They were proud
of their letters of acceptance from the Harvards and the Princetons.
I was proud of my letter of acceptance from The School Of Mysticism.
My letter arrived in the form of brilliant white specks which swirled
about me like snow.
Nor did I tell my parents, who represented discord, anxiety,
and manipulation--the opposite of what Atmananda seemed to stand for.
Instead, I spoke with my brother. He and I were close.
I wanted to be just like him. He used words such as disciples,
selfless-service, humanity, humility, purity, soul, soul-mate,
past-lives, karma, fast track, and cosmic evolution. He got
excited when he talked about Atmananda. He told me that he too
had experienced perceptual distortion during Atmananda's talks.
We returned to "Yoga Life Perfection."
About thirty minutes after the talk was scheduled to begin,
Atmananda strode through the door. He wore a light brown suit.
"Anne," he said, "did you bring the Transcendental?"
The sari-clad woman who had sold incense at the last lecture
placed a frame on the table beside Atmananda. The Transcendental
was a photograph of Atmananda's Indian guru, Chinmoy. But it
was so underexposed that it seemed not a picture of a guru,
but rather a mug-shot of a ghost with high cheekbones.
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