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

Bhakti, the Love of Love

Mother Light Retreat with Bhagavan Das and Sharada Devi May 17-26

Blessings have filled our hearts with sound! Come join us for this auspicious gathering commencing on the full moon on the eve of Bhagavan Das’s 74th birthday! We will begin with a kirtan birthday celebration party and from there we dive into the ocean of Mother Light Love!

This retreat intensive is going to go deeper than ever into the heart of authentic kirtan, nada yoga as the essence of bhakti, and the transformative creativity of the kundalini. This land is a portal to the divine. We live and worship here. We make fires to the sun here. We bow to the moon and we pray to the eagles. Here we collect the white bones of deer and remember what the Buddha said, “be a lamp unto yourself.” Life is precious let’s use our time wisely and come together as one to sing dance and pray. To inspire and aspire. To embody what we cherish,

Bhakti, the Love of Love

This will be the very first retreat to be held by us at the Sanctuary of the Mother Light in Southern Oregon just two miles from the California border, an hour from Mount Shasta and an hour from Ashland. It’s such a brand new beginning, such an historical occasion. We never know how long it will be until we meet again.

Please come and share your voice, your light and your God love power!

This retreat includes fire puja, daily yoga, meditation, pranayama, chanting, prayer, ritual and more. The atmosphere is pure and magical and the real work has begun. We only have now to choose our victory over the heavy inertia imposed by an ignorant world. We are one with the earth and the heaven. It is our destiny to choose the highest for ourselves for the benefit of all.  The alchemy is that we alone from within heal others. We alone are the ones who must become the light in the darkness. This happens through sadhana, satsang and endurance. Through commitment and against all odds through sustained tapas even in the midst of misunderstanding and frustration. Love reigns supreme. We all know how hard it is on every level to be in this world and yet not submerged in it’s illusion that passing comfort and pleasure will ever be rewarding. We must, in our own way, become our own Milarepa, our own Neem Karoli Baba, our own Anandamayi Ma. We offer this space with all our hearts, as best we can as humans, as open as we can as aspiring beings of the Mother Light’s love to you. This is a sanctuary for the love of love and what it takes to be that. I hope you come and see, and experience the divine in not only yourself but in each other. We must see it to be it. The great light comes and enters the group circle and a new body is born. God is alive for us then to heal and to bless at a velocity that allows transformation. It isn’t easy but it’s possible. It’s encouraging to know we are not alone in our yearning for the divine. I have learned no man or woman, not even a yogi- is an island. We are flowers in a field of grace and God is the sun we call upon together. The Goddess is the earth we cultivate and the healing love we give our bodies. What we grow cannot be denied. We are the embodiment of the presence- and our voice and our eyes and the devotion in our hearts is ever so clear when we listen to the song inside.

We can create miracles that defy all obstacles. We can know we are the Mother Light. We can hear her and see her everywhere. We can feel her inside spiraling. We can be her hand. We can grow her fruits and share her love.

Basic accommodations are included as well as all tridoshic, organic Ayurvedic meals.

$1080- 9 nights and 10 days. $108 to hold your space. Balance due by 5/1. All is nonrefunadable but can be applied to future retreats.

*to register through PayPal please send $113 (108 plus $5 PayPal fee) to the following address:

 *PAYPAL: motherlight108@gmail.com

*To send a check for $108 please email Sharada Devi at motherlight108@gmail.com for mailing address.

Bring an instrument and all your songs. Bring poetry and all your art. Bring yourself and be blessed!

 Love,  Sharada Devi

email motherlight108@gmail.com if you have any questions ❤️


even now

It’s the gods who keep disappearing. If it’s me. I grasp at one and its gone. I watch the darkness seeping through the branches of the tree as the light rises. The transparent wind, the soft emptiness of nothing. Sheer black, the god with no wings. This tree. I sit on it’s branches looking back at myself inside. Praying. To a god, another god. Leaving this body, Venus is as bright as a halo perched on a black bird. There is contrast but nothing concrete. There is meaning but nothing visible. This vanishing light through my arms. Because I was here as the morning shook us free from our slumber. I cling to the roots of god, all I know. And here I sit, nothing. Heavy grays fight the sun. But he will rise from the dead and conquer us all. But I will not sleep until my new light returns. Dead leaves below me, vacuous clouds hang low. I grasp at shadows of gods in my thoughts. I penetrate prayers as the bird watches for the scurry of food. I live here and am not of this clamor of thieves. Taking everything. Broken branch. I, without wings shall someday fly to the top. No god. No empty vessel. No whisper of song. Only this, memory watching night fade to a new dream of birth.

