Transcription
The Celestine Prophecy chapter 2 of 9 read by John Devon at John Devon on social media.
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After a frenzy of packing and a wild ride on the freeway, I arrived at the airport with just enough time to pick up my ticket and board the flight for Peru. As I walked into the plane's tail section and sat down in a window seat, fatigue swept over me. I thought about a nap, but when I stretched out and closed my eyes, I found I couldn't relax. I suddenly felt nervous and ambivalent about the trip. Was it crazy to depart with no preparation? Where would I go in Peru? To whom would I talk? The confidence I had experienced at the lake was quickly fading back into skepticism. Both the first insight and the idea of a cultural transformation again seemed fanciful and unrealistic. And as I thought about it, the concept of a second insight seemed just as unlikely. How could a new historical perspective institute our perception of these coincidences and keep them conscious in the public mind?
I stretched out further and took a deep breath. Maybe it would be a useless trip, I concluded. Just a quick run to Peru and back. A waste of money, perhaps, but no real harm done. The plane jerked forward and taxied out to the runway. I closed my eyes and felt a mild dizziness as the big jet reached the critical speed and lifted into a thick cloud cover. When we reached cruising altitude, I finally relaxed and drifted into sleep.
30 or 40 minutes later, a stretch of turbulence woke me up, and I decided to go to the restroom. As I made my way through the lounge area, I noticed a tome with round glasses standing near the window, talking to a flight attendant. He glanced at me briefly, then continued speaking. He had dark brown hair and appeared to be about 45 years old. For an instant, I thought I recognized him, but after looking at his features closely, I concluded he was no one I knew.
As I walked past, I could hear part of the conversation. "Thanks, anyway," the man said. "I just thought since you travel to Peru so often, that perhaps you had heard something about the manuscript." He turned away and walked toward the front of the plane. I was dumbstruck. Was he speaking of the same manuscript?
I walked into the restroom and tried to decide what to do. Part of me wanted to forget about it. Probably he was talking about something else, some other book. I returned to my seat and closed my eyes again, content to write off the incident, glad I didn't have to ask the man what he meant. But as I sat there, I thought about the excitement I had felt at the lake. What if this man actually had information about the manuscript? What might happen then? If I didn't inquire, I would never know. I wavered several more times in my mind, then finally stood up and walked toward the front of the plane.
Finding him about midway up the aisle, directly behind him was an empty seat, and I walked back and told an attendant I wanted to move. Then gathered my things and took the seat. After a few minutes, I tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me," and I said, "I heard you mention a manuscript. Were you speaking of the one found in Peru?" He looked surprised, then cautious. "Yes, I was," he said tentatively.
I introduced myself and explained that a friend had been in Peru recently and had informed me of the manuscript's existence. He visibly relaxed and introduced himself as Wayne Dobson, an assistant professor of history from New York University. As we spoke, I noticed a look of irritation coming from the gentleman sitting next to me. He had leaned back in his seat and was attempting to sleep.
"Have you seen the manuscript?" I asked the professor. "Parts of it," he said. "Have you?" "No, but my friend told me about the first insight." The man beside me changed his position. Dobson looked his way. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I know we're disturbing you. Would it be too much trouble for you to exchange seats with me?" "No," the man said. "That would be preferable."
We all stepped into the aisle, and then I slid back into the window seat, and Dobson sat beside me. "Tell me what you've heard concerning the first insight," Dobson said. I paused for a moment, trying to sum up in my mind what I understood. "I guess the first insight is an awareness of the mysterious occurrences that change one's life. The feeling that some other processes operating." I felt absurd as I said it.
Dobson picked up on my discomfort. "What do you think of that insight?" he asked. "I don't know," I said. "It doesn't quite fit with our modern-day common sense, does it? Wouldn't you feel better dismissing the whole idea and getting back to thinking about practical matters?" I laughed and nodded affirmatively. "Well, that's everyone's tendency. Even though we occasionally have the clear insight that something more is going on in life, our habitual way of thinking is to consider such ideas unknowable and then to shrug off the awareness altogether. That's why the second insight is necessary. Once we see the historical background to our awareness, it seems more valid."
