The Serpent Queen

I went into the secret place
behind closed doors
and the curtains drawn
the little table in the corner
the little chair I sit in
I light the candle
and I open the book
and begin turning pages…

I’m only a child with a body much too large.
I dream of fairies and ghosts and witches.
I ask God to talk to me. I never wanted them
to take it from me, but they did. She was an angel who became a wrathful little girl inside of
a big floating body. I send you beautiful words
of where I mean to go. Since you are my friend,
I hope we will go together…there is a place better than this, but to get there we first must pass through the places children cannot go…
dangerous places with snakes and wild animals…but we need to find Her. I know she loves me and she’s golden and very pretty and kind. She will smile and sing to us and will never let us be afraid anymore…

I’ve written so many secrets inside for you. I held them all for you until one day you might be ready to go to the dark place with me. I lived through you and thought I was the serpent you created. I have never been here without you, but you don’t remember me? You don’t remember what you gave me to hold in my forbidden place as your forgotten secrets? I did it because I love you and I know the water’s deep. I have been afraid, but for you, I go there anyway. My love is as deep and as long as your secret. The one I held for you until today.

Dear Mom,
I am not telling lies about you. I am not confused or crazy.
I understand that you feel the same way.
I appreciate the courage and compassion that it
took for you to email me and ask me what was wrong.
I remember many good things about you- like your
generosity and your protective love.
I will always love you nothing will change that.
The past is over. All anyone can do is let go
and find the missing love inside.
Love, Michelle

“The tail of the snake
the cold head
needles in my eye
blinking black magic
as hard as ice
flipping slapping
red cheeks ablaze
while silver moonlight
shines upon the snake
which way do I turn
Holy Ghost
get to my hole
leaping frog
and his eyes turned blue
the exorcism
stand up straight
with a new hole
in your head
the fountain
the slayer
the dragon maker
ride me high
the butcher the baker
or the candle stick maker
dripping faucet
leaking with
no one there”

I tried to let her off that hook. The one I hung on for so long but she kept pushing me to down the hole further and further, to tell her the Secret I’ve carried for her. I preserve everything until He
asks for it. I am the Serpent Queen of Secrets
after all. I take myself back into me circling and shedding and blooming and remembering forever where we hid the ancient hoops.

“There are 8 things I must tell you” he said.

“I caught you in the circle
spiral dancing spinning weeds
I left you by the wayside hooked
and hurting slowly tilled
You strapped the horse and upon
the slow wind we spun into her
Kingdom. Jeweled enraptured
peeking into priceless windows
the two of us slipping off into
the sun.
It wasn’t even Tuesday
(as if the farmer knew)
the field was scattered
drawn upon by future hands
Sky retrieval take us there
It isn’t faraway now,
The grass we are being fed
came from a different place.
Hunt the spindle, burn the bush,
spike the ladel, cook the dead.
I found you and I am keeping
clean your dirty hooves.
Sun god running into noon…
it’s almost time to go.
Our way is led
and the chamber is
Dear Michelle,

I have read and reread your letter trying to understand fully what you are trying to tell me. Considering some of the things you have told me I can understand your feeling completely.

However there are a few things that I need to address with you.
Keep in mind this is not a debate of an apology or excuses just my response. Im saying that because you said that.

1. I never said that to your brother’s wife. I could not understand why she would say that to you. I have never said I dont like the person you are.
In fact, it is the total opposite! I always tell my husband how much I enjoy your company and how much hed like you. And I said youre like
my mother? Thats just weird. I would never say that either. I see no connection between you and my mother. well, you are both left handed and you get flour on your nose when you make a pie like she does.. thats about it.

So, I asked your brother’s wife and she said she never said it. If she did she made it up because I know I never told her that.

2. I can not help how Your brother feels. I can not help how his children act towards you. The kids were 8 and 9 when you were her
and they got to know you a bit. They really liked you. I know their dad is extremely hurt and that of course will make a person lash
out with anger. I have alway told roy to be nice to his sister (you).

3. Victim? I dont consider myself a victim of you at all. I am saddend by the path our lives have taken. I knew you needed to go on
your own and I have known that if you ever needed me I would be here for you. We all do what we need to do. I have never told anyone that you are an unappreciative daughter. Of What?

4. Sexual abuse. I remember your first husband calling when you had left and saying that you had been sexualy abused. I thought he was talking about your dad. he said that I had grabbed your breast. I did that sometimes but it wasnt sexual. In order for something to qualify as sexual abuse there needs to be sexual gratification on the offenders behalf. that was certainly not the case.

Now you tell me that you remember sexual abuse from the time “we” were very young. Guess what Michelle I remember everything that happened in your childhood also. You feel your brother is demented from all the sexual abuse? Why? Because he doesnt
remember the sexual abuse he suffered? Well, I asked him and he told me that you would try to get him to remember..”come on, you remember” over and over. Well, he doesnt because he wasnt.
that said, I relaize feelings are real and you seem very strong about yours. I would suggest you look into

Definition: (note *she’s defining my “condition so she can “help” me)

False memory syndrome is a condition in which a person’s identity and interpersonal relationships center on a memory of a traumatic experience that is objectively false but that the person strongly believes. Note that the syndrome is not characterized by false memories as such. We all have inaccurate memories. Rather, the syndrome is diagnosed when the memory is so deeply ingrained that
it orients the individual’s entire personality and lifestyle—disrupting other adaptive behavior. False memory syndrome is destructive because the person assiduously avoids confronting evidence that challenges the memory. Thus it takes on a life of its own; the memory becomes encapsulated and resistant to correction. Subjects may focus so strongly on the memory that it effectively distracts them from coping with real problems in their life.

I remember a time when you were between 4-5 and you started hanging on the doors…it was at the Daisy apt. After awhile I thought thats weird. One day I said Michelle why are you doing that…yhou freaked out and started crying and said the devil was making you do that.
That was about the same time I found you and your friend with your panties off in your bedroom…remember. she was supposed to spend the night but i drove her all the way home.

So I am a strong believer in a person’s reality. I can honestly tell you that I never viewed you or your brother in a sexual manner. I never derived any sexual pleasure from you as children. All I can think is something happend that made you feel a certain way for you.
If that makes you angry Im sorry but I can not agree with that….because for me it isnt true. If it was true I would tell you. I think you may have percieved something as sexual that wasnt. I doubt you thought that at an early age. Probably when the therapist told you youd been sexually abused these things start to get realized.

About my therapist. I had been going to her for about two years for a couple times a week. My therapist knew me inside and out. She didn’t send you to someone else because I had never told her. why would I have told her? Believe me I told that poor girl some crazy stuff. she actrually helped me alot. I am not going to go tell her something that never happened. You or roy were never a sexual object to me ever. so if you experienced something and you may have….that was your feeling not mine. TRUTH

emotional and mental abuse

I agree …you were my support emotionally. I already knew that and I knew you needed to get out from under that. I can understand.

Michelle, when i dropped off the stuff at your front door it was a comforter I was supposed to mend for you. It wasnt you child hood things. I wouldn’t even have your childhood things you’d been married for two years or so. that is definitely a false memory.

Im not a big fan of using the word “sorry” to fix anything either. It’s just a gesture…doesnt change anything. I see now how unhealthy my behavior was then. it took me awhile to understand but then I did. That is why I know you want your space and I have left you alone.

Michelle I never said I had you do you could love me. I wanted to have you so I would have something of my own that no one could take from me.

Yes I remember how I acted when you were going to get married. Your dad was so angry. he was right…that never should have happen. You were way to young emotionally and not ready for marriage. Plus he didnt trust your fiancé . I felt like it was the end of the I was going to die. I think it was then I knew I had a problem or was starting to know. We were together so much that I had not developed any friendships. but I dont really have a lot of friends to this day. I would call that abusive…I was a freaked out mom. I wasnt doing it to make you feel badly. I was afraid i guess.

People always say that their parents did the best they could. that always pisses me off because I agree the damage is still there with the child. I understand that and agree.

I want you to know that I dont talk badly to your brother’s children you. I dont talk badly about you at all. I just say youre gone.
well no one asks because they dont know you. I asked your brother’s daughter why she was rude to you…I asked his son too..I think they feel youve wornged them some how. I rarely talk to them. Its been several months since Ive spoken to them.

You think that people sit around and gossip about you? not true
Like who? I hardly ever even talk to your brother and I havent talked to his wife since she left the state a couple years ago. so whos talking?

The email your brother showed me was when you were upset about his daughter and you said she acted mean and nasty like mom. thats all

I agree your brother has been angry but hes getting better. it was a good thing for him to move back to California. He always tells me I should go to your house I should go find you. when you were in the hospital he told me I should go there. So he cares. Hes just super super hurt.

he might do better now because he fels better with his life and is more positive. he doesn’t seem as angry as he was. Hes not a bad guy.

I know your brother got a lot dumped on him because he was here. When your dad was sick your brother was going to school so I didnt see much of him during that time. One day he came over to see his dad and I was sitting there and your brother said “Mom how are you doing all this everyday?”
Well, that was the week of his finals and after that he came and never left until your dad died. I didn’t ask him to he could just tell I couldn’t do it alone. He would sleep on the floor in his dads room in case he woke up….you know the story

My house was trashed when your dad died. your brother did alot of work on the house and helped me so much. I am grateful for that. they moved in with me until their house was built until january of 06. I wondered how it would be becasue id never lived by myself in my entire life.
I think it wast hen I started to realize a lot of thing Michelle. That was the turning point for me. I got to like living on my own. Of course I had my dogs with me and a few cats…so I wasnt really alone. I actually like to be alone.

Your brother’s son gets excited and stressed. he is really hard on himself and cares a lot about what people think. That is a stress factor in itself.
He doesnt have a demon in him. hes twenty years old and needs to go on his own. His daughter left at an early age. He is very different than his sister.

Im glad I asked you whats wrong. I have no problem with you telling me how you feel. We all have our feeling and and thats fine. I am not angry with you for doing what you needed to do. I understand. And I do like the person you are. why wouldn’t I?

Oh please I would never want the dynamic repeated with my mother. She seemed to think you were angry at me. My mother told everyone she was never able to bond with me. thats ok. Ive had to let her go.. a long time before she died.

So let me close by saying life is a journey and we make this journey on our own. It took me longer than most to start my own journey.
You don’t have to agree with what Ive said or understand. this is where I stand.

You are my daughter. I do not own you. I do love you. I do care about you. And I like the person you are! hannah said she was shocked by how much you are like me. I am not trying to offend you.

May peace fill both our lives.
Bless you! Bless Baba!
Love Mom
Long ago I never understood what I was doing with my life.
I thought everyone cried everyday. I thought everyone was like me and so I couldn’t understand how they could hold down a regular job for years and be happy. I tried and it never happened. The confinement was suffocating plus I always attracted stalkers. It’s about me I know and I kept moving forward totally submerged in the muck of the mystery. (It’s Her Secret) The mystery back then was ominous and heavy. I carried a black switch to either beat myself or beat back the enemy. (still moving through the dangerous place in search of the Golden Her) I was attracted to the poison -to the killer of my peace. What’s wrong?
I don’t know, but it’s big. It’s a big moving snake taking over my hole. Maybe it’s just me? There aren’t many places left to hide for any of us. It doesn’t matter if She
can admit what she did. It only matters that we gave her the chance. It doesn’t matter who is right, it matters who is seeing the deepest. Between two people only the scab is left.
The infection is due to poisons. The scar is due to courage and to sunlight. She is always shining
in places we won’t look and that’s where we should go if we are healing from an infection.
Courage gives us the strength to see everything
that happened. To remember to open the can of worms that squirm beneath the places we won’t grow. The worms are the bait. We are shamans.
Shaman which means master of the worm (as far as I’m concerned anyway.) And I agree, worms are snakes that feel safer, easier to control.
We will ride the big one though and let me remind you- He put her there for your recovery. The biggest snake of all.
He put Her there to set the mood. He put Her there to shake you up. He put her there to put you here. She is threaded through you because of Him. Where you find me, we become the Queen of Dark Waters. Dark Places and Dark Faces. We lead them all to the other side- to the forbidden land of unseen things. The things that nightmares are made of.
If someone taught me that I was filled with the Devil at 5 years old what hope did I have but to meet Him? How will She ever understand who She bore from the dark womb of Her secret?
The secret She silently fed me until I almost started feeding it to others- but I stopped and caught the tail of that snake! I will not be the One
to carry your secret! Thank you for asking why
because that’s a good question and that’s a long story. It’s a place too forbidden to enter -but I went there. He took me there. He held me under Her dark water until I almost died. I was nearly a ghost seeing only colors and fumes. Remembering only what she fed me. Then He hung me upside down on a meat hook far out in the field and let the poisonous blood slowly drip out until I turned cold and white. I owe it all to Him. The maker of my grief, laughing at me hanging upside down…bleeding out my pathetic
excuses and guilt. Bleeding out poisons way older than I was. This was the myth that took ages to tell. She doesn’t believe me? She’s in control? I’m insane? This is the same story over and over again. No Mom, I was there when the book was written. I read it too many times to be wrong. The snake always hides under the rock
until it’s lifted…then she slithers to get away or He strikes her. it’s up to you. I prefer the strike. I prefer the dancing and the hissing. I prefer the living over the dead.

Can you see how stable and caring she sounds. Don’t be tempted ever to doubt yourself, even if it’s easier.
I’ve imagined it all and my perspective and paranoia and confusion have taken their toll?
I tell you my friend, trust yourself! You know what happened! You aren’t imagining it. It was a big deal that you were handed. We don’t need to hide from ourselves or help them hide and since she asked I told. He knew from the start where I would have to go. Treading insidious waters, we
must not be deceived or tricked into self doubt. That’s our # 1 rule in this mission He said. “Trust yourself”

Warning: Now things are about to get graphic. I haven’t even skimmed the surface…but I owe it to Her to remind her of a couple examples, just in case she might be willing to go there with Him. I do what He tells me and it’s His silent guidance that I
follow like a bird going south or a bat leaving its cave…..

Dear Mom

My brother’s wife DID say it. Those EXACT WORD.
“I would not even like her if she were not my daughter”

I DO NOT have a syndrome. Nothing imagined.

For example :
you don’t remember the time in the apt
we lived in when I was in kindergarten and we were in the area where the sink and mirror was outside the bathroom and you had your legs spread open with no underwear on and my brother was touching you for at least several minutes and you let him. Then after a while you were crying telling him it was wrong what he did and he should never do it again. Then he felt ashamed and started crying. You deny this happened?
Well I reminded him several years ago and he knows what I’m talking about even if he pretends not to.

You deny having us touch you sexually when we were young? Seriously you deny this?

My aunt said she knew you were “mean”
I told her how you cut my hair that day- remember? After beating me and laying on top of me in the hallway in mar vista house and hacking off my hair screaming?
You denied that happened when I brought it up when I was 18- remember? You started screaming and then slapped my face and told me to get out of the car

(I only told my aunt because she was concerned about what could have happened to me- I’m not just a inappreciative and cold hearted daughter- who dumped her mother for no reason other than selfishness or whatever)

You don’t remember beating us? Trying to suffocate me when we lived in the duplex? (In one of your rages)
You pushed me on your bed and laid on top of me covering my mouth so I couldn’t breath? You don’t recall?

It’s called denial and selective memory.
I’m sorry. But I do remember everything
even if you won’t or can’t deal with it.

And yes, not too long after dad got mad at me for not wearing a shirt (in the duplex during your night job timeout I was about 8 )
I did wake up topless in the bed next to him one morning- with only underware on. I didn’t take my top off, or my pants. he did. I don’t remember anything else except that I felt something was really wrong when I woke up in the morning sleeping next to him without a shirt or pants on.

I have so many examples but it’s not about me convincing you or proving anything. Thanks for writing back. I love you but I don’t see any reason for going back and forth. I’m not confused or fantasizing or exaggerating even slightly.

Love Michelle

Ps you of all people should know that children who were sexually abused always act it out with other children. its a major sign of sexual abuse.

“gray are my dreams
hidden from you
when I’m hiding
gray is my capsule
asleep holding on
dream god of gloom
awake is my semblance

bleak mountain tears
figments and phantoms
lost broken hearts
when torn is my soul
from the night
night is my acorn

soft white lights
thru dream windows
turning the god
cracking open
my sleep

gray eyes that whistle
the hue and the tune
soft spoken dew
on the breath of the

(deep honey
found the flower)

Michelle I never sat with my legs open and had your brother touch me! That is sick! Are you kidding me?!
Yes! I deny sexually touching you or your brother !!
Ok, now your Dad had sex with you too! Why would you wake up next to him in the morning. I was always there in the morning.

