Spirituality Is Invented by Filthy Minds

A slow-burning, timeless essay without illusions

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1. The Dirty Birth of Spirituality

Spirituality was not born in a place of peace.

It was not born from silence, nor from truth.

It was born from a filthy, agitated, desperate mind — the kind that cannot sit with reality and must escape it.

The first "spiritual man" was not a sage. He was a crackhead in a cave — broken by guilt, failure, confusion, or loss. Instead of facing life, he ran. He sat in the dark. He starved himself. He talked to the wind. He hallucinated visions and called them “truth.”

That is how all of spirituality began — not sometimes, not often, but always.

Every spiritual experience — from glowing lights behind closed eyes to voices in the head — is just another crack episode.

There is no depth in it. No reality. No awakening.

Just the unstable brain gasping for control.

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2. Spirituality Is Just Another Form of Desire

People say spirituality is the opposite of desire.

That’s the first lie.

Spirituality is pure greed — just dressed better.

The man who wants money is honest.

The man who wants God is cunning.

Spirituality says:

“I don’t want worldly happiness. I want permanent happiness.”

“I don’t want normal success. I want enlightenment.”

“I don’t want this life. I want liberation from life.”

It’s the same hunger, just with different vocabulary.

The spiritual seeker wants more than the world can give.

He wants joy that doesn’t fade.

He wants pleasure without pain.

He wants life without friction.

He wants to feel important — without effort.

That’s not transcendence. That’s delusion.

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3. The Experience Fetish

Go to any spiritual circle — old or new — and it’s the same obsession:

Experience.

“I saw light in meditation.”

“I felt my breath dissolve.”

“I left my body and touched the divine.”

“I merged with the cosmos.”

“I heard a voice. I cried for hours. I knew everything.”

These are not signs of clarity.

These are the same mental episodes that happen to addicts, schizophrenics, and psychotic patients.

Crackheads also report light, voices, merging, bliss, God.

The experience of a man in a cave meditating for 20 years and the experience of a man high on meth for 20 minutes — same nervous system, same illusion, same irrelevance.

Experience means nothing if it takes you away from reality.

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4. Cave, Forest, Ashram = Mental Hospital

When a person runs away from their family, work, pain, and body — and locks themselves in a cave or ashram — what are they doing?

They’re avoiding life.

They claim to seek truth.

But truth is not hiding in the Himalayas.

Truth is in your unpaid bills, your dying parents, your decaying body.

Sitting in a forest is not strength.

It is cowardice decorated as spirituality.

Most ashrams are mental hospitals without diagnosis.

The inmates are not cured. They are quiet. That’s all.

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5. The Business of the Filthy Mind

Once a crackhead has a “vision,” he doesn’t stop.

He becomes a teacher.

He names his madness: Vedanta, Tantra, Zen, Mysticism.

He tells others:

> “What I saw is real. You can see it too. Come, sit. Suffer. Pay.”

Thus begins the spiritual business — the dirtiest one.

It doesn’t sell goods. It sells hope.

It doesn’t sell truth. It sells “higher” lies.

It doesn’t deliver anything — but always asks for everything:

your money, your loyalty, your surrender.

It tells you that your own senses are not enough. That life is a dream. That only “they” know what’s real.

This is how cults begin.

This is how gurus are made.

This is how simple people lose decades of life chasing hallucinations in sacred packaging.

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6. The Core Hunger: Permanence Without Pain

Why does the spiritual disease spread so widely?

Because it promises the one thing life can never give:

Permanent peace.

Spirituality says:

“Pain is an illusion.”

“You are not the body.”

“Detach. Transcend. Awaken.”

It gives you permission to reject the world — but still feel superior to it.

No business can beat that offer:

Escape your suffering.

Feel like a saint.

Be praised for it.

No need to earn. No need to love. No need to face.

Just chant, sit, pray, surrender.

But life does not surrender back.

Your lungs still rot.

Your knees still hurt.

Your wife still leaves.

Your child still dies.

You still wake up with dread.

No mantra can protect you from the ordinary ugliness of reality.

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7. There’s No Real vs Fake Spirituality. It’s All Filth.

Some people try to defend spirituality by saying:

> “There’s real spirituality and fake spirituality.”

But all of it — the rituals, the silence, the books, the gurus, the caves — are born from the same mind:

That cannot bear uncertainty.

That wants escape dressed as enlightenment.

That wants importance without contribution.

That wants answers without humility.

There is no pure version of spirituality.

