SRISTI ISWAR MAHARAJ
Sati loved Sristi Iswara Maharaj. Whenever She approached the forest, She felt Her feet breaking into a run; She could never just walk. In the forest, She thought She clearly heard the leaves rustling into a chorus of invitation, singing ‘Sristi Iswara Maharaj’.
Sati thought that they sang to Shiva, but in Her haste to get to Sristi Iswara, what She did not notice was that the leaves were actually bowing in Her direction when She ran deep into their midst.
This became a daily ritual: She would not stop running till She reached the enigmatic Shivlinga, Her heart beating and the leaves pulsating with Her run till she arrived at the Sristi Iswara.
Faster each day was the run and the pace of life, faster this divine heartbeat, the mystic crescendo that had become all -encompassing. So fast, that She would almost fall in sweet collapse at the Shivlinga.
And then She would remain there in bliss, for hours on end, day after each passing day. Till the days turned into months and the months into a year. Her entire life itself had become an offering, Her time a rosary count.
Sati thought that they sang to Shiva, but in Her haste to get to Sristi Iswara, what She did not notice was that the leaves were actually bowing in Her direction when She ran deep into their midst.
This became a daily ritual: She would not stop running till She reached the enigmatic Shivlinga, Her heart beating and the leaves pulsating with Her run till she arrived at the Sristi Iswara.
Faster each day was the run and the pace of life, faster this divine heartbeat, the mystic crescendo that had become all -encompassing. So fast, that She would almost fall in sweet collapse at the Shivlinga.
And then She would remain there in bliss, for hours on end, day after each passing day. Till the days turned into months and the months into a year. Her entire life itself had become an offering, Her time a rosary count.
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