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.
