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

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This is what I believe in ☀️

Open your wings

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

This is what I believe in ☀️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



when god isn’t listening, she rains

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

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

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

a desire even god couldn’t forget

when he wiped his hand across the sky and a light fell. it was mine, all of it. when every tree was from his seed and the branches bowed in his breath of wind, i knew the time had come. when my knees were broken and my eyes gone black, i heard a voice and i ignored her. the earth, when i bent to look for every piece, the cracks of stars and sunlight. the moon, she turned around in bed and just kept crying. i am little, i am disappearing. cold, when he shines like only he sees, anything. cold. i saw it all from my dark eyes, i felt how he was hollow. without her body beneath his feet, there is nowhere god, for you to go. but no one understood and the years went by. me, the ground holding everything broken. him, the crown of every thing that would ignore the serpent hiding. the trees still stood with their withered arms, the sky still empty of guidance, the wind, how it howled and it screamed, “you’re a liar!” back into itself, “everyone’s dead!” such a majesty cannot be destroyed or mistaken. rotten, just rotten. in my grave while i move, charred, scarred and devoid of words. there was so much to say to a deafened world, i wonder as i write in the shadow of a noon long past. she stood all those years holding it in, the air, the suffocating air. for him as he blew out his smoke from a fiery sun, just drawn like a prop in my body. i did see him as everything i needed and feared. i did give birth to both god and his haze. devil beneath me, a new moon has fallen. I kiss the forehead of a very angry child. he would be king, with his wild son approaching. i won’t go anywhere else but to where we have fallen. through the leaves as they die changing from golds into grays.

i am meaning. i have meaning. i was born and i died to mean something to you. do you hear me, high up and shining with lights cast at nothing. i shed all for the death of your reign. little girl, no it wasn’t me. this isn’t about me. he’s running and only i can stop him. i am crawling inside to where all of us live. high up on the stake, piercing the sky. thorns and red angels dripping. i think about praying but then can’t see why. not when he’s there, a puzzle of stars. and he left me, but i stayed. to fill the space of a god long dead. for you, the only one i ever saw look back at my full body. with a desire that even god couldn’t forget. sharada devi

Soma of the Mother Light Retreat with Sharada Devi

You’ve got to get hot to get pure and you’ve got to get cool to get wise. You’ve got to feel your own heart’s pain to ever know compassion and you’ve got to watch your own insanity to ever have clarity. Here we reach the boiling point, here something’s got to give. Here lies all the potential of what it means to be both human and divine. This is the essence of tantra. Tantra which embraces all things simply because all is transformed by that ever clear love. Kirtan is an outpouring of the light from our hearts through our mouths simply because we are here, still alive and aware of our calling. Our heart is the calling, our body is the vortex, our mind is the mantra. It is that weaving of tantra, yantra and mantra that merges the individual with the deity so that something transcendental occurs. A magical transmission between the human and his/her environment and interactions. This is how our life is given as an offering to the divine so that we may be a flower in Buddha’s hand, a sword in Kali’s fist, a flute at Krishna’s lips.

This retreat will be intense and demanding  It will strip you down until nothing is left but your sacred love. This retreat will be a tantric cathartic experience. The body is the vessel of the holy light. The mother kundalini is the sound of devotion. This retreat intends to start at the base and work its way up systematically to enliven the entire being in the purity of that transformation The being is the living embodiment of what is possible once this full body awakening is achieved. The alchemical union of this is what inspiration actually is. The voice, the movement, the words of the goddess as the muse we stir from her slumber at the base of the spine, becomes then the divinity through whose eyes we see and realize ourselves in a new more holistic way. This takes tapas. This takes the raging fire of self acceptance. An acceptance so deep we are able to let go- of the past, of our false identities of any hope of lesser things in this world. We turn our beings towards that intense revival of light and we stay with it until nothing is left but the ash of our love. Born from the fire we rise as a brighter integrated version of ourselves.

