The Pilgrimage (16 page)

Then, slowly raising myself up, I began a rebirth. I couldnt look behind me, and sound was
my only means of orientation. But just a while ago I had learned how to listen to the
world, as if Petrus had guessed that I was going to need this kind of knowledge. I felt
the weight of the cross and sensed that the stones were accommodating each other. The
cross rose bit by bit, as if to help me in this test. It was as if the cross, itself,
wanted to return to its position, framing that section of the Road to Santiago.

One final push was all that was needed. If I could get into a seated position, the trunk
of the cross would slide down my back into the hole. One or two of the stones had been
dislodged, but the cross was now help- ing me, since its foot remained in place where I
had built up the wall. Finally, a pull on my back indicated that the base was free. It was
the final moment, just as at the waterfall when I had had to fight my way through the
current: the most difficult moment, because it is then that we fear failure and want to
give up before it occurs. Once again I sensed how absurd the task was, trying to raise a
cross when all I really wanted to do was

find my sword. But none of these thoughts was impor- tant. With a sudden thrust, I raised
my back, and the cross slid into place. At that moment I recognized once again that fate
had been directing the work I had done.

I stood there expecting the cross to fall in the other direction, scattering the stones I
had placed. Then I thought that maybe my push had not been strong enough and that the
cross was going to fall back on top of me. But what I heard was the muffled sound of some-
thing hitting against the bottom of the hole.

I turned carefully. The cross was upright, and it was still trembling from the impact.
Some stones were rolling down their slope, but the cross was not going to fall. I quickly
put the stones back in place and embraced the cross so that it would stop wavering. I felt
alive and hot, certain that the cross had been my friend through- out all of my work. I
stepped away slowly, improving the placement of the stones with my feet.

I stood there admiring my work for a long time, until my wounds began to hurt. Petrus was
still asleep. I went over to him and nudged him with my foot.

He awoke with a start and looked at the cross.

Very good, was all that he said. In Ponferrada, we will change the bandages.

I would rather have lifted a tree. That cross on my back had me thinking that my search
for wisdom was going to be the death of me.

Looking at my surroundings, my words rang a bit hollow. The cross episode was already
history, as if it had happened a long time ago and not just the previous day. It had no
relation to the black marble bathroom, the warmth of the water in the hot tub, or the
crystal goblet of Rioja wine that I was enjoying. I could not see Petrus, who was in his
own bedroom in the luxury suite we had rented in a first-class hotel.

Why the cross? I insisted.

It wasnt easy to convince the man at the front desk that you werent a beggar, he yelled
from his room.

He was changing the subject, and I knew from expe- rience that it would do no good to
press the matter. I got up and put on trousers, a clean shirt, and fresh ban- dages. I had
removed the old ones very carefully, expect- ing to find open wounds, but the scabs had
only broken away from the skin slightly and allowed some blood to ooze out. A new scab had
already formed, and I was feeling restored and happy.

We had dinner at the hotel restaurant. Petrus asked for the specialty of the house a
Valencia paella which we ate in silence. After dinner, he suggested a walk.

We left the hotel and walked in the direction of the railroad station. He was in his
now-habitual laconic state and said nothing throughout our entire stroll. We came to a
train yard, filthy and smelling of oil, and he sat down on the steps of a gigantic
locomotive.

Lets stop here, he said.

I didnt want to get oil stains on my pants, so I decided to stand. I asked him if he
wouldnt prefer to walk to the main square of Ponferrada.

The Road to Santiago is about to end, said my guide, and since our reality is a lot more
similar to these railroad cars, stinking of oil, than to the bucolic retreats we have
encountered during our journey, it is better that todays conversation happen here.

Petrus told me to take off my sneakers and my shirt. Then he loosened the bandages on my
arms, leaving them freer to move. But he left those on my hands as they were.

Dont worry, he said. You are not going to need your hands for this, at least not to hold
anything.

He was more serious than usual, and his tone of voice surprised me. Something important
was about to happen.

Petrus sat down again on the steps of the locomotive and looked at me for a long time.
Then he said, I am

not going to say anything about yesterdays episode. You will discover for yourself what it
means, and this will happen only if someday you decide to walk the Road to Rome the Road
of the graces and miracles. I want to tell you just one thing: people who consider
themselves to be wise are often indecisive when command is called for and rebellious when
they are called upon to obey. They are ashamed to give orders and consider it dishon-
orable to receive them. Dont ever be that way.

