Life is his teacher.
I recalled the hour-long conversation I had had with Donald
Kohl's father, and suddenly the dam burst open and a flood of suppressed
memories washed over me. I pictured Rama shouting "Fess up!";
announcing his name change; telling me to swallow the Stelazine;
bursting into my room on the night that I wanted to leave...
I walked briskly back to the condo and knocked on Rama's door.
"Things don't feel right," I told him. "I think I need to take some
time off."
"You have to do what is right for you," he replied.
I wanted to make a clean break. I still had a few hundred dollars.
I told him that I wanted to give him back the car.
He frowned. "Your desire to return the gift," he said, "is proof
that you are mentally ill and that you can not function in the real world."
I did not want to stand around and argue. "Okay, Rama,"
I said and left. I felt primed for action. I was not scared.
I felt sure I was doing the right thing. I said good-bye to
the disciples, packed, and started to back out of the lot, when I
saw Laura in the rearview mirror, signaling me to wait.
"Rama wants to see you!" she exclaimed.
My impulse was to press the accelerator. After all, he might
try and get me to stay, as he did years before in La Jolla.
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