A Critical Mass : Part 7

The Celestine Prophecy: An Adventure
By James Redfield

(Page 7 of 7)

She gave me another of her full smiles. "1 knew it," she said. "You're hooked. I told you you'd love it. What are you going to do?"

I shrugged. "See if I can find out more about it, probably."

"Good. If you do, let me know."

We said good-bye again and she walked away. I watched as she turned once and waved, then disappeared down the boarding corridor. I walked to my truck and drove back to the lake, stopping only for gas.

When I arrived, I walked out to the screened porch and sat in one of the rockers. The evening was loud with crickets and tree frogs and in the distance I could hear a whippoorwill. Across the lake, the moon had sunk lower in the west and sent a rippled line of reflection toward me on the water's surface.

The evening had been interesting, but I was still skeptical about the whole idea of a cultural transformation. Like many people, I had been caught up in the social idealism of the Sixties and Seventies, and even in the spiritual interests of the Eighties. But it was hard to judge what was really happening. What kind of new information could possibly alter the entire human world? It all sounded too idealistic and far-fetched. After all, humans had been alive on this planet for a long time. Why would we suddenly gain insight into existence now, at this late date? I gazed out at the water for a few more minutes, then turned off the lights and went into the bedroom to read.

The next morning I awoke suddenly with a dream still fresh in my mind. For a minute or two I stared at the bedroom ceiling, remembering it fully. I had been making my way through a forest searching for something. The forest was large and exceptionally beautiful.

In my quest I found myself in a number of situations in which I felt totally lost and bewildered, unable to decide how to proceed. Incredibly, at each of these moments, a person would appear out of nowhere as though by design to clarify where I needed to go next. I never became aware of the object of my search but the dream had left me feeling incredibly upbeat and confident.

I sat up and noticed a beam of sunlight coming through the window across the room. It sparkled with suspended dust particles. I walked over and pulled back the curtains. The day was radiant: blue sky, bright sunshine. A stiff breeze gently rocked the trees. The lake would be rippled and glistening this time of day, and the wind chilly against a swimmer's wet skin.

I walked outside and dove in. I surfaced and swam out to the middle of the lake, turning on my back to look at the familiar mountains. The lake rested in a deep valley where three mountain ridges converged, a perfect lake site discovered by my grandfather in his youth.

It had now been a hundred years since he had first walked these ridges, a child explorer, a prodigy growing up in a world that was still wild with cougar and boar and Creek Indians that lived in primitive cabins up the north ridge. He had sworn at the time that one day he would live in this perfect valley with its massive old trees and seven springs, and finally he had - later to build a lake and a cabin and to take countless walks with a young grandson. I never quite understood my grandfather's fascination with this valley, but I had always tried to preserve the land, even when civilization encroached, then surrounded.

From the middle of the lake, I could see a particular rock outcropping near the crest of the north ridge. The day before, in the tradition of my grandfather, I had climbed to that overhang, trying to find some peace in the view and in the smells and in the way the wind whirled in the tree tops. And as I had sat up there, surveying the lake and the dense foliage in the valley below, I had slowly felt better, as if the energy and the perspective were dissolving some block in my mind. A few hours later I had been talking with Charlene and hearing about the Manuscript.

I swam back and pulled myself up on the wooden pier in front of the cabin. I knew all this was too much to believe. I mean, here I was hiding out in these hills, feeling totally disenchanted with my life, when out of the blue, Charlene shows up and explains the cause of my restlessness - quoting some old manuscript that promises the secret of human existence.

Yet I also knew that Charlene's arrival was exactly the sort of coincidence of which the Manuscript spoke, one that seemed too unlikely to be a mere chance event. Could this ancient document be correct? Have we been slowly building, in spite of our denial and cynicism, a critical mass of people conscious of these coincidences? Were humans now in a position to understand this phenomenon and thus, finally, to understand the purpose behind life itself?

What, I wondered, would this new understanding be? Would the remaining insights in the Manuscript tell us, as the priest had said?

I faced a decision. Because of the Manuscript I felt a new direction open in my life, a new point of interest. The question was what to do now? I could remain here or I could find a way to explore further. The issue of danger entered my mind. Who had stolen Charlene's briefcase? Was it someone working to suppress the Manuscript? How could I know?

I thought about the possible risk for a long time, but finally my mood of optimism prevailed. I decided not to worry. I would be careful and go slowly. I walked inside and called the travel agency with the largest ad in the yellow pages. The agent with whom I spoke said he could indeed arrange a trip to Peru. In fact, by chance, there was a cancellation I could fill - a flight with reservations already confirmed at a hotel in Lima. I could have the whole package at a discount, he said...if I could leave in three hours.

Three hours?

Copyright © 1993 by James Redfield

About the Author

James Redfield is the author of The Celestine Prophecy, one of the bestselling spiritual novels of all time. Redfield's other bestsellers include The Tenth Insight, The Celestine Vision, and The Secret of Shambhala.