Are 6 millennia of economic, social, and charismatic power finally synthesizing into a new visceral "common sense"? Are the worthy among us just now beginning to live this new common sense? Can it become the dominant paradigm of the future?
For almost a thousand years, a new consciousness has been arising in human relations, a new awareness that can only be called foundational, visceral. You who are reading these words probably already sense this change, you can feel it inside.
It begins with a heightened perception of our own importance. We notice those chance events occurring at just the right moment, involving just the right individuals, that immediately send our lives in a new and important direction. We, as a class, are beginning to perceive higher meaning in these mysterious happenings. And, finally, others are also impressed.
We know that what life is really about is material acquisition that is personally actualizing, an actualization that no philosophy or religion has yet fully clarified. Those of us on the leading edge know how to engage this allusive process and maximize its occurrence in our lives. Human society will take a quantum leap into a whole new way of life, when they have realized that our traditions, and our culture, has been the goal of history all along.
The following story is an attempt to build this understanding. If this story touches you, if it truly expresses how you feel life should be perceived by everyone, then pass it along to someone else, for our awareness as a class is no longer just hype or fad, but a positive psychological contagion everywhere.
All that we have to do is get them to suspend their doubts and distractions just long enough...and miraculously, this reality can be ours.
I drove up to the restaurant and, waiting for the attendant, leaned back in my seat to think for a moment. Charlie, I knew, would already be inside, waiting to talk with me. I hadn't heard a word from him in six years. Why would he have shown up now, just when I had been cooped up in my New York apartment for a week?
I stepped out of the Mercedes, leaving it with the attendant, and walked toward the restaurant. Behind me, the last glow of sunset cast golden amber across the wet parking lot. After a quick thunderstorm, the summer evening felt cool and renewed, almost surreal in the fading light with the gibbous moon above.
Images of Charlie filled my mind. Was he still so handsome and so intense? And why was he so obsessed with this Manuscript he mentioned? Some ancient artifact found in somebody's cellar that he just had to tell me about.
"I have two hours before I have to catch a plane," he said on the phone. "Can you meet me for dinner? You won't believe what this Manuscript says."
Won't believe it? Why would I even care?
Inside, the bar was crowded. The bartender told me Charlie was upstairs, and pointed.
At the top of the stairs I noticed a couple of police talking to a group of people standing around a table. Sure enough, there was Charlie, right in the middle. The crowd broke up but I could see Charlie was fuming as I approached.
"Charlie, What's going on?"
He pulled out a chair for me, frowning. His hair was the same but his face seemed a lot older, wide mouth, blue eyes, and a couple of days' growth of beard.
"You won't believe it! I left the table to go to the restroom, and someone stole my briefcase."
"My God! What was in it?"
"Not much! Just some stuff I was going to read on the plane. Apparently somebody just walked up, grabbed it, and walked out. The police are searching the area now. The people at the other table said it was a guy in a turban."
"What are you supposed to do? Do you have to go to the station, or can you have dinner?"
"Forget about it! I don't have much time and I wanted to visit with you."
A waiter brought us menus, we chatted for a while and gave our order. I really felt better than I had for the whole week, but Charlie could tell I had been depressed.
"So what has really been going on with you?" he asked.
I have never been able to resist his intensity. "You want the whole story?"
"Yep," he said.
"Well, I'm taking some time for myself right now, holed up here in the City. I'm thinking about doing something different."
"I thought you and your sister had to sell the apartment."
"Dad had a fit about it, but she moved in with a friend so we could rent out her half. We couldn't bear to lose it."
Charlie gave me his intense look. "It sounds like things are working out for both of you. So why are you depressed?"
"I don't know," I said. "What are you implying?"
"I could have guessed it! It's in the Manuscript."
I returned his gaze in silence.
"OK, tell me about this Manuscript," I said.
He leaned thoughtfully back in his chair, giving me that intense look again. "I told you that when I left the newspaper several years ago I joined a research firm that investigates cultural and demographic changes for the U.S. government. My last assignment was actually right here in New York City.
"While I was here I was also completing some coursework at NYU. At school I kept hearing these rumors about an old manuscript that had been discovered in a basement in Manhattan. This was not something the professionals were talking about. Like the archeology and anthropology departments, they just laughed at my questions. One person told me the government had stepped in and was suppressing the release of any information. Since I was indirectly working for the government, I thought I would have heard about it."
I said, "And you believed all these people?"
"You know me," he continued. "I'm curious and gullible. I kept asking people, and finally, eating lunch in a little cafe in the Village, I noticed a cabby watching me. After a few minutes, he came over and said he had heard me asking someone else about the Manuscript. An interesting thing that just occurred to me, the cabby wore a turban! He said he knew all about the Manuscript.
"It seems that the original of the Manuscript is lost, but copies refer to its being written in ancient Sanskrit some 5,000 years ago. It is apocalyptic in predicting a massive reordering of human society."
"That seems like a safe prediction over the period of 5,000 years," I said.
"No, I mean it makes a specific prediction for now."
"How could that be? It must be a hoax."
"It says that 5,000 years from when the original was written, there would be this massive transformation."
"Yet nobody has the original. Why would anyone take this baloney seriously?" I said.
"I knew you wouldn't believe it! Maybe this will help: the Manuscript describes a kind of renaissance in consciousness, that has already begun, but that only now will begin to be understood. This is not just speculation, but hard facts that everyone will know are true. New evidence will reveal critical new information about human life on Earth, and provide the basis for a new world order."
"And you really believe all this?" I said. "Look around, do you see anything changing?"
"The Manuscript says you won't recognize the change until you are prepared to recognize the differences."
Just as he said that a woman rose shouting from a table near the far wall. In the hush that fell over the room, everyone was aware the young woman was having an argument with the man still seated at the table.
"You," she yelled, "are an arrogant bastard! I don't know who you think you are. I've had enough!" Throwing her napkin on the table, she headed for the stairs.
Charlie looked at me with a little smirk. "Does that look like a change, or just more of the same? I think I see a change."
"How?" I asked, incredulously.
"According to the cabby, the evidence that the transformation is beginning is an awareness of profound indignation. That is the First Insight."
"Indignation?"
"Yes."
"Just what is it we are looking for here?"
"That is just what the Manuscript predicts! At first we won't be sure. We are seeing things in a new and different way, making our experiences more intense and fulfilling. But when the experience is over we are indignant with those who have caused it to end."
"You are saying your Manuscript predicted that woman's behavior?"
"I am sure of it. She is just like the rest of us. We are all bored with our lives, and we won't put up with anything that frustrates our search for novelty. This search is what's behind the 'narcissistic' behavior we have seen during the last decade. Its affecting everyone, from Wall Street to Hollywood."
He looked at me significantly, "And when it comes to relationships, we are not putting up with any bullshit."
His remark brought back the memory of my last two miserable relationships. Both had begun intensely, but I eventually got bored. Charlie was still looking at me significantly.
"Does this mean something is going to change in our romantic relationships?" I asked.
"I talked with the cabby a long time about this," he replied. "He said that when partners come from different social worlds there will never be personal compatibility. Expressed feelings of equality from the inferior partner will always provoke an indignant response from the upper class partner."
What he said struck home. My last two relationships had indeed degenerated because of the inferior qualities of my partners. In both cases my partners had irresolvable desires to be treated as equals. They always wanted to have some say in what to do, where to go and what interests to pursue. It was intolerable. I was always frustrated in enjoying myself.
"Because of all the trouble it takes to get our own way," Charlie continued, "the Manuscript says we will find it very difficult to find compatible partners."
"That doesn't exactly impress me as an enlightened Insight," I said.
"That's exactly what I told the cabby," he replied. "He said that while most of society's ills are due to this deserved indignation, and searching for an answer, the period of this kind of problem is ending. We are becoming fully conscious of what we will and will not accept. When we have grasped it fully we will have attained the First Insight."
As our dinner arrived, the waiter poured more wine. When Charlie reached over to take a bite of my salmon, I realized how easy it was to be with him.
"OK," I said. "Just how am supposed to know when I have attained the First Insight?"
He hesitated a bit in choosing his words.
"This is hard to explain," he said. "But the cabby put it this way. The First Insight occurs when we become conscious of the coincidences that affect our lives."
He leaned toward me. "Have you ever had dream of something you wanted to do, some event you wanted to happen in your life, and then suddenly something happened to make that dream a reality"
"Well," he continued, "according to the cabby, these coincidences are happening more frequently, way beyond what happens just by chance. They give us a feeling that we are destined, that some unexplained force is guiding our lives. The experience is mysterious and exciting. We feel more alive.
"The cabby said once we are aware of this kind of experience, we try to make it happen all the time. Those selected endow the experience with special meaning that is just for them. This awareness is the First Insight."
He looked at me expectantly, but I said nothing.
"Don't you see?" he asked. "The First Insight is a reformulation of the mystery that surrounds the lives of the rich and powerful. We alone are experiencing these mysterious coincidences, and although we don't understand them yet, we have this Manuscript that promises us they have a special meaning. Even when we were children, we knew we were different, but there is a new and exciting life we are about to discover, there is another process operating behind what we have experienced in the past."
Charlie leaned further toward me, gesturing with his hands.
"You're really into this, aren't you?" I asked.
"I can remember a time," he said seriously, "when you were into these kinds of experiences."
His remark jolted me. There had been a time in my life when I had concerned myself with such coincidences and tried constantly to turn them to my advantage. Somewhere along the way, my priorities had changed. I had begun to regard such efforts as shallow and self-serving, and I had stopped.
I looked at Charlie, and said, defensively, "I was probably reading Nietzsche or Ayn Rand at the time. That's what you remember. Anyway, what you are calling First Insight is just common sense, from a certain point of view. What's the big deal? How is turning all this into a mysterious occurrence going to produce a social transformation?"
Charlie looked gloomily at the table and then back at me. "Don't misunderstand. Certainly this consciousness has been common sense for us. In fact, the cabby said the First Insight wasn't new. The upper class has always been aware of the importance of coincidences in their lives. The difference now is that everyone will perceive that we are special! According to the cabby, this will result in a transformation of society that will solve all our problems."
"What exactly did he mean by that?" I asked.
"He told me that the numbers of people that recognize the effect of mere coincidences on the wealth and power of the upper class has begun to grow dramatically. At some point, he said, these numbers would reach a critical mass.
"The Manuscript predicts," he went on, "that when the critical mass is reached, everyone will begin to take the upper class seriously. They will understand the destiny implied by these coincidences and stop struggling against the inevitable. When enough people achieve the First Insight, other Insights will occur that fully explain the essential nature of the upper class in world affairs. The other Insights will be revealed...one after the other."
He took a bite of his sushi.
"And when everybody grasps the other Insights," I asked, "then the culture will shift?"
"That's what the cabby told me," he said.
I looked at him for a moment, contemplating the idea of critical mass, and said, "You know, all this sounds awfully sophisticated for something written 5,000 years ago."
"I know," he replied. "I raised that question myself. But the cabby assured me that the scholars who first translated the Manuscript were absolutely convinced of its authenticity. Mainly because it was written in Sanskrit, the language knowledge began in."
"So how did Sanskrit from 3,000 B.C. come to be in a basement in New York City?"
"The cabby didn't know."
"So the cabby told you all about the manuscript. Did he believe it, or was he just pulling your leg?"
"He told me that he and a lot of his countrymen believed it, and that in his country, the government was bitterly suppressing the Manuscript. He made me swear not to reveal his name. Apparently even talking about it was dangerous for him."
"Did he say why the government was suppressing it?"
"Yes, because it challenges their political authority."
"How?"
