Excellent Barry, thank you for sharing this - I am entitling it "the Epitome of the Movement"
yet people still don't ask the question "How can something that has no negative effects and no downside, something that produces freedom from all problems and gives one the support of all the laws of nature produce people and behavior like this? No one asks and if they do, they blame the people instead of looking twice at the technique (and its original teacher) ________________________________ From: turquoiseb <no_re...@yahoogroups.com> To: FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com Sent: Thursday, September 5, 2013 4:50 AM Subject: [FairfieldLife] Life On Ice Cream Island As I've probably mentioned before, this month in Paris I'm staying on Île Saint-Louis, which along with the Île de la Cité is one of the two natural islands in the Seine. (There is a third, called Île aux Cygnes, but it's artificial, and does little more than provide a home for swans and the smaller prototype of the Statue Of Liberty.) When I mention that I'm staying on Île Saint-Louis, Parisians look at me the way Los Angelenos might if I'd told them I lived in Beverly Hills. Their impressions of the place are that it's full of rich, snooty people, the only ones who can afford the million-Euro apartments there. Having been here for a week or so, I beg to differ. There may, in fact, *be* a bunch of rich, snooty types living here, but I never see them on the streets. Maybe they're like rich, snooty people in other cities, and only appear on the streets long enough to be picked up by their limos and whisked off somewhere else, but I actually see fewer of them here than I might in areas of the VIth or VIIth arrondissements. The folks I run into in cafés and restaurants (and, you will see if you keep reading, ice cream joints) are pretty normal, everyday French people, *not* ostentatiously rich, and remarkably fun to interact with. The island itself is small, and looks kinda like this: There are really only three streets, and little traffic. There are a few art galleries and stores, two small markets, a number of bars and restaurants. And unlike the rest Paris -- which seems to have a church on every corner, as if the population could not endure being more than a block away from one in case they suddenly develop the need to either pray or donate money to God (whom we all know needs it so badly) -- there is only one large church, Saint-Louis-en-l'Île. The island is named for Saint Louis, otherwise known as King Louis IX of France. He's the only French king recognized by the Catholic Church as a saint, and not being Catholic myself, I'm not sure what he did to deserve this, but I suspect that he is the patron saint of ice cream. Île Saint-Louis is home to Berthillon, which serves what is rightly considered the Best Ice Cream In Paris. It started as one small establishment, but now there are at least a dozen other restaurants on the island that advertise its ice creams on their signs and awnings. Naturally, market forces being what they are, a number of wannabee competitors have appeared on the island as well, selling *their* brands of ice cream, and trying to lure away some of the people who come here daily for their ice cream fix. Ice cream is so much a part of this island's culture that I hear they even use tiny Berthillon cones in the Saint-Louis-en-l'Île Church instead of communion wafers. All of this makes me remember one of my favorite TM stories, which I have related here before (and which actually happened to a former poster here), but which I will shamelessly tell again, because I think it captures so much about the TM mindset. This guy, a TM Governor of the Age of Enlightenment whom we'll call Joe, was on an ATR course in Europe, and found that he just couldn't stomach the hot milk with cardamom he was expected to drink each night after the meeting to speed him on his way to catching the Angel Train. So he developed an alternative routine, walking out the door of his hotel and into the café across the street, where he ordered an ice cream cone. He then took it back to his room and ate it there. At a certain point on this course, This Guy We're Calling Joe suddenly received a summons to appear before the Inquisition. They didn't call it that, of course, but when he walked into the room and saw the row of course leaders wearing their cheap suits and their standard-issue German scowls, he knew he was in Deep Shit. They proceeded to lecture him about his Off The Program behavior, and threatened to not only send him home from the course if he didn't cut it out, but to put a black mark on his "permanent record" so that he'd never be accepted to any course in the future. At first he was concerned, as any red-blooded TM TB might be as such a terrible karmic prospect, but then he had a kind of satori experience. He suddenly realized that he was sitting in a room being grilled by a bunch of Bliss Nazis and being threatened *for the Sin Of Eating Ice Cream*. He started to laugh uncontrollably, and as I remember the story, just got up and walked out of the room, leaving them to do whatever their little black hearts told them to do. Which turned out to be a big, fat Nothing. Even *they* must have been too embarrassed by their petty tyrant behavior to make it more public. Anyway, THAT was the moment in which Joe "stepped away" from the TM movement, and began his exit from it. To him, there couldn't have possibly been a clearer demonstration of what it had become, and where it was going, and he wanted no part of either. The very org that had promised "the field of all possibilities" had become so narrow-minded and so controlling that they couldn't handle the possibility of its members indulging in the Mortal Sin Of Eating Ice Cream. I kinda wish Joe was here in this café. We'd be able to talk about music, and the many other things we have in common (like how ridiculous we find the TM movement to be), but even better we'd be able to do it while toasting each other with cones of Berthillon ice cream. I think that would be somehow appropriate, and that at least one saint (Saint Louis) would be pleased, even if the "TM saints" like Bevan and High King Tony and the Rajas and Rajettes would be horrified.
