Always Watching

Then Aaron slowly began to implement a system of punishment.
    At first the infractions were usually something simple. If a member had taken an extra share of food, they wouldn’t be allowed to eat our next meal. If someone broke their meditation to go to the bathroom, they’d have to sit away from the group. Then things grew more serious. If a member argued with another member, they were tied together and had to work in the fields side by side. When a few members went to town for supplies, one later said he’d seen another use some of the commune money to buy a newspaper, something Aaron had strictly forbidden.
    Hearing this, Joseph flew into a rage and started to whip the man’s legs with a branch, screaming that he’d bring evil influences into the commune. We watched, horrified, until at last Aaron intervened, and it was decided that the man should be made to drag the plow through one of the fields for a day. We were all upset, but not at Joseph. We were angry at the man for disrupting our peace and harmony, and even after Aaron declared him rehabilitated, we ignored him for weeks.
    When a young man smacked his girlfriend in the face because she’d been flirting with another member, he was told to pack his belongings. He was driven a mile away and left to find his own way back to town. No one ever checked to see if he’d made it.
    Then Aaron created a small group called the Guardians, who were to patrol the commune at night, watching for wildlife or anyone trying to steal our supplies, especially once we started growing marijuana and magic mushrooms. Robbie was ecstatic to be chosen, along with Levi, for this task.
    The women didn’t have many roles—caring for the children, cooking, and working in the fields or greenhouses mostly. But they did a lot of hard labor, and our mother’s arms became tanned and sinewy, her hands rough. I saw less and less of her that spring. Late in April, Aaron had decided that children over five years old should be kept in separate cabins, near another small building that was used for the school, and raised collectively. He said, “Children belong to everyone. We’re all their mothers and fathers.”
    Some parents balked, but Aaron explained that this was necessary for our spiritual growth as we needed to connect to our true selves and not our earthly attachments. I remember being confused by this and ashamed. And so the parents agreed, terrified that if they didn’t, their children wouldn’t achieve the perfect state of spiritual insight and tranquillity that we were all trying to attain.
    *   *   *
    One morning, after we’d been there for several months, Aaron gathered us together after breakfast. The air still smelled like coffee and baked bread, fresh mint and sweet fruit, but I’d barely eaten. I was upset at my mother that day. I’d asked her if I could see some of my old friends from school, and she’d drifted away with a vague smile, saying, “We have new friends now. Just be happy.”
    Aaron warned us that it was easy to grow apart, even in a large group, and said we needed to practice a “sharing” exercise, to bring us closer. He asked us to write letters, confessing any wrongdoings and negative thoughts, no matter how shameful or darkly hidden. He said it was to seek our own truths, an inner examination that no one will see, but when we were done, he’d gotten another vision. We needed to read them in front of the commune, to let go of all separation, even in our thoughts.
    When people protested, he said, “It’s the only way to clear yourself from your past. If you aren’t ready for this step, then you shouldn’t be here.”
    The crowd quieted. No one wanted to leave.
    Aaron pointed to the young man who looked after our horses, and said, “Billy, I know you’re ready.”
    Billy stepped forward, his face flushed, and read from his letter, admitting that he’d experimented sexually with a cousin when he was a teenager—a male cousin, and that he still had fantasies about men. We listened, embarrassed, as he stammered through it. We waited for Aaron’s reaction, and when he reached out to embrace him, we all breathed with relief. Other people ventured forward to share their sins, and each time Aaron praised them. It was painful. People were sobbing, or silent, heads downcast. Others stared around with glazed eyes, looking shell-shocked.
    Then it was my turn.
    I confessed that I’d snuck food to the animals and had angry thoughts about