Part 3 (1/2)

”That's right. But at least they don't seem to want to detain us. They could have done that anytime after daylight. They just want to know where we are going for some reason.”

I looked Wil in the eyes. ”You think it's the Doc.u.ment they're interested in?”

He nodded. ”Looks that way.”

For the rest of the day, we didn't talk much. I periodically felt anxious about our safety, but each time I managed to shrug it off and recover my waiting-for-Synchronicity att.i.tude. At this point, I felt there was no alternative to pursuing this Doc.u.ment, at least for a while longer. The only effect I saw on Wil was that he became hypervigilant about finding clean food.

”You getting poisoned,” he said to me, ”was a reminder.”

Every time we stopped for gas, he'd ask for the location of organic food stores and farmer's markets, and we were able to shop at several. At each mealtime, we'd exit at a truck stop and fire up the lightweight propane cooker Wil carried in his pack. In fifteen minutes we'd have enough steamed vegetables for a great, nutritious meal. After twenty-four hours of this, I felt incredibly energized and clear thinking. I could even see with greater acuity.

By nightfall we were in Albuquerque, where we eased into an enclosed garage owned by a friend of Wil's and had the vehicle and all our belongings scanned for surveillance devices. Everything was clean. Afterward, we spent the night at a small hotel nearby, which we paid for in cash, and rose early the next morning to drive to Arizona.

At midday, we began to notice the vehicles again, and by midafternoon, we took the exit to Sedona, driving right by one of the SUVs sitting in plain sight.

”They want us to see them,” Wil commented.

”Who are these people?” I asked.

”I don't know. But you can bet that sooner or later they're going to tell us.”

I just shook my head and tried to focus on the red rock hills we were driving through. Entering the Sedona area was always a reminder that some places are pure power spots. If you're clear enough to sense it, driving through the little town of Oak Creek, and then up into Sedona proper, is a journey into a higher world.

It feels like pure aliveness and clarity, and as you gaze out at the spectacular hills and formations surrounding the small town, you immediately feel a change in your perception. Everything around you stands out more, and the Synchronicity literally explodes in frequency, just by virtue of being in this place.

We drove slowly along the main street leading uptown, looking around at the people on the sidewalks. There seemed to be a lot of tourists and locals, and judging from their dress and demeanor, people from out of town who weren't tourists. They looked like serious trekkers who, like us, were looking for something. For a while we cruised around uptown seeing what might happen, and for a moment, I felt as though I was about to run into someone of importance. Yet nothing occurred.

Since our food had run out, I suggested we drive west toward the sinking sun and stop at the New Frontier Grocery for a salad. When we arrived, instead of parking, Wil just let me out, telling me he wanted to go look for some Hopi friends of his who lived in the area. I went in and ordered my salad and one for Wil to go, then sat down at a table in the corner to eat.

I had almost finished when someone caught my eye at the door-it was Coleman. He hadn't indicated he was coming to Sedona when we talked at the truck stop. But here he was, walking straight over to me, like a man on a mission.

”I saw you come in,” he said, pulling some loose papers out of his briefcase. ”Have you seen this? It's part of the Doc.u.ment you've been talking about.”

I quickly looked it over, and indeed it was the same pa.s.sages about the Second Integration I'd read earlier, but it included ten more pages I hadn't seen before.

”Where did you get this?”

He shook his head and smiled in amazement. ”I hadn't been here ten minutes last night when I ran into your lady, Rachel.”

”She's not my lady,” I protested.

”It was just a manner of speaking. Anyway, we're staying at the same hotel. Then later, I came down to the lobby to get a cup of coffee and overheard two people talking. When I got closer, I realized they were talking about this Doc.u.ment.

”I walked up and introduced myself, and it turns out they are scientists. Do you believe that? And they were discussing the very question you posed earlier: how real scientists could study the topic of spirituality. And that's not all. They had the first and second parts of the Doc.u.ment with them and were relating it to an old Prophecy that became known years ago.”

He laughed out loud. ”You think my mind was blown or what? The more I talked to these guys, the more we found we had in common. We all took to one another immediately and wound up talking half the night. And guess what? Early this morning, we hiked out into the desert, and I got it! I understand that Synchronicity is real, and how to sustain it, and that we're waking up to systematically explore our spiritual nature again. They gave me a copy of the Second Integration. I wasn't surprised when I saw you again.”

He was full of energy, talking ninety miles an hour about having all this Synchronicity. I chuckled. This was the typical Sedona effect that everyone talks about.

”Go ahead,” he said. ”Read it.”

