The Valkyries: An Encounter With Angels

by Paulo Coelho

  Valhalla pointed to the horizon. "We have to make eleven trips through the desert, pass through the same places eleven times and repeat the same things eleven times. That's all I was told to do."

  "Your master said that?"

  "No, the archangel Michael."

  "And what trip is this?"

  "This is the tenth."

  The Valkyrie put her head on Paulo's shoulder, and they sat in silence for a long time. He had a desire to caress her, put her head in his lap, as she had done for him at the abandoned mine. She was a warrior, but she, too, needed to rest.

  He thought about it for some time, but decided against it. And the two returned to the camp.

  AS THE DAYS PASSED, PAULO BEGAN TO SUSPECT THAT Valhalla was teaching him everything he needed to know--but that, as Gene had done, she was doing it without directly showing him the path. He began to observe closely what the Valkyries did; he thought he might perceive some clue, some teaching, a new practice. And, when Valhalla called him to go with her at day's end--something she did every day now--he decided that he would discuss things with her.

  "There's nothing that prevents you from teaching me directly," he said. "You are not a master. It's not like it is with Gene, or J., or even with me--people who know two Traditions."

  "Yes, I am a master. I learned through revelation. You're right that I don't pronounce curses, and I don't participate in covens, nor am I a member of any secret societies. But I know many things that you don't know, because the archangel Michael taught them to me."

  "Well, that's why I'm here. To learn."

  The two were seated in the sand, leaning against some rocks.

  "I need affection," she said. "I really need affection."

  Paulo shifted his position, and Valhalla laid her head in his lap. They sat there for some time, looking out at the horizon.

  It was Paulo who spoke first. He didn't want to raise the subject, but felt he had to.

  "I'm going away soon, you know."

  He awaited her reaction. She said nothing.

  "I have to learn how to see my angel. I feel as if you have been trying to teach me, but that I'm not seeing it."

  "No. My teachings are as clear as the desert sun."

  Paulo caressed the hair that covered his lap.

  "You have a beautiful wife," Valhalla said.

  Paulo understood the comment, and took his hands away.

  When he had rejoined Chris that night, he told her what Valhalla had said about her. Chris smiled, but said nothing.

  THEY CONTINUED TO TRAVEL WITH THE VALKYRIES. Even after Valhalla's comment--about the clarity of her teachings--Paulo continued to pay close attention to everything the Valkyries did. But the routine varied little: travel along, speak in public places, perform the rituals he already knew, and move on.

  And make love. They made love to men they met along the way. Usually they were groups on motorcycles, bold enough to approach the Valkyries. When this happened, there was a tacit agreement that Valhalla would have the right to first choice. If she wasn't interested, any of the others could approach the newcomer.

  The men never knew this. They were made to feel that they were with the woman they had chosen--but the choice had been made much earlier. By the women.

  The Valkyries drank beer and talked of God. They performed sacred rituals, and made love out among the rocks. In the larger cities, they went to some public place to perform their miracle play--getting those who were in the audience to participate.

  At the end, they asked for contributions. Valhalla never played a role, but she directed everything that was happening. Afterward, she would pass her kerchief around, and she always received money.

  Every afternoon, before Valhalla called Paulo to walk with her in the desert, he and Chris practiced their channeling and talked with their angels. Although the channel was not yet completely opened, they felt the presence of constant protection, of love and peace. They heard phrases that made little sense, they had some intuitions, and many times the only sensation was one of joy--nothing more. But they knew they were speaking to their angels, and that the angels were happy at this.

  Yes, the angels were happy, because they had been contacted again. Any person who resolved to speak with them would discover that it was not the first time. They had already conversed with them when they were children--the angels had appeared in the form of "secret friends," and had been their companions in long conversations and in play, protecting them from evil and from danger.

  And every child had spoken with their guardian angel--until that day when their parents noticed that the child was talking to people who "didn't exist." Then they became intrigued, blamed it on excessive childish imagination, consulted with educators and psychologists, and came to the conclusion that the child should give up that sort of behavior.

