I nodded. My doubts remained submerged.

"We are not about to desert you. But you have to understand that you
*are* mentally ill. All along, you thought that this was some kind of
game. You did not take my warnings about the Forces seriously. You
opened up your consciousness to them, and now you are paying the price."

I nodded again.

"Of course, there is still hope. But you've got to stop fighting me.
You've got to act *now*." He instructed me to take the drug. I had no
premonition as I swallowed the Stelazine that Atmananda would later
call me his "chemical experiment."

In the days that followed, Atmananda seemed to enjoy his assumed role
as psychiatrist and nurse. He knocked on my door several times a day
and, in a cheery voice, announced, "Hi, kid--reality check. How do you
feel?"

"Dizzy," I replied. I smiled. I was enjoying Atmananda's attention
and kind treatment. "I feel pretty relaxed."

"Good," he said. "Now tell me about your thoughts."

I did.

He seemed pleased that I was finding it difficult to concentrate, that
my thoughts had a fuzzy, dream-like quality to them, and that my
self-analyzing, authority-questioning nature had submerged beyond my
control.

"You should feel good about yourself," he said pleasantly. "You are
making some definite progress."

14. Bicycle Ride--St. Ignes

Two weeks into the cross-country bicycle trek, I pedaled from Utica,
New York, to Rochester, where I stayed with Noah, a childhood friend.
When I told him the story of my years with Atmananda, he congratulated
me for having left what sounded to him like an abusive marriage. In
fact, he was surprised that Atmananda did not have sexual relations
with the men disciples as a way to control them. He also pointed out
that while in medical school, he had observed self-proclaimed
incarnations of Jesus Christ at psychiatric wards.

"How can you be sure that someone *isn't* enlightened?" I asked,
puzzled by the certainty with which Noah expressed his opinions.

"How can you be sure that someone *is*?" he replied.

I thought about the visit as I continued the journey west to Detroit.
Noah's reluctance to give a person or an idea the benefit of the doubt,
and the scrutiny with which he questioned words such as
"enlightenment," seemed bizarre but not entirely unnatural, like a
trusted habit long forgotten.

Several days later, I rushed down a long hill in northern Michigan
toward an oncoming