To taunt me is to to touch me. Red letters, legs and broken dreams. Seamlessly we fit. How could I know. The window was open. Deep in the cracks down below. An angel smiles. Undressing. I was lost in your shadow, I drown in your wine. I am stuck in your flesh writing stories and crying. I closed my eyes and it was over. Just a pile, clothes in the corner. Someone I didn’t know felt like me. I watched her for awhile. Squirm the way she does. Lonely and mistaken for another. Black words. A head rises to the surface. Bones. Old familiar places. The door was shut. I pounded for freedom. All alone, broke in the corner. An ancient lover, someone else who sees. She isn’t here, I’ve taken her home. Deep and hidden, away from your pain. The long drowning, your biggest fear. I know more than you think. About torture and solace. This isn’t his. We die without him. A house of mirrors, his body is beautiful. Like a swan and a snake upon the waters of my underworld. Softly gliding. Pretending not to see. Fear in my eyes made of stone.

Ice white pure echo, superimposed…the night growls on. Did you mean everything you said. Blown by the wind into another land. Washed up on a shore far away. I can still see you, small and shimmering. I hang over glass looking down at the water. I am not the only one with horns held captive by mortality. Like you, I am weary of the day. To carry this burden of betrayal means to carry fate. I must go, through another sky, another way. One where I’ll never disappear, where my face will live on. Held by the surface of your longing for God. And like thorns around a rose, I wait for you to come. There are angels we can’t see. There is shattered glass. There are wounds that bleed for this. Nothing gets as close to what this pain can give. A narrow passage into the room of God. Or perhaps just a sliver through my hand. Is all that I will ever know.

She lives in a bottle. She has a long graceful neck and a coiled tail. At sunrise she imagines wings and at dusk she imagines a large hand gripping her throat. In between them the light rises and falls as do all sounds that crash between bodies…

Iris, Sharada Devi

(where this joke will go)

there is a distant sound that i remember, there is water seeping in under the door. there is a moment i must catch, there is a wall of glass about to fall, there is the suffocation of silence filled with noise, there are windows with no faces. there is something i must do. then there is you who appeared from out of nowhere and me who keeps disappearing under these waves. there are words i cannot hear and eyes i cannot see. there are your golden hands that leave the sun. a beam or a current. i still cannot find you. under water, noise, barrier waves, time that took the lightness. i have imagined another land above here. over this ocean of sorrow. and there i live as i’m dying with you. words are floating everywhere, i grasp at what i can. silvery tails slip by quietly through the water in your eyes. and i remember more than just the sound, there is warmth under the light that i float on, there is another body in the distance. a face without a house, a window without a wall, an ocean without a wave. i have taken many things as mine. i have given myself away to you. goodbye as we leave, slowly as we must. as softly as an unnoticed whisper. there is the end of grasping. and where we go we cannot know…(where this joke will go) sharada devi