I nodded. "Then, as a historian, you think the manuscript's prediction of a global transformation is accurate?" "Yes," as a historian, yes. But you have to look at history in the correct way." He took a deep breath. "Believe me, I say this as one who has spent a lot of years studying and teaching history in the wrong way. I used to focus solely on the technological accomplishments of civilization and the great men who brought about this progress."
"What's wrong with that approach?" "Nothing, as far as it goes. But what's really important is the worldview of each historical period. What the people were feeling and thinking. It took me a long time to understand that history is supposed to provide a knowledge of the longer context within which our lives take place. History is not just the evolution of technology; it is the evolution of thought. By understanding the reality of the people who came before us, we can see why we look at the world the way we do and what our contribution is toward further progress. We can pinpoint where we come in, so to speak, and the longer development of civilization, and that gives us a sense of where we are going." He paused, then added, "The effect of the second insight is to provide exactly this kind of historical perspective, at least from the point of view of Western thought. It places the manuscript's predictions in a longer context that makes them seem not only plausible but inevitable."
I asked Dobson how many insights he had seen, and he told me only the first two. He had found them, he said, after a rumor about the manuscript prompted a short trip to Peru three weeks ago. "Once I arrived in Peru," he continued, "I met a couple of people who confirmed the manuscript's existence, yet seemed scared to death to talk much about it. They said the government had gone a little loco and was making physical threats against anyone who had copies or dispersed information." His face turned serious. "That made me nervous, but later, a waiter at my hotel told me about a priest he knew who often spoke of the manuscript. The waiter said the priest was trying to fight the government's effort to suppress the artifact, and I couldn't resist going to a private dwelling where this priest supposedly spent most of his time."
I must have looked surprised because Dobson asked, "What's wrong?" "My friend," I replied, "the one who told me about the manuscript learned what she knew from a priest. He wouldn't give his name, but she talked with him once about the first insight. She was scheduled to meet with him again, but he never showed up." "It may have been the same man," Dobson said, "because I couldn't find him either. The house was locked up and looked deserted."
"You never saw him?" "No, but I decided to look around. There was an old storage building in the back that was open, and for some reason, I decided to explore inside. Behind some trash, under a loose board in the wall, I found translations of the first and second insight." He looked at me knowingly. "You just happened to find them?" I asked. "Yosh?" "Did you bring the insights with you on this trip?" He shook his head. "No, I decided to study them thoroughly and then leave them with some of my colleagues."
"Could you give me a summary of the second insight?" I asked. There was a long pause, then Dobson smiled and nodded. "I guess that's why we're here. The second insight," he said, "puts our current awareness into a longer historical perspective. After all, when the decade of the 90s is over, we'll be finishing up not only the 20th century but a thousand-year period of history as well. We'll be completing the entire second millennium. Before we in the West can understand where we are and what is going to occur next, we must understand what has really been happening during this current thousand-year period."
"What does the manuscript say exactly?" I asked. "It says that at the close of the second millennium—that's now—we will be able to see that entire period of history as a whole, and we will identify a particular preoccupation that developed during the later half of this millennium and what has been called the modern age. Our awareness of the coincidences today represents a kind of awakening from this preoccupation."
"What's the preoccupation?" I asked. He gave me a mischievous half-smile. "Are you ready to relive the millennium?" "Sure, tell me about it." "It's not enough for me to tell you about it. Remember what I said before? To understand history, you must grasp how your everyday view of the world developed, how it was created by the reality of the people who lived before you. It took a thousand years to evolve the modern way of looking at things, and to really understand where you are today, you must take yourself back to the year 1000 and then move forward through the entire millennium exponentially, as though you actually lived through the whole period yourself in a single lifetime."
"How do I do that?" "I'll guide you through it." I hesitated for a moment, glancing out the window at the land formations far below. Time was already beginning to feel different. "I'll try," I said finally.
