The white van bumped and shifted around the twists and turns of the dirt road through the forest. The young man at the wheel knew it was just a short half mile off the main road, but having to drive more slowly always made it seem longer. And despite how many times he made the trip, the break in the trees and the subsequent blinding sunlight always caught him off guard. He squinted and raised his hand to block the light, and had to swerve to very nearly miss the pair of albino peacocks that liked to hang around the edge of the meadow. He ground to a halt, sighed and congratulated himself for not resorting to profanity.

    What words will you speak into the space of pure awareness? Will they be cloaked in love? Or ignorance? — The Holy Father, Entreaty #30

When his eyes adjusted to the light and the peacocks had moved to the side of the roadway, he continued on toward a collection of buildings in the middle of the meadow, anchored by what looked a little like an enormous white circus tent. Even if the tent-like shape was meant to imply a kind of impermanence, it was, in reality, a much more practical and permanent thing; a colossal yurt of shining white fiberglass and concrete pylons, nested among a series of more traditional warehouse-style outbuildings. At the edge of the clearing on the right was a collection of tiny cabins- lodging for the laity- and on the far side of the Center was the crop-fields and the airstrip.

As he pulled closer, things seemed different somehow- far busier than he had seen in his six weeks as a member of the Family. White-robed Brothers and Sisters bustled here and there carrying folding tables and chairs from one of the warehouse buildings and back again. Others had arm-loads of pillows and lamps and rugs. One particularly attractive young woman with wildly unkempt red hair led a pair of the Holy Father’s favorite pet llamas from their enclosure near the fields to somewhere around the other side of the yurt. He put the van in park and craned his neck to try to see past the llamas to watch her walk away, praying for a ray of sunlight to catch her robe just right. But then he caught sight of a stern-faced bald man, white robe and yellow sash stretched tight over his enormous belly, walking determinedly in his direction, glaring directly at him.

Shit! The young man threw off his seat belt and stepped from the van.

“Well?” said the fat Brother. He was so wide that the young man couldn’t tell if his hands were on his hips or at his side.

“I’m sorry, Brother John! I’m sorry!” He headed for the back of the van. Brother John followed.

“You’re very late! Today of all days!”

“I’m sorry. One of the cheating shopkeepers tried to short us a couple of boxes.” He waved a crumpled-up invoice as proof of what he was saying. “I wouldn’t let him.” He hoped that his defense of the Family from the heathen townspeople might buy him some grace for being late. He threw open the door. “It’s all here.”

Brother John sighed without looking into the van. “Well, now I don’t have time to escort you today. I’m far too busy with all of this.” He looked the young man up and down. “Can I trust you to get these to where they belong?”

The young man had already pulled a collapsible dolly from the back of the van and was diligently stacking boxes on it. “Yes, of course, Brother John.”

Brother John handed him a small key. “Fine. Just be quick, and come find me when you’re done. Plenty to do today.” Brother John looked over the young man ‘s shoulder and caught two Brothers struggling to keep an enormous rolled-up rug on their shoulders. “You two! If you let that touch the dirt, I’ll see that you’re on field duty for a month!” He glanced back at the young man. “Praise be.”

“Praise be.” He did the customary little nod as Brother John waddled off to supervise the rug transportation. He slammed the van door and took a step toward the dolly, only to be caught back by a tug and a tearing sound. His robe was caught in the van door.

Without guidance, we cannot grow. Without growth, we cannot Ascend. — Blessed Precept #7

Inside the Center, things were even busier than outside. He weaved through crowds of Brothers and Sisters carrying bunches of cut flowers, arm-loads of candles, braziers, singing bowls, and cushions that reeked of stale incense. The air was thick with candle-smoke and the low buzz of whispered mantras and barked orders.

He almost spilled his dolly-load of boxes when a yellow-sashed Erudite carrying a large crystal punch bowl cut him off and headed towards the center Circle, past the outermost Green Circle, where other Initiates like the young man were practicing their Steps of Blessed Achievement; past the Red Circle, where a group of older women were smoothing and arranging the Sacred Scarves according to their Divine Colors in preparation for the Holy Father’s nightly Processional; past the smaller Orange Circle, where a number of Acolytes, made up mostly of comely young women and non-threatening men, argued politely over the most appropriate arrangement of pillows; past the even smaller Yellow Circle, where a number of Erudites like Brother John sat in seated meditation, offered quiet prayers of support to the rest of the Family; to the calm center, a white-painted circular platform that mirrored the circular skylight at the apex of the yurt. With a low bow, he placed the crystal punchbowl before Holy Father’s empty cushion.

