I approached 9514 La Jolla Farms Road.
The last time I got near the place had been the year before, with a friend.
"I lived there once with some radical people," I had told her.
"One of them became...enlightened."
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.
"That's where Atkinson lives," I said, pointing away.
Now, as the sun sank in the Pacific, I stood with Nuna on the edge
of the property. I took a few steps forward but quickly stopped cold.
I could almost hear Rama saying in his Kermit-the-Frog voice,
"Make millions of people happy." I stepped to where my room used
to be when suddenly, superimposed over blackened concrete slabs,
images appeared. Rama was in the kitchen cooking for a hundred
spiritual seekers. Rama was in the meditation room giving a talk
beside a larger-than-life photo of an Indian guru. Rama was at
the same spot giving a talk beside himself. Rama was in the garage
surveying stacks of WOOF! Rama was offering me cookies to cheer me
up because I doubted his enlightenment--my *friend's* enlightenment.
Rama was hopping around the house like a kangaroo, and I was right
beside him, and we were laughing like children, and at that moment,
in the fading light, the cap blew and tears streamed down
my face.
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