The Lucid Pursuit

The morning fog was thick and mystical; I could barely see five feet ahead. As I moved gently through the young forest, the moist morning floor muffled my footsteps. My eyes explored the terrain with curiosity—lush trees, some young, some old, yet spread apart enough for me to navigate with ease.

As I let out a deep breath, I became aware that I was actually sitting on the balcony of my flat. Cross-legged, in Brahma Mudra, a gentle breeze blowing through my small potted plants, I was in the trance of Shambhavi. And just like that, with the next breath, I was back in the forest. I was lucid. I knew I was on a pursuit, though I did not yet know what I was seeking. With every breath, I existed in both places—stationary on the balcony, and advancing through the trees.

The clouds broke, and streaks of morning sunlight beamed through the mist. The density of the slender trees gave way to a smooth pasture enveloping a small lake. The sight of the still, blue water sent a tickle through my belly, an intuition that what I sought was waiting there. I felt my breath quicken as I paced onward in anticipation.

I stood at the edge of the lake under clear skies, my chest full of the earthy, fresh breeze. My eyes followed the sparkling shimmers to a small mound of land in the middle of the water. Upon it stood a modest tree—older and more content than the rest. It held its ground firmly, unheeded by the water surrounding its roots. It knew implicitly, as if by ancient experience, that if its roots were strong, the same water that could devour it would instead become its nourishment. It was this tree, in its very being, that held the answer.

I realized then that the trees in the forest represented my identities. Each was a perspective—some comfortable, some deep-rooted, some withering. They took solace in each other’s proximity, trading a clear view of the open sky for the safety of the collective. These vast stretches were the ideas I had assumed, the roles I played, and the dependencies I had developed.

But the single tree in the middle of the lake was unencumbered. Its fearless resilience in the face of possible annihilation was its greatest strength. It did not need others to establish its sense of security or esteem. This tree represented my true self—one which is without fear, without bondage, and, most importantly, complete in itself.

I found myself back on the balcony. It occurred to me at once that I had not taken a breath in some time. My eyes cracked open with a jitter, and I inhaled long and deep. A gentle smile sprouted at the corner of my lips. A message had been delivered in my meditation. Now, it was time to find what that message would look like in practice.