Great Swan

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I’m going to finish the White Horse story. I’m going to have to. Finish me and my story. I know you don’t care, why would you, but I’m doing it anyway. I’ve lost everything. All the Chinese have taken over my blog, I can barely find your comments, if you’re commenting at all, it doesn’t matter. I’ve lost it all. I’ve got a long track record so it was inevitable. My dogs are gone, Bhagavan Das is gone, he’s been gone for weeks. He left for his “retreat” and said, “pretend I’m dead,” did I tell you this already, I can’t remember. So the days and nights are a blur, I barely notice the difference. I slip in and out of the dark, I avoid mirrors. Mirrors are dangerous in case you don’t know, they’re portals into other unseemly dimensions and right now, I’m not into making new demon friends. All these demons are very attracted to me as if we’re the same, but it goes nowhere, how could it, they don’t listen. It’s enough, this big death trip. I’m dropping dogs off one by one, pulling off the tics, paying his credit card bills, trying not to fall on the ice. This ethereal Indian woman, came to me one night last week, she had a beautiful voice and told me I was Saraswati as if that means anything- I know, believe me- I KNOW. What a joke, but it really did happen- But what she actually said was that I was the Swan. The Swan herself that makes sounds that become Saraswati. That I glide upon the great waters and make sound that only grows more beautiful the closer I get to death. You’ve heard of the Swan Song right? Well apparently it’s real. There’s a reason, but at the moment who cares. I’m just holding it together, insanely coherent while in the midst of utter confusion, calamity really. I’m losing everything in a big way and I’m letting it happen, not even trying to stop anything. Like this was my religion, he was my everything and it’s gone the way the road slowly disappears in the heavy mist and there are no lines to follow, just an eery moving forward because you have to. Go somewhere, get to the place that’s waiting for you on the other side of the fog body. I am just gliding like a white swan, drifting aimlessly, animated by the winds of grace upon the waters of a reflected sky. The song feels like a sorrow so enlightened that pain has nowhere left to go but here, into my open heart wound. There is no religion, just me watching you, breaking me open, leaving me again and again. That you might come back is the love that makes me consider bothering to breath one more time. Down here, where I fell, through the earth while riding the White Horse. My lonely story of how to find him. White Swan, White Horse – same difference. I shouldn’t have left him stranded, or her all alone looking out the window watching him suffer- but I did, maybe it’s just my way of getting revenge upon a love that will not cease. I cannot conquer Pan, the virile black stallion. He is my probably my raging soul pounding anything in the way of my song or maybe even for my song. We know he always hears and destroys anything that would stop this righteous fire. There is nothing in my way, but the story of course. Strange how addicted I am to conflict. Go ahead and quote me on that, I don’t care. I was going to go to India and then canceled, but I think I will go after all. Even though what’s the struggle I can’t tell, to be spiritual…well, somehow I missed the boat on that one.

Swan, I sing and no one hears. It doesn’t matter. Swan, I cry and no one cares, there is only you inside me. Swan, I am soft and white, my feathers are broken. Let me lift you into the light. Swan the dark has swallowed me. I am the dark you call the light. Swan, I have nowhere left to go. Come to me. Come back to me. I am your body. Swan, the goddess is lost. Singing as we approach the moon who floats beneath us, above in the sky you are heard. Swan, is there a God even now. Even now God gives the tears that we rise from. Full and round. Swan, is it true there is only me and yet no me. There is only the song listening to itself.

Paramahansa means Great Swan. I think of the pale little flower girl named Azalea and how she rode the black vulture. How she was motherless and yet surrounded by jeweled skeleton temples of mothers. How she sat on top of the mother skull. How I’ve been concealing the Swan in the wrath. This little girl knew me. Me, in the story. Yes I was everyone how else could I know. My mythic revelation is ever increasing it’s velocity upon the waters of my mind. My mind obeys my heart because I would have killed myself if it hadn’t. That was the agreement, the mind isn’t as stupid as we think it is. It will listen when it needs to. So I resorted to threats, became suicidal even. When I was 18 I even had to be “turned in” so I wouldn’t hurt myself. I couldn’t even use a toothbrush without supervision. I guess it’s technically possible to stab yourself in the throat with a toothbrush if you really mean it. My roommate was a manic depressive girl. She was a big mess, I hope she made it to the end of her song. We should feel the suffering and know we can’t be the only one alone, because we’re all alone inside, making this story happen. It’s our choice what we do with these figures inside. It’s our entire creation based on God’s whim. God whoever. So I should make some more noise. I’ve written a lot I’ve never sent you, more revenge I suppose. I like to think I’m not also passive aggressive but it’s cool sometimes to play it cool, while others squirm and wonder. Not that you do, but remember it’s my program I’m running. Please play along or I’ll erase you. Finish what you start ok? Meaning live it, big.

