I was in a book store in Oregon, about to embark on a journey across land and sea, when a book fell off the shelf and dropped to my feet. I looked around to see if someone had pushed it - the shelves were the old school library kind, where books were backed up against each other on metal shelves between narrow aisles. But no one was there. I was 23 and a little jumpy. I bent down to pick up the green book and read its unsuspecting, all-text cover. "The Celestine Prophesy," it read. Hmm, prophesy, I thought, that's cool. But what's a Celestine Prophesy? So, I flipped it over and read the summary of a man on a journey to find an ancient manuscript. It felt somehow connected to the journey I was embarking on. I wasn't headed to South America, but it didn't matter, I had been delving into the depths of myself with my first metaphysical teacher for a year and was ready to dive further. I was headed to Scotland, and it was cold and dark and raining there. Perfect...
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