TELL ME YOUR STORY
That ‘Shiva was an aloof mendicant’, was the greatest misnomer.
He defied the very concept that the more mystic one is, the more detached hebecomes. Contrary to what people had come to believe of Him, as the most mystic of all, He was desperately attached and fallibly infatuated, which made Him endearingly human.
He loved relationships, in fact, craved for them, surfing with equal intensity the crests of one and all in a tumultuous ocean of relationships and feelings; sometimes knowing, at other times eager to know, how his favourite people had surfaced to their present form in this ocean of manifestation: He always wanted a recap from the other’s story.
In each lifetime, in each story, He enjoyed sitting with His friends, sharing quality time in long conversations. They would exchange anecdotes and talk of the experiences gathered in each other’s absence. It was like filling in the blanks, putting in the pieces that fitted into a mystic Jigsaw. Unfailingly, each time, there would ultimately be that one glorious moment when, while sitting and exchanging their own private worlds and sojourns, the final piece would fit, completing the big picture.
And a silent but supremely powerful Oneness would dawn.
It was called Samadhi.
He defied the very concept that the more mystic one is, the more detached hebecomes. Contrary to what people had come to believe of Him, as the most mystic of all, He was desperately attached and fallibly infatuated, which made Him endearingly human.
He loved relationships, in fact, craved for them, surfing with equal intensity the crests of one and all in a tumultuous ocean of relationships and feelings; sometimes knowing, at other times eager to know, how his favourite people had surfaced to their present form in this ocean of manifestation: He always wanted a recap from the other’s story.
In each lifetime, in each story, He enjoyed sitting with His friends, sharing quality time in long conversations. They would exchange anecdotes and talk of the experiences gathered in each other’s absence. It was like filling in the blanks, putting in the pieces that fitted into a mystic Jigsaw. Unfailingly, each time, there would ultimately be that one glorious moment when, while sitting and exchanging their own private worlds and sojourns, the final piece would fit, completing the big picture.
And a silent but supremely powerful Oneness would dawn.
It was called Samadhi.
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