by Paulo Coelho
But that was how she was, and she felt herself grower gradually weaker and less and less able to change. A few years before, she would have felt depressed by her own behavior, but she would, at least, still have been capable of the occasional heroic gesture; now, though, she was starting to adapt to her own mistakes. She knew other people who did the same—they, too, got used to their mistakes, and it wasn’t long before they began to see them as virtues. And by then it was too late.
She considered not phoning Wicca and simply disappearing. But what about the bookshop? She wouldn’t then have the courage to go there again. If she just disappeared, the bookseller would not be so kind next time. “It’s happened before. Because of some thoughtless gesture toward one person, I’ve ended up losing touch with other people I really cared about.” She couldn’t do the same thing now. She was on a path where valuable contacts were very hard to find.
She steeled herself and dialed the number on the piece of paper. Wicca answered.
“I won’t be able to come tomorrow,” said Brida.
“No, the plumber can’t make it either,” replied Wicca. For a moment Brida had no idea what the woman was talking about.
Then Wicca started complaining about some problem with her kitchen sink and how she’d arranged several times for a man to come and fix it, but he never came. She launched into a long story about old buildings, which might look terribly imposing but which were, of course, beset by all kinds of problems. Then, in the middle of her story about the plumber, Wicca suddenly asked:
“Have you got your tarot cards handy?”
Surprised, Brida said that she did. Wicca asked her to spread the cards on the table, because she was going to teach her a method of finding out whether the plumber would or would not turn up the following day.
Feeling even more surprised, Brida did as she was asked. She spread the cards and sat staring blankly at the table while she awaited instructions from the other end of the line. The courage to explain the reason for her phone call was gradually fading.
Wicca was still talking, and Brida decided to listen to her patiently. Perhaps she would become her friend. Perhaps then she would be more tolerant and show her easier ways of understanding the Tradition of the Moon.
Wicca, meanwhile, was weaving one topic of conversation seamlessly into another, and having finished her litany of complaints about plumbers, she started describing an argument she’d had with the building manager about the caretaker’s salary. She then moved on to a report that she’d read on old-age pensions.
Brida accompanied all this with a few affirmative grunts, agreeing with everything Wicca was saying, but no longer listening. A terrible tedium took hold of her. This conversation with a woman she barely knew regarding plumbers, caretakers, and pensioners, at that hour in the morning, was one of the most boring things she’d ever experienced. She kept trying to distract herself with the cards on the table, finding little details that she’d never noticed before.
Now and then, Wicca would ask if she was still listening and she’d give a mumbled yes. But her mind was miles away, traveling, wandering about in places she’d never been to before. Every detail on the cards seemed to push her farther on in that journey.
All of a sudden, like someone entering a dream, Brida realized that she could no longer hear what Wicca was saying. A voice, a voice that seemed to come from within—but which she knew came from outside—began to whisper something to her. “Do you understand?” Brida said that she did. “Do you understand?” asked the mysterious voice again.
This, however, was of no importance. The tarot cards before her began to show fantastic scenes: men with bronzed, oiled bodies, wearing only thongs, and some sporting masks like the giant heads of fish. Clouds raced across the sky, as if everything were moving much faster than normal, and the scene shifted abruptly to a square, surrounded by grand buildings, where a few old men were urgently telling secrets to a group of young boys, as if some form of very ancient knowledge were about to be lost forever.
“Add seven and eight and you’ll have my number. I’m the Devil, and I signed the book,” said a boy in medieval clothes at what appeared to be a celebration. Drunken men and women smiled out at her. The scene changed yet again to the sea, to reveal temples carved out of the rocks, and then the sky began to be covered by black clouds pierced by brilliant flashes of lightning.
A door appeared. It was a heavy door, like the door of an old castle. The door came closer to Brida, and she had a sense that soon she would be able to open it.
“Come back,” said the voice.
“Come back,” said the voice on the phone. It was Wicca. Brida was annoyed with her for interrupting such a remarkable experience merely to bore her with more talk about caretakers and plumbers.
“Just a moment,” she replied. She was struggling to find that door, but everything had vanished.
“I know what happened,” Wicca told her. Brida was stunned, in a state of shock. She couldn’t understand what was going on.
“I know what happened,” Wicca said again, in response to Brida’s silence. “I won’t say anything more about the plumber. He was here last week and fixed everything.”
Before hanging up, she said she would expect Brida at the agreed-upon time.
Brida put down the phone without saying good-bye. She sat for a long time staring at the kitchen wall before subsiding into convulsive, soothing sobs.
It was a trick,” Wicca told a frightened Brida when they sat down again in the Italian armchairs.
“I know how you must be feeling,” she went on. “Sometimes we set off down a path simply because we don’t believe in it. It’s easy enough. All we have to do then is prove that it isn’t the right path for us. However, when things start to happen, and the path does reveal itself to us, we become afraid of carrying on.”
Wicca said that she didn’t understand why so many people chose to spend their whole life destroying paths they didn’t even want to follow, instead of following the one path that would lead them somewhere.
