I set aside that Tuesday to put the house in order. Not the physical house, but the psychic one. Upon closer examination, each of us lives within ourselves, dwelling every day with our thoughts and feelings, so cleaning requires constant attention and maintenance. No one picks up garbage from the street and brings it home to store inside a house of brick and concrete. The question is why we maintain the habit of accumulating worthless things within ourselves. I needed to examine the ideas and emotions that had taken up residence in me. To put the good ones to work bearing fruit, while discarding those that no longer served me, harmed me, and kept me from moving forward. Cleaning the mind and heart is an essential task for preserving mental and emotional well-being. Otherwise, conflicts accumulate, paths close, and joy disappears. We blame others, luck, the world, and destiny when, in truth, it is nothing more than neglect of our inner house, which we were never taught to keep clean and well aired. Quite often, a costly mistake. No one can do this for anyone else. Each person must do it for themselves. I need to be a good place to live. If possible, every day. Until peace lives with me, I will never know it.

I organized my schedule and moved tasks and commitments to the following days. This is always possible when we prioritize the priority of the moment. Prioritizing the priority is not redundancy, but functional hyperbole. At that moment, taking care of myself was the right thing to do. Everything else could wait. This is not selfishness, but self-respect and self-love. When we are not well, nothing will ever be good enough for us. Life loses its flavour. We are the salt of life. If we do not know how to season and preserve it, we will squander an invaluable treasure.

This squandered treasure was the source of Beto’s anguish and sadness. After decades without seeing each other, chance brought us together on the climb up Pedra Bonita, an enormous granite massif rising several hundred meters above sea level, facing the iconic Pedra da Gávea and at the feet of the majestic Atlantic. From the summit, several neighbourhoods of Rio de Janeiro can be seen, allowing one to feel the pulse of this beautiful, enigmatic city, so full of contradictions.

We had studied together in high school. Unlike me, he had chosen to study Law. His dream was to become a great criminal defence attorney. He studied hard and completed excellent internships. He had prepared himself properly for the beginning of his career. After his first few, very promising years, he was caught in the consequences of a misguided and extreme economic plan that froze nearly all the money held in the population’s bank accounts. His clients could not afford to pay his fees, nor could Beto use the savings confiscated by the government to meet his own financial obligations. He endured months of tremendous financial hardship. The bills piled up in direct proportion to the disappearance of his sleep. His father owned a bus company, one of the few business sectors to weather that period of immense difficulty without major problems. Every day, the company received significant amounts of money from ticket sales. The crowds still needed transportation to get to work. Thus, cash flow remained stable and satisfactory. That was when his father, with the best of intentions, invited him to work at the company. He would receive an excellent salary and be prepared to succeed his father when the time came. There was, however, one non-negotiable condition: he would have to give up practicing law and devote himself entirely to the business. Although this relieved the financial pressure crushing him, like someone throwing precious cargo overboard to save a drifting boat from a storm, he had to cast away nearly ten years of study. To run an urban transportation company, his knowledge of criminal law would be of little or no use. With unmistakable sadness in his eyes, Beto told me at the time, “Necessity spoke louder than the dream”.

More than thirty years later, I met him again as I parked my car near the launching ramp for hang gliders, a few meters below the summit of the mountain. He told me that he was married to an incredible woman, with whom he had three wonderful children. After his father’s departure to the Highlands, he had taken control of the company. He lived a comfortable life without any major problems. Yet he still carried the discomfort of a choice he had made before he had even turned thirty. At times, he would wake with a start in the middle of the night, haunted by a line from a poem by Manuel Bandeira: a life that could have been, but was not.

Beto told me that he often sat on the ramp and watched men and women fly as though their hang gliders were natural extensions of their bodies. There was an undeniable fascination in sailing across the seas of the sky, seeing the world from above, and appreciating the silence that exists at great heights. Eventually, he joined the adventure of flying, of launching himself into the abyss and allowing nothing but the air to hold him aloft. There was an indescribable sensation of lightness, impossible to explain to anyone who had never flown. With the company’s management running smoothly, he delegated more and more responsibilities. Thus, he began devoting time to the sport every day before going to work. For him, flying was equivalent to meditation within an impregnable temple. It made him feel good, he explained. I asked whether the anguish of the abandoned dream disappeared during those moments. Beto merely shook his head.

Next, he invited me to fly with him. He assured me it would be an experience unlike any other. I declined the offer. I explained why I was there. I needed to put the house in order. I told him I was heading toward the summit of the mountain. Jokingly, Beto mentioned Cléo, the witch everyone in the city talked about, regarded by the vast majority as nothing more than a character from a famous urban legend. Some people swore they had encountered her on Pedra Bonita. In the same light-hearted tone, knowing that some stories are difficult to believe, I told him I had met her several times. Although I had been unsuccessful in my most recent attempts, I admitted. The encounter had always depended on her, never on me. Beto watched me for a few moments like someone realizing the seriousness behind words that had seemed casual. His solemn gaze asked me a silent question. I nodded to answer yes. I suggested that, perhaps even more than I did, he too needed to put his house in order. There was a room that had been closed for decades and was in need of a thorough cleaning. If he were fortunate enough to encounter Cléo, something I could not guarantee, he would have an experience unlike any other. Beto smiled, uncertain whether he believed what I was saying, but accepted the risk of the adventure.

The poet says that autumns in Rio are equivalent to springs in Paris: incredibly blue skies and delightfully mild temperatures. Without much difficulty, we completed a trail of about twenty minutes to the mountain’s majestic plateau. Before us lay an enchanting view accompanied by an inspiring stillness. I sat facing the sea, closed my eyes, and allowed myself to be guided by someone I am, but whom I do not always allow to participate in my everyday life. Something I have gradually been striving to correct. Beto sat beside me.

After an amount of time I cannot precisely determine, my attention was awakened by the cries of seagulls. When I turned to the side, I found Beto staring in astonishment. Surrounded by birds, twirling at the edge of the cliff, Cléo approached. To hurried eyes, her billowing dress resembled colourful wings. The seagulls departed. The good witch remained.

She settled beside Beto and, in her sweet and delicate voice, asked him, “What did you come here to do?”. Somewhat unsettled, although known as an articulate, intelligent, and quick-witted man, he struggled to answer. Trying to evade the question, he joked that I had invited him to put his house in order. Although he had the broom and bucket in hand, he had no idea where to begin. Gentle and serious at the same time, Cléo advised him, “Begin wherever it bothers you. Some rooms, even those considered small or insignificant, can become so cluttered that they have the power to disrupt the functioning and well-being of the entire house. None of the wounds of the soul can ever be forgotten, but they can always be healed. Some merely require better understanding, while others require changes in posture and action before they will stop bleeding. All healing begins through a more refined way of looking at the experience we have lived through. When the equation results in suffering, it means we have miscalculated life. It becomes essential to redo the calculation as many times as necessary until the result is liberation and peace”.

Beto seemed hardly to breathe. Cléo was inviting him on a different kind of flight from the one he had grown accustomed to taking with his hang glider. There would be no air to sustain him. Consistency with the truth was what would keep him aloft. Otherwise, he would plummet into himself, as he had been doing every day for so long. There was no other way. The witch added, “Without courage, truth cannot leave the ground and soar to greater heights. You will continue losing yourself in postponements, disguises, and escapes. Little by little, very little of you will remain, almost nothing at all. It is not life’s circumstances that do this to us, but the choices we make when confronted by them”.

The businessman allowed the frustration of his abandoned dream to emerge from the dark room of unpleasant and repressed memories. He recounted in detail how everything had happened. He spoke of the hardships he had faced at the time and the temptations he had been unable to resist. He had chosen the easier path, yet it was a path without heart. Because he had lacked the strength to deal with the difficult circumstances pressing down upon him, he had denied his own destiny. He lived a comfortable and peaceful life, yet he carried within himself an emptiness he could neither forget nor escape. If it is empty, why does it hurt? he wondered. Overcome with emotion, his hands trembled. A tear exposed the pain of a feeling repressed for more than thirty years. He ended with a question he believed had no answer: where do abandoned dreams go?

Cléo looked at him compassionately and explained, “Dreams are never truly forgotten. Dreams do not go anywhere. They remain inside us, bleeding. We deny them, lie about them, or repress them. We justify abandoning them with clever arguments. Excuses may offer some consolation, but they never refine or improve anyone’s life”.

She paused before adding, “Abandoning a dream can mean seriously giving up on oneself. It is equivalent to leaving a piece of who we could have become by the side of the road. In the place of what was suppressed, emptiness arises”. Then she concluded, “It is not the emptiness that hurts. It is the piece that was torn away, because it was not a bad or diseased part. It was the part that would have made a difference, but it was thrown away. What hurts is the truth understood by consciousness, yet repressed by a mind that refuses to confront its mistake and correct its course”.

Beto shook his head. He argued that he had been pressured by historical circumstances. He had accumulated many debts. At the time, great uncertainty about the future plagued the population. Accepting his father’s invitation and the conditions he imposed had been an urgent necessity. He had no choice, he insisted. Cléo corrected him: “We always have choices. You made the one you believed was appropriate at the time. There is nothing wrong with that”. Then she reflected, “Some people are perfectly comfortable allowing themselves to be carried along by the forces of circumstance, like boatmen surrendering to the strength of the currents. They never know where they are going. Their innermost will does not serve as their rudder. They sail wherever the tides take them. For them, any harbour will do as a destination. They live as supporting characters in stories without a plot. Yet there are those who refuse to be less when they could become more. They need to be the authors of their own stories. For them, the dream makes all the difference. I am not speaking of fame or fortune. I mean the light that refuses to go out within their hearts. Even if no one notices, approves, or accompanies them, they know the importance of the path and the destination they want for themselves”. She looked at him seriously and asked, “What kind of boatman are you?”

The businessman remarked that, although he enjoyed good health, he was already past sixty. A few weeks earlier, he had been invited to a ceremony at the university commemorating the fortieth anniversary of his graduating class. Among his former classmates were lawyers, judges, prosecutors, and even a few appellate judges. They were talking about retirement. Starting over now made no sense. The train had already passed. That route no longer existed. The destination was beyond his reach. He had been defeated either by himself or by the forces of circumstance. It did not matter which. He had resigned himself to it.

Cléo argued, “All comparison is insane and absurd. No one is the same as anyone else. Therefore, no two paths or stories will ever be alike. Circumstances certainly do not prevent us from reaching our destination. Difficulties, problems, and obstacles are inherent in everyone’s life, just as storms tear sails, rocks force us to adjust our course, and cracks in the hull send the boat to the shipyard at different times for the necessary repairs. Bad weather and unforeseen events are common occurrences on any crossing. Some treat them as impediments, while others use them as opportunities for important growth. This defines how each boatman sails through life”.

Beto repeated himself, as though the witch had not understood or perhaps to emphasize a fact that could not be disregarded: he had graduated forty years ago. That was a very long time. Cléo smiled, shrugged, and reminded him, “Moses led the Hebrews through the desert for forty years. He could have completed the journey in a few months. Yet he understood that they were not ready to begin a new and valuable cycle. He did not waste time, nor did he lose his way on that journey. He took a long and indispensable pause to prepare those people, thereby preventing one of the most important chapters in History from being poorly written”.

She looked at Beto affectionately and reflected, “Were you ready back then to be the lawyer you wanted to become?”. Beto confessed that he had been a very immature and reckless young adult, with little mental clarity and no emotional balance. He was imprudent, impulsive, and rash. Although he had studied hard and acquired a great deal of knowledge, he admitted that he had not been ready. Practicing criminal law requires impeccable ethical conduct so that the thin line separating the criminal defence attorney from crime itself is never crossed. Had he continued, this might have seriously compromised his career. Now, however, he considered himself close to existential maturity. Much had changed. The many experiences he had lived through over the decades had contributed greatly to this understanding. The witch’s lips curved into a beautiful smile as she remarked, “Blessed are those who understand why they are crossing a desert. Do not curse it or lament it. Deserts are not insurmountable circumstances, nor do they steal dreams. They exist to forge the most beautiful destinies”.

The businessman admitted that he was uncertain whether it made sense to resume his career at a time when everyone who had graduated alongside him was retiring. It seemed incongruous to move against what he called the natural course of life. Cléo furrowed her brow and questioned him in rapid succession, “Why would it be foolish? What prevents you from beginning when others are stopping? Is your point of reference your own truth or the lives of others? If you do not assume authorship of your own story, who will write it for you?” Then she added, “The natural course of life is evolution, which each person undergoes in their own time and in their own way, because everyone’s needs are different”.

She paused before asking her final question, “Do you understand that it is not circumstances or external difficulties that prevent you from reaching your intended destination? Each person has their own desert to cross. Some are longer and take more time than others. There is nothing wrong with that. The mistake lies in thinking that the desert is crossed only through the world outside, while forgetting the stretches that must be travelled through the universe within”.

Before Beto could say a word, the seagulls approached. Flanked by the birds, as though taking part in a majestic, orchestrated ballet, the witch twirled along the edge of the cliff until she disappeared into the distance. We remained seated in silence for a long time. There was no hurry. Each of us had a house to put in order. From time to time, I opened my eyes and saw Beto watching the bird-men fly. Without saying anything, I thought that someone who has the courage to launch himself into the abyss with nothing but his own wings to keep him aloft should have nothing else to fear. It was an image imbued with powerful symbolism. Whoever had the courage to leave something so precious behind must also have the audacity to reclaim what had always belonged to him. Nothing is more important than safeguarding one’s own destiny. It was late afternoon when we descended the mountain. Without revealing anything, Beto gave me a tight embrace and thanked me for that day. He said it had been pivotal. We said goodbye, and I did not see him again.

Nearly three years later, I called the accountant who provided services to the publishing house. A colleague of mine, also a businessman, had been charged with an alleged tax crime. I asked whether he knew a good lawyer he could recommend. The accountant told me about a professional who, although he had only recently returned to practicing law, was doing excellent work in that particular field. He gave me Beto’s name and telephone number. That was when I learned that Beto had handed over the management of the company to one of his sons, devoted himself to studying the new legislation, and only then returned to legal practice. Yet this was no ordinary return. In order to move ethically, clearly, and steadily through the laws and courts, the lawyer had needed to wait for the man within him to reach maturity. Some deserts are longer, and some crossings require more time. Without question, life is a teacher: circumstances refine travellers, they never prevent them from reaching their destinies.

Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic

As usual, it was still the early hours of the morning when I entered the small workshop of Loureiro, the shoemaker who loved philosophy books and red wine, in the little town of narrow, winding streets nestled at the foot of the mountain. His unusual business hours made the atelier not only a safe haven until transportation became available at dawn for my journey to the monastery, but also a point of departure for a voyage into places within myself that had previously been unknown. I was welcomed with a warm embrace. Outside, the air was cold and a light drizzle fell. Without delay, the shoemaker brewed a pot of coffee and placed it, along with two mugs, upon the heavy wooden counter. We were ready to continue our endless conversation. Yes, that was the genuine feeling. Although we had met many times and discussed countless subjects, our conversations intertwined like the threads of a single fabric. The fabric of consciousness.

At that very moment, we were surprised by Betina’s arrival. The expression on her face revealed the turmoil in her soul. The young woman, about thirty years old, was the daughter of Renê, the town’s bookseller and Loureiro’s lifelong friend. She had just had yet another argument with Carlo, her husband. Quarrels were both the hallmark and the constant feature of their troubled marriage. Although there had never been any physical violence, the harsh tone of voice and the unkindness of the words exchanged revealed a clear lack of mutual respect. Whenever this happened, Carlo would spend a few days at his mother’s house in a nearby town before returning to the arms of the woman he called the love of his life, swearing eternal love. Betina had believed that marriage would change her husband’s hot-tempered and impulsive nature. A common and ordinary mistake. Intimacy has the power to reveal the ghosts and monsters hidden away in the secret drawers of consciousness, but almost never to educate them. She confessed that she was exhausted by the relationship. Yet she loved Carlo, and she knew he loved her as well. His promises of love, together with his assurances that such outbursts would never happen again, kept her from turning him away. Again, and as many more times as might be necessary. They never gave up on each other. To her, that was undeniable proof of the love that united them.

As elegant as always, Loureiro welcomed her with affection. After a long embrace, he seated her beside me and served her a mug of coffee. Once she had recounted what had happened, Betina asked why love, such a beautiful and noble feeling, could be the cause of so much suffering. Calmly, in his gentle, husky voice, the shoemaker corrected her. “Contrary to popular belief and to what poets sing, love has never been the cause of anyone’s suffering. What causes so much pain is the lack of understanding of what love truly means and how far it reaches. Ignorance about love leads us to confuse it with other feelings of poorer and shallower shades”. He took a sip of coffee and continued. “As an ancient alchemist once taught, to live love, it is not enough simply to love. Love requires learning, just like everything else in life. The mere fact of loving and feeling loved does not free anyone from the traps of feelings that possess little or no nobility, feelings that make us believe they are love while actually representing its opposite. One must understand the nuances, layers, breadth, and depths of love; otherwise, one will never know the liberating and peaceful power offered by this wonderful feeling”.

The young woman asked whether Loureiro was implying that there was no love between her and her husband. The shoemaker shook his head and replied, “I did not say that,” then paused before finishing his thought. “But neither did I say the opposite. It is up to each person to identify the feeling that either expands or narrows their ability to think, to be, and to live. Feelings influence our reasoning, our behaviour, and our choices. They either lead us along roads or send us plunging into abysses”. He took another sip of coffee and added, “When I speak about the importance of understanding a feeling, I mean the need to name it without deception or prejudice. Every feeling has a name. Calling it by its proper name is essential if we are to understand the best way to use it in favour of our own growth. Some feelings, because they are good and subtle, call for constant encouragement so they may blossom, while others, because they are dense and harmful, require transformation. Both contain important evolutionary aspects. But if you fail to recognize them by their true names, you will continue to mistake one for another. Misusing the elixir gives rise to poison. That is the true origin of the pain people mistakenly attribute to imaginary forms of love”.

