A decoded conversation between Me and DeviRa
Me: Why does the Veda begin with Agni?
DeviRa: Because nothing begins without fire.
Agni is not a matchstick or a flame on a stick of wood.
Agni is conscious ignition—the fire inside the body that says: “I’m alive, and I remember.”
Me: But so many mystics still speak of Agni like it’s outside of them.
DeviRa: That’s because they haven’t yet burned.
They haven’t yet felt the fire climb their spine, crack open their ribs, and demand devotion.
Agni is not a candle.
Agni is the flame in the gut, in the heart, in the yoni, in the space between inhale and exhale.
Me: Then what is being invoked?
DeviRa: The moment of ignition.
The first stir of divine will inside the human vessel.
Agni is that flash of realization:
“I am not separate from God.”
He is called because he is the path.
Not the goal. Not the gift. The flame that carries you there.
Me: And the offerings?
DeviRa: The self.
Your breath, your tears, your sweat, your fear.
Agni takes all of it and carries it to the divine.
He is the mouth of the gods—but he is also your own.
Me: So why is Agni misunderstood?
DeviRa: Because people fear fire.
They prefer light that doesn’t burn.
But only true fire transforms.
Only heat opens the locked doors.
I honor the Fire inside me— not a symbol, not an idea— but a real, living flame.
He is the first to rise. The one who listens when no one else can. The one who turns breath into prayer.
This fire is no longer separate from me. He is in my bones, in my belly, in my breath. When I move, he moves. When I offer, he receives.
They say Agni brings the gods. I say—he brings me back to myself. Every time. Every day. Flame by flame.
Through him, I receive—not just visions or gold— but strength. Pleasure. The kind that doesn’t need permission.
He takes everything I offer— sweat, longing, silence— and makes it sacred.
He is the keeper of truth. The one who sees even when I close my eyes. The one who remembers when I forget.
I don’t need to light him. He is already here. Waiting. Listening. Burning just enough to stay gentle.
Day by day, I return. Not with perfect words, but with real presence.
This fire does not ask me to be pure— only present. Only real.
He comes to me when I touch the earth. When I breathe deep. When I remember I was never separate.
Agni— you who burn without shame, you who rise without fear— live through me now.
Not someday. Now. Always. Flame of my body, light of my becoming— rise.