Alone on the Road

(It’s a story about life. It has been originally written by Paulo Coelho in his book ‘Like the Flowing River’. I have made minute changes.)

Life is like a great bicycle race, whose aim is to fulfill our personal legend, which, according to the ancient alchemists, is our true mission on the earth.

We all set off together; sharing friendship & enthusiasm; but as the race progresses; we come about the real challenges: tiredness, boredom, doubts about our own capabilities. We notice that a few friends, in their hearts, have already given up. They are still cycling only because they can’t stop in the middle of the road. There are more & more of them, pedaling along with support vehicle- also known as the “routine”- talking amongst themselves, fulfilling their obligations, but oblivious to the beauties & challenges of the road.

We eventually leave them behind us, then coming face to face to the loneliness & unfamiliar bends of the road, and mechanical problems with our bicycle. After a few falls, realizing no one at hand to help, we begin to ask ourselves, if it’s really worth all the effort.

Yes, it is. It’s a question of not giving up. Father Allen Jones says that in order to overcome these obstacles we need four invisible forces with ourselves: love, death, power & time.

We must love others because we ourselves are loved by God.

We must have an awareness of death in order to fully understand life.

We must struggle in order to grow, but without allowing to be deceived by the power that is gained through that struggle, because we know that such power is worthless.

Finally, we must accept that despite our soul being eternal, is at this moment caught in the web of time, with all its opportunities & limitations.

Therefore, on our solitary bicycle race, we must behave as if time existed & do everything to value each second of our time, to rest whenever necessary, but to keep cycling towards the divine light, and not to put off by any moments of anxiety.

These four forces can’t be treated as problems to be solved, because they are beyond anyone’s limits. Therefore, we must accept them & let them teach us, what we need to learn.

We live in a universe that is at once vast enough to enclose us but at the same time small enough to fit in our hearts! In the soul of human is the soul of the world, the silence of wisdom. As we pedal towards our goals, we must ask ourselves” What is beautiful about today? ” The sun may be shining, but if it happens to be raining, always remember that the dark clouds will soon have disappeared. The clouds may disappear but the sun remains the same, and never goes away. In moments of loneliness, we must remember this.

When things get hard, let us not forget that- independent of race, color, social situation, belief or culture- everyone has experienced the same. A lovely prayer written by the Egyptian Sufi master Dhu ‘l-Nun (A.D. 861) neatly sums up the attitude one needs to adopt at such times:

O God, when I listen to voices of animals, to the sounds of the trees, the murmur of water, the singing of birds, to the rushing of the wind or to the rumble of thunder, I see in them the evidence of Your Unity; I feel that supreme power , supreme wisdom, supreme knowledge, supreme justice.

O God, I also recognize you in the difficulties I am experiencing now. God, let your satisfaction be my satisfaction, and let me be Your joy, the joy that a father takes in his child. And let me remember you with calmness & determination even when it is hard to say- I love you.

A story about true love

The Sun Will Rise Again

(It’s a story about a girl who has been abandoned by her lover. She wanders in the hill stations of the Himalayas. She has no purpose in life & hence she wants to commit suicide. She finally comes across an event which changes the true meaning of love for her & she obtains a goal for her life. )

Originally written by: Kundnika Kapdia (A well-known Gujarati novelist)

Translated by: myself (Forgive me if there happens to be any grammatical mistakes!)

After travelling a lot I finally reached at the valley of “Kulu”, which is known by “The valley of Gods” by the people. The landscape is beautiful here which is surrounded by snowcapped mountains. If it would have been some other time, then I would have enjoyed its beauty & I might have absorbed some of its beauty in my own self. But at this time I didn’t have those eyes with the help of which I could see this ocean of beauty nor did I have that heart in which I can put the images of those sparkling mountains. I arrived here by chance in the voyage started in order to forget my pains. And I knew that I would wander here for more & more in order to reach at that rigid & frozen island beyond these mountains & valleys, but still I knew that those feeling pain would come along with me wherever I went.

