He was so very attractive, with eyes that revealed a soul full of answers, and he would once again be disappointed by the feelings of ordinary human beings. She was disappointed with herself, too, but she couldn’t lie.
“Look at me,” said the Magus.
Brida felt ashamed, but did as he asked.
“You told the truth. I will be your Teacher.”
Darkness fell, and the stars were shining in a moonless sky.
It took two hours for Brida to tell the stranger her life story. She tried to look for facts that would explain her interest in magic—
childhood visions, premonitions, an inner calling—but could find nothing. She simply felt a need to know, that was all. And because of that, she had taken courses in astrology, tarot, and numerol-ogy.
“Those are merely languages,” said the Magus, “and they’re
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not the only ones. Magic speaks all the languages of the human heart.”
“So what is magic?” she asked.
Even in the darkness, Brida could sense that the Magus had turned away from her. He was looking up at the sky, absorbed in thought, perhaps in search of an answer.
“Magic is a bridge,” he said at last, “a bridge that allows you to walk from the visible world over into the invisible world, and to learn the lessons of both those worlds.”
“And how can I learn to cross that bridge?”
“By discovering your own way of crossing it. Everyone has their own way.”
“That’s what I came here to find out.”
“There are two forms,” replied the Magus. “The Tradition of the Sun, which teaches the secrets through space and the world that surrounds us, and the Tradition of the Moon, which teaches through time and the things that are imprisoned in time’s memory.”
Brida had understood. The Tradition of the Sun was the night, the trees, the cold gripping her body, the stars in the sky. And the Tradition of the Moon was that man before her now, with the wisdom of the ancestors shining in his eyes.
“I learned the Tradition of the Moon,” said the Magus, as if he could read her thoughts, “but I was never a Teacher of that Tradition. I am a Teacher of the Tradition of the Sun.”
“Teach me the Tradition of the Sun, then,” said Brida, feeling slightly disconcerted, for she had sensed a note of tenderness in the Magus’s voice.
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“I will teach you what I have learned, but the Tradition of the Sun has many roads. One must trust in each person’s ability to teach him or herself.”
Brida was right. There was a note of tenderness in the Magus’s voice. Far from reassuring her, this frightened her.
“I know I’m capable of understanding the Tradition of the Sun,” she said.
The Magus stopped gazing up at the stars and concentrated on the young woman. He knew that she was not quite ready to learn the Tradition of the Sun and yet he must teach it to her.
Some pupils choose their Teachers.
“Before our first lesson, I want to remind you of one thing,” he said. “When you find your path, you must not be afraid. You need to have sufficient courage to make mistakes. Disappointment, defeat, and despair are the tools God uses to show us the way.”
“Strange tools,” said Brida. “They often dissuade people from carrying on.”
The Magus knew the reason for these tools, he had already experienced both in body and soul.
“Teach me the Tradition of the Sun,” she insisted.
The Magus asked Brida to lean back against the rock and relax.
“There’s no need to close your eyes. Look at the world around you and try to see and understand as much as you can. The Tradition of the Sun is constantly revealing eternal knowledge to each individual.”
Brida did as the Magus told her to, but she felt he was moving much too fast.
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“This is the first and most important lesson,” he said. “It was created by a Spanish mystic who understood the meaning of faith.
His name was St. John of the Cross.”
He looked at the girl’s eager, trusting face. In his heart, he prayed she would understand what he had to teach her. She was, after all, his soul mate, even if she didn’t yet know it, even if she was still very young and fascinated by the things and the people of this world.
