by Paulo Coelho
"As soon as we received the first complaint, we sent someone to inspect the place, but no drugs were found nor evidence of any other kind of illicit activity," said an official who preferred not to be identified because an inquiry has just been set up to investigate what happened. "They aren't contravening the noise nuisance laws because they turn off the music at ten o'clock prompt, so there's really nothing more we can do. Britain, after all, allows freedom of worship."
The Rev. Buck has another version of events.
"The fact is that this witch of Portobello, this mistress of charlatanism, has contacts with people high up in the government, which explains why the police--paid for by taxpayers' money to maintain order and decency--refuse to do anything. We're living in an age in which everything is allowed, and democracy is being devoured and destroyed by that limitless freedom."
The vicar says that he was suspicious of the group right from the start. They had rented a crumbling old building and spent whole days trying to renovate it, "which is clear evidence that they belong to some sect and have undergone some kind of brainwashing, because no one in today's world works for free." When asked if his parishioners ever did any charitable work in the community, the Rev. Buck replied: "Yes, but we do it in the name of Jesus."
Yesterday evening, when she arrived at the warehouse to meet her waiting followers, Sherine Khalil, her son, and some of her friends were prevented from entering by the Rev. Buck's parishioners, who were carrying placards and using megaphones to call on the rest of the neighborhood to join them. This verbal aggression immediately degenerated into fighting, and soon it was impossible to control either side.
"They say they're fighting in the name of Jesus, but what they really want is for people to continue to ignore the teachings of Christ, according to which 'we are all gods,'" said the well-known actress Andrea McCain, one of Sherine Khalil's, or Athena's, followers. Ms. McCain received a cut above her right eye, which was treated at once, and she left the area before your reporter could find out more about her links with the sect.
Once order was restored, Mrs. Khalil was anxious to reassure her eight-year-old son, but she did tell us that all that takes place in the warehouse is some collective dancing, followed by the invocation of a being known as Hagia Sofia, of whom people are free to ask questions. The celebration ends with a kind of sermon and a group prayer to the Great Mother. The officer charged with investigating the original complaints confirmed this.
As far as we could ascertain, the group has no name and is not registered as a charity. According to the lawyer Sheldon Williams, this is not necessary. "We live in a free country, and people can gather together in an enclosed space for non-profit-making activities, as long as these do not break any laws such as incitement to racism or the consumption of narcotics."
Mrs. Khalil emphatically rejected any suggestion that she should stop the meetings because of the disturbances.
"We gather together to offer mutual encouragement," she said, "because it's very hard to face social pressures alone. I demand that your newspaper denounce the religious discrimination to which we've been subjected over the centuries. Whenever we do something that is not in accord with state-instituted and state-approved religions, there is always an attempt to crush us, as happened today. Before, we would have faced martyrdom, prison, being burned at the stake, or sent into exile, but now we are in a position to respond, and force will be answered with force, just as compassion will be repaid with compassion."
When faced with the Rev. Buck's accusations, she accused him of "manipulating his parishioners and using intolerance and lies as an excuse for violence."
According to the sociologist Arthaud Lenox, phenomena like this will become increasingly common in the future, possibly involving more serious clashes between established religions. "Now that the Marxist utopia has shown itself incapable of channeling society's ideals, the world is ripe for a religious revival, born of civilization's natural fear of significant dates. However, I believe that when the year 2000 does arrive and the world survives intact, common sense will prevail and religions will revert to being a refuge for the weak, who are always in search of guidance."
This view is contested by Dom Evaristo Piazza, the Vatican's auxiliary bishop in the United Kingdom. "What we are seeing is not the spiritual awakening that we all long for, but a wave of what Americans call New Ageism, a kind of breeding ground in which everything is permitted, where dogmas are not respected, and the most absurd ideas from the past return to lay waste to the human mind. Unscrupulous people like this young woman are trying to instill their false ideas in weak, suggestible minds, with the one aim of making money and gaining personal power."
The German historian Franz Herbert, currently working at the Goethe Institute in London, has a different idea. "The established religions no longer ask fundamental questions about our identity and our reason for living. Instead, they concentrate purely on a series of dogmas and rules concerned only with fitting in with a particular social and political organization. People in search of real spirituality are, therefore, setting off in new directions, and that inevitably means a return to the past and to primitive religions, before those religions were contaminated by the structures of power."
At the police station where the incident was recorded, Sergeant William Morton stated that should Sherine Khalil's group decide to hold their meeting on the following Monday and feel that they are under threat, then they must apply in writing for police protection and thus avoid a repetition of last night's events.
(With additional information from Andrew Fish. Photos by Mark Guillhem.)
HERON RYAN, JOURNALIST
I read the report on the plane, when I was flying back from the Ukraine, feeling full of doubts. I still hadn't managed to ascertain whether the Chernobyl disaster had been as big as it was said to have been, or whether it had been used by the major oil producers to inhibit the use of other sources of energy.