Why do you keep bringing up your aunt? I talk to her everyday. Does she validate you in some way? Did my demented mother?
She just thought you were an angry person.

You are way out there Michelle! Your brother doesn’t remember because it didn’t happen!
I know I had anger problems and I was physically abusive to you and your brother. Makes me ill to think about it.
like you said you don’t want sorry the damage is done.

You know it was smart of you to not have kids. that way you wont make any mistakes and youre good. but you lost out on a lot too.
You are extremely angry! I can not help you with the stories you have created. So sexual, its weird.

No wonder you don’t want to even talk to me and your boyfriend couldn’t stand me either. Your first husband turned on me too. Makes sense now.

If you thought your dad did something to you why didn’t you tell me. Is this what you’ve been telling people.

Oh, Michelle….I feel sorry for you…you are confused.


you’ve made this stuff up in your head. No one else remembers it but you. Cant ask your dad hes not here.
is that what you were telling my mom and your aunt?

well, if your brother’s wife said that I said that about you she was telling a lie!

You should go talk to someone. I have a feeling this all came to you when you started therapy. so now you are telling me your dad had sex with you
when you were eight. How can that be? You were a virgin when you got married. I think you might be messed up Michelle. You wanted to get married so badly but
you wouldn’t even have sex with the guy for weeks. that isn’t normal.

I think you might have some sexual issues. First you didn’t want sex with your husband …then you were a stripper. Something isn’t right,

I don’t even know what to say.

I cant agree with you on something that didn’t happen. I do remember I was mean that’s true..but getting sexual arousal from my kids..not true!

love mom

P.S.did you know my grandfather spent the last 42 years of his life in Agnew Asylum for the Insane in California. he died there in 1968.
I finally located his grave the other day.
Dear Mom,
Yes you did. I didn’t say that you touched us.
No the therapist did not put ideas in my head.
I never said i had sex with my father. I just told you what happened.
You worked overnight then, remember?
My brother won’t tell you anything. He is totally shut down emotionally.
I brought up my aunt in response to your email.
Yes I have had issues around sexuality because of the sexual abuse and
coursing through my family. Like I said before, I am not angry, I am honest.
Love, Michelle
p.s.i did not inherit insanity.

She goes on that I am spreading lies about her and continually attempts to convince me of my imaginary memories and how it was somebody else besides her that may have done these things and now she has started searching for the culprit. What can I do but
ease her burden? At least she tried and that’s all we can hope for. Intention is everything and her intention is enough for me. I love her and after all am only her child this time. None of it means anything to me anymore. I understand I am The Serpent Queen. I was her daughter before He saved me. However, it wasn’t over. She will not stop so I figured He wanted to push this. Do you wonder who He is? When He tells me to tell you I will. Normally He stays hidden. He’s the one making everything happen exactly when it should.

Your brother has always known what you were talking about. I told him he has to tell me so he did. Not sure why he would never tell you.
Hope this resolves some issues for you. I would not have thought that was a big deal so I wouldn’t remember it. Curiosity at that age is
pretty normal according to the experts.
Anyway he said I could send you this.

(she sent me a file with email interactions between her and my brother. Apparently he now admits the interlude but says he was only a curious child “poking his mother’s genitals”) so she continues to ask to go deeper….which is fine with me. I can’t stop laughing! It’s not about me anymore. I dropped that load years ago…

Everyone know Serpents Queens eventually grow wings!

Dear Mom,
NO my brother is in denial too. You sat there with your legs spread and let him do it. It lasted longer than a “poking”
then afterwards you told him how bad it was that he did this and he started crying and was very upset.
This is sexual abuse. You two can tell each other whatever you want. If thats what it takes for you both
to live with this energy then that is up to you two. Me and my brother had both touched your body parts prior to that
when we were very young. We were sleeping with you in a bed in someone’s house. Dad wasn’t there. it happened
more than once. You are both so intent on not facing the sexual issues in this family.
And also, you had me read letters you were going to give your therapist to read about the sexual interactions between
you and your brothers in your basement i think it was when you were kids. Now you are saying you just ‘hit each other”
I suppose you deny giving me those letters to read too?

My brother just can’t face the truth. You let him do it and you put YOUR shame onto him. I was there. I saw it all.
funny how you can’t remember until he reminds you? Plus I DID wake up in bed with dad. with no shirt and only
underwear on and that night you WERE gone all night. So i don’t really care how you justify or deny or make light of
what you did and what happened in our childhood and you can get all the backup you want from my brother but you are both
deeply in denial of what happened and what you did to him. Also, coming into the bathroom while we are bathing
grabbing at us and asking if we have any “hair” yet is deeply perverse and invades our space. You never gave us
any space. You bought me a diary and then took it and read it.

I am sorry that you both can’t handle what occurred and it was a childhood of perversion, abuse, boundary invasion,
instability and these days they take children away from those kinds of parents.

oh and also, we were in lake tahoe camping and you and dad had sex right next to me in the tent. I was a teenager.
No i wasn’t asleep. I couldn’t deal with it, and was deeply disturbed for weeks. This is sick behavior and couldn’t you
two control yourselves? Seriously?

Calling me a slut for doing nothing and dad beating me until I had cuts and bruises would land him in jail today.
You think its all no big deal? its a huge deal. Then going to the demented jehovah witness church the next morning
like a ‘good family’ I couldn’t even control the crying. I was so traumatized. So dad can’t talk to me ever or show love
unless he’s drunk but he can beat his teenage daughter with a paint stick?
you want to keep finding ways to justify your behavior and thats up to you.

clearly my brother is emotionally violent to talk about me the way that he does. can’t you see anything clearly?
what isn’t owned now, comes with us after we die. Whatever you know in your deeper consciousness that
you won’t look at honestly now, will determine the conditions of your next rebirth.

you should really come to terms with what you did. i didn’t forget or misunderstand. Why would I think (at 4 or 5)
that I ‘had the devil in me?” who in the world had introduced that perversion into my mind?

interesting how you remember being in the crib but don’t remember your young son “poking” your genitals.
So please leave me alone with your lawyer emails after having done the research, collected the evidence and got
the jury to determine you are ‘not guilty”
it means absolutely nothing to me . Please just leave me alone. I remember. I was there.
everything i said stands true. I love you both and pray for you both every day. I pray for myself too. I don’t think I’m enlightened” (like my brother says)
but I do trust myself and I’ve taken responsibility for my actions the best that i can. I do all I can to purify my mind so that I will not fear death,
so that I be at peace with who I have become despite all odds.

Love, michellle

p.s. one more thing you should know. I was very young and sleeping at my step grandmother’s house in a room one night with
my two aunts – suddenly during the night the door opened and my grandfather came in (much different than i was used to seeing him)
and he was enraged and his face was so distorted (I had never been afraid of him before) and he ripped his belt off and then went for
( I can’t remember which aunt it was) one of them and the other grabbed me and we went and hid behind some kind of room
divider or something, and I believe during this time he was raping his teenage daughter. Probably had raped them both and would get drunk and
pick the daughter of choice that night…so another trauma to add to my young mind to work out. NO its not a fantasy, just another childhood memory.
*also, Mom if you just would use your lawyer nature on yourself it could be helpful.
how does a little 3 year old boy get between his mother’s legs?
It was graphic. He wasn’t reaching up poking at hair and he knows it.
YOU had your legs spread wide apart on the floor letting him do it.

Thats no different than a father letting his daughter “touch his penis”
because “she was curious’ that’s ok too?
NO- its SEXUAL ABUSE. NO way around it Mom.
Face what you were a part of and deal with it instead of trying to justify
it and then call me angry for bringing it up.

Plus like i said, it wasn’t the first time he had touched you. We both
did it starting much younger than that. I can still smell my hands.
ITS TRUTH and I’m not ashamed. I’m not a pervert. I am just
stating what happened. I have no problem facing the truth because
only the truth, no matter how bad or painful will set us free eventually.

You directly affected his sexuality in ways that he still can’t deal with
100% for SURE. You affected us both and you should take responsibility
for it, not for our sake (because its too late for that) but for you own sake.

Love, Michelle

I feel I said it all. Her Secret has finally expires.
I sat on the egg. I was the Mother of her child.
I have been blessed by Him. I hung and I bled and
I am now white with pure peace. I can also fly and not just slither. I can go as high as I can low. I blew her secret at her like a dandelion into the wind. My wish is
that she is released from the Secret that was
also given to Her to carry. It’s useless to
drink old blood…..
From Mom:
I will pray for you Michelle. I will not admit to something I never did…
there are not letters about a basement.
You were 10 in Tahoe and I couldn’t even sleep in the tent. I sat outside almost the entire night.
Now you both touched my body parts?
It just keeps going and going.
I think you need help.
Now your grandfather attacks a girl?
And you never say a word?

The bathroom is yet another distorted memory you have. I saw you had pubic hair…I didn’t come in and ask you anything. I said Michelle
do you have Pubic hair? You freaked and started crying. I was surprised because you were only 10.

Why would I ever give you letters to read about something like that….

I don’t need to defend myself anymore. You have so many false memories not all but all this sexual stuff is bizarre.
think what you want…because maybe that’s what you want to think
why don’t you ask your aunts if their father ever raped them?
they are still alive.

You want me to be guilty so there is nothing I can do.
Your memories are not real..they are real to you..but not factual

why do you need to believe all this sexual perversion…

why don’t you call your aunts and see if they were raped? What they would lie too.
It seems everyone is lying but you.

well, after our emails back and forth I can see you are really upset and determined to think what you choose.

I’m sorry you are so messed up from …I don’t know what..

I wont bother you again…you don’t want to believe me…you want me to be think it…but its not true
You think everyones everyone’s lying but you.
P.S. Maybe you were touching yourself and that’s why your hands smelled…You are way off and starting to creep me out. that’s some really sick stuff.
You don’t need to be set free you didn’t do anything…..

Love, Mom


Yes I know. You did it. Yes she did it….

so coyotes and black birds are her family now and the girl holding the white mother owl know way too much this time. During the day she’s merely a girl
but at night she becomes the Great Serpent Queen who flies over dark and forbidden places looking for her Mother whose name is Light.

Quietly she walked past the house
where the old man lived (it’s Him)
(ancient coral, lifelong face of steam)
she imagined His eyes watching her
move steadily out of his direction
knowing thru her what she wore
nobody knew but Him
the burning, hot and tired.
listening to her own feet shuffle,
the sound of his breath hung in the air
His house was old, just like Him
creeking, collapsing wisely beneath the pressures of time. He knew the way by now but she was afraid
to light that candle.
The candle that burned but never smiled. The candle He held.
She hadn’t decided until last night
that now was the time to go….
the sun was going down and she
knew the darkness was now upon her.
Hours that masked the horrors of a life sloping inside of nothing left to do or see, the grave was heavier than the shovel lying in his front yard.
So she walked, not knowing what else to do, each step harder than the last, each breath more shallow.

His house was on an old dirt road
sitting just across from the sea.
A lonely beach of sand and echos.

Deep inside of her beneath the waves a hand came reaching.
Not alive and not dead. Just a
gray twig that remembered the tree
beneath the glowing sea.

The moon was burning. White was the midnight sky. And as always He stood watching her moving away
into the folding Light….
I love you and I will find you Mom
wherever you are.
I will find you
and I will lift you into the Light.
Sharada Devi


What I’ve given to you
(is just)
the smoke up my sleeve

How would I do it?
How would I be somebody?
when the fire behind the curtain
Has burned away the show?

I offer you ashes
I offer you tears

upon and through the ground…
smearing blood and memories

(me the one as black as you)

me the one melting
me the one sighing
me the one with nothing on

(me the one burning. me the one crying)

making clouds
to pass the time…

(me the one as white as heaven)

I free the earth of her burden
to pretend for me any longer
that something important has
to happen
for both of us to know…

for both of us to know
how we must return to you

a heart burnt to ashes
a heart washed with tears

we found you inside the
smoke and sunshine
as light and whistles
and moving rain

we found you small and
actually not hurt at all…
just a baby
playing with Her Mother

There is an old hag of a woman who lives not far away from us and she is a witch. She isn’t a good fairy witch or just another new age witch. She’s a wicked witch, literally. She is the kind of witch you only read about and never think could actually exist. We had heard about her and knew she was a master herbalist.
So we went looking for her as she is very hard to find. The day we went to meet her she was standing in her yard, broken brownish teeth, intense probing eyes and a lilting spooky voice. The hidden land she lived upon had huge rock crags, knarled up trees and a massive dark water swamp. This swamp was eery, with a quiet and heavy death like stillness-like dead bodies have been dropped into it for many years and the witchy earth spirits floating above the layer of fog hovering over the water were the guardians of this wicked land protecting what was being hidden here. Cats with ears bitten half off perched in the trees above the dark waters, some holding dead mice in their mouths…all the while large black birds circled in the sky above us.

We didn’t know yet, but she chose us.
Actually she chose me. Once again I was naive and got too close to that side of Her…I always seem to go there…don’t fall in…..I know better now. On the fateful day of our meeting I brought her a willow tree- little did I know that a willow tree was a witch’s tree….and when I handed it to her and she looked at me I felt a sharp psychic twinge as the spirits surrounding her were somehow alarmed by me or found me to be energetically disturbing…quickly she looked me up and down and her head jerked and her eyes darted back and forth -and I knew things would get creepy between us, and they did, right away. Demons are all around us. Don’t waste one more second telling yourself it’s not true. This was a scary old woman you would never believe really existed. She’s someone from a fairy tale, from a bad movie, from a haunted house, from another time and place -certainly not here….but she was here- and now she’s real. I would say certainly she is an Ancient Mother on a mission to consume
whatever it is we have left to give Her. Depending on which side of Her you approach, the results will be quite different. You cannot always trust the twilight. Don’t tempt the God’s to teach you twice.

After that day she began to think about me quite a bit, more than I was comfortable with….I had come too close to the witch’s waters and surely She wanted to push me. Beware. Be careful. Don’t be naive. It’s your fault if you fall, remember me Dreamchild because just like that, I’ll drop you, I’ll burn you, I’ll reel you into my realm where light is irrelevant and we peek and we search. Where dark is relative and we bury and we push….deeper and deeper into the pile where Christ is buried (remember me? We’re already here and looking) I knew the game and I got caught anyway… She then began making her astral visits to me in the very early morning hours. She was coming from the cackles of the graveyard from deep below you and I. If you don’t know already, I can’t explain astral travel or visitation.
I can however tell you that when she approached and made contact with me her banshee realm would open
(kind of like a hole opening in a wall to the room behind it) and she would move quickly toward me just skimming her feet right above the surface of whatever ground she came from- it was a dark and howling place, with ghouls and night crawlers surrounding her. The energy was dense, chaotic and demon charged. And like lightening at midnight I would be struck….That’s what I know, it was a dark and dense witch realm and it’s not like there’s not wisdom to be had from these places…but the vibration she emerged from and emanated, wasn’t something I could resonate with…so she’d skim in and come right up in my face and deliver her “witch message of the day” and I had a problem because I needed to get rid of her, sever the connection.

