A man, a spiritual seeker, he had spent considerable time of his life, meditating, attending satsanghs……. seeking answers, seeking Truth.
Walking away, from all that is held to be “success” in life, the works of Ramana and Nisargadatta, Jnaneshwar, Tukaram, in the native language of Tulu and Marathi, he had read them, all.
Not just read, he could render a fine exposition on the subtle points….. from each such texts.
Tolle, Mooji, Byron Katie, Sipra, Adyashanti, Karoli Baba, Poonjaji…… he had done all the usual rounds.
Advaita, Dzogchen, Bardo and Rigpa of the Tibetans, Soto and Rinzai schools of Zen Buddhism…… all were familiar territories.
He had whirled in Konya, translated into his native language the poetry of Bistami, Hafiz, Shams of Tabrizi and Attar.
Ayahuascha and acid, had taken him to realms of no-dimension..
…he had experienced the glow of profound satisfaction, in his volunteer work for the poor and needy.
And yet, the questions…..
Once, the man , travelling through the country side, sat down on the meadow grass to take some rest.
Something made him look across.
For a long time, the man sat……. observing the one on a dilapidated bench…. across the road.
The one had his face towards the sun, he seemed to be basking in the warmth.
After some time, the man got up, walked across the road, reached to the one…… and said:
“Sir, for a long time, I have been watching you.There is this stillness around you.I think you have answers.May I pose my questions?”
It seemed to the man, that while nobody replied, an utterance was heard, within him.
The utterance seemed to say..
…. “The question that cannot be posed, needs no answer”.
The man was not aware that his eyes had closed, or for how long he had stood, bowed head, with his eyes shut.
After some time, he opened his eyes and saw none on the bench.
Or anyone….. standing in front of the bench.