straight into my flaming arms

Guys, I think it’s called performance anxiety.
Paralysis of the greater gain in exchange for the
lesser good. No one moves- but rather, just lays there softly day dreaming, fantasizing about senseless pokes- jabbing at non-reality. No pressure. No pain. Nothing to gain. It’s all good, safe and easy….

but you’re deluded. you’re completely insane.
you don’t even have a body. you’ve only got a
head that’s bouncing off the screen…

Because She really IS there watching you watch Her. She isn’t just the creak in a rocking chair or a black ghost in a white room. She is the face of you, that you just can’t rise to meet. The truth is, Her reality is a stalker of what you know you really won’t ever do, which is actually get it up long enough to make a difference. (If you know what I mean) And it’s just not good enough to flirt with blow up dolls or angry men. It’s just not good enough to hide behind words you could never say out loud.

It’s called:

“I’m afraid, mommy. Tell me you love me. Tell me I’m a good girl. Tell me I’m your man.
Let me think I’m WAY bigger than I really am. How can I be like you mommy? I want you to think about me mommy. Mommy , mommy, mommy, hot mommy I need to wean myself off of you, but I’m addicted to your scary nipple mommy….”

Sad. Sad. Sad, guys. Truly haunting.

You know when it happens to you…It’s a deep gut retching connection…

You see someone who REALLY sees you -and it’s only then, that we know that nobody else has ever seen us at all.

And this person now is too powerful.

Who REALLY hears us- and we realize that nobody else has ever heard us at all.

And this person now has too much power over us.

Who REALLY loves us in a way that is beyond our ability to return.

We can’t explain it. We can’t love back. We’re addicted to the slaughter of our means. We’re addicted to our disappearance into them.
We talk and we testify, we exclaim and we exalt –

but guys, the truth is the truth, love hurts…and you’re scared.

It’s called performance anxiety guys.

(and we need to work it out)

Basically, when push comes to shove, you’ve got nothing to shove.

Little paddling baby feet running straight back to the crib. “Mommy was so mean to me She told me to go away until I’m a man…Mommy said She won’t cuddle me forever and let me hurt myself. Mommy said, “don’t suffocate your daughter.”

Bad bad mommy….

Get it up and I mean it.

It’s for you, not for me.

Otherwise, just go. Go off on a new cyber date. Find another digital face. Stare at another sexy screen. Write to a new fantasy face.

LIVE AND IN PERSON- because this is personal. And you know what you’re doing…

it’s a cold hard chair you sit in. It’s a worn out and tired keyboard. It’s a lonely bed. It’s a waste of Her possibilities….

You sell your life short and come to Her crying:
“Please help me. You’re the only one who can.”

But you don’t really want help- or Her love -or wicked passion at all, you want a new nipple- one that might be softer or more fruitful -more obliging than the last.

I don’t nurse, guys. Get it up or go.

“But mommy, You said you would never leave us and you’ll save us forever mommy…”

My beautiful, sweet baby bird, you came to the wrong mommy’s nest- because my birds can fly.

My babies get it up fast-and I push them over the edge- and they fly -or they die. Let’s put it this way, I don’t have many babies around with love songs left to sing.

Performance anxiety?
Afraid of heaven’s pearly gates?
Afraid of hell’s eyes?
So you sit and stare at pictures of me? Why?

Don’t make claims to Her you can’t deliver.
Don’t leave Him high and dry.
Don’t waste another night hugging your pillow.
Stop writing me love songs that you can’t sing.

Everything is for you my beloved.
My Goddess. My God. My bad little boy.
There is no beating around the bush.
We start at the bottom and we push.
We push hard and we don’t stop.
We break through into Her Diamond Light.

Only then can we tell Her,
“I love you”

Because let’s face it. Talk is cheap. What’s the point of sending out wedding invitations if you aren’t even getting married?

And I’m as guilty as you are because I know better and I participate in this dream affair
because you have nowhere else to go…
but to me.

Straight into my flaming arms.

But if you really are intent and determined.
If you really do have magic hands.
If all you do is think of me.
If you know the secret seven words.
You know I’ll be here to untie you.

But since none of that’s true with any of you.
(You know who you are, big talkers…)
I don’t do half way.

Half way: that would be the path of Sky Humpers (refer to previous post) -and so you need to find someone else to do your training wheels-groove with. Someone else to practice on. I don’t need another timid chihuahua.

Panthers and Pythons boys and girls.
not pants pulled half down.

It’s a tight spot we’re in called Jungle Fever.
vines and swamps and animal sounds.
dark movement under the trees.
something is in my bed with me.

I can’t move. I’m stiff. I can’t move.

I’m lying.

Finally, you tell the truth.

Coming in claws and hot jungle nights.
Coming in kisses and red spider bites.
Coming through. Coming through.
Coming through you….

I love you. I made you. I dropped you.
I broke you.

my sacred heart. my lightening rod.
because you think about me, I’m able to get inside of your head. flash and strike. but I’m still not dead.

Whose face are you holding anyway?
Whose gaze sustains the toy?

It’s called performance anxiety guys,
and it’s a sin.

