*An attempt to convey why do we travel
Although the image of the traveler in these writings is naturally far superior than my own self, bound to all winds of desires and attachments but nevertheless is an idealization which has its own life within myself and is shaped by an idea which has stricken me long ago- the ideal of full renunciation and perfect poverty wherein by “longing oneself” we find “the Life of All”, unlimited and constituting the real base of consciousness.
Where does the impulse to travel come from? What midnight wind was it that whispered the secrets of the dim shades of the distance to my soul? Which old star in the sky told me a story about the path leading to the Hidden Truth?
Beloved wanderer, where from does the fire stretching to the infinite arises in, what spell destines your heart to this insatiable thirst for the faraway land? Since the very first time I beheld the horizon and the outlines of the mountain of light, there is something perpetually disconcerting my being, a flame, a deep longing, an elusive mystery. As if every stone, every dusty path knows and speaks a language of some mesmerizing secret always eluding my grasp.
The silence of the sunrise, filled with promises for unseen wanders, the buzzing of a fly in the heavy heat of the afternoon, the smile of a little child, the old inn by the road side – all of them embodying and communicating a truth that I can not comprehend. Because of it I undertook the seeking of the Way.
Trough deserts and enchanted forests, trough villages from another realities, noisy bazaars with stalls bent by the heavy load of saffron and silk, rivers and ports of distant lands. I begun to feel the touch of the hidden secret and it seemed to me as if the key to it lays around the next corner. The more I walked the more the morning star drew me further ahead.
One day the glow of the moon and the ancient banyan tree talked to me about the way leading to There, a way of perfect poverty and self-emptying. Since then, drawn by this incomprehensible desire to understand the secret language of the world. I renounced roof, belongings, the bag with golden coins. Barefooted, walking mile after mile, instead of mat – the warm earth, for pillow – a smooth stone, boiling pot with water and rice, beautiful loneliness, full communion with the souls encountered on the road, a funny, dusty wanderer… but otherwise how could I possibly hear the sounds of this mysterious melody, pouring out of every star, behind each turn on the path, how could I hear all this if I was filled with my inner baggage instead of nothing and All?
I can not stop, inebriated by each step. The vibration grows stronger, the Earth each time more wondrous, the mountains brighter, the rivers more filled with ancient melodies, the roads ever bending leading to still faster lands… In a dream a night an owl asked me: “Could it be that the key to your burning fire for the ambiguous secret, traveler, it does not lay in the unfolding of her, but in the Call itself, on the very road of the secret of the Universe? “