Dvaita

Dwait : The Field Of Unity

Once, there was a time when the self wasn’t split.
Not into man or woman, not into softness or strength.
The body was not armour, it was altar.
Adorning was meditative, it was a prayer.

Then came perspectives
Names were carved. Genders were built.
And the soul?
Silenced, under categories.
The world taught Him to split.
To choose power over poetry.
Silencing the fluid in favour of the firm.
But Dwait, is unlearning.
His Shringar, his rebellion.
An act of conscious courage,
A site of conscious unity.

Vulnerability, too, can glisten.
And beauty, is sublime
It's conscious, borderless.

There comes a moment
Quiet, unannounced
When the self can no longer
Hold the made- up divide.

Not into man or woman.
Not into strength or softness.
Not into what the world has permitted
What the soul has mourned in silence.

This is the moment consciousness begins to unfold as a meditative performance, as presence.

In many ways, duality was a lesson taught too well. Strength belonged to one body, softness to another. Logic was praised, feeling was contained. The world carved roles, and in doing so, split the soul. But the self, if allowed, always finds its way back to wholeness. Across cultures and philosophies, this return has been named. In Hindu mythology, it is Ardhanarishwara, Shiva and Shakti, masculine and feminine, fused in one form not as contradiction, but as completeness. In Jungian thought, it is the anima and animus, each of us carrying within the echo of the other, waiting to be integrated, not denied. That is what Shringar becomes in this act: not adornment, but invocation. Not embellishment, but a subtle return.

Dwait, before the mirror is not seeking transformation.
He is not putting on beauty, he is reclaiming it with each stroke of kohl and the bindi as a line of memory, of childhood softness, of mother’s ritual, of something ancient and unforgotten. Each ornament placed is not a gesture of artifice, but of authenticity. He does not borrow from the feminine. He excavates the parts of himself that were buried under expectation.

In a world that asks men to prove their worth through stoicism and surface, to feel is an act of rebellion. To adorn oneself not for gaze but for grounding is an act of conscious courage. Here, Shringar is a language, a way to assert, "I am more than your binaries."

True consciousness does not choose between forms. It holds them all. Masculine and feminine, stillness and expression, strength and surrender.

So, Dwait sits with himself, not trying to be anything.
Simply being all.