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The Monk
Who Sold His
Ferrari
A Fable About Fulfilling
Your Dreams and Reaching
Your Destiny
Robin S. Sharma
To my son, Colby,
who is my daily reminder of all that is
good in this world. Bless You.
Life is no brief candle for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold
of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing
it on to future generations.
George Bernard Shaw
Contents
E-Book Extra: The Top 200 Secrets of Success and the Pillars of
202
Self-Mastery
Epigraph
iv
1 The Wake-Up Call
1
2 The Mysterious Visitor
8
3 The Miraculous Transformation of Julian Mantle
12
4 A Magical Meeting with The Sages of Sivana
24
5 A Spiritual Student of the Sages
27
6 The Wisdom of Personal Change
32
7 A Most Extraordinary Garden
41
8 Kindling Your Inner Fire
72
9 The Ancient Art of Self-Leadership
93
10 The Power of Discipline
144
11 Your Most Precious Commodity
159
12 The Ultimate Purpose of Life
173
13 The Timeless Secret of Lifelong Happiness
181
Acknowledgments
201
About the Author
232
By Robin S. Sharma
233
Praise for The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari
234
Credits
236
Cover
Copyright
237
About the Publisher
238
C H A P T E R O N E
The Wake-Up Call
He collapsed right in the middle of a packed courtroom. He was one
of this country’s most distinguished trial lawyers. He was also a
man who was as well known for the three-thousand-dollar Italian
suits which draped his well-fed frame as for his remarkable string
of legal victories. I simply stood there, paralyzed by the shock of
what I had just witnessed. The great Julian Mantle had been reduced
to a victim and was now squirming on the ground like a helpless
infant, shaking and shivering and sweating like a maniac.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion from that point on.
“My God, Julian’s in trouble!” his paralegal screamed, emotionally
offering us a blinding glimpse of the obvious. The judge looked
panic-stricken and quickly muttered something into the private
phone she had had installed in the event of an emergency. As for
me, I could only stand there, dazed and confused. Please don’t die,
you old fool. It’s too early for you to check out. You don’t deserve to die like
this.
The bailiff, who earlier had looked as if he had been embalmed
in his standing position, leapt into action and started to perform
CPR on the fallen legal hero. The paralegal was at his side, her
1
2 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
long blond curls dangling over Julian’s ruby-red face, offering him
soft words of comfort, words which he obviously could not hear.
I had known Julian for seventeen years. We had first met when I
was a young law student hired by one of his partners as a summer
research intern. Back then, he’d had it all. He was a brilliant, hand-
some and fearless trial attorney with dreams of greatness. Julian
was the firm’s young star, the rain-maker in waiting. I can still re-
member walking by his regal corner office while I was working late
one night and stealing a glimpse of the framed quotation perched
on his massive oak desk. It was by Winston Churchill and it spoke
volumes about the man that Julian was:
Sure I am that this day we are masters of our fate, that the task which
has been set before us is not above our strength; that its pangs and
toils are not beyond my endurance. As long as we have faith in our
own cause and an unconquerable will to win, victory will not be
denied us.
Julian also walked his talk. He was tough, hard-driving and willing
to work eighteen-hour days for the success he believed was his
destiny. I heard through the grapevine that his grandfather had been
a prominent senator and his father a highly respected judge of the
Federal Court. It was obvious that he came from money and that
there were enormous expectations weighing on his Armani-clad
shoulders. I’ll admit one thing though: he ran his own race. He was
determined to do things his own way—and he loved to put on a
show.
Julian’s outrageous courtroom theatrics regularly made the front
pages of the newspapers. The rich and famous flocked to his side
whenever they needed a superb legal tactician with an aggressive
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 3
edge. His extra-curricular activities were probably as well known.
Late-night visits to the city’s finest restaurants with sexy young
fashion models, or reckless drinking escapades with the rowdy band
of brokers he called his “demolition team” became the stuff of legend
at the firm.
I still can’t figure out why he picked me to work with him on that
sensational murder case he was to argue that first summer. Though
I had graduated from Harvard Law School, his alma mater, I cer-
tainly wasn’t the brightest intern at the firm, and my family pedigree
reflected no blue blood. My father spent his whole life as a security
guard with a local bank after a stint in the Marines. My mother grew
up unceremoniously in the Bronx.
Yet he did pick me over all the others who had been quietly lob-
bying him for the privilege of being his legal gofer on what became
known as “the Mother of All Murder Trials”: he said he liked my
“hunger.” We won, of course, and the business executive who had
been charged with brutally killing his wife was now a free man—or
as free as his cluttered conscience would let him be.
My own education that summer was a rich one. It was far more
than a lesson on how to raise a reasonable doubt where none exis-
ted—any lawyer worth his salt could do that. This was a lesson in
the psychology of winning and a rare opportunity to watch a master
in action. I soaked it up like a sponge.
At Julian’s invitation, I stayed on at the firm as an associate, and
a lasting friendship quickly developed between us. I will admit that
he wasn’t the easiest lawyer to work with. Serving as his junior was
often an exercise in frustration, leading to more than a few late-night
shouting matches. It was truly his way or the highway. This man
could never be wrong. However, beneath his crusty exterior was a
person who clearly cared about people.
4 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
No matter how busy he was, he would always ask about Jenny,
the woman I still call “my bride” even though we were married be-
fore I went to law school. On finding out from another summer intern
that I was in a financial squeeze, Julian arranged for me to receive
a generous scholarship. Sure, he could play hardball with the best
of them, and sure, he loved to have a wild time, but he never neg-
lected his friends. The real problem was that Julian was obsessed
with work.
For the first few years he justified his long hours by saying that
he was “doing it for the good of the firm”, and that he planned to
take a month off and go to the Caymans “next winter for sure.” As
time passed, however, Julian’s reputation for brilliance spread and
his workload continued to increase. The cases just kept on getting
bigger and better, and Julian, never one to back down from a good
challenge, continued to push himself harder and harder. In his rare
moments of quiet, he confided that he could no longer sleep for more
than a couple of hours without waking up feeling guilty that he was
not working on a file. It soon became clear to me that he was being
consumed by the hunger for more: more prestige, more glory and
more money.
As expected, Julian became enormously successful. He achieved
everything most people could ever want: a stellar professional
reputation with an income in seven figures, a spectacular mansion
in a neighborhood favored by celebrities, a private jet, a summer
home on a tropical island and his prized possession—a shiny red
Ferrari parked in the center of his driveway.
