Re: James Swartz--my original written account
Posted by:
MynameisHeather
()
Date: September 09, 2019 05:50AM
Here is the next section:
Cabin in the woods
Jim’s cabin is just off a stretch of highway, where logging trucks travel, and people drive to and from Missoula from smaller towns in the surrounding area. There is a long winding river that crosses and snakes along the roads all the way to town. We parked by the side of the road under some trees. Past the river I saw his cabin. To get across the river we had to put our belongings in a wooden box suspended by cables over the river. We seated ourselves in the box and used hand pulleys to travel over the water. It took several trips to get all our stuff to the cabin. The cabin looked fine. There was the main house which had a kitchen, dining area, and a raised area (like a loft) that served as a master bedroom. Jessica and I stayed in the smaller building, which was more like a shack, inside it had wooden bunk beds. There was an outhouse. A medium-size stream wound through the property and a lovely waterwheel directed the flow of water down onto the river pebbles. Many days I found refuge in that little stream. Jessica brought her sewing machine and spent hours making new costumes and fixing old ones. We settled into the cabin life.
There was a lot of talk about what to do next. Jim and Marlene planned Jessica’s upcoming gigs. They tried to figure out how I could be integrated into the work without getting caught by “the law.” Jim figured we might have to wait until I turned eighteen which was over a year away. He was expressly annoyed with the notion of keeping me around until I was able to work. I was another mouth to feed, and I wasn’t generating any income for the family. They began to ration my food. I started to feel hungry, a lot. Sometimes I was so hungry I woke up in the middle of the night. I began to sneak over to the main house and tried to steal some food. The refrigerator was outside on the back porch. One dark night, I remember getting a hold of some ice cream from the freezer. I heard Jim wake up from inside the cabin. Panicked, I scrambled down and hid behind some bushes near the creek. I held my breath. He appeared not to see me, and promptly took a piss into the creek water. This repulsive moment, yet another ridiculous and ironic memory of his nauseating personal habits.
(...more to come)
Cabin in the woods
Jim’s cabin is just off a stretch of highway, where logging trucks travel, and people drive to and from Missoula from smaller towns in the surrounding area. There is a long winding river that crosses and snakes along the roads all the way to town. We parked by the side of the road under some trees. Past the river I saw his cabin. To get across the river we had to put our belongings in a wooden box suspended by cables over the river. We seated ourselves in the box and used hand pulleys to travel over the water. It took several trips to get all our stuff to the cabin. The cabin looked fine. There was the main house which had a kitchen, dining area, and a raised area (like a loft) that served as a master bedroom. Jessica and I stayed in the smaller building, which was more like a shack, inside it had wooden bunk beds. There was an outhouse. A medium-size stream wound through the property and a lovely waterwheel directed the flow of water down onto the river pebbles. Many days I found refuge in that little stream. Jessica brought her sewing machine and spent hours making new costumes and fixing old ones. We settled into the cabin life.
There was a lot of talk about what to do next. Jim and Marlene planned Jessica’s upcoming gigs. They tried to figure out how I could be integrated into the work without getting caught by “the law.” Jim figured we might have to wait until I turned eighteen which was over a year away. He was expressly annoyed with the notion of keeping me around until I was able to work. I was another mouth to feed, and I wasn’t generating any income for the family. They began to ration my food. I started to feel hungry, a lot. Sometimes I was so hungry I woke up in the middle of the night. I began to sneak over to the main house and tried to steal some food. The refrigerator was outside on the back porch. One dark night, I remember getting a hold of some ice cream from the freezer. I heard Jim wake up from inside the cabin. Panicked, I scrambled down and hid behind some bushes near the creek. I held my breath. He appeared not to see me, and promptly took a piss into the creek water. This repulsive moment, yet another ridiculous and ironic memory of his nauseating personal habits.
(...more to come)
Re: James Swartz--my original written account
Posted by:
MynameisHeather
()
Date: September 09, 2019 06:57AM
[This next section is very difficult for me. When I originally wrote it, and it was posted on Medium.com, I had severe PTSD symptoms because reliving the trauma is overwhelming. I had night after night of intensive seizures, flashbacks, and panic attacks. Now, two years later, I’m posting it here on Cult Ed, and I’m having reactions all over again. This time the panic attacks are not as debilitating. My sleep is very good. But while I make subtle edits in grammar, and post, I experience waves of panic.]
People would say I am crazy
I was told that my main job was to clean the outhouse. It was Karma Yoga and would help me to purify myself in order to know my Self. I didn’t have a big issue with the unpleasant job, but I noticed Jim himself never did such chores. Everyday Jim lectured us about how egoistic and selfish we were. During this time things began to get darker than dark. I had black outs and missing time, and now have fragments of memories where Jim drugged me, emotionally abused and sexually assaulted me. To protect himself, he put ideas, commands, and prompts into my subconscious mind. When I discovered blood, tears, lesions, and scar tissue building up around my anus, I didn’t know why or what it was. I had pelvic pain, and panic attacks, but I didn’t know what it was. At night, while sleeping, my teeth chattered uncontrollably, and I had waves and waves of panic. Currently, when I have memory flashbacks of that awful time, my brain puts things together in unusual ways. My body remembers being sodomized, while my visual memory remembers I was draped over the kitchen table, Jim’s hand gripping the edge of the table, his long fingernails…
We no longer had satsangs, and Rama stopped telling us stories. Jim said we needed money. Marlene went out for stripping jobs, a few days or a week at a time. Jessica slept a lot. It was during this time I started to fear for my life. I was terrified I would die if I left. I KNEW I would die. I was told that if I “spilled the beans” no one would believe me. People would say I am crazy. People would say I am lying. If I left, I would not survive. My life would be over. I would not succeed, nor would I have a future. Many days, I stole away into the woods to smoke a cigarette. This was my time of partial sanity, a time to think my own thoughts. I spent hours upon hours crying in those woods—not knowing what to do, or how to do it.
Over and over again, I went through possibilities of escape, only to come to the conclusion there was no way out. Jim’s thought reform had been cinched into my brain. Eventually hunger won out. I began to acquire angry feelings. While in the woods, my dialogues with myself gained strength, and I began to have the right conversation. Jessica had a post office box. Every week we went to town to get groceries, do laundry, and check her mail. I decided to write letters to my grandmother and father. This was our secret. Jessica and I began our measured separation from Jim and his wife. Soon I got a letter from my dad. He was very concerned and wanted to know exactly where I was and how to get there. He forcefully told me that if I was unable to respond, he would send the federal police to come find me. As my mind was still completely controlled, I quickly told Jim about what my dad warned about the “feds.” Jim became unhinged. He shouted and had tirades. He knew he was in trouble. Not wishing to invoke the feds, I called my uncle instead. I explained that I needed to get out but had no money. He wired me money within 48 hours. Things started to move quickly. I told Jessica I had to leave. She understood but herself decided to stay; “we are on different paths,” she said. She was willing to keep my secret and help me with the get-away.
Forget James Swartz, Rama, Sunny Jim, Jim
I’ll never forget my escape. My life was on the line. I packed my suitcase in the small wooden shack and told Jessica I was ready to go. My legs trembled, and I felt I might fall. My heart thumped through my chest. My ears rang. I tried to act invisible, and kept my eyes focussed straight ahead, as I dragged my belongings along the dirt path toward the wooden box pulley at the edge of the riverbank. When I passed the main house, I noticed in my peripheral vision that the front door had been opened wide. I stopped cold, sensing Rama’s eyes upon me. I turned to look and, peculiarly, he sat on a chair in the middle of the entrance way, his arms folded. Then he cupped his knees with his hands. His shoulders postured rigidly; his eyes commanded. I was ordered to step up and face him. I climbed the stairs and stood in front of him. He only said, “You are selfish.” The words felt like a signal to my brain. Perhaps this was part of the thought reform, made to hide and lock the secret of his assaults and abuse hidden within my mind, and never, ever, come out to tell.
