A State of Ecstatic Serendipity

In a state of constant ecstatic serendipity do I choose my words carefully, for what goes in black and white cannot be taken back, and eventually what goes around definitely comes around. I don’t really know whether this is a fable or fact of life that I choose to write, because sadly I am not in a situation to differentiate between dream and reality. This music that plays around me offers a symposium for the many I’s that reside within me, they can coalesce into a single entity for the sake of clarity or they could remain their individual selves and fight out the truth of what is being delivered here. Whatever maybe the case, that which is being created today within these pages, is but a singular recollection of all that has passed through the screen of life’s varied years, of perception and preponderance of emotions.

As the music starts to play does the gods of wisdom bring upon us the unique gift of aftersight, into the realm of tomorrow meeting the ghosts of the unforgotten past, also called the Fourth Realm. In such an instance of reality, did the demigod Nevar descend upon the mortal coil of my mind, guiding me through the pathways of sublime thought and contemplation. The music seemed to reveal a higher agenda through words that escaped those divine lips in a symphony of memories, strangely resembling those of mine. I was quite sure that the pathways were different from dreams, because I know what dreams feel like; these were definitely different and moreover, surreal. Nevar spoke of joy being the absolute basis for all things existing, and that which were to come forth from the Source.

I could not but resist asking what the Source was, for in that state of ecstatic serendipity the Source seemed to be the highest point I could aspire for. This was amusingly not far from the truth.

Nevar said that the Source brought us all into existence and the Source shall call us back home when we are done with our play of life.

The light and shadows of fortune and misery danced to the reverberations of thought and music while I was guided along the pathways, endless in comparison to the roads I walked among lonely nights, hoping to reach the moon and become one with the purity of white there. Desperation drove me once to the edge of reason, and while tiptoeing on the precipice did the cosmic powers ask of my need for salvation. The only answer I could bring forth was my own helplessness. Somehow that worked with them.

Nevar showed me how to skip across the thoughtwaves that didn’t belong to the point of ascension we were chasing. There are seemingly innumerable thoughtwaves in the Fourth Realm, and it is possible for an unguided one to get lost among them, which is what usually happens to ordinary life travellers. But to fortunate ones such as myself, the cosmic powers can send forth one of their own to guide and assist with the ascension.

I remember asking Nevar during our early days of what is meant by the ascension and how would I feel during the process. Nevar laughed, in the beautiful way in which he always laughs. Like how Nature opens her bosom of secrets to reveal the magical beauty that suddenly becomes apparent to the eyes of a mere mortal, spellbound as we stand. That laugh of his can change my perspective without even my realizing the importance I had associated to the questions asked. Because all of a sudden, that laugh can make everything else seem insignificant, and life stands still in all its magnificence.

The echoes rang forth, and the music was reaching an interval of disappearance. I knew it was near the point of ascension, for that is how it always felt like. Do not ask me what the echoes said, for there is no language that can explain their words, nor the feeling associated. But I remember how when the sunlight fell on my skin on a summer evening and the cool breeze under the shade of a fig tree would wipe away the perspiration and induce me to await a violet sunset. The echoes felt the same.

Like every other ascension Nevar asked me to close my mind, and if I hadn’t been on countless such divine trips, I just might have asked how. With a tightening of thoughts, into a collapse of all phenomena in that realm, whatever that made me and my surroundings, the music and the waves, everything fell into a rhythm undifferentiated. I was no more, for I was ever more. The placidity of all that had existed till then became clear, when compared to the frequency of existence in the world into which I had ascended.

Who is Nevar? Who am I?

If there was a need for questions, the answers would have been clearer and prominent for study; but ascension shows the impossibility of doubts, of the need for knowledge. Ascension is deliverance.

And that is how the whole thing came to pass.