Brida

by Paulo Coelho

  “How’s the water?” asked her father.

  “It’s lovely,” she replied.

  “Right, from now on, whenever you want to find out about something, plunge straight in.”

  She had quickly forgotten this lesson. She may only have been twenty-one, but she had already nurtured many enthusiasms, which she had abandoned as quickly as she had taken them up. She wasn’t afraid of difficulties; what frightened her was being forced to choose one particular path.

  Choosing a path meant having to miss out on others. She had a whole life to live, and she was always thinking that, in the future, she might regret the choices she made now.

  “I’m afraid of committing myself,” she thought to herself. She wanted to follow all possible paths and so ended up following none.

  Even in that most important area of her life, love, she had failed to commit herself. After her first romantic disappointment, she had never again given herself entirely. She feared pain, loss, and separation. These things were inevitable on the path to love, and the only way of avoiding them was by deciding not to take that path at all. In order not to suffer, you had to renounce love. It was like putting out your own eyes in order not to see the bad things in life.

  “Life is so complicated.”

  You had to take risks, follow some paths and abandon others. She remembered Wicca telling her about people who followed certain paths only to prove that they weren’t the right ones, but that wasn’t as bad as choosing a path and then spending the rest of your life wondering if you’d made the right choice. No one could make a choice without feeling afraid.

  That was the law of life. That was the Dark Night, and no one could escape the Dark Night, even if they never made a decision, even if they lacked the courage to change anything, because that in itself was a decision, a change, except without the benefit of the treasures hidden in the Dark Night.

  Lorens might be right. In the end, they would laugh at their initial fears, just as she had laughed at the snakes and scorpions she had imagined were there in the forest. In her despair, she had forgotten that Ireland’s patron saint, St. Patrick, had long ago driven out all the snakes.

  “I’m so glad you exist, Lorens,” she said softly, afraid that he might hear.

  She went back to bed and soon fell asleep. Before she did, though, she remembered another story about her father. It was Sunday, and they and all the family were having lunch at her grandmother’s house. She must have been about fourteen, and she was complaining about not being able to do a homework assignment, because every time she started, it went wrong.

  “Perhaps the times when it goes wrong are teaching you something,” said her father. But Brida was sure that she’d taken the wrong path and that there was no way to put things right.

  Her father took her by the hand and led her into the living room, where her grandmother used to watch television. There was a large, antique grandfather clock, which had stopped years before because it could no longer be repaired.

  “Nothing in the world is ever completely wrong, my dear,” said her father, looking at the clock. “Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.”

  She walked for some time in the wooded mountains before she found the Magus. He was sitting on a rock, near the top of the mountain, contemplating the valley and the mountains to the west. It was a really beautiful view, and Brida recalled that spirits preferred such places.

  “Is God only the God of beauty?” she asked as she approached. “If so, what about the ugly people and places of the world?”

  The Magus did not reply. Brida felt embarrassed.

  “You probably don’t remember me. I was here two months ago. I spent the whole night alone in the forest. I promised myself that I would only come back when I had discovered my path. I’ve met a woman called Wicca.”

  The Magus started but realized with relief that the girl hadn’t noticed. Then he smiled to himself at the irony of fate.

  “Wicca told me that I’m a witch,” the girl went on.

  “Don’t you trust her?”

  This was the first question the Magus had asked since she arrived, and Brida was pleased to know that he was actually listening to what she was saying. Up until then, she hadn’t been sure.

  “Yes, I trust her,” she said. “And I trust in the Tradition of the Moon. But I know, too, that the Tradition of the Sun helped me by forcing me to understand about the Dark Night. That’s why I came back.”

  “Then sit down and enjoy the sunset,” said the Magus.

  “I’m not staying alone in the forest again,” she replied. “The last time I was here—”

  The Magus interrupted her:

  “Don’t say that. God is in the word.”

  Wicca had said much the same thing.

  “What did I say wrong?”

  “If you say it was the ‘last’ time, it might well turn out to be the last. What you meant was ‘the most recent time I was here’.”

  Brida was worried. She would have to take great care with her words from now on. She decided to sit quietly and do as the Magus said and watch the sunset.

  Doing so made her nervous. It would not be dark for nearly an hour, and she had a lot to talk about and many things to say and ask. Whenever she sat still, just looking at something, she got the feeling that she was wasting precious time when she should be doing things or meeting people. She could be spending her time so much better, because there was still so much to learn. And yet, as the sun sank lower on the horizon, and the clouds filled up with rays of gold and pink, Brida had the feeling that what she was struggling for in life was exactly this, to be able to sit one day and contemplate just such a sunset.

  “Do you know how to pray?” asked the Magus at one point.

  Of course she did. Everyone knew how to pray.

  “Right, as soon as the sun touches the horizon, say a prayer. In the Tradition of the Sun, it is through prayers that we commune with God. A prayer, when couched in the words of the soul, is far more powerful than any ritual.”