[Over the years, I had wondered why James Swartz didn’t kill me. When I was with him, I feared he would. I was certain of it. I can only surmise that he knew my dad threatened to contact the FBI—if I died, Swartz would be the number one suspect. James Swartz used thought reform, torture, and sexual manipulation. One of the symptoms of his abuse is that I now suffer with seizures. When I lived with this cult, Marlene also had daily seizures. Jessica and I witnessed them. I’ll write another segment on these seizures and explain what happened.]
Exhausted, I took a long Greyhound bus ride back to Santa Barbara. My body trembled and my teeth chattered. I had very little money. The bus ride took several days. Day and night, I transferred from bus to bus in cities and towns until I got home. I was not sad, and I didn’t want to cry. I was numb. I was in very poor condition. My mind was shattered and in pieces. I felt I couldn’t face my grandmother and uncle. I stayed with a former school friend, until I summoned the courage to go home to my grandmother’s house. It took a month. When I got home, my grandmother welcomed me, and wanted to know if I was okay. She thought I had gone through what was a typical misadventure of a teenage runaway. I kept my secret. But my life was filled with problems.
Grandmother suggested I attend my senior year with my class, and try to do the work, even though I had dropped out. I failed in school. My face broke out in rashes. I had chronic pelvic pain. At night, my body trembled, and I started to have seizures. I got into drugs and had behavioral issues. I felt like I was spinning out of control. My friends wondered what happened to me—what was wrong? I couldn’t tell anyone, and I couldn’t remind myself. I buried the trauma deep down inside my mind and tried to forget the whole time I had been with James Swartz, Rama, Sunny Jim, Jim.
Six months after my escape, and I received a letter from Jessica. She sent me a long letter and a small cut out color photograph of herself. She was dressed professionally, and her hair was bleached blonder, cut shorter. She wanted to let me know that she too had made her escape. “Things got even weirder after you left,” she wrote. “Jim kicked Marlene out because he said she was going crazy. He asked me if I would seriously consider marrying him and become his wife.” Jessica hadn’t lost her sarcastic way of explaining things: “I guess he had this idea that we would take the world by storm—me his stripper-ho and he my sugar daddy.” Revolting. Conversations I had with Jessica a year ago revealed that she had a crisis when she left. She slit her wrist and tried to commit suicide. She got help from friendly strangers, and soon after received exit counselling from professionals in Missoula. Then she returned home to San Francisco.
After I read her letter, I was very happy to learn she had made her escape, but something clenched down inside of me and I felt I needed to distance myself from her—not communicate. I decided I needed to create a new me and bury the old me. I stopped taking drugs; I became serious. I landed a job, got my GED and, despite PTSD symptoms, started dancing in professional level classes again. I made goals. I wanted to be a dance artist and dance in a professional contemporary dance company. I earned my way and attended California Institute for the Arts. I got my BFA degree and joined a dance company in Los Angeles. During the period of my triumphs and successes, I suffered immensely. I had chronic pelvic pain that I named “The Pain.” I struggled with academics and the ability to memorize facts and do mathematics. My brain had been damaged, my memories were submerged, and I was trying to cope with it all.
(...more to come)
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 09/09/2019 07:10AM by MynameisHeather.
People would say I am crazy
I was told that my main job was to clean the outhouse. It was Karma Yoga and would help me to purify myself in order to know my Self. I didn’t have a big issue with the unpleasant job, but I noticed Jim himself never did such chores. Everyday Jim lectured us about how egoistic and selfish we were. During this time things began to get darker than dark. I had black outs and missing time, and now have fragments of memories where Jim drugged me, emotionally abused and sexually assaulted me. To protect himself, he put ideas, commands, and prompts into my subconscious mind. When I discovered blood, tears, lesions, and scar tissue building up around my anus, I didn’t know why or what it was. I had pelvic pain, and panic attacks, but I didn’t know what it was. At night, while sleeping, my teeth chattered uncontrollably, and I had waves and waves of panic. Currently, when I have memory flashbacks of that awful time, my brain puts things together in unusual ways. My body remembers being sodomized, while my visual memory remembers I was draped over the kitchen table, Jim’s hand gripping the edge of the table, his long fingernails…
We no longer had satsangs, and Rama stopped telling us stories. Jim said we needed money. Marlene went out for stripping jobs, a few days or a week at a time. Jessica slept a lot. It was during this time I started to fear for my life. I was terrified I would die if I left. I KNEW I would die. I was told that if I “spilled the beans” no one would believe me. People would say I am crazy. People would say I am lying. If I left, I would not survive. My life would be over. I would not succeed, nor would I have a future. Many days, I stole away into the woods to smoke a cigarette. This was my time of partial sanity, a time to think my own thoughts. I spent hours upon hours crying in those woods—not knowing what to do, or how to do it.
Over and over again, I went through possibilities of escape, only to come to the conclusion there was no way out. Jim’s thought reform had been cinched into my brain. Eventually hunger won out. I began to acquire angry feelings. While in the woods, my dialogues with myself gained strength, and I began to have the right conversation. Jessica had a post office box. Every week we went to town to get groceries, do laundry, and check her mail. I decided to write letters to my grandmother and father. This was our secret. Jessica and I began our measured separation from Jim and his wife. Soon I got a letter from my dad. He was very concerned and wanted to know exactly where I was and how to get there. He forcefully told me that if I was unable to respond, he would send the federal police to come find me. As my mind was still completely controlled, I quickly told Jim about what my dad warned about the “feds.” Jim became unhinged. He shouted and had tirades. He knew he was in trouble. Not wishing to invoke the feds, I called my uncle instead. I explained that I needed to get out but had no money. He wired me money within 48 hours. Things started to move quickly. I told Jessica I had to leave. She understood but herself decided to stay; “we are on different paths,” she said. She was willing to keep my secret and help me with the get-away.
Forget James Swartz, Rama, Sunny Jim, Jim
I’ll never forget my escape. My life was on the line. I packed my suitcase in the small wooden shack and told Jessica I was ready to go. My legs trembled, and I felt I might fall. My heart thumped through my chest. My ears rang. I tried to act invisible, and kept my eyes focussed straight ahead, as I dragged my belongings along the dirt path toward the wooden box pulley at the edge of the riverbank. When I passed the main house, I noticed in my peripheral vision that the front door had been opened wide. I stopped cold, sensing Rama’s eyes upon me. I turned to look and, peculiarly, he sat on a chair in the middle of the entrance way, his arms folded. Then he cupped his knees with his hands. His shoulders postured rigidly; his eyes commanded. I was ordered to step up and face him. I climbed the stairs and stood in front of him. He only said, “You are selfish.” The words felt like a signal to my brain. Perhaps this was part of the thought reform, made to hide and lock the secret of his assaults and abuse hidden within my mind, and never, ever, come out to tell.
[Over the years, I had wondered why James Swartz didn’t kill me. When I was with him, I feared he would. I was certain of it. I can only surmise that he knew my dad threatened to contact the FBI—if I died, Swartz would be the number one suspect. James Swartz used thought reform, torture, and sexual manipulation. One of the symptoms of his abuse is that I now suffer with seizures. When I lived with this cult, Marlene also had daily seizures. Jessica and I witnessed them. I’ll write another segment on these seizures and explain what happened.]
Exhausted, I took a long Greyhound bus ride back to Santa Barbara. My body trembled and my teeth chattered. I had very little money. The bus ride took several days. Day and night, I transferred from bus to bus in cities and towns until I got home. I was not sad, and I didn’t want to cry. I was numb. I was in very poor condition. My mind was shattered and in pieces. I felt I couldn’t face my grandmother and uncle. I stayed with a former school friend, until I summoned the courage to go home to my grandmother’s house. It took a month. When I got home, my grandmother welcomed me, and wanted to know if I was okay. She thought I had gone through what was a typical misadventure of a teenage runaway. I kept my secret. But my life was filled with problems.
