When I rejoined the Centre, I was determined to be a good disciple.
I got a programming job in Newport Beach. I studied advanced
topics in computer science at UC Irvine. I rented a condo
for seven-hundred-twenty-five dollars per month, based on Rama's
suggestion in Boulder. I worked hard, meditated deeply, and stole
three eggs from a supermarket after Rama hiked the tuition again.
Rama treated me with kindness. Perhaps he believed that this time
I was really with him. He invited me to his house. He invited me
to the desert. He invited me to partake in his chemical experiments.
Roughly one hundred fifty miles southeast of the beaches of Orange County,
in the Anza Borrego Desert State Park, was a peak called Split Mountain.
More than thirty miles away, by the edge of the park, was Casa Del Zorro,
a cottage-renting resort catering to the upper middle class.
Here, Rama divined, was a good place to drop acid in a group.
During the drive to Casa Del Zorro, a fast-food restaurant triggered
a flashback of Rama giving Sal and me LSD and taking us to MacDonald's.
"Whatever you do," Rama had said, "don't order a strawberry shake!"
Rama and Sal proceeded to repeat the warning as if it were a mantra.
Perhaps the drug magnified my sensitivity to the way Sal
parroted Rama. Perhaps it magnified my sense of independence.
Perhaps I was not in the mood for chocolate or vanilla. I stumbled
to the counter and ordered a strawberry shake. It was delicious.
Rama and Sal looked at me disapprovingly. I couldn't have
cared less.
The memory of the MacDonald's trip made me smile. Later, as I
approached Casa Del Zorro, I had a flashback of Rama giving me acid
at his home in Malibu. I had been sitting on a rug in the living room.
A Beatles record played. ("You never give me your money...")
Rama entered the room.
"How are you doing, kid?" he asked.
"Not so good." I had been thinking about money. The world
of my finances had appeared as menacing walls of debt that were
surrounding and closing in on me. I felt miserable. Tears formed.
I told Rama what I was going through.
"Listen to the words of the song," he said. ("Oh, that magic feeling,
nowhere to go...") "See, kid? Nowhere to go."