Bird under water


I picked up a dead yellow bird and dropped her to the bottom of the ocean. Death was inside of me. He told me I couldn’t swallow. The walls were all yellow and I was afraid. I was spinning, while he spoke. Becoming a sharp piece of something. A dagger I had imagined, a useless tiny beak that stabbed through the water as the little bird sunk, yellow. Into nothing but weight. A threat in my mind really, all of it. A heavy boned body, this task of annihilation. Self imposed annihilation. Claustrophobic rubbing, the hard knot. He said I wasn’t anybody. Not really. That I was a current that made an impression. That the essence of the sky was the yellow I saw. That the walls were inside me. That truly, i couldn’t stop swallowing anyone that would have me. Broken,
throated bird on the floor undressed. At the bottom, songless and so loud it was deafening. Undressing herself inside of no one. Death was inside me, in this room with me. Sitting up against a dark wall watching me while I talked about my pain. Pain I couldn’t have possibly swallowed, but he said I did and because of it I made all kinds of sharp things inside me. Sharp and watching he listened while I told him everything. I originally asked him if he could help me, because nobody could. Well, at least I didn’t think so. He was the only one I ever asked. He said, “How do you feel?” I said “What?” He said, “In your body, what are you feeling?” I said, “Cold. Nothing….You.” He smiled softly and said, “If you were to open this feeling up like a package what would you find?” And I tried to feel it my body, a shiver, a pang, something hot and ready to move. And I bared down and pushed into all the shards of icicles made of rage, broken shafts made of loneliness forgotten. I probed until I nearly shattered, or collapsed wet and houseless on the floor before him. Naked, lost and abandoned. Slowly turning into a pale blue ghost…a ghost made of stained sky and trapped water…until finally, words began to drip from my mouth. “If I open you like a package I find the loss of me regretfully full of seeing, touching, dry heaving in every direction, but strangely. Somehow you’re so strange. I can never find your arms…” And as I said this I knew I was lying. “I am a liar yellow bird, because I’ve never been born, because your eyes are all I have, watching.” He was leaning into the shadows of the golden room, hooded eyes within a graceful ageless body listening- defying me, knowing already no matter what I say, the ways that I weave myself back into him over and over again. “You know it’s not true.” I said, “I miss you, everywhere I look is you inside me. I miss you, the way you cover me so that I can stop talking, thinking, answering questions.” He sat silently breathing my body inside and out. Watching. “I want home.” Is what I was thinking. There isn’t a choice is what I knew already. “Come to me.” He whispered as I slithered across a floor that didn’t even exist, between us. “Isn’t this fun?” He asked. I said, “Aren’t you lost without me also?” Killer was the sound I heard, the sound that surrounded everywhere. This was my father invisibly made from scratch. There is nothing else. Only him, magical him. He said, “Get back inside you’re a bad bad girl.” And I jumped, straight as a pin, into him. And I arched like a rainbow and I opened my eyes inside of him. And he pushed me out again and we laughed in all colors. “The room has changed.” “It never changes, you’re a liar. I don’t kill, I catch and release.” And we laughed again a rainbow of death all around me. We laughed until all the sharp hooks and points began to poke holes in my skin from within and I bled like a wild sprinkler all over the room, spraying my lover in fresh fragrant blood. Covered in blood drops and shining with me, he laid down and I got on. Here we go again. The ride to end all rides. “I’ll steer.” I said. “Stop pretending, little bird.” “Then I’ll slither?” I asked hoping for more. Radiant gemstone. Snake body, heart of wings. Love is all we say. The love only I can give without words- though we talk about how when and why. “Take me and make me,” He said, “Into the black snake man that knows how the story line goes.” “Beating heart, I always want you inside me.” And I said this because I knew what cold and empty really is. I knew what not to touch, the walls I don’t see yet describe like I’m someone whose there, when really I’m dead from the beginning of time. No one can see his eyes and live, that’s what I want. His eyes that go on, with me living in them as his glance forever pulling the light back to home. This is what happened, what always happens to those who seek the unsurpassable peace- Death went in and I never left. We’ve been together watching, catching and releasing ever since. For each other, from the peak of the highest place, to know no other. From another place. These perfect immaculate arms- neither scales nor feathers are beyond the skin of the mind’s last night before the dying. Here on virgin earth, making death the cause for any worthy life. “You don’t understand.” Is the portal. “Yes, yes I do.” He whispered all over the walls colored yellow. The tunnel made of red moonlight. “Yes, yes I do.” He exhaled as I turned limp like an unborn flower in the stream of an unseeing night. “Yes, yes I do.” He inhaled and as I opened my soul’s mouth he blew back the blue end of loneliness. This winged serpent who watches the sky from the seat of the sun, who owns the biggest tree ever rooted in earth. Who winds up and down every body, who spreads open eternity, eventually, based on the love of true death, is the one we should listen to. Besides death I sit, under it all quietly, penetrating the vivid waters of human pain. Enthroned. I am simply a shell for the waves, an emblem for the moon crown. Naked black body of breath, he is the only God who cares enough to meet every last person ever imagining creation. Face to face destruction. This love is the only love that’s true. That is mine.ย The union of death with his bride. The song unsung below us. We are one with the one. I call him Black Sun. No one sees him at all. He sees everything and owns this world that fills you. This is the lineage of the invisible moon axis, who sends us sideways to him as he leans into our darkness knowing always what we need to be free.

Bird under water. Sharada Devi


2 thoughts on “Bird under water”

  1. Colder than me, this thing I cannot define, makes me want to feel the hurt, to feel deeper. Stark and awakening to the emotional stupor of not enough and childish ways….
    warm? Is that what I am? Doesn’t seem like it. And who cares, she said. Keep going, I feel. Mmmmm, the humm of a whirling “transformation”, rising, some way. Outside, expanding, giving, me away. To where it’s ok. And it all dies like it never lived and what I mean is that all this heat in me that feels real is laughable. Because the world pulls me apart into something bigger. And deadlier, I feel, like a ‘no turning back’ into the light. True warmth of cold, I’ll never know.
    Right in the middle of everything, I’ve ever done, the invisible fire of you, that outlasts the good and bad, seeing, behind the curtain of me.
    Cleaning me out, makes me feel sick, makes me want to keep going, to feel something real. As if that means I’m not making it all up. And enough about me. That makes me sick.
    Sharada Devi shines. The beauty in the dark.

    1. Didn’t you tell me, “It takes one to know one.”
      The corpse on fire changes the hearts of all.
      Nothing is cold here on earth but the dead head of computer space and entertaining robots. The ones we marry and breed with we become.
      Cold is the top of the mountain and warm is when we sat there under the sun filled with white snow, melting teardrops to earth until we too descended to join the silence of God…louder than anything are the words, “Come back.” And we will, once the war stops and the cold curtain falls. And yet even then, it’s never the end. The sun rises even after it dies.
      That’s what I think you meant, especially then.
      “It takes one to know one.” The sun rises brightest after the crucifiction, not before. Until then, we keep rehearsing…for the light that never dies but rises eternally as the one.

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