not a piece of me unturned

A blade of grass

A sickle of ice
my single redemption
The tarnished weathervane moved slowly…
(I walked alone past those
clotted memories)
the pulse of the earth beneath my feet was beating
summer into rain
I danced upon the grass and forgot
the coldness of before
I shook the bellows that clung to magic
I wept for all the Lost

The idea of knowing we are alone isn’t about a lack of appreciation for those in our lives because obviously we all need each other and are not ever alone…the issue is that we can’t see that because we are not actually separate from them, we are in truth alone. They cannot stop us from slipping through the needle of death. They can’t go with us…but do they ever really leave us? Do we leave them?

My grandmother who was over 90 just died.
It’s sad- my mother despised her mother and made me fear her…my grandmother was this wicked mommy dearest figure who would lock you in the basement or have your siblings hold you down and chop off all your hair…you know, to get you back on track. My mother was raised as a strict Mormon- which wasn’t without its creepy components- she had 11 brothers and sisters because that’s what mormons do- they have lots of babies- my grandma once said she did it to free souls from heaven and God would stop her from having them when he (God) felt she was done. My grandma had faith. (I have no idea why souls would want to leave heaven to come here though- unless of course they needed to become Mormons) so obviously the family was deeply perverted and there was a lot of abuse- physical, sexual and otherwise. My uncle (who was like 14) even tried to get me to
“kiss him like in the movies” when I was about 4-
(I had wanted to play with his violin and that was to be the price) my mom walked in the room just as the kissing was about to commence though and put a stop to that….
By then we were strict Jehovah Witnesses- you see, my mother hated Mormonism and so when the JW’s knocked on the door one fateful morning and told her we could live in a paradise on earth and only JW’s were going to survive Armageddon (which was due any day) and the God Jehovah only accepted  JW’s (no one else) into the paradise – my mother (being who she was-which I can get more into later) signed up immediately! Hence the beginning of the end of my future as a remotely normal child.
I was only 6 months old and my mom was about 19. My father just went AWOL from Vietnam.
All the killing and drugs really got to him…and although he was only 23 and a well respected sergeant and paratrooper with many stars and decorations all his friends had died, he had killed enough women and children-he was ready to move on (and therefore spend the next 30 years of his life hiding from the government who might find out what he did- he left illegally- that’s what AWOL means- and if he didn’t, I doubt I’d ever had existed)
My father was intense! (more later)
I’m taking about myself again…what else can I do? I bring up the family because aren’t they the string we dangle from? Each one pulling us a little more one way than another? What will we do? I bring the family up because the journey of insanity and horror (or smiles and denial for some) doesn’t end when we leave the house.
I have found we carry that house on our backs as our secret weight in this world. Why I can’t be someone different is exactly why I can be someone different!
This is a long story and goes down so deep for us all. I know. I understand. I suffer the secret too. I am going to this place- to these places with you, not because I like to reminisce or even think about them at all (because it’s just so sad)
but because we are warriors and we must go through the wreckage and salvage who we are.
The gifts they left us from their battles. We can win this in the name of nobody. We can hold on just long enough to finally understand how to
Just let go. We can do this.
And I’m doing my best to start this journey off right. And I have no idea what I’m doing. And I cringe at revealing myself to you (even if you don’t care) I’d rather stay in the metaphoric cave and look for death coming…but death is here now in this moment and we can’t be born, we can’t be alive in the next moment if we don’t keep dying to the last. But its certainly tricky…
because we aren’t honestly letting go -our subconscious minds are storehouses of every
little whimper and beyond. So my idea is that we can gather these memories like flowers we grew and offer death a bouquet of our lost love so that we might free ourselves and those before us from this illusion of separateness-of being along-of being unable to help us.
We can try it all first if we want (and I did) the yoga. The meditation. The fasting. The guru. All of it and it’s fine…but the string comes back to you, to me -as the bow around the flowers or as the noose. It’s about unraveling the sacred mystery of ourselves and how sublimely beautiful we are- fat, old, scared….young, insecure and lonely- it doesn’t matter- she’s always singing our song.
We shouldn’t be afraid. We should open those basement doors, get a flashlight and head on down to where grandma was once kept, a locked up and crying little girl. Let’s not lie or be proud. We’re all locked up and crying little girls and boys. I’m not getting psychological, I’m facing reality -how it’s happened to me-how I’ve seen it happen to everyone. Its what this is.
It’s what we do. We find the lost (and sunken) ship or we pretend we’re still floating where we meant to. It’s up to us and nobody tells us the truth. They say “just say the spiritual mantra” well that’s not enough unless the mantra makes you clear enough to go deeper.
Just be a vegan? Sorry. Not enough.
None of its enough until we find that we’re enough. How that happens is the tantric mystery of our lives. Don’t miss the magic in this breath.
Don’t hold your face so tight while you read.
Soften the lines between then and now. Between me and you. You see I think we can blend this all together into an elixir, into the magic spice or our uniqueness. I think the sting of that memory might wake us up in a new way this time.
I did everything I could do. I looked everywhere for you. I finally found you and you hear me.
My love knows no boundaries.

“I tore open my heart

and found little pieces
of you
looking for me
deep in the valleys
far along the shores
washing up in waves
and crescent moons
not a piece of me unturned”
Sharada Devi

In the Name of Nobody

I am nothing
I am the empty sky
and emptier than that
I am a broken dream
the colors of nothingness
that burn
the sounds of silence
that break
I am the sky
who holds the dream
of me
of the nothing
I am not

I’m on my own and I realized that long ago. With this knowing naturally comes a certain amount of anxiety and borderline paranoia – kind of like a little dog in a big house. You know, a lot can go wrong. Still we do what we must to be here. To make a difference somehow.