He drank another sip of coffee and concluded, “No feeling, however undesirable, should ever be treated as an enemy. In truth, they are precious messengers, for they reveal a heart that has not yet been understood and longs for transformation. A heart misunderstood by itself, because each of us is responsible for our own feelings. Blaming the world for the discomfort we experience reveals nothing but immaturity”.

The young woman asked how she should deal with bitter feelings. Loureiro explained, “Do not drive them away, for no one possesses such power. Feelings echo the essence of who we are. That echo reveals the existence of an intimate and genuine voice arising from the depths of the heart. One may hide or disguise feelings for a while, but there is no way to remove oneself from oneself”. He set his mug upon the counter and went on. “Denying bitter feelings is even worse. It is the same as authorizing a chaotic force to act without any supervision. Your choices and behaviour will be constrained and manipulated. No one can protect themselves from what they believe does not exist. Nothing is more harmful than persisting in this corrosive habit. The task is to accept and identify the bitter feeling as a sincere and reliable path toward self-discovery. Then welcome it and educate it, as a good father would do with an immature and rebellious child, so as to bring about a healthy and effective transition from the soul’s childhood to the maturity of life. Every shadow carries within it unmistakable seeds of light”.

Betina asked the shoemaker to explain further. Loureiro summarized, “If there is pain, it is not love”. The young woman argued that, by obvious conclusion, according to that theory she did not love her husband. Once again, the shoemaker corrected her. “I did not say that. I say that love is never the root of suffering. Perhaps there is love between you; perhaps there is not. But discover which feeling is making you suffer and, more importantly, whether that unknown feeling is the reason the two of you remain together”.

Betina looked stunned. She had never seriously considered such a possibility. She wanted to know what the alternatives might be. The shoemaker listed the principal ones. “Emotional dependency reveals the belief that one is incapable of managing one’s own life, of being happy, or of accepting full responsibility for oneself. Such people believe the other has the power to keep a heart from shattering into a thousand pieces, when in truth that heart has always been broken. Since they do not consider themselves capable, or refuse to accept responsibility and make the effort required to rebuild themselves, they give up governing their own lives in order to live beneath someone else’s emotional umbrella. It is a sad form of self-abandonment. Rather than admit their terror of confronting their own fragilities, they claim they remain with their husband or wife because they love them too much. It is a futile attempt to deceive the mirror of truth”.

He furrowed his brow, and his voice grew more serious. “Financial dependency speaks of the fear of facing life’s adversities, of refusing to go beyond who we currently are and where we stand within ourselves, of becoming responsible for our own survival, or, even worse, of refusing to give up the luxuries and material pleasures provided by someone else. It reveals an attachment to disabling ideas and a taste for comfort, an absurd choice in favour of stagnation instead of movement. Refusing the adventure of life, with all its inherent challenges for growth, reveals a shortsighted perspective and a life devoid of virtue. Regardless of the type or degree of dependency, every form of it reveals the acceptance of fear as one’s jailer. It is the conscious choice of a gilded cage over the freedom of every colour. Each person lives where they decide to remain or where they choose to go within themselves. There is no room for complaint”.

He tapped the wooden counter with his index finger to emphasize his next words. “Although there are many deceptive feelings that masquerade as love, some of the most common are pride and vanity. Quite often, we desperately want to remain beside people we cannot control or who do not desire us. In the first case, the purpose itself has been distorted. Instead of admiring someone for their authenticity and independent will, there are those who launch into a delusional battle to subjugate that person to their whims, driven by the unconscious and primitive desire to control another’s desires and thereby destroy their autonomy. They want the other person to mold themselves according to their own preferences and whims. They behave as though they were in an arena. They feel victorious when they crush the resistance of independence, authenticity, and identity in their supposed enemy, as though a loving relationship were not a beautiful meeting of mutual learning but a war in which there must be a winner and a loser. Pride blinds them to the fact that the only conquest of real worth is overcoming one’s own bad inclinations and illuminating one’s own shadows. Delighting in being master of oneself without wishing to own anyone else is one of the essential foundations of love”.

He made a gesture with his hand, as though stating something obvious. “From there, it is not difficult to conclude that jealousy is pride’s favourite child. Jealousy is born from the fear of being replaced in the heart of the one we want beside us. It is a feeling of possession and domination, the opposite of freedom. From this feeling arises controlling behaviour disguised by false educational arguments. No one changes in order to fit someone else’s preferences. Nor should anyone commit such madness. We change only when we understand that something within us is harmful and therefore requires transformation. It will never happen for any other reason. Suffering arises from stubbornly remaining beside someone who has no genuine affection for us or whose way of seeing the world and living life is fundamentally different from our own. At the harbour of life there is always a small sailboat waiting for those willing to set sail. When that moment comes, simply leave without carrying resentment aboard. Such a departure is a noble act of respect and self-esteem”.

He took another sip of coffee before commenting on yet another common mistake. “In much the same way, relegating love to a secondary place, some people devote themselves to the senseless struggle of living beside someone they deeply admire, whether because of physical beauty or social prestige. By doing so, they imagine themselves greater than they truly are, under the illusion that sharing life with someone desired by many somehow makes them special. They see themselves as the chosen ones. The one whispering such madness into their ears is vanity itself. Suffering will be inevitable, and love has nothing whatsoever to do with it”.

Betina held the mug with both hands. Her eyes closed, she drank the coffee, absorbed in thought. Wanting to leave her alone with her reflections, Loureiro led me to the front of the workshop under the pretence of showing me a new backpack model he had crafted. Made of soft leather, with a variety of compartments for storing everything needed in everyday life, it resembled a work of art adapted for practical use. With an innovative design, it combined exceptional beauty with remarkable functionality. I remarked that there was a section devoted to such objects at the Museum of Modern Art, the MoMA, in New York. Since I use a backpack for work, I wanted it for myself. We struck a good deal. Just then, the young woman called us back. She wanted to speak with Loureiro a little longer.

Betina confessed that her home had become like a battlefield. Complaints had taken the place of dialogue. It had become a place of growing misunderstandings and increasingly rare moments of connection. Only now did she realize it. There was more concern with pointing out flaws than with proposing solutions. Carlo was not the way she wanted him to be, nor did the young woman behave as her husband wished. Yet neither of them gave up trying to mold the other according to their own desires. They no longer cared about the uniqueness and authenticity of the person walking beside them. They thought only of their own immediate interests and preferences. There was no shared construction, the hallmark of healthy relationships, but rather an uninterrupted process of mutual destruction. A never-ending war, the young woman admitted. “And with no winners,” the shoemaker remarked. “That is why we argue, separate, and reconcile, like harmful, symbiotic hosts to one another, trapped in a vicious cycle from which we cannot free ourselves,” Betina concluded.

The young woman asked Loureiro whether, in such circumstances, love could still exist in her marriage. The shoemaker shrugged and answered honestly, “I don’t know. At the moment, pride certainly appears to be the bond holding the relationship together. If love exists, it lies buried beneath the rubble of time and recklessness. It will have to be rescued as soon as possible”.

She wanted to know how she would recognize the presence of love. Loureiro fell silent for a few moments, as though retrieving something precious and delicate from his most intimate memories. When he finally spoke, he did so with his eyes closed, as though he needed to stand before his own heart. “Love wants what is best for the other person, yet refuses to decide in their place. It is gentle and steadfast at the same time. It never tires of helping, yet never conceals mistakes or stubbornness. It is patient, forgiving, and generous in sharing. It possesses an endless supply of embraces, smiles, and affection. It converses without arguing and guides without imposing. It helps without imprisoning. It is happy simply to feel longing. It knows that being together does not require anyone to become the same as anyone else, but that it is essential to rejoice in each other’s uniqueness and to learn from each other’s differences. It helps build the other while continuing to build itself. It is satisfied with the abundance found in little. It understands what was left unsaid. It knows how to hear the no hidden within a yes and the yes hidden within a no. It understands what words remain silent about but actions reveal. It is found in the light shining from the eyes of the one it loves. It walks side by side through the dangers of dark nights and invites us to dance in the joy of every morning”. His eyes filled with tears as he concluded, “Love is all of that, and much more”.

Betina emptied her mug and placed it on the counter. Then she said she would invite Carlo to have an honest conversation. She now understood the feeling that had been holding their marriage together. It was not love. That was why they were both unhappy. What remained to be discovered was whether love was truly there. Not every relationship begins with love as its binding force. Yet some, through the conduct and understanding of those involved, allow love to take root. Good and sincere actions prepare the proper soil for this wonderful feeling to blossom. Many relationships insist on sustaining themselves through burdensome bonds, which is why they prove unsustainable when viewed through the lens of virtue and truth. She needed to understand where she truly stood within herself. There remained the possibility of rescuing the love buried beneath the rubble, if it indeed existed, or of setting out in search of the self-love she had forgotten and, consequently, of the love she had never truly known. In either case, it would be an act of rescuing herself. Every process of healing the soul not only brings suffering to an end, but also grants passage aboard the train of freedom bound for the city of peace. Whether sweet or bitter, every feeling is a place that exists within us. It is up to each person to choose where they will live.

By then, the morning light was already beginning to appear. The young woman thanked Loureiro for the conversation, kissed him on the cheek, and left. The woman who walked out was very different from the one who had entered the workshop before dawn. Her expression had changed. There was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Her feet no longer dragged across the ground but touched it lightly. I remarked upon this to Loureiro. The shoemaker explained, “The effectiveness of solutions begins with understanding the universe within, so that it may resonate in the world outside. The end of suffering requires this journey of inner discoveries and victories. Everything else is merely disguise, deception, or postponement”.

I asked what would become of Betina’s marriage. Loureiro shrugged once again and replied, “I haven’t the slightest idea”. Then he added, “Whether she leaves or stays, as long as she makes peace with her own feelings, she will begin a serious romance with happiness”. I had to leave, otherwise I would miss my ride to the monastery. I promised to return. The shoemaker smiled as though to say he would be waiting for me. There was still much fabric awaiting the weaving.

Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic

I arrived in Sedona on a Saturday morning. As was customary on that day of the week, Starry Song was sitting beneath a lush oak tree in the backyard of his house. On the grass around him, several people settled onto colourful blankets. They had come from every direction to hear the stories and songs that spoke of the ancestral wisdom of Arizona’s native peoples. It was a sacred ceremony conducive to self-discovery, a fundamental step toward the next movement, capable of transforming reality through the refinement of perception and sensitivity, attributes of consciousness when allied with coherent and effective action. To change one’s life, one must not wait for the world to change. Reality expands or contracts at the outermost limit of the truth one has attained. For some, reality resembles an insurmountable wall; yet those who observe it from unusual perspectives will find unimaginable roads. We transcend reality, or remain trapped within it, in exact proportion to the virtues we have acquired and applied to our way of life. No one can travel along paths they cannot see, do not know how to cross, or believe do not exist.

I had gone through a few difficult situations and suffered some setbacks. Little by little, everything had returned to normal. Except for an inexplicable feeling of inner emptiness. I had no idea how it had settled within me, nor what to do to fill it or dissolve it. Standing near the gate, I heard the shaman’s closing words: “We will never be authentic while we remain distant from courage”. Like one of those truths that either seduces or overtakes us before we can offer any resistance, the sentence struck me profoundly. There was something in it that hinted at a lesson waiting to be learned, though at that moment I was unable to decipher it and extract its practical, transformative meaning. What remained was the pleasant sensation of a window opening for the briefest instant, revealing something I had never before seen, only to close immediately afterward. There was an entire universe of unknown possibilities on the other side of that window, one that opened inward rather than outward.

That is how some of the genuinely radical changes in our lives begin. Etymologically, the word radical originates from the word root. Changes that are not grounded in a person’s very essence, no matter how good and sincere the intentions behind them may be, are incapable of sustaining themselves before life’s harsher trials, eventually collapsing in the storm of an ordinary day. Understanding emotional tempests, as well as learning how to deal with life’s inherent difficulties, has always been essential for those who seek genuine peace. I remembered a lesson Starry Song had shared some time earlier: “Peace is not the absence of chaos. It is characterized by calmness and complete self-mastery amid chaos. Neither the vastness nor the fury of the ocean can sink a small boat, provided it is well built and skilfully steered”.

I waited on the porch until everyone had left. At the gate, the shaman bid farewell to each person, thanking them for participating with hearts filled with good feelings. The emanation of subtle vibrations was enchanting. Their beautiful smiles reflected that reality. When he had finished, he came over to me. I remarked that those people seemed happy and at peace. Starry Song reflected, “Some places possess a natural atmosphere of peace. Some individuals are able to transmit that feeling because they have already attained it within themselves. Living in such places or alongside such people grants this wonderful sensation of empowerment, like a bird that has learned to fly beyond the reach of slingshots. However, each person has their own story, gifts, and path. Relationships of dependence are unhealthy. At some point, we will either have to leave those people or be forced away from them. Then peace will disappear like water one tries to hold in a sieve. Life demands independence and autonomy in matters of the inner sphere so that our choices may be free and serve our personal development. It is impossible to live forever on borrowed or rented peace. To live in peace, regardless of what happens, where you are, or who stands beside you, it is essential to conquer it within your own heart. Merely changing relationships or moving to another city accomplishes nothing. Each of us carries ourselves wherever we go”. I asked how that could be done. The shaman looked at me as though he were speaking to a child and explained, “Peace exists as a seed in everyone’s heart. Making it sprout requires courage”.

I remembered the closing sentence from that morning’s ceremony in the backyard: we will never be authentic while we remain distant from courage. Once again, he emphasized courage. I pointed that out. Starry Song smiled and clarified, “Authenticity is the hidden framework of peace. Courage is the crane that erects that structure. Sustained by a firm and sincere will, courage sets in motion every other virtue necessary to build peace, an indelible and immaterial achievement, just like true wealth”.

He was willing to explain, and I wanted to learn. The shaman sat down in the rocking chair while I settled onto the sofa across from him. He continued, “No one is the same as anyone else; one person’s path is of no use to another. Every copy is vulgar, every imitation is destined to fail. We are original and unique. Authenticity is where an individual’s genuine power resides”.

“The problem is that we fear the peculiarities and differences we carry within our essence, as though we were little children frightened by ghost stories. Fear convinces us that we are incapable, that difficulties will devour us. We choose to adopt pre-established models and standards as a way of avoiding risks. Like a boat that rejects the sea because it fears the unknown, we forget that without risks there are no achievements”.

“When we are authentic, we become more creative. Creativity is a powerful instrument for finding solutions beyond the commonplace and, for that reason, invaluable in dismantling problems. Difficulties either grow or shrink according to the eyes that behold them. Creativity has the power to expand reality by seeking perspectives, nuances, and layers that had previously been unimagined. Through this unusual exercise, we become greater than our greatest fears, and opportunities begin to emerge from problems. These unique characteristics move us in extraordinary ways because they express and reveal who we truly are. Otherwise, we become a bland, inert, faded, homogeneous mass, incapable of generating light or transforming reality itself. We will lack clarity, balance, and the strength to move. We will live like railroad cars attached to unknown locomotives traveling along obscure tracks, under the illusion that we chose our destination. By abandoning authenticity, we erase our identity. Without understanding who we are, we lose the ability to decide who we will become. We allow the world to shape us according to its own tastes, interests, and conveniences. That is the source of the existential emptiness so many people feel without understanding either its origin or its reason”.

I commented that my problems had already been resolved, yet the emptiness remained. Starry Song observed, “Resolving a problem is different from overcoming a difficulty. More often than not, a resolution arises from circumstantial events or external adjustments without producing any transformation. Overcoming, however, involves an inner conquest born from a vision that has gained clarity and skill. In resolution, the individual remains unchanged. In overcoming, the individual advances”.

He made a gesture with his hand, as though stating the obvious, and added, “Storms come to sweep away everything that hinders our evolution. When we live in someone else’s life out of convenience, sooner or later we will find ourselves homeless. Inevitably. Life demands movement, transformation, and constant progress. Each person lives within themselves. To live well, one must build that place”.

He then continued, “Defenceless and unstructured, we feel like victims of a catastrophe with no apparent explanation. It is a deceptive feeling and, worse still, a paralyzing one. Chaos announces itself from afar whenever we refuse to leave where we are. Out of conditioning or complacency, we deny the reality that moves and changes in order to propel the advances that are necessary. We prefer to repeat obsolete patterns of behaviour and choice in the vain attempt to achieve different results. It will never happen. Life requires every traveller to undertake an unusual journey in order to awaken the essence indispensable for transcending reality. Out of fear or disbelief, we pretend not to see. Then we succumb like frail, easy prey swallowed by life’s natural counter current. There is no room for complaint”.

As he spoke, he took from the drawer of a small table beside the rocking chair his ever-present pipe with its red stone stummel, along with a box of tobacco, and explained, “We are born to live in groups. Families, tribes, cities, and societies. Living together is sacred and educational. Except for moments of meditation and reflection, isolation as a way of life is escape, imbalance, and stagnation. Community is a path, a school of harmony, and a workshop of evolution. Life in groups, whether in smaller circles or broader ones, still presents dystopias, conflicts, and comparisons which, though senseless, serve as mirrors for personal improvement. All these difficulties exist to force the shell of the seed of authenticity to break”.

“The problem arises when we decide to travel along someone else’s tracks, nullifying our own choices and possibilities, erasing the originality that expresses and identifies us. Dependent upon validation, belonging, and applause, we neglect our innate gifts and talents, forgetting that they are essential attributes for transcendence and also invaluable professional tools in the legitimate struggle for survival. We pass through life like abandoned drafts lying at the bottom of one of the many drawers of consciousness, pretending that the story awaiting us, and rightfully ours by natural law, is impossible or undeserved. We diminish ourselves through belief, choice, and fear. Breaking the shell of the seed of originality requires the courage to reject ready-made models and molds, thereby bringing our true identity to the surface”.

