The first question:
I too, then, am a donkey. If you had given me IHMN to meditate over, I would have silently accepted it out of trust that you were giving me what I needed. Or is it a matter of trust? Can you please explain the right attitude of a disciple receiving instruction from the master?
The moment you recognize that you are ignorant, you are no more, because only intelligence can see the point of one’s own stupidity. The stupid person cannot see it; that’s why he is stupid. The most fundamental stupidity is that one cannot see it. When you start seeing your unintelligence, intelligence is arising in you. When you start recognizing your confusion you are becoming clear. Otherwise who will recognize the confusion? You are becoming separate from the confusion.
You say, “I too, then, am a donkey.” If really you can see it, then you are no more. Then the first ray of intelligence has penetrated you. No donkey can accept it; the donkey will make much fuss about it. If you tell the donkey, “You are a donkey,” he will kick you! He will become your enemy. But if you can find a donkey who simply tries to understand the fact of his stupidity, that’s enough proof that the change has started happening.
And secondly, , you did not understand rightly the meaning of the story. The person who had come to the Sufi master was not a disciple. He was just curious. He had come accidentally. Just because he was going to all kinds of people – to all masters, learned people, schools – he had come to this master too. It was just part of his accidental life. He was not there to seek and to search. He was not there to be in the company of the master; he was not ready to dissolve into the master. He was not surrendered either.
Listen to the story again:
A man who had spent many years trying to puzzle out meanings went to see a Sufi and told him about his search.
He must have bragged about his search. He had come to be recognized by the master, that “Yes, you are a great seeker; you have already done so much.” He had come to be certified. He had not come as a seeker, he had not come to become part of the family of the master, because unless somebody becomes part of the family of the master, falls in tune with the master, nothing can be done for him. He was an outsider, just a visitor, was bragging about his search – which was utterly meaningless because he was simply trying to think over puzzles.
That’s what philosophy is: it is nothing but trying to puzzle out meanings. It is like a blind man thinking about light.