r. I'm going to leave my manipulative, demanding
mother. I'm going to follow a path with heart, and things are going to
get better."

Meanwhile, my mother had asked if she could attend one of the meetings
with the Guru.

"Sure," I replied. I felt I had nothing to hide, and I secretly hoped
that she would wish me well on my journey.

Dressed in Western clothes, she went to St. Paul's Chapel that
Wednesday night and sat near the front. She felt uncomfortable being
surrounded by a sea of whites and saris. She saw disciples praying to
a short, Indian man dressed in robes. Her stomach became tense when
the man placed his hand on the forehead of her youngest son.

I stood in front of the chapel, before Chinmoy, squinting. In the
flickering of the Guru's eyes, I was initiated. I bowed and turned,
and in the audience I saw my mother. I quickly looked away. I saw
myself less as the son of caring, creative, and slightly mixed-up New
York Jews, and more a disciple of the man Atmananda said was perfect.

After initiation, I began to spend less time at home, where I often
heard things like: "Artie, you talk to your son about what he is
getting involved in."

"Leave me alone!" my father replied, irritably.

"It's a *rotten* family!" my mother declared.

I happily spent time instead with my brother, Atmananda, and the other
Stony Brook Chinmoy disciples.

One time, while camping with my brother in a marsh near Stony Brook, my
calves began to itch. I tried not to scratch what seemed to be poison
ivy, but must have done so in my sleep because by morning, the rash had
spread.

When I went home, my mother applied lotion to my skin. The next day,
she asked if I was better.

"Yup," I said and left for school. Confident that my skin would heal
on its own, I did not want to make a fuss over the red bumps which now
covered most of my body. Yet later that day in writing class I had to
sto...p reading a poem becau...se I could no...t get the words out, and
my mother arrived and rushed me to the hospital. After a shot of
adrenaline caused the puffy, quarter-sized blotches to shrink, the
doctor pointed out that had I not been treated in time, I might have
been suffocated by the growing bump in my throat.

"How odd to have a near-death experience so soon after my spiritual
initiation," I thought. I asked the doctor what he thought had nearly
killed me. "Perhaps you had an allergic reaction to something you
ate," he