The Revelation explained in extremely graphic detail that, in "the spirit," we were all women, regardless of our physical gender. Even men could make love to Jesus in the Spirit.
In the Spirit, in the Spirit,
You can sing our brand-new song
In the Spirit, in the Spirit
You don't need to have a dong!
For in the Spirit, in the Spirit,
You can be anything you want!
In the Spirit, in the Spirit,
You can even have a cunt!
The letters gave many examples of how to Love Jesus. But the ultimate expression was Loving Jesus when having sex with a partner. You were each to pretend your partner was Jesus and to shout out how hot and horny you were for God's Dick and Jesus would indeed be there, possessing the other person in the flesh.
I thought it was the strangest doctrine to date. I wanted to laugh at its absurdity, but of course, I did not dare. This new "revelation" was not mandatory, but something people could slowly become used to in their own time. I was relieved. As minors, we were only to Love Jesus up to masturbation. However, we were told that Loving Jesus together as a Home would increase our unity as One Wife.
When many of the adults shouted out in prayer sessions how sexy Jesus was and how badly they wanted his seeds, I just kept quiet. It went beyond unorthodox in my eyes; it rather seemed sacrilegious. We had just come out of serious court cases, and I had thought we were finally going to be more nor-mal, doing good works and telling people about Jesus.
But with a strange belief like this, who would ever take you seriously as a religious organization?
To sort out our visa woes, Dad and I flew to the UK. Dad was changing his passport so he could enter Japan again, with a new name and a clean record. Because I was not allowed to
change my name, as I was minor, Dad informed me that I would not be able to return to Japan with him. I walked out-side the British Embassy while Dad was filling in forms, and sat down on the pavement feeling like a lost orphan. I just stared at the feet walking by me, and thought that I was just one of billions of feet walking this planet. One pair less wouldn't matter. I must have looked desperately sad because three different people stopped to offer a word of cheer. I just wanted to be left alone.
Dad decided to send me to my mum who was living in the south of France. She would help me change my passport so I could try to re-enter Japan. Mum, Victor, Lily and Mariana, my family I did not know, met me off the plane. When I walked out of the terminal, I knew who Mum was immediately, even though I had not seen her in ten years. She was smiling from ear to ear and she gave me a huge hug. Time had been good to her, and unlike Dad she still looked young, without a single gray hair. "Look at you! You're so beautiful!" She exclaimed proudly. I was nervous, but my brother and sisters put 7 right at ease. They were living in a gite in the beautiful French countryside. Mum had remarried a French man named Luke and they had a daughter Corina together.
But my biggest shock came when I discovered there was a third partner in their marriage. Her name was Crystal. She was madly in love with Luke and Luke was madly in love with Mum and the three of them were living in a tangled triangle.
Crystal had known my parents back in Loveville in Greece. She had run the Detention Teen program in Macau where Mene was tortured. One of the other detained teens there was Ben Farnom, who committed suicide shortly after.
Crystal was now no longer in a leadership position. This made her insecure and she took it upon herself to shepherd our little family, gathering us daily for Word Time and lectures. We begrudged this intrusion into our lives and our family. She was constantly belittling Mum and saying that our dad had been hers first, rubbing it in that if she hadn't been sent away from him in Greece, none of us would be alive today.
I stayed outdoors as much as I could with Lily, Victor and my stepbrothers and sisters. It was the first time that I had been allowed to run relatively free and we would take long hikes up the river that ran behind the house, explore old empty houses, or build pine lodges in the woods. For the first time, I got to know my little brother and sister.
Which was more than I could say for Mum. She had longed for the day when I would come back to her, but it was not playing out as she had imagined. Mum had not realized that by leaving me so young, she had severed the bond that would otherwise have grown between us. It was not that I did not love her; I did, very much. I simply did not display any attachment to her, and the disappointment cut her deeply.
Eventually because of this, she withdrew from me, hardly daring even to hug me, for fear I would pull away. She felt the guilt of leaving me, and imagined I hated her for it. In reality, I was not sure how to react to my mother, who I did not know and could not talk to. I felt the invisible barrier between us, but did not know how to remove it. I was no longer a cuddly child who could nuzzle into her neck. I was an angry and confused teenager who never seemed to belong anywhere—not even in my own family. I did not share any memories with my brothers and sisters, which left me on the outside of many conversations. I was the eternal outsider.
One day, a solution occurred to me. I could simply remove myself completely. I had already balanced on the edge of Dad's windowsill, but this time, I felt ready to jump. One day when everyone was taking a siesta, I took the kitchen knife and locked myself into the bathroom.
I sat on the floor and began sawing with the blade across my wrist. To my irritation the knife was blunt. I sawed frantically at my wrist, but the knife would hardly pierce my skin. Eventually I managed to cut a ribbon of flesh, but I could not get it deep enough to cut the vein. I felt squeamish and scared of the pain.
