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Updated: May 5, 2025
Atmananda often claimed that his photograph was a doorway to his "awareness field," and now I wondered if he was watching me through the posters on the wall. I felt uneasy and left. I walked to a nearby computer terminal room. I logged on and played Star Trek. The E on the screen was the Enterprise. R's were Romulans. K's were Klingons. Klingons had stealth devices.
I sensed the disciples had taken Atmananda's caveat seriously. My stomach felt taut. I thanked Chinmoy silently. Atmananda had meanwhile flipped to a less somber mood. "One of the best ways to combat the Forces," he said, "is to have fun." So we went out to eat.
The conflict between my rational and mystical natures did not seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter. "You're doing fine, kid," Atmananda had told me each day. "Just go with the flow and enjoy the process." Stunned by the memory, I held the husky in my arms. Nunatak was a wonderful traveling companion. Each day she tugged and leaped alongside the rig as if she were a full-grown sled dog.
'Good' and 'evil' become mere words, mere concepts in a universe where only experience matters. So why be attached to the good side of the force?" I wanted to believe that Atmananda meant: "Why worry about being good if you become goodness itself?" But other memories surfaced, and I became overwhelmed by a nauseating sense that he had something else in mind.
It made me upset and confused when Atmananda flipped to his emerging, hostile personality. "But if it is the highest good that you seek," he said, returning to a gentler tongue, "you have come to the right place." I suppressed a yawn. He had been speaking awhile, and it was well past midnight.
I did not doubt the images cast on the back of my eyes by my brain. Nor did I doubt Atmananda. In the months after the week-and-a-half-long Stelazine experiment, the doubts and the conflict had vanished. I was reluctant to speak because my vision had been so subtle, so fleeting.
"Don't let it bother you, kid. You're doing fine." "Whew," I thought, happy to forget about it. Perhaps Atmananda had been happy to forget about it too because he began giving me other things to think about. He understood that by controlling a university club, he gained legitimacy, prestige, and unlimited access to free lecture halls. I saw no harm in Atmananda's request.
"Karma yoga, the path of selfless service, is perhaps the noblest of the paths if you can avoid feeling superior to those whom you serve. Mahatma Gandhi was a karma yogi, though he never actually attained enlightenment." "How can he be so sure?" I wondered. "Maybe Gandhi *had* attained enlightenment." I also wondered if Atmananda would end up serving himself rather than the Infinite.
I also realized that my doubts were based on the premise of rationality, the very nature of which Atmananda had taught me was limited, flawed, and often destructive. "I suppose Chinmoy *could* be the Cosmic Boatman," I told myself as part of a compromise. Days later, after one of Atmananda's public lectures, I grew curious about my earlier vision of the snow. I asked Atmananda to explain.
Richard, who had bought the million-dollar Centre, raised his hand and said, "Atmananda, isn't there anything we can do to help Guru?" "Your sentiment is a noble one," Atmananda replied. "But you have to be careful. If you are swimming near a sinking ocean liner, it doesn't matter how nice a person you are you'll be sucked under when the ship goes down.
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