for being alive. He was
sure that he had not wasted his time, for he had learned to contemplate Nature and to
respect it.
Then, because he was listening to the sea, the seagulls, the wind in the palm trees and
the voices of his friends playing, he also heard the first bell.
And then another.
And another, until, to his great joy, all the bells in the drowned temple were ringing.
Years later, when he was a grown man, he returned to the village and to the beach of his
childhood. He no longer dreamed of finding treasure at the bottom of the sea; perhaps that
had all been a mere product of his imagination, and he had never in fact heard the
submerged bells ring out on one lost childhood afternoon. Even so, he decided to walk for
a while along the beach, to listen to the noise of the wind and to the cries of the
seagulls.
Imagine his surprise when, there on the beach, he saw the woman who had first spoken to
him about the island and its temple.
'What are you doing here?' he asked. 'I was waiting for you,' she replied. He noticed
that, despite the passing years, the woman looked exactly the
same; the veil hiding her hair had not faded with time. She handed him a blue notebook
full of blank pages. 'Write: a warrior of light values a child's eyes because they are
able to look
at the world without bitterness. When he wants to find out if the person beside him is
worthy of his trust, he tries to see him as a child would.'
'What is a warrior of light?'
'You already know that,' she replied with a smile. 'He is someone capable of understanding
the miracle of life, of fighting to the last for something he believes in - and of hearing
the bells that the waves sets ringing on the seabed.'
He had never thought of himself as a warrior of light. The woman seemed to read his
thoughts. 'Everyone is capable of these things. And though no one thinks of themselves as
a warrior of light, we all are.'
He looked at the blank pages in the notebook. The woman smiled again. 'Write about that
warrior,' she said.
The Manual of the Warrior of Light
A warrior of light knows that he has much to be grateful for.
He was helped in his struggle by the angels; celestial forces placed each thing in its
place, thus allowing him to give of his best.
His companions say: 'He's so lucky!' And the warrior does sometimes achieve things far
beyond his capabilities.
That is why, at sunset, he kneels and gives thanks for the Protective Cloak surrounding
him.
His gratitude, however, is not limited to the spiritual world; he never forgets his
friends, for their blood mingled with his on the battlefield.
A warrior does not need to be reminded of the help given him by others; he is the first to
remember and makes sure to share with them any rewards he receives.
All the world's roads lead to the heart of the warrior; he plunges unhesitatingly into the
river of passions always flowing through his life.
The warrior knows that he is free to choose his desires, and he makes these decisions with
courage, detachment and - sometimes - with just a touch of madness.
He embraces his passions and enjoys them intensely. He knows that there is no need to
renounce the pleasures of conquest; they are part of life and bring joy to all those who
participate in them.
But he never loses sight of those things that last or of the strong bonds that are forged
over time.
A warrior can distinguish between the transient and the enduring.
A warrior of light does not rely on strength alone, he makes use of his opponent's energy
too.
When he enters the fight, all he has is his enthusiasm and the moves and strikes that he
learned during his training. As the fight progresses, he discovers that enthusiasm and
training are not enough to win: what counts is experience.
Then he opens his heart to the Universe and asks God to give him the inspiration he needs
to turn every blow from his enemy
sure that he had not wasted his time, for he had learned to contemplate Nature and to
respect it.
Then, because he was listening to the sea, the seagulls, the wind in the palm trees and
the voices of his friends playing, he also heard the first bell.
And then another.
And another, until, to his great joy, all the bells in the drowned temple were ringing.
Years later, when he was a grown man, he returned to the village and to the beach of his
childhood. He no longer dreamed of finding treasure at the bottom of the sea; perhaps that
had all been a mere product of his imagination, and he had never in fact heard the
submerged bells ring out on one lost childhood afternoon. Even so, he decided to walk for
a while along the beach, to listen to the noise of the wind and to the cries of the
seagulls.
Imagine his surprise when, there on the beach, he saw the woman who had first spoken to
him about the island and its temple.
'What are you doing here?' he asked. 'I was waiting for you,' she replied. He noticed
that, despite the passing years, the woman looked exactly the
same; the veil hiding her hair had not faded with time. She handed him a blue notebook
full of blank pages. 'Write: a warrior of light values a child's eyes because they are
able to look
at the world without bitterness. When he wants to find out if the person beside him is
worthy of his trust, he tries to see him as a child would.'
'What is a warrior of light?'
'You already know that,' she replied with a smile. 'He is someone capable of understanding
the miracle of life, of fighting to the last for something he believes in - and of hearing
the bells that the waves sets ringing on the seabed.'
He had never thought of himself as a warrior of light. The woman seemed to read his
thoughts. 'Everyone is capable of these things. And though no one thinks of themselves as
a warrior of light, we all are.'
He looked at the blank pages in the notebook. The woman smiled again. 'Write about that
warrior,' she said.
The Manual of the Warrior of Light
A warrior of light knows that he has much to be grateful for.
He was helped in his struggle by the angels; celestial forces placed each thing in its
place, thus allowing him to give of his best.
His companions say: 'He's so lucky!' And the warrior does sometimes achieve things far
beyond his capabilities.
That is why, at sunset, he kneels and gives thanks for the Protective Cloak surrounding
him.
His gratitude, however, is not limited to the spiritual world; he never forgets his
friends, for their blood mingled with his on the battlefield.
A warrior does not need to be reminded of the help given him by others; he is the first to
remember and makes sure to share with them any rewards he receives.
All the world's roads lead to the heart of the warrior; he plunges unhesitatingly into the
river of passions always flowing through his life.
The warrior knows that he is free to choose his desires, and he makes these decisions with
courage, detachment and - sometimes - with just a touch of madness.
He embraces his passions and enjoys them intensely. He knows that there is no need to
renounce the pleasures of conquest; they are part of life and bring joy to all those who
participate in them.
But he never loses sight of those things that last or of the strong bonds that are forged
over time.
A warrior can distinguish between the transient and the enduring.
A warrior of light does not rely on strength alone, he makes use of his opponent's energy
too.
When he enters the fight, all he has is his enthusiasm and the moves and strikes that he
learned during his training. As the fight progresses, he discovers that enthusiasm and
training are not enough to win: what counts is experience.
Then he opens his heart to the Universe and asks God to give him the inspiration he needs
to turn every blow from his enemy
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