Before there were temples, there was a stone.Not carved by hands.Not installed by kings.Not claimed by any civilization.A silent witness, shaped by the river itself.Around it, everything moves.Stars circle unseen centers.Galaxies spiral through endless space.Seasons return.Breath returns.Thought returns.Life itself is a continuous revolution.Perhaps devotion was never meant to begin with folded hands.Perhaps it began with finding the center.To revolve around that which never revolves.To discover stillness without becoming motionless.To discover movement without losing stillness.Here, silence is not the absence of sound.It is the absence of distance from the center.Bhajan becomes remembrance.Pradakshina becomes alignment.Bhairava becomes intensity.Every step is not towards God, but around That from which nothing has ever been separate.This is not merely a path of worship.It is the art of returning to the center of existence, again and again, until the one who revolves and the One around whom everything revolves are no longer experienced as two.Welcome.Not to a new religion.But to an ancient movement that has never stopped.