It is rotten at the root.

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8. The Honest Alternative: Face Your Life

You don’t need gods.

You don’t need chakras.

You don’t need meditations, mantras, or retreats.

You need:

To clean your room.

To sit with your pain.

To hold your child.

To bury your dead.

To sweat.

To fail.

To cook.

To weep.

To die, when it is time — fully here, without delusions.

That is sanity. That is clarity. That is enough.

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Final Word

Spirituality is not medicine. It is not philosophy. It is not path. It is disease.

Invented by filthy minds who wanted to escape dirt — by covering it with gold.

It is desire — wearing the clothes of detachment.

It is ego — hiding behind words like “soul” and “self.”

It is fear — masquerading as transcendence.

Don’t fix it.

Don’t clean it.

Just see it.

And walk away.

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Counterarguments Answered: The Final Sweep

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1. “But I had a powerful experience in meditation!”

Answer:

So does every drug addict. So does every person in psychosis. So does every schizophrenic.

Experiencing light, energy, sound, or out-of-body movement is not clarity. It’s your nervous system short-circuiting under stress, silence, starvation, or obsession.

Your experience means nothing if it doesn't help you live better, more honest, or more grounded.

Most spiritual experiences lead to escapism, narcissism, and delusions of importance.

That’s not awakening. That’s a breakdown.

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2. “But real spirituality is not about experience — it’s about awareness.”

Answer:

That’s just another word game. "Awareness" is a vague, self-validating loop.

You declare you are "aware" and believe you’ve reached somewhere special.

Ask yourself:

Does this awareness pay your rent?

Does it heal your wounds?

Does it make you easier to live with?

If not, you’re just playing mental hide-and-seek.

Awareness that doesn’t transform your behavior or deepen your responsibilities is masturbation with words.

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3. “But spiritual traditions have lasted for thousands of years!”

Answer:

So have superstition, slavery, caste, and astrology.

Longevity proves nothing except how long people have been afraid to face life directly.

The persistence of a delusion doesn't make it truth. It makes it deeply embedded.

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4. “But some spiritual teachers were truly enlightened!”

Answer:

No. They were just clever enough to hide their madness behind silence.

They:

Avoided ordinary life.

Abandoned family.

Created language systems no one could verify.

Became authorities based on nothing but charisma and followers.

If someone cannot explain their truth without using vague terms like "self," "nonduality," or "cosmic vibration" — they’re bluffing.

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5. “But spirituality has helped me feel better!”

Answer:

So does alcohol. So does porn. So does scrolling your phone.

Feeling better is not the measure of truth.

You can feel great and still be completely lost.

You can feel peaceful and still avoid responsibility, commitment, or growth.

Spirituality numbs pain — just like any other addiction.

Temporary relief is not healing.

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6. “But what about compassion, forgiveness, peace — aren’t those spiritual values?”

Answer:

They are human values.

You don’t need gods or gurus to be kind. You need courage.

Compassion is not owned by any tradition.

Forgiveness doesn’t require rituals.

Peace is not in a mantra. It’s in the messy honesty of life.

Spirituality hijacks these universal human instincts and claims ownership — just like a greedy company trademarks water.

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7. “But spirituality leads to humility!”

Answer:

No. It leads to spiritual arrogance.

It creates people who say:

“I’m not like others.”

“I’m awake, they’re asleep.”

“I see the illusion of the world.”

“I don’t react — I observe.”

This is not humility.

It’s self-congratulation disguised as detachment.

The spiritual person stops screaming out loud — but never stops screaming inside.

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8. “But some spiritual people help others!”

Answer:

So do doctors, farmers, teachers, and laborers — without needing to chant anything.

Spiritual people often help others only to confirm their own enlightenment.

It’s part of their identity — to serve, to heal, to teach.

But it’s not out of compassion. It’s out of ego-management.

If your help is tied to your “path,” it’s not help. It’s a performance.

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9. “But spiritual practices reduce stress and anxiety!”

Answer:

So does walking. So does gardening. So does quitting toxic relationships.

So does honest crying.

Spirituality only shifts your anxiety — it doesn't dissolve it.

You stop worrying about jobs, and start worrying about karma.

You stop stressing about relationships, and start stressing about “ego dissolution.”

You just exchange one flavor of panic for another.

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10. “But I’m not like others — I follow only the essence of spirituality.”

Answer:

That’s the most common lie of all — “I’m spiritual, but not religious.”

