She pulled the curtain back just a little bit to see if He’d left yet. The house was dark inside, He had been looking for her for days…(and it was only a matter of time) musky curtains and the shadowy room filled her throat with a unquenchable strangling, parched and aching with memories…
This was her Grandmother’s old decaying house. Her evil and unpredictable always smiling and humming a tune to herself evil Grandmother. Yes, her Grandmother had finally died, although nobody who knew her ever thought that day would come. She had the tenacity and grip of an Arizona Scorpion.
“Come lay in bed with me Mary”
she would call from her bed down the long, narrow, dingy hallway…
Her feelings were never right for the girl. The long baths together, the body inspections “you’ve got to be a clean girl Mary, pure for Jesus. No man of God wants to fuck a slut Mary. Your man will be your God and
whores don’t go to heaven. You need to keep it clean Mary. Keep it plump and ready for The Lord. After all, God made you so you could make him babies. Be a good girl Mary. Don’t spread your legs so much. Nobody wants a slut’s babies…”
Mary always smiled too, that is when anybody was looking. She hated everybody though, thru the smile of cracking teeth she knew she was just as evil as the wrinkled She Devil
that lived at the end of the hallway.
She hated herself really…that she could ever make a baby with a face like hers. A face that from a certain angle looked just like Grandmother when she was young. The girl had seen pictures. She knew more about Grandmother than Grandmother had told her. Oh no, those stories were selectively chosen and edited, tailored for the girls ears, always with a lesson of purity and chastity attached. Grandmother was intent
that Mary not become a “slut like her mother” but Mary never knew her Mother so it was a one sided and open ended endeavor down a dark
hallway where the Mary Mother of God Altar was, right across the hallway from Grandmother’s room. The place where Mary was sent regularly to pray and repent for her “lies and impure thoughts” somehow only Grandmother knew these lurked inside the Girl. Grandmother knew everything.
“Poor Grandmother” the girl would tell her mangy, tabby cat, this cat Sheiba, her only loyal friend and confidant, the only one who really knew and understood according to Mary. The girl found the cat she named Sheiba under a low thorny bush in a field behind the house one stormy night, abandoned by her mother, starving for love it seemed to the girl. So the relationship began and Grandmother was tolerant with the friendship. It worked out well for Grandmother because she always had a hostage, a way to threaten Mary, a great fear to hang over her
filthy head. “I will mutilate this mangy cat you little bitch, if you don’t stop
swinging your hips like that” “I will put this thing in a bag with bricks and drop it into the creek if you don’t
stop watching those pornography movie films in this house. Don’t think I don’t hear you up late at night. God help me!” Of course the girl wasn’t guilty of the accusations but this was the world, the law, the house, the fate of Mary according to Grandmother. “Poor Grandmother” the girl would say stroking Sheiba while she purred on Mary’s lap.
“Poor Grandmother will never get me clean. Poor, poor Grandmother has to raise a slut” at first the girl didn’t even know what the word meant until she finally got the courage to ask the neighbor who lived down the road one spring day. A shining and cheerful woman in overalls and a straw hat, tanned with a slightly weathered yet optimistic and attractive face. Her beaming blue eyes and warm voice made everyone like her right away. The girl slithered over to where the woman was picking some flowers behind her rambling and bright country house. with chickens and goats and a bubbling creek through the front yard adorned with a myriad of fruit trees, a well tended vegetable garden and flowers everywhere perfectly manicured in her garden one sunny spring day. The girl edged her way from bush to bush finally nearing the bent over woman dressed in overalls and a straw hat
with long blond hair in a ponytail down her back. “Why hello Mary, how are you? How is your Grandmother?” the girl stammered, shy and intimidated by the pretty woman “I’m ok. What’s a slut?”
The woman’s head jerked up sharply
“What Mary? Where have you heard such words? Why would you say this?”
“I’m a slut. I want to know what’s a slut”
“Mary do I need to talk to your Grandmother and tell her you are using dirty, nasty words? You need to get yourself to church more often young lady” Mary could see she had upset the pretty neighbor woman and didn’t know what to do next.
“I’m sorry” she whispered eyes turned down.
“Now tell your Grandmother I said hello and never use such words again. ”
“Ok” the girl said quietly turning back to Grandmother’s house. The place where Mary lived. Thinking to herself that “slut” meant dirty-meant nasty. “I should have known” the girl thought turning the knob of the big creaking front door. She looked up to the sign that wobbled everytime the door shut “God Bless This Home” always hanging a little crooked. The girl wondered why Grandmother never noticed.
Mary wanted to be clean like Grandmother, pure. A lover of God.
The girl never meant to be a whore.
She decided that day that she would be better, be cleaner. Pray more. Be just like Grandma…

But He was patient and She was His Queen.

Are you wondering why I write and I say such terrible things? Are you worried my mind is perverse? That I’m not who you thought I was?
Think again my beautiful companion. I’m not who I thought I was either.
I’m everywhere that counts. Everything is bleeding and red. I’m as white as a dove. It’s a riddle. The chaos takes off her clothes when She needs to. I told you I was a stripper. I wasn’t kidding. What’s to hide? That’s a lie, inside is where we store the dark. Outside can be anything. Your yoga pants don’t fool me.

So now here we are inside the hole. Did you think you might not have one? Or are you just filled with love?

My Human Parts
a deeper place than heaven
I found between my legs
when the whore found meaning
white knuckled freedom from pain
I caught her lying there
laughing opened
with cold hard eyes
she said to me,
“it isn’t hard to find the answers”
the cart it seems, is deeper than the well…the mirror from the broken bottom tells all sorts of wounds….
from a reflection that reaches…
fishing for food…hooks into looking places, or the cadaver and the portal to peace. The words are in segments, the listener gets caught…
don’t turn around like that…running toward the echo…the chamber in the well, her silo and predicament…
(to heal sick fish just like us in the
phantom waters of yesterday)

making something new this time…
the fish swim up into her- the whore
and she looks right through them.
Many men we find ourselves
attached to her laughing eggs
that never hatching groan
that leaches hot from hot
and me from you.
It’s at the bottom of what never
changes that I wait for tomorrow once again.
My love for her in lunacy pulling
trip from trap again and again.
What she says to me is not in words
Her opened mouth in deep revival
churns and spooks the willing
back back back and under
before whatever came.
The ecstasy was never real
pull out before its too late.
It was then that I knew
why she left me, hanging from
her, dangling for more….
Crying into my only ear.
I heard her say
“you got it backwards
lift up your leg and call it quits”
I only have one.
One within one.
fucking for peace.
No love without peace.
“Lay down your weapon
you are no lover like that
get out of me”
Chimes and bells and
wicked screams
filled my heart at once
who was free and hooked
and loved?
Who was “all that matters?”
lying beneath her,
I forgot it all.

Pretend my dear, that you do not hear. Hear the
reason you came closer. Because I know your eyes and I’m looking in that hole and you couldn’t close it and now it’s too late. You came to me as fear entering the valley. Shadows eclipsing and days that won’t end. You walked in and you found me waiting for you. I wasn’t who you wanted but I’m the only one there is. Nobody
else will live here shuffling demons and counting moons for you. I’m playing this game with you remember? It’s spooky now, where we find ourselves and we’re looking for someone else.
But it’s only me and you came and you said
“I need you to help me. I need something”
Ok that’s what I heard. That’s what I always hear.
Through you smile and your glitter I see His dark hand across your face. I can’t pretend we aren’t
the the ones who did it. Something is wrong, yes I know. “Oh everything is perfect. It’s all as it should be. God will change everything if I smile and pray.”

If that’s true, why are you in my valley?

You entered on your own and you found me
here, the only one who stayed for you. I own this
valley and the wild dogs are my friends. I have nowhere else to go but through you as the many
nights you created long before this descent.
Don’t forget that you don’t remember. Did you forget me already? Once I see you, I never leave you. You can never turn back now, the entrance closed behind you. And when you think you’ve left this place, it’s only another night you’re digging. You never left. I’m right here watching you pretend we aren’t alone. That your clothes are on…but It’s me. It’s me. It’s me. I’ve become your fear. I never leave. If you didn’t change the locks, that’s your fault. I wish you understood what you wanted when you came here. She slaps very hard. Wake up! She
slaps again and again like water against rock.
A Wanderer shouldn’t be lost. Remember!

This forest is dark with many trees and this valley is deep with many secrets. I’ve even been
afraid of myself in this place. Dancing all alone.
And I’m still not totally comfortable here, even now, after He took me and showed me what I never wanted to see (I was like you with His dark hand moving across my face) He made me look and He taught me to dance and then He gave me the Valley. The dark Passage place of Her. I own it and I’m waiting for you.
Of course many are already here who think they’ve left me and are looping dormant and dim, in a slumber of delusion “It’s sad, but I keep them close” She said. It takes boiling courage, I keep telling you. The entrance closes once you step through. You can never go back! Stop clawing at my walls! Stop wasting time!
See, this is the Valley of Secrets. What lie have you told to end up here? All locked up with only one way to go. We’ve all done it …and the only way out is through…

I haven’t always been one person, I used to be two…and it was hard, and painful and terrifying. I was afraid of the evil I felt within…I couldn’t trust the “other” me…only the “good” me was trustable and worthy and “showable” to the outside world…I was comfortable with Her but not with HER. And I could feel HER rising from below, I would know in advance like when you see a storm coming and the sky turns black and the birds leave the sky….I would feel HER coming in this way….riding in on the wild storm that would destroy good me and I was helpless against HER. The closer SHE got, the more irresistible SHE would become until it was over. I was gone. Good me went down again into HER. It was reckless, destructive, magnetic, intoxicating, horrifying, tormenting and relentless I rocked back and forth on Her and HER for a long, long time. HER mouth took it all. SHE took everything I thought I had and I thought I was. And the first person to go was Good Her. Good Her was actually the biggest beast of all. The loudest dog with the biggest fangs. She eats you from the inside out so that you know, and once She’s done and you’re just a hollow shell of smiles and uncertainty She releases you back into your pathetic useless life as a people pleaser and a closet violent sociopath. Your smiles don’t fool HER. HER who I thought was Hell. HER who knows His reason for wiping it all away. She’s a wicked liar.

