I am written as I write

She wore a masterpiece around her neck. 300 circles with secrets inside. She bore the canopy from this realm to the next. She walked upon the border, looking. She hid her secret hands. The words inside the air and sea. The words crashing and burning the skyline. She hovered watching the words take shape, around her neck. This body of hers much larger than eyes. She foretold and she erased. The moments wept beneath her gaze. The earth would change sides, the shift would create a large hole and every circle would fall through releasing it’s secrets in plague and in ritual. Not everybody hears words the same way. She is heard mostly in the silence while the lights are overlapping. When the clock stops, when a new moon rises. There are roads we have walked on up sides of deep cliffs. There are mountains where the ghost still lie, buried under rubble. There is this place we created long ago unforgotten by her. She hides without moving a thing. Month after month she grows wider and lighter. To return and to recite the long journey upon paper. To drift in the storm pretending it’s resolvable. To penetrate down before anything started at all. To quiver inside the earth as she passes. The clouds come and go hiding impermanence like a vacuum. There are eyes that are so wide everything gets inside them. A mouth holds every answer like the sun holds every morning. And I once went outside when I heard her calling. I stood and I listened to nothing and the sky folded in half around my undernourished body. A light broke free. Starving and vivid. “Tell me what to say…” I had no words. My mouth was dry. Across my body was a river that drank the sea. Near the river upon its banks was a tree that bore its tongue into the dirt. I didn’t say anything. There is no match for a circle this large.  I slip inside and outside of my sleep. Nobody hears me. The end is near. An egg hangs from the tree. Fruit from another world, unheard as it ripens. The groaning and moaning. Take me down to where she hides from the beginning with all this scripture and purpose. Will there be a messiah. Do prophets understand what it means to exist beyond dates and gods. I never understood why nobody undresses the snake they carry. Why all spirals hang in gloom and defeat. Why plates are filled with deathly foods and why women wear underwear to cover the sun. Why river after river we die trying to be born. I hear her. I wrote everything as I swung from her neck. I will soon fall and be forgotten. I will add to letters and holy vessels kept stored. Down in the underworld where the sky is below me. Down, deep down where I drink from the sky.  The water bearer, the secret language. The touch of her slight wing, it’s barely heard. You have to be still, gentle and alone with this grief. To know me, to feel the soft body of passing stars. To drift along this axis breathing and exhaling the loss. The loss of words, sound vibration. Frequency be still. She is born from a moan. Little tapping underneath me, the clock drags across the room but I don’t listen. My skin is see through, pixels of fading memories rise to the ceiling and loom. I feel a river of blood inside and like the tree I reach deeper eating toward my death for these words that the world must hear if I was here. To exist as a fragment, to engulf the mediocrity. To churn and to expel. These 300 circles do not die, they explain themselves in her masterpiece. I am written as I write.  Sharada Devi

you need nothing but to see the light

I just received this letter in the mail. I am posting it to remind myself and all- the value of authentic being. The potency of self contained invincibility.

That it seems the only thing required is that we live what we cherish. What I cherish is light. Bringing light to the darkness to free the old shadows. When we keep moving toward our hearts however painful that may be, we move toward every heart as our own. It is not easy or clear, this path of sorrow…but it is bright and alive with heroic virtue. To be what this world needs does not mean we will be successful, it means we will be saintly. Being saintly does not mean we will be recognized, it means we will be true. To be the truth, however challenging is to both walk in footprints of grace and to leave footprints of grace. We may never know until our very last breath if our actions had value in this world, if our giving meant anything at all. But to give and to burn we must- if we are to be like the sun…shining light for all.
Apprenticeships in living an embodied yogic life.
Retreats to clear the way. Each retreat will be customized to the individual.
Vision quests to receive your answer from the natural world.
Long term stays which potentially include all of the above.
Words cannot describe the richness of what we offer. .
to ritualize, to purify and simplify. It’s not about being more, it’s about being less….to be one with all, you need nothing but to see the light.
motherlight108@gmail.com to inquire.
Love, Sharada Devi


This pen is alive, truth rises from this paper. She was once burned alive and no one cared. She carries the moon upon her shoulder. I can’t even draw her beautiful enough, she draws me. Does she really belong here? Butterfly Lady on earth?