In truth, you’re still:

Seeking

Wanting more

Avoiding pain

Believing in higher states

Playing the same endless game

Stripping the rituals doesn’t remove the disease.

You’re just dressing it in modern clothes — breathwork, silence, presence, surrender.

The core is unchanged: desire for a life better than life.

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11. “But ancient scriptures have deep truths!”

Answer:

They also contain:

Animal sacrifice

Caste laws

Misogyny

Cosmological nonsense

Rituals to control nature and other people

For every quote that sounds wise, there's a thousand that are manipulative, primitive, or outright mad.

Stop cherry-picking what sounds good.

The whole tree is poisoned.

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12. “But spirituality makes people more peaceful and less violent.”

Answer:

Tell that to history.

Religions have caused:

Wars

Genocides

Burnings

Conversions

Tortures

Terrorism

Even in peaceful ashrams, you’ll find:

Casteism

Abuse

Sexual exploitation

Power hierarchies

Financial fraud

Spirituality doesn’t remove violence.

It just teaches people to disguise it as destiny or karma.

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13. “But meditation has scientifically proven benefits!”

Answer:

So does sleep. So does walking barefoot.

So does eating vegetables and breathing clean air.

Meditation is a basic physiological act — not a spiritual one.

Closing your eyes and watching your breath calms your system. That doesn’t mean there’s a higher self hiding behind it.

Science can’t validate enlightenment.

It can only measure relaxation.

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14. “So are you saying all of humanity’s spiritual quests were useless?”

Answer:

Yes.

Useless in solving real-world suffering.

Useless in stopping war, hunger, loneliness, aging, death.

What they did accomplish:

Created industries of distraction.

Built empires of control.

Gave insecure people a hierarchy to feel superior.

If all spiritual systems vanished overnight, nothing real would be lost.

But if clean water, honest labor, and friendship vanished — humanity would collapse.

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Final Hammer:

There is no defense for spirituality — only layers of confusion.

At best, it delays your breakdown.

At worst, it rebrands your dysfunction as holiness.

You don’t need to burn any books.

You don’t need to fight believers.

Just see clearly — and don’t join the circus.

You’re not missing anything.

There is no higher realm. No final truth. No inner light.

There is only this: your life, your breath, your mess, your duty, your death.

And that is enough.

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Epilogue: After the Delusion

You don't need to replace one illusion with another.

You don’t need to find a “better” version of spirituality.

You need to stop needing.

What happens when the spiritual story collapses?

There’s no inner void.

There’s no spiritual death.

There’s just life — raw, undecorated, awake.

You feel grief? Good.

You feel lost? Even better.

You feel stupid for wasting years? Perfect.

You’re finally home.

No more needing to glow.

No more watching your breath like it owes you something.

No more pretending to be above anger or lust or boredom.

You are back in the dirt.

Where you always belonged.

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What Replaces Spirituality?

Here’s the simple, brutal truth:

Nothing replaces it. Because it was never needed.

But once it’s gone, some things naturally rise.

Not from a system. Not from a lineage. Just from living honestly.

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1. Ordinary Responsibility

Clean what you use.

Fix what you broke.

Say what you mean.

Feed those who depend on you.

That’s more sacred than a thousand meditations.

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2. Basic Discipline

Get up.

Move your body.

Eat with attention.

Rest when you’re tired.

Don’t be owned by screens, sugar, or stimulation.

This is not spiritual. It’s just sane.

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3. Hard Work

Build something real.

Make things grow.

Use your hands.

Finish what you start.

Labor doesn’t lie.

No mantra can replace the clarity that sweat brings.

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4. Direct Conversation

Say the thing.

Call out the lie.

Apologize when you screw up.

Don’t wait for a “right energy” or a “safe space.”

The truth doesn’t need robes.

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5. Rest Without Guilt

Lay down.

Stare at the ceiling.

Waste an hour.

Don’t make it a ritual.

Don’t name it “self-care.”

Just be still. As a body. In a room.

No observer. No witness. Just you.

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6. Connection Without Fantasy

Love someone without quoting Rumi.

Listen without trying to fix.

Sit with your mother.

Hold your child’s hand.

This is not higher consciousness.

This is just not running away.

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7. Facing Death Without Drama

You will die.

Everyone you love will die.

There’s no afterlife. No cosmic graduation.

That’s not a curse.

It’s a relief.

You don’t have to pass any test.

Just live like this breath matters.

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Final Note: Nothing is Sacred. Everything is Alive.

When spirituality dies, life reappears.

Unedited. Unguided. Unexplained.

