Paulo Coelho

Los hombres que habí­a conocido desde su llegada a Géneve hací­an de todo para parecer seguros de sí­ mismos, como si gobernasen el mundo y sus propias vidas; Marí­a, sin embargo, veí­a en los ojos de cada uno de ellos el terror a la esposa, el pánico a no conseguir una erección, a no ser lo suficientemente machos ni ante una simple prostituta a quien estaban pagando.
Si fueran a una tienda y no les gustase el calzado, serí­an capaces de volver con el ticket en la mano y exigir el reembolso.
Sin embargo, aunque también estuviesen pagando por una compañí­a, si no tení­an una erección jamás volverí­an a la misma discoteca, porque creí­an que la historia ya se habrí­a extendido entre todas las demás mujeres de allí­, y eso era una vergüenza.

«Soy yo la que deberí­a tener vergüenza por no ser capaz de excitar a un hombre. Pero, en realidad, son ellos los que la tienen.» Para evitar estos dilemas, Marí­a procuraba dejarlos siempre a su criterio, y cuando alguno de ellos parecí­a más borracho o más frágil de lo normal, evitaba el sexo, y se concentraba sólo en las caricias y la masturbación, lo que los dejaba muy contentos, por más absurda que fuese la situación, ya que podí­an masturbarse ellos solos.

Siempre era preciso evitar que se sintiesen avergonzados. Aquellos hombres, tan poderosos y arrogantes en sus trabajos, luchando sin parar con empleados, clientes, proveedores, prejuicios, secretos, falsas actitudes, hipocresí­a, miedo, opresión, terminaban el dí­a en una discoteca, y no les importaba pagar trescientos cin-cuenta francos suizos para dejar de ser ellos mismos durante la noche.

«¿Durante la noche? Marí­a, estás exagerando. En realidad, son cuarenta y cinco minutos y, aun así­, si descontamos el tiempo de quitarse la ropa, ensayar alguna falsa caricia, hablar de algo trivial, vestirse, reduciremos este tiempo a once minutos de sexo propiamente dicho.»
Once minutos. El mundo giraba en torno de algo que duraba solamente once minutos.

Y por esos once minutos en un dí­a de veinticuatro horas (considerando que todos hiciesen el amor con sus esposas todos los dí­as, lo que era un verdadero absurdo y una gran mentira), ellos se casaban, sustentaban a la familia, aguantaban el llanto de los niños, se deshací­an en explicaciones cuando llegaban tarde a casa, veí­an a decenas, centenas de mujeres con las que les gustarí­a pasear por el lago de Géneve, compraban ropa cara para ellos, ropa aún más cara para ellas, pagaban a prostitutas para compensar lo que echaban en falta, sustentaban una gigantesca industria de cosméticos, dietas, gimnasia, pornografí­a, p oder, y cuando quedaban con otros hombres, al contrario de lo que decí­a la leyenda, jamás hablaban de mujeres. Charlaban sobre trabajo, dinero y deporte.

Algo iba muy mal en la civilización; y ese algo no era la deforestación amazónica, ni la capa de ozono, ni la muerte de los pandas, ni el tabaco, ni los alimentos cancerí­genos, ni la situación de las cárceles, como gritaban los periódicos.

Era exactamente aquello en lo que ella trabajaba: el sexo.

en Once Minutos

I thought we could reach 1.000.000 monthly hits by December this year. However, with still five days to go in September, we are over this mark. Thank you all for your strong support and commitment.
Love
Paulo

UPDATE 30 SEPTEMBER

As you see above, we had another 250.000 hits in five days.
Again, thank you for your support!

