“Get back to the net.”
You hear the advice from a coach, then from a stronger player, and soon you hear yourself saying it. It may be sound advice. It may also have travelled so far from the point that prompted it that nobody remembers what it was meant to solve.
The Hierophant sits among columns and red-gold panels, with large perforated circles spread above the scene. Two smaller figures face the seat of instruction. The image holds the dignity of a practice passed from one player to another, along with the question of how much authority the seated figure should keep.
A newcomer should not have to discover every lesson alone. A familiar drill can free the mind to notice a partner's position. A coach's correction can make an old habit visible. Receiving knowledge is an active skill: you repeat, test, and begin to understand why a particular choice helps.
The best inheritance does not remain trapped in the voice that delivered it. A player once told to wait for the ball off the glass may eventually learn when the ball must be taken earlier. That understanding honours the lesson more fully than reciting it at every rally. Teaching, too, changes when a partner is allowed to say what happened from their side of the court.
Trouble begins when the sentence outlives its purpose. You repeat it to a partner whose situation is different, or treat a thoughtful question as evidence that they are not committed. Tradition becomes a shortcut around attention. Equally, rejecting every inherited method can make you spend your energy rediscovering what others have already learned.
Which lesson has earned your trust through experience, and which one needs to be heard afresh before you carry it further?