Epilogue
The
boy reached the small, abandoned church just as night was falling.
The sycamore was still there in the sacristy, and the stars could still be
seen through the half-destroyed roof. He remembered the time he had
been there with his sheep; it had been a peaceful night... except for
the dream.
Now he was here not with his flock, but with a shovel.
He sat looking at the sky for a long time. Then he took from his
knapsack
a bottle of wine, and drank some. He remembered the night
in the desert when he had sat with the alchemist, as they looked at
the stars and drank wine together. He thought of the many roads he
had traveled, and of the strange way God had chosen to show him his
treasure. If he hadn't believed in the significance
of recurrent dreams,
he would not have met the Gypsy woman, the king, the thief, or ...
"Well, it's a long list. But the path was written in the omens, and there
was no way I could go wrong," he said to himself.
He
fell asleep, and when he awoke the sun was already high. He began
to dig at the base of the sycamore.
"You old sorcerer," the boy shouted up to the sky. "You knew the
whole story. You even left a bit of gold at the monastery so I could get
back to this church. The monk laughed when he saw me come back in
tatters. Couldn't you have saved me from that?"
"No," he heard a voice on the wind say. "If I had told you, you
wouldn't have seen the Pyramids. They're
beautiful, aren't they?"
The boy smiled, and continued digging. Half an hour later, his shovel
hit something solid. An hour later, he had before him a chest of
Spanish gold coins. There were also precious stones,
gold masks
adorned with red and white feathers, and stone statues embedded
with jewels. The spoils of a conquest that the country had long ago
forgotten, and that some conquistador had failed to tell his children
about.
The boy took out Urim and Thummim from his bag. He had used the
two stones only once, one morning when he was at a marketplace. His
life and his path had always provided him with enough omens.
He placed Urim and Thummim in the chest.
They were also a part of
his new treasure, because they were a reminder of the old king, whom
he would never see again.
It's true; life really is generous to those who pursue their Personal
Legend, the boy thought. Then he remembered that he had to get to
Tarifa so he could give one -tenth of his treasure to the Gypsy woman,
as he had promised. "Those Gypsies are really smart, he thought.
Maybe it was because they moved around so much.
The wind began to blow again. It was the levanter,
the wind that came
from Africa. It didn't bring with it the smell of the desert, nor the
threat of Moorish invasion. Instead, it brought the scent of a perfume
he knew well, and the touch of a kiss-a kiss that came from far away,
slowly, slowly, until it rested on his lips.
The boy smiled. It was the first time she had done that.
"I'm coming, Fatima," he said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The owner of Fun Park commented on the irony of the fact that while
the kids had a great time at his park
he himself was habitually
depressed.
"Would you rather own the park or have the fun?" said the Master.
"I want both."
The Master made no reply.
When questioned about it later, the Master quoted the words of a
tramp to a wealthy landowner: "You own the property. Others enjoy
the landscape."
~Anthony de Mello ~
Nostalgia is like a grammar lesson: You find the present tense and the
past perfect.
~ Unknown ~
A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows.
~ St. Francis of Assisi ~
It's better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.
~ Unknown ~
The truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is
that the more you try to avoid suffering
the more you suffer because
smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you in proportion
to your fear of being hurt.
~ Thomas Merton ~
Only to the extent that we expose ourselves to annihilation over and
over can that which is indestructible be found in us.
~ Unknown ~
