When I was transferred to the New York City ashram, there was no physical dwelling. The lease had expired before a new one could be found. For several hot summer months, ashram premies were housed by community premies. When a new ashram was finally secured, a beautiful brownstone on the upper west side of Manhattan, it was intended to become a "super ashram" along with several others in a few key cities to handle follow-up after one of Prem Rawat's public event tours.

As A-list premies were shipped in, B-list premies were shipped to outpost ashrams, which is exactly what they were called by engineers of the plot. I was privy to talk about outposts being "staging areas" for transitioning undesireable (and unsuspecting) premies out of the ashram, thinning the herd if you will. Some of the most sincere and devoted premies were being hidden out of sight because their impoverished (go figure!) and unrefined appearance and demeanor didn't make the cut for the polished image the cult was trying to project.

The unmitigated "protector of the weary and the weak" hypocrisy of social engineering! The plot to sell them out by mouthpieces of their supposed protector.

A B-lister myself with a solid repution for devotion to Prem Rawat and loyalty to the engineers, I was shipped-out to an ashram a monastic staging area outpost to be the loyal coordinator of an outlying community - Hartford, Connecticut. I knew what was up and what my loyal, caretaker "eyes and ears" role was, but I was too enamoured by being chosen and trusted for it to have any effect on me. Nevertheless, I quickly realized how fortunate I was to be surrounded by such sincere people. 

My heart still sinks when I reminisce about that last year. Sincere premies suffocating in the rut of repetitive routines through a hot summer with no outdoor recreation. Young, repressed cult-whipped premies saddled with marathon satsang and meditation sessions, retreats for more of the same and non-stop fundraisers on precious weekends. There hadn't been an event or any word or guidance from Prem Rawat in what seemed like ages. We were truly adrift, languishing and left to our own devices, even as we strived to adhere to the ashram rules and schedule.

What haunts me is the look of anxiety and uncertainty in the eyes of innocent premies as we silently contemplated living the rest of our lives under those circumstances - the strain of having nothing but faith to suppress those sinking feelings.

Except for the callous and cruel way it was handled, closing the ashrams was not a mistake. The mistake occurred seven years earlier when a loosening Prem Rawat apparently snapped back like an overstretched rubber band and doubled-down on his divinity and heavy devotion for seven more senseless years. 

We had no clue about X-rating and what those who were sworn to secrecy knew about Prem Rawat's abhorant behavior and grossly hypocritical lifestyle.