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If you've come across this post while researching the ritual, then you've found your answer. It's real. DON'T attempt it.
Place the First Element behind you, just outside the circle. Say, “This is my purification, the removal of my doubt. I am [name], I come in faith.”
Place the Second Element to your right, just outside the circle. Say, “This is my essence, my identification. I am [name], I come in truth.”
Place the Third Element to your left, just outside the circle. Say, “This is my gift, sweetness and strength. I am [name], I come in grace.”
Place the Object in front of you so that it crosses the circle. Be careful never to see yourself at any time in the Object. Say, “This is the bridge. I am [name], I come to commune.”
I was raised in a cult.
I’m posting this anonymously (this reddit account was bought), and changing the names and places involved, because I know they can still find us if I slip up and use our real information or reference certain specifics from before. We have crossed several state lines, and go by different names now, but I know it’s not enough to keep us hidden from them forever.
I would not be writing this at all, except that the information is already out there in different forms, and you need to have all the facts. If you’re reading this, you are probably researching the ritual I just described. It appears under several different names, none of which I’ll use here. Maybe you laughed it off as fiction, maybe you’re considering doing it just for fun. Maybe you’re desperate for answers about the afterlife or something bigger and are willing to try it. Or maybe you’re a fool like me, and you want to do it to prove to someone else it’s not real.
Please read this. I know you’re skeptical — maybe as skeptical as I was.
You can call me “John.” To understand why I was so cynical, you have to know where I’m coming from. I grew up in “The Way of Shining Glory.” Don’t bother researching it. As I’ve said, I’m changing all the names. Even if you knew the actual name, no reliable information would come from a web search on it. Though, it’s possible that just running the name through a search engine might get your activity flagged by a “Disciple of the Way,” and draw the attention of the cult.
Of course, growing up, we didn’t think of it as a cult. We thought it was normal for everyone to only wear linen robes and no shoes. We thought it was natural that we all shaved our heads. That anything we had, we gave to “Reverend Solaris,” so that he could distribute it as The Glory showed him was best. That he should receive a greater portion, so that he never had to be distracted by earthly cares from his communion with The Glory. It even seemed ordinary that our father and mother and the other Seekers would all sleep together with the Disciples on the floor of the Reverend’s lodge, surrounding his bed. I never questioned any of these things.
It was only what they did to my sister that caused me to doubt. And even then, I was barely able to convince her to leave with me.
“Sarah” and I were inseparable. You might imagine that in a cult, everyone is completely brainwashed and walks around emotionless and obedient all day. There may be a few groups out there like that, but the truth is, it’s probably more like your favorite childhood summer camp, all year round. Or at least, what I imagine summer camp is like.
We all lived on the compound together in our wooden buildings clustered among the trees, and we all worked, played and ate together. And Sarah and I – we got into trouble many times. The Reverend encouraged play and creativity, but I don’t think he expected us to play so many creative pranks. Mostly it was childish stuff, like honey on bedding to attract ants, or a toad on a Disciple’s meditation cushion before general convocation. For the most part, these got us a chuckle and extra chores, or perhaps an act of service for the person we wronged. We never expected that one of our smallest pranks would be found unforgivable.
Sarah was sixteen at the time and I, fourteen. She told me the idea one night in our cabin, and I couldn’t wait to help her get it ready the next day before general convocation. I will not include the specifics here, as I assume the Disciples have bots scouring the internet for certain combinations of keywords, and the details would almost certainly get this post flagged for human review. Suffice it to say that Sarah’s ingenious bit of mockery involved me swapping out one of the Reverend’s most cherished teaching aids beforehand with a similar-shaped but very different object, and a well-timed interjection by Sarah herself from among the seated throng at the master’s feet. I performed my part of obtaining the object from the livestock pens and substituting it in without raising suspicion. When convocation began, Sarah carefully chose a spot in the gathering behind several taller girls.
Her timing was perfect. The Reverend launched into his favorite parable, a teaching we had all heard dozens of times. Then he reached beneath his cushion, withdrawing what he thought was his object lesson. In the brief silence following, while the Reverend and the congregation realized the substitution, Sarah blurted her line, a silly pun on his usual finale.
We had expected laughter, and a brief disruption to the tired illustration before convocation continued.
Instead there was dead silence as the Reverend’s eyes flared in anger. He jerked his head, and two Disciples near Sarah stood, converging on her to hoist her by the arms, clamping a hand over her mouth as they carried her from the room. The Reverend followed soon after. Convocation was over, but we were not dismissed.
