Pamela Zinszer had many admirable qualities. She was a nice girl. Actually a really very nice girl. She was terribly considerate and sweet. Nobody that met her failed to like and appreciate her. She just never had an ill word for anyone.
She was also really quite cheerful, buoyant, and friendly. She loved to meet people and make new friends. She was just so down-home, perky, and engaging.
Plus, it probably did help, especially with the guys, that she was really quite attractive. She had sultry eyes and wavy shoulder-length chestnut hair that she often brushed away from her eyes in a rather alluring, flirtatious manner. Her lips were luscious and moist, always a bit parted, showing her two front teeth, like she was just beginning to kiss someone. It made her look so adorable, so innocent. But, her most evident, and attractive, feature, that contrasted so mightily with her precious lips, were her humongous breasts. There was just no other way of describing it: Pamela was stacked. They were so large that one wondered if she might at times tip over, or least her back and shoulders must be tired by the end of the day.
She was not, though, at all self-conscious about them. On the contrary, she would thrust them out as she walked, and enjoyed wearing dresses, blouses, and sweaters that really accentuated their fullness, their bold presence. She would at times display her boobs like they were on parade, and then bask in the pleasure of all the smiles, grins, and expressions of appreciation she would receive from the men around her. What healthy girl wouldn't?
Pamela though would at times make some of the people around her self-conscious for her, even though she was not herself troubled by them. They were like two elephants in the room that nobody would fail to notice, yet would feel rather uncomfortable acknowledging. It just wasn't appropriate to say, "Wow, those really are big!" But, that was certainly the first thing that came to mind. Some girls were at times quite annoyed with her, with how she so audaciously displayed her humongous globes, but that was obviously just jealousy. They would do the same thing if theirs were comparably big, wouldn't they?
Pamela was not self-conscious in part for another reason. She wasn't terribly brilliant, and perhaps even a bit naive. She was certainly overly trusting credulous, and quite guileless.
Folks at back home would at times disapprove of the way she dressed, continually warning her about boys, about how they might take advantage of her, how she should dress more modestly so that she didn't get them excited. Pamela, though, would just say "pish posh." People can at times be really silly, if not downright stupid. They are certainly overprotective.
Pamela felt that she could take pretty good care of herself. In fact, she often had to expend little effort to get what she wanted or needed. She did get reasonably good grades in high school and it helped that most of her teachers were men. Men just always seemed to want to do her favors, to make life easier for her. Was that really her fault? Life just came easy for her. Why work hard if you don't have to?
But, Pamela was now 18 and it was time to move out on her own, to find her own way in the world. It was time to stop fooling around and to take life seriously.
Pamela therefore set out to pursue her life's path.
An immediate problem she faced though, as she walked the streets of Los Angeles, was that she had no idea what career that should be. What would be the optimal career for her to pursue? There were so many possibilities: doctor, lawyer, scientist, professor, politician, architect. She just didn't know which to choose. Then there was the nice man from Playboy; he had offered her money just to take her clothes off and pose, something she would have done for free, silly man. She loved to be naked but she couldn’t be naked all the time. When she had said she might pose for Playboy she was popped off by her family to a farm in Kansas to think things over; instead the sweet girl had gotten her cherry popped. Life was so confusing. Now she was back in Los Angeles, still thinking about posing for Playboy. She thought about that line from a movie she saw once, “To thy own self be true,” but what was her true self the cute girl wondered, scrunching up her pretty face in a girlish approximation of a thoughtful expression.
As she wandered through Los Angeles Pamela wondered if she would ever find her true self, her true calling. Suddenly it appeared to be placed right before, right at her feet. Here she was, seeking her path in life and within an hour of walking the streets she came across a modest storefront above which was a large sign that read: "The Hari Guru Path to Enlightenment." What better place to seek one's path in life, one's true calling!
Pamela was so pleased, and excited. "Wow! There it is right there. It was right here in Los Angeles all the time and I didn't even know it." She strode in feeling bright and confident, her chest thrust out proudly.
The Guru's office was a little less than what she would have expected from the source for enlightenment. It wasn't like she was expecting to walk into the Taj Mahal, but she did expect that it would be at least as extravagant and impressive as the Ambassador Hotel lobby. She had really been impressed when she had stayed there once with her family.
