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There are some books that go beyond being special. Jonathan Livingston Seagull, The
Little Prince, Conversations With God and The Prophet would all make the list. I’d like
to add one more, The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. It is the story of Santiago, a shepard in
Spain. He sets off to find a treasure by the pyramids in Egypt that is spoken of in a
reoccurring dream. A story as old as the pyramids themselves. Along the way, he finds
out that his journey is about discovering his Personal Legend, touching the Soul of the
World, and learning what love is really about; as well as getting the loot. We learn as we
travel with Santiago many of the valuable lessons of life, and uncover many of the
mysteries. “The wise men understood that this natural world is only an image and a copy
of paradise. The existence of this world is simply a guarantee that there exists a world
that is perfect. God created the world so that, through its visible objects, men could
understand his spiritual teachings and the marvels of his wisdom.” Now come with
Santiago and me as we stroll the fields of Spain, and ride on camel and horseback
through the sands of the great African desert. And, learn as he did, “I’m an adventurer,
looking for treasure.” The adventure awaits! Enjoy!
The Alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought. Leafing
through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus.
The alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth who knelt daily beside a lake to
contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell
into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called
the narcissus.
But this was not how the author of the book ended the story.
He said that when Narcissus died, the goddesses of the forest appeared and found the
lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.
“Why do you weep?” the goddesses asked.
“I weep for Narcissus,” the lake replied.
“Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus,” they said, “for though we always
pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand.”
“But...was Narcissus beautiful?” the lake asked.
“Who better than you to know that?” the goddesses said in wonder. “After all, it was by
your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!”
The lake was silent for some time. Finally, it said:
“I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because,
each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty
reflected.”
“What a lovely story,” the alchemist thought.
The boy’s name was Santiago. Dusk was falling as the boy arrived with his herd at an
abandoned church. The roof had fallen in long ago, and an enormous sycamore had
grown on the spot where the sacristy had once stood.
He decided to spend the night there, He saw to it that all the sheep entered through the
ruined gate, and then laid some planks across it to prevent the flock from wandering
away during the night.
"Well, usually I learn more from my sheep than from books," he answered. 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.
We have to be prepared for change, he thought, and he was grateful for the jacket’s
weight and warmth.
The jacket had a purpose, and so did the boy. His purpose in life was to travel, and, after
two years of walking the Andalusian terrain, he knew all the cities of the region. He was
planning, on this visit, to explain to the girl how it was that a simple shepherd knew how
to read. That he had attended a seminary until he was sixteen. His parents had wanted
him to become a priest...One afternoon, on a visit to his family, he had summoned up the
courage to tell his father that he didn’t want to become a priest. That he wanted to travel.
“People from all over the world have passed through this village, son,” said his father.
“They come in search of new things, but when they leave they are basically the same
people they were when they arrived, They climb the mountain to see the castle, and they
wind up thinking that the past was better than what we have now.”
“The people who come here have a lot of money to spend, so they can afford to travel,”
his father said, “Amongst us, the only ones who travel are the shepherds.”
“Well, then I’ll be a shepherd!”
And he gave the boy his blessing, The boy could see in his father’s gaze a desire to be
able, himself, to travel the world—a desire that was still alive, despite his father’s having
had to bury it, over dozens of years, under the burden of struggling for water to drink,
food to eat, and the same place to sleep every night of his life.
He owned a jacket, a book that he could trade for another, and a flock of sheep. But, most
important, he was able every day to live out his dream. If he were to tire of the
Andalusian fields, he could sell his sheep and go to sea. By the time he had had enough
of the sea, he would already have known other cities, other women, and other chances to
be happy.
Whenever he could, he sought out a new road to travel. He had never been to that ruined
church before, in spite of having traveled through those parts many times. The world was
huge and inexhaustible; he had only to allow his sheep to set the route for a while, and he
would discover other interesting things. The problem is that they don’t even realize that
they’re walking a new road every day. They don’t see that the fields are new and the
seasons change. All they think about is food and water.
It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting, he thought.
