The God Who Died (1/2)

Some adherents think that Brian Fawkes will come back to life, that he planned this all along as a kind of final test. Well, not me.

I was the one who found him, hanging from the Holy Oak in the back of the cottage in Montana. Believe me, if you ever thought he was divine, one look at that face in extremis would be enough to convince you otherwise. It was a foolish clown face. The popping eyes and extruding tongue made him look like a satyr who’d been pulling a face right before the Gorgon turned him to stone.

What struck me first was not the granite fact of his mortality but the suddenly obvious sheen of his fake tan. It was clear that the special golden glow of his skin (one of the supposed markers of his divinity) had been obtained by artificial means. In the merciless light of a July morning, the contrast between his blue-grey corpse and the yellowish paste overlaying it hit me like a brick in the head. I learned later it was an expensive crème containing carrot juice and real gold dust.

To my mind, this little fraud, in itself comparatively innocent, was a microcosmic proof of the giant, multilevel fraud of his life and of the Sanctuary, of Diamond Light, and of Brian Fawkes himself.

At that time, I was on the outs, otherwise I’d never have had such a treacherous thought. But first I should explain a little about myself.

My name is Todd Green and I am a former member (survivor) of an organization called Diamond Light. It was a cult run by a former actor named Brian Fawkes that focuses on spiritual development through study and acts of devotion.

If I had to pinpoint the moment when I started questioning my loyalty to Diamond Light, it would be the night I shared it with Cindy, my (ex-)wife.

I’d been a member for five years, joining two years before I met her. I’d never shared it with her because one of the tenets of Diamond Light is that it is a sacred secret only shared with other adherents. You may move in the world and interact with non-adherents, but you may not contaminate the secret by exposing it to the ignorant until Brian Fawkes gave you permission to do so.

Keeping the secret from Cindy really tore me up. One the one hand, I couldn’t wait for her to share the profound delight, the great peace that came with DL—I knew in my bones that she would make a wonderful adherent. On the other hand, I knew that discipline and Radical Trust were essential on my part; it was my duty to wait for Brian Fawkes to approve her entry to the Sanctuary. So, for three years, when I went to group meetings, Cindy believed I was going to ‘study sessions’ for a non-existent philosophy course.

The day Brian called me into his sanctum and handed me Cindy’s formal invitation was one of the happiest moments of my life. I actually cried tears of joy.

I called her straight away and said we were going to have a special dinner, that I had something wonderful to tell her. I bought her a diamond necklace and prepared a speech. I was more nervous than I had been when I proposed. I knew there was a chance that she wouldn’t understand. I had to make her apprehend the gravity of the honor, gently.

Her reaction was not what I expected. She’d been savoring caviar on a sweet-potato pancake but, as she listened to my spiel, it seemed to turn to ashes in her mouth.

“You mean you’re in a goddamned cult?” she exclaimed, loud enough for people in the nearby tables to turn their heads.

“What? God, no! Nothing like that!” My heart sank. I’d have to win her over or Brian would rule her ‘charcoal grade’ and revoke her invitation.

She took a too-large gulp of champagne and swallowed it with difficulty.

“How long has this been going on?” she demanded.

I looked in her eyes and held her hand to show her my sincerity. It was a technique recommended in the Diamond Light handbook.

“Since long before I knew you.” I honestly thought this would make her feel better. It was just a part of me that I hadn’t revealed yet, not some new terrible transformation. I was the same man I’d always been. That was my reasoning.

“Todd,” she said through gritted teeth, “We’ve been married for three years.”

“I know, honey, I know. I understand that you’re surprised and maybe confused. That’s natural. But you gotta understand…the Sanctuary means so much to me. Brian says we have to be very sure of our partners before they become adherents. This means that I’m sure of you—it’s a strengthening of our union. It means that we can become even closer, even more connected. And connected to Brian too.”

“I don’t think I can talk to you right now,” she grimaced and left the restaurant.

I silently repeated the Thirteen Tenets to ground myself in the Diamond Light, but even that didn’t dissolve my unease. I could not shake the feeling that it was a bad start. She hadn’t even taken the necklace with her.

Well, after a lot of pleading, bargaining, and discussion, Cindy finally agreed to come to a Wednesday meeting. Brian charmed her so thoroughly that she was won over and actually became enthusiastic about the Sanctuary. I was walking on air for two months. The relief of no longer having to keep secrets, of being united on all fronts was such a pleasure. I couldn’t be happier. I was so happy that I was completely blindsided when Cindy was chosen as a White Diamond, moving up into Brian’s inner circle of acolytes and leaving me in the dust. She’d been an adherent only three months and had advanced further than I had in three years. It was hard not to feel resentful.

