A meditation

A Journey Back to Self

Some who wander are lost.

I went there. It was far away. It took me days. It took me months, but I went. When I arrived, I couldn’t find it. It wasn’t there.

I came back. It took me an even longer time. Thinking that I had maybe left it behind, I rushed. But no. It wasn’t here neither when I got back.

I opened the door to familiarity. I opened the door to everything I knew I was. And still nothing.

I looked around. I searched under every piece of furniture, behind every door, and even on the mirrors. I spent long hours staring at the mirrors. And, I promise you, I couldn’t see it.

One early morning, I was still, lying in bed, and I looked at my right hand. I lifted it towards the ceiling and looked in detail. I saw my hand and then my other hand. I saw my arm, my elbow, my upper arm. I looked at one side and then to the other and saw my shoulders. Then I looked down and watched my chest. It lifted and sank. It lifted again and sank. I could feel that. I knew that. That was breathing. I closed my eyes and I felt it.

I looked all around, at everything that was before me in the darkness. I saw the emptiness in which all is possible and right then and there, I found it. It was me.

The essence of me.