I used to wander just without any purpose. I didn’t have any destination, nor any goals to be fulfilled. Yet, I used to sit in the bus asking about one ticket to “Jogendarnagar” or “Mandi”. But I wouldn’t have any clue about what to do after reaching at “Jogendarnagar”. There is a good facility of government guesthouse at the valley of “Kangda-Kulu”. If you go there in off season then you don’t have to reserve in advance and food is also cheap. So I never faced any problem regarding food or housing. Really speaking, my consciousness about my physique was decreasing day by day. I didn’t have any attention towards my sleep, my food & how much I walked. I started thinking of death frequently. It is better to die if you don’t have anyone to love you. If you are a woman & if you have loved someone & if your loved one has broken your faith, then the first idea which comes to your mind if of death. I prayed day & night for death but I didn’t have that courage. I used to watch the waters of the Biyas(a river near Kulu valley in the Himalayas) speeding nearby, but I didn’t like the thought of drowning in it. I, the lover of open sky & air can’t die of suffocation.

Then I had another option- to think of accident in the bus I was travelling in. But in the bus, there were passengers who were fresh in their lives & they had family members to wait for their arrival at their homes & hence there was no need to die for themselves unlike myself. Moreover broken legs, body immersed in blood were not my cup of tea, might be because of some hidden desire of beauty inside myself. I did wish death, but under the open sky & in the pond of night & watching the clusters of stars & sailing in a little boat. Even though sun rises the next day, my closed eyes won’t open ever again.

Then sometimes I thought that these all were just the excuses of escaping from death! There had to be some desire inside my heart for life. Some residue might have left even after an intense fire. In this large earthquake, a small house of wish must have survived. Otherwise at that day of disaster, my heart must have stopped.

I used to laugh over myself sometimes. I thought that I was drowning in the flow of illusion & just after sometime my eyes would open & I would find that these all were dreams only & at that time I would be in the garden of mine along with the person I loved. But every morning when my eyes opened I saw the same jungle of “Cheed”(name of a tree) & the same high mountains & I realized that what I thought of illusion was the only reality.

I remained in a guesthouse in “Jogendarnagar”. I arrived there at dusk & the sentry opened room no.8 for me. And in order to give consolation he said that some days ago a foreigner madam came alone & rested in this room only. I arranged my luggage & washed my face. Then I told sentry to bring tea & toast & came out in verandah.

There was a small garden & flowers of Florex were blooming. Suddenly my concentration was distracted by a foreigner man reading something on the left wing from the guesthouse at some height. I was surprised by watching that the man was wearing a dress made up of cotton reminding me of Mahatma Gandhi who changed the fate of India by his weapons non-violence & truth. When I once again saw at his face- I could make up that this man was living in great deepness. The face was very simple. Have you ever seen the pictures of male made by Amruta Shergil? There was an element of mystery in all of her male pictures. I can’t say that they were great in the field of drawing. I also didn’t have much knowledge about art. But I have always been attracted by that element of mystery.

And now here, far away from my native place, in a cold town’s guesthouse, in the cold breeze flowing at the time of dusk, I could see a face of a known person which was unknown to me.

I wanted to go near him & talk with him. At the same moment I thought that if I didn’t go there then the feeling of remorse would remain forever in my mind. But, somehow I didn’t raise my legs to go there. I returned to my room & started thinking of this weird emotion. The servant had brought tea & toast. I ate & started wondering once again. I wished that I would have more courage the next day morning when the sun would rise again. I might talk with him at that time.

For the first time in my life, I thought of Amruta Shergil, instead of suicide & death.

The next day when the sentry came, I asked him about the foreigner. He replied that that man had departed this morning only. I wanted to ask “where?” but thought that it was meaningless. I had only one direction which lead me to death straightly without any turning footpaths.

I went to Mandi from Jogendarnagar & to Kulu from Mandi. If you might had been there then you must be knowing the thrill of travel on the bank of Biyas. I felt a sense of courage while sitting in a bus speeding near the bank of Biyas. Many buses went on that route & the drivers were very experienced. But, when you travel on this for the first time, you may not have that much of faith in your driver. You can just experience the proximity about the death & finally the wall separating us from the death would break down. Whatever it might be, but you must travel on this way to enjoy the beauty of Biyas & to have a new facet being added to your personality.

Kulu is a very wonderful village, very peaceful & picturesque. You would find very tall pine trees standing at the border of big grounds.

I had decided to stay for three days in Kulu; but I didn’t know where to go after it-may be Naggar or Manali or Koti- but no specific idea. I was determined to leave Kulu at the fourth day.

An unprecedented event happened at the evening of third day.