So Him and HER got rid of Her.

Why won’t you look?

I’m not alone anymore. He picked me from my bones and all the vultures fled the sky when they saw His Chariot appear…charging through the black wind…

His Black Fire Dragon Calls Me Midnight.

And I rise to meet Him just like that…pulled from my bones, less than an echo, but warm and still beating inside of you…I told you my love never dies.

coil stump
blue dead face
octagon surge
only the true will know
Her secret
black bag to carry
hold the stalk
look at me
my lonely hands
are searching
for the Diamond
in this cell
crawling without eyes
that see the sprawling hole
I was cut away
like the dark at dawn
the sun is coming
rising thru my neck
open to the sky
weeping inside the circle
holding hands
like wheels we spin
the luminous night
glowing naked
out of time
the symbol rises
looking closely
disassembled, everywhere
this lock confuses
the entry unknown
one cold eye
burning thru the black
while one star held the heavens
right above my head

One night many years ago while I was in the darkest of the dark of me I had a dream…
I was trying to get somewhere safe and important and I needed to be there soon…and I was carrying a small statue of the Goddess Kali (I didn’t even know who Kali was at that time of the dream) I didn’t know what to do because
shadowy figures kept surrounding me everywhere I went. I got on trains. I went down alleys. I climbed up stairs. I ran through fields.
Everywhere I went they followed me and watched me and I knew they were conspiring to kill me. It was very dangerous the places I kept going to escape this fate….then I realized that it was the statue that made them want to kill me and so if I just broke the statue they would leave me alone. So I got off the train and broke Her into pieces. Relieved I started walking happy that I was out of harm….then suddenly the shadowy figures were back and following me and I couldn’t escape them no matter what I did.
Then I voice said “You carry the curse of Kali”
I couldn’t get Her out and I couldn’t get away from Her. She was inside! So at that moment I needed to decide if I would be the hunter or the prey. We like to think we have a choice but it’s only a matter of time before you see that you can’t break Her. Oh, you can break yourself into pieces but not Her and She’ll become a thousand gruesome fragments of what you thought you left. You can’t escape the purpose of what He did and why He did it. This is Their holy matrimony. This is Their love for you. You, Baby Jesus. The Pure Lamb of Light.

I will attempt to weave the girl together
braid the madness
straighten the kinks
A lock on my table
a loaf of bread on my plate
let’s eat the listener
making words into wine
The girl understood that we had to break her
open upon the plate
She was wiser than we
who attempt the impossible

She bent and she burst
imploding, exploding
explanations into chaos
blood into the churning sea
we drink and we eat and
we don’t understand
the flesh and the blood
we hold captive

(Mary are you listening?)
So after that dream I began worshipping Kali because I was afraid and I wasn’t big enough to stop Her from finding Him anyway. I was simply in the way. Do you understand? I wasn’t big enough to be me anymore. “I love you but it’s over” I told the one hiding in shame. And that’s what I thought I did but it’s never over. I’ve been a liar for a very long time. But She hears every word and sees every deed and knows every time I die in Her name. What else can we do?

She will always be a winner with me on Her hook.

Sharada Devi

The Mosaic Takes No Prisoners

“I don’t have any thing
I am not any thing but a
A cry disappearing in the wind”

They found Her lying on Her side heaving with exhaustion. Her white fur steaming with heat
Her golden eyes as still as a pierced knife caught in it’s victim. She was a wolf, large and white.
Not a regular wolf. She was enormous, a huge mound of white fire pulsing and flaming beneath the dark forest of trees. She’d made it here finally to die, the war out there was too great even for Her. She was a lone fighter, nobody by Her side. Is that what they thought?

They were hunters both carrying guns. It was a full moon night but still in the twilight, the Moon had not yet reached Her full splendor. The sky was so empty, the stars hiding and watching behind the blanket of a silver hum. The sky was so empty as if He didn’t matter at all.

I wrote you a song
to sing to the world
nobody knew me
but you were a star
so I hid behind
your shining face
while you sang
what I wanted to say
and nobody ever knew me
and nobody ever thought
that I, the sky
might be singing too

But the wolf seemed to know and She laid there
waiting to go. To return to Him finally as the howler in His blue heart. She might cover the world this way, the world that hurt Her and never understood Her way. The howling we hear always came from there…and never from the throat of mere animals. They tear from their guts
our hot veins dripping- It’s always been that way.
Whoever sees into the sky knows Their love.

They were hunters, both dressed as a hunter would. They had paid for these clothes and they weren’t cheap. She only had fur. White and dirty, stained with old blood.
They found Her and it wasn’t like they could just start shooting. She was huge and shocking and
She was clearly still ALIVE. One hunter (there were two) knelt near Her head and one knelt near Her middle and put his hand on Her to feel Her breathing. She was heaving and blurry with night. Her eyes were gold and fixed on the moon slowly entering the darkening sky above Her.
She loved Him more than they could see.

The hunter in the middle of Her knew better than the one at Her head. The hunter at Her head had his shotgun out just waiting for the other hunter to signal when to shoot. He clearly felt He was being merciful to offer this release. The other hunter though, scared yet enchanted, started listening closer to Her heart beat and Her breath. He put up his hand
signaling the head hunter to stop and put his gun way. He turned his head just as Her eyes met his, he was transfixed by Her gaze in a way that made his world, as he knew it, disappear around him. It was only Him and Her now. Was it the sky? Was it the earth? Was it the moon holding him captive in Her? His mind was empty and the golden light of Her eyes created a sound in his head, a different language than his, but he understood, and he heard Her and he knew what he needed to do.

Deep in the forest
beneath warm misty rain
I heard my heart singing again
Her song was a siren
calling me home
only one place leads to here
Her song woke the birds
and the owls of the night
who circled around me
and in the myth of the coven
I spread open my wings
and watched Her fly away
brewing we sat,
me and the birds
calling and singing for Her

And when the morning came
the ground was still wet
the fire still burning
and Her ashes filled the sky

(Deep in the womb. The spark then the fire. The burning. The flesh of the witch. Flesh turned to ash. Ash rose
to God. From the song in the smoke
then the bird)

He thought “It can’t be this way she will never
die by our mercy. We can’t kill Her. Nobody can kill Her. She lives in His sky as the fire of night and she walks upon this earth as His sword of Spirit.”

The Moon was now above us. The Owls like witches watched and casting their spell upon us we became bewitched by Her, filled with Her song….and they made us
think that we finally remembered. That we knew who we were. Not the white wolf. She already knew. It was the two hunters who thought they had found Her. Who thought they were helping Her. Who thought She might be done.

The cauldron hisses and spits. The Snake moves through everything and it doesn’t matter how She does it. The catalyst or the shapeshifter.
We put our shoe upon Her, don’t forget that.

(Continued….when we awoke- me and my little bird)
we were covered in ashes and blood looking up at Him. I said, ” the Angel fell. Do you know him?” Deep in the Triangle now…the pieces of cloud kept us covered from seeing who He really was. My little bird, she kept changing…and I didn’t know who I was. Aurora the Oracle who sings in the water flowed down the river in a stream of gold and began to sing near me
Here is what I heard

“as vast as the sea
and as high as the sky
I let the fire burn
this heavenly weapon
as rare as my name
being heard

and upon the land
even in the dimmest of shrines
the laughter was heard
by the candles being fed

It’s all around us now
the sound of the end
up in flames and
sending smoke signals.

We wave our flags high
white peace in the ashes
feathers and fishes
and not as before

the drum thumps beneath
the lumps left of earth
pounding old souls
back in places

(they left their staffs behind
they bit their hearts quiet
they stood to the side
lifting slowly
the gavel)

but it’s all burning now
and it doesn’t matter
because I let it happen”

I didn’t have a pen so I couldn’t write this down and I’m not sure if I’m remembering everything. There’s something else we need to know…before I could ask Her She slithered away, a gold stream shining in the water. She moves quickly and expects us to understand.

The Waxing Ones know we learn in Their world.
But when in this world we are expected to remember.

“Where am I?” I said to the hunter….

Homelessness. I don’t really feel at home.
There’s no way for me to come to terms with where I’ve been put. It’s where apparently I wanted to come. We can’t remember why but at the moment we can’t imagine what we were thinking. We had high hopes. We had high opinions of our ability. We had courage. We had a fire burning. So we came and most of us got stuck. Embedded in the mire of 3D reality. You can’t be a coward you know.
We must remember. That’s what they say the first step is- remembering. You aren’t at home.
You are on a mission. It’s feels all wrong- the idea that you should adapt soon and settle down and relate appropriately. That you should contribute and thrive inside the machine with the others.
They look at you- they know you just aren’t right.
You feel the same way. Your heart doesn’t beat correctly. It’s out of time. You can’t just sleep. Or listen. You’re hearing too much. Everything aches and burns. Prayers don’t get answered. There is no response. You have been abandoned
and you still aren’t sure what you did that was so
wrong, so heinous to be sentenced to this torture in a hell of insanely ok Others. Yes they are all ok. Can’t you see. You’ve got the problem.
You’re weird. You stutter. You cry. You don’t like looking into everyone’s eyes. The sound is like tin. I can’t find a home here. It’s inside me I know I’ve heard it before and God holds my hand and carries me and only His footprints are seen.
Plastic everywhere. Everything plastic…..

(you can still say we’re all One. That doesn’t bother me)

And when She told me that day and I stepped over that pile of Jesus- (where he was buried) I knew there was no going back until after The Harvest. So I am going to find the Fallen One and be brave…..

