I’ll be yours and I’ll kill you

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When I was 17 I married a man who was 26. He had black hair and green eyes. I like him, he was funny. I knew we would be married the first time I saw him laughing. I was 15. He worked out of town. I was alone a lot. He told me that I had no personality because I wasn’t like him. He told me I had no goals because I didn’t care about buying a house. He told me no man was as sexually skilled as he was- he said all men came in about 10 seconds and I believed him. He told me that pickled ginger was made out of tree bark and I believed him. We lived in this small secluded cottage on a hill on the northern coast of California. Over the other side of the hill there was a vast and private beach. It was endless country and hills behind the cottage and then the moody sea. There were owls, coyotes, horses, deer, rabbits and a few roaming cows. There were eucalyptus trees, pine trees and huge boulders. The wind would howl and I was all alone. One time I was coming home and saw a black man hiding and waiting for me behind the cottage. The cottage was in the middle of nowhere. And I didn’t go home. I went back in a couple of days and he was gone. I don’t want to know what he wanted. I have always had dark men come for me. Even as a small child I would be stalked by dark men in cars, I even had to call the police, it was scary. I don’t know what I was doing to cause this. I did have issues with modesty – like accidentally flashing and not being aware of exposing forbidden body parts. It was a lot to remember. Anyway, needless to say, I was afraid a lot, all alone. I usually mourned, cried every day and I was just laughed at. I have always offered the wounded my heart as if I could bare the weight. My wounded heart, I came here to give but I got confused on where I ended and others began. I needed a savior, I tried to be one. I could have been my own I suppose. Eventually I was. Eventually I stopped crying and started killing. Back. I used to walk over the hills to the deep blue sea and on the huge rocks would be a hundred sea otters lying in the sun. I never bothered them, they seemed friendly. I would sit there but it was eery, I was alone but always felt like I was being watched. There was a collapsed shack at least 100 years old built on the sand. I think fishermen had lived there even before there were roads or anything. It was still alive though, this shack. The whole isolated coast where I was seemed haunted by before. I too, felt haunted from before. Abandoned. Sitting in a place, in a body I didn’t recognize or necessarily want. I had a mission I don’t know what. I had too much on my mind. Too many pains in my collapsing heart. When I got married I was a virgin. Sex is powerful. I had been abused as a child. I couldn’t have sex for at least a month after we were married. I tried but was afraid. It hurt, it was somehow wrong. That is essentially what I was taught by my mother, it’s dirty. You are nasty and dirty and should stop exposing yourself. Put some clothes on, stop running around naked. Which I liked to do. I was put to an end, stopped- and my mystical freedom ended. My innocence was never known really, I was born a mother, became my own. Became one to everyone else too. That’s my training, this unforeseen program. Put out. Or you aren’t lovable. But I couldn’t have sex. My mother was obsessed with it, my sex life. Everyday. She wanted me to have a baby. I said I didn’t want to. She said I was selfish. I should have a baby and give it to her. I never did. I was enough. The damage was done. My husband was patient and eventually we broke through, literally. Blood on the sheets and the rest is history. I don’t take anything lightly. Not even the light. Sex has the power to transform and shouldn’t be taken lightly. I took it deeply to heart. More gravity for the already heavy hole of me. He didn’t like to kiss, something was wrong. He was there, I was alone. I’m tired of being alone. It’s been this way a lot and time hasn’t stopped a thing. Not even the aching, not even the urge to kill. I will destroy everything but the frame of me and these things I still hunt on the inside. Memories I give to you, just because I’m not even me, the one I remember. She’s been gone so long. Her ghost haunts me. She loves you. She wants to save you. She wants you to save her. Poor romantic wandering girl. Anyway, I would sit on the edge of a low cliff just above the shore for hours, and hear the ghostly voices from before, the little feet shuffling, the sand in the salty wind. The relentless crashing waves. There was supposed to be silence. I’ve never heard silence. Anywhere in me. I live inbetween worlds. Maybe it’s called a shadow world, I don’t know. These impressions carry me. I would see whales sometimes way out in the deep. I would feel so empty and weighed down by the sight of the whale. Someone I knew I could be, already was. Way too big and yet so small in the endless unforgiving sea. I always felt so cold when I would see the whale. Cold and ancient, beyond making words and thoughts. Just moving low and deep, just vibrating, beyond what ears can hear. Calling for my soul through this black water. It’s hopeless, the ending of eons, killing the dark vessels that move this earth secretly. I thought I could be one, hoped I was. I would attempt to pray but the god I knew was so cruel it was useless. I’ve always been alone. No matter where I am. Reaching under, climbing these hills and winding trails of eucalyptus that led to the secret beach. Often I would see this coyote, we knew each other but we both still ran. Him into the trees and me into my loneliness. The coyote would howl at night. He was golden. I was there listening, we lived in the same world. Me and the coyote. Coyotes are tricksters and shapeshifter. They worship the moon. My mother told me I couldn’t sing because I was tone deaf. That’s crazy, she was wrong. Coyotes don’t need to sing, their throats bleed for a god they don’t even know about, but they feel and they bleed. Their wild heart through their throats. Soul. Blood on the moon everywhere. I’ve seen it. I’ve watched him eating a rabbit under the moonlight. It was a ceremony, not just his dinner. This rabbit was dripping with blood, shimmering silver red blood. The coyote never moved he just watched me growling. His eyes were bright. “I’m hungry too, bright eyes.” I said. He replied to me in animal language, which I’m adept at, “Kill your own or be mine.” I said, “I’ll be yours and I’ll kill you.” He looked at me with recognition and laughed. That was the only time I have never felt alone. The moon covered us in blood. The rabbit became a god that slipped from it’s carcass and floated into the moon. Red was on my lips and I wasn’t afraid. I loved him. I lived all alone, my husband worked out of town five days a week. I was a savage. I lived with the wild. The dark man is mine. He was an animal and I was glad. Relieved I could be myself. I’ve been told I was a coyote because I mess up everyone’s plans- just by being me- I cause trouble. That’s a lie too. People cause their own trouble, I just happen to be there, being myself. Killing for the moon to be fed. I can’t always wait around for someone else you know. I’m alone on a secret mission I’m not even clear on. We lived in this cottage because we were caretakers of a massive victorian mansion. Nobody ever came there. It was a haunted mansion for sure. The owner lived far away. I would walk through the bones of this mansion watching the ghosts, at least five or six of them- still making dinner, making love, making the bed. Playing old music over and over again. Funny. In that order too. I wrote it all down. The voices in my head never sleep. I’m clinically insane. Bhagavan Das says I’m like a master mind criminal. He’s being generous. So I function and succeed for the most part. Although, I never ended up with anything like riches or romance or a deep sea tomb in my backyard. I’ve got a forest filled with skeletons in front of me, surrounding me. Whispering. I’ve got wind chimes that ring and I listen. Right now they are saying, “Come. Take me away. Come. Take me away.” It’s not my imagination. The ghosts, the past, the inhabited skeletons are all around us, in us even. Starving, ignored. Hurting badly. Everything talks to me. It drives me crazy, I already am. The wind chimes are reminding me now as I sit late at night under black forest trees remembering you, how you left me all alone and didn’t even say goodbye. They talk. All things talk, even your pillow. Your spoon. Your footprints in the dirt. All just a wash of memories on the metaphorical seashore of time- the heavy shadows we cast and carry long since passed. Like clouds across an unseen sky. Too deep to know. You’re too confused to understand me because I was born from the unreal moon and grew hair and a body and started speaking in tongues to the the dead who are wild. I still carry them all, like the whale. I’m old now. As old as the whale. I’m unbelievably fast. As fast as the wind. I’m beyond broken now. Like a vacated god. I’ve eaten every rabbit and the truth makes me sad. The truth about rabbits I mean. I’ve got this sacrificial blood all over me. I did it for you. I’d do it again. I’d roam the nights and follow your howl in the wind. I’d watch the moon dripping blood and remember our wedding. I’d turn over and bleed like a god being born from this world and into the next. I wouldn’t wait so long to recreate my childhood. I’d destroy everything that separated us from the whale. Fear, loneliness, cold rabbit shadows. I’d fly into the black trees. I’d be weightless and invisible. You would never leave me. He would kiss her…

