THE ASSUMPTION

It was just another month—any month. The conditions had changed; summer had turned into winter, and the seasons had blended into one another. Existence had decided to show me 50,000 different ways to get home.

“My Lord, I’m having so much fun,” I said. “Don’t let one day resemble the next.”

“Then stay in the moment,” said a voice within me. “Watch what I will show you.”

It was 5:30 in the morning, and the sky was just beginning to brighten. Atom (my dog) came close to me. The scene was so beautiful, as if he was saying, “Get up, let’s go for a walk.”

This time, we had set out before the sun had risen. Normally, Atom would be running around sniffing the grass, but this time, he had left all that behind. He was sitting still, listening to existence. As if, at last, he had understood Zarathustra.

There was a hill in the distance, a place from where we could see far, far away. The weather was rainy, so we couldn’t stay long. We had wandered in and out of many places. But what about that place? Why had we never gone there before? What I was seeing didn’t fit the map in my mind. Something was missing—it had to be completed. I had seen all the roads leading there, yet the map remained unfinished.

The next day came, and existence whispered, “Don’t make plans.” Again, at the time I had planned something else, I was doing something entirely different. And once again, without a plan, we set off. But not on the route I had in mind—on a completely different one.

When we reached the top of the hill, we looked across. Atom recognized the place—it was where we had been the other day. And just like that, the map was complete.

So, dear reader, it seems that in order to arrive, one must first set out on the journey.