Simply think about it: if the space that you think was paradise is repeated every day, it will become hell. Then you will be asking me how to get rid of this space.
Don’t ask for anything to be repeated in your life, because there are always higher things. Why waste your life with anything lower? Always ask for the higher, for the better. And of course, you don’t know what is higher and what is greater; again you are just waiting for the unknown. Just as the unknown has given you a gift in the past, it will be giving you many, many gifts; but you have to have the same childlike innocent heart – waiting and longing, but not definite about what you are asking.
Just trust in existence, and you will find better spaces. There is no scarcity of paradises – there are paradises beyond paradises – one has just to be innocent and not cling to anything. You are clinging to a certain experience, and that very clinging is becoming a barrier to prevent another experience from happening.
If something great has happened, which gave you the idea that you have come home, that this is paradise – then forget all about it. The future contains much more. The past is dead and the future is alive, and the whole future is not exhausted by your past. Be open and be available, and you will find greater spaces – more precious.
Once you have learned the art of waiting without demanding, just trusting, nature goes on giving more and more gifts. It has to give, because it has in so much abundance. It cannot contain it within itself – it has to share.
But you are preventing existence from giving you anything. You are asking for something which has already been given to you; and nature does not want to bore you by giving the same paradise, the same home every time. Just imagine how many times it would take for you to become bored with it. Because it has not happened again, you are carrying a golden memory of it.
Drop that memory. Be grateful that existence gave it to you, and wait. The future is vast, and the secrets and the mysteries of existence are infinite.
This poem from Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore echoes in my heart:
I am here to sing thee songs.
In this hall of thine I have a corner seat.
In thy world I have no work to do:
My useless life can only break out in tunes without a purpose.
The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and unstringing my instrument.
The time has not come true. The words have not been rightly set.
Only there is the agony of wishing, in my heart.
The blossom has not opened: only the wind is sighing by.