SAAMAKSHI MEDIUM

There’s always a better. A better house, a better car, a better skin, a better life. Someone out there always seems to be doing it better than you. And so, we run. We work to own, own to prove, prove to be seen, seen to feel worthy. My home might be a palace to someone who’s had none. To someone else, it’s outdated. That’s the joke, isn’t it? The same thing - worshipped, pitied, or ignored - depending on who’s looking. We build our worth on objects. Square footage. Logos. Numbers. The world claps louder for what can be counted. So we keep collecting, thinking that more will finally mean enough. But where do you store a quiet moment with someone who gets you? Or the way it feels when you’re held without needing to ask? What shelf holds the sound of your father’s laugh, or the memory of being truly seen without having to speak? We don’t call those things “wealth.” But maybe we should. Because what really stays isn’t the car you bought, but who sat beside you on the drive. Not the size of...

We are taught from the very beginning that life must have a purpose. That to be worthy, we must be striving toward something - building, earning, fixing, achieving, arriving. And so we move forward, setting goals, naming dreams, attaching meaning to every moment in hopes that one day, we’ll look back and feel it all added up to something solid, something noble, something complete. But life is not a formula to be solved. It is not a single thread with a final knot. It is a tapestry that keeps weaving itself through us, with no fixed pattern and no finished state. The idea that there must be one great purpose often creates more suffering than clarity. It makes us feel we are failing, even when we are simply living. It convinces us that if we don’t have a singular direction, we must be lost. But you are not lost. You are  here . You are in motion. And that is enough. Some seek purpose in achievement, in the pursuit of success, in the grand plans of building an empire. Others seek it i...

There is no Shiva without Shakti. And there is no Shakti without Shiva. One is stillness, the other movement. One is the canvas, the other the paint. Together, they do not just coexist, they co-create. This is not mythology. This is the blueprint of life. Shiva is pure consciousness - unmoving, infinite, unmanifest. Shakti is pure energy - dynamic, expressive, the force that moves and brings form. One holds the potential, the other becomes the potential. They are not opposites. They are complements — two aspects of the same eternal truth. In the ancient understanding, they are known as  Purusha  and  Prakriti . Purusha is the silent witness, the masculine principle that observes without interference. Prakriti is nature itself, the feminine force that acts, responds, shapes. Together, they are the origin of all experience. Without Purusha, Prakriti is blind energy. Without Prakriti, Purusha is empty awareness. Look closely, and this dance exists within you. In your body, y...

There is no better day to say thank you than today. Guru Purnima is not just a celebration of one teacher or one lesson. It is a recognition of all the wisdom that has touched us - through people, pain, silence, success, and surrender. It is a bow to the unseen classroom we live in every day. And above all, it is a gentle reminder that we’ve never truly been alone in our becoming. What is a Guru? Maybe it’s not always a person with answers. Sometimes, it’s just the moment when a question bends in front of truth, the curve of curiosity humbling itself to wisdom. A Guru is where the question ends, and the transformation begins. Sometimes it's a book. Sometimes it's a heartbreak. Sometimes it's a stranger whose presence altered your direction without even knowing it. So today, thank you. Not just to the formal teachers, but to everyone who has ever unknowingly contributed to who I’ve become. My parents, my friends, colleagues, managers, those who challenged me, and those who s...

  The Mind Thinks It Knows. The Soul Just Is. We live most of our lives thinking we are choosing. That we are behaving, deciding, reacting out of fresh free will. But beneath the surface, something quieter is at work — something older. The subconscious, which has watched every move, every disappointment, every praise, every survival tactic. It’s built a map. A blueprint. A formula it believes keeps you safe. And it runs the show. You believe you're making new choices, but more often, you're repeating the same ones — just dressed in different names. Different jobs. Different people. Different clothes, same pattern. You want to feel free, but your steps are already rehearsed. You’ve walked them so many times that they now feel like home. But are they? What we call safety is often just predictability. We’ve convinced ourselves that familiar discomfort is better than unknown possibility. We follow routines, replay conversations, assume outcomes — not because they serve us, but beca...

