rt of Rama's trip--Rama's
experiment."

I questioned Rama's claim that I was mentally ill and that I could
hardly deal with the real world. I recalled my success as an
undergraduate at a competitive university, as a computer operator and
programmer, and as Rama's distribution coordinator. I recalled his
claim that nearly *everyone* on the planet was mentally ill. "Maybe
Rama isn't qualified to diagnose mental illness," I thought. "Maybe
playing doctor is his way to control people."

At one point during the walk, I wondered what the consequences were for
doubting the "Last Incarnation of Vishnu." But Rama had encouraged us,
in the early years, to question him and to think for ourselves.
"Besides," I thought, "I haven't burst into flames yet." So I went
right on remembering, questioning, and thinking.

I thought about The Razor's Edge, a movie about one man's attempt to
walk the narrow path between the spiritual and the mundane. What
struck me about the film was that the man does not have a guru. Life
is his teacher.

I recalled the hour-long conversation I had had with Donald Kohl's
father, and suddenly the dam burst open and a flood of suppressed
memories washed over me. I pictured Rama shouting "Fess up!";
announcing his name change; telling me to swallow the Stelazine;
bursting into my room on the night that I wanted to leave...

I walked briskly back to the condo and knocked on Rama's door. "Things
don't feel right," I told him. "I think I need to take some time off."

"You have to do what is right for you," he replied.

I wanted to make a clean break. I still had a few hundred dollars. I
told him that I wanted to give him back the car.

He frowned. "Your desire to return the gift," he said, "is proof that
you are mentally ill and that you can not function in the real world."

I did not want to stand around and argue. "Okay, Rama," I said and
left. I felt primed for action. I was not scared. I felt sure I was
doing the right thing. I said good-bye to the disciples, packed, and
started to back out of the lot, when I saw Laura in the rearview
mirror, signaling me to wait.

"Rama wants to see you!" she exclaimed.

My impulse was to press the accelerator. After all, he might try and
get me to stay, as he did years before in La Jolla. But I felt that I
had come a long way since 1981. I felt confident that I could handle
myself. Besides, I was curious. I let Laura lead me to him.

Rama