Her ears are on the other side. She knows all the animals. Her legs don’t even matter. Flames don’t even hurt her. The paper is not enough. She needs to live. Her hair is frozen in time. Her legs are coiled. Her body is wrapped in rainbow ribbons. She has several ethereal snakes inside. She can hear your secrets. She is a sacred Butterfly Lady. No one can ever draw her beautiful enough. My hands shake. She rises from the paper through me as I give her life. She weaves in and out of my mind as if I am simply her tunnel. The words cannot stop her from disappearing and reappearing.
Webs made of rainbows. Butterfly Lady what have you done? Where do we live? Your face rises from the paper to greet me.
The Great Land I have forgotten never ceases to beckon…and I will return, don’t forget me.
The wings are made by me alone…to go HOME to my invisible star.
The stars lie scattered. This would be the little corner of our sky. Yellow Star Lady is my true name…
It’s as if there were flames- but they were made of white and blue. Nobody knew what happened. ALMOST nobody. Everyone just looked the other way. Look at us now.
Stupid broken stars, couldn’t put themselves together again (like Humpty Dumpty) Don’t sir on a wall or you might have a great FALL.
RED ALERT- Here’s the problem behind the rising sun. Too many faces in the water paper begging to be born by me.
I see faces all over the paper and I can’t draw them all. I’m not that strong (weight of your maddening cries upon me) Earth has become our prison. (prism) DRAW YOURSELF.
I am called the PROPHET of the rising sun. It’s me. Yellow Star always to the endless.
I’m going to require a frame with BOTH a front AND a back end. Otherwise this whole entire TRIP DOWN has been a lie (two look through)
Let me out of the picture…unless you can handle seeing the WHOLE thing!!!
Do they even make pictures that Hold stars!?
Yellow STAR is my true NAME.
If I carried a name which I don’t. Please give me a frame (fRAME BOX WHATEVER EARTH CALLS IT) that WORKS!
I am a yellow Star that thought earth could sink me at one point…when they killed GOD.
But they can’t…sink me. I AM YELLOW GOLDEN ENDLESS STAR.
Yes, yes…the stars fell and broke. YES, get over it! You are a broken star leaking light which is the same as a boat with a hole…
I am filled with tears therefore and you cannot save me. Although I love you more than I care about filling my hole so I won’t die. I will let you kill me secretly so that we both can live through you. I therefore shall name you GOD. And I shall be called the little one you left behind but never forgot- and because of you I became the little lonely yellow star…
and I’m not that little because without me you could not be GOD.
And that is my love that is both the sky and the deepest of all waters.
OM TARA is mostly Blue. OM TARA.  OM TARA.
She is Blue and she lives in the waters of OUR HEART. Broken star LOOK THERE. The sky fills the water’s FACE. It is TARA you see.
Who could be more beautiful…sad sad little, you are not alone. You are everywhere.
Heart broken and pure just look here.
The truth is in this corner that I’m not putting colors in…ONLY GOLD.
I see upside down eyes everywhere- whose roots reach from trees that did not begin here. My hands are calloused writing away this pain…the story goes, she sees inside and outside of everything before it starts- before any seed was ever implanted…
birds fill my hands with this like shadows breaking free from the night….
my hand my hand my my hand my hand. MY HAND
sharada devi 4/4/19


this is how I want to be with you

This is how I want to be with you

If I have to be careful to write a poem. If I have to think twice, then I am nothing but a liar. If the gate is closed the animal is not free. My heart is wild, I must go. Into the places humans wouldn’t ordinarily think of. Underneath things, recklessly eating and breathing the earth. Digging deep holes all over in the forest of stars.

