|| B H A R A T H I Y A M ||

Yes… it is strange.
Yes… it is a little wild.
Yes… it is a circle that keeps turning
even when we feel tired of its turning.

But beneath that cycle,
there is a quiet truth our rishis whispered:

We are not the birth.
We are not the experiences.
We are not even the death.
We are the traveller who walks through them.

Bodies rise and fall like waves.
Experiences come and fade like seasons.
But the one who witnesses — that ancient spark — journeys on.

What seems like a vicious loop
becomes softer when seen from the soul’s view.
Every birth is not a repetition… it is a correction.
Every life is a chance to polish something.
Every death is a doorway back into silence.

|| Venkatesham ||