The Celestine Prophecy

by James Redfield

  “It’s time to leave,” Julia said. “They’re not in business any longer.”

  “Who are you?” the Peruvian asked her in his hostile tone.

  “Why are you so angry?” Julia asked in response.

  The man’s demeanor changed. “Because it is my job to look after this place.”

  “I’m sure you do a good job. But it’s hard for people to talk if you’re frightening them.”

  The man stared, trying to figure Julia out.

  “We’re on our way to Iquitos,” Julia said. “We’re working with Father Sanchez and Father Carl. Do you know them?”

  He shook his head, but the mention of the two priests settled him down even more. He finally nodded and walked away.

  “Let’s go,” Julia said.

  We got in the truck and drove away. I realized how anxious and nervous I had been. I tried to shake it off.

  “Did anything happen inside?” I asked.

  Julia looked at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean did anything happen inside to explain why you had the thought to stop?”

  She laughed, then said, “No, all the action was outside.”

  I looked at her.

  “Have you figured it out?” she asked.

  “No,” I replied.

  “What were you thinking about just before we arrived?”

  “That I wanted to stretch my legs.”

  “No, before that. What were you asking about when we were talking?”

  I tried to think. We were talking about childhood dramas. Then I remembered. “You had said something that had confused me,” I said. “You had said that a person cannot play a control drama with us unless we play the matching drama. I didn’t understand that.”

  “Do you understand now?”

  “Not really. What are you getting at?”

  “The scene outside clearly demonstrated what happens if you do play the matching drama.”

  “How?”

  She glanced at me briefly. “What drama was the man playing with you?”

  “He was obviously the Intimidator.”

  “Right, and what drama did you play?”

  “I was just trying to get him off my back.”

  “I know, but what drama were you playing?”

  “Well, I started off in my aloofness drama, but he kept coming after me.”

  “Then?”

  The conversation was irritating me but I tried to get centered and stay with it. I looked at Julia and said, “I guess I was playing a Poor Me.”

  She smiled. “That’s right.”

  “I noticed you handled him with no problem,” I said.

  “Only because I didn’t play the drama he expected. Remember that each person’s control drama was formed in childhood in relation to another drama. Therefore each drama needs a matching drama to be fully played out. What the intimidator needs in order to get energy is either a poor me, or another intimidator.

  “How did you handle it?” I asked, still confused.

  “My drama response would have been to play the Intimidator myself, trying to out intimidate him. Of course, this would probably have resulted in violence. But instead I did what the Manuscript instructs. I named the drama he was playing. All dramas are covert strategies to get energy. He was trying to intimidate you out of your energy. When he tried that on me, I named what he was doing.”

  “That’s why you asked why he was so angry?”

  “Yes. The Manuscript says that covert manipulations for energy can’t exist if you bring them into consciousness by pointing them out. They cease to be covert. It is a very simple method. The best truth about what’s going on in a conversation always prevails. After that the person has to be more real and honest.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “I guess I’ve even named dramas myself before, though I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “I’m sure. That’s something all of us have done. We’re just learning more about what is at stake. And the key to making it work is to simultaneously look beyond the drama at the real person in front of you, and send as much energy their way as possible. If they can feel energy coming in anyway, then it’s easier for them to give up their way of manipulating for it.”

  “What could you appreciate in that guy?” I said.

  “I could appreciate him as a little insecure boy needing energy desperately. Besides, he brought you a very timely message, right?”

  I looked at her. She appeared to be on the verge of laughter.

  “You think we stopped there just so I could grasp how to deal with someone playing a drama?”

  “That was the question you asked, wasn’t it?”

  I smiled, my good feeling beginning to return. “Yes, I guess it was.”

  A mosquito buzzing around my face forced me awake. I looked over at Julia. She was smiling as though recalling something humorous. For several hours after leaving the river camp we had ridden in silence, munching on the food Julia had prepared for the trip.

  “You’re awake,” Julia said.

  “Yes,” I replied. “How far is Iquitos?”

  “The town is about thirty miles, but the Stewart Inn is only a few minutes ahead. It’s a small Inn and hunting camp. The owner is English and supports the Manuscript.” She smiled again. “We have had many good times together. Unless something has happened, he should be there. I hope we can get a lead on where Wil is.”

  She pulled the truck to the side of the road and looked at me. “We’d better get centered in where we are,” she said. “Before I ran into you again, I had been floundering around wanting to help find the Ninth Insight but not knowing where to go. At one point I realized I had been thinking repeatedly of Hinton. I get to his house and who should show up but you. And you tell me that you’re looking for Wil and that he’s rumored to be in Iquitos. I have the intuition that we’ll both be involved in finding the Ninth Insight, and then you have the intuition that at some point we separate and go in different directions. Is that pretty much it?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, I want you to know that after that, I got to thinking about Willie Stewart and the inn. Something is going to happen there.”

  I nodded.