This retreat promises to create the space, offer the transmission and the grace for the potential of you to be conjured. This gathering is meant for the dedicated servant of consciousness to stir through the darkness and burn through the flames- to hold onto the love that endures all things and to be transformed by the blessings that such a spiritual death brings. Rejuvenation and recovery from old wounds, a clear heart and mind, and an awakened resolve to embody the deity. The tantric initiations in this life come in many forms and how quickly we recreate ourselves is largely up to us. The choice is yours. We offer the space, the prana and the practices. We offer the ojas and the tejas and the  celebration.

Be born again. Dedicate your life to the holy light. It gets easier the deeper you go. Because the harder it gets the stronger you become. The louder you sing the easier God hears you. Reach for her love. Reach deep and high. That’s what we will do for 10 days and 9 nights. It will be intense full disciplined engagement with the divine. The body speech mind heart and soul will be purified. Purged and filled to the brim with the soma of the mother light.

Retreat with Sharada Devi May 17-26 . Basic accommodations are provided (you can also camp)  as well as all tridoshic, organic Ayurvedic mono meals. email motherlight108@gmail.com for info *Bring an instrument if you know how to play it❤️


anything is who i am

the night was long, the morning came and the night went on. a little bird sat in the corner of the cage looking down, from a branch that once felt like an arm. my little far reaching hands. a prayer in the dark, summoned like a flick of the switch. but it was all artificial and i was inside. doing my time. it’s all in your head, the choice is yours wingless girl. but i know he’s wrong. the silence inside has no birds. a song, i could pretend. crouched near my kill, eating its brains. a heart held in my palms. and the beat just went on. i could bite but i don’t. i sit describing it all, watch the ticking. how even the shadows can’t remain. not in a night, moonless and echoing. the morning slipped in and nobody noticed. i knew it was all as fake as it gets. me, yes me in the mirror. against a black and shapeless face. yes, i imagine she looks like that. she looks how she feels. when those images rise, like in dreams and in lies- nobody cared to document the facts as they stood. she therefore fell to her knees, over the dead body, crying to be taken. but i was the one holding its empty heart. i was the one who stopped eating and stood crouched over death like i was its elusive child lover. i have no idea what’s going on. all these cages, boxes, pages, stolen identities. misrepresentations. pathetic tinfoil demons who think they’re my friends. once i was told i could be the queen of the damned. i told myself that in the black faceless shapeless mirror that hides deep inside. and we laughed. we laughed and we laughed like cackling creatures. i’ve only ever felt power momentarily. at moments like this with your head in my hand. a heart drops like a fly that got zapped. this electrical storm that surrounds me can destroy the entire sky of its inhabitants. this long night that pretends it’s today. it’s a joke. all you takers. positive thinkers. healthy eaters. fearful beasts. i am inside on this branch, caged and forgetting which way is up anymore.

and like my destroyer i talk up a storm. riddles, puddles of blood. left over bones. what do you think you’re doing, they’re all dead anyway. the key, the key. nobody locks anybody in. so all these characters flutter and slither within me. being hunted by the other me, the one that i can’t see. but she’s got your number. like a flag she keeps waiving. like a horse race in the jungle. like a sea full of drowning birds. there is inevitably -eventually the juncture. where she sits, very flexible and stretching. i wait, here i wait. with snakes sewn into my hair, with scorpions embedded into my eyes. with a head that’s no longer attached but keeps watching, for the one who holds my heart to come searching, deeper. where we meet in little hells and big valleys. down lower where even god fears to go. at the crossing of the black night and the bleeding sun. i float like an angel whose gone completely insane. as if i decide how heaven goes. in this realm of many me’s- anything is who i am. sharada devi

This is why the ourorboros eats its tail

The moon is a captive of the grim reaper. As the shadow approaches the earth grows colder. He carries the skythe and she simply glows. She never saw it coming. Under his cast she is eclipsed by an emptiness that spreads and devours the warmth of her rapture. Now I am grim, eaten. Torn open from death. How he approaches, slowly climbing the stairs. I’ve stopped waiting for anyone but him.

