Insane or Inspired? One Man’s Bid to End Patriarchy Forever (Part 2)

I had written about cults before, and even interviewed victims of British cults, along with their families. I knew how it worked. I knew how easy it was to fall under the spell of a charismatic leader, and also how incredibly hard it often was to escape. What I’ve never admitted to anyone, however, is the feeling of superiority that researching the subject gave me. For I, after all, as a journalist and a supposed intellectual, was too smart and streetwise to ever fall for such nonsense. Besides, I knew that my atheism would always keep me safe, not only from religious cults, but from religion itself. So what was I doing, therefore, not only accepting an invitation to stay the night, but actually thinking through the practicalities of moving here, in order to escape the “evil patriarchy”?

Jay’s farm was called Haven, appropriately enough, and that’s exactly what it had become, to many of the people who lived there. How many people? Well, that’s an interesting question, but one which I had thus far failed to get a clear answer to. “We’ve never counted,” said Kerensa, who’d seated herself on the edge of my bed, “but I know it’s a lot.”

“Ten, twenty… thirty?”

“It’s best not to think in terms of numbers,” she replied, “that will only confuse you.”

“What do you mean, confuse me?”

“Well, if you knew the precise number, your rational mind would have a hard time believing that so many people could be living in such a relatively small space. And, conversely, you’d wonder why you never actually saw most of them.”

“Are you saying that the farm operates like a Tardis?”

“No. That’s technology. Think more in terms of loaves and fishes. How was Jesus able to feed thousands of people with such a small amount of food?”

I deliberately assumed that her question was rhetorical, in order to avoid having to answer it. “Can I ask you something, Kerensa? And please don’t be offended by the question.”

“Sure. You can ask me anything you like.”

“Do you suffer from any kind of mental illness?”

“No,” she chuckled, “but Jay does. He’s autistic.”

“Does that hamper him in any way?”

“Quite the opposite. He was given it; you know, to assist him in his mission.”

“Given it by whom?”

“By the Goddess, of course. It was She who sent him, on Her behalf. Jay represents that portion of the divine masculine which remained loyal. And now it’s time to reel in the wayward elements. Boys will be boys!”

“And the Goddess is who exactly?”

“We don’t name Her. But the Goddess is you. The real you, I mean. The Goddess is who you would perfectly reflect, as a woman, once stripped of all of your social and cultural identifications. That’s why men worship us. They remember the truth, on some unconscious level.”

“So men aren’t part of the Goddess then?”

“Well, they’re part of Her. Masculine energy is a divine frequency, which emanates from the Goddess. However, Her frequency is higher, because it’s whole. It is, literally, Source energy. She is the Source of all life.”

“What about God?”

“A simple inversion of the Truth, by men, for and on behalf of the patriarchal agenda.”

“And you know all of this because Jay told you?”

“Jay pointed me in the right direction, but my knowledge comes from the Goddess Herself.”

“How?

“Because I talk to Her. The Goddess wants people to acknowledge Her, you know, which most aren’t doing. They’re directing their prayers to… someone else.”

“Are you saying that the simple act of addressing the Goddess, in prayer, rather than God, is somehow meaningful?”

“For many people, it’s life-changing. We can pray now, if you like, together.”

“Okay. What do I have to do?”

“Not much. Just close your eyes open your heart. That’s it. Take a deep breath and accept that you are an integral part of Her; an extension of Her energy. Now just listen to my words: Heavenly Goddess, I approach you today in the presence of Melanie, who is interested in learning more about You, and in coming to the realisation that You Yourself are living through her, and as her. Please give her the intuitive knowledge that she needs, and allow her to see that she is worthy of the heartfelt devotion of men, however imperfectly they may express it. Guide her onto the path, and into the role, for which she is best suited, and protect her from the slings and arrows of apparent others. Beloved Goddess, please open Melanie’s eyes to the illusion of this world, whilst allowing her to see the transparency of Truth. Give her the strength to withstand the onslaught of patriarchal forces, whether manifest or occult, and mark Her for life in the divine system to come. Heavenly Goddess, I love you to the extent that I love myself, because You are my Self. So be it.”

This World that I’ve Found is Too Good to be True

I awoke with a song playing in my head that I hadn’t heard for years: “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now,” by Starship. I didn’t think too much of it, at first. However, as I found myself singing some of the lines, I began to realise the unlikelihood of it being a mere coincidence. In fact, after pulling the lyrics up, on my phone…

I’m not sure what happened next, but Kerensa appeared by my side, obviously concerned. “Whatever is the matter?” she asked. “I heard you crying from half-way down the corridor.”