"Okay," he replied. "Imagine yourself being alive in the year 1000, and what we have called the Middle Ages. The first thing you must understand is that the reality of this time is being defined by the powerful churchmen of the Christian Church. Because of their position, these men hold great influence over the minds of the populace and the world. These churchmen describe what is real as, above all, spiritual. They are creating a reality which places their idea about God's plan for mankind at the very center of life."
"Visualize this," he continued. "You find yourself in the class of your father, essentially peasant or aristocrat, and you know that you will always be confined to this class. But regardless of which class you are in or the particular work that you do, you soon realize that social position is secondary to the spiritual reality of life as defined by the churchmen. Life is about passing a spiritual test. You discover the churchmen explained that God has placed mankind at the center of his universe, surrounded by the entire cosmos, for one solitary purpose: to win or lose salvation in this trial. You must correctly choose between two opposing forces: the force of God and the lurking temptations of the devil. But understand that you don't face this contest alone," he continued. "In fact, as a mere individual, you aren't qualified to determine your status in this regard. This is the province of the churchmen. They are there to interpret the scriptures and to tell you every step of the way whether you are in accordance with God or whether you are being duped by Satan. If you follow their instructions, you are assured that a rewarding afterlife will follow. But if you fail to heed the course they prescribed, then well, there is excommunication and certain damnation."
Dobson looked at me intensely. "The manuscript says that the important thing to understand here is that every aspect of the medieval world is defined in otherworldly terms. All the phenomena of life, from the chance thunderstorm or earthquake to the success of crops or the death of a loved one, is defined either as the will of God or the malice of the devil. There is no concept of weather or geological forces or horticultural or disease. All that comes later. For now, you completely believe the churchmen. The world you take for granted operates solely by spiritual means." He stopped talking and looked at me. "Are you there?"
"Yes, I can see that reality."
"Well, imagine that reality now beginning to break down."
"What do you mean?"
"The medieval worldview, your worldview, begins to fall apart in the 14th and 15th centuries. First, you notice certain improprieties on the part of the churchmen themselves. Secretly violating their vows of chastity, for example, or taking gratuities to look the other way when government officials violate scriptural laws. These improprieties alarm you because these churchmen hold themselves to be the only connection between yourself and God. Remember, they are the only interpreters of the scriptures, the sole arbitrators of your salvation. Suddenly, you are in the midst of an outright rebellion. A group led by Martin Luther is calling for a complete break from papal Christianity. The churchmen are corrupt, they say, demanding an end to the churchmen's reign over the minds of the people. New churches are being formed based on the idea that each person should be able to have access to the scriptures personally and to interpret them as they wish, with no middlemen. As you watch in disbelief, the rebellion succeeds. The churchmen begin to lose, first centuries. These men defined reality, and now, before your eyes, they are losing their credibility. Consequently, the whole world is being thrown into question. The clear consensus about the nature of the universe and about humankind's purpose here, based as it was on the churchmen's description, is collapsing, leaving you and all the other humans in Western culture in a very precarious place. After all, you have grown accustomed to having an authority in your life to define reality, and without that external direction, you feel confused and lost. If the churchmen's description of reality and the reason for human existence is wrong, you ask, then what is right?"
He paused for a moment. "Do you see the impact of this collapse on the people of that day?"
"I suppose it was somewhat unsettling," I said.
"To say the least," he replied. "There was a tremendous upheaval. The old worldview was being challenged everywhere. In fact, by the 1600s, astronomers had proved beyond a doubt that the Sun and stars did not revolve around the Earth, as maintained by the church. Clearly, the Earth was only one small planet orbiting a minor Sun, and in galaxies that contained billions of such stars." He leaned toward me. "This is important. Mankind has lost its place at the center of God's universe. See the effect this had. Now, when you watch the weather or plants growing or someone suddenly die, what you feel is an anxious bafflement. In the past, you might have said God was responsible, or the devil. But as the medieval worldview breaks down, that certainty goes with it. All the things you took for granted now need new definition, especially the nature of God and your relationship to God."