He packed the bowl with tobacco and, before I could ask another question, replied, “There will be no shortage of difficulties. There will be many. Yet there is no other way to discover the beauty that awaits you and that life itself safeguards within, together with truth and the virtues that will reshape the frontiers of reality. You will learn a unique way of moving through your days, with greater efficiency, lightness, and grace. Your vision and your feelings change, your rhythm and intensity, your purpose and direction. Taste itself becomes more refined. One’s appreciation for life is refined only when the existential journey becomes unusual and genuinely one’s own”.

I waited until he lit the pipe and took a few puffs. Then I asked whether courage alone would be enough. The shaman shook his head and added, “As I said, courage is the crane that erects the structure. Chaos can never destroy who we truly are. Chaos destroys only the person we are not. To achieve that, it is necessary to replace the character with our true identity, without excuses, performances, or hidden motives. That is how the genuine foundations are laid, those that support the work of becoming oneself. The deeper and sturdier the foundations, the firmer and safer the structure will be”.

For a few moments, he amused himself watching the smoke dance before his eyes before continuing his explanation. “A triangle of pillars, each composed of a triad of virtues, forms the foundation of a structure unshaken by the impermanence of the days. Existential storms arrive to tear away everything unnecessary, excessive, and poorly built. However, they are incapable of carrying away what is firm, balanced, and well constructed within the individual. I am referring to truths that have been understood together with virtues already acquired and applied in everyday life. These are the foundations that will keep you standing during and after the passage of chaos, despite the devastation all around. That is the greatest of all riches and the truest form of power”.

I asked about the virtues that formed such foundations. He listed and explained them. “The first triangle of pillars is composed of humility, simplicity, and compassion. Humility, contrary to what many believe, bears no resemblance to humiliation, ignorance, poverty of any kind, or feelings of inferiority. Humility has the power to dispel the absurd sensations of pride and false superiority that so greatly weaken, unbalance, and hinder essential movements. Humility is the humus of consciousness, indispensable for fertilizing the soil so that the latent seed of evolution may germinate. This virtue provides the perfect state of transcendence necessary to lubricate the mechanisms of learning and transformation”.

He paused before continuing. “Simplicity is the virtue of shedding what is unnecessary, of removing whatever is excessive and burdensome, both from the mind and from the heart. It removes everything that weighs us down and hinders our journey. It is indispensable for dissolving vanity, revealing priorities, and leading us to what is essential”.

“In turn, compassion is the attribute that enables us to understand human frailty through a perception free of judgment and moved by the finest sensitivity. Compassion without humility is pride. Without simplicity, it is vanity disguised as virtue. It becomes nothing more than a superficial display of etiquette, merely applying varnish to rotten wood. Unless we know our own weaknesses, we are incapable of dealing lovingly and sincerely with anyone else’s. Forgiveness presupposes compassion. There can be no peace without forgiveness”.

He took a few more puffs and continued. “The second triad is composed of respect, discipline, and coherence. Respect is the virtue of dignity. It consists of not doing to others what we would not want done to ourselves and, by the same measure, never permitting degrading acts or abusive behaviour toward us. The respect I possess has nothing to do with what others think, say, or do. It is directly related to the dignity with which I walk”.

After waiting a few moments, he went on. “Discipline, in turn, is the attribute connected to purpose and faith. It lies in knowing the right movement to make and repeating it despite weariness or delayed results, never giving up or losing heart. Every planting has its own proper season for sowing and maturing. Every comparison is senseless. No two gardeners and no two fields are alike. Even if the dry season is long, the harvest will arrive at the proper time”. Raising his eyebrows, he reminded me, “Many geniuses have been lost for lack of discipline”.

Then he added, “Coherence is an underrated virtue. That is why so many people collapse during storms. When chaos finds us out of place, we are shattered. External movements must be grounded in internal ones. That is the basis of coherence”. He looked at me seriously, as though delivering an important message, and said in his calm, husky voice, “Knowing does not mean being. Coherence demands that every piece of knowledge we acquire be put into practice; otherwise, it is nothing more than ostentatious erudition wrapped in eloquent speeches devoid of wisdom. That is what allows chaos to catch us by surprise. It happens when we are away from who we truly are”.

He paused before continuing. “Coherence is that and much more. No matter how powerful a train may be, it cannot move through the air, across asphalt, or over water. Trains need tracks. Coherence is the track that guides our priorities and provides the discernment necessary to remain on the proper route despite the countless forks along the way. Many people know their priorities but abandon them in pursuit of lesser and sometimes darker interests. The glittering invitations of dazzling appearances but little light, of effortless success and reckless fortune, extinguish the headlights of discernment, diverting the train from the route of its priorities. Coherence is the consummate engineer”.

He waited until I had connected those ideas before naming the triad of virtues that formed the third vertex of the triangle of pillars. “Gentleness, sound judgment, and purity. Contrary to what many believe, gentleness does not mean weakness. Gentleness is knowledge of and respect for the forces of light and the path of peace. Authentic courage is, above all else, gentle. Fighting evil with the weapons of good is not for the weak; renouncing aggression in the resolution of conflicts is not for cowards. It requires tremendous courage. The gentle person is strong, balanced, and steadfast. They do not yield to wickedness nor bargain with darkness. The monk is the highest expression of the warrior”.

“Sound judgment has ancient and symbiotic ties with patience and justice. It concerns the ability to evaluate differences, find the proper measure, distinguish good from evil and right from wrong, recognize value and qualities in people, things, and situations. It means deciding without haste or fear. It means doing what is right without waiting for anyone’s permission or validation. It means refraining from speculation or conjecture about other people’s behaviour. Sound judgment teaches that each person is responsible for themselves as a consequence of the choices they make. The best decision may require time to mature. That requires patience. Sound judgment knows that waiting does not mean standing still. I speak of the time devoted to mental and emotional processes which, though invisible to impatient eyes, continually propel inner movements. I am referring to the cocoon period, without which the caterpillar would never know the butterfly”.

“And finally, purity, the simplest to explain, though by no means the easiest to practice. Purity does not speak of naivety; rather, it is in dialogue with love and wisdom. One must know evil in order not to become ensnared or deceived by it. It is indispensable to be pure so that, even with evil available as an instrument for achieving success, satisfying interests, or fulfilling desires, one rejects that possibility absolutely. It means refusing the power to dominate and subjugate others, refusing to impose one’s own will at the cost of silencing another’s choice, refusing to place position or authority above ethics or love. It means refusing to make decisions while under the influence of dense emotions. Courage is required to overcome the harmful inclinations and baleful influences that have always pulled you away from yourself. Purity presupposes self-denial, the virtue that gives priority to spiritual riches over material interests. Purity causes the seed of freedom to blossom. It is not for everyone”.

He shrugged as though stating the obvious and remarked, “The journey of acquiring virtues as truth expands and refines consciousness creates the need to leave behind obsolete criteria and outdated ways of moving through life. As you encounter all the beauty that exists within you, you will discover an unknown universe of opportunities. There will no longer be any turning back. Genuine identity emerges from the depths of one’s innermost being to forge an authentic personality that until then had been suffocated and suppressed. That is how we become who we truly are. Everything else is performance or conformity, agony and dystopia”.

We remained silent for a span of time I could not measure. Starry Song wanted me to place those ideas upon the shelves of both mind and heart so they might become part of my daily life. I struggled to metabolize what I had learned. It could take days. Perhaps weeks. I finally broke the silence to ask about the emptiness that still persisted within me, a mixture of anxiety and sadness that I did not know how to fill or dissolve. The shaman extinguished his pipe, signalling that the conversation had come to an end. He had already said everything I needed to understand. Then he concluded, “Chaos swept away the incompletenesses and inconsistencies upon which you had been relying. It carried away what no longer served you. Chaos never arrives to harm, but to regenerate. What remains is emptiness, a space available for a new structure to be built upon the foundations we have discussed. Whoever establishes them within themselves has nothing to fear”. He curved his lips into a beautiful smile and finished, “Emptiness highlights the presence of an unusual seed. Give thanks for it and help it bloom. It is peace asking to be born”.

Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic

On a quiet, tree-lined street in Gávea, with no sign or nameplate on the façade, stands Bárbara’s coffee shop. It is not a place of meetings, but of discoveries. In an old house, its walls covered with books and embraced by the gentle sound of blues, jazz, or bossa nova, one can enjoy the finest frappés, cappuccinos, and espressos in the city. The barista is a woman of enchanting and singular personality. Some years ago, she decided to forge an original path: she closed her psychoanalysis practice to open the café. Yet she never abandoned the mysteries of the psyche. Two days a week, without prior notice, at the end of the afternoon, Bárbara climbs onto a small lectern to speak about the sorrows and joys of the soul, free of academic jargon, but with the depth required for the subject to become a tool for living well. The house overflows with people. At times, at any hour of the day, her keen sensitivity prompts her to excuse herself and sit at the table of someone who needs to go where they have never before dared to be within themselves. There is no use asking for advice or requesting consultations. “This is not a therapist’s office. It’s a coffee shop,” the young barista warns. In truth, it is much more than that.

That day, as usual, there was not a single table available. I took the opportunity to settle into the pleasant inner garden of the house, in one of the armchairs facing a comfortable sofa, beneath the broad canopy of a centuries-old mango tree. Perfect for me, since I had planned to end the afternoon immersed in the fantastic universe made possible by literary novels. I ordered a double espresso, took my book from my backpack, and returned to the pages that narrated the adventure of a woman who abandoned a solid social structure, full of stability and security, yet devoid of any evolutionary purpose, in order to live experiences that offered her existential meaning. Driven by a passion without guarantees and destructive in nature, yet one that made her feel alive, she experienced days alternating between immense joy and intense agony. It was an overwhelming and contradictory feeling, filled with ambiguities, nuances, and layers, making it difficult to understand. Was she a strong woman, drawn to the intensity of risk, willing to steer the helm of her own life rather than remain at the mercy of other people’s tastes and whims, or was she a lost and tormented soul searching for something that even she could not define? It was a fascinating read. I resumed the journey from where I had left off, traveling through the landscapes and roads proposed by the author, when I was interrupted by a woman whose features were as beautiful as those described in the novel. Distracted as usual, I had not noticed her. She was seated in the armchair beside me.

Although she was no longer as young as the novel’s protagonist, she retained the freshness of youth despite the many decades that had passed. Her beauty did not come from her skin, already lined and marked by time. It came from the gaze typical of those who reject empty lives. She possessed the same thirst for life as the character in the book. She radiated the desire to deepen experiences and emotions, something impossible for those unwilling to take risks. There are no achievements without risks, the phrase she often repeated was not a passing idea, but a personal mantra. Liz had been like that ever since I met her in college. Forty years had passed. We had both changed considerably. Our bodies and souls were no longer the same. Much had been transformed. What had not changed was the light in her eyes.

Given her overwhelming personality, back then we used to say that Liz was like a locomotive, capable of carrying many people along with her. And that was exactly what she did. Certain that she would have many stories to tell, I put the book back into my backpack and changed my plans for the afternoon. I wanted to listen to that fascinating woman. Liz told me about travels and romances, meetings and farewells, adventures and misadventures. Exotic places and interesting people, absurd and amusing situations. Intense emotions invested in fragile relationships; stable relationships in lives devoid of feeling. She spoke of gains and losses, prisons and escapes. Smiles and disappointments, embraces and abandonments. As she recounted the events and episodes she had lived through, without realizing it, the narrative led her into her own heart. Little by little, the light in her eyes faded, giving way to a heartfelt tear. She confessed that she was living through a period of profound sadness. A sadness so immense that she had believed it existed only in works of fiction.

It was at that moment that the barista approached and asked if she could join the conversation. Since Liz did not know her, she questioned me with her eyes. I nodded in agreement. Bárbara then pulled up a chair, forming a triangle with the armchairs where we were seated. Next, she gently touched the arm of the woman whose luminous eyes were now filled with sadness, asking her to continue from where she had left off.

Liz reminded me of our college days. Even back then, when we were still very young, she used to say that she would never marry. Her parents had died in an accident shortly before the course began. Inácio, her only brother, ten years older than she was, a mature and hardworking young man, took over the family business and allowed the young woman to live life as though tomorrow were merely a detail of little concern. Referring to her brother, she used to say that she had already been born with the man of her life by her side. She needed no other. Therefore, she would never marry. Inácio was her support and her refuge. And so it remained for four decades. She travelled extensively around the world, dated with the same intensity and passion. She loved both men and women, made friendships as though she knew there would always be other puddles to splash in after the rain. Throughout that period, she visited the company’s headquarters only to sign documents she never even read. Her trust in her brother was absolute. She never had any reason to doubt him. There was always more money in her bank account than she could possibly spend. Nevertheless, she spent it without guilt or concern. She felt free and happy.

Life, however, has its twists. Everything changes, almost never with the courtesy of asking permission before imposing life’s bitter reverse upon the sweet reality that had previously been allowed. Tired and ill, her brother decided to retire, handing control of the company over to his son. Liz approved the transition. It seemed like a natural process that required no special concern. She was Igor’s godmother. The nephew she had once carried in her arms as a little boy was now sitting in Inácio’s chair. New documents were signed, different powers were granted. A few months later, she was startled when her bank manager contacted her. Her monthly income had dropped to little more than one fifth of the amount that had been routinely deposited. Her account balance was in the negative, something that had never happened before. When she sought out Igor to understand what was going on, she was met with disdain. Her nephew mocked the irresponsible life his aunt had led for so long. It was time for her to come to her senses. Unlike his father, he would not work to finance his aunt’s extravagances. The new investments the company required, before resorting to bank loans, would be drawn from the shareholders’ dividends, with the greatest burden falling on those who had never worked. In this case, Liz. She turned to her brother in the vain hope that Inácio could persuade his son to abandon the idea that would alter her way of life so brutally and cruelly. Her brother explained that Igor, now president of the company, had full autonomy to determine its direction, especially in an increasingly competitive market. There was nothing he could do. Nor did he wish to. He had prepared his son for this moment over many years. Igor had his complete confidence. The decision had been made, documented, and was irreversible.

These events had taken place nearly two years earlier. Liz did not want to be seen as a frivolous woman. Without question, she had spent a great deal of money over the decades. But it was her money. Although she was far from facing material hardship, she was forced to change her standard and style of living drastically. She had to deal with budgeting, learn moderation, and choose her expenses carefully. That would not have been a problem for Liz if the same financial restraint had applied to Inácio and his son. Neither Igor’s salary nor the dividends distributed to his father under the new guidelines would be reduced. One because he had spent forty years leading the company, the other because he now bore the responsibility of guiding it into the future. She understood the measure’s element of fairness, yet she felt saddened and disappointed for not having been warned beforehand, when she could still have made a different choice. She believed she would be supported and protected by her family. She was mistaken. There had been a lack of consideration, affection, and respect. They denied her the right to choose. She felt deceived and betrayed by those she had loved the most.

Gently, Bárbara brushed away the tear resting on Liz’s face with her fingertip. Then she asked, “What do you intend to do for yourself in the face of these events? If you do not react quickly and appropriately, you will become ill”. The beautiful woman replied that she needed to forgive. She wanted to free herself from the corrosive feeling that constantly brought the situation back to her mind. She longed to live again with the same intensity as before. She pointed out that intensity was not a matter of money, but of taste. The barista welcomed her resolution with an approving smile. Although Liz understood the necessity of that essential step, she admitted that, no matter how much she wanted to forgive, she simply could not. There were days when she even believed she had made progress, only for some event or even an unexpected thought to arise in the very next moment, poisoning her heart once more. She did not know whether it was hatred or resentment. Bárbara explained that they were the same feeling: “Hatred is rejection, aversion, or anger in its vaporous state. Resentment is hatred solidified by age, after being kept inside us for a long time”.

Liz wanted to understand why she found it so difficult to forgive. The barista reflected, “Profoundly disappointing events rarely allow forgiveness to come immediately or within a short period of time. It is a process, a sequence of inner movements capable of untying the knots of rigid thinking and feeling that generate so many misunderstandings. Forgiveness has many nuances and layers. Although the act was committed by someone else, we move forward only to the exact extent that we come to understand more deeply who we are and, in doing so, understand how the event wounded us so profoundly that it left us emotionally in ruins. This understanding is essential, because only then are we ready to begin an existential reconstruction founded upon different and better principles. No one is able to forgive without moving from where they stand. Forgiveness has nothing to do with the other person. It is a gentle and silent journey, full of advances and retreats, along the sacred route between the mind and the heart, capable of leading one to truth, a place unknown to the crowds, a city the wise call peace. There is no greater wealth or power”.

Liz asked her to explain further. The barista clarified, “Every case has its own particularities. You structured your life with Inácio and your family as your pillars and your fortress. When they were no longer there for you, or turned their backs on you, your world collapsed. This happens whenever the foundations of one’s existence are placed outside oneself rather than within. That is what people call chaos. Once the storm has passed, what keeps a person standing are the inner structures built through the hardships of life: the virtues acquired and the truths attained; mental clarity, emotional balance, and steadfastness in one’s actions. Chaos exists to sweep away every disguise, performance, and mirage. If the foundations are not solid and deep, nothing will remain”. Liz wanted to know more about these so-called foundations. Bárbara replied, “A foundation is the traveller’s baggage. It is not what the traveller possesses, but everything that lifts them up and enables them to move forward. It is the core that sustains, strengthens, harmonizes, legitimizes, and provides meaning and direction. The way a person deals with the world is merely a reflection of the inner journey they have already travelled and overcome, even if no one else understands or approves”.

The beautiful woman returned to the question that tormented her. No matter how hard she tried, she could not forgive. Since forgiveness was a process, she needed to understand how it worked. Bárbara explained, “The initial movement is the firm and sincere decision to forgive”. Liz interrupted to point out that she had already made that decision. She insisted she was being honest. The barista reassured her, “I do not doubt that for a moment. The point is that, because forgiveness is born of the will, its construction is mental rather than emotional, as many people believe. That is why they fail. People wait for a pleasant feeling to overthrow the empire of resentment. That feeling will not appear out of nowhere. The love and compassion that will replace resentment or anger are the consequences of a movement that begins in the mind and only afterward finds a home in the heart. The will is the fundamental and sacred seed; then a philosophical arc of understanding and comprehension becomes necessary to create fertile soil, and only then will forgiveness find the proper conditions to blossom in the heart”.

