The Celestine Prophecy: An Adventure

by James Redfield

  Suddenly I became aware that Pablo was no longer talking. I looked over at him. “Sorry, my mind was wandering,” I said. “What were you saying?”

  “That is all right,” he replied. “What were you thinking about?”

  “Just a friend of mine. It was nothing.”

  He looked as though he wanted to press the question, but someone was approaching the cell door. Through the bars we could see a soldier sliding back the bolt lock.

  “Time for breakfast,” Pablo said.

  The soldier opened the door and motioned with his head for us to walk into the hall. Pablo led the way down the stone corridor. We proceeded to a stairway and up one flight of stairs to a small dining area. Four or five soldiers stood at the corner of the room while several civilians, two men and a woman, waited in line to be served.

  I stopped, not believing my eyes. The woman was Marjorie. Simultaneously, she saw me and covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes opening wide with surprise. I glanced at the soldier behind me. He was walking toward the other military men in the corner, smiling nonchalantly and saying something in Spanish. I followed Pablo as he led us across the room and to the end of the line.

  Marjorie was being served. The two other men took their trays to a table, talking. Several times Marjorie gazed over and met my eyes, struggling not to say anything. After the second glance, Pablo guessed that we knew each other and looked at me questioningly. Marjorie carried her food to a table, and after being served, we walked over and sat with her. The soldiers were still talking among themselves, seemingly oblivious to our movements.

  “God, I’m glad to see you,” she said. “How did you get here?”

  “I hid for a while with some priests,” I replied. “Then I left to find Wil and was captured yesterday. How long have you been here?”

  “Since they found me on the ridge,” she said.

  I noticed Pablo was looking at us intensely and I introduced him to Marjorie.

  “I guessed that this must be Marjorie,” he said.

  They talked briefly, then I asked Marjorie, “What else has happened?”

  “Not much,” she said. “I don’t even know why I’m being detained. Every day I’ve been taken to one of the priests or to one of the officers for questioning. They want to know who my contacts were at Viciente, and if I know where any other copies are. Over and over again!”

  Marjorie smiled and looked vulnerable and when she did, I felt another strong attraction to her. She looked at me sharply, out of the corner of her eyes. We both laughed quietly. A period of silence followed as we ate our food, and then the door opened and in walked a priest, dressed formally. He was accompanied by a man appearing to be a high ranking military officer.

  “That’s the head priest,” Pablo said.

  The officer said something to the soldiers, who had snapped to attention, and then he and the priest walked across the room toward the kitchen. The priest looked directly at me, our eyes meeting for a long second. I looked away and took a bite of food, not wanting to attract attention. Both men continued through the kitchen and out a door there.

  “Was that one of the priests you’ve talked to?” I asked Marjorie.

  “No,” Marjorie said. “I’ve never seen him.”

  “I know that priest,” Pablo said. “He arrived yesterday. His name is Cardinal Sebastian.”

  I sat up straight. “That was Sebastian?”

  “It sounds like you’ve heard of him,” Marjorie said.

  “I have,” I replied. “He’s the main person behind the Church’s opposition to the Manuscript. I thought he was at Father Sanchez’s Mission.”

  “Who is Father Sanchez?” Marjorie asked.

  I was about to tell her when the soldier who had escorted us walked over to the table and motioned for Pablo and me to follow.

  “Time for exercise,” Pablo said.

  Marjorie and I looked at each other. Her eyes revealed an inner anxiety.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll talk to you at the next meal. Everything will be fine.”

  As I walked away, I wondered if my optimism was realistic. These people could make any of us disappear without a trace at any time. The soldier guided us into a short hall and through a door that led to an outside stairway. We walked down to a side yard which was surrounded by a tall rock wall. The soldier stood by the entrance. Pablo nodded for me to walk with him around the borders of the yard. As we walked, Pablo bent down several times to pick some of the flowers growing in beds by the wall.

  “What else does the Seventh Insight say?” I asked.

  He bent down and picked another flower. “It says that not only dreams guide us. Also thoughts or daydreams guide us.”

  “Yes, Father Carl said that. Tell me how daydreams guide us.”

  “They show us a scene, a happening, and this is an indication that this event might happen. If we pay attention then we can be ready for this turn in our lives.”

  I looked at him. “You know, Pablo, an image came to me that I would run into Marjorie. Then I did.”

  He smiled.

  A chill went up my spine. I must indeed be in the right place. I had intuited something that had come true. I had thought several times of finding Marjorie again and now it had happened. The coincidences were taking place. I felt lighter.

  “I don’t have thoughts like that happen very often,” I said.

  Pablo looked away, then said, “The Seventh Insight says that we all have many more such thoughts than we realize. To recognize them we must take an observer position. When a thought comes, we must ask why? Why did this particular thought come now? How does it relate to my life questions? Taking this observer position helps us release our need to control everything. It places us in the flow of evolution.”

