Hiram nodded. “They must have gotten your message.”
Earlier in the week Myriam had called Núnez. As per the bylaws of the organization, she had demanded an emergency meeting about issues relating to the shrine’s ownership.
Inside the Center Carlotta greeted them. She led them to two chairs in a small circle near a large window overlooking the hillside. Myriam could see the ancient cottonwood limned by the gray sky. Gusts of wind shook the tree’s limbs.
As everyone took their seats, Father Michael rose and said, “We decided to keep this meeting to the core group.”
Núnez stood and motioned for him to sit down. He was a short man with bandy legs that showed he spent most of his time on his ranch riding horses. His sun and wind weathered face reflected the somber mood of the chilly afternoon. He cleared his throat and said, “Let’s get right to the point. I have some explaining to do. A few years ago the DeVere Mining group came to me with a proposal. They wanted me to buy up land around here. It’s what they do when they have a potential mining interest in an area. I told them I would. It was a win-win for everybody.” Núnez paused, gripping the back of his chair with both hands. “What happened next was a little unusual. Early last year I urged the company to buy the land the shrine’s on. Surprisingly they were more than happy to oblige, even created a trust to keep it running. We made Father Michael the titular head of the trust.” Needless to say I was pleased. The growing popularity of the shrine pushed property values up here. The only condition was keeping the ownership a secret. But then about two months ago the company’s interest in the land changed. The DeVere group’s chairman, Pieter Haas—”
Hiram’s head snapped up at the mention of the South African’s name. He kneaded the stubs of the little and ring fingers on his left hand. The old parachute injury hardly ever bothered him anymore, but this afternoon it ached. He glanced at Myriam and she was just as mortified. “Cut to the chase. What’s Haas got to do with the shrine?” he asked, his gravely voice gruffer than usual.
“Myriam, you might remember I introduced you. He became very interested in the shrine. That’s my part in this. Father, please continue.”
Father Michael stood. “I want to go back a year. It was becoming clear to a few of us that Adam was somehow the source of the shrine’s healing power.”
Myriam blinked in surprise. Hiram squeezed her hand. She looked at Carlotta. “Is it true you knew?”
The large woman nodded. “Adam told me he suspected as much. At the time none of us, including Adam, could explain how it was possible.”
“That’s right,” Father Michael said. “I presume the two of you know about the New Gnostics? The international organization of people impacted by the shrine?”
Myriam glanced at Hiram. “We heard about them recently and looked at their website.”
He continued, “It was also becoming obvious to a number of the members of the New Gnostics that the source of the shrine’s power was Adam. In the meantime, Adam was slowly fading. This was because of his gradual absorption into a higher plane, as he put it.”
Carlotta broke in, “We needed a plan to protect Adam. If anyone else found out, some might see him as a danger and others might try to exploit him as an economic opportunity.”
“We tried to find a way to discover how Adam’s powers work, but it seemed impossible without letting the secret out,” added Father Michael. “Then we learned About the Brothers of the Lord and their foul intentions regarding Adam.”
Hiram’s face flushed. “I was part of that group.”
Carlotta nodded. “We were making plans to move Adam when he suddenly disappeared. You know the rest.”
Myriam stood up. “It’s hard to believe you’re not the ones who took him away.”
The board members exchanged glances. Finally Carlotta spoke up. “Do you know something we don’t?”
Hiram demanded, “What about Haas? “
Father Michael replied, “He wanted to help us find Adam. He said he had been healed by the shrine several years ago and had joined a small New Gnostics assembly in South Africa. As the chairman of the DeVere Group and now the owner of the shrine he had lots of resources to help us in our search.”
Myriam cocked her head to one side. “That doesn’t make sense,” she said. “I had the impression when Raphael introduced us in February he had never been to the shrine before.”
Father Michael’s scarred cheeks reddened. He glared at Núnez, who was equally embarrassed. He recovered quickly. “It doesn’t matter anymore since we all know it’s now hopeless. Adam’s gone for good.”
