Adeptus (Extremely) Minor
Hi there. So you're Lord High Grand Mysticus of whatever magickal school you belong to. Pleasedtameetcha. Here, have a beer. Does your title make you special? How special? What did your initiations teach you that you didn't already know?
Can they do it to me too? Can you do it? Can you blindfold me, lead me around in circles, whip off the blindfold, and show me a picture, and shazam!, I'm the Buddha?
Oh, wait, of course it doesn't work like that. It takes years of study and meditation and practice, not to mention maybe a little bit of baksheesh pressed into the right hands, in order to achieve Enlightenment.
So … um, excuse me very much, but what makes you think we here haven't already done that? Who gave your system a patent on Understanding, that any moderately intelligent schlump off the street with the right Will couldn't get to exactly the same place you are without first learning the Seekrit Handshake and taking the Fearsome Oath?
How sure are you, exactly, that you'd even recognize the Buddha if you met one? …Because if you did happen to meet one, I can promise you this: it wasn't you or your Order whipping off any damn blindfold that opened the Buddha's eyes.
What happens when the sun shines on a prison? Down in the basement, the dark still rules. Even above ground, the only light comes through holes poked in the walls: it lights what it lights, perhaps some parts benefit by reflection, but most of what results is at best a dim apprehension.
If you want to light a room, you have to do it from the inside. Until the sun shines in here, it doesn't shine for me. And frankly, looking at the quality of the light pouring forth from from some Adepts, I'd say the Architect forgot to put windows in their walls.
The big difference between this room and a prison is that this room has the sun already in it. When it shines, it shines. You can't start it, and you can't stop it. Shoot me dead: that you can do, but you can't make my sun not shine.
So, tell me again why I should call you "master". Tell me in short words, just to make sure I understand them. —Or wait, I have a better idea. Show me. Show me how great you are: the breathtaking breadth of your experience, the unplumbed depths of your understanding.
And if you can't do that, (pardon me while I channel Frank Zappa) take your meditations and your preparations and ram it up your snout. Or, come a little closer and I'll do it for you.
(Cue one of the nearby monks, who says) Ting, why do you not bow?