Paulo Coelho

Conversation in heaven

Abd Mubarak was on his way to Mecca when one night he dreamed that he was in heaven and heard two angels having a conversation.
“How many pilgrims came to the holy city this year?” one of them asked.
“Six hundred thousand”, answered the other.
“And how many of them had their pilgrimage accepted?”
“None of them. However, in Baghdad there is a shoemaker called Ali Mufiq who did not make the pilgrimage, but did have his pilgrimage accepted, and his graces benefited the 600,000 pilgrims”.
When he woke up, Abd Mubarak went to Mufiq’s shoe shop and told him his dream.
“At great cost and much sacrifice, I finally managed to get 350 coins together”, the shoemaker said in tears.
“But then, when I was ready to go to Mecca I discovered that my neighbors were hungry, so I distributed the money among them and gave up my pilgrimage”.

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A conversa no céu

Abd Mubarak ia até Meca, quando sonhou certa noite que estava no céu. Ali, pode escutar dois anjos conversando.
“Quantos peregrinos vieram este ano í  cidade sagrada?” Pergun­tou um deles.
“Seiscentos mil”, respondeu o outro.
“E, destes todos, quantos tiveram sua peregrinaí§í£o aceita?”
“Nenhum. Entretanto, existe em Bagdad um sapateiro chamado Ali Mufiq, que ní£o efetuou a caminhada; mas sua peregrinaí§í£o foi aceita, e suas graí§as beneficiaram os 600 mil peregrinos”.
Quando acordou, Abd Mubarak foi até a sapataria de Mufiq, e lhe contou o sonho.
“A custa de grandes sacrifí­cios, terminei juntando 350 moedas”, disse, chorando, o sapateiro. “Entretanto, quando estava pronto para seguir até Meca, descobri que meus vizinhos tinham fome. Distribuí­ o dinheiro entre eles, sacrificando minha pere­grinaí§í£o”.

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La conversación en el cielo

Abd Mubarak iba hacia La Meca cuando, cierta noche, soñó que estaba en el cielo. Allí­ pudo escuchar la conversación entre dos ángeles.
-¿Cuántos peregrinos han venido este año a la ciudad sagrada?- preguntó uno de ellos.
-Seiscientos mil- respondió el otro.
-Y de todos estos, ¿a cuántos se les ha aceptado su peregrinación?
-A ninguno. No obstante, hay en Bagdad un zapatero llamado Ali Mufiq que no caminó, pero al que se le aceptó su peregrinación, y cuyas gracias beneficiaron a los seiscientos mil peregrinos.
Al despertar, Abd Mubarak fue a la zapaterí­a de Mufiq, y le contó el sueño.
-A costa de grandes sacrificios, logré reunir 350 monedas- dijo, llorando, el zapatero-. Sin embargo, cuando estaba listo para ponerme en marcha hacia La Meca, descubrí­ que mis vecinos tení­an hambre. Repartí­ el dinero entre ellos, sacrificando mi peregrinación.
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La conversation au ciel

Abd Mubarak se rendait í  La Mecque, quand il ríªva une nuit qu’il était au ciel. Lí -haut, il entendit deux anges qui conversaient.
« Combien de pèlerins sont venus cette année dans la ville sainte ? demanda l’un.
– Six cent mille, répondit l’autre.
– Et, de tous ceux-lí , combien ont vu leur pèlerinage approuvé ?
– Aucun. Cependant, il y a í  Bagdad un cordonnier du nom d’Ali Mufiq ; il n’a pas fait le voyage, mais son pèlerinage a été approuvé et ses grí¢ces ont bénéficié aux six cent mille pèlerins. »
Quand il se réveilla, Abd Mubarak se rendit í  la cordonnerie de Mufiq et il lui raconta son ríªve.
« Au prix de grands sacrifices, j’avais réussi í  rassembler 350 pièces, dit en pleurant le cordonnier. Mais au moment de partir pour La Mecque, j’ai découvert que mes voisins avaient faim. Je leur ai distribué l’argent, sacrifiant mon pèlerinage. »

At 23:15 on the 23rd of August I went to Lourdes so that at exactly 00:05 of the 24th, the moment I was born, I could be at the grotto of Our Lady to thank her for my life up to that moment and ask her to protect me from that moment on.

It was a very powerful experience, but while I was driving back to St. Martin (where I have a small mill to spend the summer) I felt extremely lonely. I said so to my wife.

“But you’re the one who chose it to be so!” she replied.

Yes, I had indeed made that choice, but now I began to feel bothered. We were both alone in this immense planet. I turned on my mobile phone.

It rang immediately – it was Monica, my agent and friend. When I arrived home there were other messages waiting for me. I went to bed happy, and the next day I saw that there was absolutely no reason for me to feel the oppression of the night before.

Flowers and presents began to arrive at the house. Communities of people over the Internet had done some extraordinary things using images and texts of mine.

In most cases, this had all been arranged by people I had never seen in my life – one exception being Márcia Nascimento, who did some magical work and it gives me pleasure to say that I am a writer with a fan-club – and she is world president!

At that moment I understood two very important things. The first is that no matter how famous you may be, you will always have the feeling that you are alone.