Where is it that I know you from and do you remember me?

floating in the midnight sky
as black as the face of an
empty cloud
nobody can see the shrouded
and windless
unless I start dancing and singing
for those left behind
in another world
calling me
the dreamless catcher of the void

Yes I successfully severed the connection with the use of certain mantra, yantra, invocation and
intention to seal my astral body from hers….(as if I could ever leave Her behind -but I pretend it’s over, that I’ve moved on…)

I’m telling this story (and it’s true and they’re all true)
because I know people (and they don’t know I know this) who I’ve seen and who have demons literally hooked on them like tics or lice. They don’t realize their thoughts and actions are being controlled by the food needs of the demon they are hosting- usually there is one main one attached but there can also be little ones hooked on too….we have to be aware of the state of our pysche and the reality of witchcraft and possession and the need for an exorcism every now and then. I mean a real exorcism by a qualified shaman. Not some new age visualization of out a book at Barnes and Noble! The other thing is you must realize it takes like to conquer like- it takes one to know one sort of thing….the method and help you use must understand and be able to be darker than that darkness -a light brighter that knows…but can become all things in order to flip the mirror the other way- meaning, back to where it came from. Black magic is very real and there are a lot of vampires out there. I’ve also seen and experienced those who were once saints make obvious pacts with demonic/alien forces (probably for more power) and that’s a confusing one for the public who can’t see the transformation of this saint from light to the darkest of the dark…their eyes change, their voice becomes metallic, their movements are more jerky, and it’s something that is possessing the once pure Saint and feeding off of the energy of the devotees. It’s horrific and quite prevalent.

where will I ride you
haloed wild horse?
broomstick and matches
for the fire
I weed the mourning from
the dead
lift me higher above the cries
wings spread
heaven hanging loose
my friend
the night has taught me
pale and bloodless
where to find you

I was almost there. I traveled hours by plane from North India all the way to the southern tip of India to see Her. Now the driver was only miles away from the entrance gate to Her ashram.
When I arrived the first thing they did was take my passport. I found this alarming and suspicious as without your passport in India you are trapped- everywhere else I had been only required a photo copy. I had faith in this Saint though and so I ignored the warning signs and let them have it. Then I was given my room number and so went to unload my things. My room was in a high rise building on the 32 floor
and since at least one elevator was always broken I had to spend probably a couple hours a day constantly hiking up to my room. I was sharing my room with this hypochondriac control freak girl from Finland who clung to me the moment we met. It was very annoying -yet since
“Mother” as this girl called her wasn’t back yet
(She’d been away for awhile saving the world)
I was a sort of make do surrogate for her.
So that went on for about 2-3 weeks, dealing with the clingy Finland girl and basic slave labor in the kitchen and whatever other department needed it. Someone (and usually an American “devotee”)
would do heavy guilt laden recruiting every morning at breakfast- so you were basically stuck- forced into slave labor – but they called it “devotion to Mother” or seva. Since She was due to arrive back at the ashram after months of being away the whole place was in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing for Her return. Every night the devotees would gather under a massive covered patio type thing with a huge picture of Her (probably about 50 feet high) and chant songs to Her. The men on one side and the women on the other. The men and women were very paranoid of each other due to fear of attraction which would distract from their devotion to Mother- so if I even looked at a male there politely and smiled they would just return my smile with a stern and silent look of disgust as if if to say ” don’t be a slut” seriously it was
strange. So after a couple weeks with the Finland girl I just couldn’t take her neediness anymore so when someone told me about the “secret silent dorm” I knew I had to go. The silent dorm was in the older building just above the Kali Temple. It’s hard to get accepted in to the silent dorm- it’s pretty much only for the die hard devotees- some who have been there for decades and have devoted their lives to “Mother” ” I will die here” I was told by one die hard with glassy eyes and a far off gaze who wore a white sari reeking of urine and carried a lunch box. (all the women’s saris smell like urine due to the floors in the bathroom being covered in piss)
So the day I was taken for my “interview” to get into the silent dorm (silent meaning you don’t talk to each other you only think of “Mother” and stare at pictures of Her) we walked down the dark narrow hallway with its chipped and stained walls, the smell of urine filling the air as the “bathrooms” we’re nearby. Finally we arrived and knocked on the door- slowly the door creaked open with a Cathy Bates looking women in a white sari just staring at us with disapproval. She looked me up and down with disgust (once again, this was a big deal here-not to be a slut and I guess my neck or arm was showing or something and that was considered provocative) it seemed She really didn’t like me (come to find out she acted like that to everyone) after a few questions and a lot of staring me intensely in the eyes I got accepted.
When I arrived with my things I was warned that I needed a lock for my suitcase because apparently there was a thief in the dorm who was into stealing from newcomers suitcases. I was told the head Swami (Cathy Bates look alike)
was the suspect but nobody dared to accuse her)
I was also told that after washing my clothes I couldn’t leave them hanging to dry on the rooftop lines overnight as “Mother said the spirits love to play in the clothes at night”
Anyway, it was a weird and scary scene. Words cannot describe how creepy it was. Most of them sat around cooking on their individual propane stoves eating at all hours of the day and just staring at each other or pictures of Mother.
Cathy Bates Swami sat up in the corner all night long every night with a candle lighting her face staring at a picture of Mother. The way the candle lit her face was straight out of a horror movie. There was a big asian girl devotee to in the silent dorm who used to come over to me every morning as I was putting my white sari on so that she could “help me with it.” I felt she did this in order to fondle me as she would grab and pat the sari around choice body parts for way too long grunting and wheezing with excitement all the while under her breath mumbling “Radhe. Radhe” I didn’t know how to stop her as I felt very sorry for her. She sat around eating all day and at night she would have these bad nightmares in which she would always scream for “Ma” I was warned in advance but nothing could really prepare me for her terrifying nightmare screams that were to come that night.
I couldn’t sleep. Everyone had a mosquito net around their bed but me. So I was laying awake listening for the buzzing of mosquitos. Amidst all the paranoid energy in the silent dorm I was feeling quite neurotic myself and so had been awake for hours imaging hundreds of mosquitos biting me in the night. All of a sudden the sleeping big Asian girl started screaming Maaa!!! Maaaa!!! there was a terror in her piercing screams that is indescribable. While she was screaming Cathy Bates Swami stood up from in the corner of the room where she had been doing her nightly ritual of staring at Mother’s picture by candlelight and picked up a pillow. With the pillow in both hands she walked over to me laying in my bed (she didn’t know I was awake) and held the pillow a few inches from my face and bent over and stared really closely at me (I had squinted my eyes pretending to sleep at this point) I could hear her breathing and smell her bad warm breath on my face.
I was trapped beneath the upper body of a very large and intense woman as she bent over me with the pillow almost as if she was trying to make up her mind whether or not to kill me. I thought for sure she was going to try to smother me with the pillow. I was totally frozen in fear to say the least. Suddenly screaming big asian girl shot up in bed which broke the spell and Cathy Bates Swami stood up straight and walked back to her corner. My heart was racing and I was horrified beyond description. I laid there praying to make it through the night. The next day I decided to leave but it would take time to pull it together and for now that meant staying a few more days in the silent dorm. It seemed all would be ok and I would make it after all, no more attempts to kill me, no more nightmares until two nights prior to my departure.
It was about 2 a.m. and once again I was not asleep (how could I sleep?) and from out of the dark of night I heard a blood curdling scream way beyond the nightmare scream of the big asian girl. This was the scream of a woman being murdered. I know what I heard. It sounded like it started up high from the top of a building and moved down through the air just outside and not too far from the Kali Temple where the silent dorm was. The screaming began and after 30-45 seconds stopped. Then just dead silence. I was so mortified and in shock of what I had just heard I didn’t know what else to do but once again pray fervently to survive until the morning. The next morning I went around asking what happened. “Did you hear the woman screaming last night?” “What happened last night?” and on and on I went asking. My inquiries were met with ominous blank stares. I could not believe this was happening. I know I wasn’t the only one to hear this. I know they were either lying to cover something up or just totally in denial like any good cult follower. It was hopeless and it fell dangerous to pursue the source of the screaming any longer. I just wanted to leave still alive! Later that day when I went to the office to get my passport to leave the man at the desk just stared at me (staring was a big thing here) as if he wasn’t hearing me. Then I asked again and he went in a back room for a long time talking to someone about my request. Again, I just prayed and hoped I didn’t look to anxious to get out. Finally he came back and without saying a word threw my passport on the countertop and walked away.
Everyone was still in the frenzy of activities since
Mother’s return. Seems that human sacrifice might just be one of those activities. I don’t have proof I only know what I heard. I can’t talk about my personal one on one experiences with Mother in India lest I draw Her closer to me or awaken the black eyed beast! What I’m saying is this Mother Worship may have taken a turn…
something might be wrong. There could be a big demon who came and replaced Mother. She could have made a deal with the Devil. The ring of power is a dangerous ring to wear. When you start letting people hang 50 foot pictures of you up to worship BEWARE the end of goodness draweth near!

It’s a waste a trap
a black eyed beast
a shrinking sanctuary
this pillaged little
I call mine
I couldn’t make it last
this something real
I die for
I couldn’t find enough ways
to hide the chips and cracking places
I couldn’t hold it in
Her laughter broke it all

It’s a lunatic world. I’m sorry to say Her hysteria has taken its toll. Mother mostly has gone insane and we, as Her forlorn children are looking for Her real eyes. Her real smile. Her real voice.
Why won’t you break free like you promised? We made these vows and then we forgot. We promised to remember and then
we got stuck in the nest of this dimension’s peculiar slumber. It’s not a safe place where being merely naive or too weak to jump brings solace. It’s a convergence. A war of many worlds and multiple Medusa like Mothers vying for our devotion, compliance and our servitude. Unless we open up to what this is and see our plight and our commitment we cannot be of any use to The
Waxing Ones whose eyes always see us no matter how big or how small we have become.
We have responsibilities and obligations far greater than can be comprehended. But since they know what’s at stake, They keep watch.

Our Mother with Her Many Faces has endless wombs for us to get stuck in. We can stay inside for as long as we want and the agreement is -that She can twist and shift however and whenever She wants to. You thought this was just some benevolent coddling force here to rock us all back to sleep? To feed us? Yes it’s happening but BEWARE of HOW it’s happening.
Nobody broke the mold of the original and imposters loom large. And if we want to cherish
Her we should be careful where She comes from
and what our relationship with Her really is.
This is about us and Her and how we turn everyone into Her as long as we remain in denial that She may just very well be a Demon with Huge Breasts.

In the silence calling
the broken face
eyes redeeming
looking closely
for the piece
missing still

a whisper shatters
even a crier
moaning without sound
in a place where
there isn’t any
Something is missing
my eyes, my smile
deeper into the quiet
ascew with many mirrors
hanging from sharp edges
of what we left behind.

breath on me
with your open mouth
pull the quiet out
of the looker

It’s Me


Dear Mom,

I am not angry. I’m sorry to be misunderstood.
My brother however is extremely angry. I have never said a disrespectful or unkind word to any of my relatives even though you have all talked horribly about me. I find it deeply sad that my younger brother would call me names and abuse me through emails. I send him birthday gifts and things to help him (and my nephew too) and it’s all viewed as me “paying back what I’ve done by abandoning the family” that is very perverse thinking.
If ignoring the truth is called love and loyalty I cannot be a part of it.
My brother’s wife told me in Idaho that you said if I wasn’t your daughter you wouldn’t even like me as a person- that you don’t like who I have become.
And who is it that I have become? How would you even know? You do not know me because you can’t accept me as an individual who is much different than you. I remind you of your mother? What’s wrong with that? There’s a problem here much larger than you or me or the individual. It’s called the family shadow. Hard to see and find but it controls everything going on
with everyone. Without a spiritual practice all hope of basic sanity is lost. You think I’m delusional and living in a fantasy world and I preach what I don’t practice? Totally untrue.
You don’t know me because you actually don’t want to. My family does not appreciate me because none of you understand my motivation or intention and most likely wouldn’t agree or approve if I told you.

Also this idea that you are somehow my victim.
I’m this unappreciative daughter who abandoned her mother. Why would you let people think this?
My Aunt, your sister, was confused about this portrayal of me but said she suspected something.
What’s the use in playing the victim of me or of your own mother? I’m not your victim because I did something about what happened to me. I made it valuable by my processing of it. You don’t have to agree. It’s still true.

If you can be honest with what happened in our childhood you would see that it’s quite astounding who I’ve become. I don’t lie or deny or abuse or conceal. I remember everything that happened in our childhood. I remember the sexual abuse when we were very young. Maybe you are in denial about what you did. It has really
demented my brother’s mind you know.
I remember everything.

Also the physical emotional and mental abuse-
it takes a lot to undo the damage of having to be your emotional support for the first 18 years of my life. Taking care of you was too much. You dropping off my childhood things at the door to manipulate me was not right. I am a person in my own right. Your therapist told me I could no longer see her because you had told her nothing about what you did to me- so she felt it was wrong to hear from me what you had not yet revealed about yourself- so she sent me to the other therapist and he told me to do what I did- he told me to get space from you. You can’t see how unhealthy your behavior was? Saying you are sorry “for whatever you did” is fine but the damage goes much deeper and space is needed to move beyond the family programming. I’m sorry if you don’t agree. But I am not angry. The suppressed anger I had about 20 years ago has long since transformed itself into something more productive.

You said you had me so I could “love you” that’s not what children are for. You were my mother,
not the other way around. Remember how you acted when I was going to get married?
You have been very abusive to me.

I understand that you and my father did your best (whatever that means) but that doesn’t negate the damages that you did.
I have been on my own and it’s not easy but it’s been necessary.
My brother’s children talk to me the way that they do (extremely disrespectful)
-because of how they have heard you and my brother talk about me. I should be treated with respect by my younger brother and his children if they were conscious at all. This abuse and gossip isn’t about me. It’s about the person doing it. Where would the compassion be for a daughter and sister gone astray?
I’m not responsible for any of it. I feel sad for all of you negating my value and accusing me of holding some position. I hold no position and make no claims on anything. I just am who I am.
Which you have no idea who that is because holding onto the past doesn’t work. Like that was the “real me” now I left the family and I’m
a fake?

Whatever email my brother sent you to make me seem angry is ridiculous and out of context.
He has been so hateful and abusive to me I feel
sad for him. I have dozens of long emails from him calling me names and abusing me. I never retaliated. He’s angry because he doesn’t know how to deal with what happened to him and because he said ” I left and made him take care of you” I told him that’s not my fault because taking care of you wasn’t his responsibility- you are his mother.
Now his son is having panic attacks?
There is darkness in hiding secrets especially from oneself. His son has inherited this. It’s all unconscious absorption of the family shadow.
The demon finding a new host to keep the bloodline going. I won’t be a part because I can’t.

I’m not angry but you seem to want the facts on why I may not be into the family loyalty. I’m surviving and I have awareness and courage regardless of your thinking otherwise-I respect you as my mother and so would never say these things until you asked. I have not hidden from my anger, sadness or grief.
I will never be angry at you or my brother -what good would that do? It’s just very sad how you all feel you can disrespect me and
never say anything nice about who I might be.
It’s you that has missed out on a lot simply by not being honest with yourself about how deep the damage goes when you do what you did to us.

Why would you spend a lifetime angry at your mother? What’s the point? It’s just one lifetime,
one relationship out of much deeper karmic connection that is beyond this body or personality. She was also abused. It just goes on….why do you think I wouldn’t have children?
Because I wouldn’t want to do to anyone what was done to me and I realized it was a power larger than the individual that would force me to pass on the abuse in my own special way…

I am not who you think I am. The love you think I don’t have is an illusion based on projection.
I will not recreate the dynamic you had with my grandmother. I send you only the deepest love and I pray for you and I love you regardless of how misunderstood my actions are. I do not pray to forgive you. I am not holding a grudge. I pray that you and me and all beings be free from the suffering that attachment to this illusion brings.

This life is bigger than the both of us. I personally have a responsibility to transmute whatever shadow I carry based on my ancestors.
You don’t have to agree or understand.
But that’s where I’m coming from. I know it’s not personal. I am not seeking solace or advice or confessions or apologies. I do not want a trial or debate. I am not meaning to preach either.

I’m only saying these things to you because you asked. I wouldn’t do it otherwise.


So I roll over again and again becoming the angst. Becoming the dark. Becoming the song
that haunts this love. Giving Her whatever She asks for as long as it’s the Truth. A lonely memory of what could have been but never was. The grief we bare for Her. At this point it’s obvious that we have nothing left to give but our Masterpiece of Madness. The beauty of our pain. The haunted
unrequited anguish of our tears untouched by little hands. We misunderstood so much! I miss them both, I really do. We can never take it back or bring it back, the moment we took or left or didn’t pay attention to. The hug we never got or gave is lost forever now. I could have kissed your tears and instead I did nothing. Now they’re gone forever as fading scars upon our souls. Do it now. Invite her back into you as a song bird or a slithering snake. Invite her back as a doorway down or a widow’s peak. Just get Her back and figure out what went wrong. The secret is (always left) inside where they live.
Dear, sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we reach too high looking at it all wrong. Sanctifying the Illusion instead of satisfying the Redeemer. Remember, the lower you go,
the less you leave behind. Memories attack us and leave scars when we push back too hard.
This isn’t a battle of me against Her. It’s just me and you my beloved. Her memories lock us in Her prison and the day lasts forever. We did it all for Her. We killed ourselves. What should I forget and what should I remember? The question is what can I possibly do to love you? Only the Dancer can answer that question. And we’re moving in Her space as lust and hate and greed and you think it’s hidden, what we do in the dark? You think Mother doesn’t tempt you and provide for you all that you need to go back to sleep?
I said I love you over and over but what did I do behind my words? How did I hurt you with my silence? Where is She now?
This Masterpiece of Madness, I write with such a clever moving hand. Writing my lies to be with you again and again clipping and ticking, scratching and scribbling, keeping thoughts and keeping time. My Mother weaves and skips like moonlight far behind me.

the soft earth
under the tree
layers of death
unflinching decay
the truth is all around us
I sit here under the tree
upon the past moving over
huddled in twos
a wet seamless worm
lives in the process
of the sequence
of the matchless
earthbound eyes
looking everywhere
nothing is forgotten
under the tree

Wake the Dead.
Remember your Roots.
It’s me Dream Child.

