The Society

By Marc W. Szeftel

Human beings, regardless of intelligence, have a remarkable capacity to wholeheartedly accept completely irrational beliefs, even when all the evidence is against them. There are so many things that cannot be explained rationally (as least, not yet) and this is where religion becomes important.

The more irrational the belief, the more prepared people are to defend it, even die for it, or kill for it. As science slowly illuminates more of the universe for us, we seem to retreat more deeply into extra-rational systems of thought. Since scientific fact offers no emotional support or no sense of an overarching meaning for our lives, it seems cold and clinical when compared to the sometimes overwhelming experience of religious worship, especially when practiced in a group.

The Society tells the story of Nick Bowne, who joins a religious cult as a teenager, seduced by the promise that he can get anything he wants. Anything including girls, money, cars it doesnt matter what you pray for, hes told. The act of prayer itself will develop his inner potential.

During Nicks five years as a member of the Society for World Peace, he learns that what you want is not always what you think it is and that the truth has an infinity of layers. Peel one back, and theres always another layer underneath.

This is a novel not only about religion and belief, but about love and desire. Its a fast-paced easy read, and I think youll enjoy it.

This novel was inspired by my experiences in a religious organization but it is a work of fiction, not a memoir. With the exception of two minor details, nothing in it happened as described. The characters, while inspired by real persons, are concoctions of my imagination.

Nothing is true; everything is permitted.
Hassan i Sabbah

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 17, 2006
• ISBN: 9781465321947

Marc W. Szeftel

Marc Szeftel (prounounced Shef-tell) was born in upstate New York and has spent most of his life in Seattle, Washington. He taught himself to read at the age of five and has been scribbling ever since. Marc learned French in kindergarten and lived in Paris as a boy. He has studied Latin, Italian, and Russian, and is currently learning Spanish. He has worked in real estate, computer technical support, and social services. Currently he writes full-time.

Book preview

1

Do you know the truth?

I did. I used to think I did.

For almost six years, I believed I had found The Truth, the ultimate meaning in life, and that I had been destined from birth to carry out the sacred mission of sharing this secret with the world. I thought I had found the key to diplomatic immunity from the hardships of life, a passport to enlightenment, the road to freedom.

In the end, I had to find freedom for myself.

I don’t regret what I did during the six years I was a leader in the Society for the Establishment of World Peace Through Buddhism. I joined when I was sixteen and desperate for answers. I continued, at first, because I had no place else to go. Then I found a purpose and that led me to become more than I thought I was.

My name is Nick Bowne. My father was a university professor, my mother a New York socialite who married beneath her. My early life is of no particular interest, other than that I was a skinny, nerdy kid who got picked on a lot. In 1967, at the age of 13, I started smoking marijuana and joined the hippie movement. I formed a few lasting friendships and began falling in love as often as possible, without much in the way of results. I let my wispy black hair grow long, and to my great delight I managed to vaguely resemble Andy Warhol, with a darker complexion.

I had never been oriented towards success or achievement. The values of society at large existed only to be rejected; my friends and I enthusiastically assumed the posture of rebels and foes of the establishment. Although my teachers universally agreed that I had an excellent mind, I had no inclination for learning and was struggling half-heartedly through high school.

Money meant little to me, the approbation of society even less. I saw no future in striving after material wealth or recognition; it was the interior world of my own mind which fascinated me. Naturally I had some attraction for the Eastern philosophies that were the vogue of the day, but all I had encountered so far were metaphysical abstractions, and with the impatience of youth I needed something immediate and concrete.

By age sixteen I was rapidly beginning to feel a desire for a new challenge. The idle pastimes of my early teens were beginning to pall. I felt a greater and greater sense of meaninglessness, a lack of purpose, a void that had to be filled. I was open; I was searching; I was vulnerable.

Among my friends, the one I respected most was Tom Cornell, who had lived two blocks from me since we were nine years old. In turn, Tom and I looked up to Tom’s older brother Harold, who like us was interested in spirituality and Eastern philosophy. It was through Harold that we came into contact with the Society.

In the winter of 1970, Harold’s girlfriend Polly found herself in a desperate situation due to a malfunctioning diaphragm. She was only seventeen, and her parents were dour conservatives who would never accept an illegitimate pregnancy. She and Harold hadn’t seen each other for some time when Polly became aware of her condition, and as they were not on very good terms she dreaded telling him about it.

