"What did she mean?" Chris asked as they lay there.
"Nothing important." He had had a couple of beers, and was sleepy.
But Chris pressed the matter. She wanted an answer.
"Everything in life is a ritual," Paulo said. "For witches as much as for those who have never heard of witchcraft. Both are always trying to perform their rituals to perfection."
Chris knew that those on the magical path had their rituals. And she understood, as well, that there were rituals in everyday life--marriages, baptisms, graduations.
"No, no. I'm not talking about those obvious rituals," he went on impatiently. He wanted to sleep, but she pretended not to have sensed his irritation. "I'm saying that everything is a ritual. Just as a mass is a great ritual, composed of various parts, the everyday experience of any person is, also.
"A carefully elaborate ritual that the person tries to perform precisely, because he or she is afraid that--if any part is left out--everything will go wrong. The name of that ritual is Routine."
He decided to sit up. He was groggy because of the beers he had drunk, and if he continued to lie down, he would be unable to complete his explanation.
"When we are young, we don't take anything too seriously. But slowly, this set of daily rituals becomes solidified, and takes us over. Once things have begun to go along pretty much as we imagined they would, we don't dare risk altering the ritual. We like to complain, but we are reassured by the fact that each day is more or less like every other. At least there is no unexpected danger.
"That way, we are able to avoid any inner or outer growth, except for the kinds that are provided for within the ritual: so many children, such and such a kind of promotion, this and that kind of financial success. When the ritual becomes consolidated, the person becomes a slave."
"Does that happen sometimes with those on the path?"
"Of course. They use the ritual to make contact with the invisible world, to destroy the second mind, and to enter into the Extraordinary. But, for us too, the terrain we conquer becomes familiar. And we feel the need to seek out new territories. But any magus is fearful of changing the ritual. It's a fear of the unknown, or a fear that other rituals won't function as well--but it is an irrational fear, a strong one, that never disappears without some help."
"And what is the Ritual That Demolishes Rituals?"
"Since a magus is unable to change their rituals, the Tradition decides to change the magus. It's a kind of Sacred Theater in which the magus has to play a different character."
He lay down again, turned on his side, and pretended to sleep. Chris might ask for further explanations. She might want to know why Valhalla had mentioned hatred.
Negative emotions were never invoked in the sacred theater. On the contrary, people who participated in that kind of theater tried to work with the good, and to assume characters that were strong, enlightened. That way, they were able to convince themselves that they were better people than they had thought, and--when they believed that--their lives changed.
To work with negative emotions would mean the same thing. He would wind up convincing himself that he was worse than he had imagined.
THEY SPENT THE AFTERNOON OF THE FOLLOWING DAY exploring Golden Canyon, a series of ravines with tortuous curves and walls about twenty feet high. At the moment that the sun set, while they were doing their channeling exercise, they saw how the place had acquired its name: The brilliant minerals embedded in the rock reflected the rays of the sun, causing the walls to appear to be carved out of gold.
"Tonight there will be a full moon," Paulo said.
They had already seen the full desert moon, and it was an extraordinary spectacle.
"I awoke today thinking about a passage in the Bible," he continued. "It's from Solomon: 'It is good that you retain this, and that you not take away your hand from it; for whoever fears the Lord will emerge from everything unscathed.'"
"A strange message," Chris said.
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"Very strange."
"My angel is speaking to me more and more," she told him. "I'm beginning to understand the words. I understand perfectly well what you were talking about in the mine, because I never believed that this communication with my angel could happen."
That made Paulo feel pleased. And together they contemplated afternoon's end. This time, Valhalla had not appeared for their walk in the desert.
The glistening stones they had seen that afternoon were no longer apparent. The moon cast a strange, phantasmagorical light into the ravine. They could hear their own footsteps in the sand, as they walked along in silence, alert to any sound they might hear. They didn't know where the Valkyries were meeting.
They came almost to the end point, where the fissure widened to form a small clearing. No sign of them.
Chris broke the silence. "Maybe they decided against it."
She knew that Valhalla was going to prolong the game as long as possible. But Chris wanted it to be over.