You are merely a phantom. I know and yet I keep writing to you. For years you have come and gone. I spill myself like fresh blood on a page until you form a new body in my mind. I look for you in the sky every morning, I watch for you in the midnight tree just outside my barren window. I have nothing to say, you know this. They’re all gone, just a piece of that night. We spent waiting and listening for answers. These gods are a schism. There is always a new way to write the same pain I feel, I think it’s me. Inside. You ask where does it come from. Your pain body, why is it so large you ask. Because I am made of the places gods won’t go. Because they put me here to pull the words together with tears. Because I am a pastime, an experiment in suffering. Can a new light be formed from a dying flame. Up in the tree one bird asks another. Those birds, little black chattering feathered beasts sit on my sloping shoulders. I am inside this place. I am everywhere. Pointing and shrieking. Rising and falling. Breathing wind rib cage. Smoldering burried heart. The gods have all died, inside me and risen. I imagine as the devil fell. That night into the trees. I see what goes on in my sleep, the bodiless realm of flesh aching to be seen, for what it is. Felt for how death reaches, into us wth wings of sunlight spreading. Into a new world, an understanding of how this all sounds. My dark imagination defining me. My body growing old. The gods I once slept with have left me for a younger beauty. This world will take your feathers when you aren’t watching and drag you into a room where you aren’t a part of the picture anymore. Just a word ripped out of a page, just a chest moving up and down, pretending to listen, pretending to care. But I am not alone where I have been left. I hear the astral howl. I feel the tentacles of the moon as she cries to be seen. The shadow animals here are wild and hungry. I could say they themselves are the disappearing gods as night releases the morning from it’s womb, but I would be lying. They themselves are me feeding upon my dead and gone. Roaming my inner sanctum for food. Filling my veins with primal torment. Because nobody, not even them, found the moon last night.

Where I left her, little child all alone in this death that was so quiet, it’s as though he never came at all…

and that was me, all gone to the wind and creation. Taken by a storm that was not even real. Ignored by you. Undiscovered by god. God wasn’t anything but a blanket covering the dawn, with an artificial light in our head. Telling me I could be more than what lies beneath it all.

She is the empty alone I feel. There is no she, that’s all over. A long goodbye was my life until it passed like a cloud from the valley I sat in. A tree with these roots that I could not dig up. As sharp and as violent as hell. A bird, two birds up in my head lying and spreading rumors. And then there was you, a silver spectacular god. So deep I could not see, only feel the light touching itself as if anything were possible…even now.

Sharada Devi

the shrine of her child

a mean girl, a hungry man, the second one, the only one. two faces fold the night goes black. we switched again and the backdrop fades. purple moon, deaths horizon, daunting deep, my blood horn drips. a girl is sad and wants to die, the man eats her food unhurried. there’s something in my eye, the screen dies. i hear that train from far away going far away and i pretend it’s me, inside. where no one leaves here, ever.

and i sit and watch the birds entombed and i wonder what’s all the rushing. tremble branch while no ones looking. let’s pretend we’ve found the way to touch. far beneath the surface language where tongues don’t move and words don’t bite. but quieter where death comes seeping, through the spoon, the root, the fallen shoulders. the girl wore fangs that no one saw. the man ate through her, his body. the bird sang from branches made of talons. the roots drank our blood while no one watched.

and he came and he was here, just a nobody crying from my eyes. every footprint. every breath. every mouth was mine. and she left and was gone, just a nothing beating from my heart. every leaf, every whistle. every bloody bone she left.

if no one understands my words. if no one hears my silence. i don’t care, not anymore. i sit and watch clouds open and close. men in pale blue with silver eyes lined the sky above me last night. they kicked at empty shells and their eyes never moved from mine. women who were formless heaved from my chest last night. they stabbed at me with knives made of glass. there were no stars in that sky only racks of homeless people. all for sale, all dying. all wanting me to move over and make more room. dinner breakfast lunch dishes money. a big vacuum is coming down the tracks.

