"Yes," Rama replied, "but don't worry--you are not gay. No way.
Of course you're not gay. Don't believe anyone who tells you
that you are. Why even allow yourself to think that you are gay?"
Then, after laughing heartily, he hissed an imitation of the Emperor,
Darth Vader's evil master.
Rama, who assumed broad powers to interpret reality and myth,
seemed to believe that he was made of the stuff of legends.
He got touchy, however, when disciples looked to legends outside
the realm of his control. One time, for instance, I excitedly told him
that I had seen an autographed photo of Mark Hamill.
"Here you are sitting next to a fully enlightened teacher,"
he said bitterly, "and all you can do is live in a world of fantasy."
Rama was right, I decided, as I pushed the broom down the long driveway
in Malibu. I was living in a world of fantasy. There, shaded by billowing,
yellow smoke and accompanied by a talkative real estate agent,
was Harrison Ford, quietly stepping toward Goldie Hawn's house,
toward the "Last Incarnation of Vishnu." Ford wore dungarees.
Rama introduced himself as the renter and as a teacher of advanced meditation.
Anne introduced herself as a friend of Rama's.
"Sure is a blade runner kind of day," I blurted.
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