tions began to improve. Typically,
when I gazed at the Transcendental, I only saw a subtle glow around the
photo. Now I saw thousands of swirling dots swimming before me.
Typically, when I meditated on my heart chakra, I had to remind myself
to visualize the ocean. Now I became immersed in a world of blue
light. Typically, when I realized that I was having a powerful
mystical experience, I found it difficult to reenter a state of
meditation after a self-congratulatory interruption. Now I found it
easy to resubmerge my awareness into a thoughtless calm.

My newfound calm, however, was broken by what Atmananda said at a
Centre meeting several days later. He announced that he had recently
attained levels of consciousness so powerful and sublime that he was no
longer the person that we thought him to be. Each time he dipped into
these higher realms of perception, his old self died and a new one
emerged, forged in the fires of what he called perfection.

"A number of you have already sensed the change," he said. "I first
started entering into these higher states--which I call basement
samadhi--during deep meditation. Recently, though, I have been
slipping in and out of them spontaneously: while walking at the beach,
for instance, or while eating at Howard Johnson's. Now I am finding
that I can enter them at will." Atmananda repeatedly described his
newfound abilities until the disciples, a number of whom had not eaten
in nearly two weeks, appeared to accept the restructuring.

After the meeting I sat on the toilet, contemplating what had passed
through Atmananda's lips. "What is going on?" I wondered. "Who does
he think he is?" I felt angry and confused. I had been taught that
samadhi was a state of consciousness so exalted that precious few
enlightened souls achieved it. But now I was dizzy and nauseous from
hunger. I was having difficulty concentrating. I saw swirling dots
before me whether I was meditating or not. I found myself realizing
that Atmananda had studied meditation in past lives. I found myself
realizing that he was an advanced disciple of the Guru. I found myself
feeling bad that I had doubted so advanced a soul, so educated a man,
and so close a friend.

"The thing to remember," I told myself, recalling Atmananda's lessons
on humility, "is that it's only *basement* samadhi."

After the fast, Atmananda took me to an Orange Julius shop in a mall.
We sat by a window, sipping the sweet, r