Reading Coelho

'Aleph' is the second novel by Paulo Coelho that I have read. I never looked for him, were never drawn to the titles or descriptions of his books, and to be honest, when I unexpectedly had one of his books placed in front of me, I found him very bothersome to read. I will try to explain why. 

In one of the most famous of Plato's texts-- the symposium-- Socrates and a gathering of other men takes turns keeping a eulogy for love. When it is Socrates turn, he says that the others have not at all done what they said they would do. Instead of keeping a eulogy for love, they gave love qualities and characteristics it does not have. They romanticized and beautified it all, which made it into something else and, in the end, quite pointless.
       I feel that Coelho is doing just that. It is not 'wrong' to be doing so, not at all. But he strays off far from reason and honesty and explains things he does not understand by mixing God and vague spiritual phenomenons in his writings. Had I not known he has the kind of influence he has over people all over the world and that they look to him as to some sort of spiritual leader, I might have enjoyed reading him more. If he had approached the theories he has in a different way, if he had not tried to give them the approach of a global truth, if he had not let his success rise above his head and had he not called himself-- indirectly-- a prophet*, I might have found his work slightly more worthwhile for its mysticism and artificial beauty. Let me try to explain further. Conviction is man's most dangerous weapon. To be convinced is to stand aiming with a loaded gun with the intention to fire. A weapon is to many something used for destruction and  disruption, while according to the Oxford American dictionary it is "a means of gaining an advantage or defending oneself in a conflict or contest". To me, it is something useful if you desire change. But wether it is the first, second or third, it is quite irrelevant when you put a weapon in the hands of someone who does not know how it works; how you load it, how you pull the trigger, where the bullet goes out, what you are supposed to aim at and why you aim at something at all. Someone who does not know all of this, will cause great and pointless pain. The sense of value and conviction must come with reasonable arguments that we can all understand. Saying things such as "love always triumphs over what we call death. {...} If you don't believe it then there's no reason my trying to explain.", puts a weapon in your hands, if you let yourself be convinced by the above (and it is easy because powerful words are used). But it does not give you the wisdom to use it, nor the wisdom not to use it. Letting faith and belief fill in the blanks and answer questions you can't answer yourself with truth and reason is a good way for yourself to deal with the problem on short terms, but not for others to understand the question asked, if you catch my drift... If you don't, I will probably dedicate a post solely to this topic sooner or later.

 And you will not free yourself from guilt by expecting forgiveness from others. Nietzsche wrote, I think in 'The Gay Science', that:

"Although the most acute judges of witches, and even the witches themselves, were convinced of the guilt of witchery, the guilt nevertheless was nonexistent. It is thus with all guilt."

Forgiveness comes from yourself and is about accepting the present and the situation you are in. Sometimes it is easier to do this with an act of kindness, a word of forgiveness from a loved one, but in the end, it comes only from yourself. And remember that by saying "I forgive the world and all its evils", you are also accepting the world and all its evils, which is all well, but best to be remembered to avoid misunderstandings...

But! Not once yet in my life time have I read a book which has had nothing of value to say to me. 'Aleph' brings up the subject of aikido a couple of times and its teachings of the path to peace...:

"The Path to Peace flows like a river and because it resists nothing, it has won even before it has begun. The art of peace is unbeatable because no one is fighting against anyone, only themselves. If you conquer yourself, then you will conquer the world."

"The Path to Peace appears to be a fight, but it isn't. It's the art of filling up what is missing and emptying out what is superfluous."

And my favorite:

"Train your heart. That is the discipline every warrior needs."

Read 'Aleph' with a light heart. Do not read it if you are looking for answers. Read it if you are looking for adventure in an everyday life full of tedious routines. Just make sure you don't find yourself armed after having turned the last page...

* Right after Coelho had finished his journey on the trans-siberian rail road (which is what the book is about), he was summoned to Moscow to meet Vladimir Putin who had heard of his adventure. The conversation that was held bothers me a great deal. There was nothing of any value in it. Why was it so important for Coelho to meet Putin if it was only to chit-chat? 

Dancing On The Edge

Run far from here. 

I take back all I said. 

I dance on the edge.

I wish that I would fall.

Hör Hur Rösterna Tystna

"... the lines told stories that were sometimes clear, but most were at best obscure and as vague and pale  as twilight. They told stories from the precariously fine border dividing life from death, blurring the line itself and finally erasing it. Ages and times were mixed in confusion, as were peace and war."

- The Sorrow of War

Adventure: I Wish The World Would Be Silent Now

Day Three

"I wish the world would be silent now. I wish man would be silent at night. At least out here, where the trees rise dark against the sky. 

I wish my heart would be silent now. A yellow moon rises, shines and whispers: "Shush, worry not, be still. I will be here all through the night. Be still, worry not."

The torch is going out, the moon hides behind the trees. An owl hoots in the dark.

I played a few songs 'til the sun had set. I am still playing now, though silently, only plucking a few strings, my voice remains silent. I realize this is my real audience, the audience my songs were written not only for, but actually by. They are my inspiration; water, rock, sky and of course the majestic crowd of pine, oak, ash and elm. They reflect man, they speak of man, as no man can and never will. They are not afraid or prefer not to be reminded of dark and wretched things. These listeners care not. They absorb the music and leave only silence. That is their applaud. Silence. And the beauty of their constant presence.

