Fragile, the moment of opening.  Fragile, the bloom of enlightenment.  Fragile, the foot that steps on the path.  Fragile, the wings of the butterfly newborn from an earthbound body.

Teaching the Craft requires an understanding of the fragility of each sacred moment.  Moments where the door to a new understanding can be opened flit past.  In an instant, a lock presents itself and begs for a key.

The right key for the lock may cause the tumblers to turn, but it takes another act of will or gentle push to actually swing the door on its hinges, and still another act of will to face what lies beyond.  For what lies in front of the Seeker will cause Death to what lies behind the Seeker.  The Seeker cannot stand on the threshold forever, or the Seeker will be torn in two, coming and going at the same time.  Only Janus is comfortable lingering in doorways.

Teaching the Craft requires understanding the lotus may rise above the mud, but to survive, its roots must lie ever within the mire.  Teaching a person to become comfortable with that mire and internal muck, those glaring imperfections that keep us rooted to our finite existence, and yet encouraging us to rise ever higher because of those less-developed places… teaching us compassion for both our eternal beauty and our hidden-away unsightly parts is a task that is vital to living happily in this lifetime.

Teaching the Craft requires understanding that the people we Guide are breakable.  Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically breakable.  As Guides, we should find ourselves occasionally stricken with fear at the knowledge that another’s development and lifepath is entrusted to our careful guidance.  The rocks of life are many, the ocean waves tumultuous, the icebergs mostly hidden in the cold waters, and the craft of a person’s life must prove seaworthy.  Our hands may not be on the helm, but our voice is calling out the dangers ahead, knowing how the sails must be trimmed in order to see the ship safely to harbor with all hands still on board.  We dare not be reckless with our charge — the price is not our life but another’s.  The karma, however, is ours again, and again, and again.

Teaching the Craft requires understanding that we all long to fly, but wings newly emerged are fragile, wet, and incapable of lifting the density of the earthly body until fully flexed, dry, and extended.  It is easy to break the spirit, just as it is easy to ground a butterfly forever with one misinformed touch to a newly unfurled wing.  Leadership does not give us the right to be cruel, sarcastic, hateful, or cynical just to make ourselves come across as the wise and crotchety Teacher stereotype seen in martial arts flicks.  Our job is to shine the light, gently and warmly, that one newly born may unfurl themselves at their own pace.  We are not the light — not solely.  The best light, we know, is that of the person reflected back at themselves.  Sometimes we hold a mirror up.  Sometimes we let that light pour forth from our eyes.  But we do not rush the process — lest it kill the creature giving birth to itself, depriving the world of a beautiful soul come into its own and ready to soar.

Teaching the Craft requires empathy and compassion.  These are best gleaned from remembering the times when we were fragile, nearly broken, torn in two, mud-drenched, barely there.  When a Teacher believes themselves too strong or too invincible, they cease to be able to lead for they have forgotten the risk.

As Sting sings, “On and on, the rain will say, how fragile we are.”.  It is worth remembering.  It is in doing so that we may discover our strength, without judgment of our weakness, and thus understand the Divinity at the core of our Humanity, and the blessings of Both.

Photo by Eddi 07 (via Flickr).