The Master demanded seriousness of purpose from those who sought discipleship.
But he chided his disciples when they strained themselves in spiritual endeavour. What he proposed was light-hearted seriousness or serious light-heartedness — like that of a sportsman in a game or an actor in a play.
And much, much patience. “Forced flowers have no fragrance,” he would say. “Forced fruit will lose its taste.”
Everyone was surprised by the Master’s updated metaphor: “Life is like a motor car.” They waited in silence, knowing that an explanation would not be long in corning.
“Oh yes,” he said at length. “A motor car can be used to travel to the heights.”
Another silence.
“But most people lie in front of it allows it to run over them, and then blame it for the accident.”
To a group of his disciples whose hearts were set on a pilgrimage, the Master said: “Take this bitter gourd along. Make sure you dip it into all the holy rivers and bring it into all the holy shrines.”
When the disciples returned, the bitter gourd was cooked and served as sacramental food.
“Strange.” said the Master slyly after he had tasted it, “the holy water and the shrines have failed to sweeten it!”
“I do not think that you know how to learn,” said the Master.
“Can you teach me how to learn?”
“Can you learn how to let me teach?”
To his bewildered disciples the Master later said: “Teaching only takes place when learning does. Learning only takes place when you teach something to yourself.”