With that awareness, he went on, "the modern age begins. There is a growing democratic spirit and a mass distrust of papal and royal authority. Definitions of the universe based on speculation and scriptural faith are no longer automatically accepted. In spite of the loss of certainty, we didn't want to risk some new group controlling our reality as the churchmen had. If you had been there, you would have participated in the creation of a new mandate for science."
"A what?"
"A," he laughed, "you would have looked out on this vast, undefined universe and you would have thought, as did the thinkers of that day, that we needed a method of consensus-building, a way to systematically explore this new world of ours. And you would have called this new way of discovering reality the scientific method, which is nothing more than testing an idea about how the universe works, arriving afterward at some conclusion, and then offering this conclusion to others to see if they agree. Then," he continued, "you would have prepared explorers to go out into this new universe, each armed with a scientific method, and you would have given them their historic mission: explore this place and find out how it works and what it means that we find ourselves alive here. You knew you had lost your certainty about a God-ruled universe, and because of that, your certainty about the nature of God himself. But you felt you had a method, a consensus-building process through which you could discover the nature of everything around you, including God, and including the true purpose of mankind's existence on the planet. So you sent these explorers out to find the true nature of your situation and to report back."
He paused and looked at me. "The manuscript," he said, "says at this point we begin the preoccupation from which we are awakening."
"Now we sent these explorers out to bring back a complete explanation of our existence, but because of the complexity of the universe, they weren't able to return right away."
"What was the preoccupation?"
"Put yourself in that time period again," he said. "When the scientific method couldn't bring back a new picture of God and of mankind's purpose on the planet, the lack of certainty and meaning affected Western culture deeply. We needed something else to do until our questions were answered. Eventually, we arrived at what seemed to be a very logical solution. We looked at each other and said, 'Well, since our explorers have not yet returned with our true spiritual situation, why not settle into this new world of ours while we are waiting? We are certainly learning enough to manipulate this new world for our own benefit, so why not work in the meantime to raise our standard of living, our sense of security in the world?'" He looked at me and grinned. "And that's what we did. Four centuries ago, we shook off our feeling of being lost by taking matters into our own hands, by focusing on conquering the earth and using its resources to better our situation. And only now, as we approach the end of the millennium, can we see what happened. Our focus gradually became a preoccupation. We totally lost ourselves in creating a secular security and economic security to replace the spiritual one we had lost. The question of why we are alive, of what was actually going on here spiritually, was slowly pushed aside and repressed altogether."
He looked at me intensely, then said, "Working to establish a more comfortable style of survival has grown to feel complete in and of itself as a reason to live, and we've gradually, methodically forgotten our original question. We've forgotten that we still don't know what we're surviving for."
Out the window, far below, I could see a large city. Judging from our flight path, I suspected it was Orlando, Florida. I was struck by the geometric outline of streets and avenues, the planned and ordered configuration of what humans had built. I looked over at Dobson; his eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. For an hour, he had told me more about the second insight. Then our lunch had arrived, and we had eaten, and I had told him about Sharlene and why I had decided to come to Peru. Afterward, I wanted only to gaze out at the cloud formations and consider what he had said.
"So, what do you think?" he asked suddenly, looking sleepily over at me. "Have you grasped the second insight?"
"I'm not sure."
He nodded toward the other passengers. "Do you feel as if you have a clearer perspective on the human world? Do you see how preoccupied everyone has been?"
"This perspective explains a lot. How many people do you know who are obsessed with their work, who are Type A, or have stress-related diseases, and who can't slow down? They can't slow down because they use their routine to distract themselves, to reduce life to only its practical considerations, and they do this to avoid recalling how uncertain they are about why they live."
