A Meeting of the Masters - a short story

In a timeless grove where the veils between worlds thinned to whispers, four luminous figures converged under the shade of an ancient banyan tree. The air hummed with an unspoken harmony, as if the universe itself had paused to listen. Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, sat cross-legged on a mossy stone, his eyes serene like still waters. Beside him stood Jesus of Nazareth, his gaze warm and piercing, radiating quiet compassion. Lao Tzu, the old master, leaned against the tree's gnarled trunk, his beard flowing like a river, a faint smile playing on his lips. And across from them, Sage Yajnavalkya, the revered voice of the Upanishads, reclined on a bed of fallen leaves, his presence as vast as the Brahman he proclaimed.

They had been drawn here not by chance, but by the eternal pull of truth-seeking souls. The topic that bound them: awakening, the great unveiling of enlightenment.

The Buddha spoke first, his voice steady as a heartbeat. "Friends, I sat beneath the Bodhi tree, wrestling with the chains of suffering. In that moment, I saw the illusion of the self dissolve like mist in the sun. There is no enduring 'I', only the dance of causes and conditions, empty of inherent existence. Awakening is the cessation of craving, the middle path beyond extremes."

Jesus nodded, his hands open in a gesture of embrace. "Ah, but in my Father's house, awakening came as a flood of love. On the mount of transfiguration, I beheld the divine light within all things. 'I and the Father are one,' I declared, for the Kingdom is not distant but here, in the heart. It is union, the surrender of the separate self to the boundless love that heals the world. Through compassion, we awaken to eternal life."

Lao Tzu chuckled softly, his words flowing like water over stones. "You speak of paths and unions, yet the Tao that can be spoken is not the eternal Tao. I wandered the misty valleys, observing the effortless way of nature. Awakening? It is wu wei, non-action in perfect harmony. The sage awakens by forgetting himself, becoming one with the flow where opposites dissolve, yin and yang, being and non-being. No striving, only yielding to the unnamed source from which all arises."

Yajnavalkya listened intently, then raised a hand, his eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom. "Tat tvam asi, thou art That. In the forests of contemplation, I debated with kings and seekers, revealing the Atman as identical to Brahman. Awakening pierces the veil of maya, the grand illusion of separation. It is the realization that the self is not this body or mind, but the infinite, unchanging essence pervading all. Through inquiry, 'Who am I?' we awaken to the nondual truth, all is one, beyond birth and death."

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, carrying their words into a shared silence. The Buddha smiled. "In your love, Jesus, I see the end of suffering. In your flow, Lao Tzu, the interdependence of all. In your oneness, Yajnavalkya, the emptiness that liberates."

Jesus placed a hand on the Buddha's shoulder. "And in your paths, I find the way to the Father, through letting go."

Lao Tzu nodded. "The Tao embraces your truths as rivers merge into the sea."

Yajnavalkya laughed heartily. "Indeed, we describe the same mountain from different sides. Awakening is not many, but one: the dissolution into what always was."

As the grove faded into twilight, they parted not as strangers, but as echoes of the same eternal light, their meeting a ripple in the boundless ocean of consciousness. And in that imagined convergence, the world felt a little more awake.