I may be a portal to something divine

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I won’t turn around. I won’t look back, at before. A ghost jumped in front of me. I thought you were dead. There is a warlock who lives not far from here, go…look in his eyes. I am a story teller, it’s a fading art. A tree lies uprooted, there is a graveyard with nothing but dirt, unseen old bones and plastic flowers. Get me out of here. It’s just over the horizon this mystical place. Pools of black water that read your mind and fish that swim sideways knowing they’re fish. But I wrote about this land and nobody cared. They don’t have to know you said the ghost, I can see how well you are erasing it all. Stay here just a little longer to watch the silhouettes dance and disappear under the moonlight. You bewitch every one of them, they’ll never see what you’ve done. Not until after it’s over and gone. Just come, follow me down this dark lonely road. He lives this way. A ghost points at an angle with a white invisible hand. Toward the earth, downhill, a snake rises to meet his gaze that goes unseen by anyone but me. The past is over and gone said I. No, we draw the past into ourselves like a great looping majesty and then we create gods to pray to. Which is only an open mouth, we come inside to devour what’s gone. The shadow that light makes, and isn’t it ironic. That we’re here together now and you can hear me and see the world that’s hidden. It’s beneath you. It’s above you. It exhales you repeatedly and you think it’s you breathing. Come this way, we call it love. The feeling of moving light over dark hills. We feel love, the feeling of moving dark into light bodies.

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Clouds come and they go, we cry for what’s gone. Ghost, my memory. I take pictures of everything so as not to forget the beauty of what’s leaving forever. Film over film. He’s waiting. With eyes as doorways, into her. This is the redemptive power of a system collapsing in on itself. It is divine love witnessed everywhere. Misinterpreted, we disease ourselves with thought. He lives up the spiraling bluish gray hill, he lives at the top of the forgotten place. He waits and no one ever comes. He stares down into a black pool of water waiting for her emergence. What she brings is you. Into his eyes, come and look into his eyes. But you’re a ghost, how can you see me. I won’t look back. You’ve been uprooted, you are drowning in a heavy air that no one sees but me. I lift my head and I look up. There is a peak, there are ten stars reaching downward. There is a sound like distant thunder. There is a breathless silver sky. There is a body that looks like me floating into a whirlpool of flashing light. This is the final storm that takes the flower. You make no sense you never have, your tongue is split as if you can only speak of crossroads. I saw eyes, eyes inside the ghost. And as I entered a diamond doorway opened in his forehead. There was a serpent made of gold that was erect and gazing just inside his empty head. There was a sky like one I have never seen and there was no body anymore, not a ghost not a cloud. Not a tear or a shadow. Not a memory.
I am a storyteller said a voice that I assumed was God.

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I may be a portal to something divine.
Sharada Devi

21 thoughts on “I may be a portal to something divine”

  1. Peaceful is the sound of cicadas
    Irritatedlingly divine is the mosquitoes bite
    The crow calls to no one.
    If I had wings I would answer in an instant
    So I run, run as fast as my tattered and torn shoes will take me
    When I tire, I sit against friends of fallen redwoods
    Inside my spirit runs up and down my spine
    The track of the sushumina is electric and intoxicating
    One million mega watts of hot, sexy, blood boiling, sweaty kundalini
    Whiplashes my neck
    I know bliss is an obstacle but mother Shakti jolt my body some more.

    1. Have you been watching that show again about the naked people in the forest?

      We saw it in the hotel room.

      Either way, this is some hardcore writing!

      1. Lol no…but I know that show. It’s amazing how for days or weeks on end you have seemingly dull no frills experiences, then all of a sudden you are thrust back into the cockpit of Shakti. Gives me hope to continue.

        The trails in arcata were inspiring that day.

  2. opportunities may be rare
    like fading art.
    windows linger open for only so long
    vast is the sky above
    below, the path may be narrow
    still, the journey must ensue
    nothing ventured, nothing gained
    Many are called, few may answer
    even less are chosen.
    Like a shaft of light radiating from an unknown source
    we gravitate towards that luminosity as if magnetically selected.
    crystalline children, heed the esoteric invitation
    play the game that has no rules
    those who have eyes, let them see
    those who have ears let them hear
    something magnificent is out there waiting

    1. The game that has no rules?!
      Now we’re getting somewhere!!!
      I know a lot of judges and spiritual
      police people…I’ve gotten tickets and
      been sentenced these passed couple of days! Haha! I’ve got fines to pay and behavior to be ashamed of…maybe so…maybe so, we’ll see. I at least know I didn’t live in a fear rule prison rattling the bars and blessing those less informed on “bodhisattva protocol” hahahaha!!! I don’t even bless back, that’s obnoxious..then the little prayer hands…I can’t take it!

      I prefer your view. It gives me hope!❤️

  3. Hey Sharada,

    Did you and baghavan take off videos from your youtube channel? Also, do you guys plan on making more of those? Those are helpful and I appreciate it. Thanks.

    Pete

    1. Dear Pete,
      Thank you! Yes I know the videos are removed. I personally plan to make more
      in the near future. BD will not be making any more videos. Thanks again!

  4. Dude. I’m sorry about your divorce; sorry about your husband, rather. What a tragedy is attachment. My dog is lying next to me and she just started choking a bit and it sounded like human sobs. And I thought maybe we all feel this cord tied too tight. I told my lover that his anger is so heavy that its crushing me. And I can’t breathe. But maybe its not his anger. Maybe its his attachment and his beggar’s hands. Its his desperate heart pulling me under until I’m gasping for air. Matrimonial sheets are sometimes boa constrictors in disguise as butterflies. Disentangle, Dear Heart. I believe in you.

    1. You are right about attachment…and suffocation. It’s hard to imagine where actual love fits into any of it. Due to human fear, it would seem love lies either dormant or secondary. The guilt of it’s supposed conditions keeps us in bondage-
      based mostly I feel on mommy and daddy with some religion mixed in. So I have no answers. I just try to practice what I preach however constricted and wingless.
      Thank you my longtime friend.

  5. a brothers wild eyes
    hugging arms that don’t lie
    loved ones who die
    making sense of the inexplicable
    why try…
    everything seems accelerated
    sped up even within timelessness
    too raw
    like a snake stripped of it’s skin
    turned inside out
    like being launched and flaring too close to the sun
    singed and stingingly burnt
    cosmic tumblers clicking unlocking, unblocking
    urging closer to a great leap
    we are all stronger than we think we are
    what do the empty houses mean?
    I really need to know.
    crossroads are on fire
    sparks are flying
    venturing out of the comfort zone can be revealing
    coming home can be way too stark
    what do i do with all this illusion overload?
    👻🔥💥

      1. it’s from wednesday night. How I was feeling at that moment.
        After being away and immersed in a big 4 day dose of emotional and other “reality”

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