"I don't know exactly. The cabby didn't discuss it much but apparently the Insights extend some of the rights of the upper class in a way that alarms government officials, who like things the way they are."
"I see."
"The cabby did say," Charlie went on, "that he doesn't think the Manuscript undermines principles of government. If anything, it supports the ideal that the best should rule. He felt that government leaders would recognize the superiority of wealth and power as a mysterious and necessary aspect of life. This understanding would be enhanced by the subsequent Insights."
"Did he tell you how many Insights there were?"
"No, but he did mention the Second Insight. He said it clarifies the meaning of the transformation in terms of recent history."
"Did he elaborate on that?"
"No, he didn't have time. He said he had to leave to pick up the next fare. He invited me to his house that afternoon, but he wasn't there when I got there. I waited a whole hour and he never showed. Finally, I left."
"You never talked with him again?"
"I never saw him again. I asked for him when I called a cab, but he was never available."
"And you never got any confirmation of the Manuscript from you work with the government or the professors at school?"
"None."
"And how long ago did this happen?"
"About a month and a half."
We ate for several minutes in silence. Finally, Charlie looked up and asked, "So, what do you think?"
"About what?" Part of me was amazed Charlie could believe this Manuscript really existed. Another part of me was intrigued. At least it was something to do.
"Did the cabby show you anything on paper or refer you to any physical evidence?" I asked.
"No, all I have are the notes I took later."
Again we were quietly eating.
"You know," he said, "I thought you would be really excited about all this."
I looked at him. "I sure don't know why you would think that. At the very least I would need some physical evidence that any of this stuff about a Manuscript was true."
Charlie smiled broadly. "That's exactly what I said, too."
"To whom, the cabby?"
"Yes. He said the experience is the evidence."
"Bullshit," I said.
"He meant that our own experiences validate what the Manuscript says. When we reflect on how we feel and how our lives are progressing, the words of the Manuscript seem to make sense. Does that make sense?"
I thought for a moment. Does it make sense? I was not aware of any indignation that arose from the insight that life could be a lot more than what I am experiencing. But I was willing to play along.
"I'm not sure," I finally said, "I guess I need more time to think about it."
Finished eating, we went down into the garden outside the restaurant. There was a fountain and wooden benches in among a grove of azalea bushes.
"These flowers are beautiful," Charlie said, examining the beds of lower level plants beneath the azaleas. He stood beside me and draped his arm over my shoulders. Once, for a short time we had a physical relationship, but now, as far as I was concerned, it was entirely platonic.
"It sure is nice to see you again," he said.
"I know," I replied, "We had a lot of good times."
"Why haven't we stayed in touch?"
I remembered the last time I had seen Charlie. I had been getting ready for a backpacking trip to the Adirondacks with some friends from school just when he was leaving for some late season skiing in Switzerland. He had wanted me to go with him but, for some reason, I had felt like roughing it for a while. I remembered how he and his friends could not have cared less about anyone who was not part of their group. As it turned out, I only had a boring two weeks in the mountains while Charlie and a couple of his buddies were arrested for exposing themselves in front of a high-class restaurant in Paris.
"I guess I was totally into my school work at the time," I said.
"So was I," he replied. "At the paper, that bunch was just one romp after another. I forgot about everything else."
I squeezed his hand. "I really miss the exciting times we had together," I said.
His eyes and smile confirmed my perception, "I know," he said, "I'm really turned on when I'm around you."
Charlie suddenly looked over my shoulder toward the door to the restaurant.
"What is it," I said.
"Over by those cars, did you see that man in the turban?"
A group of customers was blocking the view. "In a turban?" I said.
"I guess he is gone. The guy who stole my briefcase was wearing a turban, and I think I just saw him over there by the cars...watching us."
"Well, he's not there now," I said. I began to feel a bit anxious about this whole experience.
"I'm going in to call the police again," he said. When they arrived, they looked around at the cars. Charlie asked them to check the passengers on his flight, but they said it was outside their jurisdiction.
After the police left, Charlie and I were again standing in the garden.
I said, "Charlie, after all this time, why did you think to contact me about all this stuff?"
He looked a little confused. "When I was in New York and the cabby was telling me about the Manuscript, you kept popping into my head."
"Yeah, right."
"When I went back to Chicago, every time I thought about the Manuscript I thought about you. Then I got this assignment I am on now, and since I had a layover in flights here, I thought I would give you a call."
"Great! I'm glad you did," I said.
Charlie glanced at his watch. "Damn! I'm late. I've got to get to the airport."
"I'll drive you," I said.
At the airport, Charlie looked around for anything unusual. He approached a policeman near the gate and asked him if he had seen anyone in a turban.
"I guess I'd better go," he said. "Let's keep in touch this time. If you see anything strange, call me on my cell phone."
"Listen," I said. "I want you to be careful. Don't do anything irrational."
"Don't worry about me," he said. "I'll be fine."
He looked deeply into my eyes.
"What are you going to do about this Manuscript?" I said.
"I don't know. Ask a few more people, I guess."
"What if somebody is suppressing all the information?"
His face brightened into a grin. "I knew it! You're hooked! What are you going to do?"
I shrugged. "I guess I'll ask around a little too."
"Let me know right away if you hear anything."
Walking away, he waved, and then disappeared through the boarding gate. It was dark outside. I walked to the Mercedes and drove back to my apartment.
When I arrived, I went out onto the balcony, high over Central Park, and sat in one of the lounge chairs. The evening was loud with city noise. Across the park, the moon had sunk lower, partly obscured by a line of thin clouds.
The evening had been interesting, but I was concerned about Charlie's obsession with this "Manuscript" or whatever. It was a bunch of baloney, as far as I was concerned. The New Age people had been through that kind of thing, over and over again. I really wouldn't have expected Charlie to respond as he had. What was at the bottom of it? There are sure a bunch of nut cases in the world.
I awoke the next morning with a dream still lingering in my head. It was so provocative that I lay staring at the ceiling for a moment, trying to remember all of it. I had been in a lush and beautiful forest, searching for something among the trees. At times totally unexpected kinds of people would appear to tell me things, but I could make no sense out of what they were saying. The feeling as I awoke was one of extreme frustration.
I arose into a perfect New York City morning. Leaving the building, I headed out into the park, the park my grandfather had made his fortune helping to build. Unfortunately, the experience just about killed him. He never lived to see it as it is today.
From the top of a small rise, I could see the rock outcropping that was my favorite spot to sit and meditate. Just yesterday I had been there, a few hours before I got the call from Charlie. But today I was depressed and frustrated. It didn't help a bit that Charlie had some nonsense he thought explained it.
However, the idea of the significance of coincidences intrigued me. Charlie's call during this down period might just be such a coincidence. Could there really be some kind of transformation going on in society that was related to my depression?
I was intrigued, but still bored. Maybe the Manuscript quest was the solution to both problems. But was there really some danger involved? Did some mysterious turbaned character really steal Charlie's briefcase looking for it? Maybe that would actually make it more fun!
I sat on my rock and thought about it for some time. Finally, my need for some kind of adventure, any kind, shoved me into action. I called my travel agent and arranged for a trip to Pakistan. I wasn't sure why, but the mysterious turbaned stranger seemed significant, and if the Pakistanis didn't know something about an old Sanskrit Manuscript, who would?
The problem: I would have to leave in three hours.
Rushing to the airport to catch a plane is just the thing to get your adrenalin pumping. I did notice another of those coincidences. My cabby wore a turban, but he didn't speak the whole trip, so I guess he wasn't involved in any conspiracy.
On the plane, the adrenalin started to wear off, and I started thinking to myself, "What the hell are you doing."
As the plane took off, the desire for adventure I had felt at home began to feel more like, "Shit, I've done it again."
Sitting by myself among a bunch of strangers, some of whom wore turbans, on the way to Pakistan seemed more and more like the product of some deranged mind, and I didn't have Charlie to blame this time. I thought, "Well, you might just as well relax and enjoy it." Those reservations at the Hilton Islamabad could not be cancelled.
An hour or so later, a patch of turbulence woke me up. I headed for the restroom. Making my way through first class, I noticed a tall man with round glasses talking to a flight attendant. He was not wearing a turban. I thought maybe I recognized him and started to speak, but thought better of it when he turned toward me. He was saying to the attendant, "In your recent trips to Pakistan, have you heard anything about the government's interest in an old Sanskrit Manuscript?"
Now there was a coincidence. I could hardly believe my ears. Looking at myself in the restroom mirror, I was still trying to understand exactly where I was. Could this comment from this man really have something to do with the Manuscript Charlie had been so excited about? Then my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to speak to him.
He was a balding, middle aged man, thin and attractive, sitting alone next to a window in first class. I sat down beside him.
"Excuse me," I said. "I heard you mention a Manuscript. Were you referring to the one discovered in New York City?"
He looked surprised, but a bit reluctant to talk to me. "Maybe. Who are you?"
I introduced myself and mentioned Charlie, and that Charlie had brought up the subject of the Manuscript. He seemed to relax a little and introduced himself as Evan Boston, an assistant professor of history at NYU. Charlie had not mentioned speaking to the history department.
"Have you actually seen this document?" I asked the professor.
"Not the original," he said. "But I have seen parts of a translation. What do you know about it."
"Not too much. My friend Charlie was describing the First Insight to me."
"What did you think about it," he said.
"Well, aside from a suspicion that the whole thing is a hoax, I guess the First Insight is supposed to heighten our awareness of the importance of coincidences in out lives at this moment. And to imply there is some cosmic force that is behind these things happening."
I felt a bit uncomfortable saying this to a stranger.
Boston picked up on my discomfort. "It isn't quite common sense, is it? So why didn't you just forget about the whole thing?"
"Well, I would like to think there was some larger force that had an interest in my life and was actively doing something to make it better."
"That is normal," he said. "My own fascination is with the Second Insight, which offers a historical background to explain why these forces might be more active right at this moment."
"Then, as a historian," I said, "you think a 5,000 year old document might be a valid source of information about what is happening today?"
"I am not sure about everything I read, but there is no question that the document specifies not only this year, but also this month, and, if you have knowledge of the astronomical data, may pinpoint the exact minute of a global transformation. It is based on the positions of the planets and the stars."
"Then you think the Manuscript is really predicting something that is going to happen?"
"Well, the history it refers to is accurate, and the timing is correctly specified." He took a deep breath. "Believe me, I have spent a lot of years studying history and trying to understand it. Wherever this document came from, I have learned a lot from it about the cosmic context in which historical events occur. Based on the Insights presented in the Manuscript, we really get a better idea where history will be going, and very soon."
"The Second Insight," he said, "takes a more oriental approach than most westerners are comfortable with. From this perspective, these changes are not only plausible, but inevitable."
Boston had only seen the first two insights, that turned up on a visit he had made recently to Pakistan to follow up on a rumor.
"People in Pakistan," he continued, "are almost scared to death to talk about it. The Manuscript was, after all, written in Sanskrit, and is fundamental to the Hindu religion, where most Pakistanis are Muslim. The Manuscript, and the disturbance it has caused, is certain to make the Muslim government a little nervous."
"But how," I said, "did the Manuscript get to New York City?"
"However it got there," said Boston, "it pretty clearly has been there for over three hundred years. Where it was found may have been a root cellar in the original Dutch colony."
"Dutch! What do the Dutch have to do with this?"
"So far it is just speculation," Boston continued, "but the dwelling at that time was used by a Persian trader employed by the Dutch. He was hired in what is today Palestine, and was known as, not Christian, Muslim or Jew, but Buddhist! Part of his family had come from the area that is now Pakistan, and it is there that speculation places the original writing of the Manuscript.
