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‎alchemist57.html

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<!DOCTYPE html>
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<html lang="en">
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<head>
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<meta charset="UTF-8">
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<meta http-equiv="X-UA-Compatible" content="IE=edge">
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<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0">
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<title>the alchemist</title>
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<link rel="stylesheet" href="style.css">
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</head>
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<body>
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<div class="container" >
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<div id="myHeader" class="header">
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<a href="index.html"><button class="home-button">Home</button></a>
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<button class="bookmark-button">Bookmark</button>
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<div class="wrapper">
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<input type="text" id="text-to-search" placeholder="Enter text to search...">
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<button onclick="search()">Search</button>
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</div>
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</div>
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<h6>Author</h6>
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<h1>Paulo Coelho</h1>
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<h6>Brazilian lyricist</h6>
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<p id="paragraph">
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“And I know the Soul of the World, because we have talked at
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great length to each other during this endless trip through the
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universe. It tells me that its greatest problem is that, up until now,
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only the minerals and vegetables understand that all things are one.
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That there’s no need for iron to be the same as copper, or copper
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the same as gold. Each performs its own exact function as a unique
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being, and everything would be a symphony of peace if the hand
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that wrote all this had stopped on the fifth day of creation.
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“But there was a sixth day,” the sun went on.
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“You are wise, because you observe everything from a distance,”
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the boy said. “But you don’t know about love. If there hadn’t been a
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sixth day, man would not exist; copper would always be just copper,
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and lead just lead. It’s true that everything has its Personal Legend,
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but one day that Personal Legend will be realized. So each thing has
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to transform itself into something better, and to acquire a new
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Personal Legend, until, someday, the Soul of the World becomes one
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thing only.”
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The sun thought about that, and decided to shine more brightly.
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The wind, which was enjoying the conversation, started to blow
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with greater force, so that the sun would not blind the boy.
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“This is why alchemy exists,” the boy said. “So that everyone will
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search for his treasure, find it, and then want to be better than he
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was in his former life. Lead will play its role until the world has no
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further need for lead; and then lead will have to turn itself into gold.
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“That’s what alchemists do. They show that, when we strive to
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become better than we are, everything around us becomes better,
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too.”
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“Well, why did you say that I don’t know about love?” the sun
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asked the boy.
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“Because it’s not love to be static like the desert, nor is it love to
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roam the world like the wind. And it’s not love to see everything
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from a distance, like you do. Love is the force that transforms and
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improves the Soul of the World. When I first reached through to it, I
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thought the Soul of the World was perfect. But later, I could see that
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it was like other aspects of creation, and had its own passions and
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wars. It is we who nourish the Soul of the World, and the world we
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live in will be either better or worse, depending on whether we
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become better or worse. And that’s where the power of love comes
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in. Because when we love, we always strive to become better than
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we are.”
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“So what do you want of me?” the sun asked.
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“I want you to help me turn myself into the wind,” the boy
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answered.
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“Nature knows me as the wisest being in creation,” the sun said.
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“But I don’t know how to turn you into the wind.”
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“Then, whom should I ask?”
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The sun thought for a minute. The wind was listening closely,
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and wanted to tell every corner of the world that the sun’s wisdom
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had its limitations. That it was unable to deal with this boy who
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spoke the Language of the World.
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“Speak to the hand that wrote all,” said the sun.
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The wind screamed with delight, and blew harder than ever. The
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tents were being blown from their ties to the earth, and the animals
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were being freed from their tethers. On the cliff, the men clutched at
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each other as they sought to keep from being blown away.
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The boy turned to the hand that wrote all. As he did so, he
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sensed that the universe had fallen silent, and he decided not to
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speak.
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A current of love rushed from his heart, and the boy began to
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pray. It was a prayer that he had never said before, because it was a
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prayer without words or pleas. His prayer didn’t give thanks for his
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sheep having found new pastures; it didn’t ask that the boy be able
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to sell more crystal; and it didn’t beseech that the woman he had
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met continue to await his return. In the silence, the boy understood
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that the desert, the wind, and the sun were also trying to
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understand the signs written by the hand, and were seeking to
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follow their paths, and to understand what had been written on a
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single emerald. He saw that omens were scattered throughout the
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earth and in space, and that there was no reason or significance
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attached to their appearance; he could see that not the deserts, nor
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the winds, nor the sun, nor people knew why they had been created.
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But that the hand had a reason for all of this, and that only the hand
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could perform miracles, or transform the sea into a desert…or a
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man into the wind. Because only the hand understood that it was a
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larger design that had moved the universe to the point at which six
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days of creation had evolved into a Master Work.
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</p>
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<div>
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<h5 class="pageNumber">Page 57</h5>
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<a href="alchemist56.html" class="previous">&laquo; Previous</a>
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<a href="alchemist58.html" class="next">Next &raquo;</a>
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</div>
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</div>
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<!-- script -->
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<script src="script.js"></script>
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</body>
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</html>

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