Aleph. Paulo Coelho

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Dedication

      For J. who keeps me walking,

      S. J. who continues to protect me,

      Hilal, for her words of forgiveness in the church in Novosibirsk.

      O Mary, conceived without sin,

       pray for those who turn to you. Amen.

      A certain nobleman went into a far country to

       receive for himself a kingdom, and to return. Luke 19:12

      Epigraph

      The Aleph was about two to three centimetres in diameter, but all of cosmic space was there, with no diminution in size. Each thing was infinite, because I could clearly see it from every point on the universe.

      Jorge Luis Borges, ‘The Aleph’

      Thou knowest all – I cannot see.

       I trust I shall not live in vain, I know that we shall meet again In some divine eternity.

      Oscar Wilde, ‘The True Knowledge’

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Dedication

      Epigraph

      King of My Kingdom

      Chinese Bamboo

      The Stranger’s Lantern

      If a Cold Wind Blows

      Sharing Souls

      9,288

      Hilal’s Eyes

      The Ipatiev House

      The Aleph

      Dreamers Can Never Be Tamed

      Like Tears in the Rain

      The Chicago of Siberia

      The Path to Peace

      The Ring of Fire

      Believe Even When No One Else Believes in You

      Tea Leaves

      The Fifth Woman

      Ad extirpanda

      Neutralising Energy without Moving a Muscle

      The Golden Rose

      The Eagle of Baikal

      Fear of Fear

      The City

      The Telephone Call

      The Soul of Turkey

      Moscow, 1 June 2006

      Author’s note

      Copyright

       About the Publisher

      King of My Kingdom

      Oh no, not another ritual! Not another invocation intended to make the invisible forces manifest in the visible world! What has that got to do with the world we live in today? Graduates leave university and can’t find a job. Old people reach retirement and have almost nothing to live on. Grown-ups have no time to dream, struggling from nine to five to support their family and pay for their children’s education, always bumping up against the thing we all know as ‘harsh reality’.

      The world has never been as divided as it is now, what with religious wars, genocides, a lack of respect for the planet, economic crises, depression, poverty, with everyone wanting instant solutions to at least some of the world’s problems or their own. And things only look bleaker as we head into the future.

      What am I doing here, trying to make my way in a spiritual tradition whose roots are in the remote past, far from all the challenges of the present moment?

      Along with J., whom I call my Master, although I’m beginning to have doubts about that, I am walking towards the sacred oak tree, which, for more than five hundred years, has stood there impassively contemplating humanity’s woes, its one concern being to surrender its leaves in winter and recover them in spring.

      I can’t stand to write any more about my relationship with J., my guide in the Tradition. I have dozens of diaries full of notes of our conversations, which I never bother to re-read. Since our first meeting in Amsterdam, in 1982, I have learned and unlearned how to live hundreds of times. Whenever J. teaches me something new, I think that perhaps this will be the last step required to reach the top of the mountain, the note that justifies a whole symphony, the word that sums up an entire book. I go through a period of euphoria, which gradually dissipates. Some things stay for ever, but most of the exercises, practices and teachings end up disappearing down a black hole. Or so it seems.

      The ground is wet. It occurs to me that my trainers, meticulously washed two days before, will soon be covered in mud again, however carefully I tread. My search for wisdom, peace of mind and an awareness of realities visible and invisible has become routine and pointless. I began my apprenticeship in magic when I was twenty-two. I followed various paths, walked along the very edge of the abyss for many years, slipped and fell, gave up and started all over again. I imagined that, by the time I reached the age of fifty-nine, I would be close to paradise and to the absolute peace I thought I could see in the smiles of Buddhist monks.

      In fact, I seem to be further from achieving that than ever. I’m not at peace; now and then I go through periods of inner conflict that can persist for months; and the times when I immerse myself in some magical reality last only seconds, just long enough to know that another world exists and long enough to leave me frustrated because I can’t absorb everything I learn.

      We arrive.

      When the ritual is over, I’ll have a serious talk with him. We both place our hands on the trunk of the sacred oak.

      J. says a Sufi prayer:

      ‘O God, when I listen to the voices of animals, the sounds of trees, the murmurings of water, the singing of birds, the whistling of the wind or the boom of thunder, I see in them evidence of Your unity; I feel that You are supreme power, omniscience, supreme СКАЧАТЬ