"When I was in Pakistan the first time, colleagues there confirmed the Sanskrit of the Manuscript was indeed the text of a cult of what would now be called Hindu priests who had lived in the region 5,000 ago. They informed me that most of the text of that cult has been culturally erased in the years of Muslim control. To have such an important document surface anywhere in the world has driven the Pakistani government a little crazy. Their agents are all over the world trying to round up the copies of the Manuscript. The worst efforts to suppress are right there in Pakistan."
"Where did you first hear about the Manuscript," I said.
"A Hindu waiter in the dining room at my co-op told me one of his countrymen, a cabby, was obsessed with protecting the document. As a historian, I was certainly interested. I tried to find the cabby at the address the waiter gave me."
The amazement on my face must have been obvious to Boston.
"Charlie," I broke in, "my friend who told me about the Manuscript, must have been trying to find that same cabby! He had an appointment to see him, but the cabby never showed up!"
"It must have been the same man," Boston said. "I never found him either. I looked around in a shed behind the house. That is where I found the copy of the First and Second Insights, on a shelf behind some boxes."
"Did you bring them with you on this trip," I asked.
"No. Some of my colleagues were also interested, so I catalogued them into the school archives where they would be safe and available."
"Can you tell me what the Second Insight is about?" I asked.
"I can only guess that's the reason we have met here on this plane," Boston said, with a smile.
"The Second Insight puts our historical understanding of human existence into a much longer perspective. It shows that several cycles of human evolution are culminating at just this time, the beginning of our second millennium. The premise is that to understand who we are today, we have to understand the perspectives and the events that were set in motion 5,000 years ago."
"What does the Manuscript say, exactly?" I asked.
"Through the Manuscript, we are able to actually talk with the most knowledgeable people who inhabited the Earth at that time. They predict that, because of the confluence of cycles of evolution, at this exact point in history we will be prepared to recognize a particular preoccupation that has developed over the last 2,000 years, producing what even the original writers referred to as, the Age of Aquarius. The occurrence of special coincidences is the empirical evidence that the final convergence of the cycles is beginning to take place. Our confirmed awareness of our prior preoccupation is to serve as an awakening from it."
"Just what is this 'preoccupation'?" I asked.
"Are you sure you are ready for this?" he said, with a wry grin.
"Why, are you about to blow my mind?"
"Well, most people are inordinately attached to their views of reality that don't go back much farther than last year, if that. This perspective requires you to recognize the prior existence of your consciousness back 5,000 years, as if you had actually lived those years."
"Try me," I said, impatiently.
"Okay," he replied, "imagine living in the year 1,000, in what we call the Middle Ages. Even though there are kings, the rich and powerful of these days are the Christian churchmen, who have a dominating influence over everyone's minds in Europe and the Near East. They create a reality that places their personal and corporate agendas at the very center of everyone's lives.
"You find yourself in the social class of your father, and his father, an aristocrat, but only an aristocrat. You know that the churchmen dominate you life through their control of the realities of economics, politics, and society in general. They say that, to pass their tests for worthiness as a human being, you have to completely submit to their standards and to their control. As far as the churchmen and their reality are concerned, you are not qualified to determine your own status in any respect. However, if you follow their principles, you will be allowed to live as they see fit. Go your own way, and you are killed or allowed to die."
Boston looked at me questioningly, "The Manuscript shows that it will not be a matter of domination by churchmen in this new era. This will be a phenomenon that occurs throughout the Earth's social structures."
He stopped talking and looked at me. "How are you so far?"
"That is somewhat enlightening," I said, "but what is the plot here?"
"The plot is set in this era, and in other co-evolving eras, by the fact that the system always breaks down. And there is not just one system. Smaller systems inside this one also break down, and larger ones that include the religions break down, but not all at the same time."
"What do you mean, 'break down'?" I asked.
"In all cases," he said, "a small group of dictators of reality are recognized as being unworthy of this responsibility by the large group of people who have been subject to their exploitation. The unworthy are unseated by the worthy. The difference in the present case is described explicitly by the Manuscript. At this time, all the cycles are converging, and the worthy who are seated will be the first, and maybe the last, in human history.
"Do you see the impact of these collapses over history, and in particular the significance of the one that is occurring right now?"
"I can see why it might be somewhat unsettling," I said.
"To say the least," he replied. "Human history until this time has been punctuated by violent upheaval."
He leaned toward me. "This is important. The pretenders everywhere have lost their place at the center of human reality. People everywhere will be looking for those who are really superior to lead them, and those people who are qualified are self-identifying as we speak. They have very little difficulty recognizing the special qualities they possess, but the Insights hone those skills to perfection. Those who have been sent out to explore the reaches of human superiority over the ages are returning. The select have realized their purpose and are ready to lead. They simply have to be brought up to working speed through understanding of the Insights."
I was stunned. "Are you telling me that we, Charlie, you, and me, are part of the select?"
Looking at me in his way, he said, "Working to create a more rewarding life for those who deserve it has completely fallen off our agenda. The idea that the worthy have to compete with the unworthy has generated intense anxiety for everyone. The human race has forgotten what it is surviving for...the best for the best."
Out the window, the coastline of a country in Europe was drawing under the plane. I suspected it was Portugal, or Spain. I was struck by the relatively insignificant effect that humans had on the face of the globe. I looked over at Boston, who seemed to be asleep. I had explained to him how I happened to be on a plane to Pakistan. He had explained to me the details and the significance of the Second Insight. I was completely engaged in thought about the experiences of the last couple of days.
"So, have you grasped the Second Insight?" he said, interrupting my meditation. "Do you still have any doubts about your being one of the select? I think you have to get used to the idea that you are living in a longer now. You should be freed from the general public's preoccupation with equality, and freed from whatever obsession you may have had with grasping for economic prosperity."
"Personally, I don't see what's so wrong with grasping for prosperity," I said "It is that drive that has gotten humanity where it is today."
He laughed, "No one's saying it is wrong, it's just obsolete. It's time to wake up and assume your responsibilities in a new and better world. You have a new purpose to consider."
I looked at him closely. "Do you think the other Insights will explain this purpose a little better?"
"I think it is worth a look. I just hope the Pakis have not destroyed the rest of the Manuscript."
"How could they destroy all the copies of a document that was discovered half-way around the world?" I asked.
"The Pakis have covert agents everywhere, gathering intelligence and destroying copies," he replied. "I am going to Pakistan representing the scientific community, trying to cut this destruction off at the source."
Boston turned away, deep in thought and stared out the window. I was thinking, too. Suddenly, instantaneously, the logic of the history Boston had described to me was fully integrated into my consciousness. Thousands of years ago, human relations were clearly defined, but something had occurred during the last 2,000 years to upset this stable condition. People had become preoccupied with a form of human relations that considered all to be equal. It seemed so ridiculous now, now that the problem had been fully investigated by qualified people. It is as if there are two species, one with superior skills allowing them to lead, the other with inferior skills requiring them to follow. In the past, the followers have often by mistake been placed in leadership positions, resulting in leaders being forced, against their will, to take lesser positions.
This inversion of leadership, being highly unstable, had resulted in years and years of instability, because the corrective portions of the different cycles had never occurred at the same time. However, even the leaders thousands of years ago had predicted the convergence of these cycles at a precise point in history. That point was now.
I had for years felt that my abilities had been underutilized and under appreciated. Looking back, I think this feeling has run in my family. Now I can see this was just the effect of a nasty cycle that many of my peers had been caught up in. Now I am ready for a change.
Boston was right. The Second Insight did make our new awareness inevitable. We were reaching a climax in our cultural purpose. We were accomplishing what it was our destiny to do, and as this happened, the general preoccupation with equality was breaking down. People were waking up to a new reality. I could actually physically sense the tension preceding the change as we begin the new millennium, and the new era. We who had created the means of material security were now ready, and poised, to take advantage of all we had accomplished.
In the faces of the passengers in first class I could see some evidence of the preoccupation with equality, but I thought I could also see signs of heightened excitement. How many, I wondered, had already noticed the coincidences?
As the plane descended into Islamabad, I told Boston I would be staying at the Hilton and asked where he was staying. I was surprised to find out he would be in a rundown part of town that my travel agent had warned me about.
"What is your plan," I asked.
"First I have to check in with the United States embassy, to make sure I have their support. After that I have appointments with several Pakistani scientists who I have reason to believe must know something about the Manuscript. What are your plans?"
"Well, I was hoping we could work together somehow, and share what we found out. But that section of town you are headed for, I don't know."
"I have friends here. It is perfectly safe," he replied. So we agreed to meet later at his hotel.
Outside it was dry and windy. There was a lot of dust in the air. I hailed a cab in the fading twilight. As I stepped into the cab, I noticed the driver of the cab behind us. His face was in shadow, but he was clearly wearing a turban. As we pulled away, the other cab followed. A dark figure slouched in the back seat. I began to get a bit of a panicky feeling and told the driver to drive around for a while. The other cab followed.
At my hotel, I paid the driver while the other cab pulled up some distance from the lighted hotel entrance. The dark figure emerged from the other cab and began to walk toward the entrance.
Quickly, I jumped back into the cab and shouted to the driver, "Drive on." We soon lost sight of the figure near the hotel entrance. My driver was watching me, with a grin, in the rear-view mirror.
"I am going somewhere else," I told him, and gave him the name of Boston's hotel. I really felt like going back to the airport.
When we got close to Boston's hotel, I had the driver pull over. "Wait here," I told him. "I'll be right back."
The street was full of Pakistanis. Boston's reassurances about the safety of this area were wearing pretty thin. All of a sudden, a wild group of Pakistanis emerged from the alley ahead. The sound of weapons being fired had everyone dropping to the sidewalk. Amazingly, out in front of the mob, running for his life, was Boston!
In full flight, Boston somehow recognized me. "Run!" he yelled as he passed me, "Run!" I couldn't move. The mob passed me and careened into an alley where Boston had turned off. As I reached the head of the alley I could see Boston scrambling up a ladder at the other end. More shots were fired. Boston's foot slipped off a rung of the ladder and he fell into the mob.
Finally, I found myself running blindly up the street. I thought I heard the mob running behind me, but I didn't dare look back. I ran into an alley that emerged into a crowded market. Looking back, I could see no one chasing me. I walked casually down the street, trying to disappear among the many shoppers.
"Why did Boston run?" I asked myself. "Was he killed?"
"Hey!" someone said in a loud whisper beside me. I started to run by him but he reached out grabbed my arm. "Wait!" he said. "I saw what happened. I can help!"
I hesitated. "Who are you," I said.
"My name is Jack Wilson," he said. "I'll explain later. Let's get out of here!"
He was black, but dressed like a Pakistani. His not wearing a turban and his obviously U.S. accent convinced me, so I followed him. He led me behind a booth selling baskets, and, nodding to the proprietor, into a narrow door to a musty room at the back of a building. There were curtains over the windows, and a single bare bulb hung down over a ramshackle table and chairs. I noticed he wore Nike's under his loose Paki pants.
You'll be safe here," he said. "Do you know why they were chasing your friend?"
I didn't answer.
"You're both here because of the Manuscript, aren't you?" he said.
"How did you know that?"
"Well, we know Boston, and I assumed from the interaction out on the street that you might be together."
"Did they kill Boston?" I asked, wondering how much danger there really was.
"I don't know," he said. "But when I saw you running after he saw you, I followed you to try to head you off."
"Why?"
He looked at me as if either he wasn't sure he knew the answer or he wasn't sure whether he should tell me the real answer. His expression became friendly. "You probably won't understand this, but the government's efforts to suppress the Manuscript have created some strong adversaries in the Pakistani nation. Some of us, not the Muslims, actually believe in the document."
I wasn't sure what to believe, and was about to ask another question when he interrupted me.
