Rain Dragon by Jon Raymond

Author:Jon Raymond
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2012-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

NINE

WHAT FOLLOWED WAS A long day of processing. We began with mind-clearing meditation, followed by introductions and goal-sharing. From there we broke into dyads for an hour of intensive self-narration exercises, followed by group feedback, art therapy, one-on-one discussion of current events, and pre-lunch calisthenics. Lunch was lentils and brown rice with tahini sauce. Then came tai chi, more dyading, and a group encounter with Cravens himself, during which we were encouraged to tell our life stories in ten sentences or less, and in return got a blast of the full klieg light of his attention.

In each phase of the day we were pushed, prodded, and rigorously kept on schedule, confronted by constant questions, provocative stories, and exhortations to see our Selves in new ways. As citizens of our respective cities and states. As children and grandchildren and distant relatives. As lovers and former lovers. Even as mere bodies sucking air and nutrients. Who are You? we were asked. Who do You want to be? Who did You think you’d be when You were six years old? Seven? Seventeen?

Over the hours my sense of selfhood reshaped many times. I saw myself as a good student, a thoughtless son, a fair-weather sports fan, an excellent parallel parker. Some of the selves were innocuous and others were harrowing, but none of them were taken for granted, with every utterance ransacked for double meanings, and every gesture taken as a clue to some greater, hidden truth. And always, just as some breakthrough seemed on the verge of happening, some glimpse at a holistic truth, a whole new pocket inevitably opened and disgorged more raw psychic material to process.

It was grueling. My one brief moment of quiet came in the bathroom, and even then the lessons didn’t stop. I was taking a piss when who but Cravens himself strolled in the door, taking a place at the urinal beside me, and apropos of nothing turned to me and said: “Motherhood is a revolution.” And then he zipped up and strode away.

As the day wore on, my optimism around Rain Dragon’s competitive chances diminished, and by midafternoon a sense of real discouragement was settling in. Watching my fellow participants giving themselves over to the Prism process—laughing, crying, breaking down on cue—I found it hard to imagine that Rain Dragon could possibly make a genuine bid. Prism’s staff was too well trained, too well practiced in the art of human actualization. Their program was almost scientifically efficient. In comparison, Peter’s ideas looked haphazard and arbitrary.

The day ended with a simple meal of curried vegetables, after which we were released for a few hours of sleep. I was exhausted, wrung out from so much talk, wanting only a clean pillow and a few minutes of hotel TV. But I knew it was my duty to report my findings to Peter.

Thus, sixteen hours after arriving in Eugene, I ended up outside the Reel M’Inn Tavern, a few blocks from the Red Lion Hotel, walking the streets for decent phone reception.

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