Atmananda made a fist and shut his eyes.
"Watch out!" cried my rational side. But he seemed sincere
and vulnerable, and I found myself gazing at him.
"Contemplate mountains--not him!" I thought. But in him I saw
a man who could see; who read people's inner thoughts and feelings;
who predicted the future; who glowed after I stared at him intensely
for several minutes; who spent hundreds of hours teaching me about
worlds of enchantment, excitement, and nobility; and who banked on
a career of making millions happy.
"Sure he's got a lot to offer," I thought, "but he's got that other side--
I need to get away!" But in him I saw the community I had helped build,
a community which included all my current friends.
"Help build another community! Find new friends!" But in him I
saw my aspiration to be a seeker of Truth--as well as my desire
to wield power over others.
"He's playing a power game--run!"
Atmananda opened his eyes. He seemed displeased and hurt.
He appeared as both a mother and father figure. He towered over me.
He exuded self-confidence.
I grimaced. Over the past few years, I had occassionally
questioned Chinmoy's authenticity in the back of my mind.
Over the past few months, I had occasionally questioned Atmananda's
authenticity in the back of my sleepy mind. Over the past few days,
I had continuously questioned Atmananda's authenticity in the forefront
of my rested mind. But now, the conflict, which pitted my rational
nature against my mystical nature, became too much to endure.