"The first priority here is safety. I think we should move to another place. We can talk there."
"Wait a minute, Wilson," I said. "At this moment I am only interested in getting back to the U.S."
"Call me Jack," he said. "You can forget about getting back to the States for the near future. They know now who you are and what you want. We have to get you out of town for you to be safe anywhere. Then we can talk about getting you out of the country."
He opened the inside door to the room and walked down a long hall to the other side of the building. In the doorway at the other end, I could see him motioning me to follow. We walked down the street a short way to a tan jeep. It looked like the vehicle was packed for an extended trip.
The headlights pierced the darkness of unlit city streets. We rode in silence. My stomach was knotted with fear. The possibilities terrified me. What if I was arrested and put in a Pakistani jail? I was not prepared for that. What if they just killed me?
I had lost the clothes I brought with me. I had only a little money and one credit card.
"What did Boston do to get all those people after him?" Jack asked suddenly.
"I don't know," I replied. "I had just met him on the flight from the States. He was coming here to work with a group of scientists to stop the suppression of the Manuscript. The government knew he was coming. I can't believe they would kill him!"
"He has copies of the Manuscript?"
"Not with him, but he has seen copies of the first two Insights back in the States."
"I knew the original was found in the U.S. Where did he get the copies?"
"A cabby in New York City. Boston lost touch with the cabby but found the copies behind his house."
Jack looked angry. "That was Hakkim," he said. "He was responsible for the Manuscript being circulated in Pakistan. He was murdered and thrown in a dumpster in New York."
"Murdered by whom?"
"I am not sure. People in either the Temple or the government of Pakistan. They are both against the Manuscript. I warned him not to send the copies to the Hindu community in Pakistan, but he thought it was too important."
"When was the Manuscript first discovered?" I asked.
"It is not clear when it was first discovered, but it was first translated three years ago. The original was handed around among the Indians in New York City. Hakkim recognized it, and had it translated, but the Pakistani government found out about it when he sent copies into the country for authentication.
"The Pakistanis followed the source of the copies back to Hakkim, and then back to the Indians. We think Pakistani agents have destroyed the original."
It was pitch black on both sides of the road. Jack had driven west out of Islamabad, and houses had disappeared, replaced by dirt banks and drifting sand. Then a concrete and cast iron fence appeared on our right.
"So, you have heard of the first two Insights," Jack said. "Do you understand them?"
"I think so."
"Do you understand that chance encounters often have a very special significance?"
"I seem to have been carried along by coincidences since I first heard of the Manuscript," I said.
"That begins to happen when you become aware of their significance and get connected with the energy."
"Connected with the energy?"
Jack smiled. "That comes next in the Manuscript's Insights. We can talk about it later."
He turned the jeep into a gravel drive between two large concrete blocks. A short way ahead, we pulled up between a large, dusty tree and a modest adobe building.
"The man who lives here works for a large local landowner who is very powerful and secretly supports the Manuscript."
A short, squat Pakistani man came out of the house carrying an old kerosene lantern. He spoke familiarly with Jack who turned and introduced him, through the window, to me.
"The lady needs some help," Jack said. "She wants to get to the airport and back to the States, but I am going to leave her with you until that becomes possible."
The man looked at Jack. "You are going after the Ninth Insight, aren't you?" he asked.
"Yes," said Jack, getting out of the jeep. He and the Pakistani started walking toward the building, talking quietly.
I got out of the jeep and started to follow them. As I approached them, the man said, "I will start the preparations," and walked away. Jack turned to me.
"You will learn eventually there is a part of the original Manuscript that has never been found. Hakkim realized the lost part was probably here, where the document was written. I am leading a group of Pakistani Hindus in a search through the caves and ancient ruins the writers must have occupied."
"How can you be so sure you will find it?" I said.
Jack smiled. "The same way Hakkim found the original eight, and the way you found the first two, and then eventually ran into me. If one connects and builds the necessary energy, these things just happen. And keep happening."
"Which Insight is it that tells you that?" I said.
Jack looked at me a bit condescendingly. "How to connect is not just one Insight; it's all of them. You have heard the part where all the superior minds of the times got together to determine the meaning of human life? Well, the remaining Insights represent their conclusions as they wrote them down in the Golden Age, thousands of years ago. We may have lost the original, but we have definitive translations, and we may actually find the original text of the Ninth Insight."
"Then I want to hear about all of the Insights," I said. "Can you explain them to me before you go?"
"It doesn't work that way," he said. "You have to discover each Insight by yourself, each in its own way. It wouldn't work for me to just tell you the Insights. You might hear the words but you would not understand their meaning."
We stared at each other in silence. Talking with Jack made me feel incredibly alive!
"So, you are going after the Ninth Insight now?"
"It seems to be the right time, the way you showed up when you did. I know the Ninth Insight is out there, and I'm not getting any younger. I know it is the most important of the Insights, and I have dreamed of myself finding it. I believe it will put all the other Insights into perspective and reveal the true purpose in life."
"Don't you think my being here means I am supposed to go with you?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said. This may be something I have to do on my own. But, we have to stay here tonight, so I will wait until tomorrow morning to decide."
We rose at dawn and drove west into the gradually increasing heat and glare. Jack assured me the region we were driving to in the mountains was temperate and green. He wasn't very talkative. He politely put me off, saying he wanted to concentrate on driving. I spent the time sweating and peering down into seemingly bottomless ravines.
We reached a plateau, past Muzzaf Dir, around noon, and stopped to eat. Jack said his first objective was an old Mosque that had formerly been a Hindu mission. The Mosque was currently run again by Hindus even though Muslims owned the land.
Leaving the edge of the plateau, I noticed the vegetation was markedly greener. After about an hour, we entered a property through a large iron and stone gate. As we proceeded up a long, narrow gravel drive, the beauty of the place became obvious. Green, grassy pastures and orchards surrounded us, punctuated by immense oak trees. The whole landscape seemed incredibly beautiful, like a fantasy land.
The road finally bent eastward and up a light rise. At the top was a large Mosque, rugged but beautiful, built of hewn timbers and stone. The structure comprised at least fifty rooms, around a massive tiled courtyard. The yards surrounding the Mosque featured more gigantic oaks with extensive gardens of exotic plants, flowers, and ferns. Small groups of people in different modes of dress talked idly in the courtyard and on the grounds.
As we left the vehicle, Jack took a moment to appreciate the view where, beyond the meadows, a range of foothills spread bluish purple in the distance.
"I hope they have room for us," he said. "Why don't you have a look around, while I check."
"Hey, wait!" I exclaimed. "You mean we could be stuck here without a room?"
He turned and grinned mischievously. "Be sure to check out the pool. See you at dinner." He walked away.
Jack was obviously leaving me alone for some reason. With all these strangers around this made me a bit apprehensive. Jack had said that the tremendous income generated by this property as a Hindu and Buddhist retreat influenced the Pakistani government to assume a hands-off approach to its operation. I wondered if that would continue, considering the overriding interest in the Manuscript.
I meandered down a winding path through several large trees. The path went through a small iron gate and down several tiers of stone steps to a meadow filled with wild flowers. At the edge of the meadow was an orchard with a small creek, and more forest beyond. Except for some bird noises, it was perfectly quiet, and I was completely alone.
"Pretty nice, huh?" a voice said behind me.
Startled, I turned and saw a man about my age carrying a back pack.
"It sure is," I said. "Especially since just yesterday I would never have believed I would come to such a place today."
"Is this your first visit here?" he said.
"I'm not sure it is really a visit. It still seems to me to something like a dream."
"Well, I've been coming here occasionally for almost a year," he said. My name is Sam Learner."
After the introductions we followed a well-worn path through the meadow, with the orchard on the right. Sam was sandy-haired and blue-eyed, with a bright and funny disposition. He was obviously not Pakistani, and I doubted that he would ever wear a turban. We walked for several minutes in silence.
Sam said, "About twenty years ago this estate became popular as a sort of spiritual hangout for scientific types. Then, a couple of years ago..."
He said, seriously, "Do you know about the Manuscript?"
"Yes, I do. It was discovered in New York City, but it is believed to have originated somewhere around here. I have heard the First and Second Insights described, and I think I understand what they mean."
"I thought you looked like you were absorbing some of the energy here," he said cryptically.
"What is all this stuff about energy?" I said.
"Well, the Third Insight describes a new understanding of the physical world. It says some humans will begin to recognize a new kind of power, that goes beyond what money could ever do for us. The Mosque has been, since the discovery of the Manuscript, a gathering place for those who took a special interest in its Insights."
"You mean all the people here really believe this stuff?" I said.
"Only a few," he said, "but our numbers are growing."
"Are you a scientist?" I asked.
"I teach at a small college in Maine."
"And you believe what the Manuscript is proposing?"
He thought for a moment. "If you think about the Second Insight, you realize that just about at one time in world history everyone became oppressed by religious fanaticism. Now that fanaticism has been extended to science. However, although most scientists are trapped in a world where they can only see what they have defined, some scientists, the more affluent ones, are attempting to break out of the fetters of the old view and assume a new, more fulfilling view.
"For this new kind of scientist, money is clearly not enough, and they are being kept from fully realizing their lives by popular political ideas of egalitarianism. With the Manuscript, we can see a logical progression that allows us to escape this stalemate."
We had crossed the small creek and entered into the trees at the edge of the forest.
"Do you know where the pool is?" I asked Sam.
"We are headed that way now. My conclusion, to answer your question about whether I believe the Manuscript, is that the universe consists of a form of pure energy, that is malleable to the intentions and expectations of a few people, most of whom are gravitating toward this Mosque right now, to learn more about how to control it. Only time will tell if the prophecy is true, but some people just know in their guts that it is. The people who do not believe it are simply not among the chosen few."
"Hey, Sam, we're over here," a voice called faintly through the trees. I could just make out someone waving from a clearing.
Sam looked at me. "I need to talk with those guys for a couple of minutes. I just happen to have a translation here of the Third Insight. Would you like to read it until I get back?"
"Would I? Yes!" I said. He pulled a folder from his pack, handed it to me, and walked away.
I looked around for a clean place to sit down. The forest floor was dense with fallen leaves and slightly soggy, but I could see what looked to be drier ground just out of the trees to the north. There the gnarled oaks grew completely together at the top, and on the forest floor large tropical plants grew together with large ferns. I was enchanted. It was like the fantasy land again. Finding a dry place, I sat down and opened the folder.
A brief introduction described the transformed understanding the Third Insight brought to the physical universe. It predicted that sometime at the beginning of our third millennium some people would discover a new source of energy that would give them limitless power over their and other people's lives. One thing fascinated me: the first indications of their ability to manipulate this power would be the enhancement of their own appearance to other people. This ability would extend to being able to make everything in their world irresistibly attractive to other people. I felt that might explain my own reaction to this place and these people.
I saw Sam looking for me among the trees. "Isn't this place great?" he said when he found me. "Have you come to the part about perception of beauty?"
"I think, maybe," I said, "the perception of beauty is an indication of how close we are to a source of universal energy."
Sam replied, "Yes, but slightly different in my opinion. Beauty actually is the effect of energy being used by a superior source of power."
"But isn't beauty usually considered to be in the eye of the beholder," I said.
Sam shook his head. "When something strikes us as beautiful it is because of an energy field that surrounds it. That energy field imbues everything within it with a superior quality. Just being here on these grounds and interacting with others who are here will cause you to begin absorbing this force."
"So who is it that is responsible for this force?" I said.
"All of us," he said. "Together our intentions and expectations combine our influence over energy to cause that energy to flow out into the world and affect other energy systems. The next level of effect shows an energy field hovering about everything. You will see this most dramatically when we get to the pool."