“I can’t believe it was a trick,” protested Brida. She had lost her air of arrogance and defiance. Her respect for Wicca had grown considerably.
“No, no, the vision wasn’t a trick. The trick I’m referring to is the phone. For millions of years, we only ever spoke to someone we could see, then, in less than a century, ‘seeing’ and ‘speaking’ were suddenly separated. We think it’s quite normal now and don’t realize the huge impact it has on our reflexes. Our body still hasn’t got used to it.
“The practical result is that, when we speak on the phone, we often enter a state very similar to certain magical trances. Our mind tunes into another frequency and becomes more receptive to the invisible world. I know some witches who always keep a pen and paper by the phone, and while they’re talking to someone, they sit doodling apparently nonsensical things. When they hang up, though, they find that their ‘doodles’ are often symbols from the Tradition of the Moon.”
“But why did the tarot reveal itself to me?”
“That’s the great problem with anyone wanting to study magic,” replied Wicca. “When we set out on the path, we always have a fairly clear idea of what we hope to find. Women are generally seeking their Soul Mate, and men are looking for Power. Neither party is really interested in learning. They simply want to reach the thing they have set as their goal.
“But the path of magic—like the path of life—is and always will be the path of Mystery. Learning something means coming into contact with a world of which you know nothing. In order to learn, you must be humble.”
“Like plunging into the Dark Night,” said Brida.
“Don’t interrupt.” There was a note of barely contained irritation in Wicca’s voice, but Brida realized that it wasn’t because of what she’d said. “Maybe she’s angry with the Magus,” she thought. “Perhaps she was once in love with him. They are more or less the same age.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
&nb
sp; “That’s all right.” Wicca seemed equally surprised by her own reaction.
“You were telling me about the tarot.”
“When you were spreading the cards, you always had a preconceived idea of what would happen. You never let the cards tell their own story; you were trying to make them confirm what you imagined you knew.
“I realized this when we started talking on the phone. I realized, too, that it was a sign and that the phone was my ally. So I launched into a very boring conversation and asked you to look at the cards. You went into the trance provoked by the phone, and the cards led you into their magical world.”
Wicca suggested that the next time Brida was with someone who was talking on the phone, she should take a good look at their eyes. She would be surprised by what she saw.
“I want to ask something else,” said Brida over tea in Wicca’s surprisingly modern and practical kitchen.
“I want to know why you didn’t let me abandon the path.”
“Because,” thought Wicca, “I want to find out what the Magus saw in you, apart, I mean, from your Gift.” What she said was: “Because you have a Gift.”
“How do you know?”
“Easy. By your ears.”
“By my ears! How disappointing!” Brida thought to herself. “And there was me thinking she could see my aura.”
“Everyone has a Gift, but some are born with a more highly developed Gift than others—me, for example—who have to struggle really hard to develop their Gift. People who were born with a Gift have very small, attached earlobes.”
Instinctively, Brida touched her earlobes. It was true.
“Do you have a car?”
No, Brida said, she didn’t.
“Then prepare to spend a fortune on taxi fares,” said Wicca, getting up. “It’s time to take our next step.”
“Things are suddenly moving very fast,” thought Brida as she got to her feet. Life was beginning to resemble the clouds she had seen in her trance.
By around midafternoon they had reached some mountains about fifteen miles south of Dublin. “We could have made the same trip by bus,” Brida grumbled to herself while she paid the taxi. Wicca had brought with her a bag and some clothes.
“If you like, I can wait,” said the driver. “It’s going to be pretty difficult finding another taxi in these parts. This is the middle of nowhere.”
“Don’t worry,” said Wicca, to Brida’s relief. “We always get what we want.”
The driver gave them a strange look and drove off. They were standing before a grove of trees that extended as far as the foot of the nearest mountain.
“Ask permission to enter,” said Wicca. “The spirits of the forests always appreciate good manners.”
Brida asked permission. The wood, which had, up until then, been just an ordinary wood, seemed suddenly to come to life.
“Stay on the bridge between the visible and the invisible,” said Wicca while they walked among the trees. “Everything in the Universe has life, and you must always try to stay in contact with that life. It understands your language. And the world will begin to take on a different meaning for you.”
Brida was surprised at Wicca’s agility. Her feet seemed to levitate above the ground, making almost no noise.
They reached a clearing, near a huge stone. While she tried to think how that stone could have got there, Brida noticed the ashes from a fire right in the middle of the open space.
It was a beautiful place. It would still be some hours before evening, and the sun shone with the warm gold of summer afternoons. Birds were singing, and a light breeze rustled in the leaves. They were quite high up, and she could look across and down at the horizon.
Wicca took a kind of cloak out of her bag and put it on over her clothes. Then she placed the bag near the trees, so that it couldn’t be seen from the clearing.
“Sit down,” she said.
Wicca was somehow different. Brida couldn’t decide whether it was the cloak or the profound respect that the place inspired in her.
“First of all, I must explain what I’m going to do. I’m going to find out how the Gift manifests itself in you. I can only begin to teach you once I know something about your Gift.”
