by Paulo Coelho
But emotions were, indeed, wild horses, and they demanded to be heard. Brida let them run free for a while until they grew tired. Her emotions were telling her how good it would be that afternoon if she were in love with him, because when you were in love, you were capable of learning everything and of knowing things you had never dared even to think, because love was the key to understanding all of the mysteries.
She ran through various amorous scenarios involving the Magus before she finally regained control. Then she said to herself that she could never love a man like him, because he understood the Universe, and all human feelings look small when viewed from a distance.
They reached the ruins of an old monastic church. The Magus sat down on one of the many piles of carved stone scattered on the ground, and Brida cleared the snow off a broad windowsill.
“It must be good to live here, spend all day in the forest, and then go home to sleep in a nice warm house,” she said.
“Yes, it is good. I know the songs of all the different birds and I can read God’s signs. I’ve learned the Traditions of the Sun and the Moon.”
“But I’m alone,” he felt like adding. “And there’s no point in understanding the entire Universe if you’re alone.”
There, perched on the windowsill, was his Other Half. He could see the point of light above her left shoulder, and he regretted ever having learned the two Traditions, because had it not been for the point of light he might not have fallen in love with her.
“She’s intelligent. She sensed the danger early, and now wants to know nothing more about points of light,” he thought.
“I heard the Voice. Wicca really is an excellent teacher.”
It was the first time that afternoon that she’d brought up the subject of magic.
“The Voice will teach you the mysteries of the world, the mysteries that are imprisoned in time, and which are carried from generation to generation by witches.”
He spoke without really listening to what he was saying. He was trying to remember when he had first met his Soul Mate. Solitary people lose track of time, the hours are long and the days interminable. Even so, he knew they had only been together twice before. Brida was learning very fast.
“I know the rituals and I’m to be initiated into the Great Mysteries at the Spring Equinox.”
She was beginning to feel tense again.
“There’s one thing, though, that I still haven’t experienced—the force that everyone knows and which they revere as if it were a mystery.”
The Magus understood why she had come that afternoon. It wasn’t just to walk among the trees and leave two sets of footprints in the snow, footprints that were getting closer every minute.
Brida turned up her jacket collar to protect her face, whether because the cold grew more intense when they stopped walking or because she was merely trying to conceal her nervousness, she wasn’t sure.
“I want to learn how to awaken the force of sex through the five senses,” she said at last. “Wicca won’t talk about it. She says that I’ll discover it just as I discovered the Voice.”
They sat for a few minutes in silence. She wondered if she should even be talking about such a thing in the ruins of a church. But then she remembered that there are many ways of using the force. The monks who had lived there had worked through abstinence, and they would understand what she meant.
“I’ve tried all kinds of things. I think there must be a trick, like the trick with the phone to get me to really see the tarot cards. I think it’s something Wicca doesn’t want to teach me. I think she must have found it very hard to learn and wants me to experience the same difficulties.”
“Was that why you came looking for me?”
Brida looked deep into his eyes.
“Yes.”
She hoped her answer would convince him, but she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. The walk through the snowy wood, the sunlight on the snow, the easy conversation about the ordinary things of the world, all of this had set her emotions galloping like wild horses. She had to persuade herself again that she was there for only one reason, and that she would attain her objective by whatever means possible. Because God had been a woman before he became a man.
The Magus got up from the pile of stones he was sitting on and walked over to the only wall that had not crumbled into rubble. In the middle of the wall was a door, and he stood leaning against it. The evening sun lit him from behind, and Brida could not see his face.
“There’s one thing that Wicca didn’t teach you,” he said. “She may have forgotten to do so, or she may have wanted you to discover it alone.”
“Well, here I am, alone.”
And she asked herself if perhaps this had been her Teacher’s plan all along, to bring her together with this man.
“I’m going to teach you,” he said at last. “Come with me.”
They walked to a place where the trees were taller and their trunks thicker. Brida noticed that some of them had rough-and-ready ladders attached to the trunks. At the top of each ladder was a kind of cabin.
“This must be where the hermits of the Tradition of the Sun live,” she thought.
The Magus carefully examined each cabin, chose one, and asked Brida to join him.
She started to climb. Halfway up, she felt afraid, because a fall might prove fatal. Nevertheless, she resolved to go on; she was in a sacred place, protected by the spirits of the forest. The Magus had not asked if she wanted to do this, but perhaps this was considered unnecessary in the Tradition of the Sun.
When they reached the top, she gave a long sigh. She had conquered another of her fears.
“This is a good place to teach you the path,” he said. “A place of ambush.”
“Ambush?”
“These cabins are used by hunters. They have to be high up so that the animals don’t catch the hunters’ scent. During the year, the hunters leave food on the ground so that the animals get used to coming here, and then one day, they kill them.”