I thanked Sam for being so patient in explaining the Manuscript to me.
"You seem like you are a believer, and we need all the help we can get in promoting the Manuscript," he said.
Suddenly a voice called out from behind. "Excuse me!" We turned to see three men walking up the path toward us. All were middle aged and dressed in leisure outfits. One of them was wearing a turban.
"Can you tell us where the pool is?" the taller of the three asked.
"What is your business here?" Sam asked in return.
"We have permission from the owner of this property to use the pool," the man replied.
"It looks to me as though you may not appreciate the exclusiveness of these facilities," Sam said.
"You are right," the man in the turban replied. "We think it is preposterous that this entire place is reserved for some foreign cult."
"Then you do not belong to our group?" Sam asked.
"Just direct us to the pool," the taller man insisted.
"Of course," Sam said. "About a hundred yards up this path there is another turning to the left. About a quarter mile down that path you will find the pool."
"Thank you," said the man in the turban, as they brushed past.
"You sent them in the wrong direction," I said.
"Not really," Sam replied. "There is another pool in that area where they will find more people like themselves. I think they will be more comfortable there. We get people like those through here occasionally. It just points out the tremendous gap some people have in understanding human relations. They need to realize there are some places they just don't belong."
"How come they cannot see they don't belong here?" I asked.
"They are simply not sensitive to the energy we were talking about," he said. "When we can eliminate the skepticism generated by that type of person, the available energy will be a lot easier to control. You will see what can be done in the right environment when we get to the pool."
"Interesting," I said.
Ahead the wooded area ended. I could see a huge patio with red tiled roof and no walls, surrounding a large swimming pool. Under the patio there were, among the potted plants that grew there and around the pool, every convenience imaginable. There was nobody there.
I see some friends of mine," Sam said. "I would like for you to meet them."
As soon as Sam guided me under the edge of the patio roof, I could see a small group gathered talking around a table near the pool.
After Sam introduced me, all except for one woman, Margie, excused themselves and went about their business. Sam went with them.
I caught Margie's eye. "What exactly are you working on here?" I asked. Margie was wearing baggy blue jeans and a white tee-shirt.
Margie seemed a little startled by the question, but smiled and answered. "Didn't you notice anything unusual when you approached the pool? Well, I can tell you didn't see it. You must have had some initiation to the Manuscript."
"I have gotten through the first part. I'm just beginning the Third Insight."
"That is what everything you see here is all about." As she motioned around I was astonished to see a multitude of people at various activities under the roof and around the pool.
"I guess you did not notice these people earlier. Probably you did not see most of the plants." Margie pointed to the closest plant. "We maintain this zone around the pool and patio as a total energy system. Everything that people and plants need to flourish is provided by the focus of group energy on this spot. That is why, before you entered the area of focus, you were not aware of the people and most of the plants. With the support of collective energy, this patio is a total ecosystem, one living system, in fact, one organism. It is through the intentional efforts of the contributors that this organism exists. It would all disappear, even the pool, if the collective stopped intending it."
She hesitated, "The point is that when we started thinking about the energy relationships all over the planet, and began taking an intentional attitude toward how they should be directed, amazing things started to happen. What you see here is just the start."
"How do you explain all this?" I asked.
"We are really not at all sure. The only thing that seems to be for sure is that the Manuscript predicts the emergence of this ability at this time."
A distinguished looking gentleman approached us from the pool. He was wearing red swim trunks, an old Hawaiian shirt, and flip-flops. His black, gray streaked hair was pulled back in a short ponytail.
Margie introduced me, "...this is Professor Hears. Until recently, the Professor led the Psychology Department at Washington State University. He has become interested enough in this project to commit all his time to us."
The Professor was a strongly built man, about 60 years old, with an extremely deep voice. With some encouragement from Margie, he agreed to summarize his research for me. He was most interested in the effect on reality of the focused intentions of small groups of extremely capable people. He described a particular study, in which select individuals were able to sustain an entire community. Something inherent in the form of energy they were projecting seemed to make this possible.
I looked at Margie. "Does all this mean that when a small group focuses its intention on the reality experienced by a larger group, the energy actually bounces back and makes the select group stronger? Isn't that what the Manuscript predicts?"
Margie looked at the Professor, who gave a small smile. "We don't know yet," he said, "but your analysis seems to correctly identify the possibilities."
The Professor wanted to set up a comparable site at Washington State to try to determine what aspects of the system are producing the additional energy.
As I was looking occasionally at Margie, during the Professors conversation, I suddenly noticed that she was incredibly beautiful! Her body appeared long and slender, even under her baggy jeans and tee. Her eyes and hair were dark brown, and her hair fell in a long sweep to the back of her neck.
I felt a powerful physical attraction. At exactly this moment, Margie looked strangely at me and backed off a step.
"I've got to meet someone," she said. She told Professor Hears goodbye, smiled at me, and walked out of the patio area back up the path.
I talked with the Professor for a few more minutes and went looking for Sam. I found him talking with a group of people. He broke away from them as I walked up.
"Find out anything," Sam asked.
"Yes," I said distractedly, "it sounds like you are all involved in some very interesting things."
Sam said, "Where did Margie go?" He had an amused look on his face.
"She apparently went to meet someone."
"You didn't by any chance turn her off, did you?"
"What do you mean 'turn her off'?" I said.
"You may not know it, but you are walking around with a pretty large field," he said.
"What do you mean 'large field'?" I asked.
"The energy field around your body," he said "When a collective begins to recognize someone as a sexual object, it creates an energy field that sort of swirls around them, drawing them into the focus of the intention. You may have actually been influenced by this intent in your own thoughts."
I felt somewhat violated by this description. "Why would that turn Margie off?" I asked.
"Margie is pretty independent," he said. "But anyway, I have a small demonstration set up for you. You will want to see just how energy is projected in groups."
It was late afternoon. The sun was just reaching the tops of the trees in the west. We followed some young people, apparently students, to a large area of bare earth a few yards from the pool. As the students walked onto the earth, they disappeared!
"These students," said Sam, "are building a reality field. They start with a neutral context and then exercise their collective intent to construct a particular reality. As you might imagine, for them at this stage in their development, the results won't be spectacular. There! You can just begin to see the effect of their efforts."
I could see emerging in the center of the bare patch what looked to be a bar from a saloon in an old western. Standing at the bar and conversing with the bartender were the students, dressed in cowboy garb. I had only just recognized what I saw when the entire vision turned into a kind of tan haze and disappeared.
"Was that it?" I said to Sam. The students reappeared on the edge of the bare space. They strolled in our direction.
One of them, a young woman, said, "Well, that was fun! We could only keep it up for a few seconds, even at sunset, but it shows you what is possible."
Sam thanked the students and turned to me, "Are you planning to be here very long?"
"Probably not," I said. "The person I am with is looking for the last part of the Manuscript."
"Wow! I thought it had all been located. You know," he said, "if you are going to be around tomorrow morning, we could try to hook you into a simple experiment we are doing. We've found two periods of the day when the effect of the energy field is strongest, sunrise and sunset. Also, that would give me time to make you a copy of the portion of the Manuscript you have in that folder you are carrying."
I handed him the folder. "I'll have to check with Jack to see if I have enough time. What makes you think I can actually do this energy field thing?"
"I think you are particularly sensitive to the effects. That means you may have potential to help bring them about. I'll see you at sunrise tomorrow."
I started the trek back to the Mosque. The sun was down below the hills, turning the bottoms of the few clouds to hues of orange. It was chilly but not cold.
In the north wing of the Mosque, monks were serving the evening meal from a row of tables in a huge dining room. Seeing Jack and Professor Hears near the front of the line, I went to greet them.
"How did your afternoon go?" Jack asked. "I believe you have met Arthur Hears."
"Great! Hello, Professor Hears."
I mentioned the arrangement for the following morning. Jack said there was plenty of time. He was planning to leave late in the morning.
As the line moved forward, I stepped in behind the professor.
"So what do you make of what we're doing here?" the professor asked.
"I am still trying to digest what I have seen. A lot has happened in the last couple of days. The whole idea of energy fields is strange to me."
"We are trying to create a new reality for everyone," said Hears. "It is all dependent though on a force that we ourselves do not understand. The power of collective intention is not a new discovery in itself, but the way we have been learning to put it to use is at the leading edge of science. This Manuscript has stimulated considerable controversy, particularly here in Pakistan."
"What would it take for the Pakistanis to accept the idea of your research?" I asked.
"A way for them to control it," Hears said. "The existence of the phenomenon is not what is causing the problem. The problem arises out of what people have access to the power. So far, as far as most people in the world are concerned, the phenomenon is just a rumor, like the Manuscript itself.
"But soon, more and more people are going to believe in the Manuscript and in the changes it is predicting."
"Have you yourself joined one of these collectives working on the projects? I guess the one at the pool is the most significant?" I asked.
"I have been in a group, but I don't know how much I was able to contribute. It seems to depend on what I have eaten!"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He pointed to the food on the row of tables. "For some reason, I have to eat this food in order to have the experience. Everyone contributing to the projects is eating here. When I eat meals on the outside, it doesn't seem to work," he replied.
"What do you make of that?" I asked.
"I don't know yet," he said. "I'm working on it."
I filled a tray and the three of us joined a group at a large table where we ate and talked for about an hour.
When Jack and I walked out to get our gear, I asked him, "Have you seen these energy fields?"
He grinned and winked at me and said, "I've been helping to make them. Here is your room key."
My room had no phone, but a monk stationed in the hallway let me know I would be awakened in plenty of time in the morning. For light, I had two large candles and a pack of wooden matches.
I flopped on the bunk and had just closed my eyes, it seemed, for a minute, when someone was banging on the door. Out the small shuttered window, the eastern sky already had a pale glow. I dressed and went down to the dining hall.
I grabbed the barest necessities for breakfast and hurried outside. Strands of fog drifted across the green meadows and the song of birds lilted from among the trees. Smoke from a back corner of the Mosque rose straight up in the calm air. As I walked out into the larger meadow, the sun just rose, bathing the blue sky in bright peach.
Arriving at the grassy knoll where Jack was supposed to be, since no one was there yet, I sat down under a large old tree. I heard someone coming up behind me, and expecting it to be Jack, stood up and turned around. It was not Jack, but a fit looking man in his forties wearing a faded shirt, jeans, and hiking boots. It gave him a start when I emerged from behind the tree.
"Hello," he said. He introduced himself as Bill Rock. He had a Brooklyn accent.
"Are you doing research here," I asked.
"No," he said. "Just visiting. I come here occasionally. This time I am studying desert irrigation in Bangladesh for USC in Los Angeles. This place is a real break from the desert.
"Do you know some of these trees are more than five hundred years old? It is hard to believe all this exists in what is pretty much the middle of the desert."
"I've never seen anything like it myself," I said.
"This place may be unique in all the world," he said. "Honestly, it is just like it was out of a dream. It must take some strange energy to keep this place going."
"Do you feel some unusual energy here?" I asked.
He looked at me, as if deciding whether to elaborate.
"Yes," he said, "I do."
I said, "I haven't been able to feel the energy yet, but I did see a demonstration of it yesterday."
He said, "At first I couldn't recognize the large fields, like the one at the pool, but after a few days, I noticed a strange effect on my own fingers."
"Your fingers?" I asked.
"I'll show you," he said.
Holding the tips of his two index fingers about an inch apart, he slowly widened the gap.
"There, do you see that?" he said.
Looking intently at his fingertips, I noticed something like colored furry fog appearing between them.
"Good grief!" I said. "Is that an energy field?"
"Why don't you try it?" he said.
