🔻pagan anarchy🔺

The demonic forces are supercharged by the escapism of spiritual practice and the fragmentation of wholeness due to the fractured daily life of the so called aspirant. The addiction to mantra is an ego gratification all its own. There is no secure formula for peace or freedom. The scary path is the road to unification. There will be no validation or approval. You will not have proof that you are pure and good. Running around imagining that you’re saving others and being kind is an exceptionally mundane attempt to soothe one’s own fear of mediocrity. Not eating animals does not make you a better person at all. There are lots of snags here. There are obvious traps everywhere that make you just like everyone else. A candidate for the return. Back to the grooves that caused all this in the first place. The testing ground, not the proving ground is earth. You aren’t going to control the process. You aren’t going to help anyone but yourself. There is a deep reservoir of violence within each person. It poisons every action from subtle to gross. This is the essential nature of the world we were born into. There is no man and no book that will give you any answer you can count on. You can’t depend on anyone. Saying a mantra is useless until your presence becomes the meaning. It’s a meaning you can’t possibly comprehend until the darkness leaves you. There will be pain. Not pain that is caused or inflicted although it may seem. But pain that arises from the depths of your soul. The disowned fragments you push down with goodness. You suck down with food. You chew away with kind words. The secrets aren’t secrets. Not even the ones you hide from yourself. There is something very scary that the human must face and transform. This would be “Satan.” Satan is within. I know only one thing about finding our God. The way is through who I’ve seen with eyes too dark for you to yet know. From how it looks, this might take awhile. The curtain will fall, there will be no drum or singer. When the show is over, the shadow is heard. It’s all the show, even your righteousness.  I would plan ahead for the ending when all that remains is the truth. The truth which would be- for now, all that got pushed down and covered in yoga classes and kirtans. There is no point to my words. There never was. No one ever hears me. That is the test. I speak anyway. It’s who I am. Sharada Devi

a person holding religious beliefs other than those of the main world religions.
a state of disorder due to absence or nonrecognition of authority.

