Terminal to the Endless
Letters from the Endless – Spiritual Journey Series
.png "Your Baggage Decides Your Last Journey") |
Life is not a destination; it is a transit lounge. While we obsess over the comfort of the station, we ignore the weight of the bags we are carrying. In the end, only those who travel light are allowed to board the train that never returns. |
The Transit Lounge
We are all just waiting in a transit lounge.
Some call it a train station, some an airport, some a dusty bus stop by the side of a forgotten road. We decorate our terminals differently. Some are cathedrals of glass and steel, filled with artificial light and the hum of progress. Others are rotting wooden benches, smelling of rain and cheap tobacco.
People choose their terminals according to their vanity. They chase the busy ones, the grand ones, convinced that the speed of the departure hall dictates the worth of the passenger.
But it is all a distraction. It is all noise.
No matter which terminal you haunt, the destination is the same:
This is not where you stay.
The Loop
Most of us forget the nature of the tickets we buy.
Every choice, every desire, every desperate rush to board the "express train" to happiness—it is just a round-trip ticket.
Every choice, every desire, every desperate rush to board the "express train" to happiness—it is just a round-trip ticket.
The wheels turn. The tracks hum. You arrive at a new station, but the view is the same. Same struggles. Same heartbreak. Different faces, same old masks.
Some call this Karma. Some call it Samsara.
I call it a loop. A ride you keep taking because you haven’t learned to get off.
The Final Departure
There is another train. It leaves from a platform you rarely see. It doesn’t have a schedule. It doesn’t make a noise. This is the train to the Endless. The last stop. No returns.
Most of us cannot board it. Not because we are banned. Not because the doors are locked.
We cannot board because we are too heavy.
The ticket to the Endless is simple, but the price is everything: Travel Light.
The conductor does not ask for your passport. He asks for your burden.
He looks at your hands.
Are they empty?
Or are they clenched around luggage that isn't even yours?
The Baggage
We pack our souls into suitcases of fear and greed.
We carry bags of ego, heavy as lead.
We drag trunks filled with anger and attachment to things that will rot.
We stuff our pockets with longings for people who left long ago.
As long as you hold onto them, you stay here. The gravity of your own past pins you to the platform. The loop continues. The train takes you back to the start.
But when you finally drop the bags.
When you look at the wreckage of your desires and simply let it fall.
When your hands are empty, and your heart is lighter than air...
Only then are you allowed onto the last platform.
Only then are you allowed onto the last platform.
The Endless does not require luxury. It does not even require desire. Because by the time you arrive, you don't want anything anymore.
You are free.
FOR THE ONE WHO FEELS IT
Perhaps this life is just a waiting room. And every choice we make is just adding another kilogram to our load.
But one day, if we travel light enough—no bags, no want, no weight—we will step onto that silent platform. The doors will close.
And the train will not bring us back.
