Like the Flowing River

by Paulo Coelho

  It is thanks to this law that the world has been manipulated in all kinds of ways by people who are not afraid of what others might say, and who often end up achieving their own evil ends. We have just been witness to a pointless war in Iraq, which continues to cost many lives; we see the great gap that exists between rich countries and poor; everywhere we see social injustice, rampant violence, people forced to give up their dreams because of unwarranted and cowardly attacks. Before starting the Second World War, Hitler signalled his intentions in various ways, and what made him continue with his plans regardless was the knowledge that no one would dare to challenge him - because of the Law of Jante.

  Mediocrity can be very comfortable until, one day, tragedy knocks on the door, and then people wonder: 'But why didn't anyone say anything, when everyone could see this was going to happen?'

  Simple: no one said anything because they didn't say anything either.

  Therefore, in order to prevent things from getting even worse, perhaps it is time that an Anti-Law of Jante was written: 'You are worth much more than you think. Your work and your presence on this earth are important, even though you may not believe it. Of course, such ideas could land you in a lot of trouble for breaking the Law of Jante, but don't be intimidated. Continue to live without fear, and you will triumph in the end.'

  The Old Lady in Copacabana

  She was standing in the pedestrian precinct on Avenida Atlantica, with a guitar and a handwritten notice: 'Let's sing together.'

  She started playing on her own. Then a drunk arrived and another old lady, and they started singing with her. Soon a small crowd was singing, and another small crowd provided the audience, applauding at the end of each song.

  'Why do you do this?' I asked her, between songs.

  'So as not to be alone,' she said. 'My life is very lonely, as it is for nearly all old people.'

  If only everyone solved their problems like that.

  Remaining Open to Love

  There are times when we long to be able to help someone whom we love very much, but we can do nothing. Circumstances will not allow us to approach them, or the person is closed off to any gesture of solidarity and support.

  Then all we are left with is love. At such times, when we can do nothing else, we can still love - without expecting any reward or change or gratitude.

  If we do this, the energy of love will begin to transform the universe about us. Wherever this energy appears, it always achieves its ends. 'Time does not transform man. Will-power does not transform man. Love transforms,' says Henry Drummond.

  I read in the newspaper about a little girl in Brasilia who was brutally beaten by her parents. As a result, she lost all physical movement, as well as the ability to speak.

  Once admitted to hospital, she was cared for by a nurse who said to her every day: 'I love you.' Although the doctors assured her that the child could not hear and that all her efforts were in vain, the nurse continued to say: 'Don't forget, I love you.'

  Three weeks later, the child recovered the power of movement. Four weeks later, she could again talk and smile. The nurse never gave any interviews, and the newspaper did not publish her name, but let me set this down here, so that we never forget: love cures.

  Love transforms and love cures; but, sometimes, love builds deadly traps and can end up destroying a person who had resolved to give him or herself completely. What is this complex feeling which, deep down, is the only reason we continue to live, struggle and improve?

  It would be irresponsible of me to attempt to define it, because I, along with every other human being, can only feel it. Thousands of books have been written on the subject, plays have been put on, films produced, poems composed, sculptures carved out of wood or marble; and yet all any artist can convey is the idea of a feeling, not the feeling itself.

  But I have learned that this feeling is present in the small things, and manifests itself in the most insignificant of our actions. It is necessary, therefore, to keep love always in mind, regardless of whether or not we take action.

  Picking up the phone and saying the affectionate words we have been postponing. Opening the door to someone who needs our help. Accepting a job. Leaving a job. Taking a decision that we were putting off for later. Asking forgiveness for a mistake we made and which keeps niggling at us. Demanding a right that is ours. Opening an account at the local florist's, which is a far more important shop than the jeweller's. Putting music on really loud when the person you love is far away, and turning the volume down when he or she is near. Knowing when to say 'yes' and 'no', because love works with all our energies. Discovering a sport that can be played by two. Not following any recipe, not even those contained in this paragraph, because love requires creativity.

  And when none of this is possible, when all that remains is loneliness, then remember this story that a reader once sent to me.

  A rose dreamed day and night about bees, but no bee ever landed on her petals.

  The flower, however, continued to dream. During the long nights, she imagined a heaven full of bees, which flew down to bestow fond kisses on her. By doing this, she was able to last until the next day, when she opened again to the light of the sun.

  One night, the moon, who knew of the rose's loneliness, asked: 'Aren't you tired of waiting?'

  'Possibly, but I have to keep trying.'

  'Why?'

  'Because if I don't remain open, I will simply fade away.'

  At times, when loneliness seems to crush all beauty, the only way to resist is to remain open.

  Believing in the Impossible

  William Blake said: 'What is now proved was once only imagined.' And because of this we have the airplane, space flights, and the computer on which I am writing this. In Lewis Carroll's masterpiece Alice Through the Looking Glass, there is a dialogue between Alice and the White Queen, who has just said something utterly unbelievable.

  'I can't believe that!' said Alice.