If I have to be careful to love you wisely. If I have to retract my eyes from yours, then I am nothing but a whore. If the line is drawn then the circle is not spotted. My body is losing, I must enter. Into the sockets of every spore you have fed me. Circulating, rising and falling, traversing your veins as if you were the valley of my shadow. Moving inside you everywhere as the darkness of my God.

You are everything. Why won’t you love me as I am. We are spilling blood from our tongues. I am on this paper, a poem that knows nothing but desperation. Words that can’t breathe until you love them without a second thought. Give yourself to me. I write from heavens bed, where you lay as a cloud beneath me. Love can’t be anything, it must be you. Write upon my body as if you have lost me forever in these words.

A poem must flow mindlessly as sex does. Between her legs hopelessly given in soul.

This is how I want to be with you, inside everything reaching as a child reaches for its mother. Sharada Devi


I need to get a printer that does color too. Do you recommend any particular one? One I can plug both my phone and computer into. I can’t see what I’ve done, it’s too vast. I would like to make a special book. A book that says it all by saying nothing at once. That’s up to the secret to speak in between. That’s my purpose, it’s that black anti space that engulfs everything – and we never even see or realize- we just look at the obvious shapes. I may be sharp but not obvious whatsoever.

What’s it called? The force that threatens to destroy existence should we unleash the God code with that really fast machine they like to call Shiva…


That’s what I’m going to do. Obviously not seen by human eyes but nevertheless I will be the one who gets in when Shiva opens that door.

My book. Will be this, not anything stupid like looking through a tiny camera hole at a whale spouting water. The whale is below. And way bigger and prolific than our little focused eyes on simple shapes can ever fathom. I will write from the black waters where the sound is a pulse that overtakes the body. I will say what they say. I do not need to move in a line, I can be everywhere all at once.

Dark and covered in bright birth. Humans are far too afraid of the radioactive realm of both places touching. But I am not afraid. I am a drowning prophet gurgling God until the end. But the end will never reach me. That’s how I know the edge that can never even be. I am proof of the place no one is looking. Where all the power sucks from. My book will be folding in from both sides. The recipient will be lost in the undertow. Unable to stop the pull of that world he listens from. They named him Shiva, I never called him anything. I only kept moving because I knew he heard me coming.

So please let me know a printer you would recommend. A mouth for my voice. I cannot depend on the little fish, they are being eaten by my pen as I write. I came here as too much. I will leave with nothing. If I unload these messages I will be born without a sound into his arms. And, my love, this is about my eternal search for true love. Like any book anyone ever wanted to read. I am the only one, literally a toothless vampire unable to die until then. And so my book is the only book that exists. All else is foreplay. I made the baby with death, that’s how bad life lives in me. My book is special. I simply need to get a printer. Let me know,  Sharada Devi