“You came so that you could learn about your dreams,” said the old woman. “And
dreams are the language of God. When he speaks in our language, I can interpret what he
has said. But if he speaks in the language of the soul, it is only you who can understand.
But, whichever it is, I’m going to charge you for the consultation.”
“I have had the same dream twice,” he said. “I dreamed that I was in a field with my
sheep, when a child appeared and began to play with the animals. I don’t like people to
do that, because the sheep are afraid of strangers...”
“The child went on playing with my sheep for quite a while,” continued the boy, a bit
upset. “And suddenly, the child took me by both hands and transported me to the
Egyptian pyramids...”
“Then, at the Egyptian pyramids,”—he said the last three words slowly, so that the old
woman would understand—“the child said to me, ‘If you come here, you will find a
hidden treasure,’ And, just as she was about to show me the exact location, I woke up.
Both times.”
“And this is my interpretation: you must go to the Pyramids in Egypt. I have never heard
of them, but, if it was a child who showed them to you, they exist. There you will find a
treasure that will make you a rich man.”
“I told you that your dream was a difficult one. 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.”
“It’s a book that says the same thing almost all the other books in the world say,”
continued the old man. “It describes people’s inability to choose their own Personal
Legends. And it ends up saying that everyone believes the world’s greatest lie.”
“What’s the world’s greatest lie?” the boy asked, completely surprised.
“It’s this; that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what’s happening to us,
and our lives become controlled by fate. That’s the world’s greatest lie.”
“My name is Melchizedek,” said the old man, “How many sheep do you have?”
“Enough,” said the boy, He could see that the old man wanted to know more about his
life.
“Well, then, we’ve got a problem. I can’t help you if you feel you’ve got enough sheep.”
“Give me one-tenth of your sheep,” said the old man, “and I’ll tell you how to find the
hidden treasure.”
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...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.
“I’m the king of Salem,” the old man had said.
“Why would a king be talking with a shepherd?” the boy asked, awed and embarrassed.
“For several reasons, But let’s say that the most important is that you have succeeded in
discovering your Personal Legend.”
“It’s what you have always wanted to accomplish. Everyone, when they are young,
knows what their Personal Legend is.”
“At that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible. 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 Personal Legend...”
“It’s a force that appears to be negative, but actually shows you how to realize your
Personal Legend. It prepares your spirit and your will, because there is one great truth on
this planet: whoever you are, or whatever it is that you do, when you really want
something, it’s because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. It’s your mission
on earth.”
“...The Soul of the World is nourished by people’s happiness. And also by unhappiness,
envy, and jealousy. To realize one’s Personal Legend is a person’s only real obligation.
All things are one.”
“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve
it...”
“Why do you tend a flock of sheep?”
“Because I like to travel.”
The old man pointed to a baker standing in his shop window at one corner of the plaza.
“When he was a child, that man wanted to travel, too. 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.”
“He should have decided to become a shepherd,” the boy said.
“Well, he thought about that,” the old man said. “But bakers are more important people
than shepherds. Bakers have homes, while shepherds sleep out in the open. Parents would
rather see their children marry bakers than shepherds.”
“In the long run, what people think about shepherds and bakers becomes more important
for them than their own Personal Legends.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because you are trying to realize your Personal Legend. And you are at the point where
you’re about to give it all up.”
“And that’s when you always appear on the scene?”
“Not always in this way, but I always appear in one form or another. 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.”
“People learn, early in their lives, what is their reason for being,” said the old man, with a
certain bitterness. “Maybe that’s why they give up on it so early, too. But that’s the way
it is.”
“Treasure is uncovered by the force of flowing water, and it is buried by the same
currents,” said the old man. “If you want to learn about your own treasure, you will have
to give me one-tenth of your flock,”
There was a small building there, with a window at which people bought tickets to
Africa. And he knew that Egypt was in Africa...While standing at the ticket window, the
boy had remembered his flock, and decided he should go back to being a shepherd. In
two years he had learned everything about shepherding: he knew how to shear sheep,
how to care for pregnant ewes, and how to protect the sheep from wolves. He knew all
the fields and pastures of Andalusia. And he knew what was the fair price for every one
of his animals.