I remember everything. My Mother doesn’t know. She thought we were too young to remember -but I REMEMBER. It’s the most recent distortions that must be released first.
(this is what They say)
While a child still at home and for sake of survival I suppressed it all. Then when I left at about 18- I started remembering everything.
It would just come up like visions and I would think “how could I have forgotten that?” I remember back as far as infancy. One time I thought I needed to say something to Her, it was a pretty bad recall after all. So one day (I was about 19 and was with Her in the car driving) I said,
“Mom do you remember that time I was 9 or 10 and you got mad at me and started beating me and I was running from you and you knocked me down in the hallway and cut off all my hair?”
She started screaming wildly “you liar!!!”
She then slapped my face and kicked me out of the car….so clearly this wasn’t the way….

So I guess it will be no use confronting Her about the time She tried to suffocate me either…(I can still taste the salt on Her hands as she held them over my mouth and nose)…or the sexual abuse of me and my brother…or….and the list goes on.
Yes, this I REMEMBER.

She recently sent an email that said, “What is it that I did to you that was so bad Michelle? ….I don’t know what belief system you live by –
but I live by one- and it’s called LOVE Michelle.”

She’s not able to hear the truth so I leave Her to Her delusion until She finds courage. She says “I’ve caused her more pain than anyone” She’s not interested in me. Do you understand?
It’s called a Veil. It is lifted of its own accord.
The road isn’t through them in this case, it’s somehow more “around them” do you see?

My brother is a Dragon hurling and spewing straight at me but he’s still my majestic little king friend and I love him anyway. He won’t know until he’s ready….

I always get blamed. It’s part of my purpose. I put myself in their path for a reason beyond me.
And I’m not better. We don’t have to hear “I’m sorry.” And we don’t even have to always say it either. Everyone is inside Their own Wolf.
How much can She handle? I don’t know,
How deep is your love?

So are we alone then? Each of us awaiting the crucifixion or the exorcism? There’s no difference (after all that’s what She said)

Jesus is in there and She’s white mixed with blood and we burn Her as the witch and we
hang Her as the cross. She fills the sky with smoke to bring us down and notch or two.
Feathers turn to Him as magic and we pray for the rain to fall. We’re killing with precision and we meant the beast no harm…

She can’t stop me. She’s right,
“Its called LOVE Michelle.”

The hunter flinched and the spell was broken.
Her White paw resting upon His hand. She was looking at Him now softly as a wise mother speaking to Her cub. “We come from there” She said, looking toward the cluster of stars in the sky. “We are The Wanders”
the fresh blood upon Her silver fur glistened and I knew we were free…

“There is a Great War that we fight. Where we hunt and we spook and we fly over oceans.
The ripe fall and we eat them. The crooked run and we catch them. The still sit and we watch them. The sky is a screen that The Watchers look through. They already know where we are.
The Watchers are the Waxing Ones and the Moon is just a wolf’s cry away. Don’t forget me”….

and then She bled into the ground as a puddle of moonlight upon the earth…..and I heard a girl’s voice in the distance crying
“Aurora where did you go?!” Aurora….come back……come back……

The star was swelling in the sky
twinkle of death in Her big black eye
“get closer” whispered hidden clouds
“follow the star don’t be shy”
baby Christmas howls
and the white womb prism glows
like a flower in an open field
lightening flashes and the earth is
creaking, cracking and the worms
are rising from their sleep
from down beneath the singing little girl
The rain is falling in streams of silver
running down Her winter face
the tree is holding this prayer
sending to the sky above Her
words written for tomorrow
and it all unfolds as She sits
beneath the tree upon the earth…
worms growing into golden snakes”

Into the sounds of the dark we reach pulling up the roots of our noise… waiting for the letters
to reach us…and we travel deep into the earth, into the Secret Places where They make fire for volcanoes and darkness for light… both of us knowing only then that our paws are white and our feet are gold. Both of us knowing only then where the blood really comes from.

(There’s a hole in this story.
WARNING: The Truth is Deep)

Because in a circle at sunrise She will spell
your name across the sky and with
invisible eyes you will see Her. (The name
She gave you in the night, for only you to read)……

She turned over in bed again and again….struggling in the tangled sheets…She opened Her eyes….golden sunlight streaming in.

Was it a dream?

“The Mosaic takes no prisoners.
Remember me in the morning.”

(she wrote this down in the notebook near her bed. She didn’t know where it came from….maybe some memory or some dream…)

(As the sun rose even though She seemed to have left him…he knew She’d only changed Her shape. His instincts told him that She would rather die in battle then to die because   She had given up. They were both hunters after all. And he understood His Mother well)

We can make it and we can take it and
it’s impossible to break it.

Sharada Devi


Take Me Down

Take me down
there are snakes underground
sewer rats and
vintage wine

One time Bhagavan Das and me rented a cabin in Oregon. It was very remote and isolated and was sitting on a raging river. It was dark though because the cabin was surrounded by gigantic trees. The sunlight was filtered by the trees and it was strangely quiet- except for the constant roar of the river, there was not a sound in sight…the inside of the cabin was all wood and there was a massive fireplace made of black rock.
One day not too long after moving in we noticed a horrible smell in the cabin one morning and found the source as the bathtub filled with brown water bubbling up from the drain. The brown water had little pieces in it. It was a direct experience of what was left behind. The remnants, the remains of those who came before us. It was there sewage from an overflowing septic tank that we were now left to deal with. At that time coincidentally huge rats also started to take over the cabin.
They were inside the walls, on the ceiling, running around the house. And they weren’t afraid of me. They were wild and clever, aggressive and in charge. They had an eery intelligence as if they’re planned the whole thing…as if they knew it was all just too much to handle. Too gross. Too real.
We had a huge Ganesha on the mantle over the fireplace in the living room with a bell hanging next to it. They would run back and forth ringing the bell. Jumping like acrobats or circus heroes…
and this wasn’t after we went to sleep and the house was dark and safe for them- this was in daylight, right in front of us. One time one rat saw me as he entered the bedroom and I sat up in bed and screamed (he was as big as a cat) he then stood on his hind legs and began
to charge at me…I screamed again and he just ran faster…I jumped up just as he flew by me. These rats meant business. They were going to take over! We went to the hardware store to buy those traps that catch them and then you can “set them free” (you tempt them by putting food inside) the old man at the hardware store just laughed at us…apparently he knew the rats better than we did. He said “you need poison” We said “we can’t do that” he just shook his head…he knew we’d have to learn the hard way… so every morning we’d check the cages and they were empty and the doors were shut.
The food was gone! They figured it out. How to get the food and not get caught. They were smarter than us…meanwhile still dealing with
the overflowing septic tank and now the termites are covering the front door too….like millions of them. What should we do? Rats. Shit. Termites.
Where do we go from here? Do we let them have the cabin? Clearly it’s us or them. What is
compassion? Is it really that clear? We like to think so don’t we? It’s all so simple when we keep it black and white and the edges never blur and it’s never our decision- but the “right and loving” decision. (that our ethics adopted by our persona made for us before we could actually even think or decide) Sometimes my friend, that just doesn’t work. We learn the hard way that it’s not that easy….we are born to kill and to shit.

The parable of the story is:
One way or another we must own it.

So they dug an elephant size hole in the front of the cabin where the septic tank was and they drained the waste and the urine. The rats were poisoned. Shortly after we got married.

Bhagavan Das once tried to tell me that I better be careful how I talk to him because bad things might happen to me because he was God.
(like seriously and not in theory- after all it worked on other people)
I looked at him and said “you’re full of shit”
(after all we needed to determine rank and position in the relationship)
He knew it was true. He was a scamming rat full of shit. We all are. Some of us just have a bigger stage to defecate on or to pull rank. Our rats are tenacious. They can chew through metal.
They’re clever and they burrow very deeply.
Apparently these rats started at the bottom and worked their way up…see what I’m saying?

the sage was a wicked man
His pipe was upside down
he carried a fork that
bit and swallowed
he sang a tune that wept and hung
in the air like smoke from fire
one day he held the fork to the sky
the purple lip of God upon him
in a pitch of humming and hollow eyed
he sunk the song below him
God building fire and saying today
is the day for new light
the sun beat his drum and the
moon licked his lips
will we all die in the crossfires?
the sage was the sermon
the last second on the clock
held to the sky bending over the moment
kill us all with your crooked hook
we meant wisely to go
away from the place holding captive
the lie cool and seeping
into the sea dripping death.

people are expecting something they are never going to get from me…predictability.

We should find out what’s going on in the place we find ourselves…and do something about it. The shit gets left behind and it’s called inheritance. It’s the stew of feces that bubbles up from the drain. Then the rats move in and want to take over. They’re big and they’re fast and they’re clever. They aren’t afraid. They aren’t good or bad. They just know. They know you. They know where to go.
They call themselves God and they believe it. Could it be true after all?
What does this mean to me?
It means that- they’re ringing the bell and it’s time.

It means I’m being called to take a stand. It means I better own this place I’m in and find all its secret tunnels and hiding places…..
She’s tipping now….full of secrets…
She’s tipping Her head and eating Her tail.
It’s His vice grip upon Her. He squeezes everything out of Her. Now She’s eating His
head and His tail thrashes and whips from side to side. Venom and semen and life. Poisonous puddles of Union. We can call it slime or fifth or the dead things we create -but I just call it compromise. (sometimes I call it perfection depending on my mood) Flipping The Switch. This could be God after all. It’s really just turning everything on isn’t it? Pushing all the danger buttons…the friction hurts a little less when we know it’s almost over. He’s flat on the floor and not squirming at all. It’s Divinity.

(Lesson #1- Its never over. Ever. Get used to it.)

the snake
struck a cord
thick and deep
under the skin
loud and light
between the sheets
the maker
a corner
leaving a trail
of lace
behind her….

It’s about what’s left behind. What they did in that place. Secrets. It’s about Secrets.
I have so many secrets. People give them to me and want me to hold them. It’s a lot.
Secrets. Secret places. Secret holes.
finding the words to tell you might be hard….
what are you holding my friend?