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Swan, this is deep. Sink to the bottom of me. So, I wrote something else…based on that sinking…

I heard a noise. There was a tail entering a mouth…the distance it takes to go around myself I guess is based on the moon. Apparently the galaxies are lined up waiting to get back inside. Long black rectangles, coffins filled with stars. Pulling through the heavy space, toward the giant victorious magnet. I’ve entered headless many times, a trail of light was all that was left, then it faded, disappearing without even a wish to make me remembered. Like I was only a ghost…a fog body hiding something big.

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“My heart is empty.
But the songs I sing
Are filled with love for you.
A man said that to me.
That’s how I know.
Sometimes love it does not show.
Sometimes it does not even know.
There is no witness to my anger.
When it stabs until he dies…”

Headless. Betrayed. Following the root…one more time. Old footprints where I once walked…

“The stars are bright tonight.” My face was covered in blood. I stood watching the reptile watch me. I have holes in the back of my head. Holes that light pours out of, this night means nothing to me. I looked down the drain into the bottom of what you want, the dirty child. The worm inside. The naked baby crawling over the womb covered in germs. I would give you anything. Spill the death from your poking eye. The reptile, the lizard standing and looking for a star inside the tomb. I began cutting with razors the middle of my hand. What a little knife. I hate demons, only because they’re so boring. The night started making noises, distracting from itself just to lead you to this. To the form of the jagged cross, the mystery star, Between the trees made of mutated flesh. I have eyes. That’s where I am. Where he said to meet him when the night was done making holes in my head. As bright as him coming out of me of course, inside the sound made of unseen walls. All alone, the moon rises looking for herself in the sink. I laid upon this shape of death. I once drew and gave to him all of me inside a square. Noises written in spirals, blind reptilians follow me in the emptiness of these feelings. Feelings that are red and oxidizing as I breath. Air, exposure to manmade lights. The underworld birds that are lizards with feathers live in me. I said the skies would be void of birds and that’s how we’d know we descended. But I lied, the skies would be made of birds, these hybrid creatures so black and thick. Beaks and claws so sharp and deadly. Noise so cold it would freeze anything that heard it, would be the only thing left, the past, the other higher world that wasn’t even much better but at least we could see- things like echoes and clouds and the shadows that bow to the sun, finally giving my wish to this place however bleak. But now, it’s just that. The return of what we did. Birthday girl. To ourselves, rancid and desperate to breath something clear. Rectangles filled with dead churning mothers. Blackened by time. Old blood still lives, even on pieces of plywood. I am an invisible temple. Starlight in the tomb. Written above my head. That which leads from darkness to light. There will be a smoldering poison inside. Sound barrier, cooing-bonding destroyer. Breastmilk and vomit. Bright lights and voices that mean nothing. The throat that rejects the baby, purging what could be redeemed. She doesn’t care, she needs to breath you. Blood bank, leftover grief from the death before this one. Recycle. Drain. Fuck. Destroy. Recycle. Smother. Suck. Push harder. The end of the world is upon me. Hot bodied mothers, stop blaming your babies for your desperate need to seduce them. Sickened by family needles and threads. I have had a fever for a very long time. Blood draining is an ancient practice. I am not without direction, even now in the presence of you. To be an anarchist, you drain your own blood and the heat becomes cool. Alchemist. Wash the pain away for us all. Bloodstains my face but it’s not obvious. I do have a fever burning even now as the color fades from deep black to white as a ghost. Ghost that I am, a cloud that covers like a blanket…little secrets. Babies I never made but were born. Star, seed, wet dark hole. Needy silence. Blue air. Loss is karmic reduction. Pass over the pain with a whisper.

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“I am looking for the strangler
To help me, help me with my crime
Show me the way to warning
Warning for the morning light
I will stab it with a knife. The blinding sun. The heartbeat for the time to come. The honesty.That lies to you. My heart is empty. But the songs I sing
Are filled with love for you…”

The songs I sing are quiet and watching. The songs I sing go down the drain, into him. Up up and away. Star pusher.

