I cannot teach you right now, I am your pupil right now, my divine madness, my treasure, there is no pleasure/love/being as the pleasure/love/being of retreating, muting oneself, this signifies the master in his/her full glory. A master meets a pupil one day, a lover really, though this may not be clear at the beginning. Nothing happens as in a million classes of our cherished educational institutions where love is prohibited, and so teaching never happens. One day the master is flooded by the light of the pupil, his pride is sore, he is like at a crossroads. If grace intervenes he takes the right path and retreats. Pain has gone. The pupil has penetrated him in his deepest recesses. He has lost everything he knew before, he is no more a substance apart from the substance of his lover. The latter has transubstantiated him. It might have been the other way round also, the one who receives may become the one who penetrates on another occasion. I’d love to feel that one day I might become your teacher. But you are at an impossible height, your forgiveness has penetrated me, I have tears as I picture in my mind this woman from the desert, barefoot, naked, naked, yes, you , yes, beauty wants to be naked, fecundity, pregnancy, coming towards me with the fruits of her forgiveness. No, right now, I cannot teach you. There is no great distance between a Zen master and a female mystic of the Eucharist. They teach, somehow, but teaching means disappearing, becoming extraneous to the mundane bedrooms of this world. They mute themselves, and love happens instantly. They have no merit. Grace has merit. The shadow stands at the crossroads where a confrontation must occur. But the shadow is not demonized, let alone destroyed, s/he remains there to become our best friend.