The days fell into each other and I barely noticed a world existed outside of the temple. Between playing mirror and hemorrhaging our emotions, we would practice active meditations, which involved a series of convulsive episodes. Jumping up and down for 10 minutes. Shaking your body violently for 10 minutes. Screaming for 10 minutes. Capped off with laying in the fetal position before repeating the series.

Once-daily, we would dance for an hour. After sobbing and wailing and questioning every belief I've ever held about myself, we would move the mattresses out of the way and be instructed to cut a rug. I would always stand there for the first few minutes like...what? Do I have to dance now? Are you kidding me?! Am I a puppet? A monkey? And the music... one would probably think a secluded commune would...

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