"The second insight extends our consciousness of historical time," he added. "It shows us how to observe culture not just from the perspective of our own lifetimes but from the perspective of a whole millennium. It reveals our preoccupation to us and so lifts us above it. You have just experienced this longer history; you now live in a longer now. When you look at the human world, you should be able to clearly see this obsessiveness, the intense preoccupation with economic progress."
"But what's wrong with that?" I protested. "It's what made Western civilization great."
He laughed loudly. "Of course, you're right. No one's saying it was wrong. In fact, the manuscript says the preoccupation was an unnecessary development, a stage in human evolution. Now, however, we've spent enough time settling into the world. It's time now to wake up from the preoccupation and reconsider our original question: What's behind life on this planet? Why are we really here?"
I looked at him for a long time, then asked, "Do you think the other insights explained this purpose?"
Dobson cocked his head. "I think it's worth a look."
"I just hope no one destroys the rest of the manuscript before we have a chance to find out."
"How could the Peruvian government think they could destroy an important artifact and get away with it?" I asked.
"They would do it covertly," he replied. "The official line is that the manuscript doesn't exist at all."
"I would think the scientific community would be up in arms."
He looked at me with an expression of resolve. "We are. That's why I'm returning to Peru. I represent ten prominent scientists, all of whom demand that the original manuscript be made public. I sent a letter to the relevant department heads within the Peruvian government, telling them that I was coming and that I expected cooperation."
"I see. I wonder how they will respond."
"Probably with denials, but at least it will be an official start." He turned away, deep in thought, and I stared out the window again. As I looked down, it dawned on me that the airplane on which we were riding contained within its technology for centuries of progress. We had learned much about manipulating the resources we had found on the earth. How many people, I mused, how many generations did it take to create the products and the understanding that enabled this airplane to come into being? And how many spent their whole lives focused on one tiny aspect, one small step, without ever lifting their heads from the preoccupation? Suddenly, in that instant, the span of history Dobson and I had been discussing seemed to integrate fully into my consciousness. I could see the millennium clearly, as though it was part of my own life history. A thousand years ago, we had lived in a world where God and human spirituality were clearly defined, and then we had lost it, or better, we had decided there was more to the story. Accordingly, we had sent explorers out to discover the real truth and to report back, and when they had taken too long, we had become preoccupied with a new secular purpose: one of settling into the world, of making ourselves more comfortable. And settle we had. We had discovered that metallic ores could be melted down and fashioned into all kinds of gadgets. We invented sources of power—first steam, then gas and electricity, and vision. We systematized farming and mass production, and now commanded huge stores of material goods and vast networks of distribution. Propelling it all was the call to progress, the desire of the individual to provide his own security, his own purpose, while he was waiting for the truth. We had decided to create a more comfortable and pleasurable life for ourselves and our children, and in a mere 400 years, our preoccupation had created a human world where all the comforts of life could now be produced. The problem was that our focused, obsessive drive to conquer nature and make ourselves more comfortable had left the natural systems of the planet polluted and on the verge of collapse. We couldn't go on this way. Dobson was right; the second insight did make our new awareness seem inevitable. We were reaching a climax in our cultural purpose. We were accomplishing what we had collectively decided to do, and as this happened, our preoccupation was breaking down, and we were waking up to something else. I could almost see the momentum of the modern age slowing as we approach the end of the millennium. A 400-year-old obsession had been completed. We had created the means of material security, and now we seem to be ready, poised, in fact, to find out why we had done it. In the faces of the passengers around me, I could see evidence of the preoccupation, but also, I thought, I detected brief glimpses of awareness. How many, I wondered, had already noticed the coincidences?
The plane tilted forward and began its descent. As the flight attendant announced that we would soon be landing in Lima, I gave Dobson the name of my hotel and asked where he was staying. He gave me the name of his hotel and said it was only a couple of miles from mine.
"What is your plan?" I asked.
"I've been thinking about that," he said. "The first thing, I guess, is to visit the American Embassy and tell them why I'm here, just for the record."
"Good idea. And after that, I'm going to speak with as many Peruvian scientists as I can. The scientists at the University of Lima have already told me that they have no knowledge of the manuscript, but there are other scientists who are working at various ruins who may be willing to talk."
