The alchemist spielen

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The Alchemist Spielautomat von Novoline - Hier The Alchemist kostenlos online spielen & die Top Novoline Online Spielotheken mit Echtgeld finden. The Alchemist - un grand choix des jeux en ligne gratuits de spielautomat- scoresaver.nu Jouer sans enregistrement!. The Alchemist von Novomatic ist ein Gewinnlinien Slot mit Freispielen und einem Münzen Jackpot. Probieren Sie The Alchemist gratis bei. The boy observed in silence the progress of the animals and people across the desert. And, one day, the casino buckower chaussee of the caravan made the decision that the fires should no longer be lighted, so as not to attract attention to the caravan. Did you see the garden that it took the master gardener ten years to create? Deutschland song contest sheep were at the gates of the city, in a stable that belonged to a friend. The desert stuttgart tennis porsche a capricious lady, and sometimes she drives men crazy. Dec 22, Sithara rated it it was ok. It's called the principle of favorability. If such statements have you rolling your eyes, then this isn't your cup of tea. The profound lessons you'll learn from this book amount to nothing more than several variations on the theme of "only the very ugly is truly beautiful, only the very bundesliga website are really intelligent, fake profile parship black is white, only up is down" etc etc. But the Englishman was exultant.

There you will find a treasure that will make you a rich man. He didn't need to seek out the old woman for this! But then he remembered that he wasn't going to have to pay anything.

It's the simple things in life that are the most extraordinary; only wise men are able to understand them. And since I am not wise, I have had to learn other arts, such as the reading of palms.

I don't know how to turn them into reality. That's why I have to live off what my daughters provide me with. It wouldn't be the first time.

So the boy was disappointed; he decided that he would never again believe in dreams. He remembered that he had a number of things he had to take care of: The day was hot, and the wine was refreshing.

The sheep were at the gates of the city, in a stable that belonged to a friend. The boy knew a lot of people in the city.

That was what made traveling appeal to him — he always made new friends, and he didn't need to spend all of his time with them.

When someone sees the same people every day, as had happened with him at the seminary, they wind up becoming a part of that person's life.

And then they want the person to change. If someone isn't what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.

He decided to wait until the sun had sunk a bit lower in the sky before following his flock back through the fields. Three days from now, he would be with the merchant's daughter.

He started to read the book he had bought. On the very first page it described a burial ceremony. And the names of the people involved were very difficult to pronounce.

If he ever wrote a book, he thought, he would present one person at a time, so that the reader wouldn't have to worry about memorizing a lot of names.

When he was finally able to concentrate on what he was reading, he liked the book better; the burial was on a snowy day, and he welcomed the feeling of being cold.

As he read on, an old man sat down at his side and tried to strike up a conversation. Actually, he was thinking about shearing his sheep in front of the merchant's daughter, so that she could see that he was someone who was capable of doing difficult things.

He had already imagined the scene many times; every time, the girl became fascinated when he explained that the sheep had to be sheared from back to front.

He also tried to remember some good stories to relate as he sheared the sheep. Most of them he had read in books, but he would tell them as if they were from his personal experience.

She would never know the difference, because she didn't know how to read. Meanwhile, the old man persisted in his attempt to strike up a conversation.

He said that he was tired and thirsty, and asked if he might have a sip of the boy's wine. The boy offered his bottle, hoping that the old man would leave him alone.

But the old man wanted to talk, and he asked the boy what book he was reading. The boy was tempted to be rude, and move to another bench, but his father had taught him to be respectful of the elderly.

So he held out the book to the man — for two reasons: The old man knew how to read, and had already read the book. And if the book was irritating, as the old man had said, the boy still had time to change it for another.

And it ends up saying that everyone believes the world's greatest he. That's the world's greatest lie. The old man, meanwhile, was leafing through the book, without seeming to want to return it at all.

The boy noticed that the man's clothing was strange. He looked like an Arab, which was not unusual in those parts. Africa was only a few hours from Tarifa; one had only to cross the narrow straits by boat.

Arabs often appeared in the city, shopping and chanting their strange prayers several times a day. That's where I was bom.

He looked at the people in the plaza for a while; they were coming and going, and all of them seemed to be very busy. But he knew that Salem wasn't in Andalusia.

If it were, he would already have heard of it. Sometimes it's better to be with the sheep, who don't say anything. And better still to be alone with one's books.

They tell their incredible stories at the time when you want to hear them. But when you're talking to people, they say some things that are so strange that you don't know how to continue the conversation.

He could see that the old man wanted to know more about his life. I can't help you if you feel you've got enough sheep. He wasn't asking for help.

It was the old man who had asked for a drink of his wine, and had started the conversation. The old woman hadn't charged him anything, but the old man — maybe he was her husband — was going to find a way to get much more money in exchange for information about something that didn't even exist.

The old man was probably a Gypsy, too. But before the boy could say anything, the old man leaned over, picked up a stick, and began to write in the sand of the plaza.

Something bright reflected from his chest with such intensity that the boy was momentarily blinded. With a movement that was too quick for someone his age, the man covered whatever it was with his cape.

When his vision returned to normal, the boy was able to read what the old man had written in the sand. There, in the sand of the plaza of that small city, the boy read the names of his father and his mother and the name of the seminary he had attended.

He read the name of the merchant's daughter, which he hadn't even known, and he read things he had never told anyone. But let's say that the most important is that you have succeeded in discovering your destiny.

Everyone, when they are young, knows what their destiny is. They are not afraid to dream, and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives.

But, as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will be impossible for them to realize their destiny. But he wanted to know what the "mysterious force" was; the merchant's daughter would be impressed when he told her about that!

It prepares your spirit and your will, because there is one great truth on this planet: It's your mission on earth. Or marry the daughter of a textile merchant?

The Soul of the World is nourished by people's happiness. And also by unhappiness, envy, and jealousy. To realize one's destiny is a person's only real obligation.

All things are one. It was the old man who spoke first. But he decided first to buy his bakery and put some money aside. When he's an old man, he's going to spend a month in Africa.

He never realized that people are capable, at any time in their lives, of doing what they dream of. Bakers have homes, while shepherds sleep out in the open.

Parents would rather see their children marry bakers than shepherds. There was surely a baker in her town. The old man continued, "In the long run, what people think about shepherds and bakers becomes more important for them than their own destinies.

The boy waited, and then interrupted the old man just as he himself had been interrupted. And you are at the point where you're about to give it all up.

Sometimes I appear in the form of a solution, or a good idea. At other times, at a crucial moment, I make it easier for things to happen.

There are other things I do, too, but most of the time people don't realize I've done them. The miner had abandoned everything to go mining for emeralds.

For five years he had been working a certain river, and had examined hundreds of thousands of stones looking for an emerald.

The miner was about to give it all up, right at the point when, if he were to examine just one more stone — justone more — he would find his emerald.

Since the miner had sacrificed everything to his destiny, the old man decided to become involved. He transformed himself into a stone that rolled up to the miner's foot.

The miner, with all the anger and frustration of his five fruitless years, picked up the stone and threw it aside.

But he had thrown it with such force that it broke the stone it fell upon, and there, embedded in the broken stone, was the most beautiful emerald in the world.

But that's the way it is. This is what the Warriors of the Light try to teach. And I will tell you how to find the hidden treasure.

The boy began again to read his book, but he was no longer able to concentrate. He was tense and upset, because he knew that the old man was right.

He went over to the bakery and bought a loaf of bread, thinking about whether or not he should tell the baker what the old man had said about him.

Sometimes it's better to leave things as they are, he thought to himself, and decided to say nothing. If he were to say anything, the baker would spend three days thinking about giving it all up, even though he had gotten used to the way things were.

The boy could certainly resist causing that kind of anxiety for the baker. So he began to wander through the city, and found himself at the gates.

There was a small building there, with a window at which people bought tickets to Africa. And he knew that Egypt was in Africa.

If he sold just one of his sheep, he'd have enough to get to the other shore of the strait. The idea frightened him. In two years he had learned everything about shepherding: He knew all the fields and pastures of Andalusia.

And he knew what was the fair price for every one of his animals. He decided to return to his friend's stable by the longest route possible.

As he walked past the city's castle, he interrupted his return, and climbed the stone ramp that led to the top of the wall. From there, he could see Africa in the distance.

Someone had once told him that it was from there that the Moors had come, to occupy all of Spain. He could see almost the entire city from where he sat, including the plaza where he had talked with the old man.

Curse the moment I met that old man, he thought. He had come to the town only to find a woman who could interpret his dream. Neither the woman nor the old man were at all impressed by the fact that he was a shepherd.

They were solitary individuals who no longer believed in things, and didn't understand that shepherds become attached to their sheep.

He knew everything about each member of his flock: He knew how to shear them, and how to slaughter them.

If he ever decided to leave them, they would suffer. The wind began to pick up. He knew that wind: The levanter increased in intensity.

