The lessons from the Universe

She had been searching for something for a very long time. A time not measured in months or years, but in lives and eras. She could feel it. This backpack carried a strange weight. It wasn’t exclusively her own, as if she were fighting the battles of other souls she didn’t even know. The thing was, it didn’t matter so much where the backpack came from, because regardless, the one carrying it today was her, and one way or another, it was heavy. So she was the one who had to resolve it in this lifetime if she truly wanted to find what she was looking for.

She thought it didn’t matter so much where the backpack came from, but of course it mattered, because it was part of the puzzle. The favorable part was that she was strong, she knew how to fight, she had tools, and she had developed a great deal of resilience. She had the courage and bravery needed to leave everything behind in search of something, and it wasn’t that she had been born with it, but rather that she had built it over the years of her own short long life.

They had told her that in order to find “that” which she was searching for, she had to follow certain steps. They had given her maps, which she followed to the letter like a great treasure hunt around the world. And, unshakable and stubborn, she went in search of every cross on that map tirelessly—or almost tirelessly.

She started with the nearest “crosses”: in the neighborhood parks, in the bars of small towns, in the hippie squares, and in the most social universities where she believed the most interesting people were, but she found nothing there. So she thought about traveling farther, and in that search she crossed the entire country. She searched first in nature, because she believed treasures should be kept in places worthy of the purity of treasures: in the carob forests, among the rocks of glacial rivers, and also in the caves of glaciers. In the holes children dug in the snow, and in the objects pilgrims leave on the summits of the highest mountains.

—Nothing men... Could it be hidden farther away?

And then, she decided to grab a bigger backpack—even bigger than the one she was already carrying—and filled it with necessary things: books for the journey, notebooks to write down conclusions, a camera to document the changes, and a sleeping bag to lie down wherever needed. A blanket to keep her warm at night, a few photos of her parents to hold close, and some talismans for when things got rough.

With all that, and a few things she packed without even knowing it—such as strength, solitude, wisdom, detachment, and courage—she was ready to cross the ocean.

Copenhaguen, Denmark.

She searched in very distant countries: inside the attics of Scandinavian castles, at the gates of fortresses, in the blue of the sea, in the hidden corners of cliffs, and among the dunes of paradise-like beaches. She searched even in the fluorescent glow of the Northern Lights and in the flickering light of bioluminescent plankton, but nothing. What she was looking for did not appear.

And then she thought that perhaps she was looking on the wrong continent, and probably in the wrong culture. So she changed direction, because she truly was stubborn and once she began a search, she never left it unfinished.

On that new continent she traveled through deserts, ancient temples, and mountains even higher, colder, and older than those she had inhabited before. She crossed holy wars and even greater loneliness. Along the way she found new gods and adopted them, because now she was much farther from home, much more alone, and things had become even more difficult, so she needed more help. Those gods guided her farther, more steadily, and more consistently. They showed her other worlds and new practices that she began to incorporate, and although she was firm and determined, and never told anyone for fear they would be frightened, she was beginning to grow impatient.

So one night, in the middle of a pine forest somewhere in the world, she lit a candle, placed her stones upon an altar built on a huge rock, a bowl of water, and some flowers she had gathered along the way. She closed her eyes and looked up at the sky. She always looked at the sky when she spoke with her guides and her gods.

—How much longer am I going to have to search? I'm tired. I've traveled kilometers and kilometers. Houses, forests, deserts, mountains, and seas. I've walked through lives that never even dared half of what I have dared. What more do you want from me? I know you are guiding me, I feel your presence, and I deeply appreciate your unquestionable companionship, but I could really use a break by now. At least let me understand why... Why are you making it so difficult for me?

And after those words, which felt like a mixture of frustration and wisdom, on that full moon night the heavens seemed to open, and a voice that came from inside her soul, yet was not her own, began to speak.

—There are still some things you need to learn before you can find what you are looking for. There are still important details you are not seeing. You still need to refine some of your search tools, thoughts, and practices. And that thing you seek so intensely will not appear until you have completed them. That will be the right moment. And it doesn't matter what path others follow; these steps are yours, and you will have to resolve them yourself in order to move forward.

Whatever was speaking seemed to be a God or something like that, because it immediately reminded her of India, and she realized that that which was speaking to her was speaking in Hindi. She did not know how it was happening because she had never spoken Hindi, but without understanding it, she understood it.

—But I have followed the points on the map to the letter. I have already learned so much along the way, more than I could ever have imagined. I have helped everyone I could, I have carried out noble actions, and I have even transformed myself in the process. I have learned about spirituality, gods, and practices. I have become more conscious, more prudent, and more attentive. What is still missing? What more do you want? — And yes, she repeated that same phrase again because somewhere in her soul she felt she was being asked to do so for a reason, and although she sensed it, she was not entirely sure what that reason was.

