"Be fluid,"
he said. "Don't let people pin you down as being a certain way."
Perhaps, then, the deviation from his role as Feeder Of The Tribe
should have come as no surprise. It was during a Centre meeting
that he announced the fast. Missing meals for thirteen days,
he explained, would raise the level of our consciousness, increase our
personal power, and bring us closer to Guru. "Besides," he said,
"it's the thaaang."
I longed to raise my consciousness, increase my power, and develop
a deeper connection with Chinmoy. I wanted to maintain my status
as an "advanced" follower. I hungered, too, for Atmananda's approval.
About twenty of us agreed to limit our nourishment to a glass or two
of juice a day.
Painful, dizzying hours of drinking water passed. Several devotees,
including Atmananda, claimed that their meditations were growing
increasingly powerful. In contrast, my efforts to empty my mind
were interrupted by gurgling complaints rumbling up from the caverns
of my gut. I found myself concentrating not on eternal salvation,
but on persistent growls. I found myself thinking not about God,
but about vast quantities of food.
On the sixth day of the fast, I stood at the edge of the meditation
room trying not to think about the sharp pains now forking my belly.
Pages:
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105