Wicca asked Brida to try and relax, to surrender herself to the beauty of the place, just as she had when she had surrendered to the tarot cards.
“At some point in one of your past lives, you set out along the road of magic. I know this from the tarot visions that you described.”
Brida closed her eyes, but Wicca asked her to open them again.
“Magical places are always beautiful and deserve to be contemplated. Waterfalls, mountains, and forests are all places where the spirits of Earth tend to play and laugh and speak to us. You are in a sacred place, and it is showing you the birds and the wind. Thank God for this, for the birds, the wind, and for the spirits who inhabit this wood. Always stay on the bridge between the visible and the invisible.”
Wicca’s voice was making Brida feel more and more relaxed. She felt an almost religious respect for the moment.
“The other day, I spoke to you about one of the great secrets of magic: the Soul Mate. The whole of man’s life on the face of Earth can be summed up by that search for his Soul Mate. He may pretend to be running after wisdom, money, or power, but none of that matters. Whatever he achieves will be incomplete if he fails to find his Soul Mate.
“With the exception of a few creatures who are descended from the angels—and who need solitude in order to encounter God—the rest of humanity will only achieve Union with God if, at some point, at some moment in their life, they manage to commune with their Soul Mate.”
Brida noticed a strange energy in the air. For a few moments, and for some reason she could not explain, her eyes filled with tears.
“In the Night of Time, when we were separated, one of those parts was charged with nurturing and maintaining knowledge: man. He went on to understand agriculture, nature, and the movements of the stars in the sky. Knowledge was always the power that kept the Universe in its place and the stars turning in their orbits. That was the glory of man—to nurture and maintain knowledge. And that is why the whole human race has survived.
“To women was given something far more subtle and fragile, but without which knowledge makes no sense at all, and that thing was transformation. The men left the soil fertile, we sowed seeds, and the soil was transformed into trees and plants.
“The soil needs the seed, and the seed needs the soil. The one only has meaning with the other. It is the same thing with human beings. When male knowledge joins with female transformation, then the great magical union is created, and its name is Wisdom. Wisdom means both to know and to transform.”
Brida noticed that the wind was growing stronger and that Wicca’s voice was leading her again into a trance. The spirits of the forest seemed alive and intent.
“Lie down,” said Wicca.
Brida leaned back and stretched out her legs. Up above her glowed a deep, blue, cloudless sky.
“Go in search of your Gift. I can’t go with you today, but don’t be afraid. The more you understand yourself, the more you will understand the world. And the closer you will be to your Soul Mate.”
Wicca knelt down and looked at the young woman. “She’s just as I once was,” she thought fondly. “In search of a meaning for everything and capable of looking at the world as did the strong, confident women of old, who were quite happy to rule over their own communities.”
At that time, however, God had been a woman. Wicca bent over Brida’s body and unbuckled the belt of Brida’s jeans, then half-unzipped them. Brida’s muscles tensed.
“Don’t worry,” said Wicca affectionately.
She lifted up Brida’s T-shirt to reveal her navel. Then she took from the pocket of her cloak a quartz crystal and placed it on Brida’s navel.
“Now I want you to close your eyes,” she said softly. “I want you to imagine the color of the sky, but k
eep your eyes closed.”
She took from her cloak a small amethyst and placed it between Brida’s closed eyes.
“From now on, do exactly as I tell you and don’t worry about anything else. You are in the center of the Universe. You can see the stars all around you and some of the brighter planets. Experience this landscape as something that wraps about you completely and not like a picture or a screen. Take pleasure in contemplating this Universe; there’s no need to worry about anything else. Simply concentrate on your own pleasure. Without any feelings of guilt.”
Brida saw the starry Universe and realized that she could step into it even while she was listening to Wicca’s voice. The voice asked her to imagine a vast cathedral in the middle of the Universe. Brida duly saw a Gothic cathedral made of dark stone and which, absurd though it might seem, appeared to form part of the surrounding Universe.
“Walk over to the cathedral and up the steps. Go inside.”
Brida did as Wicca ordered. She went up the cathedral steps, conscious of her bare feet on the cold stone floor. At one point, she had a feeling that there was someone with her, and Wicca’s voice seemed to emerge from a person walking behind her. “I’m imagining things,” thought Brida, but suddenly she remembered what she’d been told about the bridge between the visible and the invisible. She mustn’t feel afraid of disappointment or failure.
Brida was now standing in front of the cathedral door. It was an enormous wrought-iron affair, adorned with scenes from the lives of the saints, and totally different from the one she had seen on her journey through the tarot cards.
“Open the door and go in.”
Brida felt the cold metal of the handle beneath her hand. Despite the door’s great size, it opened easily. She entered and found herself inside a vast church.
“Notice everything around you,” said Wicca. Although it was dark outside, light came streaming in through the cathedral’s huge stained-glass windows. She could make out the pews, the side altars, the decorated columns, and a few lit candles. Yet everything seemed somehow empty and abandoned. The pews were covered in dust.