Yet I knew that things were not as idyllic as they appeared on the
surface. I observed the signs of impending doom not because I was
so much more perceptive than the others at the firm, but simply
because I spent the most time with the man. We were
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 5
always together because we were always at work. Things never
seemed to slow down. There was always another blockbuster case
on the horizon that was bigger than the last. No amount of prepara-
tion was ever enough for Julian. What would happen if the judge
brought up this question or that question, God forbid? What would
happen if our research was less than perfect? What would happen
if he was surprised in the middle of a packed courtroom, looking
like a deer caught in the glare of an intruding pair of headlights? So
we pushed ourselves to the limit and I got sucked into his little work-
centered world as well. There we were, two slaves to the clock,
toiling away on the sixty-fourth floor of some steel and glass
monolith while most sane people were at home with their families,
thinking we had the world by the tail, blinded by an illusory version
of success.
The more time I spent with Julian, the more I could see that he
was driving himself deeper into the ground. It was as if he had some
kind of a death wish. Nothing ever satisfied him. Eventually, his
marriage failed, he no longer spoke with his father, and though he
had every material possession anyone could want, he still had not
found whatever it was that he was looking for. It showed, emotion-
ally, physically—and spiritually.
At fifty-three years of age, Julian looked as if he was in his late
seventies. His face was a mass of wrinkles, a less than glorious tribute
to his “take no prisoners” approach to life in general and the tremend-
ous stress of his out-of-balance lifestyle in particular. The late-night
dinners in expensive French restaurants, smoking thick Cuban cigars
and drinking cognac after cognac, had left him embarrassingly
overweight. He constantly complained that he was sick and tired of
being sick and tired. He had lost his sense of humor and never
seemed to laugh anymore.
6 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
Julian’s once enthusiastic nature had been replaced by a deathly
somberness. Personally, I think that his life had lost all sense of
purpose.
Perhaps the saddest thing was that he had also lost his focus in
the courtroom. Where he would once dazzle all those present with
an eloquent and airtight closing argument, he now droned on for
hours, rambling about obscure cases that had little or no bearing on
the matter before the Court. Where once he would react gracefully
to the objections of opposing counsel, he now displayed a biting
sarcasm that severely tested the patience of judges who had earlier
viewed him as a legal genius. Simply put, Julian’s spark of life had
begun to flicker.
It wasn’t just the strain of his frenetic pace that was marking him
for an early grave. I sensed it went far deeper. It seemed to be a
spiritual thing. Almost every day he would tell me that he felt no
passion for what he was doing and was enveloped by emptiness.
Julian said that as a young lawyer, he really loved the Law, even
though he was initially pushed into it by the social agenda of his
family. The Law’s complexities and intellectual challenges had kept
him spellbound and full of energy. Its power to effect social change
had inspired and motivated him. Back then, he was more than just
some rich kid from Connecticut. He really saw himself as a force for
good, an instrument for social improvement who could use his ob-
vious gifts to help others. That vision gave his life meaning. It gave
him a purpose and it fuelled his hopes.
There was even more to Julian’s undoing than a rusty connection
to what he did for a living. He had suffered some great tragedy be-
fore I had joined the firm. Something truly unspeakable had
happened to him, according to one of the senior partners, but I
couldn’t get anyone to open up about it. Even old
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 7
man Harding, the notoriously loose-lipped managing partner who
spent more time in the bar of the Ritz-Carlton than in his embarrass-
ingly large office, said that he was sworn to secrecy. Whatever this
deep, dark secret was, I had a suspicion that it, in some way, was
contributing to Julian’s downward spiral. Sure I was curious, but
most of all, I wanted to help him. He was not only my mentor; he
was my best friend.
And then it happened. This massive heart attack that brought the
brilliant Julian Mantle back down to earth and reconnected him to
his mortality. Right in the middle of courtroom number seven on a
Monday morning, the same courtroom where we had won the
Mother of All Murder Trials.
C H A P T E R T W O
The Mysterious Visitor
It was an emergency meeting of all of the firm’s members. As we
squeezed into the main boardroom, I could tell that there was a
serious problem. Old man Harding was the first to speak to the as-
sembled mass.
“I’m afraid I have some very bad news. Julian Mantle suffered a
severe heart attack in court yesterday while he was arguing the Air
Atlantic case. He is currently in the intensive care unit, but his
physicians have informed me that his condition has now stabilized
and he will recover. However, Julian has made a decision, one that
I think you all must know. He has decided to leave our family and
to give up his law practice. He will not be returning to the firm.”
I was shocked. I knew he was having his share of troubles, but I
never thought he would quit. As well, after all that we had been
through, I thought he should have had the courtesy to tell me this
personally. He wouldn’t even let me see him at the hospital. Every
time I dropped by, the nurses had been instructed to tell me that he
was sleeping and could not be disturbed. He even refused to take
my telephone calls. Maybe I reminded him of the life he wanted to
forget. Who knows? I’ll tell you one thing though. It hurt.
8
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 9
That whole episode was just over three years ago. Last I heard,
Julian had headed off to India on some kind of an expedition. He
told one of the partners that he wanted to simplify his life and that
he “needed some answers”, and hoped he would find them in that
mystical land. He had sold his mansion, his plane and his private
island. He had even sold his Ferrari. “Julian Mantle as an Indian
yogi,” I thought. “The Law works in the most mysterious of ways.”
As those three years passed, I changed from an overworked young
lawyer to a jaded, somewhat cynical older lawyer. My wife Jenny
and I had a family. Eventually, I began my own search for meaning.
I think it was having kids that did it. They fundamentally changed
the way I saw the world and my role in it. My dad said it best when
he said, “John, on your deathbed you will never wish you spent
more time at the office.” So I started spending a little more time at
home. I settled into a pretty good, if ordinary, existence. I joined the
Rotary Club and played golf on Saturdays to keep my partners and
clients happy. But I must tell you, in my quiet moments I often
thought of Julian and wondered what had become of him in the
years since we had unexpectedly parted company.
Perhaps he had settled down in India, a place so diverse that even
a restless soul like his could have made it his home. Or maybe he
was trekking through Nepal? Scuba diving off the Caymans? One
thing was certain: he had not returned to the legal profession. No
one had received even a postcard from him since he left for his self-
imposed exile from the Law.
A knock on my door about two months ago offered the first an-
swers to some of my questions. I had just met with my last client of
a gruelling day when Genevieve, my brainy legal
10 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
assistant, popped her head into my small, elegantly furnished office.
“There’s someone here to see you, John. He says it’s urgent and
that he will not leave until he speaks with you.”