Grandmother suggested I attend my senior year with my class, and try to do the work, even though I had dropped out. I failed in school. My face broke out in rashes. I had chronic pelvic pain. At night, my body trembled, and I started to have seizures. I got into drugs and had behavioral issues. I felt like I was spinning out of control. My friends wondered what happened to me—what was wrong? I couldn’t tell anyone, and I couldn’t remind myself. I buried the trauma deep down inside my mind and tried to forget the whole time I had been with James Swartz, Rama, Sunny Jim, Jim.
Six months after my escape, and I received a letter from Jessica. She sent me a long letter and a small cut out color photograph of herself. She was dressed professionally, and her hair was bleached blonder, cut shorter. She wanted to let me know that she too had made her escape. “Things got even weirder after you left,” she wrote. “Jim kicked Marlene out because he said she was going crazy. He asked me if I would seriously consider marrying him and become his wife.” Jessica hadn’t lost her sarcastic way of explaining things: “I guess he had this idea that we would take the world by storm—me his stripper-ho and he my sugar daddy.” Revolting. Conversations I had with Jessica a year ago revealed that she had a crisis when she left. She slit her wrist and tried to commit suicide. She got help from friendly strangers, and soon after received exit counselling from professionals in Missoula. Then she returned home to San Francisco.
After I read her letter, I was very happy to learn she had made her escape, but something clenched down inside of me and I felt I needed to distance myself from her—not communicate. I decided I needed to create a new me and bury the old me. I stopped taking drugs; I became serious. I landed a job, got my GED and, despite PTSD symptoms, started dancing in professional level classes again. I made goals. I wanted to be a dance artist and dance in a professional contemporary dance company. I earned my way and attended California Institute for the Arts. I got my BFA degree and joined a dance company in Los Angeles. During the period of my triumphs and successes, I suffered immensely. I had chronic pelvic pain that I named “The Pain.” I struggled with academics and the ability to memorize facts and do mathematics. My brain had been damaged, my memories were submerged, and I was trying to cope with it all.
(...more to come)
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 09/09/2019 07:10AM by MynameisHeather.
Re: James Swartz--my original written account
Posted by:
MynameisHeather
()
Date: September 10, 2019 09:45AM
He was The Doer
While in Los Angeles, I met my husband. We’ve been married 24 years. He is my soulmate—the light of my life and has given me total support and unconditional love. He helped me with my education and tutored me in mathematics. We moved away from Los Angeles and started a life in a better, more beautiful place.
It took me years to earn my education—a proper one. I’ve struggled and it’s been difficult. I had to learn critical thinking skills and discernment. I’ve been blessed with an excellent therapist. Through therapy, I have been able to distinguish my own thoughts, separate from guru Rama’s thoughts. It’s taken me decades to trust my own thoughts and feelings. I was frightened, even paranoid, of hidden danger. I felt Rama’s eyes on me, wherever I was, and I felt he would appear in my life and try to hurt me. It’s been a long process of re-evaluating everything I believed in—everything I’ve identified with—everything I accepted as truth—everything that made me who I am. It took me years to be able to stand on my own two feet. I went back to university and earned my B.Ed. in primary education. My husband and I have two amazing kids. They are both gorgeous, creative, artistic and excel in school. I still create in choreography and dance, and I have a meditation/yoga practice, and a running group. I was a victim of Swartz. Now I’m a survivor. I am resilient and strong.
One of the most difficult things I’ve had to face is my spiritual belief system. I never wanted to question my faith in God—what I believe is true. The essence of faith had always been a felt-sense; knowledge of God was a personal experience. But all my personal experiences were infused with experiences I had with Rama. When I think on it, James Swartz’s spiritual abuse was more damaging to me than his sexual abuse. For years I continued to connect with God the way Rama taught me. I believed I had bad karma, and I deserved what he did to me. I believed I was a bad person. I believed I was selfish.
I meditated and prayed with fervent devotion, I asked God to forgive me for my bad karma and help me be purer. I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that fed into my daily practice of trying to attain purity. I never felt clean enough.
Through the years, I continued to make altars to Hindu deities on whose qualities I had no real knowledge. I had terrible chronic pain and tried spiritual methods to try to heal the wounds. I mindlessly meditated, chanted, searched, and prayed. I meditated to “bring the light in”, which sounds benign, but the power of enlightenment would always be outside of myself, therefore I could only seek and never find true healing. What I sought was always “out there”. Rama taught me to be a mindless robot. I didn’t use the power of my own rational thought; I didn’t use the functioning power of my brain. I had no functioning brain. I couldn’t question my spiritual habits, because it would mean facing the truth about Rama and his abuse.
In the last few years I have rigorously questioned my beliefs and experiences. I felt my entire universe caving in upon me. It was really hard to have all my spiritual experiences and beliefs melt away into the abyss of disillusionment. I have felt utterly alone.
Though I do not belong to a religion, I believe in God and engage in daily prayer. I pursue it on my own. Curiosity, and commitment to living an ethical and loving life, connects me with the Source of All That Is. No institution, or guru for that matter, can give me enlightenment or save me. I follow no one. I follow my own heart, intelligence, power of thought, and wisdom. I obey God. I know the rules. I believe we all know the rules and have the free will to choose. Every moment is a choice. Some people, like James Swartz, choose to do evil— willfully choose. He made the wrong choice. No big guru talk about non-duality can alter that truth. When he sexually and spiritually assaulted me, he was The Doer. What consequences will James Swartz face for his unethical and evil actions? I may never know.
Confidence Man
Over the years I’ve suffered and battled with CPTSD, painful Dystonia, Psychogenic non-epileptic seizures, chronic pain, depression, relentless suicidal thoughts, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, panic attacks, uncontrolled fear-thoughts (nighttime vigilance), paranoia, fear of dying…fear of living.
What a truly amazing effect guru Rama has had in my life.
Despite being tortured by Swartz, I’ve also had epic victories, developed true love and gratitude in my life, meaningful relationships, and authentic connection with God.
I am writing this to speak my truth. I want others who may have been victims of James Swartz to be compelled and come forward with their stories. Have courage! I believe when a person does something wrong, they should acknowledge it. They should make amends and do the best they can to make right what they did wrong. In order to live an authentic life, having clear and honest relationships with others is imperative. Being truthful with oneself is obviously the first step. I don’t believe James Swartz has the ability to be honest with himself or anyone else. He is an extreme, uncontrolled sociopathic narcissist.
Swartz is a confidence man. He gains people’s trust, then takes advantage of them. His modus operandi has been to create spiritual groups for his own personal benefit. Historically he attracted young, vulnerable seekers—now his audience appears more educated, of the elder variety. He weaves his fake narrative along with his so-called teaching for as long as he can get away with it. If things turn sour, he will run away. As I said before, while I was in his cult, we had an encounter with some of his past victims on the street, and they showed a lot of anger towards James Swartz. This chance meeting with people antagonistic to him was enough to spur him to sell his belongings and leave what he had set up in San Francisco. It was soon after that confrontation with people from his past that we went on a long road trip to Montana—far away from the city.
Whose name cannot be spoken
I have suffered the effects of his abuse decades after the trauma occurred. My friend Jessica had also been so traumatized that now she can’t speak his name or write his name in an email; she refers to James Swartz as “the man whose name cannot be spoken” or “the man”. She’s been through years of therapy, but the negative effects of his abuse still have an impact on her life. When we were with him, he used to say, “no matter where you are in the world…I will appear to you…just say my name Rama…and I will appear.” We’ve lived in fear that no matter where we were in the world, he could control us.
After all these years, is it any wonder we can still be triggered into feeling controlled and terrorized? When I escaped the cult, and ran away from the cabin in the woods, I thought my life was over. That’s how deep his torture and control got into my subconscious mind. In 1982, Jessica was able to help me get away to the bus station, but she was unable to leave at that time. It took months for her to make the escape herself. So, I compare that time to now. I’m coming out with my true account, but right now Jessica is not able to do it. I hope one day she will find the courage; I believe the telling of her true account would be therapeutic and help others. Jessica is a strong and resilient survivor—she has a lot of knowledge that will help others.