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and then in the midst of it all, I’m back in August 2017 my dog has found a pile of chopped up deer body parts. I didn’t do it. He won’t reveal his stash. He carries around hairy limbs with black hooves, I can’t catch him. He thinks he’s a wolf. He’s going to eat it all, the weaker vessel. I don’t blame him. And I don’t blame myself. So I put a red bandana around his neck. He’s a powerful force of revelation. The revelation being that we are between eclipses and for us to live, someone has to die. I can’t tear every leg out of your mouth. The sun is about to disappear. I’ve been waiting for a long time, amusing you with all my confessions and stories. We have been left here in this place and nobody loves us but our savior. We are covered in layers of meaning and I will decipher you like a wild dog. Coyotes are usually reincarnated as wolves. That’s what happened to me. I’ve died and been reborn around twelve times in this current body. Although you don’t see the things that I am, they still effect you. You still run like the rabbit, bright eyes. They always say that the dead are pale, but in all my killing sprees I’ve never seen such a thing. The dead, when killed properly are bright, like the full moon. And colorful like my words, and meaningful like this eclipse that will turn us all black like erasers taking each other away and leaving only bones- and memories that bled into the sea of long ago where nothing is ever forgotten. Remembering me, back then is like loving you now. There is no separation, no loss but light. No relief but giving myself as food to every starving ghost living in my destructive heart. As endless as the echoing seashore. As bright as your eyes can see. I will break the moon to know you. I will rip the face off this fake sky. I will empty the pitiful sea of it’s skulls and bloated death rafts. This world will disappear and all you will see is me carrying you inside.

