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Destination is only Received by Journey # 2

I Changed, the World Changed


Much has changed and much is undergoing a change. More than three months have elapsed, there has been no pleasant knock at the door, no sound of any sweet consciousness; still these conscious moments passing by wait for the advent of spring.
It seems that the keen desire to live this life is linked to every turn with its beautiful extreme depth. Perhaps the drop of satiety obtained from the depths of the mind in the verbal form is in quest of further elixir of life. Today, my personal experience of this source of Water grows impatiently to enjoy the taste of the external excursion.
The dew of ordinary trifles on life, during the declining night of sorrows, lends one the awareness of coolness, also bathes the mind in freshness and pure novelty like the fresh rays of the rising Sun.
This speed—this fast speed—of life gives new signals, new turns, and new directions. Then these signals clad in verbal garments leap and bound in a frenzied state. I only watch like a mute spectator: 
The new consciousness of the new season.
Then how do they observe so minutely the depths of the mind—like the dazzling lightning spark that rends amalgamate clouds, or the loud thunder, just as lava erupts at the mountain-summit, spreading all around in the same way, a shriek of rare anguish arises from one’s being and pierces through the stifled existence.
In my existence, today has relished the happy taste of a clear Sky and realizes:
Life leads so far, but is no life at all.
This awareness touches even the marrow of my bones and applies brakes to the care of my existence.
This changeful manifestation of today points towards an unknown track and revives in me the consciousness of the Buddha, Nanak, Krishna, and Jesus. This new twist of life indicates the advent of an entirely new and immaculate season.
I see that if there is a song on my lips, there are also tears in my eyes
If there is rhythm in my gait, there is also the sigh of despair in my breaths
If these songs are suggestive of my comfort or well being, tears tend to cool the inner Fire. If these feet are so keen to dance, the haplessness of my breaths is suggestive of my quest for the song of a new life. It seems to be saying that:
In the Ocean of the vast Universe, composed of five elements, the individual existence of mine is just a small ripple.
That is why—today, this ripple, despite its tiny existence, has got ready to enjoy the Bliss of a rich, affluent life; today, the second shore of its burgeoning consciousness is attracting me in its direction. Perhaps this second shore is to look after this new, burgeoning consciousness. These fresh, happy, and blooming buds conceal within their new life soft, tender, and beauteous manifestation, so this savoury pilgrimage has its inauguration. In every phenomenon, there flows the unique syrup of our own figure. These fresh buds bind Life and Death into Beauty and amourous relationships.
The exploits of this changing season are stealing away my own self from me—into a state where I am asleep as well as awake, to hear my snores and then to lose my consciousness of the body. These new experiences are removing the cover from the secret of another life. Despite their complete satisfaction, they gird up their loins to embark on new experiments and on a new voyage of discovery—to satisfy my crazy lust. Next, this vast expansion plays the preceptor by showing a new shape of a new direction and awards us the title of:
Wanton self-abandoned!
When a trifling question comes to provide its own answer, it seems that this existence is being swallowed up by the deep gulf of life. All that these are, the answers to the personal questions that arise from the self-experience of personal happenings and betray the smell of desires, lurk within the layers of impressions spread within our being.
A very hard pilgrimage gives birth to many new accidents daily, and then after familiarizing us with them, resumes its march forward. It seems to be a one-way traffic. This fact of Life liquefies this existence and teaches it how to flow.
In this small microscopic, existence lays hidden in the Universe and in Science. Awareness melts the five elements and gives them a gutter flow. And then—I am grateful to that moment, that impression, that Unknown Path, that Unknown Power, and that Unknown Universe, that not only brought this bodily structure into awakening, but also bestows upon it full consciousness. I cannot say that passionate desires came and paid off its debt.
I watch—keenly watch—over a long distance probing into the depth.
In this ecstatic state the subtle bird of my ego began to take flight over the deep Ocean and the vast expansion of Creation. Then, I feel these are the traces of the paths already known to me. Then, why did I keep laying in sleep?
Occasionally there came a moment that gave me a jerk, some accident occurred, my thought reeled and staggered; my dreams vanished, but I, in my most subtle state, did not wake up. However, my Beautiful ‘ego’ (extremely subtle) always accompanies me. Today, after coming from some far off place, it is dusting its concrete layer and sweeping the fog from the subtle self. Then, what happens… coming out of the lap of some past moment, some ingrained impression, gives this existence a swim in the Ocean of Quietude and stupor.
