We are followers of the light. Longing for the salve of a wounded existence, a cure for the affliction of being separate and alone, we pursue sources of light that pose as prophets, absolutes, promises of wholeness and of dreams coming true, rainbows and all that glitters. We fall in love, bedazzled, and become as children innocently drawn by the anticipation of empowerment and enlightenment, aspiring to become gold by association. In this fertile attraction are planted the magic seeds of devotion. Yet in trying to get as close as possible to the Light, by some perversion of alchemy we find ourselves unable to discern the line dividing blameless surrender and blind faith. Our power is relinquished to holy men, healers, heads of state or organizations, to heroes, superstars, gurus or just to ordinary people we believed were extraordinary. And so, good turns into evil and, like a moth lighting up with the flame, we melt into One and become a power supply. The ancient legends of Jata...