I feel I have arrived at last. I am not sure where it is that I have arrived, but that does not matter to me at this stage. Who cares? I am somewhere, and that is perfectly fine with me. Anywhere would do, as well. I am satisfied with my lot, that is. I am not looking forward to anything else. And that is the gist of it, I guess. I am here, and I am happy. Well, content. I am not yearning for anything. There is nothing I crave for. I have no wishes or hopes. No dreams, as it were. Is this enlightenment? I have no idea, but it surely feels good. It is only a question of words, anyway. Enlightenment, schmenlightenment.

Addendum (April 10, 2016)

Endearing, this. Nearly three weeks before this piece was penned, I completed my book about climate change (“Postscriptum XV,” August 6, 2014). And I felt kind of finished. Unbeknownst to myself at the time, there were two more books for me to put together, both of which I completed a year and a half later. But the book about yoga makes me feel really finished. Actually, fulfilled. Indeed, there is nothing I crave for any longer. I have no dreams, either. And enlightenment is in my wake at long last. Which is why I find this piece so endearing. As far as premonitions go, this one is nigh perfect.