I was completely lost.
The road began following a winding river, and it became increasingly
difficult to convince myself that a town or phone was just ahead.
Exhausted, I stopped at the edge of a clearing and set up the bent,
many-sided tent--another gift from Atmananda. I lay on my sleeping
bag and listened to the river and to voices from the past.
I could almost hear Atmananda talking, back in 1979, about the pending
move from New York to southern California.
"It's very important that the right people go," he had said to Rachel
and me.
We nodded.
"I'm not sure about Dana and Connie," he confided. "But I'm
sure I made the right decision about you two." Then he squinted
and focused his gaze above our heads.
"You realize, of course, who I am," he added haughtily.
I was eighteen at the time and thought I already knew who he was:
a devoted Chinmoy disciple, a respected English professor, and a kind,
sensitive person. His remark had left me so confused and repulsed
that I let it drop from my conscious mind.
Now, as I listened to the gurgling river, I realized that Atmananda
had made the same remark two years later, when he announced that Chinmoy
had fallen. I realized, too, that there were other foreshadowings
of his rise to power.
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