reply to post by LargeFries
TerryMcGuire I hope you do write a OP regarding cult activity. I too would be interested in reading.
I have considered this topic for a post. Understanding why someone enters a cult is worthy of books. And the experience of being in a cult is worthy
of books. And how many more could be written by people who have left them. Over thirty five years later, I have come to understand exactly what you
say here.
I think most of the world-weary American tax paying wage slaves that people online say "are asleep" or are called "sheeple" are in reality
under the cult of control in which their parents and grand-parents were raised.
And certainly we can follow this "conditioning back as far as we like. Just being human seems to come with this clause. Live under the system in
which you are born or suffer the consequences. To borrow from my reply to another thread on
addiction
In my heart I believe a large portion of this population has to be removed entirely from the beast of burden they are under and allowed to
simply catch their breath, free from worries, bills and taxes, for at least a year. After they are out from under the tense and nervous of living in a
rat race then they could be slowly lead to the alternative reality and differing viewpoints of so many topics.
The drawback here is that for the most part, the only way this happens to anyone only tosses them into some other controlled context where some other
belief system prevails. But I share your vision.
In closing, I enjoyed the poetry. It was well chosen and provided a welcome pause to reflect.
This is one of my favorite poems by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?