When Anne had lit the stove moments before, an explosion singed her hair and propelled chocolate and marshmallow covered graham crackers across the room. Now, as we cleaned the mess, Atmananda began to speak. "Guru protected us from the Negative Forces," he said in a rich, lulling voice. I told myself that the explosion had probably more to do with the gas being left on than it did with Guru and the Forces. "The Negative Forces want to hurt Guru's mission," Atmananda continued grimly. "But they know not to challenge an avatar directly. Instead, they go after his disciples-- particularly those wide open to doubt." For months I had grappled with the concept of Negative Forces. Perhaps they existed, I told myself, perhaps they did not. In either case, I did not take them seriously. Now, though, I tried to imagine what they looked like. I pictured massive, menacing storm clouds in a dark, foreboding sky. I imagined the "clouds" were aware of my current thoughts. Suddenly the clouds seemed real. I felt jolted. I looked around the room. I sensed the disciples had taken Atmananda's caveat seriously. My stomach felt taut. I thanked Chinmoy silently. Atmananda had meanwhile flipped to a less somber mood. "One of the best ways to combat the Forces," he said, "is to have fun." So we went out to eat. At an Italian restaurant during one party, Atmananda suddenly slapped Sal on the back and, adopting the voice of the Godfather, cried, "Heyyy Sal! You plenty-fine kinda guy!" "Sure I'm plenty-fine, but I'm also plenty-hungry!" Sal replied with an equally zesty accent, but without slapping him back. Atmananda then denounced Sal for rescuing a maiden who had been held against her will in "a large vat of ravioli." "What's wrong with that?" I asked. "Sal, tell the baby what'sa wrong with that." Until now I had enjoyed their antics, but the transition from being the editor-in-chief of my high school paper to "the baby" felt awkward. Yet at seventeen, I was the youngest in the group, the average age of which was twenty-one. Atmananda was twenty-seven. And I had learned from Chinmoy and Atmananda that humility was the quintessential spiritual quality. Besides, I loved the attention. Sal replied that rescuing maidens was wrong because he should have been at home meditating. I looked again at Sal, a twenty-year-old with a large, creased forehead. He had studied computer engineering first at CalTech, and now at Stony Brook. He also studied guitar and drama. He cradled the eggplant parmigiano hero lovingly in his hands and closed his eyes before each bite, as if bracing for the next dose of ecstasy. "Observe the maestro chow hound," Atmananda announced. We laughed. Sal had apparently adjusted to his role as chow hound. He continued to eat as if nothing happened. "If only Sal could focus on the Infinite rather than on the eggplant," Atmananda noted, "he would be the first among us to realize God."