Polly confided in a friend who was in her English class at the junior college she was attending. Lucy Henderson was a member of the Society for the Establishment of World Peace, and she lost no time telling Polly that any problem could be solved through the special form of prayer that the Society practiced. It consisted of chanting a sacred phrase, often for hours at a time, and concentrating on a desire or goal, which would eventually be granted. You didn’t have to believe it for it to work, Lucy insisted. It would prove itself to you. All you had to do was try it.

Polly had nothing to lose. She learned the chant and began to use it daily, concentrating on her hope that the pregnancy would end before it became noticeable. Within two weeks, she miscarried. Polly was home by herself and was able to eliminate the evidence so that her parents never knew. Her prayers had been answered. In a short time she became an enthusiastic member of the Society.

Harold and Polly patched up their quarrel. When Harold found out about his girlfriend’s new religion, he was appalled. She’s turning into a geek, he confided to Tom. All she wants to do is go to meetings. Harold reluctantly agreed to go to a few meetings with her, with the intention of weaning her away from it. To our utter astonishment, within two months Harold, too, was an active member.

Although Tom was shaken by this sudden conversion, he respected his older brother so much that he figured there had to be something to this Society. Otherwise Harold would never have been sucked into it. Harold now spent virtually all his time at Society activities: meetings, conventions, ceremonies. He chanted for two or three hours a day.

What kind of things does he chant for? I wondered.

Once he chanted for three hours for this one meeting to go well, Tom replied.

He’s crazy! I thought. If this chant really worked—if any prayer would be answered—you might as well use it to get girls, money, fame. If I was going to try it, I’d chant for one thing: to get laid.

That spring, I had fallen desperately in love with Valerie Beckwith, and this was what inspired me to give the Society’s magic chant a try. I was still a virgin and deeply frustrated about that. Since I’d been seeing Valerie, it was bothering me more than ever, and the idea began to germinate that perhaps I could influence the winds of fate so that Valerie and I would get together.

One evening I decided to try it. Valerie was seeing a guy named Greg, but they’d only been dating a couple of weeks. Maybe she’d change her mind about him. I sat in my bedroom and chanted for about ten minutes, wishing for Valerie to break up with Greg and go with me. It was difficult to sit there saying the same four Sanskrit words over and over again, but they did have a certain hypnotic cadence, and I became deeply absorbed in fantasizing about Valerie, her arms around me, my lips against hers… focusing on this was not difficult.

Over the next few days I put in about two hours’ worth of chanting. I didn’t really expect it to have any effect, but strangely enough results were not long in coming.

Greg abruptly and inexplicably stopped calling Valerie. A week or two went by without her hearing from him and she began to think he had lost interest in her. I still haven’t heard from him, she told me when I called her about ten days later. She didn’t seem especially upset about it, and was happy to hang out with me. We began seeing each other three or four times a week, although we were still just friends. A month later, there was still no word from Greg.

I ran into him a couple of months later. He seemed rather confused as to what had happened.

I was really interested in Valerie, he told me. Or at least I thought I was. But I just couldn’t get myself to call her. For some reason, every time I picked up the phone to call her, I’d change my mind and put it off. Finally I figured she’d be pissed off at me for not calling her, and was too embarrassed to start over. By then you were seeing her anyway.

I didn’t dare try to tell him that it was my magic spell that had hoodooed him out of picking up that phone; in fact I didn’t quite dare to tell myself that. But it did seem to be compelling evidence.

Although Valerie and I were still at the platonic stage, I had high hopes. We seemed to be getting closer all the time. While I was still chanting for her to fall in love with me and for us to sleep together, I tried chanting for other things. My parents were planning a trip to Los Angeles, and I was determined to stay home so I could party with my friends. Normally my father would have been intractable about this, but I chanted for fifteen minutes before I went to talk to him. I found not only that I was able to hold my temper when he didn’t agree to my request right away, but that he eventually gave in. This was almost unprecedented, and I became more convinced that I had found something that really worked.

One of the arguments that persuaded me was that all these people believed in it, so it had to work. 500,000 Elvis fans couldn’t be wrong! Why I didn’t apply this argument to Christianity or Islam, whose adherents were far more numerous, is beyond me. In any case, the results I was getting were the greatest influence.

Having tested it, and seeing numerous opportunities open up as a result, the next logical step was to talk to Harold Cornell and find out more about this philosophy. I was still baffled as to why he felt that being involved in the Society organization and attending all those meetings was so important. It looked pretty weird to an outside observer. I had seen Harold dashing off to meetings with other members, all wearing white pants and white shirts, most of them even wearing ties. These people had about them a kind of hyperventilating enthusiasm that put me on edge. Tom felt he same way I did about those geeks as he called them (although his brother Harold was excluded from that).

