Shalini, I swear I started reading this like a normal person and ended it clutching my chest wondering how many years I just lost arguing with my toaster.
The tortoise lives forever, the dog zooms through life, and apparently sex is a full-body tax audit — your sages did not come to play.
But your core message?
Stay calm, breathe soft, live long.
I’m taking that to heart… gently… with minimal breath-wastage.
Thank you for sharing your insight and encouragement. I’ll keep that in mind! This portion was taught by Dr. Saalai Jaya Kalpana, a siddha doctor in her new series about spirituality. It’s available on YouTube
Shalini, I swear I started reading this like a normal person and ended it clutching my chest wondering how many years I just lost arguing with my toaster.
The tortoise lives forever, the dog zooms through life, and apparently sex is a full-body tax audit — your sages did not come to play.
But your core message?
Stay calm, breathe soft, live long.
I’m taking that to heart… gently… with minimal breath-wastage.
Peace within, Shalini —
I’m protecting mine like it’s premium oxygen.
I had the best laugh this morning! Thank you Asuka! So glad it helps! I can never forget your toaster ever again! 😂
Oh what an insightful article you wrote. Very useful. Breathing patterns are related to our moods like anger, peace etc.
I practice box breathing everyday.
Even when get anger, we shall try long breaths in and out few times, and in the mean time anger subsides.
Thanks for the useful article
Thank you for sharing your insight and encouragement. I’ll keep that in mind! This portion was taught by Dr. Saalai Jaya Kalpana, a siddha doctor in her new series about spirituality. It’s available on YouTube
This poem feels like someone looking you in the eyes and reminding you, with a kind of fierce tenderness, that you are not as broken as you think.
The “sun inside you” is the part of you that has survived every silence, every wound, every moment you thought you wouldn’t rise again.
Its burning isn’t violence it’s the truth of who you are trying to push past the armour you built to stay safe.
The flicker during doubt is painfully human: that fragile instant when you almost trust yourself, then pull back out of old habit.
The fire melting “quiet grief” touches the deepest places the sorrow you hid so well you forgot it was still breathing.
Each let it burn feels like someone giving you permission to stop shrinking, to stop apologising for your own light.
The sun’s impatience is the soul’s urgency the sense that you cannot keep postponing your own life without losing something essential.
The fire here is not meant to hurt you; it is meant to return you to the person you were before fear taught you to dim.
The poem understands how terrifying it is to rise, especially when you’ve spent years believing you had to stay small to be loved.
In the end, it’s a call to step back into yourself to let your own brightness finally take up the space it has been waiting for.
I think you wrote a comment to someone else here.