Push back against the screen, tunnel vision…there is a way out of time and space to a death that is not repeated. At the threshold of the one eye, do not be averted by her cries for more. At this point, I won’t dare say a mantra or bless the unknown. At the juncture dare to cross over. It takes time and space. Lay down your lesser weapons. The blade is eternal.

This is not new age jargon, this is reality. There is an indigo doorway in the center of your forehead. It’s a projector and it becomes a diamond portal leading us through when we focus. The thread of time through the needle of space. Our two eyes betray us, are not showing anything valid. Our one indigo eye is the only truth teller. We read what we see by it’s colors, invisible colors coming from the spectrum of the crystal that we, as the human body are and in a more condensed way, it’s all in that crystal violet eye. There is a sound war going on all around us. One we can’t hear and are not only effected by but engaged in. The sound barrier that encapsulates us here on earth is rattling, pressure is building. Weapons seep out of every body like the sun shedding rays. It’s what the human body was created to do. And we don’t know, we see the things that aren’t real and generate noise due to this confusion.

You already know my body is a sacrifice. I gave it to the lord of the underworld, a.k.a. the Dark Sun, who is the keeper of my heart. The story goes on…of course we will be together. Pretty much forever. My fate is sealed. This is not about compromise, this is about the excavation of the crown. Nobody punishes me with these whips and chains. Nobody needs to see my stains of blood tears. Fallen in the pain of descent, laying down at his portal. I am the doorway to him. She is never alone. You do remember the dark sun, the other side of the given light. What about the taken. It is me. Abducted to the side that no one dares to see, no one can love him because that would mean something else, a love you can’t give without dying to all this, the lesser realm of perfection. I will not sleep or eat without him. I watch the moon for his shadow to cross. There is the White Horse embodied as the reason for it all. This emblem of purity that carries the light down below. I came this time, to finish the job. I don’t project murderer onto anyone. A killer is a killer very visible to me in the blue astral light. In that moment when the eclipse crosses his face and I know he is the one. The water I float upon, all these words sink below his mirror eyed counterpart. Another one. My many dark suns. I’ve taken so many with me, letting them be the abductor. I have no problem being on the bottom. I’ve shown you, I’ve written it all down. I live covered in these born again feathers, made of unearthly elements that lift dust back into the veil of this imagined night. It’s a tangible pouring of us upon each other, one turning into the next. And the pain that comes with that loss is the perfection of death. Acute, boundless loss of my only earth body. White feathers. I went to the top of the world and I stood looking down. It wasn’t very big after all. I was hot with a fever. I was sick for the suffering heat of not knowing. I will burn down below with him as my shield for everyone who doesn’t see the bliss in endings. Who cannot slip through the cracks where he rises from as invisible smoke. The smell of sweet flesh. Eye of the needle. Sound body. The crown touched me and I disappeared. I am everywhere, inside. Dying to be found. The god you cling to is incomplete. Everyone wants to be the one. But you don’t get how low low is. You think I took you to someone holy but you never looked at me once. You think it was the temple that made these stars, it was me. My words. You take the sinner and you chain him to these constellations in the sky. He never gets to suffer the breathless falling, just wonder what the deeper hell I hold might feel like. I gave you every chance to see the blind bursting and yet you kept your eyes closed philosophizing about goddesses who circle in outer space while forcing the punishment of purity upon the isolated impure, evil concepts. Duality rises from inborn passion. Inescapable yearning for warmth. Rising from nothing you can ever do, fantasy. I saw the truth. Moonlight, he was there. It’s not real, it’s a projection. Blown wide open. The galaxies line up waiting to get back inside. Black hole backwards, sun made of ice. My heart belongs to you. Silver blue without an answer, I’m calling you. Warm mother wings. The knot is hard. Give your whole heart to the plunge.

Do you want to hear something funny? Someone called me Sharada Devi(L) spelled it just like that. Wounded girl light, fallen mother moon, don’t talk out loud, the ghost will hear you. The rain will come, pounding you, underneath the one you can’t even see. Some feel like that’s a rape, I see it as a prayer to be free from lunacy.

Broken by a spirit that feeds this pain like sunlight feeds flowers. Rain. My eyes say the words and it’s enough, without writing it all down. I am there, on top of him, watching the world cry out to me. And I was nobody but whoever you saw…unidentified, gliding through skies made of water…heavens made of hell…vultures made of Swan. Me made of you,

Sharada Devi

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33 thoughts on “Great Swan”

  1. “Me made of you.”
    Words worth repeating
    as if there could be understanding,
    more than pain.
    I am and am not
    the only one in the theater.
    Playing a ghost story.

