the phone. He told them that Chinmoy was directing a "special
force" toward our new, million-dollar Centre in La Jolla. He told them
about our now legendary recruitment drive. He told them about our
feasts.

These disciples missed Atmananda. They missed his advice, friendship,
and love. They missed his extended family. They missed him coaxing,
"Eat, eat."

When Sal moved west, he joined the disciples who ate each week at a
Mexican restaurant with Atmananda. One time Atmananda declared, "I
wonder where The Gwid has been hiding these days."

Sal said, "You would not believe how many people have asked me that
very question."

"You swine!" cried Atmananda. "All along you've been hiding him
in... your nose!"

"How can you tell?"

"Hah--so you doubt my ability to see!"

A few minutes later, the waiter arrived. I ordered a quesadilla and a
chile relleno.

"C'mon kid," said Atmananda, "where's your capacity?"

I admitted I was low on money.

"Stop worrying about money," he admonished. "If you're in the right
consciousness, believe me, the money will come."

"Okay," I agreed, adding a large cheese crisp to the order. So the
disciples, now reunited with Sal, happily broke bread and chips with
our nurturing spiritual shepherd. A ditty from the Paul Winter song
Icarus played in the background.

Atmananda often spoke about myths. Icarus, according to Greek
mythology, took flight from prison on wings of wax which were crafted
by Daedalus, his father. Despite warnings from Daedalus, Icarus soared
too near the sun and fell with melted wings to his death in the sea.

I knew about the myth of Icarus from my childhood. "Icarus was
punished," my father had taught me, "because humans are not supposed to
fly among the gods."

Atmananda did not teach the myth of Icarus. He spoke, instead, about
the role of the Self-Sacrificing Hero. "Be like a star," he said at
Centre meetings, citing Guru, Gandhi, and Jesus Christ. "Burn your own
substance so that others may see."

Yet as the months in southern California slipped by, he spoke
increasingly about the myth of the Fluid Warrior. "Be fluid," he said.
"Don't let people pin you down as being a certain way." Perhaps, then,
the deviation from his role as Feeder Of The Tribe should have come as
no surprise. It was during a Centre meeting that he announced the
fast. Missing meals for thirteen days, he explained, would raise the
level of our consciousness, incre