Arriving carless in California, Atmananda thought about continuing his
career as a college professor. He thought about writing another book.
He even considered going to law school. Instead, he expanded
the Money Club.
The Money Club had started in New York when Atmananda began
collecting from Stony Brook disciples. We voluntarily gave a few
dollars a month to offset the cost of the posters.
In San Diego, he raised membership dues to four or so dollars
a week. Rachel, who took out loans to help the San Diego Chinmoy
Centre get started, gave much more. As The Centre rapidly grew,
so did the numbers in Atmananda's club.
"Seekers used to live in monasteries and in caves," Atmananda taught at
Centre meetings. "But Guru recommends that instead, we live in a city.
This gives us the opportunity to strengthen our psychic defenses
and to better serve humanity. In order to live in the world,
particularly as your consciousness evolves and as the vibrations
of the world grow darker, you will need money."
Most of the new disciples, though, were UCSD undergraduates;
when Atmananda explained the etiquette of selfless giving--"You
can give in the right way or you can give in the wrong way"--
many of us wondered how we could give in any way.
But Atmananda had an idea. He suggested that we take out student
loans for more than we actually needed.
"You can then donate the extra amount to a worthy cause," he pointed out.
"To a genuine spiritual centre, for instance."
It was no coincidence that the Centre's finances improved significantly
after banks issued checks for guaranteed student loans.
Atmananda had another idea.
"Accepting money from your parents is the spiritual thing to do.
Why not give your parents the opportunity to help? Why shouldn't they
be given the opportunity to make spiritual progress?"
He even devised a way that we could earn money.
"Why work for five dollars an hour when you could be making twenty?
Work is not supposed to be fun. Believe me, they would not be paying you
if it was. Unless you already have a career that you are happy with,
you should study computer science.
"Most of you developed software back in Atlantis, back when computers
were far more advanced than they are today. Keeping track of all
those variables will help you strengthen your mind. Besides,
programming pays extremely well after a relatively short period of time."
Atmananda interspersed talk of raising consciousness and money with
stories from the rich world of his imagination. He told stories,
for instance, about a legendary character that he called "The Gwid."
"The Gwid is close friends with Roshi Megabucks," he said,
stroking his chin and smiling. "The Gwid leases all of reality
to God."
At one Centre meeting, a UCSD anthropology graduate student pointed
out that millions in the world were starving. "Shouldn't we
be doing something to help?" she asked.
"On the surface," Atmananda replied, "Elizabeth is asking a perfectly
legitimate question. But if you could see, you would have detected
the underlying hostility in her tone."
The room filled with uneasy silence.
"But that is why we study meditation," he went on. "We are constantly
striving to perfect our different selves."
He slowly scanned the disciples. "Many of you send Guru
hostile vibrations in the inner worlds, so don't hide behind
your holier-than-thou facade. It isn't necessary. We understand."
He turned back to Elizabeth, his sarcastic pout transforming into
a compassionate smile. "There are many who are suited for helping
the poor. What we do here is help people on a higher level."
He went on to provide a framework through which to view poverty.
Each soul, he explained, chooses the circumstance of its birth so that it
can best work out its karma.
At first, Elizabeth's question struck a chord in me.
But I associated her question with Atmananda's accusation--
that many of us were sending hostile vibes to Guru.
This made me upset, so I tried to think about something else.
But there was something else I was trying not to think about.
"Has anyone noticed that I have been going into advanced states
of consciousness?" Atmananda had started to ask at the Centre meetings.
At first there had been no response.
"The powers from my past lives are returning," he continued
in a sincere-sounding voice. "My consciousness is cycling.
Those of you who can see will easily feel The Change."
Several disciples nodded, as though for the first time they were
feeling The Change.
I knew that if I gazed at him intensely for several minutes, I saw auras
in whichever hue I imagined. Nonetheless, I had not detected The Change.
I wanted to maintain complete trust in my mentor, housemate, and friend.
I told myself that my seeing abilities must not be too advanced.
Atmananda then changed the subject. "The Golden Gwid Card,"
he said with a grin, "gives The Gwid and Roshi Megabucks unlimited
access to multi-dimensional, trans-reality banking networks."
Perhaps it was with The Golden Gwid Card in mind that Atmananda
asked me to perform a "task of power." He instructed me to inspire
each of the several dozen disciples in the Centre to donate money.
"Tell them that the money will be used to buy me a surprise gift,
and tell them the gift will be a new car." He suggested that I remind
them that he worked night and day for the good of others, that he
was broke because he gave all his money to the Centre, and that if he
concentrated on making money rather than on helping Guru's mission,
he could easily afford to buy his own car.
"Got it," I said.
"Don't pressure anyone. If someone does not want to contribute,
that's fine."
"Of course!"
"And keep a list of who gave what."
"No pro-blem-mo!" Honored that Atmananda would trust me with
such responsibility, with such a secret, and with so much money,
I felt guilty for not having thought of the idea myself.
I understood that Atmananda was being a sneak. But he did work
for the good of others night and day. And ours was the fastest
growing Chinmoy Centre in the world. And the Guru's mission would
suffer if Atmananda worked a traditional job. Besides, I was drawn
to the idea of sneaking for a noble cause.