After returning from the forest of pine trees, I was strolling in grassland. The sun was about to set, the snowy peaks were reflecting orange rays from the last sunlight. The trees were dancing in the wind & the air was awesome. Suddenly I saw a multitude, gathered at the end of grassland, near the main road. The life of mountains is monotonous. The people would gather hastily even a small incident might have occurred! I too peeped into the site to see what had happened & I was startled by seeing a woman of nearly fifty years. Her cloth was torn from many places & blood was coming out of bruises. That foreigner, which I saw in Jogendarnagar, was standing near her head. He spoke to me as soon as he saw me ”Oh, you! It was good that you came here. Would you give me support? I had to admit this woman to the hospital.”

We, both, together lifted the woman. The foreigner said ,“You are very healthy! You can lift very easily….”

The woman was half-conscious. I thought that she might be mad. The people from the multitude saw us passing by, but none came to help.

While walking, the foreigner said,” The woman is somewhat insane. Today, a boy threw a stone at him & she ran to beat in anger. Then people gathered & beated the woman so much so that…… ” The foreigner continued,” I remembered that tale of a woman being forcibly taken to the Jesus Christ while people were throwing stones at her. Christ said that the human who had never committed any sin in her/his life would throw the first stone. Today, so many humans were there in the multitude. But was there even a single man which didn’t have even a single bit of insanity?”

We admitted the woman in the infirmary. It seemed that the foreigner was knowing the doctors. The doctors talked with him very respectfully. He laid the woman in the bed heartily & placed a bed-sheet over her body very compassionately. He told the doctor to take care of her & not to worry about the money.

Finally after finishing some formalities about the case, when we moved out of the hospital, night had fallen. The moon was shining brightly & was spreading its moonlight over open grounds, houses & pine trees.

We both walked without uttering a single word for some time.

“Where do you want to go?” He asked me in a low voice.

“Tourist house. And what about you?” I asked.

“I am in guest house. But every night, before going there, I go to the bank of Biyas. I sit there for sometime.” Then he paused.

“Would you come with me? I would like if you can.” He asked me modestly.

I didn’t reply. I walked with him without saying anything. After some time I told him that I had seen him in Jogendarnagar.

He smiled lightly. He said that he had also seen me. He told that he realized at once after watching my face that my sun had set very early! He continued that when he saw me observing the flowers Florex & touching the air, he understood that even after a great pain if a person showed interest in flowers & in mountains & in breeze, then there remained some hope for that person.

I just had looked at him occasionally so far. Now I looked at him intently. He was foreigner, but seemed a creature of India. He knew local language & was wearing a dress of this region. His face was long. He had compassion like that of Jesus on his face. I couldn’t think of his age. I understood that this man didn’t live in days & years but in his works & love. And that’s why he didn’t have any relation with age.

He must have felt surprised because I remained silent for a long time, but he didn’t say anything. Suddenly, startled by the silence growing between us, I asked him ,coming out of my thoughts ,”What do you do here?”

“I fill the empty places.”He replied smiling. He was spreading a very humble smile in each of his talks. There was some weird protection in his smile.

“What do you mean by filling empty places?”I questioned.

“Didn’t you see today? A woman wanted medical treatment & the hospital was somewhat far, and there was a gap between them. It was required to admit that woman in the hospital. It happens a lot- you have big N.G.O.s, big medical clinics & on the other side humans in need. But a gap lies between them. I fill that gap. I wander here & there. I do my best. I read & sometimes I write. ”

I too, was wandering here & there, but my life purposeless. That man had his own work, a work without having any boundaries of place, time & circumstances.

I blurted ,”Do you live lonely? ” But then I repented a lot after having asked such a foolish question. I had a very honest man in front of my eyes & yet I couldn’t come out my shell.

He answered, “No, I have some friends. They all do the same work as that of mine. One girl is also there. She was also broken just like you & wanted to commit suicide. But, today she is proud of her work. ”

We reached at the bank of Biyas, walking under the shadows of Devdar trees. A white edge of flowing water was sparkling in the moonlight & was having a meeting with a stone. I sat on a round stone & he stood nearby, watching the flowing waters of Biyas.

“Listen! Biyas (A river’s name) is saying!” He told & the deepness of his face became deeper.

Biyas is saying! I used to think that Biyas speaks a soundless symphony, but today I realized that Biyas indeed used to speak.She(Biyas) has different voices for different stones, which only a stone can understand. Their seems to be ‘dialogue’ going on between the water & the stone.

“Everything speaks, if you can hear.”He said,”Earth, trees, flowers, air, sky-everything speaks. ”He paused for a moment or so and resumed,” I don’t say these in the language of literature. They really speak, just like you & me.”

