One month and thirteen flights later, as I land to a sunrise nestled just above the clouds, I have found my centre. Most tellingly, it was the centre I found just before embarking upon my grand sojourn.
From the burning bodies at the ghats and the deep meditation at the monasteries, to the snowy peaks of the Himalayas where the glorious sun wanted to kiss my face right off, it was a journey I needn’t have taken. And yet, without it, the wisdom I had pre-trip wouldn’t have been internalised deep into my bones.
It was never about becoming, rather about being. That’s it. No big secret.
Just to get still enough to truly know that what I may have been seeking outside myself was inside all the time. I knew it, but didn’t know it. I didn’t feel it.
You need to eat the packet of biscuits you so desperately crave to know you don’t need it, that it won’t really give you anything and, that you didn’t actually want it either.
You have to do it.
You HAVE to do it.
So I did. And now I’m done.
And now I can be. Really be.