  “But what about negative thoughts?” I asked. “Those fear images of something bad happening, such as someone we love getting hurt, or of not achieving something we very much want?”

  “Very simple,” Pablo said. “The Seventh Insight says that fear images should be halted as soon as they come. Then another image, one with a good outcome, should be willed through the mind. Soon, negative images will almost never happen. Your intuitions will be about positive things. When negative images come after that, the Manuscript says they should be taken very seriously, and not followed. For instance, if the idea comes to you that you’re going to have a wreck in a truck and someone comes along and offers you a ride in a truck, then do not accept it.”

  We had come full circle in our walk around the courtyard and were approaching the guard. Neither of us talked as we passed him. Pablo picked a flower and I took a deep breath. The air was warm and humid, and the plant life outside the wall was dense and tropical. I had noticed several mosquitoes.

  “Come!” the soldier suddenly called out.

  He prodded us inside and down to our cell. Pablo entered ahead of me, but the soldier put his arm up blocking my way.

  “Not you,” he said, then nodded for me to walk down the hallway and up the other steps and outside through the same door we had entered the night before. In the parking lot, Father Sebastian was entering the back seat of a large car. A driver shut the door behind him. For an instant Sebastian looked at me again, then he turned and said something to the driver. The car sped away.

  The soldier nudged me toward the front of the building. We walked inside and into an office. I was directed to sit in a wooden chair across from a white metal desk. Within minutes a small, sandy-haired priest of about thirty entered and sat at the desk without acknowledging my presence. He looked through a file for a full minute, then looked up at me. His round, gold-rimmed glasses produced an intellectual appearance.

  “You’ve been arrested with illegal state documents,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m here to help determine whether prosecution is in order. I would appreciate your cooperation.”

  I nodded.

  “Where did you get the translations?”

  “I don’t underst
and,” I said. “Why would copies of an old manuscript be illegal?”

  “The government of Peru has its reasons,” he said. “Please answer the question.”

  “Why is the church involved?” I asked.

  “Because this Manuscript contradicts the traditions of our religion,” he said. “It misrepresents the truth of our spiritual nature. Where …”

  “Look,” I said, interrupting. “I’m just trying to understand this. I’m just a tourist who got interested in this Manuscript. I’m a threat to no one. I only want to know why it is so alarming.”

  He looked puzzled, as if trying to decide the best strategy for dealing with me. I was consciously pressing for details.

  “The church feels the Manuscript is confusing to our people,” he said carefully. “It gives the impression that people can decide on their own how to live, without regard to the scriptures.”

  “Which scriptures?”

  “The commandment to honor thy father and mother, for one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Manuscript blames problems on parents, undermining the family.”

  “I thought it spoke of ending old resentments,” I said. “And finding a positive view of our early life.”

  “No,” he said. “It is misleading. There should never have been a negative feeling to begin with.”

  “Can’t parents be wrong?”

  “Parents do the best they can. Children must forgive them.”

  “But isn’t that what the Manuscript is clarifying? Doesn’t forgiveness take place when we see the positive about our childhoods?”

  His voice rose with anger. “But from what authority does this Manuscript speak? How can it be trusted?”

  He walked around the desk and stared down at me, still angry. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Are you a religious scholar? I think not. You’re direct evidence of the kind of confusion this Manuscript evokes. Don’t you understand that there is order in the world only because of law and authority? How can you question the authorities in this matter?”

  I said nothing, which seemed to infuriate him even more. “Let me tell you something,” he said, “the crime you have committed is punishable by years in prison. Have you ever been in a Peruvian prison? Does your Yankee curiosity yearn to find out what our prisons are like? I can arrange that! Do you understand? I can arrange that!”

  He put his hand over his eyes and paused, taking a deep breath, obviously trying to calm down. “I am here to find out who has copies, where they are coming from. I will ask you one more time. Where did you get your translations?”

  His outburst had filled me with anxiety. I was making my situation worse with all my questions. What might he do if I failed to cooperate? Still, how could I implicate Father Sanchez and Father Carl?

  “I need some time to think before I answer you,” I said.

  Momentarily he looked as if he might fly into another rage. Then he relaxed and looked very tired.

  “I will give you until tomorrow morning,” he said, motioning for the soldier standing in the doorway to take me away. I followed the soldier back down the hall and directly to the cell.

  Without saying anything I walked over and lay down on my cot, feeling exhausted myself. Pablo was looking out the barred window.

  “Did you talk to Father Sebastian?” he asked.

  “No, it was another priest. He wanted to know who gave me the copies I had.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. I asked for time to think and he gave me until tomorrow.”

  “Did he say anything about the Manuscript?” Pablo asked.

  I looked into Pablo’s eyes and this time he did not lower his head. “He talked a little about how the Manuscript undermines traditional authority,” I said. “Then he started raving and threatening me.”

  Pablo looked genuinely surprised. “Did he have brown hair and round glasses?”