Brida noticed some empty cartridges on the floor. She was shocked.
“Look down,” he said.
There was barely enough space for two people, and his body was almost touching hers. She did as he asked. The tree must have been one of the tallest, because she could see the tops of the other trees, the valley, the snow-covered mountains on the horizon. It was beautiful there; he needn’t have said what he did about it being a place of ambush.
The Magus pushed back the canvas roof, and suddenly the cabin was filled with sunlight. It was cold, and it seemed to Brida that they were in a magical place, on the top of the world. Her emotions wanted to set off again at a gallop, but she had to keep them in check.
“I didn’t need to bring you here in order to explain what you want to know,” said the Magus, “but I wanted you to understand a little more about this forest. In the winter, when both hunter and hunted are far away, I come and climb these trees and contemplate the Earth.”
He really did want to share his world with her. Brida’s blood began to flow more quickly. She felt at peace, immersed in one of those moments in life when the only possible alternative is to lose all control.
“Our relationships with the world come through our five senses. Plunging into the world of magic means discovering other unknown senses, and sex propels us toward one of those doors.”
He was speaking more loudly now. He sounded like a teacher giving a biology lesson. “Perhaps it’s better like this,” she thought, although she was not convinced.
“It doesn’t matter whether you’re seeking wisdom or pleasure through the force of sex, it will always be a total experience, because it’s the only experience that touches—or should touch—all five senses at once. All our channels with the other person are wide open.
“At the moment of orgasm, the five senses vanish, and you enter the world of magic; you can no longer see, hear, taste, touch, or smell. During those long seconds everything disappears, to be replaced by ecstasy. It
is exactly the same ecstasy as that attained by mystics after years of renunciation and discipline.”
Brida felt like asking why the mystics hadn’t tried to attain it through orgasm, then she remembered that some were the descendants of angels.
“What propels a person toward this ecstasy are the five senses. The more the senses are stimulated, the stronger will be the drive toward ecstasy and the more powerful the ecstasy. Do you understand?”
Of course she understood. She nodded. But that question left her feeling more distant. She wished he were still strolling by her side through the forest.
“That’s all there is to it.”
“I know all that, but I still can’t do it.” Brida didn’t dare mention Lorens. She sensed it would be dangerous. “You told me that there’s a way to achieve it.”
She was nervous and upset. Her emotions were beginning to gallop out of control.
The Magus looked down again at the forest below. Brida wondered if he, too, was struggling with his emotions, but she didn’t want to believe in what she was thinking, nor should she.
She knew what the Tradition of the Sun was. She knew that its Teachers taught through space and time. She had thought about this before she first searched him out. She had imagined that they might one day be together as they were now, with no one else near. That is how the Teachers of the Tradition of the Sun were—always teaching through action and never giving theory undue importance. She had thought all this before ever coming to the forest, but she had come anyway, because now her path was more important than anything else. She needed to continue the tradition of her many lives.
But now he was behaving like Wicca, who only talked about things.
“Teach me,” she said.
The Magus was staring at the bare, snowy branches. He could, at that moment, forget he was a Teacher and be merely a Magus, a man like any other man. He knew that his Soul Mate was there before him. He could talk about the point of light he could see, and she would believe him, and their reencounter would be complete. Even if she left in tears, she would come back eventually, because he was telling the truth—and she needed him as much as he needed her. That was the wisdom of Soul Mates: they always recognized each other.
But he was a Teacher, and one day, in a village in Spain, he had sworn a sacred oath. That oath said, among other things, that no Teacher should ever force another person to make a choice. He had made that mistake once, and because of that he had spent all those years in exile from the world. Now it was different, but he still didn’t want to take the risk. For a moment, he thought: “I could give up magic for her,” but immediately realized how foolish that thought was. Love didn’t require that kind of renunciation. True love allowed each person to follow their own path, knowing that they would never lose touch with their Soul Mate.
He must be patient. He must remember the patience of shepherds and know that, sooner or later, they would be together. That was the Law. And he had believed in that Law all his life.
“What you’re asking me is very simple,” he said at last. He had mastered his emotions; discipline had won out.
“Make sure that when you touch the other person, all your five senses are working, because sex has a life of its own. The moment you begin, you’re no longer in control; it takes control of you. And whatever you bring to it—your fears, your desires, your sensibility—will remain. That’s why people become impotent. When you have sex, take with you to bed only love and your senses, all five of them. Only then will you experience communion with God.”
Brida looked down at the cartridges on the floor. She did not betray her feelings for an instant. She knew what the trick was now, and that, she said to herself, was all she was interested in.
“That’s all I can teach you.”
She did not move. The wild horses were being tamed by the silence.
“Take seven deep, calm breaths and make sure all your senses are working before there’s any physical contact. Just let things take their course.”
