t have sent me
back to New York on the next available flight. But Chinmoy and
Atmananda had explained that sex saps psychic growth. And I was
concerned that Atmananda and Dana might be in some sort of relationship
already. Besides, I never had had a girlfriend and was at a loss as to
what to say. I paused, and Atmananda and Rachel appeared with the
rental car.

Atmananda often displayed an extraordinary sensitivity toward what
people around him were thinking and now, as we approached the Centre
for the first time, I wondered if he had timed his arrival back at the
airport based on my wayward desire. I also wondered how to diffuse my
crush on Dana.

"Don't worry," I told myself. "Guru will help me work it out."

Now Atmananda told his passengers that the new Centre was only a few
blocks away. He had chosen a house on Cliffridge Avenue where, in the
name of the Guru, we would fight evil forces and make millions happy.
Before turning left on Cliffridge, we drove past Nottingham and Robin
Hood.

The lawns in the neighborhood seemed like tiny golf courses. Atmananda
pulled into one of the driveways, got out of the car, and said, "Here
we are." Then he strode down the path as though leading us to his
castle.

He claimed the master bedroom which overlooked the garden. Dana's was
next to his. Then mine. Then Connie's. Then Rachel's.

"Welcome to Atmananda's bar and grill," he grinned from behind the
kitchen counter, pretending to serve us.

Adjacent to the kitchen was the meditation room, where Atmananda
planned to conduct weekly meetings for the soon-to-be-recruited Chinmoy
disciples. From the meditation room I could see the long, narrow yard
and the large, wooden deck which he christened "the flogging platform."
On the steep hill past the deck, legions of spidery plants advanced
imperceptibly toward the garden.

Nearly every day during the first few weeks in San Diego, Atmananda
drove us to La Jolla Shores Beach. There, he led Rachel, Dana, and me
to where the water was over our heads. Connie was intimidated by the
Pacific surf and did not immerse herself the way the rest of us did.
With Atmananda's guidance, however, that would soon change.

Two years before, in New York, Atmananda and Tom had tried to swim
across a channel in the Long Island Sound. Though a strong swimmer,
Tom grew fatigued fighting the swift current, and Atmananda risked his
life to save his friend from being swept to sea.

No