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


On the day the great wave came, the end of the earth, me, the universe filled with my heart. On the day of the rapture, a million storms arose and spread themselves like thirsty leviathans upon this planet. My little room, memories in shriveled boxes. Panting, I thought, “nobody understands a thing of this place. “

Then, the seal was broke and the fetus wrapped in serpent began to twist inside its mother. We need to get out, we need to leave. Sharpen the star and cut the cord. But on that day, again and again I was afraid. Every eye saw me, the blind sorcery of myself. Inside this womb, squirming and plucking at the thing that was growing.

The summer. The book i didn’t finish. The purchase of bullets. Forests on fire. Deep smoky skies. My hands on the wheel. A past far away. A moment of hope. Words that break hearts. Silence that drains. Open wounds. Thrashing waters. My velvet stomach.

“Does anyone hear the dragon?” (I called from the tube)

For forty godless days and nights I churned inside her raging body. To get out, “another day is coming” He rides on clouds in a chariot made of bone dust. He lifts the waters back into him.
And from below I heard the words, ” Stop throwing stones at the sea.” Supine woman made of hills and valleys, opened into me. Converging on that day, another cross to bare.

Blood drips from a red sun. Because there was no other way to part these black clouds. Cradle me, a star in my forehead, wave after wave I die into a night raining fire. This earth will end, this world will pass. Storm after storm, electric pulses. Pound the nail into the coffin that nobody sees. It’s all in your head, all your head. Head. Sharada Devi

casting stars from her heart

From the depths of my soul I love you. On the surface, the words change. Evil is born from bandaged wounds. The silent blue sea, still and eternal is bodiless and never sees the difference between us. Healing, mending, ripping. I’ve tried it all to no avail. As love is meant to wound the wound, I limp toward God, the destroyer of my shore. Crying I go as my ground disappears. Under water, inside God, the killer. I meant for you to know we were separate and I love you. Blur, this world as I die into nothing but a feeling of sea. The God of my dreams has opened my eyes. To you, little one that I know. When I was cold, death warmed me. When I was alone, death covered me. When I was without you, death came as a bird singing your praise. My teardrop has made you, God who pretends. To leave and to take, to hurt and to mimic. I look upon the thoughts of me, this tumbling blur beneath merciless waters and I feel from my soul who has brought me here, to die. This sacrifice God makes, this murder on God’s hands. This deep eye killing merge, I don’t know where I am. Inside the world of bodies and feet, outside the world of arms and smiles, I don’t know who draws the lines between shore and sea, between sky and you, between death and love. God, I am burning, just a star in your eye. God, I am fire, just a word from your mouth. God, I am gone, just a tear in your ocean. Look beneath me, divine one to find where we’ve gone. You were little and I was big. So little you slipped through my fingers. So big, I caught you on this earth. In this body of holy light. We swim, we fly, we forget, we remember. The blood and the flesh are made of sea. The thoughts and the feelings are made of sky. You and me are made of each other. And we dreamed God because we knew we could. And God came as all bright dreams do, lucid and exacting. This light on the sea. This love under water. This terrible one who breaks all our knees. To look down, to fall. To find the earth she bore from pain. I cry, crawling upon her, begging for food and for freedom. You were there, falling from trees feeding yourself to the children. I was waiting, as I always do, for the rest of the dream to awaken…as there could be many of us down here, casting stars from her heart. Sharada Devi

wind in the white space

One moment, he unlocked the door. She stood staring as a moon flew by. A cold blue ghost born from another sun. A galaxy far away. Beckoning, days long and steep. The softness fades into a heavy burden. Hidden behind closed doors, years and years of nothing. But now, we stop and hurt those memories. If I can’t have you no one can. The knob turns, it doesn’t even matter. Anymore, who comes and goes. But there is a floor at the bottom of this starless moment.

We were friendless, we were searching. Born on an island and returning. All alone, not alone. Moving backwards toward the sky. Someone is missing, something is missing. Nothing is ever gone. I walk down a slow path moving faster. I move slowly as the fast sky travels downward, into me. We were put here, left with each other. A world built on ashes. An earth trapped within, these broken hearts. Don’t we miss her, this earth here, how do we find him.

