The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test was packed away somewhere in the back.
I arrived in Massachusetts feeling frightened and confused.
I felt drawn to southern New Hampshire where, eight years before,
I had worked one summer on a farm. I found Rico, a younger
friend from the farm days who was now a senior in high school.
I had not seen him in years. I wanted to tell him about
Rama and the organization but did not know where to start.
"There are bad people out there, Rico," I told him. "You have
to be careful. Whatever happens, always follow your heart."
I drove away, Rico later recalled, with a frightened look on
my face.
I called my parents in New York and asked them if they wanted
to see me. They flew to Boston, and we went to a restaurant
near Gloucester, Massachusetts. I felt happy to see them
but could not share the burden of my new found freedom.
Days later I sat in traffic in the suburbs of Boston. I felt
completely alone. I missed the disciples. It was true that we
had fallen for Rama's line about stealing one another's power.
It was true that we had allowed Rama to foster, through ongoing
whispering campaigns, a climate of fear and competition.
But I didn't care. The disciples spoke the same language as I.
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