"How did he do that?" I wondered, unsure if he were addressing typical doubts, or if he were actually reading my mind. Atmananda continued to look at me. I found myself gazing, without blinking, into his eyes...I began to feel as if I were floating... somewhere far away I sensed my body breathing...I heard "bzzzzzzzz" droning on and on and on... He turned away, and I returned to normal consciousness. "Holy cow," I thought. "He did it again!" Suddenly, I imagined that he was a sorcerer and I, his apprentice. I forgot about Anne and carefully followed his words. "Advanced seekers say that after they attain enlightenment they will return to earth to help others. But most of them end up choosing eternal ecstasy instead." I vowed to come back and help the downtrodden. "It is even rarer for fully enlightened souls to return," he said, pointing out that his Guru was fully enlightened. Fully enlightened souls, Atmananda explained, were aware of those who meditated sincerely on their photograph. Atmananda then instructed us to meditate on the Transcendental. After about ten minutes of silence he asked, "Who saw the light around Guru?" One woman shot up her hand. Then another. I admitted to myself that I thought I saw the photo glow. "Guru flooded you with light from another world," he explained. Then, inviting the audience to experience the "advanced" side of self-discovery, he told us about Chinmoy's free weekly meditations at St. Paul's Chapel, Columbia University. By this time, in keeping with Atmananda's suggestions, my brother had applied to study with Chinmoy. He was accepted. He lived near the State University of New York at Stony Brook, near the eight or so Chinmoy disciples, near Atmananda. When I asked him to take me to his Guru, he said that he would. We met at our parents' home. He wore all white clothes. "White symbolizes purity--the spiritual quality men need to develop most," he explained, quoting Chinmoy. "Wearing white only adds one or two percent more purity to your consciousness, but every bit helps." My mother came into the room and looked at my brother. "Uh-oh," I thought. I felt bad for my mother. She typically had to deal with me and my brother on her own. Perhaps in anticipation of an ulcer condition, my father tended to avoid so-called family discussions. "If only she would leave us alone," I figured, "she would not get so bent out of shape." I also felt bad for my brother. Everything he did, it seemed, aggravated my parents. "They should support him in his spiritual quest," I decided. Now my mother looked upset. I did not know it then, but she was not upset that her sons were interested in yoga. In her youth she had satisfied a similar interest in the East by taking a course on Gandhi's philosophy. She grew concerned, however, when she realized that we were intensely focusing on one person--on a living guru. "Where are you boys going?" she asked.