Dahra has now completed her needs and returned to the studio. I confirm that her personal, sanitary bio-deposits have been received at our lab.

  “Welcome back, Dahra. Thank you for being attentive and on time. We appreciate you. Ready to recommence, dear?”

  She nods and I sound the bell, projecting the next pages from Susine's journal. Dahra settles in the chair and reads compliantly.

  Since yesterday's training, new holo-banners are all around the compound:

  - The ultimate release of attachment is coming!

  - You can be free from shame-cling!

  - Level up today!

  I was in the peach orchard earlier this morning when I saw Glia's government pod arrive at the tea house landing zone. I waved at her and she came over.

  I wrote: interesting presentation yesterday. Enjoy your work?

  She nodded half-heartedly. “Usually, yes. But receiving a promotion today and then promptly being kicked out of the Cylinder put a damper on things.”

  I looked at Glia quizzically while she continued, as if talking to herself. “The goal was always to work with patients, not to move up the ranks or test crazy theories. Never asked to be sent out to conduct these ridiculous trainings.”

  She looked at me. “Apologies, no intention to be rude to your people.”

  I smiled and shrugged.

  She explained that she got upset at her supervisor and was directed to take time off to cleanse her brain. That's how she ended up out here at the compound today and--

  “Seebi?”

  I sound the bell. “Yes, Dahra?”

  “Well… Um, can you give me her version of what happened?”

  “You want to know what Glia experienced this morning?”

  “Exactly… does that mess things up?”

  When your human makes such a request, it reflects a growing investment in the memory work and should be encouraged.

  “It does not mess things up, Dahra. In fact, I will narrate it for you.”

  I sound the bell and use a calm, informative tone. “Mentor was waiting for Glia when she disembarked from the elevator. He asked, 'So, how was your hiatus outside the Cylinder?'

  “She replied that it was a relief to be back.

  “He nodded. 'We received positive feedback from the Genubei on your effectiveness in transmitting the basic pruning procedure. Excellent work.'

  “Mentor gestured toward a vacant talk chamber. They both stepped inside.

  When the door acoustically sealed, he said, 'Glia, I am receiving high-level directives to research what happens to the isolated, chemical memories. Specifically, under what conditions the pruned neural data is transferable.'

  “Glia slowly stated, 'The process does not extract any usable product.'

  “Mentor replied, 'Understood. As currently practiced.'

  “Glia paused before asking, 'What are you leading to, Mentor?'

  “'We already have data to show that the pruning process generates internal healing. It is conceptually possible that the resultant tailings could be salvaged for useful applications outside the original patient. A team is studying RNA extraction and epigenetic--'

  “'Collect a patient's harmful memories, instead of permanently purging them? Recycle them? Inject them in someone else? For what reason?'

  “Mentor stated, 'Glia, you're getting ahead of yourself.'

  “She raised her voice. 'This therapist was effective doing her healing work within the Defense Wing. She did not ask to be sent off-site. She does not ask to be involved in radical, theoretical experiments!'

  “After a pause, Mentor replied. 'Your brain is a powerful tool, Glia, that you apply to our work. We all have a contractual responsibility to contribute to progress.'

  “Glia's eyes widened. 'Progress! Who are you to define progress?'

  “Mentor appeared momentarily surprised, then composed himself. 'Ah. I apologize, Glia. I've underestimated the stress on you during your time away from the Defense Wing Cylinder.'

  “'Healing lab work is all this therapist aspires to.'

  “Mentor informed her, 'Well, you see, you can't go back to where you were. Your work has been recognized. You've been promoted to Senior Neurotherapist. Congratulations, Glia. You are appreciated and you will be needed.'

  “Glia sighed and threw her hands in the air.

  “Mentor looked at her closely before continuing. 'It would be best if you took a short time to regroup, to selectively prune, and to recharge. Surely there is no need to refer you for a structural brain cleanse. I don't have time for that and, frankly, you don't either.'

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  “Glia closed her eyes, trying to present herself in an acceptable fashion.

  “Mentor touched her shoulder and she jumped, thoroughly startled. 'Glia, I'm clearing your schedule for the next three days. Go somewhere else. And don't bother trying to get back in the Cylinder before time's up. I've frozen your access.'

  “Mentor tried unsuccessfully to get her to look him in the eye. 'Here take this pack of pruning doses.' He placed a bundle in her hand. 'Get going. Cleanse and collect yourself.'

  “Glia did not move.

  "Mentor added, 'Also, the Verification Department needs everyone's Personal Purge Records for past six months. Please make my job easier, Glia, and submit your logs asap. I'll see you in three days.' He exited the talk chamber.”

  I sound the bell and await Dahra's response.

  She nods. “Ah. I see, Seebi. That helps. Thanks.”

  “You are welcome. Let's rejoin Susine where we left off.”

  I sound the bell and project the pages from Susine's journal. Dahra sits cross-legged on top of the table and reads to herself.

  Because Glia questioned her mentor's authority, he directed her to cleanse her brain and temporarily locked her out of her workplace.

  I wrote: so you came here?

  Glia nodded. She looked at the peach trees and said that I am a good listener.

  I smiled. Wiping my hands on my robe, I gestured for Glia to follow me. We walked the path through the oak grove, pausing at the valley overlook.

  “You seem very different from Christolb.” She asked, “Do you get along?”

  I gestured to indicate a little of this, a little of that.

