The Celestine Prophecy: An Adventure (23 page)

For several hours we rode without anyone speaking. The terrain outside grew progressively more flat. The air warmed. At one point, the young soldier handed me an open can of C rations, something like beef hash, but again I couldn’t force anything down. After sunset the light faded quickly.

I rode along without thought, staring straight ahead with the truck’s headlights, then I slipped into a restless sleep during which I dreamed of being in flight. I was running desperately from an unknown foe amid hundreds of huge bonfires, certain that somewhere was a secret key that would open the way to knowledge and safety. In the middle of one of the giant fires I saw the key. I darted in to retrieve it!

I jerked awake, sweating profusely. The soldiers glanced at me nervously. I shook my head and leaned against the truck’s door. For a long time, I looked out the side window at the dark shapes of the landscape, fighting the urge to panic. I was alone and under guard, heading into blackness, and no one cared about my nightmares.

About midnight we pulled up to a large, dimly lit building constructed of cut stone and two stories high. We walked along a walkway past the front entrance and entered a side door. Steps led down to a narrow hall. The inner walls were also of stone and the ceiling was constructed of large timbers and rough cut planks. Bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling lit our way. We walked through another door and then into an area of cells. One of the soldiers who had disappeared caught up with us and opened one of the cell doors and motioned for me to enter.

Inside were three cots, a wooden table and a vase of flowers. To my surprise, the cell was very clean. As I walked in, a young Peruvian, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, looked at me meekly from behind the door. The soldier locked the door behind me and walked away. I sat down on one of the cots as the young man reached over and turned up an oil lamp. When the light hit his face I noticed that he was an Indian.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

“Yes, some,” he said.

“Where are we?”

“Near Pullcupa.”

“Is this a prison?”

“No, everyone is here for questioning about the Manuscript.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

He looked up at me with shy, brown eyes. “Two months.”

“What have they done to you?”

“They try to make me disbelieve the Manuscript and tell about others who have copies.”

“How?”

“By talking to me.”

“Just talking, no threats?”

“Just talking,” he repeated.

“Have they said when they will let you go?”

“No.”

I paused for a moment and he looked at me questioningly. “Were you caught with copies of the Manuscript?” he asked.

“Yes. Were you?”

“Yes. I live near here, in an orphanage. My headmaster was teaching from the Manuscript. He allowed me to teach the children. He was able to escape but I was captured.”

“How many insights have you seen?” I asked.

“All that have been found,” he said. “You?”

“Eh, I’ve seen all but the Seventh and Eighth Insights. I had the Seventh but I didn’t get a chance to read it before the soldiers showed up.”

The young man yawned and asked, “Can we sleep now?”

“Yeah,” I said absently. “Sure.”

I laid on my cot and shut my eyes, my mind racing. What should I do now? How had I let myself be caught? Could I escape? I concocted several strategies and scenarios before I finally drifted off to sleep.

Again I dreamed vividly. I was searching for the same key but this time I was lost in a deep forest. For a long time I had been walking aimlessly, wishing for some sort of guidance. After a while, a huge thunderstorm came and flooded the landscape. During the deluge, I was washed down a deep ravine and into the river, which was flowing in the wrong direction and threatening to drown me. With all my might I fought against the current, struggling for what seemed like days. Finally, I was able to pull myself from the torrent by clinging to the rocky shoreline. I climbed up the rocks and along the sheer cliffs that bordered the river, ascending higher and higher and into ever more treacherous areas. Although I had summoned all my willpower and expertise to negotiate the cliffs, at one point I found myself clinging perilously to the rock face, unable to proceed any further. I looked down at the terrain below me. In shock, I realized that the river I had been fighting flowed out of the forest and gently up to a beautiful beach and meadow. In the meadow, surrounded by flowers, was the key. Then I slipped and fell screaming down and down until I hit the river and sank.

I sat up quickly in my cot, gasping for air. The young Indian, apparently already awake, walked over to me.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

I caught my breath and looked around, realizing where I was. I also noticed that the room had a window and that it was already light outside.

“Just a bad dream,” I said.

He smiled at me as though he was pleased at what I said. “Bad dreams have the most important messages,” he commented.

“Messages?” I asked, getting up and putting on my shirt.

He looked embarrassed at having to explain. “The Seventh Insight talks of dreams,” he said.

“What does it say about dreams?”

“It tells how to, eh …”

“Interpret dreams?”

“Yes.”

“What does it say about that?”

“It says to compare the story of the dream to the story of your life.”

I thought for a moment, unsure of what that instruction meant. “What do you mean, compare stories?”

The young Indian could barely look me in the eye. “Do you want to interpret your dream?”

I nodded and told him what I had experienced.

He listened intently, then said, “Compare parts of the story with your life.”

I looked at him. “Where do I start?”

“At the beginning. What are you doing at the beginning of the dream?”

“I was searching for a key in a forest.”

“How did you feel?”

“Lost.”

“Compare this situation to your real situation.”

“Maybe it does relate,” I said “I’m looking for some answers about this Manuscript and I’m damn sure feeling lost.”

“And what else is happening to you in real life?” he asked.

“I’ve been caught,” I said. “In spite of everything I tried to do, I’ve been locked up. All I can hope for now is to talk someone into letting me go home.”

“You are struggling against being caught?”

“Of course.”

“What happened next in the dream?”

“I fought against the current.”

“Why?” he asked.

I began to pick up on where he was headed. “Because at the time I thought it would drown me.”

“And if you hadn’t fought the water?”

“It would have carried me to the key. What are you saying? That if I don’t fight against this situation that I might still get the answers I want?”

He looked embarrassed again. “I’m not saying anything. The dream is saying.”

I thought for a moment. Was this interpretation correct?

The young Indian looked up at me, then asked, “If you had to experience the dream again, what would you do different?”

“I wouldn’t resist the water, even though it looked as though it might kill me. I would know better.”

“What is threatening you now?”

“I guess the soldiers. Being detained.”

“So what is the message to you?”

“You think the message of the dream is to look at this capture positively?”

He didn’t answer; he only smiled.

I was sitting on my cot leaning back against the wall. The interpretation excited me. If it was accurate, it would mean that I hadn’t made a mistake at the crossroads after all, that this was all part of what should be happening.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Pablo,” he said.

I smiled and introduced myself, then briefly told him the story of why I was in Peru and what had happened. Pablo was sitting on his cot, his elbows resting on his knees. He had short, black hair and was very thin.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“To find out about this Manuscript,” I replied.

“Why specifically?” he asked again.

“To find out about the Seventh Insight and to find out about some friends, Wil and Marjorie … and I guess to find out why the church is so against the Manuscript.”

“There are many Priests here to talk to,” he said.

I thought about his statement for a moment then asked, “What else does the Seventh Insight say about dreams?”

Pablo told me that dreams come to tell us something about our lives that we are missing. Then he said something else but instead of listening, I started to think about Marjorie. I could see her face clearly in my mind and I wondered where she might be, then I saw her running up to me smiling.

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.”