The last thing I wanted to do was to get involved with that bunch, or to be like them. An aroma of leering fanaticism hovered over them—even Harold had some of that edgy hysteria in his eyes. Still, I didn’t see any reason why I couldn’t use the magic wand for my own purposes, without turning into one of them.

I went to visit Harold a couple of days after the talk with my father. I found him in his basement apartment with another Society member, who was more relaxed and quiet than the others I’d met. He impressed me very much: his name was Luther.

I told them I’d started chanting and that I’d like to come to one of their meetings to learn more about it. Harold was astonished; he was so used to having to drag people to meetings that it was a shock to have someone come to him. He quickly recovered his composure, and handed me a little blue book containing a liturgy written in Romanized Chinese.

It’s very important that you learn to do this, Harold said eagerly. It’s taken from the ancient text on which our philosophy is based.

I looked through it skeptically: twenty-five pages worth of meaningless Chinese and Sanskrit words. I don’t know. This looks awfully hard to do. Why do I have to do this in addition to the regular chant?

Harold glanced at Luther, who was obviously his superior in experience. With a coolness that was very pleasing and restrained, Luther began a brief explanation.

You could say that the chant is like the meat, and this is like the seasoning. We read through this book each morning and evening as a secondary practice. It has a certain rhythm to it, and although it looks hard, you’ll be surprised how easy it is to pick up. It’s fun to do, and it’ll give you a rhythm in your own life.

What do you mean?

Let me put it this way. We believe that the universe has a certain natural rhythm to it, a supreme natural law. Human problems result from being out of rhythm with this law.

So this text has to be power to restore that balance? I asked incredulously.

Not exactly, said Luther. That and the chant together—like steak and seasoning.

He said this so smoothly and glibly that it didn’t occur to me that he had not answered my question. I was willing to accept a quickie metaphor in place of real philosophical reasoning. I would quickly learn that the Society members answered almost any question with one of these analogies. Since I was already halfway convinced, I didn’t pay too much attention. Luther projected so much confidence; I thought if I could be as self-assured as he was, I could probably get laid a lot.

I accepted the sutra book and asked when I could come to a meeting. Harold, still getting used to the idea of someone asking him, rather than vice versa, suggested the following Thursday.

While waiting for my first meeting, I began learning the complicated liturgy Harold and Luther had recommended to me. I found it complex and tongue-twisting at first, but after a while I began to enjoy it. Throughout, I was spurred on by thoughts of Valerie.

Since school was now out for the summer (I had just finished my junior year) I was able to see Valerie as much as I wanted. I was still unsure as to whether she would actually be sexually attracted to me. I had been turned down a lot, and more than once I had been told, You’re a really nice guy, but I want to be just friends. I couldn’t bear the idea of another rejection. Valerie was my test case for the Power of the One True Mystic Law, and if I didn’t believe in chanting, at least I was in a position where I needed to believe.

I’d known for her for more than a year. Valerie was quiet and reserved, with a certain chiseled aloofness that fascinated and puzzled me. She was not an introvert but there was something distant and remote about her, like the summit of a mountain shrouded in fog. Everyone admired her Mediterranean features, high cheekbones and rich brown eyes, and her long chestnut hair. I was attracted to her from the first, in part because she seemed to be in a world of her own. Before long I had built her up in my imagination to the point where I had invested superhuman qualities in her. She was beautiful, she was intelligent, she was a goddess. By the time she began seeing Greg I was hopelessly in love with her, but I didn’t dare go near her until I got the idea that chanting might make my dream come true.

Now that Greg was out of the picture (for which chanting was supposedly responsible), I spent as much time with Valerie as possible, chanting more and more fervently each day that she would fall in love with me. So far she gave no indication that she felt that way but I might not have noticed if she had. I was completely convinced of my own inadequacy, and I was waiting for chanting to make things happen for me.

2

By the time I attended my first meeting, in July of 1970, I was a believer. A lot of things had happened: I was seeing Valerie regularly and was having wonderful times with her. They would have been more wonderful if we’d been sleeping together, but all I needed to do was to keep chanting and that would happen sooner or later. It seemed only a matter of time before I discovered new abilities and powers within myself, and the proof of that would be making it with Valerie.

