I forgot about Anne and
carefully followed his words.

"Advanced seekers say that after they attain enlightenment they will
return to earth to help others. But most of them end up choosing
eternal ecstasy instead."

I vowed to come back and help the downtrodden.

"It is even rarer for fully enlightened souls to return," he said,
pointing out that his Guru was fully enlightened.

Fully enlightened souls, Atmananda explained, were aware of those who
meditated sincerely on their photograph. Atmananda then instructed us
to meditate on the Transcendental. After about ten minutes of silence
he asked, "Who saw the light around Guru?"

One woman shot up her hand. Then another. I admitted to myself that I
thought I saw the photo glow.

"Guru flooded you with light from another world," he explained. Then,
inviting the audience to experience the "advanced" side of
self-discovery, he told us about Chinmoy's free weekly meditations at
St. Paul's Chapel, Columbia University.

By this time, in keeping with Atmananda's suggestions, my brother had
applied to study with Chinmoy. He was accepted. He lived near the
State University of New York at Stony Brook, near the eight or so
Chinmoy disciples, near Atmananda. When I asked him to take me to his
Guru, he said that he would.

We met at our parents' home. He wore all white clothes. "White
symbolizes purity--the spiritual quality men need to develop most," he
explained, quoting Chinmoy. "Wearing white only adds one or two
percent more purity to your consciousness, but every bit helps."

My mother came into the room and looked at my brother.

"Uh-oh," I thought. I felt bad for my mother. She typically had to
deal with me and my brother on her own. Perhaps in anticipation of an
ulcer condition, my father tended to avoid so-called family
discussions. "If only she would leave us alone," I figured, "she would
not get so bent out of shape."

I also felt bad for my brother. Everything he did, it seemed,
aggravated my parents. "They should support him in his spiritual
quest," I decided.

Now my mother looked upset. I did not know it then, but she was not
upset that her sons were interested in yoga. In her youth she had
satisfied a similar interest in the East by taking a course on Gandhi's
philosophy. She grew concerned, however, when she realized that we
were intensely focusing on one person--on a living guru.

"Where are you boys going?" she asked.

"It'