I was leaning on you
my redeemer, lifter
of the bottom hole
twist unscrew
mistaken peace
yes I lost you
when I looked.
Seeing the pain
untouched around you
between segments lean
reminders underscored
and diligent pursuits
my lost way, I held you
like the desert holds the moon
you are all I have to stop
the fire burning horns
of misery
tell me the way
how shall I hold you?
Deep in the night sky
edging closer, turning
blue then gold
then sharp then wet
you went away before
we were finished…
together again
peace in the search
for the silence
cool and dripping
moments of collapse

I can’t give you safety and cuddles. I know you really don’t want that -but I do know you want in.
“It’s not you, it’s me” yes, we’ve heard that one before. I took you into my dwelling. The dwelling, the warm fire inside. The special Secret….

…and now here I stand upon the precipice of me. I wish I had something to offer you. It seems you have come and wandered nearby and grown afraid of the light of the moon. I wish She wasn’t so bright so that I wouldn’t seem so dark to you.
How deep is this love that tears and scavenges?
“It isn’t me its you” we’ve heard that one before
and it’s true no matter how….
and when I walked by and saw the pornographic images I wasn’t sure who’s fault it was. They’re screaming in my face. “Start hunting now! Let the games begin!” young blood dancing in a flurry….dripping with the pain of the parts we never knew. And I couldn’t just pick Her up and move on, She was way too heavy by now…
domination or submission-whose hand do we hold through this? I feel I have nothing left to thread through you, that this eclipse is beginning to burn…to burn bright as the star in my window.
Im still waiting for you. I’m guiding you home and the sirens are calling…
(wicked and haunted are the guises we assume)
And the images filled my head with a fear that only knows how to become the one lusting…
who put who in command after all?

It’s funny how people won’t leave comments in the blog comment section but keep emailing me personally as if they’re too important to just be a “commenter” a couple weeks ago a woman emailed and thanked me for my courage and assured me that “we all have ghosts” (you know like skeletons in the closet- yes, talking about them and meeting them are very different though -but she wouldn’t know that yet) or another person sends me links to “people who have resolved these issues and can help me”
It’s hysterical to think that I would spend 1,000 dollars to create this website just to:

H) NONE OF THE ABOVE- You never knew me. You don’t know me now. I can say what I say because it doesn’t matter at all. Will you be inspired to
let go of your lie? I hope so because it’s hurting a lot of other liars. The Secrets we Hold.
(the answer. Check)

It’s HYSTERICAL. The lurkers. The stalkers. The voyuers. The pitiers. The analyzers. You’re all out there I know it…. (secrets are like termites)
And thank you for all of your emails. It’s a start. The Beloved has always carried a snake around Her neck. Don’t you know why? Start moving now! The Beloved has always cracked the whip. Do you know why? Pain is the key. The Beloved always breaks the fantasy of light. Do you know why? So you can see in the dark. It’s Her dark. She’s not afraid because She lives there. Rats come and go. Feces flows and sinks back into Her. She works with your shit. She is the Maker of Gold. She’s got mysterious skills even She doesn’t know why….you know we can’t leave something out or behind without losing something precious.
It’s creating itself no matter what.

My message and my reason is obscured by my
love. I only talk in riddles and chaos. She moves back and forth across time. She weaves in and out of my mind (and yours) we aren’t separated by do’s and don’ts. We aren’t the problem.
There isn’t a solution to seek. Time will not ever tell Her Secrets. She’ll walk right into you.

I cried when you left
But I never missed you
I ripped up the memory
but never threw it in the fire
burning in the middle
of this love
the flames held the room
silent and bright
I sat staring at where you used to sit
across from me
throwing glances in the fire
so I said goodbye
smoke waving from the grave
into your eyes I walked
alone without you
into the fire
the long hot places
stretching me into
new flames
holding open the door
it was written long ago
in a book about two
one was me
and the other
was you

There’s no one to love. My own not knowing
catches and poisons. Bubbles, bursts and digs.
So many many many me’s………in the way of us.

She keeps laughing
Echoes. Echoes. Echoes.
Blue lights. Exposure.
“I was never a waste of your time”

thank you bare beauty. bare back.
riding wild in flux and in grace.
thank you for your storm and your beating.
thank you for my name. It means midnight.
nobody can cast their shadow upon me.

I’m talking to you

“oh beautiful sun
I never wept
Into my warm heart
falls the golden rain
My Black Redeemer
You don’t need a name”

Have you ironed out your life? Are you working on your ego? Are you only seeing good in others so that you can feel good about who you are or who you think you should be? Is that what you read in the book? Are you working very hard at being spiritual?
You are just the liar I am talking to. It’s not your fault but it’s a trap. It’s worse than the hell for sinners. Stop being a monster. You don’t love yourself. You’ve lost your riches in exchange for other people’s rules. It’s not your religion! Stop trying to be a Hindu. Stop trying to be anything. Please just stop trying altogether and when the rules and false beliefs die down….look around and find yourself there in the ruins. Fragmented and perverted. Flawed and useless. Somewhere real for once in your life. Just be there rocking in Her Shadow. Eyes wide open. Only from there will you see the beautiful sunrise. Only from there will you see when your Father comes home. The gold only rises from the black. Don’t forget that. Take it all. Take it back.

My lonely rider who carries the Stone, just keep going….

on the rail
and blue with ice
I lift the only handle
it’s melting it’s quiet
this little sinking feeling
the two doorways
deaths little spiral
it’s more than it seems
and the answer is
never easy
twisting lifting
to open
both eyes
into you

Love is the Fury who sees. She sees what broke in two. She sees. She sees. She sees into you.

you are the lucky one.
Sharada Devi


I started seeing ghosts when I was very young.
Ghosts and aliens. They would come for me.
I was afraid and so my mom bought me a huge dog stuffed animal who I named Herbie and I would hide behind him under the blankets so they might not not be able to find me when they
got there. It was hot and hard to breath but it’s what I had to do. I had a stuffed animal army to protect me. Every night I would go down the line
(before tucking under Herbie) and each stuffed
friend would agree (they talked to me- I didn’t even want them if they didn’t have mouth because then we couldn’t talk) on how they would protect me…
Me: Rita what are you going to do to save me?
Rita the Racoon: I’m going to claw them and bite them…(she had nice claws and a big mouth)
and I would go down the line (it took awhile)

Then we I was done and had been assured
of their protection I would lie in waiting with my eyes peaking from behind the fortress of Herbie for the first one to come.

She always stood in the doorway for a long time just staring at me. She wore a dress from the 1950’s with an apron tied around her waist.
(she never changed her clothes)
then she would start walking towards me slowly and stop -stooping over me as I lie covered and hiding in my bed. By this time I was horrified and after the first time all I could do we close my eyes really tight until she was gone
She would then just stare at me and stroke my head with her gray transparent hand. Then she would just turn around and start walking and then fade away. I think she thought I was someone else.
She was just one of many…

The aliens would also come and take me I’m pretty sure. They would observe me and do other things I didn’t understand and then they would put me back in my bed and erase my mind. I remember the blindingly bright light in my eyes. I told my mother I needed to sleep in Her room because “they were coming to take me”
she never believed me (I was about 4-5 at that time)
she would say, “who’s coming to take you Michelle?”
I would say, “THEY are!”
…and she never listened or seemed to understand…needless to say, I got used to to being misunderstood at a very early age….

I remember their sheer, white, towering bodies. The electricity around them…how they can talk inside your head. They were not hurting me but I was still very afraid. They put blocks in my memory and it’s very difficult to get clear on what this relationship is about -but lately communication is open and it’s all getting very vivid. I’m sure they’re watching everything I do. I’m not sure why they took me or chose me but I’m pretty sure it’s genetics and bloodline. One of my aunts on my mothers side has also been visited.

We are a mixture of so many different strains of DNA. Some of us came here but we don’t belong here and we know it. That’s why we don’t fit in.
That’s why we aren’t ambitious. That’s why we suffer acutely. I’ve been told we came here on a mission….

Yes, I too would like to think I’m crazy but I’m not. It’s true and it’s likely you’re reading this because they visit you also. Like I said it’s very hard to remember until they open you up to them. You can’t do it yourself.
It’s a long process of forgetting and then remembering and our lives are total insanity and emotional wreckage up until a certain point. Now these are My People – where I’m from any that’s how they do it with me. It’s different depending on where you are from and who you’re aligned with- the protocol.

It seems to me the reason for the insanity and turmoil and total pointlessness
and isolation is due to The Clearing. It’s how the records are being gone through and old DNA essentially being deleted little by little and replaced with your pure heritage-your true line.
We did this on purpose. We came here to purge the planet of its poison and the first place we took it was into our genetics and blood. And it’s the first place we need to start releasing in order to successfully transmute after The Clearing has been completed and the process then merges into something called The Recollection- at which point memories, abilities and talents are released.

You have no idea how powerful you are. So powerful in fact that we could not bare even a fragment of our own greatness without their protection and gradual release. It’s an electrical capacity that we are attempting to master and
then utilize for the greater good. During the Recollection we are compelled to then begin a stage within a stage called the Retrieval. This part is just as confusing and painful as The Clearing because we are diving profoundly deep into not only our psyche but that of the collective – it’s about salvaging what’s useful and pertinent to this process- the pain and confusion is caused by the fact the as humans who are limited in foresight and wisdom and who tend to fear the unknown and the sexual we mistake the assets as detriments since they’ve been laced with shame and guilt and we can’t access our fuel and harness our greatness which stems from our sexuality most of all. All of our talents and our compassion are essentially sexual in nature. All of our desire to share and to seek-
to understand and to integrate must be realized through our sexual natures. As we currently stand as “humans” this is a massive problem and we’re reacting and we are hiding and we are forgetting and we’ve lost each other.

