In August, 1985, I began spending time with old friends and with people
from work. I felt awkward. I did not know what to talk about.
They used words like concerts, bar hop, chaser, dive, dude, hot babe,
married, pregnant, job security, tax break, investment, global economy,
third world, cold war, Reagan, Saturday Night Live, and Letterman.
Their language felt alien to me. They used "party" as a verb, not as a noun.
They used "to see" as a way to describe what they did with their eyes
and with their mind, not what they did with their inner being.
I learned to navigate within their world, but felt like I did
not belong.
The initial reentry into society was difficult in other ways.
I found myself constantly reverting back to Rama's world of fear,
isolation, and self-doubt. When I had eye contact with someone,
for instance, I had to remind myself that my reservoir of mystical
power was not being drained. When I saw a flicker of light,
I had to remind myself that the reflection was not Negative Forces.
When a non-disciple told me of his or her hopes and dreams, I had
to remind myself that theirs was not simply a world of illusion.
And when I thought of my own hopes and dreams, I had to remind
myself that I was not a mentally ill zombie unable to deal with the
real world.
I realized that Rama had taught me to think this way.
I also realized that I could, in time, unlearn these associations.
I told myself I was doing okay. I was doing well at my job.
I was saving money and paying off loans. I was commuting to work
each day by bicycle. I was slowly getting stronger.
One day I had a conversation with the vice president of my company.
I respected him. He seemed to be creative, bright, and energetic.
He told me that he read a great deal. "I try to learn many
different philosophies," he said. "A philosophy that discourages
you from learning other philosophies is a good one to avoid."
I liked his approach to knowledge. I was impressed that such wisdom
was available in an office building in downtown Boston. I was impressed
that in his own way, my boss was a seeker.
Another weekend a childhood friend invited me to a beach party in New York.
There I met Christina, a young woman with long legs and deep blue eyes.
I started driving to New York often. One evening, the phone rang.
I had been expecting a call from Christina.
"Hi, Agni," said a woman's voice. It was Dana.
"I should have changed my number," I thought.
"There's going to be a meeting at Rama's for the Stony Brook group,"
she said. "Can you make it?"
"I'm doing okay on my own," I reminded myself. "I don't need
to see Rama."
"Rama said it's going to be our last meeting together," she added.
I nearly laughed. He had been holding "last meetings" for years.
I wondered if he were trying to suck me back into his organization.
I thought about the disciples and about my brother. I had not seen them
in weeks. "I'll be there," I told her.
Late the following night I rode my three-speed toward Needham.
Rama typically conducted business between two and four a.m.
because "the world's psychic energy was calm" and, perhaps,
because disciples at that time tended to be tired and off balance.
Yet as I pedaled through the dark and empty streets, blood pulsed
quickly through my veins. I felt alert. I wore all black.
Black for me was a symbol of power. I wore around my neck a string
with a bicycle lock key. I had worn such a string during bike
trips of my youth, before locking on to Rama's path. The key was
a reminder that waiting just outside Rama's door was the trusted
three-speed.
I entered the house. The disciples seemed friendly toward me.
Rama approached. He said, "You look much better, Agni."
I offered him a classical music tape. This was my way of saying
that I harbored no ill feelings.
He accepted.
It was well past midnight and the twelve had arrived. Actually there
were only ten but we counted Tom's spirit. We also counted Lakshmi,
the Centre's patron goddess.
Rama served a red wine which he said was expensive. I recalled
that weeks before, he had counseled disciples to avoid alcohol.
He showed us a cake decorated with the image of a frog. "You will get
some cake after the meeting," he said, as though addressing a group
of children. The decoration reminded me of Kermit. I wondered
if he had reincarnated the symbol as part of a spiritual lesson,
or if it was just icing on the cake.
A few minutes later Rama put on electronic music, picked up
the original Bliss puppet, and started to dance.
The disciples watched, their faces aglow with adoration. I wondered
if I used to look like that. "Don't watch," I thought and walked away.
In a corner of the room, I quietly danced with a Bliss of my own.
The music stopped. Rama instructed us to sit in a circle in the living room.
I hesitated. "Something about this doesn't feel right," I thought.
I sat down, nonetheless, and meditated with the group.
Roughly forty-five minutes later, Rama began to speak about the rapid
deterioration of the earth's psychic energy field. His language
sounded strange to me. Terms such as "Entities" and "occult attack"
no longer seemed natural.
Several minutes after that Rama's bright, friendly eyes
suddenly hardened. "Instead of aspiring to the higher worlds,"
he accused, "you are evolving into a horde of angry sorcerers."
"What am I doing here?" I wondered. "I don't have to listen
to this."