Twenty minutes later, Reverend Solaris returned, resuming his seat in the middle of the hall. Sarah was brought in, and she followed a Disciple to the center, taking a seat before the Reverend. He placed a hand on her head, with a fatherly pat. He addressed us all. “We have spoken to Sarah here, and have come to understand she acted without malice. However, she has profaned the ineffable teachings of The Glory, and as such must perform a penance. Do you agree to this, Sarah?”
Sarah nodded. “Yes, Reverend.”
The Reverend paused. “Bow in contrition.”
Sarah knelt low, her palms to the floor, face pressed sideways against the boards, with his hand still on her head.
“Speak,” he intoned.
Sarah drew a breath. “I have treated as profane the unspeakably exalted doctrines of The Glory, and have counted myself unworthy of the very Being who grants me life and all its boons. I am the useless offspring of contemptible loins and deserved to wallow in darkness and misery unending, but for the unknowable favor of The Glory as expressed through Its Chosen, Reverend Solaris, who deigned to consider my estate and raise me from abject depravity to seek the Way. I renounce my blasphemous acts and throw myself upon the mercy of The Glory and Its Chosen.”
The Reverend smiled. “Very good, Sarah.” He lifted his hand, and she raised her head, still kneeling. He continued. “We know you did not act alone in this irreverence. As evidence of your repentance, give the name of your accomplice now.”
Sarah sat up.
I was already sweating, feeling guilty that she had to go through all this for something I had helped with, and knowing that I might be next. I felt on fire now, waiting for my sentencing.
There are only two forbidden buildings on the compound. There are some more restrictions for children, but all adult Seekers could go anywhere on the property except for these two huts. They are guarded by Disciples, and only they can enter or work inside the structures.
The first building is in the middle of the compound, near the main gathering hall where convocation and other services are held. It is octagonal with a peaked roof, has high screened windows which are almost always open. The adults treat it very reverently, and all are asked to be quiet when passing the structure. The few times that I delivered food there, the Disciple at the door never said a word, nor did I. It was during those times that I actually caught a glimpse inside. It was less than a second, as the Disciple shut the door behind herself, but the image is frozen forever in my mind. I saw a row of beds, each with a body in linen garments lying upon it. The body closest to the door was that of an elderly woman, her thick white hair spilling over the edge of the bed. In that preserved moment, I saw a Disciple standing over her, holding her pale arm aloft by the wrist, running a damp rag along the loose skin of her elbow. Then the door clicked shut, the first Disciple took the box of food from me, and I had no choice but to leave. I came away silently and wandered to the edge of the compound so that I could be alone, to reflect undisturbed. I have described them as bodies, but they were not dead. Their skin color was too healthy, and their faces… their faces all bore an expression of sublime peace as they stared sightlessly upward, beyond the ceiling.
It was not to this building that they took Sarah. She was carried to the far end of the compound to the other forbidden structure, a low, windowless hut screened by trees. No one but Disciples were allowed past the trees, and even they did not stay by the building, only crossing the boundary once a day at noontime to place food through a slot below the door. Some evenings, the children of the compound would dare each other to up to the border, but none had the courage when they heard the haunting howls and shrieks that came from the structure.
Sarah was not taken inside the building itself. There was a small shed adjacent to the building, with only a small gap between the two structures. She was locked inside at noon with a small box of supplies and then the Disciples came away, taking their positions at the boundary. We had our chores to attend to that afternoon, but I snuck back that evening after supper, as dark was falling.
I can still hear her screams in my mind. Sarah, who had once broken her thumb in a slammed window and not even whimpered because she was too stubborn, was screaming with raw, animal fear, over and over, her cries from the shed ringing in the chill evening. I didn’t believe it was her at all, or that it was even a human uttering those noises. It was only when I heard her shriek, “No! Stay away! Stay away from me!” and then fall chillingly silent that I recognized her voice and rushed toward the line of trees. The Disciples saw me coming, of course, and intercepted me, easily gathering me into their arms and carrying me back to my cabin. As they pulled me away, still struggling, I caught a glimpse past their shoulders. The dusk light fell between the shed and the building, and in the dimness, I thought I made out writhing shapes, as though dark tendrils were seething across the gap.
In my cabin, I shouted and banged at the door, pleading with the Disciple overseeing us to let me see my parents in the Reverend’s lodge. The door remained shut.