There were lots of pictures of the Hari Guru along the wall, along with other traditional posters of India and Tibet. There was the smell of incense in the air, and a few potted plants. But, the trappings were really quite modest. The paneling was rather aged, and cheap to begin with. The upholstery of the waiting room chairs was worn and frayed. One was even quite stained. The carpeting was old and well-traveled, and it appeared that one of the plants really needed watering.
And, the Hari Guru didn't even appear to be there. Sitting behind what might pass as a receptionist's desk was a rather modest looking, thin, middle-aged man wearing glasses. His head was shaved. He was at least dressed for the occasion, wearing a traditional orange Buddhist monk's robe.
"Yes, yes, my dear, do not fear, please, please, come in." He spoke in a rather high-pitched voice, gesturing cheerfully for her to come forward as he got up from the desk and came around to greet her.
She noticed he was wearing sandals with socks. She guessed that would make sense. It could get awfully cold without socks, but she never wore socks with her sandals. "Yes, hello? I'm Pamela Zinszer." She asked inquisitively, "I'm here for enlightenment?"
"Oh yes, yes, yes, my dear." He spoke with a very strong Indian accent, but he actually didn't look at all Indian. He looked like he was from Ohio; however being from Ohio might in fact appear. "You have come to the right place, yes, please, please. We all seek enlightenment, do we not?"
"Well, golly, I guess so," Pamela replied enthusiastically.
"Yes, yes, excellent, my dear. Would you like to begin now?"
"Now?" Pamela was surprised at that. She figured that she would have to make an appointment, probably for weeks from now. Doctors won't see you for weeks, even months. Spiritual leaders should really be in as much demand, for what could really be more important than true enlightenment? But, it was true that there was actually nobody else there right now. "Well, I don't know. I'm not prepared or anything. Was I supposed to read something first?"
The guru, if that's what he was, giggled with amusement. "Oh no, no, my child. We don't read to grow, we learn through our selves, our experiences. We listen and study experientially, existentially, phenomenologically."
Pamela had no idea what he meant, but she was glad about one thing. "Oh good! I don’t want to be stuck with reading and studying, and all that."
"Oh, that is no problem, my dear. No problem at all. Please, please, take my hand, child, and I will show you the path to growth, to true knowledge."
"Oh my goodness," Pamela exclaimed, her heart all a flutter, realizing that she was in fact going to achieve enlightenment, and apparently right now!
The man led her by the hand to a side door into an adjoining room, explaining as he went that "It was my destiny to know, to help and to guide children like yourself." As he opened the door he turned to her to say, looking into her large sultry blue eyes, "You know, it was no accident that you came here, to me, Pamela."
"It wasn't?" She didn't know that.
"Oh no, no, my dear. We are all on a path, and that path is our destiny, our fate."
"Oh my goodness. I didn't know that." She was becoming enlightened already!
He led her through the door into the adjoining room, which again wasn't anything spectacular, but it was at least much better than the waiting room. The walls of this room were covered with Indian blankets and tapestries, all very colorful. And, when she looked up, she could see that the ceiling was draped as well with large, colorful tapestries. The ceiling light was itself covered with a diaphanous tapestry, providing the room with a bit of mysterious atmosphere. Plus, the carpeted floor was littered with many very large throw pillows and cushions, and the scent of incense was even stronger than in the waiting room. It was also quite strangely warm, perhaps even a bit uncomfortably warm. "Oh my goodness," Pamela exclaimed, duly impressed by her surroundings.
"Yes, yes," the guru responded knowingly. "In this chamber much will be learned, much will be discovered. This is the righteous path for you to follow in your spiritual advancement."
"Golly, I certainly hope so. I've been on a pretty rocky path so far."
"And where is this path taking you?"
"Well, I guess here, I s'pose." She hoped that was the right answer. She always hated it when a teacher asked her a question in class.
"No, no, no, I mean, to what stage of spiritual advancement have you reached?"
"Oh, I don't know. I've never really thought about it that way before." Frankly, she wasn't sure she had thought about it in any way. Well, that wasn't true was it? Of course she had thought about it. She wouldn't be here if she hadn't thought about it.
"Then, we must begin this very day. There are many stages toward spiritual knowledge. Each stage more difficult than the one preceding. Many, many choose this path, but so very few complete the journey."
Pamela's eyes widened with concern and wonder. "Goodness, how many stages are there?"