“I’m on my way out the door, Genevieve,” I replied impatiently.
“I’m going to grab a bite to eat before finishing off the Hamilton
brief. I don’t have time to see anyone right now. Tell him to make
an appointment like everyone else, and call security if he gives you
any more trouble.”
“But he says he really needs to see you. He refuses to take no for
an answer!”
For an instant I considered calling security myself, but, realizing
that this might be someone in need, I assumed a more forgiving
posture.
“Okay, send him in” I retreated. “I probably could use the business
anyway.”
The door to my office opened slowly. At last it swung fully open,
revealing a smiling man in his mid-thirties. He was tall, lean and
muscular, radiating an abundance of vitality and energy. He re-
minded me of those perfect kids I went to law school with, from
perfect families, with perfect houses, perfect cars and perfect skin.
But there was more to my visitor than his youthful good looks. An
underlying peacefulness gave him an almost divine presence. And
his eyes. Piercing blue eyes that sliced clear through me like a razor
meeting the supple flesh of a fresh-faced adolescent anxious about
his first shave.
‘Another hotshot lawyer gunning for my job,’ I thought to myself.
‘Good grief, why is he just standing there looking at me? I hope that
wasn’t his wife I represented on that big divorce case I won last
week. Maybe calling security wasn’t such a silly idea after all.’
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 11
The young man continued to look at me, much as the smiling
Buddha might have looked upon a favored pupil. After a long mo-
ment of uncomfortable silence he spoke in a surprisingly command-
ing tone.
“Is this how you treat all of your visitors, John, even those who
taught you everything you know about the science of success in a
courtroom? I should have kept my trade secrets to myself,” he said,
his full lips curving into a mighty grin.
A strange sensation tickled the pit of my stomach. I immediately
recognized that raspy, honey-smooth voice. My heart started to
pound.
“Julian? Is that you? I can’t believe it! Is that really you?”
The loud laugh of the visitor confirmed my suspicions. The young
man standing before me was none other than that long-lost yogi of
India: Julian Mantle. I was dazzled by his incredible transformation.
Gone was the ghost-like complexion, the sickly cough and the lifeless
eyes of my former colleague. Gone was the elderly appearance and
the morbid expression that had become his personal trademark. In-
stead, the man in front of me appeared to be in peak health, his
lineless face glowing radiantly. His eyes were bright, offering a
window into his extraordinary vitality. Perhaps even more
astounding was the serenity that Julian exuded. I felt entirely
peaceful just sitting there, staring at him. He was no longer an
anxious, “type-A” senior partner of a leading law firm. Instead, the
man before me was a youthful, vital—and smiling—model of change.
C H A P T E R T H R E E
The Miraculous
Transformation of Julian
Mantle
I was astonished by the new and improved Julian Mantle.
‘How could someone who looked like a tired old man only a few
short years ago now look so vibrant and alive?’ I wondered in silent
disbelief. ‘Was it some magical drug that had allowed him to drink
from the fountain of youth? What was the cause of this extraordinary
reversal?’
Julian was the first to speak. He told me that the hyper-competitive
legal world had taken its toll on him, not only physically and emo-
tionally but spiritually. The fast pace and endless demands had worn
him out and run him down. He admitted that his body had fallen
apart and that his mind had lost its lustre. His heart attack was only
one symptom of a deeper problem. The constant pressure and ex-
hausting schedule of a world-class trial lawyer had also broken his
most important—and perhaps most human—endowment: his spirit.
When given the ultimatum by his doctor either to give up the Law
or give up his life, he said he saw a golden opportunity to rekindle
the inner fire he had known when he was younger, a fire that had
been extinguished as the Law became less a pleasure and more a
business.
12
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 13
Julian grew visibly excited as he recounted how he sold all his
material possessions and headed for India, a land whose ancient
culture and mystical traditions had always fascinated him. He
travelled from tiny village to tiny village, sometimes by foot, some-
times by train, learning new customs, seeing the timeless sights and
growing to love the Indian people who radiated warmth, kindness
and a refreshing perspective on the true meaning of life. Even those
who had very little opened their homes—and their hearts—to this
weary visitor from the West. As the days melted into weeks within
this enchanting environment, Julian slowly began to feel alive and
whole again, perhaps for the first time since he was a child. His
natural curiosity and creative spark steadily returned, along with
his enthusiasm and his energy for living. He started to feel more
joyful and peaceful. And he began to laugh again.
Although he embraced every moment of his time in this exotic
land, Julian told me that his journey to India was more than a simple
vacation to ease an overworked mind. He described his time in this
far-away land as a “personal odyssey of the self”. He confided that
he was determined to find out who he really was and what his life
was all about before it was too late. To do this, his first priority was
to connect to that culture’s vast pool of ancient wisdom on living a
more rewarding, fulfilling and enlightened life.
“I don’t mean to sound too off-the-wall, John, but it was like I had
received a command from within, an inner instruction telling me
that I was to begin a spiritual voyage to rekindle the spark that I had
lost,” said Julian. “It was a tremendously liberating time for me.”
The more he explored, the more he heard of Indian monks who
had lived beyond the age of a hundred, monks who despite
14 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
their advanced years maintained youthful, energetic and vital lives.
The more he travelled, the more he learned of ageless yogis who
had mastered the art of mind-control and spiritual awakening. And
the more he saw, the more he longed to understand the dynamics
behind these miracles of human nature, hoping to apply their
philosophies to his own life.
During the early stages of his journey, Julian sought out many
well-known and highly respected teachers. He told me that each
one of them welcomed him with open arms and open hearts, sharing
whatever gems of knowledge they had absorbed over lifetimes spent
in quiet contemplation on the loftier issues surrounding their exist-
ence. Julian also attempted to describe the beauty of the ancient
temples which were strewn across the mystical landscape of India,
edifices which stood as loyal gatekeepers to the wisdom of the ages.
He said he was moved by the sacredness of these surroundings.
“It was a very magical time of my life, John. Here I was, a tired
old litigator who had sold everything from my racehorse to my
Rolex, and had packed all that remained into a large rucksack that
would be my constant companion as I ventured into the timeless
traditions of the East.”
“Was it hard to leave?” I wondered aloud, unable to contain my
curiosity.
“Actually, it was the easiest thing I have ever done. The decision
to give up my practice and all my worldly possessions felt natural.