They’re somewhere inside, the moment passes again and again…

There is the burning the raining the sound of wind. He sits with his back to me, facing the fire. Removed from exposure and hidden from rain. Quietly I write it all down. The secrets that float in the room, creak under the floor, beg to be worshipped. Nobody sees you but me, the night is long and sterile. The fire is dull and bored, with him as he fumes, smoke rises- covering thoughts with more thoughts. Feelings, hunt these feelings, burn these feelings, ignore these feelings. She is, however on the outside as a problem to be remedied. An off putting voice in my head. Colder than ice is the shadow that follows. Never moving, who cares if I go. There isn’t a picture I won’t inhabit. Not a dream I won’t crush. Tonight is a tunnel, tomorrow is a bridge. This moment is a word that describes the missing destination. He left as the fire died. I remained because I’m me. Turning shadows into words and fire into black. Remedy.

If I go in that room. If I summon the muse. If I write all her words. If I keep myself beautiful. Will another day cease to pass, if we pretend our feelings haven’t changed. If we imagine how she might have once been, if we conjure a memory of bright lips. Might we love again, ourselves from more beautiful days. Like the beginning of spring, blossoms. Plenty of time to be sad and romantic about death and love that fails. But now, here we are locked in each other’s rooms. Who can know the lonely imagination that wanders up and down legs and moments trying, trying to be touched. Another way than the despondent curl of bodies. A soft, dreamy way…like we are never dying. We are flowers beneath the sun. Warm and supple, pure and open to time. But I know it’s not true, its not me. I am collapsible and impenetrable. I am fluid and captivating. The afternoon has come. This would be the melancholy of the youthful muse who pretends that she is ageless. Immortal, we have seen noon and shuddered at our failure. The arrival was not as it seemed. He did not bring you new flowers. You cannot ask for what has gone. The room is quiet and late. I listen for abandoned memories. I try to find beauty in my loss. We all lose. My eyes, won’t stop watching the corpse. Lonely and quiet. Remember, don’t touch the seed. You’re heading out in the morning for far away lands. Give him space to roam. You aren’t even heard when you wail young tender cloud. You are just his imagination and his yearning. You are a fading sound in the twilight of a new less broken love. When he stoops and she aches. Pages torn from the year before. Nothing will ever replace your words. Nobody will ever walk toward me again. With a promise of a hidden garden where my frail beauty holds his soul enchanted. Beneath moonlight and ever passing skies of silver…I look back inside at what’s gone. And the pain makes all the galaxies disappear like there was ever only this dim lit corner. Seeping fantasy through my veins. Little flower quietly dying, just a moment and I’m gone.

 wind in the white space
Sharada Devi


Through the dust and wheels, long broken stems. The gifts we offer. Collapsing shoulders, a darkened mind. Bags on the floor filled with bottles, empty. I stand in the doorway, just an excuse for what beauty could have been. Memories have worn down the blankets and curtains. Animal souls drain down dying walls. Paint stains the places we ignore. Dead food waits to be eaten. I stand in the doorway, just a breath through this frame. You aren’t looking. He isn’t looking at what left. I am not the sin. Not the phantom who wore these blankets covered in night’s death. I am not the one. My face does not hide in this ceiling, I did not cry for the past. You cannot blame me for the rising sun. The demons slip into the cracks. Where he breaks. I mend with me. Open your eyes. We have nothing but decay and rat traps. This broken heart sees only in two. The illusion that someone else leaves, or keeps or cleans. I have done nothing but stand here while everything rots and worries for more. My words are the song of the bird just outside. Looking in. We look through. Sitting in an old creaking chair just rocking and pain. We cannot cover the cold or shut anyone out. We can see and recover the space. We can move more than we know upon wings not yet opened. We can leave the letters unopened and visit tomorrow just inside. What will I become if I enter. What will I leave if I go. There is always another mantra or word to transform another. The power is wilder than we can imagine. Yet me, myself am the one who is here. I have fallen through many sharp branches. I have struggled with bodies that have disappeared. Ghosts, shadows, phantoms caught in my full length mirror. I write about gods because I am looking and wiping the light from the night sky. I pray to gods I can’t claim to know because I am calling the dream from my heart back to you. This translucent war, this crystal clear weapon. This dust and this samsaric theory of recovery and penance. If I could know you where the dark shore meets the warrior. If I could hear you where the screaming fear meets the arrow. Across the magenta morning sky when the birds line up waiting for trumpets to sound across vast intrepid arenas of lonely human thought. The chosen one could then appear and lift me from this doorway. The haloed one could lift a deadly arm. Into the mire of God fumes, through the shame of bodies locked. Inside a heart torn in two. We could touch both places and relax. I cannot pretend to be alone anymore. I cannot imagine you are here. There is a point on the horizon, inside my beating tired head. Where a diamond rises, silver blue from the ocean. Where emptiness ceases to need any space at all. Where wave after wave I hear you just waking up. Spirit Bird, we never knew how far love was. We never felt how close we came. To her, filled with many pearls and children. To me, the creator of this. To bliss, because love is everywhere. To clear mind, because sky is heavenly. To truth, that all birds eventually fall. To this doorway I stand in as her.