Os homens que conhecera desde que chegara em Genève faziam de tudo para parecerem seguros de si, como se governassem o mundo e suas próprias vidas; Maria, porém, via nos olhos de cada um o terror da esposa, o pí¢nico de ní£o conseguir ter uma ereí§í£o, de ní£o serem machos o suficiente nem diante de uma simples prostituta, a quem estavam pagando. Se fossem a uma loja e ní£o lhes agradasse o calí§ado, seriam capazes de voltar com o recibo na mí£o e exigir o reembolso.
Entretanto, embora também estivessem pagando por uma companhia, se ní£o tivessem uma ereí§í£o, jamais voltariam í  mesma boate, porque achavam que a historia teria se espalhado entre todas, as outras mulheres, uma vergonha.
“Sou eu quem devia ter vergonha por ní£o conseguir excitar um homem. Mas, na verdade, sí£o eles que tíªm.”

Para evitar estes constrangimentos, Maria procurava deixá-los sempre í  vontade, e quando algum deles parecia mais bíªbado ou mais frágil que o normal, evitava o sexo e concentrava-se apenas em carí­cias e masturbaí§í£o – o que os deixava muito contentes – por mais absurdo que fosse esta situaí§í£o, já que podiam masturbar-se sozinhos.

Era preciso sempre evitar que ficassem envergonhados. Aqueles homens, tí£o poderosos e arrogantes em seus trabalhos, onde lidavam sem parar com empregados, clientes, fornecedores, preconceitos, segredos, atitudes falsas, hipocrisia, medo, opressí£o, terminavam o dia em uma boate, e ní£o se importavam em pagar 350 francos suí­í§os para deixarem de ser eles mesmos durante a noite.

“Durante a noite? Ora, Maria, vocíª está exagerando. Na verdade, sí£o 45 minutos, e mesmo assim, se descontarmos tirar a roupa, ensaiar algum falso carinho, conversar alguma coisa óbvia, vestir a roupa, reduziremos este tempo para onze minutos de sexo propriamente dito”.

Onze minutos. O mundo girava em torno de algo que demorava apenas onze minutos.

E por causa destes onze minutos em um dia de 24 horas (considerando que todos fizessem amor com suas esposas, todos os dias, o que era um verdadeiro absurdo e uma mentira completa), eles se casavam, sustentavam a famí­lia, agüentavam o choro das crianí§as, se desmanchavam em explicaí§íµes quando chegavam tarde em casa, olhavam dezenas, centenas de outras mulheres com quem gostariam de passear em torno do lago de Genève,, compravam roupas caras para eles, roupas mais caras ainda para elas, pagavam prostitutas para compensar o que estava faltando, sustentavam uma gigantesca indústria de cosméticos, dietas, ginástica, pornografia, poder – e quando se encontravam com outros homens, ao contrário do que dizia a lenda, jamais falavam de mulheres. Conversavam sobre empregos, dinheiro e esporte.

Havia algo de muito errado com a civilizaí§í£o; e esta coisa ní£o era o desmatamento da Amazí´nia, a camada de ozí´nio, a morte dos pandas, o cigarro, os alimentos cancerí­genos, a situaí§í£o nas penitenciárias, como gritavam os jornais.

Era exatamente aquilo em que trabalhava: o sexo.

Em ONZE MINUTOS

Há algumas semanas postei aqui Porque amamos os homens. Uma leitora (Julia D., da Rumania) resolveu escrever por que as mulheres acham que as amamos. Ní£o concordo com tudo, mas essa é uma tribuna (relativamente) livre. Vamos ler o que Julia tem para nos contar:

Nós, os homens, amamos as mulheres porque elas ainda se acham adolescentes mesmo depois que envelhecem.

Porque sorriem cada vez que passa por uma crianí§a.

Porque caminham eretas pelas ruas, olhando sempre em frente, e jamais se viram para agradecer ou retornar o sorriso e o cumprimento que fazemos quando passam.

Porque na cama sí£o ousadas, ní£o porque tenham uma natureza perversa, mas porque desejam nos agradar.

Porque se sacrificam sem reclamar em nome do ideal de beleza, enfrentando depiladores, injeí§íµes de botox, máquinas ameaí§adoras em academias de ginástica.

