I was, for over a decade, on a quest for the miraculous. Went looking for shamans, priests, wanderers, and madmen. Spoke to the rich and mighty, walked the paths of those who got lost, went from hedonism to stoicism, made money and lost money, made a fool of myself, fell in and out of love, got ill, got better then got ill again. Took the advice of those who went up and down and saw the world and failed miserably.

Sought comfort in both good and bad places and people.
All this for my idealism. For the promise of experiencing Nirvana. Even if that would be for a split second.
I tried curving my reality, and I am surprised sometimes that life has loved me enough to keep me going.

Then, I stopped my search. I stepped out one morning, smelled the air, and felt drunk from the euphoria the moment has granted me. I am finding wonder in the smallest things – those neglected for years. I needed not to visit the Himalayas to find God.
God is here, on the edge of my bed.

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