half lit world

She looks so real when she walks by, so vivid and immaculate -the warm body on the screen, close enough to touch, to be touched by…these images- pornographic fantasies -a waste of our lives…

“I will never be abandoned, now that I’m in charge of her”

Right. Nobody listens. She’s trickier than you. She spins you and you’re too dizzy to see her real face…it’s the mindfuck I already mentioned.

You’re wrong -and you don’t believe me- you think this doesn’t apply to you. It applies to us all- us- the great wasters of time and space-

Don’t be fooled. She is a story that never comes true. Maybe you think you bought the whore or that you aren’t one. You probably think you’re in charge of the screen you choose- mind, computer or otherwise- the realm of the modern whore and how she gets inside your pants- it’s not the other way around- you are the meat.

You are being exploited and undermined by the company you keep and even if you pay and feel in charge, you’re the losing whore -because you didn’t even think of it, she did. She’s in control, not you. She beckoned to you to enter the screen of cold lust and money hungry humping. Don’t get in my way, I don’t work for her anymore.

I kept saying, “No, it’s not good, it’s not right- it’s all in your head. You want a goddess? And she’s pretty and compliant and seductive and obliging?”

-And- don’t think this is written to men- I’m not a man hater. Men aren’t the problem. I love men. Everyone is the problem- ok? Besides, women are usually even worse because they really can’t admit anything to themselves how they hustle and exploit their lives and bodies – usually telling themselves it’s a “sacrifice” for the child involved or whatever- well, sorry the truth hurts -and you know who you are. I’ve said it dozens of times.
It’s not able to be deodorized, it stinks. His breath -while his hungry mouth sucks out your soul -because you don’t even love him, you just want a nice house and material security. I’m sorry you’ve resigned to be his prisoner-but it’s still whorehood at its finest- not selfless motherhood.

This world will screw you laughing as you spew your life all over her digital face. It wasn’t ever me. I didn’t choose this, but it still happens. The relationship we have or choose or keep-

The whore or the hustled.

We switch sides of course but it’s always the same, a gamble and an escapade. We’re losing something, that’s for sure. The game. The love. The point really.

And so we’ve pushed it all away, whatever and whoever reminds us of the slut we’ve become. You don’t think so? I could make a list of how it’s true not only for you but for myself too. And I’m working my way out of her snake pit and it’s tough. They wrap around us and they hold on-hissing in endless lullabies to keep us entangled and squirming in their half lit world. We were born from a snake and she’s not the beginning…

You know, the one we call mom, is a reptile just like us.

We have the memory of flight but can’t grow our wings back when we identify with our serpent mother. We must remember who came before this. Struggling does no good, we are captives in her playpen. Only by breaking our heart open will the past reveal itself to you.

The past. Before this torture began. Where we come from, what we can really do. Wasting ourselves buying and being bought- being the whore who fondles dangerous snakes isn’t the truth, it’s the nipple, the pacifier and the great distraction.

Mother’s next warm egg is in your heart. What are you capable of I wonder? Because she knows what you want really. Whether you like it or not, she’s the one who hatches and breaks open the shell and she’s the one who trips us and deceives us and lands us in prison. She’s doing it all, and it all depends on you and what you really want. Because mother knows best and she knows when you’re lying. You may not know you’re a liar -but she knows -and that’s really what the problem is between us isn’t it?

My love struck the deep aching. My love lowered it’s string and caught food on the hook. You are food and so am I. Everything is food and that’s it.

I can barely eat. The Doctor, Bhagavan Das- everyone force feeding me, counting calories, it’s awful and I had not eaten in two months until about 3 weeks ago- no food. No water- 2 ice chips per hour. And then they took me off the tubes and started the calorie police on me- and it’s hell, because I’m just not hungry but I know I have to do it- Bhagavan Das says I’m just floating and I’m not in my body at all – so my daily life since then has been obsession with food- I’m working very hard at this and it’s so strange-constant forcing myself every hour- eat eat eat- because the Dr. is weighing me in next week and I “better have gained some weight”

So you see its relative – but eating or not, food always wins and if I don’t eat- I’ll be food- if only for the final fire of me- and when I’m eating and fat- my life is food to my pursuits and desires…so it’s about eating.

Even sex is about eating the one that we aren’t. Getting the other side filled of its emptiness temporarily -and we feel that as lust and attraction. That’s basically what we’re currently capable of calling love (that- and this ego/pride ownership over our children as extensions of our own talents and perfection-usually unmet)

Love and creativity reduced and misinterpreted.