  She drove the vehicle back on the road and around a curve. “There’s the inn,” Julia said.

  Ahead about two hundred yards, where the road took another sharp bend to the right, was a two-story, Victorian style home.

  We pulled into a gravel parking area and stopped. Several men were talking on the porch. I opened the door of the vehicle and was about to get out when Julia touched my shoulder.

  “Remember,” she said, “no one is here by accident. Stay alert for the messages.”

  I followed her as we walked up on the porch. The men, well-dressed Peruvians, nodded distractedly as we walked by them and into the house.

  Once in the large foyer, Julia pointed to a dining room and asked me to pick a table and wait there while she looked for the owner.

  I surveyed the room. It contained a dozen or so tables lined in two rows. I picked a table about halfway down and sat with my back against the wall. Three more men, all Peruvians, came in behind me and sat down across from my table. Another man came in soon after and took a table about twenty feet to my right. He sat at an angle where his back was slightly toward me. I noticed he was a foreigner, perhaps European.

  Julia entered the room, spotted me, and then walked over and sat down facing me.

  “The owner isn’t here,” she said, “and his clerk knew nothing of Wil.”

  “Now what?” I asked.

  She looked at me and shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll have to assume that someone here has a message for us.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do you know it will happen?” I asked, suddenly feeling skeptical. Even after all the mysterious coincidences that had happened to me since I had been in Peru, I still had trouble believing one would
occur now just because we wanted it to. “Don’t forget the Third Insight,” Julia replied. “The universe is energy, energy that responds to our expectations. People are part of that energy universe too, so when we have a question, the people show up who have the answer.”

  She cut her eyes to the other people in the room. “I don’t know who these people are, but if we could talk with them long enough, we would find a truth each had for us, some part of the answer to our questions.”

  I looked at her askance. She leaned toward me across the table. “Get it into your head. Everyone who crosses our path has a message for us. Otherwise they would have taken another path, or left earlier or later. The fact that these people are here means that they are here for some reason.”

  I looked at her, still not sure whether I believed it was that simple.

  “The hard part,” she said, “is figuring out who to take time to talk with when talking with everyone is impossible.”

  “How do you decide?” I asked.

  “The Manuscript says there are signs.”

  I was listening intently to Julia but for some reason I glanced around and looked at the man to my right. He turned around at exactly the same time and looked back at me. As I caught his eye, he shifted his gaze back to his food. I also looked away.

  “What signs?” I asked.

  “Signs like that,” she said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like what you just did.” She nodded toward the man to my right.

  “What do you mean?”

  Julia leaned toward me again. “The Manuscript says we will learn that sudden, spontaneous eye contact is a sign that two people should talk.”

  “But doesn’t that happen all the time?” I asked.

  “Yes, it does,” she said. “And after it happens, most people just forget about it and go on with what they are doing.”

  I nodded. “What other signs does the Manuscript mention?” I asked.

  “A sense of recognition,” she replied. “Seeing someone who looks familiar, even though you know you’ve never seen the person before.”

  When she said that, I thought of Dobson and Reneau, of how familiar they looked when I had first seen them.

  “Does the Manuscript say anything about why some people look familiar?” I asked.

  “Not much. It just says we are members of the same thought group with certain other people. Thought groups are usually evolving along the same lines of interest. They think the same and that creates the same expression and outward experience. We intuitively recognize members of our thought group and very often they provide messages for us.”

  I looked at the man to my right one more time. He did look vaguely familiar. Incredibly, as I gazed at him, he turned and glanced at me again. I quickly looked back at Julia.

  “You must talk with this man,” Julia said.

  I didn’t respond. I felt uncomfortable with the idea of just walking up to him. I wanted to leave, to go on to Iquitos. I was about to make that suggestion when Julia spoke again, “This is where we need to be,” she said, “not Iquitos. We have to play this out. The trouble with you is that you’re resisting the idea of walking up to him and starting a conversation.”

  “How did you do that?” I asked.

  “Do what?” she replied.

  “Know what I was thinking.”

  “There is nothing mysterious about it. It is a matter of looking closely at your expressions.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you are appreciating someone at a deeper level, you can see their most honest self beyond any facades they may put up. When you really focus at this level, you can perceive what someone is thinking as a subtle expression on their face. This is perfectly natural.”

  “It sounds telepathic to me,” I said.

  She grinned. “Telepathy is perfectly natural.”

  I glanced over at the man again. He did not look.

  “You had better get your energy together and talk with him,” Julia said, “before you lose the opportunity.”

  I focused on increasing my energy until I felt stronger, then asked, “What am I going to say to this guy?”

  “The truth,” she said. “Put the truth in a form you think he would recognize.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  I slid back my chair and walked over to where the man was sitting. He looked shy and nervous, the way I remembered Pablo looking the night I met him. I tried to look beyond the man’s nervousness to a deeper level. When I did I seemed to perceive a new look on his face, one with more energy.

