O darlin little lady. You love your coffee.
Old men sit on their porches and enjoy the morning sun. Then there’s that young couple who make 500k a year. While I’m busting my balls 12 hours a day, I see them flying out to Fiji to enjoy good food and fuck on the beach.
Kids play games instead of pouring concrete for 12 hours a day. Imagine that style of logic.
It’s called becoming human. It’s what you do when you are not under wild pressure to… well, in my case, avoid being trapped in a zombie apocalypse whirlwind tomorrow.
Relaxing for 30 fucking seconds. Let’s just say it’s somewhat refreshing if you can stand it.
If you’re confused, you’re probably human. In which case, go get your morning coffee because I’m going to explain something about cult robot people to you. And if you are an insane cult robot, good. I love you. Only because I once was, or still am, just like you are. Maniac mindset that keeps you busting your balls or drowning in guilt.
Because when you live like the world is ending tomorrow, enjoying Tuesday feels immoral.
Guilty at Seven
The Texas sun was boiling by 10 a.m. I was seven years old. By 2 p.m. my red hair couldn’t tell the difference between pulling another weed or hell fire. Minimum 100 degrees. Insane humidity.
“Keep working,” the same voice that always talked if a rabbit distracted you. A feminine voice too. If I were older, I would have busted out laughing at her trying to sound so tough. “Five minute snack and we’re back to it, boys.”
My brother wanted a break. He wasn’t half the weed puller I was. Watching him get his ass chewed made me thrilled to keep pulling weeds.
He understood something I did not. Ass chewing is still a break. I had no comprehension of that. I would have rather fainted on my face and been buried in the garden than get chewed out all day.
I’m explaining a different economy to you.
My mom will work so hard for other people while she is broke and suffering. It appears she feels guilty about $500 in her account and has to get it below $50.
Every successful cult utilizes the economy of guilt.
Not loud. Not obvious. But built on the greatest hack of all time: morality.
It replaced my curiosity and desire. It stole my self-confidence.
The old lady who can’t go without her coffee? I can sweat all day for the Lord Jesus. Fuck you selfish bastard.
That was my mindset inside the cult.
Tragedy: The Loss of Humanity
“I want to endure to the end. I want to see you all in heaven, be with you,” said Dad’s seventeenth wife as I shook her oversized, swollen hand for the last time.
The cancer had split her vertebrae three times before she was allowed medical help. She suffered in a wheelchair. Her body was five times bigger than she had been most of the time I’d known her.
“I hope she doesn’t complain,” I thought.
I never saw her again because she died.
Think I cared?
“She dieth of cancer. Repent or you’re next,” my dad told his family in a message.
In a guilt economy, pleasure is treason. If you can’t feel your own needs or anyone else’s, you can’t betray the mission.
Guilt was so far up our asses we couldn’t see it. Morality before humanity if you can fucking understand that. Mission before humanity. God before humanity.
Just like I would rather keep pulling weeds, she would rather die than care too much about herself.
She was more afraid of dying immoral than of dying.
When morality outruns compassion, cruelty starts to look holy. Even in the face of death.
Now can you see why crazy cult people don’t give a fucking shit about their robot selves?
Why old men enjoying the sunshine look like lazy selfish motherfuckers?
Morality killed her, and she accepted that. I would have done the same at that time.
We were trained to outrun our own humanity.
If you’re always preparing for heaven, who gives a fuck if cancer finally takes you there? Don’t ruin your chances by complaining.
Pulling weeds all day in 100-degree weather can get a lot fucking worse really fucking fast. It did for her.
“FLDS lifestyle is so pretty.” That’s because you are blind as fuck at the level you hate yourself.
I Bought Myself a Bike
I’m not lying when I tell you I asked God to take my life before he let me have sex with a girl and damn my soul.
So instead, I bought myself a bicycle.
I was 20 years old. I rode that thing without guilt. It wasn’t just about fun. It was a small window behind the robot I was. The same robot I had convinced to just walk along when someone was dying from cancer.
I felt like I was 10 years old on that bike.
Here was an experience with no negative association. Just pedal down the sidewalk and feel the breeze on my face.
I’d watch videos and feel guilty. Get a boner and feel guilty. Feel anything and feel guilty.
Somehow this made me feel free.
No. It made me feel at all.
I rode past old men watching the sunset and kids playing in their yards. I felt closer to them than I ever had.
A few tears rolled down my face as I stopped under a tree. I didn’t know why.
I had never felt happy from being human before. It had been at least 10 years since I felt anything but guilt.
How were tears rolling down my face on a bike?
I don’t really want to admit it but I cried a lot then. I didn’t know my body was capable of feeling. And now I felt. Before I was a machine robot humanoid, now I have built in nervous capacities.
I was human.
That made me cry so hard. Recognition and joy.
It’s one thing to feel it for a moment. It takes years of pondering to put it into fucking vocabulary.
From Robot Back to Humanity
Warren Jeffs’ seventeenth wife didn’t avoid death. But she faced it like a machine.
A machine that kept its promises to stay moral and obey her husband.
Humans are different. Humans enjoy, rest, and build. Humans love. And hurt when they are dying from cancer.
The elders tell us that wanting is selfish, receiving is dangerous, and sexual pleasure is weakness.
Rest becomes laziness and doubt.
Wealth becomes corruption unless you surrender it.
Becoming too moral is becoming a robot and losing your humanity.
Religion turns being human into a sin against God.
How I Feel About Child Slavery
Child labor doesn’t automatically become slavery.
But for me it was labor without ownership. Morality without consent. Forced suffering without choice.
There’s a difference between working 16-hour days because someone convinced you an apocalypse is coming and working 16-hour days because you want to build something.
One is fear and slavery.
The other is human and agency.
Learning to Sit in the Sun
Today I am allowed to love, want, and enjoy. I don’t have to work 16 hours to not feel guilty about my existence.
Old men on porches are humans. Enjoying, loving, and hurting.
The couple I cussed out for making 500k and running to Fiji for good food and sex are human. Beautiful humans who love, feel, and cry.
Kids play instead of pulling 12-hour concrete shifts because they are humans who want to be happy.
When I was a machine, I hated seeing humans free. Freedom feels immoral when you think God forbade it.
I’m still learning to sit in the sun without guilt that I’m unworthy.
I’m learning it’s okay to spend Tuesday on vacation.
I’m learning to drink coffee even if I’m not on my way to work.
My nervous system is learning the world is not ending tomorrow.
And if it is, I will meet it as a human.
You would also enjoy this article:How Warren Jeffs Controlled All 79 of His Wives
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Watch my podcast this week with Mel and Corey from the UAB, Rulon Allred division of fundamental Mormons.
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