En el laboratorio: el atanor, crisoles, redomas, retortas, manuscritos y libros, muchos libros con los que interpretar el universo. Nada es lo que parece.
−Veremos. La vía es larga y estrecha, de estudio y perseverancia. La vocación se revelará tu recompensa. “Si el oro te importa, no serás nunca mi discípulo”.
−Acéptame −insistió. Y mintió. Únicamente importaba su propósito; todo valía.
En él no hay fe ni pasión. No ha sufrido transformación espiritual alguna. Sencillamente fingió ver la rosa donde sólo había ceniza. Y el maestro le creyó. O quiso creerle. Había estado tan solo… Le legó sus conocimientos, el fruto de toda una vida. Y aun así, una vez tras otra, sólo plomo en lugar de oro. Sin embargo un día, tras haber probado todas las combinaciones posibles, del alambique hinchado surge el prodigio.
Entonces comprende finalmente su advertencia: “El camino es la Piedra”... Por primera vez explora sinceramente su interior y descubre que ha pervertido el mensaje y banalizado la búsqueda; que ha tomado por vil metal el más alto objetivo. Ha perseguido siempre un falso brillo. Mientras el maestro se consagraba en cuerpo y alma a su disciplina, a penetrar la materia y el espíritu, él sólo ha repetido palabras aprendidas mecánicamente. Nunca ha buscado la perfección sino él éxito, la panacea: un elixir adulterado, una ficticia vida eterna. Ni un sólo paso ha dado en ese camino desde la ignorancia a la iluminación. Demasiado arrogante. No existe la fórmula, ahora lo sabe; nunca más volverá a concebir una obra perfecta.
−Es un autor mediocre, Georgie. No deberíamos incluirlo en la antología. Sólo dejó textos pretenciosos. Menos una obra: una armónica y equilibrada, perfecta.
Borges parece intensamente concentrado en el aire, en un mensaje secreto que sólo esos ojos cegados por la insistente lectura sobre la piel del jaguar pueden ver.
−Todo alquimista ha de alcanzar su momento de gloria –responde finalmente−. Qué importa si por inspiración divina o por azar. Un zahir siempre tiene dos caras.
In the laboratory: the athanor, pots, phials, retorts, manuscripts and books, many books with which to interpret the universe. Nothing is what it seems to be.
−We shall see. The road is long and narrow, made of study and perseverance. The vocation will reveal itself to be your only reward. "If it is gold that interests you, you'll never be my disciple."
−Accept me −he insisted. And he lied. All that mattered was his purpose, everything was allowed.
No faith or passion in him. He has not suffered any spiritual transformation. He just pretended to see the rose where there were only ashes. And the teacher believed him. Or he wanted to believe him. He had been so lonely ... He bequeathed his knowledge, the fruit of a lifetime, to him. And yet, time after time, he has only obtained lead instead of gold. But one day, after having tried all possible combinations, the wonder comes from within the swollen alembic.
Then he finally understands his master’s warning: "the path is the Stone" ... For the first time he truly explores inside himself and discovers that he has perverted the message and trivialized the search, he has taken the highest goal for vile metal. He has always pursued a false brightness. While the teacher devoted himself body and soul to his discipline, to penetrate matter and spirit, he has only repeated words learned mechanically. He has never sought perfection but success, the panacea: an adulterated elixir, a fictitious eternal life. He has not taken one step in that journey from ignorance to enlightenment. He is too arrogant. There is no formula, now he knows. So he will not conceive a perfect work anymore.
−He is a mediocre author, Georgie. We should not include him in the anthology. He left only pretentious texts. Except a single work, a harmonious and balanced one, a perfect work.
Borges seems to direct all his attention to the air, to a secret message that only those eyes blinded by the repeated reading on the skin of the jaguar can see.
−Every alchemist has to reach his moment of glory −he finally responds −. Who cares if he reaches it through divine inspiration or by chance. A zahir always has two faces.
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