  “I don’t know how to pray, because my soul is silent,” said Brida.

  The Magus laughed.

  “Only the truly enlightened have silent souls.”

  “So why can’t I pray with my soul, then?”

  “Because you lack the humility to listen to it and find out what it wants. You’re embarrassed to listen to the urgings of your soul and afraid to take those requests to God, because you think He doesn’t have time to concern Himself with them.”

  She was watching a sunset, sitting beside a sage. However, as always happened at such moments, she had the feeling that she didn’t deserve to be there.

  “It’s true that I feel unworthy. I always think the spiritual search was made for people better than me.”

  “Those people, if they exist, don’t need to search for anything. They are the manifestation of the spirit. The search was made for people like us.”

  “Like us” he had said, and yet he was a long way ahead of her.

  “God is God in both the Tradition of the Moon and the Tradition of the Sun,” said Brida, believing that the Traditions were the same and only differed in the ways in which they were taught. “So teach me how to pray.”

  The Magus turned to face the sun and closed his eyes.

  “We are human beings, Lord, and we do not know our own greatness. Lord, give us the humility to ask for what we need, because no desire is vain and no request is futile. Each of us knows how best to feed our own soul; give us the courage to see our desires as coming from the fount of Your eternal Wisdom. Only by accepting our desires can we begin to understand who we are. Amen. Now it’s your turn,” said the Magus.

  “Lord, help me understand that all the good things in life that happen to me do so because I deserve them. Help me understand that what moves me to seek out Your truth is the same force that moved the saints, and the doubts I have are the same doubts that the saints had, and my frailties are the same frailties. Help me to be humble enoug
h to accept that I am no different from other people. Amen.”

  They sat in silence, watching the sunset, until the last ray of sun left the clouds. Their souls were praying, asking for wishes to be granted and giving thanks that they were together.

  “Let’s go to the pub,” said the Magus.

  Brida and the Magus began the walk back. Again she remembered the day when she had first gone there in search of him. She promised herself that she would go over this story only one more time; she didn’t need to keep trying to convince herself.

  The Magus studied the girl walking ahead of him and trying to look as if she knew where she was putting her feet among the damp earth and the stones, but stumbling repeatedly. His heart grew lighter for a moment, then immediately grew guarded again.

  Sometimes, certain of God’s blessings arrive by shattering all the windows.

  It was so good to have Brida by his side, thought the Magus as they walked back down the mountain. He was just like other men, with the same frailties and the same virtues, and he still wasn’t used to the role of Teacher. At first, when people used to come to that forest from all over Ireland to hear his teachings, he spoke of the Tradition of the Sun and asked people to understand what lay around them. God had stored His wisdom there, and they were all capable of understanding it by performing a few simple rituals. The way of teaching the Tradition of the Sun had been described two thousand years before by the Apostle Paul: “And I was with you in weakness and in much fear and trembling; and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.”

  Yet people seemed incapable of understanding him when he talked to them about the Tradition of the Sun and were disappointed because he was a man just like other men.

  He said it didn’t matter; he was a Teacher, and all he was doing was giving each person the necessary means to acquire Knowledge. But they needed much more; they needed a guide. They didn’t understand about the Dark Night; they didn’t understand that any guide through the Dark Night would only illuminate, with his torch, what he himself wanted to see. And if, by chance, that torch should go out, the people would be lost, because they didn’t know the way back. But they needed a guide, and to be a good Teacher, he, too, had to accept the needs of others.

  So he started padding out his teachings with unnecessary but fascinating things that everyone could accept and understand. The method worked. People learned the Tradition of the Sun, and when they finally realized that many of the things the Magus had told them to do were absolutely useless, they laughed at themselves. And the Magus was glad, because he had finally learned how to teach.

  Brida was different. Her prayer had deeply touched the Magus’s soul. She had understood that no human being who has walked this planet was or is different from the others. Few people were capable of saying out loud that the great Teachers from the past had the same qualities and the same defects as all men, and that this in no way diminished their ability to search for God. Judging oneself to be inferior to other people was one of the worst acts of pride he knew, because it was the most destructive way of being different.

  When they reached the bar, the Magus ordered two whiskies.

  “Look at the other customers,” Brida said. “They probably come here every night. They probably always do the same thing.”

  The Magus was suddenly not so sure that Brida really did consider herself to be the same as everyone else.

  “You concern yourself too much with other people,” he replied. “They’re a mirror of yourself.”

  “Yes, I know. I thought I knew what made me happy and what made me sad, then suddenly I realized that I need to think again. But it’s very hard.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “Love. I know a man who makes me feel complete. Three days ago, he showed me that his world is full of mysteries, too, and that I’m not alone.”

  The Magus remained impassive, but he was remembering the thought he’d had earlier about God’s blessings sometimes shattering windows.

  “Do you love him?”

  “What I’ve realized is that I could love him still more. Even if I learn nothing new on this path, at least I will have learned one important thing: we have to take risks.”

