I imagined him accepting both
good and bad in people, for only by cultivating acceptance did I
imagine him harvesting peace. But I realized, as I pedaled north,
that I would have to learn to distinguish between the nurturing and
noxious roots Atmananda had sown in my mind without Shirer's help.
This was something I would have to do for myself.
I continued to ride towards Pittsfield, Massachusetts, with Frank,
a childhood friend. Tall, with messy red hair, he was an expert
car mechanic though he never made much money. This was in part
because he was a slow worker, because he had little self-confidence,
and because people took advantage of him.
"How's work going?" I asked him.
"Okay, I suppose."
I knew that he was making less than six dollars an hour.
"Have you thought about looking for a higher paying job?"
I asked.
He shrugged.
"You know you're being ripped off."
He shrugged again. We had been through this conversation before.
I wanted to teach Frank that he was like a sitting duck, that he
could protect himself, that he could change--suddenly I froze.
I remembered that Atmananda had taught us that we were like
sitting ducks, that we could protect ourselves, that we could
change...
6.
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