The other is that no matter how unknown you may be, you will always be surrounded by friends, even if you have never seen their faces.

Even when I was unknown, there was always a hand held out to me when I needed it. So I let Kahlil Gibran – with his unique mastery – describe this sentiment (which I have adapted because of the size of the poat):

“Your friend is the field where you sow with love and harvest with gratitude. He is your home, he is your table.
“Even when he is silent, two hearts continue to talk.
“When you have to leave him, don’t suffer, for you will see the importance of the friendship all the better because of this absence, just as a mountain climber sees the landscape around him better when he is far from the plains.
“May you be able to share with your friend all that is good.
“Let him know and share not only your moments of joy but also your moments of sorrow”.

“And know that a friend is not by your side to help you kill the time, but rather to help you enjoy life in all its fullness”.

What originally inspired you to write The Alchemist?

Coelho: My dream was to be a writer. I wrote my first book in 1987, The Pilgrimage, after completing my own personal pilgrimage from France to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. After that I thought, “Why did it take me so long to fulfill my dream?” So I decided to write a metaphor, and this metaphor is The Alchemist: a novel about someone who needs to fulfill his or her dream, but takes too long because he or she thinks it’s impossible.

The Alchemist has sold over 150 million copies worldwide, won 115 international prizes and awards, has been translated into 80 languages, and is still on the New York Times bestseller list today, 25 years after its initial publication. What impact has this success had on your life?

Coelho: Of course The Alchemist opened a lot of doors for me. At the moment I’m answering this question, the novel is still on The New York Times bestseller list. But success did not happen overnight, so I had time to get used to it. The book was not something that exploded all of a sudden. I believe success can be a blessing, and it can also be a curse. I was older when the recognition came, so I had another level of maturity to face that change. When it happened, I remember thinking, “My God, this is a blessing. ” So above all, I had to respect it. And the way to respect it is to really understand that a blessing has no explanation, but needs to be treasured and honored.

Do you closely relate to any of the characters in The Alchemist? If so, how?

Coelho: In The Alchemist, I relate myself to the Englishman – someone who is trying to understand life through books. It’s quite interesting how many times we use books to understand life. I think that a book is a catalyst: it provokes a reaction. I am a compulsive reader. I read a lot, but from time to time, there are books that changed my life. Well, it’s not that the book itself changed my life; it’s that I was already ready to change, and needed to not feel alone. The same thing happens with the Englishman in The Alchemist.

What have you discovered about your own personal destiny in the past 25 years since writing The Alchemist?

Coelho: What I learned after writing The Alchemist, after the worldwide success, is basically that I had a dream, a Personal Legend to fulfill. To be a writer is to write. To write means new books. New books mean new challenges. Of course, I could have stopped with The Alchemist a long time ago if I was only in it for money, but I really love what I do. I can’t see myself not writing. It’s not always an easy task, sometimes it’s very challenging, but this is what I do and this is what I like. So the journey itself is the miracle; it is the blessing. There is no point to reach. You have to travel your journey with joy, hope, and challenges in your heart.

Is there anything you would like to say to your readers and fans?

Coelho: To my readers and my fans, basically my companions, I would say that spirituality is being brave, is taking risks, is daring to do something when people are always telling you not to. My parents, for example, did not want me to be a writer, and that’s why it took so long for me to fulfill my dream. But here I am, thanks to that moment after my pilgrimage from France to Spain, when I said to myself, “I can’t live with a dream that I did not even try to fulfill. ”
Do the same thing.

OPENING IN BRASIL: Aug 16
WORLD WIDE: 2015

The Telegraph (UK) selected the 10 best Latin American books of all time
The best novels by Latin American authors or set in Latin America from One Hundred Years of Solitude to The Alchemist

TO CHECK THE LIST, CLICK HERE

At 23:15 on the 23rd of August I went to Lourdes so that at exactly 00:05 of the 24th, the moment I was born, I could be at the grotto of Our Lady to thank her for my life up to that moment and ask her to protect me from that moment on.

It was a very powerful experience, but while I was driving back to St. Martin (where I have a small mill to spend the summer) I felt extremely lonely. I said so to my wife.

“But you’re the one who chose it to be so!” she replied.

Yes, I had indeed made that choice, but now I began to feel bothered. We were both alone in this immense planet. I turned on my mobile phone.

It rang immediately – it was Monica, my agent and friend. When I arrived home there were other messages waiting for me. I went to bed happy, and the next day I saw that there was absolutely no reason for me to feel the oppression of the night before.

Flowers and presents began to arrive at the house. Communities of people over the Internet had done some extraordinary things using images and texts of mine.

In most cases, this had all been arranged by people I had never seen in my life – one exception being Márcia Nascimento, who did some magical work and it gives me pleasure to say that I am a writer with a fan-club – and she is world president!

At that moment I understood two very important things. The first is that no matter how famous you may be, you will always have the feeling that you are alone.

The other is that no matter how unknown you may be, you will always be surrounded by friends, even if you have never seen their faces.