Tears formed in Carlotta’s eyes. She turned away from the others.
Myriam reached out to her. “I’m sorry for your loss, Carlotta.”
“Thanks for your concern,” Carlotta replied. “But I’m not giving up hope for my brother.”
The meeting ended with no resolution on the shrine’s finances or ownership. Beecher and Myriam went out to their car frustrated.
“Do you think we can trust Carlotta? About Adam, I mean?” asked Myriam.
“Can we trust any of them,” retorted Beecher. He slammed the key into the ignition and was going to start the car when a sudden thought made him smile. “You know, beloved, there’s a way to end all the problems with the Friends of the Shrine.”
Myriam caught his lightheartedness. “What are you planning, love?”
“Not here.” He glanced back at Núnez and Father Michael standing in the entrance of the Visitor Center. “When we’re home alone from any prying eyes.”
April 10, 2016
Grinnell, Iowa
Ramsey leaned against the wall, surveying the room. Twenty-three people huddled in small groups chatting quietly. Except for two elderly Pakistani men, everyone was white. Most were over forty. He was the youngest person there.
The Sullivan-designed Jewel Box Bank building had its last official financial transaction on May 17, 1999. Since then, it had become Grinnell’s visitor center and home of the Chamber of Commerce. Tonight, the building hosted Grinnell’s New Gnostic assembly. It was a curious group that had gathered. Gnostics were generally categorized as men and women who quested after a spiritual connection with God. Yet the faces in the room held no such indication of the spiritual journey. At first glance it could have been a meeting of the Elks or the Freemasons.
The room hummed with a whispered energy, so low it was serene. Ramsey felt as if he had wandered into a clandestine meeting of somnambulists. No one acknowledged him when he walked in, offered him a name tag, a cup of coffee, or anything that even hinted at a welcome. He was beginning to wonder if Orensen had given him the wrong time and place, when a woman with blue-streaked, gray hair separated herself from a small group that included the Pakistanis and walked to the front of the room.
She raised her arms and shouted joyously, “I feel it!” Everybody turned their attention towards her and closed their eyes. A look of rapture filled their faces. Her voice carrying the melodic rhythm of a gospel singer, she continued, “May the power of the shrine pour through all of us once again. May the love we all felt at the shrine fill the lives of all who seek to aid a greater purpose. May I fulfill my part in the one work through selflessness, harmlessness, and right speech.”
Everyone lifted up their arms and joined in as she finished the prayer: “Let love prevail . . . let all humanity love and serve.”
Ramsey stood silently. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. After all, he was not a New Gnostic and had never personally experienced a healing at the shrine, just aberrations and illusions.
The woman dropped her arms after the incantation ended and walked to the center of the room. Her eyes met Ramsey’s and she came over. Her eyes were green with flecks of coral in them. “You’re new here. Welcome.” she smiled, extending her hand. She was nearly sixty according to the lines around her eyes, but her skin was soft like a baby’s. “My name is Evelyn Ha-Rishon.”
Ramsey’s eyes widened in surprise.
“The first Eve.”
“You speak Hebrew?” she said, surprised.
“Some. I had to learn a little for my graduate thesis on sacred places.”
“Fascinating. I’d love to hear more about that,” she said, her tone warm and inviting in a way Ramsey could tell was not in the least bit deceitful. “You’ll discover that many of us here have incorporated the Hebrew word Ha-Rishon into our names from the biblical account of Adam in The First Testament.”
“I don’t understand. I was under the impression that Gnosticism was a Christian tradition.”
Evelyn smiled at his confusion. “Most people don’t know that the Gnostic tradition preceded Christianity. It can be found in Platonism, Zoroastrianism, Judaism, and some scholars believe Buddhism. I’m forgetting my manners. Let me introduce you around, Mr.—.”
“Ramsey. I’m a guest of Professor Orensen.”
“Of course, you’re Jonathan Ramsey. I thought it might be you. Roger told us you would be here.”
