I was at the monastery for another period of study. I had signed up for the course on the Kybalion, the classic Hermetic work. Since it hadn’t been offered for some time, the demand was high. Because some students had to be reassigned due to the large number of enrolments, I was moved to the class studying the Sermon on the Mount. I was upset. Not only had I already taken that course, but I had also been waiting years for the other one. Furthermore, I had been passed over in favour of newer members of the Order. I didn’t think it was fair. The one responsible for course coordination was Benjamin. I went to speak with him and present my reasoning. The monk received me politely. At the end of my arguments, he reminded me how arduous his current role was and how impossible it was to please everyone. A few years prior, when I held that administrative position, I had done something similar. For a comparable reason, I had transferred him from the course on Ethics, the book by Spinoza he had enrolled in, and placed him in the class studying the works of Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, and other Stoic philosophers. I argued that at the time, my decision had been guided by the need to maintain a logical sequence in learning, since Spinoza had drawn heavily from Stoicism. Unable to hide the pleasure he felt, Benjamin argued that the Sermon contained a depth that allowed for multiple layers of interpretation. In every existential moment, the reading would be different. Everyone needed to return to that sacred text many times. Although that point was true, there was no trace of good intention in his gesture. The feeling that drove him was revenge. I remained silent to keep the fuse from lighting. Still, the situation made me feel bad.
Any institution is supported by the pillars of order, discipline, and respect. Without them, confusion, conflict, and chaos establish an empire. Then, all that remains are ruins as the legacy of our inability to deal with differences , in the invaluable exercise of patience and tolerance for peaceful and harmonious coexistence. Renunciation, the valuable virtue of giving up something important for a greater good, requires deep understanding of life’s meaning, in addition to undeniable existential maturity. Renouncing is not just yielding. The indecisive, insecure, and fearful do that easily. True renunciation only occurs when we gain the full ability to assess the values in question, understanding what we will give up in order to safeguard something of greater spiritual worth. There must be courage, generosity, and sincerity, with no room left for the selfish, the evasive, or the cowardly. Several other elements must also be present for the proper balance of this delicate inner scale. For example, we must not forget that limits are essential to prevent excesses, abuse, and subjugation. Dignity is not something others grant , it is something built from within. The exact calibration of this scale may not even be achieved in a single lifetime. I was trying to develop these ideas into a single equation when I was surprised by another situation involving Benjamin. At the end of the previous term, I had committed to presenting a lecture the following year on intuition and inspiration , the voice of the soul and the voice from Above. The Kardecist codification and the psychographed books by Chico Xavier and Pietro Ubaldi had been precious sources. I had dedicated the last several months to a meticulous research of the topic. I had learned a lot and was excited to share it with the other monks. The monastery’s activities were divided into courses, lectures, debates, and meditation, spread over the four weeks dedicated to studies. To my surprise, I was informed by Benjamin that this year they would be conducting an experiment, dedicating more time to meditation. Thus, my lecture would be postponed to the next year. Although frustrated at being prevented from doing something that excited me, I accepted the new guidelines led by Benjamin. My feelings changed when I learned that, out of more than twenty lectures scheduled, only mine had been cancelled for that period. I sought him out to try and clarify the issue. His reasoning was that since I was the most senior monk among the lecturers, I was in a better position to understand and exercise renunciation. He said he was counting on my cooperation. I argued that the schedule had always included around sixty hours dedicated to meditation. Adding two more hours to that would change little or nothing in the routine or its benefits. On the other hand, withholding that knowledge would be detrimental. It didn’t make sense, I insisted. He simply replied that the decision was final and walked away.
I felt even worse. A storm passed through my mind, leaving my thoughts blurry and my emotions shaken. I considered filing a formal complaint to the Elder, the Order’s prior. I thought about taking the matter to the monks’ assembly, the highest authority in the institution. It was clearly a case of persecution, a serious violation of our statutes. I considered inviting Benjamin to a conversation to resolve the disagreement. However, he had already shown himself to be unyielding. Retaliation has the clear intention of settling scores or demonstrating strength and power in the vilest sense of the words. Benjamin would still hold the position for two more years. I feared that during that time, my main learning interests would be obstructed. I needed to react. By ancestral conditioning, when attacked, we either flee or fight.
“How about starting by attending my classes?” said the Elder as he passed me in the corridor, as if he could read my thoughts. “The first class of the Sermon on the Mount course begins in five minutes. Don’t be late,” he said. Surprised, I commented that the one teaching that course was Heitor, the Argentine monk, psychoanalyst, writer, and dear friend. The Elder corrected me: “He’ll be a few days late because of a conference in Buenos Aires,” and continued toward the classroom where the students were waiting. I followed.
