The Pilgrimage (11 page)

We were in the middle of a level field of wheat that stretched all the way to the horizon.
The only object that stood out in the scene was another medieval column supporting a
cross, one of the road markers for pilgrims. As we approached the column, Petrus stopped,
placed his knapsack on the ground, and knelt down. He told me to do the same.

We are going to say a prayer concerning the only thing that can defeat you as a pilgrim
after you find your sword: your personal vices. No matter how much you learn from your
Master about how to handle the sword, one of your hands will always be your potential
enemy. Let us pray that, if you are suc- cessful in finding your sword, you will always
wield it with the hand that does not bring scandal down upon you.

It was two oclock in the afternoon, and there wasnt a sound to be heard as Petrus began to
pray aloud:

Pity us, O Lord, for we are pilgrims on the road to Compostela, and our being here may be
a vice. In your infinite pity, help us never to turn our knowledge against ourselves.

Have pity on those who pity themselves and who see themselves as good people treated
unfairly by life who feel that they do not deserve what has befallen them. Such people
will never be able to fight the good fight. And pity those who are cruel to themselves and
who see only the evil in their own actions, feeling that they are to blame for the
injustice in the world. Because neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says,
But the very hairs of your head are numbered.

Have pity on those who command and those who serve during long hours of work, and who
sacrifice themselves in exchange merely for a Sunday off, only to find that there is
nowhere to go, and everything is closed. But also have pity on those who sanctify their
efforts, and who are able to go beyond the bounds of their own madness, winding up
indebted, or nailed to the cross by their very brothers. Because neither of these kinds of
people know thy law that says, Be ye therefore as wise as the serpents and as harmless as
the doves.

Have pity on those who may conquer the world but never join the good fight within
themselves. But pity also those who have won the good fight within them- selves, and now
find themselves in the streets and the bars of life because they were unable to conquer
the world. Because neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, He who heeds
my words I will liken to a wise man who built his house on rock.

Have pity on those who are fearful of taking up a pen, or a paintbrush, or an instrument,
or a tool

because they are afraid that someone has already done so better than they could, and who
feel themselves to be unworthy to enter the marvelous mansion of art. But have even more
pity on those who, having taken up the pen, or the paintbrush, or the instrument, or the
tool, have turned inspiration into a paltry thing, and yet feel themselves to be better
than others. Neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, For there is nothing
covered that will not be revealed, nor hidden that will not be known.

Pity those who eat and drink and sate themselves, but are unhappy and alone in their
satiety. But pity even more those who fast, and who censure and prohibit, and who thereby
see themselves as saints, preaching your name in the streets. For neither of these types
of people know thy law that says, If I bear witness of myself, my witness is not true.

Pity those who fear death, and are unaware of the many kingdoms through which they have
already passed, and the many deaths they have already suf- fered, and who are unhappy
because they think that one day their world will end. But have even more pity for those
who already know their many deaths, and today think of themselves as immortal. Neither of
these kinds of people know thy law that says, Except that one is born again, he cannot see
the kingdom of God.

Have pity on those who bind themselves with the silken ties of love, and think of
themselves as masters of

others, and who feel envy, and poison themselves, and who torture themselves because they
cannot see that love and all things change like the wind. But pity even more those who die
of their fear of loving and who reject love in the name of a greater love that they know
not. Neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, Whoever drinks of the water
that I shall give him will never thirst.

Pity those who reduce the cosmos to an explana- tion, God to a magic potion, and humanity
to beings with basic needs that must be satisfied, because they never hear the music of
the spheres. But have even more pity on those who have blind faith, and who in their
laboratories transform mercury into gold, and who are surrounded by their books about the
secrets of the Tarot and the power of the pyramids. Neither of these kinds of people know
thy law that says, Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by
no means enter it.

Pity those who see no one but themselves, and for whom others are a blurred and distant
scenario as they pass through the streets in their limousines and lock themselves in their
air-conditioned penthouse offices, as they suffer in silence the solitude of power. But
pity even more those who will do anything for anybody, and are charitable, and seek to win
out over evil only through love. For neither of these kinds of people know thy law that
says, Let he who has no sword sell his gar- ment and buy one.

