The Celestine Prophecy: An Adventure by James Redfield

told him. “I want to go.”

A
MATTER
OF ENERGY
    W e rose at dawn and drove east all morning in virtual silence. Early on, Wil had mentioned that we would drive straight across the Andes into what he called the High Selva, an area consisting of forest-covered foothills and plateaus, but he had said little else.
    I had asked him several questions about his background and about our destination, but he had politely put me off, indicating he wanted to concentrate on driving. Finally I had stopped talking altogether, and had focused instead on the scenery. The views from the mountain peaks were staggering.
    About noon, when we had reached the last of the towering ridges, we stopped at an overlook to eat a lunch of sandwiches in the jeep, and to gaze out at the wide, barren valley ahead. On the other side of the valley were smaller foothills, green with plant life. As we ate, Wil said we would spend the night at the Viciente Lodge, an old nineteenth century estate which formerly belonged to the Spanish Catholic Church. Viciente was now owned by a friend of his, he explained, and was operated as a resort specializing in business and scientific conferences.
    With only that brief explanation, we departed and rode silently again. An hour later we arrived at Viciente, entering the property through a large iron and stone gate and proceeding northeast up a narrow gravel drive. Once more, I asked a few probing questions concerning Viciente and why we were here, but as he had done earlier, Wil brushed aside my inquiries, only this time he suggested outright that I focus on the landscape.
    Immediately the beauty of Viciente touched me. We were surrounded by colorful pastures and orchards, and the grass seemed unusually green and healthy. It grew thickly even under the giant oaks that rose up every hundred feet or so throughout the pastures. Something about these huge trees seemed incredibly attractive, but I couldn’t quite grasp what.
    After about a mile the road bent east and up a slight rise. At the top of the knoll was the lodge, a large Spanish-style building constructed of hewn timbers and grey stone. The structure appeared to contain at least fifty rooms, and a large screened porch covered the entire south wall. The yard around the lodge was marked by more gigantic oaks and contained beds of exotic plants and walkways trimmed with dazzling flowers and ferns. Groups of people talked idly on the porch and among the trees.
    As we got out of the vehicle, Wil lingered a moment and gazed out at the view. Beyond the lodge to the east, the land sloped gradually downward then flattened out into meadows and forests. Another range of foothills appeared bluish purple in the distance.
    “I think I’ll go in and make sure they have room for us,” Wil said. “Why don’t you spend some time looking around? You’re going to like this place.”
    “No kidding!” I said.
    As he walked away, he turned and looked at me. “Be sure to check out the research gardens. I’ll see you at dinner time.”
    Wil was obviously leaving me alone for some reason, but I didn’t care why. I felt great and not the least bit apprehensive. Wil had already told me that because of the substantial tourist dollar Viciente brought into the country, the government had always taken a hands-off approach to the place, even though the Manuscript was often discussed here.
    Several large trees and a winding path toward the south attracted me, so I walked that way. Once I reached the trees, I could see that the walkway proceeded through a small iron gate and down several tiers of stone steps to a meadow filled with wild flowers. In the distance was an orchard of some kind and a small creek and more forest land. At the gate I stopped and took several deep breaths, admiring the beauty below.
    “It’s certainly lovely, isn’t it?” a voice from behind asked.
    I turned quickly. A woman in her late thirties carrying a hiking pack stood behind me.
    “It certainly is,” I