Harold picked me up about 6:30 that night, a warm summer evening that seemed full of portent. I crowded into a car with Tom, who had also agreed to come, and two geeks in white clothes named Gary and Fred. They seemed calm and relaxed enough, though, without any hints of frothing fanaticism. We chatted idly on the way. In about fifteen minutes we arrived at Luther’s house in Ballard. As we got out of the car, I could hear the sound of several people lustily chanting the four sacred Sanskrit words. Even from outside the house I could feel the intensity of it, a surging rhythm that washed over me and, for a moment, made me want to run as far as possible in the other direction. That smug certainty of those geeks was redolent in that sound. It was very intimidating.

Come on, come on! Harold’s face was flushed with excitement. Oh God, what I have gotten myself into? I thought, exchanging glances with Tom. Well, it’s only one meeting. We followed the members who were dashing up the stairs to the house, rapidly removing their shoes, and taking their place in the living room, where about twelve people knelt, chanting to a black-and-gold lacquered box. Each of them held a beaded rosary which they rubbed furiously at random. Inside the box was a scroll, with a border of brown and gold, inscribed with a constellation of Oriental characters. Harold had one of these scrolls and had explained that this was the Mandala, the object of worship. The Buddha in a Box, so to speak.

Tom and I dutifully removed our shoes and sat on the floor at the back of the room. We both wanted to make some kind of disparaging remark, but even if we had we would have been drowned out. The sound was like a tidal wave. Polly was there, at the front of the room, rubbing her beads, her eyes glazed over in total devotion. Luther sat directly in front of the altar, leading the chant. He was one of two or three people who didn’t seem utterly ridiculous to me.

I studied the faces of these people, wondering what they were all chanting for. Hadn’t they had all their desires granted by now? Perhaps some of them were just getting started. Of course, there was the movement for world peace. I remembered Tom telling me about Harold chanting for meetings to go well. Most of these people were probably wrapped up in spreading the teaching, and that was why they all seemed to be, well, just a little out of it. They must be missing the point! By now they could have amassed an amazing amount of happiness, and must have satisfied all kinds of desires, piling up the benefits. Why then did they remind me of pictures I had seen of patients in mental hospitals?

I shrugged this feeling off, reasoning that it was their conservative dress and hairstyles that put me off. I wasn’t interested in joining this organization anyway. I just wanted to get laid. I sure as hell wasn’t going to cut my hair short or start wearing white clothes and a tie. I was just going to use this to develop my own inner potential. These people could have their movement.

The chanting went on and on, a timeless drone. I focused on Valerie, as I always did. In spite of that I was restless; it seemed that the chanting would never stop. In reality it probably lasted about ten minutes, but it seemed like forever. Finally Luther picked up a padded stick that lay on the altar, tapped it against a large bell, and the chanting stopped. Sweet relief!

The worshippers knelt their hands in silence for several seconds while Luther rang the ball repeatedly. Then they lifted their heads and repeated the sacred phrase three times in long, drawn-out sonorous tones. After this Luther turned around and the meeting began.

The meeting was much more informal than what I’d expected. As the guest, I was the center of attention. As one of the women brought him a glass of water, Luther introduced me.

So, have you been chanting?

Sure, for about two weeks.

Everyone clapped.

And have you tried the sutra yet? One obnoxious woman broke in. Something about her annoyed me; perhaps the sound of her voice.

I’ve tried it about four or five times, I guess. But it’s pretty hard.

"Oh, you must try doing it twice a day, the woman gushed. You’ll really enjoy it."

Yes, I said dryly, I’ve heard it’s simply divine.

Stunned at my rudeness, she sat back, momentarily at a loss for words. Luther took this opportunity to regain control of the meeting. Would anyone like to share with Nick their experiences of doing the Sutra?

All of them were happy to do so. Most of their stories were about things they had chanted for and gotten: jobs, cars, even drugs. Then the testimonials moved to a more spiritual plane. The members stressed that the jobs and cars were merely devices which had helped motivate them to explore the True Faith. The benefits they received now were more than mundane. There was the rhythm in life they claimed to enjoy; this included protection from harm as well as being in the right place at the right time. Some of them claimed that the street lights changed for them. Nothing bad could happen to them, or if it did, it turned out to be to their advantage in the long run. It was extremely important to have faith and keep chanting no matter what.

After about half an hour, Luther began to sum things up.

This philosophy, he began, "can enable you to do anything you set your mind to. That’s the first point I’d like to make. By chanting the scared phrase to this scroll, object of worship, any desire can be made into reality. How does this work? Every human being possesses many different potentials, which we call ‘worlds’. Essentially all of life’s many aspects can be boiled down to ten of these worlds:

"Hell, a condition of suffering. Hunger, unfulfilled desire. Animality, a condition in which you live and think like an animal. Anger, dominated by hatred and the desire for advantage over other human beings. These first four conditions are called the Four Lower Worlds.

