"Yes," he replied. "I am Rama, the last incarnation of Vishnu. You people think that I am a person, but I am not. Over the years I watched my various selves fade away. I fought the process tooth and nail--like each of you are doing now. But it was in vain. I could not stop the process of dissolution. I had to admit that I was no longer a person. This morning I suddenly knew who I was. I have been cycling...I am beginning to remember...Eternity has named me Rama...Rama most clearly reflects my strand of luminosity...We're at the end of a cycle...At this time, Vishnu takes incarnation as a person...Vishnu is that aspect of God that preserves and protects life...Rama...the last incarnation of Vishnu..." Jolted by the speed and the angle at which his jet now climbed-- he *was* putting himself on par with Jesus Christ and the Buddha-- I suppressed a reaction and awaited instructions from the pilot's latest persona. But the instructions, it turned out, had been issued months before. Each follower was supposed to write and submit stories-- typed, double-spaced--about his or her experiences with him. Our prose, he had been telling us, was indicative of our mediocre level of consciousness, so we wrote and rewrote and we tried to revise, guided by his comments in the margin. Stories about Rama--a figure from Hindu mythology--can be found in the classic Indian text, The Ramayana. Stories about "Rama" (Atmananda [Fred])--a guy from Connecticut--can be found in The Last Incarnation. The words, "THE LAST INCARNATION" flash from the cover in letters of gold, above a backlit photo of "Rama," the book's editor, publisher, and focus. The stories portray Rama as a warm, intelligent servant of Truth-- with enough mystical power to light up a city. A few of my stories, which also depict him as a down-to-earth demigod, appear in the 403-page collection. But there were other stories I could have written. I could have written, for instance, the story of "Rama and the Puppets of Bliss and Profit." In 1980, Rama got a cuddly, white hand puppet which had purple feet and a purple, toucan-shaped beak. Rama called it "Bliss," and often played with it as though it were alive. He appeared to make it talk, yawn, sleep, and soar. "Bliss is soaring through the other worlds," he explained. In 1982, I asked Rama what he wanted for his birthday. "Another Bliss," he replied with a boyish grin. So I set out on a quest with Paul to buy a Bliss for our benefactor. Together we combed the toy stores of southern California, but the search was to no avail. Weeks later, I spoke with a puppet designer in northern California. "Sounds to me like you have a 'Take Me To Your Leader,'" she said. "Does it have antennas?" "No." "Then you must have an 'Uncle Lucius.'" "Actually," I said, "we call it 'Bliss.'" Over the next few years, Rama ordered thousands of yellow, red, green, pink, and blue Blisses.