"You mean you only came here to learn about the Mother because of a play?"
"Why did you learn about her?"
Athena stopped, looked me up and down, and smiled.
"You're right. That's my first lesson as a teacher: teach those who want to learn. The reason doesn't matter."
"I'm sorry?"
"Nothing."
"The origins of the theater are sacred," I went on. "It began in Greece with hymns to Dionysus, the god of wine, rebirth, and fertility. But it's believed that even from very remote times, people performed a ritual in which they would pretend to be someone else as a way of communing with the sacred."
"Second lesson, thank you."
"I don't understand. I came here to learn, not to teach."
This woman was beginning to iritate me. Perhaps she was being ironic.
"My protector--"
"Your protector?"
"I'll explain another time. My protector said that I would only learn what I need to learn if I were provoked into it. And since my return from Dubai, you're the first person to demonstrate that to me. What she said makes sense."
I explained that, in researching the play, I'd gone from one teacher to the next but had never found their teachings to be in any way exceptional; despite this, however, I grew more and more interested in the matter as I went on. I also mentioned that these people had seemed confused and uncertain about what they wanted.
"For example."
Sex, for example. In some of the places I went to, sex was a complete no-no. In others, they not only advocated complete freedom, but even encouraged orgies. She asked for more details, and I couldn't tell if she was doing this in order to test me or because she had no idea what other people got up to.
Athena spoke before I could answer her question.
"When you dance, do you feel desire? Do you feel as if you were summoning up a greater energy? When you dance, are there moments when you cease to be yourself?"
I didn't know what to say. In nightclubs or at parties in friends' houses, sensuality was definitely part of how I felt when I danced. I would start by flirting and enjoying the desire in men's eyes, but as the night wore on, I seemed to get more in touch with myself, and it was no longer important to me whether I was or wasn't seducing someone.
Athena continued.
"If theater is ritual, then dance is too. Moreover, it's a very ancient way of getting close to a partner. It's as if the threads connecting us to the rest of the world were washed clean of preconceptions and fears. When you dance, you can enjoy the luxury of being you."
I started listening to her with more respect.
"Afterward, we go back to being who we were before--frightened people trying to be more important than we actually believe we are."
That was exactly how I felt. Or is it the same for everyone?
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
I remembered that in one of the places where I'd gone to learn about the Gaia tradition, a "druid" had asked me to make love in front of him. Ridiculous and frightening--how dare these people use the spiritual search to advance their own more sinister ends?
"Do you have a boyfriend?" she asked again.
"I do."
Athena said nothing else. She merely put her finger to her lips, indicating that I should remain silent.
And suddenly I realized that it was extremely difficult for me to remain silent in the presence of someone I'd only just met. The norm is to talk about something, anything--the weather, the traffic, the best restaurants to go to. We were sitting on the sofa in her completely white sitting room, with a CD player and a small shelf of CDs. There were no books anywhere, and no paintings on the walls. Given that she'd traveled to the Middle East, I'd expected to find objects and souvenirs from that part of the world.