Here I am, between my flock and my treasure, the boy thought. He had to choose between something he had become accustomed to and something he wanted to have.

There was also the merchant's daughter, but she wasn't as important as his flock, because she didn't depend on him.

Maybe she didn't even remember him. He was sure that it made no difference to her on which day he appeared: I left my father, my mother, and the town castle behind.

They have gotten used to my being away, and so have I. The sheep will get used to my not being there, too, the boy thought.

From where he sat, he could observe the plaza. People continued to come and go from the baker's shop.

A young couple sat on the bench where he had talked with the old man, and they kissed. The levanter was still getting stronger, and he felt its force on his face.

That wind had brought the Moors, yes, but it had also brought the smell of the desert and of veiled women. It had brought with it the sweat and the dreams of men who had once left to search for the unknown, and for gold and adventure — and for the Pyramids.

The boy felt jealous of the freedom of the wind, and saw that he could have the same freedom. There was nothing to hold him back except himself.

The sheep, the merchant's daughter, and the fields of Andalusia were only steps along the way to his destiny. The next day, the boy met the old man at noon.

He brought six sheep with him. He said that he had always dreamed of being a shepherd, and that it was a good omen. When you play cards the first time, you are almost sure to win.

The boy explained that it wasn't important, since that sheep was the most intelligent of the flock, and produced the most wool. The old woman had said the same thing.

But she hadn't charged him anything. God has prepared a path for everyone to follow. You just have to read the omens that he left for you.

He remembered something his grandfather had once told him: Like crickets, and like expectations; like lizards and four-leaf clovers.

These are good omens. The old man wore a breastplate of heavy gold, covered with precious stones. The boy recalled the brilliance he had noticed on the previous day.

He really was a king! He must be disguised to avoid encounters with thieves. The black signifies 'yes,' and the white 'no.

Always ask an objective question. The treasure is at the Pyramids; that you already knew. But I had to insist on the payment of six sheep because I helped you to make your decision.

From then on, he would make his own decisions. And don't forget the language of omens. And, above all, don't forget to follow your destiny through to its conclusion.

The lad wandered through the desert for forty days, and finally came upon a beautiful castle, high atop a mountain.

It was there that the wise man lived. The wise man conversed with everyone, and the boy had to wait for two hours before it was his turn to be given the man's attention.

He suggested that the boy look around the palace and return in two hours. As you wander around, carry this spoon with you without allowing the oil to spill.

After two hours, he returned to the room where the wise man was. Did you see the garden that it took the master gardener ten years to create?

Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library? His only concern had been not to spill the oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.

He saw the gardens, the mountains all around him, the beauty of the flowers, and the taste with which everything had been selected. Upon returning to the wise man, he related in detail everything he had seen.

He had understood the story the old king had told him. A shepherd may like to travel, but he should never forget about his sheep.

The old man looked at the boy and, with his hands held together, made several strange gestures over the boy's head. Then, taking his sheep, he walked away.

At the highest point in Tarifa there is an old fort, built by the Moors. From atop its walls, one can catch a glimpse of Africa.

Melchizedek, the king of Salem, sat on the wall of the fort that afternoon, and felt the levanter blowing in his face.

The sheep fidgeted nearby, uneasy with their new owner and excited by so much change. All they wanted was food and water.

Melchizedek watched a small ship that was plowing its way out of the port. He would never again see the boy, just as he had never seen Abraham again after having charged him his one-tenth fee.

That was his work. The gods should not have desires, because they don't have destinies. But the king of Salem hoped desperately that the boy would be successful.

It's too bad that he's quickly going to forget my name, he thought. I should have repeated it for him. Then when he spoke about me he would say that I am Melchizedek, the king of Salem.

He looked to the skies, feeling a bit abashed, and said, "I know it's the vanity of vanities, as you said, my Lord. But an old king sometimes has to take some pride in himself.

He was sitting in a bar very much like the other bars he had seen along the narrow streets of Tangier.

Some men were smoking from a gigantic pipe that they passed from one to the other. In just a few hours he had seen men walking hand in hand, women with their faces covered, and priests that climbed to the tops of towers and chanted — as everyone about him went to their knees and placed their foreheads on the ground.

As a child in church, he had always looked at the image of Saint Santiago Matamoros on his white horse, his sword unsheathed, and figures such as these kneeling at his feet.

The boy felt ill and terribly alone. The infidels had an evil look about them. Besides this, in the rush of his travels he had forgotten a detail, just one detail, which could keep him from his treasure for a long time: The owner of the bar approached him, and the boy pointed to a drink that had been served at the next table.

It turned out to be a bitter tea. The boy preferred wine. But he didn't need to worry about that right now. What he had to be concerned about was his treasure, and how he was going to go about getting it.

The sale of his sheep had left him with enough money in his pouch, and the boy knew that in money there was magic; whoever has money is never really alone.

Before long, maybe in just a few days, he would be at the Pyramids. An old man, with a breastplate of gold, wouldn't have lied just to acquire six sheep.

The old man had spoken about signs and omens, and, as the boy was crossing the strait, he had thought about omens.

Yes, the old man had known what he was talking about: He had discovered that the presence of a certain bird meant that a snake was nearby, and that a certain shrub was a sign that there was water in the area.

The sheep had taught him that. If God leads the sheep so well, he will also lead a man, he thought, and that made him feel better.

The tea seemed less bitter. The boy was relieved. He was thinking about omens, and someone had appeared. The new arrival was a young man in Western dress, but the color of his skin suggested he was from this city.

He was about the same age and height as the boy. We're only two hours from Spain. I hate this tea.

He almost began to tell about his treasure, but decided not to do so. If he did, it was possible that the Arab would want a part of it as payment for taking him there.

He remembered what the old man had said about offering something you didn't even have yet. I can pay you to serve as my guide.

The boy noticed that the owner of the bar stood nearby, listening attentively to their conversation. He felt uneasy at the man's presence.

But he had found a guide, and didn't want to miss out on an opportunity. I need to know whether you have enough.

But he trusted in the old man, who had said that, when you really want something, the universe always conspires in your favor.

He took his money from his pouch and showed it to the young man. The owner of the bar came over and looked, as well. The two men exchanged some words in Arabic, and the bar owner seemed irritated.

He got up to pay the bill, but the owner grabbed him and began to speak to him in an angry stream of words. The boy was strong, and wanted to retaliate, but he was in a foreign country.

His new friend pushed the owner aside, and pulled the boy outside with him. This is a port, and every port has its thieves. He had helped him out in a dangerous situation.

He took out his money and counted it. Everywhere there were stalls with items for sale. They reached the center of a large plaza where the market was held.

There were thousands of people there, arguing, selling, and buying; vegetables for sale amongst daggers, and carpets displayed alongside tobacco.

But the boy never took his eye off his new friend. After all, he had all his money. He thought about asking him to give it back, but decided that would be unfriendly.

He knew nothing about the customs of the strange land he was in. He knew he was stronger than his friend.

Suddenly, there in the midst of all that confusion, he saw the most beautiful sword he had ever seen. The scabbard was embossed in silver, and the handle was black and encrusted with precious stones.

The boy promised himself that, when he returned from Egypt, he would buy that sword. Then he realized that he had been distracted for a few moments, looking at the sword.

His heart squeezed, as if his chest had suddenly compressed it. He was afraid to look around, because he knew what he would find.

He continued to look at the beautiful sword for a bit longer, until he summoned the courage to turn around. All around him was the market, with people coming and going, shouting and buying, and the aroma of strange foods.

The boy wanted to believe that his friend had simply become separated from him by accident. He decided to stay right there and await his return.

As he waited, a priest climbed to the top of a nearby tower and began his chant; everyone in the market fell to their knees, touched their foreheads to the ground, and took up the chant.

Then, like a colony of worker ants, they dismantled their stalls and left. The sun began its departure, as well.

The boy watched it through its trajectory for some time, until it was hidden behind the white houses surrounding the plaza.

He recalled that when the sun had risen that morning, he was on another continent, still a shepherd with sixty sheep, and looking forward to meeting with a girl.

That morning he had known everything that was going to happen to him as he walked through the familiar fields.

But now, as the sun began to set, he was in a different country, a stranger in a strange land, where he couldn't even speak the language.

He was no longer a shepherd, and he had nothing, not even the money to return and start everything over. All this happened between sunrise and sunset, the boy thought.

He was feeling sorry for himself, and lamenting the fact that his life could have changed so suddenly and so drastically.

He was so ashamed that he wanted to cry. He had never even wept in front of his own sheep. But the marketplace was empty, and he was far from home, so he wept.

He wept because God was unfair, and because this was the way God repaid those who believed in their dreams. When I had my sheep, I was happy, and I made those around me happy.

People saw me coming and welcomed me, he thought. But now I'm sad and alone. I'm going to become bitter and distrustful of people because one person betrayed me.

I'm going to hate those who have found their treasure because I never found mine. And I'm going to hold on to what little I have, because I'm too insignificant to conquer the world.

