"It's the Forces!" I told myself and slipped down a fearful stretch of imagination back toward a nightmarish state of mind. Rama's Forces were back. I got in the car and locked the door. I was scared. I meditated a few minutes. I asked the Infinite for protection. I drove around awhile. I had no destination. I recalled something Rama used to say about reflections. "I am like a perfect mirror. If you ever perceive me in a negative light, you are seeing nothing more than a reflection." I pulled into a parking lot of a motel. I found myself looking for cars from Rama's tour group. I found myself wondering where the disciples—my friends—were and what they were doing. For years we had been close, like a tribe. Suddenly I had an inspiration: set out across America and rejoin my tribe! And how my spirit soared! And through the sleepless days and nights, I searched Howard Johnson's, Best Western, and Denny's parking lots across America for a black Turbo Carerra.
I had not forgotten the problems with Rama. But I remembered him telling me that through the good times and bad, we would always be family. "And what family doesn't have problems?" I asked myself.
I drove south to Stony Brook but did not find the group, so in New York City I paid a surprise visit to Tom. When I told him about my quest to find my tribe, he seemed to understand what I was going through. But he had left the Centre roughly nine months before and had no interest in returning. That night I saw for the second time The Razor's Edge. "Maybe I can rejoin the group and be independent at the same time," I told myself as I began the drive west.
Days later, in San Diego, I was showering at the UCSD gym, when I asked a guy if I could use some of his shampoo.
"Sure, Mark, take as much as you want," was the reply.
Wiping the soap from my eyes, I recognized Gary, a disciple who had left Rama years ago. I was glad to see him. We decided to go for a hike on Palomar Mountain. I told him during the ride that I had lost my tribe.
He gave me an understanding smile. "I hear they have moved to Laguna Beach."
"No kidding!" I said. "Would you like to go there instead of to Palomar?" In less than two hours we sat eating cheesecake in Laguna Beach. Suddenly I saw Paul drive by.
"They're here!" I exclaimed and chased the car down Pacific Coast Highway. But I soon lost sight of my old friend from Stony Brook. I walked back, polished off the cheesecake, and drove Gary back to San Diego. The next day I returned to Laguna Beach. I decided to wait by a twenty-four hour banking machine, an appropriate place it seemed to stalk members of Rama's tribe.
Alexander and Marty soon appeared searching for cash. I was jubilant to see them. They were wary of me. After a few minutes, though, they seemed to forget that I was taboo (Rama had put me down at one of the Centre meetings). They told me when and where the meetings were being held.