"What about you? What are your plans?"
"I have none," I replied.
"Do you mind if I tag along?"
"Not at all. I was going to suggest it."
After the plane landed, we picked up our luggage and agreed to meet later at Dobson's hotel. I walked outside and hailed a taxi. In the fading twilight, the air was dry and the wind very brisk. As my cab drove away, I noticed another taxi pull out quickly behind us, then lag back in the traffic. It stayed with us through several turns, and I could make out a lone figure in the back. A rush of nervousness filled my stomach. I asked the driver, who could speak English, not to go directly to the hotel, but to drive around for a while. I told him I was interested in sightseeing. He complied without comment. The taxi followed. What was this all about?
When we arrived at my hotel, I told the driver to stay in the car, then I opened my door and pretended to be paying the fare. The taxi following behind us pulled up to the curb some distance away, and the man stepped out and walked slowly toward the hotel entrance. I jumped back into the vehicle and shut the door, telling the cabbie to drive on. As we sped away, the man walked into the street and watched us until we were out of sight. I could see my driver's face in the rearview mirror; he was watching me closely, his expression tense.
"Sorry about this," I said. "I've decided to change accommodations." I struggled to smile, then gave him the name of Dobson's hotel. Although part of me wanted to go straight to the airport and take the first plane back to the States, a half-block short of our destination, I had the driver pull over. "Wait here," I told him. "I'll be right back."
The streets were filled with people, mostly native Peruvians, but here and there I passed some Americans and Europeans. Something about seeing the tourists made me feel safer. When I was within 50 yards of the hotel, I stopped. Something wasn't right. Suddenly, as I watched, gunshots rang out and screams filled the air. The crowd in front of me flung themselves to the ground, opening up my view down the sidewalk. Dobson was running toward me, wild-eyed. Panicked figures behind him pursued. One fired his gun into the air. "In order Dobson to halt!" As he ran closer, Dobson strained to focus, then recognized me. "Run!" he yelled. "For God's sakes, run!"
I turned and ran down an alley in terror. Ahead was a vertical board fence, six feet high, blocking my way. When I reached it, I leaped as high as I could, catching the top of the boards with my hands and flinging my right leg over the top. As I pulled my left leg over and dropped to the other side, I looked back down the alley. Dobson was running desperately. More shots were fired. He stumbled and fell. I continued to run blindly, leaping piles of trash and stacks of cardboard boxes. For a moment, I thought I had heard footsteps behind me, but I didn't dare look back. The alley ran into the next street, which was also crowded with people, seemingly unalarmed. As I entered the street, I dared a glance to my rear, my heart pounding. No one was there. I walked hurriedly down the sidewalk to the right, trying to fade into the crowd.
"Why did Dobson run?" I asked myself. "Was he killed?"
"Wait a minute," someone said in a loud whisper from behind my left shoulder. I started to run, but he reached out and grabbed my arm. "Please, wait a minute," he said again. "I saw what happened. I'm trying to help you."
"Who are you?" I asked, trembling.
"I'm Wilson James," he said. "I'll explain later. Right now, we have to get off these streets." Something about his voice and demeanor calmed my panic, so I decided to follow him. We walked up the street and into a leather goods store. He nodded to a man behind the counter and led me into a musty, spare room in the back. He shut the door and closed the curtains. He was a man in his 60s, although he seemed much younger, a sparkle in his eyes or something. His skin was dark brown and his hair was black. He looked of Peruvian descent, but the English he spoke sounded almost American. He wore a bright blue t-shirt and jeans.
"You'll be safe here for a while," he said.
"Why are they chasing you?"
I didn't respond. "You're here about the manuscript, aren't you?" he asked.
"How did you know that?"
"I guess the man with you was here for that reason, too. Yes, his name is Dobson."
"How did you know there were two of us?"
"I have a room over the alley. I was looking out the window as they were chasing you."
