Santiago's attempt to turn into the wind

Santiago's attempt to turn into the wind is the supreme test of his journey, the moment when everything he has learned about the Soul of the World, the Language of the World, and the power of love is put to a literal, life-or-death proof. Captured by a hostile desert chief who believes the boy and the alchemist are spies, Santiago is given three days to demonstrate his power by transforming himself into the wind—or be executed. The ordeal forces him to move beyond intellectual understanding into direct, elemental action, and it becomes the book's most spectacular demonstration that the universe conspires to help those who pursue their destiny.

The Confrontation and the Ultimatum

On the third day, the chief called for the alchemist and said, "Let's go see the boy who turns himself into the wind." The alchemist answered, "Let's." Santiago led the chief, his officers, and the alchemist to a cliff where he had spent the previous day looking out over the desert and listening to his heart. He told them all to be seated. "It's going to take a while," the boy said. "We're in no hurry," the chief answered. "We are men of the desert." The boy looked out at the horizon—mountains in the distance, dunes, rocks, and plants that insisted on living where survival seemed impossible. Within the small part of the desert he had wandered for so many months, he had found an Englishman, caravans, tribal wars, and an oasis with fifty thousand palm trees and three hundred wells. Now he had to speak to the desert itself.

The Dialogue with the Desert

"What do you want here today?" the desert asked him. "Didn't you spend enough time looking at me yesterday?" "Somewhere you are holding the person I love," the boy said. "So, when I look out over your sands, I am also looking at her. I want to return to her, and I need your help so that I can turn myself into the wind." The desert asked what love is. The boy answered that love is the falcon's flight over the sands—for him, the desert is a green field from which he always returns with game. He knows the desert's rocks, dunes, and mountains, and the desert is generous to him. The desert objected that the falcon's beak carries bits of the desert itself; for years the desert cares for the falcon's game, feeding it with the little water it has, and then shows the falcon where the game is, only for the falcon to dive out of the sky and take away what the desert has created. "But that's why you created the game in the first place," the boy answered. "To nourish the falcon. And the falcon then nourishes man. And, eventually, man will nourish your sands, where the game will once again flourish. That's how the world goes." The desert asked again if that is what love is. "Yes, that's what love is," the boy said. "It's what makes the game become the falcon, the falcon become man, and man, in his turn, the desert. It's what turns lead into gold, and makes the gold return to the earth." The desert admitted it did not understand, but agreed to give its sands to help the wind blow—though alone it could do nothing. The boy would have to ask for help from the wind.

The Dialogue with the Wind

A breeze began to blow. The tribesmen watched from a distance, talking among themselves in a language the boy could not understand. The alchemist smiled. The wind approached the boy and touched his face. It knew of the boy's talk with the desert, because the winds know everything—they blow across the world without a birthplace and with no place to die. "Help me," the boy said. "One day you carried the voice of my loved one to me." The wind asked who taught him to speak the language of the desert and the wind. "My heart," the boy answered. The wind has many names: in that part of the world it was called the sirocco, because it brought moisture from the oceans to the east; in the distant land the boy came from, they called it the levanter, because they believed it brought the sands of the desert and the screams of the Moorish wars. But the wind came from no place at all, nor did it go to any place—that is why it was stronger than the desert. "You can't be the wind," the wind said. "We're two very different things." "That's not true," the boy said. "I learned the alchemist's secrets in my travels. I have inside me the winds, the deserts, the oceans, the stars, and everything created in the universe. We were all made by the same hand, and we have the same soul. I want to be like you, able to reach every corner of the world, cross the seas, blow away the sands that cover my treasure, and carry the voice of the woman I love." The wind said it had heard the boy talking with the alchemist, who said everything has its own destiny—but people cannot turn themselves into the wind. "Just teach me to be the wind for a few moments," the boy said, "so you and I can talk about the limitless possibilities of people and the winds." The wind's curiosity was aroused, something that had never happened before. It wanted to talk about those things, but it did not know how to turn a man into the wind—and look how many things the wind already knew how to do: it created deserts, sank ships, felled entire forests, and blew through cities filled with music and strange noises. It felt it had no limits, yet here was a boy saying there were other things the wind should be able to do. "This is what we call love," the boy said, seeing that the wind was close to granting what he requested. "When you are loved, you can do anything in creation. When you are loved, there's no need at all to understand what's happening, because everything happens within you, and even men can turn themselves into the wind. As long as the wind helps, of course." The wind, a proud being, became irritated and commenced to blow harder, raising the desert sands. But finally it had to recognize that, even making its way around the world, it did not know how to turn a man into the wind—and it knew nothing about love. "In my travels around the world, I've often seen people speaking of love and looking toward the heavens," the wind said, furious at having to acknowledge its own limitations. "Maybe it's better to ask heaven." "Well then, help me do that," the boy said. "Fill this place with a sandstorm so strong that it blots out the sun. Then I can look to heaven without blinding myself." So the wind blew with all its strength, and the sky was filled with sand. The sun was turned into a golden disk. At the camp, it was difficult to see anything. The men of the desert were already familiar with that wind—they called it the simum, and it was worse than a storm at sea. Their horses cried out, and all their weapons were filled with sand. One commander turned to the chief and said, "Maybe we had better end this!" They could barely see the boy. Their faces were covered with blue cloths, and their eyes showed fear. "Let's stop this," another commander said. "I want to see the greatness of Allah," the chief said, with respect. "I want to see how a man turns himself into the wind." But he made a mental note of the names of the two men who had expressed their fear—as soon as the wind stopped, he was going to remove them from their commands, because true men of the desert are not afraid.

