PRAISE FOR THE TENTH INSIGHT
“In another spellbinding adventure tale, a worthy sequel to his Celestine masterpiece, James Redfield packs thrills, suspense, and spiritual wisdom into a book you cannot put down. You must read THE TENTH INSIGHT!”
—Brian Weiss, M.D., author of Only Love Is Real and Many Lives, Many Masters
“Everybody’s reading THE TENTH INSIGHT, James Redfield’s sequel to The Celestine Prophecy. Run, don’t walk, to your nearest bookstore.”
—Los Angeles Features Syndicate
“THE TENTH INSIGHT captures not only the adventures of this life but the true spiritual essence of what we are trying to achieve.”
—Dannion Brinkley, author of Saved by the Light and At Peace in the Light
“Will move us further along toward spiritual enlightenment as we near the millennium.… With INSIGHT, Redfield has tried to stress that everyone’s life, like his, is a ‘spiritual adventure.’”
—Detroit News
“James Redfield has achieved what the greatest storytellers across time and culture aspire to. He has woven a parable accessible to all… an extraordinary map for the evolutionary journey begun in The Celestine Prophecy.”
—Michael Murphy, chairman, Esalen Institute,
and author of Golf in the Kingdom,
The Kingdom of Shivas Irons,
and The Future of the Body
“In THE TENTH INSIGHT, Redfield continues the Celestine message of living a life that will help others.”
—Rocky Mountain News
“James Redfield has distilled the spiritual teachings of the ages into a thrilling, fast-paced adventure… to help humanity.”
—Joan Borysenko, Ph.D., author of Fire in the Soul
“Enlightening.… Profound teachings interwoven within a gripping story of good versus evil, of life and death, that both delights the senses and stretches the mind.”
—Tulsa World
“Not to be missed.”
—New Age Journal
“Will take readers to unimagined plateaus of spirituality… may change forever the way we look at life, death, and our purpose here on Earth.”
—Arizona Networking News
“Inspiring… unique and joyful… Redfield has again captured our deepest intuitions as he illuminates the worlds outside us and within us… a must-read for everyone!”
—Commonwealth Journal
“A profoundly moving continuation of The Celestine Prophecy.… The plot has many clues and visions and moves with the speed of a first-class thriller.”
—Abilene Reporter-News
“The strength of this book comes from Redfield’s message that the future will be dramatically better than the present. The story in this book goes well beyond its predecessor, especially in the range of ideas it covers.”
—Body Mind Spirit magazine
“As you read THE TENTH INSIGHT, you might see parts of yourself and others that you’ve never seen before. You might also see the need for change.… The Tenth Insight must be experienced personally. In the first nine insights, for example, intuition is experienced as gut feeling, but in The Tenth Insight you actually live it out.”
—Sunday Record (NJ)
“A colorful, imaginative pilgrimage.… Some of the visionary moments in the story remind me of the kind of imagination operating in classic stories like the Hindu Ramayan or the Chinese Journey to the West. It is a way of thinking that gives palpability to obscure areas of psychological and spiritual experience, so that impulses toward what is traditionally viewed as other-worldly are given a level of earthiness.”
—Bookscapes
ALSO BY JAMES REDFIELD
The Celestine Prophecy
The Tenth Insight: Holding the Vision
BY JAMES REDFIELD AND CAROL ADRIENNE
The Celestine Prophecy: An Experiential Guide
The Tenth Insight: Holding the Vision: An Experiential Guide
Copyright
Copyright © 1996 by James Redfield
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Grand central Publishing
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10017
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First eBook Edition: November 2009
Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-446-57129-6
For my wife and inspiration
Salle Merrill Redfield
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My heartfelt thanks to everyone who had a part in this book, particularly Joann Davis at Warner Books for her ongoing guidance and Albert Gaulden for his sage counsel. And certainly, my friends in the Blue Ridge Mountains, who keep the fires of a safe haven burning.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Like The Celestine Prophecy, this sequel is an adventure parable, an attempt to illustrate the ongoing spiritual transformation that is occurring in our time. My hope with both books has been to communicate what I would call a consensus picture, a lived portrait, of the new perceptions, feelings, and phenomena that are coming to define life as we enter the third millennium.
Our greatest mistake, in my opinion, is to think that human spirituality is somehow already understood and established. If history tells us anything, it is that human culture and knowledge are constantly evolving. Only individual opinions are fixed and dogmatic. Truth is more dynamic than that, and the great joy of life is in letting go, in finding our own special truth that is ours to tell, and then watching the synchronistic way this truth evolves and takes a clearer form, just when it’s needed to impact someone’s life.
