The search for enlightenment is an inside job. You travel alone, sort of, except that Source is with you all the way. You may never even notice your guardian angels
And you discover that the Zen you get at the top of the mountain is the Zen you brought with you. There is no one at the top or at the bottom to give you accolades.
Satori doesn't last, and the birds don't always sing. And once ambrosia has been tasted, everything else tastes false. Beware, the Ides of March, turn into years.
No one sees what you are doing, knows or cares. Except perhaps the One. There is little to measure, and less and less to know.
Every time you stumble and fall, no one notices. Except perhaps the One. And the way things fall, seems more random than random. But the call doesn't stop.
Be still my heart, be patient. The end is now, and now, and now.