Sharada Devi


She pulled the curtain back just a little bit to see if He’d left yet. The house was dark inside, He had been looking for her for days…(and it was only a matter of time) musky curtains and the shadowy room filled her throat with a unquenchable strangling, parched and aching with memories…
This was her Grandmother’s old decaying house. Her evil and unpredictable always smiling and humming a tune to herself evil Grandmother. Yes, her Grandmother had finally died, although nobody who knew her ever thought that day would come. She had the tenacity and grip of an Arizona Scorpion.
“Come lay in bed with me Mary”
she would call from her bed down the long, narrow, dingy hallway…
Her feelings were never right for the girl. The long baths together, the body inspections “you’ve got to be a clean girl Mary, pure for Jesus. No man of God wants to fuck a slut Mary. Your man will be your God and
whores don’t go to heaven. You need to keep it clean Mary. Keep it plump and ready for The Lord. After all, God made you so you could make him babies. Be a good girl Mary. Don’t spread your legs so much. Nobody wants a slut’s babies…”
Mary always smiled too, that is when anybody was looking. She hated everybody though, thru the smile of cracking teeth she knew she was just as evil as the wrinkled She Devil
that lived at the end of the hallway.
She hated herself really…that she could ever make a baby with a face like hers. A face that from a certain angle looked just like Grandmother when she was young. The girl had seen pictures. She knew more about Grandmother than Grandmother had told her. Oh no, those stories were selectively chosen and edited, tailored for the girls ears, always with a lesson of purity and chastity attached. Grandmother was intent
that Mary not become a “slut like her mother” but Mary never knew her Mother so it was a one sided and open ended endeavor down a dark
hallway where the Mary Mother of God Altar was, right across the hallway from Grandmother’s room. The place where Mary was sent regularly to pray and repent for her “lies and impure thoughts” somehow only Grandmother knew these lurked inside the Girl. Grandmother knew everything.
“Poor Grandmother” the girl would tell her mangy, tabby cat, this cat Sheiba, her only loyal friend and confidant, the only one who really knew and understood according to Mary. The girl found the cat she named Sheiba under a low thorny bush in a field behind the house one stormy night, abandoned by her mother, starving for love it seemed to the girl. So the relationship began and Grandmother was tolerant with the friendship. It worked out well for Grandmother because she always had a hostage, a way to threaten Mary, a great fear to hang over her
filthy head. “I will mutilate this mangy cat you little bitch, if you don’t stop
swinging your hips like that” “I will put this thing in a bag with bricks and drop it into the creek if you don’t
stop watching those pornography movie films in this house. Don’t think I don’t hear you up late at night. God help me!” Of course the girl wasn’t guilty of the accusations but this was the world, the law, the house, the fate of Mary according to Grandmother. “Poor Grandmother” the girl would say stroking Sheiba while she purred on Mary’s lap.
“Poor Grandmother will never get me clean. Poor, poor Grandmother has to raise a slut” at first the girl didn’t even know what the word meant until she finally got the courage to ask the neighbor who lived down the road one spring day. A shining and cheerful woman in overalls and a straw hat, tanned with a slightly weathered yet optimistic and attractive face. Her beaming blue eyes and warm voice made everyone like her right away. The girl slithered over to where the woman was picking some flowers behind her rambling and bright country house. with chickens and goats and a bubbling creek through the front yard adorned with a myriad of fruit trees, a well tended vegetable garden and flowers everywhere perfectly manicured in her garden one sunny spring day. The girl edged her way from bush to bush finally nearing the bent over woman dressed in overalls and a straw hat
with long blond hair in a ponytail down her back. “Why hello Mary, how are you? How is your Grandmother?” the girl stammered, shy and intimidated by the pretty woman “I’m ok. What’s a slut?”
The woman’s head jerked up sharply
“What Mary? Where have you heard such words? Why would you say this?”
“I’m a slut. I want to know what’s a slut”
“Mary do I need to talk to your Grandmother and tell her you are using dirty, nasty words? You need to get yourself to church more often young lady” Mary could see she had upset the pretty neighbor woman and didn’t know what to do next.
“I’m sorry” she whispered eyes turned down.
“Now tell your Grandmother I said hello and never use such words again. ”
“Ok” the girl said quietly turning back to Grandmother’s house. The place where Mary lived. Thinking to herself that “slut” meant dirty-meant nasty. “I should have known” the girl thought turning the knob of the big creaking front door. She looked up to the sign that wobbled everytime the door shut “God Bless This Home” always hanging a little crooked. The girl wondered why Grandmother never noticed.
Mary wanted to be clean like Grandmother, pure. A lover of God.
The girl never meant to be a whore.
She decided that day that she would be better, be cleaner. Pray more. Be just like Grandma…

But He was patient and She was His Queen.

Are you wondering why I write and I say such terrible things? Are you worried my mind is perverse? That I’m not who you thought I was?
Think again my beautiful companion. I’m not who I thought I was either.
I’m everywhere that counts. Everything is bleeding and red. I’m as white as a dove. It’s a riddle. The chaos takes off her clothes when She needs to. I told you I was a stripper. I wasn’t kidding. What’s to hide? That’s a lie, inside is where we store the dark. Outside can be anything. Your yoga pants don’t fool me.

So now here we are inside the hole. Did you think you might not have one? Or are you just filled with love?

My Human Parts
a deeper place than heaven
I found between my legs
when the whore found meaning
white knuckled freedom from pain
I caught her lying there
laughing opened
with cold hard eyes
she said to me,
“it isn’t hard to find the answers”
the cart it seems, is deeper than the well…the mirror from the broken bottom tells all sorts of wounds….
from a reflection that reaches…
fishing for food…hooks into looking places, or the cadaver and the portal to peace. The words are in segments, the listener gets caught…
don’t turn around like that…running toward the echo…the chamber in the well, her silo and predicament…
(to heal sick fish just like us in the
phantom waters of yesterday)

making something new this time…
the fish swim up into her- the whore
and she looks right through them.
Many men we find ourselves
attached to her laughing eggs
that never hatching groan
that leaches hot from hot
and me from you.
It’s at the bottom of what never
changes that I wait for tomorrow once again.
My love for her in lunacy pulling
trip from trap again and again.
What she says to me is not in words
Her opened mouth in deep revival
churns and spooks the willing
back back back and under
before whatever came.
The ecstasy was never real
pull out before its too late.
It was then that I knew
why she left me, hanging from
her, dangling for more….
Crying into my only ear.
I heard her say
“you got it backwards
lift up your leg and call it quits”
I only have one.
One within one.
fucking for peace.
No love without peace.
“Lay down your weapon
you are no lover like that
get out of me”
Chimes and bells and
wicked screams
filled my heart at once
who was free and hooked
and loved?
Who was “all that matters?”
lying beneath her,
I forgot it all.

Pretend my dear, that you do not hear. Hear the
reason you came closer. Because I know your eyes and I’m looking in that hole and you couldn’t close it and now it’s too late. You came to me as fear entering the valley. Shadows eclipsing and days that won’t end. You walked in and you found me waiting for you. I wasn’t who you wanted but I’m the only one there is. Nobody
else will live here shuffling demons and counting moons for you. I’m playing this game with you remember? It’s spooky now, where we find ourselves and we’re looking for someone else.
But it’s only me and you came and you said
“I need you to help me. I need something”
Ok that’s what I heard. That’s what I always hear.
Through you smile and your glitter I see His dark hand across your face. I can’t pretend we aren’t
the the ones who did it. Something is wrong, yes I know. “Oh everything is perfect. It’s all as it should be. God will change everything if I smile and pray.”

If that’s true, why are you in my valley?

You entered on your own and you found me
here, the only one who stayed for you. I own this
valley and the wild dogs are my friends. I have nowhere else to go but through you as the many
nights you created long before this descent.
Don’t forget that you don’t remember. Did you forget me already? Once I see you, I never leave you. You can never turn back now, the entrance closed behind you. And when you think you’ve left this place, it’s only another night you’re digging. You never left. I’m right here watching you pretend we aren’t alone. That your clothes are on…but It’s me. It’s me. It’s me. I’ve become your fear. I never leave. If you didn’t change the locks, that’s your fault. I wish you understood what you wanted when you came here. She slaps very hard. Wake up! She
slaps again and again like water against rock.
A Wanderer shouldn’t be lost. Remember!

This forest is dark with many trees and this valley is deep with many secrets. I’ve even been
afraid of myself in this place. Dancing all alone.
And I’m still not totally comfortable here, even now, after He took me and showed me what I never wanted to see (I was like you with His dark hand moving across my face) He made me look and He taught me to dance and then He gave me the Valley. The dark Passage place of Her. I own it and I’m waiting for you.
Of course many are already here who think they’ve left me and are looping dormant and dim, in a slumber of delusion “It’s sad, but I keep them close” She said. It takes boiling courage, I keep telling you. The entrance closes once you step through. You can never go back! Stop clawing at my walls! Stop wasting time!
See, this is the Valley of Secrets. What lie have you told to end up here? All locked up with only one way to go. We’ve all done it …and the only way out is through…

I haven’t always been one person, I used to be two…and it was hard, and painful and terrifying. I was afraid of the evil I felt within…I couldn’t trust the “other” me…only the “good” me was trustable and worthy and “showable” to the outside world…I was comfortable with Her but not with HER. And I could feel HER rising from below, I would know in advance like when you see a storm coming and the sky turns black and the birds leave the sky….I would feel HER coming in this way….riding in on the wild storm that would destroy good me and I was helpless against HER. The closer SHE got, the more irresistible SHE would become until it was over. I was gone. Good me went down again into HER. It was reckless, destructive, magnetic, intoxicating, horrifying, tormenting and relentless I rocked back and forth on Her and HER for a long, long time. HER mouth took it all. SHE took everything I thought I had and I thought I was. And the first person to go was Good Her. Good Her was actually the biggest beast of all. The loudest dog with the biggest fangs. She eats you from the inside out so that you know, and once She’s done and you’re just a hollow shell of smiles and uncertainty She releases you back into your pathetic useless life as a people pleaser and a closet violent sociopath. Your smiles don’t fool HER. HER who I thought was Hell. HER who knows His reason for wiping it all away. She’s a wicked liar.

So Him and HER got rid of Her.

Why won’t you look?

I’m not alone anymore. He picked me from my bones and all the vultures fled the sky when they saw His Chariot appear…charging through the black wind…

His Black Fire Dragon Calls Me Midnight.

And I rise to meet Him just like that…pulled from my bones, less than an echo, but warm and still beating inside of you…I told you my love never dies.

coil stump
blue dead face
octagon surge
only the true will know
Her secret
black bag to carry
hold the stalk
look at me
my lonely hands
are searching
for the Diamond
in this cell
crawling without eyes
that see the sprawling hole
I was cut away
like the dark at dawn
the sun is coming
rising thru my neck
open to the sky
weeping inside the circle
holding hands
like wheels we spin
the luminous night
glowing naked
out of time
the symbol rises
looking closely
disassembled, everywhere
this lock confuses
the entry unknown
one cold eye
burning thru the black
while one star held the heavens
right above my head

One night many years ago while I was in the darkest of the dark of me I had a dream…
I was trying to get somewhere safe and important and I needed to be there soon…and I was carrying a small statue of the Goddess Kali (I didn’t even know who Kali was at that time of the dream) I didn’t know what to do because
shadowy figures kept surrounding me everywhere I went. I got on trains. I went down alleys. I climbed up stairs. I ran through fields.
Everywhere I went they followed me and watched me and I knew they were conspiring to kill me. It was very dangerous the places I kept going to escape this fate….then I realized that it was the statue that made them want to kill me and so if I just broke the statue they would leave me alone. So I got off the train and broke Her into pieces. Relieved I started walking happy that I was out of harm….then suddenly the shadowy figures were back and following me and I couldn’t escape them no matter what I did.
Then I voice said “You carry the curse of Kali”
I couldn’t get Her out and I couldn’t get away from Her. She was inside! So at that moment I needed to decide if I would be the hunter or the prey. We like to think we have a choice but it’s only a matter of time before you see that you can’t break Her. Oh, you can break yourself into pieces but not Her and She’ll become a thousand gruesome fragments of what you thought you left. You can’t escape the purpose of what He did and why He did it. This is Their holy matrimony. This is Their love for you. You, Baby Jesus. The Pure Lamb of Light.

I will attempt to weave the girl together
braid the madness
straighten the kinks
A lock on my table
a loaf of bread on my plate
let’s eat the listener
making words into wine
The girl understood that we had to break her
open upon the plate
She was wiser than we
who attempt the impossible

She bent and she burst
imploding, exploding
explanations into chaos
blood into the churning sea
we drink and we eat and
we don’t understand
the flesh and the blood
we hold captive

(Mary are you listening?)
So after that dream I began worshipping Kali because I was afraid and I wasn’t big enough to stop Her from finding Him anyway. I was simply in the way. Do you understand? I wasn’t big enough to be me anymore. “I love you but it’s over” I told the one hiding in shame. And that’s what I thought I did but it’s never over. I’ve been a liar for a very long time. But She hears every word and sees every deed and knows every time I die in Her name. What else can we do?

She will always be a winner with me on Her hook.

Sharada Devi

The Mosaic Takes No Prisoners

“I don’t have any thing
I am not any thing but a
A cry disappearing in the wind”

They found Her lying on Her side heaving with exhaustion. Her white fur steaming with heat
Her golden eyes as still as a pierced knife caught in it’s victim. She was a wolf, large and white.
Not a regular wolf. She was enormous, a huge mound of white fire pulsing and flaming beneath the dark forest of trees. She’d made it here finally to die, the war out there was too great even for Her. She was a lone fighter, nobody by Her side. Is that what they thought?

They were hunters both carrying guns. It was a full moon night but still in the twilight, the Moon had not yet reached Her full splendor. The sky was so empty, the stars hiding and watching behind the blanket of a silver hum. The sky was so empty as if He didn’t matter at all.

I wrote you a song
to sing to the world
nobody knew me
but you were a star
so I hid behind
your shining face
while you sang
what I wanted to say
and nobody ever knew me
and nobody ever thought
that I, the sky
might be singing too

But the wolf seemed to know and She laid there
waiting to go. To return to Him finally as the howler in His blue heart. She might cover the world this way, the world that hurt Her and never understood Her way. The howling we hear always came from there…and never from the throat of mere animals. They tear from their guts
our hot veins dripping- It’s always been that way.
Whoever sees into the sky knows Their love.

They were hunters, both dressed as a hunter would. They had paid for these clothes and they weren’t cheap. She only had fur. White and dirty, stained with old blood.
They found Her and it wasn’t like they could just start shooting. She was huge and shocking and
She was clearly still ALIVE. One hunter (there were two) knelt near Her head and one knelt near Her middle and put his hand on Her to feel Her breathing. She was heaving and blurry with night. Her eyes were gold and fixed on the moon slowly entering the darkening sky above Her.
She loved Him more than they could see.

The hunter in the middle of Her knew better than the one at Her head. The hunter at Her head had his shotgun out just waiting for the other hunter to signal when to shoot. He clearly felt He was being merciful to offer this release. The other hunter though, scared yet enchanted, started listening closer to Her heart beat and Her breath. He put up his hand
signaling the head hunter to stop and put his gun way. He turned his head just as Her eyes met his, he was transfixed by Her gaze in a way that made his world, as he knew it, disappear around him. It was only Him and Her now. Was it the sky? Was it the earth? Was it the moon holding him captive in Her? His mind was empty and the golden light of Her eyes created a sound in his head, a different language than his, but he understood, and he heard Her and he knew what he needed to do.

Deep in the forest
beneath warm misty rain
I heard my heart singing again
Her song was a siren
calling me home
only one place leads to here
Her song woke the birds
and the owls of the night
who circled around me
and in the myth of the coven
I spread open my wings
and watched Her fly away
brewing we sat,
me and the birds
calling and singing for Her

And when the morning came
the ground was still wet
the fire still burning
and Her ashes filled the sky

(Deep in the womb. The spark then the fire. The burning. The flesh of the witch. Flesh turned to ash. Ash rose
to God. From the song in the smoke
then the bird)

He thought “It can’t be this way she will never
die by our mercy. We can’t kill Her. Nobody can kill Her. She lives in His sky as the fire of night and she walks upon this earth as His sword of Spirit.”

The Moon was now above us. The Owls like witches watched and casting their spell upon us we became bewitched by Her, filled with Her song….and they made us
think that we finally remembered. That we knew who we were. Not the white wolf. She already knew. It was the two hunters who thought they had found Her. Who thought they were helping Her. Who thought She might be done.

The cauldron hisses and spits. The Snake moves through everything and it doesn’t matter how She does it. The catalyst or the shapeshifter.
We put our shoe upon Her, don’t forget that.

