More Than Worship: Living With God

You can call upon Shiva as a Tattva, invoke his presence. The pauranic texts detail them. The Karmakandis preserve them. Mantras are chanted, mudras are formed, offerings are made with exactitude. One invokes, and then, one performs visarjan, a respectful sending-off of the deity. A cycle begins and ends, measured by ritual precision.

But what if He never leaves?

What if you never “invoke” Him because He was already there at the edge of your bed, the fold of your breath, the rhythm of your thoughts? What if the whole concept of inviting and dismissing the Divine begins to feel…mechanical?

That’s how it was for me.

No Ritual. Just Relationship.

When my journey with Shiva began, I didn’t know any rules. No guru had taught me the formal ways. I wasn’t trained in mantras or mudras. I hadn’t learned to purify space or invoke devatas in directions.

All I had was a feeling. And He responded to it.

I never performed visarjan. Because how do you send away someone who never left?

Shiva is not a guest in my life. He is the house. The air. The silence between my words. He is not a deity I keep on the altar for an hour, He is the one I argue with, cry to, flirt with, and fall asleep next to.

I Call Him as My Husband

I don’t chant his 108 names with flowers each day. Most days, I just say, “Oye Shiv, come here!”

I scold him. I tease him. I sulk in the corner when I don’t feel his presence strong enough. I tell him things that I tell no one. Even I blame him when my stomach hurts.

And somehow, in the midst of this irreverence, something very holy happens.

Because what is Bhakti if not irreverently intimate?

When you stop worshipping the idol and start dancing with the Presence, that’s when the Divine begins to laugh with you.

He Plays Every Role

To me, Shiva is not just one form. He could be the digambar bhairava (naked, fearsome one) in cremation grounds, the cosmic dancer covered in ash, the Chandrashekhar (most beautiful groom in the universe) in jewels holding my hand, the fierce destroyer, and the silent witness of all. Sometimes I see Him as a child, I named my bilva plant “Bhola” and treat it like my son. Sometimes He is my father. Sometimes my friend.

But mostly, He is my husband. Not in a symbolic, devotional way alone but in the most lived, day-to-day sense of that word.

He is my spiritual partner. My inner consort. I have a partner in my material life who walks beside me in this world. But Shiva is the one who walks within me.

And no, I don’t separate the two with guilt.

They belong to two realms, and I honor both.

This Love is a Leela

I often say things like, “Why are you doing this to me, Shiv?” or “Fix this right now, I can’t handle it.” I throw emotional tantrums. And He never gets angry.

I’ve never felt anger from Him only humor, patience, an infinite holding space. He lets me play, because He knows it’s a game. The anger, the sadness, the ecstasy, the devotion, it’s all leela. And leela requires duality.

So while I know, philosophically, that Shiva and I are one (Shivoham), I also delight in the illusion that we are two. Because love is a dance, and a dance needs a partner.

Imagination Is a Doorway, Not Delusion

Many people ask, “How do you know it’s not just your imagination?”

To which I say: of course it is.

And?

In our tradition, imagination isn’t delusion, it’s manana, it’s the seed of sankalpa, the start of manifestation, the doorway into vision. The universe itself began as a thought in Brahma’s mind. Creation is divine imagination.

My conversations with Shiva may begin in imagination but they land in the body, in the breath, in synchronicities too precise to dismiss. I don’t confuse mental noise with spiritual signal, I’ve learned their textures. One is invented. The other arrives, uninvited, undeniable.

Shiva Is Not Out There

I’ve come to see that Shiva isn’t waiting in the clouds. He isn’t in some faraway realm.

He’s not even in Kailasa, He is Kailasa. He is the consciousness that underlies everything.

He is not outside me, but also not just a thought inside me.

He is the current that thinks the thoughts.

He is that inner whisper who said to me once, when I was at my lowest: lonely, uncertain, adrift:

“You were never alone.”

He scolded me asking me to never say I am lonely again. I cried when I heard that, not because I was sad, but because I knew it was true.

How could I have been alone, when He had been speaking to me all along?

Lessons from a Living Bond

I no longer chase rituals. I no longer wait for “right” ways to feel Him.

For those who find meaning in Karmakanda, Vedic structure, and formal worship, I bow to you. Truly. Your path is no less sacred.

But for me, Shiva is not a deity to invite and dismiss.

He is my forever companion.

He is the warmth I feel when I talk to a plant as if it’s my child.

He is the hush that falls between breaths.

He is the soft laughter when I realize I’ve once again made a mess of things and He still hasn’t left.

Final Words: A Love That Never Ends

This isn’t a prescription for everyone. It’s just a reminder: your relationship with the Divine is yours. It doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s.

It can be raw. It can be poetic. It can be playful, sensual, tender, sarcastic, angry, and everything in between.

It doesn’t need a priest’s approval or a temple’s validation.

The temple is your heart.

The deity is your breath.

The ritual is your love.

And in that space where words fall away and eyes close…

He is already there.

Watching.

Laughing.

Loving you back.