[nt]

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 12:09:52 (EST)
From: G
Email: None
To: Frend
Subject: omelette
Message:

'I empathise with John, Michael and Lesley.'

How so?

'I dread the invitation to attend a training but I always end up going.'

That fear was a warning signal, yet you ignored your fear. That's called denial. It's there for a reason. Why do you feel this fear? Can you talk about it?

'And there's always a point when you think, you'll never come again, like the guy at Amaroo who said it was like 'a medieval penitence session'.'

That's very telling. I take it you agree with the guy. Maybe you should listen to your heart and not go back.

'But to me it's like going climbing.'

Oh really. Do you get a kick out of being abused? In climbing, people don't always get hurt. You are getting hurt.

'After all the effort and money, someone will always say 'Hey guys, why are we doing this? Let's turn back'.'

Good question, why are you? Again the word 'always', indicating that Rawat is consistantly abusive.

'And we all laugh and keep going.'

That reminds me of a true story I read in 'The Gift of Fear', a book about how to protect yourself and trusting your intuition. A bomb was mailed (I believe by the unibomber) to the former president of a company. The package looked suspicious, one guy joked about it being a bomb. The president opened the package and was killed.

'You can't make an omlette without breaking eggs.'

That analogy doesn't apply. The eggshells can be thrown away. Your egg should not be thrown away. The only omelette being made is scrambled brains.

'Generally I play it pretty safe, I need at least a little danger.'

There is not just danger, you are actually getting hurt, and you are in danger of getting hurt far worse.

Trust your intuition.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 14:07:37 (EST)
From: Richard
Email: None
To: G
Subject: Intuition
Message:

Excellent advice, G. Trust your intuition.

As part of my PTSD recovery, I've been reading an interesting book 'Emotional Genius' that supports what you are saying. The author shows how emotions are there to help us manage life effectively. For instance, fear is an ally because it alerts us to potential danger. If you notice a blur at the side of the road, fear starts the adreneline to aid in swerving to miss the deer. To deny the message fear is sending could be problematic.

Richard, the emotional cretin but learning

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 14:53:57 (EST)
From: G
Email: None
To: Richard
Subject: 'Emotional Intelligence'
Message:

There's also a book called 'Emotional Intelligence ...' that I've read part of, it's pretty good. I wasn't aware of 'Emotional Genius', that sounds worth reading. In high school someone said to me 'You've the dumbest smartest guy I know.' I suppose deep down I had some inkling of what he meant, given that I remeember it, but on a surface level I didn't. I didn't ask him what he meant, which only proved his point. Now I think that emotional intelligence is actually more important than intellectual intelligence, as least in terms of the quality of one's life. Of course, they are both important.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 09:26:13 (EST)
From: Abi
Email: None
To: Frend
Subject: what drivel
Message:

[nt]

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 03:30:19 (EST)
From: Pat:C)
Email: None
To: Michael McDonald
Subject: More! More! Lesley and Mr McD.
Message:

It's better than Rashomon. John's spit and polish version. Lesley's poetic version which really shook me. Michael cruelly teasing with too little.

I hope the two of you are inspired to write more about this because it is a fascinating glimpse into a world most of us have never seen - the secluded world of Amaroo the inner sanctum of the cult.

Lesley, your decription made me feel that I was 20 something again doing service at a festival - the manic highs and lows which I now regard as part of my insane youth and then I remember that most of the people at Amaroo are 50 something like me and some are even grandparents.

I find that really shocking. No wonder premies are sounding increasingly childish to me. By fifty most of us have got a bit of common sense. In fact most people have it far younger. I was a slow learner.

Yep it's a really weird cult. But I knew that 20 years ago. What I would not admit to myself was that the sickness emanates from Rev Rawat. I only realized that about a year ago.

My heart goes out to the real premies/lovers, those who are not X-rated just the sincere church-ladies who are bankrolling this farce with money and free labor.

But I am finding it increasingly difficult to feel any sympathy for any of the members of Rawat's inner circle or X-rated entourage. And the longer they stay in the less sympathy I will have for them. They've sold out on ordinary decent people.

If these people who have been around for 30 years really think that K is so great and if they really want to help people, why don't they just show their friends and families. Instead they have to lie to their families when they get back from these R-rated trainings. They don't believe in K. They know that is bollocks. They believe in a silly fairy tale Hindu guru. That's just so damn cowardly for middle-aged people.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 16:29:27 (EST)
From: Lesley
Email: None
To: Pat:C)
Subject: poetic version
Message:

Thanks for that, Pat. Though, as a schoolgirl, I rather thought poetry was stuff and nonsense, I am beginning to suspect there is a streak of the poet in me!

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 00:39:22 (EST)
From: Marianne
Email: MarianneDB@aol.com
To: Michael McDonald
Subject: Emotional abuse is worse than physical abuse
Message:

Lesley: Your post took my breath away. I can't imagine the strength and fortitude it took for you to write about this experience and post it for public comment. I send you many hugs and wish that I was with you so I could care for you.

The major contradiction of being involved with this group is that there were some good experiences and friendships that made us stay. Then there were the drips, the emotionally or intellectually devastating experiences that made us question what we had actually signed up for: peace and kindness or mistreatment. Emotional abuse is never acceptable, no matter how it is justified or explained away.

You did not deserve to be treated unkindly. You did not deserve to be taken advantage of. Your good deeds and intentions deserved recognition.

You are a good and valuable person. I hope you will find a community that recognizes how valuable you are.

Much love, Marianne

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 00:50:44 (EST)
From: Disculta
Email: None
To: Marianne
Subject: Yeah!
Message:

Grrrrreat post, Lesley - almost like a chapter of a book. 'Life as a PG-rated Premie' or something like that.

Yeah, Marianne, you said, 'The major contradiction of being involved with this group is that there were some good experiences and friendships that made us stay...'

Occasionally I realize that I have lost contact with hundreds of people I shared my life with for 12 years. I don't even remember all or even most of them, yet I lived for years in ashrams with some of them. New people have come into my life, and I am happy, but I feel sad having lost contact with people from over a decade of my life. I sometimes thought of going to programs just to see some people I missed, but couldn't stomach it.

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Date: Wed, Nov 21, 2001 at 03:37:59 (EST)
From: Pat:C)
Email: None
To: Disculta
Subject: X-rated. R-rated and PG-rated PWKs
Message:

Too funny to read you call Lesley PG-rated. That's what I had in mind to call the restaurant staff at Amaroo. I called the trainees R-rated.

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