I don’t want to make this blog an autobiography or story about me.
I’m not about me…although the attachment has a powerful attraction..
it’s about everyone in the eye of the needle even if we’re too blind to see it. We’re stabbed and sacrificed within our very own natures. I don’t want to make this about philosophy or God concepts even though that tends to be my direction. How else could I make it through the wrath of my family inheritance?
I’m with me.  And together we go to many scary and sublime places. That’s all I want to talk about, the story of the dream. How I got here now. Maybe it doesn’t seem like much and maybe you can relate. …but we both know what we’ve conquered and what and who we’ve chosen to love beyond all odds… that point of absolute panic and elation all at once. We should talk about this. That sacred place of nowhere called letting go. We’re on our way – and its a long way down…
(It’s also a crime and a punishment of unknown origin and yet my struggle to find the culprit knows no end)
I’m 43 years old w a 2 ft scar up the center of my stomach and I don’t want to talk about the reason. It’s wasn’t a disease in case you’re wondering and I’ve never been pregnant. I’m obsessed with my body but not so much now…now that it’s falling apart, now that it’s been broken. I’m not a fool to hold onto something I know with certainty is not me. (my body now looks back at me in the mirror like its a flimsy piece of paper) I look in other places at myself (for real) now. When I was child my parents would weigh me and discuss my body shape and appearance. My mother was a chronic dieter with an eating disorder. I never became bulimic but have however, been known to starve myself in order not to be “fat” my self image is a disaster. I can’t see clearly and I know that. I’m trying to free us but it’s hard. We need to find a way to love the ugly one. The fat one. The one the ghosts can scare and control. Maybe we should stay off the scale. This is going to take a really skilled soldier to win this battle.
We can’t find the heart of the fat person. We only judge her big thighs. I can’t let you be a prisoner anymore. Don’t pretend it’s not you,
I know you see me.
We must love our vehicles and care for them with appreciation. We must feed ourselves everything we need. We must find love for our bodies beyond appearances.
We must stop beating ourselves to death. We should rather die peacefully to the lie we are caught in. Just let go. We’ve been lied to about everything. There actually are no rules or qualifications
to be beautiful and to be loved- to be spiritual- to be enough. Just let go. Its our discovery. Its our choice. Just let go. I stopped holding onto my fear and still it calls to me every chance it gets….
the answer is, just let go….again.
I write the truth because it caused a lie. I suffer for you so that we can be free. Even though it’s a mess, this searching for what’s been lost in the
wreckage. If we don’t find freedom, wherever she is…who will?
The truth is, I don’t feel good about any of this. In the name of nobody I went searching. Out of me and into you- straight into glamour’s hell. (please don’t take it personally)
None of us are real and we know it.
But what will it take to stop posing for the camera? What will it take for me to be willing to sacrifice everything for you, my beloved and wretched companion?
Do you see what I’m trying to say?
Let’s go there now, into that place of
nowhere- in between- caught and gasping for the breath of life. We should be free no matter what it takes. We should cherish our battle scars. We should be stronger.
I don’t care if you like me, though I may be your only friend. I never like to talk about myself as I am a secretive person. I reveal all for you.
The reason is, because it’s all I have to give you. It’s Christmas today.
I want you to know what’s possible.
We can come back up after going down. We can retrieve what’s been taken. We can make it worth something better. We don’t have to be victims and don’t say you’re not.
We all are. (for example)
I was a stripper and drug addict for a year. I also lived in an ashram in India. I went down into myself and then I went up out of myself – that’s what I do. I keep doing it. I won’t stop until I’m dead (and I’ve been pretty close more than once) It’s second nature. I am not a judge. I am a hero. I will not stop until I reveal the jewel in you.
it’s a journey and it’s a trap. It’s an endless road and it’s the final culmination of every step we’ve taken. What’s not important when
everything listens?
I will make us beautiful in the most sublime way. I will make us shine.
I vow that the mud we rise from will become flecks of gold. I vow that the
sewage we stew in will become a churning river of rainbow light.
I vow that we will be the givers and not the takers.
I vow that I vow for your true love.
There’s a couple things I do good- I survive and I tell the truth.  (the tantric alchemical equation)
I’m writing to you because I’m looking for you and I hope you come out of the herd or the fog, so that I can see you. I really mean you are the one –
and it’s my search and my heartache and my fantasy.
If I can’t find you, who can?
If I can’t feed you who will?
If I can’t free you we stay stuck forever.
So together we must give birth from out of the thickets and thorns -from out of the assault of becoming a new being- a beloved twice born.
It’s the truth I tell just to say “hello, you aren’t bad. I’m worse than you.”
It isn’t real- this blood in our shoes.
my burning heart was running to the
light and when she slipped and fell
she found you. So now we rise together like the sun on Christmas morning. We open the dawn with a smile. We hug the ugly who never leaves. I love her. She isn’t ugly. She’s my allegiance to the horizon.
She’s who I follow through the storm.
I love you and I won’t lie. I write this for you because you’re never alone.
My little crooked cracking mind
spoke and said you need me so that I can be free to roam the sky.
(It’s this witches broom that sweeps
the answers toward us)
I am happy to meet you-even if only as an idea of who you must be to relate to me. We are never alone.
(by the way, this isn’t a blog for women this is a blog for you and me)
Today is the initiation of this reunion. The rites of illumination.
We will talk about what gives life-
(including death)
nourish yourself. Stop resisting.
Listen to your own voice.
Just let go.
Come back again my friend.
I will be here.
Sharada Devi