  'Can't you?' the Queen said in a pitying tone. 'Try again:

  draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.'

  Alice laughed. 'There's no use trying,' she said: 'one

  can't believe impossible things.'

  'I daresay you haven't had much practice,' said the

  Queen. 'When I was your age, I always did it for half-an—

  hour a day. Why, sometimes, I've believed as many as six

  impossible things before breakfast.'

  Life is constantly telling us: 'Believe!' Believing that a miracle could happen at any moment is necessary for our happiness, but also for our protection and to justify our existence. In today's world, many people think it is impossible to do away with poverty, to bring about a just society, and to lessen the religious tension that appears to be growing with each day.

  Most people avoid the struggle for the most diverse of reasons: conformism, age, a sense of the ridiculous, a feeling of impotence. We see our fellow human beings being treated unjustly and we say nothing. 'I'm not going to get involved in fights unnecessarily' is the excuse given.

  This is the attitude of the coward. Anyone travelling a spiritual path carries with him a code of honour that must be obeyed. A voice crying out against wrongdoing is always heard by God.

  Even so, sometimes we hear the following remark: 'I live my life believing in dreams, and I often do my best to combat injustice, but I always end up disappointed.'

  A warrior of light knows that certain impossible battles nevertheless deserve to be fought, which is why he is not afraid of disappointments, for he knows the power of his sword and the strength of his love. He vehemently rejects those who are incapable of taking decisions and are always trying to shift responsibility for all the bad things that happen in the world onto someone else.

  If he does not struggle against what is wrong - even if it seems beyond his strength - he will never find the right road.

  Arash Hejazi once sent me the following note: 'Today, I got caught in a heavy shower while walking alon
g the street. Fortunately, I had my umbrella and my rain-cape; however, both were in the boot of my car, which was parked some way away. While I was running to get them, I thought about the strange signal I was receiving from God: we always have the necessary resources to face the storms that life throws at us, but most of the time, those resources are locked up in the depths of our heart, and we waste an enormous amount of time trying to find them. By the time we've found them, we have already been defeated by adversity.'

  Let us, therefore, always be prepared; otherwise, we either miss an opportunity or lose the battle.

  The Storm Approaches

  I know that a storm is coming because I can look far into the distance and see what is happening on the horizon. Of course, the light helps - the sun is setting, and that always emphasizes the shapes of the clouds. I can see flickers of lightning, too.

  There is not a sound to be heard. The wind is blowing neither more nor less strongly than before, but I know there is going to be a storm because I am used to studying the horizon.

  I stop walking. There is nothing more exciting or more terrifying than watching a storm approach. My first thought is to seek shelter, but that could prove dangerous. A shelter can turn out to be a trap - soon the wind will start to blow and will be strong enough to tear off roof tiles, break branches and bring down electricity lines.

  I remember an old friend of mine who lived in Normandy as a child and who witnessed the Allied landing in Nazi-occupied France. I'll never forget his words: 'I woke up, and the horizon was full of warships. On the beach beside my house, the German soldiers were watching the same scene, but what terrified me most was the silence. The total silence that precedes a life-or-death struggle.'

  It is that same silence that surrounds me now, and which is gradually being replaced by the sound - very soft - of the breeze in the maize fields around me. The atmospheric pressure is changing. The storm is getting closer and closer, and the silence is beginning to give way to the gentle rustling of leaves.

  I have witnessed many storms in my life. Most storms have taken me by surprise, and so I've had to learn - and very quickly too - to look farther off, to understand that I cannot control the weather, to practise the art of patience, and to respect nature's fury. Things do not always happen the way I would have wanted, and it's best that I get used to that.

  Many years ago, I wrote a song that said: 'I lost my fear of the rain because when the rain falls to earth it always brings with it something of the air.' It's best to master my fear, to be worthy of the words I wrote, and to understand that, however bad the storm, it will eventually pass.

  The wind has begun to blow harder. I am in open countryside and there are trees on the horizon that, at least in theory, will attract the lightning. My skin is waterproof, even if my clothes get soaked. So it is best simply to enjoy what I'm seeing rather than go racing off in search of safety.

  Another half an hour passes. My grandfather, who was an engineer, liked to teach me the laws of physics while we were out having fun together: 'After a lightning flash, count the seconds before the next peal of thunder and multiply by 340 metres, which is the speed of sound. That way, you'll always know how far off the thunder is.' A little complicated, perhaps, but I've been doing that calculation since I was a child, and I know that, right now, this storm is two kilometres away.

  There is still enough light for me to be able to see the shape of the clouds. They are the sort pilots refer to as Cb - cumulonimbus. These are shaped like anvils, as if a blacksmith were hammering the skies, forging swords for furious gods who must, at this moment, be immediately over the town of Tarbes.

  I can see the storm approaching. As with any storm, it brings with it destruction, but it also waters the fields; and, with the rain, falls the wisdom of the heavens. As with any storm, it will pass. The more violent the storm, the more quickly it will pass.