I was made of her insane and immaculate love

Transparent. She watched from the window. Alone. Nobody ever came or went. Unloved. Behind the window there was silence. She stood while suns came and went, looking and waiting for him. The long night, a dark hung by an invisible string. Sway in the moonlight, but don’t turn back. Never look away from his eyes. She couldn’t remember anymore, and yet she had nothing but her face in this glass hopeful and waiting. I have lost. I don’t expect anything but voices and blurs. I have come to this place of erasing and endings. There is a dog barking through the fence and a man smoking cigarettes one after another. There is a radio blaring awful music over the other fence and a woman yelling through the music. There are cars and trucks and motors. The carpet has cigarette burns and the horizon isn’t visible. I am a prisoner trying not to be. And as usual I wait. Then, he got up in the middle of the night looking for a snake. She was not asleep, he was not awake. There were images between them, an unbreakable screen pain. In her head, on the ceiling- sounds that would not go, old smiles gone forever. Now there was the night, this old apartment filled with dirty animals. Blame and cold bodies. She had so many pictures, there was no memory left. Just replay and flashback. Just a piercing ache inside. She felt no connection to the night, disassociation. The devastation of the ego involves the entire world. The transparency of love must be matched by obliqueness. I am on a wire, just a thread. Sharpened by the dull things that threaten my escape from inertia. Of course I cannot sleep, the night is long. How long have I been here breathing heavy, leaving dreams in my wake. I have taken the need to die while still lost into my own hands. I have taken the pains of the deep to their origin. There is nobody here but me mocking my dead. With or without me you cannot live. Your job will outlast you and your penis will grow limp. The silence will engulf you in its swamps. The long haired girls will unleash their madness carelessly into your stupor and you will grope, having forgotten me. I let go of these tangles and tears. I stand at the precipice of the new world. A world where I am a woman who need not pretend to be weak, for your sake. Where your fear of being mothered isn’t greater than my calling to mother the child who pretends he isn’t idle. I have seen the light where your darkness has hid me and I have come to the ending of night’s perverse isolation. I mourn the loss of god between us. I mourn the memories of a light I can no longer find. And if it was me I mourn myself for this curse, for the vengeance inflicted that I know not the source. I have taken the torment and buried myself in its past. I have sat near the sadness and wept for its grief. But I myself had no sound, only deep silence. Penetrating loss. A void so deep I cannot contain the remains of its ashes. Were there a fire left, any place to jump- I would. But nothing, just this ending that does not end in me. I am not the world I once was. And I am not sure what this means. Outside there are still moving sounds- of people and the crashing of minds. A long time ago I wrote word that I thought would have impact but I don’t feel that way anymore. I shaved my head because I hadn’t come all the way. Not that it matters, that I’m traumatized and invisible. All I do is look for ways to destroy myself. I know I’m unloveable, I set it up. We have these grooves. I am in an empty bedroom, I have no bed or love. The windows are cold to the touch, I am glass. The carpet is gray, stained. The walls are gray, untouched. The ceiling is spotted with shadows and I, am alone. There are pieces of me left in various places, they’ll be back. Out searching for meaning or affection, out dreaming to be seen. I was once believing it was possible but now I know it’s not. That I could fill this room with color or warmth, it’s gone. Everything changes, turns cold and gray, gets buried. Disappears. But I will remember you, even though you’ll all forget me. In the cracks, in the whispers you’ll be bright and gone. You can think whatever you need to think to go on. Clearly I’m dead and you’re lost in the noises of my graveyard. And so the world grows smaller as I float away. The voices become distant thundering echoes, The memories become rain clouds. There is a storm coming. In the distance I float towards a dark recollection upon the horizon. And no one is an island unless they must be. Even then in that imagined aloneness there is that which carries me towards or away from this world, this world made of stone and ice.

I’ve been walking in circles most of the day. There is space everywhere, throughout and inside. An overwhelming subtle grief- too soft to react, its in the air. The air, like water- I swim through these autumn days filled with nothing but me. Like the leaves that fall from these trees, I let go of whatever I imagined was mine. I dress in monotonous rags. I shaved my head because the cut wasn’t enough, I needed to go deeper- to exact the loss of me. I am invisible, I do not exist. My dog licks my face- apparently she still knows I’m here. It’s common knowledge that dogs and cats can see the ghosts of the dead. My cat’s eyes follow me through the room in the dark at night. He watches me closely, ghosts don’t sleep- they’re restless for the indescribable disappearance. So I have entered this blurry, surreal realm where you aren’t there either- because I’m not. I’ve conjured these words with a great discipline because I have no interest in making myself heard, however warped it ever was. My hand moves and I watch her breathe. This is the other side of where the white horse goes. I didn’t just write the story I lived it- I have been all of them. How can I expect this sky not to bleed for its earth. How can I expect a shadow to see a footprint. How can I explain or express a cloud that soon will leave. It’s going to be raining soon, there will be tears somewhere falling. Transparent, hanging by a limb. Upside down digging for light. I was laying here just now listening to songs that make you remember sad things and how love leaves and breaks the ice and becomes the stone. How could I have known this. That he couldn’t love me and that you didn’t seem to see me at all. Here, underneath this sky made of skin…one day a star fell. The star was me. I rose from the earth dressed in this body. God never cared what I looked like. I was beautiful and immature. I was angry and perfect. I created crisis and miracles. I was made of her insane and immaculate love. Sharada Devi