  The parents always insisted on telling their children that their secret friends didn't exist--perhaps because they had forgotten that they too had spoken to their angel at one time. Or, who knows, perhaps they thought they lived in a world where there was no longer any place for angels. Disenchanted, the angels had returned to God's side, knowing that they could no longer impose their presence.

  But a new world was beginning. The angels knew where the gates to Paradise were, and they would conduct all who believed in them to those gates. Perhaps they needn't even believe--it was enough that they needed angels, and the angels would return gladly.

  PAULO SPENT HIS NIGHTS TRYING TO UNDERSTAND WHY Valhalla was doing as she did--putting things off.

  Chris knew the answer. And the Valkyries knew the answer, as well--even though none of them said anything about it.

  Chris was waiting for the blow to fall. Sooner or later it was going to happen. That's why Valhalla had not left them, had not taught them what else they needed to know about meeting with their angel.

  ONE AFTERNOON, IMMENSE MOUNTAIN FORMATIONS BEGAN to appear off to the right side of the road as they drove. Soon, to the left, mountains and canyons could be seen, and a gigantic salt flat, gleaming in the sun, extended from one side to the other.

  They had arrived at Death Valley.

  The Valkyries made camp close to Furnace Creek--the only place for miles around where there was water. Chris and Paulo decided to stay with the group, because the only hotel for miles was filled.

  That night, the entire group sat around the campfire, chatting about men and motorcycles, and--for the first time in many days--angels. As they always did before sleeping, the Valkyries knotted together their kerchiefs, held the long cord that was formed, and once again repeated the psalm that sang of the rivers of Babylon and of the harps hanging in the willow trees. They could never forget that they were warriors.

  When the ritual was over, silence fell over the encampment, and everyone made their sleeping arrangements. Except Valhalla.

  She walked some distance from the camp, and gazed for a long time at the moon. She asked the archangel Michael to continue to appear to her, to continue to provide her with valuable advice, and to help her to maintain a firm hand.

  "You won in your battles with the other angels," she prayed. "Teach me to win. That I not disperse this flock of eight people, so that one day we might be thousands, millions. Forgive my errors, and fill my heart with enthusiasm. Grant me the strength to be both man and woman, both hard and soft.

  "May my word be your lance.

  "May my love be your scale."

  She made the sign of the cross, and fell silent, listening to the howl of a coyote in the distance. She was wakeful, and began to think back on her life. She remembered when she had been just an employee at the Chase Manhattan Bank, and when her life amounted to nothing more than her husband and her two children.

  "Then I saw my angel," she said to the silent desert. "The angel appeared to me, enveloped in light, and asked that I take on this mission. I was not forced, there were no threats, nor any promise of reward. My angel simply asked."

  She had left the nex
t day, and went straight to the Mojave Desert. She began preaching alone, speaking of the open gates to Paradise. Her husband divorced her and won custody of the children. She didn't really understand clearly why she had accepted this mission, but every time she wept out of pain and solitude, her angel told her stories of other women who had accepted messages from God: the Virgin Mary, Saint Theresa, and Joan of Arc. The angel said that all the world needed was an example. People who were capable of following their dreams and of fighting for their ideas.

  She lived for almost a year outside Las Vegas. She exhausted the little money she had been able to pull together, went hungry, and slept outdoors. Until one day, a poem came into her hands.

  The poem told the story of a saint, Maria Egipciaca. She was traveling to Jerusalem, and had no money to pay for her passage across a river. The boatman, eyeing the attractive woman, suggested to her that, although she had no money, she did have her body. Maria Egipciaca surrendered herself to the boatman. When she arrived at Jerusalem, an angel appeared and blessed her for what she had done. And, although today almost no one remembers her, she was canonized by the church following her death.