the flesh made word

I took Tara out of the box because I realized she was me. She has been locked away since last spring, I guess I have too. Garuda watched an interview of the karmapa. He said that the karmapa said that courage is the same as compassion. It made me feel better about my self. Tara is the tear that falls from the karmapa’s eye. That is why he is here. I am here for the same reason, to dispel darkness through heroic action. First we must act upon ourselves and that purification isn’t easy or always clear. It is my experience that we start with the physical body and the rest follows. Of course, we have to want the crystal light, not the glamour and reputation of being known. It seems to create the immaculate heart space, the excess must leave, be purged. All the unnecessary desperate attempts to remain, to save face, must be wiped away. Life does this if we let it. We struggle and we suffer because being bigger inside is a painful process. Who we appear to be is pointless. Time will tell all your secrets right back to you eventually. There is not ever safer ground, or more holy ground, then the ground of devastation. You will know the truth and the truth will set you free. True freedom takes courage. The truth about who my real friends are, who really loves me, whose really there when everyone else has moved to the brighter stage…it takes strength to know what you only suspected. Distractions however blissful are not the flame. So I have come to see how powerful life can be in its teachings. I have come to see how others taint and mask the truth. I have come to see that it’s not supposed to be this complicated. Simplicity and bare naked self love is the destination of true courage. A crystal body that circulates rainbows and an inner resolve that is indestructible. When you have courage that’s real you don’t need anyone’s opinion. When you have compassion you must learn to live with an aching heart and endless tears. When you have simplicity you aren’t weighed down by tamas and lethargy. When you have self respect you don’t sell yourself or defend your actions. So I opened the box and my body was blindingly bright. The karmapa sat staring at me thinking the mantra into my eyes. I heard the words only I needed to hear. I write these words to you because if I could give you courage I would. Time of the heart is the meaning of courage. But to leave and be stuck in this world inside and out is typical of humans. To talk and not to act is expected. To take and not to give is a given. But this body can be the receptacle of heaven and this mind can be the anchor of earth. Only if this heart can fly like an eagle on fire. I know it’s always been this way, beings locked in boxes and I’m sorry. I have done and said everything. I should listen to myself, the flesh made word. Sharada Devi

*Anyone who wants to come to the consciousness expanding may retreat, please let me know right away. I need to get an idea of attendance right away.  Please listen to this video below. It’s what I meant to say in this drawing.




Spring is here! I invite you all to attend the upcoming 10 day retreat in May. Please see the link below to find out more. For those who would like to come but cannot afford the tuition of $1080 (which includes food and accommodations) please contact me and we can work on a sliding scale donation basis. This offering is for sincere participants only, meaning full attendance and participation is required for the entire retreat. This retreat isn’t free. I intend to find a way for those who want to be here, to be here. For those who can actually pay the full tuition I thank you as it helps and blesses everyone. Seva may be available as well depending on your skills. We have gardens and maintenance needed. As well as computer work we need done. Spring is about the celebration of new life! Please come and be a part of this community❤️ Sharada Devi

click here to find out more:

This is what I believe in ☀️

Open your wings

I didn’t write for the pleasure of others. I wrote to get the poison out. There was a thorn. She cut her long hair. She began to breathe more quietly. She began to keep her eyes half closed. The thorn was stuck. Slowly the blood dripped. And the people around her didn’t notice her fading. Moving slowly up the stairs. The people who weren’t really there didn’t talk at all, they just watched her pushing her life back and forth. The gray window, the green carpet. Trees covered in agony. I didn’t do anything for you to love me. I held you because that’s what hands do. There was a flower. He yelled while she cried. She began to look the other way. She began to pretend not to notice. The flower was dead. Slowly she gave up her hold. There were things far more important than her. Like fame or survival. She was a mistake they kept making. A dead plant in the way. Brass bird, a pretend garden in her head. Fruit and love everywhere. The cry of goats echoed Ma Ma Ma, and she couldn’t do anything. They were locked up tight. The snow was taking over the romance. Clouds came and went. Days passed. She never opened the door. She never went outside. Death was outside the valley now. It was everywhere. She heard crashes in the air. Screams inside her head. Memories of sunshine and hope didn’t survive. It’s her fault. She will never be happy. The people know her childhood was bad. The people who are no longer there, blame the cult she was raised in. Because God destroys. I never wrote to get solace. I wrote for a reason that could be anything. Whatever you do with your mind is up to you. Love is a rare beast. A beast that does not ever die. But destroys the thing it holds. I’m just guessing she’s alone now, in her room. Gazing at the wall and the little dog snoring. She doesn’t yelp in her sleep anymore. No, she is quiet. Her mother meant for her to live forever in paradise. Her mother tried to keep her pure. Her father didn’t do anything but suffer in alcohol and war stories. I knew I killed everyone, deep in his head. Read another story. Is it about me. She doesn’t tell you anything. Her secrets stay hidden. In a vault down below her stomach. You are not that important she tells the mirror in her head. Your words are not that wise. Therefore the people you once ruled are now taking over. I see. I see. The world around me. I am sorry I’m a liar. They say a suffering person must be the most selfish of all. I cast stones for fun. It’s morbid. I am serene. She doesn’t need him to listen. He’s just like her after all. Half man. Half beast. Deaf and destructive. Will God come and finish the job. Nobody goes home without me. His arms don’t stretch that far. Truly she’s not that sexy anymore. Yes, I am alone. I write at myself like tomorrow is the pain for today. A new morning will come if I let it. The night holds its valor. I am the truth of what I’ve become. She can talk about grief and self sabotage. She can ride the magic carpet all over this God forsaken land. He will never find her. There is no bird that will sing her name. He will not follow the ache.
I write to free the crazy one. I don’t know you and I don’t care. I talk to make noise. I am really not the only one looking for food. She’s dying. She’s dying. Open your wings.
Sharada Devi