I was told that many have come and they are failing the mission. We should not be so alone-
we need each other because not everyone is from our strain. Not everyone who is dressed as a human is actually a human and not all of them are here for good but for other reasons. They ensnare and enslave us. And they recognize us before we even know who we are. They can literally smell our blood and know where we come from. And we can’t always see them.
There are many dimensions and many worlds close at hand but there is one place they are mostly working from and it’s as close as the nose on your face.

This is the second time with this blog that everything I was writing just gets Erased. I don’t even know how that’s possible. You think I hit some button or command but I didn’t. It’s just disappears. Which makes me think if that can happen were the words ever written at all? I think not…

So that brings me to The Dancer and who she is and how at the stage within a stage (seeking resolution while in Retrieval) we misunderstand
sometimes due to the fantasy that anything is resolveable. Either you can dance with Her or you can’t but “resolving” and all the personal property that fantasy implies is stagnant and stuck in fear turned to arrogance. We have so many tactics and way of seeking amends. We don’t learn how to move until this stage blends and folds back into itself and the freedom of The Dance and the fearlessness of the dangers of sexuality in all its facets and projections.

“She was a lucky lady
she wore a crown with horns
She was a dancer
and when the crowd turned away
she struck the mirror with a vengeance

Luck was on her side
she was a day dreamer and
a when she laid beneath the crooked tree
the sun left the sky and the moon turned black

Lucky was the lady and I knew her well……
She sat in the back of the room
her fingers were long
tracing the faces she watched
by memory alone, slow and twitching
they passed not knowing or seeing
Her face in the mirror on the long wall in the front of the room
next to the heavy door swinging
both ways….
In and out, don’t miss a moment
it goes on without you…however…
faces slipping faces into new sequence…
dying, laughing gazes of Her semblance.

They twist and they turn summoned to dance by the One who knows not how to move.
(it’s Her and Them watching and waiting)

Twisting and breaking
first the lock then the key into two.
They’ll never get out….
so She knows them all very well
…back and forth…back and forth they go
(terrible dancers with no moves)
once again into the long mirror
(of no place but here)…..
She watches the fitful turn blue….
then finally sleeping….then a new dream…
naked and wet…then flat on the floor
(let’s try this again)
their families trampling…their short reminder…
(it doesn’t get any easier)
blood bound, crossed in two…

We come and forget Them. She’s at the door watching. She’s in the mirror on the floor.
(we are the dead in between)

Everywhere blue crying eyes…are the sky…
just above the room….we never leave knowing.

Heavy lidded blinking door…into His
eyes we fall again…
(and nobody ever even asked him how
he did it)

I’m laughing lying flat on the floor. I’ll be your bridge. I’ll be your whistle. I’ll be your map to nowhere. I love Him too, I understand.
He never wanted me. He didn’t choose me.
I chose Him. It’s all my fault. He’s not even real.

My tears are just me remembering that I have nowhere left to go. I’ve been here for so long just staring at Him….

Drifting upon the land of me
a tiny island floating in the sea
whales and moonlight
and dangerous things
enchant me for a little while
the drum of horizon
echoes and recedes
bigger each day is
this face of forward
I am endless here
hovering and bobbing
in my little space
in my little sea
in my monstrous fantasy
of ever reaching me
Its funny how we think we won’t have to Dance or that we can do something different for Her- somehow -something more dignified and lofty.
It’s funny how people compete and combat one another so silently polite, so skillfully respectful- They just want through the Door. They just think She’s not listening or watching or They think there’s something better in my house. After all I married Him and He’s more famous than me…I can take care of Him and they can perch on the tree watching and judging- looking for an open window. Vultures or Eagles- we don’t know…
it depends on us.

I was the smart one and you probably were too.
People think we make no sense, that we’re possibly harboring something dark….that we’re a witch with a plan…we move to fast in the dark…
That we won’t get along – and that we pretend to be something we’re not. Everyone is pretending, come on…
You know how it is- holding up The Gates Of Hell- we better think big and talk big and mean it! Heaven is my helper, that’s all. (You can call it Heaven if you want – it’s how they taught us so that we could understand)

I always meant to let them through as soon as I knew they fell from the right tree- you know what tree I mean- it’s a big garden and everybody’s been eating each other’s fruit -We all yield the fruits of our being at the Harvest. They’ll be here soon, there’s no doubt about that. They’ve been watching what we’ve planted and how it’s grown. It’s us. The Seeds. We’re preserving the language of God -but we’re so confused we think God is an emblem or a scam or a punishment.. We created God -and we put God in the museum- and we can turn God off and On with the flip of a switch…they taught us how.
Us the angels with heavy wings . Us the carnivores with no teeth to eat. And I’m not saying flesh eating is a sin, it’s more of a proclamation. Nothing wrong with being in charge. moderators, mediators, meditators, masturbators- what’s the difference will you tell me? These are the sheep and the wolves we must love. There’s no other way sometimes than to obey and follow or to chew off our own leg when necessary. (we should really be able to do that)
We were planted here and we didn’t do it….something Big is going on!
So what I’m saying is we shouldn’t be opportunists and takers-
We should listen to the Rain on the Roof. We should dig deep into the left overs. The Cadaver, The Beehive, they all belong to Her.

We should drop the ball. Let the hatchet fall. Let it all hang out. We should drain the faucet. We should spread our Luck everywhere.
Otherwise I don’t see a point to any of this madness….

Where I go to see God

the moon on the roof
the squinting moonbeam
of light above this house
never saw the tears
inside these holy walls
Stains on my window
chapel cross
I never meant to find you
Kneeling so far
away from me
I tore my clothes from
this body proper
I crawled to you
beneath the silence
shining silver shaded eyes
Is God looking? Will he see?
the melting moon below…

I went inside to find you
the lock at the top of the stairs
was rusted, old stuck in ruin
I knew you were down there
searching the church for memories
in the basement collusion
sewage and clutter ripped
away from you
(the meaning you held)

Down here
(when I got in)
deep down in the scripture
I heard God speak from the letters
mass swelled, rounded glory…
and the waters rose….and I
licked him…free from his germ
(this God of mine)
He said to me
“Trees don’t grow like they used to”

(there was a little tree outside my window)

“God is that you?”
She swam like a shark to the blood
(until the swarm caught her eye)
picking meat from the bony bible
near the drain in her mind.

“It isn’t working out. You’re still outside praying”
(God pulled rank
and the demons are bled)

“Get out of me and find your way”
God said to the alphabet moon.

(little world beneath me)
We should go deeper. We should speak Their language. Otherwise He isn’t listening to a word we say and She isn’t very happy either.
(She’s moody you know)

Deep..deeper and down below….we go into Earth
…into our dirty hearts and start believing in Him again. “Let the worms live” I say.

Our hearts are broken into a pattern-a sequence- a wormhole mess- a genuine masterpiece- that’s how we learn to write music …and that’s the song She’s expecting and waiting for us to dance to…
Our Song. We don’t resolve anything. We become It.

You may think I’m abstract but it’s clear…
The key is in the socket-“what’s the password?”
twist and turn until it opens….”let me in” I told Him

I laid in the center of The Star waiting for Him.
With his magic dagger and smoke- He began invoking the Snake God (after all a big black snake did live there) I was The Breech, The Upside Down One. He could take it all back to Them now and exorcise this vessel. They were in the sky watching…invisible, cloaked and certain
that tonight was the night for The Switch.
Stars fell and I became ash mixed with sound….
(I can tell you more later)

So I did what I could do after that…thinking I had to keep the demons away…the hungry ghosts who live amongst us who can never get enough…who judge and ponder and chew holes into the rules of the game. Yes we’re beyond the rules and it isn’t a game. but not yet….not so fast …as far as I can tell we’re stalling.

The forest where we were that twilight, where we drew the star near the water…still seeps…teeming with unseen life. We did this.
We will be meeting with Them soon….So we need the crossfires and we need the distinction (until the clock stops and the point stops spinning) Thats when we make the Switch.
When They remove Their cloak and we hear the Hummmmm stirring in the dark….breaking through
my head…the wall between us and Them. She’s never tired and tonight is always the night.

I laid down in the center of my immaculate creation. We drew the star. We heard the music. We know it’s asking a lot that we do this.
I’m here now remembering that you were there with me and I’m hoping tomorrow goes by more slowly than today…but for us I don’t think so.
I am the Keeper of the Gate….and those who’ve read the book want in…..

And He’s not even real. He’s a piece of cardboard and I’m guarding a gate that opens to
an aimless grasp-His magic Hands. His magic Eyes. His magic Voice. But He isn’t anybody but what you’ve imagined Him to be. He can’t take us with Him after all. The tricks He’s played on us! The things He’s gotten us to do for Him. The love He conjures…I am the Gate Keeper guarding Her Dream of Him.
I guard it so it will never be killed by the
takers of His fruit. Everything has a price and thieves are always mistaken. The thieves want His loot. He has nothing- but they want it anyway. They
know I’m a hunter…they have good instincts -some of them…they say “She’s a Dark force”
“She wants to stab me in the back with an ice pick”
(I’m not making this up- these are real people)

“I only looked your way once, how do you know I love you that much?”

They think I have feelings for them and that’s why they aren’t allowed through These Gates.

They don’t know I feel nothing for them and it’s not personal. I can write whatever I want. I’m the Keeper of the Gate. The road spirals up from here and it’s important that we understand the dangers of entrance. I love them all from a distance but the rules are the rules, me and you know this and im so relieved I’m no longer alone.
They tried to break me and tear down the wall…
I told you that Heaven helps me, and She did.
Nobody is invincible. Let’s not forget this.

I’ve been abused and neglected. Used and worn old…but I never quit my job. I’m always on duty.

It’s funny to see how I say what I say. Whose writing this ridiculous jumble of nonsense?
It’s me as The Bridge and The Peacemaker, that’s who…

Why not? I’ve nothing to hide. (that’s probably a lie though) I will tell you eventually but for now
my love speaks only in riddles and chaos.