Porque preferem comer saladas.

Porque desenham e pintam suas faces com a mesma concentraí§í£o de um Michelangelo trabalhando na Capela Sixtina.

Porque se desejam saber algo sobre a própria aparíªncia, procuram outras mulheres e ní£o nos incomodam com este tipo de pergunta.

Porque tem suas próprias maneiras de resolver problemas, que jamais entendemos, e que nos enlouquece.

Porque tem compaixí£o, e dizem “eu te amo” precisamente quando comeí§am a nos amar menos, para compensar o que estamos sentindo e notando.

Porque í s vezes se queixam de coisas que também sentimos, como resfriados e dores reumáticas, e desta maneira entendemos que sí£o pessoas iguais a nós.

Porque enquanto nossos exércitos invadem outros paí­ses, elas se mantíªm firmes em sua guerra privada e inexplicável para acabar com todas as baratas do mundo.

Porque sí£o capazes de ir trabalhar vestidas como homens, em seus terninhos delicados, enquanto homem algum jamais ousou fazer o mesmo usando saias.

Porque nos filmes – e apenas nos filmes – elas jamais tomam banho antes de fazer amor com seus parceiros.

Porque sempre conseguem encontrar um defeito convincente quando dizemos que outra mulher é bonita, e desta maneira nos deixam inseguros a respeito de nosso gosto. (Muito verdadeiro!!!)

Porque conseguem fingir orgasmos com a mesma qualidade artí­stica da mais famosa e talentosa estrela de cinema.

Porque adoram coquetéis exóticos com cores diferentes e ornamentos delicados, enquanto tomamos nosso uí­sque de sempre.

Porque ní£o perdem horas pensando como é que ví£o abordar o lindo rapaz que entrou no í´nibus.

Porque nós viemos delas, voltaremos para elas, e enquanto isso ní£o acontece, vivemos orbitando ao redor do corpo e da mente feminina.

(E eu acrescento: nós, os homens, as amamos porque elas sí£o mulheres. Simples assim.)

Hace algunas semanas publique Por qué amamos a los hombres . Una lectora ( Julia D., de Rumania) decidio escribir las razones por qué nosotros amamos a las mujeres. Está claro que no estoy de acuerdo con todo, pero esta es una tribuna (relativamente) libre. Leamos lo que Julia tiene que contarnos:

Nosotros, los hombres, amamos a las mujeres porque aún se creen adolescentes incluso después de haber envejecido.

Porque sonrí­en cada vez que se cruzan con un niño.

Porque caminan erguidas por las calles, mirando siempre al frente, y jamás se vuelven para agradecer o devolver la sonrisa y el saludo que les dedicamos mientras pasan.

Porque en la cama son osadas, y no porque tengan una naturaleza perversa, sino porque quieren agradarnos.

Porque se sacrifican sin quejarse en nombre de la belleza ideal, enfrentando depilatorios, inyecciones de Botox y amenazadoras máquinas de gimnasio.

Porque prefieren comer ensaladas.

Porque dibujan y pintan su cara con la misma concentración de un Miguel íngel trabajando en la Capilla Sixtina.

Porque si quieren saber algo sobre la apariencia que tienen, buscan a otras mujeres, sin incomodarnos con este tipo de preguntas.

Porque tienen sus propias maneras de resolver problemas, que jamás entendemos, y que nos enloquecen.

Porque son compasivas, y nos dicen “te quiero” justo cuando empiezan a querernos menos, para compensar lo que estamos sintiendo y notando.

Porque se quejan de cosas que también nosotros sentimos, como resfriados y dolores reumáticos, y de esta manera entendemos que son personas iguales a nosotros.

Porque mientras nuestros ejércitos invaden otros paí­ses, ellas se mantienen firmes en su guerra privada e inexplicable para acabar con todas las cucarachas del mundo.

Porque son capaces de ir a trabajar vestidas como hombres, con chaqueta y pantalón -trajes pequeños y delicados- mientras que ningún hombre se atrevió jamás a hacer algo parecido llevando faldas.