(Continued….when we awoke- me and my little bird)
we were covered in ashes and blood looking up at Him. I said, ” the Angel fell. Do you know him?” Deep in the Triangle now…the pieces of cloud kept us covered from seeing who He really was. My little bird, she kept changing…and I didn’t know who I was. Aurora the Oracle who sings in the water flowed down the river in a stream of gold and began to sing near me
Here is what I heard

“as vast as the sea
and as high as the sky
I let the fire burn
this heavenly weapon
as rare as my name
being heard

and upon the land
even in the dimmest of shrines
the laughter was heard
by the candles being fed

It’s all around us now
the sound of the end
up in flames and
sending smoke signals.

We wave our flags high
white peace in the ashes
feathers and fishes
and not as before

the drum thumps beneath
the lumps left of earth
pounding old souls
back in places

(they left their staffs behind
they bit their hearts quiet
they stood to the side
lifting slowly
the gavel)

but it’s all burning now
and it doesn’t matter
because I let it happen”

I didn’t have a pen so I couldn’t write this down and I’m not sure if I’m remembering everything. There’s something else we need to know…before I could ask Her She slithered away, a gold stream shining in the water. She moves quickly and expects us to understand.

The Waxing Ones know we learn in Their world.
But when in this world we are expected to remember.

“Where am I?” I said to the hunter….

Homelessness. I don’t really feel at home.
There’s no way for me to come to terms with where I’ve been put. It’s where apparently I wanted to come. We can’t remember why but at the moment we can’t imagine what we were thinking. We had high hopes. We had high opinions of our ability. We had courage. We had a fire burning. So we came and most of us got stuck. Embedded in the mire of 3D reality. You can’t be a coward you know.
We must remember. That’s what they say the first step is- remembering. You aren’t at home.
You are on a mission. It’s feels all wrong- the idea that you should adapt soon and settle down and relate appropriately. That you should contribute and thrive inside the machine with the others.
They look at you- they know you just aren’t right.
You feel the same way. Your heart doesn’t beat correctly. It’s out of time. You can’t just sleep. Or listen. You’re hearing too much. Everything aches and burns. Prayers don’t get answered. There is no response. You have been abandoned
and you still aren’t sure what you did that was so
wrong, so heinous to be sentenced to this torture in a hell of insanely ok Others. Yes they are all ok. Can’t you see. You’ve got the problem.
You’re weird. You stutter. You cry. You don’t like looking into everyone’s eyes. The sound is like tin. I can’t find a home here. It’s inside me I know I’ve heard it before and God holds my hand and carries me and only His footprints are seen.
Plastic everywhere. Everything plastic…..

(you can still say we’re all One. That doesn’t bother me)

And when She told me that day and I stepped over that pile of Jesus- (where he was buried) I knew there was no going back until after The Harvest. So I am going to find the Fallen One and be brave…..

I remember everything. My Mother doesn’t know. She thought we were too young to remember -but I REMEMBER. It’s the most recent distortions that must be released first.
(this is what They say)
While a child still at home and for sake of survival I suppressed it all. Then when I left at about 18- I started remembering everything.
It would just come up like visions and I would think “how could I have forgotten that?” I remember back as far as infancy. One time I thought I needed to say something to Her, it was a pretty bad recall after all. So one day (I was about 19 and was with Her in the car driving) I said,
“Mom do you remember that time I was 9 or 10 and you got mad at me and started beating me and I was running from you and you knocked me down in the hallway and cut off all my hair?”
She started screaming wildly “you liar!!!”
She then slapped my face and kicked me out of the car….so clearly this wasn’t the way….

So I guess it will be no use confronting Her about the time She tried to suffocate me either…(I can still taste the salt on Her hands as she held them over my mouth and nose)…or the sexual abuse of me and my brother…or….and the list goes on.
Yes, this I REMEMBER.

She recently sent an email that said, “What is it that I did to you that was so bad Michelle? ….I don’t know what belief system you live by –
but I live by one- and it’s called LOVE Michelle.”

She’s not able to hear the truth so I leave Her to Her delusion until She finds courage. She says “I’ve caused her more pain than anyone” She’s not interested in me. Do you understand?
It’s called a Veil. It is lifted of its own accord.
The road isn’t through them in this case, it’s somehow more “around them” do you see?

My brother is a Dragon hurling and spewing straight at me but he’s still my majestic little king friend and I love him anyway. He won’t know until he’s ready….

I always get blamed. It’s part of my purpose. I put myself in their path for a reason beyond me.
And I’m not better. We don’t have to hear “I’m sorry.” And we don’t even have to always say it either. Everyone is inside Their own Wolf.
How much can She handle? I don’t know,
How deep is your love?

So are we alone then? Each of us awaiting the crucifixion or the exorcism? There’s no difference (after all that’s what She said)

Jesus is in there and She’s white mixed with blood and we burn Her as the witch and we
hang Her as the cross. She fills the sky with smoke to bring us down and notch or two.
Feathers turn to Him as magic and we pray for the rain to fall. We’re killing with precision and we meant the beast no harm…

She can’t stop me. She’s right,
“Its called LOVE Michelle.”

The hunter flinched and the spell was broken.
Her White paw resting upon His hand. She was looking at Him now softly as a wise mother speaking to Her cub. “We come from there” She said, looking toward the cluster of stars in the sky. “We are The Wanders”
the fresh blood upon Her silver fur glistened and I knew we were free…

“There is a Great War that we fight. Where we hunt and we spook and we fly over oceans.
The ripe fall and we eat them. The crooked run and we catch them. The still sit and we watch them. The sky is a screen that The Watchers look through. They already know where we are.
The Watchers are the Waxing Ones and the Moon is just a wolf’s cry away. Don’t forget me”….

and then She bled into the ground as a puddle of moonlight upon the earth…..and I heard a girl’s voice in the distance crying
“Aurora where did you go?!” Aurora….come back……come back……

The star was swelling in the sky
twinkle of death in Her big black eye
“get closer” whispered hidden clouds
“follow the star don’t be shy”
baby Christmas howls
and the white womb prism glows
like a flower in an open field
lightening flashes and the earth is
creaking, cracking and the worms
are rising from their sleep
from down beneath the singing little girl
The rain is falling in streams of silver
running down Her winter face
the tree is holding this prayer
sending to the sky above Her
words written for tomorrow
and it all unfolds as She sits
beneath the tree upon the earth…
worms growing into golden snakes”

Into the sounds of the dark we reach pulling up the roots of our noise… waiting for the letters
to reach us…and we travel deep into the earth, into the Secret Places where They make fire for volcanoes and darkness for light… both of us knowing only then that our paws are white and our feet are gold. Both of us knowing only then where the blood really comes from.

(There’s a hole in this story.
WARNING: The Truth is Deep)

Because in a circle at sunrise She will spell
your name across the sky and with
invisible eyes you will see Her. (The name
She gave you in the night, for only you to read)……

She turned over in bed again and again….struggling in the tangled sheets…She opened Her eyes….golden sunlight streaming in.

Was it a dream?

“The Mosaic takes no prisoners.
Remember me in the morning.”

(she wrote this down in the notebook near her bed. She didn’t know where it came from….maybe some memory or some dream…)

(As the sun rose even though She seemed to have left him…he knew She’d only changed Her shape. His instincts told him that She would rather die in battle then to die because   She had given up. They were both hunters after all. And he understood His Mother well)

We can make it and we can take it and
it’s impossible to break it.

Sharada Devi


Take Me Down

Take me down
there are snakes underground
sewer rats and
vintage wine

One time Bhagavan Das and me rented a cabin in Oregon. It was very remote and isolated and was sitting on a raging river. It was dark though because the cabin was surrounded by gigantic trees. The sunlight was filtered by the trees and it was strangely quiet- except for the constant roar of the river, there was not a sound in sight…the inside of the cabin was all wood and there was a massive fireplace made of black rock.
One day not too long after moving in we noticed a horrible smell in the cabin one morning and found the source as the bathtub filled with brown water bubbling up from the drain. The brown water had little pieces in it. It was a direct experience of what was left behind. The remnants, the remains of those who came before us. It was there sewage from an overflowing septic tank that we were now left to deal with. At that time coincidentally huge rats also started to take over the cabin.
They were inside the walls, on the ceiling, running around the house. And they weren’t afraid of me. They were wild and clever, aggressive and in charge. They had an eery intelligence as if they’re planned the whole thing…as if they knew it was all just too much to handle. Too gross. Too real.
We had a huge Ganesha on the mantle over the fireplace in the living room with a bell hanging next to it. They would run back and forth ringing the bell. Jumping like acrobats or circus heroes…
and this wasn’t after we went to sleep and the house was dark and safe for them- this was in daylight, right in front of us. One time one rat saw me as he entered the bedroom and I sat up in bed and screamed (he was as big as a cat) he then stood on his hind legs and began
to charge at me…I screamed again and he just ran faster…I jumped up just as he flew by me. These rats meant business. They were going to take over! We went to the hardware store to buy those traps that catch them and then you can “set them free” (you tempt them by putting food inside) the old man at the hardware store just laughed at us…apparently he knew the rats better than we did. He said “you need poison” We said “we can’t do that” he just shook his head…he knew we’d have to learn the hard way… so every morning we’d check the cages and they were empty and the doors were shut.
The food was gone! They figured it out. How to get the food and not get caught. They were smarter than us…meanwhile still dealing with
the overflowing septic tank and now the termites are covering the front door too….like millions of them. What should we do? Rats. Shit. Termites.
Where do we go from here? Do we let them have the cabin? Clearly it’s us or them. What is
compassion? Is it really that clear? We like to think so don’t we? It’s all so simple when we keep it black and white and the edges never blur and it’s never our decision- but the “right and loving” decision. (that our ethics adopted by our persona made for us before we could actually even think or decide) Sometimes my friend, that just doesn’t work. We learn the hard way that it’s not that easy….we are born to kill and to shit.

The parable of the story is:
One way or another we must own it.

So they dug an elephant size hole in the front of the cabin where the septic tank was and they drained the waste and the urine. The rats were poisoned. Shortly after we got married.

Bhagavan Das once tried to tell me that I better be careful how I talk to him because bad things might happen to me because he was God.
(like seriously and not in theory- after all it worked on other people)
I looked at him and said “you’re full of shit”
(after all we needed to determine rank and position in the relationship)
He knew it was true. He was a scamming rat full of shit. We all are. Some of us just have a bigger stage to defecate on or to pull rank. Our rats are tenacious. They can chew through metal.
They’re clever and they burrow very deeply.
Apparently these rats started at the bottom and worked their way up…see what I’m saying?

the sage was a wicked man
His pipe was upside down
he carried a fork that
bit and swallowed
he sang a tune that wept and hung
in the air like smoke from fire
one day he held the fork to the sky
the purple lip of God upon him
in a pitch of humming and hollow eyed
he sunk the song below him
God building fire and saying today
is the day for new light
the sun beat his drum and the
moon licked his lips
will we all die in the crossfires?
the sage was the sermon
the last second on the clock
held to the sky bending over the moment
kill us all with your crooked hook
we meant wisely to go
away from the place holding captive
the lie cool and seeping
into the sea dripping death.

people are expecting something they are never going to get from me…predictability.

We should find out what’s going on in the place we find ourselves…and do something about it. The shit gets left behind and it’s called inheritance. It’s the stew of feces that bubbles up from the drain. Then the rats move in and want to take over. They’re big and they’re fast and they’re clever. They aren’t afraid. They aren’t good or bad. They just know. They know you. They know where to go.
They call themselves God and they believe it. Could it be true after all?
What does this mean to me?
It means that- they’re ringing the bell and it’s time.

It means I’m being called to take a stand. It means I better own this place I’m in and find all its secret tunnels and hiding places…..
She’s tipping now….full of secrets…
She’s tipping Her head and eating Her tail.
It’s His vice grip upon Her. He squeezes everything out of Her. Now She’s eating His
head and His tail thrashes and whips from side to side. Venom and semen and life. Poisonous puddles of Union. We can call it slime or fifth or the dead things we create -but I just call it compromise. (sometimes I call it perfection depending on my mood) Flipping The Switch. This could be God after all. It’s really just turning everything on isn’t it? Pushing all the danger buttons…the friction hurts a little less when we know it’s almost over. He’s flat on the floor and not squirming at all. It’s Divinity.

(Lesson #1- Its never over. Ever. Get used to it.)

the snake
struck a cord
thick and deep
under the skin
loud and light
between the sheets
the maker
a corner
leaving a trail
of lace
behind her….

It’s about what’s left behind. What they did in that place. Secrets. It’s about Secrets.
I have so many secrets. People give them to me and want me to hold them. It’s a lot.
Secrets. Secret places. Secret holes.
finding the words to tell you might be hard….
what are you holding my friend?

I was leaning on you
my redeemer, lifter
of the bottom hole
twist unscrew
mistaken peace
yes I lost you
when I looked.
Seeing the pain
untouched around you
between segments lean
reminders underscored
and diligent pursuits
my lost way, I held you
like the desert holds the moon
you are all I have to stop
the fire burning horns
of misery
tell me the way
how shall I hold you?
Deep in the night sky
edging closer, turning
blue then gold
then sharp then wet
you went away before
we were finished…
together again
peace in the search
for the silence
cool and dripping
moments of collapse

I can’t give you safety and cuddles. I know you really don’t want that -but I do know you want in.
“It’s not you, it’s me” yes, we’ve heard that one before. I took you into my dwelling. The dwelling, the warm fire inside. The special Secret….

…and now here I stand upon the precipice of me. I wish I had something to offer you. It seems you have come and wandered nearby and grown afraid of the light of the moon. I wish She wasn’t so bright so that I wouldn’t seem so dark to you.
How deep is this love that tears and scavenges?
“It isn’t me its you” we’ve heard that one before
and it’s true no matter how….
and when I walked by and saw the pornographic images I wasn’t sure who’s fault it was. They’re screaming in my face. “Start hunting now! Let the games begin!” young blood dancing in a flurry….dripping with the pain of the parts we never knew. And I couldn’t just pick Her up and move on, She was way too heavy by now…
domination or submission-whose hand do we hold through this? I feel I have nothing left to thread through you, that this eclipse is beginning to burn…to burn bright as the star in my window.
Im still waiting for you. I’m guiding you home and the sirens are calling…
(wicked and haunted are the guises we assume)
And the images filled my head with a fear that only knows how to become the one lusting…
who put who in command after all?

It’s funny how people won’t leave comments in the blog comment section but keep emailing me personally as if they’re too important to just be a “commenter” a couple weeks ago a woman emailed and thanked me for my courage and assured me that “we all have ghosts” (you know like skeletons in the closet- yes, talking about them and meeting them are very different though -but she wouldn’t know that yet) or another person sends me links to “people who have resolved these issues and can help me”
It’s hysterical to think that I would spend 1,000 dollars to create this website just to:

H) NONE OF THE ABOVE- You never knew me. You don’t know me now. I can say what I say because it doesn’t matter at all. Will you be inspired to
let go of your lie? I hope so because it’s hurting a lot of other liars. The Secrets we Hold.
(the answer. Check)

It’s HYSTERICAL. The lurkers. The stalkers. The voyuers. The pitiers. The analyzers. You’re all out there I know it…. (secrets are like termites)
And thank you for all of your emails. It’s a start. The Beloved has always carried a snake around Her neck. Don’t you know why? Start moving now! The Beloved has always cracked the whip. Do you know why? Pain is the key. The Beloved always breaks the fantasy of light. Do you know why? So you can see in the dark. It’s Her dark. She’s not afraid because She lives there. Rats come and go. Feces flows and sinks back into Her. She works with your shit. She is the Maker of Gold. She’s got mysterious skills even She doesn’t know why….you know we can’t leave something out or behind without losing something precious.
It’s creating itself no matter what.

My message and my reason is obscured by my
love. I only talk in riddles and chaos. She moves back and forth across time. She weaves in and out of my mind (and yours) we aren’t separated by do’s and don’ts. We aren’t the problem.
There isn’t a solution to seek. Time will not ever tell Her Secrets. She’ll walk right into you.

I cried when you left
But I never missed you
I ripped up the memory
but never threw it in the fire
burning in the middle
of this love
the flames held the room
silent and bright
I sat staring at where you used to sit
across from me
throwing glances in the fire
so I said goodbye
smoke waving from the grave
into your eyes I walked
alone without you
into the fire
the long hot places
stretching me into
new flames
holding open the door
it was written long ago
in a book about two
one was me
and the other
was you

There’s no one to love. My own not knowing
catches and poisons. Bubbles, bursts and digs.
So many many many me’s………in the way of us.

