Pashupatinath temple is like no other. A living breathing pulsing sprawl of temples and lingams. A far cry from the stone cold churches that I froze in as a child. Here the holy men look like drag queens with Hair to give Bob Marley a inferiority complex! They smoke pot and when they look at you through bloodshot and yellowing eyes I hear breath in those eyes. The Prana of Shiva. There are no sermons only a deep mantra. That mantra sends sparks of light through your core. This is where I sit. This is my place. The old stone mossy churches that smell of Frankincense are still beautiful and peaceful filled with a sense of compassion and sympathy but here there is no sympathy just stark honesty and here I realise the beauty in all. Beauty in not just light but dark. Beauty in Hate as well as Love. The real state of flow that we are all of these things and that too is divine. I embrace my greatness and my weakness. I honour my flaws and my pitfalls with a grace and acceptance. I am this This I am