The man clasped his hands before him, as he spoke with deep conviction. "There are none to see, and so many to discover; few to perceive, yet so many to surpass. All of them one step closer to true enlightenment."
"What? I don't get it."
"But, you shall. You will see. You will experience."
"Well, golly, I sure hope so! I really want to be enlightened!"
"Yes, yes, child, but we must also be patient. Complete true enlightenment will not arrive today. Any long journey begins with just the first step."
Pamela was impressed with that statement. It sounded so simple and straightforward, yet also so deep and profound. It could mean many different things, couldn't it? "Well, okay. Let's begin! What's my first step?" She was really anxious to get started.
"Well, yes, Pamela. Your enthusiasm is most admirable, most admirable indeed."
She grinned broadly and again thrust out her chest. She might not be the brightest bulb on the porch but she always did have lots and lots of enthusiasm.
The guru explained further. "A person must first unshackle herself, from the bonds and blinders of the material world, then and only then will you be truly enlightened. It's a very difficult path, but I can see that you want to enter this journey, and I know, in my heart, that you can succeed."
"Do you really think so?"
"Pamela, I have led many disciples down the road to enlightenment, and I have no doubt, that you are among those who will experience the glow, the light, the vision of personal nirvana."
"Gee whiz." She just realized that she didn't know her guru's name. What was she supposed to call him? Master? Leader?
The master began to undo the belt of his robe. "You will first relieve yourself of these material shackles. We shall travel the path of wisdom together. Please, let us shed our bodies of all worldly accouterments."
"Oh, my, are you sure? All of my jewelry and things?" She wasn't so sure about this, but she did remove her earrings, bracelet, and necklace, laying them carefully on one of the pillows on the floor.
"Absolutely, my dear. And even more than just the jewelry. You can not grow, you can not rise beyond yourself if you cling to your past, your social conventions, your bodily, worldly self. Cast them aside and rise above them," he said as he pulled the robe from his body and tossed it aside, standing before her entirely butt naked.
"Oh my goodness!" Pamela exclaimed. 'Well,' she thought. 'This must be why the room is so warm. But goodness, the master is completely stark naked!' "You took off your clothes!"
The master smiled patiently. "Yes, yes, please. Clothes are but an illusion, a shade drawn across our eyes, blinding us to our true selves. You must remove them to open your eyes."
Pamela though could not take her eyes off of the naked man, and most specifically his penis. She did have experience when it came to members of the opposite sex, especially after going to Kansas and learning how to ball. But, goodness, nobody had just taken their clothes off like this! At least the boys she had been with would first buy her dinner, take her to a movie, or something.
Of course, nakedness with boys had always been sexual. Pamela didn't really mind sex. She in fact liked it; actually, there were many times when she really did truly enjoy it, but she wouldn't admit to that, at least not out loud.
But, well, frankly, the male bodies she had seen previously were much more attractive than this man's. It wasn't that he was repugnant or anything like that. He looked to be in reasonably good shape and he wasn't terribly hairy or anything. But, he was rather skinny, and his penis was so small! But, she then realized that she was probably being very superficial. She admonished herself for focusing on the size of the penis of her master when clearly they were seeking a much more fulfilling and deeper meaning. She seriously doubted that size of penis is related to likelihood of true enlightenment.
The master strolled around behind Pamela to help with her zipper.
"Oh my," Pamela yipped, as she felt him work on her dress. "I just gotta say, um, Mr., um.... Master, I feel kind of funny about this. Are you really sure?"
He pulled the zipper all the way down to her bottom, to her panties, and helped her get her arms out of the sleeves.
"Oh, Pamela, I am very, very sure," he said, as he admired her pure white skin, and the pinkness of her panties peeking out from the opening in her dress. "And, please, you can call me Swami Ramadahamadhavananda Rahuleshwaranandji."
"What?" Pamela instinctively covered her brassiere and panties with her left and right hands, respectively, as she stepped out of her dress. Given that he was standing behind her, there didn't seem to be much purpose in covering herself in front, but she did feel a little less self-conscious by doing what she could to protect her modesty.
The Swami tossed her dress aside, as if it was of little worth or consideration. Pamela wasn't too happy about that. It was a new dress and she had worn it today to boost her confidence and perhaps provide her with good luck. She would have liked to have at least properly folded it.
The guru repeated his name, "Swami Ramadahamadhavananda Rahuleshwaranandji. But, you can just call me Swami, or Master."
