At the end of my life, I will term myself as the most successful loser, for, I lost what could not be achieved in thousands of births.
And still, there was a demand to call this life as a fulfilling one because of the moments that stirred the depths of my soul and were purely other-worldly.
I pined for the highest bliss, but could not get rid of tiny flashes of ephemeral joys that this physical encasement wanted and tried hard to achieve.
I read and spoke about glorious truths, but could not cast away the gross falsity that entwined my very being.
I wanted to achieve what others hardly dreamt of, but was not prepared to undergo the rigorousness that was required to even qualify for that task.
I desired to shun away all the repeated attachments of this world, but was not able to detach myself from this very desire.
Later, it dawned on me that it was more important to work to know something; to undergo severity of demands to grow; and I understood that it was more important to be than to become.