I mean what I say-

…and my mother said that the devil would come if I worshipped the little white Buddha that I found in the alley..and so I took him away in the basket of my bike that evening at dusk and broke him into pieces all over the alley…..
that night I sat up waiting for the devil to take me with the light on in my room…terrified just sitting, vulnerable on my bed with no help but my stuffed animals and my little dog…I needed to find the courage to go…when He came…
He didn’t come that night…but I kept waiting…
(This is a true story)

And then I dreamed of Kali …..

She Hunts In The Dark

“I twisted the knife
while she bled in the back room
I left her hanging
as sweet as spring rain
dripping promises
of the summer song
coming is the season
of the harvest
black in the back room
her shell barely torn
my knife in the hole
like a key in a socket
bleed and fly
hiding behind us
she spreads open her wings
of gold and pearl
lit by the shadow beneath her
into the dark we fit
so perfect her pieces of light
shimmering spirals
of our promise
to each other
I promised her death
and she promised me life
worn like the magic
of new love
and nobody understands
our gift of horror
until she visits their room
handing them the knife
the blade of giving
and the wrath of taking
sharing the love
Of Gods Cry”

I almost died 2 years ago this August. I may never know why or what it meant. I know the power of that threshold more deeply now. I became a phantom, a walking corpse, a shell of what was. What was- was a Me I never knew but kept going for some reason that seems to make sense to us all…neurotic attachment to what they made us into. We thought we broke out, and I thought so too….but after the surgeon got done slicing me open like a fish and sewing me back together again and after receiving many blood transfusions from souls I’ve not seen…life changed and so did how I see and relate to me and you. Our relationship has new eyes…at times these eyes are sadder, older, more weary from this submergence into the underworld. This time I know too much, maybe you do too. He took my innocence. He raped me with his knife and pillaged my body. Who do I think I am? He told me I was going to die. He told me I had no hope of survival. He was WRONG.

I may have looked like a walking skeleton because I was so thin (only about 100 lbs- and I’m almost 5’9) and I may have been pale. But when I told him I felt fine, I meant it…

My physical situation was not ordinary and it wasn’t without its supernatural components….
On the slicing table while I was out -He took pictures of me laying there with himself standing there in victory over me. Well I can’t relate to that and I never saw the picture. But he showed it to Bhagavan Das who was in the waiting room at the hospital and he said it was really ominous.

I never felt pain. I never suffered. Your prayers gave me strength. Bhagavan Das forced me to eat and eat to gain weight (no I wasn’t anorexic)
but who will feed the shell? I live with the wind blowing through me and how I see you is different. I know something else about us since we went to that place. I mean, yes, I’ve been to dark places with underworld people and I have seen many deaths of those I love probably more than most my age but this was DIFFERENT.

I opened the window
I opened the door
I opened the box
I opened the gate
I opened my eyes
I opened my heart

I opened my mind
it was all empty

you can stick a knife through
the wretched
and borrowed yearning
twist the enemy buried deep
but no one is there

under your bed where you sleep
covered and closed and dreaming
of open pastures and open mouths

and ghosts that hide
away in those
yet to be opened places

stick out your tongue
and blind your night vision
close your mouth
it’s just a disguise

a pile of bones I left
behind when I heard
there was no one but you

I opened my ears last of all
when you said

“time is deep and silent.
I am below you.
humming and churning
the shell”

I watched my father die at age 52. I hadn’t seen him in 15 years. I wrote to him but he never wrote me back. I guess he used to get drunk and read my letters over and over again (I was told)
but could never be a father and just respond to his daughter’s love. So intuitively I knew I needed to go to Idaho (where my parents lived) I saw him. I knew he’d been doing drugs. Soon after I got there he was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.
It was the most horrifying experience that changed my life forever. After the chemo didn’t work -He chose to die at home. No doctors, nurses nothing. Just a big tube of morphine straight into his stomach and a tube for food.
He became very thin and his hair turned white then mostly fell out. He loved me in his own way.
He was wounded to the depths of his soul.
I stayed with him the last 3 days and that’s when it got really graphic and surreal.

I won’t go into too much detail but let’s just say it wasn’t clean. We weren’t protected by the doctors from seeing the brutality of the final descent from someone as haunted by demons as my father was. It was gritty and raw- filled with Mother Earth in all Her honesty and power.
He would call for me over and over “Where’s Michelle? Where’s Michelle?” I was the only one he felt who understood the demons and ghosts who were talking to him now-they told him they were coming to take him (he used to punch at them and yell “no not yet!” ) then shoot up in bed sweating and panicked…One day he started crying and so I hugged him…then he pulled me almost entirely onto top of his body squeezing me as he lay there and he began sobbing and wailing like you have never heard- I cannot describe my pain to you. I took everything from him. I wanted to end his fear. I sucked the Devil right out of him and straight into me. (somehow I was allowed to do this) I know it happened -the transfer of Satan from father to daughter. I loved him. I’ll do it.

I finally said “why are you crying?” He said
“I never want you to leave” I love him so much and wish he knew me…but it would never be…
we were torn apart from the beginning…as a child I couldn’t find him- I would walk through stores and parks looking for men and walk up to them and say “Daddy?” (My mom was so embarrassed)
And now we would never be together. I took the Devil and left my body. It got worse- his suffering.
I was standing there but really watching from the ceiling…it was so much bigger than me-these interludes with Satan….anyway, I alone watched him take his last breath on the morning of the summer solstice. I kissed his forehead and I don’t know why…I told my mother “He’s dead now” (which we’d all been hoping for at this point)
She called the “people who take you” and they came and zipped him up. As they carried him out the family was all over in the yard chain smoking and wailing (again more glamour) I walked alone way across the yard- over to the fence and sat down. My brother was screaming beating the sides of the house. I just sat there numb and alone. I felt nothing. Nobody was real. They were all just noise and smoke. My aunt said that all agreed that I was the saddest thing they’d ever seen. Me and the nothing I’d become….

They couldn’t find me after that. I couldn’t find me either. I would stare in the mirror into my eyes looking for her but she was gone. I had seen too much. I lost myself again…

On the last day of his life I laid down delirious with exhaustion and thought “I wonder what it feels like to for him to die” and suddenly it happened, I sank into the earth and started dissolving …it was a fear beyond description.

I decided that his death was just for me. That He was my teacher. He was The One I was eating now and I would do something about what I’d seen. His life would mean something heroic.
(He was a Vietnam vet-killer and alcoholic)
So at that moment -because of his death my existence took on a whole new life. I would not be afraid of the shadow. I would battle the Devil for him.

(11 years later)

Towards the end of my mysterious ailment that led up to my encounter with Him and His Knife- Life kept me alive even before I knew I might die.
Supernatural forces blew air into my nostrils at night and made me stronger than I should have been. Life protected me from Death’s Proposal even when I didn’t know I was already with Him. After all, I was his wife. This was a marriage for better or for worse. I needed to move to His Realm…deep in the center of the earth where the Ferry of the Dead await my decision.

Which way will I go? She is waiting at The Crossroads.

He will cut you up. She will help him. What’s so
undeniable and mind altering is that I know we planned this together. It was the honeymoon that follows the marriage. The blade is in my hand. Together we go down to find my heart’s plug -and pull- and empty- me into you.

What is this? Was I ever really even here with you? Why isn’t it ever enough that I tried to love you? I’m blinking but not seeing this Holy Trip I’m on. We keep thinking we need to eat Jesus because we’re just never enough. Now we need Him to save us. To make us fat and full again.
I’m talking about myself. “I don’t know you but my eyes see through your walls”
(I told Her this in the waiting room) I went there
drained and waiting to die. There wasn’t anybody else in the room. We know it’s true.

“As high as the sky
As vast as the sea
there is no me to enter
this hand that slips thru mine
this face that sees thru me
the empty skyway
the linear byway

the ribs are scattered everywhere
we breathe and the urchins in
the sea carry the notes
the letters to The Lord

She swims and she dreams
and she lights the lamp

she kills and she curses
and she hunts in the dark

I sway in her breezeway
whether as blood raining from sweat
or as sweet tea in the sanctuary

this room I’ve found that hasn’t a me
is filled with nothing that searches
or haunts or moans

is filled not with loves cherished reminders
it hasn’t a hole or lock on the door
there is no handle to turn

swept from the floor of my vessel
is everything that counts and lies

is everything that looks my way

is everything as anything

I hand you an answer to what can’t be asked. The hand is white and hollow. The flower is red on both sides.

And the reason is

The Dancer needs a friend.”
I diagnosed myself and then I pulled out the blade and started sharpening. I need to remove my Father’s Devil now…I was going to be Jesus. It was time. This trip is pulling my feet through the ices of hell and I’m thirsty and low on blood. I’m a killer and I don’t have a choice.
We drink His blood as if it’s not our own- as if He too wasn’t a vampire. Who are we kidding?
This blood is too sweet to deny.

Jesus knew the knot He tied. So did I. He was an Eater too. We belonged together. He knew we would never understand- so he called himself food and a religion sprouted. It’s very glamorous.

I get this. I’m starving and I’m a killer. Hungry and Hunting the Hungry and Hunting. We do love each other (in a cool sort of way) when we’re still frozen- before we’re thawed -before we can smell the blood- basically we love each other safely during the refrigeration of the corpse. But when it gets hot and fragrant, you know what happens next- we ALL go there ok-(lets stop pretending) animated, programmed corpses cold and looking for warmth somewhere else, inside someone else- but it isn’t there…so we keep drinking His blood with crackers and prayers… so Earth seems to be just a refrigerator to store us (until we expire) Who’s kitchen is this and what’s going on?

That’s what I went to find out….

I know I’m morbid. It’s a deep enchantment I feel between us brother and sister corpses..that we think we’re reading and judging one another. (or worse yet we think we’re not) I know nothing. I’m in a stupor -looking for my next fix of your blood my dear Jesus. I do love God as long as God is who I need Her to be. So She got out the knife. What’s wrong with that? It’s what we wanted after all isn’t it? It’s time to eat myself now and
finally clean the plate.

