Adjusting to the morning, I retorted, “Lighten up. It
is way too early. How many cups of coffee have you had,
dear?”

Brad sparred, “What are you writing? More of that
crap?”

I glared at Brad, who was making my walk into infinity
a collision of wills. I tossed my journal aside, wondering
how I had gotten into this mess.

“Which life, which reality, which memory?” As this
thought reached me I felt the familiar kundilini rush, and
knew my teacher was trying to make a point.