The Dreamseller: The Calling by Augusto Cury Read Free Book Online

pouring on the flattery: “Yes, beautiful! Wonderful! Delightful! Marvelous!”
    Then the old woman whacked him with the cane.
    “You hopeless pervert! Cheap Don Juan!” she said, feigning anger. Bartholomew ran for cover before he saw she was joking. Her heart melted. It had been fifty years since anyone had called her beautiful or anything of the sort. She took the dizzy drunk by the arms and danced with him, happy as could be. I was in awe. I had known the power of criticism but was new to the power of praise. Could it be that those who use that power could live longer and better lives? My head was spinning. I had never witnessed so much craziness in a single day.
    During this short time, the dreamseller had taught me that small gestures can have more impact than great speeches, that our actions and moments of silence can be more effective than all the world’s PowerPoint presentations. I knew he had agreat many secrets. But I didn’t dare ask, worried that he’d again strip me bare with his Socratic method. He had become an expert in making life a celebration, even when there were ample reasons to weep with sorrow.
    He would always tell us, “Those who can laugh at their foolishness have found their fountain of youth.”
    I detested fools who gave simple answers, but deep down, wasn’t I a fool myself? I had so much to learn about laughing at myself. I had so much to learn about simplifying my life—an unknown art in any university.
    How many students had I sent to commencement without teaching them to look at themselves, to detect their own stupidity, to let go, to cry and to love, to take risks and escape the prison of routine? And to dream. I was the most feared of professors. I drowned my students in criticism, but had never taught them to enjoy life. But how could I? No one can teach what he doesn’t know himself. My life, to this point, had been worthless.
    I was proud of being just and honest, but I realized I had failed to be just and honest with myself. Fortunately, I was beginning to learn how to exorcise the demons that had made me into an unbearable human being.

Strengthened by Challenges
     

     
    A FTER TWENTY MINUTES DANCING AT THE BASE OF THE SAN Pablo Building, the dreamseller again asked for silence. The euphoric crowd eventually calmed down. To our surprise, he recited a poem aloud, as if he were on a mountain top:
Many dance on the ground,
But not on the path to self-knowledge.
They are gods who do not recognize their limits.
How can they find themselves if they’ve never been lost?
How can they be human if they’ve never known their own humanity?
Who are you? Yes, tell me, who are you?
     
    The people stared, wide-eyed. After their street fair, the emcee was now asking them whether they were human or divine. Several men in suits, particularly those who hadn’t danced and were ready to criticize, were stunned. Every day they were fixated on the exchange rate of the dollar, the stock market index, management techniques, fancy cars and luxurious hotels, but none had traveled the path to self-knowledge.
    They led bored, empty lives, clouded in tranquilizers. They would not let themselves be human first. They were gods whodied a little every day, gods who denied the internal conflicts that made them human.
    Seeing the crowd fall silent, he continued:
    “Without thinking in depth about life, they will forever live superficially. They will never perceive that existence is like the sunlight that comes with the dawn and will inevitably disappear with the sunset.” Some applauded without understanding or realizing that their nightfall was fast approaching.
    Moments later, to my surprise, he went around greeting people, asking, “Who are you? What’s your great dream?”
    Many were confused at first. They didn’t know how to answer who they were or what their great dream was. Some, more uninhibited and open, said, “I don’t have any dreams. My life is shit.” Others said, “I’m swamped