Sharada Devi

Hasten To The Wild Jilt

It was only a reminder
of what had to go
loose pockets, empty jars
tail of the alligator
cheeks worn slowly
from the hooks
I bore you slowly
I made your face
Tic tock

The whole guru talk tends to get irritating.
What does anyone know? What do I know?
Maybe a Guru is just another version of the nipple. We keep sucking and just can’t let go.
Maybe it’s good, it’s hard to tell when and how the milk -or the attraction will be there- is the problem.

Only the blind bat knows where the black sky goes. Only the mistress can cure His heart. It’s impossible not to see the Guru as mommy. Or, not to love God as daddy, now that gets tricky doesn’t it? Feeling sexy and confused little princess?

Exactly what I’ve been trying to reveal all along.
I think you know where this is going…

the slime before the foreplay.
the heat before the crime.
the forbidden love isn’t dainty at all.
It isn’t a pretty -romance novel style.

This is dog on dog. So get used to it.

That’s why you fight all the time.
That’s why he sits with his head drooping down at the dinner table shoveling in food while you sit there smiling. Your kids doing her math and you feel like everything’s just fine.

Fine and combustible.

It’s the flammable war. Why men are angry and violent and why women despise them with every hot wiggle of the hip, with every flaming red lip, with every ounce of smoldering cleavage they’ve got.

Honestly, it’s because they aren’t getting it on properly. And it’s nobody’s fault but yours.
We’re pulling out weapons in the wrong war.
We’re contradicting ourselves…because the Sex Pain is overshadowing our ability for pleasure,
for peace, for thinking straight at all….

This is the most spiritual thing we can ever do together-go into the place we really aren’t supposed to go. Because you know that we need to, you can deny it -but it won’t change a thing…and we can think of nothing else but how to get inside….

how to make it go our way. How to organize the plate. How to fix our hair or lose weight.
Animals don’t care! It’s all just scent and adjustment. A little more open heat.

It gets really intense and bewildering flirting with all these taboos in our lives, never quite close enough to touch the velvet or to feel the silk. Never deep enough to reach the ending or the beginning.

Where can I take you and what can I do for you?

What do you want from me? A whip or a hug?
Maybe She’s going to be the one who does it Her way. I don’t think you even thought about how far down together we can go.

You know it’s bottomless once you get in…
you won’t ever touch the spot you dream of…
oh, but you’ll keep trying and some call that devotion or ecstasy but nothing and nobody’s coming but the Dream.

Is She enough? Is She in there-cutting you in two? Is He man enough to launch God’s rocket straight into hell,
ignite and burn -way down under? But aren’t we shooting for heaven? is it God really down there? Pain. Bliss. What is it?
Does God have a rifle? Does She eat men for lunch?

I don’t know about you, but these are questions I ask myself.

I know a lot of people who are together but not really. They’re actually apart but have a business plan that holds the “union” in tact. They sleep in separate rooms and talk politely or sometimes she screams while he rolls his eyes. They say it’s because they need “space” they say it’s because they’re beyond the dirty deed. They say it’s because they just don’t feel it. They live separate lives emotionally and the friction is fully contained like leftovers in the freezer (nobody is ever going to eat them so just throw it away)
She believes he is faithful, like that matters?
He believes she’ll stay “safe mommy” forever.
Many have children in the middle of this scheme.
Boys and girls who know more than you think about the problem between mom and dad. They’ll have theirs too- leftovers-
down the line. How do we know? because WE’RE THEM -opening the freezer- looking for yesterday’s food…

This is the calling, the feeding and the purging of our lives. The authentic merging.

To see and feel Sex Pain.

It’s a worse torture to not enter the darkened room at all. We must do it -and we must go where others will not. Break down the door. Break out the whip. Put a leash on him down on all fours. It doesn’t really matter as long as you are sincere. As long as it means something to you. I’m not advocating any wayward fetish, or encouraging sexual misconduct (however you see that)
because seeing goes a long way into the process of total unraveling of identification and condemnation.

Excuses mean nothing. Neither does insecurity and uncertainty.

I know the guy is limp and she’s lifeless.

I know nobody is interested in each other anymore.

THE REASON IS THE MAKER
of all your lies and turmoil. All the reasons you don’t know why.

And this is the reason why:

You closed up shop before anyone even got to
come inside and take a look around. Full length mirrors and a drawer full of change. You had the right idea all along.

So who and what is this Guru?

The Great One who holds the dream of leaving all this filth behind us?

Of making bad things fade and making death a happy place?

Or is it just you hiding in the corner looking at someone else on your screen?

Death and Sex are in your eyes and nowhere else. Pain. Wreckage. Casualties. Redemption. It’s the salvage yard. It’s the vultures in the sky circling and swooping.

That’s what I see in your bedroom eyes.

The Sky Burial of my love.

But since they’ve called it quits and are politely co-existing, the air conditioner still hums in the corner and nobody sweats or ever gets uncomfortable. It’s a perfectly livable, sterile cemetery- with a roof and mowed lawn-disguised as the new mom and dad- with the new baby- that isn’t just you all over again…

We’re doing it different this time. I know the waters black. Whose underneath you keeping you floating? Whose nibbling your toe this time?
I could be eaten by something big and sharp.
I could be right where I started.
I could be a pervert hooked on the rats.
I could be a rainbow beneath you.