According to the rules, she moved into Brian’s complex to ‘give herself more completely to the Light.’ Then she asked for a divorce-Brian’s idea. What choice did I have? I watched her become Brian’s favorite, only to be demoted a year later. I watched her make a scene, breaking windows and the Lectern where Brian gave his sermons. Then I watched the other acolytes humiliate her in an excommunication trial in front of the others. She left and I never saw her again.

All that was in the Seattle headquarters. About a year after Cindy’s excommunication, I was invited to go on the Montana trip. Every summer, Brian held an ‘Elite Retreat’, where he handpicked a group of six promising adherents and they went to the ‘cottage’, which is really a huge mansion that was completely paid for and built by adherents. It’s very remote, there’s no cellphone coverage or wifi, so it’s possible to concentrate intently on spiritual and philosophical matters.

The six of us were me, Soledad, Carol, Wendy, Fabian and Rick. I admit I was surprised at the time that I’d been picked because I’d never been singled out as showing a lot of promise. In fact, I’d gained a reputation as a malcontent. Since the Cindy episode I had been increasingly disaffected and depressed, privately questioning my future in the Sanctuary, and I guess it showed.

In fact, the six of us were divisible by two: three fallen angels and three Chosen Ones. As I found out later, there was a sinister reason for this.

I was one of the fallen. Another was Soledad, a tiny Mexican firecracker, outspoken and fiery, a recovering alcoholic. Before joining us she’d gone sober; she stayed because she said the Sanctuary helped keep her on the straight and narrow. She lost her temper regularly and had even sworn at a mentor a couple of times—but every time she did that she was extremely remorseful, dissolving in tears and even falling to her knees to beg forgiveness. She was a dramatic type.

The other misfit was Rick, a big Canadian dude, an architect from Alberta with two left feet. He was in his fifties, easy-going and friendly. His problem, from the Diamond Light perspective, was that he was too relaxed and clumsy. He didn’t get the secrecy rule and had casually invited one of his friends to a meeting instead of applying to Brian first. As far as I know, nothing disastrous had come of it—the friend had sworn to secrecy and never returned--but Fawkes considered the breach a grave sin and Rich had been hauled over the coals for it. The poor guy had since taken to biting his nails and stammering from the strain.

Then there were the three proper ‘angels.’ Carol was the golden girl: 23, a big earner with a bright future in the media industry (we never learned exactly what it was she did), and tall and attractive to boot. Rumor had it that she was in line to be an acolyte in the near future. Fabian was a painfully thin guy in his early thirties and often acted as Brian’s personal attendant. Although he didn’t live in the ‘complex,’ he was effectively an acolyte. I’d always thought it strange because there were times he seemed patently bored and contemptuous of it all. Wendy was about 45 and an enforcer par excellence. She would have been an acolyte, I’m sure, if it hadn’t been for Brian Fawkes’s emphasis on physical perfection. Wendy was an actual hunchback, had a striking birthmark over half of her face and wore a wig to hide her alopecia. The wig was not a good one, either—I think she chose it specifically to draw attention to her baldness. She never pretended to bliss, but her devotion to the Sanctuary was beyond question. Her eagle eyes missed nothing and I knew for certain that on a couple of occasions she’d informed on other adherents. Most of us were a little afraid of her.

So there were the six of us. I’d never been on the retreat before; the only one who had was Fabian. He was the one who arranged our travel and sort of shepherded us there—we’d never have found it otherwise; it was in the middle of nowhere.

As soon as we arrived at the Sanctuary in the middle of nowhere, we were all amazed and awed. From the garden there was an incredible view of evergreen forest, a big mirror-like lake and majestic snow-capped mountains. Great birds were cruising lazily on a breeze and I thought I heard the distant cry of a wolf. The house itself was palatial. My first thought, admittedly pretty un-spiritual was: How much did this all cost? I knew Brian received our weekly fees but there was no way they would cover something like this. Later, of course, I learned that there was a Diamond Light chapter in most cities in the United States—he must have been making millions of dollars every year.

Brian Fawkes came out onto the lawn wearing a golden muumuu embroidered with silver thread—a symbolic color combination in the Diamond Light lexicon standing for ‘Peaceful Majesty.’ Ceremonially, he sprinkled us with water from a small silver saucer, chanting in Hatran Aramaic (which he’d learned specifically for ritual purposes). Then he kissed each of us in turn and I caught the whiff of his distinctive personal scent—something like a ham covered with cinnamon sauce.

“Welcome everybody, welcome!” He said, turning suddenly from Priest to Affable Uncle.

