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Siddhartha was growing up surrounded with love� But his mutinous mind didn’t let him be at rest� It made him seek� What is verity? Where it can be found?

Did not the ancient source of all springs flow within his own heart? This was what must be found, the fountainhead within one’s own being; you had to make it your own! All else was searching, detour, confusion.

He decides to choose a way of asceticism� There he finds no final wisdom� He visits Gautama� No final wisdom� And now his inner self awakens�

He looked around as if seeing the world for the first time. How beautiful it was, how colorful, how strange and mysterious! Here was blue, here was yellow, here was green; sky and river were flowing; forests and mountains stood fixed: Everything was beautiful, everything mysterious and magical, and in the midst of all this was he, Siddhartha, in the moment of his awakening, on the path to himself.

So now he studies in the school of life� He befriends a courtesan� He participates in trading� He loses himself in the mire of routine� And now he must find a way out�

Most people are like a falling leaf as it twists and turns its way through the air, lurches and tumbles to the ground. Others, though � a very few � are like stars set on a fixed course; no wind can reach them, and they carry their law and their path within them.

The meaning of life doesn’t hide from us, it is in everything we touch and see.