At twelve, went away to study. At twenty-four he came home, having learned the . He was proud of what he knew.
His father, , saw that pride. He asked whether his son had sought a particular teaching: one through which what had not been heard could be heard, and what was not known could become known.
did not understand the question. How could learning one thing help him know things he had never been taught?
What is that teaching, Father?
His father began with clay.
Know the clay, he said, and you know what things made of clay have in common. They have different names, but the material is clay.
He gave another example, this time with gold. Things made of it might be called by different names; still, their material was gold.
Then he spoke of an iron implement. Once again, different things could share the same material.
His question was taking his son past the names of separate objects. It asked what lay beneath those differences, what they were made of, and how knowing that might help him understand them.
listened. This was a teaching he had not received.
If my teachers had known it, surely they would have taught it to me. Please teach me, Father.
His father agreed.
Their teaching continued through a series of examples. In one of them, asked his son to fetch a fruit from a banyan tree.
Here was something his son could bring. The question no longer began with a teaching he could not name. It began with the fruit of a tree.
brought it.
Break it.
He broke the fruit open.
What do you see in it?
Very small seeds, Father.
The fruit had held many seeds. His father chose the next step in the lesson: open one of those.
Break a seed.
broke it.
What do you see?
Nothing, Father.
He had answered the same question twice. Inside the fruit he could see the seeds. Inside the broken seed, his eyes found nothing he could point to.
Yet the banyan was a great tree. His father had asked for its fruit, and the fruit had carried those tiny seeds.
did not end the lesson at his son's answer. He spoke of a subtle essence, something too fine to be seen there.
My son, from that essence you cannot see, this great banyan arises.
The large tree and the tiny seed belonged to the same question. Opening the seed had not shown a small tree inside it. It had brought him to the limit of what he could see.
Believe me, my son, his father said.
He went on to speak of all that exists. That subtle essence, he taught, was its Self. It was the true.
That is the Self. And that you are, .
His father had begun by asking him to look at a fruit. Then he had asked him to look inside a seed. Now the teaching included the son who was doing the looking.
It was no longer only a question about the banyan. was speaking about the Self of all that exists, and he included in those words.
The young man did not reply with a claim that he now knew everything. He had once returned home proud of his learning; now he asked to be taught further.
Please explain more, Father.
His father did not refuse because the lesson had already been given. Nor did he demand that his son repeat the words and call that understanding.
He agreed to teach him again.
The fruit had opened and the seed had opened. What the father said about the unseen essence still called for more teaching, and his son was willing to ask for it.
slow down hereThe next words from were another request to learn. His father answered that request, and their lesson went on.