But it was far more painful to examine what it
was about me that had complemented his techniques and allowed me to
accept his authority. I thought about how, as a thirteen-year-old, it
had been easier to journey into lives of sorcerers from the Castaneda
books than it was to deal with the emotions of a family in conflict;
years later, it was easier to follow Atmananda's narcotic
program than it was to brave a suppressed conflict of my own.
I also realized that I had grown up feeling blessed, immortal,
and immune to the dangers of the world; later, when Atmananda
issued post-coup etiquette and Stelazine, I found it difficult
to admit that I was so wrong for so long about so many things,
and that I was just another victim of one man's *other* side.
The reluctance to view myself as a victim persisted, and now,
draped with a sleeping bag to protect me from mosquitos, I found it
difficult to admit that the "Atmananda phenomenon" may have had as much
to do with Atmananda, and with me, as it did with the balance of society.
Years later, I wondered if modern American society had been
replacing a system of mythology and religious dogma with a system
of reason as a way to explain ourselves and the world around us.
I wondered if there were a genuine need in humans not only to categorize
and comprehend, but to acknowledge and to address, in unscientific terms,
the mystery of that which creates, binds, animates, and destroys.
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