The glory is unparalleled.

I almost lived before I almost died-I wasn’t here or there. We better get out of the gray before it’s too late- maybe that’s what I should say- we don’t want to end up boiling in a pot somewhere.
It gets very vivid between His Hands.

Doctor Death saved my life. Jesus the Surgeon who never looks in your eyes after He tells you “It’s Over” Jesus was wrong. She handed ME the knife my friend. Not you.

Yes I’m still in charge. HaHaHaHa.
Cut cut cut. I can do this on my own. I will rise the Sun. I will eat the One…and I hear Her calling from the waters of the deep….She loves Him. They are finally together with my heart in their pot. I really don’t mind. I have nowhere else to go and the rest of me is so heavy and burdensome.

She tells me to come back and so I do.

Bhagavan Das is in the waiting room still praying
for my life.

And then I returned and I was put on morphine and oxygen and all sorts of horrible drugs (just like my father) I had to stay in the hospital for a week.
They had tubes in my nose and out my throat.
It’s was unbearably awful. I could only eat chipped ice cubes and they came in with horrible smelling hands and nauseating perfume stabbing me with needles all hours of the night. I never slept or laid flat. I was a soldier on duty.
They watched me and measured me and poked me. They weren’t real. It was just a dream. My body was strange. I was transparent. They definitely couldn’t hurt me now. She knew the way so I just followed Her back to my husband.

Children were afraid of me. I looked like Medusa.
I had no body. Only eyes. Eyes too bright from the Light of Death’s Gaze. I became the Other.
I could look at no one lest they be turned to stone.

This is called the Bliss of Death. I am with Him.
He is inside of me. She is sparking and spiraling.
The Dancer found Her friend.

I’m telling you these things because I am thinking I organized it all- every gross detail-
Kind of like how people plan their vacations or weddings..I’m thinking that’s how powerful and daring we are deep in our darkest minds. We set ourselves up to get hurt, horrified, mutilated even- so that we can see what’s true. So that we can become heroic. We can be the Queen in His Castle. It’s a real place you know.

So I didn’t live and I didn’t die. This is really a tight and quite uncommitted spot to be in.
My love is pale and I never meant it to be.
I’m in between me and you and it’s OK to tell the truth. The savage breaks our heart and leaves us
never enough. We are never enough. He doesn’t give us enough. He doesn’t take enough.
She talks about butterfly wings but what does She know? The Goddess on the broom can’t even tell her left from her right.
And I’m split between heaven and hell. Aren’t we talking like tomorrow might be an actual place?

This refrigerated love is dirty and ending. (we do have an expiration date after all) I know She’s showing Him how to do this. We can’t get confused in the Bardo-the long dark passages -the hallway leading to Him.

After all, everyone needs to eat. Everyone needs to die so that we can feed each other back to Her Son. And I get really stressed about our destiny here…but when I take a deep breath and surrender my exhale and when I slump down to bathe Her in the grief of my of tears I really do know they both love me and that everything is ok.

“I’m not a poet
I’m a prophet

I’m not a cloud
I’m the sky

I’m not a honk
I’m a bark

I’m not a cry
I’m a wail

I’m not life
I’m death

I’m not an angel
I’m heaven above

and below I’m not stuck
in your turning

from light to dark
and back again

I don’t ride on the wheel
I’m the engine

because I made this up

I sang this song
I slapped the face

Of God
as a child

I was the One
who bore him

It’s me and it’s not me
counting backwards

It’s me and it’s everywhere
and if you turn me into words
holy cackles building walls

I’ll keep slamming and breaking
and burning and waking
the dead from the brink
of fierce life

and if you turn me into you
I’ll turn you into me
I’ll remember your sweet
Godly smile

I’ll walk with you and talk with you
I’ll twist all the screws til their loose

You’ll fall apart into my arms
knowing I am the lonely cradle
that rocks you back to me

I’m no poet. I’m the page before
the book was ever imagined.
I filled you with my dreams and pearly smoke.

I am the prophet of the diamond
that keeps spinning.


Her name is God’s Mother.”

The first time I ever sang in public was at my
Dad’s funeral (not very glamorous)
The answer is clear. I’ll be here.
Sharada Devi

Strike the Dawn

Number one I struck the dawn
Number two eating glass
Number three slivered tears
sharp rain upon my land
This land is your land
and the clouds that follow
the war at sunrise
broken hearts between the gaps
of day and night exactly
fitting hurts in the battle cry


You know they tried to stop me.
The angst. The crying. The hysteria…

The doctor: do you hear voices Michelle? (that was my name)
Me: yes
Doctor: what do they say?
Me: I don’t know they’re talking too fast.
Doctor: Do they tell you to hurt yourself or others?
Me: I told you they’re talking too fast! I can’t understand them…
Doctor: hmmm….Do you sometimes see people who aren’t there Michelle?
Me: yes.
Doctor: do they talk to you?
Me: no, not out loud.
Doctor: hmmm are they also talking too fast Michelle?
Me: I told you they don’t talk!

his eyes got big behind his “smarter than me” looking glasses-and he just stared at me for awhile- then he got to work scribbling away in his notebook…

Doctor: do you feel people are staring at you and talking about you when you go into a room?
Me: sometimes.
Doctor: does the television sometimes talk to you?
Me: it talks to everyone doesn’t it?
Doctor: hmmmm

I then left his office a studied and “diagnosed” specimen with a prescription for several drugs…he diagnosed me with all kinds of things, I can’t remember because I don’t care. They can’t stop me.

My mother and my first husband (I was 17 when I got married -he was 11 years older- remember if you’re in the jehovah witness cult getting married asap is what you have to do as your future is hopeless anyhow) were so happy for the new more balanced me I was bound to become after dropping the first few pills- they finally had me tamed and I became the glassy eyes, quiet and subdued drone daughter and wife they had been hoping for…
(sadly for them that only lasted a few days)

I stopped taking the bottles of meds and hid them in a cabinet and then finally threw them away.
They can’t control me. Nobody can. Don’t get me wrong, at that point my rebellion hadn’t even begun- I (emotionally flawed and all) had been and still was the perfect young lady. In school as a child I was every teachers favorite. I was so smart and bright and helpful- as a young bride to be my mother and fiancé would discuss me like I wasn’t even there…

Mother: what are we going to do about her? She doesn’t understand. She’s so naive, so trusting.
She can’t handle this world….
fiancé: I feel like we need to put her in a little glass box forever.
Mother: nods in agreement.

Then they would both look at me with hooded eyes and sweet smiles scanning me like I was a buffet and they weren’t sure what to eat first…it was actually quite perverted and happened more than once…

You see I was a virgin and my mother owned me – so my fiancé had to play his cards right in order to purchase or negotiate her daughter/prize possession somehow…

(at that point I was a master of emotional suppression so none of this was problem yet)

And little did my uninformed doting teachers know that I was only fulfilling my role in a very disfunctional family. One of my mothers highest times was the “parent teacher conference” where my mother was praised twice a year for her “perfect daughter” (believe me I was under a lot of pressure and my brother hated me due to the fact I suppose that my father would regularly yell at him “why can’t you be like your sister!”) My role was the one who helped everyone and was cheerful and perfect. I didn’t cry or complain or ask for help ever- something inside told me they needed it more than I did. So I became the strong and responsible caretaker
for the family. That was how I survived. I did what I had to. I filled the space with sunshine.

But as you know nothing last forever- particularly perfection… and everything must come up… the suppression, the grief, the anger, the hate. All of it. Everyone has it. Let’s be honest. Try some Ayahuasca and tell me how you feel. The truth is waiting and She has a name. YOU.

Am I promoting Ayahuasca? I am promoting what gets the job done- whatever it is. I told you already it’s where we need to go. Back to the earth and the crystals. I’m not a new ager and I know you aren’t either- this is what’s real- what we’re made of. What will give our sanity back.
Not mommy. Not daddy. Not Jesus. Not Buddha. THE EARTH AND THE CRYSTALS.

I love Jesus and I love Buddha-but the problem I am finding is the Buddha is not the Buddha so we can’t find him. He’s in the sky (I’m guessing) and a very hard act to follow.
Jesus isn’t hanging or floating -Jesus grows back from Her Vine (pretty sure on this one) and he’s basically a food.
We already KNOW them! Don’t you get it?! I think you do.

We need Her because life is a tricky mess that makes perfect sense only later after we have been submerged. Let me tell you how I think it

There are these astral creatures (I’ll explain more about that later) I call them The Whisperers in the Midnight Stream.
They are the ones who divert the pathways and disguise the entrance gates. They have no legs, only very sharp arms. They are invisible and exist only to the very sensitive. There tongues are forked, their faces are white and gold with silver eyes..and when they whisper to you, there is a slight sting within the ear and that is how you know you are the one who hears them. They hold upon the tip of their right arm, the key to our arrival. Their arms are everywhere.
They have sonar hearing and that is how they find us, being most attracted to those who are the closest to the Clear Light (they hear our radiance basically) then they reach into our world and pull us into theirs.

And Aurora is the oracle who sings inside the water. She summons the Dawn.