The barista continued, “Forgiveness will not come as a free gift from time, through a magical touch, or after a swim in the sea. It is a construction of consciousness”. The beautiful woman argued that, if she had already chosen to forgive, she must already be in the second stage of the journey: the philosophical arc of understanding and comprehension. Bárbara nodded and anticipated Liz’s next question. “That arc is a mental road that will lead you to truth, where you will find clarity, balance, and strength for ever firmer movements, though never deprived of gentleness and grace. Never forget that truth is both gentle and courageous at the same time. Truth is the source of every transformation”.

The beautiful woman admitted she did not understand this mental road she was supposed to travel. She wondered whether she had been following the wrong path. Bárbara observed her for a few moments, like someone who knew the time had come to reveal the narrow and unwanted door that nevertheless had to be crossed in order for the journey to continue. She called the waiter, asked him to bring cups and a coffee pot, then posed the crucial question: “What do you expect from Inácio or Igor?” Surprised by the question, Liz replied that she expected nothing from either of them. It was an answer still driven by pride and anger, not by truth. The barista recognized the contradiction, waited a few seconds for the beautiful woman to gather her fleeting emotions, and repeated the question, adding, “Before you answer, ask your heart. To censor your own feelings is to flee from yourself. That will keep you far from forgiveness”.

Liz’s eyes shone once again. This time, because of tears. The beautiful woman took a deep breath, clasped her hands in prayer, touched them to her lips, and went to the very centre of herself. When she returned, as though confessing a forbidden desire, she admitted, “I long for the day when Inácio and Igor, full of regret, come to ask for my forgiveness. I imagine that moment every time I remember what they did to me. And that happens almost every day”. Bárbara revealed the door Liz refused to see. “Do you realize that by conditioning your forgiveness upon the actions of other people, over whom you have absolutely no control, you are transferring the centre of power of your own life to them? That feeling of helplessness, born of misguided desires and flawed reasoning, leaves you trapped in suffering. Worse still, the gesture you are waiting for may never happen. The folly of that expectation is what keeps you captive to hatred and tears you apart with silent yet devouring pain. The way you deal with the rigidity of your own thinking and feeling is what keeps you far from forgiveness. Forgiving does not depend on any action by someone else. It is an intensely personal act; in other words, it is a power that belongs exclusively to the individual. It would be absurd to believe that a person’s healing and liberation should depend upon another person’s whim”.

The beautiful woman argued that her brother’s and nephew’s repentance was an indispensable ingredient for forgiveness. It would be an act of justice. The barista replied, “Be just to yourself. Seek your own healing without waiting for anyone’s permission. Free yourself from the suffering that crushes you and fills your days with bitterness”. Liz wiped away her tears and confessed that she felt lost in an existential labyrinth. She did not know which road to follow to reach forgiveness. Bárbara explained, “The doors of existential labyrinths never open outward. The exit always leads us inward, into unknown universes. What you seek is not in the world. It awaits you within your own consciousness”.

The barista was emphatic. “You refuse to burn bridges”. The beautiful woman admitted she did not understand. Bárbara explained, “We are taught to build bridges and fight to keep them standing in our relationships. Without question, that is an important evolutionary principle. However, even the best principles allow for valuable exceptions. There is not a single good reason to preserve bridges that serve only to bring suffering, illusions, and mistreatment. In truth, such behaviour merely dims the light. Darkness and pain prevail and dominate the heart. Without respect, love cannot survive”.

She then concluded, “At times, we must destroy bridges so that certain crossings are no longer permitted, nor even contemplated. It is not always easy to burn bridges we have crossed for a long time, to end connections that have shaped part of who we are. Yet who we have been has brought us to this point; to move forward, we must become someone else. No one can do that without a few demolitions, without which there can be no reconstruction. Breaks are indispensable for closing existential cycles. One story must come to an end before another can begin. Whoever tries to live two stories simultaneously ends up losing themselves in both. No one can embark on a new journey while still held captive by the previous one”.

She waited for the waiter to place the coffee pot and cups on the small table between our armchairs before concluding, “Waiting for a crossing from someone who no longer values or respects you not only nourishes resentment, but also allows life to drain away through the cracks of emotional subjugation and mental rigidity. Although you wish to move, you are rendered incapable by the lack of understanding that afflicts you. Thus, at times, breaks are essential to forgiveness. Destroying the bridges that lead us to harmful places is an urgent act of self-love. It is a movement toward the light that leads to forgiveness, the city of peace”.

Bárbara poured coffee into our cups. Then she excused herself and stood up. She needed to return to the counter. With a kind wink she said, “Today’s coffee is on the house”. She left before Liz could even ask her to stay a little longer. Alone, we drank our coffee slowly and without saying a word. The silence was necessary to make room for thoughts and feelings. The beautiful woman broke the silence, surprising me. She murmured that, contrary to what she had always believed, she had never truly lived a real adventure. Yet every day was perfect for embracing life. There was no greater or better adventure. Liz was speaking of the life she had neglected within herself. Then she whispered, as though sharing a secret: “No one is free while standing upon someone else’s pillars. Chaos is a blessing. Breaks and destructions, at times, are as well. Reinventing oneself is the only adventure capable of transforming reality”. She was determined to learn to rely upon herself as her own pillar, support, and fortress in the face of life’s inevitable reversals from that day forward. It would not be easy, but neither would it be impossible. Life never withholds the exact tools required for its essential works. One simply has to understand where they are kept. There was an incomparable light in her eyes. She gave me an affectionate kiss on the cheek, thanked me for the conversation, and left. She was happy to be departing. It was an unusual journey. The Liz she knew was going in search of the Liz she had yet to discover.

I remembered the novel I had been reading, in which the protagonist abandoned a solid family structure of shallow experiences to cast herself into turbulent yet profound existential waters. Liz had lived many adventures throughout her life. Unlike the fictional heroine, hers had lacked depth. She expected nothing from them except amusement. Inácio had been her safe harbour, where she could dock with a damaged hull and torn sails whenever necessary. Repairs were guaranteed. There were no risks, only protected recklessness. The beautiful woman had taken many journeys without ever truly going anywhere. Then came the storm. Not to destroy her, but to tear away everything that no longer served her and postponed her true adventure. Chaos, as it always does, arrived as an invitation to journey toward unexplored places, toward inner discoveries and victories.

To venture toward the centre of herself, she would have to return to the world, with all the risks inherent to it, an exercise essential to self-knowledge and the refinement of the soul. Without those constant departures and returns, the movement would be nothing more than escapism. Every understanding is useless unless it is tested and refined through action. Liz would learn to become her own safe harbour, where she could find refuge on dark nights before setting sail again the following mornings. This time, she would travel driven by new interests and different priorities. She herself was her destination. So it is for everyone. I looked around and smiled. The coffee shop in Gávea was not a coffee shop, nor was it a therapist’s office. It was a harbour.

Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic

Madureira is one of the most iconic neighbourhoods in Rio de Janeiro. Home to resilient and hardworking people, it has its own characteristics, cultures, and traditions. And a few enchanted corners. In one of them, located on a quiet, tree-lined street that crosses the train station, lives Aunt Francisca, the faith healer. A thin Black woman; simple, humble, and loving; endowed with unusual wisdom and refined speech. Of indeterminate age , I have known her since childhood, when my father, anxious and desperate, would lead me by the hand in search of improbable solutions for a scatterbrained and disruptive boy , she welcomes everyone who seeks relief from the misunderstandings that cause so much suffering. Her prayers serve, among other wonders, to undo quebrantos, a popular term used to refer to the dense energy that surrounds and harms a person when they are mentally or emotionally vulnerable and unsuspecting, trapped in a conflict-ridden relationship steeped in ill feelings. Hatred, as well as sadness , which is, in truth, a kind of hatred disguised as abandonment , may be among the typical effects of a quebranto. The healer warns everyone who comes to her: “Driving away slow and corrosive energies does not free us from them forever. Constant and effective inner work toward self-improvement is necessary. Good thoughts and good feelings are essential in building the work of oneself. No one attracts what they desire; we attract in exact measure to our affinities. We are akin to what we are”.

Maura had learned to sew from her grandmother. After finishing high school, she went to work at the atelier of a famous fashion designer devoted to haute couture, whose custom-made and exclusive garments catered to a select group of women who could afford to pay dearly for pieces of fabric cut and assembled with mastery. Besides being an excellent seamstress, the young woman possessed innate talent. She had a gift for designing patterns and creating models of rare beauty. Joana, the designer and owner of the brand, recognized her employee’s gift and encouraged her to study patternmaking and enroll in a Fashion degree. By adding technique to talent, Maura expanded her abilities beyond imagined boundaries. Although the creations continued to bear the owner’s signature, the employee became the brand’s principal designer. In dealing with clients, learning their tastes, intentions, and preferences, Joana remained at the forefront, introducing the young woman as her assistant. Although the owner tried to conceal it, the dresses increasingly bore the unmistakable personal touch of her employee.

Their partnership proved prosperous for nearly a decade, until Maura, encouraged by her husband Hugo, a promising lawyer, decided to forge her own path and established her own brand. The separation occurred without apparent trauma. Joana appeared understanding about her former employee’s choice and regarded the end of their professional relationship as something natural and inevitable. She wished her luck and success, as she said on the day of their farewell.

Maura rented a house in Jardim Botânico, one of the city’s upscale neighbourhoods. With little money, but abundant dedication and creativity, she transformed it beautifully. The space became bright and airy, ideal for welcoming clients into the spacious ground-floor room. The workshop would operate upstairs.

Even before the renovations were complete, two seamstresses who had worked for Joana for many years sought her out. They wanted to change jobs. They appreciated the lighthearted and youthful way Maura treated everyone, making no distinctions based on social class, ethnicity, or any other condition inherent to a person or chosen by right. Maura explained that, for ethical reasons, she could not hire them without first speaking to Joana. She did so, and her former employer raised no objections. Gradually she assembled and expanded her team as the business grew. Some of Joana’s clients began frequenting Maura’s atelier, dissatisfied with the new designs, which no longer carried the traces of the young designer’s style. It was not difficult for them to deduce who had been responsible for the graceful lines of their dresses over the previous years. Maura’s reputation spread beyond the walls of parties and into the intimacy of afternoon teas. Her brand grew to the point of rivaling that of her former employer. Every penny earned was reinvested into the business. Just when the dream seemed tangible and real, everything began to collapse. Many orders were canceled without explanation. Clients vanished as though fleeing a contagious disease. They no longer answered phone calls or replied to messages. Bewildered by the succession of events devoid of reason or explanation, Maura drifted from despair into depression. She could no longer pay salaries or rent. She was drowning in debt. If nothing changed quickly, she would have to close the atelier. She felt defeated. Worse still, she could not identify where she had failed or what mistake she had made.

One of the seamstresses, empathizing with the designer’s suffering, proposed taking her to Aunt Francisca’s house. Maura thought to herself, without saying anything, that a prayer, even if it helped in no way, would do no harm. They arranged to visit her the following morning. However, on the previous evening, when Hugo returned from work, he brought shocking news. A malicious campaign of defamation was underway. During a hearing he had attended that afternoon at the courthouse, he encountered one of Maura’s clients, who was also a lawyer. In a venomous remark, the woman spoke of money supposedly embezzled from the atelier of the former employer and used to finance the opening of the young designer’s business. As if that were not enough, she advised Hugo to open his eyes, for his wife was allegedly having an affair with the husband of her former employer. The proof, she hissed, was that Joana had recently divorced. Maura, she claimed, had been the cause of the marital breakdown.

That day, I had arrived early at Aunt Francisca’s house. I had gone for no particular reason. I had simply felt a strong and sudden urge to visit her. When I entered, she seemed to be waiting for me, seated in her worn blue armchair, “the colour of Our Lady’s mantle,” as she liked to say. She greeted me with a warm smile and confirmed my impression: “I was expecting you,” she remarked, treating the extraordinary as though it were commonplace. Astonished, I did not understand. Aunt Francisca smiled again, pointed toward the simple altar adorned with images of Master Jesus, Mother Mary, and Saint George, which stood in the nearly unfurnished room, save for a few white wooden stools upon which visitors sat to speak with the healer, and instructed me: “Sit on one of the stools, close your eyes, and remain in prayer”. Understanding even less, I was about to ask for an explanation when she calmed my heart: “Soon you will understand”. That was how I became an intruder in Maura’s misfortune.

“It is all lies,” the young designer declared during the only moment she managed to speak without crying. I had no doubt about her sincerity. Aunt Francisca’s gaze confirmed that truth. Yet the former employer narrated her story so skilfully and with such abundant detail that it was difficult not to believe the cruel and absurd version of events that had never happened. Some people possess such extraordinary power to manipulate lies that we sometimes feel no one will ever believe the truth. Maura had spent weeks frightened, desperate, and sad, but now she felt anger. Great anger. The atelier was on the verge of closing. She would lose everything. What she had built with immense effort had collapsed from one moment to the next, without warning or reason. She was determined to take revenge. Through clenched teeth, she vowed to be merciless. Immediately, the healer corrected her: “If you do that, only then will you truly lose everything. The one who will take it from you is your own revenge”. Then she added: “Whoever possesses themselves has lost nothing”.

Dissatisfied, Maura asked in an ironic tone whether she should offer the other cheek. Unshaken, Aunt Francisca nodded and confirmed: “That is the right thing to do”. The young woman declared that she would not allow herself to become a punching bag. The healer corrected her: “I did not say that”. Furrowing her brow, she said firmly: “To offer the other cheek is to present light to those who know only darkness”. She paused before concluding: “Whoever repays evil with evil hands over their own heart as currency. The best revenge is forgiveness. One must free oneself from hatred in order to be happy again. Being happy is the best revenge. No one achieves this without first forgiving”.

Maura argued that the clients would not even listen to what she had to say. There was urgency. Bills were piling up, and the dream was on the verge of turning sour. She needed to cry out to the world. She had a truth to tell and needed to make herself heard. Aunt Francisca explained: “There is no need to tell the truth to everyone. Repeating the truth to all is an invented necessity. Live the truth in every gesture, step, and gaze. Actions will always reach farther than words. Truth is not discourse, but attitude. It is a pillar of conscience and lives in those who breathe in peace. Become the truth through the way you live. Make truth a silent characteristic of your identity. Truth has no need for commotion. Fear and hatred are loud, cowardly, aggressive, and anxious. Truth is courageous, calm, quiet, and knows how to wait. Lies require complicated plots. For truth, a simple yes or no is enough”. As though stating the obvious, she shrugged, smiled, and concluded: “Truth is like that because it knows it is truth”.

The designer confessed that bankruptcy loomed near. If the clients did not return to the atelier, it would be impossible to avoid ruin. She could find no other solution than seeking them out… “To convince them to change their minds,” the healer interrupted, completing Maura’s reasoning as though exposing an inconsistency. Without understanding, the designer widened her eyes as if asking, what else can I do?

Aunt Francisca took the young woman’s hands affectionately and reminded her: “Only fools waste their lives based on someone else’s opinion”. Then she reflected: “Life is full of pivotal moments and, therefore, transformative ones. These are delicate situations because of the risks involved. On one side, we can allow others to decide whether we will stay or leave; whether we deserve our share of their gifts, favours, and beliefs or not. On the other, we can build who we are and where we want to go. Any existential movement, when it concerns a right, requires no one’s permission. These crossroads define the degree of maturity, moral integrity, and personal courage. They determine who will be the author of their own story and who will settle for being a mere character in someone else’s plot”.

Maura swallowed the arguments she intended to use in rebuttal. They were too shallow in the face of the responsibility that, at that moment, awakened within her. She admitted that if she accepted dependence on two dozen clients to define her life, she would be surrendering control of her destiny to others. She would be guided by a will other than her own. She did not want to live that way. She said she did not deserve it. No one deserved it, she added. The healer reminded her: “Each person is where they place themselves, or where they allow themselves to be placed. You may be mistress of yourself, or live like a train traveling on random tracks”. The young woman asked how she could build an authentic path within the existing situation. It was then that Aunt Francisca called on me to see whether I could help in some way.

Although I made every effort to remain in prayer before the altar, I had heard the conversation. I could not avoid it. The healer knew this. She had not seated me there to pray. Maura could not depend on her clients reconsidering their opinions to define her life. That would make her a prisoner of the world’s whims. She needed to forge a new path based on her talent and effort, without being at the mercy of anyone’s moods or malice. She had experience in patternmaking, design, and sewing. She simply needed to chart a different professional course, one in which the target would shift from a specific and restricted center to the margins, always broad, sometimes forgotten, sometimes despised. It is always possible. A solution occurred to me: betting on prêt-à-porter. The term means ready-to-wear. These are high-quality clothes designed by creative designers and manufactured on an industrial scale with the purpose of making elegant clothing accessible, in contrast to the exclusivity of expensive made-to-measure haute couture garments. The proposal is to dress well, with elegance and originality, at low cost. By offering access to many, she would no longer be trapped in the hands of a few.

For an instant, Maura’s eyes sparkled at the idea, only to dim in the next second. The rent for the house in Jardim Botânico was expensive. At that moment, she had no way of bearing the cost. Furthermore, because it was located in a residential neighbourhood, it was forbidden to set up a factory there, even a small one. In truth, she had no means of paying rent anywhere at that time. Aunt Francisca’s eyes sought mine. There was an unspoken request in the light of that gaze. It was neither difficult to understand nor to answer. I owned an empty warehouse a few blocks away, where the printing division of the advertising agency in which I had been a partner for many years had once operated. When the partnership dissolved, the property had come into my possession. For a long time, I had unsuccessfully tried to rent or sell the warehouse. Since then, it had brought me nothing but taxes and maintenance costs. I smiled at the healer and proposed to the young designer that we sign a five-year lease agreement. There would be a grace period with no rent due during the first twenty-four months. After that, she would pay me the market rate. It would be good for both of us. Maura thanked me for the offer. Indeed, it was excellent, but she argued that she lacked the funds to set up the factory, hire employees, and purchase the machines.

