The cult part 1

Chapter one.

There are things I still remember very well, and there are things I have conveniently pushed away. Repressed. Gone. 

One of the things I can't push away is the time I ended up in a cult. 

Make yourself comfortable, we're diving right in. 

Utrecht, I was 22 years old, I worked at the Tivoli and in a Beer Cafe, I was dating a very sweet girl. I don't know more than that. 

What I do know is that I was deeply unhappy.

Two years before all this happened, my life had been turned upside down so drastically that since then I actually didn't know how I managing at all.

But we'll get back to that later. 

I did love Utrecht. I had been living here for about 2 years, made friends, and enjoyed the night work. 

I had worked a night at the Beer Cafe. It was summer, and after a night of work, I got on my bike to go home. 

That was always my favorite moment of the day. 

So very early in the morning, around half past 4. The bakers were already at work. Here and there, a stray partygoer was dozing off on a bench, still drunk; I find that romantic. 

The city was quiet, but slowly waking up. 

I got on my bike and rode my way home from the city center. 

I was tired, and also a bit tipsy. Because after a whole night of pouring beer for other people, we always ended up having a few beers ourselves. On the outskirts of the city in the north, there are those locks by the canals. 

I stopped, parked my bike, and sat by the water.

I lit a cigarette and felt the morning sun on my face.

A deep feeling of sadness overwhelmed me. I had that quite often. Let's just say my whole life.

Those waves, waves of sorrow, waves of no ground left under your feet. 

Waves of, if I weren't here, then not much would change. Waves of, if I just stop now, I will never have to feel this way again. 

I looked at the water that was pounding against the locks. And in a matter of seconds, the thought I had been leaning against my whole life came to the surface. Just jump, just drown. 

I started to cry, but softly, dramatically and theatrically, a single tear sliding down my cheek kind of crying. 

I looked around, there was no one in sight. 

I could just disappear, no one would stop me.

I stood up and took off my backpack, I took off my shoes, I took a deep breath. Finally, relief. God knows how many times I had already been to this place and God knows that I had already tried. 

Enough now, jump, drown. 

Then out of nowhere, I heard my phone, an old-school Nokia, singing the familiar tune from the backpack on the ground. I woke up startled and considered just jumping after all as a solution to that annoying ringtone.

But I didn't do it, I squatted down next to my backpack and rummaged until I felt the bottom and grabbed my phone. 

It was my girlfriend. 

Where are you? Haven't you finished work ages ago? Why aren't you home yet?

I heard her sleepy voice pulling me back to the world and lied. 

Yes, I'm on my way, I'm almost there. 

A few hours later, I woke up in my bed and felt as if I had escaped death. A light of clarity overcame me, and I searched for my phone again. 

I called Mardou. 

Mardou and I had known each other the longest of everyone. 

She answered cheerfully and I started to cry. 

I told her how I felt and that I needed help. 

She told me that she knew what I had to do and that I should come to her. She was living in Hilversum at that time. I took the first train I could find, no more thinking now, just keep moving.

When I arrived there, she told me about a training she had done.

A life-changing training. 

A training that had set her back on track in her life in one go.

She told me it was so good and so amazing and that everyone should do that training, especially me. 

Her roommate had a car, I could pay in installments, it was all no issue. Just sign up and get it done. 

So i did.  

I signed up for a 5-day life-changing training. 

The registration was easy enough. A phone call, a very brief questionnaire, and that's it. No further screening or background check about my suicidal tendencies or history of addiction, I could just jump right in. The sooner, the better. 

The Essence. 

The answer to all my questions was a building in an industrial area in Amsterdam West. The Essence was born from the brilliant mind of the cowboy, a Jewish man who, before deciding to enlighten the ordinary person, had worked in the Israeli army. Together with his wife, they were now settled in Holland. Lucky us. 

The essence was in an ugly building in the middle of nowhere.

Upon arrival, it was clear that I had nothing to lose, yet I still felt nervous. 

Upon entering, there was a very cheerful person with a name tag waiting for me. The inside of the building was just as ugly as the outside, if not uglier. Other nervous people were waiting in some sort of cafeteria while we all received a name tag. 

