What I’ve given to you
the smoke up my sleeve
How would I do it?
How would I be somebody?
when the fire behind the curtain
Has burned away the show?
I offer you ashes
I offer you tears
upon and through the ground…
smearing blood and memories
(me the one as black as you)
me the one melting
me the one sighing
me the one with nothing on
(me the one burning. me the one crying)
to pass the time…
(me the one as white as heaven)
I free the earth of her burden
to pretend for me any longer
that something important has
for both of us to know…
for both of us to know
how we must return to you
a heart burnt to ashes
a heart washed with tears
we found you inside the
smoke and sunshine
as light and whistles
and moving rain
we found you small and
actually not hurt at all…
just a baby
playing with Her Mother
There is an old hag of a woman who lives not far away from us and she is a witch. She isn’t a good fairy witch or just another new age witch. She’s a wicked witch, literally. She is the kind of witch you only read about and never think could actually exist. We had heard about her and knew she was a master herbalist.
So we went looking for her as she is very hard to find. The day we went to meet her she was standing in her yard, broken brownish teeth, intense probing eyes and a lilting spooky voice. The hidden land she lived upon had huge rock crags, knarled up trees and a massive dark water swamp. This swamp was eery, with a quiet and heavy death like stillness-like dead bodies have been dropped into it for many years and the witchy earth spirits floating above the layer of fog hovering over the water were the guardians of this wicked land protecting what was being hidden here. Cats with ears bitten half off perched in the trees above the dark waters, some holding dead mice in their mouths…all the while large black birds circled in the sky above us.
We didn’t know yet, but she chose us.
Actually she chose me. Once again I was naive and got too close to that side of Her…I always seem to go there…don’t fall in…..I know better now. On the fateful day of our meeting I brought her a willow tree- little did I know that a willow tree was a witch’s tree….and when I handed it to her and she looked at me I felt a sharp psychic twinge as the spirits surrounding her were somehow alarmed by me or found me to be energetically disturbing…quickly she looked me up and down and her head jerked and her eyes darted back and forth -and I knew things would get creepy between us, and they did, right away. Demons are all around us. Don’t waste one more second telling yourself it’s not true. This was a scary old woman you would never believe really existed. She’s someone from a fairy tale, from a bad movie, from a haunted house, from another time and place -certainly not here….but she was here- and now she’s real. I would say certainly she is an Ancient Mother on a mission to consume
whatever it is we have left to give Her. Depending on which side of Her you approach, the results will be quite different. You cannot always trust the twilight. Don’t tempt the God’s to teach you twice.
After that day she began to think about me quite a bit, more than I was comfortable with….I had come too close to the witch’s waters and surely She wanted to push me. Beware. Be careful. Don’t be naive. It’s your fault if you fall, remember me Dreamchild because just like that, I’ll drop you, I’ll burn you, I’ll reel you into my realm where light is irrelevant and we peek and we search. Where dark is relative and we bury and we push….deeper and deeper into the pile where Christ is buried (remember me? We’re already here and looking) I knew the game and I got caught anyway… She then began making her astral visits to me in the very early morning hours. She was coming from the cackles of the graveyard from deep below you and I. If you don’t know already, I can’t explain astral travel or visitation.
I can however tell you that when she approached and made contact with me her banshee realm would open
(kind of like a hole opening in a wall to the room behind it) and she would move quickly toward me just skimming her feet right above the surface of whatever ground she came from- it was a dark and howling place, with ghouls and night crawlers surrounding her. The energy was dense, chaotic and demon charged. And like lightening at midnight I would be struck….That’s what I know, it was a dark and dense witch realm and it’s not like there’s not wisdom to be had from these places…but the vibration she emerged from and emanated, wasn’t something I could resonate with…so she’d skim in and come right up in my face and deliver her “witch message of the day” and I had a problem because I needed to get rid of her, sever the connection.