The other day, I was sharing something small with my husband — just a simple moment, something that happened in passing with another mom. But as I spoke it out loud, I paused. I realised the story I was narrating wasn’t just about what happened. It was about how I saw it. How I felt it. It was  my  version of the moment. My perception wrapped around the facts. And suddenly, the insight came in: nothing we experience is ever entirely real in the way we think. Because what happened has already happened. It’s gone. The moment doesn’t live anymore, except in how we carry it, how we replay it, how we choose to give it shape again through words and memory. There’s no measurement to the past. It cannot be weighed or proven. And if that’s true, then there is no real past, and no defined future either. Only this. This very moment, this breath, this now. Everything that matters is always happening here. But we don’t live like that, do we? We drag the past around, tying events together l...

Have you ever noticed how some people seem to move through life effortlessly? Their plans work out, they get what they aim for, and things just seem to align for them. They’re not always deeply spiritual or endlessly self-reflective. They’re not constantly reading books about healing or manifesting under the full moon. And yet, somehow, they seem to get it right. It’s tempting to think they’re lucky or that their stars are better aligned. But really, what they have is clarity. And more than that, they trust themselves. They don’t sit for weeks doubting what they already know. They don’t need to collect twenty signs before taking one small step. They aren’t at war with their own intuition. They hear what their inner voice is saying and they listen. That trust becomes a frequency they move in. And life responds, not because they’re doing something magical, but because they’re in alignment with themselves. We often forget how energetic life is. Everything around us responds to how we trea...

What offends you, what moves you, what you tolerate and what you don’t—these are not flaws or preferences. They are the fingerprints of your story. Humour to one is hostility to another. What you find disrespectful, someone else may find familiar. There is no universal scale for pain or dignity. That is the great myth. We’ve tried to grade boundaries like exams, forgetting that our boundaries were born from different childhoods, different wounds, different silences. So what we call “too sensitive,” or “too harsh,” or “too soft” are often just people living at the edge of their own survival. In a job, one person might say “yes sir” out of generational humility, his father, his grandfather, all men who bowed before they spoke. Another might challenge every order, not out of ego, but because silence once cost them their self-worth. Neither is wrong. Both are boundary stories, lived in different dialects. In families, what one calls duty, another sees as control. What feels like respect to...

I don’t know where it started, really. Maybe in the middle of a podcast, or while half-asleep reading some book on consciousness. Or maybe it was just silence, the kind that hums behind your thoughts when you're tired of chasing clarity. But there it was—this simple, almost stupid realisation: All I’m doing is collecting information. Not wisdom. Not enlightenment. Not truth with a capital T. Just... data. Facts. Patterns. Perspectives. Even the most moving quote or profound philosophy—still just information. And here's the thing. We dress it up, don’t we? Call it intelligence. Say someone has sharp memory, analytical mind, high EQ, spiritual insight. But isn’t it all just information rearranged and re-accessed in different ways to get through life? Like a pen drive, really. A pen drive filled with folders labelled “childhood,” “beliefs,” “traumas,” “desires,” “books read,” “teachers followed,” “Instagram quotes,” “late-night journal entries.” All of it stored. All of it running...

What if you didn’t take that course just to earn more… but to understand more? What if you said yes to that project not for the bonus, but because it challenged you, made you more patient, helped someone? What if your effort wasn’t measured in rewards but in intent? The way we look at work has become so transactional. We do something, and immediately think: what’s the return? Will this pay off? Will I get noticed? And slowly, without even realizing, we start treating every step as a calculation. Every new skill, every new task, every hour spent… it all starts circling around one goal : earn more, stay ahead, take on more than you can handle. But there’s a catch no one talks about. The more you grow, the more guilty you feel for stopping. You tell yourself to rest, but rest feels like falling behind. You want to slow down, but there’s always that voice whispering you haven’t done enough. Even success becomes heavy. Because now that you’ve “made it,” you have to maintain it. This cycle w...