Albert Camus once said that ‘Real generosity toward the future
consists in giving all to what is present.’ Well, that’s exactly what I
did. I knew I had to change—so I decided to listen to my heart and
do it in a very dramatic way. My life became so much simpler and
meaningful when I left the baggage of my past behind. The
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 15
moment I stopped spending so much time chasing the big pleasures
of life, I began to enjoy the little ones, like watching the stars dancing
in a moonlit sky or soaking in the the sunbeams of a glorious summer
morning. And India is such an intellectually stimulating place that
I rarely thought of all I had left.”
Those initial meetings with the learned and the scholarly of that
exotic culture, though intriguing, did not yield the knowledge for
which Julian hungered. The wisdom that he desired and the practical
techniques that he hoped would change the quality of his life contin-
ued to elude him in those early days of his odyssey. It was not until
Julian had been in India for about seven months that he had his first
real break.
It was while he was in Kashmir, an ancient and mystical state that
sits sleepily at the foot of the Himalayas, that he had the good fortune
to meet a gentleman named Yogi Krishnan. This slight man with a
clean-shaven head had also been a lawyer in his “previous incarna-
tion,” as he often joked with a toothy grin. Fed up with with the
hectic pace that personifies modern New Delhi, he too gave up his
material possessions and retreated to a world of greater simplicity.
Becoming a caretaker of the village temple, Krishnan said he had
come to know himself and his purpose in the larger scheme of life.
“I was tired of living my life like one long air raid drill. I realized
that my mission is to serve others and somehow to contribute to
making this world a better place. Now I live to give,” he told Julian.
“I spend my days and nights at this temple, living an austere but
fulfilling life. I share my realizations with all those who come here
to pray. I serve those in need. I am not a priest. I am simply a man
who has found his soul.”
Julian informed this lawyer turned yogi of his own story. He
16 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
spoke of his former life of prominence and privilege. He told Yogi
Krishnan of his hunger for wealth and his obsession with work. He
revealed, with great emotion, his inner turmoil and the crisis of
spirit he had experienced when the once bright light of his life began
to flicker in the winds of an out-of-balance lifestyle.
“I too have walked this path, my friend. I too have felt the pain
you have felt. Yet I have learned that everything happens for a
reason,” offered Yogi Krishnan sympathetically. “Every event has
a purpose and every setback its lesson. I have realized that failure,
whether of the personal, professional or even spiritual kind, is essen-
tial to personal expansion. It brings inner growth and a whole host
of psychic rewards. Never regret your past. Rather, embrace it as
the teacher that it is.”
After hearing these words, Julian told me that he felt great exulta-
tion. Perhaps, in Yogi Krishnan, he had found the mentor he was
searching for. Who better than another former hot-shot lawyer who,
through his own spiritual odyssey, had found a better way of living
to teach him the secrets of creating a life of more balance, enchant-
ment and delight?
“I need your help, Krishnan. I need to learn how to build a richer,
fuller life.”
“I would be honored to assist you in any way that I can,” offered
the yogi. “But may I give you one suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“For as long as I have been caring for this temple in this little vil-
lage, I have heard whisperings of a mystical band of sages living
high in the Himalayas. Legend has it that they have discovered some
sort of system that will profoundly improve the quality of anyone’s
life—and I don’t just mean physically. It is supposed to be a holistic,
integrated set of ageless principles and timeless
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 17
techniques to liberate the potential of the mind, body and soul.”
Julian was fascinated. This seemed perfect.
“Just exactly where do these monks live?”
“No one knows, and I regret that I’m too old to start searching.
But I will tell you one thing, my friend; many have tried to find them
and many have failed—with tragic consequences. The higher reaches
of the Himalayas are treacherous beyond compare. Even the most
skilled climber is rendered helpless against their natural ravages.
But if it is the golden keys to radiant health, lasting happiness and
inner fulfillment that you are searching for, I do not have the wisdom
you seek—they do.”
Julian, never one to give up easily, pressed Yogi Krishnan again.
“Are you certain that you have no idea where they live?”
“All I can tell you is that the locals in this village know them as
the Great Sages of Sivana. In their mythology, Sivana means ‘oasis
of enlightenment’. These monks are revered as if they are divine in
their constitution and influence. If I knew where they could be found,
I would be duty-bound to tell you. But honestly, I do not know—no
one does, for that matter.”
The next morning, as the first rays of the Indian sun danced along
the colorful horizon, Julian set out on his trek to the lost land of
Sivana. At first he thought about hiring a Sherpa guide to aid him
in his climb through the mountains, but, for some strange reason,
his instincts told him that this was one journey he would have to
make alone. So instead, for perhaps the first time in his life, he shed
the shackles of reason and placed his trust in his intuition. He felt
he would be safe. He somehow knew he would find what he was
looking for. So, with missionary zeal, he started to climb.
The first few days were easy. Sometimes he would catch up to
18 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
one of the cheerful citizens of the village below who happened to
be walking on one of the footpaths, perhaps searching for just the
right piece of wood for a carving or seeking the sanctuary that this
surreal place offered to all those who dared to venture this high into
the Heavens. At other times he hiked alone, using this time to silently
reflect on where he had been in his life—and where he was now
headed.
It didn’t take long before the village below was nothing more than
a tiny speck on this marvellous canvas of natural splendor. The
majesty of the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas made his heart
beat faster and, for one long moment, took his breath away. He felt
a oneness with his surroundings, a kind of kinship that two old
friends might enjoy after many years spent listening to each other’s
innermost thoughts and laughing at each other’s jokes. The fresh
mountain air cleared his mind and energized his spirit. Having
travelled the world many times over, Julian had thought he had
seen it all. But he had never seen beauty like this. The wonders of
which he drank at that magical time were an exquisite tribute to the
symphony of nature. At once he felt joyous, exhilarated and carefree.
It was here, high above the humanity below, that Julian slowly
ventured out of the cocoon of the ordinary and began to explore the
realm of the extraordinary.
“I still remember the words that were going through my mind up
there,” said Julian. “I thought that, ultimately, life is all about choices.
One’s destiny unfolds according to the choices one makes, and I felt
certain that the choice I had made was the right one. I knew my life
would never be the same and that something marvellous, maybe
even miraculous, was about to happen to me. It was an amazing
awakening.”
As Julian climbed into the rarified regions of the Himalayas,
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 19
he told me that he grew anxious. “But it was those good kind of jit-
ters, like the ones I had on prom night or right before an exciting
case began and the media was chasing me up the courtroom steps.
And even though I didn’t have the benefit of a guide or a map, the
way was clear and a thin, lightly travelled path led me higher into
the deepest reaches of those mountains. It was like I had some sort
of inner compass, nudging me gently towards my destination. I
don’t think I could have stopped climbing even if I had wanted to,”
Julian was excited, his words spilling out like a gushing mountain
stream after the rains.