bodhisattva bullshit


I just thought I’d post this letter I just received for those who feel enabling someone to act out is somehow the “bodhisattva way” first of all, you are not a bodhisattva you are a deluded egomaniac. To be a bodhisattva you must reach a certain level of spiritual maturity from which skillful means arise. Sentiment and lingo mean nothing- your actions mean everything. There is such a thing that arises from those imagining themselves to  be something they’re not- meaning a wise and compassionate person- it’s called idiot compassion- and you’re all afflicted with this self cherishing disease as long as you accommodate and coddle am old man who is an alcoholic hurting himself and therefore other- you give him an arena to do more harm than good- he needs to be stopped not supported so he might wake up before it’s too late, lock himself in a room and deal with his darkness. He doesn’t need to be on “stage” it wasn’t “commissioned” by his Guru. He uses the name of Neem Karoli Baba to work his career. He’s not in charge anymore. These demonic men have him in their clutches- BD has a problem which involves not being an actual person in his own right but a porous child who becomes whoever he is around. His persona hurts his genuine spiritual  development. So when you have him over, prop him up on stage, take pictures with him, watch him sing- you’re just an evil vampire sucking the soul out of a lost old man still trying to get his parents to love him- now in the form of NKB and the “divine mother” its classic psychological baggage and needs to  be addressed for what it is instead of cultivated. You do not help anyone by what you’re doing. No matter how sweet and reformed he seems- he needs help not support in hurting himself. You can’t go deep and that’s your problem. Worldly and deluded. I knew all about him all along. I helped him, gave him everything he needed to grow-  but he came to a karmic crossroads and he sank instead of rose. The doctor said his seizure was actually a psychotic break and he needed to see a psychologist. It was all the immoral behavior laced with demon worship coming back to him.  He was like the character out of the exorcism -writhing and speaking in tongues- screaming insanity- he was yelling so loud they had police outside his hospital door. They had to administer a drug to stop the psychosis- until they had to get 6 men to strap him down so he’d stop hurting himself . You now are a part of hurting this man, yourself and others- no matter what lies you tell yourself. He shouldn’t be driving- he had the seizure while he was driving and we got in a head on collision- he could have killed me and many others- this is serious. It was very traumatizing to me and he didn’t care. He was very hateful afterwards and blamed the doctors who did nothing but try to stop him from hurting himself- just like I’ve done. He takes responsibility for nothing, that’s his way. He makes you responsible for him and he kicks back, praises you and does what he wants. The doctor said he shouldn’t drink alcohol or caffeine and that’s now ALL he drinks. In Mount Shasta he was smoking pot even though it makes his lungs bleed and he throws up blood- he can barely breath his lung capacity is so low- these are FACTS- so he hurts himself and you enable him. You are a sick person inside yourself and you just can’t see the light no matter how you never stop preaching about it- He did NOT write that Facebook atonement letter at all- 100% did not write a word of it-  his demon helpers did in the form of human groupies. A bodhisattva is not seduced by externals but sees the depth of suffering below the cover up and does the thing that will benefit the most people no matter how it appears on the surface. Don’t write me emails justifying your support of his deadly game. It’s your wicked game, that’s the real truth. And while you sit around thinking I’m angry and unkind- I am actually the only bodhisattva you know- and I’m talking bodhisattva because you won’t shut up about it, as if you know – and it’s bullshit, mantra shit, all just sick shit- plus you better realize that porn isn’t innocent – especially man on man porn. Wake the fuck up.

