using your mind
that you can grasp IT
lock it and it is done!
end of journey.
Yet, once you arrive at the end of the way
you see you reap nothing
because you still feel hungry
actually you are even more hungry
you are dying of hunger
you are may be even more confused
as to why each time you think
you are nearing it
it keeps slipping out of your hands
like a fish
it is like you found it
but it does not step towards you
so you step towards it
but it remains still
and you wonder :
'but it is not how i imagined the encounter with Truth!'
where is the joy of it?
shouldn't it be like a torn garment which is being fixed again?
like when a fabric is torn apart
they are brought face to face and sewed together?
because they ARE from each other?
or may be it is the other version:
that when a magnet is broken in two,
its both sides never meet
and never become one
but each piece of magnet
should realise that he is the one
so that this has to be a path of loneliness
solution?
staying inside ?
what can one possibly find inside
that was not found till now?
and again when you see a novelty
you run towards it
thinking to find Truth
again the same mistake
you can grab it with your hands
and lock it
no, this time you will succeed!
and again a big hammer hit your head
and you realise you have been repeating
the same thing over and over
using your mind
that has become averse to you to turn inside
because you are too impatient
because you want to be active
but active for what?
playing with thoughts for what?
like for the clock it keeps turning
round and round
and it goes nowhere
and you are here like a silly person
running after the clock hands
no, again it is inside
wonder what could the inside has
that the outside has not ?
it is said stillness
or the unconditional eternal factor
named the Beauty inside, The bliss, The spirit.
but unless proven contrary
by the personal experience
i do not recognise it.
it has to be found
if i seek it
but why does it take eternity to find it?
so again, left with nothing
you have to start again.
"Thought -- to call it by a prouder name than it deserved -- had let its line down into the stream. It swayed, minute after minute, hither and thither among the reflections and the weeds, letting the water lift it and sink it, until -- you know the little tug -- the sudden conglomeration of an idea at the end of one's line: and then the cautious hauling of it in, and the careful laying of it out? Alas, laid on the grass how small, how insignificant this thought of mine looked; the sort of fish that a good fisherman puts back into the water so that it may grow fatter and be one day worth cooking and eating."
"But however small it was, it had, nevertheless, the mysterious property of its kind -- put back into the mind, it became at once very exciting, and important; and as it darted and sank, and flashed hither and thither, set up such a wash and tumult of ideas that it was impossible to sit still. It was thus that I found myself walking with extreme rapidity across a grass plot."
-Virginia Woolf