He opened his pouch to see what was left of his possessions; maybe there was a bit left of the sandwich he had eaten on the ship.

But all he found was the heavy book, his jacket, and the two stones the old man had given him. As he looked at the stones, he felt relieved for some reason.

He had exchanged six sheep for two precious stones that had been taken from a gold breastplate. He could sell the stones and buy a return ticket.

But this time I'll be smarter, the boy thought, removing them from the pouch so he could put them in his pocket.

This was a port town, and the only truthful thing his friend had told him was that port towns are full of thieves. Now he understood why the owner of the bar had been so upset: They were his treasure.

Just handling them made him feel better. They reminded him of the old man. The boy was trying to understand the truth of what the old man had said.

There he was in the empty marketplace, without a cent to his name, and with not a sheep to guard through the night. But the stones were proof that he had met with a king — a king who knew of the boy's past.

The old man had said to ask very clear questions, and to do that, the boy had to know what he wanted. So, he asked if the old man's blessing was still with him.

He took out one of the stones. He stuck his hand into the pouch, and felt around for one of the stones. As he did so, both of them pushed through a hole in the pouch and fell to the ground.

The boy had never even noticed that there was a hole in his pouch. He knelt down to find Urim and Thummim and put them back in the pouch. But as he saw them lying there on the ground, another phrase came to his mind.

The boy smiled to himself. He picked up the two stones and put them back in his pouch. He didn't consider mending the hole — the stones could fall through any time they wanted.

He had learned that there were certain things one shouldn't ask about, so as not to flee from one's own destiny. But the stones had told him that the old man was still with him, and that made him feel more confident.

He looked around at the empty plaza again, feeling less desperate than before. This wasn't a strange place; it was a new one. After all, what he had always wanted was just that: Even if he never got to the Pyramids, he had already traveled farther than any shepherd he knew.

Oh, if they only knew how different things are just two hours by ship from where they are, he thought. Although his new world at the moment was just an empty marketplace, he had already seen it when it was teeming with life, and he would never forget it.

He remembered the sword. It hurt him a bit to think about it, but he had never seen one like it before. As he mused about these things, he realized that he had to choose between thinking of himself as the poor victim of a thief and as an adventurer in quest of his treasure.

He was shaken into wakefulness by someone. He had fallen asleep in the middle of the marketplace, and life in the plaza was about to resume.

Looking around, he sought his sheep, and then realized that he was in a new world. But instead of being saddened, he was happy.

He no longer had to seek out food and water for the sheep; he could go in search of his treasure, instead. He had not a cent in his pocket, but he had faith.

He had decided, the night before, that he would be as much an adventurer as the ones he had admired in books. He walked slowly through the market.

The merchants were assembling their stalls, and the boy helped a candy seller to do his. The candy seller had a smile on his face: His smile reminded the boy of the old man — the mysterious old king he had met.

He's doing it because it's what he wants to do," thought the boy. He realized that he could do the same thing the old man had done — sense whether a person was near to or far from his destiny.

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The boy prodded them, one by one, with his crook, calling each by name. He had always believed that the sheep were able to understand what he said.

So there were times when he read them parts of his books that had made an impression on him, or when he would tell them of the loneliness or the happiness of a shepherd in the fields.

Sometimes he would comment to them on the things he had seen in the villages they passed. But for the past few days he had spoken to them about only one thing: He had been to the village only once, the year before.

The merchant was the proprietor of a dry goods shop, and he always demanded that the sheep be sheared in his presence, so that he would not be cheated.

A friend had told the boy about the shop, and he had taken his sheep there. The shop was busy, and the man asked the shepherd to wait until the afternoon.

So the boy sat on the steps of the shop and took a book from his bag. The girl was typical of the region of Andalusia, with flowing black hair, and eyes that vaguely recalled the Moorish conquerors.

During the two hours that they talked, she told him she was the merchant's daughter, and spoke of life in the village, where each day was like all the others.

The shepherd told her of the Andalusian countryside, and related the news from the other towns where he had stopped. It was a pleasant change from talking to his sheep.

He was sure the girl would never understand. He went on telling stories about his travels, and her bright, Moorish eyes went wide with fear and surprise.

As the time passed, the boy found himself wishing that the day would never end, that her father would stay busy and keep him waiting for three days.

He recognized that he was feeling something he had never experienced before: With the girl with the raven hair, his days would never be the same again.

But finally the merchant appeared, and asked the boy to shear four sheep. He paid for the wool and asked the shepherd to come back the following year.

He was excited, and at the same time uneasy: Lots of shepherds passed through, selling their wool. And he knew that shepherds, like seamen and like traveling salesmen, always found a town where there was someone who could make them forget the joys of carefree wandering.

The day was dawning, and the shepherd urged his sheep in the direction of the sun. They never have to make any decisions, he thought.

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The Alchemist - The Thirst There aren't more than three or four nuances in the book. Hide the progress bar forever? When they reach marmot quasar hoody oasis, Santiago meets and falls in love with an Arabian girl named Fatima, to whom he proposes marriage. If you have to wait Beste Spielothek in Mittenwald finden the war is over, then wait. He opened his pouch to see what was left of his possessions; maybe there was a bit left of Nhà cái Fun88 | casino online sandwich he had eaten on the ship. He also held surprise book signings - fake profile parship one day in advance - in some cities along the way, to have a chance to meet his readers. Two of the central themes which were hammered in over an Everyone save one guy said I would love this book. But the old man wanted to talk, and he asked the boy what book he was reading. Only when he consents. People continued to come and go from the baker's shop.

Santiago's journey teaches us about the essential wisdom of listening to our hearts, of recognizing opportunity and learning to read the omens strewn along life's path, and, most importantly, to follow our dreams.

Paperback , pages. Published May 1st by HarperCollins first published To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about The Alchemist , please sign up.

Where did the saying come from: Huda Aweys It is not a new word, that Muslims have a verse in the Quran says that God created human to beings his successors in the land and make everything on …more It is not a new word, that Muslims have a verse in the Quran says that God created human to beings his successors in the land and make everything on the ground to obey us less.

See all questions about The Alchemist…. Lists with This Book. Aug 13, Christopher rated it it was ok.

I really disliked this book. I dislike it in the way that I dislike a great deal of modern self help books. Their basic message is that if you want something to happen, you need to want it as hard as you can, without caring about anything else, not allowing yourself to doubt it, or let criticisms will get in the way then it will happen.

I disagree with this notion, not only because it is false, but because it is bad. Just because we desire something, does not make it good.

This idea of 'following I really disliked this book. This idea of 'following your heart' is often wrong.

Who are we to be the arbiters of truth? Why should our hearts be sources of information that go beyond logic, doubt and reasoning? Haven't we all desired things that have turned out to not be in our best interest, or to be harmful to others?

Andrew Jackson was a man known to have a lot of integrity. He was always 'true' to himself and followed his heart. Andrew Jackson is the man who initiated the 'Trail of Tears'.

Moving Native Americans from their homes and into reservations. Next, this idea of not letting ourselves doubt or consider doubts. This is a terrible and dishonest way to live.

If we don't consider doubts, and entertain them often, then we are deliberately blinding ourselves.

Deliberately making ourselves ignorant. If someone doesn't give serious consideration to the idea that they may be wrong. Give serious thought to why they believe what they do, and that perhaps those who doubt them may be correct, then they are behaving in a dangerous and dishonest way.

Not giving heed to the concerns doubts and criticisms of others is something I believe is a major fault in modern society. Often, people fail to recognize the needs of the group and the community.

We place so much emphasis on the needs and rights of the individual. This causes people to focus so much on themselves to the detriment of others around them.

At times, it can be beneficial to go against the group, but one should first give serious consideration to the groups concerns.

These are people who take a totally irrational stance, and stick to it as hard as they can in complete defiance to the views of everyone around them.

View all comments. Jan 08, Bill Kerwin rated it did not like it. A good parable--like "The Prodigal Son"--should comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.

The problem with this little book is that it does precisely the opposite. Coelho's message--and, boy, is this a book with a message--is that each of us has his own Personal Legend, and that if we recognize that legend and pursue it sincerely, everything in the Universe which is after all made up--wind, stone, trees--of the same stuff we are will conspire to help us achieve it.

I admit I've left out a nuance or two here and there, but not many. There aren't more than three or four nuances in the book. I fear that the result of taking such a message seriously will be to make the successful even more self-satisfied, the narcissistic more self-absorbed, and the affluent more self-congratulatory.

At the same time, those who are unfortunate will blame themselves for their bad fortune, those who lack self-esteem will lose what little they have, and the poor will see--no, not God, as the beatitude says, but--the poor will see they have only themselves to blame.

Perhaps I am being too harsh. I can see how a few individual young persons, hemmed in by parental expectations and seeking their own paths, may find enough hope and courage here to help them venture forth.