I am listening to the inside of the walls. The low growl of this empty room at night. The moon glare on the window, a room filled with ghosts. They would have left by now but they haven’t, they are filled with me. A red light glows, I barely start to pray then give up. I hang my head in a deafening silence no one will ever see or know. On this night, the face of the moon has seen herself and grown cold. She stopped giving life. Weary and bleak, not to be though you are. Exploited and broken, not enough though it’s all. And the words are the worst shadows of all, they fall meaningless, casting only more darkness obscured by the eyes of the reader. I have wasted my life making sounds for no reason. Here I am scarring the void. So I’ll go and disappear from this masochism. I will lose the depth of my loss all I held. It was nothing but a memory’s dust. Blades of rage carving a body of numbing loneliness. It was fear and determination for a lost cause. It was not the will of God to be a slave to the devil. Somehow blinded I saw from the black of the lie I was eating and I fell to the bottom of me, starving and searching for food. There was nothing there but my imagination, seducing a morbid self imposed torture…all these years. The wrong sort of pain that is only for show. But now it’s real, now you’ll not know me, for anything or anybody I’ve sheltered. Drop the words and move away. I am a tornado spinning in this dark eyed mess of self obsession, self denial and yawning. May my destruction be a blessing. I shall seek the halo beyond my mind. Like a winged serpent who saw that this earth was made of sky, I too shall see that my pain is made of love.

Purification. Rejuvenation. Transformation. The song of God. The power of the sacred song. Devotion, cosmic alignment. When we talk about alchemy it cannot be a concept it must be an action. We must engage the process of the ourobous. We devour ourselves and we give birth to ourselves. This is the human blessing. The omniscience of the human is our world is made of spirals in our head in our hearts and in our bodies. Spirals that are never separate. We are capable of anything. Aging is a painful demon that sucks us into the ground if our spirit isn’t soaring within. There is a way to transmute the inevitable appearance of decay into an immortal redemption. This way is the dance of the snake with wings rising from the flames in a song of rapture.

Do not accept where you are headed. Do not accept mediocrity and duality. Do not lose faith in yourself and your power to heal from within. Do not ignore the call of your buried dreams. There is a reason you are the way that you are. It is a perfect alchemical equation. You have the ingredients within you to manifest divinity on earth. Karma means action. Action intends transformation. Consciousness expands and retracts depending on environment and behavior. Behavior depends upon influence. Influence depends upon association and other input. The choices are manifold and abundant. Clarity depends upon clear blood. Clear blood depends upon diet and exercise. A thriving body is the storehouse of light. The fountain of youth is the soma that descends from the crown chakra. This is a process of nourishing the goddess. She is the sound of God. And so chanting and dancing and poetry and art are all her manifestations of grace. The oracle is in this creative process. This is the alchemy of the ancient vedas. The source wells up from within you. Do not waste your life on reaching elsewhere. This is the path. The body is the sacred temple. Rejuvenation is essential. There is no bypassing any stage of the process. Awareness of what is occurring is key. The elements dissolve. The God light enters from above. The fire turns blue and rises. We are beings of fire and water. The sanctuary of the mother light is a place where we transmute ourselves into rainbow bodies radiating the mother light. For mother earth. For all suffering beings. Otherwise we are headed where everyone else is headed. It will take a miracle to renounce our self imposed ruts- a committed resolution that we alone must conjure by our dedication and aspiration to embody the jewel in the lotus. Not just talk, but do. Only then are we of value to humankind. Only then are we the living flame of love. This is why the ouroboros eats its tail. Sharada Devi