If Maura sewed clothes, Aunt Francisca sewed lives. The healer smiled slyly at me. I shook my head no, and she replied with a yes in her eyes. I drew a deep breath, like someone who cannot believe he is about to take the next step, and, in the measured voice of one who reasons while understanding what he says, I proposed a partnership to Maura. She would contribute the design and sewing expertise, while I would invest in purchasing the machines and setting up the factory. I would also use my experience as an advertising executive to create a prêt-à-porter brand. Few times in my life have I seen a smile as beautiful as the one that lit up the young woman’s face. She was back in the game. In an unimaginable way, I too was returning to creation, an old passion. That was when I understood the reason I had gone to Madureira that day. Dreams do not grow old.

We exchanged phone numbers so that we could speak over the next few days. We had much to discuss. Maura asked Aunt Francisca to bless her. The elderly woman explained that the prayer had already been made and answered: “The best revenge is to live well. When you understood that, the quebranto was undone. Your smile is proof of victory over the impositions of the world, possible only because you overcame the bad inclinations that were consuming you”. The designer felt well and renewed. She wanted to pay for the prayer. Aunt Francisca smiled and concluded the consultation: “Go to the altar and thank Our Lord Jesus Christ. To Him belong all honour and glory. To me, nothing is owed”. Then she asked for the next person in line to come in.

Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic

I was missing Sedona, the small town nestled in the mountains of Arizona, where Starry Song lived, the shaman who had the gift of preserving his people’s ancestral wisdom through the lyrics of the songs he sang or the stories he told with rare mastery. I carried within me an inner discomfort, like a kind of mild anguish, without any apparent explanation. The stretch of road from Flagstaff, cutting through forests of pines and oaks along cliffs of unmatched beauty, had always brought me a pleasant feeling, as if my heart anticipated that something good was about to happen. Yet what is genuinely good almost never arrives without effort or the need to face an inner challenge. This time was no different.

I was welcomed with Starry Song’s usual serene joy and strong embrace. After leaving my backpack and suitcase in the guest room, we sat on the porch cooled by the gentle breeze of autumn afternoons. We were chatting about trivial matters when we were surprised by Kenai, a young man of about twenty, whose parents had long been friends of the shaman. The boy needed to talk. He was very upset. Kenai worked at one of the region’s luxurious resorts to help support his family. Besides covering basic household expenses, he contributed so his parents could pay for his sister’s university education, she being a few years older than him. Once she graduated, it would be her turn to give back so that Kenai could attend college, should he wish. Though he belonged to a family with scarce financial resources, good feelings, values, and noble principles served as the bond that kept that small nucleus united as if in a single heart. An immeasurable wealth. Despite living in a house where meeting basic material needs was a daily struggle, Kenai lived in a home where love overflowed and dignity was part of the air he breathed. He was a gentle, calm, and cheerful young man.

Kenai told us that Peter, the manager and the owner’s son, had suddenly begun treating him rudely for no apparent reason. They were about the same age. At first, the boss assigned him the most unpleasant tasks, such as dealing with garbage and cleaning the bathrooms in common areas. Where there had once been rotation to avoid overburdening anyone, these duties became exclusively Kenai’s. Although he noticed the unexplained change in the distribution of tasks, he carried them out without complaint. I interrupted to argue that in some companies, similar practices are used to evaluate an employee’s level of commitment. In some cases, only those with greater potential for professional growth are tested. The young man explained that for a time he had even considered that possibility. However, the manager’s behaviour escalated in harshness. The criticisms were excessive and senseless. Some bordered on rudeness. In meetings, he would always make some sarcastic or mocking remark, invariably targeting Kenai, sarcasm is a disguised form of aggressiveness in which humour masks the intent to hurt; mockery shows contempt, a vile desire to humiliate through ridicule. Although he had learned that the final destination of evil lies with the sender and never with the recipient, he felt uncomfortable with the recurring way he was being treated. Kenai emphasized that each person is where they place themselves or allow others to place them. If things are not good, one must leave without delay, unless it is possible to change the nature of the relationship. Relationships without limits inevitably become abusive and harmful. Boundaries are essential tools for respect, self-respect. A fundamental gesture of dignity and therefore indispensable to self-love. Starry Song nodded in approval.

The young man confessed he could not understand Peter’s behaviour. He had already tried to talk to him, without success. He had been met with irritation and disdain. No matter how diligently he performed his tasks, the work was never good enough in the eyes of the hotel heir. He did not understand why he had not yet been fired. On the other hand, in recent days he had been considering the possibility of resigning. A delicate decision, as it might harm his sister’s studies, whom he loved deeply, if it took him time to find another job. He had come seeking Starry Song’s advice.

While listening carefully to Kenai’s afflictions and uncertainties, the shaman filled his unmistakable red-stone pipe with tobacco. When the story ended, he lit it, puffed a few times to ignite the tobacco, looked at the young man with deep respect, and said: “Doubt is a fog; every decision defines a path. No one chooses a good route before clearly seeing the reasons for their own movements, as well as where they intend to go”. He watched the smoke dance before his eyes for a moment and continued: “Calm your heart so you can see what you need to see. Hurry, irritation, and anxiety close the window of lucidity. Consciousness withdraws. Distorted emotions obscure the best solutions. If the traveller is lost at the crossroads, it is because the road has not yet revealed itself to him. Not everything on the journey is just walking. In every journey there is a time to be still, to observe, and to understand. That is when the path reveals itself to the traveller. Then he will be ready to move on”.

The first star appeared in the distance, standing out against the dark cloak of night. Kenai glanced worriedly at his watch. Every Friday, at the head of a country band, he sang in a warehouse that, on weekends, among the enormous unfinished works of a visual artist, transformed into a delightful bar and an improvised stage. A pleasant place for expressions of talent and gatherings. He wanted to continue the conversation, which was far from over. But he had a commitment. Starry Song asked if we could attend the show. The young man said yes with a beautiful, joyful smile. As he passed through the gate, he mounted his motorcycle, nicknamed Frankenstein by the townspeople, as it had been built from discarded parts of different brands, reborn through Kenai’s hands, and rode off.

I remarked that the young man, though not conventionally handsome, possessed incredible magnetism and undeniable charisma. From his posture and ideas, it was not hard to recognize his talent for dealing with difficulties, always in a gentle and serene way. He seemed capable of drawing on great doses of creativity and boldness to find unimaginable solutions. The motorcycle was a perfect example. The ancestral features of his Navajo heritage, along with his unique way of dressing, speaking, and acting, gave him unmatched charm. Above all, he had something precious: a good heart to guide his steps. The shaman nodded. I confessed that I had often witnessed similar scenes of persecution in different situations, never understanding the reason for such behaviour. I asked if Starry Song knew why the wealthy Peter was persecuting humble Kenai. The shaman nodded again without adding a word.

It took us a while to reach the venue. We spent a good time talking about other matters. Shortly before leaving, I mentioned that one of my former partners, from the time we ran an advertising agency, had, after our split, leveraged the company to become one of the largest in Latin America. He had accumulated several international awards and amassed a great fortune. Starry Song looked at me deeply and drew the bow: “Why is that information important to our conversation?” I brushed it off, saying it was mere curiosity. Then the good warrior released the arrow: “I sensed a tone of bitterness and regret in your voice”. Somewhat uncomfortable, I insisted he was mistaken. Nothing more was said. It didn’t need to be. The arrow had already pierced my conscience.

When we arrived at the warehouse, the street was full of parked cars. We left the shaman’s worn pickup in a distant spot. As a wise alchemist of souls used to say, chance does not exist. Nearby, we saw a beautiful convertible Mercedes park. A very handsome young man, tall, well-built, elegantly dressed, stepped out of the car accompanied by two women who looked like they had come straight from a fashion catalogue. Like someone carrying trophies in human form, he walked with a beauty on each side. From another car, two burly men emerged and followed them at a safe distance, ready to intervene if necessary. They were security guards. As if the scene were important for understanding the story correctly, the shaman said that the handsome young man was Peter, the owner’s son, with whom Kenai had recurring problems.

The place was fantastic. Minimalist and elegant at the same time. When we entered, a beautiful young woman was singing a pleasant song that required a rare vocal tone. She performed it with incredible perfection. Heavily applauded, as she stepped off the stage she was embraced by Kenai, with whom she exchanged a passionate kiss. Then it was the young Navajo’s turn to command the stage, accompanied by a band whose members were his childhood friends. He sang half a dozen cheerful songs, making people dance with joy. At the end, he was enthusiastically applauded by the audience. I praised the quality of the songs. Starry Song revealed they were his own compositions.

I noticed that both Peter’s table and Kenai’s table were full of people. However, I had the clear impression that they were gathered there for different reasons. Expressions and behaviour made that evident. While around Kenai there was laughter, friendship, and camaraderie, around Peter there prevailed formality, business, and an unmistakable tension. One table was driven by virtues and mutual admiration; the other by interests and a staged relaxation. I also noticed that Peter, though trying to hide it, watched Kenai with strange attention, as if caught in a kind of fascination.

When I told the shaman what I had observed, he asked me a subtle, concise, and precise question: “Do you understand?” I admitted I did not. Nothing in that context seemed logical enough to explain the relentless persecution of Kenai. Although the two young men frequented the same bar, they inhabited different worlds. Each with his own tastes and flavours, his delights and difficulties. There was nothing wrong with that, I argued. Starry Song looked at me firmly and revealed the reason for Peter’s behaviour with a single word: “Envy”.

I strongly disagreed. Even though Kenai was an extremely virtuous young man, he was poor and lived a very simple life, without any material luxuries. On the other hand, Peter had been born into a millionaire family, with access to the most sophisticated consumer goods imaginable. All he had to do was want something to have it. Kenai was a low-level employee of Peter. It made no sense at all for envy to be the driving force behind that persecution. There had to be another reason. Starry Song shook his head in disapproval and explained: “Being bothered by what someone else has is the most well-known type of envy. However, there is another, deeper kind of envy, and for that very reason, it is almost never perceived: the bitterness of not being who the other person is. And this says nothing about money, fame, or social power. It speaks of virtues and talents; dignity in the way one treats others and peace in the heart. It relates to a great capacity to forgive, to love, to have friends, to be happy, and to move forward. It reveals those who already understand and live genuine freedom. To be much, it is not necessary to have much. It is necessary to understand the priorities of life, and to truly live them. It requires lucidity, emotional balance, and strength of movement. Few are ready. A wealth desired by many, a treasure that money cannot buy”.

How could someone who could have almost everything envy someone who had almost nothing? It was hard to understand. That was not how I had learned about envy. Starry Song stood up and asked me to follow him. We passed by the counter and entered the kitchen. An elderly woman with short white hair welcomed him warmly. It was Doris, a longtime friend and cleaning assistant at the establishment. She immediately told the staff she would take a short break. Removing her apron, she grabbed three beers from the freezer, handed one to each of us, and led us outside the warehouse. At the shaman’s request, after just a few minutes of conversation, she told me that she had worked for a long time in Peter’s parents’ mansion when he was still a child. The father, as a partner in one of the casinos in Las Vegas, was almost never at home. The mother was always absent, dazzled by the frivolities of luxury. The boy grew up disoriented by the purchasing power of money. Expensive things and never-denied whims served to compensate for the lack of emotional warmth in that family. A routine of shallow feelings led him to trample principles and people. Important virtues such as humility, simplicity, gentleness, compassion, selflessness, moderation, among others, having never been taught, seemed to him nothing more than laughable theories preached by failed philosophers and obtuse religious figures. Peter had never built anything. Without any effort, he had always bought or been given everything he wanted.

Then Starry Song concluded: “Without realizing it, this created an inner emptiness without apparent explanation, along with a sad inversion of values guiding his conduct and choices. Even without understanding the exact dimension of his own perception, he recognizes something in Kenai that is more precious than everything he possesses. He feels it but does not understand where it comes from. Peter is a construction with expensive ornaments, beautiful contours, and no foundation. That is why, from an emotional and existential standpoint, he is extremely fragile and unbalanced in the face of life’s adversities. Kenai is simple, but he has solid pillars. This gives him tenacity and consistency to deal with the inherent difficulties of daily life. Pillars are built according to the virtues added to one’s personality. They are the beauties of the soul. This is not for sale. It must be earned. Peter wants this treasure, but he cannot win or buy it. The young millionaire has not learned the meaning of the verb to conquer. So, by instinct and impulse, he decides to destroy what he does not know how to possess. The persecution is unconscious, driven by a feeling he does not understand and therefore cannot control. Envy guides him, just as currents and tides guide ships without a rudder or a compass”.

At that moment, Kenai arrived. He had noticed our absence and, worried, came to check if we were alright. But that was not all. He told us about a disturbance that had just occurred in the bar. Peter’s father had arrived looking for his son. They had a heated conversation. People nearby overheard that they were arguing over a huge gambling debt the young millionaire had accumulated in Las Vegas casinos. The father was being pressured by his partners to settle the debt, which he had previously ignored. He was furious at the contradiction of, as a gambling financier, seeing his son behave like the reckless gamblers he so despised, whom he called losers.

With no need to speak, the shaman exchanged a meaningful glance with Kenai, as if asking whether he had understood. The young man nodded. Peter was trying, through erratic and impulsive movements, to fill the existential void he felt, but was unable to understand it because he did not know the origin of the feelings that drove him. Despite having almost everything money could buy, something was missing within him that disoriented, unbalanced, and weakened him. He felt it but did not understand it. He looked again at Starry Song and asked if the issue was that Peter perceived in him, Kenai, the existential pillars he himself lacked. A perception without understanding makes us act through impulses and instincts, movements driven by fear that take us in the opposite direction of the light. The shaman’s silence confirmed his reasoning. Kenai had understood the feeling that fuelled Peter’s persecutory behaviour.

Kenai showed compassion, stating that Peter was a victim of his lack of self-knowledge. Starry Song agreed: “Without a doubt. This understanding is extremely useful so that you do not harbour resentment toward him. Because of the imprisonment it causes, when we nurture resentment, we remain supporting actors in someone else’s life. Because of the freedom it offers, forgiveness brings us back to the leading role in our own lives”. He paused and added: “However, it is necessary to defend yourself from evil. His behaviour has been escalating in imbalance and aggression. He does not fire you because he feeds on humiliation and contempt, empty sensations of false superiority. He is still far from understanding the harm that afflicts him. At this moment, it is advisable that you distance yourself from Peter and, therefore, from your current job”.

Kenai admitted he had been considering that decision for a few days. The shaman’s words confirmed what his intuition had been whispering to him. He wanted to form a band with his girlfriend and some friends. The success they had in Sedona could resonate throughout the world. However, it was a difficult journey that, even when successful, usually takes time to mature. For now, he needed something immediate to support himself and help his family until music showed whether it would become a career or remain, no less important, part of the essential art of his life. At the same time, he would set up a motorcycle workshop in his garage. He already had good experience with that. Between repairs, he would build other Frankensteins to sell. He confessed that the mere idea of change already filled his heart with joy and enthusiasm. After a period of stillness and reflection at life’s crossroads, the path was revealing itself to Kenai. Not the destination, but the direction to follow. In this way, it became possible to adjust the route and course of his personal story. A movement always necessary. Starry Song curved his lips in a faint smile of approval. The young man thanked us and returned to the warehouse. He wanted to share his decision and invite his girlfriend and friends into the adventure that was beginning.

Resilience is the virtue that, despite the harsh circumstances and pressures that life sometimes imposes, does not allow us to be deformed by them. On the contrary, through difficulties, we reinvent, rebuild, and refine ourselves. Then we reach unimaginable places, within and beyond ourselves. Referring to Kenai, on the way back to the house, I remarked that the young man had understood the lesson life had proposed. Thus, he would be able to go beyond himself. Without taking his eyes off the road, Starry Song returned the question: “And you, did you understand?” I replied that I had learned a lot about the deceptive traps of dense feelings such as envy. It would be easier to recognize it when it arose in me and, in doing so, to master it before it mastered my heart and my choices. The shaman pulled the pickup over to the side of the road, looked at me seriously, and replied: “Did you really understand?” After a moment of confusion, my conscience brought back the comment I had made earlier about my former partner’s success after our business split. I admitted that his petty and selfish behaviour, which had caused the breakup, made it difficult for me to have good feelings toward him. I confessed that his success bothered me. However, it was not envy. The feeling existed because I had been betrayed and harmed at the time.

Starry Song clarified: “At that moment, you made a choice. Right or wrong, take responsibility for your decision and move forward. Never remain tied to regret over a mistaken choice or to the behaviour of others. Experiences are schools or prisons, depending on how we deal with them. Feelings as well”. He furrowed his brow, as if to say he would not elaborate further, and added: “What we lack is not what was left behind, but what we have not yet accomplished. Understanding this truth makes the root of maturity sprout”.

He paused before continuing: “Without this understanding, no one can leave the crossroads where they stand. They will drown in feelings that, because they are considered of low standard, they will deny their presence and influence. Envy is one of the most difficult feelings to admit because it is treated as a mark of personal inferiority. However, all feelings pass through our depths. The best and the worst. Without exception. The problem is that, through denial, envy moves from the heart to the mind through the dark alleys of misunderstanding, like a shadow in the night of consciousness. No one defends themselves against what they believe does not exist. Ignored feelings gain power to distort reasoning and behaviour. Without the humility required to admit their presence and influence, it becomes impossible to transform them into something better. Worse still, the individual remains captive in someone else’s life, to which they have bound themselves through a corrosive connection. This keeps them on the margins of their own life, a typical stagnant and self-destructive behaviour, the cause of much pain, more common than many believe”.

