The Sands of Time
8th of December 2023
Watching a historical documentary, where the video clips are all black-and-white movies. They are of poor quality, grainy, and filled with unpredictably dancing vertical lines typical of old films. Sometimes, the clips are abruptly cut, and one scene changes to another in the blink of an eye. A strange sense of nostalgia arises. Maybe it’s a sign of one growing older when old times begin to feel more appealing than before.
The documentary describes people’s lives in a city. Their movements seem curiously determined and straightforward as they speed toward unknown destinations. Who were all those ordinary human beings walking along the crowded streets? Where were those people going to? What were they waiting for, firmly standing by train stations wearing their long black coats? What were their names? Who did they love? Who loved them? No one knows. None of those people are alive anymore. It’s doubtful that no one’s alive who would remember those human beings in their black-and-white representations. All those remarkable individual lives are now entirely and utterly forgotten, their virtues long gone and personal vices forgiven. Everything buried by the compassionate sands of time. And here, step after another, colorless, they still move forward on the greyish tarmac road in the documentary.
The only thing left of them is the content of their present moment captured on poor-quality film. They seem to walk through that moment just like people today walk through their present moments, with haste and hurry to arrive at some destination. So much so that they forget their only reality, the one step being taken right now. Instead, they seem to speed in their thoughts faster than their feet can move, their inner motives being very much alike to the ones people harbor within nowadays. When perceiving historical representations closely—watching documentaries, browsing through photographs, and reading books—nothing seems truly changed in human capabilities and the nature of the thinking mind. Even the most ancient thinkers who put their thoughts on papyrus, parchment, and clay tablets seem to reflect the very same condition of the human mind as today. The mind engulfed in uncontrollable floods of compulsive and compelling thoughts is as deceptive as ever, leading to an unconscious escape from the present moment.
Despite technical advancements, all the hustle and fuss of human lives will eventually shift into a quickly fleeting black-and-white video clip of poor quality. Everyone will ultimately be forgotten and forgiven. No one will truly know the content of this very moment in a hundred years. No matter how great a dent one makes in the universe, maybe achieving great things and fueling change in the world, no one will truly know who one is after a few heartbeats. Every human being is a hand that writes and then quickly moves away. Just like those millennia-old hands that left their scribblings on papyrus.
As one observes the present moment as it is, not lingering in the past and worrying about the future, one can make a home in the present moment. Yes, that home might include some pain and suffering. And yes, things might not always be as one would prefer. Nevertheless, the present moment is the only home that stands on solid rock instead of the sands of time. That home offers shelter, protection, and assurance that nothing else will last than the essence of the present moment. This essence has never changed and will remain as it is. Content might shift and change, yet only the everlasting context remains. This very moment holds salvation within, and it's accessible at all times for every single being.
One just has to look with clear eyes, listen with silent ears, and feel with an open heart.
Homeward Bound
4th of October 2023
Today, a profound sense of belonging accompanies the familiar stillness within. Nothing has to change. The cycle of becoming has entirely ceased, for there's no one to become anything else. The most wondrous aspect of life is a sacred moment when one can simply be as one is without the smallest need to become something else or make things somehow different. When seen without the blinding veil of thoughts, the present moment is the spiritual, mental, and physical home for all sentient beings. This home is where all beings belong.
There, the garden paths wind in many directions, utterly without destination. When there's no destination, there's nowhere to go. So, every day grows more familiar and interesting, devoid of desires for the speciously magnificent experiences of the world. The warm light gleams in the windows, welcoming all weary travelers returning from a long day's journey. In the soothing silence of this home, the travelers peacefully close their eyes in the evening and rise to welcome new days again and again with love, compassion, and openness.
Each new day deepens a realization that all days are essentially the same. Every morning, the sun rises to shed light on the world. Every day, the clouds roll slowly across the arch of the sky, being one with the winds, with no specific intent or purpose. Every evening, the sun sets peacefully, making space for the moon's soft gleam and the halo of mystery that shrouds the depths of the night sky. One who wanders at peace through all these ever-similar days and nights has space within for a curious kind of fulfillment that is not brought upon by experiences but by simply being. This being radiates wholehearted acceptance, where one permits oneself to take life as it comes and watch things grow and prosper aligned with the seasons.