He’s a serious woman abusing alcoholic no matter how it’s twisted -he knows no other way- he calls it mother worship but it’s just sad exploitation- and girls buy it because they think that he thinks they’re “special” and they’re a “goddess” it’s a ploy to get women under his control so they’ll add to him by either being his mother or his decoration – so if you loved him in the deepest way as I do- and you and truly valued women at all- you wouldn’t provide the means to make his activities possible. He needs to be alone without the projection. Your projection. He needs to heal in solitude. The glamour isn’t God, it’s the devil fucking you hard. My words are effective. I don’t lie and I write my own.

(letter from “A”)

“Blessings sister. I sent you a friend request. I cried today, thinking there is no one in this world who understands what I have been through. Just now I read your blog about Bhagavan Das and I thought here is one person who can understand me, and who I can understand. My story has a similar feel to yours. I was partnered with a man for 18 years who I believed it was my responsibility to “save” or save the world from him. He also is a dark wizard. Someone who “spiritual” people seemed to idolize in some way, because he was skilled at his craft of black magic. If there is one person I think can understand me to some degree it may be you. I have known Bhagavan Das since I was about 20. I knew him from The Ammachi ashram where I have been going since 1996. I remember hanging out with Bhagavan Das at a festival. I wanted to sing with him, I thought he was cool. He was drinking a lot of red wine and kissed me, uninvited. I remember the dark spells he attempted to throw my way. Didn’t work because I was already under the spell of the other dark magician, who owned me. I live in Santa Cruz. Bhagavan Das just came here to give a concert. Friends of mine spoke out saying we shouldn’t host someone who is known to victimize young women and who was recently thrown out of the Beloved festival due to allegations of such. That is what lead me to read your blog. I really hope you see this message and will contact me. As I said I cried to the Universe today, that no one can understand me. I feel that my prayer has been answered, reading your writing. Thank you ❤  love, A.

(please share this)

What I do is as real as it gets.   Sharada Devi   


wild is the night


In regards to his atonement letter on Facebook- Also, In regards to the words I say and write.

Jesus said, “Whoever has ears, let them hear.”

“The disciples came to him and asked, “Why do you speak to the people in parables?” He replied, “Because the knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of heaven has been given to you, but not to them. Whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them. This is why I speak to them in parables: “Though seeing, they do not see; though hearing, they do not hear or understand. In them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah: “ ‘You will be ever hearing but never understanding; you will be ever seeing but never perceiving. For this people’s heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them.’ But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear. “

Of course I am frustrated at the lies and injustice. Obviously I am outnumbered by the skillful demons that surround me- outmaneuvered because they never rest. People hear what suits them. They see what they want to see. They justify and juxtapose to stay intact.  Of course this world churns its product- whether I’m in it or not. I have my own demons and that is all I intend to conquer. I said all I need to say and I told the truth. We will all be dying soon, this is about me and no man. Making it about the man, is buying into the same worldly shackles. That’s how skillful these demons are- they’ll find your weakness- even if it’s a righteous one- and they’ll weaken you from that angle. Pull back I say to the defeated woman, victory is within. Only you can stop hurting yourself by disengaging in the drama. I heard Jesus’ words in my head- in regards to all this mess. You are the only one here. And so I will be as obscure and dismissed as needed. As obsolete as it takes for my eyes to see the light.

And until then my friend, get off that fence. Sharada Devi


Sky, my face is seen


In a room somewhere far away, a faceless person sits looking at pictures of me. An invisible person with no beginning and no end has gotten sight of me. And the tracing begins, and the aching sets in. Line after line, “let me in!” screams the ghost. I would have written stories and done bountiful things. I would have set the record straight. I would have been loved, had I existed at all. Where I matter, where the lines go. Inside, on these walls. Nobody is looking at this. There is a force on the other side of these walls, not in the room but watching. Watching the faceless one name the rest of us, line us up and lean back to wait. Knock knock knock, sooner or later all is erased by the beginning of endings of me. Who stood still, looking in- source-less and trying to make sense to the numbers. Start here, end here. Do this religiously. Add up the pain and know it does good somewhere…down the line- where they cross and cancel each other out. Dangling from the center of this cross. Blunted by knives. Sacrificed by wolves. Eaten by snakes. Invisible to the average human eye. But I see the opening. Who said to play out this game when you know you can’t win? Not with my simple mortal eyes. Not like this. There is the shape of something forming far ahead up in the sky. A castle made of fearless gold. I would call that God if I could. I would put the pencil down and cry for salvation although it wouldn’t matter to anyone but you. I said what I said to make the picture as clear as it gets. There is only the line I keep drawing, there is only this empty hope of redemption. Blood falls, the earth drinks me all. Flesh rots and my face is fed to the worms.  A large hand reaches down swatting at the human flies. And I am there, in the doorway watching the line behind me disappear. Like tracks behind a waterless bird, God is nowhere waiting.

