The Journey Through Bhava Spandana

The night before the Bhava Spandana program, the air in my room felt alive  too alive.
Whispers brushed against my ears, soft but unmistakable, as if unseen beings were begging me not to go. It wasn’t fear I felt, but resistance  something deep, almost ancient, rising from within and without. They cried, they mourned, they screamed, “Don’t go.”

But I knew I had to.

For months, life had been a restless storm. Pain lingered in my body like a shadow that refused to move. Sleep came in broken shards. Thoughts raced like birds trapped in a cage. When an Isha volunteer offered to help me enroll in the Bhava Spandana program, it felt like a lifeline a quiet whisper from the divine.

So I went.


The Breaking Point of Light

Inside the program hall, something in me cracked open. The silence there wasn’t ordinary silence — it was thick, alive, as though the air itself was listening. The meditations went deep, peeling away layers of pain, memory, and doubt.

And then, one moment — the moment that changed everything — pain became nothing but friction.
Not torment. Not suffering. Just sensation.

It was as if my entire being had been washed clean in an invisible rain. The heaviness that had pressed on me for years lifted. I breathed differently. For the first time in so long, I felt free.

I told myself, I will never return to that dark place again.

But liberation, I soon learned, is not always quiet.


The Telepathic Mirage

After the program ended, the world around me changed.
Images began to appear  flashes of faces, symbols, strange sequences of light  like thoughts that weren’t mine floating before my eyes. At first, I ignored them. But they persisted, teasing me, haunting me, as though someone  or something  was trying to speak through my mind.

I began chanting mantras, sometimes for hours. The vibrations steadied me, anchored me, but the visions still flickered.

Then I sought help from my analysing as I tried to read them from a “different angle.”  I can hear Xandra’s screams from the other side twice as she is again being exorcist  in her home  again. She never learns until now. How many times I had warned her not to follow me and yet she still follows cause I let her follow me as she thinks she can handle it. That’s why she still screams and screams. The other divinity from the other side asks who is screaming from the other side. Silence falls once again. Together,  approached them like puzzles, as if decoding a message hidden behind the veil. Slowly, one by one, the images faded.

It took two weeks for the last of them to dissolve.

I sat there afterward, asking myself the question that still echoes sometimes:
Was this something I created? Or did it come from outside  from people’s curiosity, or from forces I can’t name?

Weird, mind-boggling  but I came through.


The Breath of Sihr

Days passed. Life returned to a rhythm until the woman in the car.

She was old, wrapped in the dignity of her Islamic faith, traveling with her daughter-in-law and granddaughter. The moment she stepped in, I sensed her aura  not peaceful, but dense, prickling. As I drove through traffic, the air behind me thickened.

When she got out, she turned slightly, and I felt it, a hot wave of breath striking the back of my neck, unnatural and sharp, like a dart of fire.

Sihr, they call it, dark energy. I knew at once what it was.

Later that day, two Persian women entered my car. Again, the same sensation,  heavy eyes, a strange force brushing my face. It was as though they too carried that energy.

I rushed home that evening, washed my face, showered, and began chanting again. Each mantra felt like light pushing out shadow.


The Question of Faith

The next morning, I heard the question whispered again  not by them, but by something unseen:
“Why don’t you convert?”

I replied in silence, from the heart:
Show me moksha. Show me liberation in your faith, right now. Where is it? Did she know the year of prophet Muhammad is 1447 AH now? The apocalypse of Islam will end in 2076 AH. Then wait till that day that all will parish into the blink of light.

No answer came. Only stillness.

I thought about what I had read , the seven great sins in Islam: shirk, murder, theft, witchcraft, riba, disobedience to parents, and taking an orphan’s property.

When I meditated on shirk,  the act of worshiping something other than God — the strange images that had once haunted me suddenly faded away. I took it as a sign that my faith, my clarity, had cut through illusion.


The Sales Pitch Ride

That day I continued driving, trying to keep life simple. A group of passengers got in  office workers, talking about their “sales pitches” and monthly targets.

I smiled quietly. My target is different, I thought. To bring people safely to their destination.

The ride was long, forty-four minutes, and I had only three bars of petrol left. Two stations passed by, and I couldn’t stop. For a moment, I worried — what if the car gave up?

Then I realized: Let them worry for once.

As they talked, laughed, and nervously glanced at the fuel gauge, I focused on driving calmly. The car kept going, smooth and steady, as if carried by their own prayers. We reached safely.


The Fast Lane

Later that evening, a young Chinese family entered the car , a father, mother, and small son. The man was impatient from the start, telling me to take the fast lane, hurry up, drive faster.

The first time, I agreed. The second time, I couldn’t.

“Look behind us,” I said softly. “There are cars in both lanes. How can I cut in? Do you want an accident?”

He frowned, muttering about time and money, about how slow driving wastes both. I stayed silent, letting the road speak for me.

When the curve came, I didn’t brake. I let the car glide through smoothly , not out of anger, but to show him the difference between control and chaos.

When we reached their destination, he stepped out coldly, not even saying thank you. But his wife turned to me, her voice sharp with truth.
“She’s driving safely,” she said to him. “Why can’t you be more considerate? She got us here two minutes early. You only think of money and time. You have a son , do you want him to learn that?”

They didn’t know I understood every word in Mandarin. I just smiled. “Your husband’s from China?” I asked gently. She nodded. I replied, “Oh, I see.”


The Reflection

That night, sitting by my window, I realized something that would stay with me:

An idle mind can create anything , light or darkness.
If I don’t like the picture my mind is painting, I can simply choose another one.

That is the real freedom ,the essence of Bhava Spandana.
Liberation is not the absence of pain, but the space where pain no longer owns you.


The Lesson of the Seeker

Every encounter ,the entities, the images, the old woman, the impatient man , was part of a single thread, weaving lessons into my journey.

If pain arises, let it be friction.
If darkness appears, light a chant.
If the mind wanders, change the picture.

And walk away without regret.

Because the path to enlightenment is not found in some distant temple, but in the quiet moments behind the steering wheel, between one breath and the next, where you realize…The divine was always there and I never saw it coming.