The Tenth Insight: Holding the Vision Read Online Free PDF Page A

pool and waterfalls flashed across my mind. This
     time I tried to remember the entire picture. The pool I saw was large, almost an acre, and the water flowing into it came
     in from the rear, cascading down a series of steep terraces. Two smaller falls dropped only about fifteen feet, but the last
     dropped over a long, thirty-foot bluff into the water below. Again, in the image that came to mind, I seemed to be walking
     up to the scene, meeting someone.
    The sound of a vehicle to my left stopped me firmly in my tracks. I kneeled down behind several small bushes. From the forest
     on the left a gray Jeep moved across the meadow heading southeast. I knew that Forest Service policy prohibited privatevehicles this far into the wilderness, so I expected to see a Forest Service insignia on the Jeep’s door. To my surprise it
     was unmarked. When it was directly in front of me, fifty yards away, the vehicle stopped. Through the foliage I could make
     out a lone figure inside; he was surveying the area with field glasses, so I lay flat and hid myself completely. Who was he?
    The vehicle started up again and quickly vanished out of sight in the trees. I turned and sat down, listening again for the
     hum. Still nothing. I thought about returning to town, of finding another way to search for Charlene. But deep inside I knew
     there was no alternative. I shut my eyes, and thought again of David’s instruction to maintain my intuitions, and finally
     retrieved the full image of the pool and falls in my mind’s eye. As I got to my feet and headed again toward the crow tree,
     I tried to keep the details of the scene in the back of my mind.
    Suddenly I heard the shrill cry of another bird, this time a hawk. To my left, far past the tree, I could barely make out
     her shape; she was streaking hard toward the north. I increased my pace, trying to keep the bird in sight for as long as possible.
    The bird’s appearance seemed to increase my energy, and even after she had disappeared over the horizon, I kept moving in
     the direction she had been flying, walking for another mile and a half over a series of rocky foothills. At the top of the
     third hill, I froze again, hearing another sound in the distance, a sound much like water running. No, it was water
falling.
    Carefully I walked down the slope and through a deep gorge that evoked another experience of déjà vu. I climbed the next hill
     and there, beyond the crest, were the pool and falls, exactly as I had pictured them—except that the area was much larger
     and more beautiful than I had pictured. The pool itself was almost two acres, nestled in a cradle of enormous boulders and
     outcrop-pings, its crystal-clear water a sparkling blue under the afternoon sky. To the left and right of the pool were several large
     oak trees, themselves surrounded by a multicolored array of smaller maples and sweet gums and willows.
    The far edge of the pool was an explosion of white spray and mist, the foam accentuated by the churning action of the two
     smaller falls higher up the ridge. I realized there was no runoff from the pool. The water went underground from here, traveling
     silently to emerge as the source of the large spring near the crow tree.
    As I surveyed the beauty of this sight, the sense of déjà vu increased. The sounds, the colors, the scene from the hill—it
     all looked extremely familiar. I had been at this location too. But when?
    I moved down to the pool and then walked around the entire area, to the edge to taste the water, up the cascades to feel the
     spray from each of the falls, over atop the large boulders, where I could touch the trees. I wanted to immerse myself in the
     place. Finally I stretched out on one of the flatter rocks twenty feet above the pool and looked toward the afternoon sun
     with my eyes closed, feeling its rays against my face. In that moment another familiar sensation swept across my body—a particular
     warmth and regard I hadn’t sensed in