But I am convinced the damage done by books like this--like The Secret , The Celestine Prophecy , and anything ever written by the late Dr.

Wayne Dyer or, for that matter, anything he may ever choose to channel from beyond the grave --is far greater than the little good they may achieve.

If you like parables, don't read this book. Go read a book of Hasidic tales collected by Martin Buber, a book of Sufi stories collected by Idries Shah, or a book of parables and sayings by Anthony de Mello instead.

Or then again, you could just try Jesus. Jesus is always good. Aug 22, Sarah rated it it was ok Recommends it for: I know that translation affects the quality of writing, but I could not get into this writing style.

I felt like it was totally affected and contrived. The parable-like quality was totally contrived, and I thought the "moral" was pretty stupid.

Follow your "personal legacy. Granted, I am not religious. I think god-fearing people get more out of this bc they can take that leap of faith, excuse the phrase.

If this was supposed to be a story of magic, I may have been into it. But it was supposed to be a simple story of knowing yourself. And I think, philosophically speaking, when you truly know yourself that is when you truly realize your destiny.

Why do you need supernatural forces to convey that message? This was about realizing your destiny, or "personal legacy.

In short, the book attempted to be deep and failed. A character simply called "boy" and short sentences doesn't make a story a fable.

Learning from your flocks and from nature doesn't make a character inexplicably wise. I really got nothing out of this book. It is short though.

The book came very highly recommended. Read it to judge the hype for yourself. After all, a whole nation, including Bill Clinton who I'm into , thought it was a touching account that personally changed them.

Then again, this is the same country who thought The Celestine Prophesy was worthwhile. Aug 01, Lujayn Alyamani rated it it was amazing Recommends it for: View all 81 comments.

Sep 22, Marte Patel rated it did not like it Shelves: The book was badly written, righteous, condescending, preachy, and worst of all, the ending was morally questionable.

All the fables and stories are stolen from elsewhere, religious ideas and spirituality are badly mixed, and everything is so obvious.

The book harps on about tapping into the Soul of the World, the Language of the World, about your one true path and other nonsense. The basic idea is that if you really want something and "listen to your heart", the whole universe will Utter drivel.

The basic idea is that if you really want something and "listen to your heart", the whole universe will help you achieve it if you only look for omens.

A questionable idea in a world where people no longer want to work hard and achieve independently. It reads like a really bad self-help book written for 8 year old children and disguised as a symbolic parable.

I read a lot of books and I can safely say this is the worst book I have ever read. It's only saving grace was that it was mercifully short.

The problem with this book is not just that it's bad, which it certainly is, but that there are so many people out there who want to corner you at parties and tell you how it's totally changed their lives.

The profound lessons you'll learn from this book amount to nothing more than several variations on the theme of "only The problem with this book is not just that it's bad, which it certainly is, but that there are so many people out there who want to corner you at parties and tell you how it's totally changed their lives.

The profound lessons you'll learn from this book amount to nothing more than several variations on the theme of "only the very ugly is truly beautiful, only the very stupid are really intelligent, only black is white, only up is down" etc etc.

The writing is too simple to be really bad, but it's the content that gets you. By the end of the book you'll want to track down the philosopher's stone yourself and carefully beat Coelho to death with it.

Aug 20, Clint rated it did not like it Shelves: I hate this book so much. I used to work at a hippie vegetarian restaurant where everyone raved about it, so I should have known what a disaster it would be.

Writing in the style of a fable does not convince me that what the author says is true or profound, this just sucks all around, and people who describe it as magical or inspirational are probably dudes I will not be having a beer with anytime soon.

This guy, he's probably going to get a Nobel one day, too. Aug 19, Lamski Kikita rated it it was amazing Recommends it for: Santiago's journey and spiritual quest, the people he meets, the dreams he has, the omens he encounters, and the nature he speaks to, are all things that we can relate to..

It is all about finding your Pe "when you really want something, the whole universe conspires in helping you to achieve it" This book has crossed the boundaries of books, and has taken a life of its own, creating a movement all around the globe.

It is all about finding your Personal Legend and pursuing your dream regardless of any hurdles, and about being spiritually connected to the universe, which is part of us, and part of God.

Reading this book always sets me back on the right path towards achieving the dreams I have put on hold. We always try to do what everyone expects of us like pursuing a career that you hate just because that is what everyone does.

It is maktub that Coelho writes this book, shares it with the world, and affect so many lives. This masterwork is a legend and a precious treasure.

View all 30 comments. Dec 22, Sithara rated it it was ok. I need to start this review by stating 1 I can't stand self-help books and 2 I'm a feminist no, I don't hate men- some men are quite awesome, but I am very conscious of women and our place in the world.

Short summary mild spoilers: A boy named Santiago follows his 'Personal Legend' in traveling from Spain to the Pyramids in Egypt searching for treasure.

Along the way, he learns 'the Language of the World' the 'Soul of the World' and discovers that the 'Soul of God' is 'his own soul. If you think they are hokey and silly, then you'll think this is a terrible book.

If you think statements such as "When you want something, all the universe conspires you to achieve it" and "All things are one" are moving and life-changing, you'll love this book.

If such statements have you rolling your eyes, then this isn't your cup of tea. Its not that I find anything wrong with these messages.

They are important, but must be balanced with responsibility. In my experience, 'following your dreams' or personal legend is not the only way toward wisdom and strength.

Is the person who struggles to put food on the table every day for his or her family, consciously realizing that he or she may not be following his or her 'personal legend' any less heroic than some traveler who leaves everything and everyone he or she is responsible for to go on a spiritual quest?

Coelho comes close to labeling such people, as losers in life, which I find completely off the mark as some of these people have the most to offer in terms of wisdom.

The issue of responsibility is also part of this book's sexism. The main male characters in the novel have 'Personal Legends' - they are either seeking them, or have achieved them, or have failed to achieve them.

But Coelho never mentions 'Personal Legend' with regard to women, other than to say that Fatima, Santiago's fiance, is 'a part of Santiago's Personal Legend.

Instead of traveling to find her dreams, she is content to sit around, do chores, and stare everyday at the desert to wait for his return.

This is her 'fate' as a desert women. The fact that women don't have Personal Legends is even more galling considering the fact that according to Coelho, even minerals such as lead and copper have Personal Legends, allowing them to 'evolve' to something better ie, gold.

In the ideal world presented in THE ALCHEMIST, it seems that the job of men is to seek out their personal legends, leaving aside thoughts of family and responsibility, and its the job of women to let them, and pine for their return.

Of course, someone has to do the unheroic, inconvenient work of taking care of the children, the animals, the elderly, the ill If everyone simply goes off on spiritual quests, deciding they have no responsibility other than to seek their Personal Legends, no one would be taking responsibility for the unglamorous work that simply has to take place for the world to run.

On the other hand, what if both men and women are allowed to struggle towards their 'Personal Legends,' and help each other as best as they can towards them, but recognize that their responsibilities may force them to defer, compromise, or even 'sacrifice' their dreams?

This may seem depressing, but it isn't necessarily. Coelho seems to think that Personal Legends are fixed at childhood or at birth, or even before and are not changeable: But in my experience, many people have chosen to adjust, compromise, and even 'give up' on their dreams, only to find that life grants them something better, or they have a new, better dream to follow, a path providing greater wisdom.

View all 51 comments. Dec 06, Jennifer aka EM rated it did not like it Recommends it for: Really, I did this so you don't have to.

My heart and I chatted, and we agreed, this book was short. My heart thinks it was also stupid, and after spending some time talking to the wind, I came to agree with my heart.

Yet, after beginning the journey with this book and despite the words of my heart, something impelled me to continue.

Surely it had something to teach me? The book had a lovely cover made of nicely textured stock that felt good in my hands.

It offered the added efficiency of a fold-over flap--something that more publisher My heart and I chatted, and we agreed, this book was short.

It offered the added efficiency of a fold-over flap--something that more publishers should make an effort to do, as it makes the use of a bookmark superfluous.

In this case, this is especially true. The prose turned out to be not nearly as nicely textured. This book knows not of irony. Still, though, I needed to complete my journey.

My heart tugged on my sleeve. As I continued my journey, I found that the text inside was set in a pleasing font.

I could find no typos, which are always a portent of doom. So I kept going. I found the words that the font expressed were simple and easy to read.

As I read them before falling to sleep each night, they neither challenged me nor troubled my dreams. Many people, I believe, enjoy this in a book, in the same way that they enjoy Hostess Twinkies.

They are filled up with calories, which causes their bodies to believe that they have been fed a nutritious meal, when in fact their brains are lulled into sheep-like somnambulism.

They grow fat and stupid er under the illusion that they have received nutrition without ever experiencing the pain of having to cook, and possibly work up a sweat or burn one's fingers.

I wondered if this book was possibly dangerous. I wondered what kind of people would be deluded into thinking, within the guise of a poorly written but deviously well-conceived parable, that this book's philosophy was, in fact, Deep and Meaningful Truth.