Next we define the condition of Tranquility, a normal, ‘steady-state’ condition. In Tranquility you’re calm, you’re relaxed; you may not have problems, but you’re not growing spiritually, either. Above Tranquility is Rapture, physical or mental joy, radiant happiness, although it’s transient, because it passes. For example you might experience Rapture when you get a promotion at work or get a new car. But after a short while the feeling passes and you fall back into the Lower Worlds. I’d noticed a preoccupation with jobs and cars in this group; it didn’t become clear to me until later that this was because the overwhelming majority of them didn’t have two nickels to rub together, and constantly had to chant for basic necessities. These people were struggling to survive. Luther was the only one who had an established career; and that more than anything else probably accounted for his confidence.

"The four highest worlds are Learning, Absorption, Bodhisattva, and Buddhahood. Both Learning and absorption in meaningful activity contribute to greater, more lasting happiness, as does Bodhisattva, the condition in which we devote ourselves to helping others become happy, as we’re doing now at this meeting. Buddhahood, however, is the ultimate condition of life, the ultimate reality underlying everything. This exists within each one of us. This is what most other religions define as God. However, we define it simply as a potential condition within all human life, within all life.

Now, all of these conditions are brought out in us by some stimulus from outside. A crippling disease for which there is no cure elicits the condition of Hell. If I were to reach over and hit you, the condition of Anger would manifest itself. If I were to take out two hundred dollars from my wallet and give it to you, you would experience Rapture, I’m sure. Everyone laughed.

"The problem with the lower worlds is how rapidly they change. I give you the two hundred dollars, and you are in Rapture. You get home and find an overdue bill from the light company for an even greater amount, and you are in the world of Hell, or Anger. The slightest change in our circumstances can move us up or down the ladder.

"In the higher worlds, we become more resistant to outside influences. The student absorbed in his work may be difficult to distract. An artist or musician develops a higher spiritual state through devotion to his work, and temporary circumstances may not disturb him as much. And of course one who is dedicated to helping others, the Bodhisattva, is even more unaffected by the winds of profit and loss, gain and decline. Still, however, in the first nine of these worlds, the external world can intervene and change our condition.

"In Buddhahood, however, all that is changed. One has complete control over one’s environment, rather than vice versa. Instead of life just happening to you, you direct your own destiny. Buddhahood is profound wisdom and understanding, and the power to apply it at will. This is the goal of our practice: to attain Buddhahood.

"Naturally, there is no such thing as perfect happiness. Even an enlightened person, a Buddha, will make mistakes, will encounter suffering, challenges, obstacles. No human being can know everything. But when you attain enlightenment, you have the power to eliminate suffering. Your happiness is absolute. It is generated deep within you and isn’t just a response to the ups and downs of life. Because you have the power to control your environment, soon there are fewer hills and valleys and your life becomes completely smooth. The environment responds to you.

The daily practice of chanting and recitation of the sutra to the scroll you see enshrined here is designed to develop this Buddha nature within each one of us. This is something like the process that turns a law student into a lawyer. The potential exists within him before he begins his studies. As he devotes himself to his textbook, the object, the potential gradually emerges. And our object of worship is nothing less than a graphic embodiment of the condition of Buddhahood.

Luther paused to take a drink of water. Do you have any questions?

Yeah, how long does it take to become a Buddha?

Anywhere from ten to twenty years, depending on how hard you practice.

Not bad, I said. "Twenty years of the sutra every morning and evening, and then bam! I’m a Buddha!"

Luther smiled indulgently. Not quite as simple as that, but that’s the general idea. As you continue to practice, day by day, year by year, you’ll acquire more and more of the aspects of a Buddha. Problems that once seemed overwhelming to you will be solved with ease. Your health, your financial condition, relationships with others, all will improve. And you’ll see yourself getting happier all the time.

So how do I get one of these scrolls?

Harold raised his hand. "I can explain that to him later, Chikubucho."

All right. Luther glanced at his watch. It’s time to close the meeting. He shook hands with me vigorously, and congratulated me on my decision to give chanting a try. Everyone applauded wildly, making me acutely embarrassed, and the meeting ended.