The moon broke its' promise and went away. I have no light. It is time for me as well to rest. The world is silent now... Save for some engine growling on a farm somewhere, ordered by man to never rest... "

Adventure: An Old King's Garden

Day Two Part Two

The crossing to the next harbor, was peaceful and without events worth mentioning. The eastern wind still accompanied me, the sun came out occasionally as if to make sure that I was still safe and sound. After only five hours, I reached the harbor of Mariefred. The little village was truly beautiful, humbly lying there so close to the great castle of Gripsholm. I think it's worth mentioning now, that wherever I went, I had the smallest boat of all, a twenty feet Hydra. In Mariefred, thirty-two feet was considered small. Now, this also said something about the standard cost of living there. I am by no means, poor, or from a poor family. But being young, without a job and with a desire to live as cheap as possible to save money for the future, Mariefred was a bit too expensive for me. The dock due was thrice as high as it was on Björkö. But when I had paid it, and eaten a royal dinner consisting of mushroom flavored noodles, a carrot and a glass of simple and cold water I felt like a queen sitting there gazing at the castle on the other side of the bay. Restrengthened and in high spirits, I set out for a walk again. I went through the city to the library, the bookshop, the market, the grocery store (to buy some plastic bags), round the church, then walked by the pier to make my way to the castle. When I stood by the foot of its' walls looking up, the only thought that came to me was "oh my, I would't have wanted to be the one to build this", thinking of the house under construction I had left at home. Tearing down the roof of that  house took thirty hours of work to finish. Thirty hours of work with blood, sweat and many sighs of monotony boredom. Hell, building a castle like the one before me must have felt like a never-ending task.

I kept walking. Behind a school, on the other side of a high fence, I found a forest of old oaks. Many times had I dreamt of sitting down under an oak, leaning my back against its' majestic stem, but I had never done it. So I simply hurled myself over the fence to the other side and did just that. I don't know for how long I stayed there, blinded by the setting sun and the dazzling beauty of green hills, white meadows, golden grass...

I walked further into the forest, and found a steep hill of rock. I could not resist climbing it. Death was my little sister, I was mocking her playfully, balancing on the edge of all I knew. One day, she'll want her revenge, all little sisters do. But this day, I triumphed. This day, I had magic.

Suddenly I had strayed off to the edge of the forest. A wide yellow meadow swayed in front of me. In the middle of it, three shimmering crab apples grew. A bit further out I saw a rock as wide and high as I am tall. Curiosity grabbed hold of me once more. I walked there, with the grass stroking my cheeks as I made my way. I stood in front of it,but could only just make out a few letters, a few words. I had to touch it and feel the letters in order to understand the full message. The stone told me the forest, the meadow, everything I had just walked through and seen, had long ago been a garden for a  now long dead king. He used to hunt deer within the area, which explained the surrounding fence. 

Anyone can discover these magic places. The only thing needed is a good pair of shoes, a will to walk out the door and then just keep going. Walk to places you haven't been before. Allow the world to toss you around. Get a little bit lost.

Adventure: Speak Softly

Day Two Part One

I woke up early the next day, at five, ready for whatever trials the new day had in mind for me. But when I stuck out my head to greet the morning, the day still seemed to be sleeping. There was no wind,  no sound, no motion. Everything was quiet and calm. Seeing it sleeping so sweetly, I did not want to wake it. So I decided to take a walk. I had not been on that island before, I knew nothing about it. So the things I discovered swept me a bit off my feet. I had not gone far when I saw some roof tops hide in the green a few yards away from me. I found a small village, or maybe more of a dwelling- for vikings. The sight tickled my imagination, and I dissolved. Right there, on the spot, I evaporated. 

And like a mist, I felt my presence flood out over this place built to reawaken the past.

As I left it, a new idea took form in my head; the house I am going to build in the future, is going to be built in that style. Heavy with that pleasant idea, the mist sunk a little into the soil where the houses were built and left a piece of me there.

It was still early, the restless stroll continued. I came to a crossroad. Two signs pointed two opposites directions. To the left was "The Black Earth", to the right "The Chapel Of Ansgar". I shrugged my shoulders. It didn't matter, I would have time to see both. I took the track leading to The Black Earth. A shadow rose on the hill as I made my way up. It was the shadow of a cross. It was a cross risen in the honoring memory of Ansgar, the man who first spread the word and preaching of Christianity to our country. A shiver went down my spine. Dark, are my thoughts on medieval christianity... But, turning around, the sight I met took my breath away. A soft green sea of grass, flowers and little tubby dark green bushes billowed away in the distant, starting just by the tip of my toes. A golden cross (in contrast to the shadow behind me) on top of a building that looked like a port gate for giants, seemed to be calling on me from the other side of a field of wheat. I remembered the other sign...

I left The Black Earth without looking back. I found my own path to the chapel alongside fields and old barns. Life lurked behind every thistle, turn and stem. Pheasants and snakes fled into the high grass as they heard my steps approaching, beetles shimmering like pearls of oil and frogs crossed my way more than once, sparrows swung to and from as they landed in fields of oat to feast on insects hiding there. I felt so completely at peace, so warm. I think I wore a constant smile, but who's to know? No one was there to see it. I felt at peace.

I reached the chapel. A sign read "Walk carefully, speak softly". Rows of empty benches were placed out in front of three enormous black gates. Behind them, I guessed, would be the altar. In the middle gate hung a thick rope. It lead to a large bell high above. I pulled it slightly, and saw the bell start to sway. But, I remembered... The day was still asleep, the past still present. Out of respect for ghosts that once were alive and used to come here to praise a God they loved whenever that bell would toll, I let go of the rope, and let the chapel continue its' slumber.