! ! Darshana

Who looks to whom? And who looked first? Everything that has direction has its contraflow. The ikon whose golden frame you gently touch painted its painter so that it might look within you. That white-bearded man whose photo you just glanced at, was photographed by the Ganges’ snowy swirling waters to be there to bless your eyes, to smile your mind. For you who arrived, hot, dusty, saddle-sore, the saint has waited patiently to see you become him. For you, the whole world awaits with answers to your questions yet to ask.