Cosmic awakening is a path to the evolution of all being-ness. To embark on the Divine Rainbow Path is to become one with it. And one the universe. — Exhortation of the Holy Father, Ch. 3

Puzzled, the young man continued on his way, skirting around the outermost circle toward the far end of the yurt. There, he hesitated slightly at a hallway directly opposite the main entrance. Normally, he would never be allowed past this point without an escort, and even then, only rarely. This was the wing where Holy Father had his personal residence, along with certain members of the Yellow Circle, and it was closely guarded. But today seemed a day for unusual activity, so he tried to act like he knew what he was doing and headed for the metal door at the far end of the hallway. He unlocked it with Brother John’s key and stepped inside a fair-sized storage room, lined with stacks and shelves of boxes. The door closed with an almost-vacuum seal and he found himself taking a deep breath in the sudden silence from the hubbub outside. In here, it was cool and quiet and he could breathe.

He wheeled the dolly to an empty space near the back and made a new stack with the new boxes. His task was finished. He should replace the dolly and find Brother John, present himself for further tasks. But… He fished into the pocket of his robe and pulled out the crumpled invoice that he had flashed earlier. He studied the numbers and abbreviated descriptions, but couldn’t understand any of it. The tape on the top-most box of the new stack had gotten caught on something and peeled back, created a tiny gap. He thought for a moment, then slipped a finger in and tested the adhesive.

“What are you looking for?”

“Holy shit!’ The young man spun and clasped his hands over his mouth. He saw a small face peering up at him from behind a half-stack of boxes on the other side of the room.

“Sorry,” said the small face, either for startling him or making him swear or both. It belonged to a young woman with pretty blue eyes that went with her pleasantly round face and mousy blond, unkempt hair.

“What are you doing down there?” He could see that she was in a nook barely wider than she was behind a wall of boxes. If she’d stayed quiet, he would have never known she was there.

“Please don’t tell Brother John.” She wedged her elbows against the wall and stood up awkwardly. “I’m supposed to be doing inventory, and well, it’s just so peaceful in here. I like to come here sometimes.”

He smiled. He wasn’t going to be in trouble- at least, not as much trouble, and not from her. She was just as guilty. Besides, this was the first time he’d had a private conversation with a woman in more than six weeks and just her nearness- the scent of her hair and skin, the sound of her voice, the vague warmness of her presence- was enough to give him goosebumps and start his blood stirring. He thought he recognized her- her orange sash marked her as an Acolyte- but he didn’t know her name.

“So, what are you looking for?” she repeated, smiling back.

We are at the crossroad of intuition and illusion. Remove the barriers! The infinite is calling! — The Holy Father, Entreaty #72

The young man ran through a number of lies in his head, but decided none of them sounded official enough to be plausible. He had no reason to be looking for anything in there. So he said, simply, “Nutty Buddies.”

She giggled. “Nutty Buddies?”

“Yeah, you know, those wafer bars with peanut butter and chocolate.”

“Oh, I know what they are. But why are you looking for them? And how do you even know about them?”

“I do a lot of pickups in town, and one time, this shopkeeper saw my robe and said, ‘so, Holy Father needs his Nutty Buddies, does he?’” And now they’re the only thing I can think about. Well, almost the only thing…” He couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting downward over her robes, over the swell beneath her orange sash. He would have signed up for any amount of field work to catch just a glimpse of what was beneath her robe.

If she noticed his gaze, she didn’t say anything, but the corner of her mouth turned up slightly. “Behind you. Last stack, top box.”

“What, really?” he turned and pulled the box down to the ground, ready to tear into it. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

She scooped up a clipboard and a pen. “Oops! I meant to mark eight, but my hand made a seven.” Her eyes narrowed and sparkled at him.