As he travelled for two more days along the route that he prayed
would take him to Sivana, Julian’s thoughts wandered back to his
former life. Though he felt entirely liberated from the stress and
strain that personified his former world, he did wonder whether he
could really spend the rest of his days without the intellectual chal-
lenge that the legal profession had offered him since he left Harvard
Law School. His thoughts then wandered back to his oak-paneled
office in a glittering downtown skyscraper and the idyllic summer
home he had sold for a pittance. He thought about his old friends
with whom he would frequent the finest of restaurants in the most
glamorous locales. He also thought about his prized Ferrari and how
his heart would soar when he gunned the engine and all its ferocity
sprang to life with a roar.
As he ventured deeper into the depths of this mystical place, his
reflections of the past were quickly interrupted by the stunning
marvels of the moment. It was while he was soaking in the gifts of
nature’s intelligence that something startling happened.
From the corner of his eye he saw another figure, dressed strangely
in a long, flowing red robe topped by a dark blue hood,
20 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
slightly ahead of him on the path. Julian was astonished to see any-
one at this isolated spot that had taken him seven treacherous days
to reach. As he was many miles away from any real civilization and
still uncertain as to where his ultimate destination of Sivana could
be found, he yelled out to his fellow traveller.
The figure refused to respond and accelerated his pace along the
path they were both climbing, not even giving Julian the courtesy
of a backward glance of acknowledgement. Soon the mysterious
traveller was running, his red robe dancing gracefully behind him
like crisp cotton sheets hanging from a clothesline on a windy au-
tumn day.
“Please friend, I need your help to find Sivana,” yelled Julian,
“I’ve been travelling for seven days with little food and water. I
think I’m lost!”
The figure came to an abrupt stop. Julian approached cautiously
while the traveller stood remarkably still and silent. His head did
not move, his hands did not move and his feet kept their place. Julian
could see nothing of the face beneath the hood but was struck by
the contents of the small basket in the hands of the traveller. Within
the basket was a collection of the most delicate and beautiful flowers
Julian had ever seen. The figure clutched the basket tighter as Julian
drew nearer, as if to display both a love of these prized possessions
and a distrust of this tall Westerner, about as common to these parts
as dew in the desert.
Julian gazed at the traveller with an intense curiosity. A quick
burst of a sunbeam revealed that it was a man’s face under the
loosely-fitting hood. But Julian had never seen a man quite like this
one. Though he was at least his own age, there were very striking
features of this person which left Julian mesmerized and caused him
to simply stop and stare for what seemed like an eternity. His
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 21
eyes were catlike and so penetrating that Julian was forced to look
away. His olive-complexioned skin was supple and smooth. His
body looked strong and powerful. And though the man’s hands
gave away the fact that he was not young, he radiated such an
abundance of youthfulness and vitality that Julian felt hypnotized
by what appeared before him, much like a child watching the magi-
cian at his first magic show.
‘This must be one of the Great Sages of Sivana,’ Julian thought to
himself, scarcely able to contain his delight at his discovery.
“I am Julian Mantle. I’ve come to learn from the Sages of Sivana.
Do you know where I might find them?” he asked.
The man looked thoughtfully at this weary visitor from the West.
His serenity and peace made him appear angelic in nature, en-
lightened in substance.
The man spoke softly, almost in a whisper, “Why is it that you
seek these sages, friend?”
Sensing that he had indeed found one of the mystical monks who
had eluded so many before him, Julian opened his heart and poured
out his odyssey to the traveller. He spoke of his former life and of
the crisis of spirit he had struggled with, how he had traded his
health and his energy for the fleeting rewards that his law practice
brought him. He spoke of how he had traded the riches of his soul
for a fat bank account and the illusory gratification of his ‘live fast,
die young’ lifestyle. And he told him of his travels in mystical India
and of his meeting with Yogi Krishnan, the former trial lawyer from
New Delhi who had also given up his former life in the hope of
finding inner harmony and lasting peace.
The traveller remained silent and still. It was not until Julian spoke
of his burning, almost obsessive desire to acquire the ancient prin-
ciples of enlightened living that the man spoke again.
22 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
Placing an arm on Julian’s shoulder, the man said gently: “if you
truly have a heartfelt desire to learn the wisdom of a better way,
then it is my duty to help you. I am indeed one of those sages that
you have come so far in search of. You are the first person to find
us in many years. Congratulations. I admire your tenacity. You must
have been quite a lawyer,” he offered.
He paused, as if he was a little uncertain of what to do next, and
then went on. “If you like, you may come with me, as my guest, to
our temple. It rests in a hidden part of this mountain region, still
many hours away from here. My brothers and sisters will welcome
you with open arms. We will work together to teach you the ancient
principles and strategies that our ancestors have passed down
through the ages.
“Before I take you into our private world and share our collected
knowledge for filling your life with more joy, strength and purpose,
I must request one promise from you,” requested the sage. “Upon
learning these timeless truths you must return to your homeland in
the West and share this wisdom with all those who need to hear it.
Though we are isolated here in these magical mountains, we are
aware of the turmoil your world is in. Good people are losing their
way. You must give them the hope that they deserve. More import-
antly, you must give them the tools to fulfill their dreams. This is
all I ask.”
Julian instantly accepted the sage’s terms and promised that he
would carry their precious message to the West. As the two men
moved still higher up the mountain path to the lost village of Sivana,
the Indian sun started to set, a fiery red circle slipping into a soft,
magical slumber after a long and weary day. Julian told me he has
never forgotten the majesty of that moment, walking with an ageless
Indian monk for whom he somehow felt a brotherly love,
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 23
travelling to a place he had longed to find, with all its wonders and
many mysteries.
“This was definitely the most memorable moment of my life,” he
confided in me. Julian had always believed that life came down to
a few key moments. This was one of them. Deep inside his soul, he
somehow sensed that this was the first moment of the rest of his life,
a life soon to be much more than it had ever been.
C H A P T E R F O U R
A Magical Meeting with The
Sages of Sivana
After walking for many hours along an intricate series of paths and
grassy trails, the two travellers came upon a lush, green valley. On
one side of the valley, the snow-capped Himalayas offered their
protection, like weather-beaten soldiers guarding the place where
their generals rested. On the other, a thick forest of pine trees
sprouted, a perfectly natural tribute to this enchanting fantasyland.
