We love to think the divine walks above the ground. Yet every avatar who enters this world must place a foot on earth—and earth has rules. Even Krishna, flute and all, moved within gravity, time, hunger, heat, cold, consequence.

Radhe and Krishna’s first meeting is one such remembrance—of recognition before reason, of love before language.

Some stories look simple until you sit with them. On Ram Navami, one such story returns: a king, a priest, and a street dog—and a justice that heals rather than hurts.

Karma is the living memory carried within us—shaping actions, patterns, and possibilities—until awareness turns it from bondage into a path of liberation.

Surya Namaskar is more than exercise; it aligns body, breath, and mind, energizing your system while opening the door to balance and inner clarity.

When the sun begins its southward journey, the earth turns from expansion to consolidation. This half of the year is called Dakshinayana—not a fall, but a settling. What was sprouting now seeks roots.

We imagine success in sadhana as thunder—visions, voices, fireworks. In truth, real success arrives like dawn. No noise. Just light that makes everything clearer.

When people see Krishna’s flute, they think romance. When they read the Gita, they think war and wisdom. Between the flute and the battlefield lies his real sadhana—total involvement without inner disturbance.

When the sun begins its northward journey, the earth feels a subtle lift. In India, this turning is called Uttarayana—not just a shift in the sky, but an invitation in the inner sky.