Where is it that I know you from and do you remember me?
floating in the midnight sky
as black as the face of an
nobody can see the shrouded
unless I start dancing and singing
for those left behind
in another world
the dreamless catcher of the void
Yes I successfully severed the connection with the use of certain mantra, yantra, invocation and
intention to seal my astral body from hers….(as if I could ever leave Her behind -but I pretend it’s over, that I’ve moved on…)
I’m telling this story (and it’s true and they’re all true)
because I know people (and they don’t know I know this) who I’ve seen and who have demons literally hooked on them like tics or lice. They don’t realize their thoughts and actions are being controlled by the food needs of the demon they are hosting- usually there is one main one attached but there can also be little ones hooked on too….we have to be aware of the state of our pysche and the reality of witchcraft and possession and the need for an exorcism every now and then. I mean a real exorcism by a qualified shaman. Not some new age visualization of out a book at Barnes and Noble! The other thing is you must realize it takes like to conquer like- it takes one to know one sort of thing….the method and help you use must understand and be able to be darker than that darkness -a light brighter that knows…but can become all things in order to flip the mirror the other way- meaning, back to where it came from. Black magic is very real and there are a lot of vampires out there. I’ve also seen and experienced those who were once saints make obvious pacts with demonic/alien forces (probably for more power) and that’s a confusing one for the public who can’t see the transformation of this saint from light to the darkest of the dark…their eyes change, their voice becomes metallic, their movements are more jerky, and it’s something that is possessing the once pure Saint and feeding off of the energy of the devotees. It’s horrific and quite prevalent.
where will I ride you
haloed wild horse?
broomstick and matches
for the fire
I weed the mourning from
lift me higher above the cries
heaven hanging loose
the night has taught me
pale and bloodless
where to find you
I was almost there. I traveled hours by plane from North India all the way to the southern tip of India to see Her. Now the driver was only miles away from the entrance gate to Her ashram.
When I arrived the first thing they did was take my passport. I found this alarming and suspicious as without your passport in India you are trapped- everywhere else I had been only required a photo copy. I had faith in this Saint though and so I ignored the warning signs and let them have it. Then I was given my room number and so went to unload my things. My room was in a high rise building on the 32 floor
and since at least one elevator was always broken I had to spend probably a couple hours a day constantly hiking up to my room. I was sharing my room with this hypochondriac control freak girl from Finland who clung to me the moment we met. It was very annoying -yet since
“Mother” as this girl called her wasn’t back yet
(She’d been away for awhile saving the world)
I was a sort of make do surrogate for her.
So that went on for about 2-3 weeks, dealing with the clingy Finland girl and basic slave labor in the kitchen and whatever other department needed it. Someone (and usually an American “devotee”)
would do heavy guilt laden recruiting every morning at breakfast- so you were basically stuck- forced into slave labor – but they called it “devotion to Mother” or seva. Since She was due to arrive back at the ashram after months of being away the whole place was in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing for Her return. Every night the devotees would gather under a massive covered patio type thing with a huge picture of Her (probably about 50 feet high) and chant songs to Her. The men on one side and the women on the other. The men and women were very paranoid of each other due to fear of attraction which would distract from their devotion to Mother- so if I even looked at a male there politely and smiled they would just return my smile with a stern and silent look of disgust as if if to say ” don’t be a slut” seriously it was
strange. So after a couple weeks with the Finland girl I just couldn’t take her neediness anymore so when someone told me about the “secret silent dorm” I knew I had to go. The silent dorm was in the older building just above the Kali Temple. It’s hard to get accepted in to the silent dorm- it’s pretty much only for the die hard devotees- some who have been there for decades and have devoted their lives to “Mother” ” I will die here” I was told by one die hard with glassy eyes and a far off gaze who wore a white sari reeking of urine and carried a lunch box. (all the women’s saris smell like urine due to the floors in the bathroom being covered in piss)
So the day I was taken for my “interview” to get into the silent dorm (silent meaning you don’t talk to each other you only think of “Mother” and stare at pictures of Her) we walked down the dark narrow hallway with its chipped and stained walls, the smell of urine filling the air as the “bathrooms” we’re nearby. Finally we arrived and knocked on the door- slowly the door creaked open with a Cathy Bates looking women in a white sari just staring at us with disapproval. She looked me up and down with disgust (once again, this was a big deal here-not to be a slut and I guess my neck or arm was showing or something and that was considered provocative) it seemed She really didn’t like me (come to find out she acted like that to everyone) after a few questions and a lot of staring me intensely in the eyes I got accepted.
When I arrived with my things I was warned that I needed a lock for my suitcase because apparently there was a thief in the dorm who was into stealing from newcomers suitcases. I was told the head Swami (Cathy Bates look alike)
was the suspect but nobody dared to accuse her)
I was also told that after washing my clothes I couldn’t leave them hanging to dry on the rooftop lines overnight as “Mother said the spirits love to play in the clothes at night”
Anyway, it was a weird and scary scene. Words cannot describe how creepy it was. Most of them sat around cooking on their individual propane stoves eating at all hours of the day and just staring at each other or pictures of Mother.