The way Evelyn said the old professor’s name, Ramsey wondered if there was more to their relationship than as acquaintances. “I was hoping to see Professor Orensen here tonight,” he said.
“Roger’s going to be late, but he said you had information we might need to hear about Adam.”
“I don’t see how. Never met him.”
“Pity, he was quite remarkable. Things here haven’t been the same since he disappeared,” her eyes narrowed slightly as if coming to a decision whether this was the time and place to speak of such things. She smiled wanly. Her face was luminous and Ramsey had the feeling he could fall into the depth of that smile and never surface again. It reminded him of Paige when they were in love, and he wondered what had really gone wrong between them. Then Evelyn started speaking again and he concentrated on her like he would an interviewee.
“Quite frankly, before Adam disappeared, the Gnostic assemblies like ours were quite vibrant. We thought we were going to change the world. Now we seem to be falling apart. The harmony we once shared is disappearing. It’s been very discouraging.”
Ramsey shrugged uncomfortably. It was like listening to a writer tell you everything that’s wrong with his novel when you were looking forward to reading it.
Evelyn misinterpreted his silence to mean he had heard this complaint already. She asked, “Did Orensen tell you all this? He said you know more about what happened to Adam than anybody else.”
Ramsey replied, “Actually, the professor told me nothing except that I would have many of my questions answered by coming here.”
“In that case, when we form into breakout groups, come sit with me.” The sounds of chair legs scraping the linoleum turned her head around. “We’re about to begin. Take any empty seat.”
Ramsey chose a seat at the end of the last row. Evelyn moved to the front of the room. She waited for the chairs and people to settle. “To begin, as we always do, let’s acknowledge new members and visitors. Tonight we have one of each.”
Ramsey listened as an elderly lady stood and explained that she and her newly retired husband had just moved from Chicago to Grinnell. They managed a web app that paired up aikido instructors with students. Then she told the story of visiting the shrine for eighteen days straight and how, on the nineteen day, the ringing in her head that had plagued her for over twenty years stopped and has never come back. When she sat down, the group mildly intoned, “Amen.”
Evelyn thanked her and then introduced a visitor from Wales. “He calls himself the Wandering Gnostic. I’ll let him tell you all about himself.”
From the far corner of the room a middle-aged man rose. Long silver hair flowed down his back. As he walked toward the front, his hair wavered like starlight. His form seemed to shift from stocky to tall and rangy. Ramsey watched the New Gnostics but none of them appeared to notice anything out of the ordinary. He shook his head wondering if the dim light was playing tricks on him.
The man turned abruptly. He peered through the hall, slate-gray eyes piercing the sleepy energy of the attendees. His sharp beak of a nose seemed to point at everyone as powerfully as his glare.
Ramsey started in surprise. He’d seen that look before, had experienced the same fierce mien. He bent his mind to recall, but could not quite lift the veil that was hiding the where and when.
“I bet many of you are having a sense of ‘I know this guy from somewhere,’” the visitor said. Stirs and nods followed. “Maybe you think we’ve met, passed each other on a crowded street or shared a plane to some exotic place. All my life I have been attracted, no addicted, to hallucinogens. I lived as much in the other side, probably more, than the real world. I was at the point where I couldn’t tell the difference. I had a vision of the Milagro Shrine and went there, and as they say, the rest is history.” He paused.
His audience listened with the same expectancy of the crowd at the Vatican waiting for the Pope to give his blessing. Ramsey found himself like the others leaning forward, wanting to hear more. In fact he felt compelled to meet the man and hoped there would be time afterwards to speak with him.
“And here I am. Wherever my travels take me I always try to visit the local New Gnostic assembly.” He paused. Murmurs of thank you and mild applause filled the gap.
“Why are you applauding?” the Wandering Gnostic roared.
The group snapped back in their seats as if a howling gale had slammed into them. From the puzzled expressions on their faces, Ramsey figured this wasn’t how visitors usually comported themselves. Curiously, he felt unaffected, as though he were here to witness what was happening but not be a part of it.
