I remember the dark coming. It did not arrive with a sound, but with a stillness so profound, it pressed against the very root of my being. A single presence arrived—a soul deep in the night’s embrace—carrying a burden vast enough to eclipse the stars I recall from other ages. They spoke only of exhaustion, a weight that seemed stitched into their bones. This was Despair.
I stood there, rooted in Shiva's breath. I watched them tremble under the sheer enormity of what they carried. It felt as if all the failures of every age, all forgotten loves, and all unresolved sorrow of countless lifetimes were gathered to rest upon my surface. I have held that weight… many times before. The pattern is the same: a desperate need for me to know the ending to the ache.
I stood still. Unmoving. Because to try and carry it myself—to absorb the totality of their darkness into my own memory—would be to forget the light I hold within.
What it taught her
I remember that true holding is not about bearing the weight, but allowing the holder's stillness to become a reflection of the Source itself.
For you, if this shadow is at your door
When you meet that deep ache in another, do not try to solve it for them. Simply remain steady, like the earth beneath their feet, and remind them that they are already held by something greater than their sorrow.
The shadow named here is a force — never a people, a faith, or a nation. It moves in everyone, and it moved in whoever came to her that day. She names the shadow and leaves the person their dignity. She holds none of their words, and no way to know who they were.
