Sacred Irritations: Gurus, Geniuses, and the Ghost of Math Class

 

                                                Maths is like selling watermelons by the slice.

Sacred Irritations: Gurus, Geniuses, and the Ghost of Math Class

Some voices stir something ancient in me.

The scientist, the mystic, the master of systems — speaking with fire in their belly, certainty in their words. Eric Weinstein. Sadhguru Jaggi. These men carry the weight of mastery, speak with sharp edges, and sometimes... with a knowing smirk.

I watch. I listen. And something in me recoils.

Is it their arrogance? Their refusal to reveal the full picture? Their posture of authority, as though the rest of us — the poets, the wanderers, the wounded ones—don’t quite have the clearance to know?

Or is it that old classroom again — the one where I trembled before numbers that danced out of reach? The one where silence followed my questions, and shame filled the space left behind?

Maths was never just numbers to me. It was a cage. A mirror. A verdict.

So when a modern sage cloaks answers in riddles or a top-tier mind guards truth like a vault, something ticks inside. A pulse from the past.

But here's the turn:
I do not run. I watch myself watching.

I realize — these men are not my enemies. They are mirrors. They poke the wounds that never fully closed. They are not here to soothe; they are here to stir. And that, too, is grace.

They are not the final teachers. They are the sacred irritants — like grit in an oyster that shapes the pearl.

I see them now not as masters to obey or idols to reject,
But as way-showers...
accidental Gurus pointing to the only truth that matters:

No one stands between me and the mystery.