Night Owl, you could be my midnight star.

We could be creation without shame and fear.
We could finally know each other- but instead we settle for the moonless night. The black blanket of the Guru. The whore of Babylon. A game of strip tease poker.

You asked for it though didn’t you? A voyeur in a whorehouse watching Her dance and play around you like you were someone big and dangerous. A housewife cutting up the moon, chewing off her foot, doing ANYTHING but you….

“The Guru is God you fool!”
yells a voice from the bedroom.

Now all we need to do is find out who God is…

and let’s STOP FAKING IT -if you know what I mean- because- THATS NOT GOD FOR SURE!

————————–

Hunted by Death
blades of light
heart ticking thin
I walk upon the surface
forest grass
deep thick pain
over grown and tangled
His fingers from the earth
I cling to love uncertain
in the fast throat throb
heart bursting wide
into sweet sounds
and syrup wine
drink me
heaving, dripping…
clots of locusts
diffuse the moaning
until She turns around
and bites the beast
then,
She eats the surface
of his laughing face.

And- before He falls -snuffed
and wasted -He opens His dark arms
calling Her His Foment Queen.

“Hasten to the wild jilt.”
————————–

Where do I stop and you begin?

It’s all for the end so no one know…

and we probably shouldn’t wait to find out.

Sharada Devi

every time I die

I have like 10 snakes around my neck. I have 1,000 arms. I have weapons and I have love.
I never let you down even though you never got up. You were the one I was draining into me.
The sun never set the day I came to find you
and we sat face to face with a thick wall of glass between us. I knew you couldn’t hear me but I sat there talking anyway, because of my vow, because of my tears. Talking to you about getting out. You sat in your plastic chair playing with a pen, sometimes looking at the clock on the wall- (I guess dinner was at 6 or something) You sat in the eighth seat from the left and because of this, I knew you wouldn’t understand the problem…the reason for my weapons and tears…the reason I’ve been crying for over a million years.
—————————–

Someone asked a 92 year old great Rimpoche,

“I am lost and suffering in samsara how can I find a guru?”

He replied,

“You go to this person and you prostrate yourself before them. Then you say,

You are my only hope in this life and all future lives. I beg you to accept me as your disciple.

Then you do everything this person says.”

Rimpoche sat there glowing and smiling. He knows nobody ever listens. His tears are the nectar of his heart.

————————

I’ve been bloody from prostrating. I’ve been dead from exhaustion. I almost froze to death in the icy caves and I’ve been burned to ashes from the fire of my devotion. My love for my Guru is so all consuming and intense it has almost killed me over and over again. I would go anywhere and do anything to be near Him. I’ve begged for forgiveness and I’ve given my life to my Guru.
Every time I die, His eyes become the sky. Over and over again I come back and I remember and I never stop searching for Him. Over and Over again I walk through the valley of the shadow of death because I promised Him that I would find you and take you to where He is. This is my only reason for breathing or writing or being cruel.
This is my only reason for touching you and holding out my hand. This is my only reason for coming back to Earth so many times.

His will is my life and my life is His Hand.

Nobody understands this tunnel at all. You will come out the other side. What awaits you there
depends on your journey from one side to the other. It’s not- no big deal- She’s huge. She’s a hungry leviathan. You can’t ride Her. You can’t tame Her. Only the strongest end up in the right place on the other side. The wrong place is filled with plastic chairs and thick glass walls. It’s filled with self mutilation, compulsion, addiction and monotony. It’s filled with the illusion of suffering coming from somewhere else besides you….
That parallel dimension isn’t somewhere else. It’s here and it’s why I’m writing.

Heart to heart collision. the aching heart with nowhere left to go. Beating like a machine without Him. Thumping like a
fearful bird against a caged wall
when She isn’t there….

I’m so lonesome, I could cry.
Because I love you I will die.

You came to me wounded and hungry with ghosts in your eyes.
What am I supposed to do if you won’t listen?

Do you know where you are while passing the time as if this is just another boring day?

Why are you waiting? What are you waiting for?
No one else is coming for you.

This is it.

The most important gifts can only be given in person. It’s a physical thing. Tantra is a secret that has no explanation, only transmission.
It’s the wordless holy claus that no one dares to think or speak about and they’re memorizing everything left and right and speculating and philosophizing and theorizing but they’ll never find Her like that.
She’s a buzz in your ear. She’s the venom of the snake. She’s the singe of the flame. She’s the sting of the wasp. You need to be there in person. Period. No astral dating. No comradeship. No equal terms. Not fair at all.

She’s only stirring and She wants your heart and soul entirely.

I’ve realized I need to be more literal. Everyone seems confused by my message. It’s been that I was struck by lightening when I was 20 and I’ve never been the same. My clothes burned my skin split open and all my muscles ached for weeks. She struck me down hard. She electrocuted me and it wasn’t very nice.

You just don’t understand Her at all.

…and every time I die, His eyes become the sky.
Because of Her search for me.

