Amen. Now it’s your turn,” said the Magus.

“Lord, help me understand that all the good things in life that happen to me do so because I deserve them. Help me understand that what moves me to seek out Your truth is the same force that moved the saints, and the doubts I have are the same doubts that the saints had, and my frailties are the same frailties. Help me to be humble enough to accept that I am no different from other people. Amen.”

They sat in silence, watching the sunset, until the last ray of sun left the clouds. Their souls were praying, asking for wishes to be granted and giving thanks that they were together.

“Let’s go to the pub,” said the Magus.

Brida and the Magus began the walk back. Again she remembered the day when she had first gone there in search of him. She promised herself that she would go over this story only one more time; she didn’t need to keep trying to convince herself.

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The Magus studied the girl walking ahead of him and trying to look as if she knew where she was putting her feet among the damp earth and the stones, but stumbling repeatedly. His heart grew lighter for a moment, then immediately grew guarded again.

Sometimes, certain of God’s blessings arrive by shattering all the windows.

It was so good to have Brida by his side, thought the Magus as they walked back down the mountain. He was just like other men, with the same frailties and the same virtues, and he still wasn’t used to the role of Teacher. At first, when people used to come to that forest from all over Ireland to hear his teachings, he spoke of the Tradition of the Sun and asked people to understand what lay around them. God had stored His wisdom there, and they were all capable of understanding it by performing a few simple rituals.

The way of teaching the Tradition of the Sun had been described two thousand years before by the Apostle Paul: “And I was with you in weakness and in much fear and trembling; and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.”

Yet people seemed incapable of understanding him when he talked to them about the Tradition of the Sun and were disappointed because he was a man just like other men.

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He said it didn’t matter; he was a Teacher, and all he was doing was giving each person the necessary means to acquire Knowledge.

But they needed much more; they needed a guide. They didn’t understand about the Dark Night; they didn’t understand that any guide through the Dark Night would only illuminate, with his torch, what he himself wanted to see. And if, by chance, that torch should go out, the people would be lost, because they didn’t know the way back. But they needed a guide, and to be a good Teacher, he, too, had to accept the needs of others.

So he started padding out his teachings with unnecessary but fascinating things that everyone could accept and understand. The method worked. People learned the Tradition of the Sun, and when they finally realized that many of the things the Magus had told them to do were absolutely useless, they laughed at themselves. And the Magus was glad, because he had finally learned how to teach.

Brida was different. Her prayer had deeply touched the Magus’s soul. She had understood that no human being who has walked this planet was or is different from the others. Few people were capable of saying out loud that the great Teachers from the past had the same qualities and the same defects as all men, and that this in no way diminished their ability to search for God.

Judging oneself to be inferior to other people was one of the worst acts of pride he knew, because it was the most destructive way of being different.

When they reached the bar, the Magus ordered two whiskies.

“Look at the other customers,” Brida said. “They probably come here every night. They probably always do the same thing.”

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The Magus was suddenly not so sure that Brida really did consider herself to be the same as everyone else.

“You concern yourself too much with other people,” he replied. “They’re a mirror of yourself.”

“Yes, I know. I thought I knew what made me happy and what made me sad, then suddenly I realized that I need to think again.

But it’s very hard.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Love. I know a man who makes me feel complete. Three days ago, he showed me that his world is full of mysteries, too, and that I’m not alone.”

The Magus remained impassive, but he was remembering the thought he’d had earlier about God’s blessings sometimes shattering windows.

“Do you love him?”

“What I’ve realized is that I could love him still more. Even if I learn nothing new on this path, at least I will have learned one important thing: we have to take risks.”

He had been making great plans for that night as they walked down the mountain. He wanted to show how much he needed her, to show that he was just like other men, weary of so much solitude. But all she wanted were answers to her questions.

“There’s something strange about the air here,” Brida said. The atmosphere appeared to have changed.

“It’s the Messengers,” said the Magus. “Artificial demons, those who do not form part of God’s Left Arm, those who do not lead us to the light.”

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His eyes were shining. Something really had changed, and there he was talking about demons.

“God created the legion of His Left Arm in order to improve us, so that we would know what to do with our mission,” he went on. “But He put man in charge of concentrating the powers of darkness and creating his own demons.”

And that was what he was doing now.

“But we can concentrate the forces of good, too,” said the girl, somewhat alarmed.

“No, we can’t.”

He needed to be distracted, if only she would ask him something. He didn’t want to create a demon. In the Tradition of the Sun, they were called Messengers, and they could do great good or great evil—only the most important Teachers were allowed to invoke them. He was one of those Teachers, but he didn’t want to invoke such a Messenger now, because a Messenger could be a dangerous force, especially when mixed up with disappointments in love.

Brida was confused by his response. The Magus was behaving strangely.

“We can’t concentrate the Forces of Good,” he said again, trying hard to focus on what he was saying. “The Force for Good is always diffused, like Light. When you give off positive vibrations, you benefit all humankind, but when you concentrate the force of the Messenger, you are only benefiting—or harming—yourself.”

His eyes were still shining. He called over the bartender and paid the bill.

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“Let’s go to my place,” he said. “I’m going to make some tea and you can tell me about the really important questions in your life.”

Brida hesitated. He was an attractive man, and she was an attractive woman. That night, she feared, might put an end to her apprenticeship.