It felt natural to trust a man who treated me with kindness,
who exuded an aura of competency and of vulnerability, and who seemed
wholeheartedly dedicated to the cause of self-improvement.
We met at a theatre where we ate popcorn and candy in the fourth row.
I told Atmananda that the postering had gone well. The lights faded
and the movie began.
A Hollywood agent on a fishing trip strikes up a conversation
with Kermit-the-Frog. The agent is impressed with him and suggests
that he move west, to Hollywood.
Though seemingly content in his East Coast swamp, Kermit is taken
by the agent's prediction that, as a movie star, he could make
millions of people happy. "Make millions of people happy,"
echoes the starry-eyed muppet.
The scene reminded me of my former plan to hitchhike west on
a mystical quest. The plan seemed less glamorous now because I
had already found a teacher and because of Atmananda's prediction.
He often told me that had he not rescued me from that path I would
have been shot by bandits and tossed in a ditch. Perhaps, though,
the former plan would have regained some momentum had I known about,
and had I analyzed, the problems currently fouling the air between
Chinmoy and Atmananda.
One problem was sex.
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