"There are more ways to offer than you might think," Krishna said as the camp grew quiet. "Let me show you a temple I once saw — a temple with many doors."

Arjuna closed his eyes the way Krishna asked, and let the picture form.

"Imagine a great round temple," Krishna said, "with doorways all around it, facing every direction. At each door, a different kind of seeker stands, and each has come to give."

"At the eastern door stand the gentle yogis who worship the shining gods — the god of fire, the god of rain, the lords of sun and wind. These seekers light lamps and sing and lay flowers, attending upon the bright ones with patience and love, the way a child waters a garden every single morning without being told."

A breeze stirred the chariot's banner.

"But walk around to another door," Krishna went on, "and you find seekers of a different kind. They bring no flowers and no lamps. What they offer is themselves. They pour their own small separate 'I' into the fire of the one vast Spirit — the way a single drop of water lets itself be poured back into the ocean it came from. Their offering and their gift are the same thing. They give the giver."

"Which door is the right one?" Arjuna asked, eyes still shut.

"They all open into the same temple," Krishna said. "One seeker gives flowers. Another gives the self. One sings to the shining gods. Another melts quietly into the vast whole. The shapes of their offerings are not the same, but the spirit is — each lets go of holding tight, each gives something up, and so each grows lighter and truer."

Arjuna opened his eyes.

"I am only showing you the first of these doors tonight," Krishna said. "There are many more, and I will name them one by one. But remember this first lesson: do not think there is only a single way to give. Wherever a person honestly lays down something of themselves, a door swings open."

The stars had come out fully now, scattered like lamps across the dark roof of the sky.