Porque en las pelí­culas – y sólo en las pelí­culas – ellas nunca se duchan antes de hacer el amor con sus parejas.

Porque siempre consiguen encontrarle un defecto convincente a la mujer de la que decimos que es guapa, de manera que nos dejan inseguros en relación a nuestros propios gustos. (Verdad!!!)

Porque consiguen fingir orgasmos con la misma calidad artí­stica de la estrella de cine más famosa y con mayor talento.

Porque les encantan los cócteles exóticos de varios colores y con adornos delicados, mientras nosotros tomamos nuestro whisky de siempre.

Porque no pierden una eternidad de tiempo considerando la mejor manera de abordar al guapo muchacho que acabó de entrar en el autobús.

Porque nosotros vinimos de ellas, volveremos a ellas, y hasta que tal cosa ocurra, viviremos orbitando alrededor del cuerpo y de la mente femenina.

(Y yo añado: nosotros, los hombres, las amamos porque son mujeres. Así­ de fácil)

PORTUGUES AQUI>>>: PORQUE AMAMOS AS MULHERES
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A few weeks ago I posted here Why women love men . Many readers asked me to write why we love women, but I don’t dare.Therefore, a reader (Julia) decided to do it for me. Of course, I don’t agree with everything, but this is a (relatively) free tribune. Let’s see what a feminine voice has to tell us:

We men love women because they still feel they are adolescents even after they grow old.

Because they smile every time they pass a child.

Because they walk down the street erect, always looking straight ahead, never turning round to say thanks or return the smile or compliment we make when they pass by.

Because they are bold in bed, not because they have a perverse nature but because they want to please us.

Because they don’t complain about the sacrifices they make for the sake of the ideal of beauty, facing up to waxers, Botox injections and menacing machines in gyms.

Because they prefer to eat salads.

Because they draw and paint their faces with the same concentration as Michelangelo working on the Sistine Chapel.

Because if they want to know something about their own appearance, they ask other women and don’t bother us with this type of question.

Because they have their own ways of solving problems, which we never understand, and that makes us mad.

Because they feel compassion, and say “I love you” precisely when they are beginning to love us less, to make up for what we can feel and notice.

Because sometimes they complain about things that we feel too, such as colds and rheumatic pains, and then we understand that they are people just like us.

Because while our armies invade other countries, they remain firm in their private and inexplicable war to put an end to all the cockroaches in the world.

Because they are capable of going to work dressed like men, in their delicate little suits, whereas no man would ever dare go to work wearing a skirt.

Because in the movies – and only in the movies – they never take a shower before making love with their partners.

Because they always manage to find a convincing defect when we say that another woman is pretty, making us feel insecure about our taste. (So true!!!)

Because they manage to fake orgasms with the same artistic quality as the most famous and talented of movie stars.

Because they just love exotic cocktails with different colors and delicate little ornaments, while we always have the same old whiskey.

Because they don’t waste hours thinking about how they are going to approach the pretty young man who has just come on the bus.

Because we came from them, will go back to them, and until that happens, live in orbit around the feminine body and soul.

(And I would add: we men love them for being women. As simple as that).

.

.
UPDATE (five minutes after the post): Ioana Irina, in Facebook, says: “What you have here is exactly the end of a Romanian book, written by Mircea Cartarescu.”
Answer: In fact, Julia is Romanian, and I don’t know if she based her list in the book, but I decided to post your comment here. It makes sense

St. Joseph’s Party, 19 March 2009

Rudolf is right. My career as a singer is over.

Today, among several google alerts on my name, there were two that I decided to post here. Above, a video made by János Kovács and below a text published today in Scarlet Work Blog
P.S. – to listen to the beautiful song in the video, please stop the Gregorian Chant in the sidebar

I have a purpose, I have a dream!
Its been many years. Not too many actually, since I finished college – but two years. But its been so many years since I first set foot on this world. ;-|… 23 to be precise. I look back at the days I used to dream. The days I wished I could become someone who’s life reached heights that I’ve always dreamt of.