  Valhalla interpreted the story as a sign. She preached in God's name during the day, and twice a week went to the casinos, became the lover of wealthy men, and was able to put together some money. She never asked her angel whether she was doing the right thing--and her angel said nothing.

  Little by little, led by the invisible hands of other angels, her companions began to arrive.

  "One more trip," she said again, aloud, to the silent desert. "Only one more trip to complete my mission, and then I can get back to the world. I have no idea what awaits me, but I want to get back. I need love, affection. I need someone who can protect me here on earth, just as my angel protects me in heaven. I have done my part; I have no regrets, even though it was awfully hard."

  She made the sign of the cross again, and returned to the encampment.

  SHE SAW THAT THE BRAZILIAN COUPLE WAS STILL SEATED by the campfire, gazing at the flames.

  "How many days until your fortieth?" she asked Paulo.

  "Eleven."

  "Well then, tomorrow night, at ten o'clock, in Golden Canyon, I will make you accept forgiveness. The Ritual That Demolishes Rituals."

  Paulo was astonished. She was right! The answer had been under his nose the whole time!

  "Using what?" he asked.

  "Using hatred," Valhalla answered.

  "That's fine," he said, trying to conceal his surprise. But Valhalla knew that Paulo had never used hatred in the Ritual That Demolishes Rituals.

  She left the couple and went to where Rotha, the youngest of the Valkyries, was sleeping. She affectionately caressed the girl's face to awaken her--Rotha might have been making contact with the angels that appear in one's sleep, and Valhalla didn't want to interrupt the conversation. Rotha finally opened her eyes.

  "Tomorrow night, you are going to learn how to accept forgiveness," Valhalla said. "And then you will be able to see your angel."

  "But I'm already a Valkyrie."

  "Of course. And even if you are not able to see your angel, you will still be a Valkyrie."

  Rotha smiled. She was twenty-three, and was proud to be roaming the desert with Valhalla.

  "Don't wear your leather outfit tomorrow. Not from the moment the sun rises until the end of the Ritual That Demolishes Rituals."

  She embraced her with great affection. "Go back to sleep," she said.

  Paulo and Chris continued to sit by the fire for another half hour. Then they arranged some of their clothing as pillows, and prepared to sleep. They had thought about purchasing sleeping bags at every large city they had passed through, but they couldn't bring themselves to shop around. More than anything, they always hoped to find a hotel somewhere. So, when it was necessary to camp out with the Valkyries, they either had to sleep in the car or near the fire. Their hair had already been scorched several times by blowing sparks--but nothing any more serious had happened until now.

  "What did she mean?" Chris asked as they lay there.

  "Nothing important." He had had a couple of beers, and was sleepy.

  But Chris pressed the matter. She wanted an answer.

  "Everything in life is a ritual," Paulo said. "For witches as much as for those who have never heard of witchcraft. Both are always trying to perform their rituals to perfection."

  Chris knew that those on the magical path had their rituals. And she understood, as well, that there were rituals in everyday life--marriages, baptisms, graduations.

  "No, no. I'm not talking about those obvious rituals," he went on impatiently. He wanted to sleep, but she pretended not to have sensed his irritation. "I'm saying that everything is a ritual. Just as a mass is a great ritual, composed of various parts, the everyday experience of any person is, also.

  "A carefully elaborate ritual that the person tries to perform precisely, because he or she is afraid that--if any part is left out--everything will go wrong. The name of that ritual is Routine."

  He decided to sit up. He was groggy because of the beers he had drunk, and if he continued to lie down, he would be unable to complete his explanation.

  "When we are young, we don't take anything too seriously. But slowly, this set of daily rituals becomes solidified, and takes us over. Once things have begun to go along pretty much as we imagined they would, we don't dare risk altering the ritual. We like to complain, but we are reassured by the fact that each day is more or less like every other. At least there is no unexpected danger.

  "That way, we are able to avoid any inner or outer growth, except for the kinds that are provided for within the ritual: so many children, such and such a kind of promotion, this and that kind of financial success. When the ritual becomes consolidated, the person becomes a slave."

