He was a lonely traveller, always hunting something.Never resting, always in the pursuit of his dreams, though he never ever fully understood them. The mercurial wanderer, he was called; both by the commoners and wise men. He confounded them all. Never could he rest in a place, though many of unquestionable strength tried to bind him in shackles. He’d somehow break free of every rope, changing his form, soaring into the unfathomable, ethereal sky, never to be bound by the same chains. He was the true ascetic; the most possesive demon, the donor of ecstasy, the hoarder of miseries. He could be all at the same moment, but never none. He always had some shape that defined him, though he was indescribable as a whole.
That day was different though. Something had changed. The very existance of his self seemed different to him. He was actually still, contemplating all he’d ever experienced. The sublimity, passion, turbulence, solitude, unrest he’s gone through formed a montage before his very eyes. It was like dreaming with open eyes; aware of the surroundings yet experiencing its fragility.
Slowly, the light of comprrehension tricled in, illuminating the deepest crevices of his conscious. In those moments he understood the glaciers. He understood the plants that sustained in water alone. He understood the scant rains that left the thirst of the deserts unsatisfied. He understood the gazelle running away from the tiger. He understood the gazelle running towards the tiger, heedless of the danger. He understood the rainbow, he understood the clouds. He understood the depths of the oceans, he had the measure of the summits of the monstrous mountains. He understood the eagerness of a cat to return to her litter, and the beauty of a peacock dancing in the anticipation of rains.
He’d begun to appreciate the significance of the chains he’d so often bound with. Not that he welcomed the knowledge. It made the world a bleaker place for him. With an exasperated sigh, he got up and started stretching his legs. He might have understood the world, but he’d embraced his destiny. He was the lonely traveller, never resting, never stopping.
That day was different though. Something had changed. The very existance of his self seemed different to him. He was actually still, contemplating all he’d ever experienced. The sublimity, passion, turbulence, solitude, unrest he’s gone through formed a montage before his very eyes. It was like dreaming with open eyes; aware of the surroundings yet experiencing its fragility.
Slowly, the light of comprrehension tricled in, illuminating the deepest crevices of his conscious. In those moments he understood the glaciers. He understood the plants that sustained in water alone. He understood the scant rains that left the thirst of the deserts unsatisfied. He understood the gazelle running away from the tiger. He understood the gazelle running towards the tiger, heedless of the danger. He understood the rainbow, he understood the clouds. He understood the depths of the oceans, he had the measure of the summits of the monstrous mountains. He understood the eagerness of a cat to return to her litter, and the beauty of a peacock dancing in the anticipation of rains.
He’d begun to appreciate the significance of the chains he’d so often bound with. Not that he welcomed the knowledge. It made the world a bleaker place for him. With an exasperated sigh, he got up and started stretching his legs. He might have understood the world, but he’d embraced his destiny. He was the lonely traveller, never resting, never stopping.
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