We both felt indebted to Atmananda.
He had managed to convince us, separately, that had we not met him,
we would now be dead. He used this tactic on many disciples.
He had also been giving Anne and me special attention lately, and we
therefore felt particularly guilty that we had doubts about him.
Then there was the climate of distrust that he had been fostering
within the Centre. He occasionally warned me, for instance,
that Anne was in a low state of consciousness and that I should avoid
her whenever possible; he would then tell her the same about me,
and so on. Furthermore, Atmananda had worked to make communication among
disciples intimidating and taboo.
"If any of you break the Seven Seals of Silence," he had repeatedly
warned inner circle devotees, without explaining what the Seals were,
"I would not want to be in your shoes. You have to understand
that there would be absolutely nothing I could do to help you.
It would be awful--I don't even want to think about it."
Other surfacing memories of Atmananda revolted me. I recalled
his often-stated maxim that only through revenge could one of
life's greatest joys be attained. In WOOF! (Issue #3; January,
1981), he wrote: "Thousands died today in Pompeii when Mount
Vesuvius erupted without warning.
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