Yachakuq of Staffs

I met him on the road carrying a staff much taller than he was.

At first I assumed he was simply traveling, but when we stopped near a settlement later that afternoon, an older man came to meet him. He examined the way the young man held the staff, adjusted the position of his hands, and showed him something about one of the designs near the top. The young man listened carefully before trying again.

I stayed nearby as they worked.

There was nothing casual about the staff now. At its top was the face of Viracocha, surrounded by the elaborate forms I had seen associated with him elsewhere along the road. The older man handled it with familiarity, while the younger one still seemed conscious of every movement. He was not simply learning how to carry a staff. He was learning how to carry something that represented a sacred being and the beliefs surrounding him.

He watched. He copied. He asked questions. Sometimes the elder corrected him. Sometimes he simply waited until the young man noticed something himself.

Eventually they joined others gathering farther along the road. I still did not understand exactly what role the young man was preparing to perform, but I recognized the expression on his face. I have worn it myself whenever I have discovered something that matters enough that I want to understand everything about it.

Watching him made me think about how purpose begins.

Sometimes there is no great revelation. Something simply catches your attention and refuses to release it. You follow because you are curious. Then curiosity becomes interest. Interest becomes practice. Eventually you realize that you are no longer merely looking at something from the outside.

You have begun learning how to carry it.