For current followers of James Swartz—not the folks just passing by with a one-off seminar, but the ardent followers—I hope for your own sake you will hear my voice. The power is in your own mind to discern the truth. Look closely and examine this terrible man. James Swartz is a master manipulator and an accomplished hypnotist. He believes he knows the way your mind works better than you do. He will tell you he loves you but in fact he has complete malevolence for most everyone he engages with. He lies to you, but even worse he lies to himself, which makes him very dangerous because he has no boundaries, no rules, no ethics and no conscience regarding other people’s lives. He plays around with people like they are toys. He will run away if confronted and start another group if the old one falls away.
I think it’s wise for people to ask the obvious and difficult questions. Why do I follow this man? Where does the need to follow a teacher or master come from? What is missing inside of me that I need a guru to lead me through life and prescribe how to perceive reality—how to experience life?
I know why I needed this guru. I was a vulnerable runaway. I was just a kid, naïve to the perils of our world. My family had failed me, and I needed a new family to support me. When I met Jim and his wife Marlene, they seemed to be the perfect family, the one I never had, the one I always wanted. He put in me the sensation of love. He put in me the perception that I was completely connected with God—that I myself was the mind of God. And the source of these experiences was only through him, James Swartz.
He discovered what I felt guilty about and used it to control me—he used guilt. He used terror and fear. I feared I would die if I were to escape him. He implanted paranoia. I felt his “eyes” upon me many times throughout the years, watching and controlling. Of his critics, he will say they are crazy. He drove his wife Marlene to madness with his sexual abuse tortures and thought reform. When I knew her, she was having the same seizures I’m having now. He drove her “crazy” and then blamed it on her.
Now I am telling my true account. He will say I’m crazy, I’m making this up— but I’m not. He will say I’m lying. I am telling the truth. James Swartz knows the truth.
The Man whose name must not be spoken…MUST NOW BE SPOKEN.
I’m taking my life back.
I will not be silent.
[End of written account.]
**I welcome any questions. As you read through my written account, if you have questions, please feel free to ask me.
Thank you.
I feel so much gratitude in being able to tell my story here.
While in Los Angeles, I met my husband. We’ve been married 24 years. He is my soulmate—the light of my life and has given me total support and unconditional love. He helped me with my education and tutored me in mathematics. We moved away from Los Angeles and started a life in a better, more beautiful place.
It took me years to earn my education—a proper one. I’ve struggled and it’s been difficult. I had to learn critical thinking skills and discernment. I’ve been blessed with an excellent therapist. Through therapy, I have been able to distinguish my own thoughts, separate from guru Rama’s thoughts. It’s taken me decades to trust my own thoughts and feelings. I was frightened, even paranoid, of hidden danger. I felt Rama’s eyes on me, wherever I was, and I felt he would appear in my life and try to hurt me. It’s been a long process of re-evaluating everything I believed in—everything I’ve identified with—everything I accepted as truth—everything that made me who I am. It took me years to be able to stand on my own two feet. I went back to university and earned my B.Ed. in primary education. My husband and I have two amazing kids. They are both gorgeous, creative, artistic and excel in school. I still create in choreography and dance, and I have a meditation/yoga practice, and a running group. I was a victim of Swartz. Now I’m a survivor. I am resilient and strong.
One of the most difficult things I’ve had to face is my spiritual belief system. I never wanted to question my faith in God—what I believe is true. The essence of faith had always been a felt-sense; knowledge of God was a personal experience. But all my personal experiences were infused with experiences I had with Rama. When I think on it, James Swartz’s spiritual abuse was more damaging to me than his sexual abuse. For years I continued to connect with God the way Rama taught me. I believed I had bad karma, and I deserved what he did to me. I believed I was a bad person. I believed I was selfish.
I meditated and prayed with fervent devotion, I asked God to forgive me for my bad karma and help me be purer. I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that fed into my daily practice of trying to attain purity. I never felt clean enough.
Through the years, I continued to make altars to Hindu deities on whose qualities I had no real knowledge. I had terrible chronic pain and tried spiritual methods to try to heal the wounds. I mindlessly meditated, chanted, searched, and prayed. I meditated to “bring the light in”, which sounds benign, but the power of enlightenment would always be outside of myself, therefore I could only seek and never find true healing. What I sought was always “out there”. Rama taught me to be a mindless robot. I didn’t use the power of my own rational thought; I didn’t use the functioning power of my brain. I had no functioning brain. I couldn’t question my spiritual habits, because it would mean facing the truth about Rama and his abuse.
In the last few years I have rigorously questioned my beliefs and experiences. I felt my entire universe caving in upon me. It was really hard to have all my spiritual experiences and beliefs melt away into the abyss of disillusionment. I have felt utterly alone.
Though I do not belong to a religion, I believe in God and engage in daily prayer. I pursue it on my own. Curiosity, and commitment to living an ethical and loving life, connects me with the Source of All That Is. No institution, or guru for that matter, can give me enlightenment or save me. I follow no one. I follow my own heart, intelligence, power of thought, and wisdom. I obey God. I know the rules. I believe we all know the rules and have the free will to choose. Every moment is a choice. Some people, like James Swartz, choose to do evil— willfully choose. He made the wrong choice. No big guru talk about non-duality can alter that truth. When he sexually and spiritually assaulted me, he was The Doer. What consequences will James Swartz face for his unethical and evil actions? I may never know.
Confidence Man
Over the years I’ve suffered and battled with CPTSD, painful Dystonia, Psychogenic non-epileptic seizures, chronic pain, depression, relentless suicidal thoughts, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, panic attacks, uncontrolled fear-thoughts (nighttime vigilance), paranoia, fear of dying…fear of living.
What a truly amazing effect guru Rama has had in my life.
Despite being tortured by Swartz, I’ve also had epic victories, developed true love and gratitude in my life, meaningful relationships, and authentic connection with God.
I am writing this to speak my truth. I want others who may have been victims of James Swartz to be compelled and come forward with their stories. Have courage! I believe when a person does something wrong, they should acknowledge it. They should make amends and do the best they can to make right what they did wrong. In order to live an authentic life, having clear and honest relationships with others is imperative. Being truthful with oneself is obviously the first step. I don’t believe James Swartz has the ability to be honest with himself or anyone else. He is an extreme, uncontrolled sociopathic narcissist.
Swartz is a confidence man. He gains people’s trust, then takes advantage of them. His modus operandi has been to create spiritual groups for his own personal benefit. Historically he attracted young, vulnerable seekers—now his audience appears more educated, of the elder variety. He weaves his fake narrative along with his so-called teaching for as long as he can get away with it. If things turn sour, he will run away. As I said before, while I was in his cult, we had an encounter with some of his past victims on the street, and they showed a lot of anger towards James Swartz. This chance meeting with people antagonistic to him was enough to spur him to sell his belongings and leave what he had set up in San Francisco. It was soon after that confrontation with people from his past that we went on a long road trip to Montana—far away from the city.
Whose name cannot be spoken
I have suffered the effects of his abuse decades after the trauma occurred. My friend Jessica had also been so traumatized that now she can’t speak his name or write his name in an email; she refers to James Swartz as “the man whose name cannot be spoken” or “the man”. She’s been through years of therapy, but the negative effects of his abuse still have an impact on her life. When we were with him, he used to say, “no matter where you are in the world…I will appear to you…just say my name Rama…and I will appear.” We’ve lived in fear that no matter where we were in the world, he could control us.
After all these years, is it any wonder we can still be triggered into feeling controlled and terrorized? When I escaped the cult, and ran away from the cabin in the woods, I thought my life was over. That’s how deep his torture and control got into my subconscious mind. In 1982, Jessica was able to help me get away to the bus station, but she was unable to leave at that time. It took months for her to make the escape herself. So, I compare that time to now. I’m coming out with my true account, but right now Jessica is not able to do it. I hope one day she will find the courage; I believe the telling of her true account would be therapeutic and help others. Jessica is a strong and resilient survivor—she has a lot of knowledge that will help others.
