continued to astonish myself with my own profundity, that I had finally
entered a world similar to the ones described in the Castaneda books.

Suddenly Rama raised his arms and made a whistling sound. The
disciples looked at him as if he were a god. I felt detached from the
scene, as if I were observing myself observe the disciples observe the
man acting like a sorcerer. Soon I detected a faint glow from the
corner of my eye. I gazed at what I felt was an incredible source of
power, beauty, and wisdom. It was the rocks. They were glowing.

On the drive back to Malibu, Rama was perhaps experiencing flashbacks
from the late '60s, because he "let me do my own thing." As a result, I
rode with him in front, but focused on Cindy in back. Her flowing,
blond hair and radiant face had made an impression on me long before
she appeared on the cover of Rama's newspaper. I turned around often
to smile at her.

"Hey there!" I said at one point.

Cindy looked slightly embarrassed. "Hey there!" she returned
sheepishly.

This is fun, I thought. For the first time in years, things were
looking up.

18. Where's My Tribe?

In the fall of 1984, Rama took twenty-eight disciples for a ride around
the western United States. The purpose of the trip, he said, was to
*see* which city we were supposed to move to. I was glad that he had
invited me. I liked the idea of searching for a home. I loved to
travel. And I looked forward to an exercise in *seeing*. "This is
going to be fun," I thought.

The trip began in a parking lot in southern Malibu. Rama raised his
arms, made a whistling sound, and said, "The ocean is your friend. You
do not know how long you have left in this world. You may never see
the ocean again in this lifetime. You should say good-bye."

It was a poignant moment for me. I loved the ocean. "Good-bye," I
thought. Then Rama strode to his Turbo Carerra.

It no longer bothered me that Rama owned two Porsches at a time when
many disciples were struggling to meet the increasing tuition. If he
got what he wanted, I figured, maybe he'd go easy on us during the
scorching demon-and-brimstone monologues. Besides, at three a.m. in
northern Malibu, he once took me over one hundred and twenty miles an
hour. The acceleration had been breathtaking; the ride, smooth.

The disciples now turned from the ocean to their cars. Anne, Dana, and
I walked to our gifts from Rama--two Mazda RX-7's and a Hon