I remarked that time would help me process my feelings. Only then would I be able to reprocess that situation and reach a better understanding. The shaman corrected me: “Time does not change or fix anything. It may distance the pain, but it does not extinguish it. Feelings do not change like the seasons. Not rarely, many people go through an entire lifetime without undoing the harm they cause themselves. They prove incapable of dissolving the bitterness of poorly processed experiences, growing accustomed to suffering as if there were no cure, or waiting for a magical day that will never come”. He paused briefly and continued: “As ancestral peoples taught, where there is will, there is a path. Everything else is excuses and escapes. There is no replacement of one feeling by another without an effective inner movement first. What dissolves a dense feeling is the firm and conscious decision to no longer carry it within. Will is the primordial force that pulls one out of the mire of stagnant and painful days. It is what drives the search for a better understanding of unpleasant events, to look at them from a perspective previously unimagined, yet revealing and redeeming. Then, from a better understanding, and only then, the feeling transforms into another, dissolving bitterness and offering clarity. The heart finds a new direction to move forward with balance, firmness, and serene joy. Otherwise, even if one recites refined theories to justify distorted reasoning and erratic behaviour, one will remain like a lost traveller at the crossroads of misunderstood feelings”. Then he ended with the uncomfortable question: “Did you understand?”

I nodded. However, seeing a door does not mean one is ready to walk through it. As anticipated at the beginning of this text, what is genuinely good almost never comes without effort or the need to face an inner challenge. No one returns from Sedona the same as when they arrived. This time was no different.

Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic

It had been a difficult day at work. Among several problems common to the daily life of a company, I was dealing with the growing demands of Fátima, a talented illustrator of a series of children’s books written by various Brazilian authors, still unpublished. It was her responsibility to create the images that populated the narratives of the different dreamlike universes. She did so with rare skill. She held several awards for her excellent work. The first published titles had been a great success. Many stories were still waiting in the pipeline of editions. Texts that needed refinement, drawings awaiting creation. From the original idea to the final work, there is a long and laborious journey. The fact was that, each day, the talented illustrator became more demanding, interfering in the functioning of the publishing house in sectors that were not related to her field of activity. She argued that everything in the publishing house was interconnected and, therefore, affected the way her work was seen by the public. Thus, in her understanding, she was merely exercising a legitimate right. She demanded changes in methods and attitudes, always with the threat of withdrawing from the project already underway if her guidelines were not followed. She imposed changes in the texts, in the font used in layout, in the type of paper used for printing, and much more. These were responsibilities that did not belong to her to decide. Although all sectors of the company were connected, not all decisions were pertinent to her. Other professionals were responsible for their respective areas, according to their specific skills. As she had great prestige and was sought after in the market by several publishers, out of fear of losing her, even though I considered her demands unfounded, I always gave in. In the routine of employees and collaborators, an unconscious care to always please her took hold, even if it displeased everyone. Despite the success, I was not well.

I was thinking about this as I walked through the cross streets lined with trees in Gávea, heading toward Bárbara’s café, the barista who had given up her psychology clinic without, however, abandoning the mysteries of the psyche. Located in an old and well-preserved mansion, it served espressos, cappuccinos, and frappés with unique flavours. Although there was no sign or lettering on the door, the place was always filled, with tables occupied in its various rooms, decorated with bookshelves and harmonized with the sound of jazz, soul, and bossa nova, audible yet soft, so that no one needed to raise their voice to be heard. The inner garden, with sofas and armchairs shaded by a leafy mango tree, was the perfect setting for afternoons of reading. Twice a week, in the early evening, without any academic formalism, but with the simple and necessary depth within everyone’s reach, Bárbara gave brief talks about the pains and pleasures of the soul. At times, at any hour of the day, upon noticing an anguish on the verge of eruption, she would sit at a table to offer words capable of awakening flashes of clarity and doses of serenity. No matter how complicated a problem may seem, where there is lucidity and balance, there will be a good path. However, it was not possible to request a consultation. The barista chose the interlocutor. She brushed it off by saying that this was not a clinic, but a café. In truth, it was much more.

There was no free table. I went to the counter to wait. To my surprise, I ran into Maria Clara, a school friend of one of my daughters. She smiled when she saw me. It had been years since I had last seen her. The young woman said she was married to Gabriel, a doctor she had met when they were both students in medical school. They had three small children. Although she had also graduated, she had specialized in general surgery after a difficult training period in the emergency room of a busy public hospital, she had left her career to dedicate herself to her family. This allowed her husband to devote himself more intensely to his profession. In addition to being intelligent and charming, he had become a sought-after ophthalmic surgeon. They had acquired a beautiful apartment in Leblon, one of the most upscale neighbourhoods in the city. The children studied at an excellent school, and every year they travelled abroad. She had the life of a princess, she said.

“Princesses usually have a sad joy,” we heard from a voice behind the counter. It was Bárbara. The barista served us two espressos as a courtesy for the wait and, before I could make any mention of the evident contradiction in the expression sad joy, she explained: “I refer to the joy of living the dreamed world, contrasted with the disappointment of not finding within oneself the feelings expected upon arriving at the desired destination. Then, an incomprehensible pain arises”. Maria Clara said she did not understand. The barista clarified: “Outwardly, everything perfect. Inwardly, nothing satisfied”. The young mother admitted that, in fact, there was in her a senseless sadness. She suffered from depression but was medicated. Although she knew there was no pharmaceutical capable of curing the pains of the soul, she claimed there was no reason to feel sad. She would soon be well. She had a perfect life. Bárbara shrugged and reflected: “Perhaps you are missing from yourself. Then, everything will be too little”.

The waiter interrupted us to inform that a table had become available. He asked if we would sit together. We agreed. That conversation needed to continue. Bárbara joined us. After we were seated, the barista went straight to the point: “Princesses choose their clothes, shoes, jewellery, the brand of the car, and the restaurant where they will have lunch with their friends. In some cases, even where the family will go on the weekend. In short, they have enormous power to decide about existential trifles”. Maria Clara asked her to explain better. The barista clarified: “The issue lies in the power to decide about one’s own destiny. I am not referring to the destination of summer vacation. I am talking about living according to one’s own perceptions and choices regarding the direction one wishes to go beyond appearances and superficial decisions. In the person one plans to become and the internal revolutions one needs to carry out. I am speaking of emotional balance, mental clarity, and material autonomy. The maturity of the soul requires the rupture of all types of dependency. Until that happens, the mold will be someone else’s model, never the choice of one’s own way. The fear of losing something or someone we consider fundamental to our well-being inhibits the growth of who we originally are. We end up yielding beyond the limits of personal identity. We become someone other than ourselves. The insistence on a lifestyle that does not align with the essence that animates and expresses it, although often within a socially desired and considered ideal standard, is also a cause of depression”.

She took a sip of coffee and commented: “If I have a wonderful life, why do I feel sad? Princes and princesses ask themselves this every day. Feelings that seem to make no sense are messengers of unknown truths. What so perfectly completes one person may not fit another. It is not a matter of number and size, but of seasoning and flavour”.

Maria Clara seemed uncomfortable. She said the barista was flirting with rudeness. Bárbara asked that her words, although hard and strong, not be received with any trace of aggression. That was not her intention: “I merely propose lines of reasoning that, by opposing ideas, concepts, and standards previously accepted without much questioning, tear the colourful fabric of a reality with pleasant features. However, behind it hide contradictory feelings, incapable of sustaining deeper moments of happiness. As long as the origin of the pain remains misunderstood, despite a life with perfect outlines, this sad joy will persist as a reminder of the forgotten essence”.

The young mother shook her head in denial. She loved and admired her husband. She loved her children and lived the dream of a perfect and comfortable life. She lacked nothing, she assured. Bárbara fell silent for a few moments. She recalled the teaching of an old alchemist of souls who said that until you have yourself, nothing will be enough. However, that had already been said in another way during the conversation. She slowly took a long sip of coffee, as if weighing the power of her next words, and finally decided on the necessary blow: “You went through sleepless nights of study for college exams, you interned on the brink of despair in the emergency rooms of public hospitals, only to, in the end, merely find a husband and become a mother..”., she paused deliberately before finishing the question: “…or is there something equally valuable that was left behind?” There was a silence like a confession. Without waiting for the suppressed answer, the barista reminded her: “It is necessary to reclaim what was abandoned within yourself. No one abandons a gift in vain. We all have a gift. Yours is to heal. Every gift reveals the sacred love of a soul for life and better equips the individual to climb the mountains of existence”. Then, referring to the apparent conflict between family and profession, she concluded: “Does one choice cancel the other, or, in many cases, is there room for a harmonious coexistence between interests of such important value?”

As if her soul were laid bare, Maria Clara looked at her, unsettled. The barista continued: “Each individual must trace the map of their spiritual development. It is not easy, for the sacred must manifest itself in the ordinary situations of daily life, not only within churches and temples as many imagine. A person evolves by what they do, never by what they think or feel, no matter how noble their thoughts and feelings may be. The degree of difficulty increases when we realize that there are no two identical maps. If perceptions and sensitivities are different, and they always are, the routes must also be. Therefore, no comparison is sensible”. The young wife asked her to speak a little more about this so-called map. Bárbara explained: “The map of spiritual development is an original project of self-construction. There is nothing wrong with those who spend their mornings by the seaside, between Pilates classes, conversations with other mothers at the school gate, and the reading of good novels or delightful teas in the middle of the afternoon. They can follow their children’s development more closely and are always well-disposed at night. Not without reason, many desire the routine of these peaceful days. Not for lack of good reasons would they consider it madness to give up this wonderful tranquillity in exchange for the stress and daily anguish of trying to save lives bathed in blood, bodies pierced by bullets or broken in accidents. However, what is hell for many is the true gateway to heaven for a few”. She looked seriously at Maria Clara and concluded: “There are souls forged to bring light to those lost in the darkness of deep pain. They will not know authentic joy while they remain distant from their original purpose”.

Maria Clara’s coffee had gone cold. I made a gesture to ask for a replacement. She looked at her watch and declined the offer. She said she needed to pick up the children at school. A bit embarrassed, she thanked us for the conversation, said goodbye, and left.

Bárbara looked at me as if to say that reaction is common when one glimpses the destiny waiting ahead. She asked the waiter to bring two more espressos. Doubles, I added. I needed to think. In some way I still could not understand, that conversation had affected me. The barista smiled and provoked: “How about talking a little about the sad joy that overflows from your eyes?” I was surprised. I said I did not know what she meant. Bárbara explained: “When we set aside choices out of fear of consequences or losses, we allow a weed called dependency to take root, capable of suffocating the soul, provoking sadness and, over time, giving rise to depression. A product of fear and the mistaken belief in one’s own inability to overcome the inevitable difficulties inherent to existence, dependency brings along another illness of the soul: stagnation, which makes one’s spirit, life, and dreams rot. A grave loss. Even if, apparently, everything around is perfect, the heart is not satisfied. It is necessary to react. Every dependency makes us less when we could be more”. It was not difficult to associate those words with the growing demands and absurd interferences of the illustrator of the publishing house’s children’s book collection. Although I considered Fátima’s behaviour abusive, I was afraid that, by opposing her wishes, I would no longer have her talent in the publisher’s works. An unhealthy relationship that, as a natural consequence, left me unwell, despite the excellent financial returns.

I commented that any interpersonal relationship must deal with the factor of the other. There will always be before me a person different in many aspects from who I am. Perspectives and intentions, perceptions and sensitivities, choices and desires. Bárbara did not disagree, but reflected: “Differences can be highly positive elements of interaction, provided they serve to teach and indicate unthinkable possibilities for growth. Each person is a certain way. Therefore, every relationship involves two distinct universes that coexist in search of healthy coexistence. The intersection between these universes will never be total, it will always occur in part, with greater or lesser interaction, depending on the harmony and affinities they share. However, this is not a problem. On the contrary, when well handled, it will drive unlikely solutions and mutual learning. For this, no one should settle in another’s shadow. It is necessary for each person to learn to walk with the clarity generated by their own light”.

I said I could not fit those words into the situation with the illustrator. The barista explained: “I am referring to the dilemma between coherence and convenience”. She took a sip of coffee and continued: “Coherence is the exact action aligned with the understanding of one’s conscience. Doing what is right without fear of material consequences. Coherence is the foundation of selflessness, the virtue that prioritizes spiritual values over worldly advantages. Convenience, in turn, dialogues with fear and complacency, accepts dependency, and allows itself to be corroded by stagnation. When convenience abounds, coherence is lacking. Where there are privileges, there is no justice. Coherence demands risks and sacrifices, while convenience signals comfort and the illusion of security. Genuine joy is never in the pleasures of the world, but in the dignity of the spirit that animates, identifies, and expresses each individual”. She emptied the coffee from her cup and concluded: “Coherence is one of the pillars of ethics, the art of nobility in virtues applied to all situations of daily life. On the other side of the coin is opportunistic, deceitful, and cowardly convenience. It offers shortcuts that lead us back to the starting point, in a sad repetition of vicious cycles. Coherence is the narrow door of evolutionary refinement, of the dignity in making the right moves, of the freedom in living without fear, and of the inner peace gained on a journey carried out along the tracks of conscience. Without coherence, love is shallow and happiness will remain a mere fiction”.

We were interrupted by the sudden and abrupt arrival of Maria Clara. With swollen, reddened eyes from sincere and irrepressible tears, she gave a gentle kiss on the barista’s cheek, opened her purse, showed a stethoscope as if revealing a secret and a decision. She whispered thank you very much and left. An inner revolution had begun that afternoon. We smiled.

Then Bárbara stood up to return to work. Without needing to say a word, she left me with an unusual content, full of stimulating elements for me to reflect and decide between the coherence and the convenience of my recent actions. The fact is that, after we understand the meaning and reach of certain behaviours, choices are reduced to freeing the soul or keeping it imprisoned in fear and dependency. The decision is defined between the joy or the sadness of our days. When the choice matures, it becomes simple and inevitable.

The following morning, some changes took place at the publishing house. I had a frank conversation with the illustrator. We wanted to continue working with her, but she should restrict herself to her professional field. Understanding limits is essential to living with respect. With the same inconsistent arguments, Fátima refused to accept the new conditions. She resigned. We had to look in the market for a new illustrator. As it took longer than expected, the project was delayed and we suffered a considerable loss. Nothing that affected the well-being of living in harmony with the principles and values that guided my conscience. With coherence, without yielding to the temptations of convenience. Despite the losses and the uncertainties that awaited me due to the necessary course corrections, which always take us to unknown places, I was at peace. I felt a joy that would seem strange if I had not been given to know its true origin.

Just as no one is the same as anyone else, the style of two artists is also different. When we hired Jonas, the new illustrator, the solution found was to divide the collections. The new collection brought unpublished texts, now illustrated by another artist. A different title was necessary to register the difference in styles. As habit and taste can become a paralyzing addiction, it is worth noting the absurd habit of comparing differences: what is unique fits within itself, with its own sorrows and beauties, and it is inappropriate to use the same measure to evaluate something extraordinary precisely because there is nothing else like it, like you and me, at first, the public found it strange and rejected the lines they did not know. With time, and little by little, talent, quality, and dedicated work end up flourishing. Until one morning, after a few months, upon arriving at the publishing house, I was surprised by the news that the new collection had matched the previous one in readers’ preference. Sales reflected this. Certainly, the lucidity that life never abandons those who move toward its authentic meanings. Certainly as well that the café in Gávea offers far more than delicious espressos, cappuccinos, and frappés.

Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic

No, that’s not true. This can’t be happening! That cry tore through the silent dawn of the monastery. I woke up startled, still unsure whether that despair came from a bad dream or from the voice of some monk in a nearby room. I calmed myself to listen more carefully. After a few moments, despite the stone walls, it was possible to hear sobbing that resembled deep weeping. I went out into the corridor in an attempt to discover who needed comfort. Without having to walk far, I realized the lamentations were coming from the room next door. The one who occupied it was Hermes, a Greek monk, a resident of Athens, nearly seventy years old. A sensible, kind, and pleasant man, greatly admired by everyone in the monastery, a member of the Order for more than three decades. Trained in Economics, he was a professor at the country’s main public university. Hermes embodied the ancestral values of ethics, aesthetics, and mysticism advocated by Plato, a compatriot from millennia past. He relied on a precious personal code of conduct, crafted throughout his life, always questioning whether his actions and choices favoured what was good and just. He gave in exact proportion to each person’s merit, regardless of the feelings he held for them. Although he practiced physical activities and maintained a healthy Mediterranean diet, taking care of both body and appearance, never out of vanity, but as an exercise in self-esteem, his ultimate concern lay with the aesthetics of the soul, the highest ideal of beauty. Mysticism, in the original sense of the word, encouraged him to seek truth beyond the furthest limits reached by science. Always balanced and attentive, he was often sought out by younger monks in search of guidance and advice.

We knew of the recent passing of his wife. Unlike other study periods, this time he had arrived deeply shaken. Despite his usual delicacy and politeness, Hermes had become somewhat withdrawn. In his free time, he isolated himself on the veranda or took long walks in the mountains. Everyone understood the change in behaviour given the impact of the event. It was a specific situation. The constant reflections were necessary to rearrange life within himself, from now on, without having by his side someone with whom he had celebrated the good moments and shared the anxieties on the reverse side of the best desires. By definition, mourning is the pain arising from a loss. Any loss. There are different kinds of losses. Some are more significant and harder to deal with. The greater the attachment to what was lost, the more entangled the individual becomes in the webs of suffering. When the loss represents the only pillar of support, the person collapses.

Healing from grief requires a restructuring of one’s perspective and, often, a reconstruction of one’s way of being and living. Depending on the loss, it is not uncommon for a complete reinvention of oneself to be necessary. As we are not always ready and open to the indispensable transformations, without realizing it, we allow suffering to take root. Some roots remain for so long that the person begins to consider suffering as an inherent part of their personality. It is not. The intensity and duration of pain vary according to the level of awareness, depending on the capacity to process the experience accurately, extracting immeasurable doses of love and wisdom from it. Then, suffering dissolves forever. Until that happens, pain will spread through the depths and leave a bitter taste in the heart. According to this reasoning, and knowing the enormous capacity for resolution and overcoming of the Greek monk, we believed he would soon be well.

