Take Me For A Ride | Page 6

squarely on his head.
We sat by the two sari-clad women. They were clearly excited about
something. They used words like inspiration, aspiration, concentration,
visualization, meditation, reincarnation, and perfection. My brother, too,
seemed excited, as if something extraordinary and wonderful were
about to occur. With each passing minute, I found myself growing
more curious, more impatient, and more excited. Fifteen minutes after
the talk was scheduled to begin, the women in saris stopped talking and
looked up.
I looked up too and saw a tall man with a projecting nose and lush
locks. His long strides seemed synchronized with his arms, which
swung like perfectly conflicting pendulums; this motion seemed to
propel him into the room. He sat on the table facing the audience,
folded his legs in the pretzel-like posture seen in Buddha statues, and
introduced himself as Dr. Frederick Lenz. He explained that he had
another name: Atmananda. Then he lit the candles and asked us to drop
our preconceived notions because, "meditation is beyond thought."
"Thought is like a car," he said in a smooth, charming voice. "You can
drive it to California. But if you want to cross the ocean, you will need
an alternate means of transportation. If you want to cross the sea of
consciousness, you will need meditation."
Though his metaphors were new to me, they seemed to point the way
beyond the surface world of reason. He used words like guru, avatar,
warrior, power, power spots, personal power, moments of power,
spiritual power, psychic power, ecstasy, enlightenment, cosmic love,
transcendental, supreme, Nirvana, and the Infinite. When he said it was
time to meditate, I was surprised that he had been speaking for over
forty minutes. It had seemed like five.
"Now extend your index fingers and close your eyes," Atmananda
instructed.
I squinted to see if anyone else was peeking. From what I could tell, the
twenty or so people obeyed him.
"Now say 'me' out loud and touch your chest."
My "me" was muffled by the group's "me".
"You are not only pointing to your chest," Atmananda explained, "but

to your heart chakra, one of seven psychic energy centers associated
with the subtle body. Concentrating on a chakra is an easy way to begin
crossing the sea of consciousness."
So we sat there, drifting, and though I tried to stop my thoughts and
feel the throbbing pulse of my heart chakra, I found myself checking
out the women in saris.
"Very good," he said after about five minutes. Then he suggested that
we sit back, relax, and ask questions.
There was something hauntingly familiar about this confident,
well-spoken, young professor. Perhaps it was the way his chin jutted
forward, the rich timbre of his voice, or his seeming interest in helping
people that reminded me of the cartoon character Dudley-Do-Right. I
felt drawn to him. I found myself staring into his full moon, gripping
eyes. I found myself seeking his attention.
"Can a person be healed by meditating?" I asked, only partly concerned
that I had a cold.
He locked my attention with those eyes...I felt slightly dizzy...it was not
unpleasant...it felt as though I were floating...my vision blurred...things
went fuzzy and white...it appeared as though it were snowing...
"Am I having a vision?" I wondered and immediately the "snow"
vanished. Just then Atmananda seemed unreal, like a superhero from a
cosmic comic-strip that had been cut, enlarged, and inserted into the
room. When he smiled at me, I had the uncanny sense that he knew
what I had felt and seen. Then he left, flanked by the women in saris.

3. The Joining
In the days following Atmananda's talk, I longed to know if my vision
of the "snow" had been a mystical experience, an optical illusion, or a
figment of my imagination. Graduation was only weeks away. I
assumed that Atmananda would help me solve the mystery, and I
counted the days until his next public lecture.
I did not tell my friends much about Atmananda. They seemed content,
even after reading the Castaneda books, to view the world through a
rational framework. In contrast, I grew excited about the possibility of
transcending the world of reason altogether. They were proud of their
letters of acceptance from the Harvards and the Princetons. I was proud
of my letter of acceptance from The School Of Mysticism. My letter

arrived in the form of brilliant white specks which swirled about me
like snow.
Nor did I tell my parents, who represented discord, anxiety, and
manipulation--the opposite of what Atmananda seemed to stand for.
Instead, I spoke with my brother. He and I were close. I wanted to be
just like him. He used words such as disciples, selfless-service,
humanity, humility, purity, soul, soul-mate, past-lives, karma, fast track,
and cosmic evolution. He got