The Ceremony
The day after the Night of the Mothers, for the second time, grandmother asked Aifa.
“Did you enjoy the ceremony, granddaughter?”
And again, Aifa responded.
“It was beautiful, Doyenne, I just thought I’d feel different after that, is all.”
“It is unlikely that you would, you are not significantly different from the way you were yesterday. Most of our growth happens slowly and quietly over time, that is why your apprenticeship had to last over a year. A year and a day. Long enough to notice the changes and short enough not to lose patience. The ceremony is just a marker, of course, a borne on your path, nothing more. We are human, we enjoy adorning our lives with moments of significance, so we can find them in our frame of reference later, point out to them and say “when I was here I did that,” or “at that time I was this,” but there is no single moment in life that spurred your growth. Your spirit, just like your body, is a constantly evolving system. Often the little things you observe in silence, the random words that stay with you, the emotions you can’t describe, or justify, those are your most important teachers. I am here to guide you, and lend whatever wisdom I have acquired, but you can’t teach another person how to see the world. We all do it in our own way, which is impossible to put into words. It is, however, our tradition, that after a year and a day of apprenticeship, a Caretaker’s mind is considered free.”
“What does that mean, doyenne?” Aifa frowned at the thought of not having been free before.
“That means that you have developed enough capacity to discern all the subtle ways in which life with all its illusions tries to steer you into its desired course of action and that you have acquired the confidence to choose for yourself whether you want to take that course of action or not. It means that you question the reasons why you do things and look at the long term consequences of your choices. It also means that you don’t look to other people to choose right from wrong for you.”
“But isn’t this the prerogative of every human being?”
“You can’t have a right without the capacity to exercise it. The free mind gives you that capacity.”
“How so, doyenne?” Aifa asked for clarification.
“Well, suppose that you have access to an extraordinary library, where you can find information on any subject you desire, but you have never seen a book before, not to mention learned how to read. What value would you place on this great body of knowledge then?”
“But why can’t one have the right to learn how to read?” Aifa continued her hypothetical argument.
“Oh, you’d have every right to learn, but who’s going to teach you?” grandmother laughed.
Aifa’s face sobered. All of a sudden, she felt very sad for all the poor souls who didn’t know how to read, and for herself as well, for not having known either.
“It is the greatest tragedy of our existence that we can die of thirst while floating down the river.”
Aifa thought about it for a moment, and then looked up to her grandmother.
“Doyenne?”
“Yes, Aifa.”
“Thank you for your teachings.”
“It was my greatest joy, granddaughter. Don’t ever forget that I love you.”