Small talk has never been my thing, luckily for me the other students were also to nervous to take offense. 

When I thought it couldn't get any worse, I was wrong; the classroom looked like a slaughterhouse, and the smell of spiritual death was clearly present. Those fluorescent lights in the ceiling and ugly old dirty carpeting. There were all these white plastic garden chairs, and all the windows were blocked from any sunlight or connection with the outside world. 

They had made large wooden boards in front of it, painted white, still pretty grim. We all obediently sat down while I looked around to see which people were also weary enough of life to voluntarily throw themselves into this dark pit. 

The people were mainly white, but otherwise, no way to gauge. There were about 30 of us students.

At the front of the classroom, there was a sign that read: Creating a world that works for everyone out of love, care, and cooperation. I had no opinion about it and kept quiet as the class began. I noticed that there was tape on the floor, where the chairs were neatly placed. It was clear, these people had a plan, with clear rules, everything was on purpose.

My teacher was the cowboy's wife, a small woman with beautiful brown curls and a clear voice. She spoke English with a thick accent. 

She started the class by explaining the rules. It was clear and strict, everyone followed. A team was introduced, an assistant team. Because it took a lot of work to make this class possible and these assistants were indispensable. These assistants all looked very neat. They sat up straight and listened very well to the teacher. 

These were all people who had already done the training, so they could relate. A team of 15 strong. Okay, that's fine. 

Immediately, it was made clear that this class was only for players. But they didn't say it like that. They asked if you were a commentator, spectator, or a player. The first watertight manipulation. Well, why were we there! To participate, of course. The first unwritten promise was thus made. If you were a player, you listened to the teacher, no matter what. 

We were divided into small groups and each got a personal coach, someone from the assistant team. That was now our bonus teacher. The next step was that there was a specific way we were allowed to enter the classroom. We were Pavloved. The teacher said that if we heard the next song throughout the building, that would be the sign  that the class was about to start and that we had exactly 2 minutes to sit on our white plastic garden chair. The brilliant piece of music by Richard Strauss, Also sprach Zarathustra. 1 minute and 49 seconds, to be precise. The music blared through the building, you couldn't miss it. Oh yes, and a small detail, while you walked into the classroom, it was very important that you raised your arms in the air. I did it all. I listened and I followed. 

The days were filled with exercises, games, lectures. The message was mainly that you had to take responsibility for your life, but also carefully examine your own role. It all sounded quite logical and good. Plausible, plausible. But all by the rules of the teacher's rules, with your arms in the air. Parts of anger, inner child, father and mother issues were touched upon. All pretty basic stuff. On the third day, it was clear that we were being pushed towards a peak. On this day, at the end of the day, a game was introduced that divided the group into two teams. The game was a kind of puzzle that you had to try to solve with your own group. A division emerged, a us versus them atmosphere. One group was good, the other bad. And the focus was on your own group. I felt like crap. 

Maybe it also had to do with the fact that there was little rest throughout the days. It was a whirlwind of rules, lectures, confrontations, sharing among students, little food, little sleep, little daylight. On the third day, we were all sent home with this awful feeling, but with homework, because every evening when we got home, we had to write down our successes to share with our bonus teacher and group the next day. I started to feel resistance. It didn't feel right anymore. But I kept following.

The next day, my fellow students walked into the room just as exhausted as I was, with our hands in the air, to the soundtrack of our nightmare, sprach! 

But soon the atmosphere changed, and old disco classics were blasted at full volume, where everyone was expected to dance.

I was conditioned in just 3 days to switch gears and start dancing immediately. Also because it was a kind of relief. 

We were constantly put in a state of tension and then relieved again. An emotional battle of attrition. 

When we re-entered the classroom, the arrangement of the class had changed again. That happened more often before we entered a process, but this time the atmosphere was worse than usual. 

The chairs were arranged in pairs facing each other, and we were asked to sit in one chair and leave the one opposite us empty. 

