She sat in a hammock off to the side of a sacred ritual in a commune, simply titled: "Space." The soft and carrying sound of a didgeridoo permeated the air around her. This particular cult was called "The Human Academy," and worshipped Sacred Geometry. Amongst their followers were an international cadre of ex professionals, burnt out by their own cynicism, searching for a unifying system of referents.
She was striving to remain agnostic -- no one wanted a buzzkill around. Yet she swung in a lime green piece of cloth, strung between two trees, amidst a shoddily strewn yard, leafy palms covering the sun. She dared not move closer to the action, for fear she might join in.
It was then she noticed the hand plastered sign on the tree above her. "Hammock Therapy," it read.
It was too late.