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Mother Light. Sharada Devi

7 thoughts on “I’ll be yours and I’ll kill you”

  1. Thank you for sharing your SELF. I like reading your words. They are powerful and deep. Sometimes while reading them I want to scream, sometime cry. This time I cried, because I have been alone my whole life….and came from darkness. I was always told to BEHAVE and never do anything that might ruin my reputation. I was always angry, so I did everything I could to ruin my reputation. Sex, drugs, R&R. Don’t ever tell me what I can’t do…. However, now being “older & wiser” LMAO, I know not to do things in the heat of anger or any extreme emotion. Fuck. I am so sick of being alive sometimes. I can’t believe I am a part of this whole fucking mess. The shit that is going on now with white supremacy and haters…but shit…I guess I am a hater, too. I am told NOT to hate the haters…but I do! I feel such anger toward nasty men who build and promote wars and turn from women or only turn ON women and treat them like minor objects. Sick to death…..yes…I told my John that if I ever get sick…don’t ever take me to the hospital….if I get cancer or some other disease…I will let it run its course. I AM SERIOUS. I will let it play itself out. We are all killers….I am one, too. I eat the blood of animals…and cry afterwards. I stop…then start…then stop again….I hate myself when I give in. I am told…get over it…it’s not big deal. WHAT? IT IS! I am living a cognitive dissonant life on many fronts. John says…”take it is easy man, you think way too much.” Is that SO ??? Well maybe you don’t think enough…EVERYTHING matters…and the weight of it all can be SO unbearable. I have not idea what this has to do with what you wrote….so whatever. Thanks for posting on your blog…I always like reading what you have to say.

    1. I just want to find a warm body. Anybody still alive with SOUL. And you ARE. Not numb! ENLIGHTENED IN My WORLD. And we should just do a retreat where we react to EVERY SINGLE feeling and CRY CRY CRY for days. Brighten and cleanse our hearts. This is heaven.
      Where God doesn’t worry about being Godlike but loves and kills with entire being-need.
      Fearless and whole. Love is a killer. But if we don’t lay down our neck on the chopping block, love can’t happen and so you’re a heart not a head. And that’s perfect what you said because of it all! PASSION❤️

      1. YES! no holding back… constipated emotions are cancerous and create the dis ease in this world….spiritual pain and anguish cannot be narrated. When unable to rise from the pit of darkness, languishing alone, crying out from the depths of our agonizing souls. For now….God it is. God alone that I can talk. NOBODY else understands. God has left me in no man’s land. I walk in solitude. I can’t seem to connect to other human beings most of the time. I’m either too sensitive or not sensitive enough (truly don’t give a flying fuck). She’s got me walking all day searching for what’s already there….in my heart. In my head, the world is like a ball and chain. I can’t fit in….so I walk in solitude…total solitude to gain my footing…get my bearings straight, so I can survive and deal with it all. It’s all so painful and beautiful at the same time. It nearly kills me every day. My neck is on the chopping block. Passionately ready for decapitation!

        1. Alone, all alone. Lonely amongst them.
          The wrong color. Out of breath. Suffocating
          heart. Stay away from them. The world is gray and dangerous. Interacting with a transmuting species is disturbing. You going one way, them going the other way.
          Cannibals. Cold hearted. Posessed. Darkened.
          Find compassion for yourself. Your body can’t take their mixed messages- auras of
          a toxic murk, demons seeping into their holes- due to gmo, wifi, bad air water, sex perversion. prescription meds- Violence- all of it and more- eating souls- shells of what was- we only adapt to the echoes hoping to be heard. It’s useless- and alone isn’t alone and you’ll have at least one friend who hears and sees you because that’s her protection and love for you brave spiritual warrior. We cannot let the heart of the species become obsolete!

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