Can you see the turtles?: Cult Leaders Exploit Human Imagination

Several ago, my son—then 15—and I went to an art exhibition at a small community centre on the outskirts of Brisbane. It was a chilly winter evening, and the locals had come out in style—felt hats, colourful scarves, and that unmistakable community buzz. I’d submitted a couple of pieces myself and was eager to see them hanging among the work of fellow local artists.

The atmosphere inside was warm and convivial. With red wine in hand, my son and I wandered the gallery space, pausing to appreciate the talent on display. At one point, we stood behind two older women who were admiring a large, ocean-hued abstract canvas created with a fluid acrylic technique.

The piece shimmered with movement—like water catching sunlight—and as we waited for a better view, we overheard one of the women exclaim with delight, “You can see the turtles!”

Her friend leaned in, “Oh, absolutely. You can see so many turtles swimming in that ocean!”

The two of them then launched into a vivid conversation about memories of northern Queensland—of beaches and turtles and youthful summers spent near Cairns. It was a sweet, shared moment of nostalgia, sparked by colour and texture.

Eventually, the women moved on, one of them declaring, “Such a divine work. I absolutely love those turtles.”

My son and I then stepped forward, eager to spot these mysterious turtles ourselves. We stared with intensity, scrutinising every swirl of blue. After a long pause, my son turned to me and said with deadpan sincerity:

“Mum, can you see the turtles?”

I nearly choked on my wine. There were, quite obviously, no turtles. We both knew it—but the earnestness of our search made the moment unforgettable.

From then on, "Can you see the turtles?" became a running joke in our household—a shorthand for moments when one of us was stretching the truth, reading into things, or just being a bit ridiculous. If my son left the milk out and gave a convoluted excuse? “Sorry, I can’t see the turtles.” If I launched into a biased rant about something petty? He’d chime in, “Mum, I think you’re seeing turtles.”

This little phrase became our way of calling out imaginative leaps and perceptual biases—playfully at times, but also philosophically. It opened the door to deeper conversations about the blurry line between perception and reality, and how our minds fill in gaps based on memory, emotion, and desire.

For those two women in the gallery, seeing turtles was a beautiful, harmless act of imagination—an emotional resonance with the artwork that brought joy, connection, and reminiscence. That’s the kind of “turtle sighting” that makes us human. Our minds are meaning-makers. We search for patterns, stories, significance—often without even realising it.

But here’s where it turns. That same human impulse—to see turtles where there are none—can be exploited. In the hands of a manipulative leader, this natural gift becomes a weapon. Cult leaders encourage followers to see turtles too, but in this context, the turtles aren’t whimsical sea creatures; they’re illusions used for control. They might say, “This poverty is holy.” Or, “This abuse is God’s will.” They pressure people to find meaning in suffering, to reinterpret doubt as sin, to see enemies where there are only concerned friends. And when you say, “I don’t see it,” they suggest the problem is you.

That’s not imagination—that’s gaslighting. That’s thought reform dressed up as spiritual revelation.

Imagination, in its true form, is one of the most remarkable things about being human. It allows us to transcend the immediate and the literal, to dream, to empathise, to innovate, and to find beauty in the mundane. It’s what lets a child turn a cardboard box into a spaceship, or an artist see a galaxy in a swirl of blue paint. It gives rise to poetry, to science, to connection across time and space. It is the bridge between memory and meaning, between what is and what could be.

We need that. We crave that. Imagination helps us make sense of our lives. It brings colour to grief and tenderness to solitude. When we “see turtles” in a painting, or hear music that stirs a forgotten part of our soul, it’s imagination reminding us that life is not just about survival—it’s about interpretation, resonance, and storytelling.

But that very power—our capacity to find significance beyond the obvious—can also be our weakness.

Cult leaders know this. They hijack our innate imaginative capacities, not to inspire, but to distort. They don’t invite us to wonder—they demand that we reinterpret reality according to their script. They take our longing for meaning and turn it into compliance. The moment we begin to question, they say we’ve “lost the vision.” They insist we try harder to see the turtles—when what they’ve actually poured out is manipulation, fear, and control.

So yes, there are times when seeing turtles is good for the soul. We need wonder, creativity, and the emotional richness that comes from letting our minds roam free. But we also need the clarity to step back and say, “This is paint on canvas. There are no turtles.”

Because imagination is a gift, not a weapon. And when someone else starts using it to redraw your reality, to silence your instincts, or to erase what’s right in front of you—that’s not vision. That’s control.

Sometimes, seeing the turtles means losing touch with what’s real—and someone else is the one handing you the brush.

Creativity for Cult Healing: Healthy Use of Imagination

Imagination should never be used against as a weapon. It’s meant to free, not bind.

Art therapy, for example, uses imagination in way that heals—without the illusions cult forced upon us, but the images that rise from within. This is where creativity becomes a compass. A way home to yourself.

Want to explore some simple art therapy activities at home? 👉🏾 Click here.

Imagination, when free and safe, is not just beautiful—it’s transformative.