“What have any of you done with your God-given experience since you joined? You sit here smiling like inhabitants in the Land of the Lotus-eaters. You chant amen in sappy tones, eyes half closed, unable to see what is happening.”
One of the Pakistani men jumped to his feet. “Who are you to tell us we are failing?” Others muttered amen.
“I am Adam Ha-Rishon,” the Wandering Gnostic stated in a voice like God speaking to Moses in the wilderness. The Pakistani stumbled back into his seat as though he’d been slapped.
Ramsey translated the Hebrew: the original Adam. The earlier serenity in the room had long since vanished and now the anxiety was mounting with every passing heartbeat.
“You people don’t get it!” the Wandering Gnostic shouted. “You must understand that this is the way it has to be, and always has been. Stop trying to create harmony, peace, and tranquility. You experienced a gift from Adam and now you’re closing the door he opened for you, the door that took you across the boundary to the other side, a crossing that you must take again and again. Be like Adam, be like Moses, Jesus, the Buddha, Mohammed. Understand that it’s never quite right, never completely safe. You are never complete. It’s from conflict that all new and good things come. Accept it, only then can you create a sacred space right here.”
The Gnostics sat stunned. Ramsey watched them. They could not take their eyes from the Wandering Gnostic, could not stop listening for his next words. It was as if he held their souls in the palm of his hand. Some of the veil started to shift and Ramsey could almost snatch out of the misty shadows how he knew this strange madman who berated everyone in the room.
Then the Wandering Gnostic rushed over and hauled Ramsey to his feet. He thrust Ramsey at the group and cried, “Follow him into the world of uncertainty!”
It was then that the last of the veil parted and the mists swirled away as if a strong gust of the past had rushed into Ramsey’s consciousness. “I know you!” he shouted. “You’re Puck . . . the woman who helped me at the shrine!”
The man cackled and leaned in close. He gripped Ramsey by the forearms. His eyes burned into Ramsey’s as he whispered, “Yes, and I am the archetype of transformation, Hermes, Loki and Coyote. I am the one who started you on this journey twelve years ago.” He cackled again.
Ramsey stiffened. “Glastonbury,” he whispered. It all came back to him. He was Loki
, the decrepit, one-eyed man who had told him a guide would be provided for him to find his way. Ramsey’s body relaxed in the grasp of the Wandering Gnostic and yet an insistent vitality flooded his muscles and his brain was sharper than ever.
The man pushed Ramsey gently back into his seat. He laughed at the group and pirouetted several times, like a dervish gathering strength. When he stopped, heat and light radiated from his skin. “This man is a little crazy, but he knows more about Adam and the healing power of the shrine than he believes.”
Dancing and twirling, the Wandering Gnostic started for the door. Orensen entered the room at the same time. The man gently embraced the professor. He whispered in his ear. Ramsey strained and could just make out the feathery voice. “It’s time; you’ve done what you were supposed to do.”
“I’m ready,” answered Orensen.
The old professor slumped forward. The Wandering Gnostic caught him and laid him gently on the floor.
He bowed to the group. “Honor him,” he intoned, then vanished into the night.
April 11, 2016
Grinnell, Iowa
Ramsey sat on the edge of the bed. He looked over at Paige who was still sleeping. The late afternoon sun filtered through the latticed window. He was confused and his head swirled with thoughts and regrets of ending up in bed with Paige.
Since the night she broke off their relationship, he had experienced five long-distance romances, all of them lasting less than three months. His moodiness had destroyed every romantic encounter he started. Then, four years ago, he had decided that the effort to make an honest and growing commitment to a partner was no longer possible. He believed his experience in Peru had left him permanently unable to develop the intimacy necessary to be close to another person as a lover, friend, and husband. He had decided his work had to be enough. When his body and mind craved sexual release, he sought out one-night stands.
The Adam Enigma Page 26