Even when I was unknown, there was always a hand held out to me when I needed it. So I let Kahlil Gibran – with his unique mastery – describe this sentiment (which I have adapted because of the size of the column): “Your friend is the field where you sow with love and harvest with gratitude. He is your home, he is your table.

“Even when he is silent, two hearts continue to talk.

“When you have to leave him, don’t suffer, for you will see the importance of the friendship all the better because of this absence, just as a mountain climber sees the landscape around him better when he is far from the plains.

“May you be able to share with your friend all that is good.

“Let him know and share not only your moments of joy but also your moments of sorrow”.

“And know that a friend is not by your side to help you kill the time, but rather to help you enjoy life in all its fullness”.

Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.
A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
All that I desire to point out is the general principle that life imitates art far more than art imitates life.
Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known. Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.

Always forgive your enemies – nothing annoys them so much.
An excellent man; he has no enemies; and none of his friends like him.
As long as war is regarded as wicked, it will always have its fascination. When it is looked upon as vulgar, it will cease to be popular.
A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.

Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.
Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to.

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.

Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde (16 October 1854 – 30 November 1900) was an Irish writer, poet, and playwriter

Many people tell me: “I often feel that I am ignored by God.Why is it so hard to establish a dialogue with the Divine?”

On one hand we know that it is important to seek God.
On the other hand, life distances us from Him/Her – because we believe we are ignored by the Divine, or because we are busy with our daily life.
This makes us feel very guilty: either we feel that we are renouncing life too much because of God, or else we feel that we are renouncing God too much because of life.
This apparent double law is a fantasy: God is in life, and life is in God.
If we manage to penetrate the sacred harmony of our daily existence, we shall always be on the right road, because our daily tasks are also our divine tasks.

When you experience this sensation, recite in silence a prayer by Thomas Merton:

While waiting for the permission of the Iranian Ministry of Culture to publish the physical copy of the book (I am almost sure they will approve) here you have the full text.

As soon as it is approved and it is in the bookstores, if you liked it please buy a copy – to tell other people that “piracy” is not a thread to the industry.

Love
Paulo

Why would flowers try so hard,
to attract the bees?
Why would raindrops transform themselves into a rainbow
when they encounter the sun?

Because nature is beauty
Outer beauty is inner beauty made visible
Inner beauty is the soul

The eyes are the mirror of the soul
And reflect all the hidden secrets

Beauty is simple and truthful
And cannot be tricked

Beauty exists not in sameness,
but in difference
It is the imperfect that astonishes,
that attracts
It is the real,
the soul that smiles and shines

The brightest light comes from within
 
 
taken from THE MANUSCRIPT FOUND IN ACCRA

(Narcissus by Caravaggio )

The Alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus.
The Alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth who daily knelt beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned.
At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the narcissus.

But this was not how the author of the book ended the story. He said that when Narcissus died, the Goddesses of the Forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.
“Why do you weep?” the Goddesses asked.
“I weep for Narcissus,” the lake replied.
“Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus,” they said, “for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand.”
“But….. was Narcissus beautiful?” the lake asked.
“Who better than you to know that?” the Goddesses said in wonder, “After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!”
The lake was silent for some time. Finally it said:
“I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected.”

“What a lovely story,” the Alchemist thought.

( Prologue of “The Alchemist”, celebrating this week 309 WEEKS in the New York Times Bestselling list

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NARCISO E O LAGO

O Alquimista pegou num livro que alguém na caravana tinha trazido. O volume estava sem capa, mas conseguiu identificar o seu autor: Oscar Wilde . Enquanto folheava as suas páginas, encontrou uma história sobre Narciso.
O Alquimista conhecia a lenda de Narciso, um belo rapaz que todos os dias ia contemplar a sua própria beleza num lago. Estava tí£o fascinado por si mesmo que certo dia caiu dentro do lago e morreu afogado.
No lugar onde caiu, nasceu uma flor, a que chamaram narciso.
Mas ní£o era assim que Oscar Wilde acabava a história.

Ele dizia que quando Narciso morreu, vieram as Oréiades – deusas do bosque – e viram o lago transformado, de um lago de água doce, num cí¢ntaro de águas salgadas.
– Por que choras? – perguntaram as Oréiades .
– Choro por Narciso – disse o lago.
– Ah, ní£o nos espanta que chores por Narciso – continuaram elas. – Afinal de contas, apesar de todas nós corrermos atrás dele pelo bosque, tu eras o único que tinha a oportunidade de contemplar de perto a sua beleza.
– Mas Narciso era belo? – perguntou o lago.
– Quem mais do que tu poderia saber disso? – responderam, surpresas, as Oréiades . – Afinal de contas, era nas tuas margens que ele se debruí§ava todos os dias.
O lago ficou algum tempo quieto. Por fim, disse:
– Eu choro por Narciso, mas nunca tinha percebido que Narciso era belo.
»Choro por Narciso porque, todas as vezes que ele se debruí§ava sobre as minhas margens eu podia ver, no fundo dos seus olhos, a minha própria beleza reflectida.

– Que bela história – disse o Alquimista.

(prólogo de “O Alquimista”, celebrando 309 SEMANAS na lista dos mais vendidos do New York Times