    “You can have the fantasy.”
    She said to me. Words worth repeating.
    -Your broken-hearted friend, made of cloud and rain, Garuda Phurba

    1. all words worth repeating.
      like I’m a fantasy and so are you.
      ghosts covered in glitter and despair
      reproducing themselves just because,
      it hurts? Phurbas aren’t made of cloud and rain. They’re made of stone and metal.
      And there’s a big difference. Maybe that’s what this is about…the hurt you just can’t stab…

  2. I hate my loops more than anyone….but they’re here…like broken thoughts…broken like the path from my spine to my feet…disjointed…imbalanced…

    why give your body to the dark lord…is it like making a deal with the devil…for money and fame…or siddhis…but when you die you go to hell…even I know better than that at this stage of my life…how does one benefit in the end…is there peace with the dark lord…is it dark but blissful…like a night under the stars in the summer…having an amazing trip…forever…

    everywhere I go online researching what happens when we die there is always someone there to remind everyone of what they call “the good news”…and the good news is…because your mother thought it would be a good idea to birth you into a human existence on earth you’re on a train that’s going straight to hell…and there’s only one way out…being washed in the blood of the lord Jesus Christ…and being baptized…or whatever other condition or hoop they decide you have to jump through…and if you don’t do this you’re going to burn in eternal torment…forever…as a reasonable person it would seem like just never being born in the first place would have been better than having to choose between a stuffy suffocating religion or eternal torment…and these people that uphold this idea are everywhere and they will not let this it go…it’s like they think that they earn merit with God by always reminding people of this…they don’t look at life in the way that I do…they will not look it that way…to them it’s ok if billions of people burn so that a few can go to heaven when they die…but they don’t look at it like that either…the only paradigm they will accept is life is always beautiful…you’re going to hell but they’re not…Jesus can save you…period…the end…any outside ideas will be denied and ignored…the matrix must not be altered in any way…

    I hate these people…because the truth hurts I guess…I believe in Jesus…I had a dream about him once where he appeared in the sky…I heard angels singing and all was bliss…then there was silence and space…I was with God…and all was love…suspended like a planet revolving around Him…then it was over…I had eaten mushrooms within the past few weeks…sometimes it seems like maybe this is all that it was…just a flashback in my sleep…years later I would recall that Jesus said over and over that it is only through him that one finds the father…and it was Jesus who appeared first followed by God…maybe that is the truth…I don’t know…I don’t really like it…my life has been cursed over and over again since delving into the occult…going to hindu pujas…having sex with a woman from India…having Devi bhava darshan with Amma…getting a shaktipat from another Indian saint…and it’s not getting better…but I hate Christianity…I hate living in a body that’s broken…I hate life…I hate sadistic people that get off on the belief that they’re ok but you’re going somewhere really dark and painful forever when you die…I wish I could destroy so many concepts that are so deeply embedded into the psyche of mankind…I wish these people had the integrity to admit that maybe they could be wrong…or maybe we could all be wrong…I don’t know what the truth is…other than living in a physical body causes suffering…I know that much…and if they had it their way the last thought that runs through my head at the moment of my death would be “oh my god I’m going to hell”…they love this…and they’re not the brightest or most compassionate people…they’re like child molesters…victimizers…I know that they get off on this but they just lie if you ask them…if you really probe them in the way that only a person such as myself would be inclined to do…I could expose a fat stupid sadistic controlling pig of a person…happy to wallow in shit and deny air to anyone who would care to breathe it…

    thanks mom! I love it here…what an incredible gift…

    but really it’s of no use fighting it…you’ll just sink in the quicksand of their denial…you can scream and claw and struggle to wake them up and to get out…but you’ll just sink deeper…as they watch you from solid ground with their fat kids…blank faced and expressionless…like prison guards watching with enjoyment as a new prisoner is raped…

    1. Shane,
      The dark lord isn’t the devil. Don’t be ignorant. The duality is why you can’t stop jacking off. That says it all.
      The dark lord
      Jacking off
      Heaven help me
      Go to hell
      Jesus saves
      I’m good again
      Oh no, an ass
      Back to hell..

      and round and round the bush and stump.
      Stump, fucked, a swollen hand. A wrist that’s worn and a spine that once knew the way. You my friend, love where you are
      or you wouldn’t be there…all dressed up
      like a pretty girl on the corner and we all know what lurks beneath that shiny skirt
      don’t we? Pretty boy. Bad boy. Mommies dumpster dog. Wake up slave child and be a man that lifts that sun up high.

