the witch of portobello

i often feel as though my life is a constant battle. battle of what, you ask? well, that's a good question my friend. a very good question.

i often find myself in a constant cycle: this centrifuge has slowly become the trajectory of my life, and i am not sure if it is normal? i'm sure it has alot to do with the nature of my life right now: getting used to being in a new culture, speaking a new language, eating new food, just basically living life in a different way. in the course of 5 minutes, i can often find myself hating taiwan so much and looking for the next ticket home, and then 5 SECONDS LATER planning out the rest of my life in taiwan because i love it so much that i'm never leaving.

anyway i just finished yet another brilliant novel by paulo coelho, the witch of portobello. didn't like it as much as the alchemist, but it was the only one in the bookstore in english =) and it wasn't too bad. there was a passage that i really liked that i actually thought summed me up quite well. here it is...

'don't move,' said the man. 'look at what is there before your eyes.'

a line of ants.

'they all think they're very wise. they have memory, intelligence, organizational powers, a spirit of sacrifice. they look for food in summer, store it away in winter, and now they are setting forth again, in this icy spring, to work. if the world was destroyed by an atomic bomb tomorrow, the ants would survive.'

'how do you know all this?'

'i studied biology.'

'why don't you work to improve the living conditions of your own people? what are you doing in the middle of the forest, talking to trees?'

'in the first place, i wasn't alone; apart from the trees, you were listening to me too. but to answer your question, i left biology to work as a blacksmith.'

i struggled to my feet. my head was still spinning, but i was thinking clearly enough to understand the poor man's situation. despite a university education, he had been unable to find work. i told him that the same thing happened in my country too.

'no, that's not what i meant. i left biology because i wanted to work as a blacksmith. even as a child, i was fascinated by those men hammering steel, making a strange kind of music, sending out sparks all around, plunging the red-hot metal into water, and creating clouds of steam. i was unhappy as a biologist, because my dream was to make rigid metal take on soft shapes. then, one day, a protector appeared.'

'a protector?'

'let's say that, on seeing those ants doing exactly what they're programmed to do, you were to exclaim 'how fantastic!' the guards are genetically prepared to sacrifice themselves for the queen, the workers carry leaves ten times their own weight, the engineers make tunnels that can resist storms and floods. they enter into mortal combat with their enemies, they suffer for the community, and they never ask: 'why are we doing this?' people try to imitate the perfect society of ants, and as a biologist, i was playing my part until someone came along with this question: 'are you happy doing what you're doing?' 'of course i am,' i said. 'i'm being useful to my own people.' 'and that's enough?'

'i didn't know whether it was enough for me or not, but i said that he seemed to be both arrogant and egotistical. he replied: 'possibly, but all you will achieve is to repeat what has been done since man was man--keeping things organized.'

'but the world has progressed,' i said. he asked if i knew any history. of course i did. he asked another question: 'thousands of years ago, weren't we capable of building enormous structures like the pyramids? weren't we capable of worshipping gods, weaving, making fire, finding lovers and wives, sending written messages? of course we were. but although we've succeeded at replacing slaves with wage slaves, all the advances we've made have been in the field of science. human beings are still asking the same questions as their ancestors. in short, they haven't evolved at all.' at that point, i realized that the person asking me these questions was someone sent from heaven, an angel, a protector.'

'why do you call him a protector?'

'because he told me that there are two traditions, one that makes us repeat the same thing for centuries at a time, and another that makes us open the door into the unknown. however, the second tradition is difficult, uncomfortable and dangerous, and if it attracted too many followers, it would end up destroying the society which, following the example of the ants, took so long to build. and so the second tradition went underground and has only managed to survive over so many centuries because its followers created a secret language of signs.'

'did you ask more questions?'

'of course i did, because, although i'd denied it, he knew i was dissatisfied with what i was doing. my protector said: 'i'm afraid of taking steps that are not on the map, but by taking those steps despite my fears, i have a much more interesting life.' i asked more about the tradition, and he said something like, 'as long as god is merely man, we'll always have enough food to eat and somewhere to live. when the mother finally regains her freedom, we might have to sleep rough and live on love, or we might have to balance emotion and work.' my protector then asked: 'if you weren't a biologist, what would you be?' i said: 'a blacksmith, but they don't make enough money.' and he replied, 'well, when you're tired of being what you're not, go and have fun and celebrate life, hammering metal into shape. in time, you'll discover that it will give you more than pleasure, it will give you meaning.' 'how do i follow this tradition you spoke of ?' i asked. 'as i said, through symbols,' he replied. 'start doing what you want to do, and everything will be revealed to you...i did that and i survived. i discovered that there were other people who did the same but who are considered to be mad, irresponsible, superstitious. since time immortal, they've sought their inspiration in nature. we build pyramids, but we also develop symbols.'

'having said that, he left, and i never saw him again. i only know that from that moment on, symbols did begin to appear because my eyes had been opened by that conversation. hard though it was, one evening i told my family that, although i had everything a man could dream of having, i was unhappy, and that i had, in fact, been born to be a blacksmith. my wife protested, saying: 'you were born a gypsy and had to face endless humiliations to get where you are, and yet you want to go back?' my son, however, was thrilled, because he too liked to watch the blacksmiths in our village and hated the laboratories in the big cities.

'i started dividing my time between biological research and working as a blacksmith's apprentice. i was always tired, but i was much happier one day i left my job and set up my own blacksmith's business, which went completely wrong from the start. just when i was starting to believe in life, things got markedly worse. one day i was working away and i saw that there was before me a symbol.

'the unworked steel arrives in my workshop and i have to transform it into parts for cars, agricultural machinery, kitchen utensils. do you know how that's done? first, i heat the metal until its red-hot, then i beat it mercilessly with my heaviest hammer until the metal takes on the form i need. then i plunge it into a bucket of cold water and the whole workshop is filled with the roar of steam while the metal sizzles and crackles in response to the sudden change in temperature. i have to keep repeating that process until the object i'm making is perfect: once is not enough.

the blacksmith paused for a long time, lit a cigarette, and then went on.

'sometimes the steel i get simply can't withstand such treatment. the heat, the hammer blows, the cold water, cause it to crack. and i know that i'll never be able to make it into a good plow share or engine shaft. then i throw it onto the pile of scrap metal at the entrance to my forge.'

another long pause, then the blacksmith concluded: 'i know that god is putting me through the fire of afflictions. i've accepted the blows that life has dealt me, and sometimes i feel as cold and indifferent as the water that inflicts such pain on the steel. but my one prayer is this: please god...don't give up until i've taken on the shape that you wish for me. do this by whatever means you think best, and for as long as you like, but never ever throw me on the scrap heap of souls.'

coehlo, paulo. the witch of portobello. new york: harper collins. 2006. 215-220.