Kiran Joshi

This body, my temple, a temporary shelter for a grain worth of universal soul.   Built on shifting ground, it cracks, it fails, yet with it I have tasted wonder and learned to wake up.   I sweep it with mindfulness, tend it with compassion, to make it useful for the path.   Some days, it feels like a prison, aching, failing regardless of care. Some days, when this grain of soul rests in itself, the prison bars disappear, and I fly.   This falling temple will one day return to

There was a time—not too long ago—when I would sit in quiet moments, eyes closed, repeating silently to myself: “I am a peaceful soul. I...