Everyone seated, the kind monk began: “Whenever I refer to the Sermon on the Mount, I like to quote the words of a Hindu sage, Mahatma Gandhi: Even in the absurdity of a catastrophe, if all literature were lost and only the Sermon on the Mount remained, humanity would not be lost”. He paused before continuing: “In it are summarized the main teachings for a luminous life. Anyone who absorbs the lessons contained in it will have become a master”. He curled his lips in a gentle smile and finished with a sweet provocation: “It’s only four or five pages”. Then, he explained that, as he would only be replacing Heitor for one or two classes, he had picked out some teachings from the many in the sacred text, without any particular order of importance or interest: “I followed my intuition. That’s all,” explained the good monk. He paused before quoting a short passage from the Sermon: “If someone compels you to walk a thousand steps with them, walk two thousand”. Then, he asked the students for their opinions. Several theories were proposed. For many minutes, the class debated fervently without reaching any conclusion. Seated, the good monk listened attentively, delighted by everyone’s commitment to finding the best meaning behind the message. Although I had already taken the course, I couldn’t remember what had been said at the time. Perhaps due to inattention, or perhaps because I wasn’t yet ready to understand the importance of the teaching being offered. That day, upon hearing the brief passage, I had the clear feeling that it spoke directly to the situation that had brought me to the brink of conflict with Benjamin. I just couldn’t yet grasp the proper interpretation. It was as if I had found a door without yet knowing how to open it or where it would lead me.
Gradually, the voices faded, giving way to silence. There were no more arguments or comments. The Elder stood up and said in his calm and measured tone: “If someone forces you to walk a thousand steps with them, walk two thousand,” he repeated the passage from the sacred text to begin the explanation: “In short, when you meet someone who, lost in their own misunderstandings, provokes you, do not refuse to walk. Walk for them and for yourself”. We listened attentively. The good monk continued: “In other words, do your part in understanding that they do not understand the true origin of the feelings that surround them, interfere with them, and build their reasons. Lost in themselves, they are unaware of the emotions that manipulate and intoxicate their reasoning. Driven by misunderstandings, they believe that by shifting the responsibility for the suffering that stuns them, they will feel better. A mistaken belief. The exits from existential labyrinths never open outward”.
He paused before adding: “Don’t forget that, often, we are the ones forcing someone to walk a thousand steps with us. Emotional wounds are poorly processed experiences, never pieces of furniture that can be moved around, let alone forgotten. We may pretend they don’t exist or that we’ve thrown them away. In truth, we’ve only hidden them in some dark corner of the house. They still live with us and thus interfere in such a way that we have difficulty identifying the origin of the idea or feeling that determines the attraction or repulsion that defines us and shapes our decisions. Concepts of right and wrong suffer improper and unconscious interference. We weave twisted arguments to justify our desires, tastes, and preferences. We do harm believing we are doing good. We are more our unconscious than we can imagine. Finding healing is to travel to the core of oneself to reprocess painful facts, as a mathematician recalculates an old equation, this time using unexpected elements. If an astronomer replaces the cloudy lenses with others of greater clarity, to once again observe the same stars, they will find a different result”.
He furrowed his brow and warned: “There is no healing without forgiveness. Contrary to what many believe, understanding others’ incapacity, when not accompanied by other elements, does not lead to forgiveness but to arrogance. Forgiveness only becomes possible with the acceptance of one’s own imperfections, errors, mistakes, and limitations. Forgiveness is an act of humility, never of vanity. Being ready not to demand from anyone the perfection we cannot offer is the first step. An easy speech for a very difficult practice. We are fallible, but we accept nothing less than the infallibility of others in dealing with us”. He looked at the group seriously and asked a simple rhetorical question: “How many mistakes have we made without tolerating mistakes from others toward us?” We all knew the exact answer.
Next, he moved toward the core of the lesson: “We get upset and fight when we’re not given what we lack. When we’re denied something we already have, we remain fine. Isn’t that what happens?” He curved his lips into a provocative smile and concluded: “When you feel bad about someone’s behaviour, don’t focus on what they failed to give. Understand what is still left to be built within yourself. There is no other path to freedom”.
