The Optimist

THE OPTIMIST

Warrior of Light

By Alexander Twist

Copyright 2014 Alexander Twist

Published by Alexander Twist

D2D Edition

V 1.0.2

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The right of Alexander Twist to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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WHAT OTHERS ARE SAYING ABOUT THE OPTIMIST

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Rarely does one come across a story where you fall in love with the character, his passions and his cause. Alexander Twist tales it plainly, with such grace, simplicity, and that touch of humanity that hits a string in your soul, drawing an occasional tear. Packed with experiences we all share, and timeless wisdom we can all use - truly inspirational.

Amanda Dubois - Violinist, Prague Philharmonic

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A simple, yet moving account about the harsh challenges, unforgiving pitfalls, and bitter sacrifices, that one who is born without the advantages of power and privilege to his name, must overcome by sheer determination, before he can achieve his own small measure of success - a dream being his only starting capital and reason for living. An immensely moving read.

Sheila Atkinson - Book Review, Weekly Post

The Optimist lays our emotions bare. It exposes every dreamer’s secret ambitions, untold adversities, silent cries, unseen tears, secret doubts, undying hopes, and the long string of desperate gambles, sacrifices, mistakes and failures we all often make before we arrive. This is the closest inspirational book to my reality (rising in Africa), yet its lessons are timeless and universal.

Khama Jacobson - Mining Entrepreneur and Mineral Prospector

For

ALL THE PEOPLE

Who are earnestly seeking purpose in their lives, and how they can give their being significance, here now, in this eternal moment we call life.

And for

MANDELA

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Acknowledgements

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A great many thanks to all those in the new publishing world and its affiliated industries, who have worked tirelessly to give authors unprecedented literary freedom to deliver into the hands of our readers books, they might otherwise never have seen. To my friend, graphic designer and fellow perfectionist - professor MC of Elixir publishing; thank you.

To my readers: you are the ultimate reason and inspiration for my writing. The reason has been, still is and will always be to help you see the light and reach for it; to inspire you to be the best that you can be; and urge you to go for life’s biggest prize, your dream. There is no better way to live life, and there is no dream too big for you. I sincerely believe that, and I believe in your ability even more.

To the great sages, statesmen, saints, philosophers, inventors and teachers of the past and present who have brought us this far; and to the numerous men and women of both high and humble station whose endeavours have inspired, influenced, and shaped my thoughts and view of the world: I thank you ever so much.

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THE OPTIMIST

Warrior of Light

Table of Contents

Start of The Optimist

About Alexander Twist

Follow Alexander Twist

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Doing as others told me, I was blind

Coming when others called me, I was lost

Then I left everyone else, including myself

Then I found everyone else, including myself

RUMI

Prologue

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CURIOSITY is a good thing.

Curiosity makes us observe and ask questions about who we are and what we are doing here. When we ask questions, we learn, we grow, and we begin to understand the world and how it works.

Virgil was born a curious boy...like every other human child. The only trait that marked him apart from other children was that same trait that sets apart great men from small men-the insatiable thirst for knowledge, freedom of thought and answers to things he did not understand. He never let a question go, and the answers always came, soon or late.

He always asked questions about things he did not understand, questions sometimes too big for his own age and too difficult for even grown-ups to answer. He asked questions about the stars, how they came to be and what purpose they served up there? He wondered and tried to comprehend the vastness of the universe in his little mind. He wondered if there were other worlds out there in the infinity of space.

Of course he had heard it said that this world is all there is, but that didn’t ring true with him. Only one who had traversed the whole universe could say for certain that this world is all there is. But no one had, and so, no one knew. So there had to be other worlds out there; only that they were too far off for us to reach in our physical form. But there was nothing to stop us from reaching them with our imagination.

As soon as he learnt that the earth was round-or spherical shaped as his science class teacher insisted it be called; he began to ask really farfetched questions in class, questions like Why don’t the people in Australia fall off the earth?

That question had earned him a good laugh in class from his peers. The idea of people falling off the earth was unthinkable to even the most ignorant block in his class, even though none could explain why people never fell off the earth if it was round. Everyone laughed except the teacher who vindicated him.

Virgil has just asked a legitimate question that had confounded many great men for centuries! the class teacher chimed in, interrupting the raucous laughter that had engulfed the class.

We should all fall off the earth if it were not for gravity. And gravity is a subject too advanced for you to grasp in its fullness unless you all go and work for NASA the teacher finished.

