23 & 24 April 2025
Suddenly, it was my last day in Rishikesh. Since meeting Zenon, time had spiraled by in a flurry of fascinating conversations. He shared stories of traveling — not only around the globe but also across dimensions. A modern-day Merlin, truly! You could say he just has an extraordinary imagination or perhaps explored too many psychedelic paths, but my intuition whispered otherwise. He radiated the kind of truth you feel in your bones. And honestly, he’s too old to be spinning tales for entertainment. This man has lived many lifetimes — some physically, others through past incarnations, and countless ones within this very life.
Zenon was born with severe asthma and, as one of the first starseeds of this generation, spent much of his childhood outside his body, exploring the astral realms. As an adult, he began downloading vast knowledge from elder and master beings across time and space. And as I sat there, listening, my whole light body lit up in recognition — this was a divine meeting.
I’ve known the energy of Merlin before — as a priestess of Avalon, in past journeys, healing sessions, and whispers during sacred work. So when his essence danced through Zenon during our talks, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the surreal familiarity or simply bow to the synchronicity of it all.
To many, these stories might sound wild, maybe even absurd. But I know what I know. And as I set up my newly purchased tripod to record his words, at his request, goosebumps blanketed my skin. The room pulsed with high-vibrational energy.
Zenon spoke often of the Nicholas and Helena Roerich Museum in the Kullu Valley, near Manali. I hadn’t heard of them before, but soon learned they held deep mystical and historical significance in this region. He mentioned more than once that he wanted to take me there — to show me the sacred valley, their paintings, and the teachings that echo through the mountains. At first, I didn’t pay much attention. My time in India was almost up. I had birthday plans here in Rishikesh, a heart-rooted connection with Sailesh and new friends. I didn’t feel the need to leave.
And yet… the call grew louder.
Something in me knew this was a quest I had to take — whether it was to receive sacred teachings, offer companionship to an old sage, or follow the path of divine design. So we booked our bus tickets. Zen already had accommodation arranged through friends he made there.
Sadness swelled in me as I walked beside Ma Ganga last night. Rishikesh had carved a home into my heart. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay, to celebrate my and Sailesh’s birthdays with Annu, Aryan, and all the magical fairy beings that made this place feel like home. Sometimes it’s incredibly hard to follow that inner divine voice urging me to leap forward into the unknown. But even as I weighed the joy and sorrow, I knew — it was time. The mountains were calling.
I spent my last few hours sipping tea with friends, devouring street-side junk food, laughing over mocha coffees, and saying tearful goodbyes. These were tears of nostalgia, of joy, of pure heart-memory.
That afternoon, Zen, Christine (another beautiful soul he’d befriended), and I shared a late lunch, took a final dip in the sacred Ganga, and offered our gratitude to her for holding space for us. I sat on a warm rock, the late afternoon sun soaking into my skin as locals gathered for aarti, their voices rising in prayer. Tears streamed freely as I realized this might be my last moment here… in this sacred sanctuary.
And then, it was time. We packed the last of Zen’s things, hugged Christina goodbye, and climbed into the taxi toward Nepali Farm.
Night buses are never ideal. But with the mountains waiting, I knew I’d need all the rest I could get.