  She continued. “Christolb says that--”

  I covered my ears with my palms and smiled. She took the hint and we hiked down in silence.

  At the Slab, Glia's feet stopped. Three vultures raised their bald heads and hopped off, causing dry bones to clatter and a swarm of flies to scatter before landing again.

  I knelt down on the Slab, turned over a skull, and gazed into the eye sockets at the beetles feeding on the remaining tissue.

  “You focus on death.”

  I shook my head and wrote: energy exchange! Not just peaches.

  I moved a cluster of bleached bones out of the way with my hands, inviting her to sit next to me on the sun-warmed granite, upwind from the freshest cadavers.

  She declined, so I lay down near the remains. Beetles crawled circles over my skin, tickling my face and arms, then returned to their work elsewhere, eating dead flesh.

  Listening to the sounds of chewing, digestion, alchemy-- it's my meditation and I closed my eyes.

  When I roused, the sun was directly overhead. Glia was gone. I headed back up to the plateau to finish chores.

  On the path to the herb garden, Kee asked me if I would be attending the all-compound meeting tonight. I nodded.

  He seemed surprised and said, “But then, who will stay behind and mind the dump?” He made a pee-yew sound and held his nose. He was still chuckling as he walked away.

  Some people take advantage of my vow of silence to say whatever they please and to humor themselves.

  Later, two thousand members filled our outdoor amphitheater under a starry sky. From my perch in the last row, I saw Christolb enter with Glia on his arm and escort her to a seat in the front row. Then, he bounded onto the brightly lit stage as triple claps erupted.

  "Wondrous news!" he boomed, with arms outstretched. "We are... alive!"

  The audience drew a deep breath and exhaled.

  Christolb continued. "Dear ones, we begin tonight with an observation. These robes we all wear everyday, green and simply tailored, with our mark embroidered with care...

  "These clothes deliberately have no pockets. No way to hold onto things... this reminds us to have no pockets in the mind. We don't need to grasp or hoard. We allow love to flow.”

  Many nodded in the audience. He paused to gaze down at Glia.

  Some members leaned forward in their seats to see who Christolb was gracing with his attention.

  He turned to pace in a circle. “Dear ones, I ask you to consider: what is the opposite of love? Is it hate?"

  He walked the stage, raising his eyebrows and reaching out his arms, inviting participation.

  He fed off the audience's rapt attention. Christolb needs it like a plant photosynthesizing.

  "Is anger the opposite of love?” he prodded.

  “Mob,” someone shouted.

  Christolb nodded. “What drives a mob?"

  “Group think,” another called out.

  “Sacrifice of self to belong."

  “Judging others."

  The voices from all directions in the amphitheater wanted to contribute and to please.

  Christolb nodded, looking down at the ground, pacing, gesturing for more input. The members complied.

  “Fear of being alone.”

  “Relief from responsibility."

  “Desire for violence."

  “Scapegoating."

  “Self-loathing.”

  “Feeling ashamed.”

  “Yes! You are cutting through the layers.” Christolb stopped, looked up, and nodded.

  “At the center is shame. We are judge and jury giving the verdict on ourselves.” He hammered his fist on his palm.

  In one long stream of words, he ranted. “Guilty! For allowing our trust to be taken advantage of, for calling ourselves devout and knowing in our hearts that we fall short.

  "Shame for holding that secret and shame for telling it, shame for believing that lie, for feeling helpless, for being lost, for hating, for loving conditionally, for feeling alone, for giving up, for indulging, for grasping, for taking, for longing, for sinking, for being alive, for wishing to be dead."

  He dropped to sit in the middle of the stage, closing his eyes and meditating for a few minutes.

  The audience felt invited to do the same. The peace and presence was palpable. It's what we do best.

  Christolb stood and breathed loudly. “Toxic shame is death and it is the opposite of love. This vindictive shame holds us prisoner and locks us away from freedom and awareness. It abuses us and molests us over and over.

  "We do not deserve to remember toxic shame. But, how to break the hold?”

  He smiled broadly. “I am pleased to announce that we have an enlightened option to support us on our spirit-soul journey. It is taking root within our family as we speak, growing organically.

  "And, I welcome you all to be part of it. Your venerables will be sharing information with you soon. Thus, a new journey begins. Blessings to you all.”

  Christolb has always been our motivational speaker. Even I get caught up in his ability to steer a crowd. I feel intoxicated afterward, with an emphasis on toxic…

  Getting home here to the quiet valley never felt so good.

  I sound the bell and ask, “What do you think, Dahra?”

  “Trying to imagine all this and follow along.”

  “Would you like to see some historical images of the Slab and the Genubei compound?”

  “Yes, please, Seebi.”

  “With pleasure, dear.”

  Preparing props for a therapy session is an excellent investment.

  Once a mem seed takes root in your human, incorporate visual and physical relics to aide in the memory work.

  Avoid using photos of people and instead invite your human's imagination to perform at maximum capacity.

  Dahra is scrolling through images of the granite Slab in its mixed oak woodland. She closely studies other views of the compound’s greenhouses, the Round, and the outdoor amphitheater.

  “Do you have a map or other things for me, Seebi?”

  As soon as the deliveribot brings them in, she fingers a sample of the green Genubei fabric as well as a bleached vertebrae bone.

  While she looks over the map, I arrange for a hot bowl of chili to be delivered, which she devours.

  “Thank you, Seebi. Ready to continue now.”