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Updated: May 5, 2025
"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.
Later, Atmananda sang a revised version of I Don Quixote from Man of La Mancha: Hear me heathens and wizards and servants of sin, All your dastardly doings are past, For a holy endeavor is now to begin, I am I Atmananda the humble and pure! My destiny calls and I go, And the wild winds of fortune shall carry me onward, Oh whither soever they blow. Whither soever they blow, Onward to glory I go!
I wondered if there were a genuine need in humans not only to categorize and comprehend, but to acknowledge and to address, in unscientific terms, the mystery of that which creates, binds, animates, and destroys. And I wondered if teachers like Atmananda were increasingly exploiting such a need in millions who, for whatever reasons, had chosen a path apart from conventional religion.
I looked again at Sal, a twenty-year-old with a large, creased forehead. He had studied computer engineering first at CalTech, and now at Stony Brook. He also studied guitar and drama. He cradled the eggplant parmigiano hero lovingly in his hands and closed his eyes before each bite, as if bracing for the next dose of ecstasy. "Observe the maestro chow hound," Atmananda announced. We laughed.
I was told that they would now have to meditate extra hard to cleanse themselves of such "lower energy." I wished that we could be friends. They seemed so nice. Rachel, with light brown hair and perceptive eyes, was closer in age to Atmananda than the rest of us.
Atmananda pulled into one of the driveways, got out of the car, and said, "Here we are." Then he strode down the path as though leading us to his castle. He claimed the master bedroom which overlooked the garden. Dana's was next to his. Then mine. Then Connie's. Then Rachel's. "Welcome to Atmananda's bar and grill," he grinned from behind the kitchen counter, pretending to serve us.
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.
I remembered Atmananda telling me that California boasted many lovely, friendly women! I realized that such a move would distance me from my parents, who continued to worry that I was in a cult! I also realized that such a move would distance me from Guru. But I now believed that the Light would reach me in whichever state I inhabited.
Now, as I listened to the gurgling river, I realized that Atmananda had made the same remark two years later, when he announced that Chinmoy had fallen. I realized, too, that there were other foreshadowings of his rise to power. There were the money and the "surprise gift" schemes. There was the basement samadhi announcement, which came during a debilitating thirteen-day fast.
After I left Rama's inner circle in 1985, I occasionally bicycled to Walden Pond, where I read about Thoreau's experiment with self-reliance. My seven years in the cult of Rama Dr. Frederick Lenz, who was known early on as Atmananda had deeply shaken my confidence.
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