She keeps laughing
Echoes. Echoes. Echoes.
Blue lights. Exposure.
“I was never a waste of your time”

thank you bare beauty. bare back.
riding wild in flux and in grace.
thank you for your storm and your beating.
thank you for my name. It means midnight.
nobody can cast their shadow upon me.

I’m talking to you

“oh beautiful sun
I never wept
Into my warm heart
falls the golden rain
My Black Redeemer
You don’t need a name”

Have you ironed out your life? Are you working on your ego? Are you only seeing good in others so that you can feel good about who you are or who you think you should be? Is that what you read in the book? Are you working very hard at being spiritual?
You are just the liar I am talking to. It’s not your fault but it’s a trap. It’s worse than the hell for sinners. Stop being a monster. You don’t love yourself. You’ve lost your riches in exchange for other people’s rules. It’s not your religion! Stop trying to be a Hindu. Stop trying to be anything. Please just stop trying altogether and when the rules and false beliefs die down….look around and find yourself there in the ruins. Fragmented and perverted. Flawed and useless. Somewhere real for once in your life. Just be there rocking in Her Shadow. Eyes wide open. Only from there will you see the beautiful sunrise. Only from there will you see when your Father comes home. The gold only rises from the black. Don’t forget that. Take it all. Take it back.

My lonely rider who carries the Stone, just keep going….

on the rail
and blue with ice
I lift the only handle
it’s melting it’s quiet
this little sinking feeling
the two doorways
deaths little spiral
it’s more than it seems
and the answer is
never easy
twisting lifting
to open
both eyes
into you

Love is the Fury who sees. She sees what broke in two. She sees. She sees. She sees into you.

you are the lucky one.
Sharada Devi


I started seeing ghosts when I was very young.
Ghosts and aliens. They would come for me.
I was afraid and so my mom bought me a huge dog stuffed animal who I named Herbie and I would hide behind him under the blankets so they might not not be able to find me when they
got there. It was hot and hard to breath but it’s what I had to do. I had a stuffed animal army to protect me. Every night I would go down the line
(before tucking under Herbie) and each stuffed
friend would agree (they talked to me- I didn’t even want them if they didn’t have mouth because then we couldn’t talk) on how they would protect me…
Me: Rita what are you going to do to save me?
Rita the Racoon: I’m going to claw them and bite them…(she had nice claws and a big mouth)
and I would go down the line (it took awhile)

Then we I was done and had been assured
of their protection I would lie in waiting with my eyes peaking from behind the fortress of Herbie for the first one to come.

She always stood in the doorway for a long time just staring at me. She wore a dress from the 1950’s with an apron tied around her waist.
(she never changed her clothes)
then she would start walking towards me slowly and stop -stooping over me as I lie covered and hiding in my bed. By this time I was horrified and after the first time all I could do we close my eyes really tight until she was gone
She would then just stare at me and stroke my head with her gray transparent hand. Then she would just turn around and start walking and then fade away. I think she thought I was someone else.
She was just one of many…

The aliens would also come and take me I’m pretty sure. They would observe me and do other things I didn’t understand and then they would put me back in my bed and erase my mind. I remember the blindingly bright light in my eyes. I told my mother I needed to sleep in Her room because “they were coming to take me”
she never believed me (I was about 4-5 at that time)
she would say, “who’s coming to take you Michelle?”
I would say, “THEY are!”
…and she never listened or seemed to understand…needless to say, I got used to to being misunderstood at a very early age….

I remember their sheer, white, towering bodies. The electricity around them…how they can talk inside your head. They were not hurting me but I was still very afraid. They put blocks in my memory and it’s very difficult to get clear on what this relationship is about -but lately communication is open and it’s all getting very vivid. I’m sure they’re watching everything I do. I’m not sure why they took me or chose me but I’m pretty sure it’s genetics and bloodline. One of my aunts on my mothers side has also been visited.

We are a mixture of so many different strains of DNA. Some of us came here but we don’t belong here and we know it. That’s why we don’t fit in.
That’s why we aren’t ambitious. That’s why we suffer acutely. I’ve been told we came here on a mission….

Yes, I too would like to think I’m crazy but I’m not. It’s true and it’s likely you’re reading this because they visit you also. Like I said it’s very hard to remember until they open you up to them. You can’t do it yourself.
It’s a long process of forgetting and then remembering and our lives are total insanity and emotional wreckage up until a certain point. Now these are My People – where I’m from any that’s how they do it with me. It’s different depending on where you are from and who you’re aligned with- the protocol.

It seems to me the reason for the insanity and turmoil and total pointlessness
and isolation is due to The Clearing. It’s how the records are being gone through and old DNA essentially being deleted little by little and replaced with your pure heritage-your true line.
We did this on purpose. We came here to purge the planet of its poison and the first place we took it was into our genetics and blood. And it’s the first place we need to start releasing in order to successfully transmute after The Clearing has been completed and the process then merges into something called The Recollection- at which point memories, abilities and talents are released.

You have no idea how powerful you are. So powerful in fact that we could not bare even a fragment of our own greatness without their protection and gradual release. It’s an electrical capacity that we are attempting to master and
then utilize for the greater good. During the Recollection we are compelled to then begin a stage within a stage called the Retrieval. This part is just as confusing and painful as The Clearing because we are diving profoundly deep into not only our psyche but that of the collective – it’s about salvaging what’s useful and pertinent to this process- the pain and confusion is caused by the fact the as humans who are limited in foresight and wisdom and who tend to fear the unknown and the sexual we mistake the assets as detriments since they’ve been laced with shame and guilt and we can’t access our fuel and harness our greatness which stems from our sexuality most of all. All of our talents and our compassion are essentially sexual in nature. All of our desire to share and to seek-
to understand and to integrate must be realized through our sexual natures. As we currently stand as “humans” this is a massive problem and we’re reacting and we are hiding and we are forgetting and we’ve lost each other.

I was told that many have come and they are failing the mission. We should not be so alone-
we need each other because not everyone is from our strain. Not everyone who is dressed as a human is actually a human and not all of them are here for good but for other reasons. They ensnare and enslave us. And they recognize us before we even know who we are. They can literally smell our blood and know where we come from. And we can’t always see them.
There are many dimensions and many worlds close at hand but there is one place they are mostly working from and it’s as close as the nose on your face.

This is the second time with this blog that everything I was writing just gets Erased. I don’t even know how that’s possible. You think I hit some button or command but I didn’t. It’s just disappears. Which makes me think if that can happen were the words ever written at all? I think not…

So that brings me to The Dancer and who she is and how at the stage within a stage (seeking resolution while in Retrieval) we misunderstand
sometimes due to the fantasy that anything is resolveable. Either you can dance with Her or you can’t but “resolving” and all the personal property that fantasy implies is stagnant and stuck in fear turned to arrogance. We have so many tactics and way of seeking amends. We don’t learn how to move until this stage blends and folds back into itself and the freedom of The Dance and the fearlessness of the dangers of sexuality in all its facets and projections.

“She was a lucky lady
she wore a crown with horns
She was a dancer
and when the crowd turned away
she struck the mirror with a vengeance

Luck was on her side
she was a day dreamer and
a when she laid beneath the crooked tree
the sun left the sky and the moon turned black

Lucky was the lady and I knew her well……
She sat in the back of the room
her fingers were long
tracing the faces she watched
by memory alone, slow and twitching
they passed not knowing or seeing
Her face in the mirror on the long wall in the front of the room
next to the heavy door swinging
both ways….
In and out, don’t miss a moment
it goes on without you…however…
faces slipping faces into new sequence…
dying, laughing gazes of Her semblance.

They twist and they turn summoned to dance by the One who knows not how to move.
(it’s Her and Them watching and waiting)

Twisting and breaking
first the lock then the key into two.
They’ll never get out….
so She knows them all very well
…back and forth…back and forth they go
(terrible dancers with no moves)
once again into the long mirror
(of no place but here)…..
She watches the fitful turn blue….
then finally sleeping….then a new dream…
naked and wet…then flat on the floor
(let’s try this again)
their families trampling…their short reminder…
(it doesn’t get any easier)
blood bound, crossed in two…

We come and forget Them. She’s at the door watching. She’s in the mirror on the floor.
(we are the dead in between)

Everywhere blue crying eyes…are the sky…
just above the room….we never leave knowing.

Heavy lidded blinking door…into His
eyes we fall again…
(and nobody ever even asked him how
he did it)

I’m laughing lying flat on the floor. I’ll be your bridge. I’ll be your whistle. I’ll be your map to nowhere. I love Him too, I understand.
He never wanted me. He didn’t choose me.
I chose Him. It’s all my fault. He’s not even real.

My tears are just me remembering that I have nowhere left to go. I’ve been here for so long just staring at Him….

Drifting upon the land of me
a tiny island floating in the sea
whales and moonlight
and dangerous things
enchant me for a little while
the drum of horizon
echoes and recedes
bigger each day is
this face of forward
I am endless here
hovering and bobbing
in my little space
in my little sea
in my monstrous fantasy
of ever reaching me
Its funny how we think we won’t have to Dance or that we can do something different for Her- somehow -something more dignified and lofty.
It’s funny how people compete and combat one another so silently polite, so skillfully respectful- They just want through the Door. They just think She’s not listening or watching or They think there’s something better in my house. After all I married Him and He’s more famous than me…I can take care of Him and they can perch on the tree watching and judging- looking for an open window. Vultures or Eagles- we don’t know…
it depends on us.

I was the smart one and you probably were too.
People think we make no sense, that we’re possibly harboring something dark….that we’re a witch with a plan…we move to fast in the dark…
That we won’t get along – and that we pretend to be something we’re not. Everyone is pretending, come on…
You know how it is- holding up The Gates Of Hell- we better think big and talk big and mean it! Heaven is my helper, that’s all. (You can call it Heaven if you want – it’s how they taught us so that we could understand)

I always meant to let them through as soon as I knew they fell from the right tree- you know what tree I mean- it’s a big garden and everybody’s been eating each other’s fruit -We all yield the fruits of our being at the Harvest. They’ll be here soon, there’s no doubt about that. They’ve been watching what we’ve planted and how it’s grown. It’s us. The Seeds. We’re preserving the language of God -but we’re so confused we think God is an emblem or a scam or a punishment.. We created God -and we put God in the museum- and we can turn God off and On with the flip of a switch…they taught us how.
Us the angels with heavy wings . Us the carnivores with no teeth to eat. And I’m not saying flesh eating is a sin, it’s more of a proclamation. Nothing wrong with being in charge. moderators, mediators, meditators, masturbators- what’s the difference will you tell me? These are the sheep and the wolves we must love. There’s no other way sometimes than to obey and follow or to chew off our own leg when necessary. (we should really be able to do that)
We were planted here and we didn’t do it….something Big is going on!
So what I’m saying is we shouldn’t be opportunists and takers-
We should listen to the Rain on the Roof. We should dig deep into the left overs. The Cadaver, The Beehive, they all belong to Her.

We should drop the ball. Let the hatchet fall. Let it all hang out. We should drain the faucet. We should spread our Luck everywhere.
Otherwise I don’t see a point to any of this madness….

Where I go to see God

the moon on the roof
the squinting moonbeam
of light above this house
never saw the tears
inside these holy walls
Stains on my window
chapel cross
I never meant to find you
Kneeling so far
away from me
I tore my clothes from
this body proper
I crawled to you
beneath the silence
shining silver shaded eyes
Is God looking? Will he see?
the melting moon below…

I went inside to find you
the lock at the top of the stairs
was rusted, old stuck in ruin
I knew you were down there
searching the church for memories
in the basement collusion
sewage and clutter ripped
away from you
(the meaning you held)

Down here
(when I got in)
deep down in the scripture
I heard God speak from the letters
mass swelled, rounded glory…
and the waters rose….and I
licked him…free from his germ
(this God of mine)
He said to me
“Trees don’t grow like they used to”

(there was a little tree outside my window)

“God is that you?”
She swam like a shark to the blood
(until the swarm caught her eye)
picking meat from the bony bible
near the drain in her mind.

“It isn’t working out. You’re still outside praying”
(God pulled rank
and the demons are bled)

“Get out of me and find your way”
God said to the alphabet moon.

(little world beneath me)
We should go deeper. We should speak Their language. Otherwise He isn’t listening to a word we say and She isn’t very happy either.
(She’s moody you know)

Deep..deeper and down below….we go into Earth
…into our dirty hearts and start believing in Him again. “Let the worms live” I say.

Our hearts are broken into a pattern-a sequence- a wormhole mess- a genuine masterpiece- that’s how we learn to write music …and that’s the song She’s expecting and waiting for us to dance to…
Our Song. We don’t resolve anything. We become It.

You may think I’m abstract but it’s clear…
The key is in the socket-“what’s the password?”
twist and turn until it opens….”let me in” I told Him

I laid in the center of The Star waiting for Him.
With his magic dagger and smoke- He began invoking the Snake God (after all a big black snake did live there) I was The Breech, The Upside Down One. He could take it all back to Them now and exorcise this vessel. They were in the sky watching…invisible, cloaked and certain
that tonight was the night for The Switch.
Stars fell and I became ash mixed with sound….
(I can tell you more later)

So I did what I could do after that…thinking I had to keep the demons away…the hungry ghosts who live amongst us who can never get enough…who judge and ponder and chew holes into the rules of the game. Yes we’re beyond the rules and it isn’t a game. but not yet….not so fast …as far as I can tell we’re stalling.

The forest where we were that twilight, where we drew the star near the water…still seeps…teeming with unseen life. We did this.
We will be meeting with Them soon….So we need the crossfires and we need the distinction (until the clock stops and the point stops spinning) Thats when we make the Switch.
When They remove Their cloak and we hear the Hummmmm stirring in the dark….breaking through
my head…the wall between us and Them. She’s never tired and tonight is always the night.

I laid down in the center of my immaculate creation. We drew the star. We heard the music. We know it’s asking a lot that we do this.
I’m here now remembering that you were there with me and I’m hoping tomorrow goes by more slowly than today…but for us I don’t think so.
I am the Keeper of the Gate….and those who’ve read the book want in…..

And He’s not even real. He’s a piece of cardboard and I’m guarding a gate that opens to
an aimless grasp-His magic Hands. His magic Eyes. His magic Voice. But He isn’t anybody but what you’ve imagined Him to be. He can’t take us with Him after all. The tricks He’s played on us! The things He’s gotten us to do for Him. The love He conjures…I am the Gate Keeper guarding Her Dream of Him.
I guard it so it will never be killed by the
takers of His fruit. Everything has a price and thieves are always mistaken. The thieves want His loot. He has nothing- but they want it anyway. They
know I’m a hunter…they have good instincts -some of them…they say “She’s a Dark force”
“She wants to stab me in the back with an ice pick”
(I’m not making this up- these are real people)

“I only looked your way once, how do you know I love you that much?”

They think I have feelings for them and that’s why they aren’t allowed through These Gates.

They don’t know I feel nothing for them and it’s not personal. I can write whatever I want. I’m the Keeper of the Gate. The road spirals up from here and it’s important that we understand the dangers of entrance. I love them all from a distance but the rules are the rules, me and you know this and im so relieved I’m no longer alone.
They tried to break me and tear down the wall…
I told you that Heaven helps me, and She did.
Nobody is invincible. Let’s not forget this.

I’ve been abused and neglected. Used and worn old…but I never quit my job. I’m always on duty.

It’s funny to see how I say what I say. Whose writing this ridiculous jumble of nonsense?
It’s me as The Bridge and The Peacemaker, that’s who…

Why not? I’ve nothing to hide. (that’s probably a lie though) I will tell you eventually but for now
my love speaks only in riddles and chaos.

I mean what I say-

…and my mother said that the devil would come if I worshipped the little white Buddha that I found in the alley..and so I took him away in the basket of my bike that evening at dusk and broke him into pieces all over the alley…..
that night I sat up waiting for the devil to take me with the light on in my room…terrified just sitting, vulnerable on my bed with no help but my stuffed animals and my little dog…I needed to find the courage to go…when He came…
He didn’t come that night…but I kept waiting…
(This is a true story)

And then I dreamed of Kali …..

