So we sat there, drifting, and though I tried to stop my thoughts and feel the throbbing pulse of my heart chakra, I found myself checking out the women in saris. "Very good," he said after about five minutes. Then he suggested that we sit back, relax, and ask questions. There was something hauntingly familiar about this confident, well-spoken, young professor. Perhaps it was the way his chin jutted forward, the rich timbre of his voice, or his seeming interest in helping people that reminded me of the cartoon character Dudley-Do-Right. I felt drawn to him. I found myself staring into his full moon, gripping eyes. I found myself seeking his attention. "Can a person be healed by meditating?" I asked, only partly concerned that I had a cold. He locked my attention with those eyes...I felt slightly dizzy...it was not unpleasant...it felt as though I were floating...my vision blurred...things went fuzzy and white...it appeared as though it were snowing... "Am I having a vision?" I wondered and immediately the "snow" vanished. Just then Atmananda seemed unreal, like a superhero from a cosmic comic-strip that had been cut, enlarged, and inserted into the room. When he smiled at me, I had the uncanny sense that he knew what I had felt and seen. Then he left, flanked by the women in saris. 3. The Joining In the days following Atmananda's talk, I longed to know if my vision of the "snow" had been a mystical experience, an optical illusion, or a figment of my imagination. Graduation was only weeks away. I assumed that Atmananda would help me solve the mystery, and I counted the days until his next public lecture. I did not tell my friends much about Atmananda. They seemed content, even after reading the Castaneda books, to view the world through a rational framework. In contrast, I grew excited about the possibility of transcending the world of reason altogether. They were proud of their letters of acceptance from the Harvards and the Princetons. I was proud of my letter of acceptance from The School Of Mysticism. My letter arrived in the form of brilliant white specks which swirled about me like snow. Nor did I tell my parents, who represented discord, anxiety, and manipulation--the opposite of what Atmananda seemed to stand for. Instead, I spoke with my brother. He and I were close. I wanted to be just like him. He used words such as disciples, selfless-service, humanity, humility, purity, soul, soul-mate, past-lives, karma, fast track, and cosmic evolution. He got excited when he talked about Atmananda. He told me that he too had experienced perceptual distortion during Atmananda's talks. We returned to "Yoga Life Perfection." About thirty minutes after the talk was scheduled to begin, Atmananda strode through the door. He wore a light brown suit. "Anne," he said, "did you bring the Transcendental?"