Then the doors of the hall opened and an army of assistants walked in, many more than the usual assistance in the daily structure. 

The rules were explained, but I have to honestly say that I don't remember them well anymore. What I do know is that I felt anxious and impressed. I was impressed by the intensity of the presence and atmosphere. The tension was palpable. 

A woman sat down across from me, someone I had seen once before in one of the other processes.

The process began. The woman asked me; what do you want? 

I said, umm, peace.

She asked again. What do you want?

Money. 

What do you want?

To be healthy. 

What do you want?

To be happy.

What do you want?

Just, peace and love.

What do you want?

I want you to ask me something new.

What do you want?

Yeah, Jesus, just be happy! And a ton of money!

What do you want?

The pressure increased, and the people in the room started speaking louder. The frustration became more palpable in the air every time the question was asked. Not just from me, but from all the other 30 students who were also struggling to give the right answer. Because it was clear, they were looking for a specific answer.

What do you want? What do you want? What do you want!!!! 

Somewhere from the back of the hall, I heard one of the assistants shouting at a student. WHAT DO YOU WANT!!! 

People started to cry. It was once again an emotional battle of attrition. Crying, screaming, panicked people began to make themselves heard. It didn't leave me unscathed either. I pulled out all the stops to convince the complete stranger in front of me that I could produce a good answer. I started to feel panic, the atmosphere was terrible, and I began to cry. The teacher and other assistants were walking around the room, giving extra feedback. So the teacher also came over to me and said; be careful with this one, she’s a smartass. It felt like a punch in my stomach. Every now and then, a student would stand up, the reward for the correct answer was that he or she could leave the room. I would have given anything to be allowed to leave this room as well. Apparently, I wasn't allowed to do that, because I felt glued to my chair while I searched deeply for the answer. Time passed, 10 minutes, 20 minutes, 30 minutes. I had said everything that came to mind, and I felt that I was giving up. I cried deeply and finally said; nothing, I want nothing. 

The assistant placed her hands on my lap and said, yes exactly yes, come on, you can go outside. I felt an enormous sense of relief, I was allowed to leave. Away from that terrible place with all the pain of all those people. 

I walked as fast as I could outside and ran down the stairs. I lit a cigarette and felt nothing but anger within myself. What kind of place was this? This emotional manipulation, it was so harsh, so brutal. We were broken down, step by step, with a psychological punishment and reward system. 

And so we moved towards the end of this day. The third day, which for me felt just as much like day 200. I was losing touch with my reality. 

Upon entering the hall, after everyone apparently didn't want anything anymore, the disco was turned back on. We danced again, I didn't want to dance, but I also didn't want to feel so bad anymore. I could barely hold myself up anymore. I felt everything mixed up. 

Some of the other students were defeated and didn't dance; they were encouraged by the assistants to join in anyway. Other students seemed as if they had met God, laughed exaggeratedly, and danced their legs off. It was complete madness. 

After the disco, we were briefly taught how to hug properly. The lights were dimmed, the music was slow jams, and the protocol for a proper hug was explained to us. 

Eye contact, a time limit, and proper breathing. There was no further question about consent, but well, you still wanted to be a player, so just go along with it. That evening, I slept for about 5 minutes. 

I felt tired, but also good, I felt lighter. It was clear that this was all a big game, I didn't yet know exactly what their end game was, but I did want to keep playing. 

Despite everything. It gave me a strange sense of certainty, an even misplaced sense of safety. I laid awake but looked forward to the last day. 

People were euphoric on the last day. I can still vividly recall the feeling of electricity. When I entered the building, I was happy to see my fellow survivors. We had truly experienced something together, and this was the last day we could share our vulnerability in this setting. 

On the last day, I had made a promise to myself. I wanted to share, I had seen people grow over the past 5 days when they shared with the group, I wanted this too. 

So at the very last moment, during the final sharing moment, the teacher asked one last time: who wants to share?

I shakily raised my hand, here we go. 

She picked me, and I made my way to the front of the room. 

The setup looked like this. 

In front of the classroom, I stood with the teacher. 