She Hunts In The Dark

“I twisted the knife
while she bled in the back room
I left her hanging
as sweet as spring rain
dripping promises
of the summer song
coming is the season
of the harvest
black in the back room
her shell barely torn
my knife in the hole
like a key in a socket
bleed and fly
hiding behind us
she spreads open her wings
of gold and pearl
lit by the shadow beneath her
into the dark we fit
so perfect her pieces of light
shimmering spirals
of our promise
to each other
I promised her death
and she promised me life
worn like the magic
of new love
and nobody understands
our gift of horror
until she visits their room
handing them the knife
the blade of giving
and the wrath of taking
sharing the love
Of Gods Cry”

I almost died 2 years ago this August. I may never know why or what it meant. I know the power of that threshold more deeply now. I became a phantom, a walking corpse, a shell of what was. What was- was a Me I never knew but kept going for some reason that seems to make sense to us all…neurotic attachment to what they made us into. We thought we broke out, and I thought so too….but after the surgeon got done slicing me open like a fish and sewing me back together again and after receiving many blood transfusions from souls I’ve not seen…life changed and so did how I see and relate to me and you. Our relationship has new eyes…at times these eyes are sadder, older, more weary from this submergence into the underworld. This time I know too much, maybe you do too. He took my innocence. He raped me with his knife and pillaged my body. Who do I think I am? He told me I was going to die. He told me I had no hope of survival. He was WRONG.

I may have looked like a walking skeleton because I was so thin (only about 100 lbs- and I’m almost 5’9) and I may have been pale. But when I told him I felt fine, I meant it…

My physical situation was not ordinary and it wasn’t without its supernatural components….
On the slicing table while I was out -He took pictures of me laying there with himself standing there in victory over me. Well I can’t relate to that and I never saw the picture. But he showed it to Bhagavan Das who was in the waiting room at the hospital and he said it was really ominous.

I never felt pain. I never suffered. Your prayers gave me strength. Bhagavan Das forced me to eat and eat to gain weight (no I wasn’t anorexic)
but who will feed the shell? I live with the wind blowing through me and how I see you is different. I know something else about us since we went to that place. I mean, yes, I’ve been to dark places with underworld people and I have seen many deaths of those I love probably more than most my age but this was DIFFERENT.

I opened the window
I opened the door
I opened the box
I opened the gate
I opened my eyes
I opened my heart

I opened my mind
it was all empty

you can stick a knife through
the wretched
and borrowed yearning
twist the enemy buried deep
but no one is there

under your bed where you sleep
covered and closed and dreaming
of open pastures and open mouths

and ghosts that hide
away in those
yet to be opened places

stick out your tongue
and blind your night vision
close your mouth
it’s just a disguise

a pile of bones I left
behind when I heard
there was no one but you

I opened my ears last of all
when you said

“time is deep and silent.
I am below you.
humming and churning
the shell”

I watched my father die at age 52. I hadn’t seen him in 15 years. I wrote to him but he never wrote me back. I guess he used to get drunk and read my letters over and over again (I was told)
but could never be a father and just respond to his daughter’s love. So intuitively I knew I needed to go to Idaho (where my parents lived) I saw him. I knew he’d been doing drugs. Soon after I got there he was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.
It was the most horrifying experience that changed my life forever. After the chemo didn’t work -He chose to die at home. No doctors, nurses nothing. Just a big tube of morphine straight into his stomach and a tube for food.
He became very thin and his hair turned white then mostly fell out. He loved me in his own way.
He was wounded to the depths of his soul.
I stayed with him the last 3 days and that’s when it got really graphic and surreal.

I won’t go into too much detail but let’s just say it wasn’t clean. We weren’t protected by the doctors from seeing the brutality of the final descent from someone as haunted by demons as my father was. It was gritty and raw- filled with Mother Earth in all Her honesty and power.
He would call for me over and over “Where’s Michelle? Where’s Michelle?” I was the only one he felt who understood the demons and ghosts who were talking to him now-they told him they were coming to take him (he used to punch at them and yell “no not yet!” ) then shoot up in bed sweating and panicked…One day he started crying and so I hugged him…then he pulled me almost entirely onto top of his body squeezing me as he lay there and he began sobbing and wailing like you have never heard- I cannot describe my pain to you. I took everything from him. I wanted to end his fear. I sucked the Devil right out of him and straight into me. (somehow I was allowed to do this) I know it happened -the transfer of Satan from father to daughter. I loved him. I’ll do it.

I finally said “why are you crying?” He said
“I never want you to leave” I love him so much and wish he knew me…but it would never be…
we were torn apart from the beginning…as a child I couldn’t find him- I would walk through stores and parks looking for men and walk up to them and say “Daddy?” (My mom was so embarrassed)
And now we would never be together. I took the Devil and left my body. It got worse- his suffering.
I was standing there but really watching from the ceiling…it was so much bigger than me-these interludes with Satan….anyway, I alone watched him take his last breath on the morning of the summer solstice. I kissed his forehead and I don’t know why…I told my mother “He’s dead now” (which we’d all been hoping for at this point)
She called the “people who take you” and they came and zipped him up. As they carried him out the family was all over in the yard chain smoking and wailing (again more glamour) I walked alone way across the yard- over to the fence and sat down. My brother was screaming beating the sides of the house. I just sat there numb and alone. I felt nothing. Nobody was real. They were all just noise and smoke. My aunt said that all agreed that I was the saddest thing they’d ever seen. Me and the nothing I’d become….

They couldn’t find me after that. I couldn’t find me either. I would stare in the mirror into my eyes looking for her but she was gone. I had seen too much. I lost myself again…

On the last day of his life I laid down delirious with exhaustion and thought “I wonder what it feels like to for him to die” and suddenly it happened, I sank into the earth and started dissolving …it was a fear beyond description.

I decided that his death was just for me. That He was my teacher. He was The One I was eating now and I would do something about what I’d seen. His life would mean something heroic.
(He was a Vietnam vet-killer and alcoholic)
So at that moment -because of his death my existence took on a whole new life. I would not be afraid of the shadow. I would battle the Devil for him.

(11 years later)

Towards the end of my mysterious ailment that led up to my encounter with Him and His Knife- Life kept me alive even before I knew I might die.
Supernatural forces blew air into my nostrils at night and made me stronger than I should have been. Life protected me from Death’s Proposal even when I didn’t know I was already with Him. After all, I was his wife. This was a marriage for better or for worse. I needed to move to His Realm…deep in the center of the earth where the Ferry of the Dead await my decision.

Which way will I go? She is waiting at The Crossroads.

He will cut you up. She will help him. What’s so
undeniable and mind altering is that I know we planned this together. It was the honeymoon that follows the marriage. The blade is in my hand. Together we go down to find my heart’s plug -and pull- and empty- me into you.

What is this? Was I ever really even here with you? Why isn’t it ever enough that I tried to love you? I’m blinking but not seeing this Holy Trip I’m on. We keep thinking we need to eat Jesus because we’re just never enough. Now we need Him to save us. To make us fat and full again.
I’m talking about myself. “I don’t know you but my eyes see through your walls”
(I told Her this in the waiting room) I went there
drained and waiting to die. There wasn’t anybody else in the room. We know it’s true.

“As high as the sky
As vast as the sea
there is no me to enter
this hand that slips thru mine
this face that sees thru me
the empty skyway
the linear byway

the ribs are scattered everywhere
we breathe and the urchins in
the sea carry the notes
the letters to The Lord

She swims and she dreams
and she lights the lamp

she kills and she curses
and she hunts in the dark

I sway in her breezeway
whether as blood raining from sweat
or as sweet tea in the sanctuary

this room I’ve found that hasn’t a me
is filled with nothing that searches
or haunts or moans

is filled not with loves cherished reminders
it hasn’t a hole or lock on the door
there is no handle to turn

swept from the floor of my vessel
is everything that counts and lies

is everything that looks my way

is everything as anything

I hand you an answer to what can’t be asked. The hand is white and hollow. The flower is red on both sides.

And the reason is

The Dancer needs a friend.”
I diagnosed myself and then I pulled out the blade and started sharpening. I need to remove my Father’s Devil now…I was going to be Jesus. It was time. This trip is pulling my feet through the ices of hell and I’m thirsty and low on blood. I’m a killer and I don’t have a choice.
We drink His blood as if it’s not our own- as if He too wasn’t a vampire. Who are we kidding?
This blood is too sweet to deny.

Jesus knew the knot He tied. So did I. He was an Eater too. We belonged together. He knew we would never understand- so he called himself food and a religion sprouted. It’s very glamorous.

I get this. I’m starving and I’m a killer. Hungry and Hunting the Hungry and Hunting. We do love each other (in a cool sort of way) when we’re still frozen- before we’re thawed -before we can smell the blood- basically we love each other safely during the refrigeration of the corpse. But when it gets hot and fragrant, you know what happens next- we ALL go there ok-(lets stop pretending) animated, programmed corpses cold and looking for warmth somewhere else, inside someone else- but it isn’t there…so we keep drinking His blood with crackers and prayers… so Earth seems to be just a refrigerator to store us (until we expire) Who’s kitchen is this and what’s going on?

That’s what I went to find out….

I know I’m morbid. It’s a deep enchantment I feel between us brother and sister corpses..that we think we’re reading and judging one another. (or worse yet we think we’re not) I know nothing. I’m in a stupor -looking for my next fix of your blood my dear Jesus. I do love God as long as God is who I need Her to be. So She got out the knife. What’s wrong with that? It’s what we wanted after all isn’t it? It’s time to eat myself now and
finally clean the plate.

The glory is unparalleled.

I almost lived before I almost died-I wasn’t here or there. We better get out of the gray before it’s too late- maybe that’s what I should say- we don’t want to end up boiling in a pot somewhere.
It gets very vivid between His Hands.

Doctor Death saved my life. Jesus the Surgeon who never looks in your eyes after He tells you “It’s Over” Jesus was wrong. She handed ME the knife my friend. Not you.

Yes I’m still in charge. HaHaHaHa.
Cut cut cut. I can do this on my own. I will rise the Sun. I will eat the One…and I hear Her calling from the waters of the deep….She loves Him. They are finally together with my heart in their pot. I really don’t mind. I have nowhere else to go and the rest of me is so heavy and burdensome.

She tells me to come back and so I do.

Bhagavan Das is in the waiting room still praying
for my life.

And then I returned and I was put on morphine and oxygen and all sorts of horrible drugs (just like my father) I had to stay in the hospital for a week.
They had tubes in my nose and out my throat.
It’s was unbearably awful. I could only eat chipped ice cubes and they came in with horrible smelling hands and nauseating perfume stabbing me with needles all hours of the night. I never slept or laid flat. I was a soldier on duty.
They watched me and measured me and poked me. They weren’t real. It was just a dream. My body was strange. I was transparent. They definitely couldn’t hurt me now. She knew the way so I just followed Her back to my husband.

Children were afraid of me. I looked like Medusa.
I had no body. Only eyes. Eyes too bright from the Light of Death’s Gaze. I became the Other.
I could look at no one lest they be turned to stone.

This is called the Bliss of Death. I am with Him.
He is inside of me. She is sparking and spiraling.
The Dancer found Her friend.

I’m telling you these things because I am thinking I organized it all- every gross detail-
Kind of like how people plan their vacations or weddings..I’m thinking that’s how powerful and daring we are deep in our darkest minds. We set ourselves up to get hurt, horrified, mutilated even- so that we can see what’s true. So that we can become heroic. We can be the Queen in His Castle. It’s a real place you know.

So I didn’t live and I didn’t die. This is really a tight and quite uncommitted spot to be in.
My love is pale and I never meant it to be.
I’m in between me and you and it’s OK to tell the truth. The savage breaks our heart and leaves us
never enough. We are never enough. He doesn’t give us enough. He doesn’t take enough.
She talks about butterfly wings but what does She know? The Goddess on the broom can’t even tell her left from her right.
And I’m split between heaven and hell. Aren’t we talking like tomorrow might be an actual place?

This refrigerated love is dirty and ending. (we do have an expiration date after all) I know She’s showing Him how to do this. We can’t get confused in the Bardo-the long dark passages -the hallway leading to Him.

After all, everyone needs to eat. Everyone needs to die so that we can feed each other back to Her Son. And I get really stressed about our destiny here…but when I take a deep breath and surrender my exhale and when I slump down to bathe Her in the grief of my of tears I really do know they both love me and that everything is ok.

“I’m not a poet
I’m a prophet

I’m not a cloud
I’m the sky

I’m not a honk
I’m a bark

I’m not a cry
I’m a wail

I’m not life
I’m death

I’m not an angel
I’m heaven above

and below I’m not stuck
in your turning

from light to dark
and back again

I don’t ride on the wheel
I’m the engine

because I made this up

I sang this song
I slapped the face

Of God
as a child

I was the One
who bore him

It’s me and it’s not me
counting backwards

It’s me and it’s everywhere
and if you turn me into words
holy cackles building walls

I’ll keep slamming and breaking
and burning and waking
the dead from the brink
of fierce life

and if you turn me into you
I’ll turn you into me
I’ll remember your sweet
Godly smile

I’ll walk with you and talk with you
I’ll twist all the screws til their loose

You’ll fall apart into my arms
knowing I am the lonely cradle
that rocks you back to me

I’m no poet. I’m the page before
the book was ever imagined.
I filled you with my dreams and pearly smoke.

I am the prophet of the diamond
that keeps spinning.


Her name is God’s Mother.”

The first time I ever sang in public was at my
Dad’s funeral (not very glamorous)
The answer is clear. I’ll be here.
Sharada Devi

Strike the Dawn

Number one I struck the dawn
Number two eating glass
Number three slivered tears
sharp rain upon my land
This land is your land
and the clouds that follow
the war at sunrise
broken hearts between the gaps
of day and night exactly
fitting hurts in the battle cry


You know they tried to stop me.
The angst. The crying. The hysteria…

The doctor: do you hear voices Michelle? (that was my name)
Me: yes
Doctor: what do they say?
Me: I don’t know they’re talking too fast.
Doctor: Do they tell you to hurt yourself or others?
Me: I told you they’re talking too fast! I can’t understand them…
Doctor: hmmm….Do you sometimes see people who aren’t there Michelle?
Me: yes.
Doctor: do they talk to you?
Me: no, not out loud.
Doctor: hmmm are they also talking too fast Michelle?
Me: I told you they don’t talk!

his eyes got big behind his “smarter than me” looking glasses-and he just stared at me for awhile- then he got to work scribbling away in his notebook…

Doctor: do you feel people are staring at you and talking about you when you go into a room?
Me: sometimes.
Doctor: does the television sometimes talk to you?
Me: it talks to everyone doesn’t it?
Doctor: hmmmm

I then left his office a studied and “diagnosed” specimen with a prescription for several drugs…he diagnosed me with all kinds of things, I can’t remember because I don’t care. They can’t stop me.

My mother and my first husband (I was 17 when I got married -he was 11 years older- remember if you’re in the jehovah witness cult getting married asap is what you have to do as your future is hopeless anyhow) were so happy for the new more balanced me I was bound to become after dropping the first few pills- they finally had me tamed and I became the glassy eyes, quiet and subdued drone daughter and wife they had been hoping for…
(sadly for them that only lasted a few days)

I stopped taking the bottles of meds and hid them in a cabinet and then finally threw them away.
They can’t control me. Nobody can. Don’t get me wrong, at that point my rebellion hadn’t even begun- I (emotionally flawed and all) had been and still was the perfect young lady. In school as a child I was every teachers favorite. I was so smart and bright and helpful- as a young bride to be my mother and fiancé would discuss me like I wasn’t even there…

Mother: what are we going to do about her? She doesn’t understand. She’s so naive, so trusting.
She can’t handle this world….
fiancé: I feel like we need to put her in a little glass box forever.
Mother: nods in agreement.

Then they would both look at me with hooded eyes and sweet smiles scanning me like I was a buffet and they weren’t sure what to eat first…it was actually quite perverted and happened more than once…

You see I was a virgin and my mother owned me – so my fiancé had to play his cards right in order to purchase or negotiate her daughter/prize possession somehow…

(at that point I was a master of emotional suppression so none of this was problem yet)

And little did my uninformed doting teachers know that I was only fulfilling my role in a very disfunctional family. One of my mothers highest times was the “parent teacher conference” where my mother was praised twice a year for her “perfect daughter” (believe me I was under a lot of pressure and my brother hated me due to the fact I suppose that my father would regularly yell at him “why can’t you be like your sister!”) My role was the one who helped everyone and was cheerful and perfect. I didn’t cry or complain or ask for help ever- something inside told me they needed it more than I did. So I became the strong and responsible caretaker
for the family. That was how I survived. I did what I had to. I filled the space with sunshine.

But as you know nothing last forever- particularly perfection… and everything must come up… the suppression, the grief, the anger, the hate. All of it. Everyone has it. Let’s be honest. Try some Ayahuasca and tell me how you feel. The truth is waiting and She has a name. YOU.

Am I promoting Ayahuasca? I am promoting what gets the job done- whatever it is. I told you already it’s where we need to go. Back to the earth and the crystals. I’m not a new ager and I know you aren’t either- this is what’s real- what we’re made of. What will give our sanity back.
Not mommy. Not daddy. Not Jesus. Not Buddha. THE EARTH AND THE CRYSTALS.