  "Does that happen sometimes with those on the path?"

  "Of course. They use the ritual to make contact with the invisible world, to destroy the second mind, and to enter into the Extraordinary. But, for us too, the terrain we conquer becomes familiar. And we feel the need to seek out new territories. But any magus is fearful of changing the ritual. It's a fear of the unknown, or a fear that other rituals won't function as well--but it is an irrational fear, a strong one, that never disappears without some help."

  "And what is the Ritual That Demolishes Rituals?"

  "Since a magus is unable to change their rituals, the Tradition decides to change the magus. It's a kind of Sacred Theater in which the magus has to play a different character."

  He lay down again, turned on his side, and pretended to sleep. Chris might ask for further explanations. She might want to know why Valhalla had mentioned hatred.

  Negative emotions were never invoked in the sacred theater. On the contrary, people who participated in that kind of theater tried to work with the good, and to assume characters that were strong, enlightened. That way, they were able to convince themselves that they were better people than they had thought, and--when they believed that--their lives changed.

  To work with negative emotions would mean the same thing. He would wind up convincing himself that he was worse than he had imagined.

  THEY SPENT THE AFTERNOON OF THE FOLLOWING DAY exploring Golden Canyon, a series of ravines with tortuous curves and walls about twenty feet high. At the moment that the sun set, while they were doing their channeling exercise, they saw how the place had acquired its name: The brilliant minerals embedded in the rock reflected the rays of the sun, causing the walls to appear to be carved out of gold.

  "Tonight there will be a full moon," Paulo said.

  They had already seen the full desert moon, and it was an extraordinary spectacle.

  "I awoke today thinking about a passage in the Bible," he continued. "It's from Solomon: 'It is good that you retain this, and that you not take away your hand from it; for whoever fears the Lord will emerge from everything unscathed.'"

  "A strange message," Chris said.r />
  "Very strange."

  "My angel is speaking to me more and more," she told him. "I'm beginning to understand the words. I understand perfectly well what you were talking about in the mine, because I never believed that this communication with my angel could happen."

  That made Paulo feel pleased. And together they contemplated afternoon's end. This time, Valhalla had not appeared for their walk in the desert.

  The glistening stones they had seen that afternoon were no longer apparent. The moon cast a strange, phantasmagorical light into the ravine. They could hear their own footsteps in the sand, as they walked along in silence, alert to any sound they might hear. They didn't know where the Valkyries were meeting.

  They came almost to the end point, where the fissure widened to form a small clearing. No sign of them.

  Chris broke the silence. "Maybe they decided against it."

  She knew that Valhalla was going to prolong the game as long as possible. But Chris wanted it to be over.

  "The animals are on the prowl. I'm afraid of the snakes," she said. "Let's go back."

  But Paulo was looking upward.

  "Look," he said. "They haven't decided against it."

  Chris followed his gaze. At the top of the rocks that formed the right wall of the ravine, the figure of a woman was looking down at them.

  She felt a shiver.

  The figure of another woman appeared. And another. Chris went to the middle of the clearing; she could see three more women on the other side.

  Two were missing.

  "WELCOME TO THE THEATER!" VALHALLA'S VOICE ECHOED from the stone walls. "The audience is already here, and they await the spectacle!"

  That was how Valhalla had always begun her plays in the city parks.

  But I'm not part of the spectacle, Chris thought. Maybe I should climb up there with them.

  "Here, the price of admission is paid upon leaving," the voice continued, repeating what was always said in the city squares. "It may be a high price, or we might return what is paid. Do you want to take the risk?"

  "Yes, I do," Paulo answered.

  "What is all this?" Chris suddenly shouted. "Why such dramatics, why so much ritual, why all of this just to see an angel? Isn't it enough to speak with the angel? Why don't you do as everyone else does: simplify the way we make contact with God and with what is sacred in this world?"