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

late while the puppy moans


I cannot talk about these things anymore. My car ran out of gas one night in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t see, it was very late. Strange noises filled the sky. The radio was static. The looming trees hung in failure. I sat on the side of the road, stranded and tired. Where would I go…anyway, it’s late and I’m old. Would I get out and walk, be torn apart by the savage local wolves. Do you think I pretend, it’s all over. No, it’s late and nobody is going to stop the evil that rises. Write another note about blessings and prayer, your childhood years, how you finally found the mantra and can now disappear. Tell me how I’ll get it when I’m old like you. Like age spontaneously hatches an insurmountable wisdom. I guess you haven’t met my mother, it is very late. I am stranded on the side of a dark empty road. Grey fog covers the land and I cannot fight the chill of this implication. You don’t have to understand what it means to be lost, you can still pretend. Secured, imprisoned by beliefs, philosophy, religion, social desires and family. The heavy loss of life as you’ve given it to me is a greater loss than I can bear. This is not me, this name or picture. The car is stolen. There is no such thing as a 5 day retreat. We all must stop lying. Cowards, we are dying out here while you look for ways to deceive yourself. Tricks. Second hand manipulation. Something for nothing. Escape from pain. It is not possible and as I sit, alone and exhausted a voice calls from the deep. “Are you looking for another answer to get away from me…” It is very dark, cold and late. I don’t know how I got here. I forgot where I have been. My heart is devoid of any meaningful love and the wolves are scraping at my ribcage. I will not roll my windows down until morning. I will blame another, save another, eat another, become another. But I am dying inside this car and nobody cares. But I was here a long time ago and nobody is listening. But god is not your savior and everyone grasps at an artificial light. I do not know if there is anyone but me here, left alone to wait for nothing but you with more words. A righteous pointing finger. I know what this means. It means I have not gotten far. It means I am not true. That the end of the road is a hurt all its own. I fade in and out of this reality, entering a darkness from inside of this car I’d rather not know. But I see, a light flashes into my window. A moon stuck in place. That ominous ancient glow. “Follow me.” And I did. Where am I this time. Who do I talk to as I write these imaginary words. Shapeless, colorless, no sound but the dripping of sorrow. I have no car. I have nothing. I am nobody anyone has ever seen. I search out dogs on the sun lit streets. Alone I cry in the wild of a darker road. And I am here stranded in the shadows…

late while the puppy moans. Sharada DevI


alone covered in my shade


I stare at the paper until I see your face. I listen to sounds until words are formed. Softly falling, a bird lays, dying in the wind. My mind is white, I ride a cloud. Covered in lyrics and feathers. My new body is under the ground. I dream of you, on the ground I dream of what comes from above. Pictures, fragments, dying laughter. Pick me like a flower from this bed. Buried, dirty dream. Will you find me here, in this picture. Your face I sketch, your words I write. Your wings I float on. White cloud, I went too deep. Paper thin, blown. Paper, seed stained by me. Ghost over the empty white, I remember those words that you said while I floated away…


A pencil, all I need is a pencil.

Come back, create me. Nothing’s going to hurt you baby. Make me real. Did I do a bad thing, making you perfect. A heart shaped mouth, a black tongue filled with hunger. Flawless and delicately poisoned. A body so thin it was transparent. Eyes so distant they could never leave. Behind, you left me behind. There was a dream man under the page, and a dream tree with roots reaching into the sky. Endless food for hopeless thought. There were faces that seemed shaped from clay. There was a girl with a beautiful seamless smile. I wrote it all down, I sketched it for you. I said maybe you’re going to be the one who saves me. I was humming through the leaves as they fell, I feel you I really do.


Lay the child upon my bed.

Don’t go. Another morning is summoned and I’ve been given a new name. Word after word licked from the page. Divine line, sexually explicit prayer that only leads to more detail. Mystical is a word I mustn’t leave out of our story. Since I have forgotten most of my dream, only fragments remain. Undisclosed locations and unresolved emotional wounds. Chaos in a body of sparrows.


I suppose nobody understands the long and winding road. The dwelling place of the haunted, how to get there and how will you know when you are. There, in my arms. Lost in my body of erotic imagination, my mind of spiritual conquest. My words. My picture. My angle on the naked lens. How will you hear me whisper your name in the silk of my motherly touch. Touch nothing, I pretend and seduce. Want nothing, I give my heart to you. In the darkness where the earth is drawn. In the twilight where the words take form. I give the ghost, unlived, a name to burn by.


Go by, look into my window as I pluck the dead from my body of light. Unveil the mysterious lands of my own persecution. I was killed here. I made you love me here. I suffered the middle way here. I tore off my head and smeared it all over the floor here, for you now. It’s my portal for our departure. I lay in the sway of these waves and do not know why. Why love carries on in the crazy blood tide of memory. Or why I need to write it all down. Show you, listen. I did this to myself. We are one, deep throated goddess.