On the way home, Harold explained how to go about getting my own Mandala scroll, which would be distributed by a priest on his next tour through the Northwest. I half-listened to him, thinking about what Luther had said. This had to be what I was looking for, the way to realize my inner potential. Now I would finally learn how to win in life. I would become a dynamic, lucky, powerful individual. If this was really true, nothing would be impossible for me, given time. Valerie was just the beginning. Only sixteen, and I had already discovered the secret to life! I felt very special and very fortunate.

What I did not consider was the vast number of inconsistencies and half-answers I’d heard. I’d asked why I needed the scroll, when chanting alone was also effective; the answer was a lot of analogies, like the one about the law student, which was not a real answer. Chanting with the scroll or without it was the same, only different. The same held true with the sutra recitation—you could get benefits without it, but it was still necessary. Luther’s analogy about steak and seasoning was nothing more than a pretty picture that had no real meaning.

Everyone I had talked to stressed that the mechanics of why and how it worked were unimportant. What mattered was that it did work. In the years that followed I heard thousands of times that you didn’t have to believe it for it to work. But belief and faith aren’t the same thing. Anyone who takes five minutes to sit down and repeat magic words is doing the same thing as someone who throws pennies in a wishing well, or makes a wish when blowing out birthday candles. No one really takes birthday cake wishes seriously, but there is a kind of faith involved, which is entirely different from rational belief. An act of faith is something you do in spite of what your reason tells you.

None of these distinctions mattered to me then. Chanting seemed to be working, so I was already developing faith in it. Whether I believed or not, like Fox Mulder I wanted to believe, which certainly predisposed me to interpreting events in a way that supported my belief.

3

During that summer I attended several more meetings and gradually perfected my recitation of the sutra. By the fifth or sixth meeting I was quite comfortable with the routine. Most of the members still seemed like geeks to me (the woman I had been so rude to had not spoken to me again) but I decided they just hadn’t been at it long enough. Unlike me, they hadn’t been lucky enough to find the Truth at a young age. By the time I was in my twenties, I would be well on way to enlightenment, and years ahead of the rest of them.

One evening we were in the middle of a meeting when there was a sudden flurry of activity at the door. Three men burst through the door, removed their shoes, and strode to the altar. The members turned as one and joined in as one of these new arrivals rang the bell and chanted sonorously three times. The man who had rung the bell turned to face us and announced:

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen; I’m Bryan Magnusson.

I had been impressed by Luther, with his quiet reserve, but Bryan was the most dynamic person I’d met. Heavy set, tall, with sandy hair, his skin seemed to shine. His voice had a ring of authority to it. It was incredibly clear. He seemed in complete command of himself.

Any guests here tonight? Bryan paused to take a sip of water; one of the women had made a big fuss of bringing him a glass. There was a ritual quality to it.

Luther gestured to me. Nick here’s been chanting for almost two months.

Bryan thrust out his right hand. Congratulations! He grabbed my hand and shook it up and down, his grip as firm and clear as his voice. You’re very, very fortunate to be able to find the true teaching at your age. How old are you, by the way?

Sixteen.

Sixteen! Incredible! He seemed to be inspecting me as if he were considering making a large financial investment. "I wish I’d been that lucky. Are you going to get your Mandala next month?"

I sure hope so.

Good. I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t. Well, I’m sure you have questions.

I had several questions, and as usual I got no more straight answers than I’d been able to get from Harold and Luther, but Bryan’s expert manner had a way of removing doubt from my mind. His answers sounded so concise, so direct, so thorough, that I didn’t notice the lack of substance. He sounded so convincing; more than any theory or doctrine he might have explained, he persuaded me. His ingratiating manner made me feel very special; already I was seeing him as a father-figure. I wanted to be like him.

Bryan Magnusson’s confidence was infectious. After meeting him, I felt that I’d been transformed, that I had taken a quantum leap in my progress towards becoming a real man and leaving my old neurotic nerdy self behind. Valerie probably noticed the change in me. Since I now thought better of myself she was responding more warmly to me.

Towards the end of July, I decided to let things cool off for a bit and stopped seeing her for about four days. When I called her after this brief layoff and asked her if she wanted to get together, she said she was babysitting until 4:00 o’clock, but I could come over after that.

I got to her house about five. Valerie was sunbathing in her back yard, stretched out on the grass in her bathing suit. She was done to a turn, so to speak; her arms and legs were lightly tanned. She looked mouth-watering. To my astonishment, she greeted me with a hug and a kiss, as if I was really her boyfriend. Until now she had been affectionate but remote; something in her appeared to have given way. Her doubts about me had evaporated. I was so turned on by this I had to step back and get control over myself, lest I overplay my hand (so to speak).