"Did they shoot Dobson?" I asked, terrified by what I might hear in reply.
"I don't know," he said. "I couldn't tell. But once I saw you would escaped, I ran down the back steps to head you off. I thought perhaps I could help."
"Why?" For an instant, he looked at me as though he was uncertain how to answer my question, then his expression changed to one of warmth. "You won't understand this, but I was standing there at the window, and thoughts about an old friend came to me. He's dead now. He died because he thought people should know about the manuscript. When I saw what was happening in the alley, I felt I should help you." He was right; I didn't understand, but I had the feeling he was being absolutely truthful with me.
I was about to ask another question when he spoke again. "We can talk about this later," he said. "I think we'd better move to a safer place."
"Wait a minute, Wilson," I said. "I just want to find a way back to the States. How can I do this?"
"Call me," Will replied. "I don't think you should try the airport not yet. If they're still looking for you, they will be checking there. I have some friends who live out of town. They will hide you. There are several other ways out of the country you can choose when you're ready. They will show you where to go."
He opened the door to the room and checked inside the shop, then walked outside and checked the street. When he returned, he motioned for me to follow. We walked down the street to a blue Jeep. "That will point it out," as we got in, I noticed that the back seat was carefully packed with foodstuffs and tents and satchels, as if for an extended trip. We rode in silence. I leaned back in the passenger seat and tried to think. My stomach was knotted with fear. I had never expected this. What if I had been arrested and thrown into a Peruvian jail or killed outright? I had to size up my situation. I had no clothes, but I did have money and one credit card, and for some reason, I trusted Will.
"What had you in who was it Dobson done to get those people after you?" Will asked suddenly.
"Nothing that I know of," I replied. "I met Dobson on the plane. He's a historian, and he was coming down here to investigate the manuscript officially. He represents a group of other scientists."
Will looked surprised. "Did the government know he was coming?"
"Yes, he had written certain government officials that he wanted cooperation."
"I can't believe they tried to arrest him. He didn't even have his copies with him."
"He has copies of the manuscript? Only the first two insights?"
"I had no idea there were copies in the United States."
"Where did he get them?"
"On an earlier trip, he was told a certain priest knew of the manuscript. He couldn't find him, but he found the copies hidden behind his house."
"Well," Will looked sad. "Jose, who I asked?"
"He was the friend I told you about, the one who was killed. He was adamant that as many people as possible hear about the manuscript."
"What happened to him?"
"He was murdered. We don't know by whom. His body was found in the forest miles from his house, but I have to think it was his enemies, the government, certain people in the government or in the church. His church would go that far. Perhaps the church is secretly against the manuscript. There are a few priests who understand the document and advocate it covertly, but they must be very careful. Jose talked of it openly to anyone who wanted to know. I warned him for months before his death to be more subtle, to stop giving copies to anyone who came along. He told me he was doing what he knew he must."
"When was the manuscript first discovered?" I asked.
"It was first translated three years ago, but no one knows when it was first discovered. The original floated around for years, we think, among the Indians, until it was found by Jose. He alone managed to get it translated. Of course, once the church found out what the manuscript said, they tried to suppress it totally. Now all we have are copies. We think they destroyed the original."
Will had driven east out of town, and we were riding on a narrow two-lane road through a heavily irrigated area. We passed several small plank dwellings and then a large pasture with expensive fencing.
"Did Dobson tell you about the first two insights?" Will asked.
"He told me about the second insight," I replied. "I have a friend who told me of the first. She talked to a priest at another time, to Jose, I guess."
"Do you understand these two insights?"
"I think so."
"Do you understand that chance encounters often have a deeper meaning?"
"It seems," I said, "like this whole trip has been one coincidental event after another."
"That begins to happen once you become alert and connected with the energy," Will smiled. "That's something mentioned further in the manuscript."
"I'd like to hear about it," I said.
