The Living Manuscript Of Eternity

To see in every moment of life a reflection of eternity is to discover the hidden order of the world.

On an evening that seemed torn from a parallel time, between two dust storms and the deep silence of a nameless night, I met a Jordanian Bedouin. He sold me a rusty object, an astrolabe that seemed forgotten for centuries and that he claimed did not measure stars, but gestures. His hand trembled a little, perhaps from old age, perhaps from the burden of a revelation he had to pass on. He told me that the plates of that instrument did not map stars, but traces of desire, fear, pride, pity sedimented emotions like the layers of a planet that, although forgotten, still pulsates. I felt then that it was not by chance that it had reached me.

That astrolabe did not draw paths on the vault, but opened unseen horizons. It seemed a silent map of the way Heaven makes its way into man. And, through a kind of discreet revelation, I too began to see the divine traces in the simple gestures of life. However, something in me was breaking, like a clay vessel, by accepting the fact that only through crushing can the light rise from within the soul. The unseen is ordered only when you refuse the stained glass windows of the world.

That's what the astrolabe given to me by chance was trying to teach me. In a time when people sell their souls for a successful photo, and dreams are edited in glossy filters, God did not make man just to look down on him. He molded him to live in him, with all his suffering, joys and wonders. And he does not just live in him, but lives through him with every dream we bury and with every hope that still sprouts in the corner of our eyes. And in a universe where everything is fading, the only form of authentic resistance is the story of each person. The story that God lives as if every life were part of Him, and every soul, a page in His endless Book.

Leadership: How do you transform unspoken experiences and feelings into expressive language so that your story has a powerful impact on the entire world?

The moon that night seemed to be bleeding. I knew it was a calling. I couldn't sleep at all. The astrolabe trembled in my hands, as if a universal nerve were pulsing directly in my wrist. I turned it, and its discs clicked on ancient alignments. I heard as if the breath of the eternal, Athora Vendiss, revealing the unspoken secret of the beginnings. And it was clear to me that the ages change nothing, only the color of the tents and the sound of prayer. Otherwise, people's desires are the same, their mistakes identical, and God - the silent witness - runs through all the stories, reliving them like an anonymous poet.

Then I noticed something amazing. On the edge of the instrument was inscribed something that initially seemed like a metaphor, but which turned out to be a revelation: "Science ascends to the sky." A truth carved in bronze. But what does it actually mean to ascend to the sky? Isn't the road to the stars paved with questions about the human heart? And isn't the soul of the researcher a temple through which lights ascend faster than rockets?

That click of the astrolabe was the echo of a revelation. From it, a subtle ray shot out and drifted to the top of my forehead and from there, the light began to write itself. I understood that there is a divine cartography within us, but too few consult it anymore. People get lost in the blank maps of ephemeral success, not knowing that the only thing that matters in this world is that miraculous story that God wants to live in every person who truly believes in miracles, and in Him.

This is the world's best-kept secret: the story of your life that you write so that God can live it through you.

Leadership: Can you shape your existence into an embodiment of the dream that opens the horizon of knowledge, so that your vision clarifies the mystery hidden in divine creation itself?

Where are those endowed with Aladdin's gift of mastering a magic lamp? Where are the lucky ones who sail like Sinbad through the most dangerous journeys? And where are those, like Ali Baba, who find the secret word that opens the immense treasure hidden in a mountain cave?

In fact, these stories were not about magic, but about the faith of some people through whom life was transformed into a miracle, because God lived it with them. But now, there are no more miraculous stories, because people no longer have dreams, and God can no longer live any miracles. This is the great tragedy of the world. Man, God's creation, no longer opens the gate to the dream in which God can show himself through miracles. For only those who preserve the purity of the soul in the noise of the world manage to transform life into a miraculous adventure. The others... just imitate the movements, following ancient patterns, in which joy has become advertising, and ecstasy a caricature.

And here I am, the scribe of unfathomable glory, the one who did not seek success, but the truth of the dream. The one who did not run after fame, but after meaning. Perhaps my hand, so many times tired, was led by a force that I did not dare to call other than Him God who writes through me and lives through my story a page of eternity, transforming it into prayer.

It was as if God himself had whispered to me: "Write. Not for yourself, but for the one who will dream while reading you."

And I wrote. But I wrote for the one who did not stop searching for the miracle; I wrote the moving story that makes God live again in the breath of every moment.

Leadership has a simple axiom: reality changes its scenery if you project your vision towards the heights.

In The Living Manuscript of Eternity, the destinies of exceptional people and the traces of God are written, as in a story wrapped in the spell of the Thousand and One Nights. Of course, the story is not only mine. Because in that rusty astrolabe I found not only the story of man, but also God, living moment by moment, through each of us. And perhaps on that nameless evening, receiving from the trembling hands of the Bedouin an instrument that recorded emotions instead of astronomical positions, I was prepared to understand that the divine is not found in the heights, but is shaped in the turmoil of the human soul.

God does not reveal himself in the boring stories that have been repeated for so many thousands of years, but only in those that are miracles.