The wind began to pick up, He knew that wind: people called it the levanter, because on
it the Moors had come from the Levant at the eastern end of the Mediterranean.
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:
for her, every day was the same, and when each day is the same as the next, it’s because
people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives every day that the sun
rises.
“That baker...” he said to himself, without completing the thought. 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 Personal Legend.
The next day, the boy met the old man at noon. He brought six sheep with him.
“I’m surprised,” the boy said. “My friend bought all the other sheep immediately. He said
that he had always dreamed of being a shepherd, and that it was a good omen.”
“That’s the way it always is,” said the old man. “It’s called the principle of favorability.
When you play cards the first time, you are almost sure to win. Beginner’s luck.”
“Why is that?”
“Because there is a force that wants you to realize your Personal Legend; it whets your
appetite with a taste of success.”
“In order to find the treasure, you will have to follow the omens. God has prepared a path
for everyone to follow. You just have to read the omens that he left for you.”
“Take these,” said the old man, holding out a white stone and a black stone that had been
embedded at the center of the breastplate. “They are called Urim and Thummim. The
black signifies ‘yes,’ and the white ‘no.’ When you are unable to read the omens, they
will help you to do so. Always ask an objective question.
“But, if you can, try to make your own decisions. 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.“
“Don’t forget that everything you deal with is only one thing and nothing else. And don’t
forget the language of omens, And, above all, don’t forget to follow your Personal
Legend through to its conclusion.”
“But before I go, I want to tell you a little story.
“A certain shopkeeper sent his son to learn about the secret of happiness from the wisest
man in the world. 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.
“Rather than finding a saintly man, though, our hero, on entering the main room of the
castle, saw a hive of activity: tradesmen came and went, people were conversing in the
corners, a small orchestra was playing soft music, and there was a table covered with
platters of the most delicious food in that part of the world. The wise man conversed with
every one, and the boy had to wait for two hours before it was his turn to be given the
man’s attention.
“The wise man listened attentively to the boy’s explanation of why he had come, but told
him that he didn’t have time just then to explain the secret of happiness. He suggested
that the boy look around the palace and return in two hours.
“‘Meanwhile, I want to ask you to do something,’ said the wise man, handing the boy a
teaspoon that held two drops of oil. ‘As you wander around, carry this spoon with you
without allowing the oil to spill.’
“The boy began climbing and descending the many stairways of the palace, keeping his
eyes fixed on the spoon. After two hours, he returned to the room where the wise man
was.
“‘Well,’ asked the wise man, ‘did you see the Persian tapestries that are hanging in my
dining hall? Did you see the garden that it took the master gardener ten years to create?
Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library?’
“The boy was embarrassed, and confessed that he had observed nothing. His only
concern had been not to spill the oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.
“‘Then go back and observe the marvels of my world,’ said the wise man. ‘You cannot
trust a man if you don’t know his house.’
“Relieved, the boy picked up the spoon and returned to his exploration of the palace, this
time observing all of the works of art on the ceilings and the walls. 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.
“‘But where are the drops of oil I entrusted to you?’ asked the wise man.
“Looking down at the spoon he held, the boy saw that the oil was gone.
“‘Well, there is only one piece of advice I can give you,’ said the wisest of wise men.
‘The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world, and never to forget the
drops of oil on the spoon.’”
The shepherd said nothing. 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.
If God leads the sheep so well, he will also lead a man...
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.
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.
Now he understood why the owner of the bar had been so upset; he was trying to tell him
not to trust that man. “I’m like everyone else—I see the world in terms of what I would
like to see happen, not what actually does.”
“When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it,” he
had said.
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.
“Learn to recognize omens, and follow them,” the old king had said.
An omen. 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 Personal Legend. “I promised that I would make my own
decisions,” he said to himself.
...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.
“I’m an adventurer, looking for treasure,” he said to himself.
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.

....