Sharon Soo
ENG 403
Seaton
10/12/11

					Siddartha's Letter
Dear Father,
	I still remember your orders. “If you find bliss in the forest, come back and teach it to me. If you find disillusionment, come back, and we shall again offer sacrifices to the gods together. Now go, kiss your mother and tell her where you are going.” I have gone to kiss my mother, and now I have taught you my peace.
	It has been almost a lifetime since I have last seen you. It may seem like it was yesterday since I left the Brahmin and the family, but I have learned many things in the time that I have been absent. Since I've left to join the Samana with Govinda, I have learned of life through a bird. I have learned of life within a dead jackal. I have even learned of life from within a stone. I have experienced the human, physical pleasures of becoming a father. I have experienced love, bitterness, and anguish. I have experienced the transcendental state of unity. I am at peace, my beloved father.
	But first, how is my mother, your wife? Is my she well? Has she ceased to live? And Father, how are you? You may very well be dead as I am write this. And what of Govinda's parents? How are they? Ah, Govinda. He is now a monk of Gotama Buddha. He is still searching for peace.
	Father, I am sorry I left you, but praying to the gods would never have brought about enlightenment. I did everything you told me to do, yet enlightenment was never within my grasp. The fact that none of the older Brahmin had reached enlightenment yet only told me that I had learned all there to be learned. I saw the Samana passing through the day I left. Their belief of starvation and losing one's Self to reach enlightenment appealed to me. It was a new approach to reaching enlightenment, one that was very different from what I had been taught. As a child, I thought that it would help me reach my goal, and that it would have answered my questions.
	From the Samanas, I learned vicarious teachings. I learned to become various things: a heron, a jackal, the sun, the moon. But, I learned nothing important. I noticed that, like the older Brahmins, the older Samanas had yet to reach enlightenment. With this reasoning, I thus ventured off with Govinda to find Gotama Buddha, to listen to his teachings.
	With Gotama, Govinda found refuge. Unlike Govina, I could not embrace Gotma's teachings, as I found a major flaw in Gotama's teachings: it was imposible to embrace the unity of all things whilst overcoming the physical world. With this I began to look for another answer, one without spiritual instruction.
	I crossed a river and wandered into a city where I met Kamala, the wonderful and cunning courtesan. Ah, Kamala. Before she taught me about physical pleasures, she insisted that I become a merchant to fit in with the world. I met a merchant named Kamaswami, who became my mentor in the ways of the trade. I became wealthy, but grew less complacent with my life. I became unsatisfied and indulged even more in my pleasure garden. One day, I left, realizing I needed spiritual enlightenment.
	I was upset with my life. I wandered near a tree next to a river. I attempted to drown myself until I heard “Om” and realized my confusion. I began to meditate into a deep sleep and I woke up with Govinda next to me, watching over me. At first, he does not recognize me, but when he does, he leaves me to continue on with his journey.
	After he left, I began thinking about the source of my bitterness. I concluded that it was too much knowledge that had hindered me, too many holy verses, too many sacrifices, too much mortification of the flesh. As I was thinking to myself, I noticed the river I was next to. I listened to its voice and was reminded of the ferryman who took me across the river. I went to find him, and he, like many before him, served as my mentor.
	Vasudeva, the ferryman, taught me the ways of the ferryman. He taught me to listen to the river. Vasudeva could always hear the river's voice, and this was a skill he bestowed upon me. He has attained inner peace through studying the river, and he guided me into learning from the river.
	All was well until my beloved Kamala crossed paths with me. She was carried to me, near death, by her son. She spoke to me, and her son Siddartha, was also my son Siddartha. As she died, I took in the child. Young Siddartha was the complete opposite of me. Although he was accustomed to servants, I tried to impose my values on him. I wanted him to realize there was no meaning in wealth, and in this, I faltered as a father. He began to hate me, wishing to go back to his life in the city, but I did not let him. Vasudeva also began advising me to let him go back, but I stayed firm. For once in my life, I had really loved young Siddartha. He ran away, stealing my boat and coins. I ran after him, only to realize that like you, I tried to prescribe my son's life out of love. I appreciate the love, Father.
	I poured my troubles to Vasudeva. He listened to all of it, and then invited me to listen to the river. I listened harder than before, and within the dissonance, I heard all the voices in the river say “Om”. I realized that I was a part of the perfection of unity. I too, was one of the voices within “Om”. I no longer began to doubt, and I let go.
	I have peace.
										Siddartha.