Why Shiva Is Not "Bhole"—The True Purpose of Meditation

In today's world of constant hustle and performance, the word "meditation" often conjures images of calm lakes, peaceful monks, and a state of emotional neutrality. Especially in corporate circles, where wellness programs and mindfulness sessions are now commonplace, meditation is often mistaken as a tool to manage stress, to find a passive calm. But what if I told you that calmness isn’t the true purpose of meditation at all?

As someone who has practiced meditation for years, and often finds themselves in conversations about spirituality with colleagues and clients—many of them from non-Indian backgrounds—I’m frequently asked:
"You must be always feeling extremely calm, right?"

And my response is usually met with surprise:
“No, I don’t meditate to feel calm. I meditate to feel real.”

Let’s unpack that statement. And let’s do it through the most iconic figure in Indian spirituality—Shiva.


Shiva is the Adiyogi, the first meditator. The archetype of stillness and self-mastery. In every image, he’s seated cross-legged, eyes half-shut, immersed in deep meditation. But is he calm all the time?

Absolutely not.

When Shiva is angry, he is the embodiment of cosmic destruction. His rage is not subtle or suppressed—it is devastating and unbounded. When Kamadeva, the god of desire, dared to disturb his meditation, Shiva didn’t merely scold him. He burnt him to ashes with the fire of his third eye. That was not a moment of peace—it was a moment of fierce awareness. A moment of unfiltered, divine emotion.

And yet, when he is pleased, Shiva is equally extreme. He is so generous that he gave Ravana his own Atma Linga—the source of his divine power. This wasn’t a calculated act. It was an act of complete trust, of total surrender to the emotion of the moment.

What does this teach us?

That Shiva’s meditation isn’t to dull or moderate his feelings. His meditation is to connect so deeply with his innermost self that when an emotion arises—whether it’s love, rage, compassion, or detachment—it is expressed with absolute authenticity.

Shiva is not "calm."
Shiva is whole.

And that is what meditation does. It brings you into alignment with your entire self.


Too often, we treat meditation like a pill—a way to silence the noise, to escape our reality, to become blank or “zen.” But the purpose of real spiritual practice is the opposite of escape. It is encounter. It is not numbing out your thoughts or emotions. It is diving through them, like swimming through waves, until you reach the stillness beneath all motion—the core of your being.

Think of the human psyche like an onion. Each layer represents your roles, responsibilities, traumas, masks, and fears. We’ve layered ourselves with identities—professional, social, emotional. And beneath all these layers lies the true self—the core where the Para Brahman resides. That is the unchanging reality, the silent witness, the eternal consciousness.

Meditation is the inward journey of peeling those layers away.

And what do you find when you reach there?

You don’t find silence. You find intensity. You find a connection so raw, so present, so vulnerable—that every emotion you feel becomes sacred. You feel every moment fully. You’re no longer multitasking emotions.

When you’re angry, you’re completely angry.
When you laugh, you laugh with your whole heart.
When you love, you love with absolute sincerity.

This is not chaos. This is clarity.
This is not instability. This is authenticity.

Meditation doesn’t calm your emotions. It gives you ownership of them.


In common parlance, we often call Shiva "Bholenath"—the innocent lord. The one who is easily pleased, who blesses without conditions. But this label—“Bhole”—is deeply misunderstood.

"Bhole" is often taken to mean naïve, gullible, or simple-hearted. But is Shiva really naive?

Let’s look again.

Shiva is the most aware being in the cosmos. He is the master of Tantra, the knower of the Vedas, the source of Yoga. He sits at the center of universal stillness, and yet remains connected to every vibration in the world. When he meditates, he is not detached from creation—he is tuned into it.

And when he acts—he does so with total presence.

So why do we call him “Bhole”?

Because he doesn’t overthink.
Because he doesn’t play games.
Because he responds from his inner self without second-guessing.

That’s not naivety. That is purity.
Not purity of ignorance—but purity of intention.

The modern world often confuses complexity with intelligence, and simplicity with foolishness. Shiva reminds us that to act from the heart without pretension is not weakness—it is supreme strength.

He is not Bhole because he doesn’t understand.
He is Bhole despite knowing everything.

This is what spiritual awareness looks like—not a life free of emotions, but a life where emotions are unfiltered, unashamed, and fully lived.


Let’s talk about bliss—the word that gets thrown around in meditation circles but rarely understood.

What is bliss? Is it euphoria? Is it a permanent state of smiling serenity?

Not at all.

Bliss is presence.

It is that moment when all your inhibitions, all your self-conscious thoughts, all your judgments drop—and you are completely there. Not partially. Not with your mind in the past or future. But completely immersed in what is unfolding right now.

When was the last time you felt pure joy? The kind that made you laugh like a child?

Now ask—were you thinking of your emails in that moment? Or your schedule tomorrow? No. You were present.

That is bliss.

Bliss is when you become your emotion. Not controlled by it. Not consumed by it. But aligned with it.

That’s why true meditation doesn’t promise you calm. It promises you something far greater—aliveness. It awakens your spirit. You’re no longer operating on autopilot. You don’t smile when you’re not happy. You don’t hold back tears when you’re broken. You don’t fake excitement when you’re indifferent.

You become real.

And in that reality lies a divine beauty. The same beauty we see in Shiva.

In his anger, he becomes Rudra.
In his joy, he becomes Nataraja.
In his love, he becomes Ardhanarishvara.
In his stillness, he becomes the Mahayogi.

Each role, each emotion, is embraced with complete presence. And that is the goal of all spiritual practice—not to dull you into silence, but to sharpen your awareness into truth.


So the next time someone says, “You must be so calm all the time,”
Remember: the purpose of meditation is not calmness. It is connection.

It is to meet yourself fully. To stand in front of your own soul without blinking. To walk through your emotions without fear. To act with integrity, intensity, and surrender.

Shiva shows us what it means to be a true meditator—not someone who escapes the world, but someone who lives in it with eyes wide open, heart completely engaged, and spirit unchained.

He is not “Bhole” because he is unaware.
He is “Bholenath” because he is so aware, he no longer needs to pretend.

And when we meditate—not to silence ourselves, but to listen to ourselves—we begin to taste that same sacred presence.

Not calm.
But complete.
Not numb.
But alive.
Not absent.
But fully here.

That is the real goal of meditation.