with him anywhere, partly because I
was not keen on going home, and partly because he was so compelling.
There was something about him that felt nurturing yet electric, casual
yet happening.

"Yes!" we chimed.

Atmananda organized rides, gave directions, warned us about potholes
and drunk drivers, and suggested that we maintain a meditative
consciousness, lest we lose the Guru's light. Then he led us away from
the other Chinmoy disciples, from the chapel, from the campus, and onto
the streets.

I watched the blur of city lights from the back of Atmananda's Saab,
which hurtled through the streets at a velocity close to that of a New
York taxi. He skillfully avoided potholes and drunk drivers. He told
my brother of his plan to have Stony Brook disciples advertise his free
public lectures by placing posters in Manhattan. I relaxed, believing
he was in control.

At Au Natural, a yogurt shop, Atmananda introduced me to the Stony
Brook disciples. There were Anne, Dana, and Suzanne, the sari-clad
women from his lectures. There was Tom, a dark-haired young man who
was as tall as Atmananda and who seemed easygoing. There was Sal, a
balding young man who seemed intense. There were other Chinmoy
disciples milling around, but the Stony Brook group stuck together.

I expected the conversation would be spiritual, seeing as how we had
just meditated with a fully enlightened guru. To my surprise,
Atmananda and Tom recalled an episode from The Twilight Zone.

"And he totally disappeared."

"Into the fifth dimension."

"Yeah, he really got zapped."

That night, when I got home, I wondered if Atmananda should have been
more meditative. But I recalled that Don Juan often acted absurd,
funny, and irreverent. He did so to balance the utter seriousness of
The Path, as well as to shake up Castaneda's pre-conceived notions of
what it meant to be a seeker. "Besides," I thought, quoting Atmananda,
"who says spirituality can't be fun?"

The following week, I wondered if Chinmoy would accept me as his
disciple. I asked my brother what my odds were.

"If you are drawn to Guru," he said, "the chances are you have studied
with him in past lives. But if he sees that he's not the right teacher
for you, he'll guide you inwardly to the right one."

I wanted to believe what my brother and Atmananda had been telling me.
I wanted to believe that the Guru installed disciple-specific,
invisible channels through which peace, light