We went out that night and wandered around the University District until almost one, getting high and visiting people. I felt incredibly close to her, as if a real bond had formed between us. We were communicating at a deep level. I had never been more deeply in love with her.

I walked her home and was about to leave when she stopped me. Why don’t you come in and spend the night?

I was still so clueless I didn’t take this as a proposition.

OK. I’ll come in for a while, I guess, but I probably shouldn’t spend the night. There was a special reason for my hesitation. Valerie had had a baby the year before and had given up the child for adoption, which had deeply traumatized her. I had tried to be supportive to her, although I certainly couldn’t pretend to know how she felt. However I didn’t want to take the chance of getting her pregnant again, and since we didn’t have any contraception, I took it for granted that nothing would happen.

I pictured myself sleeping on the couch in her bedroom, frustrated beyond words. No point in putting myself through that. I decided I’d stay till two or three, but I was definitely going home after that.

Valerie’s bedroom was in the basement. She let me in the side door and I snuck in quietly. I lit a joint while Valerie changed into her bathrobe. We sat on the edge of the bed and smoked it, talking in whispers. My body trembled with need for her. But I cared about her. I couldn’t put her at risk.

Well, Valerie said, I’m going to get into bed.

OK. Well, I might as well get in bed with her for a few minutes at least. I curled up alongside her and she snuggled up to me. I held her tightly for a few minutes until with shattering clarity I understood what she wanted me to do. I looked at her; her eyes glittered. She was waiting for me to make the move. I leaned forward and began kissing her.

My heart was hammering and I felt myself getting hard. I had gone this far before but my body sensed that the Main Event was about to happen. The goddess of my dreams was lying underneath me, her skin incredibly soft and her hair fresh and her tongue exploring my mouth. What was I supposed to do now?

I’m a little new at this, I said, remembering that Valerie had done it before.

She laughed. I can make some suggestions… but you can just do what comes naturally.

I’m a little too turned on to relax, I told her. I ran my hands up and down her silky legs, my fingers brushing against the curly nest of her bush. Amazing that it was me touching her there. I thought of her having made it before and somehow this excited me even more.

You still have your pants on, she pointed out. Maybe you should get undressed.

Damn, you’re right. I felt too good to be embarrassed. Valerie unzipped my trousers and gracefully freed my cock, caressing it with her fingers. She helped me wriggle out of my pants and shorts, then turned over on her back, her tanned skin reflecting the candlelight. She was still wearing the bathing suit underneath her bathrobe. Do you think you can take my bra off? she asked, teasing.

I’ll see what I can do. I was so nervous it was hard to concentrate, but somehow I managed to unclasp the hooks and removed the top of her suit. Her breasts were small and round and white. I’m crossing the Rubicon, I thought, traversing the barrier between this world and a universe of limitless imagination. I put my hand on her right breast and stared into those lambent chestnut eyes of hers, as if I could look through them into another world.

It works it works it works it really works! I kept thinking. For three or four years I’d thought of little else but losing my virginity, and now it was about to happen, and not with some passed-around dishwater-haired frump, like the girl that had broken in several of my friends a year before; it was happening with Valerie.

She reached down to her bikini bottom and quickly slipped it off. I put my hand on her bush, my fingers nervous, eager, and trembling.

Just take your time, she said.

I clambered onto her and she guided me in. A wave of joy swept over me as I entered her. It works it works it works it works chanting works I can do anything I can do anything now the world is mine!

I wanted it to last forever but it was over all too soon. I exploded inside her and for a few seconds I stopped thinking. The joy of achieving momentarily wiped out rational thought.

I lay there, kissing her, waiting for her verdict. Was I O.K.? Had I blown it by coming too soon?

What’s the matter? Valerie asked after a few minutes of silence. Are you upset because you came too fast?

Yeah, I guess so.

She laughed. You really need to relax, Nick. It’s just a matter of getting used to it. But we’ve got plenty of time to practice.

At that moment I fully believed that we would have a lifetime to practice together. From now on the universe would unfold around me like a flower in bloom, a galaxy of infinite possibilities. This was just the beginning!

It works!

I woke up the next morning after three or four hours’ sleep. I looked up at the ceiling and listened to a bus roar by outside. It was a sunny summer day, the light streaming in through the windows. A holy sense of peace filled my body. I had dreamed of this moment for months, now the dream had become reality. Being with Valerie was even better than what I had imagined. In the New World which I had entered, I was no longer a neurotic geek but the master of my destiny. Valerie loved me and wanted to be with me. Anything was possible.

