The Joy of the Journey

The surroundings were ever changing. The leaves changed their shades of green. The birds were different from those that he had seen when he started. Even the ground that he walked on changed texture with every mile that covered in his journey.

He used to notice all of these small changes as he moved forward. The changes used to bring a small smile to his face as he walked past, acknowledging the change.

For a few miles now, however, it all seemed the same. There was a continuous feeling of sameness that enveloped him. Was it his eyes, he wondered. Am I unable to see the changes? Or have the changes stopped? He even questioned the path he was walking on, but that would not help. The path he had chosen did not assure him of any changes or of sameness. Thinking about the path would not help him know if things had stopped changing or if he had stopped noticing.

Is change necessary?

That, perhaps was the better question. The quality of your question determines the quality of your answer.

My journey is one of happiness, he said to himself. And whether there is change or not, the purpose of the journey is to experience joy. So, whether change was necessary or not, it depended heavily on whether he experienced the joy he was seeking.

He nearly laughed out loud. The question that this answer posed, was something he could not think about. It was time for his heart to break its long silence.

Was he enjoying this journey?

A General Direction

With his new-found lightness, he walked on. Now very far away from where he started, the otherwise familiar road looked foreign to him. The landscape had changed, and the same trees and birds and grass that he once knew as his own, felt distant. The path that he was walking on was rough and the once friendly signposts refused to reveal the direction to his destination.

The mountains were all covered in an impenetrable haze and the horizon had become a flat white of nothingness. He walked nonetheless in the general direction that was chosen.

With each step into this alien cloud, the answer for the haziness of his journey seemed to clear in his mind. He was walking a general direction, chosen a long while ago. With small changes along the way, it was well possible that he could be walking away from the destination.

With the same argument, however, it was also possible that the direction he was walking was fine-tuned and sharply aimed at his destination.

He had no way of knowing.

Giving benefit of doubt to the latter argument, he maintained his pace, waiting for his destination to guide him.

A Lightness of Being

He was tired. It had been a long walk. The sun was shining overhead – in all its glory. He dragged himself slowly, his shoulders bent forward, as if there was a load that was harnessed, a heavy load, perhaps accumulating all from his past.

He stopped, looked down at the parched earth where beads of sweat made splatter shapes. He dropped to his knees, his head hung deep, his chin to his chest, his eyes slowly closing to the brightness that permeated through his eyelids.

He was tired.

He almost wanted to stretch his shoulders outwards, as if to release him of the harness. But was it physical in nature, this weight that he dragged along? Where was the harness bound? To his shoulders? To his mind? Wasn’t it the sweet burden of purpose that he had willingly chosen.

He went back to the days when he had taken on this burden. It was purposeful then. It was a sweet moment of a bright new day. The excitement of newness had engulfed him. He thought of all the days to this day – as he hauled this apparent sense of purpose.

Along the way, he had added to it.

He had allowed others to add to it.

From those that were afraid, from those that were lazy. From those that had been hurt or had been weak. From those that had gone astray. He pulled their sense of purpose for them. He had done it for a while now.

His worst fear was to be called a traitor. Belong to those that betrayed. Perhaps that is why he never questioned the weight that erased his footsteps behind him. He never questioned his speed. His mountains lay far away and he had much ground to cover.

He stood up suddenly, his head held high, he stretched and shrugged his shoulders. It was a new resolve and a lightness of being.

He strode forward, his pace now quickened and even.

A Known Challenge

He stood still.

Some challenges are just like an alarm clock. They don’t necessarily defy you, they just ask you to look within yourself what you always wanted to do. Those aren’t challenges.

Those are just friends, being friends.

Speaking with the Self

He stood grounded at that one place and turned round and round and round in circles till a sense of dizzy happiness overtook him. At once he saw his mountain friends, at once he saw the tall trees smiling at him, at once he saw the plain vast lands in their own silent frenzy.

The birds were curious of his turning around — some flew in the direction that he turned — never losing sight of his eyes, some flew in the opposite direction, catching him once every while when their sight collided in opposite direction.

It was all becoming a sudden one-ness while he spun relentlessly. He seemed to faintly recognise the common blur. The world seemed to be a different place with every revolution. Yet he was at the same place.

He was so easily able to answer all the questions that world posed for him. Yet, not a single question that he asked the world, was ever answered. But weren’t his questions the same as those that the world asked him? Did he then, not believe in his own answers?

He stopped spinning. The horizon was like a boat on gentle waves. The graphic representation of an abstract trigonometric equation. The mighty mountains seemed to be losing their balance even. Yet he stood on terra firma, though the land itself seemed to liquify.

Perhaps there weren’t any questions. Therefore, there weren’t supposed to be any answers. Why then did the questions come to life, and crowd the corridors of his mind? All that he knew — his thoughts, his answers almost, were blocked by the crowd of questions. He had all the answers, only they never reached him — they were jostling for space in the crowd of questions.

He had to make way.

The Journey of Love – III

And a long walk it was. Tiring, as he had experienced all this while. As he looked for a place of rest – he saw none. The entire world was a place for him to rest – he could choose any, as he wanted. But he couldn’t find a place to rest where he would feel comfortable.

There were no densely-happy trees, no silent mountains even, that would offer him some shade from the scorching sun. A barren land lay all around him. Not even a bird in the sky to assure him of a source of sustenance nearby. If he was in a desert, he would have reconciled, but this wasn’t a desert even.

He sat down where he was – it was as good a place as any other.

He looked ahead at the path before him. In his mind a mild anger created a nest. He knew that the twigs had to be removed before the house became home. He didn’t sense the trees, birds, and the grass anymore. He felt that he didn’t sense them because they had ceased to sense him.

