Stumbling on a Cult Part Two
A recent deep-dive into cult documentaries has taught me that folks don’t seem to see the glaring reality of the cult they’re in when they’re in it, and the use of the word cult is a privilege of hindsight long after the spell has worn off. Yeah, so Dan and Deb met each other through a guru-centric spiritual yoga society at the then-ashram-now-yoga-retreat-center called Kripalu located around the corner from their house in Stockbridge, MA. I learned all about their experience living in a yogic community at Kripalu with their guru, Amrit Desai, who everyone took turns being in love with. In 1994 their yoga cult had recently dissolved due to - god knows no one saw this one coming - recent revelations of sexual and financial improprieties committed by Desai. By the time I crossed paths with Dan and Deb they had found their way through that chapter, married one another, and had a two-year-old daughter. Fresh off having sex with the elderly man dressed in robes they paid dues to at the ashram down the street, these people were classic hippie-yogis from the 80s which was a world away from anything I had ever seen. They were naked. All the time. All three of them. They slept together in a family bed which they didn’t think was weird so I pretended I didn’t either. The whole family ate vegan, a word I mispronounced for years because I had only ever seen it written, never mind knew folks who ate that way. On their kitchen window sill sat a row of rotting avocados. On the kitchen window sill of the house I grew up in my mom dried chicken’s collarbones and Shannon and I would eventually break them apart with our pinkies to make a wish. Dozens of Mason jars full of wheat germ and oatmeal sat on Deb and Dan’s kitchen counter. We had a scale on our kitchen counter so my mom could weigh her food. Deb practiced elaborate yoga pose in the living room. My mom watched Guiding Light. I was a suburban kid who went to Cape Cod for family vacations so my dad could drink at a new restaurant. I was a cheerleader who couldn’t cartwheel, a depressed anorexic who won Class Optimist, and a sorority sister at University of Alabama: I was the prototype for the Basic Bitch long before that was a thing.
Dan was gentle and kind and not in charge of anything whatsoever, but he was so handsome it didn’t really matter. Plus, being in charge was a task meant for Deb. She was smart, efficient, and resourceful and was always trying to help me though it was obvious she also pitied me which I no doubt deserved. Three days after my parents dropped me off for the 6-week internship I was already regretting my decision to be there. Never one for considering the details I immediately realized that I had no way to get to The Ranch for work. Or any money. Or any way to feed myself.
I borrowed Dan’s expensive bicycle for the summer and struggled so hard in the 3-mile commute of undulating hills I practically cried in anticipation every time I swung my leg over the crossbar and when I eventually arrived at work I provided absolutely nothing of value. Everything was uncomfortable and awkward and not how I pictured it at all and I wanted to go home. I had only been there for three days but I had to tell Deb I was leaving. I was particularly nervous about the conversation because, just a few days earlier, I told Deb how I hastily chose to attend University of Alabama and how unhappy I was there.
“I accepted Alabama’s offer without ever even visiting the place!” I bragged, unaware of how ignorant and careless that was. And on the third afternoon I ate those words when I peaked my head in her office and broke the news that I wanted to go home. Without taking her eyes off the computer screen she answered me unsurprised, ‘Start watching the pattern in your life where you jump into things with both feet and then wonder why you're drowning.’ then turned to me and smiled.
Embarrassed by the truth of Deb’s words and the transparency of my shortcomings I knew I had to stay.
Pretty soon riding a bike through the bucolic towns of Western Massachusetts felt like freedom to me which is how riding a bike has felt ever since. I went once to Dan’s impossibly boring class at The Ranch and wondered how anyone could ever like yoga. I found my groove at Guest Services and tried to make people laugh to compensate for my ineptitude; a strategy that ironically has a lifespan of exactly six weeks. From Deb I learned about Ayurveda and Naturopathic Medicine and veganism. I had a growing pile of books next to my bed that both Dan and Deb were excited to introduce me to and everything I read about a natural-health lifestyle made sense to me. They were also the first two to pique my interest in the Pacific Northwest where it seemed everyone was into this shit. I pored over recipes in the Kripalu Cookbook like chapters in a novel and started to see food in a way I never had. By the summer of 1994 I had been dancing with anorexia for three years, and food had become my enemy. In Deb’s mind food was medicine and she showed me a world of CoOp grocery stores, farmers markets, and eating from the earth. It was a way of living I could not unsee and I was happily being indoctrinated to a life I was meant to live.
A boy at The Ranch asked me out on a date. He was cute and nice and nerdy and fit and I was frozen in fear at the thought of being alone with him. Dan heard me crying in my room, opened the door, and tossed me a book called An Autobiography of a Yogi and told me to read it. Though I didn’t read it cover to cover, it was an introduction to a life of wonder and joy through yoga. At that point in my life yoga meant grape nuts, armpit hair, and a 3pm class at The Y where six weird people met up, but Dan planted a seed that day that eventually changed my life. The next time I took a yoga class was three years later on Brannon Street in San Francisco. It was an advanced class with lots of sun salutations and poses I had never heard of and could not do. I called my mom as soon as I got back to my apartment bursting with a glowing review, "That was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life!" I told her. I was hooked.
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I’ll forever be in awe of how synchronistic and beautiful our connections can be, and how one person - at the right time - can have such an influence on another. In 1999 I earned a Bachelor’s degree in Nutrition from a Naturopathic Medical School in the Pacific Northwest called Bastyr where many of the authors I learned about that summer were a part of building. I spent most of my young life living in Seattle where I had a nutrition education business in the late 90s teaching people how to shop in CoOps, how to use bulk bins, and how to cook and eat from the earth long before that was a mainstream concept. When those clients didn’t have the desire to cook healthfully for themselves I became a personal chef (forever referencing the Kripalu Cookbook). I have consistently practiced yoga for the last 23 years, taught it for 9, and dedicated my life to it as a studio owner for the last few years. I don’t have a health spa, but the concept of The Love Offensive - a strong community of good people doing healthy things together under one roof - came out of those blueprints that brought me to Canyon Ranch and ultimately to the radiant life-changing glow of Deb Howard. Thirty years later I often think of her warning not to jump into things with both feet and wonder why I’m drowning. I've never taken that advice, not one single time, but I think of her and smile every time I make it safely to the shore.