The Trimurti Sadasiva stared impassively with three sets of eyes, a chameleons range of vision, at the pathetic pilgrim I'd become. Searching, yes, always searching for the thing I couldn't name with words or pictures or wild gyrations or dreams, I had arrived after so long at the altar of answered questions. So I opened my mouth to ask, and silence wound itself out of my parted lips like an unraveling ball of twine. Just a gasp of tangled half-thoughts and riddles posed to draw out my meanings for no one, not even this God. Sinking down and on the brink, my eyes blurred with emotions I'd thought long spent.
What did I want? Pity for the miles I'd crawled on humbled knees, bloody with a journey's long desperation? Compassion for the tear-spent nightmares and groaning hunger always gnawing, never sated? Why was I here? To validate my flight from oblivion? To etch out lines suggested in shadows? To unveil some fallacy of purpose? I raised empty hands that offered no tribute of wealth or devotion and waited to be understood.
Unblinking, my God's face emerged from the field of opposites like a perfect earth emerging from heaven and hell. It's sexless voice a whisper threading my atoms like a skilled seamstress, filling my mouth with It's words- 'My child, whom I neither adorn with praise nor condemn with judgement, there is no answer to be found.' And weeping, I embraced this reverberation and slipped from the temple no more a pilgrim searching for truth but a pillar rising underneath it.
