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“If I need to travel in time, why do I have to travel in space as well?”
J. laughs. “Because we all have the possibility of redemption, but for that to happen, we have to seek out the people we harmed and ask their forgiveness.”
“So where should I go? To Jerusalem?”
“I don’t know. Wherever you are committed to going. Find out what you have left unfinished, and complete the task. God will guide you, because everything you ever experienced or will experience is in the here and now. The world is being created and destroyed in this very moment. Whoever you met will reappear, whoever you lost will return. Don’t betray the grace that was bestowed on you. Understand what is going on inside you and you will understand what is going on inside everyone else. Don’t imagine that I came to bring peace. I came with a sword.”
I’M STANDING IN THE RAIN, SHIVERING, and my first thought is: “I’m going to catch the flu.” I console myself by thinking that every doctor I’ve ever met has assured me that flu is caused by a virus, not by drops of water.
I can’t stay in the here and now, my head is whirling: Where should I aim for? Where should I go? And what if I don’t recognize the people on my path? That must have happened before and is bound to happen again; if it hadn’t, my soul would be at peace.
After fifty-nine years of living with myself, I can predict at least some of my reactions. When I first met J., his words seemed to be filled with a light much brighter than he himself. I accepted everything without question; I walked fearlessly ahead and never once regretted it. But time passed, we got to know each other, and with familiarity came habit. He had never let me down in any way, but I couldn’t see him now with quite the same eyes. Even though, out of duty, I had to obey his words—which I would have done gladly in September of 1992, ten years after I met him—I no longer did so with the same conviction.
I am wrong. It was my choice to follow this magical Tradition, so why question it now. I’m free to abandon it whenever I wish, but something drives me on. He’s probably right, but I’ve got used to the life I lead and I don’t need any more challenges. I need peace.
I should be a happy man: I’m successful in my chosen, highly competitive profession; I’ve been married for twenty-seven years to the woman I love; I enjoy good health; I live surrounded by people I can trust; I’m always greeted with affection by my readers when I meet them in the street. There was a time when that was enough, but these last two years, nothing seems to satisfy me.
Is it just a passing anxiety? Won’t it be enough just to say the usual prayers, respect nature as if it were the voice of God, and contemplate the beauty around me? Why go forward if I’m convinced that I’ve reached my limit?
Why can’t I be like my friends?
The rain is falling ever harder, and all I can hear is the sound of the water. I’m drenched, but I can’t move. I don’t want to leave, because I don’t know where to go. J. is right. I’m lost. If I really had reached my limit, this feeling of guilt and frustration would have passed, but it’s still there. Fear and trembling. When a sense of dissatisfaction persists, that means it was placed there by God for one reason only: you need to change everything and move forward.
I’ve been through this before. Whenever I refused to follow my fate, something very hard to bear would happen in my life. And that is my great fear at the moment, that some tragedy will occur. Tragedy always brings about radical change in our lives, a change that is associated with the same principle: loss. When faced by any loss, there’s no point in trying to recover what has been; it’s best to take advantage of the large space that opens up before us and fill it with something new. In theory, every loss is for our own good; in practice, though, that is when we question the existence of God and ask ourselves: What did I do to deserve this?
Lord, preserve me from tragedy and I will follow Your desires.
The moment I think this, there is a great crack of thunder and the sky is lit up by a flash of lightning.
Again, fear and trembling. A sign. Here I am, trying to persuade myself that I always give the best of myself, and nature is telling me exactly the opposite: anyone truly committed to life never stops walking. Heaven and Earth are meeting in a storm that, when it’s over, will leave the air purer and the fields fertile, but before that happens, houses will be destroyed, centuries-old trees will topple, paradises will be flooded.
A yellow shape approaches.
I surrender myself to the rain. There’s more lightning, but my feeling of helplessness is being replaced by something positive, as if my soul were gradually being washed clean by the water of forgiveness.
Bless and you will be blessed.
The words emerge naturally from me—a wisdom I didn’t know I had, which I know does not belong to me but which appears sometimes and stops me from doubting everything I have learned over the years.
My great problem is this: despite such moments, I continue to doubt.
The yellow shape is there before me. It’s my wife, wearing one of the garish capes we use when we go walking in remote parts of the mountains. If we get lost, we’ll be easy to find.
“Have you forgotten that we’re going out to supper tonight?”
No, I haven’t forgotten. I abandon universal metaphysics, in which thunder claps are the voices of the gods, and return to the reality of a provincial town and a supper of good wine, roast lamb, and the cheerful conversation of friends, who will tell us about their recent adventures on their Harley-Davidson. I go back home to change my clothes and give my wife a brief summary of my conversation with J. that afternoon.
“Did he tell you where you should go?” she asks.
“He told me to make a commitment.”
“And is that so very hard? Stop being so difficult. You’re acting like an old man.”
HERVÉ AND VÉRONIQUE have invited two other guests, a middle-aged French couple. One of them is introduced as a “clairvoyant,” whom they met in Morocco.
The man seems neither pleasant nor unpleasant, merely absent. Then, in the middle of supper, as if he had entered a kind of trance, he says to Véronique: “Be careful when driving. You’re going to have an accident.”
I find this remark in the worst possible taste, because if Véronique takes it seriously, her fear will end up attracting negative energy, and then things really might turn out as predicted.