  “Hello,” I said. “You appear not to be a native Peruvian. I’m hoping you can help me. I’m looking for a friend of mine, Wil James.”

  “Please sit down,” he said in a Scandinavian accent. “I’m Professor Edmond Connor.”

  He offered me his hand and said, “I’m sorry. I do not know your friend, Wil.”

  I introduced myself and then explained—just on a hunch that it would mean something to him—that Wil was searching for the Ninth Insight.

  “I’m familiar with the Manuscript,” he said. “I’m here to study its authenticity.”

  “Alone?”

  “I was to meet a Professor Dobson here. But so far he has not come. I don’t understand the delay. He assured me that he would be here when I arrived.”

  “You know Dobson?!”

  “Yes. He is the one who is organizing an inspection of the Manuscript.”

  “And he’s all right? He’s coming here?”

  The Professor looked at me questioningly. “Those were the plans we made. Has something been wrong?”

  My energy fell. I realized that Dobson’s meeting with Connor had been set up before Dobson’s arrest. “I met him on the airplane,” I explained, “when I came to Peru. He was arrested in Lima. I have no idea what happened to him.”

  “Arrested! My God!”

  “When did you last speak with him?” I asked

  “Several weeks ago, but our meeting time here was firm. He said he would call me if anything changed.”

  “Do you remember why he wanted you to meet him here instead of in Lima?” I asked.

  “He said there were some ruins around here and that he would be up in this area speaking with another scientist.”

  “Did he mention where he would be talking to this scientist?”

  “Yes, he said he had to go to, uh, San Luis, I believe. Why?”

  “I don’t know … I was just wondering.”

  As I said this, two things happened simultaneously. First, I began thinking of Dobson, of seeing him again. We were meeting along a road with large trees. And then, at the same time, I looked out the window and saw, to my amazement, Father Sanchez walking up the porch steps. He looked tired and his clothes were dirty. In the parking lot another priest waited in an old car.

  “Who is that?” Professor Connor asked.

  “It’s Father Sanchez!” I replied, barely able to contain my excitement.

  I turned around and looked for Julia but she was no longer sitting at our table. I got up just as Sanchez walked into the room. When he saw me, he stopped abruptly, a look of total surprise on his face, then he walked over and embraced me.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, fine,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  Through his fatigue, he chuckled lightly. “I didn’t know where else to go. And I almost didn’t make it here. Hundreds of troops are headed this way.”

  “Why are the troops coming?” Connor asked from behind me, walking up to where Sanchez and I were standing.

  “I’m sorry,” Sanchez replied. “I do not know what the troops have in mind. I just know there are many.”

  I introduced the two men and told Father Sanchez of Connor’s situation. Connor appeared panicked.

  “I must leave,” he said, “but I have no driver.”

  “Father Paul is waiting outside,” Sanchez said. “He is going back to Lima immediately. You may rid
e with him if you wish.”

  “Indeed I do,” Connor said.

  “Wait, what if they run into those troops?” I asked.

  “I don’t think they would stop Father Paul,” Sanchez said. “He is not well-known.”

  At that moment Julia came back into the room and saw Sanchez. The two hugged warmly and, again, I introduced Connor. As I spoke, Connor seemed to grow even more fearful and after only a few minutes, Sanchez told him that it was time for Father Paul to start back. Connor left to get his belongings from his room and quickly returned. Both Sanchez and Julia escorted him outside, but I told him good-bye there and waited at the table. I wanted to think. I knew meeting Connor was significant somehow, and that Sanchez finding us here was important, but I couldn’t quite figure it out.

  Before long, Julia came back into the room and sat down beside me. “I told you something was going to happen here,” she said. “If we hadn’t stopped we wouldn’t have seen Sanchez, or Connor for that matter. By the way, what did you learn from Connor?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said. “Where is Father Sanchez?”

  “He checked into a room to rest for a while. He hasn’t slept in two days.”

  I looked away. I knew that Sanchez was tired, but hearing that he was unavailable disappointed me. I wanted very much to talk with him, to see if he could add some perspective to what was happening, especially concerning the soldiers. I felt uneasy and part of me wanted to flee with Connor.

  Julia picked up on my impatience. “Take it easy,” she said. “Slow down and tell me what you think of the Eighth Insight so far.”

  I looked at her and tried to center myself. “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “What do you think the Eighth Insight is saying?”

  I thought back. “It’s about a way of relating to other people, to children and to adults. It’s about naming control dramas and breaking through them and focusing on other people in a way that sends them energy.”

  “And?” she asked.

  I focused on her face and immediately saw what she was getting at. “And if we are observant about who to talk with, then we get the answers we desire as a result.”

  Julia smiled broadly.

  “Have I grasped the Insight?” I asked.

  “Almost,” she said. “But there’s one more thing. You understand how one person can uplift another. Now you’re about to see what happens in a group when all of the participants know how to interact this way.”