We had studied together at a computer
school in Los Angeles and, back in 1982, we had bicycled from San
Luis Obispo to Monterey, California. I missed Alexander and Marty
and Elizabeth and Carl and Karen and Jeff and...
I missed my brother. Dan had already left Chinmoy to join Rama's
Centre in San Diego. But the closeness we once shared was buried
by too many months and too many miles, by unspoken resentments on
his part, and by a lust for power within Rama's organization on mine.
Ultimately, though, it was the acquired belief that "the past is dust"
that kept us from searching and sifting through finer elements
of memories' shifting sands.
In 1983, my brother nearly left the Centre. He had been hanging
out with Bill, a burly, bearded, freedom-loving forest ranger
who decided that Rama was taking advantage of women disciples or,
to put it in his words, Rama was "dipping into the company ink."
My brother, too, decided that Rama was out of line, and the two
of them were planning to leave. When Rama found out, he summoned
me to his house.
"Your brother is about to blow it in a big way," he told me.
"This is your big chance to help him. Get him to call me." I did,
and Rama persuaded him to stay.
I missed my friends and my brother and now, as I roamed the
streets of Concord, I wondered if I would ever see them again.
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