Many a traveler crosses one's paths in search of the home, eager to find it in the asphalt and concrete gardens built by the minds of men. Yet, little do they know. They believe in finding the peace of home in the evermore complicated labyrinths of unessential ambitions and unnecessary information. Their search is external, forever revolving with the cycles of all those beautiful days and nights, mostly blind to the warm light of the sun and the magnificent mysteries of the moon. In stillness, one compassionately smiles at all those wanderers, knowing deep within that everyone and all things will inevitably find their way home.
Today, one strolls slowly through the inner gardens, patiently watching everyone else walk their paths just one step away from the same home. Occasionally, some seem to wake to the fact that they are already home, yet quickly forget it again. Subtle comedy and drama breathe in this small game of hide and seek—the cycles of finding and forgetting the home. Witnessing it all produces a warm sensation within one's heart.
At home, one feels content to live and die without any questionings of the heart, gladly accepting the course of life. What is the course of life, then? Nothing more and nothing less than always and forever homeward bound.
Echoes from the Distand Horizons
13th of September 2023
The sea moves slowly and steadily toward the beach. Wave after wave arrives with a peaceful rhythm from the distant horizons. They bring echoes of an infinity of interference and the unknown winds of the world. The waves approach the gently shallowing beach with a calm posture and a distinct shape, only to crumble down as the previous wave withdraws underneath the new one. The soft sound of a crashing wave fills the air each time this withdrawal and arrival happens. As the sound gradually fades, a new one arises, producing a steadily shifting background noise. No wave seems entirely the same as the others, though they are highly similar as happenings. Each of them is a unique piece of nature, proceeding at its own pace and crashing into the rocky beach with calm grandeur.
As one stands on the beach, sincere attention to each wave reveals inner spaciousness. In this space, one can breathe with freedom; in this freedom, fresh air is available moment after another. Softly and silently, one disappears into the surrounding world, where the whole existence consists only of the solid rocks under the feet, the scent of the foaming sea, the light wind slowly blowing through the trees nearby, and the sounds of the waves arriving at the shore. Nothing else exists but the pure experience of all these things. One is entirely devoid of thoughts and inner movements. This state of being is not intentionally meditative but a spontaneously unveiled experience of existence as it is.
The rhythm of the waves makes one wonder: Is it possible to constantly live in such a state where every arriving wave is fresh and unique? Is it possible to greet every crashing wave with a warm and wholehearted welcome, as if it were the expression of the whole existence? What could be more important than to live one's life in such a state? To simply greet life as it comes, moment by moment, wave after wave. After all, human beings are very much like the waves arriving at the shore.
We come from distant horizons. Such distances cannot be seen with eyes; their elusive reaches go far beyond all rational knowledge. Imagination can only scratch the surface of those distances. Ultimately, we don't know the horizons we're coming from. Only some vague, speciously real memories color our evening skies with beautiful hues of the setting sun. We, human beings, billow forward steadily with an in-built momentum across the great seas, often interfering with other waves and sometimes becoming profoundly changed by the prevailing winds. And always, when interference happens, or the winds blow, there's noise. Our lives are often full of sound and fury, amplified by the proximity of a shallowing beach. After the wave meets the beach, there's silence. Silence very similar to the distant horizons from where we initially appeared.
So, is it possible to flow through life with profound calmness, not shaken by excessive thought activity? As one listens to the waves' rhythm on the beach, the answer is evident: it's not only possible, but one's essential nature to be so. To meet all interference, the winds of the world, and the last crashing of the wave with calm grandeur. To hear all noise as simply changes of conditions following their own rhythm. To wholeheartedly welcome all inner movements with compassionate acceptance. To simply be with it all, not demanding things to change, like the sea needs not the waves to change.
