Take Me for a Ride: Coming of Age in a Destructive CultLaxer, Mark E.
Religion
Take Me for a Ride: Coming of Age in a Destructive Cult
Laxer, Mark E.
Cults -- United States; Lenz, Frederick, 1950-
We entered a medium-sized room where a smoldering stick
of incense and two unlit candles rested on a table up front.
Two young women stood together near the back of the room.
One had long brown hair and dreamy eyes. The other had a face
and figure like a model. Their faces were flushed and aglow.
They also wore saris.
"Too bad I'm not gonna be sticking around New York," I thought,
gazing at them.
In the audience sat two women in their sixties, dressed entirely
in black. They sat near a man in his thirties, with the frame
of a metal pyramid resting squarely on his head.
We sat by the two sari-clad women. They were clearly excited
about something. They used words like inspiration, aspiration,
concentration, visualization, meditation, reincarnation, and perfection.
My brother, too, seemed excited, as if something extraordinary
and wonderful were about to occur. With each passing minute,
I found myself growing more curious, more impatient, and more excited.
Fifteen minutes after the talk was scheduled to begin, the women
in saris stopped talking and looked up.
I looked up too and saw a tall man with a projecting nose and
lush locks. His long strides seemed synchronized with his arms,
which swung like perfectly conflicting pendulums; this motion
seemed to propel him into the room. He sat on the table facing
the audience, folded his legs in the pretzel-like posture seen
in Buddha statues, and introduced himself as Dr. Frederick Lenz.
He explained that he had another name: Atmananda. Then he lit
the candles and asked us to drop our preconceived notions because,
"meditation is beyond thought."
"Thought is like a car," he said in a smooth, charming voice.
"You can drive it to California. But if you want to cross the ocean,
you will need an alternate means of transportation. If you want
to cross the sea of consciousness, you will need meditation."
Though his metaphors were new to me, they seemed to point
the way beyond the surface world of reason. He used words
like guru, avatar, warrior, power, power spots, personal power,
moments of power, spiritual power, psychic power, ecstasy, enlightenment,
cosmic love, transcendental, supreme, Nirvana, and the Infinite.
When he said it was time to meditate, I was surprised
that he had been speaking for over forty minutes. It had seemed like five.
"Now extend your index fingers and close your eyes," Atmananda instructed.
I squinted to see if anyone else was peeking. From what I could tell,
the twenty or so people obeyed him.
"Now say 'me' out loud and touch your chest."
My "me" was muffled by the group's "me".
"You are not only pointing to your chest," Atmananda explained,
"but to your heart chakra, one of seven psychic energy centers
associated with the subtle body. Concentrating on a chakra is an easy
way to begin crossing the sea of consciousness."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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