In a train chugging along parallel tracks of steel, negotiating mountainous tunnels now and vast plains then or in a plane competing with clouds for altitude or just like a pilgrim trudging along, carrying one’s own solitude while brooding over the milestones and destinations, we must have met one another on a number of occasions, now of course conveniently confined to the inaccessible recesses of memory. We must have called on a number of ports and stopped at a number of wayside inns enroute this voyage of ours - sometimes labeled as life. And yet at some other times we must have found ourselves simply gazing at it with amazement. It is also quite possible that we might have found ourselves simply dumbfounded and puzzled at some turns and crossings along this path that defied all explanations.

Traveling along a path or just wandering like a cloud in the sky, did we ever wonder at the trees in silent meditation, the patterns drawn by breeze on the unending sands or the continuous conversation going on between the waves and the banks of a river? Our journey makes us negotiate many turnings, countless crossroads, innumerable ups and downs but yet it seems that after every event, which appears like a concluding event, something still remains to be done.

Is this all coming and going, rushing and jostling entirely a matter of compulsion imposed on us? Willingly or unwillingly, while participating in this phenomenon that we call life, do we ever make a serious attempt at reaching the goal having some semblance of a lasting achievement?

Can we really reach a destination from where there is no proceeding further?

Is a destination the only destiny of a journey? Is our goal a milestone only?

It is quite possible that these questions might not have been faced by most of us because we never care to pause enroute our daily waking and sleeping and our never-ending efforts at earning something either monetarily or socially.

The beginning and end of this journey, along the path of which we come to discover ourselves, lies in seeking the force that makes all this possible because only that is the destination, which neither turns into a milestone on reaching it, nor does it elude us on seeking it. The force that makes it possible for you and me to share these thoughts through these words is the same force that makes it possible for the trees to meditate be they in a jungle of concrete or a verdant forest along the foothills and also it is the same force again that makes it possible for the river to chart its own course, from mountain peaks to sandy beaches, reaching to lose itself in the embrace of ocean.

Provided one is willing to acknowledge, one cannot help but experience the vibrant presence of this force in silence and in symphony, in stillness and in movement, in calmness of oasis and waves of ocean, in glowing horizon and in darkened skies, in folding and unfolding of a flower to and from a seed and everywhere and anywhere wherever one tends to perceive.

Is it imperative that we name this force? For convenience of dialogue maybe, we can call it the ‘creator’ and whatever we have been talking, thinking, writing, visualizing etc. could be named as the ‘creation’. By assigning these two terms do we tend to talk about two different entities having independent existence akin to an artist and the painting?

Can we visualize colors and canvas as distinct entities in a work of art?

Where does the seen exist in a scene? Is there is a distance that separates the two? How far is the creator really away from the creation?

The path that we had been traversing since the time we knew about ourselves has accompanied us all through but beginning somewhere in this creation is there a path that we must traverse before reaching the creator? We had been to a number of milestones and some destinations too. But in the garb of finality all of them presented a facade never-ending uncertainty.

There is only an illusory distance, a non-existent veil, and a seemingly hazy screen that appears to separate the creator from creation. It just needs one little pause to cover this distance, one look inwards to pierce the hazy screen and just a little effort by hands raised in supplication to cast this veil aside to reach the goal which is no different for the journey itself. The creating force itself is the created scene. The observer himself is the observed. The musician himself is the music.

Having come this far with me don’t you feel compelled to pause and reflect and take that little step to cover this distance between the traveler and the destination? Then taking a stride and yet remaining still, to experience the oneness that creation enjoys with the creator, how memorable, how pleasant, how exhilarating it is going to be; only you would be able to experience! Then there will be neither you nor me!