Have pity, Lord, on we who seek out and dare to take up the sword that you have promised,
and who are a saintly and sinful lot scattered throughout the world. Because we do not
recognize even ourselves, and often think that we are dressed, but we are nude; we believe
that we have committed a crime, when in reality we have saved someones life. And do not
forget in your pity for all of us that we hold the sword with the hand of an angel and the
hand of a devil, and that they are both the same hand. Because we are of the world, and we
continue to be of the world, and we have need of thee. We will always be in need of thy
law that says, When I sent you without money bag, knapsack, and sandals, you lacked
nothing.

Petrus ended his prayer. As silence prevailed, he gazed out over the field of wheat that
surrounded us.

We arrived one afternoon at the ruins of an old castle of the Order of the Knights
Templar. We sat down to rest, and while Petrus smoked his usual cigarette, I drank a bit
of the wine left over from lunch. I studied the view that surrounded us: a few peasant
houses, the tower of the castle, the undulating fields ready for sowing. To my right
appeared a shepherd, guiding his flock past the walls of the castle, bound for home. The
sky was red, and the dust raised by the animals blurred the view, making it look like a
dream or a magic vision. The shepherd waved to us, and we waved back.

The sheep passed in front of us and continued down the road. Petrus got to his feet. It
was an impressive scene, and I would like to have stayed, but Petrus said, Lets go, right
away. Weve got to hurry.

Why?

Because I said so. Dont you think we have spent enough time on the Road to Santiago?

But something told me that his haste had something to do with the magic scene of the
shepherd and his sheep.

Two days later we were close to some mountains to the south; their elevation was a relief
to the monotony of the immense wheat fields. The area had some natural elevations, but it
was well punctuated by the yellow markers that Father Jordi had mentioned. At that point,
Petrus, without explanation, began to stray from the markers and to plunge more and more
in a northerly direction. When I pointed this out to him, he answered brusquely, saying
that he was the guide and that he knew where he was leading me.

After half an hour or so along the new path, I began to hear the sound of tumbling water.
All about us were the sun-drenched fields, and I tried to imagine what the sound could be.
As we continued, the sound grew louder, and there was no doubt that it was produced by a
waterfall. But I could see neither mountains nor falls near us.

Then, as we crested a small rise, we were confronted with one of natures most extravagant
works: a basin opened up in the plateau, deep enough to contain a five-story building, and
a stream hurtled to its floor. The immense crater was bordered by luxuriant vegetation,
completely different in appearance from the flora we had been passing until then, and it
framed the falling water.

Lets climb down here, Petrus said.

We began a descent that put me in mind of Jules Verne; it was as if we were descending to
the center of the earth. The way was steep and difficult to navigate,

and so as not to fall, we were forced to grasp at thorny branches and sharp rocks. When I
reached the bottom, my arms and legs were lacerated.

Isnt this beautiful, said Petrus, taking no notice of my discomfort.

I agreed. It was an oasis in the desert. The plant life and the rainbow formed by the
droplets of water made the basin as beautiful seen from below as from above.

This is where nature really shows its power, he said. True, I nodded. And it gives us a
chance to show our own strength.

Lets climb the falls, said my guide. Through the water!

I looked again at the scene. Now I no longer saw it as an oasis, nor as one of natures
more sophisticated caprices. Instead, I was looking at a wall more than fifty feet high
over which the water fell with a deafening force. The small lagoon formed by the cataract
was no deeper than a mans height, since the river ran to an opening that probably took it
underground. On the wall, there were no protrusions that I could make use of in a climb,
and the depth of the pool was not sufficient to break a fall. I was looking at an
absolutely impossible task.

I thought of an event from five years ago, during a ritual that had required like this
situation an extremely dangerous climb. My Master had given me a choice as to whether I
wanted to continue or not, I was

younger and fascinated by his powers and by the mira- cles of the Tradition, so I decided
to go on. I needed to demonstrate my courage and my bravery.