That is why the strangeness of the weeping and the cry coming from his room. When he opened the door, I was startled. Before me, I found a shattered man. Chaos strips away everything that is not attached to essence. It takes away what is ornament and appearance. Those who do not build the foundations that will keep them firm and secure within themselves will be left destroyed after every storm. I did not recognize him. I simply embraced him for long minutes. It was not a time for words. That white-haired man cried like a lost child.

After letting the emotions that suffocated him overflow, I invited him to go with me to the monastery’s canteen. Hermes needed to speak, and I was willing to listen. He agreed. I prepared a pot of fresh coffee and placed it on the table. When I went to get the mugs, I heard a voice behind me: “Three, please.” It was the Elder, as we affectionately called the oldest monk of the Order. He sat at the table with us, looked at Hermes, curved his lips into a simple, yet sincere and beautiful smile, to say, without the need for words, that he was willing to use his own heart in an attempt to rescue him from the turbulent seas of suffering. Those who have already drowned in the waters of misunderstanding or found themselves caught in the currents of grief know the value and importance of such rescues. They are immeasurable.

As he exposed the depths of his pain, I was surprised. Helena’s departure, his wife, to the Highlands was not the primary reason for his despair as I had imagined. Although he loved her deeply and missed her every day, he had learned not to treat death as a loss, but as a boarding platform, the point of departure for a new stretch of learning and achievements, making use of new and unthinkable tools and circumstances, in favour of one’s own evolution. Helena deserved to continue and advance. Death would offer her renewal and regeneration under conditions more suited to the levels of awareness she had achieved. Death would never mean an end or a loss. It was a necessary and important transformation. Never a punishment, but an act of love from life toward life. Like the fruit that, whether consumed or decayed, is reborn revitalized through its own seed.

Undoubtedly, the longing he felt for Helena was immense. Contrary to common understanding, longing was not a reason for sadness. It was a source of joy. After all, we only feel longing for good moments. Not longing as nostalgia, from the absurd desire to go back in time, but from recognizing that longing exists only where there is love. The absence of longing may indicate the emptiness of an existence. On the other hand, its presence narrates the best chapters of our lives. Love once lived brings joy, hope, and dynamism to the movements we still have to make. It also reminds love itself that there will always be many reasons to keep loving more and better.

The Elder smiled again. This time in approval of Hermes’ full understanding of this complicated, yet delicate and beautiful phenomenon, inevitable and natural, called death, still so poorly understood. The problem, commented the Greek monk, was that in the wake of Helena’s departure, other difficult events had arrived. In recent months, some friends had also departed for the Highlands, while others were struck by illnesses that took away their motor autonomy or their ability to express their will. This saddened him greatly. There were also friends who had moved far away, in order to live closer to their children and grandchildren. Helena and he had a son, Andreas, who had also graduated in Economics, but lived in America, where he worked in the financial market. For Hermes, New York was a wonderful city to visit, too frantic to live in. Although his physical mobility and mental cognition remained intact, his health showed signs of decline. Not only the loss of muscle strength and reflexes, common with age. In his case, arthritis and arthrosis, genetic inheritances, forced him into frequent physiotherapy sessions, in addition to permanent medication. It was as if a warning had been lit about the expiration date of his body.

As if that were not enough, a few hours earlier, unable to sleep, he decided to check his email inbox. The Greek Congress had enacted a law establishing compulsory retirement for professors from the age of sixty-five. As he had already passed that age, the university informed him of his removal from the position and duties he had carried out for decades and which still brought him joy and pleasure. He loved teaching and being around young people, full of ideals, dreams, and an immense will to live. He felt good in the freshness of the academic environment, from which, suddenly, he had been cast out. With retirement, he would suffer a drastic cut in his income. Helena’s treatment had drained the savings accumulated over the years, he did not complain about this. She had deserved the best doctors and care. The fact was that, that night, with the reduction in earnings, the losses seemed to have reached their peak, at a level he had not imagined even in the worst scenarios. Among other losses, he had just lost not only social and professional status, but also access to goods of consumption and comfort. None of this had been part of his plans. As if life had turned into an enemy, and, wielding a razor-sharp blade of dreams, precise and insatiable, it took everything away, not only what he possessed, but also the man he had been. At that moment, an internal rupture seemed to occur, between who he had been and who he would become. This unexpected fragmentation caused an unspeakable suffering. He would have to settle for less in all aspects of life. He would need to reinvent himself, to find new reasons to live. He doubted whether he could. The losses seemed irreparable.

At this moment of unimaginable changes, he lived a profound inner contradiction. Even though he carried knowledge about the arcana of life, he missed Helena, running counter to the truths he knew. A strong and loving woman. By her side, he had never felt fear or insecurity. Together, they proved greater than the greatest of problems. They shaped the future according to the achievements of the present. That faith had also been lost, for even though he tried to avoid thinking of events as losses, he perceived life collapsing. Facts appeared more convincing than ideas. He considered the possibility that the belief that losses were illusory might be wrong. Perhaps they were real. That night, he had the horrible sensation that, given the overwhelming pace of recent days, increasingly corrosive and harsh, soon he would lose what he had, the references he possessed, who he had been, and everything else that pleased him. Only the ruins of himself would remain. He did not know how to deal with this, he confessed.

The Elder listened without any interruption. He took a long sip of coffee, as if searching for the exact words, and argued: “Every loss can be real or illusory, depending on how the individual deals with events. When one refuses to accept the inevitable movements of life, one becomes bound to the futile attempt to retain something that can no longer be possessed or to remain beside someone who has already gone. Then, the loss reveals itself as real and painful. Not because of life’s fault, but as a result of the inability to find the wealth hidden behind each departure. By understanding that life takes from us what no longer belongs, we waste the fertile ground of creativity and the unpredictable. Do the best for yourself, offer the best of yourself, and let life surprise you. Whether people and moments, or learning and growth. Life is abundant and generous, although we do not always perceive it that way, especially during chaos. The immature judge chaos by the degree of destruction, the wise take advantage of it for the opportunities of renewal. The foolish treat chaos as a curse, the mature walk through it as a road of regeneration. To regenerate is to rebuild oneself from one’s own core. No one can do that without knowing themselves more and better. There is no greater wealth. For them, chaos is sacred.” Before the Greek monk could intervene, the Elder anticipated his thought: “There is no age for this.”

Since he had joined the Order, Hermes claimed to have learned to face the setbacks of existence, for he knew well that, beyond being inevitable, they are renewing and constructive movements. He had prepared himself for all those situations. If the younger monks sought him out to talk, he would be capable of giving a lesson on the subject. However, he showed enormous difficulty in applying theory to practice. Perhaps because of the many involuntary changes in a short span of time. The joint processing of all those experiences made the best resolution more difficult, he considered. The Elder nodded and clarified: “Life has a logic and a way of operating that is almost never easy to understand. As no one is the same as anyone else, the application of the pedagogical method also differs from one person to another. Therefore, comparisons are inappropriate.”

He set his mug on the table and remarked: “Although the rapid succession of unpleasant events has momentarily affected your balance and your lucidity in facing the torrent of changes, jamming the gears of your driving force, there is nothing that prevents you, at any moment, from regaining power over yourself to move forward. Even if you understand that losses are illusory, they become real when the exact grief that surrounds them is not understood. Then, little by little, the pain spreads and establishes an empire. The individual becomes lost within himself. Every feeling has a name. Until you identify the true reason for the grief, you will not be able to reclaim yourself. You will remain dominated by a suffering that, as long as its origin remains hidden, will make healing impossible. There is no remedy for an unknown pain.”

Hermes asked what he meant. The Elder explained: “You are living the grief of old age.” The Greek looked at him, startled by the use of the word old age, as if it were forbidden or in poor taste, especially coming from someone always so gentle and kind. The good monk warned him: “Do not be afraid of words. Using beautiful words does not diminish the problem. On the contrary, it often masks it, creating a mistaken sense of lessening or disguising its severity. No one changes reality with fine speeches, only with good and correct actions. Everything else is deception and makeup. Using the exact word to describe the exact situation is of great value for understanding and facing the truth.”

The Greek monk nodded. The Elder continued: “Humanity, still lost in its immature longings, is not prepared to deal with the road of time. It is a kind of ignorance by denial. By avoiding the truth, crowds throw themselves into the abyss of isolation, abandonment, or despair as the journey approaches its final stretch. We look at aging as one who hears the whistle of the approaching train of death. A grave mistake. It is necessary to deal with old age as the opportunity to leave behind the tools that were once necessary, but from now on, we must learn to move forward without them. This speaks of autonomy and teaches much about freedom, dignity, and peace. It applies to everything we like and to everyone we love. We lose things, but we keep the good experiences they provided us. People disperse along the path, after all, each has their own direction and needs for learning and evolution, but they leave with us the love and the stories that give meaning, colour, and sweetness to life.”

Then, he asked a simple rhetorical question: “Have you ever noticed that we were never trained and educated, when young, to project life during old age?” Without waiting for the obvious answer, he continued: “Even those who attempt the exercise do it with unrealistic idealizations, softened by sweet scenes of mere fiction. No one wants to look at the inevitable limitations, restrictions, and changes imposed by aging. It will be different with me, they lie to themselves. Because we are unprepared for the final phase of the cycle, we end up facing old age as if it were an accumulation of losses, wasting the fantastic opportunities that the twilight of existence offers. One grieves, maintaining painful losses, in a place within us where wonderful findings could exist.”

The Greek monk’s eyes asked what those findings might be. The Elder listed them: “Life is wise. The growing limitations of the physical body open space for the blossoming of the soul. It is the final call to reposition the pieces on the board of priorities. We hand over the heavy pieces to value the use of those that offer lightness. If there is attention and detachment, the game will become favourable. What truly has value fits in no box, needs no signature, and serves as no currency.” He curved his lips into a beautiful smile and listed: “Forgive everyone, trust yourself, and move forward. To be free, love without holding on. To live in peace, guide without trying to convince. To be happy, act without possessing. To be dignified, truth is enough. For love to germinate, virtues applied to everyday life suffice. All these achievements depend only on perception and sensitivity. Nothing more. There is no greater wealth. I know we know this, but we do not always remember it. So, in the splendour of its wisdom, life offers us the old age of the body as a sacred elixir for the rejuvenation of the soul. Sacred is everything that makes us better people. The art of aging speaks of being more with less.”

He looked out the window for a few moments. The sky was beginning to take on the pink and yellow tones typical of morning. He emptied his mug and added: “Old age takes many things from us. Some of great importance. However, it offers us others even more valuable. It is not an exchange, but unmissable chances for transformation. Exchange has a price, transformation has value. The evening of existence can provide treasures such as emotional balance, material detachment, better acceptance of others’ wills and truths, a clearer perception of reality and a deeper understanding of life, greater lucidity and conscious freedom. There is no time more suitable for plenitude.” He set the mug on the table and concluded: “These are perfect days to review concepts, customs, ideas, feelings, attitudes, and habits. A final opportunity for reconstruction, this time using only one’s own essence as raw material. More than a finding, the final stretch of the journey can provide the most important achievements of a lifetime.”

No one else said a word. Hermes needed to reposition himself before himself and before life. He could cower, hide, and lament. He could also be thankful, rise again, and dance with life. There are always choices. The Greek monk’s open smile of gratitude ended the conversation. His teary eyes said the lesson had been learned. A silent decision had been made.

A few days passed. I noticed in Hermes a youthful restlessness. I do not mean immaturity, but the vitality and freshness typical of youth, whose best meaning reveals itself in the irrepressible will to grow and achieve. When he was not attending classes, he remained focused on notes and exchanging messages. I found it strange and commented to the Elder. The good monk reassured me: “There is no reason for concern. Hermes decided to make use of all his years of study in Economics and the enormous amount of available time, thanks to everything he once considered a loss, to begin an old project. Together with a businessman friend, who passed the direction of the company to his children, they will start a business school, with the aim of training new entrepreneurs. Studying Economics and Administration is only part of what is needed to face the many difficulties common to the complicated and competitive world of business. This lack of knowledge causes many small companies to fail to withstand the initial obstacles, generating frustration by aborting ventures that could have been prosperous and far-reaching. He is very excited to reverse this scenario.”

I asked the Elder whether, in his opinion, the school project would succeed. He reminded me: “To remain young is to continue having dreams, goals, and purposes, regardless of one’s age. It is not giving up nor settling. It is continuing to refine one’s actions, keeping them good, just, and healthy. Do not be alarmed if there are days of relapse and discouragement. Results will sometimes not be as expected, and at other times will take longer than planned. That is how it is. This does not translate into defeat, but invites exercises in versatility, lucidity, discipline, and faith. Victory resides in the light of the best actions, not always in the shine of the desired results.”

He gifted me with a beautiful smile and concluded the conversation: “In recent days, Hermes has grown younger and brought an end to his losses. He understood and accepted the challenge of evolution. The process of improvement must continue, now with different tools and under new conditions. He is about to live some of the most enchanting experiences of his life. No matter what happens, there will be many findings. True success consists of victories over oneself. He is on the right path. He only needs to continue.” Then he said he needed to prune the rose bushes in the monastery’s inner garden. I watched him walk away with his slow, yet steady step.

Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic

I am a lover of sunny mornings, but I confess that a starry sky or a night with a waxing moon brings me an indescribable inspiration of transcendence. That early morning, as I walked from the train station to Loureiro’s workshop, the shoemaker who loved red wines and books of philosophy, through the crooked and narrow streets of the small and charming town near the mountain that sheltered the monastery, I had as my companion a most beautiful full moon that recited poems impossible to translate. Those were days of excitement, concern, and anxiety. Moments like these tend more to cloud the mind than to clarify it. I had recently gone through a pivotal transition. After decades as an advertising professional, I had left behind an important professional chapter to begin a career as a publisher. The business moved forward with the difficulties common to young enterprises, which, like any immature being, required the experiences offered by dark nights not only to mature, but also to allow the purest originality to blossom.

I am like steel forged in fire, cry out the warriors. I am like clay shaped in the potter’s hands, whisper the monks. The former rely on strength to overcome obstacles, while the latter choose gentleness as the means to pass through them. Warriors fight bravely to survive the dark nights. Monks simply navigate them. For the former, the nights are enemies; for the latter, valuable teachers. They do not exist to hinder, but to teach. I was a warrior. I moved through passion. The days were filled with battles and, for that reason, remained unfit for navigation.

The day was still far from breaking when I entered Loureiro’s workshop. I found him crafting a beautiful burgundy leather bag, with the same mastery with which he stitched ideas together. I was welcomed with a sincere smile and a tight embrace. The elegant shoemaker wore a light blue linen shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows so as not to interfere with the work, and finely tailored khaki trousers. The leather shoes were of his own making. His white beard was short and neatly trimmed, unlike his abundant hair which, though also white, was rebellious and dishevelled. Without delay, he prepared a pot of fresh coffee and placed two mugs on the heavy wooden counter. The conversation flowed with the usual naturalness of two friends who connect topics as if they were stretches of endless roads.

Despite the difficulties inherent in new businesses, the publishing house’s performance exceeded the best expectations. Thanks, above all, to the exceptional work of a couple. He, a writer; she, an illustrator. They had translated into the universe of graphic storytelling the book The Voice of the Silence, a classic of Theosophy by Helena Blavatsky. By changing the format of the work, they made it accessible to a larger number of readers. The various teachings drawn from Buddhism by the writer became easier to understand. The poetic and somewhat hermetic language used in the original text was replaced by images of action. Although the text became more direct, it exposed in a simple way some fundamental practices of enlightenment that had until then been misunderstood by much of the Western public. The success was enormous and immediate. I had acquired the international publication rights. The experience in some countries of Latin America had been successful. It was time for the big step: the Northern Hemisphere.

I was extremely excited. And somewhat worried as well. It so happened that, in the wake of the success, the authors received a fabulous proposal from a powerful multinational company to change publishers. This company was, in fact, a huge conglomerate of publishing houses, present in almost every corner of the planet. The couple, of course, loved the idea and the offer. The multinational had undeniable publishing power and reach, something unthinkable for my small publishing house. Yet it was my chance to grow. I was passionate both about my business and about the literary universe. I did not even consider the idea of terminating the contract. Even if they had offered me a good indemnity, in the long run my profits would far exceed the conglomerate’s offer. Moreover, I wanted to produce the edition of a work that had been discovered and had taken shape within my small publishing house in my own way. That enchanted me and had made me fall in love with the entire process, from conception to realization.

With the conglomerate, the couple would quickly make a great deal of money. Like me, they had dreams. What separated us was the matter of time. They were in a hurry. It was impossible for me to follow the new rhythm proposed to them. As a result of this impasse, I had become the defendant in a lawsuit whose purpose was to force the termination of the contract. I hired a renowned law firm so that my rights would be respected. The law was on my side, they assured me. Although they guaranteed me enormous chances of success in this legal battle, a favourable verdict was not an absolute guarantee. Worries and uncertainties surrounded my days. In two months there would be the first hearing. My nights were restless. For the moment, I was still managing to resist anxiolytics. I did not know for how long.

I recounted these facts to the shoemaker even before taking the first sip of coffee. Anxiety overflowed in my rapid speech and impatient gestures, as if time were an enemy for taking too long to fulfil my wishes. Loureiro listened attentively without any interruption. At the end, he commented: “The sum of all your worries, insecurities, and fears is incapable of altering your destiny. Do not dwell on them. They are of no use. Only your actions have such power. If you do not learn to deal with the adversities inherent to existence, understanding the educational aspects they offer and how to react in the best possible way, you will end up crushed by the avalanche of events that fall against the direction of your desires and truths”. I argued that I was facing a difficult battle that could indeed define the future of the publishing house. I was passionate about what I did and was determined to make the company prosper. I also said that passions were powerful levers for progress and struggle. I affirmed that I would emerge triumphant from that fight. The shoemaker shrugged and remarked: “You will never win until you understand the mechanisms of action of the enemy”.

I asked if he knew something about the couple that I did not. Loureiro shook his head and clarified: “I am not referring to the couple. I am talking about passions”. I asked him to explain better. The shoemaker reflected: “A brilliant French alchemist wrote that passions are like horses. If tamed, they are useful and valuable. When wild, they throw their riders. If you do not master your passions, you will become their slave until nothing authentic remains in your life. Neither your wills nor your desires. No route or direction. Nothing will belong to you. Passion will become your owner, making you nothing more than a riding animal”.