Sky, my face is seen. Sharada Devi


the cause and effect of the radiant mother light diamond


So I’m just going to write an ordinary letter. The pace is about to quicken and I just want to say I hope you join me in the new beginnings that are promised astrologically for everyone. This doesn’t mean you’ll be without friction. There has been a extra amount of grinding and polishing going on for about 9 weeks now. A re-evaluation of our lives, a deep purifying transformation. We are clearly not separate at all. And so we’ve been pulled from old conditioning and security roots. We’ve had to take a stand for something and it’s been at times confusing, at times frustrating, at times painful- but ultimately this should be a culmination of liberating ourselves from any idea of smallness or lack that has unnecessarily held us back- for so long, lifetimes even. These 3 eclipses in a row have cleared the way- even if ruthlessly- what we could once ignore, deny or wash over with spiritual jargon- we no longer can. We must stand stark as the bare bright light of an effortless higher power. This is not easy. We sometimes are called upon to sacrifice for the greater good no matter if this is recognized as such or if we are misunderstood for our wrathful actions. There is a deep universal compassion that drives this current cycle of human evolution. It may appear or seem violent or cruel at times but this is not different than a surgical procedure- it looks really bad from the outside unless you know the doctor’s skill and intention to heal the being he is so violently cutting apart. Yes, sometimes blood is spilled in more ways than one. If we do not trust ourselves because we have done the work to get there- we cannot be what we need to be on this planet. The dead weight has to go. The gifts must be given. The sacrificing the lesser for the greater must occur if we are to meet our collective destiny. Little personal things are temporary and meaningless. They fill the spaces between what actually matters and that is authentic connection and purification – tapas. Creative movement, innovative mind shifts. Dropping old beliefs based on an inherently evil religious paradigm. What once was can no longer be. In order to see this and not just say this- we must take fearless action at this time. We must give ourselves a way to break free. This isn’t about hiding and saying a mantra in the corner, it’s about rising and standing up for something as a whole. This time together here can be a renaissance if we allow it, if not this is a rapid rotting and an exposing of lies. The ones we tell ourselves to stay secure, to deny we’ve hit the end of a road, or are at a crossroads- that we must start again at the bottom because integrity is just too important to position ourselves on any artificial leaser throne than the one of absolute stark and stellar human divinity. Against all odds I will rise again because that and that alone is how the jewel- the rainbow body is formed. We are a crystal. We are made of water. We become clear when we are seen by our own God. Not what someone else says or thinks. But by what we know as we strive to purify with courage thus allowing our shining heart to guide our way. I have been on this challenging path for a long time. I can only set an example and that is what I do. I have no throne in this world because I do not serve materialism and fear no matter what “spiritual disguise” it wears. It’s about the bottom line, what comes up with the roots- the hidden content that keeps the fear as our ruler- but no more. The time has come for an awakening so huge it shatters the lie and breaks open the door to our freedom. We do not need to live in the comforts of our familiar bondage anymore. It’s really up to you. The community ideal is really up to each person realizing the necessity for this- how we have nothing else but the truth generated by collective practice and gathering to move forward. This takes effort and priority. I cannot continue as I have with limited support because it’s impossible in this world. If there is no demand there is no need and my life is obsolete in that way. I have given everything and given up everything for the benefit of this mission. I cannot stand alone carrying the weight unless I continue alone. It’s not my decision, it’s yours. I am not about fame name and the glamor of these- I am about freedom. It seems the time has come that my validity and effectiveness will be known. That everything will be seen for what it is- not some unreachable ideal. The ideal can only be reached by supportive stretching – not by anything else. I have stretched all the way and can do no more self soliciting. I really do have nothing and true friends who aren’t easy come easy go groupies are far and few between. I know this isn’t like the late 60’s early 70’s when people seemed to understand the importance of communion and genuine community- where they gave up their structured secure material lives and started their own little worlds within this one. There was a vision that was earthy and innocent, vibrant and otherworldly. We don’t have that coming together anymore. We have kirtan socials, facebook and yoga studios. An hour a day maximum if that. We have 5 day retreats that should really be our “real lives” not the other way around. The commitment isn’t as final and complete as it could be to awaken the huge group heart. And to become the group who could do that would take everything. True tapas, true complete change. The caterpillar forms the cocoon to fulfill its potential. The cocoon is its support and protection. This is what I am saying, without the cocoon it can’t happen. It’s a delicate procedure. That is why we have been stuck in samsara for so long…no wings yet.


