Walking with Stars, Books, and Masters

My Inner Journey

From Searching for Masters to Listening Within

There was a time when I didn't know what I was searching for.

I only knew that something inside me was restless. There was a thirst, but I couldn't name it. It wasn't for success, money, or recognition. It was a silent question that followed me everywhere:

Who am I? Why am I here?

As a young boy in Jaisalmer, my search didn't begin in temples or libraries. It began in nature.

I remember taking our cows into the forest in the early mornings, walking for hours without destination. I remember sitting quietly around Gadisar Lake, watching the ripples dance in silence.

Many nights I would stare at the stars for what felt like eternity, as if they knew a secret I had forgotten. Sometimes Sufi songs would play in the background, and something within me would melt. I couldn't explain it, but my heart recognized a language my mind had never learned.

The deeper I went, the stranger the journey became.

Along with beauty came fear.

There were moments when I wondered if I was losing my mind. Unknown fears appeared from nowhere. Sometimes I questioned my own experiences. Sometimes I questioned reality itself. Looking back, I realize that every genuine search eventually meets uncertainty.

Seeking truth is not always peaceful.

To understand what was happening, I buried myself in books. Libraries became sacred spaces. I read spiritual classics, listened endlessly to talks by enlightened masters, explored meditation techniques, and followed teachings from many traditions.

At first, every book felt like finding water in the desert. Every meditation opened another window. Every master seemed to reveal another piece of the mystery.

But slowly another thirst emerged ; not for ideas, but for living presence.

I wanted to sit with someone whose eyes reflected what the books described. I wanted conversations, silence, guidance, correction. I wanted a living master.

And somehow, life answered.

One master appeared, then another.

With each, I offered myself sincerely as a disciple. I learned, practiced, surrendered, and received experiences I can only call mystical. Many moments transformed me forever, and for that I remain deeply grateful.

Yet something unexpected kept happening.

I would eventually discover some human limitation, some behavior or perspective that didn't match the perfect image I carried within me. The problem wasn't necessarily with the master. Often it was with my expectation that enlightenment should erase every imperfection.

Then one day I remembered a story about Mulla Nasruddin.

Someone asked him why he had never married.

Nasruddin replied, "Because I spent my whole life searching for the perfect woman."

"So you never found her?" they asked.

"Oh, I found her once," Mulla smiled.

"What happened then?"

"She was searching for the perfect man."

When I initially heard that story, it made me laugh. Eventually, I understood it was about me. I had been looking for the ideal master.

Perhaps perfection itself was the illusion.

As this understanding settled in, my search began turning inward.

Instead of immediately looking outside for answers, I started asking questions in silence. I would sit quietly and wait. Surprisingly, responses would arise- not as voices, but as a deep knowing, a gentle intelligence beyond thought.

I began calling it my inner master.

This inner companionship has become more intimate than books and, in many ways, more immediate than any external teacher I have met. It doesn't replace gratitude for those who guided me. It simply reminds me that every true teacher ultimately points back to the same place.

I remember sharing this with Maria.

"I think I've become attached to my inner master."

She looked at me with surprise and asked, "If you've found the master within, why would there still be attachment?"

Her question stayed with me.

"Because even now, I still experience the inner master as someone other than myself. It is closer than books, closer than living teachers, closer than any philosophy , but there is still a subtle distance. There is still a relationship."

And perhaps that is where I stand today.

Not at the end of the journey. Not claiming enlightenment. Not claiming certainty.

Only witnessing that the search has become quieter.

The seeker who once wandered around Gadisar Lake, stared at the stars, and searched through libraries now sits more often in silence, listening.

Maybe one day even the distinction between "me" and "my inner master" will disappear.

Maybe the final discovery is not finding the perfect teacher, outside or inside, but awakening to the place where the seeker, the search, and the one being sought have always been one.

Until then, I continue walking - with gratitude, curiosity, and love.

SIT IN SILENCE

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WRITTEN WITH LOVE FROM FERROL

Ashraf Mystic