I was reminded of my teacher’s words, ”Please listen…listen to everything around you ”. That time, the words seemed very beautiful, but I never realized its truthfulness. Now, I had a man, in front of me, who was talking with the waters Biyas!

“There is a role which can help you to develop a complete relationship. A very simple role. There are mediums beyond words. Have you ever loved anyone?” He enquired.

I was taken aback. Have I loved anyone? Yes –and that’s why I had come here in search of death. I loved & but never got love in return. Infinite colors passed through my face.

But his attention wasn’t at that side. His sight was hovering over the waters of Biyas. ”If you have loved, truly loved, then you must be knowing that there is a communication beyond words, a communication without any kind of mediums. The life itself, is a communication. It may be with one person or with many persons. It’s not a philosophy. This is a very simple fact.”

I suddenly interrupted, ”I don’t know about communication. Nobody loves me.”

“I love you! ”He uttered in a tender voice & said, ”I wish you to love me.”

“whom?” I asked in embarrassment.

“Someone or everyone! You may love that insane woman or her little child, who has now become alone. That child needs love. You may give it…… ”

Every bondage seemed to be breaking in just an instant. Walls collapsed, a flood came in the waters of Biyas. I realized that love is a thing to be given. If not to one person than a lot persons. To a human going to commit suicide or a child without parents or a woman whose husband has just demised.

I saw his face. A very soothing, peaceful face full of reliance. I told, ”I was understanding!”

“Listen, listen to the song of darkness, listen to the aroma of the pine trees, listen to the exhalation of the earth, listen to the emptiness of the sky!”He told having closed his eyes.

I tried to listen & listened an everlasting song of love!

“It is very late by now.”He told in a cold voice. ”The sun will rise after a short time.”

“Yes, the sun will rise again!”I replied.