  “Yes.”

  “His name is Father Costous,” Pablo said. “What else did you say?”

  “I disagreed with him on whether the Manuscript undermines tradition,” I replied. “He threatened me with prison. Do you think he meant that?”

  “I don’t know,” Pablo said. He walked over and sat on his cot across from me. I could tell he had something else on his mind but I was so tired and scared that I closed my eyes. When I awoke Pablo was shaking me.

  “Time for lunch,” he said.

  We followed a guard upstairs and were served a plate of gristly beef and potatoes. The two men who we saw earlier came in after us. Marjorie wasn’t with them.

  “Where is Marjorie?” I asked them, trying to whisper. The two men looked horrified that I would speak to them and the soldiers stared at me intensely.

  “I don’t think they speak English,” Pablo said.

  “I wonder where she is,” I said.

  Pablo said something in response but again I wasn’t listening. I suddenly felt like running away and was picturing myself fleeing down a street of some kind, then ducking through a doorway, to freedom.

  “What are you thinking about?” Pablo asked.

  “I was fantasizing about an escape,” I said. “What were you saying?”

  “Wait,” Pablo said. “Don’t dismiss your thought. It may be important. What kind of escape?”

  “I was running down an alley, or a street, then through a doorway. I got the impression I was successfully escaping.”

  “What do you think of this image?” Pablo asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It didn’t seem to be logically connected to what we were talking about.”

  “Do you remember what we were talking about?”

  “Yes. I was asking about Marjorie.”

  “You don’t think there is a connection between Marjorie and your thought?”

  “Not an obvious link I can think of.”

  “What about a hidden link?”

  “I can’t see a connection. How could escaping be related to Marjorie? Do you think she escaped?”

  He looked thoughtful. “Your thought was of you escaping.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right,” I said. “Maybe I’m going to escape without her.” I looked at him. “Maybe I’m going to escape with her.”

  “That would be my guess,” he said.

  “But where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We finished eating without talking. I was hungry but the food seemed too heavy. For some reason, I felt tired and sluggish. My hunger left me quickly.

  I noticed Pablo wasn’t eating either.

  “I think we should go back to the cell,” Pablo said.

  I nodded, and he motioned for the soldier to take us back. When we arrived, I stretched out on my cot and Pablo sat looking at me.

  “Your energy seems down,” he said.

  “It is,” I replied. “I’m not sure what is wrong.”

  “Are you trying to take in energy?” he asked.

  “I guess I haven’t,” I replied. “And that food doesn’t help.”

  “But you don’t need much food if you are taking everything in.” He swept his arm in front of him to emphasize everything.

  “I know. It’s hard for me to get the love flowing in a situation like this.”

  He looked at me quizzically. “But not to do so is to harm yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your body is vibrating at a certain level. If you let your energy get too low your body suffers. That is the relationship between stress and disease. Love is the way we keep our vibration up. It keeps us healthy. It is that important.”

  “Give me a few minutes,” I said.

  I practiced the method Father Sanchez had taught me. Immediately I felt better. The objects around me stood out with presence. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feeling.

  “That’s good,” he said.

  I opened my eyes and saw him smiling broadly at me. His face and body were still
boyish and immature, but his eyes now seemed full of wisdom.

  “I can see the energy coming into you,” he said.

  I could detect a slight field of green around Pablo’s body. The new flowers he had placed in the vase on the table seemed radiant.

  “To grasp the Seventh Insight and truly enter the movement of evolution,” he said, “one must pull all the insights into one way of being.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Can you sum up how the world has changed for you as a result of the insights?”

  I thought for a moment. “I guess I’ve woken up and seen the world as a mysterious place that provides everything we need, if we get clear and get on the path.”

  “Then what happens?” he asked.

  “Then, we’re ready to begin the evolutionary flow.”

  “And how do we engage this process?”

  I thought for a moment. “By keeping our current life questions firmly in mind,” I said. “And then watching for direction, either in a dream or in an intuitive thought or in the way the environment illuminates and jumps out at us.”

  I paused again, trying to pull the whole insight together, then added, “We build our energy and center ourselves in our situations, in the questions we have, then we receive some form of intuitive guidance, an idea of where to go or what to do, and then coincidences occur to allow us to move in that direction.”

  “Yes! Yes!” Pablo said. “That is the way. And each time that these coincidences lead us into something new, we grow, we become fuller persons, existing at a higher vibration.”

  He was leaning toward me, and I noticed the incredible energy around him. He was beaming, no longer appearing shy or even young. He seemed full of power.

  “Pablo, what has happened to you?” I asked. “Compared to when I first met you, you seem more confident and knowledgeable and full somehow.”

  He laughed. “When you first came, I had allowed my energy to dissipate. At first, I thought that you might be able to help me with my energy flow, but I realized that you haven’t learned to do this yet. That ability is learned in the Eighth Insight.”