When people hear the word karma, they often think of divine punishment. A spiritual slap on the wrist. But karma is neither cruel nor vengeful—it’s simply a map of cause and effect. It’s the universe’s way of realigning us when we wander too far from our soul’s path.

Under the shade of the banyan, I remember the story of Arjuna in the Mahabharata. Overwhelmed by the war, paralyzed by emotion, Arjuna believed he had done something wrong to face such conflict. But Krishna, calm and eternal, whispered to him: “You are not your actions. You are your intention.”

Our karma is not here to shame us—it is here to guide us back to awareness.

Think of the small missteps you’ve taken lately. Did you ignore a gut feeling? Speak from fear instead of love? Those aren't sins—they are signals. And when you feel lost, your pain is often pointing you toward something you need to understand, not away from it.

So today, don’t fear karma. Listen to it.

Let it remind you of who you are. A soul in motion. A divine being learning how to walk the earth.

The banyan tree doesn’t judge the wind—it simply bends, roots deeper, and continues to grow.

Every month, people light candles, burn sage, and write long lists of what they want to “release” during the full moon. And while intentions are sacred, there’s something important we forget:

The moon does not demand you to fix yourself. It only asks you to feel.

The full moon is not a cleansing tool. She is a mirror. Bright, unblinking, revealing. When her light pours through your windows and onto your skin, she’s not asking you to change—she’s asking you to see.

See what hurts. See what longs. See what still lives in your chest, even if you buried it months ago.

This week, I lay under the full Scorpio moon with no journal, no ritual, no plan. I just breathed. And in that quiet, I heard something ancient whisper: “You do not need to be healed before you are loved.”

So maybe this full moon, instead of trying to release everything... try holding it. Let the emotion swell. Cry without reason. Laugh mid-breakdown. Touch your own face with kindness.

And let the moon remind you:
You are already whole. Even in your aching.
Even in your undoing.
Even in your most tender mess.