Portuguese Jesuit Priest Ruben The Battle of Macau in 1622, China

Gold is the first and the most perfect of the elements.

Gold comes from the centre of the earth, and while it passes through warm and pure places, it becomes the subtlest and purest element on Earth.

It is the most beautiful of all metals, the best that Nature can produce and no other element can corrupt it, or change it.

For what the eagle is among birds, the lion among beasts, the Sun among planets, such gold is among metals. The legend says that the centre of the sun emanates gold, by its rays to all beings. It is a life substance that penetrates all living things.

And all the beings on Earth carry within a grain of gold, hidden deep within their inmost centre – a precious grain of gold. Our core is golden, and when our body gets perfected and our mind gets purified, when we cleanse the uncleanness from it, we will reach within the centre of our beings, our own most precious gold.

Ruben

Her skin, dark olive, tight and silky, her eyes, shape of almonds, piercing and deep, her hands, carved iron, fingers long, jet-black curly hair, and a gracious swan-like neck. Even though I wouldn’t admit it, at the time, I wanted her from the very moment I saw her.

I got to know Ama during the Dutch attack on Macao, the 24^th of June 1622.

The future generations will also remember the 24th June, 1622, they will call it the ‘Dia da Cidade’ or the City Day, the day of miracles, the day of a fight with the Dutch, who also had their eyes on our fast-growing trade centre, that was now virtually controlling the European – Far East trade route. During the last couple of years, Macao became the target of repeated invasion attempts, culminating with this most violent and dangerous one in June 1622.

I find Macao hot and damp in summer, especially when there are no winds coming from the ocean or interludes of typhoon. Once or twice a year, the humidity reaches its highest point, the hot air swells over the Land and it becomes impossible to move or breathe or work, the settlement gets lulled into its yearly sleep. Once or twice a year, the heat becomes unbearable, it becomes the master, it spreads over the stone narrow streets covering us with dust and sticky sweat, and both, animals and people fight against this sickness of Earth, locked within their shelters. At the time of the attack Macao was asleep.

At around noon a fisherman came back to the city alarmed with the sight of a fleet of Dutch galleons. He entered the church breathless, almost crying, grasping for air, panicking, and told me, the local Jesuit Portuguese priest, the man left in charge:

that this was our last day

that there was no hope for our Land

that there was no God that can help us

that there was no worst nightmare than this that was just approaching us.

The moment when 13 huge ships appeared on the horizon manned by thousands of men was a moment of Hell for the citizens of these 3 small islands.

Macao gathered traders from Portugal and Spain, it gathered survivors of shipwrecks, refugees that managed to escape Dutch prisoners’ ships and others who found mercy from pirates escaping cruel death. The population in 1622 was already an amazing mix of Portuguese, Asians and Africans. Today, when the priests and the city council did their fast estimate of people able to fight they added up only 600 men aged over 12, and almost 3,000 women and children older than 8 with around 500 African slaves. Macao has much more inhabitants but this was a very good time for trade and the army of men was miles away in inland China trading their porcelain, silk and spices. We were really just a handful, compared to the thousands of soldiers that were about to embark on the island.

God why did you forsake us? – were the words that roamed my mind for what felt like an hour after I heard that Dutch were going to attack.

Everything was against us: the humidity of this summer day, the settlement deeply effected by the heat and the lack of air, the fortress, Monte Fort that was far from its completion, and the atmosphere of the crowd in front of the church, the atmosphere of fear, despair and anger towards God that sends this type of challenge.

The ships surrounded us and they looked mighty and evil. The so long dreaded attack of Dutch was finally there, about to happen. And even though we were expecting it, it just did not need to happen now, here, to me, to us, one is never really ready for death. We are about to witness a disaster of an unfair battle, a battle against children and women and slaves, a nightmare of killing, rapes and houses on fire. One is never really ready for death.

When I stepped on Macao’s ground some years back, I knew that many confrontations will be a part of my destiny, that I am living in tremulous times when the Chinese government and the Catholic movement are trying to learn how to live with each other, passing through their strongest conflict ever. Different European kingdoms, their pirates and trade companies mercilessly fought for the supremacy over the trade routes, establishing laws using power and guns all through the area, no place was truly peaceful.

My mind was in shambles.