I love Jesus and I love Buddha-but the problem I am finding is the Buddha is not the Buddha so we can’t find him. He’s in the sky (I’m guessing) and a very hard act to follow.
Jesus isn’t hanging or floating -Jesus grows back from Her Vine (pretty sure on this one) and he’s basically a food.
We already KNOW them! Don’t you get it?! I think you do.

We need Her because life is a tricky mess that makes perfect sense only later after we have been submerged. Let me tell you how I think it

There are these astral creatures (I’ll explain more about that later) I call them The Whisperers in the Midnight Stream.
They are the ones who divert the pathways and disguise the entrance gates. They have no legs, only very sharp arms. They are invisible and exist only to the very sensitive. There tongues are forked, their faces are white and gold with silver eyes..and when they whisper to you, there is a slight sting within the ear and that is how you know you are the one who hears them. They hold upon the tip of their right arm, the key to our arrival. Their arms are everywhere.
They have sonar hearing and that is how they find us, being most attracted to those who are the closest to the Clear Light (they hear our radiance basically) then they reach into our world and pull us into theirs.

And Aurora is the oracle who sings inside the water. She summons the Dawn.

The Mother Light is a Realm. (we are Her Light)

Ok. So now,
I want to tell you of a place (within the Realm of the Mother Light) and a Being I know who lives there, a Being with two faces. Two bodies blended within one Being. This Being is beautiful and glowing and supremely divine. He is a Waxing One. Sometimes depending upon the moonlight this Being appears female and at other times, appears male. I know this Being because we meet in a dream world just above the place we know now as Earth. This world is called
Aurius. Aurius may be called a dream world but it’s not really a dream. Earth is a dream that is what I have found in my journeys to Aurius. I am allowed entrance there during nights of deep sleep when the moon is waxing. When the moon is waning the other world can enter our dreams..
this is the world where we battle the
forces of dark memory and this world of nightmares is called Baluk.
The Beings of Baluk can enter our world at night in our sleep when the moon is waning. These Beings are without a body and male and female characteristics, they seem to be able to become whatever we fear…they create our confusion and delusion.
it is our mission as humans to battle these beings of Baluk..but how we do this, is different than we would imagine and so that is why we Aurius
also exists as a counter balancing dimension where we can go and receive training from the merciful and wise Beings there called Serod
or The Waxing Ones. This is an age old story of light versus dark and of us, humans who was born here on earth -struggling and caught in between two places. (this is a long story)


She was in the room right next to His
White spots in Her eyes
White nests in the trees
the White Web was everywhere
She was back again

Nobody knows where she’s been and Nobody cares. Nobody’s heart is a clock. Nobody needs to be sewn back together. Nobody hears the air breath. Nobody looks through the Web of the Spider. Nobody knows everything.

So I don’t need the meds- and neither do you.
Imagination is fertile in the heat of a hopeless heart. Find my love lurking in the darkest of places. Believe in me. Strike the Dawn.
Drink the Silver. Move Quickly….
the Sun is coming. We are the Wanderers.
We don’t have to go anywhere.
It’s all in the Seed.

stirring the stars with shining eyes.
I think I see you now.

Sharada Devi

The Muse of Flames and Ecstasy

Nobody cares about the artist’s eyes
or the way a window cries
the little ball I sleep in
or the board I can become
nobody cares what comes
from inside

and nobody hears and nobody
sees the letters upon this paper
rise and sing the heart of me

the burn of my madness
the white cool eyes
I’m looking at you
but I only see me

and nobody feels what I
meant to say.

the ring in my ears. The blood on my tongue. The little slip of paper moving in a stream. I write for you
like breath on ice.

I can turn you upside down. I can make you dance for me. Little swimmer take the plunge. Deeper than the plague of this, is the hole of one true eye

I opened the window for you.
See me seeing you. I’m not always this way. But I say and I say
and I lapse up against your rocks

it isn’t me moving backwards and it isn’t my tongue. Life took a slice for Herself.

As Birds upon the water are my
love for you.

Poetry. I’ve been writing poetry for as long as I can remember- as soon as I could write…
It’s never been for somebody else, it’s how I get the darkness out and make it something sublime – what I do with my subconscious garbage that’s not fit for consumption by me or you- it’s my wasteland creating life again. it’s intimate messages to me. I don’t care what anyone thinks about it because I didn’t write it….my Muse told me what to say. She tells me everything…I am
a useless bag of skin and bones. She is my blood and my germs. She is the kink in the chain that binds me. She told me that I will be free through her grace alone. She told me I have rights. She told me its all ok. She told me to let it be. She told me to take a stand. She told me to jump.
She told me to speak up. She told me to shut up.
She told me I’m nobody. She told me I’m Her.

Everyone has a Muse. She is the fire. She never leaves. She burns quietly. She can do anything.
We dance with abandon. We sing with our guts. When we are dangerous we spark and we kindle the Muse of Flames and Ecstasy. She’s the fire in our eyes. Nobody needs to know why. Our crystal fusion is beyond this dimension I’m sure. It’s another world we find each other in…

The alchemical perfection of this story is that I can become the sky for you and you can be my swan upon the water. I’m not imagining this….
I’m imagining everything….I hope we have the
courage to walk through the Gate once we get there….we’ve been through so much already….
(inside is a really big place)
that’s why we are strong- and we must deliver the message of freedom up as high and down as low -wherever we must go…we’re looking with open eyes at who these people are and what it all really means in the end….we should open up more and more… become even stronger…we will be free….from the lies we hear and tell from within this putrid cell – called acceptance of our fate- we will not accept our fate! We will not be tamed or silenced by timidity or self doubt!
(we’ve come way too far to lose this game) that’s not being the Buddha -being a prisoner of our condition and pretending we’ve found peace- that’s just called fear. I don’t need to be afraid. I need to rip this
bandaid off and know my wound is God!
She is my God. The blood and filth of my love.
It doesn’t have to make sense. We have to become the maker of our own magic.
Nobody can hold us down and tell us we are wrong. It’s not about anarchy. I can’t be a horse inside a stall waiting for my hay. We must be free to run in the wild and eat when we are hungry. I guess this is really about how we eat and what we’re cooking- on the inside and outside- life is a cauldron and we’re meant to be on fire! I am the food I feed the gods. I become the god I feed. My thoughts and words are my body and my love is the fire. We do have something to give bigger than we thought it was. We have ourselves to give and that’s everything. How will I be me is really what I’m working on…what I put into me and what comes out of me is it.
We can rise and dance and sing and write poems to our gods and devils inside. When we listen to Her as She tells us all our secrets….embrace the confusion and write Her down and show Her the paper so that She can flow through us into words that release us from captivity back into the wilderness we were born in -beneath the trees and sky…just floating in wonder.

Without censorship and self correcting mental madness-if we just write that flow that we are… poetry or any creative writing becomes a divine riddle- a twilight language…a wise and enlightened oracle. A lunacy and contradiction that shines our hearts true love….

We don’t need to know anything to know God.
There is not a thing that does not hear who we are. There is not a thing that goes unheard by us. Maybe we aren’t listening. I was thinking about that. Sometimes we just can’t bear the pain while our heart is breaking. I know. This honesty is going to take a lot of courage…

The wilderness is wild and magical. The forest is deep and green. Noises are everywhere. The moon is reflection and the sun is direction…
listen to the dark and follow the light.

There is a place I go to deep in the enchanted forest of my insanity…here is what happened there just the other day…

She told me
Christ is buried here
and pointed to a pile of dirt
(She had been sweeping)
and then She said
“In the shape of a triangle”
(and She drew a star with Her finger)
“I make amends to the earth the
sun and the sky”
She pointed to her chest laughing now
“I don’t go there anymore” She said

and I said “but it looks like a Diamond to me”

” it was and it cracked” She said
“I leave well enough alone”

She lifted her broom high in the air
and started coughing.

“the North Star is that way”

so I stepped over the pile of dirt
and started walking toward the door.

outside the night had fallen.
heavy and wet with sin.
a little bird sat chirping
too confused to know my name
in the dark I held out my hand
and She came to sit upon me

“who’s song are you singing little lady” I said
perfectly lit by a moonbeam
She spread her little wings
“I know what you mean”
I said.

apparently the angel had fallen
and we weren’t quite sure how far
down to dig into the earth before
we started walking. I walked. She sat on my arm singing the only song
that played that night. That was the song She was pointing to with Her broom. I think I was starting to understand. Wings come in all shapes and sizes.

So I walked (carrying her of course) for what seemed like many hours deep into the woods, looking for the fallen angel. Waiting for the sun.

Breaking these hours into many pieces I can tell you where we stood.
Where we sat. Where we sang and where we slept. The woods were dangerous and we needed to keep track of the hours leading us into the dawn.

where we stood:
She was a little bird and she didn’t know my name. Sometimes Her voice would stop and we would stand silent staring into the tunnel before us. We stood very still while the moments spun mending each into the next. We almost fell a couple of times or forgot to look forward.
The tunnel had a name and when we began to walk again and She began to sing, the moments would stop or move forward thrusting us into the needles of light playing like strings in the wind. She sang to that tune but we never knew where we would be when the song moved us forward.
The name of the tunnel was sacrifice. “I am a lamb” I thought
and my little bird is “perfect peace”
sacrifice comes in the shape of a Diamond if you know what you are looking at. And I knew it was a tunnel and I knew the wind had stopped. And I knew there was no yesterday but I was still remembering everything I left.
when the earth stood still I stopped talking.

They are coming to spread the tapestry you know. Upon us all
the vast blanket of every fallen star.

Where we sat:
we usually sat when the moon started whispering. Blue mist spread
into a circle inside of the Diamond and we knew the cracking had begun. We sat upon the crack after it started, holding in place the center of the sun and her sister the moon. You don’t understand me do you? I said we sat because we couldn’t move. It happens all the time. The moon held us still in her
whispers. We knew what to do but
didn’t know what we were doing or why.
Me and my little bird sitting inside
the spinning place. it’s very similar to fast forward and rewind.
I am not me and you are not mine.
Where we sat. Why we sat. Who sat.
the answer is all the same.
I am blowing pieces of me into the tunnel of the crystal wind from the circle and the silo of the moon window drawn on the ground by our makers. Who will walk into the light
will be splendidly even. The Obelisk.

Where we sang: the stars of course all sing in tune. We were on the earth beneath them. My little bird could hear everything. We sang to keep the earth even. We sang to keep the dream away. The wet marshes rose before us and flashing orange and yellow lights. It’s a signal and time perhaps to end the song? Legions
of roaring winds sucked the marshes dry. The landscape cracked and started to crumble. My little bird was not afraid. I on the other hand was
still looking for the North Star even amidst the turbulence. I can see! I can see! The sky became vivid like
the clear ocean waters on a still day.
Waves and shimmers and soft sounds seeping from the depths of
the womb. The reoccurring nightmare had only begun for the second time and it’s seems we were still unaware of the outcome.
Shaking faith- like a blind earth looking for it’s place in the universe.
Where are we now that our song is almost sung? Blue stinging madness
and the bees are unleashed.

Where we slept.
Deep in the triangle. Torn from the cell. We dug a little hole and went to bed. There will be no tomorrow.
Only now and the shapes keep changing. The tomb of this masterpiece is spread to every corner. To the listening few- the master is wise and never sleeps. He does not count and he does not listen to the clicking noise that are keeping time. He does not speak and he does not bother to turn around and look for yesterday.
We were once here. It was written in a song and no song lasts forever.
In a moment I collide -then snap -then disappear-and my little bird just seems to fade away into the dust that rises…..

When I awoke.
To be continued…

Sharada Devi

not a piece of me unturned

A blade of grass

A sickle of ice
my single redemption
The tarnished weathervane moved slowly…
(I walked alone past those
clotted memories)
the pulse of the earth beneath my feet was beating
summer into rain
I danced upon the grass and forgot
the coldness of before
I shook the bellows that clung to magic
I wept for all the Lost

The idea of knowing we are alone isn’t about a lack of appreciation for those in our lives because obviously we all need each other and are not ever alone…the issue is that we can’t see that because we are not actually separate from them, we are in truth alone. They cannot stop us from slipping through the needle of death. They can’t go with us…but do they ever really leave us? Do we leave them?

My grandmother who was over 90 just died.
It’s sad- my mother despised her mother and made me fear her…my grandmother was this wicked mommy dearest figure who would lock you in the basement or have your siblings hold you down and chop off all your hair…you know, to get you back on track. My mother was raised as a strict Mormon- which wasn’t without its creepy components- she had 11 brothers and sisters because that’s what mormons do- they have lots of babies- my grandma once said she did it to free souls from heaven and God would stop her from having them when he (God) felt she was done. My grandma had faith. (I have no idea why souls would want to leave heaven to come here though- unless of course they needed to become Mormons) so obviously the family was deeply perverted and there was a lot of abuse- physical, sexual and otherwise. My uncle (who was like 14) even tried to get me to
“kiss him like in the movies” when I was about 4-
(I had wanted to play with his violin and that was to be the price) my mom walked in the room just as the kissing was about to commence though and put a stop to that….
By then we were strict Jehovah Witnesses- you see, my mother hated Mormonism and so when the JW’s knocked on the door one fateful morning and told her we could live in a paradise on earth and only JW’s were going to survive Armageddon (which was due any day) and the God Jehovah only accepted  JW’s (no one else) into the paradise – my mother (being who she was-which I can get more into later) signed up immediately! Hence the beginning of the end of my future as a remotely normal child.
I was only 6 months old and my mom was about 19. My father just went AWOL from Vietnam.
All the killing and drugs really got to him…and although he was only 23 and a well respected sergeant and paratrooper with many stars and decorations all his friends had died, he had killed enough women and children-he was ready to move on (and therefore spend the next 30 years of his life hiding from the government who might find out what he did- he left illegally- that’s what AWOL means- and if he didn’t, I doubt I’d ever had existed)
My father was intense! (more later)
I’m taking about myself again…what else can I do? I bring up the family because aren’t they the string we dangle from? Each one pulling us a little more one way than another? What will we do? I bring the family up because the journey of insanity and horror (or smiles and denial for some) doesn’t end when we leave the house.
I have found we carry that house on our backs as our secret weight in this world. Why I can’t be someone different is exactly why I can be someone different!
This is a long story and goes down so deep for us all. I know. I understand. I suffer the secret too. I am going to this place- to these places with you, not because I like to reminisce or even think about them at all (because it’s just so sad)
but because we are warriors and we must go through the wreckage and salvage who we are.
The gifts they left us from their battles. We can win this in the name of nobody. We can hold on just long enough to finally understand how to
Just let go. We can do this.
And I’m doing my best to start this journey off right. And I have no idea what I’m doing. And I cringe at revealing myself to you (even if you don’t care) I’d rather stay in the metaphoric cave and look for death coming…but death is here now in this moment and we can’t be born, we can’t be alive in the next moment if we don’t keep dying to the last. But its certainly tricky…
because we aren’t honestly letting go -our subconscious minds are storehouses of every
little whimper and beyond. So my idea is that we can gather these memories like flowers we grew and offer death a bouquet of our lost love so that we might free ourselves and those before us from this illusion of separateness-of being along-of being unable to help us.
We can try it all first if we want (and I did) the yoga. The meditation. The fasting. The guru. All of it and it’s fine…but the string comes back to you, to me -as the bow around the flowers or as the noose. It’s about unraveling the sacred mystery of ourselves and how sublimely beautiful we are- fat, old, scared….young, insecure and lonely- it doesn’t matter- she’s always singing our song.
We shouldn’t be afraid. We should open those basement doors, get a flashlight and head on down to where grandma was once kept, a locked up and crying little girl. Let’s not lie or be proud. We’re all locked up and crying little girls and boys. I’m not getting psychological, I’m facing reality -how it’s happened to me-how I’ve seen it happen to everyone. Its what this is.
It’s what we do. We find the lost (and sunken) ship or we pretend we’re still floating where we meant to. It’s up to us and nobody tells us the truth. They say “just say the spiritual mantra” well that’s not enough unless the mantra makes you clear enough to go deeper.
Just be a vegan? Sorry. Not enough.
None of its enough until we find that we’re enough. How that happens is the tantric mystery of our lives. Don’t miss the magic in this breath.
Don’t hold your face so tight while you read.
Soften the lines between then and now. Between me and you. You see I think we can blend this all together into an elixir, into the magic spice or our uniqueness. I think the sting of that memory might wake us up in a new way this time.
I did everything I could do. I looked everywhere for you. I finally found you and you hear me.
My love knows no boundaries.

“I tore open my heart

and found little pieces
of you
looking for me
deep in the valleys
far along the shores
washing up in waves
and crescent moons
not a piece of me unturned”
Sharada Devi