We oohed and aaaahed, exclaiming at the beauty of the spot.

“This is your home for the next two weeks. I want you to be as comfortable as possible while you focus on the difficult work of spiritual growth. Come, come! I will lead you on a tour of the compound.”

He turned so that his muumuu billowed and swished with the flourish. Like a flock of little sheep, we trotted after him and gazed at the rooms, which were expensively furnished and fitted with fixtures--heated floors, voice-activated appliances, lights with finely graduated nuances of color and intensity. A soft music played in each room from invisible speakers.

“Now, my children,” he said, “Fabian will show you to your sleeping quarters and outline the week’s program. If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to attend to. I look forward to seeing you all at dinner.”

He left and Fabian loomed up, like skinny tree. He had a strange manner, as if he was nervous about something. His mouth seemed dry.

“Yes, so…for this visit we have, uh, an idea that I think is really quite transformative. As you know, everyone’s path to Diamond Light is particular to themselves, completely personal. And, so the methods we use to attain serenity will differ for each of us. So for this visit,” The color on his cheeks was rising steadily. “You’ll be divided into two groups. Group A will be me Carol and Wendy. Group B will be Soledad, Rick and Todd. Let me show you to your rooms.”

Well, each member of Group A got a gorgeous big bedroom to him or herself in the main building. Then Fabian took us to our building—an unheated shed out the back. One room with three bunk beds and no other furniture.

“You’re joking, right?” said Rick, grinning.

“No, I’m not joking,” said Fabian.

Soledad was looking around at the bare room, wide-eyed, trembling a little with emotion.

“So, what’s the big idea?” I asked, my voice rising—I couldn’t keep it under control.

Fabian sighed.

“Look guys, I’ll level with you. Brian loves you and doesn’t want to see you fall away, out of the Light. Let’s face it, you know it yourselves, you’re the weakest links.  So it was his idea that this year, instead of focusing on only those who are spiritually advanced, that he would give the people struggling a boost, a chance to prove yourselves and make up for lost time. We all know that you have pure hearts and a tremendous will to see the Light. This is your chance to prove it.

We stared at him.

“By…sleeping in an outhouse?” I asked querulously.

“Vete a la chingada!” Soledad exploded. “No way am I sleeping in here. Not after seeing where Carol and you other culeros are putting your heads at night. Anyway, I am a woman! I should change with you,” she jabbed a finger at Fabian’s chest. He instinctively stepped back, clenched his jaw and waited for Soledad to calm down.

“This is not a resort. This is spiritual bootcamp. Yes, the others have more comfortable beds but they will have a trial that is just as taxing, spiritually, as yours. Brian received a vision about you all—”

This made us prick up our ears.

“There were two lumps of rock. One lump was dark and dirty, impure—the other was transparent but unshaped. In the dream, he put the dark lump in a vice and it emerged flawless. The transparent one in a blue flame, after which it emerged perfectly shaped . From this, after consulting the  runes, he realized that the dark rock was you three and that you needed to be put under pressure, to demonstrate the three ‘D’s: discipline, duty, devotion.”

“And the others need the three ‘p’s I guess,” chuckled Rick. Fabian didn’t ask what the ‘p’s were, so Rick provided the answer anyway. “Pampering, pillows and Grey poupon!” Then he chuckled at his own joke.

“Clearly,” said Fabian, “Brian was right. You need to learn humility and that it’s not a laughing matter. These are your souls, and you’re going to forsake them? For sarcasm?”

We shuffled our feet.

Fabian sighed.

“If you guys want to give up on yourselves then tell me now. You can leave whenever you want. I can drive you to the airport and you don’t have to do this. Brian believes in you. I believe in you. The question is, Do you believe in yourselves?”

“We believe, we believe,” we mumbled in unison. The old fear of missing out got us again. Soledad was still looking thunderous but even she wasn’t ready to give up quite so easily.

“Great! I knew you guys had it in you,” said Fabian and hugged each of us separately. “So leave your things here and then go to the kitchen. You’ll be making supper for everyone. M’kay?”

He left.

The three of us looked at each other.

“Did he say what I think he said?” said Soledad.

“Uh, I think so,” I said, scratching the back of my head.

“Can you believe this?” she threw up her hands. “We have to cook for them too?”

“This reminds me of that experiment,” said Rick. “That Stanford prisoner experiment, you know? Where they made one group of students prisoners and the other group guards?” He chuckled.

Half an hour later, the three of us were in the scullery peeling potatoes and thinking very dark thoughts about our three more privileged counterparts. The Elite Retreat was starting to look more like a GULag camp and I wasn’t feeling good about it.