Recent events have reminded me of this lovely poem written by my good friend, John Mustard.
Although this poem is about monsters under a child’s bed, we can still find recent, applicable applications within the ex-Scientology community.
In case its difficult to read, I’ve typed it out here:
When children say
There’s monsters
Hairy, mean and gray
That hide beneath
The bed at night
(… and don’t turn off
The bedroom light!)
This I know to be
The kind of monster
Night makes bold
And light makes cold.
And in the fashion I condone
(The technique I used at home)
Where creatures evil hid and lurked;
In darkest shadows drooled and smirked.
The smallest light - it would suffice
To turn them all, at once, to ice.
And so I say, keep shining the light on monsters. They don’t like to be seen as the monsters that they are.