“Wait, Holy Father has eight boxes of these?”

“Oh, no, he has twenty-eight. Well, twenty-seven, now.”

He tore open the first box and spilled out a number of individually wrapped chocolate-y bars on the floor. He offered one to her, but she shook her head. He pulled out a bar and took a huge bite. “Uuungh… Why can’t we have these?” he said, sputtering flakes of peanut-buttery wafer. “Seriously, so good.”

“Well, if you think that’s bad…” She went to a shelf at the far end of the closet and pulled away a white sheet to reveal rows and rows of expensive-looking liquor bottles.

“What!? I thought liquor was forbidden? ‘Do not be ruled by the intoxicant of attachment, something, something…’”

“’…Lest it cloud the deeper meaning of your most holy mission.’” She finished the exhortation for him. “Yeah, well, rules for thee, not for me, I guess.”

“I think I missed that Precept.”

“One of the secret ones. There’s a few, in case you haven’t noticed.” She leaned against the wall of boxes and slid down facing him. “Ah, fuckit. Gimme one.”

He smiled and threw her a pack of Nutty Buddies and tore into his second. He liked the candy, but he was beginning to like her more.

She bit into the wafer bar and nodded deeply, eyes closed. “Praise be, that’s good!”

“Told you. Praise be, indeed,” he smiled.

“You’re pretty new here, right?”

“Six weeks.”

“And how are you finding our little Family so far?”

He shrugged. “It’s good. Pretty good. I mean, it’s better than my last one, that’s for sure. A hundred and two precepts in that one! Chanting took forever!”

“Oh, you were part of another fellowship?”

“Well, this would be my fourth, actually.”

“Wow. Your spirit is really seeking, then.”

He nodded and took another bite. “What about you? Is this your first?”

“Second. I was part of another family for a few years. It was very different. Peaceful, you know? Way more unstructured.” She laughed, remembering. “We used to go out way before sunrise and just sit in fields, completely naked, for hours, just meditating.”

He perked up. “Wasn’t that chilly?”

“Very. But then the sun would come up and warm you and you’d open your eyes and see that everything was covered in dew. It was so beautiful. And we did it because we wanted to, you know? No one was forced.”

He couldn’t help but imagine her sitting nude, cross-legged, blissful smile on her lips, eyes closed, wild, blond hair lifted slightly by the slight breeze. He imagined lifting a single droplet of dew from the underside of her heavy breast with his tongue, and had to shift her robe over his crotch. “What happened? I mean, why’d you leave?”

“Oh, we got raided by the feds.”

“Oh. Oh! Wait, why? How old were you? It wasn’t…?”

“Huh? Oh! No! No, I was nineteen. It had something to do with guns, I think. Arms dealing.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “That’s a relief!” They both nodded and sat for a few minutes in silence, and he allowed himself another imaginary peek at her nude meditating body.

Yes, it is possible for us to eradicate the things which can harm us, but not without first understanding the desire of our own souls for unity. — from the Holy Father’s Published Private Letters, Collection II

“You know, I will say,” he wagged his Nutty Buddy at no one in particular. “I thought there’d be more sex. I mean, you hear people talk of a sex cult-”

She cut him off. “Whoa, hey, we don’t really care for that word.”

“Oh sorry,” he thought for a moment. “Intercourse Cult?”

“You’re terrible.” She said, through another bite. “How about ‘Intercourse Fellowship?’ You didn’t just join the Family for the um, intercourse, did you? I mean, you believe in the work of the Holy Father, right? The Nine Precepts? The Thirty-Two Blessed Affirmations?”

“Oh yeah, totally! I mean, I want all the other stuff, too- peace and love, and this Ascension thing sounds like it’s going to be pretty great. I just thought there’d be more, um, intercourse along the way, you know?”

“Well, I mean, there is some.”

“For you, maybe. I’ve seen you get chosen almost every night by Holy Father.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Yeah, well?”

“It’s not what it seems, okay?” She swallowed the rest of her Nutty Buddy and crumpled the wrapper. “I usually get chosen fifth or sixth, and, well… Holy Father rarely makes it past two or three.”

“You’re kidding me… You mean, you never-?”