"Oh, good!" That was a relief. There was no way she would be able to remember that name, let alone say it. "Oh my!" she exclaimed, as she felt the Master, the Swami, suddenly pull down her panties. He left them cluttered around her ankles.
The Swami smiled licentiously. This girl did have a very pretty bottom. Frankly, he was expecting her to be a bit chubby in the caboose, given how large she was in front. He found that most girls with really large breasts were a bit chunky, but apparently not this girl. She had a very wonderfully perky, petite bottom. It was just like a cute little apple, with a nice smooth, enticing crack down the center.
He considered those round cheeks to meditate on her lusciousness but that might lose at least the appearance of dispassionate objectivity and worldly disinterest. "Here," he said,"step out of your panties, dear."
"Yes sir, Mr. Swami," Pamela replied, her face reddening, her right hand clasped firmly over her exposed pussy. She knew that divestment of worldly apparel was an important first step to enlightenment but she couldn't help but feel it to be a bit awkward. After all, she hardly knew the Swami at all.
"Now," he added, in his high pitch Indian accent, "would you like some help with your brassiere as well?"
"No, no! No, I can do that myself."
The Swami moved around to stand in front of her. There was a much better view from there.
"Oh," Pamela exclaimed as she observed the Swami positioning himself right in front of her, his eyes fixed on her brassiere.
He shook his head in understanding amusement at Pamela's discomfort with exposing herself. Looking into her eyes he asserted, "Pamela, please, not to worry. I have no interest in your body. I have long left behind any such interest in base, primitive, animalistic urges. They are inconsequential to me, a triviality, a flea on the wall of life."
"Really? You don't like sex?" She remained standing with her panties still at her ankles, not yet making an effort at removing her brassiere, her hands still concentrating on trying to protect her modesty.
"Like? No, no, dear, please, it's not liking or disliking. If I didn't like I might like. Disliking is still living within the world, no better than liking," he explained as he helped Pamela step out of her panties. "I live beyond this realm. I see you, your self, your inner self, your inner beauty. Your body is inconsequential to me. I do not notice such things. They mean nothing to me, nothing at all," he affirmed as he briefly considered the lovely scent of Pamela's panties before tossing them in a direction other than her dress.
"Golly," Pamela said. She wasn't too sure that she would really like that, if it was in fact okay not to like something. But, at least right now it was reassuring that he wouldn't look at her, that way. It was kind of like visiting a doctor, when she thought of it. Although, some of her male doctors did seem to do more than doctor. She looked over at her panties and said softly, "Well, I should explain one thing. I mean, warn you about one thing."
The Swami stood back up and leaned forward, his face but inches away from her thrusting and humongous creamy pink globes, that were frankly not that well hidden by the slender arm and hand that was trying to cover them. "Yes, my dear? What is troubling you?"
"Well," her face reddened as she worked to get the courage to say. "It's just that I, well, it's just that I...." She said very softly, "I trimmed myself, down there." She shaved "down there" because she liked to wear bikinis and, well, guys seemed to like it trimmed. She also liked it herself. It made her look and feel cleaner, more wholesome and pure. But, she wasn't so sure that a spiritual man like the Swami would approve.
The Swami just giggled in that exaggerated high-pitched voice. "Yes, yes. Please, of no consequence. I shave entire body once! Please, please. We must proceed."
Pamela couldn't imagine shaving everywhere. With a deep breath that swelled her breasts further, she released her right hand from her pussy and together with the left hand reached back to unclasp her brassiere, causing her breasts to rise up even further.
It was like two small pink creamy mountains rising up before his eyes, but what really attracted the eyes of the Swami was what the release of Pamela's right hand revealed. She was indeed trim and neat and it was a very fetching sight. Her pussy looked so innocent, so tantalizing sweet and exposed: very much like a fresh peach slit down the middle through which one could suck the girl's tart nectar. He had seen quite a few pussies in his time, but this one was a true delicacy to behold.
Pamela noticed where the Swami's eyes were looking, or perhaps even staring. For someone with no actual interest in her naked body, he did seem awfully interested in her exposed pussy. But, he wasn't developing an erection or anything. No guy standing naked before her as she undressed had managed to remain unaroused for this long. He did indeed appear to be existing on a different plane, or at least in a different world. That did make her feel more comfortable. She was again reminded of visiting a doctor. Imagine if the doctor developed an erection? At least the Swami was making it clear that he was not becoming excited. She unclasped her brassiere, slowly pulled down each strap off her shoulders and down her arms, holding the cups to her breasts, and then, when both straps were off her arms, she slowly pulled the cups away.
