The Fourth Rule of Alchemy
The alchemist pounded his fist on the table. “And then he said, ‘If I had known that, I would have stayed in the fish!” Both he and his apprentice burst out in full, contagious laughter.
After a long while, with occasional ebbs, until a giggle started the fit again, “Oh, my belly hurts! What a delight! Do you know, this reminds me of another story!” the Alchemist’s eyes twinkled. He reached across the table, and poured water from the urn into a glass, then placed the glass between him and his apprentice.
“Long ago, I met a magician. He could transform flowers into doves, make coins disappear, glamor young maids into love with him, charm nobles into business deals, and command moths and butterflies to follow him.”
“His greatest trick was to turn fresh water into strong, aged wine. He claimed to have learned these mysteries in his travels in Andros and Teos, but would not reveal to me how he did it. For a time, I followed him from city to city, watching each night as he performed his magics.”
The alchemist placed a cloth napkin over the water glass.
“On some nights, he would wave his hand over the water glass and say, “Me aftá ta lógia kai ti dýnamí sou, Diónyse, metétrepse aftó to neró se krasí.“ And wine would pour up from the bottom of the wine glass, spilling the water and filling the glass to the brim.”
The alchemist pulled the napkin off the water glass and revealed that water still filled the glass. The apprentice and the alchemist both chuckled. Again, the alchemist covered the glass.
“Other times, he would lift the glass, and say, “'ant alan thamarat qadimatan!” The alchemist lifted the glass, then dramatically, pulled the cloth free. Still water. The apprentice smiled and nodded.
“Still other times, he would peel back his robes, revealing magic symbols tattooed across his arms. He would wave his hands over the glass, saying nothing, but seeming to concentrate his magical energies.” The alchemist again covered the glass then wiggled his fingers.
“And then the water would get cloudy, and darker and darker red, until it was clearly red wine and water no longer.”
Again, the cloth was pulled and again, water remained.
The alchemist was quiet, then picked up the glass of water, and set it aside, pretending as though that was the end of the story. The apprentice rolled his eyes at the dramatics.
“Fine. Master, what is the punchline? Is that the whole story?”
The alchemist grinned, “After many months of following the magician, I asked him again. ‘How can you do this?‘ The magician replied with the Fourth Rule of Alchemy.”
He paused for effect, seeing the look of shock and surprise on his apprentice’s face. This was not supposed to be a time for teaching!
“The Fourth Rule of Alchemy is: ‘There are no magic words.’” There is nothing a teacher can teach you, no famous quote that will inspire you, no mantra that unlocks freedom, no prayer that saves you, no incantation that transmutes. There is either transformation or there is not. You are either water or you are wine. The words are not where alchemy lives. Alchemy is action. Alchemy is being and becoming.
The alchemist pulled back the cloth a final time, revealing a full glass of wine.
“Now, will you share this wine with me?”