  3. whenever I write I barely scratch the surface of anything meaningful that I could have hoped to say…I’ve been watching your old videos on YouTube…everyday…it helps me to do these physical therapy exercises…god I miss 2014 and 2015…you guys were really on fire with the videos back then…not that your videos aren’t good now…i don’t know why they’re so good…oh I know because that time and place and space is gone…and always will be…

    will the Karmapa ever think of me? Karmapa…think of me…

    or will I just fade away quietly…forgotten…my life has been one disaster after another…right when things were getting good…epic even…it fell apart…and I knew…that soft voice in my mind said it to me…things are good…you’re actually content and happy where you’re at…this can’t last…and guess what…it didn’t…

    I’m sick of fighting against the tide…I’m sick of trying to fix myself…the solstice is almost here…it will start getting brighter again soon…this too shall pass…

    I’ve really gotta quit this…the writing…delete this if you want…delete all my writings I don’t care…I just like writing…thanks…

    1. Angst needs an outlet, anger that is unfocused is that sticky wet shirt you just through in the corner. Love lost is why you can’t stop. Punishing yourself is the addiction. Not pornography food or aggression. You are addicted to hating yourself because we both know what you do, over and over again. And I know you can’t stop, the delusion. But awareness helps and so does humility. I like your writing. Don’t despair, create.

  4. The death blanket is woven tightly with rays of white crystal light and smoke spirals from burning embers from the darkness of nowhere. It covers, not for warmth, but wraps – tighter and tighter, choking. Ice cold, it cracks and crumbles into tiny shiny shards of sharp mirrors. Razor cuts. Squirting blood. Blue. The sky, open wide, showering and draining…pouring forth and flowing into a river that carries the swan. The Great Swan.
    The Great Swan knows not her own beauty. This lovely swan has deep intuition, balance, inner beauty, and a purely authentic grace in dealing with others. This Great Swan is innocent and can see into the future. Let us hear and merge with this Great Swan’s voice as she teaches the mysteries of poetry and song, and leads us to our own heart song. She IS the Soul….the Soul of our Eternal Essence.

    1. under whatever falls I fall
      and bow to the shadow of the moon
      who am I without me,
      don’t leave the little one
      all alone. Big Moon. ♥️🌙

    1. I thought you died. Guess you’re still humming down the freeway dreaming you haven’t…after all, we only have so many people we can live through until our day finally arrives and we see we weren’t the one we were living through, we were someone else, Someone dead. Compromise sucks.♥️

      1. compromise eternal prostrations
        3 million dollar momma death
        wild flower
        breath
        resting in
        dewdrops
        to stargaze
        into death’s
        eyes
        = freedom

          1. … facebook … the middle world …
            endless dance with emptiness
            life/death impermanence
            materialism
            overrated
            outdated

          2. sad more like-
            the excuses and denial
            of those treading fearlessly
            through the treacherous
            “Middle world”
            full of something
            not emptiness though…
            that would mean there
            wasn’t the lie rehearsing
            itself over and over
            for the Big Break

  5. OM Kali Ma

    I’m sorry to hear you are going through so much turmoil. My mind was drawn to you lately. This time period feels fraught with upheaval. It feels like a psychic battle every day. People don’t look human anymore. Especially those who shop at the dollar tree. I worry for our planet and I don’t know how it is all going to turn out. At the same time, the grace is intensifying as well. I’m not afraid of death, welcome it, but would never commit suicide. I wouldnt dare risk coming back in a lower form.

    Go to India. It will surely supercharge your faith and spiritual virility. It’s also a rude awakening-something all Americans need over and over and over again. I would love to go again. Never lose faith in the Guru and the lineage! Be forever grateful if you have a lineage you align yourself with. It will get you through the darkest times. But, Im sure you know this. Are you still doing readings? I would like one, but not sure if you are inclined to do them at this point in time.

