Beneath the great sycamore grew an intricate system of well-tended gardens that engulfed the room like a jungle. Fruit-laden olive and pear trees stood like Roman sentinels along the high walls. Carpets of grasses, barley, grains, and mysterious herbs of every description cushioned the floor. Flowering grapevines spun up the walls and across the ceiling. Bees danced through multicolored petals.

“Let me show you something,” Ruth said.

Anna followed her to the back of the chamber where a spring bubbled into a ceramic holding jar. Anna could see that when the water reached a certain level, it would spill through holes at the top of the jar. From there, it followed a web-like system of channels carved into the floor, thus delivering a steady supply of water to thirsty roots and stems.

Anna spun around when she heard a humming sound behind them. She was shocked to discover Sisters Shereen and Naomi rising from beneath the lush undergrowth. Each carried a small basket.

“Greetings, Sister Anna,” Shereen said.

Anna’s ears flushed with heat.

Sister Anna. It was the first time anyone had called her that.

Anna watched as the Sisters slipped gracefully between rows of plants to harvest herbs, seeds, and flowers. These they would distill, she learned later, into balms, elixirs, teas, and ointments used to combat specific ills and injuries. The expertise with which their hands wove through the tapestry of rampant growth was astonishing. As was the ease with which they could identify and select from hundreds of different species. She came to realize that each woman, like Orpah before her, carried a veritable wealth of healing remedies within her memory. And each accepted the notion that the land from which she rose contained every ingredient essential to nurture and promote life.

Farther away, Anna spotted Sisters Helena, Irene, Naomi, and Rachel milling through the vines. She knew that they were also apprenticing to become Awakeners. While the women continued with their work, Anna’s eyes strayed again to the great tree dominating the room.

“Still hungry?” Ruth asked.

Anna nodded.

“Have as many as you like,” she said, indicating the figs dangling seductively from the branches. “The only promise you must make is to plant the seeds of whatever you consume, or tend to the garden’s other needs for an equivalent amount of time. By returning as much or more than what you take, the flow remains infinite. As in nature. For every tree that dies, another grows. For every life created, another dissolves and returns its life force to the whole. Nothing is removed from this cycle. Nothing wasted. It seems so simple. But that is how one lives according to The Way.”