You don’t need words like "soul" or "oneness."

You just need to sit down and chew your food without lying.

You don’t need incense.

You need air.

You don’t need prayers.

You need sleep.

You don’t need a third eye.

You need to keep your real two open.

And when you forget, when you fall again, when the mind begins craving “meaning” or “truth” or “purity” —

laugh once.

Then go mop the floor.

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SPIRITUALITY IS INVENTION OF THE FILTHY MINDS

-- a long-form dialogue with Madhukar

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Scene:

Early morning. A soft sun hangs over the banana grove behind Madhukar’s one-room mud house. A steel pot whistles gently on the clay stove. Birds. Silence. Smoke from a burning pile of dry guava leaves.

Ravi, an old acquaintance — now fully bearded, robed in saffron, eyes wide with self-declared “awareness” — has come to visit after seven years of disappearance.

Madhukar is digging a trench barefoot to redirect water runoff near the drumstick trees. His daughters Adhya and Anju are plucking leaves from the nightshade bush nearby.

Ravi places his cloth bag on the mud ledge.

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Ravi:

Madhukar… I’m back.

Madhukar (wiping sweat, smiling faintly):

From where?

Ravi:

Rishikesh. Then Sikkim. Then Arunachala. Seven years. Mostly in silence. Practicing. Remembering who I truly am.

Madhukar:

And who are you?

Ravi:

I am not this body… not this mind… I am the unchanging self.

Madhukar:

Mm. Your feet are cracked. Your voice is shaking. You look hungry. That self needs some kanji?

Ravi (softly smiling):

Nothing external matters anymore. I am in stillness now. Pain comes and goes — awareness stays.

Madhukar (pointing to the stool):

Sit. I’ll serve. We can test this awareness with hot kanji and red chilli chutney.

(Anju giggles quietly and runs inside.)

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1. The Spiritual Comeback

Ravi (sipping slowly):

I feel free, Madhukar. All my life I was chasing — job, status, pleasure. Now I’ve left everything. I live on alms. I sit with sages. I feel light.

Madhukar:

Left everything or left facing everything?

Ravi:

I left what’s unreal.

Madhukar:

Did your landlord become unreal? Your mother’s arthritis? Your wife’s loneliness?

Ravi (pause):

That’s past. I was drowning. I needed space.

Madhukar:

So you ran. That’s fine. But let’s not decorate the escape.

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2. Cave vs Crack

Ravi:

But in the caves, Madhukar… I experienced states I cannot explain. There was light. Tremors. As if the body disappeared. I was not there… only silence remained.

Madhukar (cutting firewood):

Same happened to Mahadev, my cousin’s son — after three days of ganja and no sleep. He jumped into the lake saying, “I am the cosmos.”

We had to pull him out and feed him jaggery water.

Ravi (quietly):

You think my experience is fake?

Madhukar:

Not fake. Just not special.

You sat hungry in a dark cave, body exhausted, brain deprived of stimuli. What you felt was neurological overload. A system glitch. A spiritual seizure.

Same as a crackhead.

Ravi:

But it brought peace.

Madhukar:

So does blackout. So does death.

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3. The Desire for Permanent High

Ravi:

But the peace felt permanent. Beyond the body.

Madhukar:

That’s the trick, Ravi.

Spirituality sells permanence — without cost. Joy — without friction. Bliss — without burden.

It’s greed, not grace.

Ravi:

But I didn’t want money. Or sex. Or fame.

Madhukar:

You wanted more than all that. You wanted happiness that stays. You wanted freedom from death. From pain. From thought.

That's greed in its most dangerous form: it calls itself purity.

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4. The Disease of More

(Adhya returns with fermented kanji. Anju hands Ravi some sun-dried curry leaves.)

Ravi:

This smells divine.

Madhukar:

Even simple rice feels divine after hunger.

You see, Ravi — the mind that wants “more” cannot be cured by “spiritual more.”

It needs to sit down and eat. And clean its plate.

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5. Spirituality as Addiction

Ravi (after a pause):

But I’ve lost interest in the world. I don’t react. I feel detached.

Madhukar:

So does a drunk man. Or a man in shock. Or a man who’s given up.

Detachment isn’t clarity. It’s often just inner collapse.

People think being spiritual means being calm.

But many are just numb.

Ravi:

You think I’m numb?

Madhukar:

You look like someone who hasn’t cried in years. That’s dangerous.

