ase our personal power, and bring us
closer to Guru. "Besides," he said, "it's the thaaang."

I longed to raise my consciousness, increase my power, and develop a
deeper connection with Chinmoy. I wanted to maintain my status as an
"advanced" follower. I hungered, too, for Atmananda's approval. About
twenty of us agreed to limit our nourishment to a glass or two of juice
a day.

Painful, dizzying hours of drinking water passed. Several devotees,
including Atmananda, claimed that their meditations were growing
increasingly powerful. In contrast, my efforts to empty my mind were
interrupted by gurgling complaints rumbling up from the caverns of my
gut. I found myself concentrating not on eternal salvation, but on
persistent growls. I found myself thinking not about God, but about
vast quantities of food.

On the sixth day of the fast, I stood at the edge of the meditation
room trying not to think about the sharp pains now forking my belly. I
gazed at the larger-than-life Transcendental on the tall, wooden table.
Atmananda typically lectured from beside this shrine. It was also from
here that he continued his effort to spread Spiritual Light--to play
guru--during public and private meditations. After weekly Centre
meetings, Atmananda often cooked for the nearly one hundred Chinmoy
disciples. It was a joy to watch him sing and dance around the
kitchen, adding spice to our lives and to the simmering vats of Indian
curry. On occasion, he asked Cheryl to cook for the Centre. He loved
the way her eggplant parmigiano patties tasted. Leftovers were wrapped
in aluminum foil and stored in the freezer.

On the seventh day, I opened the door to the freezer and there, wrapped
in aluminum foil, were eggplant parmigiano patties waiting to be
plucked like gems from a cave. I felt weak and disoriented. I was so
hungry. Memories of the peppery patties brought back the luscious
aroma. I thrust my hand toward a shimmering treasure...

On the eighth day, I wondered if I should confess that I had cheated.
I recalled the story of a priest who, out of concern for his
congregation, hid his doubts about God. I, too, chose not to confess,
and the ensuing guilt served to strengthen my resolve not to stray from
Atmananda's suggested path again. And though I did eat part of a
patty, I still shared with the disciples an overpowering emptiness and
a heightened receptivity to the fast leader.

During the second week, my medita