Destiny would have it that I started my journey to China with a close encounter with Death. During the night of my ship-wreck, even though I trusted the skills of our Captain and the strength of the ship that was our home all the way from Portugal, the storm that we had encountered was so strong that it shook all my confidence and awakened all my fears. When it started, it raged for hours increasing its strength and fury with every moment that passed. The rain came down in torrents and during this wrath, we never once saw the sun by day, nor the stars by night. The tempest was so fierce that no one could remain on his feet. The noise was so deafening that we could not hear even our own voices. My fear was so thick that I thought my head is going to burst when the ship gave its first terrible threatening jerk. If I remember correctly, it was the 3^rd day of our nightmares, when we hit a rock just off the Formosan coast where the ship gave up its fight delivering us to the sea. The woodland under our feet cracked and disappeared and I was not sure what was spreading faster, water or panic overcoming the crew. The creaks coming from the hull convinced me that we are now at God’s Grace and that only He could save us from the ill fate of disappearing within the depths of the glum waters. For the first time I became fully aware of Her Majesty – Death.

All through the days of ship-wreck, Death was steadily breathing down my neck. What an ugly and powerful face she had! Whether she came to our dreams as a skeleton in black armour mounted on a white horse, or we smelled her in rotting stench of the bodies that surrounded us and within our hope deprived souls; she did not discriminate or take preferences. She was present everywhere, my mortality shadowed every step I made. This little episode had a happy ending, once we managed to build our little improvised boat, we set off for a new adventure expecting the worst, but after some days of calm sailing and a calm sea, God’s giving, we reached the cost of Macao with almost three hundred survivors.

At this point of our little story I will make a small transgression, before I tell you all about our little war-tale with the Dutch, I feel an urge to introduce myself, give you a brief sketch of my background, my hopes and thoughts at this stage of my life.

I entered the Jesuits in Rome at the beginning of this century when I was 17 and I was ordained a Jesuit three years later taking a special obedience to the Pope undertaking to go wherever I am sent. My Love for Jesus, Truths of Religion, and the quest for Self-Knowledge led me to choose this path, the path that demanded extreme Faith, extreme Sacrifice and extreme Hardship, the path of a Spiritual Warrior. Like all the others, I took the vow of poverty, and the vow of refusal of external honours, material worlds did not interest me.

I knew that I would be going to foreign lands, and that I was to be surrounded by unfaithful, by dangerous customs, diseases, strange people, but I had nothing to lose and my gain was great, I could prove my love for Jesus spreading his teachings and fighting for what I believe in, delivering more and more souls to salvation.

I was always attracted to the secrets hidden within a human soul believing that people can change. For me the story of Jesus’ life was the story of tremendous Willpower and Divine Faith that won over instincts, devils, temptations and cruelties of the world around him. Jesus lived in a desert for forty days without food, clothing, or any contact with humans and he resisted all the temptations of power and all the weaknesses of the flesh. The stories of Saints I knew, respected, and loved, were also the stories of fights against the world of desires and against many different devils. My path was the path of strengthening the willpower and my heart was that of a warrior.

Deeds, not words, interested me. Following Christian teachings, as manifested through Jesus Christ and His Holiness, the Pope, I became one of the Pope’s Soldiers. From an original desire that led me to Jesuits: to dwell in the Holy Land imitating the life of Christ, following one question: what would Christ do if he is here, now, with me; I decided to become a missionary, devoting my whole life to bringing Christianity to the East.

After I received permission from my superiors, I embarked on a Portuguese merchant ship with the greatest zest heading to China.

As I told you earlier the trip was not an easy one and at its very end God performed a series of miracles to keep us alive. Arriving to Macao, six months later we were joined by the crew of the second ship that started their journey with us. They were halved in size because after the storm, some miles away from our shipwreck, they were attacked by war ships in service of the Dutch East India Company. The Dutch took the possession of the cargo and imprisoned them. They were taken to the island of Formosa and kept there captive for six months. With little to eat, living in a stable with the cattle, many of them fell ill and died. That was the first time that I faced Her Majesty: Death, and the first time that I experienced the fear of Her sight. This time She looked even fiercer and I could hear Her laughing.

The Dutch fleet started its approach and I started panicking:

We had just a dozen of cannons and an unfinished Fort

and a bunch of kids, women and slaves.

