I went questing for truth in the world like a knight, with set jaw and drawn sword. Ready to scale mountains and slay dragons in their dens. As if truth were a phlegmatic princess, captive, inert and awaiting deliverance. I found it not.
I went haggling for truth in the marketplace like a shrill housewife, beady-eyed and tight of fist. Trading insults and scorn. As if truth were a loaf of bread or a ruby-red pomegranate to bargain for. I found it not.
I went begging for truth like a vagabond, with bare feet, tangled hair and a piteous expression. As if truth were a susceptible kinsman with philanthropic tendencies. I found it not.
So weary with questing, and barter and plea, emptied by failure I called off the search. Leaned my forehead against the window, and looked out on a moonless night, too tired for thought. I watched as the stars came out, like so many lights on so many distant porches. I stood as quiet witness. And I do not know why somehow this — was enough.
Iewers daar buite is die waarheid. Iewers daar buite is dit beter as hier waar ek nou is. Ons storm verbete vorentoe, die toekoms in op soek na geluk. Daar is nie tyd vir rustig wees nie, want dan loop ons dalk die pret mis. Nou en hier is net nooit goed genoeg nie. Nie my huis nie, nie my geld nie, nie die mense naaste aan my nie.
Dan, as ons gelukkig is, dalk met die kop teen die venster soos Pavitha dit so mooi beskryf, of in die lag van `n kind, vind ons dat dit al die tyd genoeg was, dat dit goed is soos dit is. Hier en nou.