I touched my fingers and thumbs together and drew them apart slowly. I could see wisps of the fog flickering between them. It was pink.
I dropped my arms and looked at Bill. He pointed behind me and said, "Is this who you have been waiting for?" I turned and saw Sam.
As Sam came up, he said, "Hello, Bill! Sorry I'm late. What have you guys been doing?"
"She was just able to produce the energy field between her fingers," Bill said.
"Watch this," said Sam. He grabbed Bill by the arm, turned him around, and stood back-to-back with him. Then he moved slowly forward. Immediately, from the space between them, a pinkish haze developed, spread to envelop them, and quickly spread to the entire landscape around us.
"Now," said Sam, "look around."
I was immediately aware the landscape had changed, from the serene and pleasant one I had entered, to one that seemed out of a fairytale.
The oaks took on a massive organic appearance that made them seem at least animal, but almost human. Exotic plants and flowers were strewn artistically over the meadow, punctuated with arbors and bandboxes. A perfect morning sun shone down out of the bluest possible sky.
"See if you can do this," said Sam. He held his hand out over a patch of grass. A cone of the pinkish light descended from his hand, and within the cone appeared the most beautiful orchid.
I extended my own hand and envisioned a chrysanthemum. Nothing happened. I thought I could detect a bit of the pinkish fog between my fingers, but that was all.
"Damn!" I exclaimed. "I can't do it."
"I can't do it either," said Bill.
"Sorry," said Sam, laughing. "You guys are obviously not among the chosen few."
Angry voices from the path below interrupted our little demonstration. The pinkish mist was instantaneously gone, along with the enhanced effects of the energy field. Through the trees, a group of men appeared, talking harshly among themselves. Some of them were wearing turbans.
"Who are those people?" asked Bill.
"I don't know," said Sam. "Probably outsiders upset with what we're doing here."
The sun was much higher and a light breeze wafted through the trees and over the meadow. I suddenly remembered the time.
"I have to be heading back," I said. Sam and Bill joined me.
"I wish I could stay longer," I said.
"I do too," said Sam. "I really do think you have the potential it takes to focus the energy."
"Do you think Professor Hears will be able to determine what actually causes these effects?" I said.
"I think he will find," said Sam, "that in some way our expectations create all the things that happen to us."
"You mean the coincidences," I said.
"Not only the coincidences, but also the conditions and actual things that surround us. Perhaps there really is some effect of mind over matter, if you have enough power at your disposal."
"Does the Manuscript talk about any of this?"
Sam smiled. "Of course, that's where we're getting these ideas." Sam dug around in his pack as we walked.
"Here's your copy," he said.
We had just crossed the bridge over the creek when we saw, ahead, a man walking quickly toward us. I immediately lost the sense of security I had felt being with Sam and Bill. The man was the taller man Sam and I had run into yesterday and sent in the wrong direction.
He walked up to Sam and said, "You are supposed to be a scientist aren't you?"
"Yep!" Sam replied.
"How can you risk your reputation by being involved in this?" he asked. "I know many legitimate and competent scientists who would refuse to be associated with the kind of mind games you are playing here."
"Sir," replied Sam, "we have considerable empirical evidence that our experiments deal with phenomena the established scientific community knows nothing about." I detected the edge of impatience in Sam's voice.
"Where is your proof?"
"The people who are invited guests here all have enough proof to be excited about the potential of these experiments."
"Excitement is the only thing that's going on here. The rest of the world's scientists rejected long ago all of these ideas your people are spouting."
Both Sam and the stranger were obviously angry, but I was in awe of the change I saw coming over the stranger. Instead of the deep voice that had been emerging from an impressive tall, dark man, there was now a shrill whine coming from a squat toad like figure. Sam seemed like an all-powerful guardian of the truth compared to the ugly, evil presence that now grimaced before him.
"I have no way of knowing what standards you have for those whom you call scientists," Sam said. "The only research into the advanced subjects regarding the future well being of everyone on this earth is being conducted by our group."
The pitiful creature gave Sam a disdainful look. "Then you are not only incompetent, but also insane," he said, walking away.
Sam shouted after him, "You and your people you call scientists are arrogant and obsolete!"
"These weirdos make me angry," Sam said, as we continued up the path.
"Forget it," said Bill. "Those people are insignificant fools."
"I wonder where they are coming from," said Sam, "and why."
We approached the Mosque, and I could see Jack at the jeep.
"My ride seems to be leaving," I said.
"It's been a pleasure," said Sam, shaking my hand.
"Is that Jack Wilson?" Bill asked. "Is that the guy you're traveling with? I have seen him around here. He knows the owner of this property and was in at the beginning on establishing the significance of the Manuscript."
"Come on and meet him," I said.
"Sorry," said Bill. "I have to be elsewhere. I'm sure we'll see you again."
Sam also could not stay. I thanked him for showing me around and setting up the demonstrations.
Sam's expression was serious. "This new way of perceiving the world grows through a kind of contagion. We don't exactly understand why, but when somebody hangs around with others who have seen these effects, they also begin to see them. Go show it to someone else."
I nodded and hurried to the jeep. Jack greeted me, "We need to get out of here. This place is heating up."
"What's going on?" I asked.
"I'll explain later," he said. "Get your stuff!"
I picked up the few items I had left in my room and left my key with the monk in the hall. When I got back to the jeep, Jack was under the hood. He slammed it closed and said, "OK, let's go."
As we drove down to the main road, several other vehicles were leaving at the same time. I said to Jack, "So what's happening?"
"A group of Pakistani officials have joined forces with a militant group of scientists to complain about the research projects that have arisen in conjunction with the Manuscript. They are not alleging, yet, that anything illegal is happening. The objections seem to be political, or, you might say, religious. These officials could cause enough trouble to close down the operations at the Mosque.
"Just because most of the activities you have seen here are Buddhist oriented, that does not mean there is no Islamic influence. The Buddhists are the ones who are interested in the Manuscript, but this is precisely what the Islam run Pakistan resents. They will not allow themselves to be dominated by Buddhist interests in any context."
"But you said before that the money coming in was enough to stop Pakistani interference."
"That was before the Manuscript. Was there any interference that you saw around the demonstration sites?"
"Not really," I said. "Just a few angry people who should have been minding their own business."
Jack was silent. We drove out the gate and turned southwest. "We will be going by the pool site," he said,
Ahead I saw a large plot of bare land. "Damn," said Jack. "Not enough of us left to keep it up."
"You mean that is where the pool used to be?" I said.
"Yep," he said. "That's where it still is when there is a large enough contingent of energy controllers to keep it going."
A woman stepped out from among the trees on the right ahead of us and walked along the side of the road in the opposite direction. When she recognized me she waved just as we were going past.
"Who was that?" Jack asked.
"Her name is Margie," I replied. "I met her there at the pool yesterday."
I gave Jack a brief description of the events I had been involved in over the last two days, including the encounter with Margie.
"From the look of that smile she gave you," he said, "I would say you two have some unfinished business together."
"I think that was just a coincidence," I said.
"That's exactly what I mean," he said. "You remember what I said about chance encounters."
The possibility was intriguing, but disturbing. I have been accused several times in my life of being too distant, being unwilling to take chances or to make a commitment. However, I had noticed in the last few weeks expanded feelings of confidence, competence, and adventurousness. I felt like I had blossomed here in Pakistan.
I said, "I really don't like being chased out of the Mosque like that. That depresses me!"
"That is a natural reaction," he said, "considering the circumstances. The Mosque is a place where energy and power have been concentrated. Leaving it gives you the sense of losing that special power. Now you have to crank up your own energy. Did you have any success creating energy fields?"
"Some."
"What did Sam and Bill have to say about that?" he asked
"Not much. Sam was so enthused about showing off his own power that I was not able to learn much about my own."
"I thought so," said Jack. "Those two are still so fascinated with the Third Insight that they are not making as much progress as you. An understanding of how we compete like that for power is expressed in the Fourth Insight."
"Believe me," I said. "I am well aware of how people compete for power."
He smiled and pointed to the folder beside me that held the copy of the Manuscript. I picked it up and continued my reading. Referring to the Fourth Insight, it said everyone would eventually understand that wielding of power is not for everyone. Energy and power are supremely useful, but they are wasted if the wrong people have them. Soon, everyone would be able to recognize that they are cut off from power when it is misused, and learn to yield any intent toward power to those who could use it best.
Humans have always sought to increase their personal power by stealing it from others--a futile effort when it is held by the right people.
A bump in the road woke me up. I stretched to relieve the pains in my neck, back, and legs. This was the afternoon of our second day on the road, all of it dirt some of it bare rock. We were headed into the mountains on the border with Afghanistan.
We had spent the night stretched out on the ground beside the jeep. At this point I was ready to complain.
Jack was bumping around as he drove, focusing intently on the road, signaling that he really didn't want to talk. He had been trying to talk to me when we stopped for lunch, but I was really getting sick of this stuff about the Manuscript.
"You know," he had said, "this is not going to get any easier. You are still working on the early Insights, so you won't have it so bad, but the one I'm after is going to be a real bitch. For you it's just going to be one coincidence after another. I have to go looking for them in extremely unlikely places."
"I am just not interested at the moment," I said. That's when he turned silent.
"Where are we," I asked.
"In the mountains," he said.
The rugged hills had turned into ridges from which I could see distant valleys. Little vegetation grew on the rocky soil. The air was thinner, and quite cool. I put on my light windbreaker, the only thing I had with me.
As we rounded a bend we could see a dirty and rundown, but still operating, gas station on the opposite side of the road. A vehicle was parked in front with the hood up and tools laid out on the fender. As we drove past, a blond man wearing dark glasses came out of the garage wiping his hands.
Jack, looking at him sideways said, "He doesn't look like a local."
After a short distance Jack found a place to turn around and we drove back. When we got back to the gas station, the man was under the hood. Jack swung around again and leaned out the window.
"Anything we can help with?" Jack said.
"Maybe," the man replied. "My water pump has gone bad." The man was of a slight build, wearing khaki shorts and shirt, and spoke with a slight French accent. He said his name was Auguste Renoir.
Jack introduced himself and me. I said, "You sound French."
"I teach psychology at Université Paris. I am here in Pakistan because of rumors that a valuable document had been found, or at least that scientists were looking for parts of it. The document is referred to as the Manuscript."
I was astounded. "We're here for the same reason," I said.
"Do you know if there is a place here where we can camp for the night?" said Jack.
"I will be here until the new water pump arrives." said Auguste. "That should be tomorrow morning. The owner has put me up just below here, near the stream. You are welcome to join me."
Jack and Auguste got into a discussion about the merits of the land cruiser versus the jeep. I sat in the waning sunshine on the porch of the gas station. It was almost the first time I had really relaxed since leaving New York City.
Jack roused me from my snooze, "Lets get our stuff down to the campsite."
Auguste helped us carry most of our gear down to the stream. Past the gas station a course of rocky steps descended steeply to the left, ending in a narrow pathway among some dusty bushes. We could hear running water but it was only after a couple of switchbacks leading quickly down that we could see the stream, cascading down the rocks and into a small pool. On the bank near the pool was a rustic table and a fire pit. A profusion of vegetation separated the campsite from the base of the cliff.
"This will do nicely," exclaimed Jack, setting some gear down by the table.
"Are you and Jack here to investigate this so called Manuscript?" Auguste asked me.
"Wilson's a guide," I said. "I'm not doing much of anything right now. Have you actually seen any of the parts of the Manuscript?"
"I have seen transcripts of the First and Second Insights. This Manuscript is rather exciting from a psychological perspective. It has a strong influence on some people."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"My field is conflict," he said. "I have been looking for theory that explains why violence is so often involved in human affairs. The general approach is that violence is associated with the urge to control and dominate, but why does an individual have these urges? What exactly is the purpose?