Cathy Bates Swami sat up in the corner all night long every night with a candle lighting her face staring at a picture of Mother. The way the candle lit her face was straight out of a horror movie. There was a big asian girl devotee to in the silent dorm who used to come over to me every morning as I was putting my white sari on so that she could “help me with it.” I felt she did this in order to fondle me as she would grab and pat the sari around choice body parts for way too long grunting and wheezing with excitement all the while under her breath mumbling “Radhe. Radhe” I didn’t know how to stop her as I felt very sorry for her. She sat around eating all day and at night she would have these bad nightmares in which she would always scream for “Ma” I was warned in advance but nothing could really prepare me for her terrifying nightmare screams that were to come that night.
I couldn’t sleep. Everyone had a mosquito net around their bed but me. So I was laying awake listening for the buzzing of mosquitos. Amidst all the paranoid energy in the silent dorm I was feeling quite neurotic myself and so had been awake for hours imaging hundreds of mosquitos biting me in the night. All of a sudden the sleeping big Asian girl started screaming Maaa!!! Maaaa!!! there was a terror in her piercing screams that is indescribable. While she was screaming Cathy Bates Swami stood up from in the corner of the room where she had been doing her nightly ritual of staring at Mother’s picture by candlelight and picked up a pillow. With the pillow in both hands she walked over to me laying in my bed (she didn’t know I was awake) and held the pillow a few inches from my face and bent over and stared really closely at me (I had squinted my eyes pretending to sleep at this point) I could hear her breathing and smell her bad warm breath on my face.
I was trapped beneath the upper body of a very large and intense woman as she bent over me with the pillow almost as if she was trying to make up her mind whether or not to kill me. I thought for sure she was going to try to smother me with the pillow. I was totally frozen in fear to say the least. Suddenly screaming big asian girl shot up in bed which broke the spell and Cathy Bates Swami stood up straight and walked back to her corner. My heart was racing and I was horrified beyond description. I laid there praying to make it through the night. The next day I decided to leave but it would take time to pull it together and for now that meant staying a few more days in the silent dorm. It seemed all would be ok and I would make it after all, no more attempts to kill me, no more nightmares until two nights prior to my departure.
It was about 2 a.m. and once again I was not asleep (how could I sleep?) and from out of the dark of night I heard a blood curdling scream way beyond the nightmare scream of the big asian girl. This was the scream of a woman being murdered. I know what I heard. It sounded like it started up high from the top of a building and moved down through the air just outside and not too far from the Kali Temple where the silent dorm was. The screaming began and after 30-45 seconds stopped. Then just dead silence. I was so mortified and in shock of what I had just heard I didn’t know what else to do but once again pray fervently to survive until the morning. The next morning I went around asking what happened. “Did you hear the woman screaming last night?” “What happened last night?” and on and on I went asking. My inquiries were met with ominous blank stares. I could not believe this was happening. I know I wasn’t the only one to hear this. I know they were either lying to cover something up or just totally in denial like any good cult follower. It was hopeless and it fell dangerous to pursue the source of the screaming any longer. I just wanted to leave still alive! Later that day when I went to the office to get my passport to leave the man at the desk just stared at me (staring was a big thing here) as if he wasn’t hearing me. Then I asked again and he went in a back room for a long time talking to someone about my request. Again, I just prayed and hoped I didn’t look to anxious to get out. Finally he came back and without saying a word threw my passport on the countertop and walked away.
Everyone was still in the frenzy of activities since
Mother’s return. Seems that human sacrifice might just be one of those activities. I don’t have proof I only know what I heard. I can’t talk about my personal one on one experiences with Mother in India lest I draw Her closer to me or awaken the black eyed beast! What I’m saying is this Mother Worship may have taken a turn…
something might be wrong. There could be a big demon who came and replaced Mother. She could have made a deal with the Devil. The ring of power is a dangerous ring to wear. When you start letting people hang 50 foot pictures of you up to worship BEWARE the end of goodness draweth near!
It’s a waste a trap
a black eyed beast
a shrinking sanctuary
this pillaged little
I call mine
I couldn’t make it last
this something real
I die for
I couldn’t find enough ways
to hide the chips and cracking places
I couldn’t hold it in
Her laughter broke it all
It’s a lunatic world. I’m sorry to say Her hysteria has taken its toll. Mother mostly has gone insane and we, as Her forlorn children are looking for Her real eyes. Her real smile. Her real voice.
