Thank you for ignoring us, for marginalizing all those who oppose your decision, because the future of the earth belongs to the excluded.
Thank you, because, without you, we would not have realized our own ability to mobilize. It may serve no purpose this time, but it will doubtless be useful later on.
Now that there seems no way of silencing the drums of war, I would like to say, as an ancient European king said to an invader: 'May your morning be a beautiful one, and may the sun shine on your soldiers' armour, for in the afternoon, I will defeat you.'
Thank you for allowing us - an army of anonymous people filling the streets in an attempt to stop a process that is already underway - to know what it feels like to be powerless, and to learn to grapple with that feeling and transform it.
So, enjoy your morning and whatever glory it may yet bring you.
Thank you for not listening to us, and for not taking us seriously; but know that we are listening to you, and that we will not forget your words.
Thank you, great leader, George W. Bush.
Thank you very much.
The Intelligent Clerk
At an airbase in Africa, the writer Antoine de Saint-Exupery made a collection amongst his friends to help a Moroccan clerk who wanted to go back to the city of his birth. He managed to collect one thousand francs.
One of the pilots flew the clerk to Casablanca, and when he returned, he described what had happened.
'As soon as he arrived, he went out to supper in the best restaurant, gave lavish tips, ordered drinks all round, and bought dolls for the children in his village. The man had absolutely no idea when it came to looking after his money.'
'On the contrary,' said Saint-Exupery, 'he knew that people are the best investment in the world. By spending freely like that, he managed to regain the respect of his fellow villagers, who will probably end up giving him a job. After all, only a conqueror can be that generous.'
The Third Passion
During the last fifteen years, I have had three consuming passions, of the kind where you read everything you can find on the subject,
talk obsessively about it, seek out people who share your enthusiasm, and fall asleep and wake up thinking about it. The first was when I bought a computer. I abandoned the typewriter for ever, and discovered the freedom this gave me (I am writing this in a small French town, using a machine that weighs just over three pounds, contains ten years of my professional life, and on which I can find whatever I need in less than five seconds). The second was when I first used the internet, which, even then, was already a larger repository of knowledge than the very largest of conventional libraries.
The third passion, however, has nothing to do with technological advances. It is...the bow and arrow. In my youth, I read a fascinating book entitled Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel, in which he described his spiritual journey through the practice of that sport. The idea stayed in my subconscious until, one day, in the Pyrenees, I met an archer. We chatted away, he lent me a bow and some arrows, and, ever since, I have hardly let a day go by without practising shooting at a target.
At home, in my apartment in Brazil, I set up my own target (the sort you can take down in a matter of minutes when visitors come). In the French mountains, I practise outside every day, and this has so far landed me in bed twice - with hypothermia, after spending more than two hours in temperatures of [?]6degC. I could only take part in the World Economic Forum this year in Davos thanks to powerful painkillers: two days before, I had caused a painful muscle inflammation just by holding my arm in the wrong position.
And where does the fascination lie? Being able to shoot at targets with a bow and arrow (a weapon that dates back to 30,000 bc) has no practical application. But Eugen Herrigel, who first awoke this passion in me, knew what he was talking about. Below are some extracts from Zen in the Art of Archery (which can be applied to various activities in daily life).
When you apply tension, focus it solely on the thing that you require the tension for; otherwise, conserve your energies, learn (with the bow) that in order to achieve something, you do not need to take a giant step, but simply to focus on your objective.
My teacher gave me a very stiff bow. I asked why he was starting to teach me as if I were a professional. He replied: 'If you begin with easy things, it leaves you unprepared for the great challenges. It's best to know at once what difficulties you are likely to meet on the road.'
For a long time, I could not draw the bow correctly, until, one day, my teacher showed me a breathing exercise, and it suddenly became easy. I asked why he had taken such a long time to correct me. He replied: 'If I had shown you the breathing exercises right from the start, you would have thought them unnecessary. Now you will believe what I say and will practise as if it were really important. That is what good teachers do.'
Releasing the arrow happens instinctively, but first you must have an intimate knowledge of the bow, the arrow and the target. When it comes to life's challenges, making the perfect move also involves intuition; however, we can only forget technique once we have mastered it completely.
After four years, when I had mastered the bow, my teacher congratulated me. I felt pleased and said that I was now halfway along the road. 'No,' said my teacher. 'To avoid falling into treacherous traps, it is best to consider that you have covered half your journey only when you have walked ninety percent of the road.'*
The Catholic and the Muslim
I was talking to a Catholic priest and a young Muslim man over lunch. When the waiter came by with a tray, we all helped ourselves, except the Muslim, who was keeping the annual fast prescribed by the Koran.
When lunch was over, and people were leaving, one of the other guests couldn't resist saying: 'You see how fanatical these Muslims are! I'm glad to see you Catholics aren't like them.'
'But we are,' said the priest. 'He is trying to serve God just as I am. We merely follow different laws.' And he concluded: 'It's a shame that people see only the differences that separate them. If you were to look with more love, you would mainly see what we have in common, then half the world's problems would be solved.'
Evil Wants Good to Prevail
One day, the Persian poet, Rumi que Mo'avia, the first of the Ommiad caliphs, was sleeping in his palace when he was woken up by a strange man.