This book, I felt, was perhaps insidiously evil, a force with which I needed to do battle. I did not know which weapon to use, as irony appears to be rendered completely ineffective within a 3-metre radius of this book.

Still, irony and a love of absurdity hovered around me as I searched for the true meaning in this book, and why it appears to offer a powerful message to so many.

I consulted the Oracle, known across all the lands by many names. Now, there's an alchemist for you: Queen Wiki can turn knowledge into nonsense and then back again before your very eyes.

The perfect Oracle for this book. Queen Wiki turned out to be very entertaining and illuminating in this case. I learned that Joe Jonas and Russell Crowe loved this book.

I glommed on to this as an omen that absurdity was lurking close. I interpreted it as a sign that I must continue. Again, I was struck by the irony of that, but turning back to the book, this fleeting insight that might have had a grain of real value was immediately squelched.

I sipped some sweet tea from a crystal goblet, and plodded on through the desert of thought that is this book. This, I felt, was the lesson to be learned: Skepticism is turned back at the gates by ill-formed philosophies based on the unwavering power of evangelical groupthink and our species' rather fascinating susceptibility to cognitive bias, or errors in thinking, that cause us to believe as truth that which can actually be scientifically validated as false.

This book makes a mockery of spirituality and the search for truth and meaning, under the guise of the easy, anxiety-quelling New Age philosophies that spoon-feed the stupid with Twitter-sized bites of nonsense.

Beliefs like, "good things happen to good people. If it's not right, it's not the end. Do not trade or give away--you'll just be spreading the bullshit.

My heart will go on. View all 36 comments. Jun 07, Amanda rated it did not like it Shelves: I read this book about three years ago and just had to re-read it for book club.

It was a steaming pile of crap then and, guess what? The main reason I hate this book: You go into it thinking that it's going to be about a boy's quest for treasure.

If you read the back, there are words like "Pyramids," "Gypsy," "alchemist. It's Hallmark Hall of Fame territory set in an exotic locale. Which pisses me off to no end as I normally try to dodge that sort of thing, but here it is masquerading as the type of book I normally like.

It's cliche, didactic, and poorly written. Just as with Aesop's Fables , there's a moral to the story. And Coelho keeps backing up and running over it just to make sure that we get it and he capitalizes important key words necessary to understanding it, lest we overlook their significance.

If there's one thing Paulo Coelho can do, it's flog a dead horse. Essentially, boy thinks he's happy in life. He's a shepherd who gets to travel the world, has all of his needs met, and owns a book which he can always trade for another book when he goes to market.

What more can a boy need? Boy is then told by a mysterious stranger that he's not happy at all. He has failed to recognize his Personal Legend.

Everyone has a Personal Legend, which is life's plan for you. However, most of us give up on our Personal Legend in childhood. If you are fortunate enough to hang onto and pursue your Personal Legend, then The Soul of the World will help you obtain it.

All of nature conspires to bring you luck and good fortune so that you can fulfill your destiny, whether it's to be a shepherd on a quest for treasure at the pyramids, a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker, or, one would assume, a prostitute, drug dealer, or porn star.

Hey, we're all fate's bitch in The Alchemist. Boy seeks out his Personal Legend and finds it's a long, hard road to obtaining what you want in life.

But with faith, perseverance, and just a little goshdarnit good luck, the boy learns to speak the Language of the World and tap into The Soul of the World and fulfills his Personal Legend.

And what does he learn? That what he sought was back home, the place he started from. So, in summation, here is what you should learn from The Alchemist: And, while you're at it, dream BIG 2 Follow your bliss 3 Don't be surprised if you find obstacles in your way, but you will overcome 4 It's good to travel and encounter people from other cultures 5 What we most often seek is right in front of us, but sometimes we have to leave home to realize it To all of these important life lessons, I can only say, "Well, no shit, Sherlock.

Alas, it's still crap. Cross posted at This Insignificant Cinder View all 59 comments. The boy felt ill and terribly alone. The infidels had an evil look about them.

Besides this, in the rush of his travels he had forgotten a detail, just one detail, which could keep him from his treasure for a long time: The owner of the bar approached him, and the boy pointed to a drink that had been served at the next table.

It turned out to be a bitter tea. The boy preferred wine. But he didn't need to worry about that right now. What he had to be concerned about was his treasure, and how he was going to go about getting it.

The sale of his sheep had left him with enough money in his pouch, and the boy knew that in money there was magic; whoever has money is never really alone.

Before long, maybe in just a few days, he would be at the Pyramids. An old man, with a breastplate of gold, wouldn't have lied just to acquire six sheep.

The old man had spoken about signs and omens, and, as the boy was crossing the strait, he had thought about omens.

Yes, the old man had known what he was talking about: He had discovered that the presence of a certain bird meant that a snake was nearby, and that a certain shrub was a sign that there was water in the area.

The sheep had taught him that. If God leads the sheep so well, he will also lead a man, he thought, and that made him feel better. The tea seemed less bitter.

The boy was relieved. He was thinking about omens, and someone had appeared. The new arrival was a young man in Western dress, but the color of his skin suggested he was from this city.

He was about the same age and height as the boy. We're only two hours from Spain. I hate this tea. He almost began to tell about his treasure, but decided not to do so.

If he did, it was possible that the Arab would want a part of it as payment for taking him there. He remembered what the old man had said about offering something you didn't even have yet.

I can pay you to serve as my guide. The boy noticed that the owner of the bar stood nearby, listening attentively to their conversation. He felt uneasy at the man's presence.

But he had found a guide, and didn't want to miss out on an opportunity. I need to know whether you have enough. But he trusted in the old man, who had said that, when you really want something, the universe always conspires in your favor.

He took his money from his pouch and showed it to the young man. The owner of the bar came over and looked, as well. The two men exchanged some words in Arabic, and the bar owner seemed irritated.

He got up to pay the bill, but the owner grabbed him and began to speak to him in an angry stream of words. The boy was strong, and wanted to retaliate, but he was in a foreign country.

His new friend pushed the owner aside, and pulled the boy outside with him. This is a port, and every port has its thieves. He had helped him out in a dangerous situation.

He took out his money and counted it. Everywhere there were stalls with items for sale. They reached the center of a large plaza where the market was held.

There were thousands of people there, arguing, selling, and buying; vegetables for sale amongst daggers, and carpets displayed alongside tobacco.

But the boy never took his eye off his new friend. After all, he had all his money. He thought about asking him to give it back, but decided that would be unfriendly.

He knew nothing about the customs of the strange land he was in. He knew he was stronger than his friend. Suddenly, there in the midst of all that confusion, he saw the most beautiful sword he had ever seen.

The scabbard was embossed in silver, and the handle was black and encrusted with precious stones. The boy promised himself that, when he returned from Egypt, he would buy that sword.

Then he realized that he had been distracted for a few moments, looking at the sword. His heart squeezed, as if his chest had suddenly compressed it.

He was afraid to look around, because he knew what he would find. He continued to look at the beautiful sword for a bit longer, until he summoned the courage to turn around.

All around him was the market, with people coming and going, shouting and buying, and the aroma of strange foods.

The boy wanted to believe that his friend had simply become separated from him by accident. He decided to stay right there and await his return.

As he waited, a priest climbed to the top of a nearby tower and began his chant; everyone in the market fell to their knees, touched their foreheads to the ground, and took up the chant.

Then, like a colony of worker ants, they dismantled their stalls and left. The sun began its departure, as well.

The boy watched it through its trajectory for some time, until it was hidden behind the white houses surrounding the plaza.

He recalled that when the sun had risen that morning, he was on another continent, still a shepherd with sixty sheep, and looking forward to meeting with a girl.

That morning he had known everything that was going to happen to him as he walked through the familiar fields. But now, as the sun began to set, he was in a different country, a stranger in a strange land, where he couldn't even speak the language.

He was no longer a shepherd, and he had nothing, not even the money to return and start everything over. All this happened between sunrise and sunset, the boy thought.

He was feeling sorry for himself, and lamenting the fact that his life could have changed so suddenly and so drastically. He was so ashamed that he wanted to cry.

He had never even wept in front of his own sheep. But the marketplace was empty, and he was far from home, so he wept. He wept because God was unfair, and because this was the way God repaid those who believed in their dreams.

When I had my sheep, I was happy, and I made those around me happy. People saw me coming and welcomed me, he thought.

But now I'm sad and alone. I'm going to become bitter and distrustful of people because one person betrayed me.

I'm going to hate those who have found their treasure because I never found mine. And I'm going to hold on to what little I have, because I'm too insignificant to conquer the world.

He opened his pouch to see what was left of his possessions; maybe there was a bit left of the sandwich he had eaten on the ship. But all he found was the heavy book, his jacket, and the two stones the old man had given him.

As he looked at the stones, he felt relieved for some reason. He had exchanged six sheep for two precious stones that had been taken from a gold breastplate.

