Time: Random, unplanned moment
Mood: Sudden urge to connect
Out of the blue, I felt like reaching out to Mr. N.
He was part of a group of five ð§♂️ð§ð§♀️ð§♂️ð§♀️ — a spiritual circle, highly respected, widely followed.
People from across India sought their guidance for the deepest of issues.
They held seminars, workshops, discourses. ðŊ️ððŪ
By the time I heard of them, they were already seasoned — decades into their path. ðŋ
This was the early 2000s.
⏳ Time passed. Nearly a decade later, their leader — Mr. N — died.
ðŠĶ The cause wasn’t clear.
But he had left the physical plane.
Years went by. I never thought much of it.
Until one day… I did.
And in that instant — I connected.
No ceremony. No ritual. Just a silent tuning.
And then… I met him.
What I saw shocked me. ðĻ
Mr. N was in distress.
Not in light. Not in peace.
But trapped in a realm far from heaven — more like a psychic hell. ðĨðģ️
He told me:
“Despite all the years of practice, all the rituals, all the discipline —
I couldn’t escape. Something went wrong.”
I asked him:
“What about your Guru? Surely he can help?”
His face twisted in rage. ðĄ
“The one I called my Guru?
He wasn’t even real. Just a con in robes.
He looted people in the name of truth.
And now… he’s stuck too. Same as me.”
I stayed silent.
This wasn’t the story I expected.
Mr. N looked at me with desperation. ðĢ️
“Do something. Get me out. I don’t deserve this.”
But I was honest.
“Look… I’m just a guy.
No background. No lineage.
All I know is — somehow — I can talk to the dead.
And the living.
But I don’t know how to fix this.”
ð And so… I had to let him go.
Meeting closed. Silence followed.
But one truth stayed with me…
ð§ŋ His so-called Guru’s children —
The ones now running the same show —
They’re still out there.
Still selling “spirituality.”
Still carrying the same name. Same legacy. ✨
Except the core is rotten.
And no one knows.
Or no one wants to know.
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