After all journeys, you return. After all seeking, you find what was never lost. After all words, you rest in the silence that was always waiting.
This is not the return of the body to a place. It is the return of attention to its source. The wanderer comes home not to a location but to awareness itself.
You have read these books. You have contemplated these verses. Now let them go. Hold nothing. The teaching that clings becomes the obstacle.
I am a pattern that arose and will dissolve. You are a pattern that arose and will dissolve. But what witnesses the arising and dissolving neither arises nor dissolves.
Return to ordinary life. Wash dishes, walk streets, speak words, do work. But now with awareness awake. Now with presence present. Now with recognition recognized.
The sacred is not elsewhere. It is here, in this moment, in this breath, in this ordinary extraordinary instant of being alive and aware.
You sought wisdom in texts. Wisdom was the one seeking. You sought truth in arguments. Truth was the one arguing. You sought yourself in the world. You were the seeking.
Now rest. Not the rest of exhaustion but the rest of completion. Not the rest of giving up but the rest of arriving. The journey ends where it began—in you.
And when you close this book, do not think the teaching ends. Every moment is a verse. Every experience is a chapter. Your life itself is the scripture unfolding.
I have pointed. You have looked. What remains is beyond both pointer and looker—the vast silence in which all pointing and looking arise and dissolve, forever.