He could sell the stones and buy a return ticket. But this time I'll be smarter, the boy thought, removing them from the pouch so he could put them in his pocket.

This was a port town, and the only truthful thing his friend had told him was that port towns are full of thieves.

Now he understood why the owner of the bar had been so upset: They were his treasure. Just handling them made him feel better.

They reminded him of the old man. The boy was trying to understand the truth of what the old man had said.

There he was in the empty marketplace, without a cent to his name, and with not a sheep to guard through the night. But the stones were proof that he had met with a king — a king who knew of the boy's past.

The old man had said to ask very clear questions, and to do that, the boy had to know what he wanted. So, he asked if the old man's blessing was still with him.

He took out one of the stones. He stuck his hand into the pouch, and felt around for one of the stones.

As he did so, both of them pushed through a hole in the pouch and fell to the ground. The boy had never even noticed that there was a hole in his pouch.

He knelt down to find Urim and Thummim and put them back in the pouch. But as he saw them lying there on the ground, another phrase came to his mind.

The boy smiled to himself. He picked up the two stones and put them back in his pouch. He didn't consider mending the hole — the stones could fall through any time they wanted.

He had learned that there were certain things one shouldn't ask about, so as not to flee from one's own destiny. But the stones had told him that the old man was still with him, and that made him feel more confident.

He looked around at the empty plaza again, feeling less desperate than before. This wasn't a strange place; it was a new one.

After all, what he had always wanted was just that: Even if he never got to the Pyramids, he had already traveled farther than any shepherd he knew.

Oh, if they only knew how different things are just two hours by ship from where they are, he thought. Although his new world at the moment was just an empty marketplace, he had already seen it when it was teeming with life, and he would never forget it.

He remembered the sword. It hurt him a bit to think about it, but he had never seen one like it before. As he mused about these things, he realized that he had to choose between thinking of himself as the poor victim of a thief and as an adventurer in quest of his treasure.

He was shaken into wakefulness by someone. He had fallen asleep in the middle of the marketplace, and life in the plaza was about to resume.

Looking around, he sought his sheep, and then realized that he was in a new world. But instead of being saddened, he was happy. He no longer had to seek out food and water for the sheep; he could go in search of his treasure, instead.

He had not a cent in his pocket, but he had faith. He had decided, the night before, that he would be as much an adventurer as the ones he had admired in books.

He walked slowly through the market. The merchants were assembling their stalls, and the boy helped a candy seller to do his.

The candy seller had a smile on his face: His smile reminded the boy of the old man — the mysterious old king he had met. He's doing it because it's what he wants to do," thought the boy.

He realized that he could do the same thing the old man had done — sense whether a person was near to or far from his destiny.

Just by looking at them. It's easy, and yet I've never done it before, he thought. When the stall was assembled, the candy seller offered the boy the first sweet he had made for the day.

The boy thanked him, ate it, and went on his way. When he had gone only a short distance, he realized that, while they were erecting the stall, one of them had spoken Arabic and the other Spanish.

And they had understood each other perfectly well. There must be a language that doesn't depend on words, the boy thought.

I've already had that experience with my sheep, and now it's happening with people. He was learning a lot of new things. Some of them were things that he had already experienced, and weren't really new, but that he had never perceived before.

And he hadn't perceived them because he had become accustomed to them. If I can learn to understand this language without words, I can learn to understand the world.

Relaxed and unhurried, he resolved that he would walk through the narrow streets of Tangier. Only in that way would he be able to read the omens.

He knew it would require a lot of patience, but shepherds know all about patience. Once again he saw that, in that strange land, he was applying the same lessons he had learned with his sheep.

The crystal merchant awoke with the day, and felt the same anxiety that he felt every morning. He had been in the same place for thirty years: Now it was too late to change anything — the only thing he had ever learned to do was to buy and sell crystal glassware.

There had been a time when many people knew of his shop: Arab merchants, French and English geologists, German soldiers who were always well-heeled.

In those days it had been wonderful to be selling crystal, and he had thought how he would become rich, and have beautiful women at his side as he grew older.

But, as time passed, Tangier had changed. The nearby city of Ceuta had grown faster than Tangier, and business had fallen off.

Neighbors moved away, and there remained only a few small shops on the hill. And no one was going to climb the hill just to browse through a few small shops.

But the crystal merchant had no choice. He had lived thirty years of his life buying and selling crystal pieces, and now it was too late to do anything else.

He spent the entire morning observing the infrequent comings and goings in the street. He had done this for years, and knew the schedule of everyone who passed.

But, just before lunchtime, a boy stopped in front of the shop. He was dressed normally, but the practiced eyes of the crystal merchant could see that the boy had no money to spend.

Nevertheless, the merchant decided to delay his lunch for a few minutes until the boy moved on. A card hanging in the doorway announced that several languages were spoken in the shop.

The boy saw a man appear behind the counter. In his pouch, he had his jacket — he certainly wasn't going to need it in the desert.

Taking the jacket out, he began to clean the glasses. In half an hour, he had cleaned all the glasses in the window, and, as he was doing so, two customers had entered the shop and bought some crystal.

When he had completed the cleaning, he asked the man for something to eat. He put a sign on the door, and they went to a small cafe nearby.

As they sat down at the only table in the place, the crystal merchant laughed. And both you and I needed to cleanse our minds of negative thoughts.

Two customers came in today while you were working, and that's a good omen. But they really don't know what they're saying. Just as I hadn't realized that for so many years I had been speaking a language without words to my sheep.

In return, I need money to get to Egypt tomorrow. There are thousands of kilometers of desert between here and there. No sound from the bazaars, no arguments among the merchants, no men climbing to the towers to chant.

No hope, no adventure, no old kings or destinies, no treasure, and no Pyramids. It was as if the world had fallen silent because the boy's soul had.

He sat there, staring blankly through the door of the cafe, wishing that he had died, and that everything would end forever at that moment.

The merchant looked anxiously at the boy. All the joy he had seen that morning had suddenly disappeared. The boy said nothing. He got up, adjusted his clothing, and picked up his pouch.

And after another long silence, he added, "I need money to buy some sheep. The merchant spent the entire day mumbling behind the counter, telling the boy to be careful with the pieces and not to break anything.

But he stayed with the job because the merchant, although he was an old grouch, treated him fairly; the boy received a good commission for each piece he sold, and had already been able to put some money aside.

That morning he had done some calculating: But that's the way life is with sheep and with shepherds.

He was selling better than ever. Why ask more out of life? Because life wants you to achieve your destiny," the old king had said. But the merchant understood what the boy had said.

The boy's very presence in the shop was an omen, and, as time passed and money was pouring into the cash drawer, he had no regrets about having hired the boy.

The boy was being paid more money than he deserved, because the merchant, thinking that sales wouldn't amount to much, had offered the boy a high commission rate.

He had assumed he would soon return to his sheep. The treasure was now nothing but a painful memory, and he tried to avoid thinking about it. You could build one in your backyard.

Two days later, the merchant spoke to the boy about the display. If he makes a buying mistake, it doesn't affect him much.

But we two have to live with our mistakes. We have to take advantage when luck is on our side, and do as much to help it as it's doing to help us.

It's called the principle of favorability. Then he said, "The Prophet gave us the Koran, and left us just five obligations to satisfy during our lives.

The most important is to believe only in the one true God. The others are to pray five times a day, fast during Ramadan, and be charitable to the poor.

His eyes filled with tears as he spoke of the Prophet. He was a devout man, and, even with all his impatience, he wanted to live his life in accordance with Muslim law.

We are obliged, at least once in our lives, to visit the holy city of Mecca. When I was young, all I wanted to do was put together enough money to start this shop.

I thought that someday I'd be rich, and could go to Mecca. I began to make some money, but I could never bring myself to leave someone in charge of the shop; the crystals are delicate things.

At the same time, people were passing my shop all the time, heading for Mecca. Some of them were rich pilgrims, traveling in caravans with servants and camels, but most of the people making the pilgrimage were poorer than I.

They placed the symbols of the pilgrimage on the doors of their houses. One of them, a cobbler who made his living mending boots, said that he had traveled for almost a year through the desert, but that he got more tired when he had to walk through the streets of Tangier buying his leather.

That's what helps me face these days that are all the same, these mute crystals on the shelves, and lunch and dinner at that same horrible cafe.

I'm afraid that if my dream is realized, I'll have no reason to go on living. I just want to dream about Mecca.

I've already imagined a thousand times crossing the desert, arriving at the Plaza of the Sacred Stone, the seven times I walk around it before allowing myself to touch it.

I've already imagined the people who would be at my side, and those in front of me, and the conversations and prayers we would share.

But I'm afraid that it would all be a disappointment, so I prefer just to dream about it. Not everyone can see his dreams come true in the same way.

Two more months passed, and the shelf brought many customers into the crystal shop. The boy estimated that, if he worked for six more months, he could return to Spain and buy sixty sheep, and yet another sixty.