    Brace yourself for the solar flash-the cosmic all seeing eye/which will plug into the ajna chakra and either blast you into a more sane reality or engulf you in more delusion. Offer oblations to the demons cause they arent going anywhere anytime soon and they seem a bit lonely. Theyre just starved of their own divinity. OM mani padme hum to the neighbor’s hell hounds that surround my house from all sides. Although i wish to throw a rock at their faces, I restrain myself with unbridled compassion. OM mani padme hum to the vast majority of men who are perverts, for it is only their lack of self love that churns and fuels their delusion. OM mani padme hum to almost everyone in this society who are losing themselves to self induced zombified robotics. Om mani padme hum to the pure innocence of the child taking an abusive ear shot from a drug addicted father. To the dollar crashing and so on and so forth. What an interesting time-there is no way mercury is in retrograde for a couple weeks. Lately I see rainbows with no rain and then all hell breaks loose once the sun sets. Damn demons….We must be like Shiva and have them serve us and not be swayed.

    1. Dear sweet friend Ian, happy to hear from you!
      I’m not going through dark times any darker than usual. I don’t ever feel dark times like you might think- I turn it over- maybe that’s how I can describe the darkness due to all the truth shining light on the graphic reality of human experience. Transformation means churning and I churn indefinitely because it’s my duty. Seeing is seeing and defining is a personal thing and that’s what creative artistic self expression is- using the fuel of awakening wisely- alchemically and one pointed. To feel and understand the roots of love. And so I thank you for your love and wisdom my sweetest friend! ♥️♥️♥️
      P.S. Yes still doing readings

  6. Thank you Chandra Ma!
    Words of Wisdom as always!
    OM MANI PADME HUM

    It’s a DNA issue. Purify, strengthen and intensify the cause. Only then will we be
    repaired, awakened and released from bondage. It’s a physical thing.

  7. Web parasites birthing from
    Computer screens
    Such beguiling
    Little creatures
    🔥👶 those infected eggs are
    All about

    Fakebook
    Paradise parasites
    market plastic
    bones

    Till the last bit of flesh fades
    as basement ash

    Tonglen flower

    Moon Breath
    Snow

    But back to heat
    Karmic
    Sage burns

    Bones brittle
    Like tough sage brush
    No matter
    But the
    plot to be
    the white
    cloud of
    nothingness
    ♥️

    1. In time. In time. In time.
      winding out the mother plot.
      yours and you and her,
      the little new you.
      Karma catches, dream catcher.
      It can’t be redone.
      It must be released.
      My mother tried as well.
      Thought she was undoing
      what was done to her
      through me, the little girl.
      But it backfired.
      Same story is why, same karma
      with a different twist.
      Family fate it’s called.
      There’s no way to fake fate.
      It’s bigger than you no
      matter what you write
      or sacrifice for “child”
      It’s more weight
      heavy and haunted.
      That house. Where you all live.
      I’ve been there…
      time will tell. The cycle redeems
      eventually through someone
      who knows what destroying
      really means to the light

      Did you say tonglen.

  8. i like it when you write like this – using all the colors in the mystical crayon box,
    stretching the ordinary palate beyond logical comprehension.
    Choosing those crystal hues we have yet to put into everyday use.
    Attuning our view to peer in another direction than where we are applying our sight right now.
    It reads like a narrative spoken in a language that i can
    understand because it speaks to the places within that need to hear on a whole
    other level than everyday “jargon”. Having an affect like wind song parlance or astral lingo.

    On saturday, meandering in rewind
    i revisited the saga of Ceres.

    Low and behold, that same day, You wrote about finishing the White Horse.
    i some times go back in time to re-read past posts and comments
    to examine growth and regression. It’s a good source of gauging
    what needs fine tuning or where “things” were more nearly inline
    once upon a time,
    on an upward spiral
    likewise maybe a slip that needed a gentle or swift kick or strong mend
    something to which i had neglected to tend
    Or simply just remember – a glorious better.
    cuz better seems to bend towards best.

    Ebb and flow
    Falter then grow
    third eye indigo

    It is also a chance to remember how beautiful and Holy
    are those dear ones who have taken the time to comment here.
    Undaunted in elegant honesty
    Re-experiencing their profound being-ness.
    Savoring the radiant soul-full out pouring of this longtime sangha.
    How much there is to treasure in this meeting space of us all.
    Dropping in and letting go… the perfect purge.
    the urge to merge
    aspire then surge
    This blog space – an exquisite conduit for alchemical allegory.
    A poem home away from the crazed mind’s wanton roam.

    i had to take a journey back to the story of the nightly ritual of
    the burning of bones in the blue flame that left behind the ruby heart.

    i want to collect those sacred bones to steep and imbue
    a 24 hour long deeply simmered bone broth to nurture
    what needs to be healed without remorse or karmic debt.
    A broth of perfect potent inspiration made from bones given freely with exalted intention, lofty sacrifice,
    rendering the gift of gaining an eternal ruby heart.