The true potential of human being

The boy approached the guard at the front of the huge white tent at
the center of the oasis.
"I want to see the chieftains. I've brought omens from the desert."
Without responding, the guard entered the tent, where he remained
for some time. When he emerged, it was with a young Arab, dressed
in white and gold. The boy told the younger man what he had seen,
and the man asked him to wait there. He disappeared into the tent.
Night fell, and an assortment of fighting men and merchants entered
and exited the tent. One by one, the campfires were extinguished, and
the oasis fell as quiet as the desert. Only the lights in the great tent
remained. During all this time, the boy thought about Fatima, and he
was still unable to understand his last conversation with her.
Finally, after hours of waiting, the guard bade the boy enter. The boy
was astonished by what he saw inside. Never could he have imagined
that, there in the middle of the desert, there existed a tent like this
one. The ground was covered with the most beautiful carpets he had
ever walked upon, and from the top of the structure hung lamps of
hand-wrought gold, each with a lighted candle. The tribal chieftains
were seated at the back of the tent in a semicircle, resting upon richly
embroidered silk cushions. Servants came and went with silver trays
laden with spices and tea. Other servants maintained the fires in the
hookahs. The atmosphere was suffused with the sweet scent of smoke.
There were eight chieftains, but the boy could see immediately which
of them was the most important: an Arab dressed in white and gold,
seated at the center of the semicircle. At his side was the young Arab
the boy had spoken with earlier.
"Who is this stranger who speaks of omens?" asked one of the
chieftains, eyeing the boy.
"It is I," the boy answered. And he told what he had seen.
"Why would the desert reveal such things to a stranger, when it knows
that we have been here for generations?" said another of the
chieftains.
"Because my eyes are not yet accustomed to the desert," the boy said.
"I can see things that eyes habituated to the desert might not see."
And also because I know about the Soul of the World, he thought to
himself.
"The oasis is neutral ground. No one attacks an oasis," said a third
chieftain.
"I can only tell you what I saw. If you don't want to believe me, you
don't have to do anything about it."
The men fell into an animated discussion. They spoke in an Arabic
dialect that the boy didn't understand, but, when he made to leave,
the guard told him to stay. The boy became fearful; the omens told
him that something was wrong. He regretted having spoken to the
camel driver about what he had seen in the desert.
Suddenly, the elder at the center smiled almost imperceptibly, and the
boy felt better. The man hadn't participated in the discussion, and, in
fact, hadn't said a word up to that point. But the boy was already used
to the Language of the World, and he could feel the vibrations of peace
throughout the tent. Now his intuition was that he had been right in
coming.
The discussion ended. The chieftains were silent for a few moments as
they listened to what the old man was saying. Then he turned to the
boy: this time his _expression was cold and distant.
"Two thousand years ago, in a distant land, a man who believed in
dreams was thrown into a dungeon and then sold as a slave," the old
man said, now in the dialect the boy understood. "Our merchants
bought that man, and brought him to Egypt. All of us know that
whoever believes in dreams also knows how to interpret them."
The elder continued, "When the pharaoh dreamed of cows that were
thin and cows that were fat, this man I'm speaking of rescued Egypt
from famine. His name was Joseph. He, too, was a stranger in a
strange land, like you, and he was probably about your age."
He paused, and his eyes were still unfriendly.
"We always observe the Tradition. The Tradition saved Egypt from
famine in those days, and made the Egyptians the wealthiest of
peoples. The Tradition teaches men how to cross the desert, and how
their children should marry. The Tradition says that an oasis is neutral
territory, because both sides have oases, and so both are vulnerable."
No one said a word as the old man continued.
"But the Tradition also says that we should believe the messages of
the desert. Everything we know was taught to us by the desert."
The old man gave a signal, and everyone stood. The meeting was
over. The hookahs were extinguished, and the guards stood at
attention. The boy made ready to leave, but the old man spoke again:
"Tomorrow, we are going to break the agreement that says that no
one at the oasis may carry arms. Throughout the entire day we will be
on the lookout for our enemies. When the sun sets, the men will once
again surrender their arms to me. For every ten dead men among our
enemies, you will receive a piece of gold.
"But arms cannot be drawn unless they also go into battle. Arms are
as capricious as the desert, and, if they are not used, the next time
they might not function. If at least one of them hasn't been used by
the end of the day tomorrow, one will be used on you."
When the boy left the tent, the oasis was illuminated only by the light
of the full moon. He was twenty minutes from his tent, and began to
make his way there.
He was alarmed by what had happened. He had succeeded in reaching
through to the Soul of the World, and now the price for having done so
might be his life. It was a frightening bet. But he had been making
risky bets ever since the day he had sold his sheep to pursue his
Personal Legend. And, as the camel driver had said, to die tomorrow
was no worse than dying on any other day. Every day was there to be
lived or to mark one's departure from this world. Everything depended
on one word: "Maktub."
Walking along in the silence, he had no regrets. If he died tomorrow, it
would be because God was not willing to change the future. He would
at least have died after having crossed the strait, after having worked
in a crystal shop, and after having known the silence of the desert and
Fatima's eyes. He had lived every one of his days intensely since he
had left home so long ago. If he died tomorrow, he would already have
seen more than other shepherds, and he was proud of that.
Suddenly he heard a thundering sound, and he was thrown to the
ground by a wind such as he had never known. The area was swirling
in dust so intense that it hid the moon from view. Before him was an
enormous white horse, rearing over him with a frightening scream.
When the blinding dust had settled a bit, the boy trembled at what he
saw. Astride the animal was a horseman dressed completely in black,
with a falcon perched on his left shoulder. He wore a turban and his
entire face, except for his eyes, was covered with a black kerchief. He
appeared to be a messenger from the desert, but his presence was