The Mother Light is a Realm. (we are Her Light)

Ok. So now,
I want to tell you of a place (within the Realm of the Mother Light) and a Being I know who lives there, a Being with two faces. Two bodies blended within one Being. This Being is beautiful and glowing and supremely divine. He is a Waxing One. Sometimes depending upon the moonlight this Being appears female and at other times, appears male. I know this Being because we meet in a dream world just above the place we know now as Earth. This world is called
Aurius. Aurius may be called a dream world but it’s not really a dream. Earth is a dream that is what I have found in my journeys to Aurius. I am allowed entrance there during nights of deep sleep when the moon is waxing. When the moon is waning the other world can enter our dreams..
this is the world where we battle the
forces of dark memory and this world of nightmares is called Baluk.
The Beings of Baluk can enter our world at night in our sleep when the moon is waning. These Beings are without a body and male and female characteristics, they seem to be able to become whatever we fear…they create our confusion and delusion.
it is our mission as humans to battle these beings of Baluk..but how we do this, is different than we would imagine and so that is why we Aurius
also exists as a counter balancing dimension where we can go and receive training from the merciful and wise Beings there called Serod
or The Waxing Ones. This is an age old story of light versus dark and of us, humans who was born here on earth -struggling and caught in between two places. (this is a long story)


She was in the room right next to His
White spots in Her eyes
White nests in the trees
the White Web was everywhere
She was back again

Nobody knows where she’s been and Nobody cares. Nobody’s heart is a clock. Nobody needs to be sewn back together. Nobody hears the air breath. Nobody looks through the Web of the Spider. Nobody knows everything.

So I don’t need the meds- and neither do you.
Imagination is fertile in the heat of a hopeless heart. Find my love lurking in the darkest of places. Believe in me. Strike the Dawn.
Drink the Silver. Move Quickly….
the Sun is coming. We are the Wanderers.
We don’t have to go anywhere.
It’s all in the Seed.

stirring the stars with shining eyes.
I think I see you now.

Sharada Devi

The Muse of Flames and Ecstasy

Nobody cares about the artist’s eyes
or the way a window cries
the little ball I sleep in
or the board I can become
nobody cares what comes
from inside

and nobody hears and nobody
sees the letters upon this paper
rise and sing the heart of me

the burn of my madness
the white cool eyes
I’m looking at you
but I only see me

and nobody feels what I
meant to say.

the ring in my ears. The blood on my tongue. The little slip of paper moving in a stream. I write for you
like breath on ice.

I can turn you upside down. I can make you dance for me. Little swimmer take the plunge. Deeper than the plague of this, is the hole of one true eye

I opened the window for you.
See me seeing you. I’m not always this way. But I say and I say
and I lapse up against your rocks

it isn’t me moving backwards and it isn’t my tongue. Life took a slice for Herself.

As Birds upon the water are my
love for you.

Poetry. I’ve been writing poetry for as long as I can remember- as soon as I could write…
It’s never been for somebody else, it’s how I get the darkness out and make it something sublime – what I do with my subconscious garbage that’s not fit for consumption by me or you- it’s my wasteland creating life again. it’s intimate messages to me. I don’t care what anyone thinks about it because I didn’t write it….my Muse told me what to say. She tells me everything…I am
a useless bag of skin and bones. She is my blood and my germs. She is the kink in the chain that binds me. She told me that I will be free through her grace alone. She told me I have rights. She told me its all ok. She told me to let it be. She told me to take a stand. She told me to jump.
She told me to speak up. She told me to shut up.
She told me I’m nobody. She told me I’m Her.

Everyone has a Muse. She is the fire. She never leaves. She burns quietly. She can do anything.
We dance with abandon. We sing with our guts. When we are dangerous we spark and we kindle the Muse of Flames and Ecstasy. She’s the fire in our eyes. Nobody needs to know why. Our crystal fusion is beyond this dimension I’m sure. It’s another world we find each other in…

The alchemical perfection of this story is that I can become the sky for you and you can be my swan upon the water. I’m not imagining this….
I’m imagining everything….I hope we have the
courage to walk through the Gate once we get there….we’ve been through so much already….
(inside is a really big place)
that’s why we are strong- and we must deliver the message of freedom up as high and down as low -wherever we must go…we’re looking with open eyes at who these people are and what it all really means in the end….we should open up more and more… become even stronger…we will be free….from the lies we hear and tell from within this putrid cell – called acceptance of our fate- we will not accept our fate! We will not be tamed or silenced by timidity or self doubt!
(we’ve come way too far to lose this game) that’s not being the Buddha -being a prisoner of our condition and pretending we’ve found peace- that’s just called fear. I don’t need to be afraid. I need to rip this
bandaid off and know my wound is God!
She is my God. The blood and filth of my love.
It doesn’t have to make sense. We have to become the maker of our own magic.
Nobody can hold us down and tell us we are wrong. It’s not about anarchy. I can’t be a horse inside a stall waiting for my hay. We must be free to run in the wild and eat when we are hungry. I guess this is really about how we eat and what we’re cooking- on the inside and outside- life is a cauldron and we’re meant to be on fire! I am the food I feed the gods. I become the god I feed. My thoughts and words are my body and my love is the fire. We do have something to give bigger than we thought it was. We have ourselves to give and that’s everything. How will I be me is really what I’m working on…what I put into me and what comes out of me is it.
We can rise and dance and sing and write poems to our gods and devils inside. When we listen to Her as She tells us all our secrets….embrace the confusion and write Her down and show Her the paper so that She can flow through us into words that release us from captivity back into the wilderness we were born in -beneath the trees and sky…just floating in wonder.

Without censorship and self correcting mental madness-if we just write that flow that we are… poetry or any creative writing becomes a divine riddle- a twilight language…a wise and enlightened oracle. A lunacy and contradiction that shines our hearts true love….

We don’t need to know anything to know God.
There is not a thing that does not hear who we are. There is not a thing that goes unheard by us. Maybe we aren’t listening. I was thinking about that. Sometimes we just can’t bear the pain while our heart is breaking. I know. This honesty is going to take a lot of courage…

The wilderness is wild and magical. The forest is deep and green. Noises are everywhere. The moon is reflection and the sun is direction…
listen to the dark and follow the light.

There is a place I go to deep in the enchanted forest of my insanity…here is what happened there just the other day…

She told me
Christ is buried here
and pointed to a pile of dirt
(She had been sweeping)
and then She said
“In the shape of a triangle”
(and She drew a star with Her finger)
“I make amends to the earth the
sun and the sky”
She pointed to her chest laughing now
“I don’t go there anymore” She said

and I said “but it looks like a Diamond to me”

” it was and it cracked” She said
“I leave well enough alone”

She lifted her broom high in the air
and started coughing.

“the North Star is that way”

so I stepped over the pile of dirt
and started walking toward the door.

outside the night had fallen.
heavy and wet with sin.
a little bird sat chirping
too confused to know my name
in the dark I held out my hand
and She came to sit upon me

“who’s song are you singing little lady” I said
perfectly lit by a moonbeam
She spread her little wings
“I know what you mean”
I said.

apparently the angel had fallen
and we weren’t quite sure how far
down to dig into the earth before
we started walking. I walked. She sat on my arm singing the only song
that played that night. That was the song She was pointing to with Her broom. I think I was starting to understand. Wings come in all shapes and sizes.

So I walked (carrying her of course) for what seemed like many hours deep into the woods, looking for the fallen angel. Waiting for the sun.

Breaking these hours into many pieces I can tell you where we stood.
Where we sat. Where we sang and where we slept. The woods were dangerous and we needed to keep track of the hours leading us into the dawn.

where we stood:
She was a little bird and she didn’t know my name. Sometimes Her voice would stop and we would stand silent staring into the tunnel before us. We stood very still while the moments spun mending each into the next. We almost fell a couple of times or forgot to look forward.
The tunnel had a name and when we began to walk again and She began to sing, the moments would stop or move forward thrusting us into the needles of light playing like strings in the wind. She sang to that tune but we never knew where we would be when the song moved us forward.
The name of the tunnel was sacrifice. “I am a lamb” I thought
and my little bird is “perfect peace”
sacrifice comes in the shape of a Diamond if you know what you are looking at. And I knew it was a tunnel and I knew the wind had stopped. And I knew there was no yesterday but I was still remembering everything I left.
when the earth stood still I stopped talking.

They are coming to spread the tapestry you know. Upon us all
the vast blanket of every fallen star.

Where we sat:
we usually sat when the moon started whispering. Blue mist spread
into a circle inside of the Diamond and we knew the cracking had begun. We sat upon the crack after it started, holding in place the center of the sun and her sister the moon. You don’t understand me do you? I said we sat because we couldn’t move. It happens all the time. The moon held us still in her
whispers. We knew what to do but
didn’t know what we were doing or why.
Me and my little bird sitting inside
the spinning place. it’s very similar to fast forward and rewind.
I am not me and you are not mine.
Where we sat. Why we sat. Who sat.
the answer is all the same.
I am blowing pieces of me into the tunnel of the crystal wind from the circle and the silo of the moon window drawn on the ground by our makers. Who will walk into the light
will be splendidly even. The Obelisk.

Where we sang: the stars of course all sing in tune. We were on the earth beneath them. My little bird could hear everything. We sang to keep the earth even. We sang to keep the dream away. The wet marshes rose before us and flashing orange and yellow lights. It’s a signal and time perhaps to end the song? Legions
of roaring winds sucked the marshes dry. The landscape cracked and started to crumble. My little bird was not afraid. I on the other hand was
still looking for the North Star even amidst the turbulence. I can see! I can see! The sky became vivid like
the clear ocean waters on a still day.
Waves and shimmers and soft sounds seeping from the depths of
the womb. The reoccurring nightmare had only begun for the second time and it’s seems we were still unaware of the outcome.
Shaking faith- like a blind earth looking for it’s place in the universe.
Where are we now that our song is almost sung? Blue stinging madness
and the bees are unleashed.

Where we slept.
Deep in the triangle. Torn from the cell. We dug a little hole and went to bed. There will be no tomorrow.
Only now and the shapes keep changing. The tomb of this masterpiece is spread to every corner. To the listening few- the master is wise and never sleeps. He does not count and he does not listen to the clicking noise that are keeping time. He does not speak and he does not bother to turn around and look for yesterday.
We were once here. It was written in a song and no song lasts forever.
In a moment I collide -then snap -then disappear-and my little bird just seems to fade away into the dust that rises…..

When I awoke.
To be continued…

Sharada Devi

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