It begins quietly. Not with ceremony, not with structure, not even with certainty. It begins in a moment when your breath catches - just slightly - and you find yourself pausing, not because someone told you to, but because something inside you finally asked for stillness. Meditation is not a skill to master; it is not a badge to wear or a routine to perfect. It is the earliest sign that you are listening. It is the invitation to meet your own presence without judgment. And that moment, that first flicker of awareness is the beginning of everything. We often dress spirituality in layers : disciplines, rules, practices, rights and wrongs. But the true spiritual path is not about doing; it is about noticing. It is not built on the bones of rituals but on the softness of your own seeing. It has nothing to do with impressing society or improving your wellness score; it has everything to do with remembering how to be in awe. Awe does not need a script. It arrives in the middle of a mundane ...

Every now and then, someone will tell me, “I’m tired of thinking positive. It feels fake, like I’m lying to myself.” And I always pause before I respond, because I remember exactly what that feels like. I remember when I first started my journey with affirmations. I plastered sticky notes all over my mirror :  I am enough, I am worthy, I am loved.  I wanted to believe them so badly. But some mornings, I’d look into my own eyes and feel nothing. Or worse, resistance. That quiet voice inside would whisper,  stop bullshitting yourself.  And that voice… that was the real block. Not the lack of affirmations. But the presence of disbelief. Because if deep within you, there’s still a knot of old stories -  I’m not lovable. I’m not capable. Good things don’t happen to people like me,  then no matter how many times you repeat a beautiful sentence, it won’t land. It’s like pouring water over concrete, hoping something will grow. That’s when I learned: positive though...

Are we addicted to chaos? The sacred stillness we keep avoiding. You can motivate. You can inspire. You can hold space. But you cannot make the change. That moment must be born from within - not coerced, not explained into existence. Transformation is not a transaction. It is an awakening. And like all awakenings, it arrives in its own time, when the soul is ready to remember. We live in a world obsessed with control - of outcomes, of people, of ourselves. But control is not power. It is the illusion of safety. Real power begins the moment we surrender the need to direct everything and instead, listen. This is where healing begins - not with effort, but with acceptance. Acceptance not as resignation, but as recognition: this is what is, now. In that still point, transformation begins. We have become so used to noise. So used to rushing, explaining, fixing. We are addicted to chaos, not because we love suffering, but because it’s familiar. Stillness, on the other hand, feels dangerous. ...

There’s something both tragic and beautiful about how seriously we take ourselves. Every high, every heartbreak, every tiny win on a Tuesday — we hold them close like precious proof that we’re truly living. We celebrate, sulk, spiral, perform. We move through joy and despair as though they define us. And for a moment, they do. But what if it’s all just a play? Not to dismiss the beauty or the ache. Both are real in their own time. But what if pride, sorrow, laughter, longing — all of it — were just the costumes of being human? Experiences to pass through, not homes to live in. The truth is no matter what role you’re playing today, you’re also the one watching it unfold. And that watcher — still, aware, unchanging — is where freedom begins. Freedom is not in avoiding emotion. It’s in knowing it’s not you. It’s in being able to laugh gently at your own emotional weather without letting it storm inside you. We often think choice is grand. Choosing careers, partners, new cities....

We love the idea of the “gut feeling” That silent whisper of intuition That sacred signal from within that tells us which road to take What if it’s simply data = memories, patterns, conditioning, wrapped in the illusion of instinct. There is only this. The present choice You become deliberate, not reactive You learn to wait. To observe. To choose We don’t need certainty. We need presence Not the flutter in your stomach But the calm in your choosing. Think of a recent decision you said was based on a “gut feeling.” Ask: What did I already know that may have shaped that feeling? Was I responding, or just recognizing? But pause for a moment What if that gut feeling isn’t divine guidance It feels sacred because it arrives without explanation. But not everything inexplicable is mystical. Often, it’s just processed information our conscious mind hasn’t yet caught up with. Every feeling you call “gut” is stitched together from a million impressions you’ve gathered. Childhood pat...