she doesn’t touch anything and no one touches her. he doesn’t hear a word and she chatters all day. the sucubus. the winged messiah. the hornets with iphones. how will I feed them all.

it has been said, if it isn’t broke don’t fix it. it has been said, a way to a man’s heart is his stomach. it has been said, you are what you eat.

and i’m like a rolling hill, i just don’t care for more. like you, i am like you. with no windows and no doors. without any air in the room. lonely
framed faces planning vacations. doctors appointments, schedules that mean progress. i am invisible writing to the gods, for them, who i cannot prove, so that i might be saved from this story. my own thoughts of you. and you all think you’re you. i know when i’m outnumbered. this disappearing doesn’t stop it only gets darker. what i mean is there is no escape from the images. only words can lead the way. only promises that flutter will give death  life. it means nothing however to anyone seeing…

she’s just an angel. he’s just a thorn. he’s just her weapon, she’s just his vice. (yes, i am holding myself accountable for this page.)

we just found this. we have blood on our foreheads. she watches as the eagle now. he rattles a gourd. I have evidence that they’re always watching. from within the eclipse we turned words into ash. it meant something. the shrine of her child. sharada devi

Woman King

I just want to say we are only going to get what we give. We can only save ourselves. We are in a serious situation. Human life brings pain. We hurt ourselves and therefore others. Imagining we can be elsewhere either within or without we set all sorts of crazy wheels spinning. We must stop the mind, mouth and feet. We need space to see what we are hiding inside ourselves and what we run from is this. The hells we create within because we become afraid of what we’ve disowned. I own it all. Your black and mine. We are eternal golden flower star children. You should not pretend to remember. You should take a dive and find the truth about you. Why you are as you are. Act as you do. Pretend as you know better. And we skillfully maneuver the skeletons so as to exist and find security. Underneath us however- and rattling our dim lives- are the bright flesh and blood of these horrors. We made this happen we always do. It’s not going away without you. There is a visit required. There always is. It’s the worst pain ever to see what we’ve done. How we could hurt ourselves secretly for so long. Masking our lives with mediocrity. In servitude to this denial you do not stand a chance. I understand only one thing. The odds are we are stuck. The truth is, reach both lower and higher. Ok?

I am your friend bringing poetry from both sides.

Space. Effort to let go. Unravel. Consistency. Body clock. Raging machine. Do you know, it’s late. Nothing happens on it’s own. Effortless striving. You’re in a current, downstream you’re headed…where everyone goes. Over the edge under and back again. Recycling human heads. Defeating human hearts. Space. You. To find the sky with no worries. Bondage. Family and home.
Fumes. Seat belts. Terror sleeps.

Ritual. 3 points. Trident. Thoughts. Words. Actions. Ripples. God head. Masturbation rites. Fools of passage. Gates. Locks without keys. Inside. Space inside. She walks inside. These halls are long. Entering and exiting dreams and shadow deaths. No one really means it. Talking to a mirror. Blood hound. Dog rock. Baby will grow big and become like you. Destroy you.

Will you ever love you.

Come here. When you love God you love me. See. Big head with no skull. Socket empty. Bone yard dry.

 You are endless burning light.

And I am saying this is it. You’re in your mind’s bed. You’re making moves. Your words. Your proof. Your secret thoughts. Deeds of heroes. You fill the sky with signs. Omens fall. Ignore. Create the deepest furthest closeness. My love. Welcome home. Star fed.

It’s as hard to live as it is to die. Gray incubation. Gray handshake. Gray hug. Gray eyes. The colors never move. Murky water body. Come here. Listen. Break away. Break out. Crack the shell. Space is all you need. Space for you to find the bindu. Enter. Accept. Suffer wisely. Space I give you. All you need is less of this world and more of this earth. Space. Halo. Spinning divine. You are your thought. You are your word. You are your action.

That is how you become free to fly.

The direction is clear. You must penetrate yourself to the core. Burn to the ground. Shoot through the crown. A star is born from your body of stains. Pure light is a current of space. There are words buried. Thoughts unhatched. Deeds left incomplete. Aspiration abandoned.

Where did you go. You are the tongue of this flame. Disappear from here to be here. Come. When you empty your bags you are God.

I just heard this song called Woman King.

I don’t know anything else about you.

Sharada Devi