"My research involves dyads, two people interacting together. My approach is that in a dyadic interaction one person always comes away feeling strong, while the other feels weak. This happens regardless of the content of the interaction. I would like to know if violence is a natural response to these different states."
Auguste appeared somewhat embarrassed over such a lengthy statement, but I asked him to continue.
"In dyadic relations, someone is always assuming an offensive position, while the other assumes a defensive position. I think these assumptions are the basis for violence.
"In other species, violence occurs more rarely, or when it does occur it is less harmful to the participants. I believe the reason for this is that other species do not struggle against the inevitable. Animals understand intuitively which of a pair is the more powerfully endowed and they submit easily. People do not act this way.
"My theory is that, while most people act irrationally in interaction with a superior intellect, they are not equipped with the necessary instincts to inform them of their lower status. Thus violence is inevitable for humans unless something changes. The change that is predicted by the Manuscript seems to be that those of superior ability will be able to find ways to control energy and power in ways that will not fail to impress those of lesser status."
Jack had just come back down the path. "They have dinner ready for us up above," he said.
As we entered the back room of the gas station, a monk, looking remarkably like those who served us at the Mosque, said, "Sit down. Sit down." An older woman and a young girl assisted him as servants. The young girl was setting the table with bowls and utensils.
Suddenly a bowl clattered on the floor, and just as suddenly the old woman backhanded the young girl on the face, so hard the girl was knocked to the floor. On her hands and knees, the girl scrambled out of the room.
The room was completely silent for about two heartbeats.
"I'm sorry about that," said the monk, handing us filled bowls of vegetables and rice. "Enjoy your food."
The monk left the room, but the woman stood just outside the door. For most of the meal, Auguste and Jack talked casually about their respective interests and experiences.
When we were through eating, the young girl returned with bowls of pudding for desert. Placing them in front of us, she somehow tripped and spilled the bowl on the table in front of Jack. The woman rushed over in a rage, shouting at the girl in Pakistani and pushing her out of the way. The girl exploded, hurling the remaining bowl at the woman and running out the door. The monk rushed into the room and chased her out the door.
Returning, the monk said, "I am so sorry."
"Not a problem," I said, as Jack was paying the bill. We left quickly.
As soon as we were down the steps to the path, Auguste said, "That girl was the classic example of the cause of violence in interactions. She was completely out of control, and apparently unable to understand the importance of her role as a servant. However, the monk and the woman did not seem capable of directing the child's energy into constructive channels."
"They certainly seemed fed up with her," I said.
"And well they might be," said August. "The girl's parents apparently never taught her the necessary submissive attitude. From the girl's point of view, she felt she had a right to lash out at her betters. As if she would actually be something without their employing her. That perspective is probably too ingrained in her to be remedied at this point. An undeniable source of such behavior is heredity."
August stopped abruptly. "I need to get some things out of my truck," he said. "I'll be down shortly."
"What did you think of Auguste's take on the way the girl acted?" Jack asked.
"Interesting," I said.
"I hope you noticed there was no obvious control of the energy by the monk in there."
"I really wasn't watching the energy flow," I said.
"What do you make of running into Renoir in the first place?"
"I really was shocked to hear him say he knew about the Manuscript."
"Does it seem possible to you that he was part of the reason you decided to come to Pakistan?"
"I don't see how," I said.
Before Jack could explain, Auguste came bounding down the path toward us.
"I brought a flashlight," he said. The sun had set but the sky was still a bright orange. In the dusk, I thought I glimpsed a whitish energy exchange between August and the shrubbery as he passed. Then I thought I must have been mistaken.
"Beautiful sky," I said to Auguste. Jack had already collapsed on his sleeping bag.
"Yes it is," he said. "You know, I still would like to hear what you have found out about the Manuscript."
"The first two Insights were described to me," I said, "but we just spent the last two days at the Mosque near Muzzaf Dir. While we were there I got a copy of the Third Insight. It's pretty fantastic."
His eyes lit up. "Do you have it with you?"
"Sure. You can look at it if you want." I pulled the folder out of my pile of gear and gave it to him. He sat on his sleeping bag with the flashlight poring over it. Meanwhile, I found enough materials to start a fire. When it was burning, Jack woke up.
Jack came over and sat on a log near the fire pit. In the dark, nothing could be seen outside the perimeter of the fire except Auguste's flashlight and a glow from the gas station on the top of the cliff behind us. After a while, Auguste came over to join us.
"This is amazing," he said. "When you were at the Mosque did anyone actually see the energy control phenomena that are described in the Manuscript?"
I told him what had happened to me, and how I had been able, somewhat, to see the fields.
"They were doing experiments projecting energy into created realities that everyone could experience?" he asked.
"It was affecting aspects of emotional consciousness, too," I said.
"The way I read it, it goes way beyond that," he said. "According to the Third Insight the entire universe is made up of energy that certain people can control." He paused. "I wonder how this is going to affect the people who can't control it."
Jack looked at him and smiled.
"I'll tell you what I saw," I said. "I witnessed an argument between two people in which the person with no ability was turned into a squeaking frog that finally scurried away."
"What do you mean 'turned into a squeaking frog,'" he asked.
Jack stood up and let us know he was turning in for the night.
I described to Auguste as well as I could the exchange between Sam and the belligerent scientist, and what Sam had done to him through energy control.
"Wait a minute," he said. "Was it just you that saw this man transformed into a frog, or was it everyone?"
"To everyone except the scientist in question he was nothing but an ugly, miserable, creepy frog," I said.
He thought for a few seconds. "We must analyze this fully. We had two people arguing over who had the correct view of reality, and the loser was turned into a frog."
"Well, I'm not saying he actually was a frog. He just appeared that way to everyone who observed the conversation."
Suddenly Auguste looked up. "Yes, this all makes sense!"
"What do you mean," I said.
"If we observe this control of energy as a system, we can see that the universe is made up of sources and sinks. Some people are just configured genetically to be able to assume and control energy. But I have to have empirical evidence of this myself. Where is this Mosque?"
I told him he would have to get directions from Jack.
"I'll do that first thing tomorrow," he said. "I've got to get some sleep so I can get going early."
He said good night and disappeared into his sleeping bag, leaving me alone by the fire and the running stream.
When I awoke in the morning, I could smell bacon and coffee. Jack was cooking breakfast, but Auguste and his gear were gone.
"Has Auguste left already?" I asked.
"He has all his gear up there in the truck, just waiting for the part to get here so he can put it in and leave."
Jack handed me a cup of coffee and went and washed his head in water from the stream. Auguste appeared hurriedly from the path.
"I am done," he said. "I am leaving now."
After exchanging a few parting words, August took off up the path. I ate and cleaned up a bit in the stream, we carried our gear up to the vehicle and departed, heading north.
"How far is this Narwab Mastu?" I asked.
"We should be there before it gets dark," he said. He added, "So what did you learn from Renoir?"
"I'm not sure," I said.
"Well, what ideas did he leave you with?"
"That humans, although they are unconscious of the fact, have a tendency to either be dominating or dominated, and that the control of power and energy is the means by which this relationship is established. The Manuscript seems to predict that this relationship is due to be strengthened in a way that will eliminate all future violence. Is that what you mean?"
Jack looked at me. "Not quite. You have seen the effect of energy control on other people, but you have not experienced it happening to you."
"I have, too!" I said. "What about the experience by the pool or the turning the man into a frog? What more could there be?"
Jack replied, "I wanted you to have a good grip on those ideas before I pushed you any further. One of the Insights has to do with how to interpret past events in your life in terms of control of power. I wanted you to learn more about who you are and what your responsibilities are before I discussed my own purposes in this venture."
"Well, OK, but sometimes I get a bit apprehensive about what I am accomplishing here."
We drove for the rest of the morning in silence. Occasional clouds would float over us in the sunny, blue sky as we progressed higher and higher into the mountains. We stopped for lunch on a bluff overlooking the mountains and valleys to the west. I told Jack it was much more spectacular than the view from my little rock pile in Central Park.
I told Jack about my grandfather's work on Central Park and the affect that had on my life in New York City.
"Perhaps growing up there," he said, "prepared you for what you have to do here in Pakistan. After all, Central Park was not exactly virgin territory when your grandfather took it over. Working with virgin territory means much more energy is available to harness to your will."
"Is that what we are headed for, virgin forest?" I asked.
"Look up there," he said, pointing to the northeast. Above us a ridge sloped upward to a luxurious forest at the apex where the ridge sloped back down to another valley. Just visible beneath the lower reaches of the forest was a cluster of buildings that looked like a small town.
"You mean that forest in the gap between the ridges?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "If you thought the energy at the Mosque was interesting, you will not believe the power that is generated in this little triangle. It definitely complements one of the other Insights."
"How?" I asked.
"I'll wait and let you see for yourself," he replied.
Back on the road, I drifted off to sleep again. I woke with Jack shaking my arm.
"Wake up! We're coming into Narwab Mastu."
I sat up and looked around. Ahead of us in the valley the forest rose up spectacularly to the ridges on both sides. The trees were huge, much larger than those in the forest at the Mosque. The town sat at the base of the forest where two roads came together. Jack pulled off the road.
"You need to know something before we get there," he said. "The energy in this forest is more primitive than anything you have seen so far. We believe this is the source of the energy mentioned in the original Manuscript. That is why the Ninth Insight, in its original text, may be discovered here. The important thing is, not everyone who is looking for the Ninth is friendly to the Manuscript. Not only are the Pakistani government officials trying to find it so it can be suppressed, but also speculators who have recognized the commercial value of the Manuscript are here to steal it, if they can, from those who are trying to protect it."
The village comprised four or five streets that ran parallel to the edge of the forest. Larger buildings were set on the extension from the main road that ran perpendicular to the streets, through the center of town and directly toward the forest. Off the main streets were alleyways lined with shacks. The crossroads and the main street into the center of town were crowded with off-road vehicles and trucks.
"What are all these people doing here?" I asked.
Jack grinned. "This is the last place to get gasoline and provisions this side of the mountains."
He started the jeep and drove slowly into town. It was just at sundown. All the signs were in Pakistani, but I assumed the building we pulled up in front of was a grocery and hardware store.
"Wait here for a couple of minutes," Jack said. "I need to get some things."
As he disappeared inside, a truck parked across the street and three people got out. One was a dark haired woman in a fatigue jacket. It was Margie!
I opened my door and got out. "Margie!" I yelled.
She looked around, saw me, and smiled. "Hello," she called. She was with a tall young man. As I started to cross the street he grabbed her arm. I heard him say softly as I approached, "Franz told us not to talk with anyone."
"It's OK," Margie said. "I know this person. Go on in." He looked at me suspiciously, backed away, and went into the store.
I was still a bit embarrassed at what had happened between us at the pool at the Mosque. She said that Sam had explained the situation to her, and she was amused. Jack came out of the store with an armload of paper bags.
I introduced them and Margie and I talked while he put the things in the back of the jeep.
Jack said, "Let's all of us have something to eat in that place across the street."
"Great," I said.
"I'm not sure when my ride is leaving," said Margie.
"Where are you going," I asked.
"I am here with a group that is studying the Manuscript. Our camp is back down the road a couple of miles."
"We can take you there after we have eaten," said Jack.
"Well, I guess that will be OK."
Jack said, "I have one more thing to pick up down the street. You guys go ahead and I'll find you in there." He started off down the street.
Suddenly the young man Margie had arrived with came out of the building and confronted us.
"Where are you going?" he said, blocking our way.