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6. The Filthy Mind Behind the Robe

Ravi:

But I don’t harm anyone. I teach silence. I lead small satsangs.

Madhukar:

That’s how it spreads.

The filthiest mind is not the one that fights.

It’s the one that hides behind stillness, speaks softly, and convinces others that life is illusion.

That’s how the spiritual scam works:

It doesn’t scream.

It whispers.

It doesn't threaten.

It “guides.”

It doesn’t take your money.

It takes your mind.

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7. The Cost of the Circus

Ravi:

But people are suffering. Don’t they need hope?

Madhukar:

Hope is fine. Hallucination is not.

Telling a poor man his poverty is karma…

Telling a widow her grief is illusion…

Telling a farmer his drought is maya…

That’s not wisdom. That’s cruelty wearing white clothes.

Ravi (quietly):

I thought I was helping.

Madhukar:

You were. But in the wrong direction.

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8. What Remains After It Dies

(A long silence. Only the sound of the cow tail hitting flies.)

Ravi:

If I drop all this — the seeking, the practice, the surrender — what’s left?

Madhukar:

This kanji.

These leaves.

This mud.

This sun.

This ache in your back.

This body.

This life.

That’s all there ever was.

You covered it with chants and clouds.

Ravi:

And what do I do now?

Madhukar (smiling):

Feed someone. Fix your house. Write to your daughter. Pay your debts. Sweat before sunset. Die when it’s time.

That’s more divine than any scripture.

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9. The Exit Door

Ravi:

Is there really nothing higher?

Madhukar:

There’s only deeper. Into life. Into dirt. Into your responsibilities.

No soul. No karma. No vibration.

Just the next honest act.

And that’s enough.

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10. Final Moment

(Ravi sits long. Kanji bowl empty. Robe dusty. Eyes finally soften.)

Ravi:

What should I do with this saffron cloth?

(Anju interrupts.)

Anju (grinning):

Ajja says you can clean buffalo dung with it. It’s soft and absorbs well.

(Madhukar bursts into laughter. Ravi too. For the first time, in years.)

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15 Months Later – The Ashes of the Soul

Scene:

Madhukar is squatting under the neem tree outside his house. It’s early morning. A brass cup of buttermilk rests on the low stone slab beside him. Ravi walks in, slower than usual, thinner, less anxious. No glow. Just presence.

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Madhukar:

You’ve stopped glowing, Ravi.

Ravi (sits down):

That’s the best compliment I’ve received in a year.

Madhukar (nods):

It’s over, isn’t it?

Ravi:

All of it.

The soul.

The purpose.

The karmas.

The past lives.

The guru's feet.

The chakras.

The mountain caves.

The Vipassana retreats.

Even the breath — it’s just breath now.

Madhukar (pouring buttermilk):

Fifteen months. That’s the usual digestion time. Most can’t survive that long without replacing the old story with a new one.

Ravi:

I tried, I won’t lie.

After I gave up spirituality, I flirted with minimalism. Then Buddhism. Then trauma healing. Then cold plunges. Then productivity hacks.

All of them. Same disease. Different clothing.

Madhukar:

Greed and guilt dressed up as healing.

And none of them work unless you believe in your own brokenness.

Ravi:

That was the hardest pill to swallow.

That I wasn’t broken.

That I had just been greedy.

Greedy for meaning, for perfection, for feeling good forever.

Madhukar (quietly):

Spirituality is the pornography of permanence.

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Ravi:

It didn’t hit all at once.

I would still sit cross-legged. Still “observe” my thoughts.

Still say “witness” in my head.

Then one day I was staring at the ceiling, and it just dropped.

All of it.

I wasn’t observing.

I was pretending not to be scared.

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Madhukar:

You had any withdrawal symptoms?

Ravi:

Yes.

Restlessness.

Boredom.

Shame.

Loneliness.

And a weird craving to listen to satsangs — even if I hated them.

Madhukar (smirking):

That’s the cult hangover.

You want to vomit and crave it at the same time.

Ravi:

I used to think people who left spirituality would become bitter.

But actually… I became ordinary.

No highs. No inner silence. No cosmic messages.

Just long walks, cooking my food, calling my sister, getting bored, cleaning the floor.

And it was more grounding than a thousand silent retreats.

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Madhukar (stirring the buttermilk):

You missed crying?

Ravi:

For the first time in my life, I cried without praying.

No witness.

No letting go.

Just salt water leaving my body.

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Madhukar:

What about all your fellow seekers?

Ravi:

Some stopped talking to me.