Yet another twig in the nest.

Someday, if he ever met them again, he would hear from the trees, birds, and the grass that he had left them – his doing for the distance that had occurred – for the bridges that he didn’t build. He smiled. When he walked from his home – he was aware, yet not conscious of what that meant.

Another heat wave tickled his thinning frame. It was the feeling that a man on the mast must have – when he sighted land – of almost reaching the destination. Perhaps there was a different love waiting in these barren lands – or beyond them. An expression of love is only as meaningful as the experience. Else they were empty words – like the land he was in. Bereft of any joy – a blank canvas on which no colours would stay.

Such weak, this love
Asking of a visual presence
Assurances every moment
Of your existence

Of your commitment
Of the need of action
That dignifies, and even
Defines the emotion.

He covered his eyes with his right hand, and slept, sleep eluding him, yet peaceful in countenance.

The Journey of Love – II

He walked on.

The sun and the leaves continued to play their dance of light. Hiding here and showing there, escaping here, getting caught there. He never missed the play as he walked along – even though he did not look.

A thought had arrested his mind. He had often thought that his journey was for the search of love – once he thought – that love was something that left behind. And in certain ways – love happened to be all over as we left love behind and walked on. This thought that bound his attention challenged him about the purpose of his journey. If he already knew so much about love, why did he walk on – why did the search seem incomplete?

He pursed; nearly pinched his lips as he walked on.

It wasn’t about love perhaps, it was about him. This was going to be a long walk.

The Invisible Circle

He yearned for the known.

For so long now, he had walked unfamiliar roads. He thought of home. He felt like going home.

The sun was shining bright that glorious afternoon. He felt cool, however, under the mountain shade. Far, he could see the sun light up the grass, and the small trees enjoying each ray of light that attempted to make way through their dense leaves. The leaves played with the light and bounced it off each other, eventually allowing the light to pass through them.

He leaned his weary back against a rock.

He wondered why he had left home, to begin with – what made him take this long journey? Is purpose guided by an absence or by a presence? He smiled at the irony of what he felt. There was always a lot of love at home, always a hot meal and a warm bed. Was he travelling away from something he always had – in search of the same thing?

Was his journey to be just a huge circle?

The Dark Road

This was an unfamiliar road that he walked on now.

On his long journey he had seen many roads. All of them were different in some way – some were paved and some were not. Some had bushes or trees lining the roads by the side. On some you could see the great plains till the sky met the earth at the horizon. Some of them were crowded with people going his way or the other, some were empty and there wasn’t a soul in sight – sometimes he seemed to walk on roads that no one had ever walked on. He even remembered those few roads where someone had walked with him. And he remembered that some roads have a fork. Some of them had chosen the other road.

And in the same way every road was the same – it took him closer to his destination and each road was an experience that helped him in his journey. There was never a road that stopped him – each one of them had urged him to walk on. He always felt something new about every road. And he always felt he could relate to a road he walked on – new or old.

This one road was very alien to him. This was the only road that made him stop rather than urging him forward. This was the only road that made him look back at all the roads he had walked on. He closed his eyes as he stood in the middle of that road. The mountains beckoned him, yet he knew that it would be some more time before he walked any further. When he opened his eyes, it was dark. The skies were laden with dark clouds that somehow didn’t seem ominous. With his eyes open he could not see this road anymore. It was all dark. And suddenly he felt that the road was calling him, now urging him on to continue his journey. He wondered at the irony of it. Most roads urged him to walk when there was light and suggested rest as it grew dark.

This time, it seemed that the road wasn’t going to reveal itself. He would have to see for himself, and walk ahead knowing where he wanted to go, and so he took a step ahead in the dark.

Just after the first step, he stopped and asked himself whether he really knew where he wanted to go.

The Journey of Love – I

He was now tired and sat down beneath the banyan tree. As he made himself comfortable, he smiled to himself. The banyan tree: the Enlightened One had once sat below such a tree where he saw the light; the truth.

He often thought about the light – the light that he seemed to recognise, yet failed to perceive. It was an elusive light, he sensed it all the time – yet could never see it. He closed his eyes to the dark, breathed slowly to help his tired muscles find their own banyan tree. He had walked long – it may have been a short journey if you used time as the measure, but a better measure of a journey was the experience, the events. Nothing and no one had followed him in the journey – nothing and no one had walked along with him in the journey. He met many – the trees – tall and short, the birds – colourful and bland, the grass – green and golden. Each helped him in his journey in their unique ways, yet no one walked with him.

He knew now that love was something that you didn’t carry with you – it was something you left behind. His tired heart made a desperate attempt to let go of the love and leave it behind. Every time he felt the absence of those whom he met when he travelled, he felt anguish and wished for them to be there: the trees, birds, and the grass. He missed his friends.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that there was nothing – not the trees, not the birds, not the grass. He was alone now, looking ahead at the barren land. He had an urge to look back at his friends – but he cautioned himself. He had to move to the mountains. He had heard that only they were permanent. By such a brute force of nature they had formed – that nothing could ever break the apart. That was the ultimate meeting of souls. That was the only love that remained in the place – no wonder then, every monk, hermit and saint had found refuge in these mountains. The mountains were all-forgiving and all knowing; full of love that was left behind for him and for all that chose an abode in them. As difficult as they are, they were the only place he felt welcome.

He was destined to walk his path alone – to find his path for himself. He bid farewell to those he loved – hoping that they always felt the love that he left behind; hoping that they felt the same permanence that he felt inside of him.

On the empty land he walked, then, towards the mountains far away.