For current followers of James Swartz—not the folks just passing by with a one-off seminar, but the ardent followers—I hope for your own sake you will hear my voice. The power is in your own mind to discern the truth. Look closely and examine this terrible man. James Swartz is a master manipulator and an accomplished hypnotist. He believes he knows the way your mind works better than you do. He will tell you he loves you but in fact he has complete malevolence for most everyone he engages with. He lies to you, but even worse he lies to himself, which makes him very dangerous because he has no boundaries, no rules, no ethics and no conscience regarding other people’s lives. He plays around with people like they are toys. He will run away if confronted and start another group if the old one falls away.
I think it’s wise for people to ask the obvious and difficult questions. Why do I follow this man? Where does the need to follow a teacher or master come from? What is missing inside of me that I need a guru to lead me through life and prescribe how to perceive reality—how to experience life?
I know why I needed this guru. I was a vulnerable runaway. I was just a kid, naïve to the perils of our world. My family had failed me, and I needed a new family to support me. When I met Jim and his wife Marlene, they seemed to be the perfect family, the one I never had, the one I always wanted. He put in me the sensation of love. He put in me the perception that I was completely connected with God—that I myself was the mind of God. And the source of these experiences was only through him, James Swartz.
He discovered what I felt guilty about and used it to control me—he used guilt. He used terror and fear. I feared I would die if I were to escape him. He implanted paranoia. I felt his “eyes” upon me many times throughout the years, watching and controlling. Of his critics, he will say they are crazy. He drove his wife Marlene to madness with his sexual abuse tortures and thought reform. When I knew her, she was having the same seizures I’m having now. He drove her “crazy” and then blamed it on her.
Now I am telling my true account. He will say I’m crazy, I’m making this up— but I’m not. He will say I’m lying. I am telling the truth. James Swartz knows the truth.
The Man whose name must not be spoken…MUST NOW BE SPOKEN.
I’m taking my life back.
I will not be silent.
[End of written account.]
**I welcome any questions. As you read through my written account, if you have questions, please feel free to ask me.
Thank you.
I feel so much gratitude in being able to tell my story here.
Re: James Swartz--my original written account
Posted by:
Traveler99
()
Date: September 14, 2019 10:33PM
But this from
JAMES SWARTZ (accidentally)
In SUPPORT OF HEATHER[[/b]/center]
The following post was just put up in the Message Board: "James Swartz--What Is The Truth?"
However, I wanted to make sure that all readers of this Topic were aware of it, since it so directly relates to Heather's original written account, and since it so well supports her honesty and the veracity of her account.
(I hope this is within the Forum rules to post like this. If not, please let me know, and I shan't do it again.)
WITH A BLACKMAIL ATTEMPT
Just below are the original copies of James Swartz's message to me in which he admits to knowing Heather ("E.C.S.", Pepper). Later, he contradicts his own words and lies to everyone in his "Shining World" in the (infamous and insane) 2017 February 2017 Shining World Newsletter.
https://imgur.com/NUSEgYt
https://imgur.com/C9HGBwe
Again, as yo can see, in the above, James Swartz admitted to knowing the "vicitm" (he referred to her as Pepper, the stripper name he had given to her around her 15th birtday, three years before his plan was to have him dance to make money for him along with another of his initially underage "students" and his on stage sex-show-star wife.).
Yet, in the Feb 2017 Shining World newsletter,excerpted here only in part (sadly leaving out the parts where he compares himself to Jesus, Arjuna, calls himself "indestructible," and more--read them for yourself), he writes:
From James Swartz's Feb 2017 Shining World Newsletter
The Preponderance of the Evidence
When it is not possible to determine guilt or innocence – assuming you are not able to accept uncertainty – the law, which is based on dharma, provides us with an interesting concept: the preponderance of the evidence. In this case there is actually no evidence and I categorically deny the accuser’s statement, so how can you remove your doubt? Of course the quickest way to remove it is to see it as a mithya problem and dismiss it as unreal. But in the event that you are not at that level of inquiry, you can make a reasonable determination based on what you do know.
I Quit Teaching the Day I Die
In this case, what do you know? You know that someone who refuses to identify himself and seems to be masquerading as the “victim,” who also refuses to present his “evidence” to a public prosecutor, makes a statement, the veracity of which is impossible to determine since it was unwitnessed and supposedly happened 40 years ago. This is a fact. A reasonable inference to draw is that this person is uninterested in the truth. It is also reasonable to conclude that he is solely interested in shaming me into giving up teaching Vedanta. I have a statement from him offering this alternative in exchange for his silence. Is it reasonable to conclude that he is interested in truth and justice? Finally, ask yourself why the alleged “victim” waited 40 years to come forward with her accusations, if in fact she is real. To determine the truth of her statements, we need to know if she exists and, if so, who she actually is.
James Swartz here to "his people" denied that this female victim existed, and yet just days before had written admitting that he not only knew her back then, but knew all of her "sordic details" and would tell them publicly if she didn't stop publicizing his crimes/ her allegations.
Swartz lied to all of Shining World (not for the first time, and not for the last, but this one is in everyones' face obvious and here to see).
Jimmy Boy, you say you wanted proof she "exists." You know she does. You say so yourself.
As one person wrote to me, "Swartz knows she's real. Hell, he knows her real name. But she has the Truth, so he can't do any more than bluster and complain about these 'lies.'"
Swartz, any person with half an open mind and a half-witted ability to reason can see you clearly now. The book "Guru? The Story of Heather" and this forum, in particular, have exposed you to the world.
Hey, Sweet Baby James,the cold wind of Exposed Truth must shrivel your elderly privates indeed, eh?
There are other screenshots of original Swartz messages, and more, to come.
Re: James Swartz--my original written account
Posted by:
MynameisHeather
()
Date: September 15, 2019 07:09AM
Thank you Traveller99 for posting screenshots of emails sent to you by Swartz.
What Swartz was doing there, is he was trying to send a threatening message to me through you. Emails to you was the only way he could communicate to me.
Swartz attempted to frighten me by exposing "sordid details" of my life to my current family and friends. He wanted to scare me into shutting up.
So, he admitted he did in fact know me.
A critical reader should ask, what sordid details would a grown man of 40ish have about a girl aged 14-16 (the time that I knew him)?
When I was with Swartz he hypnotized, drugged, and abused me. He had me feel that it was my fault...my karma.
Now he threatens to expose some sleazy details...hmmmm...who was in charge then?
Swartz cannot scare me into shutting up.
He had a monumental negative effect in my life...my life course was literally changed by his abuse...
I'm taking back my life now.
I will not be silent.
What Swartz was doing there, is he was trying to send a threatening message to me through you. Emails to you was the only way he could communicate to me.
Swartz attempted to frighten me by exposing "sordid details" of my life to my current family and friends. He wanted to scare me into shutting up.
So, he admitted he did in fact know me.
A critical reader should ask, what sordid details would a grown man of 40ish have about a girl aged 14-16 (the time that I knew him)?
When I was with Swartz he hypnotized, drugged, and abused me. He had me feel that it was my fault...my karma.
Now he threatens to expose some sleazy details...hmmmm...who was in charge then?
Swartz cannot scare me into shutting up.
He had a monumental negative effect in my life...my life course was literally changed by his abuse...
I'm taking back my life now.
I will not be silent.
Re: James Swartz--my original written account
Posted by:
MynameisHeather
()
Date: September 16, 2019 04:01AM
James Swartz used undue influence (hypnosis, drugs, sexual abuse) to get me involved in the sex entertainment industry. He then took me across state lines (that is kidnapping) and had me strip tease. This is defined as human trafficking.
Human Trafficking Defined
Human Trafficking is a crime that involves exploiting a person for labor, services, or commercial sex.