I gave up, lay down on the bathroom floor and cried till I fell asleep. I was ashamed that I was too cowardly to live and ashamed that I was too cowardly to die. I woke up in a pool of sweat. The heat in the tiny room was suffocating. I snuck upstairs, and bandaged up my wrist. I always wore long sleeves, so no one ever noticed.
Once my passport was changed, I returned to the Heavenly City School in Japan. After a few months, news came from Mum that my stepbrother, Philippe, had died from a brain tumour. He was only fourteen and his passing hit me hard. I was overwhelmed with guilt. I had not got to know him as well as I might have, and now I would never have that chance. He might not have been my blood brother, but he was still part of my family and I should have cared more. But more than anything, I felt angry with myself that I could not cry. Not long after Philippe's death, Windy, a girl I had known in Japan, committed suicide. These two deaths affected me deeply. I had always grown up thinking the world would end before I got too old. Now I decided if all our lives would end anyway, whether through unexpected death, or when the world ended, then what was the point of anything?
I kept up a correspondence with my foster sister Vera after leaving Thailand and I spilt my guts to her in a letter, telling her just to "live and let live," because all we had to look forward to was death. Much of the pain I was feeling went into that letter. If I had known my Correspondence was being censored, I would never have written what I did. A couple weeks later, I received a letter from my former foster parents, Joseph and Talitha. They said they did not want me writing to them or Vera any more. I was a negative influence on Vera, and they made it clear that they no longer considered me a daughter. This letter wounded me deeply. Once I had given up all hope of seeing Dad again, I clung to them as my family. This sudden cold rejection was like a slap in the face.
After this something in my heart shut down. I no longer wanted to let anyone near me to avoid the pain people I cared about inevitably brought me. I became profoundly angry and sometimes erupted in violent outbursts. If people did not seem to like me, I no longer saw any point in making myself likeable. My personal hygiene went out the window. I wore my hair in an unbecoming bob, so I would not have to brush it. I was always looking for fights and one day even hurled my teacher across the dining-room table, which broke in two.
I lost all my friends.
No one gave me the time of day unless they were cheering me on in a fight. I was too tall, too rowdy and had a mouth like a machine gun without a safety
switch. My sarcastic wit became a defense to hide my lack of self-esteem. It is little wonder I was on the school list of "the last ten people in the world to be caught hanging out with."
I rarely saw Celeste. Even Dad stopped caring whether I came down to dinner or not, which was the only time he might see me. I needed to get away. One day, a notice on the school bulletin board caught my attention. A Family couple in Tokyo needed help with their children. I applied and was accepted for the three-month post.
I was met at Shinjiku station by a young man named Marcus, who lived at my new Home. I was pleased I was not going to be the only young person there. Marcus quickly developed more than a mild interest in me. I was completely uninterested, however. No one had ever liked me in that way, and I did not read the signs of attraction because I had no experience in reading them.
The couple's oldest son, Miguel, came to visit. He had left the Family shortly before and worked at a bar in Tokyo. He was handsome and I was flattered by the way he openly stared at me. It was a new feeling for me, and although I did not understand it, I knew I liked the attention and perhaps unconsciously even encouraged him. Nevertheless, it was a surprise to wake up in the middle of the night and discover him in my bed. He was tugging at my panties, his hot breath reeking of cigarettes.
"No," I whispered quickly.
"No?" He was rubbing himself frantically against me. "No."
"C'mon, you want me. I know you're hot for me."
I was still half asleep and a part of me was telling myself, this is all a funny dream.
"Don't. The kids," I mumbled in protest. His brothers and sisters slept in the same room as me and I hoped this would stop him.
"Then you'd better be quiet."
I was too terrified to do anything but lie there silently, and the dream continued like a nightmare for the next two hours. When he finally pulled away I was raw and in pain.
Early the next morning I slunk out of the house, took my bike and stayed out all day until I was certain he'd left. Sex with an outsider was an excommunicable offence at most and a partial excommunication at least. The thought of being excommunicated, especially for something that had been forced on me, was terrifying. I was only fifteen after all.
I decided to keep the nightmare in my chest of secrets that I locked inside my head. Only, secrets have a way of revealing themselves.
In my case it was sooner rather than later. The next day, in fact. Marcus came home from work and barred my way at the head of the stairs with a beefy arm.
"What's up, Marcus?" I tried to sound casual, but my voice betrayed my concern.
"You little slut!" He spat. "You don't even know him and you jump into bed with him the first night."
"I don't know what you're talking about. We didn't do anything."
"Really? He said you were panting like a little bitch in heat. He said you wore him out, you could not get enough like an insatiable whore." This lie hurt even worse than the actual rape.
"What! He's just telling you that to make you jealous." There was a terrible heat behind my eyes and the room was spinning around me.
"I'm going to report you, and you know what'll happen then. You're in big shit now."