Why won’t you break free like you promised? We made these vows and then we forgot. We promised to remember and then
we got stuck in the nest of this dimension’s peculiar slumber. It’s not a safe place where being merely naive or too weak to jump brings solace. It’s a convergence. A war of many worlds and multiple Medusa like Mothers vying for our devotion, compliance and our servitude. Unless we open up to what this is and see our plight and our commitment we cannot be of any use to The
Waxing Ones whose eyes always see us no matter how big or how small we have become.
We have responsibilities and obligations far greater than can be comprehended. But since they know what’s at stake, They keep watch.
Our Mother with Her Many Faces has endless wombs for us to get stuck in. We can stay inside for as long as we want and the agreement is -that She can twist and shift however and whenever She wants to. You thought this was just some benevolent coddling force here to rock us all back to sleep? To feed us? Yes it’s happening but BEWARE of HOW it’s happening.
Nobody broke the mold of the original and imposters loom large. And if we want to cherish
Her we should be careful where She comes from
and what our relationship with Her really is.
This is about us and Her and how we turn everyone into Her as long as we remain in denial that She may just very well be a Demon with Huge Breasts.
In the silence calling
the broken face
for the piece
a whisper shatters
even a crier
moaning without sound
in a place where
there isn’t any
Something is missing
my eyes, my smile
deeper into the quiet
ascew with many mirrors
hanging from sharp edges
of what we left behind.
breath on me
with your open mouth
pull the quiet out
of the looker
I am not angry. I’m sorry to be misunderstood.
My brother however is extremely angry. I have never said a disrespectful or unkind word to any of my relatives even though you have all talked horribly about me. I find it deeply sad that my younger brother would call me names and abuse me through emails. I send him birthday gifts and things to help him (and my nephew too) and it’s all viewed as me “paying back what I’ve done by abandoning the family” that is very perverse thinking.
If ignoring the truth is called love and loyalty I cannot be a part of it.
My brother’s wife told me in Idaho that you said if I wasn’t your daughter you wouldn’t even like me as a person- that you don’t like who I have become.
And who is it that I have become? How would you even know? You do not know me because you can’t accept me as an individual who is much different than you. I remind you of your mother? What’s wrong with that? There’s a problem here much larger than you or me or the individual. It’s called the family shadow. Hard to see and find but it controls everything going on
with everyone. Without a spiritual practice all hope of basic sanity is lost. You think I’m delusional and living in a fantasy world and I preach what I don’t practice? Totally untrue.
You don’t know me because you actually don’t want to. My family does not appreciate me because none of you understand my motivation or intention and most likely wouldn’t agree or approve if I told you.
Also this idea that you are somehow my victim.
I’m this unappreciative daughter who abandoned her mother. Why would you let people think this?
My Aunt, your sister, was confused about this portrayal of me but said she suspected something.
What’s the use in playing the victim of me or of your own mother? I’m not your victim because I did something about what happened to me. I made it valuable by my processing of it. You don’t have to agree. It’s still true.
If you can be honest with what happened in our childhood you would see that it’s quite astounding who I’ve become. I don’t lie or deny or abuse or conceal. I remember everything that happened in our childhood. I remember the sexual abuse when we were very young. Maybe you are in denial about what you did. It has really
demented my brother’s mind you know.
I remember everything.
Also the physical emotional and mental abuse-
it takes a lot to undo the damage of having to be your emotional support for the first 18 years of my life. Taking care of you was too much. You dropping off my childhood things at the door to manipulate me was not right. I am a person in my own right. Your therapist told me I could no longer see her because you had told her nothing about what you did to me- so she felt it was wrong to hear from me what you had not yet revealed about yourself- so she sent me to the other therapist and he told me to do what I did- he told me to get space from you. You can’t see how unhealthy your behavior was? Saying you are sorry “for whatever you did” is fine but the damage goes much deeper and space is needed to move beyond the family programming. I’m sorry if you don’t agree. But I am not angry. The suppressed anger I had about 20 years ago has long since transformed itself into something more productive.
You said you had me so I could “love you” that’s not what children are for. You were my mother,
not the other way around. Remember how you acted when I was going to get married?
You have been very abusive to me.
I understand that you and my father did your best (whatever that means) but that doesn’t negate the damages that you did.
I have been on my own and it’s not easy but it’s been necessary.
My brother’s children talk to me the way that they do (extremely disrespectful)
-because of how they have heard you and my brother talk about me. I should be treated with respect by my younger brother and his children if they were conscious at all. This abuse and gossip isn’t about me. It’s about the person doing it. Where would the compassion be for a daughter and sister gone astray?