The Trafficking Victims Protection Act of 2000 and its subsequent reauthorizations define human trafficking as:
a) Sex trafficking in which a commercial sex act is induced by force, fraud, or coercion, or in which the person induced to perform such act has not attained 18 years of age; or
b) The recruitment, harboring, transportation, provision, or obtaining of a person for labor or services, through the use of force, fraud, or coercion for the purpose of subjection to involuntary servitude, peonage, debt bondage, or slavery. (22 U.S.C. § 7102(9)).
[www.justice.gov]
Human Trafficking Defined
Human Trafficking is a crime that involves exploiting a person for labor, services, or commercial sex.
The Trafficking Victims Protection Act of 2000 and its subsequent reauthorizations define human trafficking as:
a) Sex trafficking in which a commercial sex act is induced by force, fraud, or coercion, or in which the person induced to perform such act has not attained 18 years of age; or
b) The recruitment, harboring, transportation, provision, or obtaining of a person for labor or services, through the use of force, fraud, or coercion for the purpose of subjection to involuntary servitude, peonage, debt bondage, or slavery. (22 U.S.C. § 7102(9)).
[www.justice.gov]
Re: James Swartz--my original written account
Posted by:
MynameisHeather
()
Date: October 02, 2019 08:42AM
Shaktipat, Kundalini, and My Escape from the False Guru
This next writing is a continuation from my previous writing, “James Swartz—my original written account”. Readers may want to read my original account before embarking on this one, as I may not repeat pertinent details here.
Also, it may be useful to read my critique of James Swartz’s “documentary’”. (on the other thread)
1.
When I Left the Cult
I was completely traumatized. My friend picked me up from the Greyhound bus station. Kelly’s mom was away for part of the summer, and she had the house to herself. I stayed with her for some weeks before I felt well enough to go back to my grandmother’s house. My brain was in a state of shock, and I feared Jim coming after me. I imagined he would find me and kill me. His eyes were everywhere, behind the bushes, a man driving a car, in the grocery isle, and through my friend’s bedroom window at night while I slept.
I was in a state of confusion. I couldn’t decide to do anything for myself. I was a helpless dependant, and I was lucky that Kelly was there to help me. I couldn’t talk about what happened to me. I was terrified. I pushed the trauma deep down inside and refused to answer questions. I made up stories about how I had an adventure, I talked mostly about Jessica, and I kept my nightmare inside. I didn’t dare speak of the guru. I started to act out of character. I pretended to be carefree. I acted like nothing was important. I was reckless. I walked around at night, and people had to search and find me. I burst into hysterical laughter, played truth or dare, and became unhinged and emotional in public. I acted like a “crazy person”, and my dear friends just followed me around and tried to help and support me.
They didn’t know what was wrong with me. I wasn’t the same person they knew before I was sent to San Francisco. I had changed. They asked what happened, but I couldn’t tell.
I developed OCD behaviors. I felt so dirty, shameful, and impure. I had a bathing ritual. It included soaking my whole body and head, soaping my ears, washing my face, washing my private areas, washing my feet, washing my hands with soap again, scrubbing my entire body with soap and rinsing three times, one more rinse with hot water, one more rinse with cold water, while still in the tub scrub and clean the tub with soap, and finally rinse out the tub 3 more times. My ritual had to be done the same way every time I bathed.
I started to limit my food intake. Food felt dirty in my stomach. I didn’t feel clean with anything in my system.
When I felt stable enough, I returned to my grandmother’s house. She was glad to have me back but didn’t ask too many questions about where I’d been. She arranged for me to attend my senior year in high school, even though I dropped out of school. I wouldn’t graduate with my friends, but I could attend classes.
During that year I had several emotional breakdowns. I developed a huge raised rash on my face, and it lasted for five months. I had terrible pelvic pain. My anus had been damaged from sexual assault—there were permanent rips and built up scar tissue. During the night, I had waves and waves of panic. I had nighttime vigilance. My teeth chattered, and my body trembled. I had strange, automatic, involuntary movements in my pelvis.
I remembered I had these movements once when I was in the cult. I remembered Marlene had a more extreme form of the movements. Her spine twisted and contorted, then she would shake. Rama told us it was Kundalini energy. Rama told us we could use the energy to literally and materially recreate the shape of our bodies. He said we could change every cell in our bodies to make ourselves more attractive (for strip teasing).
These automatic movements continued throughout my life in various degrees and intensities. [*The movements are Dystonia. There are a variety of causes for Dystonia. Primarily, the causes are neurological and genetic. It can also be caused by psychological trauma and, in some cases, it is the negative outcome of certain drugs.] Often, the Dystonic movements resulted in my whole body shaking in a seizure. I have come to know these seizures to be Psychogenic non epileptic seizures, or Conversion Disorder. Because I was so shell-shocked and ashamed, and I did my utmost to bury the terrible time I was with Guru Rama, I could not remember what caused these symptoms. Through my nighttime panic attacks, and fleeting thoughts and emotions about James Swartz, I couldn’t remember everything. I couldn’t put it all together. I dissociated every day. It felt like sleepwalking. My dissociation was episodic.
(...more to come)
This next writing is a continuation from my previous writing, “James Swartz—my original written account”. Readers may want to read my original account before embarking on this one, as I may not repeat pertinent details here.
Also, it may be useful to read my critique of James Swartz’s “documentary’”. (on the other thread)
1.
When I Left the Cult
I was completely traumatized. My friend picked me up from the Greyhound bus station. Kelly’s mom was away for part of the summer, and she had the house to herself. I stayed with her for some weeks before I felt well enough to go back to my grandmother’s house. My brain was in a state of shock, and I feared Jim coming after me. I imagined he would find me and kill me. His eyes were everywhere, behind the bushes, a man driving a car, in the grocery isle, and through my friend’s bedroom window at night while I slept.
I was in a state of confusion. I couldn’t decide to do anything for myself. I was a helpless dependant, and I was lucky that Kelly was there to help me. I couldn’t talk about what happened to me. I was terrified. I pushed the trauma deep down inside and refused to answer questions. I made up stories about how I had an adventure, I talked mostly about Jessica, and I kept my nightmare inside. I didn’t dare speak of the guru. I started to act out of character. I pretended to be carefree. I acted like nothing was important. I was reckless. I walked around at night, and people had to search and find me. I burst into hysterical laughter, played truth or dare, and became unhinged and emotional in public. I acted like a “crazy person”, and my dear friends just followed me around and tried to help and support me.
They didn’t know what was wrong with me. I wasn’t the same person they knew before I was sent to San Francisco. I had changed. They asked what happened, but I couldn’t tell.
I developed OCD behaviors. I felt so dirty, shameful, and impure. I had a bathing ritual. It included soaking my whole body and head, soaping my ears, washing my face, washing my private areas, washing my feet, washing my hands with soap again, scrubbing my entire body with soap and rinsing three times, one more rinse with hot water, one more rinse with cold water, while still in the tub scrub and clean the tub with soap, and finally rinse out the tub 3 more times. My ritual had to be done the same way every time I bathed.
I started to limit my food intake. Food felt dirty in my stomach. I didn’t feel clean with anything in my system.
When I felt stable enough, I returned to my grandmother’s house. She was glad to have me back but didn’t ask too many questions about where I’d been. She arranged for me to attend my senior year in high school, even though I dropped out of school. I wouldn’t graduate with my friends, but I could attend classes.
During that year I had several emotional breakdowns. I developed a huge raised rash on my face, and it lasted for five months. I had terrible pelvic pain. My anus had been damaged from sexual assault—there were permanent rips and built up scar tissue. During the night, I had waves and waves of panic. I had nighttime vigilance. My teeth chattered, and my body trembled. I had strange, automatic, involuntary movements in my pelvis.
I remembered I had these movements once when I was in the cult. I remembered Marlene had a more extreme form of the movements. Her spine twisted and contorted, then she would shake. Rama told us it was Kundalini energy. Rama told us we could use the energy to literally and materially recreate the shape of our bodies. He said we could change every cell in our bodies to make ourselves more attractive (for strip teasing).
