The Search for Krishna: A Journey Beyond Time

This essay explores the author’s lifelong inner connection with Krishna through dreams, silence, and questions about existence. It asks whether the end has an end, and finds in dust the humble witness of eternity.

The Search for Krishna: A Journey Beyond Time

Perhaps my unknown childhood had heard the name from somewhere; perhaps that childhood belonged not to age but to the unconscious. The name was “Krishna.”

I never went to a temple. My world was among Sikh people—family and friends. I did not even go to school. Yet since then, I remember the name: Krishna.

I remember a dream that visited me often. In the dream, I saw Krishna on a chariot in the sky. I remember asking my mother about Krishna, and also about Lord Shiva.

It is 3:07 in the morning. I have opened my eyes, and my soul is busy remembering the first time the name Krishna entered my existence. Was it the word? Was it Shri Krishna himself? I do not know when.

In the quiet of the night, with no sound except the beat of my own heart reaching my ears, I feel that Krishna is hidden in this very beat. Krishna is being searched for in the conscious dimension of my closed eyes.

This search is like wandering in a deep jungle. When did this name first enter my existence?

When I descend into valleys of silence, I see something there: a glimpse that, for a moment, carries my mind toward the governments of today’s nations. Every government of the world carries a shadowed feeling: “I have been born, and I am only moving forward.”

I too entered this world in the time of an illness. Today I live in an environment of demonic minds. Yet the sound of my footsteps will be heard by those who are awake in consciousness, because I have reached this dimension.

I search for Krishna, and still I wander the world. But why?

This question places me again in an unknown land. A land where conscious and unconscious, right and wrong, all stand together.

The search for Krishna within me brought me to the world itself. I always dreamt of Krishna; in those dreams I caught hold of time itself. Now, after fifty years, I realize the future has always visited me in dreams, offering glimpses of my destiny.

For I do not know when or why I loved Krishna. I loved him unconsciously, and I was absorbed into him consciously—just as we live in both the world and in dreams, in both thoughts and feelings.

Be it any sage, saint, or prophet—the essence of my experience wears the same color.
The first presence I knew was Shiva.
I dreamt of Krishna.
I questioned Baba Nanak’s bani.
I heard the silent guidance of the Quran.

And today, once again, the question returned to Krishna. The world’s voices reminded me of Janmashtami, but in me something else awakened: a weather within me and an atmosphere outside me became one. And in that union, a pure religious moment was born—not ritual, not tradition, but a moment of pure consciousness.

I have always felt myself to be a traveler of an unknown dimension. Not a traveler of the world, but a traveler of life itself—your life, my life, the life of every being, human or animal.

I am here to understand life and death—to see how they both take form. To witness how energy itself shifts its sphere.

My belief is born not of faith alone but of knowing.
Someone creates the world.
Someone creates life.
Someone creates matter.
Someone creates charity.
But true age is not measured in years; it is measured in creation.

A king or a man of power may be 100 years old, yet in the energy sphere, he is but a child if he remains unconscious. A poor laborer may live 50 years, but if he creates himself in awareness, his age in the energy sphere is vast.

This is why Krishna’s words to Arjun resound more deeply within me today:
“O Arjun, all of them are already dead.”

How?

Because true death is not of the body, but of the unconscious self. The one who dies in unconsciousness is the one who never truly lived. Such a being belongs to no era. If deep living is called Amrit (nectar), then is deep dying poison? Will such a poisonous element never take life again?

Today my question is not about my own salvation. My question is about that element which never becomes life again. Is this the true end? And does the end itself ever end?

What then is a mere particle of dust?

poetic pull-quotes

“The name of Krishna was not taught to me—
it was born within me,
like a dream remembering itself.”

“True age is not measured in years,
but in creation—
in how deeply we awaken to ourselves.”

“To live unconsciously is actual death.
To awaken, even for a moment,
is nectar for eternity.”

Beautiful Question

Does the end truly end, or does it only change its form?

When dust settles in silence, can you see eternity within it?

If age is not measured in years but in creation, how old is your soul?

What does it mean to dream of Krishna before knowing his name?

Is unconscious living a deeper death than the body’s death?

Quotes

“Dust is the witness of eternity—the end is never an end, only a doorway into new form.”

“True age is not measured in years, but in how deeply we create ourselves in awareness.”

“Unconscious living is the real death; awakening, even for a moment, is nectar.”

“Some names are not learned—they rise from the soul, like Krishna in a dream.”

“Salvation is not the question; the question is the element that never becomes life again.”

Captions

A name remembered in silence. A dream of Krishna on a chariot in the sky. A question that still echoes: Does the end also have an end?

Childhood never taught me Krishna’s name; yet it was born within me, like a dream remembering itself.

Dust is not the end of life; it is the womb of beginnings, carrying the memory of all existence.

Krishna’s words resound: “O Arjun, all of them are already dead.” But what is actual death, body, or unconsciousness?

Silence at 3:07 a.m., a heartbeat whispering Krishna’s name, the journey beyond time begins here.

Blessings

“May every question you carry become a doorway into silence.”

“May the name of Krishna, or whatever name your soul remembers, guide you beyond endings.”

“May the dust of all things remind you that nothing truly ends.”

“In silence, may you find the chariot of your awakening.”

“Harjinder Kaur plays not with words, but with silence that remembers eternity.”

A Dream of Silence That Still Speaks