On Sun, Oct 16, 2011 at 11:38 AM, turquoiseb <no_re...@yahoogroups.com>wrote:
> Curtis, I think that what "Buck" is focusing on is > not the lack of a shared "level of life" but the lack > of a shared *lifestyle*. One that he himself cannot > even live, because he was kicked out of the domes > long ago, and can't get back in. Some part of him > really, really *misses* that shared TMO TB life- > style; he *longs* for it, and glorifies it and the > "meaning" he assigns to it in his mind. And on some > level -- as you suggest more fundamental and real > than the level of his schtick -- he thinks we long > for it, too. > > I so much long to go back to the days of sub-zero weather, put up in a freezing pod, going down to a freezing basement to take a shower. Waiting outside the Dome until someone decided to come with a key to unlock the freezing place. Going to eat slop that, if I were a POW, would be against the Geneva Convention to serve up to me. Before that, going to residence courses where I was treated like a 3 year old. OK, I had taken off the afternoon from work, drove 6 hours only to find a little handwritten note on the door that the residence course had been cancelled. Any and all fuck ups by initiators/governors were slammed in my face as a way to "prove" that TM makes one resilient and flexible. Trying to register for courses in D.C. or MIU with ladies dressed to the hilt in authentic 1860s fashions and difficult to follow, as they were "witnessing" their words, one by one, and their movements, every single one. Being zonked into hypnotic states from too much meditating or rounding and being indoctrinated hour after hour by governors, Bevin or Maharishi droning on and on. Traveling to MUM on Christmastime to attend a WPA which had the theme of Jane Hopson pitching us on buying timeshares in what was to become Vedic City and having to listen to a Purusha tell us how he looked out his window in Livingston Manor and realize how ashamed he was to be an American, how he'd rather be anything. A deer, a rabbit, anything but an American. Having the oil in my rental car gel from the frigid whether at the onset of the Taste of Utopia and walking to MIU from the Dream Motel, there to have to try to follow a Mother Divine "witnessing" her every word, her every movement as I tried to get checked in for the 7000 course. Having to eat at "Mexican" restaurants like Buckboard Annies, where when I complained that the food had no flavor, being given a bottle of Tabasco Sauce. I long for the days it cost serious money to make long distance calls and you'd have to call the Course Office to apply for a course. Call all afternoon long on Thursday to listen to a recording that said "This is the Course Office. No one is here right now. Our hours are Monday thru Friday from 1 PM to 5 PM" and getting assurances that my application would be processed. The name of the person taking my application? "Course Office".