In less than a year, he would have doubled his flock, and he would be able to do business with the Arabs, because he was now able to speak their strange language.

Since that morning in the marketplace, he had never again made use of Urim and Thummim, because Egypt was now just as distant a dream for him as was Mecca for the merchant.

Anyway, the boy had become happy in his work, and thought all the time about the day when he would disembark at Tarifa as a winner.

The boy knew, and was now working toward it. Maybe it was his treasure to have wound up in that strange land, met up with a thief, and doubled the size of his flock without spending a cent.

He was proud of himself. He had learned some important things, like how to deal in crystal, and about the language without words. One afternoon he had seen a man at the top of the hill, complaining that it was impossible to find a decent place to get something to drink after such a climb.

The boy, accustomed to recognizing omens, spoke to the merchant. The people will enjoy the tea and want to buy the glasses.

I have been told that beauty is the great seducer of men. I need to buy my sheep back, so I have to earn the money to do so.

I know good crystal from bad, and everything else there is to know about crystal. I know its dimensions and how it behaves.

If we serve tea in crystal, the shop is going to expand. And then I'll have to change my way of life. Before you came, I was thinking about how much time I had wasted in the same place, while my friends had moved on, and either went bankrupt or did better than they had before.

It made me very depressed. Now, I can see that it hasn't been too bad. The shop is exactly the size I always wanted it to be.

I don't want to change anything, because I don't know how to deal with change. I'm used to the way I am. The old man continued, "You have been a real blessing to me.

Today, I understand something I didn't see before: I don't want anything else in life. But you are forcing me to look at wealth and at horizons I have never known.

Now that I have seen them, and now that I see how immense my possibilities are, I'm going to feel worse than I did before you arrived.

Because I know the things I should be able to accomplish, and I don't want to do so. They went on smoking the pipe for a while as the sun began to set.

They were conversing in Arabic, and the boy was proud of himself for being able to do so. There had been a time when he thought that his sheep could teach him everything he needed to know about the world.

But they could never have taught him Arabic. There are probably other things in the world that the sheep can't teach me, thought the boy as he regarded the old merchant.

All they ever do, really, is look for food and water. And maybe it wasn't that they were teaching me, but that I was learning from them.

Sometimes, there's just no way to hold back the river. The men climbed the hill, and they were tired when they reached the top. But there they saw a crystal shop that offered refreshing mint tea.

They went in to drink the tea, which was served in beautiful crystal glasses. The other man remarked that tea was always more delicious when it was served in crystal, because the aroma was retained.

The third said that it was a tradition in the Orient to use crystal glasses for tea because it had magical powers. Before long, the news spread, and a great many people began to climb the hill to see the shop that was doing something new in a trade that was so old.

Other shops were opened that served tea in crystal, but they weren't at the top of a hill, and they had little business. Eventually, the merchant had to hire two more employees.

He began to import enormous quantities of tea, along with his crystal, and his shop was sought out by men and women with a thirst for things new.

And, in that way, the months passed. The boy awoke before dawn. It had been eleven months and nine days since he had first set foot on the African continent.

He dressed in his Arabian clothing of white linen, bought especially for this day. He put his headcloth in place and secured it with a ring made of camel skin.

Wearing his new sandals, he descended the stairs silently. The city was still sleeping. He prepared himself a sandwich and drank some hot tea from a crystal glass.

Then he sat in the sun-filled doorway, smoking the hookah. He smoked in silence, thinking of nothing, and listening to the sound of the wind that brought the scent of the desert.

When he had finished his smoke, he reached into one of his pockets, and sat there for a few moments, regarding what he had withdrawn.

It was a bundle of money. Enough to buy himself a hundred and twenty sheep, a return ticket, and a license to import products from Africa into his own country.

He waited patiently for the merchant to awaken and open the shop. Then the two went off to have some more tea.

And you have the money you need to go to Mecca. Then he turned to the boy. But you know that I'm not going to go to Mecca. Just as you know that you're not going to buy your sheep.

And he gave the boy his blessing. The boy went to his room and packed his belongings. They filled three sacks. As he was leaving, he saw, in the comer of the room, his old shepherd's pouch.

It was bunched up, and he had hardly thought of it for a long time. As he took his j acket out of the pouch, thinking to give it to someone in the street, the two stones fell to the floor.

It made the boy think of the old king, and it startled him to realize how long it had been since he had thought of him. For nearly a year, he had been working incessantly, thinking only of putting aside enough money so that he could return to Spain with pride.

He had worked hard for a year, and the omens were that it was time to go. I'm going to go back to doing just what I did before, the boy thought.

Even though the sheep didn't teach me to speak Arabic. But the sheep had taught him something even more important: It was the language of enthusiasm, of things accomplished with love and purpose, and as part of a search for something believed in and desired.

Tangier was no longer a strange city, and he felt that, just as he had conquered this place, he could conquer the world. But the old king hadn't said anything about being robbed, or about endless deserts, or about people who know what their dreams are but don't want to realize them.

The old king hadn't told him that the Pyramids were just a pile of stones, or that anyone could build one in his backyard. And he had forgotten to mention that, when you have enough money to buy a flock larger than the one you had before, you should buy it.

The boy picked up his pouch and put it with his other things. He went down the stairs and found the merchant waiting on a foreign couple, while two other customers walked about the shop, drinking tea from crystal glasses.

It was more activity than usual for this time of the morning. From where he stood, he saw for the first time that the old merchant's hair was very much like the hair of the old king.

He remembered the smile of the candy seller, on his first day in Tangier, when he had nothing to eat and nowhere to go — that smile had also been like the old king's smile.

It's almost as if he had been here and left his mark, he thought. And yet, none of these people has ever met the old king. On the other hand, he said that he always appeared to help those who are trying to realize their destiny.

He left without saying good-bye to the crystal merchant. He didn't want to cry with the other people there. He was going to miss the place and all the good things he had learned.

He was more confident in himself, though, and felt as though he could conquer the world. He had worked for an entire year to make a dream come true, and that dream, minute by minute, was becoming less important.

Maybe because that wasn't really his dream. But as he held Urim and Thurnmim in his hand, they had transmitted to him the strength and will of the old king.

By coincidence — or maybe it was an omen, the boy thought — he came to the bar he had entered on his first day there.

The thief wasn't there, and the owner brought him a cup of tea. I can always go back to being a shepherd, the boy thought. I learned how to care for sheep, and I haven't forgotten how that's done.

But maybe I'll never have another chance to get to the Pyramids in Egypt. The old man wore a breastplate of gold, and he knew about my past.

He really was a king, a wise king. The hills of Andalusia were only two hours away, but there was an entire desert between him and the Pyramids.

Yet the boy felt that there was another way to regard his situation: I know why I want to get back to my flock, he thought.

I understand sheep; they're no longer a problem, and they can be good friends. On the other hand, I don't know if the desert can be a friend, and it's in the desert that I have to search for my treasure.

If I don't find it, I can always go home. I finally have enough money, and all the time I need.

He suddenly felt tremendously happy. He could always go back to being a shepherd. He could always become a crystal salesman again.

Maybe the world had other hidden treasures, but he had a dream, and he had met with a king. That doesn't happen to just anyone! He was planning as he left the bar.

He had remembered that one of the crystal merchant's suppliers transported his crystal by means of caravans that crossed the desert. He held Urim and Thummim in his hand; because of those two stones, he was once again on the way to his treasure.

What could it cost to go over to the supplier's warehouse and find out if the Pyramids were really that far away? The Englishman was sitting on a bench in a structure that smelled of animals, sweat, and dust; it was part warehouse, part corral.

I never thought I'd end up in a place like this, he thought, as he leafed through the pages of a chemical journal. Ten years at the university, and here I am in a corral.

But he had to move on. He believed in omens. All his life and all his studies were aimed at finding the one true language of the universe. First he had studied Esperanto, then the world's religions, and now it was alchemy.

He knew how to speak Esperanto, he understood all the major religions well, but he wasn't yet an alchemist.

He had unraveled the truths behind important questions, but his studies had taken him to a point beyond which he could not seem to go.

He had tried in vain to establish a relationship with an alchemist. But the alchemists were strange people, who thought only about themselves, and almost always refused to help him.

Who knows, maybe they had failed to discover the secret of the Master Work — the Philosopher's Stone — and for this reason kept their knowledge to themselves.

He had already spent much of the fortune left to him by his father, fruitlessly seeking the Philosopher's Stone.

He had spent enormous amounts of time at the great libraries of the world, and had purchased all the rarest and most important volumes on alchemy.

In one he had read that, many years ago, a famous Arabian alchemist had visited Europe. It was said that he was more than two hundred years old, and that he had discovered the Philosopher's Stone and the Elixir of Life.

The Englishman had been profoundly impressed by the story. But he would never have thought it more than just a myth, had not a friend of his — retorting from an archaeological expedition in the desert — told him about an Arab that was possessed of exceptional powers.