Anyway, I was horrified by what I read in the article. The photos showed broken windows, a furious Reverend Buck, and--there lay the danger--a beautiful woman with fiery eyes and her son in her arms. I saw at once what could happen, both good and bad. I went straight from the airport to Portobello, convinced that both my predictions would become reality.
On the positive side, the following Monday's meeting was one of the most successful events in the area's history: many local people came, some curious to see the "being" mentioned in the article, others bearing placards defending freedom of religion and freedom of speech. The venue would only hold two hundred people, and so the rest of the crowd were all crammed together on the pavement outside, hoping for at least a glimpse of the woman who appeared to be the priestess of the oppressed.
When she arrived, she was received with applause, handwritten notes, and requests for help; some people threw flowers, and one lady of uncertain age asked her to keep on fighting for women's freedom and for the right to worship the Mother. The parishioners from the week before must have been intimidated by the crowd and so failed to turn up, despite the threats they had made during the previous days. There were no aggressive comments, and the ceremony passed off as normal, with dancing, the appearance of Hagia Sofia (by then, I knew that she was simply another facet of Athena herself ), and a final celebration (this had been added recently, when the group moved to the warehouse, lent by one of its original members), and that was that.
During her sermon, Athena spoke as if possessed by someone else.
"We all have a duty to love and to allow love to manifest itself in the way it thinks best. We cannot and must not be frightened when the powers of darkness want to make themselves heard, those same powers that introduced the word sin merely to control our hearts and minds. Jesus Christ, whom we all know, turned to the woman taken in adultery and said: 'Has no man condemned thee? Neither do I condemn thee.' He healed people on the Sabbath, he allowed a prostitute to wash his feet, he promised a thief that he would enjoy the delights of Paradise, he
ate forbidden foods, and he said that we should concern ourselves only with today, because the lilies in the field toil not, neither do they spin, but are arrayed in glory.
"What is sin? It is a sin to prevent Love from showing itself. And the Mother is Love. We are entering a new world in which we can choose to follow our own steps, not those that society forces us to take. If necessary, we will confront the forces of darkness again, as we did last week. But no one will silence our voice or our heart."
I was witnessing the transformation of a woman into an icon. She spoke with great conviction, with dignity and with faith in what she was saying. I hoped that things really were like that, that we truly were entering a new world, and that I would live to see it.
She left the warehouse to as much acclaim as she had entered it, and when she saw me in the crowd, she called me over and said that she'd missed me. She was happy and confident, sure that she was doing the right thing.
This was the positive side of the newspaper article, and things might have ended there. I wanted my analysis of events to be wrong, but three days later, my prediction was confirmed. The negative side emerged in full force.
Employing the services of one of the most highly regarded and conservative law practices in Britain, whose senior partners--unlike Athena--really did have contacts in all spheres of the government, and basing his case on published statements made by Athena, the Reverend Buck called a news conference to say that he was suing for defamation, calumny, and moral damages.
The deputy editor called me in. He knew I was friendly with the central figure in that scandal and suggested that we publish an exclusive interview. My first reaction was of disgust: How could I use my friendship to sell newspapers?
However, after we had talked further, I started to think that it might be a good idea. She would have the chance to present her side of the story; indeed, she could use the interview to promote all the things for which she was now openly fighting. I left the deputy editor's office with the plan we had drawn up together: a series of articles on new trends in society and on radical changes that were taking place in the search for religious belief. In one of those articles, I would publish Athena's point of view.
That same afternoon, I went to her house, taking advantage of the fact that the invitation had come from her when we met outside the warehouse. The neighbors told me that, the day before, court officials had attempted to serve a summons on her but failed.
I phoned later on, without success. I tried again as night was falling, but no one answered. From then on, I phoned every half an hour, growing more anxious with each call. Ever since Hagia Sofia had cured my insomnia, tiredness drove me to bed at eleven o'clock, but this time anxiety kept me awake.
I found her mother's number in the phone book, but it was late, and if Athena wasn't there, then I would only cause the whole family to worry. What to do? I turned on the TV to see if anything had happened--nothing special, London continued as before, with its marvels and its perils.
I decided to try one last time. The phone rang three times, and someone answered. I recognized Andrea's voice at once.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Athena asked me to get in touch. Is everything all right?"
"Everything's all right and not all right, depending on your way of looking at things. But I think you might be able to help."
"Where is she?"
She hung up without saying any more.
DEIDRE O'NEILL, KNOWN AS EDDA
Athena stayed in a hotel near my house. News from London regarding local events, especially minor conflicts in the suburbs, never reaches Scotland. We're not much interested in how the English sort out their little problems. We have our own flag, our own football team, and soon we will have our own parliament.
I let Athena rest for a whole day. The following morning, instead of going into the little temple and performing the rituals I know, I decided to take her and her son to a wood near Edinburgh. There, while the boy played and ran about among the trees, she told me in detail what was going on.