“One time, I was chosen fourth. It was nerve-wracking.”

“What happened?”

“He fell asleep on top of number three.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “But wait, what do the rest of you do while Holy Father is… intercoursing?”

“The rest of us stand in a circle around the bed reciting the Seventy-Two Holy Names.”

“Are you naked, at least?”

“No, there’s special robes. But they’re pretty see-through, I guess.”

“Unbelievable. So even the few Sisters chosen to have intercourse by the Holy Father himself… aren’t having sex. That’s… disheartening.”

“Well, it’s better than being chosen by the Erudites. They only get to choose one or two, but I hear they don’t fall asleep.”

Without sharing, one does not exist. It is only through the morphogenesis of true interconnection that we may Ascend. — Blessed Precept #9

Down the hall, a giant gong sounded loud and sonorous. Evening Meditations had begun. The Circles would be filled with Brothers and Sisters, ready to impart their hope for greater salvation to the universe and receive back the chosen wisdom from the Holy Father. They should have jumped up, brushed the peanut-butter crumbs from their robes, straightened their sashes, and hurried, shame-faced, to their seats in their respective Circles. But something kept them on the floor of the storage closet. It was as if the sounding of the gong had broken the very spell it was meant to invoke.

They didn’t look at each other as the chanting begun, the Cantor’s voice singing out loud and off-key, droning the opening verses of the Holy Recitations. The young woman’s lips quivered in habitual time with the chanting. The young man couldn’t help but want to kiss them, if only to teach them different ways to move, different words to say. The drums and the tambourines had joined in now, and the chant was in full throat. The second Canticle began. The Brothers and Sisters would be on their feet now, ready to begin their prescribed motions around their respective circles in alternating directions. The young woman rose to her knees out of habit. The young man rose to stop her. They looked at each other, and he thought he saw, for a flicker of a moment, something in her eyes; something that he had been looking for for a long time.

Their lips met, tender, awkward for a moment, before they pressed themselves hard together. Arms wrapped around each other, fists gripping hard at the folds of each other’s robes. He felt her body, tried to trace it with his hands, to work out what he had only been imagining moments ago.

“Wait, wait… no…” she pushed his chest away from hers, breathing hard.

He felt an instinctual pang of guilt rise up in the pit of his stomach, but it was swallowed up whole by a feeling of intense desire as she pulled her robe up to her knees, and then her hips, over her head and away from her hair. She stood, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, looking hungrily down at him. He took in every inch of her naked body. She let him look, before reaching a finger under his chin, and pulling his eyes back up toward hers. She smiled and then guided his head closer to her. He could feel a sense of warmth flood over his face as he came within inches of her. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against hers. As her legs parted involuntarily, she laid her hands on his head to steady herself.

Outside, the chanting and ringing rose and fell, dissonant, mysterious, and pregnant with promised meaningfulness. Inside, his tongue worked in time with the chanting. His mind left his body. He was no longer in a storage closet, no longer in the Center. He was in a meadow at dawn, dancing naked with her and only her. Within moments, she climaxed, riding wave after wave as they pulsated upward through her spine, blasting through the top of her head. Her voice joined with the chanters outside, but in a language older than any on earth.

Gasping for air, he pushed backwards onto the floor. He gazed up at the transformed figure of the young woman, naked, flushed, a wispy strand of saliva trailing down from her cunt to her thigh. To him, she seemed to be actually glowing, and he thought he heard her voice in his head, telling him what he should do. He scrambled to his knees and pulled his robe up and over his head. He laid back on the cool linoleum and she took a single step to straddle him, her eyes never leaving his, lowered her body onto his. When he felt her slide down over him, swallowing him, he had to fight back tears and remind himself to breathe.

She rode him, squeezing his body tightly with her arms and legs. And he fucked her, arching his back to strain upward into her, feeling her tighten around him. He kissed her lips, kissed her neck as she rocked back on him, took her breast in his mouth and clung to her. Over and over, he thrust up and she plunged down, their moans growing louder and louder as they reached a frenzied, perfect synchronicity. A shudder ran down his spine and took control of his muscles, but he fought to keep the rhythm until he felt himself explode up into her as she clenched down on him, swallowing him up, taking him in completely. He looked up in her eyes as the spasms finally started to recede. He kissed her again and only stopped when they collapsed back down on the floor and he had run out of breath.