I wanted to become someone, who’d reach great heights. Deep within the heart everyday thinking of the great purpose I’d one day serve. I’ve ended up being a mediocre engineer with a job (that means some routine stuff that’ll begin to prove you’ve lost your track!), and the same old dream again.

What is it that my subconscious wants me to do? That purpose which I wish to serve seems to me to be a big thing to aspire for. But yes, I have set my heart for it – yes I know I can’t live with this same kind of work and routine, for the rest of my life. I want to achieve that goal, I want to realize my dream!

Ever read the book ‘The Alchemist’ by Paulo Coelho? Coelho seems to be a master at expressing with clearness, the big thing which he simply names ‘dream’ and the elegance with which the boy pursues his dream. Simply excellent. I guess I am a poor fish in this respect. I love that book. The story is exactly the kinda stuff I wished would happen in my life. It doesn’t mean I want something out of nothing. I know that nobody ever could get something for nothing. You have to give – time, effort, more than anything – belief. Belief in your dream, belief that your subconscious points in the right direction, belief that you’ll one day make your dream come true. That’s the price we pay to achieve the big thing.

Everyone does his job. But is your job all that is to your life? Let’s say you ended up in a job which you really wouldn’t have wanted to do. A job which was meant to be a stepping stone in helping you climb a better height… But that’s just a job – its not your dream. I have always considered my job to be just that same thing – something which would elevate me to a better height. But the fact that you have a job to take care of your own self and perhaps a family doesn’t mean everything. There’s still a goal that is left unattended… unattended? sorry if that’s wrong English. There’s a dream inside, burning.

I have read a book – A book which I strongly believe in.. one of the greatest books I’ve ever read. If you scrolled through the archives of this blog you could find a post written almost 2 years ago about this book. The Magic Story. It had a mesmerizing effect on me. What it says is pretty simple. But the way the authour has put it is where the magic is. There is no defeat for man till the moment he really dies. Life has ups and downs, but all things are lifeward. Ask of no man permission to perform.

Im wondering – what still holds me back? I have to get going with the right stuff that will send me in the right direction. In the direction of my dream. The shepherd boy in The Alchemist had a dream and he set out for it, when he thought he could no more hold back his raging passion. I have to set my vision on that thing which will send me towards my dream.

I have to stay awake and be watchful for clues. Your subconscious talks to you in hunches. Be attentive and listen to your heart. Its giving you signals, its showing you directions in the form of sudden impulse or signs. You need to heed them. Believe in it. Ask the right question at the right time and your questions will be answered. You’ll be travelling in the right direction. One fine day, you’ll reach your goal. Believe in yourself.

O ACIDENTE / THE ACCIDENT

PERDIDO NO DESERTO / LOST IN THE DESERT

This documentary was first broadcasted in 1998, is 46 minutes long, and I did not find the English version.

Translation by my friend Marie-Christine (who was there – in Santiago de Compostela – when the interview was recorded, by the way):

“The Valkiries” the new Paulo Coelho’s book

It is one of the most succesful author in the world, Paulo Coelho new novel “The Valkiries” an autobiographic works in which the brasilian author and his wife have crossed, during a period of a month and a half ,the Mojave desert in the United States, and which, according to the author himself, has changed his life.

A journey of dreams, of his personal legend, this is “The Valkiries” , the new Paulo Coelho’s novel, a journey of 40 days through the Mojave Desert which, says the author has changed his life.

…”the cult life .I apply it every day.Looking around me and I see that anywhere I look, there is life and this life is…. “Paulo Coelho

The author himself affirms that there is always a “before” and an “after” of this trip, “yes” who truly has changed my life”. Paulo Coelho

Originally written in 1992, it provides an autobiographical journey and like an extra step towards the research of perfection to arrive to “become a master.”
An intention to imitate the same experience as Jesus in the desert.

