"Is he like the child?" I now wondered. "Or is he really like the deceitful tailor?" Looking up, I chose to see him as my kind, warm-hearted friend. "There are a few of you," he said, "who are letting the Forces fill you with confusion and doubt. But overall, you are a fairly advanced group and should have no trouble perceiving what your inner beings already know." "He sounds like he believes in what he's saying," I thought. "Look, you can think about it all you want. But until you learn to *see*, believe me, you won't get very far." The Santa Barbara disciples suddenly stood up. "You folks are invited to stick around," Atmananda said. They stepped outside and closed the door. At around 9:30 p.m., Atmananda announced that those who sought to continue their studies with him should return to the Centre later that night. Then, pointing out that we were letting ourselves get fogged, he suggested that we meditate to clear things up. Many in the audience closed their eyes to meditate. "Open your eyes and look at me," Atmananda scolded. Despite my new credentials as an old mystical seer, I looked but could not *see* if Atmananda was an enlightened spiritual teacher who had found the way, or a charismatic megalomaniac who had lost it. But the thick fog of illusion, which prevented me from gaining insight into his true nature, might have partially cleared had I known what Atmananda told Tom only weeks before, during a meditation with Chinmoy in New York. "Have you noticed anything different about Guru?" Atmananda had asked him. "No," replied Tom, who had not yet joined Atmananda's west coast entourage. "Something heavy has been going down in the inner worlds," Atmananda said. "Call me in San Diego in late December, and I will fill you in." 10. Bicycle Ride--Utica One week into the cross-country bicycle trek, I stopped near the New York-Massachusetts border by a sign pointing to a campground. It was getting late. I wondered if I should save the money and sleep in the woods. I recalled Atmananda's penchant for lodging at exclusive, expensive hotels. I realized that I did not want to follow him. I also realized that I did not want to *not* follow him. I wanted to do what was right for me. I followed the sign. I stood at the campground entrance beneath a totem pole, whose carved faces reminded me of the Negative Forces. But I was no longer bound by Atmananda's interpretation of the world, I told myself. "Sweet dreams," I said to the faces and rolled past them.