It’s all because of what I said, the whore and the hustled. No way out – we’re born this way-
so we can align, break out and fly again- but it’s a battle against a lot and doesn’t come easy- especially when denial seems to be the trend…

(the undermining claus being- the cat got out of the bag and is curious about the story the snake is telling…)

and these mystical wings we all need to remember ourselves with -well, the cat eats the bird…and it’s a losing love affair for everyone fucking in it…

So until then, She offers us food and She offers us up as food.

Or into the ground of pine needles and memories we go, screwing until the end of me…

Sharada Devi

p.s. read between the lines. it’s deeper than my words. hiding places and discovery. only the lonely will ever listen. silence, blind body. love unshackled and bled dry. do you have any idea of these sounds we make? quiet. tell me what you know.

8 thoughts on “half lit world”

  1. There is much more being said in this post
    but i am going to react now to one thing only
    your ability to eat and gain weight
    and ask – are you able to tolerate Chyawanprash or tahini ?

  2. Know nothing these days but the endlessness of letting it all go, the shadow side of what my pea brain thinks surrender looks like — now the food crusted dishes rest in the kitchen sink for days — no longer washing dishes that don’t I use or making the kitchen sparkle — it’s just going to get messy again and it’s not my mess to begin with — no longer cleaning up others messes. The laundry wall grows; the Laundry Maid has left the building — you all can do your own laundry and dust your own corners and now the battle’s on as I slide deep into shadow and longing and broken heart and I don’t even give a fuck about Mother Theresa being made a saint today. A nun who was alive before the shit hit the fan and saw the need to wipe some of the suffering away and now she will be a saint that people can pray to when the great awake up comes and our messes are bigger than our ancestors and are more vast and endless.

    Silence. Complete silence. That’s what I know — it’s too loud all of it and talk is noise and all the scenes of this and that group and dogma of all — going to the shadow — nothing is feels real and everything feels messy and chaotic and the heartache of knowing those being from other dimensions can make it all better or a worse in a millisecond and they never come and I know it is up to me to clean my own inner galactic bs.

    1. Housewife rebellion. How intense.
      you really don’t need to tell me about
      it, since you begged me to help you in my basement) remember me, “the only one who can help you” so sad, the insincerity and inability to listen. Wasting time being angry and blaming him- you’re playing the game too- so sticking with other stuck housewives is best for you, that way you feel supported and justified.
      Too bad and it’s so sad to me, yet, I surrender it all to “it is what it is” and I waste no more time on people who don’t listen -and just want me to be their tolerant mother who holds their hand while they quiver through life- and I can patiently smile and watch them never live up to their potential-sorry but it’s not my role, it’s not kind or compassionate.

      So other than a few sentences when I’m feeling generous I won’t give any more energy to these types of situations-I’ve wasted too many words on deaf ears already.

      1. Headline reads, “Attack of the killer zombie housewives who rebelled against the man” — never pretended the situation was anything but what it is — no blame — no anger — it’s a reenactment of all the women before — a line of nothing and wasted lives — doesn’t matter any way wherever it is … same situation — yes it’s sad and I’m yes not far away from being a pea brain zombie — basement confession was true and will be and continue to be and I’m slow witted and heading out of this whatever this is — silent is best as communications I get too jarred and charged — loud world and keep eye on the price — and would never want to waste anyone’s time and certainly have never asked anyone to do any hand holding — and if you feel I continue to offend/bore you or you feel time is wasted it surely is not from a place of awareness and is from a place of slumber. For what is worth regret any failings and continued failings. I’m sorry.

        1. if you know what’s best and you can’t express yourself and you are defensive,
          again, your words and your silence lack meaning. Actions Megan. Not talk of “working with your shadow shit” excuses and too many.
          Sorry yes, it’s old and why would you offend me? I find it sad to watch you suffer so willfully. Don’t be like your mother.

  3. I will read this many times. I don’t understand it all, I feel myself getting half down the hallway of your meaning. I find it strange to comment, my comments will be marginal where you go places that are deep and hard and true. I know I am hanging about in a limbo land,finding perverse comfort in a state of inadequate desire for a more committed spiritual life. Your words, Baba”s songs they remind me of what I am not doing.

    1. Dear Olivia,
      So happy to hear from you! It’s not in your mind, it’s in your heart and you DO
      understand beloved friend.
      I hope you love your new house and peaches
      is making friends! ❤️

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