I started where I had left off with Wil's copy, finding that it continued on the same point, emphasizing the importance of Conscious Conversation for bringing in a new consensus about spiritual experience.

”Do you see what this is saying?” he interrupted. ”It's not using the precise words, but my new scientist friends and I agree. It calls for applying the scientific method to our individual search for spiritual truth. Everything it says to do is what good scientists do already.

”This process has yielded all the basic laws of physical reality, from Thales to Newton to Einstein, and I see now how it can be applied to the inner experience of spirituality. For instance, consider the phenomenon of Synchronicity. Because it feels the same for everyone, we can discuss it and compare notes and reach consensus about how it works.”

I was just listening, not believing I was talking to the same person. Even the basic expressions on his face were different. Instead of continuing to frown and debunk spirituality, he had experienced something he couldn't explain from his old point of view, and had snapped awake, just that quickly.

”Listen,” he said. ”I owe my interest in all this to you. If I hadn't said something to you at the Pub, or if you hadn't asked how Science might investigate Synchronicity and spirituality, I might never have seen the truth of it. I wasn't even intending to come to Sedona until I talked to you at the gas station.”

He smiled at me, then continued. ”You know, I haven't been very successful as a scientist. I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I was fired from MIT because of my opposition to commercial interests buying particular outcomes of studies. But the idea of engaging in a method of inquiry that's honest and dedicated to truth, that's what I've always been about. You've really had an influence on me.”

Influence, I thought, that word again.

He nodded toward the pages I was still holding. ”And this last part, it fits exactly with something I've been fascinated with for a long time, as though that part of my life was preparing me for all this.”

I gave him a puzzled look.

”The Doc.u.ment speaks,” he said, ”of something Immanuel Kant advocated centuries ago with his idea of a categorical imperative.”

I nodded. I knew a little bit about Kant. He was the father of a philosophy called phenomenology, which essentially called for thinkers to suspend their ordinary way of looking at a given phenomenon in nature in order to see it in a fresh way. In fact, I'd used his term bracketing a.s.sumptions with Coleman earlier. I'd even heard of the imperative idea-living and conducting yourself as if other people would be compelled to live and believe the exact same way as you-because, said Kant, that is the exact influence we actually have on them.

”Does the Doc.u.ment talk about all this?” I asked.

”No, not in Kant's terms,” he replied. ”But it's saying the same thing. Everyone has to not only be honest but tentative in their beliefs before making great proclamations, otherwise we can be pulling others in the wrong direction, just by this mysterious influence we have on them. The Doc.u.ment says that we have to come to grips with the fact that our personal reality is contagious.”

He paused and looked at me. ”It says each of us must first and foremost 'prove to ourselves' that our conclusions about spirituality actually work before we pa.s.s them along as truth. And because we are adding spiritual knowledge to our secular reality, we should use 'logic first' as we proceed.”

He leaned closer to me and hushed his voice. ”You know there are a lot of screwball ideas floating around here in Sedona.”

I laughed. He was right, of course, and some of these crazy ideas were being pushed by outright charlatans, out just to make money. But, as Coleman was learning, the effect of the place itself, the hills and streams and overall beauty, was as genuine as the light of day.

”It also says,” Coleman continued, ”that when we feel convinced inside that our spiritual experiences are real, then we must live them fully and openly and tell everyone about them, because if there really is an influence-and I believe there is-then it helps everyone get to a higher level of experience faster.”

He was suddenly on his feet. ”Keep this translation,” he said. ”I made copies.”

”Hold on,” I said. ”How do you think this conscious way of consensus making is going to unfold?”

”It will come together like any other scientific consensus. First, there will be ever-larger areas of agreement, as common experiences are discussed and found to be the same for everyone. Then these will coalesce into still larger principles, as with Newton's and Einstein's theories about the secular world. Eventually, we'll arrive at certain laws governing the whole thing: the basic, natural laws of spirituality.”

Without saying anything else, he scribbled his cell phone number on the top page of the Doc.u.ment, gave me a wink, and bounded out the door.

When Wil picked me up, I was stretched out on a bench near a grove of fragrant junipers, enjoying the first pink streaks of sunset. As I climbed into the Cruiser, the sun sank below some thin clouds near the horizon line, turning into a red blaze that now colored the clouds with streaks of orange and dark amber.

The beauty of the moment was striking. Everything around us-the sculptured peaks of the surrounding hills, the small businesses across the street, and every cloud in the sky-was cast in a pleasant golden aura. People were stopping on the sidewalks and pulling their cars to the side of the road just to watch.