I had been wondering if I was doing something wrong, if I was missing something essential, if I was not sincere enough, or if I was not ready enough. I had been wondering if Moksha was even possible, or if it was just a myth, a fantasy, a delusion. I had been wondering if Moksha was worth pursuing, or if it was better to accept the reality as it was, to enjoy the pleasures and endure the pains, to live and die like any other organism.
But then something changed. Something happened that made me see the world in a different light, that made me feel a new sense of joy and wonder, that made me hope for a new possibility. Something happened that made me realize that I was on my way to Moksha, that Moksha was not a distant goal, but a present reality, that Moksha was not a state of being, but a state of becoming.
It was a simple thing, really. A change of perspective, a shift of attitude, a moment of grace. It was a morning when I woke up and felt a surge of gratitude and love for everything and everyone. It was a morning when I looked at the sky and saw the most beautiful colors and shapes. It was a morning when I smelled the rain and felt the most refreshing coolness. It was a morning when I heard a song and felt the most uplifting melody. It was a morning when I drove across the city and saw the most amazing sights and scenes. It was a morning when I realized that I was on my way from one side of the city to the other to unite and merge with my Moksha.
The city was Diyarbakir in south-eastern Turkey, like a necklace of unique black pearls hanging from the neck of the nearby river. The river was the Tigris, one of the oldest and longest rivers in the world, flowing from the mountains of Anatolia to the Persian Gulf. The Tigris valley was under the fog, creating a mystical atmosphere, as if hiding a secret treasure. When I emerged from the fog, the sky and the clouds that adorned the sky had descended to the ground on the near horizon, caressing the concrete buildings and making them look almost noble. On the Urfa Road, which divides the city from one side to the other, as I floated westwards without any hurry, clouds were piled up on the road a little ahead like huge cotton candies. I was touching the accelerator pedal very lightly so that the car would not crush those piles of cotton candy and İbrahim Tatlıses was singing a joyful love song. He was a famous Turkish singer and actor, known for his romantic folk songs. He was singing about his beloved, his longing, his happiness. I was singing along with him, feeling his emotions, feeling my own emotions. I was in no hurry; there was nowhere to go. Moksha would be there when I arrived.
Moksha was not a destination, but a journey. Moksha was not a result, but a process. Moksha was not a static condition, but a dynamic movement. Moksha was not something that I had to achieve, but something that I had to experience. Moksha was not something that I had to seek, but something that I had to discover. Moksha was not something that I had to find, but something that I had to realize. Moksha was not something that I had to attain, but something that I had to become.
I was on a sacred journey to Moksha. I was the song sung to Moksha, the road to Moksha, the cloud of Moksha, the sky of Moksha, the river of Moksha, the city of Moksha, the world of Moksha. I was Moksha, and Moksha was me. I was free, I was blissful, I was whole.
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