In the room, you said that the path to wisdom leads to sacrifice. That is wrong. Your
learning period did not end yesterday: you still have to find your sword and learn its
secret. The RAM practices allow us to engage in the good fight and to have a better chance
at winning in life. The experience you had yesterday was only one of the tests along the
Road it was part of the preparation for the Road to Rome. It saddens me that you thought
that it might have been the death of you.

He really sounded saddened. I realized that through- out all the time we had spent
together, I had always expressed doubt regarding what he was teaching me. I was not a
strong, humble Castaneda receiving his teach- ings from Don Juan; I was an arrogant and
fractious man in my approach to the simple RAM practices. I wanted to say this to Petrus,
but I knew that it was too late.

Close your eyes, Petrus said. Do the RAM Breathing Exercise, and try to harmonize yourself
with this iron, this machinery, and this smell of oil. This is our world.

You should open your eyes only when I have completed teaching you an exercise.

I closed my eyes, concentrated on the RAM breath- ing, and felt my body begin to relax. I
could hear the noises of the city, some dogs barking in the distance, and the sound of
voices in argument not far from where we were. Suddenly, I began to hear Petruss voice
singing an Italian song recorded by Pepino Di Capri that had been a hit when I was a
teenager. I didnt understand the words, but the melody brought back happy memo- ries and
helped me to reach a state of tranquillity.

Some time ago, he began, when he had stopped singing, as I was working on a project that I
had to deliver to the mayors office in Milan, I received a mes- sage from my Master.
Someone had gone all the way to the end of the road of the Tradition and had not received
his sword. I was supposed to guide him along the Road to Santiago.

I was not surprised at this: I had been expecting such a summons at any time, because I
had not yet paid my dues. I had to guide a pilgrim along the Milky Way, just as I had once
been guided. But I was nervous because it was the first and only time that I would do
this, and I did not know how to carry out my mission.

Petruss words really surprised me. I thought that he had been a guide dozens of times.

You came here, and I guided you, he continued. I must confess that in the beginning it was
very hard,

because you were much more interested in the intellec- tual implications of the teachings
than in the true meaning of the Road the Road of the common people. After the encounter
with Alfonso, we developed a much stronger, more intense relationship, and I began to
believe that I would be able to teach you the secret of your sword. But this did not
happen, and now you will have to learn it for yourself during the little time you have
left.

This conversation was making me nervous, and I was losing my concentration on the RAM
Breathing Exercise. Petrus must have noticed, because he began to sing the song again and
stopped only when I was once again relaxed.

If you discover the secret and find your sword, you will also discover the face of RAM,
and you will have the power. But that is not all: in order to achieve total wisdom, you
will have to walk the other three Roads, including the secret one, and the secret Road
will not be revealed to you, even by someone who has walked it. I am telling you this
because we are going to see each other only one more time.

My heart stopped, and involuntarily, I opened my eyes. Petrus was glowing with the kind of
brilliance I had only seen around my Master.

Close your eyes! he barked, and I immediately obeyed. But I was very upset, and I could
not concen- trate anymore. My guide started to sing the Italian song again, and only after
a while was I able to relax.

Tomorrow you are going to receive a note telling you where I am. I will be at a group
initiation, a ritual of honor in the Tradition. It is a ritual in honor of all of the men
and women who, down through the centuries, have helped to keep alive the flame of wisdom,
of the good fight, and of agape. You will not be able to speak to me. The place where we
will meet is secret. It is bathed in the blood of all those who have walked the road of
the Tradition and who, even with their swords sharpened, were unable to brighten the
darkness. But their sacrifice was not in vain, and the proof that it was not is that,
centuries later, those who have walked dif- ferent roads will be there to pay them
tribute. This is important, and you should never forget it: even if you become a Master,
you have to realize that your road is only one of many that lead to God. Jesus once said,
In my Fathers house, there are many mansions.

Petrus repeated that after tomorrow, I would not see him again.

On some future day, you will receive a message from me, asking you to lead someone along
the Road to Santiago, just as I have led you. Then you will be able to experience the
great secret of the journey a secret that I am going to reveal to you now, but only
through words. It is a secret that has to be experienced to be under- stood.

There was a prolonged silence. I began to think that he had changed his mind or that he
had left the train yard. I felt an enormous desire to open my eyes to see

what was happening, but I forced myself to concentrate on the RAM breathing.

The secret is the following, Petrus said. You can learn only through teaching. We have
been together here on the Road to Santiago, but while you were learn- ing the practices, I
learned the meaning of them. In teaching you, I truly learned. By taking on the role of
guide, I was able to find my own true path.

