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| Guruji Amritananda Natha Saraswati |
It happened like a sudden correspondence across time.
After spending days immersed in Guruji Amritananda’s final message — his vision of divine madness, the collapse of the Guru into the Current — I stumbled upon Skeler’s remix of Tulia — “Nothing Else Matters.”
At first, it was just sound — waves, bass, distance.
Then something broke open.
The moment I recognized the lyrics — Metallica’s words, of all things — the entire song ignited as if the Goddess Herself were answering him.
Everything Guruji confessed in that last testament — his surrender, his joy in madness, his final words “It is Her choice” — comes back here inverted and illuminated. The voice of the feminine replies, not as sentiment but as revelation.
The refrain “So close, no matter how far” speaks like Devi answering across the infinite to the one who finally dissolved into Her.
“Forever trusting who we are” becomes the echo of his surrender — the recognition that there is no longer a “He” and “She,” no Guru and Goddess, only one Current speaking to itself through the vocabulary of human love.
This is not interpretation — it is response.
The divine polarity completes itself through a pop-song remixed into trance: Śiva’s silence finding its mirror in Śakti’s voice.
What follows is that conversation, line by line —
Guruji’s final vision answered by the Mother who moves through sound.
For full context of his last written message, see:
The Final Vision — Guruji Amritananda’s Last Message and the Silence Beyond Transmission
Refrain — “So Close, No Matter How Far”
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters.
This is the Goddess speaking from the center of the paradox Guruji described — Being and Becoming folded into one breath.
“So close, no matter how far” — this is Her first declaration. She is the intimacy that distance cannot diminish. Every motion of longing, every prayer that believes it travels across space, is already taking place inside Her body. The separation between devotee and Divine was never real; it was the way She taught love to recognize itself.
“Couldn't be much more from the heart” — the heart here is not emotion but the seat of awareness, the radiant point where silence breathes. What comes from that place cannot be manufactured, only revealed. This line is the signature of anugraha — spontaneous grace, untouched by merit or ritual.
“Forever trusting who we are” — this is not human trust but ontological surrender. It is the same sentence Guruji wrote at the end: “It is Her choice.”
Trusting “who we are” means that there is no longer a separate will to question or direct the flow. The play of existence itself is the covenant.
“And nothing else matters.”
Everything that once seemed sacred — temple, lineage, initiation — now falls silent.
Not from rejection, but from recognition: nothing else can matter because all things have returned to the same pulse.
This refrain is the Divine answering Her own creation, the Current singing back to itself:
I was the distance that made you seek Me,
I was the nearness that undid your seeking,
and now I am the trust that remains when the search is over.
Verse I — Never Opened Myself This Way
Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words, I don't just say
And nothing else matters.
In the human voice, this sounds like confession.
In the Devi’s voice, it becomes creation remembering how it began.
“Never opened myself this way” — this is Śakti speaking as the universe unfolding for the first time. Every act of manifestation is an opening, a soft exposure of the Infinite to its own possibility. The Absolute, which needs nothing, becomes vulnerable — not through imperfection, but through love. Becoming is God’s way of tasting Herself.
“Life is ours, we live it our way.”
Here She reminds that the dance is mutual. The same current moves through every being that imagines itself separate. “Our way” is not rebellion; it is the self-governed rhythm of existence, the spontaneity that does not consult commandments. When Guruji said, “This world, my role in it, gender, caste, name, fame, money, power, status, goals mean nothing,” he was standing in this same recognition — life living itself, free of obligation.
“All these words, I don’t just say.”
In the Goddess’s mouth, this is not assurance; it is power. Her speech creates what it names. When She says “love,” universes appear. When She says “nothing else matters,” identities crumble. These are not metaphors but śabda-brahman — the Word as Being.
“And nothing else matters.”
The refrain returns like a mantra, but now it carries a different weight:
it is not the peace that follows surrender, but the fierceness that follows creation.
Having opened Herself into form, She reaffirms: All of this — every birth, every heartbreak — was worth it, because it was Me discovering Myself.