And with an even wiser voice, one of those voices you can no longer argue with even if you wanted to because you would feel very foolish doing so, that Being replied:

—It is still not time. There are still a few things missing....

She, sitting cross-legged, her hands on her hips and her back tired, still looking upward—because it was easier than looking inside her own soul—answered in a gentle voice tinged with indignation.

—Still?

—Yes, still...— and after a brief silence occupied by her sigh of resignation, it continued— We are protecting you, so that a rushed encounter does not contaminate your search. You are doing wonderfully, which is why you have us by your side, but the time has not yet come.

—The years pass, time passes. I am far from home, and at times I feel miserable searching and searching and finding nothing.

—You must trust, now more than ever, because what you are looking for is also looking for you with the same intensity with which you seek it, and that shortens the distance. The beautiful thing about seekers is that they never dare to stop searching; it is their nature, and in the end, those who seek always, always end up finding. (The thing reaches the seeker.) What is meant for someone always finds its way to them, because the entire universe conspires toward it. Everything will fall into place in incredible ways that you cannot even imagine. Just follow the signs. The signs reaffirm that you are on the right path, and remember that the miracle of life is also in the journey, not only in the results...

Kunjapuri temple, India

« The miracle of life is also in the journey, not only in the results »

The phrase lingered within her in echoes. And although she was no less exhausted by the crumbs of those encouraging words, nor any less annoyed by the ache in her tired feet, she managed a smile. Everything that voice had told her, she already knew, but sometimes we need someone "outside" of us to reaffirm it in the present moment so we don't feel so alone.

And there, in that forest somewhere in the world, she turned the hands that had been resting on her waist in complaint and placed them on her knees, palms facing upward, in meditation. And this time she did look inward, and she began opening her hands wider and wider until her fingers could stretch no farther apart from one another. Then she drew them in slightly, as if she were holding something, something very, very powerful. She extended her hands to receive everything that came without fear, with trust, understanding that what was hers would stay, and what was not simply would not.

And that night, among the old and wise trees, she had an insight that felt like a subtle revelation: she understood that perhaps she no longer had to keep traveling kilometer after kilometer searching. That perhaps searching could also look more like staying still and allowing what needed to arrive to simply arrive, because without a doubt that which she had been desperately searching for would come—the universe had affirmed it to her once again, and she, though exhausted and full of anticipation, knew it too in the depths of her soul.

She understood that the challenge was also to know herself even more deeply and to grow through the process of searching, nourishing herself along the way.

—Wow, now I can stop searching.

To stop running sounded a lot like resting.

Koh Phangan, Thailand

And she already trusted, but now she began to trust even more. And instead of moving around searching and searching with her silver swords to slay dragons and her bag full of interesting tools, she began to cultivate her own garden. She chose a piece of land that she called “garden” and began clearing the weeds from it. She had always known that if there was any true teacher, it was nature.

She bought books on agriculture, gathered fertilizers, and little by little began choosing which flowers and plants she wanted to grow there: flowering species, aromatic herbs, or fruit trees. This took her years of choices, practicing new techniques, experiments, decisions, and results, but slowly, very slowly—as someone discovering a truly new world—she began to fall in love with her garden. So much so that by the time she realized it, years and years had passed without searching.

She began to walk more peacefully, to enjoy the fruits of her labor, her garden, and her own mind. A mental peace she had found in cultivating what she wanted, which, unlike before, did not exhaust her but instead brought her peace.

And she began to move with a different rhythm, a different cadence, because she fully trusted that what was destined for her would arrive. And so she grew larger and stronger, and even wiser.

One afternoon, like every afternoon, as she sat meditating beneath a fuchsia bougainvillea tree that she had planted with her own hands, she heard that voice again. She recognized it instantly, for they were old friends.

—You have a beautiful garden, full of flowers, fruits, and aromatic plants that perfume the entire air. In India, we believe that everything, EVERYTHING, is written. We accept the karma that is ours and do not complain about it: we trust. Knowing that everything is written gives us a peace in which we can rest. You have not arrived here by chance. Religion is not empty words to repeat like a parrot; it is the understanding of daily practice in everyday life.

Never underestimate what you do; you never know in which corner happiness is hiding.

And when the phrase finished echoing in her mind, she opened her eyes.

She saw the mountains in the distance, the green of their pine trees that made her fall in love every morning, and how low the clouds drifted in those parts. The little birds resting in her trees and the goats grazing on the hillside. And not only that: that day, she realized that this was actually what she had always been searching for.

To appreciate magic, one must learn to inhabit one's own stillness.

Images appear blurred by the speed of movement,

but when you stop,

you allow yourself to appreciate what has always been there.

That is when you stop running.

It feels as though you have arrived.