The Swami abruptly took the brassiere from her hand and casually tossed it aside.
He at least tossed it close to her panties, Pamela observed.
The Swami pondered Pamela's breasts. Her pussy had been most impressive, but these breasts could almost put her pussy to shame, if that was possible. Pamela's breasts were indeed quite a marvel to behold. They were so incredibly large. These were breasts that might in fact be too large for a Playboy centerfold. Yet, they would be pretty darned good as they held up really very, very well, especially for natural ones. The guys who were honored with this intimate knowledge and experience of their nakedness were invariably surprised to discover that they were in fact real. This is not to say that fake ones were unappealing. On the contrary, they really did have their own very special appeal. But, it was impressive that Pamela's stood up so well despite being natural and, if given the opportunity, one would discover that they are also really very soft and terribly wiggly. Big ones did appear to jiggle more.
But, rather than comment on what truly fantastic tits Pamela was displaying, he maintained his professional composure to say instead, "Very good, very good, Pamela. You have broken free from the world. Does is it not feel good? Liberating?"
Pamela pondered the question. She just thought it felt kind of weird, standing there naked in front of a naked older man. Frankly, it would be terribly weird to have your doctor or your minister be naked with you. But, maybe feeling weird was common in the initial stages of personal growth. She tentatively nodded her head.
"Now, let's assume the position," the Swami instructed.
"The position?" Pamela asked. Whenever a guy said that to her it meant on her elbows and knees, bottom up, or on her back, knees pulled back, or perhaps bent over a desk, bottom up, legs spread. Or, actually, it could mean on her knees in front of him, if he wanted her to give him pleasure that way. But, the Swami didn't really mean that, did he? What was his favorite position?
"Yes, yes, dear," the Swami demonstrated, sitting down cross-legged on one of the large cushion pillows, facing her.
It was a rather awkward way to sit, but she had seen a few yogis and such sit this way on television or in the movies. What was awkward about it is that it meant that her thighs would be spread very open. There was really nothing modest about it.
As she got down on the floor in front of him, her giant jugs wobbling and bobbling, she had to say, "I can't help but say, Mr. Swami, sir, that this is kind of embarrassing, a little." She first just knelt in front of him, her thighs closed, her hands again covering her breasts. All that wobbling as she got down onto her knees made her more aware, more conscious, of their naked exposure.
"Yes, yes. Everyone feels so the first time. But, this is your social self speaking, your self as object in planetary object world. You must live on a much deeper, a much higher plane of existence, one for which the trivial concerns of naked breasts and bottoms mean nothing. Please, do you now see my penis, dear? Do I seem at all troubled by its exposure? I do not live in the physical object world, Pamela, I live in the spiritual world, the spiritual sphere."
Pamela glanced at his penis. It was indeed still soft. However, she did feel a bit awkward looking at it. She wanted to see, to think of, her master as her spiritual leader, not as a guy with a naked penis between his thighs.
"Now, please, please, let us meditate on our true selves, our inner spiritual selves. Please, sit with me in traditional lotus position, sit with me, child; sit as I do."
Pamela reluctantly sat like her master, on her bottom, cross-legged, feet over thighs, thighs spread wide open. It was really quite awkward, on a number of levels, albeit not spiritual ones. It was actually quite difficult to get her feet over her thighs, but she was in pretty good shape and was able to eventually do it. It was though awkward in another way. Not only was her soft moist pussy now wide open for view, but with her thighs spread, her pussy was also spread open a bit as well. Her inner pussy was an aspect of her inner self that she was not entirely comfortable displaying to the Swami.
But, as the Swami said, he had risen beyond such base interests or worldly insecurities. He could care less about her moist inner pussy lips. She scolded herself for being so superficial. She really did have much to learn. She followed his lead and rested her hands, palms up, on her knees, her inner pussy glistening in the subtle light of the room.
"Very good, dear, very good. Now close your eyes and be mindful."
Pamela closed her eyes but she didn't understand what he meant. "Mindful?"
"Yes, yes. Erase everything from your mind. Everything of this world, think of nothing but krishna. Your mind is now Ksipta: agitated, unable to listen, unable to remain quiet. You must reach Nirodha, free of all thoughts, silent, free."