I’m not responsible for any of it. I feel sad for all of you negating my value and accusing me of holding some position. I hold no position and make no claims on anything. I just am who I am.
Which you have no idea who that is because holding onto the past doesn’t work. Like that was the “real me” now I left the family and I’m
Whatever email my brother sent you to make me seem angry is ridiculous and out of context.
He has been so hateful and abusive to me I feel
sad for him. I have dozens of long emails from him calling me names and abusing me. I never retaliated. He’s angry because he doesn’t know how to deal with what happened to him and because he said ” I left and made him take care of you” I told him that’s not my fault because taking care of you wasn’t his responsibility- you are his mother.
Now his son is having panic attacks?
There is darkness in hiding secrets especially from oneself. His son has inherited this. It’s all unconscious absorption of the family shadow.
The demon finding a new host to keep the bloodline going. I won’t be a part because I can’t.
I’m not angry but you seem to want the facts on why I may not be into the family loyalty. I’m surviving and I have awareness and courage regardless of your thinking otherwise-I respect you as my mother and so would never say these things until you asked. I have not hidden from my anger, sadness or grief.
I will never be angry at you or my brother -what good would that do? It’s just very sad how you all feel you can disrespect me and
never say anything nice about who I might be.
It’s you that has missed out on a lot simply by not being honest with yourself about how deep the damage goes when you do what you did to us.
Why would you spend a lifetime angry at your mother? What’s the point? It’s just one lifetime,
one relationship out of much deeper karmic connection that is beyond this body or personality. She was also abused. It just goes on….why do you think I wouldn’t have children?
Because I wouldn’t want to do to anyone what was done to me and I realized it was a power larger than the individual that would force me to pass on the abuse in my own special way…
I am not who you think I am. The love you think I don’t have is an illusion based on projection.
I will not recreate the dynamic you had with my grandmother. I send you only the deepest love and I pray for you and I love you regardless of how misunderstood my actions are. I do not pray to forgive you. I am not holding a grudge. I pray that you and me and all beings be free from the suffering that attachment to this illusion brings.
This life is bigger than the both of us. I personally have a responsibility to transmute whatever shadow I carry based on my ancestors.
You don’t have to agree or understand.
But that’s where I’m coming from. I know it’s not personal. I am not seeking solace or advice or confessions or apologies. I do not want a trial or debate. I am not meaning to preach either.
I’m only saying these things to you because you asked. I wouldn’t do it otherwise.
So I roll over again and again becoming the angst. Becoming the dark. Becoming the song
that haunts this love. Giving Her whatever She asks for as long as it’s the Truth. A lonely memory of what could have been but never was. The grief we bare for Her. At this point it’s obvious that we have nothing left to give but our Masterpiece of Madness. The beauty of our pain. The haunted
unrequited anguish of our tears untouched by little hands. We misunderstood so much! I miss them both, I really do. We can never take it back or bring it back, the moment we took or left or didn’t pay attention to. The hug we never got or gave is lost forever now. I could have kissed your tears and instead I did nothing. Now they’re gone forever as fading scars upon our souls. Do it now. Invite her back into you as a song bird or a slithering snake. Invite her back as a doorway down or a widow’s peak. Just get Her back and figure out what went wrong. The secret is (always left) inside where they live.
Dear, sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we reach too high looking at it all wrong. Sanctifying the Illusion instead of satisfying the Redeemer. Remember, the lower you go,
the less you leave behind. Memories attack us and leave scars when we push back too hard.
This isn’t a battle of me against Her. It’s just me and you my beloved. Her memories lock us in Her prison and the day lasts forever. We did it all for Her. We killed ourselves. What should I forget and what should I remember? The question is what can I possibly do to love you? Only the Dancer can answer that question. And we’re moving in Her space as lust and hate and greed and you think it’s hidden, what we do in the dark? You think Mother doesn’t tempt you and provide for you all that you need to go back to sleep?
I said I love you over and over but what did I do behind my words? How did I hurt you with my silence? Where is She now?
This Masterpiece of Madness, I write with such a clever moving hand. Writing my lies to be with you again and again clipping and ticking, scratching and scribbling, keeping thoughts and keeping time. My Mother weaves and skips like moonlight far behind me.
the soft earth
under the tree
layers of death
the truth is all around us
I sit here under the tree
upon the past moving over
huddled in twos
a wet seamless worm
lives in the process
of the sequence
of the matchless
nothing is forgotten
under the tree
Wake the Dead.
Remember your Roots.
It’s me Dream Child.