The other students were seated in two blocks divided in the hall. An aisle between the two blocks. The chairs neatly against the tape on the floor. 

At the back of the hall, there was a row of chairs against the walls where the team of assistants sat. In the middle, a table with some empty chairs. 

I looked around the room, at all the people, and I felt my courage sink again. 

The teacher did her best to open me up, but I could sense that I was fully resisting. Even though a part of me definitely wanted to, another part held on tightly to the ground. 

At that moment, the doors opened, and two people walked into the room. This was the cowboy, there was no mistaking it. His energy filled the room. All the assistants sat up straight, and his wife, my teacher, showed a glimpse of humanity for the first time when she saw him.

The cowboy, he was short, bald, and at first glance, well, ugly.

But it was compensated by his companion, who was a beautiful young blonde woman. Together, they walked to the back of the room and took their seats on the empty chairs behind the table. 

The teacher and I continued.

She did her best, but I didn't want to move. 

Then the cowboy stood up. The cowboy made his way down the aisle between the white plastic garden chairs and stopped right in the middle of my line of sight.

He said something in Hebrew to the teacher, to which the teacher stepped back and shrugged her shoulders. 

He stepped closer and began to speak to me. I don't remember what he said anymore, but it was strict and funny. I remember that the other students had to laugh a few times. 

I studied him and said nothing. 

Then he came very close to me and said; are you angry with your mother? You should send her flowers every day for giving you life. 

He moved even closer and placed his hand on my stomach. 

Under my breasts, above my navel. He applied pressure. His face was close to mine and he said; it's time to let that go. 

I started to cry, and as I felt my tears flowing, my body began to tingle. 

Suddenly, I saw nothing around me, heard no one anymore, but only felt his hand on my belly and my feet, which felt like they were lifting off the ground. 

My body filled with an immense space and light. Something I had never felt before. I breathed in and out deeply while he slowly removed his hand from my stomach. 

The first thing I heard again was the students bursting into a wave of applause and encouragement. I had clearly done something right. Whether it was the cowboy, whatever it was, I was now a different person. That was clear. 

That day, some games were still played, but it was mainly about marketing. It was about the next steps. Fortunately, this was not the end, because essence had so many more steps they could offer. More training sessions. I didn't want to hear anything about it, I thought it was fine as it was. I needed a moment. 

We had the opportunity to invite people for that day. In hindsight, of course, this was part of their marketing plan, but at that moment it felt intimate. 

As if we had graduated and now our friends and family could come and see how well we had succeeded. Students and alumni spoke about how amazing the past few days had been and how this was something everyone in the world should do. No one mentioned anything about the many emotional outbursts, psychological battles, or physical exhaustion.

I don't remember who I had invited anymore, I think Mardou. 

It was a celebration and a way to expand the club. I was tired and wanted it to be over. The guests were asked to go to the cafeteria for the next moment but were allowed to return for the closing ceremony.

The guests made their way outside while the teacher and the team began to say goodbye to all the students. 

The atmosphere was familiar, intimate, warm, and soft. Just a little longer together, it felt nice. 

During the break, I wanted to go outside to smoke a cigarette, but on my way out, I was stopped by the beautiful blonde woman. 

She wanted to know who I was and what my plans were.

The cowboy also came over. It was clear that my next step had to be the source training. That was the follow-up to the 5 days I had just completed. Someone with as much potential as I have, and I even got a discount and it was already in a week. Why not just go for it now? Why not! Everything was ready for me. 

I signed up. 

There was a kind of euphoria in the air that I still can't quite describe to this day. 

It perhaps reminded me a bit of the high from ecstasy. A dopamine boost that came from the victory of having endured these 5 days of depth. I felt amazing. 

The days of little sleep, little food, little daylight, and going through the deepest recesses of my emotions with 30 complete strangers had done me good. I no longer wanted to be dead. I wanted to pick up my life and make something of it. What a party. 

We ended up in the hall with candles and Michael Jackson's Heal the World, and I was home. 

Finally. 

I had no idea what was waiting for me, that in only 7 days from now i would have one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.