– Young man, what is it you have brought in your bundle? Tal­ent or bal­last?

– It is hard for me to decide, but per­haps there is some­thing of both in it. When it is heavy, I feel the bal­last, know­ing it is super­flu­ous and only drags me down, and yet I carry it with me. And when it is light, that is per­haps the tal­ent, the blessed treas­ures, all the good that oth­ers have poured into it.

– Hm, so you ascribe the bal­last to your­self, and the treas­ures to oth­ers? Where did you learn that, my son?

– I have had a thou­sand teach­ers, the Sun and the Moon, earth and sky, God and man… But I have learnt from the little bee as well.

– Well, and what did you learn?

– From the Sun, self­less­ness, for it shines on every­one alike. From the Moon, patience and equan­im­ity, for it lights even the bad man's court­yard. The earth taught me lim­it­a­tion and renew­al, the sky infin­ity and etern­ity. The little bee gath­ers honey from many flowers, and I too have been gath­er­ing wis­dom from many good places.

– Well, and what is it you do? Squan­der­ing or prac­tice?

– That I can hardly decide for myself, and would soon­er rely on your opin­ion. I strive as far as I am able, which is not much, but per­haps not so little either.

– The wise say that a pinch of tal­ent and a great deal of prac­tice bring res­ults. Spir­itu­al per­fec­tion, too, springs from stead­fast prac­tice and from with­draw­al from undesir­able things. And though you be immensely tal­en­ted, if you do not prac­tise, you scat­ter, and only one thing in your life will be com­plete: fail­ure.

– I accept your admon­i­tion, and if you help me, I would rather gath­er than scat­ter…

– Very well, but for that I need to know what it is you wish to attain? An ordin­ary goal, or some­thing that, once attained, means you attain everything?

– Goals… their mul­ti­tude pulls a man apart. I would rather be like the sea, into which the rivers pour in vain, for its waters grow no great­er, and even if the rivers dwindle, it never runs dry.

– My son, I shall not even put the ques­tion to you, for you know the answer any­way, and yet answer it with­in your­self… which mat­ters more, to sat­is­fy a thou­sand worldly desires, or to con­quer one?

– A dead man is no longer right. I want to come to wis­dom now!

Wis­dom: a won­der-treas­ure, held by few alone; a wealth guarded in hid­ing.

Wis­dom gives strength, suc­cess, much joy; from her all know­ledge comes.

Wis­dom: in for­eign lands she is our guide; there is no god bet­ter than she.

(Bhartri­hari: The Hun­dred Stan­zas of the Wis­dom of Life – excerpt)

– Wis­dom? A little know­ledge makes you proud, great know­ledge humble, do not for­get it! It is hard to become a true man, but from there it is easy to find God. And once you have come to know him, everything becomes known, and attain­ing him, you have attained everything.

– And how am I to do that? What is the secret?

– Dis­cip­line your­self! He whose teach­er is reas­on will have his mind for a dis­ciple. And with the fine instinct of love you can sense what the other per­son is truly like, and what God is like. In man, do not notice his faults and his frailty. Love in man his truest part, that which is divine in him. And per­haps you already sense that in God, in turn, you should seek that which comes near to you, that which is human. So you too can always be near him. Through love, exper­i­en­cing becomes wis­dom.

– Mas­ter, what you speak of is a win­dow onto anoth­er world…