It hurt to get out of bed. It hurt to stay in bed. When I wasn’t battling that I was busy getting from one responsibility to the other. A new puppy, two jobs, volunteering, doing an internship, and driving. Why so much driving? This congested city had me wasting half my life in my car. Blinding lights bouncing off the wet pavement, turning down the music to merge, watching the clock get closer and closer to my expected arrival: my heart pumping blood a little faster and a little faster. I speed walk in, make it just in time, wipe a droplet off my forehead. Act normal. Everything is fine.
I had no time. Well, I had made all the time to do these things I had come to Vancouver to accomplish. I was doing them. I was ticking all the boxes. I laugh, but not genuinely. I dress with thought but, I don’t feel good in my clothes. I squeeze in the time to socialize, but I wish I were somewhere else.
Could this be it? Have I finally hit the milestone that most people in my culture seemed to have found a long time ago? Am I depressed? I am. I am depressed.
This is not a sad story about defeat. I acted on this. And I acted fast. I did not have time to be depressed. I had wholly done this to myself. And I knew it. So I looked into how to fix it. So, goodbye one job, found a dog sitter once a week, told my internship that I needed more structured hours and started going to a meditation centre. It helped, at first. However, this isn’t a story about me beating depression. This is about the time I accidentally joined a cult.
“Vancouver Meditation Centre” came up quickly in a google search and had great reviews. I went to an introductory seminar. The centre was in a large house, two floors, white, with an open entryway. It was clean and minimalist inside, a plant here, a painting there. A sweet young lady named June went through the basics and the costs, and I signed up, and that was it. They got me, and with minimal effort, I may say. I was sad and needed help, and said yes.
What was the name again? She must have told me. I’ll ask later.
I began going multiple times a week, for at least an hour. Just me and June in a room. Meditating, discarding. Discarding memory after memory, visualizing the actual act of throwing away. To throw away is to get rid of everything, including what brings you down, therefore allowing you to live in the real world and see things for how they truly are.
But what about the good memories? You must discard it all for it to work.
You need to come more. The more I come, the faster I will complete all levels and “be complete”, “be my real self” and “live in the real world”. So, I go a lot. I have my driving route really mapped out now. I get there fast. I enter.
I’m feeling clearer, lighter, refreshed. Less manic, less, less.
Why isn’t there ever anyone else here? Why do all the meditation masters live here? Why is it so, so clean in here? They’re just dedicated.
June always greets me with a huge smile. She’s warm and normal. Why is it so cold in here? Where’s the heat at?
To get to level 5, I had to listen to a little presentation on Woo Myung and then accept him as the leader of this meditation.
Do you accept Woo Myung?
I thought this was about me? My healing? Who’s Woo? It’s okay, It's okay. I am feeling better.
My three months are up. I have to pay again. It costs a lot and I don’t want to talk about it. I’m less sad, and I’m feeling better. This is working, this is working.
What’s the name of this meditation again? Why does everyone walk so slow in here? No one has anywhere to be?
Despite my nagging questions in my subconscious, things were going okay. I was doing an excellent job of ignoring the signs. Until the day my lovely June was out of town, and I had to do a session with Branka. Branka really fucked it all up. She used to be like me, but had now finished all levels and was ‘complete’. Her eyes were glassy, and her mouth didn’t move very much when she spoke. She couldn’t look me in the eye. She spent the first half of the session talking about herself and her love for this meditation. She spoke about how she’s a better dog trainer now. But she couldn’t look at me. Or she was, and I couldn’t tell because her eyes were gone. Glazed, hazy, dead. When we finally started meditating, it was also weird, and I was pissed I had wasted two hours of my life.
Branka was terrifying. I left knowing that that woman was not okay. Something was up. Scary Branka. I kept going, but with a different purpose: How weird is this going to get?
I’m almost done, I’m told. I’m almost done. Until I think I’m done.
“To finish, you have to go on a retreat where you build and garden and meditate while you do it. It’s the last step to being complete. It’s in Florida.” June showed me a video. The song “Happy Shiny People” comes to mind. Glazed eyed people holding hands. Dumb smiles on their faces. I’ve seen these dumb smiles before, on Netflix on titles such as “Wild Wild Country” and “Children of God”.
Finally, I hear the alarms. I channel those meditative vibes and stay cool. “Oh yeah?” I say.
What is the name of this type of mediation!? Why don’t they speak of the name?
I do some research. I have to search deep into the website. “Maum”. That’s it. Google search. Jesus. “Woo Myung is maum meditation cult leader.” “Maum Meditation - Cult Education Forum”. “WARNING ON MAUM MEDITATION”. “Why is Maum Meditation considered a cult?”.
Great.
So, it’s not looking good for me. Maybe it’s too late. Am I brainwashed? Do they know my credit card number? Have I thrown out too much of me? Nah, I’m still here. The alarms are going off, I can hear them, and am acknowledging them as such. So, I think I’m okay.
I went once more because I felt I had to. I had paid a lot of money and despite knowing that I was willingly walking into a cult centre, sitting in the quiet with the soft light of a salt lamp felt good, cult or no cult. Plus, I had to say goodbye to June. I mean, she didn’t know that this would be my last session, but I knew. I wasn’t about to risk any severe measures they may take to make me stay. I was extremely curious, but I didn’t want to risk it. No drinking from the fountain of youth or eating any of their mystery cakes for me, thank you.
“See you next time.” She says.
So, overall not too shabby. No one died. Meditation Center of Vancouver did take a bunch of my money over six months, but ya know, by the end of it I wasn’t feeling so insane anymore. I mean, this is probably because of many factors but, I do think the meditation did something.
I still feel like I abandoned my friend June. I saw this woman three to four times a week for months. And she was the most normal thing about this whole experience. I hope she’s okay where ever she is. Hopefully, she’s come to her senses and is like running a lovely bakery somewhere in Burnaby with her cousins. I don’t think so, though. She’s more likely one of Woo Myung’s top disciples right now, recruiting internationals through Zoom and spending her nights worshipping from a freakishly clean temple in South Korea.
“Bye, June.” I say.