The inner landscape is the vastest and most mysterious of them all. Some of it is bathed in light so bright it is blinding. Some of it is enshrouded in darkness impenetrable to untrained eyes. There are parts worn soft and smooth over time by sacred awareness, or presence, and other parts ragged, sharp, and steep.
There are meadows and valleys, canyons and chasms, through which tears flow and cosmic winds blow. Every inhale and exhale a wave from the grandest of oceans, continually bathing the shore of being. The yearning to know this land is an unnameable longing, a silent call from the depths. To know our infinite nature, we must turn our eyes inward...and be willing to be blinded by our light, and cut by that which is sharp within.
It is a journey that brings us to our knees and gives us wings to soar. That which we seek flourishes from the compost of our terrain. The single most sacred pilgrimage you will ever make is the one right where you are.