The sage looked at Julian and smiled gently, “Welcome to the
Nirvana of Sivana.”
The two then descended along another less-travelled way and
into the thick forest which formed the floor of the valley. The smell
of pine and sandalwood wafted through the cool, crisp mountain
air. Julian, now barefoot to ease his aching feet, felt the damp moss
under his toes. He was surprised to see richly colored orchids and
a host of other lovely flowers dancing among the trees, as if rejoicing
in the beauty and splendor of this tiny slice of Heaven.
In the distance, Julian could hear gentle voices, soft and soothing
to the ear. He continued to follow the sage without making a sound.
After walking for about fifteen more minutes, the
24
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 25
two men reached a clearing. Before him was a sight that even the
worldly wise and rarely surprised Julian Mantle could never have
imagined—a small village made solely out of what appeared to be
roses. At the center of the village was a tiny temple, the kind Julian
had seen on his trips to Thailand and Nepal, but this temple was
made of red, white and pink flowers, held together with long strands
of multi-colored string and twigs. The little huts which dotted the
remaining space appeared to be the austere homes of the sages.
These were also made of roses. Julian was speechless.
As for the monks who inhabited the village, those he could see
looked like Julian’s travelling companion, who now revealed that
his name was Yogi Raman. He explained that he was the eldest sage
of Sivana and the leader of this group. The citizens of this dreamlike
colony looked astonishingly youthful and moved with poise and
purpose. None of them spoke, choosing instead to respect the tran-
quility of this place by performing their tasks in silence.
The men, who appeared to number only about ten, wore the same
red-robed uniform as Yogi Raman and smiled serenely at Julian as
he entered their village. Each of them looked calm, healthy and
deeply contented. It was as if the tensions which plague so many of
us in our modern world had sensed that they were not welcome at
this summit of serenity and moved on to more inviting prospects.
Though it had been many years since there had been a new face
amongst them, these men were controlled in their reception, offering
a simple bow as their greeting to this visitor who had travelled so
far to find them.
The women were equally impressive. In their flowing pink silk
saris and with white lotuses adorning their jet black hair, they moved
busily through the village with exceptional agility.
26 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
However, this was not the frantic busyness that pervades the lives
of people in our society. Instead, theirs was of the easy, graceful
kind. With Zen-like focus, some worked inside the temple, preparing
for what appeared to be a festival. Others carried firewood and richly
embroidered tapestries. All were engaged in productive activity.
All appeared to be happy.
Ultimately, the faces of the Sages of Sivana revealed the power of
their way of life. Even though they were clearly mature adults, each
one of them radiated a child-like quality, their eyes twinkling with
the vitality of youth. None of them had wrinkles. None of them had
gray hair. None of them looked old.
Julian, who could scarcely believe what he was experiencing, was
offered a feast of fresh fruits and exotic vegetables, a diet that he
would later learn was one of the keys to the treasure trove of ideal
health enjoyed by the sages. After the meal, Yogi Raman escorted
Julian to his living quarters: a flower-filled hut containing a small
bed with an empty journal pad on it. This would be his home for
the foreseeable future.
Though Julian had never seen anything like this magical world
of Sivana, he somehow felt that this had been a homecoming of sorts,
a return to a paradise that he had known long ago. Somehow this
village of roses was not so foreign to him. His intuition told him that
he belonged here, if only for a short period. This would be the place
where he would rekindle the fire for living that he had known before
the legal profession stole his soul, a sanctuary where his broken
spirit would slowly start to heal. And so began Julian’s life among
the Sages of Sivana, a life of simplicity, serenity and harmony. The
best was soon to come.
C H A P T E R F I V E
A Spiritual Student of the
Sages
Great dreamers’ dreams are never fulfilled, they are always
transcended.
Alfred Lord Whitehead
It was now 8:00 p.m. and I still had to prepare for my court appear-
ance the next day. Yet I was fascinated by the experience of this
former legal warrior who had dramatically transformed his life after
meeting and studying under these marvellous sages from India.
How amazing, I thought, and what an extraordinary transformation!
I secretly wondered whether the secrets Julian had learned in that
far off mountain hideaway could also elevate the quality of my life
and replenish my own sense of wonder for the world we live in. The
longer I listened to Julian, the more I came to realize that my own
spirit had become rusty. What had happened to the uncommon
passion I brought to everything I did when I was younger? Back
then, even the simplest of things filled me with a sense of joy. Maybe
it was time for me to reinvent my destiny.
27
28 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
Sensing my fascination with his odyssey and my eagerness to
learn the system of enlightened living that the sages had passed on
to him, Julian quickened the pace as he continued with his tale. He
told me how his desire for knowledge, coupled with his sharp intel-
lect—refined through many years of battles in the courtroom had
made him a well-loved member of the Sivana community. As a mark
of their affection for Julian, the monks eventually made him an
honorary member of their band and treated him like an integral part
of their extended family.
Eager to expand his knowledge of the workings of the mind, body
and soul, and to attain self-mastery, Julian spent literally every
waking moment under the tutelage of Yogi Raman. The sage became
more like a father to Julian than a teacher, though they were separ-
ated in age by only a few years. It was clear that this man had the
accumulated wisdom of many lifetimes and, most happily, he was
willing to share it with Julian.
Beginning before dawn, Yogi Raman would sit with his enthusi-
astic student and fill his mind with insights on the meaning of life
and little-known techniques that he had mastered for living with
greater vitality, creativity and fulfillment. He taught Julian ancient
principles which he said anyone could use to live longer, stay
younger and grow far happier. Julian also learned how the twin
disciplines of personal mastery and self-responsibility would keep
him from returning to the chaos of crisis that had characterized his
life in the West. As the weeks slipped into months, he came to un-
derstand the treasure-trove of potential sleeping within his own
mind, waiting to be awakened and used for higher purposes.
Sometimes the teacher and his student would simply sit and watch
the blazing Indian sun rising from the deep green meadows far be-
low. Sometimes they would rest in quiet
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 29
meditation, savoring the gifts that silence brings. Sometimes they
would walk through the pine forest, discussing points of philosophy
and enjoying the pleasures of each other’s company.
Julian said that the first indications of his personal expansion came
after only three weeks in Sivana. He started noticing the beauty in
the most ordinary of things. Whether it was the marvel of a starry
night or the enchantment of a spider’s web after it had rained, Julian
absorbed it all. He also said that his new lifestyle and the new habits
associated with it started to have a profound effect on his inner
world. Within a month of applying the principles and techniques
of the sages, he told me that he had begun to cultivate the deep sense
of peace and inner serenity that had eluded him in all the years he
had lived in the West. He became more joyful and spontaneous,
growing more energetic and creative with each passing day.