Sharada Devi

she who brings flowers and moonlight

A thread through the flower
on a cold winter day
down by the water
stringing this love lost
(deep in your eyes)
I was thirsty and so
I went there
Mary make me weep
I lost Him
Cold again

The poison and the nectar. I’m so lonely. You will only look for Her in body parts -you will never hear Her voice singing your name because you settle for so little to be sure that no one can ever love you. Anger mistaken for sexuality (like I said last
time in the blog you never actually read) -is the enemy of your heart. The Dick is not your body part. It is a state of white light consciousness.

Where are all the poets and deep thinkers?

Nobody ever called me out. You never even opened your mouth. Using my past against me
and trying to make me feel bad about myself for
“being a stripper” – once a stripper- you say?
You’re going to “pummel my sex organ” what is
wrong with this perversion of an open window?

What is wrong -is that your heart is black and the fire went out. Instead of letting it burn in divine yearning for Her beloved smile- you vow to bend Her over in a red haze of male sex organs- what a gang rape?

I do this for you for free-and open my heart and you sexually assault me and say I asked for it?

I think I’ve exposed a deep issue here that has poisoned this planet for long enough. Just because you can’t control Her or make Her love you or -get off on Her on command- doesn’t mean you need to get violent and stoop so low as to degrade the very source of your life.

Your Mother.

You said you called Her the other day and She was so happy to hear you that it made you cry…
What happened to Him?

The love too raw? The uncertainty too real?

She didn’t have to love you or nurse you or make daddy come back home. But you need to see that- that relationship forged the bond you don’t have with the feminine principle.

She who brings flowers and moonlight.

She who strokes your hair and wipes away your tears.

She who never left you and still waits for your little hand.

She isn’t a person and when you try to slay or conquer or control or dominate Her or make Her feel ugly or bad or fat or old- you’re only suffocating your own beauty. You’re only assuring that you will never be with Her at all.
(any version)

Not because She isn’t there but because you don’t see Her. She needs to be seen. Beyond asses and pretty faces lies your salvation. Not in Her sex organs but in the ecstasy of death promised in Her eyes.
Promised in the light you can never take or fuck out of Her.
You can’t stop Her from shining. You can’t take Her purity. You can’t stop Her from loving you.

The saddest part is there seems to be no “you” to love.

-You snuff out You-

in the worst possible way.

You can’t write me poems unless you’re drunk because you’re sexuality is blocked by anger and the intoxicant relieves you for just awhile- long enough to feel Her flowing through you in words describing who you really are…and the alcohol fades and you’re back in your straight jacket headed to an AA meeting – does that make sense to you?
(It’s not working my sweet boy)

I let you talk to me in the way that you do -and I engage your mediocrity- because I know nobody else will. You don’t have a chance of working this out without me. I know you don’t mean it. I know you actually love me. Maybe others don’t see and they criticize me for letting you come around-

but I see you and I always did..
(You need to have more respect and appreciation for this to work out though)

I know if I knocked on your door right now you wouldn’t even answer. You can’t fuck me because you can’t even fuck yourself yet -get it?

You can’t look into your own eyes yet.

You’re terrified of me and and that’s why you started shaking when I said “what are you doing down here? Do you need something?”

You can’t be with me because you can’t be with you.

So then you go out to your car and email me perverted assaults reducing me to “long legs and white teeth?”
Is that really the best you can do sweet boy?
Because I see so much more in you than you see in yourself. “Kudos” to the guy who “called me out” out of what? Your fantasy?

There are plenty of pornography sites you can go to. But my love is as ancient as the stars and
way deeper than what you’re aspiring to mount.
The temples of India are covered with carvings
of Him and Her in various lovemaking positions.
What does that mean to you?
Is there anyone there at all who can see the fire I’ve started? I guess the better question is, does anyone even care?

Theses tantric positions are internal states of awareness-sex isn’t ugly or violent. Love doesn’t have victims and insults. True lovemaking happens in the stars and not the bodies. Heavenly bodies merge into the Mother Light and a child is always born.

The child is Christ and He sits in your murky heart waiting for you
to stop masturbating and find a real friend.

Because the problem is you don’t know what you’re missing because you’ve never had it and
believe me Her ass will simply disappear and only Her eyes will remain.

Her eyes that look right through you.

You don’t want Her to look there, I get it..
and so you get defensive and try to reduce Her
to an object that gets passed around and probably has “a few good years left”

She has a knife in your heart already.
She got in when She saw your pain
and She started cutting away the lie..
sorry it hurts so bad…

The lie is that you want to Love Her.
The lie is that you want to Fuck Her.
The lie is that you have any idea what’s going on.
The lie is that you don’t feel sad and lonely.

Her mercy and understanding of your isolation
is Her motivation. She has been burned at the stake and hung from the tree for you to be free.

She laid at the foot of the cross sobbing while you died. She loves you.

She will always be your Mother Light
and She will never leave you.
(even when you think you left Her)

Open your eyes and look at me for real this time.

Sharada Devi

The Dick is God Himself

My dog is what I call a “sky humper”
He’ll hump the air in your direction but he just can’t commit to contact. Sound familiar? He lives in a little hole that I made for him (what else could I do?) and he’s worried deeply about losing territory so he fixates on his penis- aka “the hot rod” yes, that’s him! (I call him that to make him feel good about himself)
He’s basically very insecure and so he barks a lot but can’t really follow through..all talk and no action. (sound familiar?)