"Marcus, it wasn't like that. He forced me," I tried to explain.
"Bullshit. I don't believe you." Nor did he want to, because he had his own agenda.
"Look, believe me or not, it's true. Please, I'll do any-thing; just don't report me. It wasn't my fault."
"Of course it was your fault and you're right about one thing; you will do anything, or I will report you."
He came to my bed that night, and every night after. Sometimes I tried to pretend I was asleep, or on my monthly, or feeling sick. Eventually he stopped buying my excuses. My life there became a misery, so I jumped on a train back to the Heavenly City School.
When I arrived back, one of the teen shepherds approached me.
"What are you doing back here?"
I was shocked by the question. I had always thought the school was my home.
"You didn't ask permission to come back. We don't even have a bed for you."
"I can sleep on the floor."
They quickly found work for me, however, I could hardly manage to take care of myself much less eleven rowdy kids from nine in the morning to seven at night. After a few months I was bordering on a nervous breakdown and asked for a break.
I was sent to work in the Nursery instead. Here, I was frequently on my own with four young babies, which was not easy. Then the two shepherds in charge of the teachers summoned me.
"We've been having trouble with some of the children using bad language," they said.
"Oh?" I could not see where this was going.
"We feel that you are probably the one responsible, so we're going to have to ask that you step down from your ministry in childcare."
I was shocked by their logic. "I work in the Nursery all day. How in the world could I be responsible for children who I don't even see using bad language?" I said.
"We prayed about it, and the Lord showed us that you're to blame."
I thought that was ridiculous. Why did they always use the Lord when they needed an excuse to do something?
"It just seems that there's a lot of lessons you need to be learning and you could best learn them elsewhere where you can't be a negative influence on the kids."
I just kept quiet. If I was honest with myself; I did not mind being taken off childcare. I was tired. What hurt was the way I was being sacked after working very hard with very little help.
"Instead of Childcare, you can report to staff. Maybe a bit of physical labor will do you good."
"A bit of physical labor" meant joining the men renovating the park, hauling blocks of cement from the construction area.
I ran outside into the fields where no one could hear me and wept bitterly. "Why, God," I screamed to the sky, "do you hate me? Why does everyone hate me? What have I done?" I was having it out with the great Creator this time. "Why is life so hard to live? Do you enjoy seeing my pain? Do you enjoy seeing me suffer? Speak to me! Are you even there? Why don't you ever answer! God, I'm your child, speak to me!"
But no answer ever came. Maybe God had turned his back on me too.
All the biggest singers and musicians from around the world were gathering in Japan for an artists' summit at the Heavenly City School. There was a big push to start recording Loving Jesus Music—love songs to Jesus. King Peter was visiting the biggest communes around the world to make his and Queen Maria's presence felt, and he was going to attend.
I was working on some art project for the school when King Peter walked by with his entourage. The first thing that struck me was his towering height. He wore his long hair in a ponytail and was trying to dress hip in jeans. I knew they were trying to give the Family a new image of modern, cool and endearing leaders. King Peter showed photographs of Queen Maria. This was the first time most of us had seen what she looked like and I was shocked when I looked at the pictures of Queen Maria posing naked or in a skimpy negligee. Supposedly, this was to show her revolutionary spirit.
All the leadership followed Peter's new look. They made a big push on uniting the generations and the first generation was encouraged to marry into our second generation. All the top pony-tailed leaders took young brides—now that they were of legal age. Following King Peter around like a faithful little puppy was his second-generation secretary, Rebecca. She was Celeste's age; it was no secret that she took care of Peter in every way.
During this visit, Celeste was recruited to work in World Services. I knew she was having difficulties of her own and I could see she was not happy. I knew she had pursued a love affair with a young man who was only using her for sex. I watched him make the rounds with all the women in the school and I knew he was bad news. This young man had
already impregnated three separate women, and coldly messed about with my sister's emotions. I could see how deeply Celeste was hurt by him. No doubt, she wanted to escape as much as I did.
Dad was elated at the news. Only the best ended up in World Services and his daughter had made it, his little dar-ling in whom he was well pleased. But I was upset with her for it. She was going down the rabbit hole, and who could say when she might reappear. Some people ended up staying the rest of their lives in World Services. I'd never know where she was, or what she was doing.
"If that's what you want, then go! We're not a family any-way, so it won't make a difference." I did not want to sound mean, but that's how it came out. Once again, I was left behind. This time though, I did not cry.
All the tears in me seemed to have dried up.
After Celeste left, Dad had the sudden inspiration that, as his daughter, I should audition for a voice recording and before I knew what was happening, I found a script in my hand and headphones on my head. But at the crucial moment, I lost my voice.
I felt the immense pressure of Dad's expectations and I froze up. The studio informed him that I did not do well. After dinner, he found me outside.
Not Without My Sister Page 26