  I have, thank God, learned to face storms.

  Some Final Prayers

  Dhammapada (attributed to Buddha)

  It would be better if, instead of a thousand words,

  There was only one, a word that brought Peace.

  It would be better if, instead of a thousand poems,

  There was only one, a poem that revealed true Beauty.

  It would be better if, instead of a thousand songs,

  There was only one, a song that spread Happiness.

  Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi (thirteenth century)

  Outside, beyond what is right and wrong, there exists a vast field.

  We will find each other there.

  The Prophet Mohammed (seventh century)

  Oh, Allah, I turn to you because you know everything, even what is hidden.

  If what I am doing is good for me and for my religion, for my life now and hereafter, then let that task be easy and blessed.

  If what I am doing is bad for me and for my religion, for my life now and hereafter, remove me from that task.

  Jesus of Nazareth (Matthew 7: 7-8)

  Ask, and it will be given you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.

  Jewish Prayer for Peace

  Come let us go up to the mountain of the Lord that we may walk in His paths. And we shall beat our swords into ploughshares and our spears into pruning hooks.

  Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.

  And none shall be afraid, for the mouth of the Lord of Hosts has spoken.

  Lao Tsu, China (sixth century BC)

  If there is to be peace in the world, the nations must live in peace.

  If there is to be peace among nations, the cities must not rise up against each other.

  If there is to be peace in the cities, neighbours must understand each other.

  If there is to be peace among neighbours, there must be harmony in the home.

  If there is to be peace in the home, we must each find our own heart.

  More about Paulo Coelho

  Author Biography: Paulo Coelho

  Paulo Coelho was born in Rio in August 1947, the son of Pedro Queima Coelho de Souza, an engineer, and his wife Lygia, a homemaker. Early on, Coelho dreamed of an artistic career, something frowned upon in his middleclass household. In the austere surroundings of a strict Jesuit school, Coelho discovered his true vocation: to be a writer. Coelho's parents, however, had different plans for him. When their attempts to suppress his devotion to literature failed, they took it as a sign of mental illness. When Coelho was seventeen, his father twice had him committed to a mental institution, where he endured sessions of electroconvulsive 'therapy'. His parents brought him back to the institution once more, after he became involved with a theatre group and started to work as a journalist.

  Coelho was always a nonconformist and a seeker of the new. When, in the excitement of 1968, the guerrilla and hippy movements took hold in a Brazil ruled by a repressive military regime, Coelho embraced progressive politics and joined the peace and love generation. He sought spiritual experiences travelling all over Latin America in the footsteps of Carlos Castaneda. He worked in the theatre and dabbled in journalism, launching an alternative magazine called 2001. He began to collaborate with music producer Raul Seixas as a lyricist, transforming the Brazilian rock scene. In 1973 Coelho and Raul joined the Alternative Society, an organization that defended the individual's right to free expression, and began publishing a series of comic strips, calling for more freedom. Members of the organization were detained and imprisoned. Two days later, Coelho was kidnapped and tortured by a group of paramilitaries.

  This experience affected him profoundly. At the age of twenty-six, Coelho decided that he had had enough of living on the edge and wanted to be 'normal'. He worked as an executive in the music industry. He tried his hand at writing but didn't start seriously until after he had an encounter with a stranger. The man first came to him in a vision, and two month
s later Coelho met him at a cafe in Amsterdam. The stranger suggested that Coelho should return to Catholicism and study the benign side of magic. He also encouraged Coelho to walk the Road to Santiago, the medieval pilgrim's route.

  In 1987 a year after completing that pilgrimage, Coelho wrote The Pilgrimage. The book describes his experiences and his discovery that the extraordinary occurs in the lives of ordinary people. A year later, Coelho wrote a very different book, The Alchemist. The first edition sold only nine hundred copies and the publishing house decided not to reprint it.

  Coelho would not surrender his dream. He found another publishing house, a bigger one. He wrote Brida (a work still unpublished in English); the book received a lot of attention in the press, and both The Alchemist and The Pilgrimage appeared on bestseller lists.

  Paulo has gone on to write many other bestselling books, including The Valkyries, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept, The Fifth Mountain, Manual of the Warrior of Light, Veronika Decides to Die, Eleven Minutes, The Zahir and The Devil and Miss Prym.

  Today, Paulo Coelho's books appear at the top of bestseller lists worldwide. In 2002 the Jornal de Letras de Portugal, the foremost literary authority in the Portuguese language, bestowed upon The Alchemist the title of most sold book in the history of the language. In 2003 Coelho's novel Eleven Minutes was the world's bestselling fiction title (USA Today, Publishing Trends).

  In addition to his novels, Coelho writes a globally syndicated weekly newspaper column and occasionally publishes articles on current affairs. His newsletter, The Manual On-Line, has over 70,000 subscribers.

  Coelho and his wife, Christina Oiticica, are the founders of the Paulo Coelho Institute, which provides support and opportunities for underprivileged members of Brazilian society.