He took a long sip of coffee before continuing: “Passions are part of human nature. Therefore they are neutral, neither good nor bad at first. The way we experience them establishes the positive or negative pole. When mastered, they are well used and serve to propel the most beautiful achievements. If misunderstood, they dominate the individual and crush him in a sad process of self-destruction”. He paused briefly and added: “The problem with passions lies in the excesses linked to desires, to wanting without measure, to unrestrained wills, or to extravagant needs”.

He placed the mug on the wooden counter and continued: “It is at this point that we trample the rights of others with the same insensitivity with which we begin to treat our own dignity. We act toward people in ways we would not like them to act toward us if the roles were reversed”. I interrupted to ask how it is possible to identify the domination of passions over our consciousness. The shoemaker clarified: “Notice whether the mind is creating twisted reasoning to justify the absence of virtues or to alter the truth, so that choices may adapt themselves to derailed passions. One of the evident signs of the supremacy of passions over inner truth occurs when we want to become the owners of situations so that, at any cost, our wills and needs prevail over those of the other people involved. Passions that run off the tracks of reason and justice foster selfishness, jealousy, greed, fanaticism, manipulation, coercion, blackmail, lies, among other behavioural vices. Hatred, resentment, and bitterness are the feelings that follow uncontrolled passions. We lose what is best within us. We give space to the shadows to the detriment of the light”. Then he concluded the reasoning: “Truly free individuals strive only to be masters of themselves. The choices concerning their own lives are enough for them. For that, they keep their passions under control. Believe me, it is no small thing. Events, as well as the truths and wills of others, are merely tides, sometimes favourable, sometimes contrary, through which they navigate with love and wisdom, without any resentment”.

I argued that this speech did not apply to my case. There was a contract guaranteeing me the international publication rights. When I decided to bet on that work, their manuscript had already been rejected by several publishers. It could have failed and I would have lost the investment made, something common in the literary market. I had not forced them into anything. On the contrary, perhaps I had been the couple’s last chance. It was even possible that they would have abandoned the book if I had not recognized its value when no one else cared about them. It was not fair to let them leave at such a promising and decisive moment for the business. Loureiro drew me into the threads of the philosophical bow with a question: “Why keep them tied to you?”

I became irritated. I asked if he did not perceive the ingratitude and injustice of the couple in wanting to break the contract after I had brought them into the spotlight. They would never have received any millionaire offer if I had not edited the book so carefully. The shoemaker tapped the wooden counter with his index finger to emphasize his words and remarked: “I am not referring to money. I am speaking of freedom, dignity, and peace. Do not worry about anyone else’s mistakes or successes. Focus only on your own. It is not up to you to give direction to the actions of others. Take care to do things differently and better, in a way never attempted. If you know how to think, you will understand that it is not the choices of others that define the joys or the bitterness of your days. Life delivers to each person according to their actions. Not a gram more, not a gram less”.

I commented that agreements could not change just because reality had changed. Loureiro unsettled me: “Why not?” When I hesitated to answer, he argued: “Without a doubt, keeping one’s word is very important for the security of relationships. When it does not manifest as pride and vanity, it is an exercise of dignity, freedom, and peace. However, relationships also require other qualities to remain healthy. It is natural for the will to change when the gaze changes. So why maintain a model of relationship that no longer serves and no longer pleases?” Once again, I had no answer. The shoemaker reflected: “There will never be a good reason to force someone to stay who wishes to leave. Wanting to leave reveals someone’s perspective about a situation; not opposing the departure reveals a sublime manifestation of respect on the part of the other person. If there was ingratitude or injustice, the problem is not yours but theirs. The evil that most affects us does not come from others; it is the one we practice. Not forcing someone to stay who wishes to go, regardless of the promises made, is also an exercise of dignity, freedom, and peace”.

I asked whether he considered it wrong for me to fight to maintain the contract. After all, it had been the agreement from the beginning. Loureiro reflected: “You will be right like many. But if you do differently, you will be right like few”. I said I did not understand. The shoemaker explained: “There is nothing wrong if you decide to fight to keep the contract. That is what the laws, contracts, and businesses determine. It will be financially very good for the publishing house. However, you will force them to walk by your side against their will. Something that is not good for anyone. If, on the other hand, you let them go, you will end the jailer-prisoner relationship that was established the moment perspectives and desires changed. In return, you will lose a considerable amount”. He shrugged and concluded: “The price of a mastered passion is never easy to pay”. He frowned and increased the seriousness of his tone: “It is up to you to decide what you want to gain and lose”.

I asked the reason for such difficulty in mastering passions. Loureiro answered promptly: “Mastering passions requires abnegation, a rare virtue”. My gaze asked him to say more about the matter. The shoemaker understood: “Abnegation is the virtue that changes the measure of existential priorities. Instead of using the ruler of material achievements to measure the success of a life, one begins to use spiritual achievements as the parameter of success and victory”. He emptied his mug and concluded: “Right and wrong, just like good and evil, have many layers of understanding. Very few are ready to go to their deepest layers and then emerge with a light of almost unknown intensity and, for that reason, little recognized. Only the selfless are allowed such a plunge within themselves”.

Dawn was arriving. The rays of the sun entered the glass door of the workshop without asking permission or offering apology. My ride ,  the pickup truck that every day delivered fresh bread to the monastery ,  would soon depart. There were many new ideas to metabolize. Some were almost ready, others would need more time to mature properly. I needed to think. There was a dilemma, but also an opportunity. I needed to prepare myself if I wished to go to unknown places within me. Only then would it be possible to move through the days in a way I did not yet know.

Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic

I had been strangely tired in those days. Even in the morning, right after breakfast, before my duties at the monastery, I already felt exhausted, wanting to lie down. There was a discouragement that doctors could not identify. Clinical exams showed nothing wrong with my health. I loved the study periods at the monastery for all the good they brought me. Throughout the year, I would wait for those weeks of learning and renewal. Pivotal transformations in my life had their origins in that place. However, that time, everything was different. Within me, there seemed to be neither joy nor pleasure.

I even considered the end of my cycle at EOMM ,  Esoteric Order of the Monks of the Mountain ,  a brotherhood with which I had been associated for many years. The idea lost its meaning when I recognized the greatness of the purposes behind the activities carried out there. That morning, I asked Heitor, the Argentine monk, to replace me in the classes on The Sermon on the Mount, a text contained in the Book of Matthew, a mandatory course given to novice monks, the primary axis of all other studies at the monastery. Although I loved that sacred text for the clarity it revealed, at that moment I lacked the spirit to teach the classes. My mind seemed clouded. My strength, drained. My reasoning was dulled, without the slightest condition for the indispensable progressions and expansions of consciousness. I sat in the cafeteria to try to understand what was happening to me. Almost at the same time, the Elder entered, as we affectionately called the oldest monk of the Order. He took two mugs of coffee, without asking permission, placed them on the table, and sat in front of me. As if he knew how I felt, he stated in his usual gentle and unhurried voice: “You do not know how to think. This ends up draining your vital energy. When it happens, the days lose their colour. It is necessary to learn to think urgently. Otherwise, you will be crushed by your own thoughts.”

I smiled with a certain dose of irony. Everyone thinks. We have always thought. We think all the time. We think even when we do not want to think. If there was something I did not need to learn, it was how to think. The good monk corrected me: “I am not referring to the uninterrupted flow of thoughts, something common to all people, but to the way we deal with each one of them. That defines the illnesses or the health of the soul.” Immediately, my sarcasm disappeared. I realized the importance of that conversation. Noticing my interest, he continued: “Every day we are invaded by torrents of ideas from the most diverse origins. Recent and distant events, good and bad memories, achievements and frustrations, expectations and assumptions, elaborated or prefabricated ideas.” He fell silent for a few moments, as if searching for a metaphor to help my reasoning, and said: “Thoughts are not ready-made dishes. They are ingredients. When used and mixed without criteria or control in the kitchen of the mind, they create chaos in the restaurants of the world, where we hold our existential suppers, whether each one with oneself or in interpersonal relationships. Without a good cook to select, prepare, and harmonize the ingredients, the dishes will have very unpleasant flavours. At times, they may poison.”

I asked him to explain further. The Elder was generous: “Ingredients cannot be used without due care. One must clean the fish, remove the pineapple’s peel, and measure the salt. Some need to hydrate; others must wait for ripening. So it is with thoughts that have, among other origins, the results of experiences arising from relationships and events. All of them generate conclusions, which serve as the basis for the formation of beliefs. Do not narrow the concept of belief to religion. Understand belief as everything we accept as true. At times, we are right and have a quality ingredient to prepare good dishes. We feast on the delights of life. At others, we are wrong and make use of rotten ingredients. The result is disastrous. The days turn sour.”

The good monk added: “Beliefs, in some cases, originate from lived experiences, at the extreme limit of each individual’s perception and sensitivity. An internal elaboration may be good or bad, bring clarity or cloudiness, depending on each person’s capacity. It is common for the very same situation to be understood in several ways by different people.” He took a sip of coffee and continued: “In other situations, belief arises from an external idea that reaches us ready-made and we accept it as true; whether by logic, serving to scale tones of understanding, or by convenience, as a way to keep us comfortable in a place we do not wish to leave. Likewise, uncomfortable thoughts are received as invitations to transformation by some, while by others they are immediately rejected for appearing malformed. Thus we choose the ingredients we use in our spiritual meals. We are the exact reflection of the truths we believe. They shape our behaviour and our choices. They forge character and destiny. Progress or decline, movement or stagnation, joys or sorrows, achievements or frustrations, encounters or escapes, each person lives the reality possible at the last frontier reached by the truth they have built within themselves and for themselves.”

Then he concluded: “In short, everything begins and ends with learning how to think. Poorly selected or poorly constructed thoughts lead to mistaken choices. The opposite also applies: good thoughts and well-elaborated ideas serve well-being and evolution. This defines the sweetness or bitterness of life and, consequently, the willingness or discouragement along the journey. All power and balance reside in the mind.”

My eyes asked him to deepen his reasoning. The Elder understood the unspoken words and reflected: “From there, it becomes easy to understand that existential storms are directly proportional to the mistakes in the truths we believe and to the errors made in the conclusions about the situations that involve us. The opposite also applies to people who are already able to bring a radiant sun into their hearts. It is necessary to create good conditions in the mind so that good thoughts find reasons to stay. By habit ,  nourished by a type of pleasure that, as long as it remains unconfessed, we will not be able to tame ,  we are attracted to tragedies. This explains why the media focuses on this kind of news. Tragedies, in turn, create favourable conditions for bad thoughts to direct disastrous choices and behaviours. However, habits do not translate anyone’s essence. Our essence is light. Habits arise from sociocultural influences and conditioning, shaped by ancestral inheritances built upon conflicts, disputes, fears, guilt, resentments, and other behavioural vices linked to feelings of inferiority ,  such as pride, vanity, greed, envy, and jealousy ,  which, to a greater or lesser degree, still integrate us, compose us, and are part of our personality. On the other hand, habits can also be changed, being reshaped from a new posture with which the individual decides to relate to themselves and to the world.”

I asked how much of an individual is subject to transformation. The Elder replied: “As many layers, disguises, deceptions, and rough edges that hide the essence as need to be discarded and rebuilt. No one is born ready. Yes, everyone has habits, behaviours, personalities, and temperaments. However, contrary to what many imagine, these characteristics are not static or immutable. In truth, they were acquired along the road of time. Therefore, they are transient and dynamic. It is essential that this be so, otherwise they would serve nothing in the process of evolution which, by principle, demands infinite changes. In the sequence of continuous transformations, little by little, consciousness matures and acquires the conditions to express its originality, the root of individual beauty, which reveals the aspects of being and living that make us unique, generating authentic feelings of peace, dignity, and joy, even during the difficult and turbulent moments of our days. The origin of this genuine existential revolution is in accordance with the ability to select ideas and elaborate experiences to use them in favour of one’s own evolution. Everything and everyone around benefits. Learning how to think is essential if we are to love more and better.”

The Elder reflected: “When one does not learn how to think, bad thoughts overlap the good ones, corrode the mind, crush the individual, and sour reality. They install a dark empire of bitterness and suffering. The best thoughts are banished to the repressed consciousness. They remain exiled in the unconscious. Mistakes, misunderstandings, conflicts, abandonments, resentments, demands, and confusions become increasingly common in daily life. Little by little, we lose the best that dwells within us, we become unbelieving and irritable, tired and discouraged. Love, joy, hope, and faith are left homeless. The house becomes empty of good residents. Remember that each person lives within themselves with the thoughts they have chosen as company. Thoughts build and destroy inner universes.”

The good monk returned to the kitchen metaphor to clarify my question: “It is necessary to remove the peels of superficiality to find the deep meaning of events: there resides the sweetness of love manifested or the sourness of love suffocated. Behind the truth of spoken words lies the unconfessed truth, still misunderstood. This reveals much more than the former. There is more about who we are in what we deny and silence than in what we say. So it is with everyone. But do not worry about discovering these things in others. First, take care to find them within yourself. That will be your wealth and your power.”

I used the same analogy to ask whether there was a recipe for good thoughts to once again prepare good dishes to be served at my existential meals. He nodded yes and detailed it: “It is necessary to cleanse from others’ words the meanings that do not belong in them, which so often annoy, deceive, mislead, steal energy, and thus manage to pull us away from our axis of light. Very little of what is said has to do with us. Likewise, almost nothing of what we say has to do with others. When someone speaks, they express a viewpoint or a feeling, not necessarily the truth. They show reality as they understand it, the abysses they see and the bridges they have crossed. Some abysses pointed out across the world are often nothing more than inner voids. Likewise, although they serve many, not every bridge will support everyone’s crossing, for they lead to places many do not wish to go. When someone remains silent, they leave a void that cannot be filled with assumptions. Only patience and respect, indispensable to the maturation of truth. Remember that slow cooking is essential to refine the flavour of the finest delicacies. The high flame of passions does not serve the delicate texture of love and wisdom.”

He took a sip of coffee and concluded the recipe: “Measure expectations and worries in minimal quantities, so that life may never lack the honey of dreams, a dessert that must appear on every menu. On the other hand, make generous use of sensibility, as a safe way never to slip into the excesses typical of daydreams nor into the scarcity caused by fears, guilt, and resentments, always so bland, sour, and unnecessary. Likewise, one must not confuse the balancing and strengthening mechanisms of dignity with the coercions typical of moralism which, upon closer analysis, always hide immoralities marinated in base feelings. Above all, good thoughts sustain good attitudes, even if no one understands, agrees, or wishes to accompany us. Never forget: your conscience is enough to validate and authorize your movements. However, have the maturity to deal with the inevitable consequences. Whatever they may be.” He shrugged and concluded: “A kitchen commanded by a chef will always offer a menu full of marvellous dishes. Without a good cook, it will be a catastrophe foretold.”

I asked who the chef in the kitchen of the mind would be. The good monk promptly answered: “The conscience.” I asked how to know or ensure that the conscience is always in command. The Elder clarified: “We cannot confuse ourselves with our thoughts. This is a common and vulgar mistake. Ideas of the most diverse kinds pass through the mind every day. We all have good and bad thoughts; there is no way to avoid them. However, we have the power to decide which ones we will use as ingredients for our meals. Therefore, even when besieged by catastrophes, disappointments, betrayals, frustrations, or news about the sewers of the world, we have the choice to discard ideas that serve only to sour the dishes.” He furrowed his brow and added: “Whoever ignores or does not recognize this power is still a puppet of circumstances. The owner who does not understand what happens in the kitchen is far from becoming the true master of his own restaurant. No complaint will be valid if the patrons are of poor character or if the meals remain contaminated.”

He went on: “Refuse thoughts that do not serve the task of goodness and of healthy personal transformation. But first, identify their origins and motives. That is, where they came from and for what reason. Only then will it be possible, little by little, to reduce their presence, until they become insignificant or, before that, until you are able to discard them more and more quickly.” He sipped another mouthful of coffee and suggested: “Let remain those that sustain virtues and expand truth, for they are indispensable to emotional balance, mental clarity, and therefore essential to the refinement of choices and to well-being. Even if the world, shouting, demands the adoption of an idea, embrace your conscience if, in a whisper, it suggests a different posture. An original menu is created only by using unique recipes.”

Finally, the Elder addressed the issue of feelings, the seasonings that enhance or spoil the flavour of the dishes: “The relationship between thoughts and feelings is symbiotic. There is a powerful, both healthy and dangerous connection that feeds them back into one another. Dense emotions have the power to spoil good ideas. Subtle feelings have the strength to dissolve bad thoughts. Just as salt enhances flavour, feeling well refines thinking well. To understand the processes of the mind, it is necessary to understand the movements of the heart. Until that happens, we will live clumsily trying to manage the consequences of incessant mistaken decisions, without admitting that we were the ones who caused them. We will continue in the long and painful vicious circle of transferring responsibility, cursing bad luck, and lamenting the injustices of the world in a behaviour that keeps us in immaturity and drains our will to live.” He shrugged, reminded me of the tiredness and discouragement that had been weighing on me without apparent explanation, and ended the conversation: “Spoiled ingredients contaminate the dishes; the diners fall ill. Good food restores health. This applies both to the body and to the soul.”

The Elder claimed he needed to prepare for the lecture that afternoon and stood up. Recipe given, conversation ended. For him, not for me. It was necessary to arrange those ideas on the shelves of the mind. Only then could I make use of the power that, although it had always belonged to me, I insisted on wasting. An inner movement that would not only restore authorship over my direction, but would also allow me to recover the joy and enthusiasm lost in the dark alleys of my misunderstandings. With his slow and steady steps, I watched him walk until my eyes could no longer see him. In silence, I thanked him for yet another recipe. Transforming it into the finest spiritual suppers was the task that belonged to me. Provided, of course, that I wished to become a good cook.

Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic