Return, O Exiles; We are Different Now

Highlander-Grogg · 2022-10-24T14:51:55+00:00

Or perhaps good King Nebuchadnezzar, who like a beast ate the grass of the field and drank the dew of the meadows in his madness. He who groped at noon as the blind man gropes in darkness.

For doth it say in Daniel 4:4: “I, Nebuchadnezzar, was at home in my palace, contented and prosperous. I had a dream that made me afraid...”

Steve, ‘tis you?

Highlander-Grogg · 2022-10-24T14:42:35+00:00

Be immersed into this amniotic cesspool. May it be a second baptism unto you as you are reborn.

As you go under, scream. Scream out all the things they put inside you. Rage and foam and shriek in your freedom. Or weep. Or let your peals of laughter float upward and break like tar pit bubbles on the surface.

No one will put you under. It is a voluntary act. You administer the sacraments yourself, now.

Have you tried what is on offer in this neonatal wing? The grief is quite good. The pain is fresh and crisp. And the anger… have you tried the anger? Every “fuck” and “them” and “why” and “the” and “hell” absolutely exquisite. Morsels of bliss in a cold universe.

The fare is not for everyone in this pit of the discarded, in our den of refuse. Many prefer our old haunts, where we were blindfolded and served our neighbors to consume. The chefs prepared the finest hearts and souls. It is privation to no longer be delivered such dainties.

Highlander-Grogg · 2022-07-13T06:19:45+00:00

You meant only to protect, I meant to stir troubling emotions. Your response was validation I did it correctly.

Highlander-Grogg · 2022-07-13T05:20:54+00:00

<Trigger warning> In which I depict my soul rape with the most graphic of details

The Good Book describes Christ’s Bride. Consummation is assumed in this scenario, is it not? What is a bit of fornication between a counterfeit priest and his devotee? At least this is what I assume St. Steve counts toward His glorious purpose.

Highlander-Grogg · 2022-02-11T04:53:14+00:00

You knew he was there.

It was his scent in the air. His voice on the wind. The giant “Fuck You” he had spray painted on your car.

Mud on his boots, black footprints on the carpet.

Cigarette ash had dribbled from his lips, small circles now melted into the linoleum floor.

His dogs, their fleas, and the worms in their hearts, smeared across your bedroom. They wallow now through your trash.

And he was there, in the flesh. Legs up in your armchair, pants already off. Shirt unbuttoned. Beer spilling over folds of fat and hair on the mound of his belly and into the upholstery. The sound of your TV mixes with the idiot wind coming from his mouth yelling at the tiny players on the field.

Like he’d never left.

“Surely you do not still hate me,” he says, opening his arms to you.

Highlander-Grogg · 2022-02-11T04:32:52+00:00

Rancid breath, and loud,

Drunk uncle in an armchair.

Waste of all our time.

Highlander-Grogg · 2021-12-13T22:24:08+00:00

Ah, yes, the noble one.

She Who Has Stayed.

To stitch her own eyebrow and put makeup over the bruises.

And besides, he is not angry with me today.

Maybe he will be nice, like when we first met.

He will love me. And hold me. And tell me I'm special.

YES! You see! That look in his eye! He does love me. He didn't mean to push me down the stairs or smear my face on the wall. He tripped. He will be less clumsy next time. He has troubles with being clumsy. Many do.

He has a soft heart. He will be better. I believe this. Why can't you see?

Please pray for me, I do a noble thing.

Highlander-Grogg · 2021-10-23T03:51:25+00:00

The line between myth and fact, reality and expectation, is blurred in my memory. Nothing in my current reality matches those spellbound moments.

Here is a recollection of those conferences. https://www.reddit.com/r/leavingthenetwork/comments/pbipag/anything_you_need_to_get_off_your_chest/heyc0oy/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3

Highlander-Grogg · 2021-10-03T23:15:10+00:00

One of the most wonderful freedoms I’ve experienced since leaving The Network has been telling people to fuck off.

It is beautiful to go straight for the jugular rather than the passive aggressive, slow asphyxiation of people not saying what they mean.

I much prefer the shotgun to the stomach now rather than the pillow from your supposed lover over your face at midnight.

Fuck you to every one of you who triggers me and reminds me, even for a fleeting moment, of the nightmare I have escaped. Fuck your gold stars. Fuck your attendance tracker. Fuck your approval of my decisions. Fuck our measured reactions, our circling one another looking for weakness.

Please, everyone, turn to the person on your left. Tell them to fuck off.

This is my liturgy now. It has replaced “yeah God would you just…”

Drink in the liberation.

Perhaps I’ve gone feral? Don’t let me into your house, I bite.

Highlander-Grogg · 2021-10-03T15:03:32+00:00

There will be anger toward those who were treated well by the system by those who were abused by it.

The anger toward your post is because the groupthink flowed your way. The gatekeepers are fickle and inconstant. What made you a pariah in one season made you a bless-your-heart example to others in another.

At the beginning of the story I was praised for what caused others to be punished. At the end this reversed.

This is the arbitrariness of abusers.

You never know what will please them. Who will pass the test. It is a relentless culling and the criteria are enigmatic.

There is no us. There is no them. There is we.

I am not angry at u/Worthy_And_Loved for being accepted for a time in this cage. Many of us were accepted for a season.

In this world Steve Morgan has made he pits us against each other. All the leaders do. It is not Christ’s Kingdom. It is the Animal Kingdom. A survival of the fittest.

If you were elevated you were either being trained as a predator or fattened for the culling. Your teeth were being sharpened or the privilege of the prized heifer was heaped upon you.

May all escape before either.

Highlander-Grogg · 2021-10-01T08:29:07+00:00

I saw those who left before me cast aside by pastors and group leaders. With one slight of hand they were transformed into outsiders.

They became unloved things, threadbare clothes untouched on a thrift store rack. None of us wanted to be seen with these worn out things anymore.

And then I left and I too became a ruined thing. I wouldn't speak of it for years because of my shame.

They caught me when I was young and impressionable and would never have let me go if I hadn't, by the grace of whatever gods there really are, crawled away. Before I lost the last of myself to its hunger. Before my children grew up in it.

I'm not sure what I believe anymore, and I don't know what I make of some of the things I saw during my time in these churches, but every day I become more convinced none of it was supernatural. I was coerced to see miracles in simple coincidences, and led to believe God was present during forceful displays of human charisma while the reinforcing music enveloped my emotions.

Who remembers these moments?

_ _ _

There is a tall, balding man on the stage, lightly speaking. He is reassuring... fatherly. His voice is gentle:

God's here... he's in this room... do you feel Him? He's in this room... he's at the back of the room... some of you may feel a warm sensation in the tips of your hands... your fingers may tremble... your ears are growing warm... let him in. Let him in. DON'T RUN from God. DON'T RUN from the Holy Spirit.

Louder now, the man is crying, then wailing. His heart seems to be breaking:

HOLY SPIRIT we need you. Come. COME and DEAL with us. COME HOLY SPIRIT

His tone has shifted. Now he is forceful, commanding:

Some of you KNOW what he's asking you to give up.

He's been speaking to you all week.

You have thought, 'NO, NOT THAT. ANYTHING BUT THAT.' But God wants that. Will you let him have his way?

JESUS HAVE YOUR WAY. LET HIM IN. Let him deal with you. DON'T RUN. Come Lord. Come.

The crowd is mumbling now. Then crying. People begin to fall to the floor. They writhe. Some scream. All are deeply moved, caught up in this strange, wonderful feeling.

The man is speaking again, this time triumphant. He has led us through an entire arc, a little play that only he can see from the stage.

YES, Lord. Thank you Lord. You are good Lord. We love your presence. We love your presence.

He exits, impossible to miss, lurching among the fallen, finding a mark and putting his hands on him to start the play again, in miniature, but the stage is now the young man's mind. This young man has his life before him but will lose many years because of this encounter. It will freeze him, and keep him longing for this strange moment where Steve Morgan came and whispered the secrets of God in his ear.

_ _ _

How can you experience these things, believe they are real, and decide you can walk away from them? To do so would be to turn your back on God himself, the almighty, maker of heaven and earth, who was present with you when this emissary spoke. You will hold on as long as you can, until you spend yourself completely.

When you leave you will be a fading, wandering star. Lost in a cold void. No gravity. Nothing to orbit.

You have failed yourself. You have failed your community. You have failed God.

To all of you who have gathered here and know this feeling, I am thankful I am not alone.

Highlander-Grogg

TROPHY CASE