Are you chiselled by sea, by land, by sky, by stars, I do not know, which God made you, but carved you are from pain, sorrow, love, courage, honesty, integrity, grit and stamina – into some other being, of some other making. You are the hero of all men, the one who steps in, when all have failed. But you do it so quietly, so lovingly, with so much dedication, one feels you weaved the whole thing – just for me. Solitude lives about you, a quietness, a secret, a sadness. But you give of yourself to everyone who crosses your path, to your society, your schools, your family, your loved ones. Even strangers, like myself. This name written on my page. A brother you have, one who I know quite well. Every time I speak to you, the same answer. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. She walks in and a different face she sees, a different pain she shares, with you. But in this silence his tornado, his explosion, his grief, his pain as he works beside her. Beside Me. The face of his enemy. When I sense you truly, when I am Me fully, the room is empty, of my Guruji. Despair in the air. A war, lost. Purpose, dismantled. Injustice. Death of Sovereigns. You sit with me, and we teach as if it were the olden days. This is where we return to. You and Me. We return home to what we know, to make sense of what we don’t. We sit quietly. We teach, we smile, enjoy the presence of the other – although the agitation grows and from that explosion you don’t know where to go. Who to blame, who to hold accountable. There I am ... teaching next to you. In a house of Masters. You opened the door for me, you accounted for Me. You fell in love with her, unexpected to yourself but you did anyway. This man of magic, mystery, intrigue in the middle of a sandstorm that keeps following him. His own chaos, his own pain, his own sorrow, his own solitude. He finds a ray of sunshine that cast its light into his home. But where grief lives, he wonders what is this light, what is this, Sun? Is this for me? It couldn’t be. Still working in those trenches, we do this, long past the deadline of when we should be due to come home. We are there still and we work, and we relive and we keep ourselves there. We stay there. But then she comes, and she smiles, and she loves, and she cares, and she brings this world of intrigue that we didn’t know existed. Come home, She says.
No, we can’t return, not you and I. Where is he?
You are the strength; he is the softness.
You are the might; he is the yield.
You are the carving; he is the chiseler.
You are the plan; he is the victory.
You are the softness of heart; he is the wisdom of intellect.
You the intelligence, he the emotion.
You… of the people, and he to himself.
You the laughter, the smile the buoyancy, and he the sombre, the overcast, the peace.
In some other universe I would have given this a name only known by Gods and those who worship them.
A balance
He the light, he the shadow.
You are everything to Me. This warrior, lost. Something taken from him. A warrior without a battle, a friend without his brother, a lover without his love.
You carry my name.
Justice, truth, victory.
Pain
She cannot match him.
But I can.
- Adi Shakti
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