Sharada Devi


Bhagavan Das and Bodhi have come to live at Mother Light Sadhana Farm. Bhagavan Das is going to be on solitary retreat here intensifying his personal sadhana through the winter. Let his commitment to his own unique growth be the promise of what is possible here. Let his example lead the way. We all face crossroads and turning points when we’re on the path of rapid purification, it’s how we assimilate those challenges that determines the outcome. This is the essence of tantric alchemy that we make use of every opportunity to awaken, purify and ripen. A true spiritual friendship is an unbreakable bond of light. Everything can change and yet there is always God’s unmoving love. Bhagavan Das and myself have a mysterious and timeless relationship that is without ordinary criteria or definition. We are here for each other unconditionally in the deepest most pure way. In a way that defies any boundaries imposed by those who misunderstand the message of our mythic roles. The intensity is to be expected. Out of sincere and fearless devotion may we surrender to the eternal Guru. May we all be blessed, destroyed, transformed and born again from the ashes of that ruthless, burning love.

Please support this work of profound transformation. Please support the purchase of this Sadhana Farm. Please support us in caring for Bhagavan Das’s needs during his retreat. Your donations are clearly the grace of God.

Love, Sharada Devi




The Vision is manifesting. I have something else also in the works that will be such a happy blessing to us all! I can’t tell you now until it’s finalized, but since I know it’s meant to be, it’s only a matter of time. Please donate to help us fund this divine miracle. I cannot express in words, now that I am here, the peace and exhilarating wonder of this sacred land. The nurturing clear stillness of the pre-dawn hours and the soft shadowy mystery of the dusk. I have taken these pictures just yesterday and I want to share them with you.

Please donate as we are depending on the many arms of Avalokateshvara more than ever as we have a specific monetary deadline to reach within the next 10 days. Love, Sharada Devi

Click here to donate – copy/paste if needed please ❤️

I realize GOFUNDME doesn’t take PayPal. To donate using PayPal click here:

     (go to bottom of homepage page)





There is a huge main house, a healing temple building with a large sauna you all can use, there’s a sweat lodge, a labyrinth….it’s just abundant with blessings! Love Sharada

(Please copy paste if need link has had issues)

the quiet entering moon

Do you know, bloodless, I am alive for you. Do you touch, emptiness, her skin does not lie. Do you hear, forgiven, I fall and never land. Do you reach, for me somewhere, when no one else is listening. Do you hear me softly spinning beneath your feet. Do you tell me, secretly the unspoken words. When the mirror breaks, inside the broken, do you keep running for the light. Do you remember, little bright star, where you live. I sit in a room made of humming and I stare into space filled with you. In my head, all the tears went. In my heart, the dropping song. In my body the pain of ghosts. I am everywhere, because of you, I am lost. In all the words, my message is mortal. In all the aching, my god is known. You left me, without going anywhere. And I stood alone, searching, without moving at all. I stared at you, while you watched me writing. Not noticing why, the words clashed as they did. I spoke at our silence, I kept most locked away. Not because words don’t count but because I am their origin. There is a place you told me that is eternally pure. We shall go when we die, our skulls have been pierced. Together. We will find god there. Not here, never here. The now, aches while we talk about aching. The god rises, of this world commanding his time. You begin to erase yourself right in front me me, waiting. Always waiting for you. There was a break one day. Another day. Lonely, God spirals in these things I’m doing. But what about those who are ignored, not heard. The vengeance between us. The glorious harmonies, the white heavenly force that I clearly revealed, from you. The white lost god from you. Stuck like glass in your lung. Sing for me, I remember who you love. For both of us I remembered, pretended. It was me, I was there. Growing older, softer, more afraid and yet more invincible than any human should ever be. Don’t knock on the door, don’t go near that door at all. Do you hear me, are you hungry. Where are the dogs. It’s getting late, the leaves are falling and the breeze has turned to ice. Between us, I smile, laugh, avoid the ignored. Deep in the night, though. Restless is the silence he won’t hold. Terror is the grumble, the rumbling below this old bed. The ceiling watches, little starlight…and never forgets where you go. My beloved, this body is a rag. I could clean you with myself. This heart is a chamber. I could protect you here. This mind is a whorehouse, I could just imagine the dark and write it. This place is our home and yet we keep driving. The stage, the noise, the thousands of eyes. They don’t know you. They don’t hear me. We are turning inside out for the spotlight, using god as a horse. This is impossible to pretend, the lonely could hear the ignored. We could leave, each other. Yet never can the shine leave the jewel. I could dump out my insides and roll towards the dimmer fire. I could give my head to you. You could stop ringing the bell. We could sit on the side of the road humming the hours of this night away. You, my oldest friend could take a bow and go. They could all disappear. And the lonely could finally touch the ignored. I remember the empty road up the mountain…the quiet entering moon.  Sharada Devi