I showed her my phone. I didn’t have to explain any further. She knew.

“I told you,” she said. “Recognising the Goddess is a life-changing moment in a woman’s life. And, in turn, She will recognise you. It’s happened to all of us.”

“But it’s so precise, Kerensa,” I sobbed. “This is exactly what I needed to hear. I mean, exactly.”

“Why do you sound so surprised? The Goddess doesn’t merely know you, Melanie; She is you. So of course she’s going to know what you need to hear.”

I highlighted some of the lyrics, in case she hadn’t actually read them: “I’m so glad I found you, I’m not gonna lose you. Whatever it takes I will stay here with you. Take it to the good times, see it through the bad times. Whatever it takes, here’s what I’m gonna do. Let ’em say we’re crazy. What do they know? Put your arms around me, baby, don’t ever let go. Let the world around us just fall apart. Baby, we can make it if we’re heart to heart.”

“I know,” she chuckled. “It’s perfect.”

Jay, at least, seemed to understand my shock, when I eventually found him, in the farmhouse kitchen. “You’re still trembling,” he noted, clasping my hands between his. “And I can’t say that I’m surprised. This kind if thing can be a jolt, especially for anyone who’d dismissed the notion of a spiritual dimension to reality. Even though the message you received is a profoundly beautiful one, it nevertheless represents — coming in the way that it did, and at the time that it did — a seemingly paranormal or supernatural event.”

“That’s exactly it. I am overjoyed, but I’m also a little terrified. I mean, apart from anything else, how can I have a normal life, after this?”

“Your normal life is over,” he said, matter-of-factly. “That’s the good news.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“There is no bad news. There is only more good news.”

“Which is…?”

“That your real life begins today.”

The Power of Suggestion

Jay had converted an old barn into a multi-functional space that resembled a sports hall. Today, however, it was filled with chairs, in anticipation of around thirty people who’d signed-up for his workshop. Entitled, ‘The Power of Suggestion’, he sought to demonstrate how a lack of imagination renders us docile and controllable, whereas a higher degree of imagination can set us free.

It began with a short presentation that Jay had put together, showing how even those who are supposedly against the system are nevertheless still maintaining it, through their wilful participation in it, and their knowing acquiescence to it. “If you came here today expecting to hear about conspiracy theories,” he began, “then I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you. Whilst it may have been a necessary step on the path, for many of us— in realising that our world is far darker and stranger than we once believed—neither conspiracy theories nor conspiracy facts are not going to lead us to the freedom that we apparently desire. Quite the opposite, in fact. For the conspiracy world is just another hook, to hold your attention. And a lot people actually enjoy it. They’re not angry or outraged; they’re loving it. It gives their life meaning. And — for many who talk about conspiracies — a considerable income as well.

“The truth is, any and every conspiracy that is uncovered merely points to the simple fact that our world, itself, is not what it appears to be, on any level. There is no organic human society or culture, anywhere. It is all contrived and manipulated to serve an agenda so diabolical that even the most hardened conspiracy theorist would wet their pants upon hearing of it.

“Sadly, many who claim to be against the system, or patriarchy, are simultaneously investing themselves in the political circus that it offers them, and cheering this or that candidate to victory. They just don’t get it; they don’t see how they’ve been turned into puppets of the very system that they claim to despise. They lack the imagination, essentially, to think outside of the box; or, in many cases, to think at all. They’re trapped, in the system, just as you are trapped in this building. That’s right! All of the doors and windows have been locked. But there is still a way out, if you use your imagination. Maybe there is a hidden trapdoor, or a ventilation shaft, or a way out through the roof space, if you can find a way up there. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to escape this building by whatever means possible. For it will self-destruct in fifteen minutes. Good luck.”

As the students began milling around, I strode over to Jay and asked him whether this exercise was as tough as the one he’d put me through, the previous day.

“Just as tough,” he said, “or just as easy, depending on how you look at it.”

“What about breaking the glass? You did say, ‘whatever means possible’. That would show some imagination, wouldn’t it?”

“It would certainly show some balls. But, no, brute force is not imagination, in this case.”

“Chimney?”

“There isn’t one.”

“A false wall panel?”

“Hm. Interesting. But, no.”

“A concealed door?”

“Why would it need to be concealed?”

“Well, because… Oh, no!”

“What?”

“I think I’ve just realised what you’ve done here. Or, rather, what you haven’t done.”

“And what’s that?”

“You haven’t locked all of the doors and windows, have you?”

“It’s worse than that, Melanie,” he said, with a grin, “I haven’t locked any of the doors and windows.”

To Be Continued