All is said and done,
and we have come to be born, in this other world of odds. But there is more
ahead; ample realities lingering to unfold; all creations waiting for our
manifestation.
Brought into
being by reason of eternal reason, to be that which we were created to be, many
have sung the praises of this divine design; and have we not heard, that we are
on a journey, that the world is not our
home, and that all earth is like a giant Jerusalem or Mecca? O, and now I know
that I am a pilgrim, too—sent not into one of these hallowed nations on earth,
but to earth itself. Indeed, all have embarked on this journey: you and me, and
all of humanity. Though amidst a host of skeptics, who see no reality beyond
mere matter and mortal mind, our truth, this very divine journey, remains
ingrained in our hearts.
But are we indeed
on this sacred path, and is God still visible on our screen of thoughts and
deeds? And if this be a journey, what shall its end thereof be? What shall
befall our other self when this
feeble self sinks below? Yes, this is the question that so frequently sticks to
my mind, as the sun springs up at each dawn. And, long ago, the answers had
danced into my mind, and now I know. For
there is a glorious magnificent place ahead of that soul who shall, beyond the odds and dirt of this vile world,
take the path of the creator and achieve the ultimate purpose set before him or
her. O joyful world: a world of glamour and unmatchable grandeur.
Who shall reach
this graceful destiny? Only few…very few; for humans below are full of
vanities. The path of life, many have strayed away; the love of God has in many
hearts decayed. And now, are we still contemplating these fantastic lingering
realities, when here on earth, many of us still live like dead things, thinking
of no eternal journey, nor giving room for godliness? Many have left the safe
shore, and have dabbled into the ocean of endless doom, yet, still hoping to
ascend a ladder which their very
lifestyles have rendered inexistent.
Fruitless, futile
ventures have flooded the fertile mind of humans, and souls are lost in the
thick forest of wrongdoings, hunting but shadows of dead antelopes, seeking
solutions where there is none. At 5.am, the clocks tick in clamors, and many
humans scuttle to cars, boats, trains and planes, heading to cities and
nations, to work, and work, and be worked for. Writers write, thinkers think, teachers
teach, students learn, doctors prescribe, lawyers speak, and the architects
design mansions and scrapers. Everyone is busy—none seems idle anymore. Money
is cultivated and wealth is spilled within and afar; families are still raised,
and funs abound as more funds emerge.
Things have fallen
apart; or have they not? The world of music has fallen beyond repairs, and
obscene beings have become the role models of the young ones. Vain trends have stained our days. Addictions
of terrible hierarchies, heinous acts have filled the human mind, and pervasive
politics have polluted pure piety. Who still thinks of that beautiful land of wonderful bliss, the golden destination of
humankind? Is there still a journey, and are we still among the pilgrims? I
shall not speak for all. Let each soul answer this question. For if we remain
on this path of nothingness and vanities, it is certain, that this journey
shall unfailingly lead many humans to unparalleled tragedies.
O, alas I send my plea:
may our journey on earth not in the end, be like a journey to nowhere.
