This is not the hand of power.

Not dominance. Not warning.

It is the hand of protection

Quite, open, without demand.

It doesn’t say i’m watching over you.

It says something older, i’m here. I’ve always been.

The scale matters not because it is large,

But because it never closes.

It doesn’t grip, pull, or push.

It is simply available.

The smaller hand doesn’t cling or beg.

It rests, because trust is quite

And knows where it belongs.

This was never about loss.

It is about continuity

A presence that stayed even when form changed.

It feels less like God,

And more like a father who never stepped away.

The wood remembers time and endurance.

Into that memory, shiva’s blue settles

Not to overpower, but to absorb.

Grief. Time. Love.

All held without resistance.

The aura here doesn’t fight darkness.

It outlives it.

Music without sound.

Strength without force.

Just a hand that says,

Whenever you look back, you’ll find me here.