"No, rabbi," explained my brother. "We are studying spiritual mysticism."
"We're just learning to meditate," I added.
"I see," he said. He mentioned an obscure mystical sect within
the Jewish religion known as Cabalism. But Judaism, he explained,
slowly, as though measuring each word, was based upon laws--
not direct mystical experience. As he spoke, I recalled that Jewish
law had been passed down through the generations since the time
of Abraham and Isaac. Chinmoy's teachings, I realized, also stemmed
from a tradition dating back thousands of years. I found myself
picturing Chinmoy and Atmananda. "They are such colorful characters,"
I thought.
I glanced at the rabbi. He was saying something about the dangers
of mind control. "The rabbi is so...plain," I decided.
I felt certain that he had never read the Castaneda books.
My mother said little during the meeting. She was hoping that
the rabbi would build for my brother and me a framework through
which we could view our mystical quest. When the meeting was over,
I went home and stared at the underexposed Transcendental photo
of Chinmoy.
The next day I tried to meditate, but my mind dwelt on familiar thoughts:
"As soon as I graduate, I'm going to leave my tired, depressed father.
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