This is what I believe in ☀️

The sanctuary of the mother light is the ideal we are dedicating ourselves to manifesting. This sacred space will be beyond just another place to go and meditate, attend a workshop or do a private retreat. this land will be a refuge. for animals, humans, nature spirits. Whoever is in sincere need, will find what they are looking for here, that is our intention.

Sometimes we don’t even know what it is that we need and so we offer the silence and the safety. We offer animals to feed, a garden to cultivate, nature to commune in, spiritual practice to engage in, and a supportive atmosphere of like minded souls. Here we take away the distractions of everyday pressures and social anxieties. This is not a glamorous retreat center in a desirable location. This is an isolated, spacious homestead that offers its simple, abundant love. We do not posture or assume position here, we try to be real. We aren’t practicing the proper way to do yoga, we are becoming yoga. Beyond religion and prestige.

I know only one thing after all these years of spiritual exposure and striving- and that is this- it is a physical thing. Everything is stored in the body, old memories and stuck emotions must go through the body, this is the only path I see. The body is the rainbow. We live in this vessel of flesh, mostly caught in our heads, trying to be someone we are not. Which only taking us further from our hearts no matter how much we pretend otherwise. This body of ours is a divine mystery containing the memory of all experience not only in this life but in countless lives. It is animated by a magical essence that defies any explanation. That essence is the mother light or God.

We need to clear the congestion and stagnation, revive and rejuvenate the body and all else will follow as we are already holy by default. How that process works though is unique for every individual. Yet it always begins and ends in the body. This is why I practice kundalini yoga and consider living, high vibrational foods to be of utmost importance to effect consciousness, this includes the potions we cook up to eat. This is why pranayama and mind training are essential. The breath alone controls the wild mind and this mind of ours is creating everything we experience. We are that powerful.

It’s clear we all have something very beautiful to offer and it’s also clear that the subconscious mind can often sabotage our best intentions and undermine our motivations due to conditioned habit patterns that do not serve our highest love. We must serve our highest love, that is what gives us the light. The only thing keeping us from self mastery is that the subconscious mind hides itself from us while dictating most of our actions. The fact that we are not in control is the first thing that we need to kindly admit to ourselves. We access these dark recesses through the therapeutic use of engaging the body through the various practices and techniques taught by the sages throughout time- and then, it is only a matter of time that we end the servitude to these debilitating patterns and recreate ourselves in our highest potential- one step, one day, one breath at a time. We can do this. We must do this as representatives of a new order for the benefit of all who suffer as we are not separate from anything or anyone.

Support is fundamental as is environment. Like any recipe, it is an equation that get results. This is why If you want to come, to this retreat, to stay on a personal retreat, to live here and learn, to transform your life so that it has a meaning that is clear in your heart, if you want to serve a cause that is a universal necessity at this time, the sanctuary of the mother light is the vessel that your body will become. We must start on the inside, with the physical body and we must end on the inside with the physical body. That is the meaning of birth and death. We are the thing that bridges that gap by our creative force and how we use our will, set our priorities- how high we aspire. We are now in the realm of becoming and preparing, clearing a millennia of karma, actively engaging compassion. This takes purity. A purity that isn’t as simple as it sounds because we all must find that in a different way.