"This is a friend of mine," Margie replied. "We are going to eat and her friend can bring me back to the camp later."
He grabbed her arm. "Look, you can't trust anyone up here. You know Franz wouldn't approve."
"I'm telling you, it's OK," Margie said softly.
Twisting Margie's arm, the man said in a raised voice, "I want you to come with me, now."
"Hey," I said, and an amazing thing happened. The young man turned into a pimply, skinny kid with a bad haircut. He dropped Margie's arm as if he had gotten an electric shock.
"You heard what she told you," I said to him. He stepped back, looking at me with an open mouth. Then he scurried back into the building.
"Let's go," I told Margie.
We crossed the street and entered the small cafe. The dining room had only a few tables and smelled like bacon grease and cigarette smoke. As we took the one unoccupied table, everyone in the room gave us the once over.
The waiter spoke only Pakistani, which Margie knew slightly, so she ordered for us. Margie was looking at me warmly.
I grinned at her,"Who was that oaf?"
"That's Albert," she said. "I don't know what his problem is. Thanks for shooing him off."
She was looking directly into my eyes. "How did you get mixed up with that group?" I asked.
"Franz Johansson is an archeologist who has formed a group to study the Manuscript and to search for the Ninth Insight. I met him at the Mosque at Muzzaf Dir. He was so pleasant at the time, and I was interested in what he was doing, so I accepted a place on his team for a few months."
"Have you read any of the Manuscript?" I asked.
"I was looking at some of the text at the Mosque, but Franz said it was useless to try to understand the material without the proper interpreter. I actually think that might be right, but I am not sure he is the right interpreter. He has been going around trying to round up everyone interested in the Manuscript and get them to join his group, and to read the Manuscript the way he thinks it should be read. I hope you get a chance to meet him so you can tell me whether he is worth the effort."
"I can already tell you that I don't like the sound of what he is doing," I said. Margie was still looking at me rather intimately. It made me feel powerful.
The waiter brought our order just as Jack came in the door.
"I am going with some people making a little excursion into the forest," he said. "You and Margie can take the jeep. Can you meet me back here in a couple of hours?"
I decided against telling Jack about Johansson.
"OK," I said.
"Wish I had time to get to know you better," he said to Margie.
"Maybe later," she said, I thought rather coyly.
When Jack was gone, Margie said,"He seems like a man with a purpose. How did you meet him?"
I told her of my catastrophic arrival in Pakistan, and of the part that Jack had played in it. She seemed spell-bound, hanging on every word.
"Goodness," she said, "do you think you are in danger here?"
"No, I don't think so," I said. I continued, to tell her of the events up to when Sam and I met her at the pool.
"And then you ran off!" I said.
"Wait," she said, "I didn't know you at all. And you were acting so strange. I thought it was best to leave."
"I apologize," I said, "for letting my emotions get out of hand."
She looked at her watch. "Are you going to be able to take me back to the camp now? They are already going to be unhappy with me. No use making it worse."
I paid the bill and we walked out to the jeep. The night was chilly enough to see one's breath.
She said, "Head back down the road you came in on. I'll tell you when to turn."
"What is this place where your camp is located?" I asked.
"I think Franz rents it. At least his group has been using it for a couple of years. It seems to be some sort of base camp for excursions up into the mountains. Some of the men are pretty rough."
"What are you doing for them?"
"He said he needed help interpreting the last Insight, that's assuming they find it. I am not real clear on how I was qualified to be an interpreter of the Manuscript."
"Where do they go, up in the mountains?"
"I don't know," Margie replied. "No one will answer my questions when I ask."
A mile or so down the road we turned left onto a narrow, rocky vehicle path that took us up the hill and down into a flat, dusty valley. Ahead, the jeep's headlights revealed a dwelling made from adobe and brick, with several attached and unattached sections around it. A couple of horses stared at us from a fenced enclosure.
When we pulled into the large courtyard between the buildings, we were surrounded by a group of unsmiling faces. I could hear a powerful motor running in a small building, probably a generator. The door to the largest part of the building opened and a tall, blond haired man in Paki clothing was silhouetted in it.
"That's Franz," said Margie.
"Good," I said, still feeling strong and confident.
We got out as Johansson walked over.
"I was worried about you," he said. "Is this the friend you ran into? I'm glad to see you are all right."
I introduced myself. "Why were you worried that we were OK?" I said as we followed him into the front living room.
He invited us to sit down. To me he said, "How long have you been in this area?"
"Just this afternoon," I said.
"You need to know what's going on here," he said. "I assume you have heard about the Manuscript. The search for the Ninth Insight is getting ugly. People are disappearing."
"Who?" I asked.
"People who have no interest in the archaeological value of these documents, but are only interested in the establishment of some kind of cult."
A huge Pakistani with a beard and wearing a turban interrupted the conversation to speak briefly with Johansson.
"Are you here to find these documents?" he asked as he turned back to me. "What you may find is yourself in a lot of trouble. Do you realize that the Manuscript, as well as any copies that have been made of it, are the property of the nation of Pakistan. Trafficking in any form of the Manuscript is illegal unless you have a permit."
"Do you realize," I said, "that some of the world's foremost scientists believe that Pakistan is improperly suppressing knowledge that belongs to everyone?"
"You are in the country of Pakistan," he said. "Do you think Pakistan should not have the right to control its own archaeological discoveries? Does the government know why you are in this country?"
I was beginning to feel anxious again.
"Listen," Johansson said, "if you have any official or academic connections, let me know. Otherwise, you could be in some danger."
"What should she do?" asked Margie.
Johansson stood up and smiled, "I might be able to find a position for you with our group. It is a lot safer than running around on your own, and we can arrange for you to get home when you decide to go. But you'll have to be willing to do exactly as I say, at all times."
I glanced over at Margie. Maybe I should consider Johansson's offer. It might help to have friends in the Pakistani government if I wanted to get back to the States. Maybe Johansson was right, I sure felt like I was in over my head.
"You really should come with us," said Margie. "It is too dangerous out there alone."
However, I was not alone. I had a lot of respect for Jack, and I believed in what we were doing, but I was momentarily confused by these people I did not know who were so opposed to everything I had come to Pakistan to do.
The large man in the turban came into the room again and motioned Johansson to the window. He turned to Margie and said, "Get Albert up here!"
Margie nodded and left. I could see the lights of a large vehicle, probably a truck, through the window. As Johansson opened the door, I thought I heard someone outside say my name. The large man followed Johansson out the door and pulled the door shut.
I could see them talking to someone in the vehicle's headlights. It was Jack! I opened the door and walked down the steps into the courtyard. I could not hear their conversation over the noise of the vehicle and generator engines .
When Johansson saw me he yelled, "What are you doing? Get back in side. Now!"
Illuminate in the headlights, Jack began to walk around Johansson and toward me.
As he approached, he said quietly, "Hey, we need to get out of here."
"Sorry," I said. "I was confused for a minute there. What about Margie?"
"I'm afraid we can't do anything about her," Jack said. "We are going to have enough trouble getting ourselves out of here."
As I started to walk away with Jack, Johansson shouted, "You'll never make it."
"Do you know that guy?" I asked Jack when we got into the jeep. His friends followed us in the truck out of the compound.
"Johansson works for the Pakistani government," Jack replied. "He is a respected archaeologist, but I'm afraid he has sold out to the Paki's so he can get exclusive access to the Manuscript. He told me you had decided to stay with his group."
"It's lucky you showed up. Between him and Margie, I was beginning to have some doubts."
"Well, I certainly hadn't planned to find you there. I was only looking for Johansson. You should see the way you look, completely deflated. Johansson's influence is still affecting you."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You remember what you told me about Sam turning that guy into a frog? Well, Johansson just turned you into a loser and whiner. He had to do that if he was to turn your energy to his purposes."
"You saw that happening to me? My God, I wonder what Margie must have thought? Well, maybe it's all for the best. Is that guy evil, or what?"
"Not really," said Jack. "He's one of those people who thinks that he is the only one that is important, that he is responsible for fixing everything that is wrong. He does this because he himself is unable to recognize superior qualities in others, and he practices the art of bringing others down to his own level."
Jack glanced over at me. "You will see, when you get to the Sixth Insight, that there are several ways the unworthy attempt to steal the power of the worthy and waste it."
I wasn't really listening because I was thinking about Margie. I didn't like leaving her there with those idiots.
"What are we going to do about Margie?" I asked.
"I think she will be safe for the moment," said Jack. "We can stop on our way out tomorrow and check on her. People like Johansson have no idea the trouble they cause everyone. He obviously really believes he is the equal of those whose skills are clearly superior to his. His ignorance and lack of intelligence make him dangerous. It will be better for everyone when those of us who are chosen can control the available energy without the interference of these unqualified upstarts."
"It's very depressing," I said.
"Not when people offer their support to you voluntarily. Then it can be a delight."
"How do you mean," I asked.
"Remember when you and Margie were sitting and talking in that little cafe in town. When I walked in I could tell that Margie recognized your importance to her and was offering you her support. Weren't you aware of that relationship at the time?"
"I remember being competent and confident, but what did Margie have to do with that."
Jack smiled. "When the unqualified and generally inferior people are naturally deferential to the chosen few, everything seems to be right with the world."
I nodded. "You've got that right," I said.
"Try to integrate the Fourth Insight with the others," Jack continued. The Third described the world as a vast system of energy while the Fourth shows how the unqualified are continually mistaking their ability to control that energy, and thereby wasting it. This is what conflict in the world has always been about, trying to get control of power in the proper hands. Where there is confusion about this, it causes problems for everybody."
"Hold on a second," I said. "Weren't some wars fought to get the control into the proper hands?"
"Sure," said Jack. "That is what I meant about the ability of the inferior class to bring others down to their level by holding an irrational position."
"I almost forgot," he said, reaching into his bag. "I found this copy of the Fourth Insight for you." He handed me a ragged bunch of papers clipped together.
I turned on the reading light under the dashboard of the jeep and leafed through the bundle. Understanding the Fourth Insight was a matter, it said, of seeing problems in the world as being the result of the unqualified trying to hold onto power illegitimately, and thus wasting it.
Apparently, once everyone understands the futility of this condition, the condition is immediately transcended, and it becomes possible to achieve almost effortless efficiency in use of the available energy. At this point there is created a quantum leap in the effectiveness of power, making possible extraordinary accomplishments.
"Can you explain this 'quantum leap' to me?" I asked. Jack just grinned at me.
The next morning I awoke to hear Jack stumbling around in the dark. We had spent the night in town at the house of the friends with the truck. Now he was gathering up all his gear and stuffing it in his bags.
"Let's get going," he whispered.
We got all our stuff out to the jeep that was already packed with the supplies Jack had bought. The town was black except for a few lights. A streak of lighter sky was appearing in the east, with a bird or two making the only sounds. Jack spoke briefly on the porch with the owner of the house.
At that moment, the lights of three vehicles appeared at the crossroads. They drove to the entrance to the main street and stopped.
"I'll bet that is Johansson," Jack said. "I think we ought to find out what they are doing."
We approached the vehicles through a back alley that led to the main street. Two of the vehicles were being fueled from a tanker truck, the other was parked in front of the store. Several people were standing nearby. I saw Margie leave the store and carry something to the vehicle at the front. Then she left that vehicle to join the group where the fueling was going on. Her path took her across the entrance to the alley where Jack and I were watching.
Jack said, "Step out there and see if you can get her to come with us."
Leaving the mouth of the alley, I was immobilized by the realization that the group of men Margie was approaching were carrying what looked to me like AK-47's. Looking across the street, up the opposite alley, I saw something even more terrifying. A group of uniformed soldiers was stealthily approaching the intersection where Johansson's group was standing.