No matter how far I walk, I meet nothing but an endless road
of becoming and unbecoming,
looking at myself in an empty abyss.
No matter how clever I think I am:
with all my techniques, words, and thinking,
all these will exhaust themselves.
I am left with the confrontation of this self,
with silence as both an enemy and a friend.
I carry this body as a companion on my journey;
it gets tired, it aches, it is sometimes weak,
I listen to it like a friend.
I walk. I walk and walk this life.
With all the excitement and passion,
I gain a bit more wisdom,
but the only wisdom it leaves me is that nothing stays.
I am passing through valleys of experience,
mountains of pain and loneliness,
waterfalls of emotion, long roads of darkness,
and tunnels of confusion and grief.
And then, a season of joy, a river of steadiness,
an ocean of love, a vast sky of peace and freedom:
all these are just passing moments.
Every person I meet knows me a little differently.
Some don’t know me at all.
Some know my name, some know me by memory,
and some know me only by my face,
but each time, I am a little different.
Sometimes they meet me at my valleys,
at my mountains, at my waterfall,
at my sky, or in my seasons of joy.
I remember them all, every conversation,
every moment of encounter,
but they do not know me at all.
They do not see the rivers and terrain that I am.
If a friend would meet me,
and ask me what I have learned through all these years of walking,
I would say:
Set yourself on foot,
and do not look back to who you thought you were.
Start with yourself and the path will lead you back to yourself,
as if you are staring into the abyss
and walking on your own terrain.
As you stand before the empty abyss,
you are not lost;
you are finally on your way.