How to play the game:

*Know when to make your move and don’t
act limp (even if you are)

*It’s a state of mind and nothing more.

*Life is only Sex and nothing else.

*Sex IS death and you can’t change that.

*It’s hidden and taboo –
the forbidden place of the last goodbye.
(So look there first expecting a victory)

*It’s God when you know it and it’s Satan when you fear it.

I had to teach myself. I’m now adept at making deals. You get it?

Based on the philosophy of The Mating Dance of Mommy and Daddy -they who look so real and so actually attainable. The unattainable and untouchable body parts of sin and death that mercilessly spit us into this pit of morals that make the good seem weak and the strong seem daunting. Do you want to do it one more time? Are you ready to crawl back inside? Can you do it all alone without Her Hand to guide you?

Obviously it’s about sex and our parents. Nothing else- but the life they made wicked by accident-ME. (I’m sure if they knew who they were getting they would have thought twice)

And then we show up and in no time we’ve become a jealous God. Does She love Him more than She loves me? Me, Mommy. Mommy, Me.
How will we put these two back together now that he believes he’s been off the nipple for so long? She left him with the babysitter so that She could be with other men. What did they have that was so special? Mommy seemed to want it pretty bad..

Her father was like a storm still living in Her eyes and She never really knew him. She only saw the dark skies coming whenever He looked Her way.
Then He died and She never felt the rain- only the promise of more lost tears….

Do you know why we’ve come together?
You think you may,
you think you might,
have the love we seek tonight?

Nice try Sky Humper!

Sky humpers and opportunists- but nobody is ready to get dirty or get high. It’s just more money, more power, more beautiful pictures of me. You may think I have a fixation on the God Act -but I don’t. It’s much bigger than two messengers pulling at the laws and writing up contracts in dark rooms with mirrored ceilings. It’s real this time. Cryptic or poetic or sweet and soft, someone still needs to move to make this happen.

Did you burn the house down yet? What’s the point of sparks with no fire to keep us glowing?
There’s nothing left that we need to do but get ready for The Rapture. And He’s coming, I can feel it. Counting down and loosening the noose around His neck-

I’m surrounded by perverts, male chauvinists, and women’s rights activists (a safe place for angry and burly women who wish they were men and so turn dike and get married to each other…just saying..political correct isn’t my thing at all)

To quote one of my new teachers:
(self appointed)

“churning balls and angry penis veins”

There must be a deeper meaning there, if we just read between the lines and stop being “frigid”
When churning balls and angry penis veins come your way don’t be “frigid. Otherwise, he laments
you have not “embraced the good and bad of reality”

Then The Virgin Mother emailed me:
——————
Who the hell is that John Kosswix? And he’s just one in front of millions like him! It’s a nuclear winter filled with sexual perversion all disguised as spiritualism — like that Krishna Das thing last summer where She protected me from that enemy and was stuck in that crazy traffic jam for hours and hours and then had only been there for like three minutes and I ran out of that room filled with shadow into you.

That slimy sleazy energy — makes me sick in the pit and I want to throw up.

Oh my oh my I hate all it all. How can we protect the Holy Mother Light and not allow this to take over? ”

(We need to burn this house down I say to Her in another email. She’s fierce when you put the books back in the wrong place)

Oh you and I are burning down the house all right! These men are out of control … they have nothing to anchor to but sex and being crude … all the men before them have sucked and that’s where they came from … weak seeds equal weak men, who posture themselves as if they are something … they live in shame and the lie, right?

(GOD. Really GOD. I LOVE HER!)

She goes on:
Today, every action was in mood of rage – today cleaned that one client’s house – she pays really well and is always generous and nice to me – most of my clothing these days come from her hand-me downs – not my taste but grateful – can’t remember the last time went into a store and bought something new … but this is what it is and it could be a hell of lot worse and it’s going to get a million times better (just have to wait out the prison sentence) – I rage all through the nine hours of cleaning today – The screaming vacuum was my voice, our voice and I raged for all the women cleaning up others shit and I raged for all the oppressive women who play small in order to be loved, and all the girls trafficked for sex and the hum of the vacuum running raged on and on and on and I’m on fire and I’m counting down the days till the Shakipat transmission.

(SHE’S ANGRY AND I LOVE HER LIKE FIRE LOVES TREES!)

She goes on:

What is the “great fracturing” you mention?

We will stand empowered for princesses are weak and play the victim and we are the Mother Light and we will stick together, yes, yes, yes and we are Her and we are keeping Her Light strong and we will over turn the adversarial forces.

What are steps to we start with?

Tonight we bathe in the waters of Her Holy Light. I will pray all night and my prayers are for Her, for you and for me.

I know it doesn’t help or change anything when I say this, but you are bigger than these perverts and you will eat them up. They are nothing but shadows and when you look right at them they skirt away for they are the lie and they will never see the truth and yes, what was it that person you wanted to do the class/training with to start heralding in the galactic council—we need to do this, you and I don’t need a class or a man or another training, we can do this and we will do this. The Mother Light is bigger than all male chauvinists and perverts combined. She will eat them all in one bite. We must herald in the Holy Wisdom Mother Light.