"You are trying to increase your personal power by attacking each other--
and me--in the Dream Plane," he charged. "I have no choice
but to disband your Circle Of Power."
"This is why he called us here?" I thought. The tension in the room
felt like nails in my stomach. I glanced at the door.
Rama explained that our final task, before he disbanded the Circle,
was to take turns confronting one another. "It is very important
for each of you to voice what is *really* going down," he said.
The people in the orginal inner circle had been through a lot together.
The first few seemed reluctant to adopt his suggested role as angry,
finger-pointing sorcerers. They said things like, "I think you may be
sending me some bad vibrations in the inner worlds."
Rama frowned. "You think you are acting like Warriors, but you
are really acting like wimps. If you don't *'fess up* now,
it will be extremely difficult for you to continue making spiritual
progress later on."
"You've been attacking me in the Dream Plane!" my brother accused
me and several others.
"You've been trying to steal my power for years!" countered Sal
when it came his turn.
"Yes," approved Rama.
Instead of listening and preparing for my turn, I recalled the way Big
Nurse inspired patients to rat on each other. "Rama is manipulating us,"
I thought. "He's getting us to turn on one another. He's dividing us.
Divide and conquer."
Suddenly it was my turn. I did not know what to say. I stood up.
The others had remained seated. I turned to Rachel. ("I have
always liked you," I thought.) I said, "We have gotten along well.
I don't see any problems between us."
Rama looked surprised. This was not the kind of response he
had in mind.
Rachel smiled at me.
I turned to Suzanne. ("You say that I suffer from delusions that
I'm Luke Skywalker. Perhaps.") I said, "I hardly even know you."
I turned to Dana. ("I've had a crush on you since the time
in the San Diego airport, under the palms.") I said, "I don't know
if you've been sending me sexual energy or what, but for years
I've been very attracted to you."
She raised her eyebrows. So did Rama. So did the others.
I had broken a taboo. Sexual attraction was not something we were
supposed to discuss, particularly in a group, particularly with Rama,
particularly regarding one of Rama's women, and *particularly*
regarding Dana who, along with Anne, was Rama's closest disciple.
I turned to Anne. ("If only I were older.") I said, "I feel
the same way about you."
More looks of surprise.
I felt exhilarated. I was not accustomed to voicing my gut feelings.
I turned to Sal. ("No, old friend, I'm not trying to steal your power.")
I said, "You have gotten a little paranoid over the past few years.
I hope you can work it out."
He frowned.
I turned to Donna. ("Are you still planning to marry Rama?")
I said, "I have no problem with you."
She nodded.
I turned to Paul. ("What's the penguin doing on the tehlee?")
I said, "We are friends."
He grinned.
"In other words," Rama interrupted, "you have Paul wrapped around
your finger. You have learned much." His twisted compliment threw
me off balance, and I failed to defend the seven-year friendship.
I turned to my brother. ("Love ya, bro.") I said, "I am not
attacking you in the Dream Plane."
"Oh no?" Rama interrupted again.
"I'm not conscious of it."
"Oh, sure you're not," mocked Rama. Then, in a professorial voice,
he explained how, in each family, only a limited amount of power could
be passed to the offspring. "Typically, one child claims most of it.
The others are often so drained that they don't even notice
it's gone."
"Rama is an only child," I thought.
"Agni used to have the power," he went on. "Now Dan has it.
They will have to fight each other for the rest of their lives..."
"That's bull!" I shouted.
The disciples looked shocked. No one spoke that way to Rama.
Now I was angry. It was still my turn. I turned to Rama.
My heart was pounding. ("Why do you tell Dana to tell me to tell
Tom to call you? Why can't you call your old friend on your own?
You're playing power games.") I said, "You're a grown man. You have
a Ph.D. You run a computer company and a spiritual organization.
Given three phone numbers, I think you should be able to contact Tom
by *yourself*." I sat down, stunned. I had spoken honestly to Rama.
It was invigorating.
"That's going to be a tough act to follow," admitted Rama.
Then he began to speak. Within minutes he transported me
with a tranquilizing voice and abstract language inside a fuzzy,
familiar bubble where words were not questioned and consciousness
seemed high. I found myself being drawn into his world.
It was comforting being back. Earlier, he had given me some play.
That made me feel important. I let my thoughts drift aimlessly about.
I found myself gazing, without blinking, into his eyes.
I found myself mesmerized by the sound and the rhythm of his words.
Somewhere far away, I found myself floating...my vision blurred...things went
fuzzy...
"Hey!" I thought, bursting the mental bubble. "He's formatting
us again--only this time without the LSD!"