"Pamela, focus your mind on one thing, your breathing, perhaps, a mantra, if you wish."
Pamela tried, but her mind kept coming back to the fact that she was sitting there naked, her thighs spread open, her pussy fully exposed, her breasts just hanging out there. She opened her eyes and looked at the door. "Is that door locked? Nobody else is going to come in here, are they?" She just realized that she hadn't noticed him locking the door after they had entered the room, and virtually anyone could come off the street and simply walk in on them.
Swami Ramadahamadhavananda Rahuleshwaranandji realized that he did have a particularly difficult pupil. Everyone, of course, does have some difficulty with this, at least initially, but perhaps Pamela needed a bit more help. "Pamela, please, let me help you." He undid himself from the lotus position and knelt before her. "Please, child, close your eyes and allow your mind, free your mind, to focus on just one thing, one thing alone. Cast everything else aside, all the thoughts of your past, of this world, the world beyond that door, the world beyond this temple, the world out there in the street, and you will free yourself from its constraints, its strings, its trappings, its illusions."
"I'm trying but I just keep coming back to the fact that I'm, like, well, you know, all naked and everything."
"Ah yes, I see, I see." He certainly did see, and it was quite nice to see. But, he was not a professional Swami for nothing. "It is a Buddhist principle that when faced with boulder in path, do not try to push it out of the way, embrace it. When faced with adversity, do not fight it, accept it. You conquer through acceptance, not through fighting, not through struggle, but through embracing the obstacles in your path."
"Here, let me show you. Let me demonstrate. Close your eyes and this time lace your fingers behind your head, in true yoga fashion."
Pamela did as he instructed. This position though was even more suggestive, because lifting her arms and clasping her hands behind her head provided a greater boost and prominence to what were already very prominently thrusting naked breasts.
The Swami paused to admire their beauty. It is a principle of mindfulness to be aware of the moment, not to dwell on the past or worry about the future, but to instead live with nature as it is currently experienced. And, before him now was a really very wonderful, true gem of nature: two lovely, humongous, white, luscious jugs. Actually, they were much bigger than any jugs he had seen. These were true melons, or even more accurately big luscious white snowy mountains, each capped by a patch of fertile red areola, upon which stood a couple of little look-out towers.
Like any man faced with such a treasure, the Swami was sorely tempted to simply dive in, to grab, hold, fondle, and squeeze them. In fact, these boobs were so big that they would be ideal for fucking: two true mountains of lusciously soft bouncy flesh pillows. It seemed you could in fact actually climb onto them and then fall deep within her cleavage, losing yourself in their warmth, becoming smothered by the enveloping, engulfing flesh. But, Ramadahamadhavananda Rahuleshwaranandji was indeed a Swami and he did live on a higher plane. At the moment, his interests were in the spiritual growth of Pamela, not in the base, pleasurable desires of his testicles.
"Pamela, there are many mystic zones of the human body through which spiritual enlightenment can be obtained, through which a mindful self-awareness can be cultivated and nurtured. Please, let me demonstrate." The Swami reached out and grasped Pamela's nipples between the thumbs and index fingers of each hand.
"Oh my goodness!" Pamela squealed, opening her eyes in shock.
"Please, child, please, close eyes. Eyes must remain closed for true mindful, focused attention."
"Yes sir," Pamela meekly replied, aware now only of the fact that her nipples were being squeezed and pinched by the Swami.
"Pamela, shall I suggest, that right now, you are aware of really only one thing: your nipples?"
"Well, yes, you're right. That's true."
"Yes, yes, see, your mind is focused. You are being mindful. You do not think of the past, you do not worry about the future," he explained, squeezing and pinching her little stiff nubs. "Yes, you are here, in this moment of time, in time, aware of this point, this moment of your existence, nothing else."
"Golly, that's true!" It was indeed quite true, and quite a revelation for Pamela. "I'm being mindful?"
"Oh yes, Pamela, yes you are, very mindful. You just need to discover and develop your mystic zones."
"Yes, yes, I see, Mr. Swami."
"Yes, yes, Pamela, one can see many things with one's eyes closed."
'Wow,' Pamela thought, 'that was so deep and wise. Seeing with your eyes closed!' She had never done that before. Yet, here she was doing precisely that, and it was only just her first session with the Master.
Continued in the next chapter