Groupies suck—groupies are not just women in tight clothing flinging themselves loosely about; groupies are also the men who spout bullshit and nod and just wanna think they are living life if they get close enough to something bigger than them just by association—a participation mystique where no one is an individual and lives life through others … guess that’s why reality tv is such a hit … I saw it all the time as a child and today, I can see it a mile away. I saw it all around and all the time I saw the groupie swarm and now I see what a groupie my mom ended up being and she hates me for seeing the truth of who she really is and so I’m banished … but it’s a cost for the price of freedom. And I’d rather be a Divine Loser working for the Mother Light with you … Ha Ha Ha

May I send you a care package to ward off the perverts and chauvinists?

Yes, yes! Let’s build the fierce Mother Light Fire and throw everyone and everything that doesn’t service and let the fire take it all down.

Tell me more when you write, “They’re coming down from the sky.”

And yes, so agree when you say … it is surreal and violent and we can’t participate … And how can we remove ourselves when the perversion and poison is everywhere … in the water, in the food, in the air … in our families and we’re removed ourselves from the crazy family cult and now what?

I’m so past the wound of this or that and know that whatever the traumas are they led me to you for we have lived the sacred wound and we are Her the Mother Light and we will transmute all this lead/shit and turn it to gold for we are the Queen Mary Mother Light Alchemicalist.

And in going to the well, a well that’s dry and offers cob webs and dust and vapid echos from a world in which she lives full of delusion, false being and cracked bravado I stare down into the dark pit one last time, turn away and walk to the rising dawn light and feel into the marrow of this awaken body freedom and the mother I now seek lives in the holy light.

——————

Oh No! VIRGIN MOTHER DEMON SLAYER MOTHER OF JESUS-“You sound angry. I just want you to find peace” I am boundless compassion. How do I do it? When nothing compares to you..

(refer to post comments -if you’re saying “what?”)

So is he a,

Tantric God or Sky Humper? I’ll let you decide.

I’m as hard as rock. Painfully frigid. Now what?
Life makes wine -not soft, chubby fingers playing with their macho parts…

Not sure how to play this one out? Play along…
Yes, the master plan. Make them think your secret is better (and especially bigger) than there’s is. Even in Vegas I win with no hand at all….I am the Player who keeps playing even when the doors have closed…

But as you can see by now -the old Game is over because She said so… and a New Game is about to start because I’ve been told that- The Great Fracturing is upon Us. If you didn’t notice yet, I’ve got friends in high places too….

They’re coming down from the sky sooner than we realize…and it’s not about Bhagavan Das groupie phenomena….surreal and violent and we can’t participate anymore….it’s about poison and cool aid and should we drink it or not?

Well I’ve been thinking about you and what we’ve been doing and how we ended up here. Screen bonding and late night astral meetings. Was it a hug or a handshake- do you remember? I do. I remember you.

I saw you standing in the Diamond Doorway.
Getting ready for the split.

There’s something really important going on right now and everyone is falling pray to the hungry ghosts because of sales and services…
but don’t go the way of denial and knees locked in place…if you’re looking at boys, just admit it and stop getting mad at me because I won’t come back as a dog but you might….just bend over and deal with it. It’s more spiritually profound (even if a little messy)

If you suppress you sexual desires you may come back as a dog.
That’s what happened to my dog mani. He was a gay Tibetan Buddhist monk in his last life and he is certainly paying the price for all his suppression. Poor little thing, he won’t even play with a girl dog. We bought a girl puppy so he could have a friend (and had to find a new home for the boy puppy we originally had gotten him as a playmate- the relationship was so intense they would just lay there noisily mouthing each other all day when they weren’t doing Brokeback Mountain that is) But anyway, he hated this little girl puppy, she was really small and so he would just lay on top of her trying to suffocate her-or coax her up the stairs into the loft and leave her there (she was scared to come down the stairs) hoping she’d fall through the rails to her death- and he got really bitchy and it was a cat fight every day-and Padma (her name) just wasn’t going to take it- she would just attack on command “kill Mani. Kill Mani.” Was all her little mind could think- that, and
“Me Mommy. Mommy, Me” (she’s a simple girl)
This little girl was vicious. Even to this day I can rev her up and watch her go (it’s always about Kill Mani of course)

He gave up trying to destroy her but he also never wanted anything to do with her. It wasn’t fair to him and so we got another boy dog (and that’s a whole other story-now we have 3 boys)

When Hot Rod even thinks about sky humping my girl Padma She flips him on his back so fast
and pounds him straight into the ground (like a real man) That’s mommy’s girl. She’s got it together- She doesn’t wait around for The Man to figure it out. Nobody
messes with Padma, she is a girl of little talk and all action. She’s the real thing! There’s no more
-boys do this -and girls do that- protocol.

It’s a free for all.

The World is about to end.

Ok so maybe this is our marital problem, but my point is -Don’t come back as a Dog!