It works! I kept thinking. Oddly enough, that seemed more important than the physical joy I’d experienced. There would be more nights with Valerie, but the chanting worked. Now there was nothing I couldn’t do. It would be smooth sailing from here on in.

We snuck out of the house around noon. I was delirious with rapture. I felt I could conquer the universe. We spend the day walking around Greenlake, talking, feeding the ducks, sharing our deepest hopes and fears. That afternoon I learned more about her than in the previous three months.

Finally, I tore myself away from her. I had to go home and get some sleep and think about what had happened. I caught the bus home, eager to sit down and chant my thanks for this wonderful event.

4

That summer was the happiest of my life. I saw Valerie almost every day, and we were getting closer all the time. She reached something deep inside me that I couldn’t describe, a part of my inner being that had lain fallow until now. Being with her gave me a sense of being beyond time. It took me back though my early childhood and forward into my imagination. For the first time I felt whole. The future shimmered tantalizingly before me, full of grand accomplishments and thrilling adventures.

Now that Valerie and I were together I focused on my goal of becoming a writer. I had been scribbling stories since the age of seven, and always had big ideas for epic novels, but I had usually been too preoccupied with emotional ups and downs to sit down and get any work done. I now had enough confidence in myself, thanks to Valerie, that I was able to get started on a substantial project. I started writing an hour or two in the morning, after doing my morning Sutra recitation, and often wrote late into the night. My story was a long rambling fantasy narrative that I made up as I went along, so it wasn’t exactly coherent, or even readable; but at least I was accomplishing something.

I was going to meetings more and more, as often as three times a week. In spite of my continued dislike for the majority of the members, with their edgy, by-the-numbers enthusiasm, I was beginning to be drawn in by the warm family feeling that the group created. I was still the new kid, and everyone paid special attention to my interminable questions. It was very gratifying to be the most important person at every gathering.

I got a thorough education about the history of the philosophy and the organization. I got more clear-cut answers here, although the details were crudely shaded to support the Society’s point of view. As with most religions, the founder had been persecuted, although he had died of natural causes instead of being martyred. After his death, a succession of priests had maintained the faith until World War II, when the current organization had been formed by a group of teachers. The founder of the Society had died in prison, and his closest disciple survived to expand the Society, which flourished in the chaos of postwar Japan. The third president now governed an organization that claimed several million members in Japan, the U.S., and Europe.

Tom Cornell’s respect for his older brother kept him from criticizing the Society, but the rest of my friends made no bones about their dislike for what I was doing. I’d dragged most of them to a meeting, and they were all put off by the rah-rah atmosphere, the flushed, hyperventilating eagerness, just as I had been; but they objected to the basic principle of the philosophy. Barry Norden especially was utterly contemptuous, calling it self-hypnotism, and dismissing the idea that it had done me any good. You did that yourself, he told me. You had that potential inside you anyway. You didn’t need a magic trick to bring it out.

My friends patiently pointed out that I was already more involved than I had thought I could be. Harold Cornell had gone overboard, wearing his Pure Boy uniform of white shirt and pants, constantly running off to this activity or that one. You’re going to wind up like him if you don’t watch out, Barry observed.

It was easy for me to shrug off all this criticism. I was going to a few meetings, sure. But that was just to get my questions answered, to learn more about how to develop my potential. I certainly wasn’t going to put on white pants and rush off to San Francisco on a bus trip once a month. All I needed to do was to get my scroll and live with Valerie happily ever after.

Gradually, though, I was beginning to enjoy the activities, in spite of myself. The District met at Luther’s house on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Chapter meetings, made of up three Districts, were held Wednesday and Saturday nights. On Friday nights there were meetings for the divisions: Men, Women, Young Men, and Young Women. Harold had a hard time convincing me to go to a Young Men’s meeting. Why should I go to a meeting that’s all guys? I wanted to know. What’s the point of that? Of course I never got a straight answer out of him, but he must have convinced me somehow.

Three nights a week, after the regular meeting, everyone met at the kaikan (meeting hall) near the airport. The Society claimed to have over a thousand members in the Northwest at that time, although regular attendance at the kaikan was closer to three hundred people, if that. Still, there were enough people to fill the main room. There were no chairs or furniture of any kind in the main hall, just a red carpet and a large altar with an extra-large Mandala. Bryan Magnusson was always at these meetings, and I monopolized his attention as much as possible.

I had never been close to my father, a distant, donnish man of