They thought I had fallen.

One guy actually told me, “You’ve lost your spiritual glow.”

I told him, “Yes. That glow was my nervous system stuck in performance mode.”

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Madhukar (chuckling):

Did you ever revisit the caves?

Ravi:

Once.

There was a guy meditating alone, shivering in the cold.

I left him a hot tea and walked away.

Didn’t disturb him.

Didn’t try to “wake” him.

Because that was me — and I know the look.

Desperate, hungry, proud.

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Madhukar:

So what remains now?

Ravi:

Silence. But not the kind I used to seek.

Just… nothing to say.

I eat. I sleep. I work.

I sit sometimes without reason.

I don’t read anymore.

No more Ramana. No more Osho. No more Adyashanti.

Just the instruction manual for my mixer grinder.

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Madhukar:

And do you miss God?

Ravi (after a long pause):

No.

Because God was my last delusion.

The perfect parent I kept inventing because I didn’t want to grow up.

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Madhukar (pouring the last of the buttermilk):

You’re done, Ravi.

You’ve crossed over.

Ravi:

It doesn’t feel like crossing anything.

It feels like getting off the train and realizing the station was home all along.

---

Madhukar:

Now you can finally serve tea without teaching.

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Ravi (laughs):

Or wash the dishes without offering them to the divine.

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Madhukar (grins):

Or sit quietly without “being in the now.”

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Ravi:

Exactly.

Now is just now.

Nothing holy about it.

And that, Madhukar… is freedom.

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Closing Note from Ravi (Months Later, in a Letter):

"I don’t wear white anymore.

I don’t sit cross-legged.

I don't chant.

I don't seek.

I plant chillies.

I cook them.

I burn my tongue.

I laugh without watching myself laugh.

I love without tracking my growth.

I fart without spiritual guilt.

And if someone asks me now,

“What is your path?”

I say:

Walk, cook, rest.

And stop inventing stories just to feel special.”

---

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THE LAST GOD I KILLED WAS ME

I was once

the man who didn’t drink

but floated,

eyes closed, back straight,

staring at my breath

like it was the last rope out of the pit.

I was holy.

I was calm.

I was

a liar.

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I wore white clothes

because black was impure.

I didn’t curse

because anger was ego.

I didn’t touch meat

because the soul gets stuck in flesh.

I became

the museum

of every dead rule

some cave crackhead imagined

after starving in the dark

and calling it truth.

---

I meditated

until my knees gave up.

I chanted

until my throat dried out.

I held my semen

like it was God’s last breath.

All I found

was more desire

with better branding.

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The guru’s feet were soft

but his hands were in too many wallets.

The ashram had silence

but behind the trees

they buried shame.

The scriptures had verses

but not one recipe

for how to feed your wife

when there’s no gas

and the child is crying

and the landlord’s at the door.

---

They said

"you are not this body."

But I shit.

I bleed.

I cough.

I rot.

I am this body.

And I’ll be this grave.

---

The exit

was not dramatic.

No epiphany.

No lightning.

Just me one day

sitting in front of a broken fan,

thinking:

“None of this works.”

Not the mantras.

Not the purity.

Not the stillness.

Not the glowing eyes.

---

I stopped.

Stopped praying.

Stopped fasting for god.

Stopped treating my thoughts like sins.

I started

sweeping the floor.

Cooking lentils.

Walking barefoot.

Saying “fuck” when I meant it.

Crying without needing meaning.

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I didn’t heal instantly.

15 months of detox

from holy heroin.

The shakes.

The guilt.

The phantom fears.

“What if I go to hell?”

“What if I miss enlightenment?”

What if I just live?

---

Now, I don’t seek.

I fix leaking taps.

I carry compost.

I sit beside my daughter when she’s silent.

That is worship enough.

That is devotion enough.

That is salvation enough.

---

Sometimes people visit.

They ask me

“Have you found peace?”

And I say,

“No.

I stopped looking.”

And they leave confused.

Because there’s no halo.

Just a dirty lungi,

muddy hands,

and breath

that doesn’t care if it’s sacred.

---

I still see the temples.

Still hear the chants.

Still smell the incense.

But they don’t enter me anymore.

I see them like old lovers

whose names I forgot

but whose perfume

once made me believe

in forever.

---

My god died

without a fight.

He didn’t scream.

He didn’t beg.

He just vanished

when I called him out

and said:

“Enough.”

---

So now

I eat.

I shit.

I sleep.

And none of it

is less

than divine.

---

[End]