At the foot of the cross and roots I found you alone…alone covered in my shade. Sharada Devi

Entry into chaos


Mastermind. An equation. Long perfect legs. Under my body a dark man lives. I am a bridge. On the other side is a tunnel. It’s a cold land made of nothing but promises. You will lose the ring he never gave you. You will wrinkle time like an old dress. You will rip holes in your own dirty story. Faded you’ll go to the shade and the curtain shall fall. A new you to murder in these  pages, upon this bed. A lot to say, no way to get it out. Sharp angles, I should be alone like all deadly things. She was young and she thought this, all of this- as she stared at her dying fortune…long black hair, cat eyes. An oval mouth and her voice, oh her voice was the nightingale’s lovestruck incantation…the beginning is at the end -and I’ve began how it ended. I twisted the plot until everything sagged. I’m a vortex, you can’t stop me. Read on…and so…I want to be honest. There is such a thing as many  people inhabiting the one. I am here…and here. Sweet sorrow bird, will you hear my story….just remember when…love thought it died…


and she cried and cried until a new river was formed. Life was born in this river. Animals came to drink from the river. Otherworldly flowers grew. Longing. It is my heart here transmitting. It is you, the star who never turns but who calls from the deep heavens. One day she looked into the mirror of water and saw her face in a whole new light. This face. This old white moon face spoke to her and said, “there is only me and my flowing love.” Tears fall, I flow into you. I have shown you my god in all things. I have no other world to show you. I am everywhere calling from the dust of stars…


I could turn into a very cold and dark night. I could be the one filled with bright stars, uninterested in you. little person. You don’t need to touch me or notice me or care. Because I am bigger than you and I am everywhere. Ice too black for eyes to know. Slippery without any warning, moving, erasing. Filling you with myself from the inside out. I could curl into a ball and destroy existence. I could be the one forgetting you, little special one. I could do the thing you fear to do. And I have. I could blind the light for the dark to be known. Bright as the death you left hanging, as lost as the love you forgot. There is no place I cannot go, no end I cannot be. Silence consumes every shadowy child, it is my womb that listens for you. And so when you go looking for god, begging and bowing for solace. Just know that I am your blanket for bed, I am the body you’re under, I am the sky where all ghosts go to live. Underworld, my world above you. I could just yawn and let it be. The human puddle below, a kiss. Two desperate mouths looking for the tunnel out. Who can ever leave what’s gone. I had a moment of collapse and when you arrived the sun was setting. If this is a holographic universe, I am right. Left over sequencing old math into black burning eyes. No, you can’t see me, I am too far away. My breath lives in the quiet wind, hiding I leak from the stars. Poison spreading and memories rising. From the deep. I am deep, sorrow forgotten. Where did you leave me hanging as if all black bodies simply are satan. In the flames of heaven’s inferno. In the cool embrace of a merciful lord. If anyone loved me, ever loved me at all. It was a slash, not a sliver. It was bigger than the night sky. It was a giant foot above me. Pushing me into the earth to understand why cruel hearts go left unpunished. Pushing me to feel the pain of the most unwanted. Forcing me to warm my cold because I am in this place also forgetting that I am what turns and spins and nothing else but me can stop the prism’s glue from sticking but recognition of my own. Body, liar, lost and growing old and scared. I could be you inside. Do you hear me.


Everyone is sad because of me. This world is hollow. His hands aren’t warm. My eyes are broken, like glass plates unable to hold a thing.
You have left me back then, before in the warm summer. Green was everywhere, I had you in my eyes. I had songs and happy animals barking, breezes and deities swooning. There were words making beautiful love to each other all because of me. Now, I am alone. A cold barren wounded wolf. It was a trap, I don’t know why. I know I don’t matter as much if at all, I know 3 legs are better than none. I am from the place where the dark sun resides. If you don’t want it, don’t come around asking for this version of God. There is only one way she runs, which is down. Amber body into dusk. It all sounds good on paper. Yes, I know. I suffer the four directions. Center-less and roaming in his realm for the ancient scrolls. You want me to talk of yoga and Hanuman. You want me to say namaste and blessings. You want me to keep smiling so you can lie to yourself. You want me to pretend it’s all real. As if God gives a fuck about your moods.


There was once a girl who was very sad. Because she lost her heart in someone she couldn’t find. She left her everyone and everything she knew and she went to live in the forest with nothing but her sadness. One night she had a dream in which a voice told her, “you’ll be awake soon.” She woke up in the middle of the dark night wrapped in a blanket of stars. She still lives in the forest and now her hair is very long and white. I love her from very far away.


Tall trees. A silver waterfall. A gold crown.  Human body. A painted wall. Entry into chaos.

Sharada Devi