SAAMAKSHI MEDIUM

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...