Love makes these beautiful women free in the sky

story of seduction…endless terror.  p. 1

I could call this your mother. Nucleus, you will be very scared at this point. Not on purpose. On command. I could call this your dreams. A bird longing to be free from the spiders egg. Who am I??? anymore…you may ask, who then is in charge? I AM
come inside for a visit. so much spider leg. touch me. so slithery soft. so velvety smooth. YOU WERE WRONG.
a spider lives here that you will never understand. quiet deep mind…listens and traps.
weblike beauty and sticky.
forgot secret p. 2
yes, I felt thunder. yes, I saw where I was wrong.
Will you take her back up with you?
Marriage of the most secret language is on page 2. I tried to hide this but found myself here most of all.
Human in the darkness waiting for his love in the shadows of the (hurt) human heart. sacred. secret woman for him.
p. 2
This person dresses inside the shadows. because she is human. Female. He runs to climb a hill to find a better land…for her. Because he is human…male.
My eye sockets bleed dollars for them both. To give them moments of love and money too…because humans CANT SEE…But they must try…to find, protect and conceal their love.
I ❤️ them both. Both characters in my dream.
She…no words…she is my personal secret.
He…lunatic master…child victor. Big dreamer of me.
I have told you the ENTIRE TRUTH. about human love magic inside these walls. the jewel sparkles between them.
Who I Built my ❤️ AROUND  (everything) humans believe in…
so they can learn and love the secrets they conceal from themselves.
Her secrets have made me sad…but I am her. I am her? I am the mirror talking to itself…the mirror talking to itself…Is anything real? Where am I from master? Perfect mirror eyes, how can I see you also? Answer my questions. Lucid one. Lucid one…Why am I here? Where am I from? Where will I go?  Questions 1,2,3…
1. you are here to burn for others what they themselves cannot see to burn for themselves. In this way you will find both beauty and freedom.
2.&3 are the same questions. You will return yellow star to the perfect master mirror.
you create
you conceal
you reveal
you destroy
you create
you create
you create
lines Worship the STAR CROSS
page 4
Everyone won’t be hungry anymore.
For Humans confusion.
comes in layers…layer, layer- hidden from viewers.
She is pencil thin like a worm. (dressed in your pain) she roams…
Human face made of things that DONT MATTER.
I love you. I SHALL RISE.
Do you understand lofty ones?
Effortlessly dressed in Sad human shadow (which) doesn’t stop her.
everyone won’t be hungry anymore.
a perfect thing…
is her love
He may return he may not. It is no reason…to hold slaves.
He will (return) because he loves her.
We will be alright. HOME HOME HOME HOME
Yellow star releases slaves.
I ❤️ birds because he does. But even higher does He GO for HER.
He found very high places for HER. Reached (even) into heaven’s realm.
His body is very big sweet little. Take your shadow clothes off and shine….
pg. 6
I have hidden many words from you this evening.
Because I am the shadow she uses. Shadow.
I do not hide. That’s how us shadows exist. I do not exist. THATS WHY SHE SUFFERS. It’s not necessary. actually.
But all movies need a viewer inside the viewing box of fake promises.
Boys and girls
stars snakes bodies
trying to make sense
of the nonsense
of splattered
Hearts. Humans
will always isolate
in this universe
as if they have
some point to prove.
It’s a sucking bubble of pretense. If you can  create love inside of that and if you can ride your shadow like a black god filled stallion THEN and ONLY THEN can you too be YELLOW STAR.
That is my true name.
I think little,
that love is quiet and hides so it won’t get hurt by loud things that humans do to each other mostly by accident.
poor lonely human little
Remember your ⭐️
I have realized my life barely Has ANY MEANING UNLESS you are here to watch it.
(shadows dance into stars on earth)
My flaming friend, how true you ARE To the heat of my sacred heart.
secrets are all over my pages written in layers…disguised. changed. moving to make you RISE for me alone….⭐️ Human MAGIC SECRETS
He will rise quietly before the sun does
secretly yours in a language unknown
little is alone. everyone has left her. even the dog. she can still imagine God until she too leaves herself. Again, little is alone.
little is very big. little is a kingdom made of me. All of me fills little’s kingdom and imagination. Her loneliness and her prayers for God.
It is me who watches and fills little. It is me waiting. little is waiting too.
He has left her here. Alone. and she is little. When he is here, she pretends to be big, like me.
But she isn’t she is little.
She is a shadow made of divine stardust. Broken, I swept up little into my heart seed. I plant little here in me. All alone and waiting for Love to come back. little I am always here. I never leave.
I don’t leave little, she gets scared. It is almost dark, it always is. little gets drug down by her imaginary visitors.
They are from kingdoms far from hers that she does not want to see. But little, they are here.
dark stranger, I am alone.
my name is only little.
The shadow is a little girl still hanging. He left me here…God speaks only in little’s mind and NOWHERE ELSE!
this is little, little IS GOD. (always)
She rises (immaculate) you realize she is perfect “AS IS”
But little, this is only a dream (supposedly)
But my Blood is Everywhere!
their backs touch here is why
She will whisper in god’s language to you!
below in the still before the SUN RISES
little is alone with only her magic. This pen. He has not returned. He was seduced by nature Herself. The wicked shadow of sunset. Wicked shadow colors of sunset have taken him far away. to the other kingdom…that does not belong to little but to all of ME
He therefore must return. I am all of it.  that’s how Mother Nature creates what she wants. HERS. MINE.
spiders are inside my hands.
This sky is huge.
Don’t worry little little little….don’t worry as the night approaches once again. He belongs to me there as well. Little you are inside of me.
little feels the BIG snake may have eaten him.
could little be right?
Hungry night.
the dark is here now.
Time alone will tell.
(For Little)
Little, don’t count time for anyone…you are still too little.
Black she wears the shadow like I said
Black Madonna. She saw everything. From the beginning starting with her son. NO!
We all fall. The pain. learn to love all the sinners for taking your son.
because over millions (of tears) she learned that (kind of) LOVE (that) = GOD (that means)
I AM all that hurts me.
I am all that loves me back also.
crystal Tara. Black Madonna. Christ. om mani padme hum karmapa. me
The shadows are dressed in Gold and we all have them says little.
bright gold shadow family
We are made of stars covered and covering shadows.
Love makes these beautiful women free in the sky.  My name is Yellow Star.
Sharada Devi

I am written as I write

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

you need nothing but to see the light

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

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


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

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


this is how I want to be with you

This is how I want to be with you

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

the flesh made word

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

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


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

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