the cult dream

Are you dreaming extra weird dreams during this pandemic? Bonus points if this is even weirder for you because of Shark Week hormones.

Last night I had a whopper, a real story line worth sharing.

THE CULT DREAM:

On a whim I attended some multi-cultural creativity retreats that turned out to be a cult. We were promised dream catchers and meditation and book studies, among other treats. And instead of a locked down compound, it was the kind of cult where you can leave, go home, and come back at your leisure, as long as you wear your name tag and sign up for enough community service.

Weirdly, most of the members didn’t seem to like anyone else in the group very much, but they acted happy. Everyone had glossy, curly hair, except me. They kept coming back for more and just stayed in tight little two or three -person cliques. The overall lighting was wanting.

As far as I could tell, the biggest “initiation” ceremony had to do with being submerged in a giant tank of choppy water and keeping just the tip of your nose exposed for breathing. It was scary, because you had to tread with your legs only, not use your arms to stay above water, and if just a few splashes of the water entered your nose, your chances were ruined. I don’t know what the prize was, besides membership, but tension was high. Drowning was the least of our worries.

We never got around to crafts or studying. Not even yoga. As far as I could tell, the only special power held by cult members was the ability to hear animals’ thoughts as clearly as a person speaking English. Voices, accents, inflection, everything. This might be the bees knees and quite fun, except that the cult meeting room was filled with puppies who were terrified and in pain, and nobody cared. It was excruciating.

At some point, the whole cult took a field trip to the zoo, and the leaders were soon cornered in such a way that a secret lever was activated, and a giant fake hollow rock cave was lowered over them, trapping them. Like a real Scooby Doo moment. My husband was suddenly there with me, and he said, chuckling, “How’s it feel to be caught?” Hehe.

The confusion reigned for a while longer, and I eavesdropped on several conversations about who was there and why and who they hated most and why. The leaders’ entrapment did little to soften the mood, apparently. And nobody took the opportunity to leave.

Then a meeting was called to order, and without warning I was dismissed for all of eternity, rejected and barred by the whole cult. My offense? Writing too many inspirational messages on the walls. The walls were plain, exposed lath and plaster, horizontal relics of twentieth century home construction, perfect for sentences.

I left the cult, hurt by the rejection but also relieved to have my freedom.

The End.

You‘re in a cult, call your dad!!