The only difference between your account and mine is that I was only twenty-nine years old.

Not only was I in the ashram from 1974 to when they were abruptly closed, I was simultaneously a full-time community coordinator, ashram housefather and treasurer who doled out the meager sustenance for most of that time. I was a totally immersed brown nosing goody-two-shoes chump, mostly out of natural survival instincts and self-preservation in what was at times a hellish situation.

As you both know, the deeply abusive, exploitative, mind numbing and growth stunting reality of it all cannot be fully captured or put into words.

In my roles, I was typically the one who drove mahatmas and initiators to and from airports and escorted them on their ashram funded shopping sprees, all the while arranging their schedules and attending to their every need. I was smack dab in the middle of the tyranny and crusades against anything that wasn't satsang, service and meditation by certain initiators who were conduits of Maharaji's abuse, and the whims of those who were socially engineering ashrams by moving ashram premies around like game pieces.

To what you both so accurately portrayed, I would add young adults with mental illness who were prescribed heavier doses of satsang, service and meditation as they were becoming suicidal, actual suicide attempts, and the fact that ashram premies were made to disclose their parents' incomes and any potential inheritances. I would also emphasize the utter lack of resources for medical, dental and vision care and the cruel and grueling daily schedule. With Arti and at least one hour of meditation early in the morning and at night immediately after satsang, ashram premies with full-time jobs were allowed no rest ever. Weekends were consumed by fundraising activities or all day satsang "retreats" with no time allotted for excercise or any form of recreation.

As you mentioned, 15% off the top of every paycheck was sent to Divine Light Mission (along with the requisite reporting form) and often additional amounts were sent directly to Maharaji. All remaining funds went to rent, food, utilities, one or two old cars for typically more than a dozen ashram premies, and most importantly, frequent travel and accommodations for festivals.

The hauntingly meek and feeble pasted-on smiles attempting to convey that it was all "so blissful" barely concealed the unspoken guilt, fears, anxiety and judgements that reduced so many ashram premies to stunted shadows of their former selves. The sqandering and exploitation of their potential was staggering.

Perhaps the most insideous aspect was that we were in a prison without bars thinking that we were the most fortunate people on the planet. "If it was so bad, then why didn't you just leave?" Maharaji sealed our fate with countless fear-mongering quotes stating that the  "world" was a dark, perilous abyss that only he could save us from and that the biggest mistake an ashram premie could ever make would be to leave his shelter. That sacrosanct understanding was completely reinforced by literally every ashram premie we lived with.

To this day, what upsets me most about premies who lived through and witnessed the ashram era is the fact that they allowed and were complicit in the erasing and whitewashing of it from history. One good example was a former ashram premie who wrote, "The ashrams were no more onerous than little league or summer camp." I've been criticised for expressing this (kindly of course) because we all know that "it's not their fault because they're in a cult," but I have to believe that somewhere deep down they know it was wrong.

When the ashrams closed, I was so burned out that I stepped back for a few years and focused on making up for lost time as far as employment was concerned. After Flying Solo and I slowly pieced together a new life, I eventually returned to some heavy duty "participation" while holding down a very demanding job. The double life and stress of it all tipped me over the edge and brought me here.

I called both of you and the other fine posters here who helped and inspired me so much "shining stars in my new bright sky." It still makes me misty-eyed.

Bob

Hi Karen,