The cult part 2

And then came part two, the source training. 

Fresh off the press and straight out of the love bubble, it quickly became clear that this was a whole different ball game. 

The blonde beauty was the teacher of this class. And she knew how to get things done. We dove in headfirst. 

Where we in the essence training held each other and mainly comforted each other through all the emotional violence, this class was for sure not going to be that way. It was a slightly smaller group, fortunately also a few familiar faces from the essence training. More poor souls who also thought that taking action was the right advice. 

The class started with a name tag process. We received name cards from the teacher with what we reminded her of. On my name tag it said 'indifferent', I mean she wasn't wrong, but still. 

We immediately continued by learning how to give each other negative feedback, which was heartbreaking. We were given some homework and that was day 1, a great start. This promised something. I slept restlessly, felt anxious. I doubted whether this was all a good idea. 

But I went back again, because, well, you can say what you want about the essence, but I no longer felt weary of life. I wanted to live and had decided to immerse myself deeper in this strange place. 

The next day, I immediately regretted it again; I found myself in one of the most terrible moments of my life.

The day started strict again and the pace was high. We had to do all sorts of exercises again. The teacher was still beautiful but much less attractive. She was strict, she seemed born for this strict Nazi role. Keeping us all in line. The confrontations were brutal, but nothing could prepare me for the process that was about to take place. 

The chairs had been removed from the room and we had to sit on the floor. The teacher had a microphone and began telling a story. 

The lights were dimmed, you could hear a pin drop. Everyone was dead silent and fully attentive to the teacher's story.

The story was about a boat, a boat in the middle of the sea, everything was good and beautiful until suddenly! An iceberg and the boat would sink. We, our group, survived the crash and ended up on an island. 

All of us were happy to have survived the accident, but there was another problem. There was only one lifeboat that had survived the crash, and that lifeboat could only fit 3 people. Of all the people, only 3 could tell this story afterwards. 

The teacher put down the microphone, everyone was tense with anticipation. What was going to happen? 

We were asked to stand in a large circle in the room.

We all received 3 matchstick pricks, it was time to vote. 

One by one, we had to go around the circle and give one of our matchstick to a person we thought had a good chance of surviving and possibly getting help for the rest, or something like that.

The rule was, if you got a matchstick, you had to hold it up in the air and shout; I AM ALIVE. But the rule was also that if you chose not to give the person in front of you a matchstick, you had to say; you will die. 

It was dead serious, people started crying, the atmosphere was indescribable to this day. This was real, it felt real. 

The voting process began, and randomly you heard people in the room shouting, "I'm alive," or you heard people saying, "You will die." 

It was a terrible feeling. 

Every time I got a little matchstick, I quickly put it in my pocket and refused to scream. This did not go unnoticed, the teacher came to stand by me. She asked me how matchsticks I had , I said I don't know, to which she replied, and did you also give yourself a matchstick? of course you did not, because everyone here can see you, but you can't see yourself, what a waste to give you a matchstick. 

I broke down, I cried like a baby, she was right. 

When everyone had voted, it was time to count the votes.

I had the most matchsticks of everyone, I was ashamed, I didn't want to be in the lifeboat. Not even a month before this, I was standing by the canal, ready to end my life. And here I was, with all these people who saw something in me that I couldn't see myself. Fortunately, the teacher took the process a bit deeper and the three survivors were asked to sit on three chairs at the front of the room. 

The other students who, unfortunately, most likely would not survive this adventure, were given the chance to leave us a message for their loved ones. I don't know what was worse, the entire voting process or seeing the pain of all the other students. 

The people were crying and begging. 

Tell my children that I love them and that I'm sorry for being so absent. 

Tell my mother that I saved her money in my wife's account.

Tell my friend that I was pregnant, finally. 

Tell my husband that I know he cheated but that I forgive him. 

I couldn't handle it well, I cried, I looked next to me and saw my buddy, who had also survived, he was crying too and looked at me in shock. 

He couldn't handle it either, it gave me some comfort. 

A song was played for us, the students cried, and that was that. During the break, I still remember going outside and calling Mardou, I was crying, she comforted me and said; hang in there, it will get better. I believed her and hung up sobbing. 

After the break, there was no time to waste; fortunately, a kundalini process awaited us, which made everything much more relaxed. The rest of the day, I only felt terrible, I can hardly remember anything else. That evening I went home and could only cry. 

I kept seeing the people in front of me who hadn't been saved by the lifeboat, their words, the tears, the screaming. And the teacher who had so harshly emphasised the fact that I hadn't chosen myself. 

Fortunately, the next day we could vent all our anger on a belt that we were allowed to hit hard against the ground. The emotional fatigue set in. I felt out of myself. Far away from the loving essence training, and deep in my own misery. Everything that happened was actually a trigger. The music acted as a great manipulation, transforming the loving sounds of John Denver into mandatory dancing to Marco Borsato. It was exhausting. Fortunately, it could all get even worse.