Nothing more than a dozen of cannons!

God why did you forsake us? I couldn’t help thinking!

I recognized the smell of anticipation before the catastrophe, I felt deep within my stomach a knot of excitement and panic, I was not sure whether to run, or scream, or lay down in despair and die praying. Like an animal trapped in a cage, pacing up and down, thinking the same useless thoughts, not seeing a way out, not knowing how to re-collect, not understanding, I tried to appear calm.

God why did you forsake us? Was the scream that kept bouncing of the walls of my cell.

In difficult moments I used to try to remember Jesus and his difficult moments, I would call His presence and ask for help, direct help. So I turned my head to heavens and asked

How would You react now?

All I heard was Silence, a God mighty Silence. My mind was too upset to hear signs from Heaven.

The Fort built by us, Jesuits priests and locals, some years ago, was looking at us.

The mix of mud, shells and straw, was our only hope. The mixture packed into place could, perhaps, withstand a hail of cannonballs.

But for how long?

And why?

How long before the defeat?

Are we heading towards suicide?

What is our choice?

To kill ourselves trying to save what we have called ‘home’ in these last few decades or to be murdered after we surrender!

And if we do surrender, would they show mercy towards women and children?

Are we choosing the worst of two alternatives?

What would Jesus do, if He was here, now?

The army of men on the ships was hungry for victory, blood and women. I knew how highly Dutch valued this port and its strategic place for trade between the East and West.

I wanted to believe that there was hope, but I heard only fears!

The stories of horrors roamed in my head, executions and isolation, torture and merciless killings…

Was that God tempting my Faith?

And what would You do, if You were here, just now?

I screamed my question in the silence of my room.

She appeared from nowhere wearing her colourful sarong. Looking at her I instinctively knew that this was no coincidence and I stayed attentive, strangely awakened by her presence, alert to what she is going to say or do. Even from the distance I could see her eyes shining and I could hear the clarity of her voice, it was determined and strong. It was hard to link her black skin, soft hair, delicate hands, and gentle warm eyes with the areole of warrior that this role demanded, but the aura of inspiration around her being, the energy of God’s grace and the sound of His guidelines were there, around her.

We have no time to waste! she said

There is no other choice.

God will protect us if we truly trust Him.

Remember what you’ve always known.

Let’s find the shelter within Monte Fort. Let’s offer our prayers to A-Ma, Buddha and Christ. We must keep on believing and He will guide us.

It struck me that those should have been my words, but no, I was silent and she was the one uttering them. She looked at me determined, I was a part of her mission, she wanted me to lead.

I knew of Ama from the numerous stories that were connected to her being. I knew of her as of a preacher and a witch doctor. She was a mystery among masses living within this little settlement: a beautiful black young woman who carried the name of the Goddess herself and who knew how to read stars, understood secrets of herbs, and it was rumoured knew how to speak with ghosts and animals. People went to her to discover their destiny, to get healed or just sit around the fire with her and listen to her stories. The ones who admired her talked about her as of a guide, the scared ones were unnaturally polite to her, afraid of her curses, and the ones who did not understand her accused her of the witchcraft. She was loved and hated by many.

Her unusual background, her figure, her voice, her manners, all of her, just couldn’t pass unnoticed. If she was born in any other Christian country she would have been marked as a saint or burnt as a witch, but in Macao, she became a walking legend.

Ama was a daughter of an African mother and her skin was dark, eyes brown, large and alive. She was tall and slim, and she walked gracefully, gliding through our mortals’ worlds as though she was just a passer-by observing our struggle to survive untouched by our pettiness, and trivialities, always within her supreme state of peace. She walked as a queen, silently, elegantly, gently but assertively and people treated her as a queen.

Ama lived in the house of her father, Ottavio de Nobille and she was his favourite child. The fairy-tale woven around Ottavio de Nobille, his wife and his daughter Ama, during the long, cold winter evenings, amongst fishermen and lay-people, were many, because this family came from afar, it was rich, and very private, so just a few, chosen ones, knew the true details of their lives. The gossips whisper about ancestors’ ghosts and angels, and sometimes even Goddess Herself intervening in this child’s birth and life, they talk about unspeakable love that existed between Ottavio and his wife and about her magic death.