Physical vitality and spiritual strength followed the changes in
Julian’s attitude. His once overweight frame grew strong and lean
while the sickly pallor which had characterized his face was replaced
by a splendid shimmer of health. He actually felt as if he could do
anything, be anything and unlock the infinite potential that he
learned was inside every one of us. He started to cherish life and to
see the divinity in every aspect of it. The ancient system of this
mystical band of monks had started to work its miracles.
After pausing as if to express disbelief at his own tale, Julian grew
philosophical. “I’ve realized something very important, John. The
world, and that includes my inner world, is a very special place. I’ve
also come to see that success on the outside means nothing unless
you also have success within. There is a huge difference between
well-being and being well-off. When I was a hotshot lawyer, I used
to snicker at all those people who worked at
30 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
improving their inner and outer lives. ‘Get a life!’ I thought. But I
have learned that self-mastery and the consistent care of one’s mind,
body and soul are essential to finding one’s highest self and living
the life of one’s dreams. How can you care for others if you cannot
even care for yourself? How can you do good if you don’t even feel
good? I can’t love you if I cannot love myself,” he offered.
Suddenly Julian grew flustered and slightly uneasy. “I’ve never
opened my heart to anyone like this before. I apologize for this, John.
It is just that I experienced such a catharsis up in those mountains,
such a spiritual awakening to the powers of the universe, that I feel
others need to know what I know.”
Noticing that it was getting late, Julian quickly told me he would
take his leave and bid me adieu.
“You can’t leave now, Julian. I’m really pumped to hear the wis-
dom you learned in the Himalayas and the message you promised
your teachers you would bring back to the West. You can’t leave me
in suspense—you know I can’t stand it.”
“I’ll be back, rest assured, my friend. You know me, once I start
telling a good story I just can’t stop. But you have your work to do,
and I have some private matters that need to be taken care of.”
“Just tell me one thing then. Will the methods you learned in
Sivana work for me?”
“When the student is ready, the teacher appears,” came the swift
reply. “You, along with so many others in our society, are ready for
the wisdom I now have the privilege of holding. Every one of us
should know the philosophy of the sages. Every one of us can benefit
by it. Every one of us must know of the perfection that is their nat-
ural state. I promise I will share their ancient knowledge with you.
Have patience. I will meet you again
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 31
tomorrow night, this time at your house. Then I’ll tell you all that
you need to know to put far more living into your life. Is that fair?”
“Yeah, I guess if I’ve done without it all these years, waiting an-
other twenty-four hours won’t kill me,” I responded with disappoint-
ment.
And with that, the master litigator turned enlightened yogi of the
East was gone, leaving me with a mind full of unanswered questions
and unfinished thoughts.
As I sat in my office quietly, I realized how small our world really
was. I thought about the vast pool of knowledge that I had not even
begun to dip my fingers into. I thought about how it might feel to
regain my own zest for living, and about the curiosity I had had
when I was younger. I would love to feel more alive and to bring
unbridled energy to my days. Maybe I too would leave the legal
profession. Maybe there was a higher calling for me as well? With
these weighty considerations on my mind, I turned out the lights,
locked the door to my office and walked out into the thick heat of
another summer’s night.
C H A P T E R S I X
The Wisdom of Personal
Change
I am an artist at living—my work of art is my life.
Suzuki
True to his word, Julian showed up at my home the next evening.
At about 7:15 p.m., I heard four quick knocks on the front door of
my house, a Cape Cod design with awful pink shutters that my wife
believed made our house look like something out of Architectural
Digest. Julian himself looked strikingly different than he had the day
before. He still embodied radiant health and exuded a wonderful
sense of calm. It was what he was wearing that made me a little
uncomfortable.
Adorning his obviously supple body was a long red robe topped
by an ornately embroidered blue hood. And though it was another
sticky night in July, the hood covered his head.
“Greetings my friend,” Julian offered enthusiastically.
“Greetings.”
“Don’t look so alarmed, what did you expect me to wear—Ar-
mani?”
32
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 33
We both started to laugh, softly at first. Soon our giggles had
turned to guffaws. Julian certainly had not lost that wicked sense of
humor that had kept me entertained so long ago.
As we relaxed in my cluttered but comfortable living room, I
couldn’t help but notice the ornate necklace of wooden prayer beads
dangling from his neck.
“What are those? They’re really beautiful.”
“More about these later,” he said, rubbing some of the beads with
his thumb and index finger. “We have much to talk about tonight.”
“Let’s get started. I could hardly get anything done at work today
I was so excited about our meeting.”
Hearing his cue, Julian immediately started to reveal more about
his personal transformation and the ease with which it was effected.
He told me of the ancient techniques he had learned for mind control
and for erasing the habit of worry that was consuming so many in
our complex society. He spoke of the wisdom that Yogi Raman and
the other monks had shared for living a more purposeful and reward-
ing life. And he spoke of a series of methods to unleash the well-
spring of youthfulness and energy he said every one of us has
slumbering deep inside of us.
Though the conviction with which he spoke was clear, I began to
grow skeptical. Was I the victim of some prank? After all, this Har-
vard-trained lawyer was once widely known within the firm for his
practical jokes. As well, his story was nothing less than fantastic.
Think about it: one of this country’s best known trial lawyers throws
in the towel, sells all his worldly goods and treks off to India on a
spiritual odyssey, only to return as a wise prophet from the Himalay-
as. This could not be real.
34 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
“C’mon Julian. Stop pulling my leg. This whole story is starting
to smack of one of your gags. I’ll bet you rented that robe from the
costume shop across the street from my office,” I suggested, breaking
into my best fear grin.
Julian was quick to respond, as if my disbelief was something he
had expected. “In court, how do you prove your case?”
“I offer persuasive evidence.”
“Right. Look at the evidence that I have offered you. Look at my
smooth, lineless face. Look at my physique. Can’t you sense the
abundance of energy I have? Look at my peacefulness. Surely you
can see that I have changed?”
He had a point. This was a man who, only a few years ago, had
looked decades older.
“You didn’t go to a plastic surgeon did you?”
“No,” he smiled. “They only focus on the outer person. I needed
to be healed from within. My unbalanced, chaotic lifestyle left me
in great distress. It was much more than a heart attack that I suffered.
It was a rupture of my inner core.”
“But your story, it’s so…mysterious and unusual.”
Julian remained calm and patient in the face of my persistence.