..”These 40 days in the desert have changed me a lot..I believe there is a tradition.” Paulo Coelho

“Some of these feelings have remained to take shape in the book’s images, one of these experiences, in particular very difficult, which almost cost the life of the author and Cris, his wife, who accompanied him during this personal retreat.”

“..I, Myself spent a lot of moments in confrontation with myself.” Paulo Coelho

“Coelho insists that we are not alone. The world is transforming itself… the angels are guiding us and are protecting us.” They are teaching us, as with him, an apprenticeship that ends, when one arrives at what himself defines as “becoming a master.”

O senhor bateu na porta do amigo beduino, para lhe pedir um favor:

– Quero que me empreste quatro mil dinares porque preciso pagar um débito. É possí­vel?

O amigo pediu que a mulher juntasse tudo o que tinham de valor, mas mesmo assim ní£o era suficiente. Foi necessário sair, solicitar dinheiro dos vizinhos, até que conseguiram a quantia necessária.

Quando o senhor foi embora, a mulher notou que o marido estava chorando.

– Por que está triste? Agora nos endividamos com nossos vizinhos, tem medo de que ní£o sejamos capazes de pagar nosso débito?

– Nada disso. Choro porque é uma pessoa que quero muito, e apesar disso eu ní£o sabia como estava. Só me lembrei dele quando precisou bater em minha porta para pedir dinheiro emprestado.

Un hombre llamó a la puerta de un amigo beduí­no para pedirle un favor:

-Necesito que me prestes cuatro mil dinares para pagar una deuda que tengo. ¿Podrí­as hacerlo?

El amigo le pidió a su mujer que reuniese todo lo que tení­an, pero ni siquiera con esto fue suficiente. Hubo que salir a la calle, y pedirles dinero a los vecinos, hasta alcanzar la cantidad requerida.

Cuando el hombre se marchó, la mujer se dio cuenta de que su marido estaba llorando.

-¿Por qué estás triste? ¿Porque tienes miedo de que, ahora que nos hemos endeudado, no consigamos pagar lo que debemos?

– No, no es por eso. Lloro porque el que nos acaba de visitar es un amigo al que quiero mucho, y a pesar de eso yo no sabí­a nada de su situación. Sólo me acordé de él cuando se vio obligado a llamar a mi puerta para pedirme dinero prestado.

Perto de Tóquio vivia um grande samurai, já idoso, que agora se dedicava a ensinar o zen budismo aos jovens.

Apesar de sua idade, corria a lenda de que ainda era capaz de derrotar qualquer adversário.

Certa tarde, um guerreiro – conhecido por sua total falta de escrúpulos – apareceu por ali. Era famoso por utilizar a técnica da provocaí§í£o: esperava que seu adversário fizesse o primeiro movimento, e, dotado de uma inteligíªncia privilegiada para reparar os erros cometidos, contra-atacava com velocidade fulminante.

O jovem e impaciente guerreiro jamais havia perdido uma luta. Conhecendo a reputaí§í£o do samurai, estava ali para derrotá-lo, e aumentar sua fama.

Todos os estudantes se manifestaram contra a idéia, mas o velho aceitou o desafio.

Foram todos para a praí§a da cidade, e o jovem comeí§ou a insultar o velho mestre. Chutou algumas pedras em sua direí§í£o, cuspiu em seu rosto, gritou todos os insultos conhecidos – ofendendo inclusive seus ancestrais.

Durante horas fez tudo para provocá-lo, mas o velho permaneceu impassí­vel. No final da tarde, sentindo-se já exausto e humilhado, o impetuoso guerreiro retirou-se.

Desapontados pelo fato de que o mestre aceitara tantos insultos e provocaí§íµes, os alunos perguntaram:

“Como o senhor pode suportar tanta indignidade? Por que ní£o usou sua espada, mesmo sabendo que podia perder a luta, ao invés de mostrar-se covarde diante de todos nós?”