After the anger process, we re-entered the room and a large mirror awaited us in the middle. 

We were asked to undress down to our underwear. 

We had to stand in front of the mirror, the teacher stood next to us. And there we had to evaluate ourselves. Are you attractive or not? 

But that wasn't vulnerable enough. After that, we were allowed to sit in a circle and others were allowed to judge us. Whether they thought you were beautiful or not. Yes or no was enough. 

The process was extraordinarily vulnerable, dangerous, and dehumanizing. 

I did everything. I followed every instruction. After this action, we were asked if we wanted to make a contract with ourselves. A glorified affirmation. I am beautiful. I am sweet. I am good. 

The ups and downs in emotional manipulation were extraordinarily brilliant. So I went from being insecure and anxious about getting it wrong, to the reward of a contract with myself that the teacher approved or not, and then I could enjoy a beautiful song and finally cry.

The next day, it was about the contracts, the point of the story was whether everyone had hit rock bottom and was now ready to be a brand new person. The only one who could approve the contracts was the teacher. As the icing on the cake, we went through a process where we had to choose who in the group was a 'giver' and who was a 'taker.' So there was someone left who was the biggest 'taker'. His awakening was essential for the group. Apparently, we couldn't move on otherwise. 

It was heartbreaking to see this person break down. I will never forget this. The end of the 4th day was raw. I was done with it. But luckily, we still got some homework. 

The last day we concluded in full glory. All rewards. Costume parties, lip-syncing, dancing to old disco hits. Suddenly, it was all a big party again. Everyone had a new contract and suddenly forgot that we had rated each other's attractiveness on day one, and in our underwear a few days later again. How primal screams were released during anger processes and how we had let the majority of the group drown during the lifeboat process. 

It didn't dampen the fun, because we had made it. 

We were new! The world was at our feet. 

So from the organization's perspective, it was the perfect moment to push some marketing through and invite us to the follow-up courses. 

Because essence and source were just the beginning! There was still so much more to gain! 

After the training sessions, I needed a moment, but not for long. I felt like I had found a place where I could let everything go, where I really found my home. The strange thing about the whole story was that despite all the terrible moments and pain that had been brought to the surface, I felt lighter. Full of energy, motivation, and zest for life. Something I had been searching for for years. And it seemed like I had found it at this club. 

Fortunately, there were all sorts of ways to show your dedication. 

For example, there were information evenings where you could bring guests to ensure they would also sign up for the club. 

Because that was obviously the intention. The more people in your immediate environment also take this training, the better it was for you. Wouldn't you want the people you love to feel just as good as you do? Simple question. 

You could also sign up to assist. That way, you could stay in the bubble, and that's what I wanted. 

Even in the life of an assistant, there were all sorts of roles. 

This club operated on hierarchy. So it was here too. 

You started as a minion, and if you did well, you got promoted to logistics leader, music leader, or training leader. I did it all, as often as I could. I wanted to stay in the bubble, and I wanted to keep feeling that I had a purpose and a place. 

Essence welcomed me with open arms, I was doing well and soon got the chance to work at Essence.

Because another way to stay involved was, if people didn't want to come to an information evening but still wanted to be called, there was a team that would call those people. 

The title was office manager, but what it entailed was that I spent the whole day calling people to convince them to sign up for a training. I was in Amsterdam so much that I decided to move to Amsterdam. I found a place to live near Hoofddorpplein, I worked at Essence, and soon my circle of friends consisted of people who also hung out at Essence. I met new people every month, which I really enjoyed. 

My friends had also done the essence or were planning to do it, and I even managed to get my foster family to join in. My world suddenly became very small. Super small. 

The years went by, I started at essence in 2008 and 3 years later, when I was neck-deep in my little universe, it started to itch a bit. 

I had learned so much and felt my confidence growing. I could do more and I wanted more. 

That was the moment I decided to establish a foundation. 

I was healed from my mother issues (not) thanks to the essence, so I decided to give back to my lost culture.

I started a foundation in Colombia that offered free daycare for single parents. Brilliant and also noble.

Thanks to all my acquired skills, it took off. 

Within a year, we were up and running, had held a benefit evening, and flew to Bogotá for three weeks for our first fact-finding mission. I felt on top of the world. And then, like a lightning in a clear sky, I received a phone call on a Sunday evening. 

One of the cowboys' minions called me to tell me that a clearing had to take place. 

A clearing was one of the club's rules.

That meant that if there was trouble, you had 48 hours to resolve it with all parties involved. 

The schedule indicated that I would be assisting with an essence training, so I assumed it might be about that.

