I say “sporadically” because during those years journaling was something I did every now and then. It was an amateur pursuit.

On January 1, 2000 I turned pro.

That was the day my membership in the cult first really came into question. My spiritual guru, whom I adored and idolized, had suddenly proclaimed that I was the worst kind of spiritual pariah and consequently had forced my boyfriend (also in the cult), whom I loved very much, to choose between “God” and me. He chose “God”. Thereafter my “friends” in the group shunned me and suddenly the world I had known for my entire adult life evaporated.

I had nowhere to turn but to the page.

Writing saved me. Writing in a journal gave me something to do during the days and hours and years I was desperately alone in the first part of the 21st century. Writing gave me a safe vessel in which to place my feeling and rebellious thoughts, which were definitely NOT accepted by the cult. Writing was my soft place to fall when I was not in therapy.

Writing taught me to tell the truth about how I really felt, because when I told the truth on the page no one judged me or told me I was wrong or tried to talk me out of how I felt or told me that “God” disagreed with what I was thinking/feeling/saying. My journal welcomed me no matter how messy and awful I felt and never once told me it had to go because it had another appointment.

Most important, for someone in cult recovery, my journal was a place where I could untangle the knots in my brain and my thinking. Cult mind control twists our thoughts and beliefs into a tangled mess even the most dedicated seamstress would have difficulty untangling. But writing gives us a safe place to bring those thoughts to the surface, to examine them and to decide, for ourselves, with no one else’s influence or input, if they are true.

For some, I know, writing in a journal seems like a chore. Another daily practice we need to feel guilty about not doing. For me, it was a saviour, a friend, a blessing. I recommend it most highly. But only if you feel better afterwards.

If lonesome was a pot of gold,
I’d be a millionaire.
If missing you was party time,
I wouldn’t have a care.

And if a flock of memories
Could make a person sing,
I’d be an all-night radio
And play like anything.

(It’s not as though I dream about
The things we used to do;
It’s only morning, noon, and night,
I sit and think of you.)

_______________________________________
Poem by Dennis Lee
From Bubblegum Delicious
copyright 2000 by Dennis Lee
No copyright infringement intended

The following introduction and letter are from my friend G to our ex-guru. G invited me to post both of these.

A couple of months ago, I woke up one morning thinking of the injustices that I have personally experienced and witnessed in others at the hand and control of our ex-guru. I was particularly upset by the remembrance that she had absconded a piece of jewelry that was my mothers, who passed away in 1983, and years ago I had seen it on other’s fingers.

I pondered on it for awhile, and gathering up steam and courage I communicated via e-mail with the place of business of our ex-guru asking for the return of the piece of jewelry. I have not had any contact with her or with anyone at the business for over 10 years. A couple of weeks later when I inquired about the status of it, I was told in two short e-mails that I had not been contacted as I had asked not to be, (which was true) and that the package was in the mail. But my ex-guru took the opportunity to dictate a personal jab on the bottom of the e-mail which said, “And in spite of it, God still lives.”

I was livid at her arrogance, but waited for the package to arrive, which it did, and for my anger to subside. I sent a reply in which I thanked her for the return of the jewelry. I then took the opportunity to reply to her comment: “And in spite of it, God still lives.”

It is quite likely that the words of my e-mail never even reached her, or the others who are under her rule and self weilding power. It may have been screened by who ever is her top ranking ‘aid’ at the moment, and though she would have been made aware of it, it may have been deleted almost as quickly as it was received with a few very vocal choice words, obscenities and curses from her, as I will now be painted a particularly darker shade of black than I was even before.

Now that my fear of her is completely gone, and I know she can no longer hurt me, I am more at peace than I have ever been. I take great care with my own mental, emotional and spiritual health, and with that in mind, am keeping checks and balances to ensure that any actions I take are not just seeking revenge, but justice.

I have given the letter to Alexandra to re-print here on her website, with the hopes that perhaps others who have strayed, been banished or fallen from this particular fold or any other, and may be questioning the reality of the injustices they feel they have suffered, will find it helpful to validate that indeed they have been lied to, coerced and manipulated. This letter is really for you my friends. May God bless you and keep you.

With much love,
G.

Last week I received my mother’s ring, thank-you.

Baha’u’llah