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Updated: June 11, 2025
He told stories, for instance, about a legendary character that he called "The Gwid." "The Gwid is close friends with Roshi Megabucks," he said, stroking his chin and smiling. "The Gwid leases all of reality to God." At one Centre meeting, a UCSD anthropology graduate student pointed out that millions in the world were starving. "Shouldn't we be doing something to help?" she asked.
"This is going to sound crazy," said Kara, a UCSD student who seemed entranced by her own melodious voice. "But has Guru fallen?" "Yes." No one stirred. "Why don't you elaborate, Kara?" said Atmananda. "I first felt it a few weeks ago," she said, glancing at the ceiling as if she were trying to recall something.
The meetings began at around seven-thirty p.m. and lasted at times until dawn. I attended each of Atmananda's meetings and, with only two or three hours of sleep per night, quickly grew fatigued. Once my boss at the UCSD Computer Center found me asleep with my upper body resting on a noisy, three-and-a-half-foot-high mainframe printer.
But I did not yet know the details of Tom's sudden departure as I sat in rush hour traffic in Concord, Massachusetts, feeling dejected and lonely. I missed Fran. I missed Kate and Pat, each of whom I had gone out with. I missed Ed, a quick witted UCSD recruit with a passion for mysticism and Jimi Hendrix music.
Because he maintained their names and addresses in a database, he could always swap them back in when the current batch burned out. Nor did I mention that, in response to the intensifying pressure, I had dropped out of UCSD a year before Donald, a sensitive, bright UCLA undergraduate, committed suicide. The longer I spoke with Mr.
"Wouldn't it be great," I continued, "to have the Centre across the street from UCSD? Parking sure wouldn't be a problem anymore. And picture a meditation room overlooking the ocean a meditation room large enough to hold everyone." He nodded. "Imagine Guru coming to San Diego and visiting us at the new Centre!" "That would be nice," he admitted.
"Maybe it's been me all along," I thought. "That's nonsense," I countered. "It's Atmananda who is... " I grimaced. I walked up the incline toward the exit. I left the theatre in a stupor. I felt dizzy and disoriented. My mind again drew a blank. I crossed the street to UCSD. I walked to Revelle College. To the Humanities Library Building. To HL 1402.
Tall, with thick red hair, Mike looked, ate, and at times acted like a wild Viking. In reality, he was a wild UCSD medical student. Once he told me that he occasionally slept in his Volkswagon bus in campus parking lots. "You really do that?" I asked. "Yeah. The cops don't like it, though." "What do they do?" "They shake the van and try to get me to come out." "Do you?" "Nah.
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