TAKE ME FOR A RIDE - Coming Of Age In A Destructive Cult

by Mark E. Laxer
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attached to the frame of my 12-speed. Strong headwinds soon strained
my muscles, shook the lush canopy of foliage, and pelted me with
large drops of rain. As I began the journey west, the front tire
raced through puddles while my mind raced through painful memories
and questions. How had my years with Atmananda affected me? Why was
it so difficult to leave him? What was it about my past that led me to him?




2. Zapped!


"Lights," said my father and for a moment, except for the
phosphorescent hands of the clock on the wall, the room went black.
With a flip of a switch, he suddenly reappeared: a tall,
thin man with thick glasses, standing beside the glowing enlarger.
As a child I sat for hours under a dim yellow light,
mesmerized by images appearing on paper submerged in trays filled
with smelly liquid. Yellow, my father taught me, has no apparent
effect on the light-sensitive specks coating photographic paper.

The unorthodox images which leapt from the walls of our house seemed
as eerie as the darkroom experience itself: there was a photograph
of a llama's head as viewed through a distorting fish-eye lens,
there was a photograph of a shredded poster of a man's face,
and there were many abstract photos which seemed to defy description.
My father, a production manager at a New York publishing company,
perhaps saw the world in a different light than his peers.

My mother was an elementary school teacher with black hair and
sometimes kind, sometimes intense eyes. A generous and caring woman,
she put her career on hold for more than a decade to raise a family.
She met my father in upstate New York on a hike sponsored by an
outing club.

When I was fourteen, I sensed that my father was growing tired,
detached, and depressed, but I did not understand why. He expressed
abstractions better than emotions, and found it difficult to vent
the angers and frustrations which had accumulated from work and from home.

Nor did I understand that my mother freely gave to me what she,
in her youth, had sorely missed: love. Oblivious to the magnitude
of her workload--she taught full-time and was pursuing a Master's degree--
I grew angry with her as a teenager partly because she seemed
insecure and overbearing, and partly because she expected me,
my brother, and my father to help keep the house clean in the way
that she wanted.

Despite my family's love for the outdoors, for our dog,

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