nature of God

Grandmother sat beneath the banyan tree, her weathered hands folding jasmine flowers. My cousin from America watched, phone forgotten beside her. "Swami Paramarthananda taught us something beautiful," Amma whispered. "God isn't distant. He's in this soil, these flowers, your breath." My cousin's eyes glistened. She'd spent years earning enough to visit, chasing success in a foreign land. But here, in this Tamil garden, she finally understood what her grandparents had always known. The divine wasn't a transaction. It wasn't about acquiring or achieving. It simply was, present in every moment, every connection. She reached for Amma's hand, bridging continents.