nt 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. Graduati