much more powerful than that of a mere messenger.
The strange horseman drew an enormous, curved sword from a
scabbard mounted on his saddle. The steel of its blade glittered in the
light of the moon.
"Who dares to read the meaning of the flight of the hawks?" he
demanded, so loudly that his words seemed to echo through the fifty
thousand palm trees of Al-Fayoum.
"It is I who dared to do so," said the boy. He was reminded of the
image of Santiago Matamoros, mounted on his white horse, with the
infidels beneath his hooves. This man looked exactly the same, except
that now the roles were reversed.
"It is I who dared to do so," he repeated, and he lowered his head to
receive a blow from the sword. "Many lives will be saved, because I
was able to see through to the Soul of the World."
The sword didn't fall. Instead, the stranger lowered it slowly, until the
point touched the boy's forehead. It drew a droplet of blood.
The horseman was completely immobile, as was the boy.
It didn't even occur to the boy to flee. In his heart, he felt a strange
sense of joy: he was about to die in pursuit of his Personal Legend.
And for Fatima. The omens had been true, after all. Here he was, faceto-
face with his enemy, but there was no need to be concerned about
dying-the Soul of the World awaited him, and he would soon be a part
of it. And, tomorrow, his enemy would also be a part of that Soul.
The stranger continued to hold the sword at the boy's forehead. "Why
did you read the flight of the birds?"
"I read only what the birds wanted to tell me. They wanted to save the
oasis. Tomorrow all of you will die, because there are more men at the
oasis than you have."
The sword remained where it was. "Who are you to change what Allah
has willed?"
"Allah created the armies, and he also created the hawks. Allah taught
me the language of the birds. Everything has been written by the
same hand," the boy said, remembering the camel driver's words.
The stranger withdrew the sword from the boy's forehead, and the boy
felt immensely relieved. But he still couldn't flee.
"Be careful with your prognostications," said the stranger. "When
something is written, there is no way to change it."
"All I saw was an army," said the boy. "I didn't see the outcome of the
battle."
The stranger seemed satisfied with the answer. But he kept the sword
in his hand. "What is a stranger doing in a strange land?"
"I am following my Personal Legend. It's not something you would
understand."
The stranger placed his sword in its scabbard, and the boy relaxed.
"I had to test your courage," the stranger said. "Courage is the quality
most essential to understanding the Language of the World."
The boy was surprised. The stranger was speaking of things that very
few people knew about.
"You must not let up, even after having come so far," he continued.
"You must love the desert, but never trust it completely. Because the
desert tests all men: it challenges every step, and kills those who
become distracted."
What he said reminded the boy of the old king.
"If the warriors come here, and your head is still on your shoulders at
sunset, come and find me," said the stranger.
The same hand that had brandished the sword now held a whip. The
horse reaped again, raising a cloud of dust.
"Where do you live?" shouted the boy, as the horseman rode away.
The hand with the whip pointed to the south.
The boy had met the alchemist.
~~~~~~~~~
Next morning, there were two thousand armed men scattered
throughout the palm trees at Al-Fayoum. Before the sun had reached
its high point, five hundred tribesmen appeared on the horizon. The
mounted troops entered the oasis from the north; it appeared to be a
peaceful expedition, but they all carried arms hidden in their robes.
When they reached the white tent at the center of Al-Fayoum, they
withdrew their scimitars and rifles. And they attacked an empty tent.
The men of the oasis surrounded the horsemen from the desert and
within half an hour all but one of the intruders were dead. The children
had been kept at the other side of a grove of palm trees, and saw
nothing of what had happened. The women had remained in their
tents, praying for the safekeeping of their husbands, and saw nothing
of the battle, either. Were it not for the bodies there on the ground, it
would have appeared to be a normal day at the oasis.
The only tribesman spared was the commander of the battalion. That
afternoon, he was brought before the tribal chieftains, who asked him
why he had violated the Tradition. The commander said that his men
had been starving and thirsty, exhausted from many days of battle,
and had decided to take the oasis so as to be able to return to the
war.
The tribal chieftain said that he felt sorry for the tribesmen, but that
the Tradition was sacred. He condemned the commander to death
without honor. Rather than being killed by a blade or a bullet, he was
hanged from a dead palm tree, where his body twisted in the desert
wind.
The tribal chieftain called for the boy, and presented him with fifty
pieces of gold. He repeated his story about Joseph of Egypt, and asked
the boy to become the counselor of the oasis.
~~~~~~~~~
When the Sun had set, and the first stars made their appearance, the
boy started to walk to the south. He eventually sighted a single tent,
and a group of Arabs passing by told the boy that it was a place
inhabited by genies. But the boy sat down and waited.
Not until the moon was high did the alchemist ride into view. He
carried two dead hawks over his shoulder.
"I am here," the boy said.
"You shouldn't be here," the alchemist answered. "Or is it your
Personal Legend that brings you here?"
"With the wars between the tribes, it's impossible to cross the desert.
So I have come here."
The alchemist dismounted from his horse, and signaled that the boy
should enter the tent with him. It was a tent like many at the oasis.
The boy looked around for the ovens and other apparatus used in
alchemy, but saw none. There were only some books in a pile, a small
cooking stove, and the carpets, covered with mysterious designs.
"Sit down. We'll have something to drink and eat these hawks," said
the alchemist.
The boy suspected that they were the same hawks he had seen on the
day before, but he said nothing. The alchemist lighted the fire, and
soon a delicious aroma filled the tent. It was better than the scent of
the hookahs.
"Why did you want to see me?" the boy asked.
"Because of the omens," the alchemist answered. "The wind told me
you would be coming, and that you would need help."
"It's not I the wind spoke about. It's the other foreigner, the
Englishman. He's the one that's looking for you."
"He has other things to do first. But he's on the right track. He has
begun to try to understand the desert."
"And what about me?"
"When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to
help that person to realize his dream," said the alchemist, echoing the
words of the old king. The boy understood.

