Watching these guys talk about Rawat, well, watching Joan in particular, did something to me for a moment.  For just a moment, I kind of remembered what it was like to think that way, to think that love for Rawat was what it was all about and, as none could be certain their heart's were pure enough, or clear enough, it was so easy to feel the guilt of not loving him enough, or properly, or sincerely enough.  As a North American premie, Joan was always in my face at programs.  Joan this, Joan that.  That uptight bitch, like Anne Johnson, set an imaginary and impossible standard in fastidious devotion. 

And so the flip side of that feeling was this sense I used to feel that, really, I meant nothing.  It was all him.  Rawat was all, everything.  What a miserable, terrible trap to fall into.  All I can say is that I'm glad these old-timer PAMs are still stuck in the cult.  They deserve it.