Together we are going somewhere, each generation building upon the accomplishments of the previous one, destined for an end we can only dimly remember. We’re all in the process of awakening and opening up to who we really are, and what we came here to do, which is often a very difficult task. Yet I firmly believe that if we always integrate the best of the traditions we find before us and keep the process in mind, each challenge along the way, each interpersonal irritation can be overcome with a sense of destiny and miracle.
I don’t mean to minimize the formidable problems still facing humanity, only to suggest that each of us in our own way is involved in the solution. If we stay aware and acknowledge the great mystery that is this life, we will see that we have been perfectly placed, in exactly the right position… to make all the difference in the world.
JR
Spring, 1996
… I looked, and behold,
a door was opened in heaven:
and the first voice which I heard was as… a trumpet
talking with me; which said, Come up hither, and I will show you
things which must be hereafter. And immediately
I was in the spirit: and, behold, a throne was set in heaven.…
and there was a rainbow round about the throne,
in sight like unto an emerald. And round about the throne
were four and twenty seats: and upon the seats I saw four
and twenty elders sitting, clothed in white raiment.…
And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first
heaven and the first earth were passed away.…
REVELATION
CONTENTS
PRAISE
FOR THE TENTH INSIGHT
ALSO BY JAMES REDFIELD
COPYRIGHT
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
IMAGING THE PATH
REVIEWING THE JOURNEY
OVERCOMING THE FEAR
REMEMBERING
OPENING TO THE KNOWLEDGE
A HISTORY OF AWAKENING
AN NNER HELL
FORGIVING
REMEMBERING THE FUTURE
HOLDING THE VISION
THE TENTH INSIGHT
IMAGING THE PATH
I walked out to the edge of the granite overhang and looked northward at the scene below. Stretching across my view was a large Appalachian valley of striking beauty, perhaps six or seven, miles long and five miles wide. Along the length of the valley ran a winding stream that coursed through stretches of open meadowland and thick, colorful forests—old forests, with trees standing hundreds of feet high.
I glanced down at the crude map in my hand. Everything in the valley coincided with the drawing exactly: the steep ridge on which I was standing, the road leading down, the description of the landscape and the stream, the rolling foothills beyond. This had to be the place Charlene had sketched on the note found in her office. Why had she done that? And why had she disappeared?
Over a month had now passed since Charlene had last contacted her associates at the research firm where she worked, and by the time Frank Sims, her officemate, had thought to call me, he had become clearly alarmed.
“She often goes off on her own tangents,” he had said. “But she’s never disappeared for this long before, and never when she had meetings already set with long-term clients. Something’s not right.”
“How did you know to call me?” I asked.
He responded by describing part of a letter, found in Charlene’s office, that I had written to her months earlier chronicling my experiences in Peru. With it, he told me, was a scribbled note that contained my name and telephone number.
“I’m calling everyone I know who is associated with her,” he added. “So far, no one seems to know a thing. Judging from the letter, you’re a friend of Charlene’s. I was hoping you had heard from her.”
“Sorry,” I told him. “I haven’t talked to her in four months.”
Even as I had said the words, I couldn’t believe it had been that long. Soon after receiving my letter, Charlene had telephoned and left a long message on my answering machine, voicing her excitement about the Insights and commenting on the speed with which knowledge of them seemed to be spreading. I remembered listening, to Charlene’s message several times, but I had put off calling her back—telling myself that I would call later, maybe tomorrow or the day after, when I felt ready to talk. I knew at the time that speaking with her would put me in the position of having to recall and explain the details of the Manuscript, and I told myself I needed more time to think, to digest what had occurred.
The truth, of course, was that parts of the prophecy still eluded me. Certainly I had retained the ability to connect with a spiritual energy within, a great comfort to me considering that everything had fallen through with Marjorie, and I was now spending large amounts of time alone. And I was more aware than ever of intuitive thoughts and dreams and the luminosity of a room or landscape. Yet, at the same time, the sporadic nature of the coincidences had become a problem.
I would fill up with energy, for instance, discerning the question foremost in my life, and would, usually perceive a clear hunch about what to do or where to go to pursue the answer— yet, after acting accordingly, too often nothing of importance would occur. I would find no message, no coincidence.
This was especially true when the intuition was to seek out someone I already knew to some extent, an old acquaintance perhaps, or someone with whom I worked routinely. Occasionally this person and I would find some new point of interest, but just as frequently, my initiative, in spite of my best efforts to send energy, would be completely rebuked, or worse, would begin with excitement only to warp out of control and finally die in a flurry of unexpected irritations and emotions.
Such failure had not soured me on the process, but I had realized something was missing when it came to living the Insights long-term. In Peru, I had been proceeding on momentum, often acting spontaneously with a kind of faith born out of desperation. When I arrived back home, though, dealing again with my normal environment, often surrounded by outright skeptics, I seemed to lose the keen expectation, or firm belief, that my hunches were really going to lead somewhere. Apparently there was some vital part of the knowledge I had forgotten… or perhaps not yet discovered.