The sacred flow of Ascension is nearly upon us. Soon, there will be a blossoming of interconnectedness the likes of which the world has never seen. Will your soul be ready? — The Holy Father, Entreaty #108

She pulled her head up from his chest and smiled at him. She ran a fingertip down the side of his face and kissed him long and slow and sweet. “You taste like peanut butter.”

He smiled. “Maybe that’s what Ascension tastes like.”

She laughed softly and laid her head back down. “I think you’re probably right.”

They lay like that, him inside of her, her on top of him, listening to the closing chant from out in the Center. It was slow and hypnotic, meant to soothe. But it seemed to him like it had been going on for far longer than usual. Probably just a trick of the mind, he thought. They still had time, he reasoned. They could put their robes back on, straighten their sashes, slip quietly into the crowd of Brothers and Sisters, hope to go unnoticed until it was time for the drowsy crowd to file back to the cabins at the edge of the trees. Or, they could stay here, hide behind the boxes, wait for the dead of night, then kiss and head back to the dorms, claim illness. Or… his head shifted and crinkled an empty Nutty Buddy wrapper. And he knew.

“Hey, come with me,” he said, suddenly very serious.

She lifted her head. “What? Where?”

“Away. Anywhere. The meadow at dawn.”

“Huh? Why?”

“I need to get out- I need a new cult.”

She pushed up and he winced as he slipped out of her. “What are you talking about?”

“A new cult- two members- you and me.”

She sat up and backed up against the boxes. “You’re serious. Just… leave?”

“I have keys to a van right outside. We sneak out, now, while everybody’s occupied. We could be miles away by dawn.”

“Where would we go?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He was on his feet now, feeling his robe for the pocket with the van keys in it. “Look, I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know what ascension really is or how dancing or chanting is supposed to bring it about, but I’m pretty sure I just got a huge taste of it with you on a closet floor. And if that’s possible… well, I just want to find out what else is possible.” He pulled his robe over his head, but left his green sash on the floor. He reached down to her. “And I promise- I will always pick you first.”

She took his hand and smiled. “Okay.”

The plan was for him to go out first. He insisted; in case there was trouble, he wanted to try to deflect as much as possible onto himself. She would follow a few minutes after, in order to minimize the attention. If they could sneak out during the closing chant, before people had quieted for the final meditation, they stood a chance of making it around to the entrance undetected. He stepped out of the hallway into the center, and knew immediately that something was wrong. Instead of the closing chant, they were in the midst of the main chant again, and the brothers and sisters were moving, exhausted and nearing delirium, through their alternating circles again. Why? Something is going on. Something is different, he thought. Did it have anything to do with their absence? But he tried to shove those thoughts from his brain. This could be better for them. People were still stuck in their reveries, turning slowly in hypnotic circles, swaying in time with the music, generally not paying attention, making plenty of noise and masking any movement he made at the back. But then, through the oscillating brothers and sisters, he caught sight of the holy father. He sat in the center of the room, his posture typically calm and peaceful in the midst of the chaos swirling around him. He was looking directly at him and his eyes… they were cold and steely, faraway, angry, malicious.

And then he saw the crystal punch bowl set right in front of the holy father and something clicked. That was what was different. All the heightened activity, the extra chanting… Ascension was here. It was time.

He glanced back toward the hallway, but the young woman was nowhere in sight. The holy father motioned to brother John in the innermost circle. The young man turned and fled. He ran to the van, threw open the passenger door and got into the driver’s seat, key shaking in his hand. The chanting continued, but now holy father’s voice was saying something into a microphone that he couldn’t quite make out. Minutes went by. Where was she? Had she changed her mind, taken her seat among the other acolytes in the orange circle? Had she been caught by force, pushed to her seat before the holy father? Should he charge back in, fight his way to her. His hand went to the door handle.

And then she appeared in the doorway, hair wild in the light, orange sash nowhere to be seen, but her face full of concern and confusion. But then she saw him in the van and smiled suddenly. He smiled back and turned the key in the ignition. Praise be.