By: Paulo Coelho in "The Alchemist"

Pursuit of Happiness

You have to take risks, he said. We will only understand the miracle of life fully when we allow
the unexpected to happen.
Every day, God gives us the sun—and also one moment in which we have the ability to change
everything that makes us unhappy. Every day, we try to pretend that we haven't perceived that
moment, that it doesn't exist—that today is the same as yesterday and will be the same as
tomorrow. But if people really pay attention to their everyday lives, they will discover that magic
moment. It may arrive in the instant when we are doing something mundane, like putting our
front-door key in the lock; it may lie hidden in the quiet that follows the lunch hour or in the
thousand and one things that all seem the same to us. But that moment exists—a moment when all the power of the stars becomes a part of us and enables us to perform miracles.
Joy is sometimes a blessing, but it is often a conquest. Our magic moment helps us to change and
sends us off in search of our dreams. Yes, we are going to suffer, we will have difficult times, and
we will experience many disappointments—but all of this is transitory; it leaves no permanent
mark. And one day we will look back with pride andfaith at the journey we have taken.
Pitiful is the person who is afraid of taking risks. Perhaps this person will never be disappointed
or disillusioned; perhaps she won't suffer the way people do when they have a dream to follow.
But when that person looks back—and at some point everyone looks back—she will hear her
heart saying, "What have you done with the miracles that God planted in your days? What have
you done with the talents God bestowed on you? You buried yourself in a cave because you were
fearful of losing those talents. So this is your heritage: the certainty that you wasted your life"
Pitiful are the people who must realize this. Because when they are finally able to believe in
miracles, their life's magic moments will have already passed them by.

By : Paulo Coelho in "By the river Piedra I sat down & wept"

Childhood

Sometimes an uncontrollable feeling of sadness grips us,he said.We recognize that the magic
moment of the day has passed and that we've done nothing ahout it. Life begins to conceal its
magic and its art.
We have to listen to the child we once were, the child who still exists inside us. That child
understands magic moments. We can stifle its cries, but we cannot silence its voice.
The child we once were is still there. Blessed are the children, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
If we are not reborn—if we cannot learn to look at life with the innocence and the enthusiasm of
childhood—it makes no sense to go on living.
There are many ways to commit suicide. Those who try to kill the body violate God's law. Those
who try to kill the soul also violate God's law, even though their crime is less visible to others.
We have to pay attention to what the child in our heart tells us. We should not be embarrassed by
this child. We must not allow this child to be scared because the child is alone and is almost never
heard.
We must allow the child to take the reins of our lives. The child knows that each day is different
from every other day.
We have to allow it to feel loved again. We must please this child—even if this means that we act
in ways we are not used to, in ways that may seem foolish to others.
Remember that human wisdom is madness in the eyes of God. But if we listen to the child who
lives in our soul, our eyes will grow bright. If we do not lose contact with that child, we will not
lose contact with life.

By: Paulo Coelho in "By the river Piedra I sat down & wept"

Mystery of life

A man runs into an old friend who had somehow never been able to make it in life. "I should give
him some money," he thinks. But instead he learns that his old friend has grown rich and is
actually seeking him out to repay the debts he had run up over the years.
They go to a bar they used to frequent together, and the friend buys drinks for everyone there.
When they ask him how he became so successful, he answers that until only a jew days ago, he
had been living the role of the "Other."
"What is the Other?" they ask.
"The Other is the one who taught me what I should be like, but not what I am. The Other believes
that it is our obligation to spend our entire life thinking about how to get our hands on as much
money as possible so that we will not die of hunger when we are old. So we think so much about
money and our plans for acquiring it that we discover we are alive only when our days on earth
are practically done. And then it's too late."
"And you? Who are you?"
"I am just like everyone else who listens to their heart: a person who is enchanted by the mystery
of life. Who is open to miracles, who experiences joy and enthusiasm for what they do. It's just
that the Other, afraid of disappointment, kept me from taking action."
"But there is suffering in life," one of the listeners said.




By: Paulo Coelho in " By the river Piedra I sat down & wept "