These automatic movements continued throughout my life in various degrees and intensities. [*The movements are Dystonia. There are a variety of causes for Dystonia. Primarily, the causes are neurological and genetic. It can also be caused by psychological trauma and, in some cases, it is the negative outcome of certain drugs.] Often, the Dystonic movements resulted in my whole body shaking in a seizure. I have come to know these seizures to be Psychogenic non epileptic seizures, or Conversion Disorder. Because I was so shell-shocked and ashamed, and I did my utmost to bury the terrible time I was with Guru Rama, I could not remember what caused these symptoms. Through my nighttime panic attacks, and fleeting thoughts and emotions about James Swartz, I couldn’t remember everything. I couldn’t put it all together. I dissociated every day. It felt like sleepwalking. My dissociation was episodic.
(...more to come)
Re: James Swartz--my original written account
Posted by:
MynameisHeather
()
Date: October 02, 2019 08:47AM
2.
I Was Truly Going to Hell
I didn’t talk to family or friends or get counselling. I didn’t receive what I really needed: exit counselling for cult victims. I just did what a 17-year-old girl could do at that time. I tried to bury the past and create a whole new identity—a new me.
I did very poorly in my classes and my friends graduated without me. As friends applied to Berkeley and Brown, I floundered and scrambled to pick up the pieces of my life.
My panic attacks and emotional breakdowns became episodic. I was suicidal. However I wasn’t completely antisocial. I wanted to create a good and happy life. I had some friend groups, and within one group I started experimenting with drugs. I needed something to numb the pain. After I started taking drugs, my life spiralled to a new low. I often thought of suicide, and played it out in my mind, but I never attempted it.
When I understood my drug friends were not my friends, I began to do drugs by myself. One time, when I was awake all night, drugged out and in agony, I realized I was truly going to hell. I decided I needed to make a big change. What I didn’t understand was that I needed professional help. I needed a professional therapist to help me unpack the time I was with the cult: the undue influence, guru Rama drugging me, the sexual assaults, thought reform, and the trauma. I buried it deep down, and I couldn’t face it.
I stopped taking drugs and went back to school. I got a job and learned how to drive. I took classes at City College, but I didn’t do very well. I returned to dance and became serious about it. I had good friends. I started plans to make a career of dance. It was the one thing I knew I could do well, I felt very confident and happy when I danced.
My symptoms became less acute, but I still had episodes which included pelvic pain, panic attacks, and skin rashes. At night I had episodes of Dystonia. The movement disorders happened when I tried to relax my body. (My Dystonia movements have a pattern, it begins with pelvic pain, then my spine twists, pelvis contorts, and the movement travels into my neck.) I distinctly remember having such an episode and thinking, “Rama said I can change every cell in my body, and make my body more beautiful, I can create my body to be anything I desire it to be…” My spine twisted, then my body shook.
I couldn’t face the pain of what I had been through. I couldn’t think or remember why my body was automatically moving. I remembered Rama’s words, and thought since my body was moving anyway, I should try to consciously interface with the Kundalini movement, and with my imagination create a better body. I decided I wanted to be a professional contemporary dancer. I auditioned for Cal Arts in Valencia, California. I was accepted. I buried the trauma of my past and tried to put in motion a whole new me, a better me, a more beautiful me.
Here are some examples of what Dystonia looks like:
[www.youtube.com]
[tidsskriftet.no]
[www.youtube.com]
These next videos are examples of exactly what my seizures looked like.
Here’s what Conversion Disorder and Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizure Disorder looks like:
[www.youtube.com]
[www.youtube.com]
(...more to come)
I Was Truly Going to Hell
I didn’t talk to family or friends or get counselling. I didn’t receive what I really needed: exit counselling for cult victims. I just did what a 17-year-old girl could do at that time. I tried to bury the past and create a whole new identity—a new me.
I did very poorly in my classes and my friends graduated without me. As friends applied to Berkeley and Brown, I floundered and scrambled to pick up the pieces of my life.
My panic attacks and emotional breakdowns became episodic. I was suicidal. However I wasn’t completely antisocial. I wanted to create a good and happy life. I had some friend groups, and within one group I started experimenting with drugs. I needed something to numb the pain. After I started taking drugs, my life spiralled to a new low. I often thought of suicide, and played it out in my mind, but I never attempted it.
When I understood my drug friends were not my friends, I began to do drugs by myself. One time, when I was awake all night, drugged out and in agony, I realized I was truly going to hell. I decided I needed to make a big change. What I didn’t understand was that I needed professional help. I needed a professional therapist to help me unpack the time I was with the cult: the undue influence, guru Rama drugging me, the sexual assaults, thought reform, and the trauma. I buried it deep down, and I couldn’t face it.
I stopped taking drugs and went back to school. I got a job and learned how to drive. I took classes at City College, but I didn’t do very well. I returned to dance and became serious about it. I had good friends. I started plans to make a career of dance. It was the one thing I knew I could do well, I felt very confident and happy when I danced.
My symptoms became less acute, but I still had episodes which included pelvic pain, panic attacks, and skin rashes. At night I had episodes of Dystonia. The movement disorders happened when I tried to relax my body. (My Dystonia movements have a pattern, it begins with pelvic pain, then my spine twists, pelvis contorts, and the movement travels into my neck.) I distinctly remember having such an episode and thinking, “Rama said I can change every cell in my body, and make my body more beautiful, I can create my body to be anything I desire it to be…” My spine twisted, then my body shook.
I couldn’t face the pain of what I had been through. I couldn’t think or remember why my body was automatically moving. I remembered Rama’s words, and thought since my body was moving anyway, I should try to consciously interface with the Kundalini movement, and with my imagination create a better body. I decided I wanted to be a professional contemporary dancer. I auditioned for Cal Arts in Valencia, California. I was accepted. I buried the trauma of my past and tried to put in motion a whole new me, a better me, a more beautiful me.
Here are some examples of what Dystonia looks like:
[www.youtube.com]
[tidsskriftet.no]
[www.youtube.com]
These next videos are examples of exactly what my seizures looked like.
Here’s what Conversion Disorder and Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizure Disorder looks like:
[www.youtube.com]
[www.youtube.com]
(...more to come)
Re: James Swartz--my original written account
Posted by:
MynameisHeather
()
Date: October 02, 2019 08:49AM
3.
A New Me, A Better Me
At college, I put a great effort into recreating myself. I was very serious about dance and choreography. I took professional level ballet, and contemporary dance classes. I created choreographic works. My studies were interdisciplinary and had academic components. I collaborated with other artists and created evening length works.
My schedule was demanding. I had chronic pelvic, back, and hip pain, but I pushed through. Occasionally, in between classes and at lunch, I would go back to my dorm room for a power nap. When I relaxed my body, the conversion disorder occurred. Starting with pelvic pain, then Dystonia, then trembling and shaking. At night while I slept, my body would go in and out of movement. The panic attacks were less than before but continued to wake me up. I tried TM which I learned as a child, and that helped to quiet my mind a little. I became accustomed to the PTSD symptoms and the movement disorder. It was a part of my life that was private, and I didn’t put a lot of thought into it. I wanted to move forward in my life. I couldn’t face the pain of my past.
I shared a dorm room with two other students. We all agreed to this awkward set up because of a shortage in room availability. It was a very stressful time. My roommates were party monsters, they liked to stay up late, play cards, and drink. I hated it. I wanted to be serious in my studies. I wanted to recreate myself in a new and beautiful way. My dorm friends made a lot of fun of me. They used to call me Proody, for being prudish. We had bunk beds and mine was underneath. I took blankets and walled off my small bed space. I created an altar to Ganesh and Shiva at the foot of my bed. I stayed in my little cocoon while dorm monsters partied in our room. I meditated and focussed on expanding my aura. I asked for angels and spirit guides to come down and help me. It had been five years since I escaped Guru Rama and the cult. My brain was still inculcated, I was still in the cultic mindset. When my life became stressful, I returned to the cult, in my mind, and in my actions, I continued to be influenced. When I needed safety, I returned to the mindset of the guru, our trauma bond kept me tethered to this terrible man.