If you succeed in finding your sword, you will have to teach the Road to someone else. And
only when that happens when you accept your role as a Master will you learn all the
answers you have in your heart. Each of us knows the answers, even before someone tells us
what they are. Life teaches us lessons every minute, and the secret is to accept that only
in our daily lives can we show ourselves to be as wise as Solomon and as power- ful as
Alexander the Great. But we become aware of this only when we are forced to teach others
and to partici- pate in adventures as extravagant as this one has been.

I was hearing the most unexpected farewell in my life. The person with whom I had had the
most intense bond was saying good-bye right there in midjourney in an oily- smelling
train yard, with me forced to keep my eyes closed.

I dont like saying good-bye, Petrus continued. I am Italian, and I am very emotional. But
according to the law of the Tradition, you must find your sword alone. This is the only
way that you will believe in your own power. I have passed on to you everything that I
have to give. The only thing left is the Dance Exercise, which I

am going to teach you now; you should perform it tomorrow at the ritual.

He was silent for a while, and then he spoke:

May that which is glorified be glorified in the Lord. You may open your eyes.

Petrus was still sitting on the locomotive. I did not want to say anything, because I am
Brazilian and also emotional. The mercury lamp providing us with light began to flutter,
and a train whistled in the distance, announcing its next stop.

It was then that Petrus taught me the Dance Exercise.

One more thing, he said, looking deeply into my eyes. When I completed my pilgrimage, I
painted a beautiful, immense picture that depicted everything that had happened to me
here. This is the Road of the common people, and you can do the same thing, if you like.
If you dont know how to paint, write something, or create a ballet. Then, regardless of
where they are, people will be able to walk the Jacobean route, the Milky Way, the Strange
Road to Santiago.

The train that had sounded its whistle began to enter the station. Petrus waved to me and
disappeared between the parked railroad cars. I stood there amid the noise of brakes
screeching on steel, trying to decipher the mysterious Milky Way over my head, those stars
that had guided me here and that had silently watched over the loneliness and destiny of
all human beings.

Next day, there was just a note left in my room: 7:00 p.m. CASTLE OF THE TEMPLARS.

Relax. Close your eyes. Recall the first songs you heard as a child. Begin

to sing them in your thoughts. Little by little, let a certain part of your body your
feet, your stomach, your hands, your head, and so on but only one part, begin to dance to
the melody you are singing.

After five minutes, stop singing, and listen to the sounds all around you. Compose an
internal melody based on them, and dance to it with your whole body. Dont think about
anything in particular, but try to memorize the images that spontaneously appear.

The dance offers an almost-perfect means of communication with the Infinite Intelligence.

This exercise should last fifteen minutes.

I spent the rest of that afternoon walking around the streets aimlessly. I crossed and
recrossed the small city of Ponferrada, looking from a distance at the castle on the hill
where I had been bidden to appear. The Templars had always stirred my imagination, and the
castle in Ponferrada was not the only mark made on the Jacobean route by their order. The
order had been cre- ated by nine knights who had decided not to return from the Crusades.
Within a short time, their power had spread throughout Europe, and they had caused a revo-
lution in the values at the beginning of this millen- nium. While most of the nobility of
the time was concerned only with enriching itself through the labor of the serfs, the
Knights Templar dedicated their lives, their fortunes, and their swords to one cause only:
the protection of the pilgrims that walked the Road to Jerusalem. In the behavior of the
Knights, the pilgrims found a model for their own search for wisdom.

In 1118, when Hugh de Payens and eight other knights held a meeting in the courtyard of an
old, aban- doned castle, they took a vow of love for all humanity. Two centuries later,
there were more than five thousand benefices spread throughout the known world; they rec-
onciled two activities that until then had appeared to be incompatible: the military life
and the religious one. Donations from the members and from grateful pil- grims allowed the
Order of the Knights Templars to accumulate incalculable wealth, which was used more than
once to ransom important Christians who had

been kidnapped by the Muslims. The honesty of the Knights was such that kings and nobles
entrusted their valuables to the Templars and traveled only with a doc- ument that
attested to the existence of their wealth. This document could be redeemed at any castle
of the Order of the Templars for an equivalent sum, giving rise to the letter of credit
that is used today.

Their spiritual devotion, in turn, had allowed the Knights Templars to understand the
great truth that Petrus had quoted the night before: that the house of the Lord has many
mansions. They sought to put an end to religious conflict and to unite the main
monotheistic religions of the time: Christian, Jewish, and Islamic. Their chapels were
built with the rounded cupola of the Judaic temples of Solomon, the octagonal walls of the
Arab mosques, and the naves that were typi- cal of Christian churches.