We offer this sanctuary as the catalyst for that vision of you sure to manifest given the love, light and space it needs to grow. We are of this earth and cannot bypass that fact. We are made of the elements. We need the earth to become heavenly, this I know. So we have this humble abode in our possession that we doing our utmost to purchase. We do need help- ranging from seva to donations. We offer what we have to you, should you be someone searching for a grounded, directed and true practice to heal and expand your being.This is a basic ashram without the stipulation of religion but with all the heart of devotion. I hope you come see for yourself how much we all have to give each other.  This is what I believe in. Love. Sharada Devi

For information on staying here, working here, donating your funds/time/skills, or attending the may 17-24 retreat please email
motherlight108@gmail.com or see: ❤️

Soma of the Mother Light Retreat with Bhagavan Das and Sharada Devi



when god isn’t listening, she rains

I’ve lived in an ice cave for a very long time. And even though I am a body of fire, I do not burn. I wear a crystal sword crown. I am in this place far away from you, at the top of the mountain. There is a valley I used to live in, down below. But I have climbed to the tops of these cliffs and now here I live, the flaming ice queen. I do feel life is endless with death woven in its cold tears, around the roots of all we feel. I don’t fall. I am embedded here in the immaculate white. In the face of this mountain, in the eyes of this moon. And do I believe in what I’ve done, not yet. For the fire must melt the ice once again and I must freeze from the pain that joins us all, enough to see below me. Again, the mist rises with these hidden words. Again the echoes stir. All around me floats the things I’ve done. These stories of the seen and unseen. In the valley below me I stir prayers and their chaos. In the valley below me, I watch like an eagle whose mother has died…

corpse in the valley my shadow is torn. cold winter night, a frozen wind howls through. me the little one dying, covered in death’s white. face, i once believed in god, like the christ.
who wore those ashes smeared before we ever saw him. his eyes. him suffer. that was later on, once the storm broke. his body in half. the rose from its stem. this sky tonight is raining thorns. soft wicked thorns. corpse upon this frozen bed. rose petals fill my dreams with light. and this dead face smiles at what seems to be god. a mother whose love might be anywhere. even now, inside of me, the hollow starry night. and i always knew this would happen. every good book leads the way…from darkness to light we go. rotting flesh back into earth. the fluffy clouds swell with angels i never see. what i feel is the crack growing wider. the valley has a river of ice. the trees covered in skin, the tap root sucking the flame. there is a song inside the earth that nobody hears, it’s a terrifying lullaby. she is death carrying life to the root. i am a fruit that fell from grace…

corpse in the valley, we watch the girl walk. barely living, see through. her body holds the mountain. the one casting the devil’s shadow at her feet. and her semblance is black. and her hand lifts a stone. i am between her and the ground. a breath rises from the corpse but nobody was watching. a smile curls from his lips but it seems to be too late. god, the life she took has returned. to the dead inside this world. he has risen from her flame a once tortured martyr, now a rose covered in thorns. there are many ways to see truth and beauty. many ways to defile fear. i broke the ground with my little feet, i beat the sun until the moon turned blue. i raged and i blew through the trees. searching for his soul, my lord it can’t be that easy. god is above us, watching us squirm, for him, holy father. my mother rises as steam from this ground. the rest is misunderstood. how you could hurt a child. how light can deceive us with its offspring. i gave birth to a shadow that crawled back inside and sucked out my life. while i looked up praying. death, this can’t be all. a well worn woman walks to his grave. a cross is all we have left, of him. who reminds us of many things we don’t see. like giving up, breaking bones, eating everything that gets in the way. she carries a thunderbolt, she parts the clouds. and when god isn’t listening, she rains. sharada devi