The disciples gave generously, and Atmananda soon shifted the garage
door opener from Rachel's car, which he had frequently borrowed,
to the glove compartment of his shiny, new Renault LeCar.
Rachel, who had donated generously to the "surprise" gift,
felt that they should share the garage door opener. She decided
that Atmananda was being unfair and told him so.
The next day, Atmananda instructed Dana to tell Rachel that,
spiritually speaking, she was heading for some serious hot water
and had better apologize quickly.
Unaware of the "Garage Door Opener Incident," I was feeling pretty good.
I felt even better when Atmananda, who liked the new car,
reminded the Centre of how advanced a soul I really was.
When the disciples began to treat me with a mellow kind of reverence--
a phenomenon local, perhaps, to southern California--I was thrilled.
I had an intuitive grasp on how to wield the ad hoc power,
but I did not grasp that it was the power which was actually
wielding me.
Meanwhile, Atmananda had added "money collector" to the growing list
of my responsibilities. This task, he cautioned, was not without
its dangers. "Money is physically dirty," he said, as though
telling me a secret. "It also retains and transmits the greed
of its handlers. Always wash your hands after you touch it."
But he did not always ask me to collect it directly.
In 1981, he asked me to inspire Richard, a tall,
large-hearted disciple who owned a raquet-stringing shop in
La Jolla. Richard, who appeared to love Guru even more than he
loved tennis, was on the verge of purchasing a million-dollar
house, which he planned to rent to the Centre at a bargain rate.
"How's your game coming along?" I asked him.
"Oh, not too bad I suppose."
"Are you ready to play against Guru?"
"Guru is not going to want to play tennis with me."
"Sure he is. Only if I were you, I'd let him win every so often."
We laughed.
"How's the deal going?" I asked.
His gaiety suddenly vanished. "It almost went through," he said.
"But someone pulled out at the last minute...again."
"Oh well," I tried. "Maybe there's someone else who could help."
No response.
"Wouldn't it be great," I continued, "to have the Centre across
the street from UCSD? Parking sure wouldn't be a problem anymore.
And picture a meditation room overlooking the ocean--a meditation room
large enough to hold everyone."
He nodded.
"Imagine Guru coming to San Diego and visiting us at the new Centre!"
"That would be nice," he admitted.
"Remember Richard," I added, working in a quote from Atmananda,
"whatever you really want you will get."
"You're right," he said resolutely. "I'll just keep trying."
After several more setbacks the deal went through, and Atmananda,
Dana, Anne, Tammy, and I moved in. Atmananda occasionally paced
the carpets of the new Centre, improvising a song from Fiddler On The
Roof in which pious dairyman Tevya aspires for a little wealth from God.
"If I were a realized soul!" Atmananda began. "Ahhh yaahtuh
daahtuh daahtuh yaahtuh daahtuh daahtuh daahtuh duhm.
All day long I'd bittih bittih buhm. If I were a realized soul!
Ahhh wouldn't have to work hard..."
Once at the new Centre, Atmananda recited for me the money mantra.
"Ya devi sarva bhutesu ratna rupena sangsthita nastasvai namastvai
namastvai namo nama," he chanted soulfully.
If I could have followed his words down the corridors of time,
I would have seen him--
Ya devi...
Dramatically increasing the cost of public meditation lectures
and seminars.
...sarva bhutesu...
Charging one thousand dollars a person for weekend desert trips
(1987).
...ratna rupena...
Increasing his advertising budget from hundreds (1977) to hundreds
of thousands (1987).
...sangsthita...
Requesting that manditory tuition--which took the place of the voluntary
Money Club--be paid in hundred dollar denominations to avoid "low vibe"
tens and twenties. Suggesting that followers hold off on tax payments
until "later." Raising monthly tuition from one hundred dollars
(1982) to approximately thirty-five hundred dollars (1993).
...nastasvai...
Driving a Renault LeCar (1979), a BMW (1981), a 911 Porsche
(1982), a 928 Porsche (1983), a turbo Carerra Porsche (1984), a Bentley
(1991). Keeping seven cars at his New York property:
three Mercedes Benzes, two Porsches and two Range Rovers
(1991).
...namastvai namastvai...
Renting the Del Mar castle, complete with turrets, a walk-in fireplace,
and a full-court basketball-game-sized living room (1982). Renting
in Malibu what he claimed was Goldie Hawn's house (1983). Spending
roughly nine hundred dollars per night for a hotel suite where his dog
enjoyed a room of its own (1988). Buying a house on Conscience Bay
in Old Field, New York, for about nine-hundred-fifty thousand dollars
(1988). Buying a house in Tesuque, a suburb near Sante Fe,
New Mexico, for about eight-hundred-seventy-five thousand dollars
(1990). Spending approximately one million dollars on each house
for electronic security systems and renovations (1991). Renting Sting's
house in Malibu Colony for about twenty-five thousand dollars a month
(1992).
...namo nama.
I spent many happy hours with Atmananda, in the plushly carpeted
meditation room, watching the Pacific Ocean as I listened to him sing
and talk about his dreams. Deeply believing that millions would be
made happy, I refused to acknowledge that millions would soon be made.
And though I never chanted the money mantra, I helped my housemate
who did.