inside this black, i have white arms for you…


Modern times are trying. Poetry is irrelevant, something most men tolerate, but basically reduce to the emotionality of women. Not all
men, and it’s a mindset, but men who are angry, whether they see it or not, angry they can’t just get laid or whatever. How else can I say it? It seems written across the board. The emails I get, regarding yesterday’s blog- happen to be from men, no women. A few men. I think they’re telling me I’m being used because that’s what hard up lonely men do, they masturbate to various imaginary people on the internet and then harbor a jaded anger because of it. It’s not my fault, and I’m not saying that’s the reason, but it is a mindset. If you think my blog is useless, redundant ramblings you just don’t understand mysticism, devotion or any of it. It’s another world, a world you feel, you get it, me, or you don’t. It’s not literal, it’s the heart ache space of samsara. It’s a bleeding searching ground. It’s a place not to be alone, a heart heard dimension of like minded haunted souls. If you don’t get it, or you’re just “attracted” to me and so tolerate the rest, it’s your loss. But I’m not quitting because while people like you miss the essence, there are those, invisible or not, that, like myself come from a deeper vein of existence and know mundane reality and it’s realm of expression is obsolete, not my raw realm of guttural honesty. My main thing is uncensored honesty. On a daily basis. I never promised teachings. I’m not a teacher, I don’t lord it over playing roles. I am here for you as presence, not special but flesh and bone stark as close to the bottom as I can get- and as close to the top because of it. I am not afraid of results…

of course everyone likes to feel they’re useful in the time they spend offering something. So feeling misunderstood crosses vaguely my mind but only on days of saturation and irritation, because demon fools start texting, emailing their trash. No appreciation and what’s with the expectation? It’s my blog, I can say and do what ever I want. Write the same words every day. Go away, I’m not gathering feedback. I don’t work for you. That’s a terrible attitude, no wonder you’re single. Rumi, Pablo Neruda, Kabir- just to name a few wrote mystical love poems to God. That’s all they wrote, the same shit day in day out, year after year until they died. The same sad show. So you see, the renaissance is coming. We need devotion, not cynicism. Not male/female issues, just the open mind of the lonesome seeker, which we all are whether admitted or not. My words just bore into the depth of the journey. The monotonous daily grind of why this is and how it feels to be bound in flesh and burning. Feeling the cold of our only friend death. Knowing it’s all useless and yet forging ahead. I do this in case you feel alone. I do this to inspire, transform, unveil the listener. You do not have to unravel some “meaning” to know. It’s a mystical, magical portal only into the star filled skies of you. The haunted lunar mansion. The unmet lover. The kissing of tears. I hear it all. And to write it out in the open, without fear of you, without a harnessing of me- is what I will do to bring us together somehow, some way. My poetry and daily writing is not a “useless temporary high” I am not stupid or desperate. I am not redundant or looking for anything. I tune in and that’s what’s gotten. I find it extraordinarily unusual that anyone would feel obliged to critique given there is no place for it- I don’t have a boss, not you. I’m not needing a “man” to let me know what’s up, set me straight. I think that’s the problem here on earth. One closed heart, trying to close other hearts. One open heart, trying to open other hearts is me. And you know my love is not a disguise. My love, this wreckage, is a tiny house floating on the water. I have nothing. I grow tiny flowers and give them to you, see them as you, me in the stem. I catch dying stars in the mirror, your sky and I smile and I cry hoping you’ll see me, find you as us. The mystics that roam inside the churning of sadness pulling the thread of heart through the mind of space, mending the gap of loss…

deep inside the soul I believe there is a listener. A listener different than who we know as ourselves. Who listens with invisible ears, eyes- a subtle magic of a mysterious origin. This listener is who I write for. Myself in your tears. Your anger and your laughter. It means something really big, this mission of wild freedom. It means peace and blankets for everyone cold. It means roses that never die but fill all we leave behind with the fragrance inherent in every vast, outlaw rainbow. It’s the colors that open the gate at the crossroads, the drawbridge at the threshold. The colors of words and where they travel from as letters into sounds into the space creating feeling between us. Bhakti, angst, transformation, attraction, desire, fire that burns and burns until tomorrow. You won’t forget me, we are possessed by each other. That is the power of God, words and meaning. That is the grace of her bloody valentine heart. That is my final offer, my undying words of love, my secret promise of a place to land.

Land in me. That’s all I am, the potential of words spinning in a frail, aging body. The depth of love is the core of sound I pull from, asking for answers. A savior. A kiss. Asking for the moon to rain on this night. Asking for my home to be you. Asking for nothing but this and I know you hear the light as she cries, “Take me as I am.” That’s her, him growing flowers for the sun. God food. I write God food. You are God.

I am distorted blurred flawed scarred skreeching scratching music that is naked in the dark, where words have no sense or meaning…only what you see…our out of body perfection.

Inside this black, I have white arms for you, this is how I feel…

Sharada Devi

10 thoughts on “inside this black, i have white arms for you…”

  1. Savoring these words that feed my soul and keep me always returning for more
    to “meet” in this space that holds the assurance of freedom and escape
    from empty hollow blathering of bland commonplace in the world of dim.
    into sacred heart home that hovers in an aperture of in-between
    acknowledging the yearning crave of the unseen
    this supernatural territory encourages me to be me, completely.
    whatever that might be.
    accepted and cherished for all the absurdity that that entails.
    Grateful to be counted among the knowingly flawed in constant pursuit of God within us all.
    Thank You Sharada Devi
    ✨ 💚 ✨

    1. Thank you! I think that sounds good,
      like how they say you should eat breakfast
      every day, and even though I don’t, I still
      know how right it is -if you believe in breakfast, as an example🌈 Of the God rainbow perhaps…it makes perfect sense.
      eating a rainbow asap upon rising.
      God food.

  2. So beautifully stated. So true. I live to read your words Dear One. They mean so much to me. Thank you. 🕯

    1. that’s not true, never too broken,
      never too special to be loved.
      Not laid, not afraid. Completed.
      Angels surge, heaven is high.
      Goes the lady with the hammer,
      golden for Jesse. Sweetheart refuge.
      Friend forever, Solid Christ heart❤️

  3. I’ve been reading your blogs and… damn!
    One thing I appreciate about you guys is that you don’t try to hide your human side. Your retreat was deep, as deep as I’ve been into God.
    And yet you don’t try to pretend that your not human too. I’ve had a lot of teachers that acted like they had transcended their humanness and that definitely created problems.
    So… I don’t know what else to say. Your bhakti is real and profound and I want you to know that it is deeply appreciated. It’s affected me and my people very strongly.


    1. Dear Justin,
      Thank you and I love you.
      Human and God Love.
      You’ve got soul and deep
      primal power. The boom
      of the drum heart beat
      tells all! OM thank you.

    1. That’s divine, your eyes
      put to words, magical
      windows to mystical places…
      diamonds in your heart.
      I think that’s where.

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