"Let's talk about it later," he said, indicating with a nod that he was turning the vehicle onto a gravel driveway. A hundred feet ahead was a modest wood-frame house. "Will pull up beneath the large tree to the right of the house and stopped. My friend works for the owner of a large framing estate who owns much of the land in this area," he said, "and provides this house. The man is very powerful and secretly supportive of the manuscript. You'll be safe here."
A porch light flickered on, and a short, squat man who appeared to be a native Peruvian rushed out, smiling broadly and saying something enthusiastically in Spanish. When he reached the Jeep, he patted Will on the back through the open window and glanced pleasantly over at me. "We'll ask him to speak in English," then introduced us. "He needs a little help," Will said to the man. "He wants to return to the states, but he'll have to be very careful. I guess I'm going to leave him with you."
The man was looking closely at Will. "You're about to go after the ninth insight again, aren't you?" he asked.
"Yes," Will said, getting out of the Jeep. I opened my door and walked around the vehicle. Will and his friend were strolling toward the house, having a conversation I couldn't hear.
As I walked up, the man said, "I will start the preparations," then walked away. Will turned to me. "What did he mean when he questioned you about the ninth insight?"
"There is a part of the manuscript that has never been found. There were eight insights with the original text, but one more insight, the ninth, was mentioned there. Many people have been searching for it."
"Do you know where it is?"
"No, not really."
"Then how are you going to find it?" Will smiled. "The same way Jose found the original eight. The same way you found the first two and then ran into me. If one can connect and build up enough energy, then coincidental events begin to happen consistently."
"Tell me how to do that," I said.
"Which insight is it?" Will looked at me as if assessing my level of understanding. "How to connect is not just one; it's all of them. Remember in the second insight where it describes how explorers would be sent out into the world, utilizing the scientific method to discover the meaning of human life on this planet, but they would not return right away?"
"Yes."
"Well, the remainder of the insights represent the answers finally coming back. But they aren't just coming from institutional science. The answers I'm talking about are coming from many different areas of inquiry. The findings of physics, psychology, mysticism, and religion are all coming together into a new synthesis based on a perception of the coincidences. We're learning the details of what the coincidences mean, how they work, and as we do, we're constructing a whole new view of life, insight by insight."
"I want to hear about each insight," I said. "Can you explain them to me before you go?"
"I found it doesn't work that way. You must discover each one of them in a different way. How it just happens. It wouldn't work for me to just tell you. You might have the information about each of them, but you wouldn't have the insights. You have to discover them in the course of your own life."
We stared at each other in silence. Will smiled. "Talking with him made me feel incredibly alive."
"Why are you going after the ninth insight now?" I asked.
"It's the right time. I have been a guide here, and I know the terrain, and I understand all eight insights. When I was at my window over the alley, thinking of Jose, I had already decided to go north one more time. The ninth insight is out there, I know it, and I'm not getting any younger. Besides, I've envisioned myself finding it and achieving what it says. I know it is the most important of the insights; it puts all the others into perspective and gives us the true purpose of life." He paused, suddenly looking serious. "I would have left 30 minutes earlier, but I had this nagging feeling that I had forgotten something." He paused again. "That's precisely when you showed up."
We looked at each other for a long time. "You think I'm supposed to go with you?" I asked.
"What do you think?"
"I don't know," I said, unsure of myself. I felt confused. The story of my Peruvian trip was flashing before my mind: Charlene, Dobson, now Will. I had come to Peru because of a mild curiosity, and now I found myself in hiding, an unwitting fugitive who didn't even know who his pursuers were. And the strangest thing of all was that at this moment, instead of being terrified, totally panicked, I found myself in a state of excitement. I should have been summoning all my wits and instincts to find a way home, but what I really wanted to do was go with Will into what would undoubtedly be more danger. As I considered my options, I realized that in reality, I had no choice. The second insight had ended any possibility of going back to my old preoccupations. If I was going to stay aware, I had to go forward.
"I plan to spend the night," Will said. "So you will have until tomorrow morning to decide."
"I've already decided," I told him. "I want to go."
[Music]