“I’m just not sure what to do next,” Charlene’s associate had pressed. “She has a sister, I think, somewhere in New York. You don’t know how to contact her, do you? Or anyone else who might know where she is?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t. Charlene and I are actually rekindling an old friendship. I don’t remember any relatives and I don’t know who her friends are now.”
“Well, I think I’m going to file a police report, unless you have a better idea.”
“No, I think that would be wise. Are there any other leads?”
“Only a drawing of some kind; could be the description of a place. It’s hard to tell.”
Later he had faxed me the entire note he had found in Charlene’s office, including the crude sketch of intersecting lines and numbers with vague marks in the margins. And as I had sat in my study, comparing the drawing to the road numbers in an Atlas of the South, I had found what I suspected to be the actual location. Afterward I had experienced a vivid image of Charlene in my mind, the same image I had perceived in Peru when told of the existence of a Tenth Insight. Was her disappearance somehow connected to the Manuscript?
A wisp of wind touched my face and I again studied the view below. Far to the left, at the western edge of the valley, I could make out a row of rooftops. That had to be the town Charlene had indicated on the map. Stuffing the paper into my vest pocket, I made my way back to the road and climbed into the Pathfinder.
The town itself was small—population two thousand, according to the sign beside the first and only stoplight. Most of the commercial buildings lined just one street running along the edge of the stream. I drove through the light, spotted a motel near the entrance to the National Forest, and pulled into a parking space facing an adjacent restaurant and pub. Several people were entering the restaurant, including a tall man with a dark complexion and jet-black hair, carrying a large pack. He glanced back at me and we momentarily made eye contact.
I got out and locked the car, then decided, on a hunch, to walk through the restaurant before checking into the motel. Inside, the tables were near empty—just a few hikers at the bar and some of the people who had entered ahead of me. Most were oblivious to my gaze, but as I continued to survey the room, I again met eyes with the tall man I had seen before; he was walking toward the rear of the room. He smiled faintly, held the eye contact another second, then walked out a back exit.
I followed him through the exit. He was standing twenty feet away, bending over his pack. He was dressed in jeans, a western shirt and boots, and appeared to be about fifty years old. Behind him, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows among the tall trees and grass, and, fifty yards away, the stream flowed by, beginning its journey into the valley.
He smiled halfheartedly and looked up at me. “Another pilgrim?” he asked.
“I’m looking for a friend,” I said. “I had a hunch that you could help me.”
He nodded, studying, the outlines of my body very carefully. Walking closer, he introduced himself as David Lone Eagle, explaining, as though it was something I might need to know, that he was a direct descendant of the Native Americans who originally inhabited this valley. I noticed for the first time a thin scar on his face that ran from the edge of his left eyebrow all’ the way to his chin, just missing his eye.
“You want some coffee?” he asked. “They’re g
ood at Perrier in the saloon there, but lousy at coffee.” He nodded toward an area near the stream where a small tent stood among three large poplars. Dozens of people were walking in the area, some of them along a path that crossed a bridge and led into the National Forest. Everything appeared safe.
“Sure,” I replied. “That would be good.”
At the campsite he lit a small butane camp stove, then filled a boiler with water and set it on the burner.
“What’s your friend’s name?” he finally asked.
“Charlene Billings.”
He paused and looked at me, and as we gazed at each other, I saw a clear image in my mind’s eye of him in another time. He was younger and dressed in buckskins, sitting in front of a large fire. Streaks of war paint adorned his face. Around him was a circle of people, mostly Native Americans, but including two whites, a woman and a very large man. The discussion was heated. Some in the group wanted war; others desired reconciliation. He broke in, ridiculing the ones considering peace. How could they be so naive, he told them, after so much treachery?
The white woman seemed to understand but pleaded with him to hear her out. War could be avoided, she maintained, and the valley protected fairly, if the spiritual medicine was great enough. He rebuked her argument totally, then, chiding the group, he mounted his horse and rode away. Most of the others followed.
“Your instincts are good,” David said, snapping me from my vision. He was spreading a homespun blanket between us, offering me a seat. “I know of her.” He looked at me questioningly.
“I’m concerned,” I said. “No one has heard from her and I just want to make sure she’s okay. And we need to talk.”
“About the Tenth Insight?” he asked, smiling.
“How did you know that?”
“Just a guess. Many of the people coming to this valley aren’t just here because of the beauty of the National Forest. They’re here to talk about the Insights. They think the Tenth is somewhere out there. A few even claim to know what it says.”
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