“Let’s go for a walk along the cliffs,” he said.

Brida prepared something to eat, and together they endured the long journey in an inadequately heated bus. They reached the village at around midday.

Brida felt excited. In her first year as a student of literature at the university, she had read a lot about the poet who had lived

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there. He was a mysterious man, who knew a great deal about the Tradition of the Moon; he had been a member of secret societies and left in his books a hidden message for those who seek the spiritual path. His name was W. B. Yeats. She remembered two particular lines by him, which seemed just made for that cold morning, with the seagulls flying over the boats anchored in the little harbor:

I have spread my dreams under your feet;Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

They went into the only pub in the village, drank a whiskey to keep out the cold, and then set off. The little tarmac road gave way to a steep climb, and half an hour later they reached what the locals called “the cliffs.” This was a promontory made up of rocky outcrops that dropped sheer into the sea. There was a path to follow, and even at a leisurely pace, they would be able to do the whole walk in less than four hours and still catch the bus back to Dublin.

Brida was delighted at the prospect. Regardless of what emotions life might be holding in reserve for her that year, she always found the winter hard to bear. All she did was go to work during the day, to the university in the evening, and to the cinema at weekends. She dutifully performed the rituals and dances Wicca had taught her, but she had a yearning to be out in the world, to see a little nature.

It was overcast and the clouds were very low, but the physi-

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cal exercise and the whiskey helped fend off the cold. The path was too narrow for them to walk along side by side; Lorens went ahead, and Brida followed a little way behind. It was hard to talk in these circumstances. Nevertheless they managed to exchange a few words, enough for them to feel each other close and to enjoy the nature around them.

She was gazing with childlike fascination at the landscape. It must have been exactly the same thousands of years ago, in an age when there were no towns, no harbors, no poets, no young women seeking the Tradition of the Moon; then there were only the rocks, the crashing waves, and the seagulls drifting about beneath the low clouds. Now and then, Brida peered over the precipice and felt slightly dizzy. The sea was saying things she couldn’t understand; the seagulls were making patterns she couldn’t follow.

And yet she was looking at that primitive world as if the true wisdom of the Universe lay there rather than in any of the books she’d read or in any of the rituals she practiced. As they moved away from the harbor, everything else gradually diminished in importance—her dreams, her daily life, her search. There was only what Wicca called “God’s signature.”

All that remained was that primitive moment among the pure forces of nature, the sense of being alive and in the company of someone she loved.

After nearly two hours of walking, the path suddenly grew wider, and they decided to sit down together to rest. They couldn’t stop for long. The cold would soon become unbearable and they would have to move on, but she felt like spending at least a few

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minutes by his side, looking up at the clouds and listening to the sound of the sea.

Brida could smell the sea air and was aware of the taste of salt in her mouth. She warmed her face against Lorens’s jacket. It was a moment of great plenitude. All five of her senses were working.

Yes, all five of her senses were working.

For a fraction of a second, the thought of the Magus entered her mind and then vanished. All she cared about now were those five senses. They must keep working. This was the moment.

“I need to talk to you, Lorens.”

Lorens murmured something or other, but his heart was afraid. As he looked up at the clouds or down at the precipice, he realized that this woman was the most important thing in his life; that she was the explanation, the sole reason for the existence of those rocks, that sky, that winter. If she were not there with him, it wouldn’t matter if all the angels of heaven came flying down to comfort him—Paradise would make no sense.

“I want to tell you that I love you,” Brida said softly. “Because you’ve shown me the joy of love.”

She felt full, complete, as if the whole landscape were seeping into her soul. He began stroking her hair. And she was sure that, if she took a risk, she would experience love as never before.

Brida kissed him. She felt the taste of his mouth, the touch of his tongue. She was aware of every movement and sensed that he was feeling exactly the same, because the Tradition of the Sun always reveals itself to those who look at the world as if they were seeing it for the first time.

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“I want to make love with you right here, Lorens.”

Various thoughts flashed through his mind: they were on a public footpath, someone might come by, some other person crazy enough to visit this place in the middle of winter. But anyone crazy enough to do so would also be able to understand that certain forces, once set in motion, cannot be interrupted.

He slipped his hands under her sweater and stroked her breasts.

Brida surrendered herself entirely. The forces of the world were penetrating her five senses and these were becoming transformed into an overwhelming energy. They lay down on the ground among the rock, the precipice, and the sea, between the life of the seagulls flying up above and the death of the stones beneath. And they began, fearlessly, to make love, because God protects the innocent.

They no longer felt the cold. Their blood was flowing so fast in their veins that she tore off some of her clothes and so did he.

There was no more pain; knees and back were pressed into the stony ground, but that became part of their pleasure, completing it. Brida knew that she was close to orgasm, but it was still a very remote feeling, because she was entirely connected to the world: her body and Lorens’s body mingled with the sea and the stones, with life and death. She remained in that state for as long as possible, while some part of her was vaguely conscious that she was doing things she had never done before. What she was feeling, though, was the bringing together once more of herself and the meaning of life; it was a return to the garden of Eden; it was the moment when Eve was reabsorbed into Adam’s body and the two halves became Creation.

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At last, she could no longer control the world around her, her five senses seemed to break free, and she wasn’t strong enough to hold on to them. As if struck by a sacred bolt of lightning, she unleashed them, and the world, the seagulls, the taste of salt, the hard earth, the smell of the sea, the clouds, all disappeared, and in their place appeared a vast golden light, which grew and grew until it touched the most distant star in the galaxy.

She gradually came down from that state, and the sea and the clouds reappeared, but everything was filled by a sense of profound peace, the peace of a universe that became, if only for a matter of moments, explicable, because she was in communion with the world. She had discovered another bridge that joined the visible to the invisible, and she would never again forget the path that led to it.

The following day, she phoned Wicca and told her what had happened. For a while, Wicca said nothing.

“Congratulations,” she said at last. “You’ve made it.”

She explained that, from then on, the power of sex would bring about profound changes in the way Brida saw and experienced the world.

“You’re ready now for the celebration of the Equinox. There’s just one more thing.”

“One more thing? But you said that was it!’

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“It’s quite easy. You simply have to dream of a dress, the dress you will wear on the day.”

“And what if I can’t.”

“You will. You’ve done the most difficult part.”