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Someone said to me, “The soul is everything,” and then spoke at length about the soul. It sounded beautiful. The words were polished, familiar, impressive. Yet the reality felt different. These were borrowed words—read, memorized, absorbed from scriptures. There was nothing spontaneous in them, nothing born of direct awareness, nothing gained through one’s own seeing. It is astonishing how much we have filled our intellect with what comes from others, for others. And in this

I sit in a small room, completely empty, yet one slender line of light penetrates through a tiny hole in the wall. It enters with humility, like a thief, quietly illuminating the space. And in this single line, I perceive the difference between the inside and the outside. But why is there this difference? Why is there less light within and so much more beyond? Are these walls meant for protection, or are they built to block the light? Are they the walls of samskaras , prevent

Listen to me first— the noise is too much, the crying overwhelms. I hear nothing at all. Tell me where I must go to hear your distress. Where does peace live? Tell me. You too—choose my path. Listen to me first. Where happiness is sold, you can always find it. Where misery is stolen, tell me the name of that city. Your world has been destroyed; now, if you wish, hang your head. Listen to me first. Whose pride lies buried here, among these shattered heads? Fireworks of Diwali

A quiet dialogue is taking place on the bank of a river. There is a speaker, yet there is no audience. And this dialogue is not meant to be heard by others. It is intimate; it is inward – there is a certain sweetness in it, like a child hiding in a corner and softly telling a story meant only for one person. No one else can truly understand it. Either the child understands, or the omnipresent—and that is enough. This dialogue carries a gentle rhythm, almost like music. That m