  He had been making great plans for that night as they walked down the mountain. He wanted to show how much he needed her, to show that he was just like other men, weary of so much solitude. But all she wanted were answers to her questions.

  “There’s something strange about the air here,” Brida said. The atmosphere appeared to have changed.

  “It’s the Messengers,” said the Magus. “Artificial demons, those who do not form part of God’s Left Arm, those who do not lead us to the light.”

  His eyes were shining. Something really had changed, and there he was talking about demons.

  “God created the legion of His Left Arm in order to improve us, so that we would know what to do with our mission,” he went on. “But He put man in charge of concentrating the powers of darkness and creating his own demons.”

  And that was what he was doing now.

  “But we can concentrate the forces of good, too,” said the girl, somewhat alarmed.

  “No, we can’t.”

  He needed to be distracted, if only she would ask him something. He didn’t want to create a demon. In the Tradition of the Sun, they were called Messengers, and they could do great good or great evil—only the most important Teachers were allowed to invoke them. He was one of those Teachers, but he didn’t want to invoke such a Messenger now, because a Messenger could be a dangerous force, especially when mixed up with disappointments in love.

  Brida was confused by his response. The Magus was behaving strangely.

  “We can’t concentrate the Forces of Good,” he said again, trying hard to focus on what he was saying. “The Force for Good is always diffused, like Light. When you give off positive vibrations, you benefit all humankind, but when you concentrate the force of the Messenger, you are only benefiting—or harming—yourself.”

  His eyes were still shining. He called over the bartender and paid the bill.

  “Let’s go to my place,” he said. “I’m going to make some tea and you can tell me about the really important questions in your life.”

  Brida hesitated. He was an attractive man, and she was an attractive woman. That night, she feared, might put an end to her apprenticeship.

  “I must take risks,” she said to herself again.

  The Magus lived a little way outside the village. Brida noticed that although his house was very different from Wicca’s, it was equally comfortable and just as tastefully decorated. However, there wasn’t a book in sight; it was mainly empty space and a few bits of furniture.

  They went into the kitchen to make tea, then came back to the living room.

  “Why did you come here today?” asked the Magus.

  “I promised myself that I would, once I knew something.”

  “And what do you know?”

  “Well, I know a little. I know that the path is simple and therefore more difficult than I thought. But I will simplify my soul. Anyway, my first question is: ‘Why are you wasting your time with me?’”

  “Because you’re my Soul Mate,” thought the Magus, but he said:

  “Because I need someone to talk to.”

  “What do you think of the path I’ve chosen—the Tradition of the Moon?”

  The Magus needed to tell the truth, even though he wished the truth was different.

  “It was your path. Wicca is quite right. You are a witch. You will learn to use Time’s memory to discover the lessons that God taught.”

  And he wondered why life was like this, why he had met his Soul Mate only to find that the one way she could learn was through the Tradition of the Moon.

  “I only have one more question,” said Brida. It was getting late; s
oon there would be no more buses. “I need to know the answer, and I know that Wicca won’t teach it to me. I know this because she’s a woman like me. She’ll always be my Teacher, but on this topic, she’ll always be a woman. I want to know how to find my Soul Mate.”

  “He’s right here with you,” thought the Magus, but again he said nothing. He went over to one corner of the room and turned out the lights. Only a kind of acrylic sculpture remained lit. Brida hadn’t noticed it when she came in. It contained some sort of liquid, and bubbles rose and fell inside it, filling the room with red and blue lights.

  “We’ve met twice now,” said the Magus, his eyes fixed on the sculpture. “I only have permission to teach through the Tradition of the Sun. The Tradition of the Sun awakens in people the ancestral knowledge that they possess.”

  “How do I find my Soul Mate through the Tradition of the Sun?”

  “That’s what everyone here on Earth is searching for,” the Magus said, unwittingly echoing Wicca’s words. “Perhaps they’d been taught by the same Teacher,” Brida thought.

  “And the Tradition of the Sun placed in the world, for everyone to see, the sign that someone is their Soul Mate: a particular light in the eye.”

  “I’ve seen lots of different kinds of light in lots of people’s eyes,” Brida said. “Today, for example, I saw your eyes shining. That’s what everyone looks for.”

  “She’s forgotten her prayer,” thought the Magus. “She thinks she’s different from everyone else. She’s incapable of recognizing what God is generous enough to show her.”

  “I don’t understand eyes,” she insisted. “Tell me instead how people discover their Soul Mate through the Tradition of the Moon.”

  The Magus turned to her, his eyes cold and expressionless.

  “You’re sad,” she said, “and you’re sad because I’m still incapable of learning through the simple things. What you don’t understand is that people suffer, they search and search for love, not knowing that they’re fulfilling the divine mission of finding their Soul Mate. You forget—because you’re a wise man and don’t think about what it’s like for ordinary people—that I carry millennia of disappointment within me, and I can no longer learn certain things through the simple things of life.”