Part 20 (1/2)

”Yowwwww!” I heard them yell moments later.

I opened the door to my room and saw them hopping around the kitchen.

For a moment I felt nostalgic. Drinking hot sauce and hopping around with Atmananda had been one of my favorite experiences in the Centre.

Returning to my room, I quietly closed the door and tried to ignore them.

I imagined that I was living on Palomar Mountain by a clearing in the forest. I imagined the brilliant California sun as it pierced the thick morning fog below. I imagined the solitary red-tailed hawk as it soared through the clear, blue, mountain sky on a course of its...

The door flew open and in strode Atmananda. He took giant steps.

He was followed by Sal.

”Heyyy, Sal!” Atmananda blasted. ”Da baby, he'sa thinkin'-a leavin'!”

”Baby,” queried Sal, ”you thinkin'-a leavin'?”

”Ges.p.a.cho,” cried Atmananda, not waiting for my reply, ”where have-a you been?”

”With-a Guacamole!” shouted Sal.

I was stunned. ”How...how did they find out?” I thought.

They danced about the room singing about Guacamole, a young maiden who blushed bright green.

I did not know whether to laugh or to cry. I was doing a little of both when, a minute or so later, Atmananda asked Sal to wait outside.

”You've got to admit, kid,” Atmananda said to me. ”We have a good time here.”

I glanced in the direction of my backpack.

Atmananda made a fist and shut his eyes.

”Watch out!” cried my rational side. But he seemed sincere and vulnerable, and I found myself gazing at him.

”Contemplate mountains--not him!” I thought. But in him I saw a man who could see; who read people's inner thoughts and feelings; who predicted the future; who glowed after I stared at him intensely for several minutes; who spent hundreds of hours teaching me about worlds of enchantment, excitement, and n.o.bility; and who banked on a career of making millions happy.

”Sure he's got a lot to offer,” I thought, ”but he's got that other side-- I need to get away!” But in him I saw the community I had helped build, a community which included all my current friends.

”Help build another community! Find new friends!” But in him I saw my aspiration to be a seeker of Truth--as well as my desire to wield power over others.

”He's playing a power game--run!”

Atmananda opened his eyes. He seemed displeased and hurt.

He appeared as both a mother and father figure. He towered over me.

He exuded self-confidence.

I grimaced. Over the past few years, I had occa.s.sionally questioned Chinmoy's authenticity in the back of my mind.

Over the past few months, I had occasionally questioned Atmananda's authenticity in the back of my sleepy mind. Over the past few days, I had continuously questioned Atmananda's authenticity in the forefront of my rested mind. But now, the conflict, which pitted my rational nature against my mystical nature, became too much to endure.

He opened his fist and demanded, ”What do you see?”

I saw memories of him telling me to act like a warrior before the Forces destroyed what we had worked so hard to achieve.