Lord Shiva Songs -

The other villagers mocked him. "That is not a song," they laughed. "That is a bleating goat."

One day, Goddess Parvati, the mother of all that is manifest, looked upon the sleeping cosmos. "It is too still," she whispered. "The stars hum, the rivers flow, the atoms dance. But the soul of it all has no voice." lord shiva songs

This was the first song. It was not a song of words. It was the sound of a single, perfect tear of compassion falling into the ocean of suffering. As Shiva sang, a strange thing happened. The other villagers mocked him

In the forests, a wild elephant, caught in a hunter’s trap, stopped thrashing. The air carried a low hum that entered its broken heart. The elephant lay down, not in defeat, but in surrender. The hunter, hearing the same hum, dropped his spear. He sat beside the elephant, and they listened together. The song of forgiveness had arrived. "It is too still," she whispered

In the highest of heavens, beyond the grasp of even the gods, there was a silence so profound it was said to be the womb of all creation. Within this silence sat Lord Shiva, the Adiyogi, his eyes closed in a trance that had lasted for eons. His only ornament was the crescent moon, his only companion the silent, coiled energy of Kundalini.

Shiva opened one eye. The blue of it held galaxies. "I am the unmanifest, Parvati. Sound implies a listener, a separation. I am one without a second."

From his navel rose a drone as deep as the earth’s core. From his heart came a rhythm like the galloping of a thousand wild horses. And from his throat, a melody so raw and ancient that it had no name.