The laughing subsided to dead quietness. From then on, no one in the class ever dared laugh at Virgil’s questions again, no matter how stupid they sounded, not at the risk of looking stupid themselves. His peers soon learned that there was always something to learn from the twisted mind of Virgil, and the questions only got more controversial as they advanced into the higher grades of school. His thought provoking questions earned him mock titles like mad scientist and mad politician among his peers. But more importantly, it earned him the attention and affection of his science teacher.

On that day, the teacher asked Virgil to meet him after class. He then introduced Virgil to concepts and men he had never heard of. He heard of gravity, relativity, Isaac Newton and Albert Einstein for the first time. Albert Einstein and Isaac Newton, he learned, were pioneering men whose thoughts were far out and ahead of their time. And because people have a tendency to criticize that which they do not understand, Einstein and Newton were always embroiled in controversy with smaller minds. Isaac Newton had asked a question that people of his time considered the dumbest question ever asked- ‘why did the apple fall downwards and not upwards?’

But it was that dumb question that revealed the mystery of gravity to the world and gave civilisation and science a leap forward the teacher concluded. He encouraged Virgil never to shy away from asking questions no matter how dumb they seemed. It was the only way to learn the mysteries of life and to move the world forward. He also told Virgil to never mind the criticisms of smaller minds. ‘Small minds are always afraid of great minds’ he said.

That was the first time someone hinted that Virgil could become great, and Virgil caught wind of the spirit and desire to become great. But no one told him of the fierce opposition that all great men must overcome before they arrive

He was but a small boy when he was orphaned, but that was only a tip of the iceberg compared to all the challenges that were to come his way.

A stone-throw-away from the school Virgil attended as a boy was an old odd looking building all washed in white paint. It bore no writing or signage anywhere to reveal its purpose except for the only black spot on the front entrance of the building in the form of an iron cast symbol. Nobody knew what the building was all about or what purpose it served, for no one was ever seen entering it or leaving it, not during day time anyway according to the conspiracy theorists who believed the place was a house of worship for the devil’s followers. The only clue Virgil had was the black symbol cast in iron and embedded on the front wall. Virgil knew well that to inquire into the happenings of that house would be considered to be courting the devil in a society heavily steeped in dogmatic superstition and ignorance. But that did not thwart his curiosity; it remained at a steady boil in his soul.

The answer to the meaning of that symbol was a long time in coming, but it did arrive albeit covertly concealed in a book not about symbology, but about success. Virgil had come full circle after starting out in search of a book about riches, only to discover a book that told him about the soul, and lo and behold, it revealed the secret of the world to him and led him to even greater knowledge of not only the world, but of the universe as also. He had discovered that to find riches, one had to dig deep within the soul and find what treasure lay deep within them, and then diligently mine it and bring it up and out to the outside world.

It was his first exposure to the monistic philosophy, the philosophy of the over soul and the overriding principle of the universe by which all great men rise.

CHAPTER 1

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VERITAS was the word written on the t-shirt of one of the American students in the travelling party that Virgil had joined on its way to Qunu, a small humble village in the North West hinterland of South Africa, a place famed for nothing more than being the birth place of a man of remarkable wisdom.

Virgil had first come across that word Veritas from an old book. He had long cultivated a compulsive habit of reading such that he always carried a book with him wherever he went. His selection method was simple: the older and odder the book, the better the read. He loved old odd books because they provided him with uncommon knowledge, and uncommon knowledge had armed him with an immense advantage in a world proliferated with common knowledge, a world where everyone was thinking and doing the same thing. There was nothing Virgil despised more than sameness.

That was one of the reasons he had a quiet disdain for most modern books which he believed were mostly written to fill writers pockets rather than fill readers hearts. Virgil had learned that Veritas was a Latin word that meant truth. It was also the word embedded on the crest of one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in the world-Harvard. Virgil had once dreamed of making it to Harvard one day had it not been for a cruel twist of fate that thwarted his dreams of obtaining a very high education at the world’s most prestigious university, a place he really felt he belonged. But that was a long time ago-a time when he sincerely believed that a great university education was a guarantee of success and fame in life. But that was before he discovered the University of Life and the existence of yet another Latin word-educo; which meant to develop oneself from within.

Left without the privileges and advantages of the fortunate in society, Virgil had begun to look more within himself to see where his place was in the world. He decided to obey his soul and follow the whims of his heart wherever they led him; it was all that was left to do. That choice had cost him much grief and hardship along the way, but grief and hardship he learnt, was the price every dreamer had to be willing to pay before he could claim his prize.