The shed was still silent the next morning when I went to the edge of the trees to look. At noon my parents and I gathered at the boundary, and the Disciples went and unlocked the shed door, swinging it open. Sarah emerged, stumbling into the light, shielding her eyes. She was completely unmarked — not a scratch, not a bruise on her. Her eyes were puffy and red, though, and she didn’t seem to recognize us at first. As though returning from a distant place, she finally focused on us, and then she ran to me, collapsing in a silent hug.
We four were gathered into the Reverend’s private offices, sitting upon the floor with the Disciples behind us. We waited. I had already confessed multiple times to helping Sarah switch out the object beforehand, and had even claimed it was my idea, though no one believed that. My parents had also pleaded on Sarah’s behalf, and the Reverend had agreed to leniency if she complied. Our parents explained the situation to her in hushed tones.
Then the door opened, and Reverend Solaris entered, standing before us.
“Sarah,” the Reverend asked, “do you acknowledge John as your accomplice?”
She held him with her bloodshot eyes.
The Reverend gestured at the Disciples. “Give her the milk again and return her.” He turned, walking from the room. The Disciples began to pick Sarah up. I rushed forward, lunging at the door that had closed behind the Reverend, but it was locked. I banged, screamed, pleaded. Then I whipped around, dashing out and attacking the Disciples carrying her. My parents tried to pull me off, but they need not have bothered, as the Disciples were unaffected by my blows or my begging.
Sarah was delivered to the shed after defiantly drinking some white concoction the Disciples gave her, and I was detained in my cabin. Before I was locked in, my parents asked me not to be led astray by my sister’s blasphemy and to trust in The Glory and Its Chosen.
That was the instant I became a skeptic.
There was no Glory. No god could be this cruel. There was no supernatural being here guiding anyone, just the petty pride of a sadistic tyrant, a manipulator who had hidden his true nature while mesmerizing us all.
I wanted revenge.
I knew I’d never get it. But I might be able to free Sarah and escape.
My getaway plan was terrible, but by dumb luck, each step worked. I pretended to accept our fate and waited until just before dawn to crawl from my cabin window, collect tools and a gas can from the generator shack, and set fire to the trees surrounding the forbidden building. I was unable to break the padlock on the shed but managed to splinter the boards and wrench the door open while the Disciples were still distracted. An indescribable wave of fear washed over me as I looked into the darkness of the hut, but I caught sight of Sarah’s pale foot in the orange light of the distant fire and resisted the urge to flee. Closing my eyes, I pushed through the doorway, groping until I felt her clammy ankle and grabbed tight, hauling her from the shed. She was sobbing, eyes wide open, unseeing. Somehow, I got her to her feet, and we disappeared off the far end of the compound through a hole in the fence we children knew about.
They may have not even bothered pursuing us that night or the next day. Sooner or later, they find out everything they need to know through the networks of financial and service transactions. Or social media, if the fugitives don’t know any better.
Currently we are squatting in a condo. This is our second such “home.” The owners of the first place were nice enough not to press charges when they returned from an overseas trip one afternoon and found two misguided teenagers cleaning their living room.
The residents of this new condominium won’t arrive until after Christmas, according to their calendar on the refrigerator. Sarah is old enough to remember life before our parents joined the Way, and they taught her a few things about exploiting people’s habits and home security systems. Their activities almost got us taken away by protective services, and in trying to clean up their lives, they found a source of guidance and purpose: The Way of Shining Glory.
In the year since Sarah and I left, we have gone down two very different paths, mentally and emotionally. I completely rejected anything supernatural. I read everything I could find on skepticism, physical materialism, atheism. I had a natural explanation for everything that had happened, and knew Reverend Solaris was just a charlatan.
Sarah, on the other hand, could not shake her belief. Despite what Solaris did to her, she still wondered if what she experienced meant that there was truth behind it all. If The Glory was real, if It was truly guiding him, then he was not acting out of personal pride, and she had made a grave mistake in opposing him. Sometimes she even pleaded to return. She began to seek for answers in New Age and Wiccan teachings, hoping for some proof that the supernatural did exist. I explained to her that what she had seen and felt must be the effects of a hallucinogen put in the milk they gave her before she was locked up.
“It couldn’t be,” she said. She produced a folded piece of yellowed paper. I opened it and saw a recipe of sorts. “This is what they gave me. The Disciple hadn’t made it before and had to look up the ingredients in his phylactery. Read it yourself. None of them are hallucinogenic.” In fact, it was just milk with a few natural painkillers and a depressant.
I grinned. “I’ll bet he was too embarrassed to admit the paper went missing while you were in his care,” I said.
“But doesn’t that prove it? I wasn’t seeing things!” she exclaimed.
