he "surface" world of
reason. I came to believe that I could find these things by studying
with a sorcerer in a desert in Mexico, by gazing at an underexposed
photograph of a *fully* enlightened Indian man, and by following the
etiquette of a warm, funny, brilliant, persona-flipping man with a
Ph.D. in English. I later looked to Gandhi and to William Shirer for
answers. But as I rode west from Concord, Massachusetts, I found a
teacher inside myself, and the lessons worked for me.

I learned that it is important not to follow someone blindly, even if
he is truly childlike, humble, self-giving, and "Self-Realized"; even
if he is a friend; and particularly if he is reluctant to openly admit
that he can be seduced by his power over others. Genuine teachers
encourage their students to question them throughout the *entire*
apprenticeship, because genuine teachers accept their own imperfect
human nature.

I learned that it is important to balance the mystical with the
rational. Meditation tends to open the mind to suggestion. The art of
the mystic seems to be, therefore, to know when to let go, be
spontaneous, and open up to the universe, and when to gain control, use
the power of reason, and protect the body, mind, and soul.

I learned, too, that it is not necessary to focus on a leader, a
philosophy, or a technique to contact deep mystical currents. By
facing intense sunlight and storms during the bike trek, I was in
direct contact with the ancient, transcendental kingdom of nature. By
observing my thoughts clarify as they projected and pulsed over fields,
lakes, and mountains, I drew closer to the land, to the creation. By
wrestling with winds born of colossal power, I was forced to make
constant leaps of faith to merely carry on. But now, sitting by the
Eskimo dog, I contemplated the awesome blackness of the night. I was
unaware that the bicycle journey itself had been a natural expression
of mysticism.

The following day, I ascended the purple peaks of the Continental
Divide. The sky was clear; the wind, calm. A sign indicated that
waters to the east flowed toward the Atlantic, and to the west, the
Pacific. It did not indicate that the waters might return and follow a
different path. I dismounted the 12-speed. Fragments of Rama's deepest
hooks still lurked in my heart. But I was doing better now. The
healing process had begun. Facing the east while walking backwards to
the west, I quickly retracted