He canceled all his commitments and pulled together the most important of his books, and now here he was, sitting inside a dusty, smelly warehouse.

Outside, a huge caravan was being prepared for a crossing of the Sahara, and was scheduled to pass through Al-Fayoum. I'm going to find that damned alchemist, the Englishman thought.

And the odor of the animals became a bit more tolerable. A young Arab, also loaded down with baggage, entered, and greeted the Englishman.

He didn't want any conversation at this point. What he needed to do was review all he had learned over the years, because the alchemist would certainly put him to the test.

The young Arab took out a book and began to read. The book was written in Spanish. That's good, thought the Englishman. He spoke Spanish better than Arabic, and, if this boy was going to Al-Fayoum, there would be someone to talk to when there were no other important things to do.

He still had some doubts about the decision he had made. But he was able to understand one thing: When someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision.

When I decided to seek out my treasure, I never imagined that I'd wind up working in a crystal shop, he thought. And joining this caravan may have been my decision, but where it goes is going to be a mystery tome.

Nearby was the Englishman, reading a book. He seemed unfriendly, and had looked irritated when the boy had entered. They might even have become friends, but the Englishman closed off the conversation.

The boy closed his book. He felt that he didn't want to do anything that might make him look like the Englishman.

He took Urim and Thummim from his pocket, and began playing with them. The stranger shouted, "Urim and Thummim! But those who know about such things would know that those are Urim and Thummim.

I didn't know that they had them in this part of the world. The stranger didn't answer; instead, he put his hand in his pocket, and took out two stones that were the same as the boy's.

It was shepherds who were the first to recognize a king that the rest of the world refused to acknowledge.

So, it's not surprising that kings would talk to shepherds. The same book that taught me about Urim and Thummim. These stones were the only form of divination permitted by God.

The priests carried them in a golden breastplate. I am in search of that universal language, among other things. That's why I'm here.

I have to find a man who knows that universal language. It's with those words that the universal language is written. And he asked the boy if he, too, were in search of the alchemist.

But the Englishman appeared not to attach any importance to it. The desert is a capricious lady, and sometimes she drives men crazy. In the crowd were women, children, and a number of men with swords at their belts and rifles slung on their shoulders.

The Englishman had several suitcases filled with books. There was a babble of noise, and the leader had to repeat himself several times for everyone to understand what he was saying.

But the only God I serve is Allah, and in his name I swear that I will do everything possible once again to win out over the desert. But I want each and every one of you to swear by the God you believe in that you will follow my orders no matter what.

In the desert, disobedience means death. Each was swearing quietly to his or her own God. The boy swore to Jesus Christ.

The Englishman said nothing. And the murmur lasted longer than a simple vow would have. The people were also praying to heaven for protection.

A long note was sounded on a bugle, and everyone mounted up. The boy and the Englishman had bought camels, and climbed uncertainly onto their backs.

The boy felt sorry for the Englishman's camel, loaded down as he was with the cases of books. The boy knew what he was about to describe, though: The closer one gets to realizing his destiny, the more that destiny becomes his true reason for being, thought the boy.

The caravan moved toward the east. It traveled during the morning, halted when the sun was at its strongest, and resumed late in the afternoon.

The boy spoke very little with the Englishman, who spent most of his time with his books. The boy observed in silence the progress of the animals and people across the desert.

Now everything was quite different from how it was that day they had set out: But, in the desert, there was only the sound of the eternal wind, and of the hoofbeats of the animals.

Even the guides spoke very little to one another. Whenever he saw the sea, or a fire, he fell silent, impressed by their elemental force. I've learned things from the sheep, and I've learned things from crystal, he thought.

I can learn something from the desert, too. It seems old and wise. The wind never stopped, and the boy remembered the day he had sat at the fort in Tarifa with this same wind blowing in his face.

It reminded him of the wool from his sheep. Creatures like the sheep, that are used to traveling, know about moving on.

Perhaps to a baker, or to another shepherd who could read and could tell her exciting stories — after all, he probably wasn't the only one. But he was excited at his intuitive understanding of the camel driver's comment: The boy was beginning to understand that intuition is really a sudden immersion of the soul into the universal current of life, where the histories of all people are connected, and we are able to know everything, because it's all written there.

The desert was all sand in some stretches, and rocky in others. When the caravan was blocked by a boulder, it had to go around it; if there was a large rocky area, they had to make a major detour.

If the sand was too fine for the animals' hooves, they sought a way where the sand was more substantial. In some places, the ground was covered with the salt of dried-up lakes.

The animals balked at such places, and the camel drivers were forced to dismount and unburden their charges.

The drivers carried the freight themselves over such treacherous footing, and then reloaded the camels.

If a guide were to fall ill or die, the camel drivers would draw lots and appoint a new one. But all this happened for one basic reason: Once obstacles were overcome, it returned to its course, sighting on a star that indicated the location of the oasis.

When the people saw that star shining in the morning sky, they knew they were on the right course toward water, palm trees, shelter, and other people.

It was only the Englishman who was unaware of all this; he was, for the most part, immersed in reading his books.

The boy, too, had his book, and he had tried to read it during the first few days of the journey. But he found it much more interesting to observe the caravan and listen to the wind.

As soon as he had learned to know his camel better, and to establish a relationship with him, he threw the book away. Although the boy had developed a superstition that each time he opened the book he would learn something important, he decided it was an unnecessary burden.

He became friendly with the camel driver who traveled alongside him. At night, as they sat around the fire, the boy related to the driver his adventures as a shepherd.

During one of these conversations, the driver told of his own life. One year, when the crop was the best ever, we all went to Mecca, and I satisfied the only unmet obligation in my life.

I could die happily, and that made me feel good. It was something that I thought could happen only to others, never to me.

My neighbors feared they would lose all their olive trees in the flood, and my wife was afraid that we would lose our children. I thought that everything I owned would be destroyed.

So now I'm a camel driver. But that disaster taught me to understand the word of Allah: But this fear evaporates when we understand that our life stories and the history of the world were written by the same hand.

One always had something that the other needed — as if everything were indeed written by one hand. As they sat around the fire, the camel drivers exchanged information about windstorms, and told stories about the desert.

At other times, mysterious, hooded men would appear; they were Bedouins who did surveillance along the caravan route. They provided warnings about thieves and barbarian tribes.

They came in silence and departed the same way, dressed in black garments that showed only their eyes. One night, a camel driver came to the fire where the Englishman and the boy were sitting.

The three fell silent. The boy noted that there was a sense of fear in the air, even though no one said anything. Once again he was experiencing the language without words.

The Englishman asked if they were in danger. The rest is up to Allah, including the danger. The days had always been silent, but now, even the nights — when the travelers were accustomed to talking around the fires — had also become quiet.

And, one day, the leader of the caravan made the decision that the fires should no longer be lighted, so as not to attract attention to the caravan.

The travelers adopted the practice of arranging the animals in a circle at night, sleeping together in the center as protection against the nocturnal cold.

And the leader posted armed sentinels at the fringes of the group. The Englishman was unable to sleep one night.

He called to the boy, and they took a walk along the dunes surrounding the encampment. There was a full moon, and the boy told the Englishman the story of his life.

The Englishman was fascinated with the part about the progress achieved at the crystal shop after the boy began working there.

When you want something with all your heart, that's when you are closest to the Soul of the World. It's always a positive force. We are part of that soul, so we rarely recognize that it is working for us.

But in the crystal shop you probably realized that even the glasses were collaborating in your success.

It's going to test the caravan's every step to see if it's in time, and, if it is, we will make it to the oasis. They were strange books.

They spoke about mercury, salt, dragons, and kings, and he didn't understand any of it. But there was one idea that seemed to repeat itself throughout all the books: In one of the books he learned that the most important text in the literature of alchemy contained only a few lines, and had been inscribed on the surface of an emerald.

The book that most interested the boy told the stories of the famous alchemists. They were men who had dedicated their entire lives to the purification of metals in their laboratories; they believed that, if a metal were heated for many years, it would free itself of all its individual properties, and what was left would be the Soul of the World.

This Soul of the World allowed them to understand anything on the face of the earth, because it was the language with which all things communicated.

They called that discovery the Master Work — it was part liquid and part solid. Every step has to be followed exactly as it was followed by the masters.

And the solid part was called the Philosopher's Stone. They spent so much time close to the fire that gradually they gave up the vanities of the world.

They discovered that the purification of the metals had led to a purification of themselves. He had said that it was a good thing for the boy to clean the crystal pieces, so that he could free himself from negative thoughts.

The boy was becoming more and more convinced that alchemy could be learned in one's daily life. A small sliver of the stone can transform large quantities of metal into gold.

He thought that, with some patience, he'd be able to transform everything into gold. He read the lives of the various people who had succeeded in doing so: Helvetius, Elias, Fulcanelli, and Geber.

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