Learning about the meaning of the word educo had given him a lift and dose of confidence in life. It seemed like the word had come by a mere coincidence when he came about it in a book, but it spoke to him. He hadn’t gone far in reading the book before he discovered that there were no coincidences in the world, everything had an order as perfect as the seasons. It was the reading of that book that had changed Virgil’s mindset, and set him on a totally different path from the one he had started out on, and it was a very lonely, long and winding path to the realization of his dreams. It was the pursuit of a dream that had led him to South Africa, to seek out inspiration for the last phase of his journey.

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As Virgil waited for departure time on the fringes of a small village where he had hired on a travelling caravan, he reached down and grabbed a handful of red earth and slowly let it slip through his fingers down to the ground again. It was his way of connecting with a place he’d never been to before. Legend had it that anywhere you found red soil on the African continent was a place that had been tainted by bloody battles of ages gone by.

It was his first time in South Africa. His lifelong search for the answers to life’s deeper questions and the search for the meaning of his own life had brought him here. He had learnt much along the way, but he still needed to learn more. His curiosity had led him to seek out a personal encounter with the optimist, a man who had written the book that had influenced Virgil immensely. He believed that if he could just meet the optimist, then he could have the last missing piece to the puzzle of his own life

But there was only one small problem: he had made no pre-arrangements to meet the optimist. He had decided to take a chance and hoped it worked. The way Virgil saw it, life never extended invitations to those who knew what they wanted and where determined to get it. Virgil felt that it was quite a tragedy that in his day and age, it was almost impossible to meet great men even by appointment. The old fashioned way of walking up to the door of a great man and knocking was unwelcome. It was really a loss to ordinary people who wanted to learn from great people, Virgil felt. In the end, great men could never meet real people who wanted to learn from them; but only already popular people whose heads were already filled with fame and whose only interest was to further their name on camera.

The trip to Qunu already felt like a kind of pilgrimage for Virgil. He had come so far. He revered the optimist, but so did everyone, by lip service mostly. But Virgil was after the very heart of the man, he wanted to know the ideals that drove the man and shaped him into a god on earth. He wasn’t after a photo shoot or an autograph. He wanted to learn the secret to greatness.

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The tour operator that led the journey to Qunu was named after its two co-owners- Tsotsi and Duma. It consisted of little more than three traditional wagons each pulled by a set of donkeys. It was there that Virgil had checked in early in the morning with his light back-pack containing only essentials of the journey; among them a file containing his closely guarded memoirs, poems and a few prized books. As a rule, Virgil always travelled with at least a book to read. He did not understand people who spent half the time sleeping on journeys. There was plenty of time to sleep in death.

As he waited, a singing group of children was making its way from the nearby village towards the stationed wagons were he sat. The children were in the company of a man that Virgil made out to be some kind of clergyman. They were obviously part of the travelling party as they started filling up one of the wagons. He didn’t mind travelling in the company of the clergyman as long as he limited his beliefs to his wagon. It was a good thing they were assigned different wagons. And it was an indifferent attitude Virgil had consciously adopted over the years towards religion to preserve his own sanity.

Already in his assigned wagon and sitting opposite him was a middle aged man comfortably slouched in the corner of the wagon looking over a map. Virgil decided not to interrupt him. The man appeared to be in charge of the other students who had occupied the third wagon in the caravan. There were plenty of days ahead to exchange introductions, pleasantries and specifics. The sun was almost setting and dusk was approaching. It was almost time to begin the long journey.

Tsotsi and Duma, the two local guides had already fastened the remaining set of donkeys to the third wagon and had finished loading provisions for the journey in the lead wagon where they joined Virgil and the American.

The American appeared to be half-asleep; he seemed to be a little fatigued Virgil imagined; which was more than he could say for the other students who were busy making out in the third wagon. He recognized the girl who was making out with another boy in the wagon. There were two other student couples in the wagon. But Virgil only had eyes for one.

Never mind them, the American spoke for the first time, almost startling Virgil who had been transfixed by the scene that was unfolding in the other wagon.

Oh no, I don’t mind at all Virgil answered, but he did mind.

He had his eye on the girl. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite place that went beyond her physical endowment. Her shorts revealed long shapely legs and voluptuous hips. Her purple string top showed a narrow waist all the way up to full round breasts with sharp tits showing underneath her top. Her lips were sumptuous... She was very pretty.

That is Cassandra Lohan, the American broke into Virgil’s thoughts again. The American had noticed that his wagon mate had taken keen interest in one of his students, and he knew which one it was. It happened everywhere they went. But admiration from afar is as far as any of Cassandra’s secret admirers ever went.