the emptied golden rose

I was reaching for a string, something to hold. Out here, so tiny the world below. Just shadows and ringing. Not yet, nothing touches, truly. Until it hurts, it really hurts inside, this lonely universe. Turning from night into day, changing sides. Reversing the motion, threads unravel. I come undone and I cling to the blank stare of nothing. But I reach, for the string, any string to make me real. Like a sky root or the water that gives weight to the glass. But now, where I have traveled, has no string. I stare through the glass stirring for life inside. What the pain has turned numb, the words I carry. My ears have betrayed my heart. If a bud has more life, as the fertile promise of dawn’s beloved, I am not it’s blossom, I am not even brightly bravely innocently opened anymore. I am wilted  guarded wounded and struggling. In every moment the memories that fill me threaten to drown me. Out here, water and space. Love could protect me, sounds very easy. But the words, the words I’ve heard have done some undoable earthly damage too deep to fathom and yet the grief is real, more real than the cover up, the inevitable exploitation, the spiritual blanket of the curse this all implies. It’s as if I started out with others and now move only amongst the corpses or the nearly dead. I wonder who I am. With all the years that have passed, what I’ve done with the damage to make me this, today. And yet the trigger of words, awaken the dead who are not at peace, not with me. I let this happen. Because of God. Because of my parents. Because I am guilty for something too far down to describe. Because I do not value myself enough to make anyone else value me. Clearly, the idealized compromises have come to fruition. And I am not perfect, I am not even kind of ok. I am the aftermath of an obscure experiment that they thought they erased when the wise one said, “this just isn’t working.” Yet the others kept pushing and giving and going round and round a dying rose made of ancient vows. Once it’s born it dies whether it blooms or not. These things happen, we will never know why. We will only know the soft grief that the rest ignore. How she glides unannounced in and out of this world, never really here and never really going, anywhere but back to the heart that was told that an effortless bud is better than a sad mass of wilted petals. I have held many flowers that never opened. Love has not ceased to fathom life. I have not ceased to be just because I am not beneath the sun who favors the youth over the broken. When I was young I was too frail to blossom. Conceived by the broken hearted, I was bound to the bottom of the stem, holding up the hope for the flower that was everyone else, just not me. My time has never come…but it did. I missed the light at noon. I missed new eyes. I see through the darkness in all, due to cultivation. I merge with the corpses and those nearly breathless. I seek out that which drains me…just to pay perhaps for my imagined sins or maybe to see what a dead flower might be to someone like you. But the truth is, something sharp was thrown at me, and it went inside and it halted a graceful process…and the world I leave moment by moment, threw in its sharpness too. And I used to wait for this indescribable pain to quietly reach the bottom so that I could just rest there in a forgiven, pale sort of stillness- but instead I move as a raptor within, lightening striking the chords of this danger. I can never be what would stop these surges of a nameless destruction aimed at my perennial virginity, however I might try. I was born a widow and that is what has been removed from this equation. It’s not my fault that I am always roaming and covered in edges and clouds. I have told you that there is no hand I won’t slip through, no knot that can be tied tight enough. Not to put this night born entity to sleep at last -so that the lightness of being can rain her luminous body down on you forgiving and forgetting there is a bottom to her sky -that I am dark and heavy, laden with the death of forgotten human hearts who were never meant to see the sun at noon. Because she is young and forgotten she sees herself in your divulging eyes and feels she is free from the words that have trapped her here below bound to aging and betrayal…in this earth made of time, one by one we fade to black. Yet where there is the shimmer of me seeping and bleeding through every stem, there is the promise of the eternal invisible to the emptied golden rose. Sharada Devi