"Guru's mission," he said in a pacifying voice, "is to bring peace, light, and bliss into a world that is rapidly heading towards darkness." I realized that it was largely through Atmananda's lectures, and through his appearances on radio and television--including a recent appearance on the Phil Donahue Show--that Chinmoy's mission was being spread. I felt important that I was a part of the operation. "Your task is to see where to place the posters so that they will be noticed by advanced seekers. To do this you will need to maintain a very high state of consciousness." We nodded solemnly. "If you run into religious fanatics, be polite but firm. Do not let them engage you in conversation." We nodded again. "By postering, you are helping Guru bring light into this world. But Negative Forces will sense this and will try to inject you with doubts. If you are attacked by the Forces, cry inwardly to Guru." I was not too worried about non-physical creatures on the prowl. I had a great deal of self-confidence, I assumed the Guru would protect me, and I wasn't convinced that Atmananda's ghosts were real. "I see that many will be helped as a result of today's efforts-- provided that Sal can muster the willpower to work and not just eat," he said, smiling warmly. "And don't forget to have a good time." We meditated a moment. "Guru put a special force on the posters," Atmananda said, breaking the silence and handing the stack to my brother. Then he strutted around us in a "silly walk" which I recognized from a Monty Python skit. "Cheeriao." "Cheeriao," we echoed, waddling down the driveway, imitating his imitation. On the way to the train station, his words reverberated in my mind: the path, spiritual, awareness, see, sea of consciousness, dream-time, vibrations, energy, chakra, subtle, metaphysical, pyschic, unseen forces, traps, Entities, light, and darkness. The language defined for me a world in which I chose at each moment between good and evil. Put that way, there was not much of a choice. I believed now that ours was a pure and noble quest, and that I was a warrior of Truth, not a casualty of rhetoric. On the train ride into the city, I sat next to Paul, a happy-go-lucky Swede with blond hair, a broad grin, and a magnet-like attraction for devices that were electronic. We both were Stony Brook freshmen who had learned about Chinmoy through Atmananda's lectures. We both sensed that there was something out there beyond the surface world of reason. We both intended to do something about it. "What's the penguin doing on the tehlee?" he quipped, quoting from Monty Python. Green and grey scenes of Long Island sped by through the train's window frame. "The penguin on the tehlee," I squawked, "is about to blow up!" "Tickets, tickets," announced the conductor. "All tickets please!"