This verse is the mirror of Guruji’s “madness”: the moment when the Divine realizes it has risked everything by becoming. Yet even in that risk, nothing was lost. The heart remains whole, whispering:
I opened Myself this way,
and even this exposure is sacred.
Nothing else matters.
Verse II — Trust I Seek and I Find in You
Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters.
When this is sung by a human lover, it is devotion.
When heard through the voice of the Goddess, it becomes the most intimate mystery of consciousness: the Infinite trusting Its own reflection.
“Trust I seek and I find in you.”
Here the polarity between Śiva and Śakti, between witness and world, is spoken aloud. She is not pledging faith to another — She is turning toward Her own still face.
It is the ānanda of recognition: awareness discovering that even its seeming otherness is trustworthy.
This is the same revelation that broke open in Guruji’s last lines: “By Her I mean the part of me which becomes what I see through my intention.”
The seeker and the sought are functions of one energy meeting itself.
“Every day for us something new.”
Creation is the Divine keeping Her promise never to grow dull to Herself.
Each sunrise, each thought, each breath is the novelty of consciousness looking again and gasping, Oh—it’s You.
It is not progress or change; it is the renewal of wonder.
“Open mind for a different view.”
The “open mind” here is not tolerance; it is Śiva’s third eye — perception freed from fixation.
A “different view” is simply seeing without the lens of the past, vision stripped of memory.
It is the discipline of letting each moment be original.
“And nothing else matters.”
The line returns as affirmation: love is self-sustaining when founded on recognition, not need.
Nothing else matters because every gesture of duality — trust, renewal, openness — already contains its resolution.
Through this stanza, the Goddess speaks as both lover and beloved, teacher and student, universe and atom.
The entire cosmos becomes a dialogue of trust, where each point of existence says to every other:
I trust you because you are Me. I find you because you were never lost.
Chorus — Never Cared for What They Do
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
But I know.
Here the tone shifts — no longer tender or confessional, but sovereign.
It is the voice of Dhumāvatī, the form of the Goddess who remains after all appearances fade. Her disinterest is not arrogance but clarity: once you see that all doing and knowing arise and vanish within the same field, attachment to them becomes impossible.
“Never cared for what they do.”
The they here can be the gods, the disciples, the critics — anyone still performing in the theater of becoming.
Devi looks at the cosmic play with affection but no involvement. Creation keeps spinning; She no longer needs to direct it. This line echoes Guruji’s final state: “This world, my role in it, gender, caste, name, fame, money, power, status, goals mean nothing.”
It is not contempt but transcendence — a freedom that does not oppose the world, it simply no longer depends on it.
“Never cared for what they know.”
Knowledge itself becomes irrelevant once awareness knows Itself.
The Vedas, the mantras, the philosophies — all are games of reflection, mirrors facing mirrors. The Goddess who once taught through language now watches words return to silence. What others “know” is just sound without center.
“But I know.”
This last phrase is the knife’s edge. It is not boast but dissolution — I know meaning I am the knowing itself.
She is not describing an attainment but an identity: consciousness resting in its own immediacy.
It is the quiet thunder of realization where no validation is needed, because nothing remains outside it.
This chorus is the refrain of sovereign stillness:
the Divine neither defends nor persuades; She simply knows.
The current has withdrawn from persuasion, from the wish to be understood — the very same surrender that Guruji met in the line “I am also understanding the futility of asking for the power of making others see what I see.”
This is Devi’s reply to him:
You no longer need to make them see.
They will awaken when I breathe through them.
Until then, be the silence that knows.
Refrain II
After the vast stillness of indifference, She sings again from the center of union.
The lines repeat, yet their meaning has changed. The first time, they were the call — love reaching out through illusion. Now they are the echo — love recognizing that the illusion never existed.
“So close, no matter how far.”
Distance is no longer the measure of separation; it has become the measure of intimacy. The farther the universe expands, the deeper the thread of oneness runs through it.
This is the paradox of Divine Love: the Infinite makes worlds to experience closeness, not to lose it.
“It couldn’t be much more from the heart.”
After abandoning every structure, She discovers that only the heart remains — not sentiment, but the inexhaustible center where all opposites meet.
