I will not narrate it all; this will not be the absolute but fragmentary traces of the magical depth of perception that lies in the power of moments, for whatever is once verbalized and named ‒ particularly that which cannot be contained so ‒ will be taken out of that deep, endless sphere of the essence and pure truth, nearing the superficial and the limited, wherein it will be veiled in illusory secrecy ‒ whereas the nonverbal, impalpable and spontaneously free will remain where it is supposed to: in the instances that have endowed a perceptive soul with an understanding that needs no words...
I have made a spiritual, even mystical journey, being filled with pain and sadness on the verge of explosion at first to gain power of a good, unbeatable kind after an inner rebirth. All was nurtured by the intensity of all, by a plethora of percepts: the starry sky above; the nature teeming with life and yet devoid of the suffocation of a city; the nightly silence, absolute but for the chirps of crickets, monolithic just as dark; the sun that burned as it warmed up; dance and my strolls through the village, both of which were wearying me physically but spiritually turned into a hungry need, nutrition and then fulfillment; music ‒ the age-old beating of drums that pulsated through my body daily; and all the souls drawing near one another just as growing apart, both fighting and embracing each other, becoming one...The total mindfulness, freedom of the mind, emotiveness... And one would create, starting at each new dawn, so as at night, when one would coalesce into its still, one would become fully aware that the day had not been fulfilled by time as much as by traces one had left behind on one's journey... and that if one had been a painter of light on that day, one had become a child of infinity...
I have come to a realization that the pain I felt is not ‒ cannot be, despite all appearances ‒ my enemy. It is inevitable, and even if not ‒ I should not shun it. If I let it enter me, dwell in me; if I suffer it, letting it go through me, and make it go away on a psychical plane ‒ then, when the pain disappears, I will grow from it, becoming stronger than before.
I am said to have taken the "difficult" path, which is said to be "incorrect". I do not decide for a path according to its easiness or difficultness ‒ of optional ones, I choose such that I consider right, as it leads to the (notional) temple; i.e., where I would like to get. If the path that leads to my destination happens to be hard, am I supposed to turn around and leave it so as to tread another, easy one instead that leads nowhere though? Certainly: if I am not genuine and if I do not mean business; otherwise: hardly. The way to success cannot lead through successfulness; in constrast, it leads through failures; before climbing up the mountain top, one will likely fall and get hurt many times on one's way there and the time spent on it will be a test of one's patience, but if one wants to reach one's destination, the choice to be made is clear-cut.
Moreover, there is the aspect of dissatisfaction: Since it is not satisfaction but dissatisfaction that makes one to take pains to meet the desirable end; since when one is satisfied, what would one strive for? One might as well rest on one's assumed pedestal, but if one made no effort whatsoever, what would one live for? Just to breathe and eat and sleep? And if it was true that one's world is so perfect, spotless, light-heartedly floating in time, if it is fulfilled, why would one seek other worlds ‒ spheres that will wake one up, interrupt one's slumber, and enliven it with authenticity?