When the debate of
narcissism goes on around and the blame-game on social networks is always at heavy
toll, I remembered the prologue of one of my favorite books "The
Alchemist" and felt like sharing;
The
alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth who knelt daily beside a lake
to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one
morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower
was born, which was called the narcissus.
The
alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had
brought. Leafing through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus.
But this was not how
the author of the book ended the story.