Where he stood, he could not see a path, though. He hesitated to take the next step. In that dense fog, he couldn’t see a step ahead, even. What lay ahead, he did not know. Yet, he knew that this was one of the milestones; he was expecting it. But as he stood there, fear paralysed his feet. He stood there, without moving.

What was it that bothered him? He did not know. In recent days, his walk had become drudgery. He had not heard the birds singing, nor had he seen the colour of life that was painted with master-strokes along his weary path. In his deference to move forward towards that milestone that would determine the quality of his journey, he had turned a blind eye to everything. He let out the slightest hint of a smile. Now, when he was ready with open eyes, this fog was almost a wall blocking his next step.

Faith.

That seemed the only way he could take that crucial step. The mind and the heart are always at war, though. The rational and the unknown vie for a place in our selves in a way that we cannot manage. Each comes with its own value – but they can never agree. Sometimes though – one has to win over the other. And in this victory, one has to support the other – because they belong to the same entity. They can never be undone from the entity – for that would mean the cessation of their existence.

There was no knowledge at the edge. What he sought, was inside and beyond that white blanket that enveloped him.

He took a step with his right foot; stepped in that dense white of a cloud.

Now, here, without the determination to go onward, he saw many things. Butterflies. Leaves. Mud. Cracks. Sun. Sky. Clouds. Flowers.

He pondered his purposeful journey; wondered what all he had missed along the way.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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?