Cult Date Journal Entry
August 14th, 2025 - A peculiar time.
I don’t go on dates very often anymore. This is the story of the last one I went on, as told directly from my journal. My knowledge of the Gurdjieff is limited to what I was able to remember from the conversation with my date, and the introductory pdf he sent me that I did not fully read. I had intended to read it, perhaps join a meeting, and continue this piece journalistically, but we don’t always do everything we intend. Maybe sometimes it’s better that way.
Last night I went on a date with a 40-year old man who revealed himself to be in a cult. I liked him on Hinge even though there was something unsettling in his eyes. It’s almost like I’m drawn exclusively to freaks.
Our initial conversations were good. There was back and forth banter and I liked that when I didn’t respond—as I often do—he would try again without being pushy. When it came down to figuring out a date, he initially asked what I would like to do. That didn’t warrant an instant reply from me. He tried again after fifteen or so minutes, suggesting that he comes up with an unhinged plan and I can veto anything that doesn’t resonate. I told him that was the hotter option.
I had driven to the coast to sit by the sea for sunset when he responded with a fleshed out plan. My phone buzzed beside me on the bench and I opened my messages to see a wall of text containing two options for a first date.
“If you want to do something that’s possibly never been done before, we could go to a hot HIIT class at 5:30 and set up next to each other without acknowledging each other and subtly just leave together,” I imagine he chuckled typing this.
He continued, “Seems funny in a way that’s hard to explain.”
I agreed, it was funny.
Option two was more tame, “Alternatively, we could tour a chocolate factory in town and then pick up my dog and have a picnic in a nearby park with snacks and tunes.”
He finished the message by suggesting, “I could show you my tools before saying goodnight and committing Seppuku.” I snorted while reading that. Humor often gives me a kind of blind faith in chemistry. If I thought too hard about going to a strange man’s tool shed, several scenarios in which my life trajectory changes drastically could sully the whimsy of it all. I told him I’d meet him anywhere.
We originally met for that picnic in a park, but the weather was oppressively muggy. We decided to head to his place.
He lived in an old blue house in Somerville. Before we went inside we went around to the side where his tool shed was—or tool-basement. I think I make a lot of bad decisions, like going into random men’s basements where there are plenty of things to kill me with. It only scares me retroactively.
He then led me upstairs to his surprisingly beautiful in an unkempt way home. The architecture and bones of the place was gorgeous and Victorian, but dusty. The decor was warm and inviting, but crooked or raggedy. Persian rugs with obvious wear covered the creaky deep chestnut wood floors. It was just as hot if not hotter inside his home as it was out. He laid his spread of fruit, prosciutto and burrata, as well as some other accouterments on the table for us to enjoy. I’m not sure how it was brought up, but he mentioned he was in a cult while serving me some sweaty burrata on a plate. His roommate was cooking in the kitchen with headphones on, though I felt at the time that she was listening in.
I asked him to say more and then we engaged in what could only be described as a rapid fire Q+A style interview, where his vague answers left me with only more questions. I walked away reeling and despite covering much more, I only retained a few key points which are as follows…
He is a follower of the Gurdjieff way.
What brings them all together under the Gurdjieff is the desire to close the gap between the life they currently live and the life they desire.
There is a contradictory belief that ‘we are who we are’ and cannot change because we are eternally flawed and imperfect, but that if we constantly ‘work’, we can get ‘better’.
They do chants and dances and wear white shirts and black bottoms.
He pays monthly dues. He said when he started out he didn’t pay a lot, but that implies that he pays a lot currently.
He somehow prefaced his admitting of financial involvement with retracting the statement that the Gurdjieff is a cult. He told me they are actually just a “community” and that they “are not financially exploitative”. He “just likes to joke that it is a cult”. I chose to bite my tongue there.
We transitioned rooms as he subtly changed the subject. I don’t recall how, and I don’t think I noticed at the time either. We passed through his art studio on the way to the sunroom. I took note of the emotionally void canvasses that littered the walls.
The sunroom was narrow and as unkempt as the rest of the home. Dusty and cluttered but charming, still. The right corner was mostly storage. Frames and some blank canvasses. To the left was a raised platform nook with a Persian rug covering the floor and some small pillows. There in the center of the rug was a silver ashtray, and by the window was a crooked shelf with his smoke stash. He rolled a cigarette with tobacco from an unmarked bag. I assumed he was rolling for both of us and I asked what kind of tobacco it was. He seemed surprised and asked if I wanted one too. I asked if we could just share his. We didn’t speak too much about the cult after transitioning rooms, though it never left my mind. Mostly I was just observing him. Observing him observing me. I let on at times of my easy emotionality but I think I mirrored his calm but strange nature well. I managed not to share too much of myself. Something told me to protect my past.
I had essentially chugged a tangerine La Croix in the lulls of the conversation and eventually had to pee. He looked like he was about to point me in the direction of the bathroom and I teased;
“Can’t you show it to me, like a gentleman?”
His demeanor immediately changed and he begrudgingly led the way while he explained that he had just remembered he needed to be up early to pick up his nephew for something. He offered to drive me back to my car.
I waited for him to be ready to leave in his art studio and took a longer look at his work. He came from another room and saw me looking up and around.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I’d like to know more about it.” He looked confused.
“What were you feeling or thinking when making them?” I prompted.
He shrugged and admitted he wasn’t really sure.
I thought that was interesting considering I had felt he was very intentional in everything I gathered from him throughout our conversations. The way he lives his life, the way he chooses his words. Everything felt calculated with him but his art. I told him this, and theorized that his art is where he feels more free. He agreed. I told him it would do well in hotels.
While driving me back to my car he asked if I wanted to play “The NPR Game”. Before I could answer, he flicked on NPR to a woman talking, perhaps whining, about something I couldn’t quite make out because he just as quickly flicked the radio off and burst into laughter.
“Oh my God, hahahahaha,” he belly laughed. “That’s the fastest it’s ever took,” he said.
I was lost. I didn’t know what the NPR game was but I could tell I didn’t like it. I said nothing but smiled along. He told me that normally when he and his friends play, it usually takes at least 30 seconds for ‘a woman to start crying about community’. I pivoted into commentary about how so many often long for community but don’t do anything about it and instead go down useless paths masquerading kinship. I snarkily commented “like joining a cult,” but I think don’t think he picked up on it. At least, he didn’t let on that he did.
When we pulled up to the street I was parked on he asked if it was indeed a cute Toyota that I drove. I told him no, a blue mini cooper.
“Oh surprising.” He retorted, and pulled up next to it.
“Can you really see me driving anything else?”
“Now that I see it, no, I can’t.” He said flatly.
We hugged goodbye with awkwardness. I felt like I had just experienced something very strange, and I drove home.
i need to know MORE THIS WAS SO
GOOD