My love goes out to you all. That we be strong and clear and give our gift in the most pure way we can for the benefit of all beings. That we know that we ourselves are that precious gift- and that we alone must be the cause and effect of the radiant mother light diamond.

 Sharada Devi


(No one ever saw who burned or who drowned in this summer’s collapse.)


The old building falls,  the lizard slithers through it, I sit watching, wondering what time sunrise is,
a pink hue approaches, an animal sleeps on my lap,  it’s been dark all night, I feel life in my midst enough to write about morning, to touch the blue cloud, silver inside me, a desert snake hisses goodnight, and for the last time the black hill rolls back and a new dawn seeps through the rip in the world above me, gold covers my face and the animal yawns, looking up into my ancient eyes that could know, now is the dying and now is the birth, now is the way we are born from night’s secret ashes. I have never slept, only dreamed of you leaving, together we rise from this floor, as bones of a God.


Alone, another day. I look away, forgotten. I walk down the hallway, light footed. My mouth opens and closes. My eyes never move from your face. I open windows and close many doors. This house collapsed ages ago. Here we live together haunting the silence.

Here we take the shadow’s from themselves. I call this love, my oasis in the dry death of night. I hear this love, my rain over the sands of stone. We never moved from the bodies we covered, we only turned toward the bosom of dawn.

The little death, the born again stream of new hope. The life in these embers. I bring you my pain. Lift up your veil. I am inside suffocating the flame. A billow of smoke rises in memory of the fusion. Put me back inside where the dark things grow into light. Towards the east, where I bent and knew it was then that you’d gone. Into another world sanctuary. A time before this place was built. A star resting on another axis. A head with no hair. A woman inside me. A helix of rage so righteous it stings. Scorpion on fire, my love is the winged and invisible, inevitable result of your becoming like me. Inside the old building a shadow mounts a dark creature. I look the other way burning and hairless. Big death, I am the one leaving not you. This time.


Peach colored stain, a rose made of skin. I am without any thorn or seed, anymore. A white takes over. The blank of a flash. The blink of two eyes losing each other. I was there, I really was.
And as the sun rose I realized that none of this matters. What matters is morning least of all.  What I know is what caused you to be mine and mine alone. A heavy that hovers just outside my heart. An inhale that never leaves. A beat of the earth beneath where I sit. A whisper from the depths of my soul. Don’t go yet. But I will remain. But death has no hand but mine. But she’s a shadow. But morning is here. But I love you. But we are not the clouds that we watch or become. My little home, my broken place. I’m here as always with you in my vision.


Gold has entered my eyes. Blinded I find the precious entry. Waves of a quiet rumbling…and so I rise and float into the secret death defying solar ocean.

(No one ever saw who burned or who drowned in this summer’s collapse.)
Sharada Devi