not a piece of me unturned

A blade of grass

A sickle of ice
my single redemption
The tarnished weathervane moved slowly…
(I walked alone past those
clotted memories)
the pulse of the earth beneath my feet was beating
summer into rain
I danced upon the grass and forgot
the coldness of before
I shook the bellows that clung to magic
I wept for all the Lost

The idea of knowing we are alone isn’t about a lack of appreciation for those in our lives because obviously we all need each other and are not ever alone…the issue is that we can’t see that because we are not actually separate from them, we are in truth alone. They cannot stop us from slipping through the needle of death. They can’t go with us…but do they ever really leave us? Do we leave them?

My grandmother who was over 90 just died.
It’s sad- my mother despised her mother and made me fear her…my grandmother was this wicked mommy dearest figure who would lock you in the basement or have your siblings hold you down and chop off all your hair…you know, to get you back on track. My mother was raised as a strict Mormon- which wasn’t without its creepy components- she had 11 brothers and sisters because that’s what mormons do- they have lots of babies- my grandma once said she did it to free souls from heaven and God would stop her from having them when he (God) felt she was done. My grandma had faith. (I have no idea why souls would want to leave heaven to come here though- unless of course they needed to become Mormons) so obviously the family was deeply perverted and there was a lot of abuse- physical, sexual and otherwise. My uncle (who was like 14) even tried to get me to
“kiss him like in the movies” when I was about 4-
(I had wanted to play with his violin and that was to be the price) my mom walked in the room just as the kissing was about to commence though and put a stop to that….
By then we were strict Jehovah Witnesses- you see, my mother hated Mormonism and so when the JW’s knocked on the door one fateful morning and told her we could live in a paradise on earth and only JW’s were going to survive Armageddon (which was due any day) and the God Jehovah only accepted  JW’s (no one else) into the paradise – my mother (being who she was-which I can get more into later) signed up immediately! Hence the beginning of the end of my future as a remotely normal child.
I was only 6 months old and my mom was about 19. My father just went AWOL from Vietnam.
All the killing and drugs really got to him…and although he was only 23 and a well respected sergeant and paratrooper with many stars and decorations all his friends had died, he had killed enough women and children-he was ready to move on (and therefore spend the next 30 years of his life hiding from the government who might find out what he did- he left illegally- that’s what AWOL means- and if he didn’t, I doubt I’d ever had existed)
My father was intense! (more later)
I’m taking about myself again…what else can I do? I bring up the family because aren’t they the string we dangle from? Each one pulling us a little more one way than another? What will we do? I bring the family up because the journey of insanity and horror (or smiles and denial for some) doesn’t end when we leave the house.
I have found we carry that house on our backs as our secret weight in this world. Why I can’t be someone different is exactly why I can be someone different!
This is a long story and goes down so deep for us all. I know. I understand. I suffer the secret too. I am going to this place- to these places with you, not because I like to reminisce or even think about them at all (because it’s just so sad)
but because we are warriors and we must go through the wreckage and salvage who we are.
The gifts they left us from their battles. We can win this in the name of nobody. We can hold on just long enough to finally understand how to
Just let go. We can do this.
And I’m doing my best to start this journey off right. And I have no idea what I’m doing. And I cringe at revealing myself to you (even if you don’t care) I’d rather stay in the metaphoric cave and look for death coming…but death is here now in this moment and we can’t be born, we can’t be alive in the next moment if we don’t keep dying to the last. But its certainly tricky…
because we aren’t honestly letting go -our subconscious minds are storehouses of every
little whimper and beyond. So my idea is that we can gather these memories like flowers we grew and offer death a bouquet of our lost love so that we might free ourselves and those before us from this illusion of separateness-of being along-of being unable to help us.
We can try it all first if we want (and I did) the yoga. The meditation. The fasting. The guru. All of it and it’s fine…but the string comes back to you, to me -as the bow around the flowers or as the noose. It’s about unraveling the sacred mystery of ourselves and how sublimely beautiful we are- fat, old, scared….young, insecure and lonely- it doesn’t matter- she’s always singing our song.
We shouldn’t be afraid. We should open those basement doors, get a flashlight and head on down to where grandma was once kept, a locked up and crying little girl. Let’s not lie or be proud. We’re all locked up and crying little girls and boys. I’m not getting psychological, I’m facing reality -how it’s happened to me-how I’ve seen it happen to everyone. Its what this is.
It’s what we do. We find the lost (and sunken) ship or we pretend we’re still floating where we meant to. It’s up to us and nobody tells us the truth. They say “just say the spiritual mantra” well that’s not enough unless the mantra makes you clear enough to go deeper.
Just be a vegan? Sorry. Not enough.
None of its enough until we find that we’re enough. How that happens is the tantric mystery of our lives. Don’t miss the magic in this breath.
Don’t hold your face so tight while you read.
Soften the lines between then and now. Between me and you. You see I think we can blend this all together into an elixir, into the magic spice or our uniqueness. I think the sting of that memory might wake us up in a new way this time.
I did everything I could do. I looked everywhere for you. I finally found you and you hear me.
My love knows no boundaries.

“I tore open my heart

and found little pieces
of you
looking for me
deep in the valleys
far along the shores
washing up in waves
and crescent moons
not a piece of me unturned”
Sharada Devi

4 thoughts on “not a piece of me unturned”

  1. You are me and I am you. I want the string to be the bow that sings and not be just the bow with the the flowers or the noose around my life. Stunning and beautifully honest. Thank you….

  2. Thank you Mother Light! I’ve been hoping you would share something with us. with me. and you have 🙂
    Your words resonate thru all of us…the common thread is so apparent. We are not only living the dream, we ARE the dream. This veil of maya gets lifted…but the moments are fleeting..and back into the abyss of the slow awakening.
    Constant striving, to lift the veil, with love & energy, down many paths….is my practice. Your words and wisdom are appreciated very very much and I look forward to reading more, as you present it to us/me.
    Like Ramakrishna and Sarada Devi, yourself and Bhagavan Das are such inspiring souls. Your truth/honesty is needed. Thank yo for baring your “stuff” and for teaching us/me about your own 3 dimensional experiences, pains & joys, & for infecting s all with your love. Jai Ma! Much much love and respect.

    1. It’s not really baring or sharing.
      I don’t carry the weight of myself
      Who that was before I became paper
      and the pen started to move.
      Thank you. I’ll do it until the ink
      runs out…..

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