“Se alguém chega até vocíª com um presente, e vocíª ní£o o aceita, a quem pertence o presente?”, perguntou o samurai.

“A quem tentou entregá-lo”, respondeu um dos discí­pulos.

“O mesmo vale para a inveja, a raiva, e os insultos”, disse o mestre. “Quando ní£o sí£o aceitos, continuam pertencendo a quem os carregava consigo”.

10 Sept 2010, celebrating 500.000 copies sold in Finland, a country with 6.000.000 population

Many thanks for the invitation to this fabulous party and for all your efforts. It’s the first Bazar party ever. I still can’t believe it’s Markus and his band entertaining tonight.

I have been asked, as Paulo’s Nordic publisher, to say something about him and publishing his books. I have been Paulo’s publisher now for 15 years. I bought rights to The Alchemist in 1993 as one of the first publishers in the world, to my previous Norwegian publishing house Ex Libris. In 1995, Paulo came to Oslo for his first promotional visit. I remember picking him up at the airport a late evening in November. He came alone and only with a small suitcase he could bring inside the plane. He never travels with more. Nor in his private life. He lives as he writes, he keeps nothing, prefers to own nothing, to not be slave of things and possessions. He lives almost as a monk, an eternal pilgrim. When he travels in private, and he often does, he and his wife can stay in hostels. But when doing promotion, he is of course always placed in suites, dining at the finest restaurants, meeting the world’s leading people. This contrasts his life. He lived for many years in a small house in a tiny village with 140 inhabitants in the Pyrenees, close to Lourdes. Before buying the house, he lived with his wife for two years in a small hotel close by, just two rooms and without internet connection. And why? He could have bought a mansion. He felt he had become too dependent on materialism and on the internet, and needed a change in order to change himself. It resulted in his novel Eleven minutes, his second biggest worldwide bestseller. This is Paulo in a nutshell: Always challenging the existing, always curious. I met his biographer some years ago in Rio, South-America’s leading biographer. He said that even if Paulo hadn’t sold a copy, it was the strongest life story he had seen. He compared him to a pilot of a small plane, cruising in the sky on a beautiful summer day. Far away in the horizon are some stormy clouds. Paulo would head straight there and straight through, just to see if he would survive.

I have published and met great authors, like J.K. Rowling and Dan Brown. What distinguishes Paulo is his compassion to stay in touch with his readers. He uses every possible mean, to such extreme that NYTimes a few years ago named him the greatest online marketer in the world. He doesn’t do it to sell more books, he just loves the interaction. Every week he posts questions and challenges to his readers on his blog. And he connects people, like with the indie film “The virtual witch”, based on “The witch from Portobello”. Likewise he also challenges his publishers. It’s a great school of publishing, we always have to perform better, find new ways to reach readers, tapping into the ideas of his 64 international publishing houses.

When he first came to Norway he was completely unknown outside of Brazil. We did an on-the-road tour to Oslo, Bergen and Trondheim with a concert producer and a flamenco dancer. My attempt for some cultural program (Hayden’s Messiah or maybe it was Verdi’s Requiem) he kindly denied. He preferred a bar. And in that bar he would talk to everybody, make friends, challenge them. Paulo is a very amiable person, open minded, joyful, playful, both professionally and in private. He is full of enthusiasm for what he does in every moment. I remember from our visit in Helsinki in 2002. Walking up the Esplanade one evening, we came across a bar. Inside was a lonely Brazilian guitarist entertaining. That led to many vodka shots and two hours where Paulo and I were singing, all from Beatles to bossa nova, which Paulo naturally sang alone. He loves singing, and several times I have witnessed Paulo rising at a dinner table to sing alone. He would have loved to join the band tonight!

