Chapter 6: The University for Self-realisation

There once lived a young man who was as intelligent as he was unhappy…

Edward came from a distinguished lineage of renowned medical doctors, and had been raised in the firm religion of rational thought. As expected, he followed in his family’s footsteps, graduated from university cum laude, and opened a prestigious medical practice of his own.

One could easily say this man held every card for a life of comfort, success, and social esteem – but inwardly, he felt anything but that.

In his quieter moments, a storm of self-destructive thoughts would rise, dragging him into heavy waves of loneliness and sorrow. Fear gripped him often, and a constant undercurrent of physical and emotional suffering turned his life into an unbearable experience. Slowly, he spiralled into the grey fog of depression – and after all the years of study and acclaim, the only apparent reward of his high-level education seemed to be easy access to antidepressants.

Then, one bleak grey morning, standing on the edge of inner ruin, Edward reached his breaking point. A faint spark of instinct stirred, and he packed a bag to walk through the silence of nature – seeking peace where knowledge had failed, and wisdom might still whisper.

After several days of wandering, he reached a vast, silent lake, where a gentle old ferryman agreed to take him to the other shore.

During the slow crossing, Edward spoke at length about his prestigious studies and lofty education. Eventually, he asked the ferryman about his own schooling – and was stunned to hear the man had never been to school, and was entirely illiterate.

Something in the doctor’s mind began to hum and clatter like an old machine – the intellect flaring, the ego stirred. Silently, he judged the old ferryman, dismissing him as unrefined, uneducated, a man who had squandered the gift of life. What kind of human being, he thought, would pass through an entire lifetime without even attempting to cultivate the mind.

Of course he never “made it” in life.

His disapproval leaked through in condescending words – the mask of superiority tightening with every syllable.

And then the storm broke.

So entangled was he in the snare of his own thoughts, he had not even noticed the pitch-black clouds gathering above. Now, halfway across the vast and godforsaken lake, the small, rickety boat was being tossed by towering waves and howling winds. The old ferryman gripped the oars, straining against the chaos – but the struggle was real, and the waters showed no mercy.

Panic surged through the doctor’s veins. How, he thought, had it come to this? Trapped in a furious storm, in the middle of nowhere, in a fragile wooden vessel – and worse still, in the hands of a man he had dismissed as a fool. The boat buckled and creaked beneath him. He couldn’t swim. The illusion of control, shattered.

And then the small boat capsized, and our haughty doctor found himself helplessly flailing in the icy water. Terror surged as the finality of death rose in his chest. But just as panic reached its peak, he felt a strong hand seize him and pull him from the depths.

He realised the storm had vanished as swiftly as it came – not a cloud left in the sky. And there, to his astonishment, the old ferryman was carrying him to shore… walking upon the water.

Once ashore, the old man gently helped Edward to his feet and asked only: “Why could all your intelligence not help you save yourself?”

Then he said nothing more. He returned to his small wooden hut, sat beneath an ancient oak tree, and slipped effortlessly into meditation. He was dry. Still. Radiant with peace. As if nothing had happened.

Our poor doctor, meanwhile, was struggling to regain his senses. Soaked to the bone and shivering like an aspen leaf in a winter gale, he felt the thundering of his heart echo through his chest. A wave of nausea rose within him; he might faint, he thought, or be sick at any moment. What had just occurred defied all logic, rupturing his tightly held world-view. Disoriented and breathless, the only sensible thing left was to sink into the warmth of the small sunlit terrace before the hut – to let his trembling body and scattered mind begin, however slightly, to settle.

Hours passed like soft waves across the lake. At last, the ferryman stirred from his deep meditation. By then, Edward had dried himself, wrapped his body in a warm woollen blanket, and gathered the scattered threads of his mind into something resembling stillness.

Our doctor sat in silent awe, shaken not by fear but by the quiet power of what he had just witnessed. Though his long loyalty to the gods of reason still guarded the gates of transformation, a subtle alchemy had already begun. Something within him – ancient, aching, and long buried – stirred.

He could no longer deny it: Miracles are real. And more than that – a gentle tide of inner peace was beginning to rise, a soft bliss spreading through his being, as if a long-lost memory was returning from the depths of his forgotten Self. It had been lifetimes since he’d felt this way.

Something was undeniably at work within him, stirred by the silent radiance of the old man’s presence. There was a palpable force, magnetic and serene, emanating from the ferryman like warmth from the sun. Edward could not ignore it – his entire being leaned in, hungry for more. At last, after years adrift, a flicker of peace had returned to his soul. And now he longed for clarity – and the continuation of this long-lost joy.

He apologised, with genuine humility, for his arrogance and pride. Then, almost in a whisper, he asked if he might stay a little longer.

To his surprise, the old man smiled with unmistakable welcome, and pointed to a cosy, simple sleeping place in the corner of his wooden hut. As if it had all been foreseen and prepared…

And thus, beloved reader, began what Edward would one day call his University for Self-realisation. In the years that followed, he faithfully kept a diary of his inner and outer transformations. With time and deepening clarity, he came to recognise the Saint’s luminous teachings as unfolding into four sacred streams – each a gateway to Mastery. These teachings, both profound in insight and beautifully simple in practice, offered a path not of accumulation, but of remembrance… of unveiling the Self already whole within.

The University for Self-realisation, nestled in and around the humble wooden hut, revealed itself through four sacred Faculties – each a living mirror for the unfolding Self. In the first, one became Master of Beliefs, in the second, Master of Thoughts. The third opened the Heart as Master of Emotions, and the fourth anchored these into the world as Master of Actions. None stood above the other, for all four rose together, like the limbs of a single tree reaching toward the Light. There was but one diploma – not of paper, but of pure Presence – granted upon the full flowering of all four paths: the radiant realisation of Self-Mastery.

And now, beloved reader, the moment has come to share with you these sacred insights and the simple, luminous practices that lead you – to You. If embraced with devotion and quiet determination, they will carry you, too, to the highest of all attainments: the living realisation of your own Divine Self.

This is the one Master degree that transcends death, the only crown you will carry beyond the veils of form – for it marks not the gathering of worldly knowledge, but the dissolution of all illusion. It is the lifting of the final veil, revealing the infinite, omniscient, radiant AUM you have always been. There is no title greater, no name more true, than this: Master of Self.

So now, let us gently lift the next curtain of illusion and step into the first Faculty of this humble yet holy University. For what the awakened ferryman has to share is no less than the distilled nectar of a thousand lifetimes – offered now, to you.

May your Heart be wide open, your gaze steady, and your steps true, as you begin the sacred journey toward your first degree in Mastery: the return to You.