But my anger quickly dissipated when I realized
that trembling before me lay not ruthless Rama, but rather the shell
of a thirty-four-year-old man named Fred Lenz.
"I'm sure," I said.
I had an idea. "A beautiful, blue bird is here, Rama," I whispered.
Birds, I knew, were something he genuinely loved.
He looked confused.
"Yes, it's a beautiful, blue bird, and it's large and friendly,
and it's flying all around--there it goes! Rama, don't you
*see* it?"
He followed my finger with his eyes as if he were *seeing*
the imaginary bird, and soon he fell asleep with a smile across his face.
As he slept, I thought about what had just happened. An incarnation
of God, I realized, would not have had a bad LSD trip. Rama was
not who he said he was. He was not one of twelve fully enlightened
souls on the planet. He was an ordinary man, he was vulnerable,
and I wanted to believe he was my friend.
After about thirty minutes, Rama awoke. He lifted his quivering
hands above his head. "Did you *see* that?" he asked.
"See what, Rama?"
"I am filling the room with light. The powers are cycling through me.
I am reattaining enlightenment."
"Uh-oh," I thought. "Here we go again."
Rama seemed utterly fascinated by his hands, which he wiggled
and waved in front of his face.
Pages:
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228