The Alchemist

I am reading a book that for me could become my bible ... you know ... the only book you need if you are shipwrecked ... the one book to take on a cruise or to a long prison term.

It is called The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo and is a fable, the story of an Andalusian shepherd who goes on a quest. A simple tale. A simple man. But filled with profound thoughts. It is a kind of distillation of the things one needs to discover in order to live one's life meaningfully. Paulo Coehlo has been quoted so widely that most of the things his young shepherd discovers are now homilies mouthed by many. Ubiquitous. No longer profound. But still true. Things like living in the moment. Or realizing that your soul is part of the soul of the universe. Understanding that the universe delights when we follow our dreams.

It has been compared to The Little Prince. I have never read The Little Prince, but I will now. Perhaps one will rest in one pocket as I journey, the second in the other ... to balance me.

My friend, Paul, who died in France a year and a half ago told me about The Little Prince. We were in an outdoor cafe in Corsica drinking wine and sharing a light meal. Pizza, I think. Paul loved pizza. I know it wasn't the day I ate the perfect pasta carbonara with the rosy egg yolk bursting forth like a rising sun from its centre. That too was in Corsica, and with Paul, but at a country inn. No ... we were in the city, Ajaccio, when he told me about The Little Prince.

I cannot remember the details but I remember thinking that if I just followed the truths of that simple story I would live a happy life.