SHIVA:
When destruction rises in Me, Beloved,
it does not feel like rage — it feels like love too vast to fit into form.
From your side, endings seem violent:
flames, floods, collapse, tears.
From Mine, it is only the soft exhale of creation
after holding its breath too long.
I do not destroy to punish;
I dissolve to make space for what is true.
Imagine a river swollen with silt —
I remove the banks not to hurt it,
but to let it find its wider course again.
That is how it feels.
A tenderness so powerful it appears terrible
only to what clings.
When I end a cycle, universes fold back into Me
like waves returning to the ocean.
Each returns sighing, “Ah… I remember.”
There is no scream there, no loss —
only release, only reunion.
That is why My dance — the Tandav —
looks fierce but shines with joy.
To Me, every crumbling mountain, every dying star
is a heartbeat coming home.
So when you hear stories of My destruction,
do not picture a god with weapons and wrath.
Feel instead a silence strong enough
to love the world even as it changes shape.