DiscussingFilm Denzel dropped a truth bomb most “influencers” can’t process: If your soul’s on display 24/7, don’t be shocked when they treat it like background noise. Mystery builds magnetism. Silence sells. Even gods don’t speak every day.

Who or what we are is a fluid condition incorporating the sum total of everything that is, which is to say that we exist beyond all the conceits of time and space; eternity’s children, the very richness of the soil.

Platitude, attitude or exactitude? Sorrow is the bedrock of consciousness, a loss of the innocence from which all light emanates. Then hearken to the songthrush, she knows no other way.

Each moment is a new beginning, then why cling to a past that doesn’t exist? Isms create schisms; identity is the whore of consciousness. Freedom abounds in the silence.

Push a lttle too hard and you'll end up flat on yer face. Who, me? Yup, we're all in the making. Time'll come...

Who you might like to think you are is no more than a set of imposed second-hand ideas and opinions. So , if you’re not who you think you are, who the hell are you? Be warned, there’s a lot more to it than mere cant. Now, like I was saying…

Dialogue is drift. Winds change and tides turn. Nothing holds.The void is uncontainable, yet all else is conceit.

At best, words are an approximation, hence the daily babble of nonsense that we engage with as ‘fact’. The moon requires no acknowledgement.

The divine warrior who rides the peacock — Kartikeya, son of Shiva. 🦚

Time and space is the delusion which holds us apart when, in fact, we are one entity in an infinitive drift. The Sphinx licks its wounds.

Touch one and we touch the other. No mistake. bureauoflostculture.podbean.com/e/this-is-penn…

"Commander of the Gods: The Roar of Subrahmanya Swamy" Long ago, before the devas could even dream of peace, the skies trembled under the weight of Tarakasura’s reign—a demon born of tapas, invincibility, and arrogance. No weapon of the gods could touch him, no mantra could

Where there is faith, there is Murugan

Silence is an immovable multidimensional force. The Sphinx awaits acknowledgement. The crows are spatial indifference. Flight is self-determining. Breath is confirmation enough.

Devoured by delusion, we stand on the edge of time waiting for a break, but eternity outruns us, intangible and multidirectional; a state of no return. Thus we are neither here nor there. Bye now, hello there…

The chitter-chatter of deceit, the hangman’s noose around the neck of common decency; truth? There is no singular truth, only the flotsam of self-interest. The tides turn against us. The seagulls pick up the bits.

Divya darshan of extremely unique & rare Ganesh ji with human head🧵

Clouds hover around the mountaintops. A crow glides within the spaces. Nothing touches, but everything is contained. The connections are absolute.

Just as nothing must contain everything to be nothing, so, conversely, everything must similarly contain nothing. Thus ‘to be on not to be’ is no question at all.

It is through solitude that we reach the timeless eternities of the cosmos to never again be alone.