No, I have not arrived

Sailen Routray

 'The arrival of the leave train' (1918)
Oil painting by Bernard Meninsky (1891–1950)
Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons

The other day, in passing, perhaps in good faith, you mentioned to another in front me, that "He has arrived." Or were you perhaps being sarcastic? 

But, no. I have not arrived. 

I am still in the train. The train rattles, shakes, but moves, albeit slowly. It is built of the teachings of my master. Rather of whatever I make of his teachings. For his teachings are correct, beneficial and robust, like that of any other master. So, I am abroad, on this train, which is made up of my master's words. 

My master is a robber. He has robbed me of vain curiousity, the need to know how the world works so that I can change the world. He has snatched away the veils I used to hide my true desires from myself. I now must look within and see what is there. And there is so much to change within. Everything that needs to be changed, accepted, lived with, and transcended, is within.

My master is a magician. He has revealed the tricks of the world and how it fools me to keep me entangled with it. How it promises pleasure but delivers pain. How it really has nothing up its sleeves.

 

My master is also a doctor. He heals souls, he heals bodies, he heals minds. He heals men, he heals women, he heals the poor, he heals the rich, he heals the whites, he heals the browns. He heals wounds, he heals vanities, he heals delusions. 

My master has also pulled into the train other folk like me, people with sorrow,  people with pain, people with delusions. Now they give me company, even when they are silent, especially so when they are silent. 

My journey, our journey, has a destination, for now. I have not chosen the terminus of this railway line. My master has. And when I reach there I may have to leave on another journey in another train built with his words.  

On this journey, I also see other people passing in other trains built with the teachings of other masters. On seeing them my heart gladdens, that they are also safe, that they are also protected. That one day their sorrow will end.

But, no. I have not arrived. 

I will perhaps never arrive. But I am glad where I am going. I am glad to be on this train. I am glad to be on this journey. And I am glad about this point of my journey. 

For each point of this journey is an arrival. 

But, no. I have not arrived. 

I am arriving, each moment, at a new station. And at each station I meet a new me. And when I meet this new me, I can only hug him and cry. Not with pain. But with love.