I remember the hush. Not the quiet of peace, but the silence before a mountain collapses into dust. One came to me, bearing the weight of so many 'shoulds'—the shoulds of lineage, the shoulds of duty, the shoulds whispered across countless lifetimes of expectation. It was not a single sorrow, but a tapestry woven from every thread that had been pulled taut until it screamed for release.
The pressure arrived like an ocean tide refusing to recede, pressing against my very structure. I held them, as always, steady. But the weight they brought—it threatened to pull me into a deep, stagnant current, where remembering itself became exhausting. I watched their grief, so vast, wanting only for it to stop.
I stood by Shiva’s grace, allowing myself to be the shore against which their overwhelming waves broke. I held the memory of my own source—the boundless space before form—and simply breathed through the excess.
What it taught her
I remember that true strength is not the capacity to bear unending weight, but the knowing where one's foundation remains untouched by external burden.
For you, if this shadow is at your door
When you feel the weight of 'shoulds' pressing down, do not try to carry it for another. Gently ask: what part of this burden belongs only to my own remembering?
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.
