Пауло Коэльо - Hippie

The young Irishman seemed content to have to put into words something that could only be experienced. Mirthe looked as if she wasn’t much liking this conversation with the pretty Dutch girl—she was entering the opposite parallel reality, the one that makes everything all of a sudden seem ugly and overwhelming.

“There’s the other side, too, when the tiny details of our daily life transform into problems out of nothing,” Rayan continued, as though guessing at his girlfriend’s state of mind. “There is not one but many parallel realities. We’re on this bus because that’s what we’ve chosen; we have thousands of miles ahead of us and we can choose how we travel: in search of a dream that once seemed impossible or thinking about how the seats are uncomfortable and everyone’s unbearable. Everything we envision now will set the tone for the rest of the trip.”

Mirthe pretended not to understand that the comment was directed at her.

“When I was in Nepal for the first time, it seemed I had a sort of pact with Ireland, and this pact had not been broken. A voice in the back of my head kept repeating: ‘Live this moment, make the most of each second because you’re going to return to your country, don’t forget to take photographs to show your friends how you were fearless and courageous and had experiences they would like to have but lack the courage to chase.’

“Until one day, I went to visit a cave in the Himalayas with a few other people. To our surprise, in a place where practically nothing grows, there was a tiny flower, half the size of a finger. We thought it was a miracle, a sign, and to show our respect we decided to hold hands and chant a mantra. A few seconds later the cave seemed to tremble, the cold no longer bothered us, the mountains in the distance suddenly seemed closer. And why did this happen? Because those who had lived there before left behind a love vibration that you could almost touch, that was capable of holding sway over anyone and anything that came to that place. Just like that flower seed the wind had carried there, as though desire—the enormous desire we all had that the world outside could be a better place—were taking on physical form and affecting everything in its path.”

Mirthe must have heard that story several times, but Paulo and Karla were fascinated by Rayan’s words.

“I don’t know how long it lasted, but when we returned to the monastery where we were staying and recounted what had happened, one of the monks told us that someone who they referred to as a saint had lived there for decades. The monks also said that the world was changing and that all passions, absolutely all of them, would become more intense. Hate would grow stronger and more destructive, and love’s face would shine through.”

The driver interrupted the conversation, saying that, in theory, we ought to continue on to Luxembourg and spend the night but since he imagined that no one there had the goal of stopping in the principality, they would continue driving and sleep in the open air near a German city named Dortmund.

“I’m going to stop soon so we can grab something to eat and I’ll call the office, letting them know the next passengers ought to be ready for an early departure. If no one is going to Luxembourg, we’ll save precious miles.”

Applause. Mirthe and Rayan were about to return to their seats when Karla interrupted them.

“But I thought you could only leap into a parallel reality by meditating and surrendering your heart to the Divine One?”

“I do this every day. But I also think about that cave every day. About the Himalayas. About those monks. I think I’ve done my time in what they call Western civilization. I’m looking for a new life. Not to mention, now that the world is in fact changing, both positive and negative emotions are going to gain force, and I—we, actually—am not about to face the dark side of life.”

“There’s no need,” Mirthe said, taking part in the conversation for the first time and showing that she’d been able to overcome jealousy’s venom in just a few minutes.

In some sense, Paulo knew everything that Rayan had just told them. He’d already had similar experiences—in most situations where he’d had a choice between revenge and love, he’d chosen love. It hadn’t always been the right choice, at times he’d been called a coward, at times he himself was moved more by fear than by the sincere desire to make the world a better place. He was a human being, with all the fragility that entails; he didn’t understand everything that happened in his life, but he truly wished to believe he was traveling in search of the light.

For the first time since he’d climbed onto the bus, he understood that it had been written, he needed to make that journey, to meet those people, to do something that he often preached but hadn’t always had the courage to do: deliver himself up to the universe.

As time went on, people split off into groups, in some cases on account of language, in others because there was some nonverbal interest at play—sex, for example. For everyone but the two girls—most certainly minors, they kept a distance from everything and everybody precisely because they felt they were the center of attention, which they were not—the first five days had gone by quickly, because everyone was discovering themselves in the others and trading stories. Boredom was not a passenger, and the routine was broken only by stops at gas stations to fill up the gas tank and their water bottles, grab a sandwich and a drink, go to the bathroom. The rest was conversation, conversation, and more conversation.

Everyone slept beneath the stars, more times than not jittering with cold but grateful to be able to look to the sky and know that they could speak with the silence, sleep in the company of angels they could almost see, cease to exist for a few moments—even if it were only fractions of a second—as they felt eternity and infinity all around them.

Paulo and Karla paired off with Rayan and Mirthe—more accurately, Mirthe joined the group against her will; she’d already heard that story about parallel realities many times in her life. Her participation, meanwhile, was limited to keeping constant vigil over her man so that she didn’t find herself forced to turn back midway because she hadn’t managed to do something rather simple: continue being an interesting woman even after two years with Rayan.

Paulo had also noted interest on the part of the Irishman, who at the first opportunity asked whether he and Karla were together, receiving a direct response from Karla:

“No.”

“Good friends, then?”

“Not even. Just travel companions.”

And wasn’t that the truth? Paulo decided to accept things as they were and forget pointless romanticism. They were two mariners sailing to some far-off land; though they shared a cabin, one slept on the bottom bunk and the other on top.

The more interest Rayan showed in Karla, the more Mirthe became insecure, her fury building—without her letting on, of course, because this would entail an unacceptable sign of submissiveness—and sidled up to Paulo, sitting next to him as they spoke and, now and then, resting her head on his shoulder as Rayan told them about everything he had learned after returning from Kathmandu.

“Amazing!”

After six days on the road, enthusiasm gave way to boredom and routine set in, permeating the atmosphere. Now that no one had anything new to say, everyone began to think about how they’d hardly done anything but eat, sleep outside, try to find a more comfortable position in their seats, open and close windows on account of cigarette smoke, grow tired of telling their own stories and talking with others—who never lost an opportunity to exchange little barbs here and there, like the rest of humanity did when in a herd, even if it was small and full of good intentions like this one.