My friendships were strong, but I had terrible “luck” with boyfriends. I wanted to have intimate relationships, but they always failed. Back then we called it “frigid”. What it meant to me was no chance of intimacy, and no chance of a lasting relationship. I was terrified of sex, it triggered me into massive PTSD episodes, and dissociative fugue states. Sometimes I would have complete emotional breakdowns. Relationships failed before they began.
Another problem was I had flashbacks, but at the time I didn’t recognize it as such. I had flashes of horrific and disturbing pornographic imagery during moments of sexual intimacy. It was a nightmare. I thought I was going crazy. At that time, I couldn’t think or remember what Swartz had done to me. These images were abhorrent and came in rapid fire succession. I asked friends if they had this strange thing happen to them during intimate moments. No one I knew how deep my problems were. It was a horror movie in my head, and I couldn’t make it go away. I wanted to be in a loving relationship, but it would never happen. I gave up on relationships, and resigned to focus on my studies, and try to perfect the art of dancing.
I was very successful at Cal Arts. I had recreated myself into an artist. I had a promising future.
(...more to come)
A New Me, A Better Me
At college, I put a great effort into recreating myself. I was very serious about dance and choreography. I took professional level ballet, and contemporary dance classes. I created choreographic works. My studies were interdisciplinary and had academic components. I collaborated with other artists and created evening length works.
My schedule was demanding. I had chronic pelvic, back, and hip pain, but I pushed through. Occasionally, in between classes and at lunch, I would go back to my dorm room for a power nap. When I relaxed my body, the conversion disorder occurred. Starting with pelvic pain, then Dystonia, then trembling and shaking. At night while I slept, my body would go in and out of movement. The panic attacks were less than before but continued to wake me up. I tried TM which I learned as a child, and that helped to quiet my mind a little. I became accustomed to the PTSD symptoms and the movement disorder. It was a part of my life that was private, and I didn’t put a lot of thought into it. I wanted to move forward in my life. I couldn’t face the pain of my past.
I shared a dorm room with two other students. We all agreed to this awkward set up because of a shortage in room availability. It was a very stressful time. My roommates were party monsters, they liked to stay up late, play cards, and drink. I hated it. I wanted to be serious in my studies. I wanted to recreate myself in a new and beautiful way. My dorm friends made a lot of fun of me. They used to call me Proody, for being prudish. We had bunk beds and mine was underneath. I took blankets and walled off my small bed space. I created an altar to Ganesh and Shiva at the foot of my bed. I stayed in my little cocoon while dorm monsters partied in our room. I meditated and focussed on expanding my aura. I asked for angels and spirit guides to come down and help me. It had been five years since I escaped Guru Rama and the cult. My brain was still inculcated, I was still in the cultic mindset. When my life became stressful, I returned to the cult, in my mind, and in my actions, I continued to be influenced. When I needed safety, I returned to the mindset of the guru, our trauma bond kept me tethered to this terrible man.
My friendships were strong, but I had terrible “luck” with boyfriends. I wanted to have intimate relationships, but they always failed. Back then we called it “frigid”. What it meant to me was no chance of intimacy, and no chance of a lasting relationship. I was terrified of sex, it triggered me into massive PTSD episodes, and dissociative fugue states. Sometimes I would have complete emotional breakdowns. Relationships failed before they began.
Another problem was I had flashbacks, but at the time I didn’t recognize it as such. I had flashes of horrific and disturbing pornographic imagery during moments of sexual intimacy. It was a nightmare. I thought I was going crazy. At that time, I couldn’t think or remember what Swartz had done to me. These images were abhorrent and came in rapid fire succession. I asked friends if they had this strange thing happen to them during intimate moments. No one I knew how deep my problems were. It was a horror movie in my head, and I couldn’t make it go away. I wanted to be in a loving relationship, but it would never happen. I gave up on relationships, and resigned to focus on my studies, and try to perfect the art of dancing.
I was very successful at Cal Arts. I had recreated myself into an artist. I had a promising future.
(...more to come)
Re: James Swartz--my original written account
Posted by:
MynameisHeather
()
Date: October 02, 2019 08:52AM
4.
Dreams Were Doomed to Fail
After graduation, I moved to New York city. I wanted to be in the Trisha Brown company. They were the most elegant, cutting edge, innovative, and refined dance company in the world. I had a desire to make my inner vision come true, to be a great athlete, an artist, a be a part of this magnificent scene in NYC. I moved into my friend’s flat on Broadway, upper west side. I had good friends. I worked at the River Café in Brooklyn. I worked like a dog and pursued my dream. Work was hard, life was good, and through it all I continued to manage my PTSD symptoms.
I began to have flashbacks of James Swartz. They came in dreams and flashes. Some very unusual memories resurfaced. I remembered him holding me in his lap and love bombing me. I remembered him blowing air from his mouth into my face. I remembered his hand gripping my throat. I remembered him telling me to do sexual acts on him. I remembered his long fingernails. I remembered his face looked like a demon. I remembered his hands, and the hands of someone else touching me all over my body. I had more and more emotional breakdowns.
I was getting very close to the Trisha Brown company. Trisha invited me to join company workshops, and private rehearsals. It was an exciting time. I felt as though I was on the cusp of becoming who I always wanted to be, a successful and happy person.
However, like intimate relationships, career dreams were also doomed to fail before it began. During one of the workshops I had another breakdown. I had an episode. I became panicked and distrustful, and I thought the workshop facilitators were touching me inappropriately. I also thought they were trying to overcharge me for the workshop. I was delusional. I had been triggered into an episode by the touch of a workshop participant. I quit on the spot. I ran home, curled up into a ball on my bedroom floor and didn’t move for a day and a night. I crawled into my closet and wept in the dark. I had no idea why I was going “crazy”.
Eventually I gave up my New York dream. I had good friends in L.A. I moved back to California and rented an apartment in Venice Beach. I got two jobs and continued to take dance class. My PTSD symptoms continued as a normal part of my life.
(...more to come)
Dreams Were Doomed to Fail
After graduation, I moved to New York city. I wanted to be in the Trisha Brown company. They were the most elegant, cutting edge, innovative, and refined dance company in the world. I had a desire to make my inner vision come true, to be a great athlete, an artist, a be a part of this magnificent scene in NYC. I moved into my friend’s flat on Broadway, upper west side. I had good friends. I worked at the River Café in Brooklyn. I worked like a dog and pursued my dream. Work was hard, life was good, and through it all I continued to manage my PTSD symptoms.
I began to have flashbacks of James Swartz. They came in dreams and flashes. Some very unusual memories resurfaced. I remembered him holding me in his lap and love bombing me. I remembered him blowing air from his mouth into my face. I remembered his hand gripping my throat. I remembered him telling me to do sexual acts on him. I remembered his long fingernails. I remembered his face looked like a demon. I remembered his hands, and the hands of someone else touching me all over my body. I had more and more emotional breakdowns.
I was getting very close to the Trisha Brown company. Trisha invited me to join company workshops, and private rehearsals. It was an exciting time. I felt as though I was on the cusp of becoming who I always wanted to be, a successful and happy person.
However, like intimate relationships, career dreams were also doomed to fail before it began. During one of the workshops I had another breakdown. I had an episode. I became panicked and distrustful, and I thought the workshop facilitators were touching me inappropriately. I also thought they were trying to overcharge me for the workshop. I was delusional. I had been triggered into an episode by the touch of a workshop participant. I quit on the spot. I ran home, curled up into a ball on my bedroom floor and didn’t move for a day and a night. I crawled into my closet and wept in the dark. I had no idea why I was going “crazy”.
Eventually I gave up my New York dream. I had good friends in L.A. I moved back to California and rented an apartment in Venice Beach. I got two jobs and continued to take dance class. My PTSD symptoms continued as a normal part of my life.
(...more to come)
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