a raindrop falls like death on this bed

One year felt like forever. Swipe and all the demons fell. I took a snap shot and I sent it to you, the best day of your life. A dream. A mind knocking comet. A series of whimsical drawings all meant to keep us safe, but we kept slipping, falling through the cracks. Another purchase, perhaps a diamond. A vortex for you, a long wild howl. The wind rips through these pages on it’s way to hell. To find me, to beat me, to keep me safe from you. A love locket wrapped around a rear view mirror. A bent shoulder of sadness and wrath. How many children can I send into the dawn without weeping. I miss everyone from my lonely alley in this bad place. But she kisses him anyway and he never stops trying. And the walls bleed and everyone keeps getting hotter. By the way the morning was tipped, by the way my storage was full. I couldn’t fit anymore into this body. I sag and I stoop while the birds land and branches break. I had lined up the words, choked on the smoke. I had freed all the wicked. I had blessed that year in the places you didn’t see. Where you didn’t look. Why I don’t like my picture taken. Ghosts get out, the strip gets worn. A yellow summer flower, an unseen shooting star. My silence for you, like how we mourn for the dead is more like how the water freezes and the swan gets stuck, forever in a painting looking like she’s gracefully still. When inside she’s ice, when inside she’s burning. A fire from the gods, legs broken from a steel frame. He never looked where he left the keys. The keys to the castle, the dead box of sunshine. A moon, a season of pain. The axis of brain matter swollen and hard. She is a witch and for the most part a serpent. He would rather she disappear and be inside what got left. She never entered that page, she never sat on that wall. She was alone, burning photos of the dead. Haunted and in love with a dream of nostalgia. Blow out the candle, a little girl once lived there. Did he ever see where she left all her heartache. Back way behind me, freezing and cold. White, like a goddess perfectly poised. I can dance like a leaf in the wind. I can glide down the window of tears. I can see him inside looking, for her in that forest. Again, once again to be brave. In the face of the most beautiful girl I saw anguish. In his eyes I saw the morning born from a long winter of snow. In the words I found nothing but more pictures to take of the dream, his old silver eyes. Her bloody carcass of rags. A scar way too long, sliced down the middle. They ripped everything out for the babies to see. Through the flames of the forgotten, ghosts that fell through, deep brine of hell flesh, I drink and I eat. While I pray to the pain to set me free from your loss. And the window was opened at last. The swan I’d been watching was carved from the glass. The boy the little boy with his bow and his arrow was now the king of destruction, her new salvation. And demons were everywhere either fleeing or breeding. And I was churning and rocking deep in the air made of water. There was a sky filled with words we’d rather not say, where and when God speaks. When we know the only answer is death. We get down quickly and we cover our heads, but I didn’t. I watched him not see me anymore. And wished I was somebody else. Because that’s where I went in the dream of her body. How she aged and grew poignant but instead felt like a shadow consuming the one she’d made king. Until her castle crumbled and this old world died, with me inside dreaming at midnight of a night long ago, forgotten but held deep oh so deep between us, this unfathomable swan we could have become. The night goes on. The night goes on. My sharp fingers type, my eyes become hooks. My tongue is a fork. My skin has invisible words written all over it. About where she went, who she loved. How death tried to burn her but it couldn’t. That’s how far down I go, even where no fire reaches. But these roots, these roots are filled with these stories that bring us here. To the tree that catches everything like a widow’s web and wraps it and seals its fate. But I remembered you still, and I lifted you into these branches to hold me like the earth holds the sky. Of course it was farfetched because we’re all reaching, for the right words to say. For God’s hand to guide. The child back to beauty and youth. The old witch takes everything into her womb, stirring the cauldron and cursing the dead. The only thing I know is that you were so light I could barely feel you breathing. I am enchanted by this contradiction. 

This Is a paradox, mice have chewed holes in everything. I have been abandoned in my dream by those who know no other way. I cried, “God help me,” but God didn’t come. I carried a small girl through the long corridors and streets looking for you but you never came. You stopped looking for me. Night was coming and I was lost. All the humans here had jagged rotten teeth and were deformed. The children were wicked selfish and cunning. I had given my power to you who could not know what to do but go back to the room where the angry man stayed on the bed- riddled with holes under a blanket of diseased animals. I realized I was alone and in danger. My girl, though so small- was heavy. The hungry humans were starting to notice me and gather in groups. Their breath was the smell of rotting flesh. I didn’t even know it was a dream, all of it- even before I knew I was the death in their bodies. You’re far away and I’m waiting…though I know you never could have come. It was always me with these creatures. Yet my mind still rages with hope where there is none…so I still write to the leper inside me, because I have nothing left to do but float far away to another world and leave this old body behind. But my girl, this little yellow summer flower I carry, what will become of her once I’m gone…

