"
"The Centre" was Atmananda's term for the San Diego branch
of Chinmoy's organization. It was also his term for the house
he now shared with me and the three other Chinmoy disciples.
Atmananda had not needed a map to the Centre months before, on the day
that the five of us moved west. He had seemed to know the way.
"There's Mission Bay," he said, pointing to bright green lawns bordering
light blue water. When he exited the freeway, which he assured us
was free, I noticed ground-cover plants surrounding and dividing
the road like armies of fat green spiders. On La Jolla Scenic Road,
I saw more exotic flora: tall, cedar-like trees, plants with huge
vein-covered leaves, and cacti with yellow flowers and spiny needles.
I did not know their names.
"At last," boomed Atmananda, pointing to a large shrub which drooped
like a wilted phallus. "We have found the fabled swaaaanso bush!"
I laughed nervously at his fabrication and glanced at Dana, who sat
beside me. Only minutes ago, she and I had sat outside the San Diego
airport terminal, caressed by a balmy breeze, waiting for Atmananda
and Rachel to rent a car. It was the first time we had been alone.
My heart pounded, and I unsuccessfully tried not to watch the way
in which her breasts pressed against her blouse.
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