The Rose Garden of Eternity

Sindbad and the Sky Lizard 2.

The heat of the sun rising above the rocky wasteland was apparent even at this early hour. The sluggish trucks, the pompous jeeps that ocassionally appeared on the highway continued on without mercy. “Why on Earth do I do this?”, Sindbad wondered. Standing on the roadside by myself with a face covered by white whiskers. Spending days on the highway in exciting countries instead of taking the bus. Granted, buses do not provide a highly intellectual environment, but they are affordable, and by the evening I could be floating in the ocean. Or how simple would it be sitting in Budapest in the library reading scriptures of wisdom, then have lunch with someone who is able to pronounce the sound ‘P’.

A car stopped. A thin man in traditional white smock and embroidered cap lowered the window. His intelligent eyes emanated warm goodwill. “I’d be happy to take you if it was in my way”, he said, touching his heart with his palm. A wave of human kindness swept over Sindbad’s whole being. Yes, he thought. That’s why we do it. When you travel like that, the heavy wrapping around the human soul becomes paper thin. All that insulation built of habits, safety, the busybodying of our ant-like lives gets rubbed off by the desert sand. And when you get rid off this styrofoam, you can feel again, you can be alive as you were when you were a child.

He relaxed and let the bus to Salalah pass, although it was flashing its lights at him. “Yesterday I did not want anything and it went perfectly”, he continued his rumination. “Today I wish to arrive to the sea so much, but it suddenly seems out of reach nearly 900 kilometers away. I feel short of breath among these crumbled rocks, I feel anxious, and scare myself with foreboding images.

That’s why it’s good to have a companion, he mused. The company grants a more elevated mood and when one traveller gets gloomy, the other always drags them out of the pit. If they have a good relationship this is part of the dynamic. The graphs depicting their emotional state never match, as everyone reacts differently to adversity. The one who is happier feels obliged to get their companion in a better mood. Even when they fall together into defeatism, there will be one slightly better off who will necessarily start to provoke, encourage, clown, have a lecture which will shove them both into a different state.

And that is why it’s also important to set out alone, he added. To give birth to an inner voice that, no matter the situation, will say: “Sindbad, eternity is right here. It depends only on you how you feel in it.”

He let the voice solidify, allowing sufficient space for its truth, all the colors and perspectives that it contained. Then he turned the tought in his head to be able to investigate another face. We don’t know where we come from and where we go, he affirmed. Yet we were equipped with everything we need on this journey. The Universe provides for its children. Whether we find out what really matters depends solely on us.

At that moment another car stopped with the driver wanting to invite Sindbad for breakfast and hookah. Sindband thanked him and continued with his reflection.

Every moment in eternity is the same and yet every moment is unique, exciting, never repeating, a sound in the happy song of existence. It’s easier to notice that here on the road than in the office you arrive to every morning for forty years. It’s cheating, really, that’s why it’s possible to get hooked on it like on coffee. Comfort obscures the importance of things. Emotions that became dim in whining get purified by discomfort.

He was about to pocket eternity, shoulder his backpack and walk a few kilometers to a place after the fork in the road when he heard honking. A man in white backed up for him. 60 kilometres is a start, he thought, plus there is s golden rule of hitching that states that when the energy gets stuck in a place, you have to move on. As they did not have a common language with the driver, he continued his musing.

Instead of spending time in the archives of habit or in the filing room of tasks, we can open the door of the library of eternity. Although this makes the matter appear too theoretical. Let it be the garden of eternity. A rose garden. Where perfumed flowers bloom on branches with shiny leaves and thorns.

Source: Ulrike Langner, Unsplash

That day Sindbad reached Salalah while it was still daylight even though he spent time at a fire station where the chief fireman invited him for lunch.