Spotting the pot of tea I had left on the table next to him, he started
to pour into my waiting cup. He poured until the cup was full—but
then he kept on pouring! Tea started to trickle down the sides of the
cup and into the saucer, then onto my wife’s prized Persian rug. At
first I watched silently. Then I couldn’t take it any more.
“Julian, what are you doing? My cup is overflowing. No matter
how hard you try, no more will go in!” I yelled impatiently.
He looked at me for a long moment. “Please don’t take this the
wrong way. I really respect you, John. I always have. However,
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 35
just like this cup, you seem to be full of your own ideas. And how
can any more go in…until you first empty your cup?”
I was struck by the truth of his words. He was right. My many
years in the conservative legal world, doing the same things every
day with the same people who thought the same thoughts every
day had filled my cup to the brim. My wife Jenny was always telling
me that we should be meeting new people and exploring new things.
“I wish you were just a little more adventurous, John,” she would
say.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had read a book that didn’t
deal with law. The profession was my life. I began to realize that the
sterile world I had grown accustomed to had dulled my creativity
and limited my vision.
“Okay. I see your point,” I admitted. “Perhaps all my years as a
trial lawyer have made me a hardened skeptic. From the minute I
saw you in my office yesterday, something deep inside me told me
that your transformation was genuine, and that there was some sort
of lesson in it for me. Maybe I just didn’t want to believe it.”
“John, tonight is the first night of your new life. I simply ask that
you think deeply about the wisdom and strategies that I will share
with you and apply them with conviction for a period of one month.
Embrace the methods with a deep trust in their effectiveness. There
is a reason why they have survived for thousands of years—they
work.”
“One month seems like a long time.”
“Six hundred and seventy-two hours of inner work to profoundly
improve every waking moment of the rest of your life is quite a
bargain, don’t you think? Investing in yourself is the best investment
you will ever make. It will not only improve your life, it will improve
the lives of all those around you.”
36 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
“How’s that?”
“It is only when you have mastered the art of loving yourself that
you can truly love others. It’s only when you have opened your own
heart that you can touch the hearts of others. When you feel centered
and alive, you are in a much better position to be a better person.”
“What can I expect to happen in those six hundred and seventy-
two hours that comprise one month?” I asked earnestly.
“You will experience changes within the workings of your mind,
body and even your soul that will astonish you. You will have more
energy, enthusiasm and inner harmony than you have had in, per-
haps, your entire life. People will actually begin telling you that you
look younger and happier. A lasting sense of well-being and balance
will swiftly return to your life. These are just some of the benefits of
the Sivanan System.”
“Wow.”
“All of what you will hear tonight is designed to improve your
life, not just personally and professionally but spiritually as well.
The advice of the sages is just as current today as it was five thousand
years ago. It will not only enrich your inner world, it will enhance
your outer world and make you far more effective in all that you
do. This wisdom is truly the most potent force I have ever en-
countered. It is straightforward, practical and has been tested in the
laboratory of life for centuries. Most importantly, it will work for
anyone. But before I share this knowledge with you, I must ask you
for a promise.”
I knew there would be strings attached. “There are no free
lunches,” my loving mother used to say.
“Once you see the power of the strategies and skills shown to me
by the Sages of Sivana and observe the dramatic results they
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 37
will bring to your life, you must make it your mission to pass this
wisdom on to others who will benefit from this knowledge. This is
all that I ask of you. By agreeing to this, you will help me fulfill my
own pact with Yogi Raman.”
I agreed without reservation, Julian began to teach me the system
he had come to consider as sacred. While the techniques that Julian
had mastered during his stay were varied, at the heart of the Sivanan
System were seven basic virtues, seven fundamental principles which
embodied the keys to self-leadership, personal responsibility and
spiritual enlightenment.
Julian told me that Yogi Raman was the first to share the seven
virtues with him after a few months in Sivana. On a clear night,
when all the others had drifted off into deep slumber, Raman
knocked softly on the door of Julian’s hut. In the voice of a gentle
guide, he spoke his mind: “I have observed you closely for many
days now Julian. I believe that you are a decent man who deeply
desires to fill his life with all that is good. Since you have arrived
you have opened yourself up to our traditions and embraced them
as your own. You have learned a number of our daily habits, and
have seen their many salutary effects. You have been respectful of
our ways. Our people have lived this simple, peaceful life through
countless ages and our methods are known to but a few. The world
needs to hear our philosophy on enlightened living. Tonight, on the
eve of your third month in Sivana, I will begin to share the inner
workings of our system with you, not only for your benefit but for
the benefit of all those in your part of the world. I will sit with you
daily as I sat with my son when he was a child. Sadly, he passed on
a few years ago. His time had come and I do not question his exit. I
enjoyed our time together and cherish the memories. I now see you
as my son and I feel grateful that all I have learned
38 / ROBIN S. SHARMA
over many years of silent contemplation will live on within you.”
I looked at Julian and noticed that his eyes were now shut, as if
he were transporting himself back to this fairy-tale land that had
showered the blessing of knowledge on him.
“Yogi Raman told me that the seven virtues for a life overflowing
with inner peace, joy and a wealth of spiritual gifts were contained
within a mystical fable. This fable was the essence of it all. He asked
me to shut my eyes as I have now done, here on the floor of your
living room. He then told me to picture the following scene in my
mind’s eye:
You are sitting in the middle of a magnificent, lush, green garden.
This garden is filled with the most spectacular flowers you have ever
seen. The environment is supremely tranquil and silent. Savor the
sensual delights of this garden and feel as if you have all the time in
the world to enjoy this natural oasis. As you look around you see that
in the center of this magical garden stands a towering, red lighthouse,
six stories high. Suddenly, the silence of the garden is disturbed by a
loud creaking as the door at the base of the lighthouse opens. Out
stumbles a nine-foot-tall, nine-hundred-pound Japanese sumo wrestler
who casually wanders into the center of the garden.
“It gets better,” chuckled Julian. “The Japanese sumo wrestler is
naked! Well, actually he is not totally naked. He has a pink wire
cable covering his private parts.”
As this sumo wrestler starts to move around the garden, he finds a
shiny gold stopwatch which someone had left
THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI / 39
behind many years earlier. He slips it on, and falls to the ground with
an enormous thud. The sumo wrestler is rendered unconscious and
lies there, silent and still. Just when you think he has taken his last
breath, the wrestler awakens, perhaps stirred by the fragrance of some
fresh yellow roses blooming nearby. Energized, the wrestler jumps
swiftly to his fe