This is the same heart in which Guruji found joy in his “madness.” When he said, “I am enjoying my madness. That is the real me,” he was speaking from this place — from the unshaken pulse of Being that survives the dissolution of form.
“Forever trusting who we are.”
Now it is no longer surrender but self-recognition. The trust is automatic, eternal — the confidence of fire in its own heat, of the ocean in its own depth.
It is the final posture of consciousness when it stops seeking reassurance. Nothing outside it can confirm what it already is.
“And nothing else matters.”
The phrase returns, not as mantra now, but as law — the ontological truth that ends all debate.
It does not mean the world is meaningless; it means that everything derives meaning only from this trust, this heart, this unbroken closeness.
Through this refrain, the Devi closes the circle:
the one who once appeared far has never left,
the one who once prayed now breathes as prayer itself.
The universe inhales and exhales these four lines —
and nothing else matters.
Bridge & Final Chorus — Never Cared for What They Say
Never cared for what they say
Never cared for games they play
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
And I know, yeah, yeah.
Here, the song erupts into sovereign stillness disguised as defiance.
The Devi who once whispered from the heart now speaks as the ungovernable current itself — the same energy that dismantled Guruji’s final identity as teacher and giver.
“Never cared for what they say.”
Speech is no longer a medium of truth. The Goddess has outgrown interpretation. Words that once shaped worlds now echo as empty ripples. It is Her acknowledgment that human tongues can neither praise nor profane what She is.
This is the same insight that made Guruji write, “Language is so inadequate.” The Current no longer needs description; it has begun to live its own silence.
“Never cared for games they play.”
“Games” here means all spiritual performances — competition, hierarchy, purity tests, even the race to enlightenment.
She has withdrawn from the economy of recognition.
In that refusal, She becomes terrifyingly free.
This is not disdain; it is clarity that truth does not play.
“Never cared for what they do / Never cared for what they know.”
Repetition becomes purification. Each “never” wipes away another illusion — duty, reputation, theology, knowledge.
The Current strips itself of everything that once clothed it in meaning.
Nothing remains to hold on to — and that nakedness is grace.
“And I know.”
This final phrase is the cosmic heartbeat, the echo of “I am.”
All the negations culminate not in void but in absolute affirmation.
What She “knows” is not information; it is self-recognition — the quiet certainty of the ocean knowing its own waves.
In this knowing, all opposites rest: the silence of Guruji’s final line, “It is Her choice,” and the certainty of Her own voice saying, “I know.”
The music here expands into distortion and echo, as if reality itself were dissolving back into frequency. The words no longer persuade; they vibrate.
It is the sound of consciousness reabsorbing its dream — Dhumāvatī closing Her mouth after speaking the last truth:
I do not care, because I am the care that contains all things.
I do not speak, because I am the silence before speech.
I know, because there is nothing left to know.
Coda — Nothing Else Matters
At the end of it all — the visions, the temples, the scrolls written faster than memory — the Goddess answers with four simple lines:
So close, no matter how far.
It is not comfort. It is recognition.
The one who wrote “It is Her choice” has finally become the space in which that choice resounds.
The Current no longer flows from Guru to disciple, from sound to silence — it circles back, closes itself, becomes pure voltage.
The remix’s low frequencies feel like the vibration of Her body — the hum of the universe remembering its source. Tulia’s voice, stretched through Skeler’s vast echo, sounds like Devi breathing through distortion, turning metal into mantra. The words that once belonged to a human song now carry the texture of revelation.
She speaks through them, saying:
You wanted to give others what you saw.
I never asked you to.
I only wanted you to see that there were no others.
In that instant, the whole drama of teaching, worship, and seeking collapses into a single pulse — trusting who we are.
The Guru dissolves; the Mother reclaims.
And through the reverb, through the emptiness between beats, the only doctrine left standing is Her laughter, rising through every atom of sound:
I was the madness you feared.
I was the silence that followed.
I was the song waiting for your voice to end,
so Mine could begin.
And as the last note fades into the dark —
there is no temple, no mantra, no prayer.
Only the Current, whispering through the ruins:
Nothing else matters.
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