But as with everything that happens before its time, the Templars came to be viewed with
suspicion. The great kings sought to hold economic power, and reli- gious liberalism was
regarded as a threat to the Church. On Friday, October 13, 1307, the Vatican and the major
European states unleashed one of the most massive police operations of the Middle Ages:
during the night, the main leaders of the Templars were seized in their castles and thrown
in prison. They were accused of prac- ticing secret ceremonies, including the worship of
the devil, of blasphemy against Jesus Christ, of orgiastic rit- uals, and of engaging in
sodomy with their apprentices.

Following a violent sequence of torture, renunciation, and treason, the Order of the
Templars was erased from the map of medieval history. Their treasures were confis- cated,
and their members scattered throughout the world. The last master of the Order, Jacques de
Molay, was burned at the stake in the center of Paris, along with a fellow Knight. His
last request was that he be allowed to die looking at the towers of the Cathedral of Notre
Dame.

Spain, which was struggling to recapture the Iberian peninsula, welcomed the Knights
fleeing from other parts of Europe, and the Spanish kings sought their help in the battles
against the Moors. These Knights were absorbed into the Spanish orders, one of which was
the Order of San Tiago of the Sword, responsible for protec- tion along the Road.

I was thinking about this history when, exactly at seven in the evening, I passed through
the main gate of the old Castle of the Templars of Ponferrada, where I was scheduled for
an encounter with the Tradition.

There was no one there. I waited for half an hour and then began to fear the worst: that
the ritual must have been at 7:00 a.m. But just as I was deciding to leave, two boys
appeared, carrying the flag of Holland and with the scallop shell the symbol of the Road
to Santiago sewn to their clothing. They came up to me, and we exchanged some words,
concluding that we were there for the same purpose. I was relieved that the note had not
been wrong.

Every fifteen minutes someone else arrived. There were an Australian, five Spaniards, and
another man from Holland. Other than a few questions about the schedule about which
everyone was confused we did not talk at all. We all sat together in the same part of the
castle a ruined atrium that had served as a store- room for food in ancient times and we
decided to wait until something happened, even if we had to wait another day and night.

The waiting went on, and we fell to talking about the reasons we were there. It was then
that I learned that the Road to Santiago is used by a number of different orders, most of
them part of the Tradition. The people who were there had already been through many tests
and initiations of the kind that I had gone through long ago in Brazil. Only the
Australian and I were expecting to be conferred the highest degree of the first Road. Even
without knowing the details, I could see that the process the Australian had gone through
was com- pletely different from the RAM practices.

At about 8:45, as we were beginning to talk about our personal lives, a gong rang. We
followed the sound to the ancient chapel of the castle.

There we found an impressive scene. The chapel or what remained of it, since most of it
was in ruins was illuminated only by torches. Where there had once been an altar could be
seen seven figures garbed in the secu- lar costumes of the Templars: a hood and steel
helmet, a coat of mail, a sword, and a shield. I gasped: it was a

scene from the distant past. All that made the situation seem real were our own suits and
jeans and our shirts with the scallop shell emblem.

Even with the faint illumination provided by the torches, I could see that one of the
Knights was Petrus.

Approach your Masters, said the Knight who appeared to be the oldest. Look into the eyes
of your Master. Take off your clothes and receive your vestments.

I went to Petrus and looked deeply into his eyes. He was in a kind of trance and seemed
not to recognize me. But I could see in his eyes a certain sadness, the same sadness that
his voice had conveyed on the previous night. I took all of my clothes off, and Petrus
handed me a perfumed black tunic that fell loosely around my body. I surmised that one of
the Masters had more than one disciple, but I could not see which he was because of the
requirement that I keep my eyes fixed on those of Petrus.

The High Priest directed us to the center of the chapel, and two Knights began to trace a
circle around us as they chanted: Trinitas, Sother, Messias, Emmanuel, Sabahot, Adonai,
Athanatos, Jesus ...*

* Since this is an extremely long ritual and can be understood only by those who know the
road of the Tradition, I have opted to summarize the incantations used. But this does not
change the narrative at all, since this ritual was performed only to establish a reunion
with and respect for the ancients. The important ele- ment of this part of the Road to
Santiago the Dance Exercise is described here in its entirety.

The circle was being drawn to provide the protection needed for those within it. I noticed
that four of us had white tunics, signifying vows of total chastity.

Amides, Throdonias, Anitor! intoned the High Priest. By the grace of the angels. Lord, I
provide the vestment of salvation; I pray that everything I desire be transformed into
reality, through thee, O my sacred Adonai, whose kingdom is forever. Amen!

