Atmananda made a fist and shut his eyes. "Watch out!" cried my rational side. But he seemed sincere and vulnerable, and I found myself gazing at him. "Contemplate mountains--not him!" I thought. But in him I saw a man who could see; who read people's inner thoughts and feelings; who predicted the future; who glowed after I stared at him intensely for several minutes; who spent hundreds of hours teaching me about worlds of enchantment, excitement, and nobility; and who banked on a career of making millions happy. "Sure he's got a lot to offer," I thought, "but he's got that other side-- I need to get away!" But in him I saw the community I had helped build, a community which included all my current friends. "Help build another community! Find new friends!" But in him I saw my aspiration to be a seeker of Truth--as well as my desire to wield power over others. "He's playing a power game--run!" Atmananda opened his eyes. He seemed displeased and hurt. He appeared as both a mother and father figure. He towered over me. He exuded self-confidence. I grimaced. Over the past few years, I had occassionally questioned Chinmoy's authenticity in the back of my mind. Over the past few months, I had occasionally questioned Atmananda's authenticity in the back of my sleepy mind. Over the past few days, I had continuously questioned Atmananda's authenticity in the forefront of my rested mind. But now, the conflict, which pitted my rational nature against my mystical nature, became too much to endure. He opened his fist and demanded, "What do you see?" I saw memories of him telling me to act like a warrior before the Forces destroyed what we had worked so hard to achieve. I saw him telling me with a concerned look on his face that he had spent more time with me than with any other student. "I..." I had developed over the years a deep trust in him, as if he were family. I had allowed him to access and to control an important part of me, my imagination, and now I feared that without him, the window to worlds of dreams and fantasy would never open up again. There were other fears: of death, of God, of the absence of God, of being lost without a world, without a friend... "I..." I could not admit that I had trod what had in part become a bogus path. I wanted so much for there to be a simple solution. "I...I see sparks flying from your hand, Atmananda," I said, allowing myself to imagine--and therefore to see--the sparks. Atmananda left the room. I lay in bed, listening to the macaws. "I won't let the Negative Forces take me over," I determined. "I am going to be a true spiritual warrior." When thoughts about Atmananda's other side resurfaced, I refused to confront them. Instead, I silently repeated Atmananda's recommended doubt-combating mantra: "NO!" "NO!" I thought, after reading in a Castaneda book Don Juan's assertion that under no circumstance should you stay on a given path if your feelings tell you to leave.