For me the moments of today are strung with august moments. Preparation is on to take off for California. The thoughts and feelings are now about to start with full consciousness of having known and comprehended everything, the cordial strings are engaged in tuning themselves.
For a long time in the past, the journey of this physical self was confined from ‘me’ to ‘mine’. Today is the start of this pilgrimage which is going to introduce this existence to the external, phenomenal world. Today, this existence considers itself as small and insignificant as a blade of straw. Occasionally this existence takes its stand in the Beautiful competition as well. The rivers and rivulets, flowing unrestraint, my own Freedom, the green foliage on the trees, the briskly blowing breeze, are all my own replicas. Then the consciousness of the individual self disappears, my breaths begin to choke my throat; this consciousness turns the ‘body’ into ‘un-body’ and causes my body to vanish. When moment returns, this existence becomes lively and fresh like the ‘newborn’ morning and breaks into a hilarious guffaw.
As I, in my subtle ‘self’, watch my act of breathing, another self of mine (an extremely subtle ‘self’) watch the running trees, the shapes of the changing trees, the changing seasons and the changing appearances of humans; then within my interior, I keep preparing a garland of all these impressions.
Life lies hidden in different styles.
We do not find time from self-absorption, from our surrounding; then how can we know of other directions?
I see—a slight twist of change in my being has changed many other things; the very idea of a big change or twist makes this existence absolutely speechless and mute. Today, my thoughts are looking through a telescope, and brought me quite close to myself.
I see that everything is the same.
Today, the migratory bird of my mind grows fond of a long flight. This fresh and lively morning becomes the generator of deep inspirations. This changing direction, in passion for the knowledge of every individual article, begins to blow with the blowing breeze and flow with the flowing Water.
Today, this being, lost in self-lamentation at the thought of its own triviality and ignorance or a crowd of misunderstandings, laments wrong acts and misshapenness.
I did, but what did I do?
It passes, but what is it that passes?
What passes away, the time or the physique?
Whatever is done, is it done out of ignorance or superstition?
Even when the passion becomes strong to tear asunder this physical frame and shed abundant tears, only helplessness and restraint begin to string me. Today, the mind, consciousness, and intellect all disintegrated.
What can I see now?
Can I observe the mind undertaking its long flight, or my consciousness which is keenly watching everything around me, or my heart which is pouring itself out in tears? The watcher, extremely subtle, watches many things. It is caught in muteness.
The eyes, drenched in a muddle of tears watch: at times small bushes and shrubs, at times a hundred feet tall trees, at times blue or green waters, at times dry and luscious green hills and mountains.
Sometime back, my mind developed a special understanding; from that moment onward, my ‘self’ would not be swayed by any grudge or grumbling.
It did not materialize.
My eyes began to flow at the sight of the dry desert and sear mountains. I am astonished to see what has transpired. Then quietly my subtle self holds a meeting in the extremely beautiful house, my own existence. The chairperson, the heart, at the end of the meeting observes: 
These dry mountains and dry land are the suggestive symbols of our own ‘self’; showers of feelings and sensations have never fallen upon us. Only the heat of our burning desires further adds to our inner heat. Is our existence in anyway different from a sandy desert? These deserts are only our own reflections.
This changing twist of my subtle ego stands lingering in an unbearable, bewildering state. Why? It now tastes the consciousness which feels the actions and sanskars, all which bind together in the same shape. In addition, I perceive the glimpse of new places and rare beauty in every experience.
Is it all a fact?
Then I simply watch the experience in this existence cry halt, as though it were besieged with some unsolved mystery.
Today, not only my hands, but also every pore of my body began to bow to some power. This obeisance of today is the most beautiful experience yet, and it washes away the rubbish from the depth of my being.
Then I realize that this body is preparing itself to knock at the gates of some big temple. It is as though some unique cataract passing through the forests have entered the plains. Longing to lose myself, getting myself robbed, my desires begin to flow in my blood.
What can I afford to relinquish?
May I give away those moments, which instil me in invaluable rays?
Will this body become fruit juice?
Will this being become the measure of fragrance?
Will this being flow like a cataract?
Will it be possible?
I am going crazy about traversing a very long distance with so many small steps. Becoming a companion of a storm, like a particle, I will have a heavenward flight. For today, the scattering tunes of my being tend to coalesce together and are eager to entertain Nature by creating a new symphony.
It seems I have no capacity to uplift my ego, my self-consciousness, and my kind feelings. I am only losing something by slow degrees—yes, only losing something—under the process of obliteration!








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