“Somewhere Between Time and Tears”

For the emotional and mystical journey — neither dream nor reality, but somewhere beautifully in-between.

When the Soul Screams but the Mouth Can’t

The temple wasn’t supposed to be real. Not this place, not this quiet, not this version of me.

I had spent years digging through the bones of forgotten cities, searching for answers buried in sand and soot. But none of them prepared me for this — a place where the dust didn’t just coat the ground, it remembered.

Beneath the dense canopy of time and earth, where roots tangled with stone and silence reigned for centuries, archaeologists uncovered a marvel so immense, so utterly staggering, that words faltered before its presence.

It was a Kaali temple, lost to history, unearthed as if the goddess herself willed her return. What emerged from the soil was no ordinary ruin — it was a colossus of devotion and dread, rivaling the scale and intricacy of Angkor Wat. The temple sprawled across the land like a sleeping titan, its foundations carved deep into the bedrock, untouched by time save for the surrounding walls that bore the scars of centuries.

But at its heart — she stood.

Kaali.

A towering, 108-foot idol, carved from a single, seamless block of black stone. Despite the ruins that crumbled around her, not a single crack marred her surface. She was untouched, as though the stone refused to decay under her gaze. Her form was both terrifying and divine: a fierce expression etched with ageless precision, her eyes wide and eternal, as if staring beyond the fabric of time itself. Her many arms extended in commanding gestures — some offering protection, others poised for destruction.

The sheer energy around her was palpable. Wind whispered differently in her presence. Birds did not nest near her crown. Time itself seemed to bend, to still, as if acknowledging the very essence of her name — Kaali, the One who devours time.

Worshippers of old had knelt here, and even in the scattered remnants of statues, shattered bells, and prayer stones, you could feel the reverence. This was not a goddess to be loved sweetly — this was the goddess to be feared, to be awed, to be surrendered to completely. Her power was not merely symbolic — it was believed to be real, living, humming in the air around her.

Inscriptions, barely legible, told of rituals performed under blood-red moons. Of kings and sages who came not to ask, but to offer. Of sacrifices made, not in darkness, but in clarity — for to worship Kaali was to know the truth of all things: creation, destruction, and the terrifying stillness in between.

And though centuries had passed, the unscathed stone of her murthi stood undeterred, a singular defiance against time, ruin, and forgetfulness. In her eyes, you could almost see the stars spiral. In her silence, you could hear the echo of the cosmos folding.

This was not a temple that had been built.

This was a temple that had awakened.

This temple wasn’t unearthed. It was waiting.

And somehow, so was she.

An old woman — draped in black and red, still as a shadow but more present than the beating of my heart. Her eyes weren’t looking at me. They were inside me. And for the first time in years, I didn’t flinch at being seen.

She tilted her head. “Why are you screaming?”

I blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”

Her voice didn’t raise. “I didn’t say your mouth. I said your soul.”

That’s when I felt it — a great, echoing wail ricocheting inside me. Not a sound, but a sensation. Like sorrow made into iron, dragging behind every step. I hadn’t noticed it until she named it.

And then, just like that, I broke.

Tears spilled down my face without permission. My throat clenched like I’d swallowed every word I never said — all the “I’m fine”s and “It’s okay”s I used to wallpaper my pain. I didn’t cry because I was weak. I cried because she heard the scream I didn’t know I was making.

She stepped closer, not touching me, but somehow warmer than fire.

“I’ve seen men drown in silence,” she said, “and never even realize they were underwater.”

I fell to my knees — not out of reverence, but exhaustion.

She sat beside me, cross-legged like the earth itself.

“You don’t want to die,” she whispered. “You want to live without the chains. You want to breathe without apologizing for it.”

I nodded through the sobs.

“Then answer me honestly. If I gave you a chance to start over — not to erase, but to reshape — would you take it?”

There was no pause, no logic, no calculation. Just one word. The first word I truly meant in a long time.

“Yes.”