But his minion asked me to come to the cowboy's house immediately.

A place I had been to often, I had become quite close with the top circle of the club. I said I would take care of it and got ready to go to the cowboy. 

Two friends of mine took me, it was evening, it was raining, and when we got close, I suddenly felt unwell.

I was nauseous and nervous, something was waiting for me, and it didn't feel good.

When I walked in, the cowboy was sitting with his wife and two of his minions in the room. The atmosphere was dangerous, I felt that I had to watch my step. 

Soon enough, the truth came out. I was accused of sexual harassment. There were complaints from a former student, who also moved in the assistant world of essence, that I had wronged her and sexually approached. That I had abused my position within the organization. My jaw dropped. 

Before I could really get into it, the cowboy started asking a series of questions about my foundation. Who worked for me, and how did I manage financially? I picked my jaw up off the floor and saw what was happening.

What no one in that room knew, except the cowboy and me, is that a situation had occurred at the essence a fe weeks before this night. 

A few weeks earlier, I was in one of the training sessions and went to the assistant room to freshen up. The cowboy had walked in. I was standing in front of the mirror when he came up behind me. He mumbled something and then turned me around by grabbing my waist. He tried to kiss me by pushing me against the wall. I pushed him away and asked what he thought he was doing. He laughed it off at that moment and was saved by his wife who had just walked into the room. 

I had kept it to myself, from everyone, something I suddenly regretted very much at that moment. This man, this cowboy, and maybe even his wife, they wanted to get rid of me. Suddenly, pieces of the puzzle came together; the beautiful blonde teacher had also been removed from the organization a few weeks ago. At that moment, I had chosen the organization. This while she and I were close, as in really close. Again a feeling of regret. And there had been women before this, who also left under weird circumstances.

And then I felt anger. I saw what they were doing, the cowboy had everyone wrapped around his finger and had decided that I had to go.  

Because I refused to answer his questions, I was told that I could no longer participate in the training sessions. 

I was shortly thereafter asked to leave.

When I got outside, my friends were waiting for me. I was in shock, what happened? They asked me worriedly. I felt dizzy and suddenly I vomited a piece of bile from here to Tokyo. 

He got me, I said.

The days that followed were filled with mean games. 

The cowboy's minion had sent an email to all the assistants saying that I could no longer participate because the cowboy doubted my integrity. It felt like a bad joke, and I was the punchline. 

There followed email exchanges and many phone calls, including a message from the cowboy himself to a large number of people who frequented the club, in which he cleared his name of all the rumors. 

A message in which it was clear that I was the problem and that it was very unfortunate that it had to go this way, but hey, what can you do? It broke my heart. I was shattered. 

The days that followed took everything from me, my so-called friends who almost all chose the cowboy, my foster family who preferred to be left out of everything and also happily continued at the club.

My job, my money, my life. 

For 4 years, this had been my universe, and then just like that, it was gone. I fell into one of the deepest depressions of my life, for months I could barely do anything. 

I tried to pick myself up again, I still had my foundation and a few loyal friends. But my heart, my heart was broken, it felt like I had to start all over again. 

But this time with another heap of trauma that I had to try to overcome. 

So what have we learned from this story?

I was young when I was here, 16 years ago. 

Young and naive, I was lost and searching for the ground. I ended up here. And this was a bad place, a place that still applies its psychological abuse to ordinary people. And like this place, there are many others. 

I didn't know back then that this would be the foundation for my awakening. 

I have learned a lot, met many wonderful people, and got to know myself in ways I wouldn't have wanted to miss for anything. 

Certain parts of the classes were brilliant, amazing, fantastic. Other parts were traumatic. 

Nevertheless, you can say a lot about it, but in a certain way, it did help. 

It helped to see myself; if you don't lose yourself, I think it adds value to immerse yourself in classes and explore what your limits are. 

Clearly, I didn't have these boundaries 16 years ago. And my vulnerability was exploited, and let's be honest, my traumatized heart was abused. 

These teachers were good at the game they played, but were bad at how they treated their students. 

The top of the club revealed their true colors in more ways than one. And justified their position in every way to continue exercising their abuse of power. 

And what I now know and didn't then, is that the leader of this club is of course a bad entity who ensnares innocent people to secure his position. It took me years to free myself from his clutches. And a few more years to break free from the mind control and all the conditioning. A lot of therapy and a lot of alcohol. That's how I did it back then. I am of course not innocent in this story. 

I chose this club with my eyes wide open and I have also hurt people. I regret the people I have lost, and I regret sending people there. Grateful, that too, because thanks to this experience, I learned the hard way what a teacher should meet in my eyes. I knew exactly how it SHOULD NOT be after this experience. 

I learned everything about energetic manipulation, toxic hierarchy, and above all, I learned what kind of teacher I wanted to be.