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| She who sees through masks. She who dances in fire. In Her mirror, even betrayal burns away illusion. |
Vira Chandra: In this world, cruelty wears many faces — sometimes masked in hierarchy, sometimes wrapped in smiles, sometimes delivered in silence. Abuse doesn’t always come with shouting or bruises. Sometimes it arrives in soft words, subtle betrayals, or the cold withdrawal of care.
And yet, from the Kaula perspective — where nothing is outside the path — even this becomes a mirror.
Kaula isn’t masochistic. It doesn’t glorify suffering. It does not ask us to romanticize cruelty. What it does ask is something far more terrifying:
“Can you let the cremation ground heat you until the gold separates from the slag?”
Yes, the Wound Bleeds
Let us be absolutely clear: abuse, cruelty, systemic manipulation — these are real, and they leave real scars. Spirituality is not an excuse to ignore or diminish pain. To pretend otherwise is bypassing, not awakening.
Some are broken by the systems they live in. Betrayed by those they loved. Publicly shamed. Quietly erased. Their contributions forgotten. Their dignity shredded. This is violence.
And yet from a Kaula lens, we ask:
What remained unbroken?
What part of you watched it all without flinching?
What part stood back up — not with vengeance, but with clarity?
When Sanctity Is Weaponized
There is a kind of wound more corrosive than others — when the language of love, truth, or liberation is used as a leash. When harm wears a rudraksha or speaks in verses. When the one who claims to free you is the one tightening the chains.
This is spiritual abuse. And it is real.
Women and men raped by so-called Gurus who whisper that it’s tantra.
Devotees drained of their savings so their Master can buy another Porsche — and told it’s karma.
Whispers of doubt crushed as “lack of surrender.”
Questions met with banishment or shame.
The childlike trust of seekers exploited as currency for control.
Yes, corporate cruelty wounds the body and mind. But this violates the soul — because those who do it claim to speak for the Divine.
It is not your fault.
It is not your lesson.
And it is not “part of your purification” to be manipulated by those who traffic in God’s name.
But even here — even here — Kaula does not collapse into despair.
Because nothing — not even the filthiest mask — can hide Her forever.
This is the terrible beauty of the path:
That sometimes the blow was real, the cruelty unjust, the betrayal venomous —
and yet, something shines through the poison.
Not because the act was holy. But because Śakti wastes nothing.
Even the ones who sought to harm you —
in their ignorance, in their hunger, in their borrowed power —
may have unknowingly served as mirrors.
And this is where Abhinavagupta, the great Tantric master, dares to say what others won’t.
That truth does not always wear robes.
That awakening can be wrapped in ash.
That the one who looks asleep may be the one most awake.
Abhinavagupta whispers through the veil (Tantrāloka 14.7–8)
bibhāsayiṣur āste ’yaṃ tirodhāne ’napekṣakaḥ |
yathā prakāśa-svātantryāt pratibuddho ’py abuddha-vat ||
He [genuine saint] sits , intent only on igniting the light in others. The veils of delusion do not touch him. Through the sovereignty of his own radiance, he is utterly awake—yet, if he wishes, he may appear asleep.
ste tadvad anuttīrṇo ’py uttīrṇa iva ceṣṭate |
yathā ca buddhas tāṃ mūḍha-ceṣṭāṃ kurvann api dviṣan ||
Likewise, one who has not crossed may swagger as though he were free; and one who is already free may choose to move as if still bound. The Awakened can enact the antics of the bewildered, even while inwardly smiling at the play.
These verses do not float in abstraction — they burn with recognition.
Abhinavagupta names the hidden master — not by how he looks, but by what he lacks:
no need to appear wise, no attachment to the role of teacher, no hunger for disciples. He walks veiled not by deceit, but by freedom. Because he belongs to the Light, he is free to look like shadow. Because he knows he is nothing, he can become anything.
And in contrast — the one who mimics the form of the guru without the fire of knowing.
He speaks in high tones, demands devotion, orchestrates performances of piety — but inside, he is dry.
Jayaratha, echoing Abhinava’s fierce compassion, tells us that even such masks are part of Śiva’s play.
For sometimes, the false teacher is allowed to rise, not to bless, but to burn away our naivety.
To teach us not to follow crowns, robes, or titles — but the scent of Truth itself.
The Light hides itself. The Light reveals itself.
And both are acts of Her freedom.
This is not moral relativism — this is mystic clarity.
Only the Heart can discern what glitters from what is gold.
And when it does, you do not collapse. You bow. You walk on. And you do not forget.
The Mirror of the Enemy
So thus, for a mystic, even the so-called enemy is not an obstacle. Sometimes they are the instrument.
Not because they are noble — not because their actions were somehow justified — but because Śakti can repurpose even ignorance as fuel for your awakening.
They stripped the title from your door.
They laughed at the quiet.
Good — now you know how soundless thunder feels.
Their ignorance never earns cosmic applause.
But still, it leaves friction. And in that friction, fire. And in that fire, the bindings become visible.
You realize:
You are not your role.
You are not their story.
You are not broken — just unfinished.
This isn’t spiritual Stockholm syndrome. It’s alchemy.
You are not excusing abuse — you are extracting power from it.
Grace in the Ashes
The greatest act of defiance in the face of injustice is to not become what harmed you.
To stay graceful.
To stay sharp.
To leave without bitterness.
To say:
"Yes, they tried to break me. And instead, I became something unbreakable."
This is not about being passive. Sometimes walking away is the most sacred act.
Sometimes the battlefield is silence. Sometimes victory is invisible.
Let it be said clearly: if harm is ongoing, saying “No” is a holy act.
Protection is not weakness. Boundaries can be vows.
What matters is this:
You don’t leave shattered.
You don’t leave desperate.
You don’t leave screaming.
You leave as one who has seen through the game.
You bow inwardly — and you walk on.
Not because they won. But because you are no longer on their board.
This is Kaula.
This is not transcendence that escapes the world — but the kind that walks through it barefoot, unburned.
This is freedom.
yā Devī sarvabhūteṣu viṣṇumāyeti śabditā
namas tasyai namas tasyai namas tasyai namo namaḥ
She who dwells in all beings as the very play of illusion—
To Her, I bow. Again and again, I bow.
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