Take Me for a Ride Part 6

"WHAT...were you thinking about last night at 11:30!"

Sal blushed.

"Alas, my lad," said Atmananda, patting him on the shoulder.

"You won't reach the higher worlds thinking about that."

Atmananda showed us a poster. It read: "ECSTASY AS A WAY OF LIFE."

Also printed were details about a free lecture series, "With Atmananda-Dr. Frederick Lenz." But before he sent us to Manhattan, Atmananda inspired us, told us how to protect ourselves, how to change.

"Guru's mission," he said in a pacifying voice, "is to bring peace, light, and bliss into a world that is rapidly heading towards darkness."

I realized that it was largely through Atmananda's lectures, and through his appearances on radio and television--including a recent appearance on the Phil Donahue Show--that Chinmoy's mission was being spread.

I felt important that I was a part of the operation.

"Your task is to see where to place the posters so that they will be noticed by advanced seekers. To do this you will need to maintain a very high state of consciousness."

We nodded solemnly.

"If you run into religious fanatics, be polite but firm.

Do not let them engage you in conversation."

We nodded again.

"By postering, you are helping Guru bring light into this world.

But Negative Forces will sense this and will try to inject you with doubts. If you are attacked by the Forces, cry inwardly to Guru."

I was not too worried about non-physical creatures on the prowl.

I had a great deal of self-confidence, I a.s.sumed the Guru would protect me, and I wasn't convinced that Atmananda's ghosts were real.

"I see that many will be helped as a result of today's efforts-- provided that Sal can muster the willpower to work and not just eat,"

he said, smiling warmly. "And don't forget to have a good time."

We meditated a moment.

"Guru put a special force on the posters," Atmananda said, breaking the silence and handing the stack to my brother.

Then he strutted around us in a "silly walk" which I recognized from a Monty Python skit.

"Cheeriao."

"Cheeriao," we echoed, waddling down the driveway, imitating his imitation.

On the way to the train station, his words reverberated in my mind: the path, spiritual, awareness, see, sea of consciousness, dream-time, vibrations, energy, chakra, subtle, metaphysical, pyschic, unseen forces, traps, Ent.i.ties, light, and darkness.

The language defined for me a world in which I chose at each moment between good and evil. Put that way, there was not much of a choice.

I believed now that ours was a pure and n.o.ble quest, and that I was a warrior of Truth, not a casualty of rhetoric.

On the train ride into the city, I sat next to Paul, a happy-go-lucky Swede with blond hair, a broad grin, and a magnet-like attraction for devices that were electronic. We both were Stony Brook freshmen who had learned about Chinmoy through Atmananda's lectures.

We both sensed that there was something out there beyond the surface world of reason. We both intended to do something about it.

"What's the penguin doing on the tehlee?" he quipped, quoting from Monty Python. Green and grey scenes of Long Island sped by through the train's window frame.

"The penguin on the tehlee," I squawked, "is about to blow up!"

"Tickets, tickets," announced the conductor. "All tickets please!"

I remembered how, as a kid, I rode the trains without paying.

I had stayed ahead of the ticket collector, gotten off when I reached the front car, and then caught the next train... But now I no longer believed in free rides. It did not matter that the Ultimate Destination could not, according to Atmananda, be described using words. I still felt that I should pay to get there.

By postering I was not only paying for myself, but was affording thousands the opportunity to be taken for a ride of their own.

I handed the conductor my ticket.

My brother and Sal sat across from us. Their backs were straight, their eyes closed. I too tried to meditate, but could not.

Instead, I thought about my parents. I had followed Atmananda's suggestion and told them that I was studying spiritual mysticism.

Nonetheless, they seemed convinced that their sons were getting sucked into a cult. I was sensitive to their reaction to me and intentionally saw them less as the weeks went by.

I also thought about Chinmoy. He had instructed followers to memorize four of his disciple-published books. I opened one and read, "When you choose you lose." Chinmoy, it seemed, believed that major decisions should be left to the Supreme, his favorite word for what Atmananda called the Infinite, which the Rabbi had referred to as G.o.d.

"Help, Guru!" I thought, doubting I could memorize the numerous aphorisms without divine intervention.

"Penn Station, Penn Station," came the reply. "Last stop!"

We left the train and were funneled onto the escalator by the crowd.

Paul and my brother headed uptown on Third Avenue, while Sal and I worked Second Avenue. Dodging cars, bicycles, and more crowds, we entered a supermarket and found the manager.

"Excuse me, sir," Sal said sweetly. "We are sponsoring a workshop on relaxation and were wondering if we could place this in your window."

"One of the posters is already outdated," I pointed out.

"So we won't have to take up more of your window s.p.a.ce."

The manager looked us over, glanced at the poster, and nodded.

"Thanks," we said and quickly placed two, back to back, visible to people inside and out. After several hours we had placed more than half the stack.

Postering with Sal boosted my confidence in asking favors from strangers. Soon, though, we decided to work opposite sides of the street to increase our efficiency. I found that by acting polite and a bit shy, I could easily persuade store owners to say yes.

The more I spread the word of Guru's mission, to people in stores and on the street, the more I believed in it. And the more I believed, the more I wanted to spread the word of Guru's mission...

When Sal and I ran out of posters, we crossed over to Third Avenue, met Paul and my brother, and caught the subway to Penn Station.

I was tired from the postering. I found the repet.i.tive clatter and vibrations of the train soothing. I found it easy to meditate.

I could have thought about how Atmananda had been teaching me how-to-hunt-and-how-not-to-be-hunted. I could have thought about how those who teach how-to-hunt-and-how-not-to-be-hunted can easily prey upon those whom they teach. I could have thought about how, by asking Atmananda to take me beyond the world of reason, I was hunting him.

I could have thought about how he was hunting me. But I just sat there and let my thoughts run free.

That year, Sal, Paul, Tom, my brother, and I placed thousands of posters in Manhattan. Working with Anne, Dana, and Suzanne, we also distributed thousands of handouts on the Stony Brook campus.

Sometimes we worked in sub-freezing temperatures. Once Atmananda had us glue posters on buildings in Manhattan in the middle of the night.

I did not mind. I tended to enjoy the effort, in part because I believed we were doing some good, because we had plenty of time to pursue other interests (in January, 1979, I began studying English literature at Stony Brook), and because as hard as we worked, we played.

"The Muppet Movie?" I asked after another full day of postering.

"Starring Kermit-the-Frog?"

"Trust me," Atmananda replied.