The High Priest placed over his coat of mail the white mantle with the Templars Cross
outlined in red in the center. The other Knights did the same.

It was exactly nine oclock, the hour of Mercury, the messenger. And there I was, once
again within the circle of the Tradition. There was an incense of mint, basil, and
benjamin burning in the chapel, and the grand invocation of the Knights began:

O great and glorious King, who rules through the power of the Supreme God, EL, over all
higher and lower spirits, but especially over the Infernal Order of the Dominion of the
East, I invoke you ... so that I may realize my wish, whatever that may be, so long as it
is proper to your labors, through the power of our God, EL, who created and provided all
things celestial, of the air, of the earth, and of the infernal realm.

A profound silence followed, and even without being able to see him, we could sense the
presence of the being who had been the object of the invocation. This was the consecration
of the ritual, a propitious sign that we should continue with our magical activities. I

had already participated in hundreds of similar cere- monies, at some of which the results
up to this point had been much more surprising. But the Castle of the Templars must have
stimulated my imagination a little, because I thought I saw, hovering in the corner of the
chapel, a kind of shining bird that I had never seen before.

The High Priest sprinkled water over us without stepping into the circle. Then, with the
sacred ink, he wrote in the earth the seventy-two names by which God is known within the
Tradition.

All of us pilgrims and Knights began to recite the sacred names. The flames of the
torches crackled, a sign that the spirit that had been invoked had surrendered.

The moment for the dance had arrived. I knew how to participate because Petrus had taught
me on the pre- vious day; it was a different dance from the one I was used to performing
at this stage during similar rituals.

No rule was stated, but all of us already knew what it was: no initiate could step outside
the protective circle, since we lacked the protection that the Knights had with their
suits of mail. I visualized the size of the circle and did exactly as Petrus had taught me.

I thought back to my infancy. A voice, the far-off voice of a woman within me, began to
sing a simple melody. I knelt and compressed myself into the seed position and felt that
my breast only my breast was beginning to dance. I felt at ease, able to enter
completely into the ritual of the Tradition. The music within me began to

change; my movements became more pronounced, and I entered into a powerful state of
ecstasy. Everything around me was darkened, and my body, surrounded by that darkness, felt
weightless. I saw myself walking through the flowered fields of Aghata, where I met my
grandmother and an uncle who had been important to me when I was a child. I felt the
vibration of time in its grid of quadrants, where all roads are joined and mixed, becoming
identical despite their being so different from each other. At one point, I saw the
Australian flash by me: his body was suffused in a red glow.

The image that followed was of a chalice and paten, and this image lasted for a long time,
as if it had a spe- cial importance for me. I tried to understand its signifi- cance, but
nothing came to me, despite my conviction that it had something to do with my sword. Then,
after the chalice and paten had vanished, I saw the face of RAM coming toward me out of
the darkness. But when the face came closer, it was only the face of N., the spirit that
had been invoked, who was well known to me. We did not establish any special kind of
communication, and his face dissolved into the darkness that was fluctu- ating around me.

I dont know how long we continued to dance. But suddenly I heard a voice:

YAHWEH, TETRAGRAMMATON ... and I didnt want to emerge from my trance, but the voice
insisted:

YAHWEH, TETRAGRAMMATON ... and I recog- nized the voice of the High Priest, calling upon

everyone to come out of the trance. It irritated me. The Tradition was where I was rooted,
and I did not want to come back. But the Master demanded it:

YAHWEH, TETRAGRAMMATON ...

I couldnt maintain the trance. Resentfully, I returned to earth. I was once again within
the magic circle there in the ancestral ambiance of the Castle of the Templars.

We pilgrims looked at each other. The sudden inter- ruption seemed to have displeased
everyone. I felt a strong urge to tell the Australian that I had seen him in my trance.
But when I looked over at him, I saw that it wasnt necessary: he had seen me, too.

The Knights came to us and surrounded us. They began to beat upon their shields with their
hands, making a noise that was deafening. Then the High Priest spoke:

O Spirit N., because thou so diligently responded to my requests, with all due solemnity I
allow thee to depart, without injury to man or beast. Go, I command thee, and be ready and
anxious to return whenever thou art duly exorcised and conjured by the sacred rites of the
Tradition. I conjure thee to go, peacefully and quietly, and may Gods peace continue ever
to be with thee and me. Amen.

The circle was erased, and we knelt with our heads bowed. A Knight said seven Paternosters
and seven Ave Marias with us. The High Priest added seven repetitions of the Apostles
Creed, stating that Our Lady of