Ana thought it was not quite as simple as that, but then, Steven did not work inside the classrooms, and might not realize how much the teachers did.
"It all comes down to transformation," she commented, casting around in growing desperation for a lead that would take her to the heart of this conversation.
"Transformation is the only goal that matters," he replied.
"But do the kids understand that?"
"All of nature understands it. All of nature—rocks, trees, animals, human beings—yearns toward becoming greater, even if only to become the seed of a new generation. It is our duty, as beings somewhat further along in the work, to aid and direct the yearnings of those in our care. Teaching is a sacred occupation, Ana. A great responsibility."
She took a deep breath. "Is that why I've been kept from it? Until I prove myself worthy?"
He studied her over the rim of his cup. "What do you mean?"
She crossed her fingers and launched her shot across his bow, praying fervently that it wasn't a dud, or didn't blow up in her face. "I don't feel a part of the energy here, somehow. Like there's a secret handshake or something and I don't have it. Of course, I'd expect that from the people who wear the necklaces, but even the people who have been here only a few weeks are—" She broke off, seeing his expression.
Steven had gone very still. "Who told you about the necklaces?"
"Nobody. Why, what is there to tell? I saw people wearing them and assumed they were a sign of rank."
"Rank," he repeated.
"Or accomplishment or time here. Apparently I was wrong." She allowed a thread of curiosity to creep into her voice.
Steven moved quickly to squelch it.
"No, you weren't wrong. It's just that in Change we try to keep any signs of… rank to ourselves. The pendants we wear are meant as a private reminder and acknowledgment of accomplishments, not a badge to be flaunted."
"Nobody's flaunted anything, not that I've noticed. In fact, I've never even seen what's on the end of the chain, just the chains themselves."
He looked relieved, then moved to lead her away from the topic. I'm sorry you feel we are being aloof, Ana. I will speak to some of the members about it. And I also think it's very probable that Teresa is about to turn her class over to you on a permanent basis."
"Really? But what about her?"
Teresa will go back to the administrative job she was doing before she had to fill in, which is more to her taste. She'll thank you for showing up."
"Oh. Well, thank you. I'll enjoy teaching again."
"And learning?"
"Oh yes. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for the possibility of learning."
"You who have spent all her adult life in the pursuit of learning?"
Ana did not think she was imagining the faint mocking tone in Steven's voice, nor the tiny quirk in one corner of his mouth. He would allow her to teach children because the school needed her, but unless she did something right now, he would forever see her as yet another middle-aged butterfly flitting from one spiritual flower to the next. She had to be taken seriously, yet without stepping outside her persona. She stared into the depths of the empty mug on her knee as if it would give her the words she so desperately needed to convince him.
"All my life," she began, "I have been, as you called me the other morning, a seeker. I've lived in half a dozen communities, followed the yoga sutras and done zazen, learned a little Chinese and a little more Sanskrit, and sat at the feet of any number of men and women who I thought could teach me something. I have never stayed with one discipline because none of them seemed to me complete: I found them either all ritual or all philosophy, negating the body or discounting the mind, either bogged down in their own tradition or else rootless and shallow, and none of them succeeded in integrating everyday life with the search for enlightenment, or Oneness, or revelation.
"Here, I get the feeling that you are trying to do just that. There's the day-to-day, gritty reality of raising kids and growing food, but not at the expense of nurturing the flame of spirit. Change is a flourishing plant with strong roots deep in the earth. I would like to be a part of that."
Ana did not look up from her cup. She had thrown out a number of hooks here, from her linguistic background to the use of loaded words like "ritual" and "integration" to just plain flattery, and she held her breath to see what he would respond to.
"In what way do you see us—how did you put it? 'Nurturing the flame of spirit'?" he asked.
A wave of relief swept through her—she was right, fire was central to the belief system of Change. Perhaps on his trip to India Steven had picked up the Zoroastrian dualism of light and dark, good and—but there was no time for that now. She had to keep the tenuous upper hand, and impress Steven with the potentialities of his new convert. Keep it general; keep it provocative. Ana raised her eyes to look, not at Steven, but at the fireplace.
"The Hindu god of fire is Agni, depicted as a quick and brilliant figure with golden hair. He is young and old, eternal and ephemeral, friendly as a domestic fire and ferocious as the flames of sacrifice. The human spirit is the same—you can see it in those kids. Easily quenched but waiting to be rekindled, flaming out of control but wanting to be brought in to the hearth."
She could spout this noble bullshit for hours; it was one reason why Anne Waverly was such a popular teacher. That she had not actually answered his question was beside the point, to Steven most of all. His face had gone rapt.
"Have you ever walked through flames, Ana?"
"Do you mean actual flames, as in Nebuchadnezzar casting the three young men into the fiery furnace?"
"Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. 'The hair of their heads was not singed, their mantles were not harmed, and no smell of fire had come upon them.' "
"Well, no."
"I have, Ana. I went in bare feet across a stretch of burning coals, and I was not harmed. On the contrary, I came out a new man."
Firewalking, Ana thought—found in cultures as diverse as Polynesia and Greece, and closer to home as well among the New Age.
"I saw it once in the desert outside San Diego," she told him with enthusiasm. "It was unbelievable."
"Believe, Ana."
"Oh, I do believe. Maybe not enough to commit the soles of my feet to it." She laughed in deprecation of her cowardice; he looked at her with pity.
"Perhaps you will," Steven said portentously. "Perhaps you will."
" 'The fire will test what sort of work each one has done,' " she returned, venturing into the New Testament to follow his line from Daniel.
" 'When you walk through fire you will not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.' "
Isaiah, she thought. Then before he could launch off on the burning bush, Elijah's chariot, or the fiery Day of the Lord, she asked, injecting her voice with earnest solemnity, "That's what you're saying happened with the kids here, isn't it? That they have been through hell already, and some of them were merely hardened."
" 'Behold, I have refined you, but not like silver; I have tried you in the furnace of affliction,' " he quoted, adding, "Like your young friend Jason has been tried."
Ana kicked herself mentally for assuming that anything she might do would be overlooked by Steven's eyes and ears. She hoped to God that she wasn't blushing.
"He's a fine young man."
"I agree," said Steven in his all-knowing voice. "I have great hopes for that boy."
Chapter Fifteen
Men and women seeking a time of reflection and spiritual renewal have always sought out the empty places. From time immemorial, God has spoken in the desert or in the mountains, away from the hustle of everyday life. Contemplative religious communities have established themselves outside of the towns, in places where the living is harsh, because the simplicity pares things down to the essentials.