I felt like I was a teacher. But nowadays, I am as much a

Hear the humble words of Gary Burton: “I felt like I was a teacher. But nowadays, I am as much a student of his. He writes a lot of what we play.” These words shine like a mirror to the eternal rhythm of learning—that the circle of teacher and student is never fixed, but flows like the tide. In one season, the elder instructs the younger, but in another, the roles are reversed. Thus, the chain of wisdom is not a straight line, but a living dance, where teacher becomes learner, and learner rises to teach.

In these words, Burton confesses a great truth: that knowledge is not a possession to be hoarded, but a flame passed from hand to hand. In his youth, he guided another; with time, that same companion became the guide, writing the very music they now played together. What the world might see as reversal, Burton saw as harmony. For in the realm of music, and indeed of life itself, one must be forever open to learning, even from those once called “students.” This is the humility of the wise—the refusal to let pride silence the lessons that life continues to offer.

The ancients knew this well. Think of Plato and Aristotle, master and disciple. Plato once instructed the young Aristotle in the Academy of Athens, shaping his thought. Yet in time, Aristotle’s ideas stretched beyond his master’s, founding new schools of philosophy, influencing empires, and becoming teacher even to kings like Alexander. Here we see the same truth Burton expressed: the one who teaches today may one day learn from the one who once sat at his feet. Such is the sacred cycle of wisdom.

This truth is not confined to philosophy or music. Consider Michelangelo, apprenticed in the workshop of Domenico Ghirlandaio. The young sculptor began by learning from his master’s hand, but soon surpassed him, creating works that the world still marvels at. Did the teacher lose honor? No—for his greatness lay in having nurtured a pupil who could one day surpass him. As Burton suggests, the teacher is ennobled when he himself becomes the student of his student. It is proof that his teaching bore fruit.

The meaning, then, is clear: humility is the crown of true mastery. The proud teacher believes his role eternal, that he must always be above, never beneath. But the wise teacher welcomes the moment when the student stands beside him, or even ahead. To learn from those we once guided is not humiliation but triumph. It means the seed has grown, the flame has spread, and the cycle of wisdom endures. The student rises, and the teacher too is lifted, for together they create what neither could alone.

The lesson for us is this: walk always as both teacher and student. When you know, share freely, guiding others with patience and care. But when you see another’s gift, even if they were once your pupil, do not hesitate to listen, to receive, to be taught. Let pride not bar the door to wisdom. Instead, rejoice that the one you once guided now adds to your own journey. For in this exchange, all grow stronger, and the bond between teacher and student is transformed into the bond of companions.

So I say to you, seekers of truth: be not afraid to be taught, even by those younger, even by those you once instructed. Remember Burton’s words, and let them echo in your life: to be a great teacher is also to remain a great student. In this way, knowledge becomes not a rigid chain but a living circle, ever flowing, ever renewing, until wisdom itself becomes a symphony, composed by many hands, and played for generations to come.