was silent awhile and I sensed there was
more he wanted to tell me.

"Why don't more women attain enlightenment?" he finally sighed.
"Because they are taught in a male-dominated society to marry, have
children, and serve their husbands. Traditionally, they have not had
the opportunity to study with an enlightened teacher."

I was moved by the truth that I felt in his words and now, as he
answered questions in the front of the room, I interrupted
conversations with all the speed and savvy I could muster. People did
not seem to mind. On the contrary, they seemed to regard me as someone
special, as if I were on The Bus--and they were trying to get on.

With each passing week, Atmananda further opened the audience to the
possibility that they could evolve countless lifetimes by staring at
the underexposed photo of a balding man. After about a month, he
announced: "Those who are interested in the advanced side of
self-discovery should ask Mark for a map to the Centre."

"The Centre" was Atmananda's term for the San Diego branch of Chinmoy's
organization. It was also his term for the house he now shared with me
and the three other Chinmoy disciples. Atmananda had not needed a map
to the Centre months before, on the day that the five of us moved west.
He had seemed to know the way. "There's Mission Bay," he said,
pointing to bright green lawns bordering light blue water. When he
exited the freeway, which he assured us was free, I noticed
ground-cover plants surrounding and dividing the road like armies of
fat green spiders. On La Jolla Scenic Road, I saw more exotic flora:
tall, cedar-like trees, plants with huge vein-covered leaves, and cacti
with yellow flowers and spiny needles. I did not know their names.

"At last," boomed Atmananda, pointing to a large shrub which drooped
like a wilted phallus. "We have found the fabled swaaaanso bush!"

I laughed nervously at his fabrication and glanced at Dana, who sat
beside me. Only minutes ago, she and I had sat outside the San Diego
airport terminal, caressed by a balmy breeze, waiting for Atmananda and
Rachel to rent a car. It was the first time we had been alone. My
heart pounded, and I unsuccessfully tried not to watch the way in which
her breasts pressed against her blouse.

She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled at me.

I wanted so much to kiss her, to tell her that she was beautiful, to
love her. Had I followed my gut feelings, Atmananda migh