He paused briefly for the group to shelve the new ideas in their minds and quoted a popular proverb: “Each gives what they have”. And asked: “What is shallow and what is deep in the reading of this axiom?” One of the monks said that we should be tolerant of others’ difficulties. The Elder smiled and said: “That is what is shallow in the interpretation of the concept. Though valuable, without the support of other virtues, tolerance can help mask the truth. If it serves as an argument to escape the inner journey for self-improvement, it will denote ignorance, cowardice, and evasion. Placing oneself on a superior level reveals vulgar arrogance. Refusing to react would fall into deplorable complacency. Could there be a more refined interpretation?” The same student rethought the reasoning, suggesting that the friction common to relationships does not indicate what others failed to give us, but the personal content not yet added to our baggage”. The Elder smiled again, nodded, and explained: “The main issue is not what the other did wrong. The weight of the reaction illustrates the current spiritual development. When provoked, we react either by accepting the invitation to conflict or by understanding the challenge offered. In short, it’s either me against someone or me before myself”.
He observed the group for a moment and concluded: “By refusing to walk the thousand steps, I accept the conflict and stay where I am. In the resilience of voluntarily walking two thousand steps, I move toward what I lack. What destabilizes me is what I don’t know about myself. In conflict, imbalance grows. While in the challenge of internal search, I will find the perfect harmony of emotional balance. Only those who’ve had their house destroyed by a storm understand the importance of a solid reconstruction, founded on new and secure bases. No one destroys anyone. We collapse for building ourselves without the proper pillars of strength and balance, love and wisdom, virtues and truth. Chaos settles in ignorance of who we are and manifests in the incoherence of erratic behaviours due to our inability to identify the feeling that triggered them. It’s when good and evil become confused in us. Each one lives within oneself. We lose in conflicts, no matter the outcome; we grow poorer by enriching ourselves in resentments. ‘Each gives what they have’ does not speak about others’ actions, but about our reactions. That is what the two thousand steps mean. I need to walk a thousand to meet my shadows; another thousand will be needed to transform them into virtues”.
He waited a brief moment for the students to process those ideas and concluded: “Refuse the duel, but be grateful for the opportunity. Accept provocation as a challenge and walk toward the unknown within yourself. Adding to yourself a new virtue sprouted from an old personal shadow illustrates excellence in the art of reaction. Everything that shakes us is what we lack; what we lack is the part still unknown and fragmented from our identity. Only then will there be enough light to distinguish good from evil. I don’t mean the evil we know, but the one that confuses us as if it were good itself”. A nun asked him to give an example of a common situation in which we have difficulty distinguishing between good and evil. The Elder replied immediately: “When pride disguises itself as dignity to prevent the blossoming of the love essential to forgiveness”.
The monastery bell announced that lunch was served. End of class. Upon arriving at the cafeteria, a pleasant surprise. Heitor had managed to move up his flight. He was sitting alone at the table by the windows with a view of the mountains. We exchanged a tight and joyful hug. I sat by his side. I told him what had happened with Benjamin. I commented on the Elder’s sharp intuition in picking a small passage from the Sermon on the Mount that addressed the exact context of the situation that was bothering me. I said I would refuse the duel. I was ready to accept the challenge. With his vast experience in psychoanalysis, Heitor observed me for a few moments, nodded, then asked: “No doubt, the best choice. However, in practice, how do you intend to act?” I replied that I hadn’t thought about it yet. In truth, I didn’t know, I confessed. The Argentine monk reminded me: “Movements through the world must be based on prior intrinsic movements. Otherwise, they will be empty or will turn out mistaken”.
I asked him to help me. Heitor reflected: “I can’t point out the solution. The test is yours. Evolution requires learning and actual transformation. Finding the door and opening it with your own hands is an essential part of the art of living. Applying theory to action is how knowledge becomes wisdom. No one can do that for anyone. It would be wasting a wonderful opportunity for growth. That’s the reason problems and difficulties exist”. We ate lunch in silence for a few minutes. I needed to sort out my thoughts like someone planning a trip. Route and destination. In my search for greater clarity, I asked the monk what the line was between a duel and a challenge. He explained: “When I enter the frequency of a duel, I stall where the other person is stuck in their own misunderstandings. By letting myself be led where they want to take me, I am manipulated and dominated. They make of me what they will. I live turbulent days, consumed by agony. I go nowhere. That’s how conflicts work”. He paused before continuing: “On the other hand, when I choose the frequency of a challenge, I don’t let the difficulty stop me from moving forward. However, I don’t take other people’s journeys. I decide where I go. I don’t mean traveling the world, but traveling inward. When someone’s attitude destabilizes me, I have the opportunity to revisit the messy emotional drawers in the closets of memories abandoned on some forgotten day. What throws me off balance is not what others do to me, but what is poorly arranged within me”. He shrugged and said, “Thank Benjamin. Without him, it wouldn’t be possible to discover and reclaim a little more of yourself”. He smiled and added, “Of course, if you’re able to”.
