This is the novice speaking.
I am the weary traveller on the first step of a narrow steep mountain path. I look hesitatingly and longingly at the next step. I want to touch the peak. But the climb could be long and hard. With no one to keep me company. The firs whisper and beckons me. The calm of the thick forest pulls me in. So I shall go. I might falter and fall down. As long as I can rise after every fall, there is hope.
My name is the beginner.
I am the daughter and wife. The doting sister and the spoiling aunt. I command and cook. I manage and make money. Through the day I sing, dance and don my many acts. I smile and cry to suit my role. I wish and re-wish. When the dawn approaches, I drop it all down.
In the twilight hour, I sit at my Guru's feet.
He close his eyes. And I close mine.
He disappear.
And I disappear with him.
Into the dark abyss, I explore in impatience. As if to find some treasure. He holds me back gently. Showing only that I am ready to behold. Like a child, he leads me in. Putting up with my tantrums. And my inquisitive mind. Forgiving my occasional lapse of trust and discipline. Nudging me on when I hold back with gripping fear. Filling me with such strength and energy, that I want to burn.
On this Guru Poornima day,
Should I offer my tears? Should I offer my gratitude? When I am his, what is there to offer?
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