All Roads Start and End in Me

Bashō Asked me to join in. I picked up my bag and my sandals. We went through the mountains and valleys towards Kyoto. The narrow road to the interior, it is called. Interior to my being.

Along the way, joined Dostoyevsky, a veritable madman. We met Attar along the way, Fanā to his bone. All my friends are quite mad, to be honest.

In a Tasca in Lisbon, we met Pessoa and Jibanananda. We answered the riddles of the absurd Sphinx and passed by the impenetrable castle. Evening approached with a Huzun on Lisbon, blown away from Istanbul.

Rabindranath never came only as himself. Sometimes, he is the Dadathakur, sometimes he is the Acharya, sometimes a child lost in the darkness of a staircase.

We met Carl Sagan. We met an African shaman. We met pantheons, long forgotten, along the road.

This is the Silk Road, the Milky Way, the eternal corridor… It started from me, and will end there also. A net displacement of zero, a long-winding road from emptiness to emptiness…