When she'd finished, I said, "It's daylight, the sky is cloudy, and human beings believe that beyond the clouds lives an all-powerful God, guiding the fate of men. Meanwhile, look at your son, look at your feet, listen to the sounds around you: down here is the Mother, so much closer, bringing joy to children and energy to those who walk over her body. Why do people prefer to believe in something far away and forget what is there before their eyes, a true manifestation of the miracle?"
"I know the answer. Because up there someone is guiding us and giving his orders, hidden behind the clouds, unquestionable in his wisdom. Down here we have physical contact with a magical reality, and the freedom to choose where our steps will go."
"Exactly. But do you think that is what people want? Do they want the freedom to choose their own steps?"
"Yes, I think they do. The earth I'm standing on now has laid out many strange paths for me, from a village in Transylvania to a city in the Middle East, from there to another city on an island, and then to the desert and back to Transylvania. From a suburban bank to a real estate company in the Persian Gulf. From a dance group to a bedouin. And whenever my feet drove me onward, I said yes instead of saying no."
"What did you gain from all that?"
"Today I can see people's auras. I can awaken the Mother in my soul. My life now has meaning, and I know what I'm fighting for. But why do you ask? You too gained the most important power of all--the gift of healing. Andrea can now prophesy and converse with spirits. I've followed her spiritual development every step of the way."
"What else have you gained?"
"The joy of being alive. I know that I'm here, and that everything is a miracle, a revelation."
The little boy fell over and grazed his knee. Instinctively, Athena ran to him, wiped the wound clean, told him not to worry, and the boy continued running about in the forest. I used that as a signal.
"What just happened to your little boy, happened to me. And it's happening to you too, isn't it?"
"Yes, but I don't think I stumbled and fell. I think I'm being tested again, and that my next step will be revealed to me."
At such moments, a teacher must say nothing, only bless the disciple. Because however much the teacher may want to save her disciple from suffering, the paths are mapped out and the disciple's feet are eager to follow them. I suggested we go back to the wood that night, just the two of us. She asked where she could leave her son, and I said that I would take care of that. I had a neighbor who owed me a favor and who would be delighted to look after Viorel.
As evening fell, we returned to that same place, and on the way, we spoke of things that had nothing to do with the ritual we were about to perform. Athena had seen me using a new kind of depilatory wax and was intrigued to know what advantages it had over the old methods. We talked animatedly about vanity, fashion, the cheapest places to buy clothes, female behavior, feminism, hairstyles. At one point she said something along the lines of: "But if the soul is ageless, I don't know why we should be so worried about all this," then realized that it was all right just to relax and talk about superficial subjects. More than that, such conversations were really fun, and how we look is something that's still very important in women's lives (it is in men's lives too, but in a different way, and they're not as open about it as we are).
As we approached the place I'd chosen--or, rather, which the wood was choosing for me--I started to feel the presence of the Mother. In my case, this presence manifests itself in a certain, mysterious inner joy that always touches me and almost moves me to tears. It was the moment to stop and change the subject.
"Collect some wood for kindling," I said.
"But it's dark."
"There's enough light from the full moon even if it's obscured by clouds. Train your eyes: they were made to see more than you think."
She began doing as I asked, occasionally cursing because she'd scratched herself on a thorn. Almost half an
hour passed, and during that time, we didn't talk. I felt the excitement of knowing that the Mother was close by, the euphoria of being there with that woman who still seemed little more than a child and who trusted me and was keeping me company in the search that sometimes seemed too mad for the human mind.
Athena was still at the stage of answering questions, just as she'd responded to mine that afternoon. I had been like that once, until I allowed myself to be transported completely into the kingdom of mystery, where it was simply a matter of contemplating, celebrating, worshiping, praising, and allowing the gift to manifest itself.
I was watching Athena collecting firewood and I saw the girl I once was, in search of veiled secrets and secret powers. Life had taught me something completely different: the powers were not secret and the secrets had been revealed a long time ago. When I saw that she had gathered enough firewood, I indicated that she should stop.
I myself looked for some larger branches and put them on top of the kindling. So it was in life. In order for the more substantial pieces of wood to catch fire, the kindling must burn first. In order for us to liberate the energy of our strength, our weakness must first have a chance to reveal itself.
In order for us to understand the powers we carry within us and the secrets that have already been revealed, it was first necessary to allow the surface--expectations, fears, appearances--to be burned away. We were entering the peace now settling upon the forest, with the gentle wind, the moonlight behind the clouds, the noises of the animals that sally forth at night to hunt, thus fulfilling the cycle of birth and death of the Mother, and without ever being criticized for following their instincts and their nature.
I lit the fire.
Neither of us felt like saying anything. For what seemed like an eternity, we merely contemplated the dance of the fire, knowing that hundreds of thousands of people, all over the world, would also be sitting by their fireside, regardless of whether they had modern heating systems in their house or not; they did this because they were sitting before a symbol.