In a world of chants, breaths, rules, and striving,
some truths are not earned — they are remembered.
And sometimes, remembrance begins with a touch.

This is not instruction.
This is recognition.
This is Bhasma — sacred ash,
the quiet breath of ancient fires,
the lingering scent of offerings once ablaze,
the warmth of a presence that was always with you.

You place it with your hand —
yet it feels as if it finds you.
Not worn like an adornment,
but received like a blessing.

It does not stay on the surface.
It seeps — into breath,
into thought,
into the silence behind all names.

No demands. No striving. No shapes to hold.
Only the still contact of essence and being.

It asks for nothing but sincerity.
It gives you back to yourself.

This is not a journey to begin.
It is the end of all wandering.

Just touch.
Just place.
Just allow.

This is Bhasma.
This is the Rudra Touch —
a forgotten fire,
remembered in you.