Rama waited for me to continue describing the Light which I did, and though I was lying and probably fanning the flame, I supposed this would beat an ongoing dark night of the soul. Rama now looked directly into my eyes. I could not recall him doing so, except during lectures and meditations, since 1981. "We used to be friends," he murmured. "What happened?" "Rama, I don't know." "Should there be any problems between us?" he asked. I felt that this was Fred trying to break through, and I struggled to hold back the tears. "You and I used to be friends," he continued. "But then something happened. We should be friends. Would you like that?" "Yes, Rama." He smiled at me with big, puppy eyes. I told him that Sal, Bill, Al, and I had maintained a high consciousness earlier that day, before he arrived. "We talked about what we hoped to gain from the power drug, Rama. It was as if we were spiritual warriors." Rama looked at me resolutely. "You are spiritual warriors," he said. Then he lay back down and fell asleep. I felt happy and self-confident. When Rama awoke, he turned to me and said, "You are okay. You are on the net." "On the what?" "The net. The network. The psychic energy network." "Really?" ("Yeah! Yeah! Right! Right! Right!") "Yes." Rama, who wanted to see who else was on the net, hobbled out to the living room where Sal and Al quietly sat. "Are you on the net?" Rama asked them. "Yes," replied Sal, who had always been adept at learning rules to new games. Rama looked at him suspiciously, when suddenly the phone rang. It was Dana. Rama told her that she was on the net, seeing as how she had called at so auspicious a moment. "So," he told her, "it's me, you, Mark, and Sal..." He paused and said, "Sure, Mark is on the net. He's quick like mercury. He's right there." I realized it was less a network than it was Rama's net, but I was happy because the man I had once been friends with was back. I was also happy because my conflict-diffusing strategy seemed to be working. The following morning, I greeted Rama. He squinted his eyes and looked away. "Is anything the matter?" I asked. "Oh, yes," he answered, haughtily. "I know all about it." "About what? I thought we were friends." "Oh, sure," he replied. "I know all about that part of you. That's the part that wants to control me." "Rama," I said, looking him squarely in the eye. "You have two very different sides. And I like the other one better." In the weeks that followed, Rama mostly ignored me until he uprooted the four hundred or so disciples from southern California to the suburbs of Boston. At the last meeting in Beverly Hills, he called me to the stage, put his hand on my forehead, and said, "The Infinite is naming you Agni."