I shook my head. “You were so afraid and suggestible at that point—”
She reached out, turning the paper over in my hand. “Then let’s do this,” she blurted, pointing.
I looked at the writing. It was the ritual I started this post with, though key words are substituted with synonyms to avoid their filtering software, and since the ritual was apparently not originally given in English, it works as written. The First Element is a bowl of what Sarah was forced to drink, but with nothing added. For the Second Element, prick your finger and squeeze it into a bowl. Bees make the Third Element. And as you may have guessed, the Object is a reflective surface — even a dark bowl of water will do. When we performed it in the empty garage of “our” condo, we made individual circles and used a full-length object from one of the bedrooms, placing it on the floor lengthwise between our circles so it overlapped both.
Of course, I tried to talk her out of doing the ritual. I knew nothing would happen. I didn’t tell her this, but I knew that people who want to believe will always find an excuse for why their magic or prayer or voodoo didn’t work this time. It wouldn’t prove anything to her, ultimately, and I didn’t want to encourage her delusions even this little bit. But she just needed to know. Her doubts were tearing her apart. And she promised that if nothing happened, she would finally make peace with leaving our parents and The Way of Shining Glory.
The instructions were very clear. Do not attempt the ritual unless you have complete faith that it will work. Start with a small reflective surface. Do not use a mirror larger than your body, unless you have already performed the ritual many times and are now ready for complete union.
Given that my lack of faith was the whole reason we were doing this, we disregarded the first warning. And since I lacked faith anyway, we disregarded the second warning as well. We shared a mirror because I wanted to be sure we both experienced the same thing and saw that nothing happened.
And nothing did happen, except that I felt other presences with us when we finished the ritual. I knew it was just the power of suggestion, since the instructions had said we should “commune” with the other being or beings and ask them questions. I felt as if I was being watched, but not from behind. From below. I had just creeped myself out is all, I thought.
Then Sarah asked dreamily, “Are you with The Glory now?”
She wasn’t talking to me. She was talking to them. There was silence. Then she said, “Yes. I am ready,” and crawled out of her circle and into the mirror and a pair of luminous hands helped her across to the other side.
I shouted after her, knocking aside the mirror as I bolted from my circle.
I halted. She was still there, collapsed in her own circle. I ran to her side, gently rolling her over to check her pulse. I couldn’t find one, but saw her chest rising and falling slowly. I shook her a little, slapped her cheeks, shouted for her to wake up. I ran to the kitchen to dial emergency services, but stopped, phone in hand, knowing a hospital record would bring Disciples down on us very quickly. Panic rose in me. As I paced back and forth between the kitchen phone and my sister’s body lying on the garage floor, I stopped to look at her again. Her eyes were open, staring upward. Her face bore an expression of infinitely peaceful rapture.
I had seen it before.
Each one of the bodies lying in the forbidden building in the middle of the compound had held the same gaze of perfect ecstasy. They were the true believers, the ones to attain complete union.
Sarah would never speak of those two nights she spent next to the other forbidden building. The first time I asked, she told me that nothing at all had happened during the day, and she’d assumed they had just put her in solitary confinement. Then she described seeing the sun set through a crack in the wall. She broke off, was silent for a minute, tears streaming down her face, then ran from the room.
I learned not to ask after that.
But one night we discovered a bottle of vodka in the freezer and dared each other to try it. We started talking about our life on the compound, and she took a dark turn. I admit I can’t remember much of what was said that night, and she was weeping for most of it. But three phrases are clear in my mind. She said that she never saw “them” but “they were attached to the people now.” She told me about “black thorny vines” growing across, burrowing into her mind. And she said they were “fattening” her with her “favorite fears” and that they liked to show her images of me, her brother, being burned alive, drowning, dying of cancer, kidnapped and taken away, all while she could only look on.
She’s resting in the master bedroom now, where I laid her. It was this morning that we tried the ritual. I shattered the mirror, threw away the shards and the bowls, and cleaned away our circles, but I know it’s no use. I can still sense a presence beneath, watching.
Like I've said, if you came across this post while researching the ritual, then you’ve found your answer. It’s real. Doubt no longer. I will not try to dissuade you from attempting the ritual. I know you want to, or you wouldn’t be here. I know you’ve been searching for an accurate version. This is it. You decide how far you want to take it. Only, when you do make the attempt, hold nothing back. Put aside all doubt, fear, or skepticism.
Don’t make my mistake.
I’ve said all I can. I’m going to have to log off now.
It’s getting dark outside.