We had the afternoon for meditation and a lecture. I gave up the activities for an urgent reflection. I sat in one of the armchairs on the porch overlooking the valley. I wouldn’t get up until I had arranged thoughts and feelings in their proper places, in a way that would push me forward instead of hold me back. People only have the power we grant them. No more, no less. In any situation, granting too much power to anyone is a choice. Allowing is a choice. Denying is, too. The decision , and thus the destiny , will always be in my hands. Walking away from the duel, although seemingly easy , just not striking back at Benjamin , was not enough. Not exploding into conflict couldn’t mean imploding emotionally from the irritation of having my desires thwarted. Poorly processed, dense emotions cause serious illnesses of the body and soul.
I understood that the start of this journey consisted of figuring out why I struggled so much whenever the world told me “no”. You’re being persecuted, one voice shouted. This is so unfair, another insisted. Since they were trying to drag me into a duel, I dismissed those voices. Stop exaggerating, someone inside me reasoned. You haven’t been chained to the galleys or sentenced to exile. Besides, remember you did something similar to Benjamin without consulting him. He felt wronged, too. Everyone has their reasons. On the other hand, look how much you’re learning by revisiting the course on the Sermon on the Mount. That’s exactly what you needed right now. Be grateful, it advised. As for the postponed lecture, don’t forget to use the knowledge you gained in your research. That was when I realized that several voices were speaking in and with me. Those inciting rebellion came from my shadows. Those encouraging freedom came from intuition and inspiration. The voice of the soul and the voice of the Higher Self. I was filled with a genuine sense of gratitude. The study I’d done had not gone to waste; on the contrary, it became a redemptive tool. Redemption is the achievement of freedom through the regeneration of feeling and thinking, of being and living. I realized that despite the obstacles Benjamin had placed in my way, nothing had been lost. Nor had I been prevented from continuing. The gains were undeniable. If your eyes are good, your whole life will be filled with light, I remembered from another passage in the Sermon on the Mount. The eyes mentioned in the sacred text are the lenses of consciousness. By replacing them with clearer, more refined ones, the astronomer can better guide himself by the stars on the road of evolution.
There was more. My difficulty dealing with “no” revealed strong traces of pride and poorly worked vanity in me. Some memories of past experiences came back. Whether the past becomes a school or a prison will always be a pivotal choice. That experience allowed me to recalculate the equation of life with new elements and, if I had the slightest knowledge of sacred mathematics, I would arrive at the perfect solution by uncovering some virtues still dormant within me. Humility and resilience. Humility is the virtue of accepting what one doesn’t know to make room for continuous learning. Unlike complacency, which is characterized by lack of reaction, resilience is fulfilled in the search and adaptation to a new and improved inner movement, in recognizing that the old model no longer works.
I was making progress, but there was still one more door. It took me a while to understand that, when someone said “no” to me, my unconscious transported me back to various past moments of rejection. There were many. Pride had emerged as a way to protect myself. But like makeup, pride is a fine layer of powder used to conceal flaws and weaknesses. It dissolves in tears and rainy afternoons. Why did that behavioural model fail to support me emotionally? Why didn’t it offer the bright solutions I needed to overcome the challenges I faced? Anything that destabilizes me reveals something poorly constructed within. I lacked self-love. The countless rejections made me dependent on others’ approval. I urgently needed to free myself from this destructive pattern. Without realizing it, I craved validation from others to feel okay. When I didn’t get it, I collapsed. Sometimes into sadness, other times into irritation. It was unconscious. I was mistreated because I didn’t know how to deal with my emotions. Only puppets rise and move at the hands of the world. Opinions sell newspapers , they don’t build individuals. It was necessary to acknowledge my gifts, talents, and accomplishments without even a hint of vanity. An act of confidence, respect, and self-esteem. No one could do that for me. It was me, with myself. Alongside virtues and truths, our gifts and inner achievements serve to build the foundations of the Great Art, the work upon oneself. I was facing a wonderful opportunity to awaken and integrate new knowledge and practices into my baggage. Using them as pillars of self-support, I could avoid future imbalances from similar causes. When I thought I had lost, I had actually gained.
A rebellious tear escaped when I managed to make peace with those events within me. The house was in order. At least for now; more existential challenges would come later. That night I slept in peace. It’s worth noting that nothing had changed in the monastery. Everything had transformed within me. The feeling of balance and strength that surrounds us when we discover a little more of who we are is indescribable. Benjamin was no longer an enemy, but someone who had pushed me beyond who I had been. Thanks to him, I was able to learn more about how to flow through life with gentleness and grace. Without conflict or bitterness. An important step on the path to freedom. Blessed are all duels transformed into challenges. There are no better levers to propel us toward the light.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
