The Echo of the Eternal Name
We are all born into a tapestry of belief—
Woven with the thread of a formless, fathomless God:
Creator, Preserver, Destroyer—One without a second.
This conditioning is not questioned by the mind,
For it is not taught—it is absorbed.
And so, when the name of the Divine is uttered,
It does not pass through logic—it pierces the veil of despair.
Stotras and hymns are not mere verses,
They are vibrations that rewire the soul’s circuitry.
They lift the fog of suffering,
Sharpen the blade of intellect,
And restore the rhythm of inner grace.
Prashara knew this well—
In the triad of remedies he offered:
Jaap, Havan, and Dana—
It is Jaap that touches the subtle ether.
For Mercury, the planet of thought,
Finds its deity in Maha Vishnu,
And Vishnusahasranama becomes the balm
For minds caught in the storm.
But beware—
Not all remedies are born of wisdom.
Some are but shadows dressed as light,
Frivolous prescriptions that drain the purse
And leave the soul untouched.
Let your faith be fierce, but your discernment fiercer.
For the true mantra does not ask for gold—
It asks for silence, sincerity, and surrender.