The Blessed One follows the footprints of the Devote to their doors, wherever they live. Night, the rain and stars and spirits of the Wise all serve as a divine tracking system informing the Heart of the whereabouts of his Children: those who weep at the thought of Him, or sing, or lose their breath growing faint upon hearing stories or, bow their heads when their fingers touch a phrase of his on a page.
As He travels great distances the air, the grass of the seasons repeat His name. Even the dust remembers the impressions of His will: the gentleness of trembling with kindness.
He has been traveling for centuries across mountain ranges, vast bodies of water, and the meadows of time. Often we meet Him on our journey, or the ones He has visited. His voice welcoming strangers or guests from a lighted window, the patient gesture of a clerk in the market, the surprise restraint of anger in the body.
Many wait for Him with a feeling of loss. Their longing is the movement of His feet on the path to their door.