The Dialogue with the Sun and the Hand that Wrote All

"The wind told me that you know about love," the boy said to the sun. "If you know about love, you must also know about the Soul of the World, because it's made of love." The sun replied that from where it is, it can see the Soul of the World—it communicates with the sun's soul, and together they cause the plants to grow and the sheep to seek out shade. From its great distance from the earth, the sun learned how to love: it knows that if it came even a little bit closer to the earth, everything there would die, and the Soul of the World would no longer exist. So they contemplate each other, and want each other, and the sun gives the earth life and warmth, and the earth gives the sun its reason for living. The sun said it knows the Soul of the World because they have talked at great length during this endless trip through the universe. The Soul of the World tells the sun that its greatest problem is that, up until now, only the minerals and vegetables understand that all things are one—that there is no need for iron to be the same as copper, or copper the same as gold. Each performs its own exact function as a unique being, and everything would be a symphony of peace if the hand that wrote all this had stopped on the fifth day of creation. "But there was a sixth day," the sun went on. "You are wise, because you observe everything from a distance," the boy said. "But you don't know about love. If there hadn't been a sixth day, man would not exist; copper would always be just copper, and lead just lead. It's true that everything has its destiny, but one day that destiny will be realized. So each thing has to transform itself into something better, and to acquire a new destiny, until, someday, the Soul of the World becomes one thing only." The sun thought about that and decided to shine more brightly. The wind, enjoying the conversation, started to blow with greater force so that the sun would not blind the boy. "This is why alchemy exists," the boy said. "So that everyone will search for his treasure, find it, and then want to be better than he was in his former life. Lead will play its role until the world has no further need for lead; and then lead will have to turn itself into gold. That's what alchemists do. They show that, when we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better, too." The sun asked why the boy said it does not know about love. "Because it's not love to be static like the desert, nor is it love to roam the world like the wind. And it's not love to see everything from a distance, like you do. Love is the force that transforms and improves the Soul of the World. When I first reached through to it, I thought the Soul of the World was perfect. But later, I could see that it was like other aspects of creation, and had its own passions and wars. It is we who nourish the Soul of the World, and the world we live in will be either better or worse, depending on whether we become better or worse. And that's where the power of love comes in. Because when we love, we always strive to become better than we are." The sun admitted it did not know how to turn the boy into the wind. "Then, whom should I ask?" The sun thought for a minute. The wind was listening closely, wanting to tell every corner of the world that the sun's wisdom had its limitations. "Speak to the hand that wrote all," said the sun. The wind screamed with delight and blew harder than ever. The tents were being blown from their ties to the earth, and the animals were being freed from their tethers. On the cliff, the men clutched at each other as they sought to keep from being blown away. The boy turned to the hand that wrote all. As he did so, he sensed that the universe had fallen silent, and he decided not to speak. A current of love rushed from his heart, and the boy began to pray—a prayer without words or pleas. His prayer did not give thanks for his sheep having found new pastures; it did not ask that the boy be able to sell more crystal; and it did not beseech that the woman he had met continue to await his return. In the silence, the boy understood that the desert, the wind, and the sun were also trying to understand the signs written by the hand, and were seeking to follow their paths, and to understand what had been written on a single emerald. He saw that omens were scattered throughout the earth and in space, and that there was no reason or significance attached to their appearance; he could see that not the deserts, nor the winds, nor the sun, nor people knew why they had been created. But that the hand had a reason for all of this, and that only the hand could perform miracles, or transform the sea into a desert… or a man into the wind. Because only the hand understood that it was a larger design that had moved the universe to the point at which six days of creation had evolved into a Master Work. The boy reached through to the Soul of the World, and saw that it was a part of the Soul of God. And he saw that the Soul of God was his own soul. And that he, a boy, could perform miracles.

The Miracle and Its Aftermath

The simum blew that day as it had never blown before. For generations thereafter, the Arabs recounted the legend of a boy who had turned himself into the wind, almost destroying a military camp, in defiance of the most powerful chief in the desert. When the simum ceased to blow, everyone looked to the place where the boy had been. But he was no longer there; he was standing next to a sand-covered sentinel, on the far side of the camp. The men were terrified at his sorcery. But there were two people who were smiling: the alchemist, because he had found his perfect disciple, and the chief, because that disciple had understood the glory of God. The following day, the general bade the boy and the alchemist farewell, and provided them with an escort party to accompany them as far as they chose. The ordeal had not only saved their lives but had also transformed Santiago into someone who could command the elements—and, more importantly, into someone who understood that the power to do so had been within him all along, waiting to be unlocked by love, courage, and the willingness to pursue his destiny to its very end.