After I had climbed the mountain for nearly an hour and as I was approaching the most
difficult stretch, a wind of unexpected force arose, and to keep myself from falling, I
had had to cling with all my strength to the small ledge that supported me. I closed my
eyes, expecting the worst, and dug my nails into the rock. A minute later, I was surprised
to find that someone had helped me to assume a safer and more comfortable position. I
opened my eyes to see that my Master was there at my side.

He made some gestures in the air, and the wind sud- denly ceased. With an absolutely
mysterious agility, at times seeming to require an exercise in levitation, he descended
the mountain and told me to do likewise.

I arrived at the base with my legs trembling and asked him angrily why he hadnt caused the
wind to abate before it threatened me.

Because it was I who ordered the wind to blow, he answered.

So it would kill me?

No, in order to save you. It would have been impos- sible for you to climb this mountain.
When I asked if you wanted to, I was not testing your courage. I was test- ing your wisdom.

You made it into an order, when I had not given one, said the Master. If you were able to
levitate your-

self, you would not have had a problem. But you wanted to be brave, when it was enough to
have been intelligent.

That day, he told me about Magi who had become insane during the process of illumination
and who could no longer distinguish between their own powers and those of their disciples.
During my lifetime, I have known some great men in the Tradition. I had gotten to know
three great Masters including my own who were able to dominate material objects in ways
that went far beyond what anyone could imagine. I had wit- nessed miracles, exact
predictions of the future, and knowledge of past incarnations. My Master had spoken of the
Falklands War two months before Argentina had invaded the islands. He had described
everything in detail and had explained the reasons, on an astral level, for the conflict.

But after that day, I had begun to notice that there were Magi who, in the Masters words,
had been crazed by the process of illumination. They were individuals who in almost every
way were the equal of their Masters, even with respect to their powers: I saw one of them
make a seed germinate in twenty minutes of extreme concentration. But that man and some
others had already led many disciples to madness and despair; some of those disciples had
had to be committed to mental hospitals, and there was at least one confirmed case of
suicide. Those Masters were on the blacklist of the Tradition, but it was impossible to
control them,

and I know that many of them continue their work even today.

All of this passed through my mind in a fraction of a second as I looked at the waterfall
that seemed impossi- ble to scale. I thought of the length of time that Petrus and I had
traveled together, of the dogs attack that had left me unhurt, of Petruss lack of control
with the boy who had waited on us in the restaurant, and of Petruss drinking bout at the
wedding celebration. Those events were all I could remember.

Petrus, theres no way Im going to climb that water- fall. And for a very simple reason:
its impossible.

He didnt say a word. He sat down in the grass, and I did the same. We sat there in silence
for fifteen minutes. His silence disarmed me, and I took the initiative by beginning to
speak.

Petrus, I dont want to climb because Ill fall. I know that Im not going to die, because
when I saw the face of my death, I also saw the day it will happen. But I could fall and
be crippled for the rest of my life.

Paulo, Paulo ... He looked at me and smiled. You have completely changed. There is in your
voice a bit of the love that consumes, and your eyes are shining.

Are you going to say that Im breaking a vow of obe- dience that I made before setting out
on the Road?

You are not breaking that vow. You are not afraid, and you are not lazy. Nor should you be
thinking that I have given you a useless order. You dont want to climb the falls because
you are thinking about the Black

Magi.* You have not broken a vow just because you have used your decision making ability.
A pilgrim is never prevented from using that ability.

I looked again at the cataract and again at Petrus. I was weighing my chances of success
in making the climb, and they didnt weigh very much.

Now, pay attention, he continued. Im going to climb before you do, without using any gift.
And Im going to make it. If I succeed just by knowing where to place my feet, you will
have to climb, too. I am nullify- ing your freedom to make a decision. If you refuse,
after you have seen me make the climb, then you will be breaking your vow.

Petrus began to take off his sneakers. He was at least ten years older than I, and if he
succeeded in the climb, I would have no further excuse. I studied the waterfall and felt
my stomach seize up.