What underpins the success of the many books he has written over the last two decades? Although he writes out of a need to understand himself and his own life, he also touches the hearts of millions as they discover that he is asking the same questions they ask themselves, “even,” as Paulo puts it, “if we don’t share the same answers”. He challenges the curious, open-minded and intelligent reader. Coelho’s readership knows no frontiers of sex, age, class, cultural background, nationality or religion. Besides he is a great story teller.

I know him well also in private; his spiritual side, his constant quest for truth and of independence, and many times I have witnessed him making decisions no one around him have understood, but which later proved to be very wise. He’s indeed a wise man, connected to a spiritual source, and he would not have been the most read author world-wide had he not. And he’s a brave man. As Paulo wrote to his biographer stating that he would not read through the manuscript until the book was published: “The truth shall set you free”, even giving him access to his huge collection of personal diaries since childhood.

Paulo may not get the Nobel price in literature, but in my view he should have it, for no author has contributed more to the spiritual change and to the intercultural processes taking place all over the world now, or made more people think and reflect about who they are and how to live life more fully. Which is what literature is about.

Again, Ritva, Markus, Tiina, Maija and Vilja, many thanks for this invitation.

Oyvind Hagen

Um xamí£ siberiano pediu que Deus lhe mostrasse um homem amado por Ele. O Senhor aconselhou-o a procurar certo lavrador.

– O que vocíª faz para que o Senhor lhe ame tanto? – perguntou o xamí£ ao lavrador, quando o encontrou.
– Digo Seu nome de manhí£. Trabalho o dia inteiro, e digo o Seu nome antes de dormir. Só isso.
“Acho que errei de homem”, pensou o xamí£. E neste momento, o Senhor apareceu, dizendo:

– Encha uma tigela de leite, vá até a cidade e volte – sem derramar uma gota sequer.

O xamí£ obedeceu. Na volta, o Senhor quis saber quantas vezes havia pensado Nele.
– Como podia? Estava preocupado para ní£o derramar o leite!

– Uma simples tigela, fez vocíª Me esquecer – disse o Senhor. – E o lavrador, como todos os seus afazeres, pensa em mim duas vezes ao dia.

Por Paulo Coelho

Señor, protege nuestras dudas, pues la Duda es una manera de rezar. Ella es la que nos hace crecer, pues nos fuerza a mirar sin miedo las múltiples respuestas posibles que pueden darse para una misma pregunta. Y para que tal cosa sea posible.

Señor, protege nuestras decisiones, pues la Decisión es una manera de rezar. Danos valor para, una vez vencida la duda, ser capaces de elegir uno de los dos caminos que se abren frente a nosotros. Que nuestro Sí sea siempre un Sí y que nuestro NO sea siempre un NO. Que una vez escogido el camino, jamás miremos hacia atrás, ni dejemos que nuestra alma se consuma en el remordimiento. Y para que tal cosa sea posible.

Señor, protege nuestros sueños, porque el Sueño es una manera de rezar. Haz que, independientemente de la edad que tengamos o de las circunstancias que afecten a nuestras vidas, seamos capaces de mantener encendida la llama sagrada de la esperanza y de la perseverancia. Y para que tal cosa sea posible.

Señor, danos siempre entusiasmo, porque el Entusiasmo es una manera de rezar. Él es el que nos vincula a los Cielos y a la Tierra, a los hombres y a los niños, y nos dice que el deseo es importante, y merece nuestro esfuerzo. Él es el que nos asegura que todo es posible, siempre que estemos firmemente comprometidos con lo que hacemos. Y para que tal cosa sea posible.

Señor, protégenos, porque la Vida es la única manera que tenemos de manifestar tu milagro. Que la tierra continúe transformando la semilla en trigo y que nosotros sigamos transformando el trigo en pan. Y tal cosa solo es posible si tenemos Amor; por lo tanto, nunca nos dejes solos.

Danos siempre tu compañí­a, y la compañí­a de hombres y mujeres que tienen dudas, actúan, sueñan, se entusiasman y viven como si dedicaran todos los dí­as a tu gloria.

Amén.