Many of us define happiness differently. For some, it ends at the attainment of money, fame, or power. And perhaps, in those simple satisfactions, they feel they’ve reached the end of their search. If human beings didn’t evolve, I could say, “Thank God.” But we do evolve. And eventually, these shallow sources of pleasure will reveal their illusionary nature, and the joy they once brought will vanish. The illusion always collapses.
Yet somewhere in us—whether clearly understood or only just beginning to take form—we all carry a longing for true happiness. The real kind. Even resisting that longing is a sign it exists. I won’t wrap that truth in poetry. It speaks for itself.
Today, listening to another song by Alla Borisovna, something clicked. A simple truth: you must move yourself. No one else can do it for you. People may try to help. But this, ultimately, is yours. I don’t think I’m alone in this. Everyone, in some way, struggles with belonging—with finding their place in the world. And that search is almost always tangled up with the spiritual and creative path. Maybe what we call happiness is less a destination and more the learning itself.
That’s the summit. And the summit stretches into eternity. You can’t go around it. There are no shortcuts. It can’t be bypassed. Only climbed. You can complain. You can search for a savior. But in the end, no one else can do the climbing for you. Everyone has their own Summit. And each of us must conquer our own.
I realized: this isn’t optional. The work must be done. Climbing is always hard. But here’s what’s easier—rolling downhill. That requires nothing. No strength, no effort. But upward? Always harder.
How many times have I reminded myself—especially in those moments of sudden clarity—that when things are bad, it’s better not to think too much. Ruminating on what’s wrong rarely leads anywhere. It only builds a case for helplessness. A case for giving up. A case for pleasure as the only pursuit. But the kind of pleasure we often chase isn’t the same as what our deeper self longs for.
There’s a big difference between fleeting pleasure and what I’ve come to know as “the highest bliss.” True bliss doesn’t fade once it’s touched. It doesn’t exhaust itself in satisfaction. It lives on. It’s only when we voluntarily trade it in—choosing the shiny but empty—that we lose it.
Chasing goals for their own sake is the same illusion. Goals can be fun. That’s the only reason they should exist—to play, to grow, to enjoy. Making life into a relentless pursuit of achievement is a mistake. And if we don’t catch it early, we’ll look back in old age and wonder what we were racing toward. We’ll ache for the things we didn’t stop to feel: the hush of dawn, the wind brushing our face, the thrill of a spontaneous encounter. What are we given feelings for, if not to feel life?
I write this again—this time in the margins of Osho’s Intimacy: “The meaning of life is in LIFE.” Where LIFE means reality as it’s given to us in sensation. In the living moment. Not reflection. We escape into thoughts, into imagined versions of reality, to avoid the only one that actually allows us to live.
And here I am, standing at the Summit again. The view from here—breathtaking. The sunset. The winter’s shimmer. Diamond snowflakes. The crystal clarity of sound. Gentle touches. Every detail a gift, waiting to be felt fully. With your whole being. Your whole body. Your whole heart.
And yes, I forget this place sometimes. I get caught up in craving pleasures that seem more exciting. But I always return. Because life itself is the gift. Every single day. And for that, I thank everyone around me—every soul. Gratitude turns even an ordinary life into treasure.
Is everything perfect? No. There’s not quite enough money to stop worrying. Not quite enough closeness to ease loneliness. Not enough open doors to feel free. But even with all that, I have something many don’t—and something no one else has exactly as I do. I can still create. Still contribute. Still offer something from the heart. For fun.
So let it fly.
Keep doing what’s true. Keep being who you are. Let the love inside you out, like birds released from their cages—without ever demanding they come back.
In our hearts, so much waits for release. There’s a lifetime’s worth of joy, of love, of light—just waiting to be set free.
The most beautiful thing is to love until you pass the point where you expect anything in return. That’s when it becomes real.
