Take Me for a Ride Part 11

I looked to the east. White buildings gleamed behind a row of tall, healthy palms. I remembered Atmananda's advice: "If you want to live in a pretty world, just cry inwardly to Guru."

I could not help but feel that I had entered one of Dr. Seuss'

fantasy-gardens for children.

Atmananda drove us back to the Centre, where we gazed for forty minutes or so at the Transcendental. Then we ate nachos--a perfect ending, I thought, to a perfect day. I was so absorbed in having fun with my new family, I did not think to contact my parents or my brother.

Several days after we arrived in southern California, Atmananda took us on a bus tour of the San Diego Zoo in Balboa Park.

The guide pointed to an elephant and said, "This is Peanuts.

Peanuts has been with us for seven years."

"This guy is making it up as he goes," whispered Atmananda, who seemed to resent having someone else control the conversation.

The guide pointed to a giraffe. "This is--"

"Fwazznoid," interrupted Atmananda loudly.

"--and Puzzles has been with us for three years," continued the guide, trying to ignore the man monkeying around with the four laughing hyenas.

One time during our first few weeks in California, Atmananda saw me standing on a wall in the yard. He later told me that he had seen me fly.

"Really?" I said.

"Yes," he replied. "I saw your Astral Body hovering over the canyon."

"Wow!"

Suddenly, his kind encouragement transmogrified into a cold, penetrating glare. I felt he was looking right through me.

"I can see that you still doubt me," he said, turning away.

I was upset with myself. As usual, he was right. Yet I sensed there was something more, something in the way he looked at me...

But he was smiling now. "Don't let it bother you, kid. You're doing fine."

"Whew," I thought, happy to forget about it.

Perhaps Atmananda had been happy to forget about it too because he began giving me other things to think about. He gave me the task, for instance, of starting a meditation club at my new school, the University of California at San Diego (UCSD). He understood that by controlling a university club, he gained legitimacy, prestige, and unlimited access to free lecture halls.

I saw no harm in Atmananda's request. We were, after all, using the club to help Guru. So I set out to find three full-time students who were willing to sign up as the club's officers.

"Hi!" I said, approaching one student. "I'm starting a meditation club and was wondering if you might be interested in helping out."

"What's a meditation club?"

"We're going to have guest lecturers teach Zen and relaxation-- you know, stuff like that."

"Sounds cool, dude, but I'm already relaxed."

"Great--but maybe you could take a moment and help people who are not."

And so, by soliciting signatures from those not particularly interested in meditation, I became the club's sole proprietor.

Meanwhile, Dana designed, Rachel mostly payed for, and Atmananda "zapped" the new stack of posters, which I then placed around UCSD, San Diego State University (SDSU), and the neighboring communities.

The talks went well, and I soon handed out many maps to the Centre.

Before the potential recruits arrived, Connie spent hours cleaning the Centre. According to Atmananda, this was something her soul loved to do. My soul, he pointed out, loved to greet people.

"Howdy--I'm Mark!" I said.

"h.e.l.lo," she replied. She was graceful and alluring. "I'm Mandy."

"This one," I thought, "is gonna need some heavy protecting."

During the lecture, Atmananda predicted that the world would enter a spiritual dark age in 1985. "The darkness will last for thousands of years, and it will become increasingly difficult to meditate and to think clearly. Spiritual warriors will need to band together under the protection of a guru who can fight the Negative Forces and forge a path toward freedom and Light through a world turned murky and grey." Then we had cookies.

After several public meetings at the Centre, Atmananda invited those who were interested in studying with Chinmoy to stay afterwards.

"What do you do for a living?" Atmananda asked each of the three.

"I'm a flight attendant," said Mandy.

"I know a few things about flying," Atmananda interjected.

"I cane chairs," said a woman with long, brown hair.

"I cane people," said a man with a crewcut.

"If you sincerely want to take the next step in your spiritual evolution,"

Atmananda said, "we will mail your photographs to Guru.

Guru will use his psychic vision to see if you are meant to study with him."

By the time Chinmoy accepted the flight attendant, the crafts-person, and the marine, there were many more applicants to be processed.

Despite the intensity of the recruitment drive, Atmananda found time to a.s.sist certain seekers on a one-on-one basis. Mandy, in particular, must have exhibited potential because he often spent nights at her condo.

I figured it was okay for Atmananda to sleep with Mandy, though it was not okay for me to appreciate her beauty. He was, after all, an advanced disciple and knew a lot more about these things than I. (He said on occasion that I could have a girlfriend outside the Centre, but mostly he said that I shouldn't.) My perceptions might have changed, however, had I known that he was sleeping with *numerous* women disciples. My perceptions also might have changed had I known about the "Bedroom Incident."

When Atmananda first flew with Rachel to La Jolla in search of a rental, he chose a house with "good vibes"--but with only four bedrooms.

He told Rachel that he would take the large bedroom, that she would take the dining room and living room areas, and that they would switch.

But he never allowed her to use the living room. Nor would he switch.

To complicate matters, he often sat outside her makes.h.i.+ft bedroom, advising disciples through the night and early morning how they could accelerate their march toward a wordless perfection.

Unlike Atmananda, Rachel had to wake up in the morning and go to work.

After too many nights of too little sleep, she grew tired, angry, and confused.

When Atmananda sensed that she was not her usual, happy self, he did not openly communicate his displeasure. Instead, he ignored her.

He let the other women know that she was in a bad consciousness and should be avoided whenever possible. He began to treat her as if she were an outsider.

Rachel grew increasingly fl.u.s.tered. She reached out in her thoughts to Guru, to family, and to friends. When Atmananda asked her to move out of the house, she breathed an exhausted sigh of relief.