Ottavio de Nobille came to Macao around 30 years ago bringing with him his wealth, his vast knowledge, his laboratory, and books about Philosophy, Astronomy, Art, Natural Sciences, and a spectrum of secrets about his life and the reasons for his immigration to Asia.

Ama’s mother got violently sick while giving birth just at the time when they arrived from Portugal to Macao, and the crew brought her to shore, into the Ama’s temple soon after the first contractions started. The baby girl was born healthy but unfortunately nobody was able to save her mother. One life was sacrificed for the other, the legend says, and to thank the Goddess for saving his child, Ottavio gave his daughter her name A-Ma – the Great Mother.

The day, when 13 Dutch ships appeared on the horizon surrounding Macao, only a miracle could save us and I felt within the depth of my being that Ama was to create that miracle.

I allowed her beauty and determination to give me strength and focus. Even though I was full of fear and confusion, I was enchanted. Looking at her courageous face, the fuzziness of my mind was gaining clarity.

In the difficult moments it was my mind that I needed to fight, not the circumstances, my mind was the one to decide on a defeat or a victory. God would give me a tremendous strength when my life was endangered, if I would just trust Him and His Guidance. But before God could act in such a way, the choice to accept this grace, was always in my hands.

Faced with the danger, my mind was divided into two, three, five different personalities and speculatively worked against me, wasting my powers and precious time.

I can!

I can’t!

You can’t!

But he might do this or that!

We can!

We can’t!

But what if…?

But what if not!

My many ‘I’s all screamed at the same time, fighting, whispering, moving within me bringing clouds of weaknesses and dragging me deeper and deeper into the abyss of my own imagination.

If you have ever experienced a close embrace with the force of fear, its dark and cold touch, its sweaty smell and its never ending spiral that drags you down into its core, its breath that takes away all hope, all confidence, its icy power that paralyses every single movement, you know what I was going through.

Citizens of Macao were expecting my help and I was seeking the guidelines from Heavens. Both encouraging and destructive forces were offering their help and I needed to clutch to the right one.

Thanks to God, I sensed the signs of encouragement in Ama’s voice and I followed it. Passing Her inspiration through me, I woke up and started moving.

Fear and despair turned around and changed their direction. It is hard to explain how this happened. What is the invisible force that guided me? Are the angels the one that helped, or was this shift the result of a few strong minds calm enough to lead this swing through? Today, it was hard to say because everything happened just in a few moments, moments that lasted an eternity. At those moments the impossible became our Reality and Death was not a Threat any more.

I led the citizens to retreat to Monte Fort, high on the hill in the centre of Macao.

Was I, at these moments, executing my Will or was I a puppet of a Miracle orchestrated on the hill tops of Olympus? I did not know. When the Egyptian army surrounded the Jews and left them without any hope and when the thought of the Promised Land was transformed into the thought of Inevitable Death, Moses raised his stick and asked God to help and waters opened in front of them and let the people through. And how did that happen?

That day, during the fight against the Dutch, I followed the insight within me, the voice that trusted Ama, and I took the role that God gave me, the role of the guided and the guide.

That day, during the fight against the devils within my head, I felt, Jesus was acting through me, we became His words, His action, His thoughts, and we became a part of His Divine plan, and everybody including slaves, women and children were there, ready to die and ready to follow.

My belief was fuelled by Ama’s presence, and crowds around me fuelled their thirsty scared souls with my words. From time to time, in my quest for further guidelines, I looked for her finding her facing Chinese, Africans and Portuguese encouraging them with the same determination, just changing the tongues of her speech.

We saw the face of Death and we decided to fight it even though our chances were minimal. Our sword was bravery, our shield – complete trust. Intuitively I led our fight. She was my perfect warrior and I was her perfect leader. There was no time for doubt and our actions were coming from God. We let ourselves be led.

A-Ma Alchemy of Love Spiritual Novel by Nataša Pantović Nuit, Year: 2017, Publisher: Artof4Elements. Paperback: 244 pages Size: 6″x9″. A-Ma is a historical spiritual fiction book set in the 17th century Macao, China. The main protagonist is Ama, an African alchemist, Goddess, a guru, a lover, a story-teller that inspires and gathers artists, preachers, priests, philosophers from all around the world within the magic settings of her coffee house. ISBN-13: 978-9995754198