Imagine I’m a cult. I’m not, but for now, imagine that I am. As a cult, I want you be my slave. I know that your mind is full of stress and problems. I k ow that your thoughts are a source of pain. And I know that if I give you an escape from your thoughts, you’d love me.
And so, I give you meditation. With meditation, you push your painful thoughts aside for a little while. You’re happy with your new virtual reality. Until you need another shot of meditation.
I know that once you stop meditation, your painful thoughts make an appearance. The pain and stress come back. I know that you’ll come back to me for more meditation. You have to. It’s too painful without me.
I even know that after a while of meditating, you’ll have amassed a huge storage of unresolved thoughts. I know that our minds naturally resolve our conflicts and problems, when we choose to face them. And I know that I need you to stay ignorant to your minds natural ability to relive it’s own conflicts.
I know that meditation does that perfectly well. I know that you’ll believe that you need meditation to be content. And I know that through meditation I can constantly prevent you from facing your own thoughts. With meditation, you’re constantly running away from your thoughts, unknowingly. You’re pushing them away unresolved. You queue them, stack them, and pretend they’re not there.
I know that the collective pain from all your stacked thoughts is too overwhelming to bear. And I know that the moment you try to leave me, immediately feel this delayed unbearable cumulative pain.
I know you’ll come back. I know you’ll beg for my meditation; for my magical way to treat your symptoms. I know you’re addicted. I designed your addiction. I made it so that you can’t face your problems nor resolve them.
The longer you stay with me, the deeper you fall. And the harder it is to climb out. I made so. You are mine.
I’m a cult. But I’m also meditation. And I’m also mass media. I’m also crack cocaine.