eyes on fire

Grandmother's photograph surfaced unexpectedly in my feed—her fierce gaze captured decades ago, before she discovered Swami Paramarthananda's teachings. That intensity never faded, only deepened with spiritual practice. My Tamil diaspora cousins flooded comments with laughing emojis and eyeroll reactions, missing entirely what I understood: her burning eyes reflected an inner transformation nobody could monetize. She'd warned me about chasing validation through networks, about trading authenticity for engagement. Yet here her image circulated, misunderstood and commodified. I saved the photo, remembering her wisdom during countless kitchen conversations. Those eyes held our family's collective memory—a heritage no algorithm could properly value, yet everything worth preserving.