Cultic Studies Review, Vol. 9, No. 1, 2010, Page 112
The colony in Paris was not as well run as the one in Germany, but the chaos and confusion
allowed us the freedom to experience a city known for its creative inspiration. We lived in a
converted horse stable near the Porte de Pantin Metro stop. Everyday I rode the metro with
a fellow member to Saint Michelle or Saint Germain des-Prés, two Parisian environments
that inspired some of the most creative individuals of our century. If I absorbed anything
from my many hours walking these streets litnessing and asking for donations (this time in
French), I was never allowed to express it. It was not until years later, when I was chosen
to be a ―dancer‖ in the Paris show group, a musical entertainment troupe that brought fame
and money to the COG (called Les Enfants de Dieu in France), that my creativity was
allowed to be expressed.
As a dancer in the show group, a position I obtained mainly because of my status as the
drummer‘s wife, I often traveled and performed in shows all over France and the French-
speaking neighboring countries. When I was at my home colony in Paris, I asked to work in
childcare so I could be near my son, who lived in the COG school. By this time, sexual
sharing among leaders was expanding to include selected members from the general COG
population and through my intimate relationship with a top leader, I was granted
permission to work in childcare. The school leaders did not know what to do with me, and I
spent much of my time designing mobile educational kits for our missionaries to use while
they traveled with children. My creative self was beginning to be expressed. Empowered by
my newly acquired relative freedom and expression of creativity, I attempted to write
children‘s stories based on the Mo letters. My pre-COG fascination with fairy tales resulted in
a story about a beaver looking for a name, using lessons from a Mo letter extolling the
virtues of moderation. I sent the story to the COG production colony, a publication
conglomerate run by COG members in a secret location. The editors of the childcare
literature were so thrilled to see a children‘s story written by a COG member that
incorporated Berg‘s teachings that they decided to publish the story with illustrations. They
sent the completed large-size coloring book of the story to Berg for his approval. I had no
idea of their intentions until I was called into a room by a leader in my colony in Paris. He
asked my husband to read me a new Mo letter that Berg sent to all COG members. The
letter, called ―The Uneager Beaver‖ was about the children‘s story I had written. Berg hated
the story and demoted the editors who had authorized the story to be made into a
children‘s coloring book. Moreover, he berated me and accused me of being noncreative and
plagiarizing something I must have read before joining the COG. I was not allowed to write,
work with children, or create anything in the future. He would have taken away my role as a
dancer in the show group except that he knew our financial backers might not agree. But he
insisted I spend every free minute reading his words only and distributing his words on the
streets. I never attempted to express my creative thoughts to any COG members again. But
I realized that someone (one of the editors) had liked my story, and despite my years of
COG indoctrination that Berg was the voice of God, I doubted Berg was right in his
assessment. My rejection of Berg‘s interpretation allowed an sCS to be birthed and
expressed in creative works that I expressed only to individuals outside the COG.
The first step I took after the birth of my sCS was to refuse to internalize the reaction of
others to my creative expressions. No member of the COG dared to challenge Berg‘s
assessment of my (un)creative writing, but I decided that their approval was not needed for
my sCS. I was a creative writer despite what Berg (the most powerful force in my life at
that time) or my fellow COG members (my only ―generalized other‖ at that time) thought of
my attempts to express myself. I continued to write, but only for a select audience. The
expression of my creative self became verse I wrote and gave to men in my role as a ―flirty
fish,‖ the COG version of an ―escort.‖
Years after the Parisian incident, I was living in Monte Carlo. Berg had resurrected the
ancient religious tradition of sacred prostitution to help fund his growing organization. The
The colony in Paris was not as well run as the one in Germany, but the chaos and confusion
allowed us the freedom to experience a city known for its creative inspiration. We lived in a
converted horse stable near the Porte de Pantin Metro stop. Everyday I rode the metro with
a fellow member to Saint Michelle or Saint Germain des-Prés, two Parisian environments
that inspired some of the most creative individuals of our century. If I absorbed anything
from my many hours walking these streets litnessing and asking for donations (this time in
French), I was never allowed to express it. It was not until years later, when I was chosen
to be a ―dancer‖ in the Paris show group, a musical entertainment troupe that brought fame
and money to the COG (called Les Enfants de Dieu in France), that my creativity was
allowed to be expressed.
As a dancer in the show group, a position I obtained mainly because of my status as the
drummer‘s wife, I often traveled and performed in shows all over France and the French-
speaking neighboring countries. When I was at my home colony in Paris, I asked to work in
childcare so I could be near my son, who lived in the COG school. By this time, sexual
sharing among leaders was expanding to include selected members from the general COG
population and through my intimate relationship with a top leader, I was granted
permission to work in childcare. The school leaders did not know what to do with me, and I
spent much of my time designing mobile educational kits for our missionaries to use while
they traveled with children. My creative self was beginning to be expressed. Empowered by
my newly acquired relative freedom and expression of creativity, I attempted to write
children‘s stories based on the Mo letters. My pre-COG fascination with fairy tales resulted in
a story about a beaver looking for a name, using lessons from a Mo letter extolling the
virtues of moderation. I sent the story to the COG production colony, a publication
conglomerate run by COG members in a secret location. The editors of the childcare
literature were so thrilled to see a children‘s story written by a COG member that
incorporated Berg‘s teachings that they decided to publish the story with illustrations. They
sent the completed large-size coloring book of the story to Berg for his approval. I had no
idea of their intentions until I was called into a room by a leader in my colony in Paris. He
asked my husband to read me a new Mo letter that Berg sent to all COG members. The
letter, called ―The Uneager Beaver‖ was about the children‘s story I had written. Berg hated
the story and demoted the editors who had authorized the story to be made into a
children‘s coloring book. Moreover, he berated me and accused me of being noncreative and
plagiarizing something I must have read before joining the COG. I was not allowed to write,
work with children, or create anything in the future. He would have taken away my role as a
dancer in the show group except that he knew our financial backers might not agree. But he
insisted I spend every free minute reading his words only and distributing his words on the
streets. I never attempted to express my creative thoughts to any COG members again. But
I realized that someone (one of the editors) had liked my story, and despite my years of
COG indoctrination that Berg was the voice of God, I doubted Berg was right in his
assessment. My rejection of Berg‘s interpretation allowed an sCS to be birthed and
expressed in creative works that I expressed only to individuals outside the COG.
The first step I took after the birth of my sCS was to refuse to internalize the reaction of
others to my creative expressions. No member of the COG dared to challenge Berg‘s
assessment of my (un)creative writing, but I decided that their approval was not needed for
my sCS. I was a creative writer despite what Berg (the most powerful force in my life at
that time) or my fellow COG members (my only ―generalized other‖ at that time) thought of
my attempts to express myself. I continued to write, but only for a select audience. The
expression of my creative self became verse I wrote and gave to men in my role as a ―flirty
fish,‖ the COG version of an ―escort.‖
Years after the Parisian incident, I was living in Monte Carlo. Berg had resurrected the
ancient religious tradition of sacred prostitution to help fund his growing organization. The