    1. One day at a time, anything is possible.
      storms brew, anchors fall, mist rises
      and hearts are broken.
      the sun shines, the moon sinks, rain falls
      and love sees all.
      Through the changes and over the hill
      behind the mask and beyond the stars.
      Nobody and nothing is forgotten.♥️

  9. Blessings mother tongue
    Dark bondage
    Nights savage
    My grip unfolding to sip
    On sweetbreathe
    My mind hears this churning
    Big ha breathe
    Escape
    I want reclaim it everytime
    But really it claims me
    Even when i count it
    Study it
    Steady it
    Bless this
    I am this
    I am One
    Om
    I am nothing
    What do i know: nothing
    My root it needs the ground
    Feel the ground sister mother brother father girl crazed fazed i am this so hum so hum so hum
    My heart it feels it feels it feels
    I keep going back to my yoga practices
    Breathe japa asana
    The only things that truly make any sense
    Fit on when i look at Self
    My eye it opens wide to the exchange
    My heart it pushes my breast out like it’s the one engaged~ engaged to this typing thumb~ One
    You are not his know this
    Your eyes they are kind
    Sweet universal blessings to all the eyes
    Open wide

    1. Perfect words. Perfect beast. Perfect mouth.
      Open wide. The world enters. Out of void.
      Black mist seeping. Me as everyone.
      Perfectly dying. Back in her arms.
      Birthday kisses. Torn apart inside.
      Eaten. Out of nothing. Go back. She hears
      daylight. The charm. Have we met?
      ♥️🖤♥️

  10. I started reading the blog from the beginning a few months ago…little bit at a time. I am thoroughly enjoying all of it…Sharada Devi, your intense descriptions, and some incredible poetic comments. Especially Red Crow! Anyway…I am feeling frantic now. I think I am picking up on the frantic “holiday” energy around me. Getting ready for east coast friends visiting and upcoming meal preparations….Also thinking of family back east…old parents…siblings gathering and I am never there. I went away a long time ago and never go visit on holidays. I am the “dark” one of the family….I am the one who has always been the “weird” one…the one who does not belong. I feel sad about this…but more so happy. I am the “loner”…always have been. I can hear them now…all around the table talking about “Mar” and what crazy thing is she up to now. The last time I went east, we sat around and all I could talk about was death (and this was BEFORE I connected with you and Baba!). Of course, my parents being in their 90s may have something to do with the talk of death. But even before that I had been thinking about my own death. I always have. I actually want to have a date, choose a date…maybe when I am 85…maybe 80. Not sure. But I want to choose when I go….I have talked to God about this for years. I feel like I am talking in circles now…but really…it’s the frantic feeling. I need to chant more than an hour these days….I get up early 530am…chant til 630…maybe need to up it to two hours….I listed to you and Baba ALL the time in the car…singing to Motherlight CD. John said “can’t you listen to anything/one else?” I said “NO…” He said “I can’t get these songs out of my head” I said “GOOD!” He loves my connection with you guys. Okay….not sure if you will post this….but whatever. I love you. Bye for now…..

    1. Dear Mothee Moon
      All I can say is why?
      WHY did you cancel Guatemala?
      For the holiday waste?
      It would have been good and right
      not that you don’t know your way
      but these “voices of reason”
      aren’t always who they appear to be.
      Physical presence. It’s a physical kundalini
      thing. Either way,♥️♥️♥️OM the real home.
      Why do the family pretense? Owed to who?

          1. My defensiveness kicked in……that’s what THAT was…..

            Holidays ARE funny reminders. Reminders of what I left behind and let go of… No regrets. I do NOT miss sending cards out, and decorating, and exchanging presents.

            I do love preparing meals for my friends who visit me from far away…

            It’s that energy when I am out and about…I feel it and it does remind me…..

            Om Mani Padme Hum

          2. OM MANI PADME HUM ♥️♥️♥️❤️♥️❤️❤️❤️♥️♥️♥️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️♥️♥️♥️♥️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️♥️♥️♥️

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