Even from these pages she tosses and turns. Dreaming of swans and how they lift their wings over her body. Invisible, the halo in the water. Even in this dark night she glides, cold and white. Calling through the mist and trees for the one that haunts her. Even from my words she recedes through the letters into another dimension. A heaven not far from here where silver stars are joined by strings of pearl and the moon floats just like her on the water mirror. Below us is a door, underneath me, I drag an anchor made of stone. I am chained and bound.
Invisibly like every divine bird who must stay here for us to see the beauty of God. Even in this world she dances inside her nightmares the way a swan might dance with a stream of light. She floats like a deity inside another world right in from of me. Silent and smooth. I have touched her feathers wide awake. I have listened to the rippling music of yearning. She calls, always calling and nobody hears. How quiet is the majesty of the moon and her muse. How lost am I in her bondage. To this aching and circling. Searching for her God long ago. She remembers everything before he left. A raindrop falls like death on this bed. Sharada Devi

it was always you

I think of Milarepa often. I mean why do we want to be so lackluster with our lives- blame it on america, blame it on tantra. What’s on the other end of the cord. Whose listening to your thoughts. Why is this insincerity enough. The roots go deep, obviously we’ve been engaging our self deception forever. The pain isn’t that nobody cares about us- really. It’s that we ourselves don’t care about us. It’s become a bad habit – how we go about getting our shallow needs filled. Trying to bridge a gap, feed a void that can’t be known. I think of Milarepa and what it’s truly going to take. To suffer for the right thing- things aren’t different now, those truths don’t change- the lie only grows more solid and our imagination that we have become something we’re not- more desperate- to cling to any ridiculous false hope of position or accomplishment. As if any of this is the meaning of our life. As if we can squeeze in liberation from samsara after we get home from our important careers. As if being a “bodhisattva” entails being an enabler. It’s all just fear and laziness driving the lack of clarity. Of course we all need money- but our life is meant to be a mandala not a box. We are the center of our doings. We create all possibility for ourselves by our most purified desires. The vein is pulsing with desire to be fed, and like an addict we pump it full of more confusion and pain- it will never work- and you do know that. You can’t ever get anything here that will make you happy you know that too. Stop wasting time, we’re getting older every second. We are on the journey to meet Death and we act like we are possibly headed somewhere else. We don’t deal with our neurosis, instead we cover it with more world fog. We can’t win enough arguments, wear enough titles, get enough education or spotlights on us- we really do know that- and yet day by day we act as if it can somehow be enough while we waste the precious moment of immaculate art on gray materialistic filth. We clog and congest our souls with delusions of grandeur and self importance. We ourselves fear death because we ourselves are a lie. It all falls away, the face name and body. All that is left is the echo we answer. Thoughts words and actions – make them sublime. Otherwise the gray day goes on, the murky night wraps its pitiful legs around forever. And we get slower and sadder with time- and our eyes become hollow and dull. Look in that mirror long and hard for the one you’ve disowned, the one who loves only God, not what you are now substituting pretending it’s doable, it isn’t. Don’t wait until the end to see how deep those karmic grooves go when we keep wearing away at our worn out lives. Why have you left yourself all alone in that emptiness. Nobody can ever see us but ourselves. That’s how far we can ever reach anything or anyone. There’s nothing out there, you know that. We all do, and it’s scary. Our pristine dreams fade from aspiration to desperation and there’s no self respect in that. Career, status, ownership. It’s so dim. The moon is full, we should end this chapter and go to the mountain top metaphorically- literally- and we should learn to fly. That’s what this life is for. Not dinner parties and pre-school cupcakes. But bones and ash and flame after flame of prayer made manifest -meaning you have evidence of your divinity because you know now it wasn’t ever God, it was always you. Sharada Devi