There was this sweet soft old girl who came all the way to Taos from the Midwest to be with us.
She was very devotional and also very dramatic.
At the time we were holding 3 satsangs per week plus Kali pujas monthly in the Kali Temple in our house. So she arrived on the Winter solstice of 2012. We were doing a kirtan and she was there and so innocent and scared but very brave. She would cry and roll around the floor writhing in ecstasy. It was so fun, I really appreciate her. She would lay her head on my lap crying while i stroked her golden hair. She was 26 years old but I saw her as about 5, and I loved her. I still do. But in time, her motives and trust got rusty and I pushed her away (I do that alot) if I can push you away, it wasn’t really love. Not the kind of love that goes all the way. I was there for Her but in the end She was a Sky Humper looking for a guy. And She left and she found one- straight out of hell. He’s beautiful and noble and I love him (I met him last year) he’s in so much pain because of his parents dying when he was young. I touched his face and he looked at me like the sweetest puppy you have ever seen.
She on the other hand, wasn’t doing so well (it has been about 3 years since I had seen her last)

Mother ice. mother coal. mother blood.

She didn’t look right. She look hard and stiff.
She told me she wasn’t a little girl anymore but was a “woman now” (maybe because she was having sex daily and vaping- I don’t know) so I was worried and I get too involved I know.

I convinced her to come to an event and bring her Kali statue and put it on stage so it could be infused with energy and bless her- it was the best I could do. How can I say “You aren’t looking so good” it’s touchy. So She came and brought roses and Kali. The thing about Kali is She’s tricky and She’s Queen of the Astral World which means a lot of other energies can be magnetized by Her if things are going on in your life that aren’t so good…People should be very careful with Kali, it’s not a game (for you anyway)
and don’t try to be bigger than She is…and don’t try to call Her your Lover. She’ll destroy you-it’s Her idea of romance. She loves to destroy everything. You especially.

So I’m sitting there after we just started singing and I hear “I’m going to rip your throat out. Leave her alone. I’m going to rip your throat out…over and over again…I was like, what?

Whose saying that?… and I look and it’s the Kali- but it’s not Kali- it’s the demon eating my beautiful damsel and its riding in the Kali deity with a message for me…I can’t even tell her….I do everything to
expel the demon and it finally left but didn’t go too far and after a couple days it came right back..
I can’t tell Her this. She loves Kali and it will only make things worse…and She wanted to change and clean up Her life and we went back home and I prayed and prayed and did rituals for Her and She couldn’t break free…I had a vision of the demon attached to her. I saw him. He was very tall and extremely gaunt, severely saggy and ugly and grayish, blackish green and it was crouched over her while she cried-like an umbrella- hooked into her sexual energy -like a tic -protecting Her from me. It was horrifying and I was very angry and I still am. I will find Him sooner than He thinks.
And that’s why it’s good to get your anger and sex in order. I haven’t seen her since and She won’t talk to me anymore…the demon took Her for now.
I always tell people to come closer because I can’t do much from a distance. No one gets that’s the reason why and I can’t tell them….

exorcism takes time.

Kali is the Queen of Hell. She goes both ways- yet She’s unaffected by the dark -but if we aren’t careful we can be possessed by energies we can’t see….it’s not a black tshirt with skulls. It’s not piercings and tattoos.

It’s Her bedroom with the curtains closed.

I’m just saying, I’m your friend and I love you.

There’s a black hole we can’t stay afloat in unless our devotion is seeing through Her eyes
and not our own anymore. You won’t be understood at all.

But I won’t reject you.

And those who feel they aren’t frigid (like I am)
are the least sexually aware. Being graphic and vulgar is so out of touch with Touch. I’m sorry. I really am sorry you think Sex is your organ.

The Dick is a state of consciousness. Its not a description of its appearance or a guy we don’t like.

The Dick is God Himself.

Capable of Anything.

Sharada Devi

To Bring You My Love

I’ve never had an interest in normal people.
I only like freaks. They interest me and aren’t boring. They make mountains out of mole hills,
are totally creepy, spider- like and obsessive. They stare at pictures of me. They think about me all day and night. And I know this. They cancel their video subscription and sign back up over and over again (it’s their way of saying “F- you” to me and I love it because I thrive on friction) I do F with people. I admit, I suck.

Friction is the truth taking away the lie.
Grinding away at the space between two.

She sits and rocks singing like a little bird. I know she has it in her. So I yell at her and call her a few names- then She opens like a flower in the Spring. She responds to abuse in a very productive way (or I wouldn’t do it) other people-
proud people- with not much going for them -who think they have it all- would never take my criticism and abuse- they aren’t powerful enough. She only laughs when I tell Her She’s a mouse. She is a Queen Virgin. Just like Mother Mary. I told her I was mad at her for being a loser. She hides The Virgin Mother from the world, trapped in her little kitchen playing wife.
She thinks it’s all over. She’s got her own bedroom. She has a secret life all up in her head.
Without her yearning, she’d be dead.

He walks back and forth. He sees me inside yet he can’t walk through the door. The music is too much. The Gods are too real. He stands shaking with his hand on the doorknob. He paces very intensely back and forth several times- then, he just turns around and leaves. He is deep. He is wide. He is a mountain. He is bewitched by the full moon of Her love. I watched the whole thing from the stage. He doubts himself and blames me for it. He also loves me for it. He shouldn’t blame me for what she did. I only see the black snake rising. The sun coming through the window of his dark house. It’s alive and it’s big. I would never hurt a little boy or leave him all alone. Snakes can be dangerous for boys to play with-all mothers know that.