But he didnt move. Even though he had taken off his sneakers, he remained seated in the
same place. He looked at the sky and said, A few kilometers from here, in 1502, the Virgin
appeared to a shepherd. Today is the feast day commemorating that event the Feast of the
Virgin of the Road and I am going to offer my victory

* This is the name given, in the Tradition, to those Masters who have lost their magical
contact with their disciples, as just described. This expression is also used to describe
Masters who interrupted their learning process after having established dominion only over
earthly forces.

to her. I would advise you to do the same thing. Offer a victory to her. Dont offer the
pain in your feet or the cuts on your hands from the rocks. Everybody in the world offers
only pain as penance. There is nothing wrong with that, but I think she would be happier
if, rather than just pain, people would also offer her their joys.

I was in no condition to speak. I still doubted whether Petrus could climb the wall. I
thought the whole thing was a farce, that I was being drawn in by the way he spoke and
that he would then convince me to do something I really did not want to do. In the face of
these doubts, I closed my eyes for a moment and prayed to the Virgin of the Road. I
promised that if Petrus and I were able to climb the wall, I would one day return to this
place.

Everything you have learned up to now makes sense only if it is applied in real life. Dont
forget that I described the Road to Santiago to you as the road of the common person; I
have said that a thousand times. On the Road to Santiago and in life itself, wisdom has
value only if it helps us to overcome some obstacle.

A hammer would make no sense in the world if there were not nails to be driven. And even
given the existence of nails, the hammer would be useless if it only thought, I can drive
those nails with two blows. The hammer has to act. To put itself into the hands of the
carpenter and to be used in its proper function.

I remembered my Masters words at Itatiaia: Whoever has the sword must constantly put it to
the test, so it doesnt rust in its scabbard.

The waterfall is the place where you will put into practice everything you have learned so
far, said my guide. There is one thing working in your favor: you know the day on which
you are going to die so that fear will not paralyze you when you have to decide quickly
where to find a hold. But remember that you are going to have to work with the water and
use it to provide what you need. Remember that you have to dig a nail into your thumb if a
bad thought takes over. And most important, that you have to find support for yourself in
the love that consumes during every minute of the climb, because it is that love which
directs and justifies your every step.

Petrus fell silent. He took off his shirt and his shorts and was completely naked. He went
into the cold water of the lagoon, wet himself completely, and spread his arms to the sky.
I could see that he was happy; he was enjoying the coldness of the water and the rainbows
cre- ated by the mist that surrounded us.

One more thing, he said, before going in under the falls. This waterfall will teach you
how to be a Master. I am going to make the climb, but there will be a veil of water
between you and me. I will climb without your being able to see where I place my hands and
feet.

In the same way, a disciple such as you can never imitate his guides steps. You have your
own way of

living your life, of dealing with problems, and of win- ning. Teaching is only
demonstrating that it is possible. Learning is making it possible for yourself.

He said nothing else as he disappeared through the veil of the cascade and began to climb.
I could see only his outline, as if perceived through frosted glass. But I could see that
he was climbing. Slowly and inexorably he moved toward the top. The closer he got to the
crest, the more fearful I became, because my time was coming. Finally, the most terrible
moment arrived: the moment when he had to come up through the falling water without
holding to the sides. The force of the water would surely plunge him back to the ground.
But Petruss head emerged there at the top, and the falling water became his silver mantle.
I saw him for just an instant because, with a rapid motion, he threw his body upward and
secured himself somehow on top of the plateau, still immersed in the stream of water.
Then, I lost sight of him for some moments.

Finally, Petrus appeared on the bank. He was bathed in moisture, brilliant in the
sunlight, and laughing.

Lets go, he yelled, waving his hands. Its your turn.

It really was my turn. Either I did it, or I forever renounced my sword.

I took all of my clothes off and prayed again to the Virgin of the Road. Then I dived into
the lagoon. It was freezing, and my body went rigid with its impact; but I then felt a
pleasant sensation, a sensation of being really alive. Without thinking about it, I went
straight to the waterfall.