The Last Story by Christopher Pike

entered a few minutes later and, as Peter said, everyone stood up out of respect.
    He looked much like his picture, with his long flowing black hair and black beard. Yet his youth surprised me—he couldn't have been thirty-five. Also, he was much smaller than I'd expected, slighter. He moved with incredible grace, carrying flowers in his hands. He wore a simple white dhoti, a strand of beads around his neck. He entered slowly, allowing everyone a chance to greet him as he moved up the center aisle. His accent, though distinct, was not heavy. He spoke the King's English, and had obviously been educated in the language by someone from Britain. He smiled as he walked, sometimes chuckling softly. There was no doubt, he was a happy man.

    Nevertheless, I found myself disappointed. He didn't exude the power of the Rishi, and I sensed his kindness but not any divine energy. I know it was ridiculous of me to want to be hit over the head, to experience instant nirvana. Perhaps I'd heard too many things about the man—my expectations were so high. As he swept by, our eyes momentarily locked and a smile broke over my own face. Yet I did not feel I was in the presence of a Master. I watched as he made his way to the sheet-draped chair at the front and sat down crosslegged.

    He nodded to an assistant and the lights were dimmed. Peter leaned over and spoke in my ear.

    "He always starts with a few minutes of silence."

    "What do we do during this few minutes?" I asked.

    "Just sit with the eyes closed and relax and enjoy the good vibes."

    I glanced at Roger. "We're going to meditate for a few minutes."

    "I don't know how to meditate," Roger said.

    "You're not the only one," I said.

    As a group we closed our eyes and sat quietly.

    Honestly, I tried to relax and enjoy whatever was supposed to be happening, but I felt nothing,

    absolutely nothing, except a growing head pain.

    That afternoon, after seeing Garrett, I had swallowed one Tylenol-3 pill. Since this was supposed to be a holy man, I didn't want to take another and act drugged in his presence. At the same time I wondered if I would be able to make it through the night without taking something more. It seemed that lately I had a headache more often than I didn't.

    The minutes passed slowly. Several times I opened my eyes to peek at the holy man, who was only twenty feet away. He sat so silently, so still, he could have been a statue. He didn't even appear to breathe. Feeling silly, I tried to see his aura, figuring it must be real bright if he was so enlightened and all. Yet the only colorful things I saw were the flowers arranged around his seat.
    Finally, after twenty minutes, he stirred and the lights were turned back on. As the saint opened his eyes, he smiled and played with his long beads, twirling them in front of him. He nodded to his assistant, a young man in a blue suit, who briefly introduced the yogi.

    "Guruji" was traveling around the world teaching meditation and something called kriya.
    His organization was nonprofit and educational. He had centers on every continent and a large orphanage in India. That weekend—beginning the next day—Guruji would personally teach his techniques of meditation and kriya. Those who wanted to take the course could sign up after the lecture. The

    introduction was brief. The assistant sat down and the audience was left staring at the yogi. But for his part Guruji seemed to be reveling in an inner joke.

    He kept smiling, twirling his beads, and looking around.

    "Now I'm going to play the role of the teacher,''

    he said finally in a soft but clear voice. "And you're going to play the role of the students.
    It is like that, nothing more than a play. But it would be nice if the teacher would speak of something of interest to the students. If there are any questions on your mind, you can ask them now."

    Many people's arms went up. A bombardment of questions.

    "Could you speak on reincarnation?"

    "Was Jesus an enlightened