He Wrote:
“I could die if i knew you were near. you’re the new one who can see everything. your innocent sensual laughter haunts my day. the blood hue of your black eyes confirming what i knew you already could see. that empty homesick feeling- the poison from staring too long. loving from the depths of the emptiness of my being. please remove the hex and stop hurting me or just kill me. twisting and thrusting and breathing and sucking the pulling and grinding entangled in dingy stained layers of innocent wet lust for her perfect pink tongue. the beast sees what you’re thinking.”

Mystical. Deep. Touching the blackness of the wordless -unable to show anyone but the darkness Herself…He hears it – It is the Sound of Ghosts Weeping. Yes I heard them too…

The freaks, the rejects, the perverts and the stalkers are much more touchable than other people. These titles only given by the dull and insipid. They don’t live between worlds. They don’t talk to the dead. What do they know?

Being the one looking in- see how She shocks, She enrages -playing with taboos and licking danger- because there are always more layers to shed or to eat. Take it all off. It’s dirty and kinky unraveling, undressing, uncovering the Bad Girl whose bigger and faster and way more ready than you are.

She’s writes to me this morning:
“I should have been a nun”

Really? pray away your sexual suppression into a clean package of self rejection -for now maybe,
but who knows what happened last time? I’ve already done that and it doesn’t work. Look at me now and what I’ve done to find you…where I’ve had to go To Bring You My Love.

Who knows the webs we’ve spun…how many
mouths we’ve kissed. Spiders are always crawling up my legs. Snakes are always slithering in and out of me. Hissing into my eyes and mouth. Calling for the Secret Sex- beyond body, voice or tongue., Summon Me. I’ll come.

To Bring You My Love.

I have had multiple exorcisms. Seriously, I carry the dead within. I didn’t even know but I’ve been possessed so many times by entities some welcome and some not. I’m still waiting for you to come in. That’s why He almost had to kill me. I almost bled to death, but I didn’t die. I was a walking corpse with holes for eyes. I saw you differently then, and now it will never be the same…

so don’t dump your heaven into me
I’ve come from another place
To Bring You My Love

The Virgin Mary just emailed me this morning.
She said:
———————
“Dear Sharada Devi,
I’m watching your last video “Tantric ritual becoming the deity” and there you are with Kali -being Kali and you moved it all from Woodstock by yourself- and you are eating life -and I want to be there with you -and I’m crying and giving this broken heart to the fire and the rage and rage and rage…
I should have been a nun as I’ve had the calling all my life — it’s messy and big and I’m waking up..
and the horror and the huge shame — shame -and lidding it -and pressing down all the rage and playing small- And yes, I do wish that I had listened to you -and I regret it every moment -and fear I missed the open door and invitation-and for that I’m truly sorry. I know I’m I carrying my own cross and need only put it down but this ego … I’m such a baby- weak and filled with longing for God and nothing can get in when I’m living a lie — I’m nobody and filled with longing and yes too much co-dependency -and it seems it doesn’t matter what way any of us go — it’s all a train wreak- and I’m a sleeping giant starting to awaken- and it’s big and scary and lonely- but I can’t stop now -and will burn this karmic holding down. And so what are ways to break through my own sexual energy? I’m dead there and know it’s not about being celibate most of my entire life but it’s something else — it’s about something that is so close but I can’t see to be it and don’t know it and it’s such a looping of crazy and so I see how I’m being called up and out of this looping rut … And thank you and I will continue to be that which I seek…
and I’m deeply sorry I caused you anger- and I will change that- I will -and I promise within every cell of this being -and you may feel that you are in the game as well (as you said)-or feel you have no resources- but please know that no matter what- all I have I share and give to you freely -and I will become the Queen- and I am here -and I’m grateful for you- and want nothing from you but to be of the highest service to the Holy Mother Light.”

——————-

She can’t be a nun. Come on!
“Open to the deep dark place and don’t tell me I’m dead down there” whose dead? Not Her! I don’t think so. You are the one who put on the schoolgirl skirt and lip gloss. I’ve got everything you’re asking for but you’re going to need to come to me to get it. Pull it out. The biggest secret of all. Let’s take a look at what you’ve done down below.

What I’m saying is come down with me. Down into the Mother Light Dungeon. You didn’t know
that’s how we rattle the cage, by getting in?
We rock the bed by getting tied to it.

Do you understand what I’m saying?
You’re not naked yet.

It’s you that you’re hurting and feeding and loving. My pain and my food and my love never changes- it only looks different when I’m not in the room.

My wrath is my devotion to you. Only bruising and abusing the best and the finest.

He says he’s “offended but still loves me”
Who are you? “a friend if I need someone to talk to” he still loves me even though he is one of those Bernie worshipping white guys playing Hindu. Which, its fine with me but why read my blog so you can forgive me in my space?
He says I seem tired and angry. YES, very perceptive. Tired of cardboard cut out people
calling it something other than what it is.
You inspired this blog and it’s provocative content. I know you mean well but you’re still on the fence -so maybe better to sit this one out. (two out of three isn’t bad)

1) Hold hands with Her through every movie.

2) Never let Her go.

3) She is The Only First Kiss you will ever have.

Because,
It’s all over,
now that we’ve touched.

Sharada Devi