--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, awoelflebater <no_reply@...>
wrote:
>
> I want to tell a short story. It is the story of my second to last
> confrontation. This story does not refute, undermine or invalidate
what
> Bill has written in his book 'Cult'. Bill began sending me excerpts
from
> that book as long ago as 1987. He had started writing with the
intention
> of publishing it one day. After a year or so and many instalments
later
> I asked him what had become of his book and the publishing idea. He
had
> decided at that time (around 1989) that it had served its purpose as a
> therapeutic exercise for him and it had done its job. I haven't seen
the
> book again until it recently resurfaced as it now exists in its
present
> form. I have not yet read it, I glanced quickly at some passages. I
will
> get down to reading it, however, after I write this post.
> I want to emphasize that what I remember of the book it reflects
> absolutely Bill's true and tortured experience of his days; especially
I
> remember reading about his time following his exile from Robin and the
> people he loved. Bill, is in my estimation, one of the gentlest,
kindest
> and most sensitive friends I have ever known. I do not believe him to
be
> out for revenge in his making available this memoir of his. I respect
> absolutely his need to have written it when he did and I do not judge
> him harshly for having made it public here at FFL.
> But I digress. My 26 year old story is what I wanted to write about. I
> will be as brief as I can.
> During Christmas of 1985 I was living very happily with four of my
> closest friends at a house called Millstream outside of Victoria. Four
> of those friends are featured in Bill's book. We were the Americans
> (with the occasional Canadian ending up on our doorstep for brief
> periods) who lived together, cooked together, piled into our cars
> together to attend spur of the moment Robin meetings, chopped wood,
> scrubbed floors, shared common bathrooms. We were virtually
inseparable
> and very, very close and intimate.
> That Christmas of 1985 I decided to do a very unusual thing: I spent
the
> Christmas with my family in Mexico. There was a seminar going on
during
> the holidays and virtually no one would miss something like this, even
> to go to see their families. But off I went and returned after about a
> week. I had spent a large part of my time there scouting the Oaxacan
> markets for gifts for my friends back in Canada, at Millstream. I took
> great care to choose what I thought were perfect gifts for each one of
> these people and was excited to return, to see them and to give them
> their presents. When I arrived at the house I remember the atmosphere
to
> be strained, subdued. The welcome I was expecting was not there. I
felt
> like a stranger. But in my typical fashion I rounded everyone together
> where we could sit at the dining room table and I could present them
> each with the various gifts I had chosen for them. Again, this was met
> with restrained emotion, surreptitious glances. This wasn't feeling
> right to me at all but I persevered and everyone received what I had
> brought back for them. It was like pulling teeth, not the warm,
> receptive occasion I had expected. I was happy to be back, happy to
see
> everyone and I was being treated like I had done something really bad.
I
> had no clue what that might be other than I had "defected" and gone
away
> for Christmas.
> This homecoming back to Victoria would have been around December 29 or
> so. Over the next couple of days it became clear something was coming
my
> way and it was my housemates that were making sure it was going to
> happen. The hard-to-ignore whisperings, the strained atmosphere when I
> walked into the room the signs were unmistakable, confrontation was
> inevitable. I was now openly being accused of "dominating the
context";
> this basically meant some demonic influence was emanating from someone
> (me), overpowering the acoustics and infringing on people in a very
> negative way. Robin, at this point ,was being asked to confront me,
to
> make sure he got me up to the microphone as I was wreaking havoc at
> Millstream and something had to be done. These people, at this point,
> are practically begging him to deal with me, to fix the situation
which
> had become untenable for them, in the living situation at our house,
and
> now, probably all the time.
> So, on January 1, 1986 I am called up and I already know I am gone
> because my friends are just salivating, just waiting, just knowing
what
> is going to happen. At this moment they are not operating from a place
> of caring and love. They are just freaking glad it isn't them up
there.
> And confrontations were not just Robin speaking, they involved
everyone
> who had a tongue in their head. The event was often created and
> sustained by the audience. There was never a time that I witnessed
where
> anyone, ever, jumped up and ran to the stage and said, "Hold on
> everyone! We are all deluded here. Mary isn't demonic. Robin, you've
got
> it all wrong, here listen to me, I know what is happening. Mary's
> friends set her up. Let's stop this mixup, this charade, right now."
> Nope, never happened.Is it just me, or is there something missing
between the paragraph above and the paragraph below?
> My point here has nothing to do with exonerating Robin or myself or to
> lay blame on others. Everyone was on the dance floor. We were all
jitter
> bugging like crazy. We didn't want the music to stop, we wore our
shoes
> out. My point is that the predators were, at other times, the prey.
The
> difficult, confrontational parts of those days so many years ago was a
> collective effort by all involved.
> Robin was at the helm, for sure, many people suffered, yessiree,
Bill's
> tortured months and perhaps years were real just as mine were, and all
> the rest of those who were cut to the quick. There is no denying we
all
> suffered (Robin included), each in our own way, just as there is no
> denying that each one of us has picked ourselves up and created a life
> for ourselves through the choices we make every day. And it has been
> many, many days for each one of us to make of our lives what we can.
And
> I personally have chosen to pick up each and every one of those
> suitcases that hold the experiences I had of being betrayed, of having
> betrayed others and carrying them with me to each new place I go. They
> are a part of who I am, what I have become and just as I hold no
grudge
> or bitterness toward Robin I do not resent my closest of friends for
the
> part they played in what was one of the most difficult periods of my
> life. How could I? They suffered as well, we healed together, we have
> shared so much - during our time of WTS - and so much afterward. No
> matter what, the four (and they know who they are) are in my heart
> forever, no matter how much we might disagree on who Robin was then or
> who he is now. No matter if some are devout Catholics, others Sufi or,
> like me, just a regular non-religous, non-meditating average
Josephines
> plugging along doing my day job and mucking out horses twice a day.
For
> me, and I speak only for myself, I would not have changed a moment of
my
> life, not then and not now.
> I believe I have lost a friend in LK. I am sorry for that. He can not
> accept the fact that I view and know Robin to be a changed man since
> 1986. I have the benefit of having had in-depth private correspondence
> with Robin over some months during this year. It has been a revelatory
> and happy thing to know him as I do. For me he embraces all of those
> qualities that I valued in him 29 years ago, the ability to care,
> nurture, love, the bright spark of his intelligence. He now embraces
> them without the terror, the doubt, the distortion that accompanied
> these beautiful qualities two and a half decades ago.
> I hope ( and I do pray) that everyone can respect what happened to and
> for all of us who lived through such perilous times back then.
>
