Paulo Coelho - Aleph

The Alchemist

The Pilgrimage

The Valkyries

By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept

The Fifth Mountain

Veronika Decides to Die

Warrior of the Light: A Manual

Eleven Minutes

The Zahir

The Devil and Miss Prym

The Witch of Portobello

Brida

The Winner Stands Alone

THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK
PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF

Translation copyright 2011 by Margaret Jull Costa

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by
Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc., New York,
and in Canada by Random House of
Canada Limited, Toronto.

www.aaknopf.com

Originally published in Brazil as O Aleph by Sextante, Rio de
Janeiro, in 2010. Copyright 2010 by Paulo Coelho.

by John Gilkes

Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are
registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Coelho, Paulo.
[Aleph. English]
Aleph / by Paulo Coelho; translated by Margaret Jull
Costa.1st American ed.
p. cm.
This is a Borzoi book.
eISBN: 978-0-307-95701-6
I. Costa, Margaret Jull. II. Title.
PQ 9698.13. O 3546 A 4413 2011
869.342dc22 2011021088

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the authors imagination
or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Jacket design by Katya Mezhibovskaya

v3.1

O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for those who turn to you. Amen.

A certain nobleman went into a far country, to receive for himself a kingdom, and to return.

Luke 19:12

For J., who keeps me walking,

S.J., who continues to protect me,

Hilal, for her words of forgiveness
in the church in Novosibirsk

O H, NO, NOT ANOTHER RITUAL! Not another invocation intended to make the invisible forces manifest in the visible world! What has that got to do with the world we live in today? Graduates leave university and cant find a job. Old people reach retirement and have almost nothing to live on. Grown-ups have no time to dream, struggling from nine to five to support their families and pay for their childrens education, always bumping up against the thing we all know as harsh reality.

The world has never been as divided as it is now, what with religious wars, genocides, a lack of respect for the planet, economic crises, depression, poverty, with everyone wanting instant solutions to at least some of the worlds problems or their own. And things look only bleaker as we head into the future.

What am I doing here, trying to make my way in a spiritual tradition whose roots are in the remote past, far from all the challenges of the present moment?

A LONG WITH J., whom I call my Master, although Im beginning to have doubts about that, I am walking toward the sacred oak tree, which, for more than five hundred years, has stood there, impassively contemplating humanitys woes, its one concern being to surrender its leaves in winter and recover them in spring.

I cant stand to write any more about my relationship with J., my guide in the Tradition. I have dozens of diaries full of notes of our conversations, which I never bother to reread. Since our first meeting in Amsterdam, in 1982, I have learned and unlearned how to live hundreds of times. Whenever J. teaches me something new, I think that perhaps this will be the last step required to reach the top of the mountain, the note that justifies a whole symphony, the word that sums up an entire book. I go through a period of euphoria, which gradually dissipates. Some things stay forever, but most of the exercises, practices, and teachings end up disappearing down a black hole. Or so it seems.

T HE GROUND IS WET . It occurs to me that my sneakers, meticulously washed two days before, will soon be covered in mud again, however carefully I tread. My search for wisdom, peace of mind, and an awareness of realities visible and invisible has become routine and pointless. I began my apprenticeship in magic when I was twenty-two. I followed various paths, walked along the very edge of the abyss for many years, slipped and fell, gave up and started all over again. I imagined that by the time I reached the age of fifty-nine, I would be close to paradise and to the absolute peace I thought I could see in the smiles of Buddhist monks.

In fact, I seem to be further from achieving that than ever. Im not at peacenow and then I go through periods of inner conflict that can persist for monthsand the times when I immerse myself in some magical reality last only seconds, just long enough to know that another world exists, and long enough to leave me frustrated because I cant absorb everything I learn.

We arrive.

When the ritual is over, Ill have a serious talk with him. We both place our hands on the trunk of the sacred oak.

J. SAYS A S UFI PRAYER .

O God, when I listen to the voices of animals, the sounds of trees, the murmurings of water, the singing of birds, the whistling of the wind, or the boom of thunder, I see in them evidence of Your unity; I feel that You are supreme power, omniscience, supreme knowledge, and supreme justice.

I recognize You, O God, in the trials I am going through. May Your pleasure be my pleasure, too. May I be Your joy, the joy that a Father feels for a son. And may I think of You calmly and with determination, even when I find it hard to say I love You.

Usually, at this point, I would feelfor only a fraction of a second, but thats always enoughthe One Presence that moves the Sun and the Earth and ensures that the stars remain in their places. But I dont feel like talking to the Universe today, I just want the man at my side to give me the answers I need.

H E REMOVES HIS HANDS from the tree trunk, and I do the same. He smiles at me, and I return his smile. We make our way, in silence, unhurriedly, back to my house, where we sit on the veranda and drink coffee, still without talking.

I look at the huge tree in the middle of my garden, with a ribbon tied around its trunk, placed there after a dream I had. I am in the hamlet of Saint Martin, in the French Pyrenees, in a house I now regret having bought, because it has ended up owning me, demanding my presence whenever possible because it needs someone to look after it, to keep its energy alive.

I cant evolve any further, I say, falling, as always, into the trap of being the first to speak. I think Ive reached my limit.

Thats funny. Ive been trying all my life to find out what my limits are and have never reached them yet. But then my universe doesnt really help, it keeps expanding and wont allow me to know it entirely, says J., provocatively.