He was a Teacher of the Tradition of the Sun. He had come through yet another test. His Soul Mate was also teaching him things.
“Right, I’ve shown you the view from up here. We can go down now.”
She sat distractedly watching the children playing in the square. Someone had told her once that every city has a “magic place,” a place where we go when we need to think seriously about life. That square was her “magic place” in Dublin. It was near the apartment she’d rented when she’d first arrived, full of dreams and expectations. Her plan then had been to enroll as a student at Trinity College and eventually become a professor of literature. She used to spend a lot of time on that bench, writing poetry and generally trying to behave as her literary idols had.
But the money her father sent wasn’t enough, and she’d had to take a job at the import-export company where she worked now. Not that she minded; she was happy with what she was doing, and in fact her job was one of the most important things in her life, because it gave a sense of reality to everything and kept her from going mad. It allowed her to maintain a precarious balance between the visible world and the invisible.
The children continued to play. Like her, all of them had once been told stories about fairies and witches, about witches who dressed all in black and offered poisoned apples to poor young girls lost in the forest. None of those children could possibly imagine that a real, live witch was watching them playing now.
That afternoon, Wicca had asked her to try an exercise entirely unrelated to the Tradition of the Moon, an exercise useful to anyone wishing to keep open the bridge between the visible and the invisible.
It was simple enough. She had to lie down, relax, and imagine one of the main shopping areas in the city. Then she had to concentrate on one particular shop window and notice every detail of what was in the window, where it was, and how much each thing cost. When she had finished the exercise, she had to go to the street and see if she had been right.
Now she was there in the square watching the children. She had just come back from the shop, and the shop window had been exactly as she’d imagined it. She wondered if this really was an exercise for ordinary people, or if her months of training as a witch had helped. She would never know.
But the shopping street she had imagined was very near to her “magic place.” “Nothing happens by chance,” she thought. Her heart was troubled over a matter she could not resolve: Love. She loved Lorens, she was sure of that. She knew that when she was an adept in the Tradition of the Moon, she would see the point of light above his left shoulder. One afternoon, when they’d gone to a café together to drink a cup of hot chocolate near the tower that had inspired James Joyce’s Ulysses, she had seen that special light in his eyes.
The Magus was right. The Tradition of the Sun was the path of all men, and it was there so that it could be deciphered by anyone who knew how to pray and be patient and who wanted to learn what it had to teach. The more she immersed herself in the Tradition of the Moon, the more she understood and admired the Tradition of the Sun.
The Magus. She was thinking about him again. This was the problem that had brought her back to her “magic place.” She had thought about him often since that visit to the hunters’ cabin. She would like to be there right now so that she could tell him about this latest exercise, but she knew that was just a pretext; what she really wanted was for him to invite her to go for a walk in the forest again. She was sure he would be pleased to see her, and she was beginning to believe, for some mysterious reason—which she didn’t even dare to think about—that he enjoyed her company, too.
“I’ve always had too vivid an imagination,” she thought, trying to get the Magus out of her head, but knowing that he would soon be back.
She didn’t want to keep thinking about him. She was a woman and familiar with the symptoms of falling in love, something that she had to avoid at all costs. She loved Lorens and wanted things to continue as they were. Her world had changed
quite enough.
On Saturday morning, Lorens phoned.
“Let’s go for a walk along the cliffs,” he said.
Brida prepared something to eat, and together they endured the long journey in an inadequately heated bus. They reached the village at around midday.
Brida felt excited. In her first year as a student of literature at the university, she had read a lot about the poet who had lived there. He was a mysterious man, who knew a great deal about the Tradition of the Moon; he had been a member of secret societies and left in his books a hidden message for those who seek the spiritual path. His name was W. B. Yeats. She remembered two particular lines by him, which seemed just made for that cold morning, with the seagulls flying over the boats anchored in the little harbor:
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
They went into the only pub in the village, drank a whiskey to keep out the cold, and then set off. The little tarmac road gave way to a steep climb, and half an hour later they reached what the locals called “the cliffs.” This was a promontory made up of rocky outcrops that dropped sheer into the sea. There was a path to follow, and even at a leisurely pace, they would be able to do the whole walk in less than four hours and still catch the bus back to Dublin.
Brida was delighted at the prospect. Regardless of what emotions life might be holding in reserve for her that year, she always found the winter hard to bear. All she did was go to work during the day, to the university in the evening, and to the cinema at weekends. She dutifully performed the rituals and dances Wicca had taught her, but she had a yearning to be out in the world, to see a little nature.
It was overcast and the clouds were very low, but the physical exercise and the whiskey helped fend off the cold. The path was too narrow for them to walk along side by side; Lorens went ahead, and Brida followed a little way behind. It was hard to talk in these circumstances. Nevertheless they managed to exchange a few words, enough for them to feel each other close and to enjoy the nature around them.