She seems cocky if you ask me Virgil remarked.

She has the right to be, she is very beautiful and wealthy too said the American as he broke into a mini lecture.

There is a thin line between a cocky attitude and a confident attitude. Money gives you power and power inevitably gives you an aura of confidence which others might misconstrue as cockiness.

Typical of American’s and money Virgil thought. For them money was power as well as a status symbol, and nowhere was this more apparent than in America. But Virgil had to admit that one was only truly free when they had money, and freedom of mind itself was a state of mind that could be induced with money.

Virgil checked his watch; the caravan had been rocking its way through the Veld, or the wild savannah as others called it, for over two hours. The air was cool and the wind was silent; the only sounds were the squeaking wheels of the wagons and the occasional snorting of the donkeys as they drew the wagons. Even though it was night time in the savannah, Virgil was able to see as far as the horizon thanks to the full moon which offered a breath taking view of the landscape of sparsely populated shrubs and gigantic trees that looked like small bushes from afar. But the savannah was a deceptively peaceful place at night. In the animal kingdom, night time was not a time to sleep or slumber. It was time to be awake and alert to survive Death lurked at night. Virgil was reminded of the many years he had slept and slumbered through life until he was awakened to life.

In the savannah, survival of the strongest and quickest was the presiding law. Some creatures had to die that others might live; it was a cruel natural law, but a very useful one-in the realm of the wild. It was a law which had been unfortunately adopted by human beings in the world. Humans were not much different from the lower animals Virgil thought. Animal life prayed on the weaker species just like powerful people prayed on the weak, only that human beings had developed more sophisticated and legitimate means of preying on each other-economically and financially. It was vicious cycle he sought to escape.

All the same, the Veld was still a refreshingly beautiful place, untainted and unchanged by centuries of conquest for its ivory, gold and innumerable natural resources. In no other place could one comprehend the full beauty of the African landscape than by beholding the beauty of its outdoor spaces and night skies. As he looked up into the sky, Virgil noticed three bright stars aligned in the sky pointing north, the direction they were headed. Was it a sign? He brushed it off. It could be anything. It was just his imagination. Constellations were just imaginary figures drawn up in the sky. He decided to focus on the real human figure in the rear wagon.

It was a pity that the sleeping beauty Cassandra was missing the view. But that was a good opportunity for Virgil to feast his eyes on her as she slept. Her beauty reminded him of an Italian painter once described beauty as the summation of the parts working together such that nothing needed to be added to, taken away or altered in order to perfect the form. Cassandra fell perfectly within that description.

She has an entrancing effect on many men you know the American broke into Virgil’s thoughts.

Being the daughter of a wealthy billionaire, the vast majority of suitors find her intimidating, they just can’t measure up to her, except for the young man in whose arms she’s sleeping right now- Alexander Titrov; a Russian oil magnets son and heir to the Titrov business empire the American said.

Money isn’t everything Virgil responded, a statement he didn’t quite believe himself.

Do you really believe that?

Of course I do Virgil replied.

The American laughed at what he thought to be a naive statement from his young wagon mate. He could only introduce himself, I am Carl Kapov, Professor of Political science and natural philosophy, Harvard University.

I am Virgil.

Glad to make your acquaintance Virgil, said the American has he shook Virgil’s hand. You strike me as an intriguing and intelligent young man.

Virgil savoured the compliment. It was the kindest word he ever got from a Harvard academician; further proof that he could have made it at Harvard had he gone the academic way. But he knew that scholarship was not for him.

A man had to know what he was best suited for in life and be brave enough to forego all other opportunities in pursuit of his goal

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CHAPTER 2

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VIRGIL was born in what could be referred to as a middle class family, that is to say a family which was neither rich nor poor, but rather hang precariously in between both extremes by the string of a salary. His father was an English educated Newcastle upon Tyne graduate of economics and public administration-second division. He was an educated man. His mother on the other hand, was a modest insurance broker who worked for the state insurance company. By the standards of her day, she was a very educated woman, safe and comfortable on a salary and a government job.

It is said that all men are shaped and forged by the times and circumstances in which they are born. Indeed, that held true for Virgil, for at the beginning, he too was bound for the same high education, stable job and good income of his parents had circumstances not changed.

Life in the beginning was well and kosher for young Virgil. The future looked bright. With parents like his, he was virtually guaranteed the best education that money could buy. His parents lived separately but this never bothered him much, his father was always there for him, frequently taking him out to country clubs and squash clubs as