psychic purging

psychic purging…

mind body are one. You’ve got to get the shit out, out of your head and out of your body. Old decaying putrefied feces, old decaying putrefied thoughts that bury toxic feelings. Our unfed heart is the prisoner of this dis-ease of mind that is both effecting and being effected by the emotionally congested, black gunk infested body. Once the shit of it all is purged, the heart can finally breath. Suffocated by the numbing that turned rancid and began to leach into our pure blood, we cannot feel the clearness of anything real, we can only keep chasing away these mind demons that stuff cookies and chicken wings into our mouths. The foods that make us forget the feeling become the insulator of our internal devastation so that we no longer know who we’re reaching for in the midst of a touch upon the griefs we left buried, underneath new griefs that brought on more pain- and in our discomfort we ate things to numb us, to protect us from the dark that lie waiting like mold- we listened to people who were wrong and told us to cover our naked bodies in shame. We curdled and curled up into a little ball rotting inside the spaces we never left and we grew into new people who held the galaxy in their hearts and yet couldn’t believe…because we were unseen, we were unheard and we were filled to the brim with things to keep us quiet. We used our bodies as the family sponge and soaked up all their dirty countertops, we washed their dirty dishes with our porous hearts. Now whose eating what and where does the food go, the invisible food I was fed as a child, the insidious food that made me eat more food to protect the thing I could barely feel, myself, my feelings, my joyful heart who knew what came first? But since I didn’t matter anymore, I let them pollute me, prostitute me, inculcate me into their world of getting eaten alive- from the inside out I left myself, numbed, stuffed and no longer unashamed of being naked. From deep inside I abandoned my home and let your thoughts of me reign supreme. My new addictions led me to more, stuffing the shit with new poison. I feel sick inside and I don’t even know it anymore. Numbing my grief with the foods in the kitchen, my nervous pain of recovery is stilled into a stifling drone. I want to tell the truth, I want to hear the sky, I want them to let me go back into the pure place before them. Who I ever was, invincible and clean, innocent and searching for my wings. You held me down on the kitchen floor and made me eat the big dark man, the angry smiling woman, the little boy with the hurting hand. Yes, we’ve done exactly as they’ve written, we’ve taken every filthy crumb…mind body are one and we’ve been mistaken for someone else…

regression hypnosis, the soothing voice from the dim corner, let me touch you and lead you back down the stairs where the door is opened just a peep and lets look inside at these places where we stuffed the world we thought was ours. Who we are embedded with secrets, who we are ingrained with the stars, who we are coded in sequence, who we are laden with tears. Tears that paint the virgin mary, tears that write rumi, tears that will never be dried by any cruel man.
The passage is through you into you, the rites of your riches are beyond, so far beyond the treason of your lonely mind. The body became a slave in a cell eating lie after incubus lie…my heart is as solid and loud as the storm that I shall lead. I shall break open the sky and let hell fall to earth. Raging waters, the raging inferno of me, I am the profane temple of everything holy…calling out to me, little shadows of days that I can never leave…days that I feel and nights that I fought from myself as only I could, get numb- let them help you stop hurting in the way that they hurt you by turning you into them, the numb faces in the picture who have nothing to say but “I’m hungry and don’t you ever say no…” where is the gun that breaks silence and ends poison head syndrome? Where is the pill that stops a clogged up heart and drains away the pus of grandpa? Who I loved, who left me swimming in the toilet of his shit. Yes he’s dead and I’m still digesting his pepperoni pizza and I’m still drunk on his cheap beer. Can you hear me? Can anybody hear me? God can’t be numb and lined with sticky black mucous. God can’t keep stuffing his face with old phantom friends. Feed me, feed me. Parasites that fill the fear of emptiness and slowly crowded out our diamond light are the parasites we go down on and enliven and make babies with. Monsters of heritage and sycophant training, are the richer than you know spoonfuls of mommy’s cherry pie. “It’s your grandmother’s recipe” she said…do you hear what I’m saying?

How this death walk goes…down to banks of the foggy water I went in the middle of the night looking for you to tell you to stop eating in your sleep, he can’t hurt you anymore…

face down in the water, unconsciously there is a lot going on- I knew there was nothing deadly under the water while in the black of night he spun with us on top of him. “Get off and lie on your back on the still dark water,” my brother said. The stars were out shining through the black and we were not in the middle of nowhere- the bridge was right beside us in the dark. I thought it could have been the end but I was wrong, my father had gone mad spinning on the dark water deep into the night…I heard that the second book I wrote is called ‘om mani padme hum, the return from dark water.’ He couldn’t breath, he was wild and dreaming. The girls held their breath giving blow jobs under water and everyone sat beneath the shadow of an avalanche while the world spun our only father into a black darkness never seen. Who gets out to see tomorrow? Who looks up to see the stars, floating on dark water nobody gets out alive. But we floated anyway, me and my brother looking up and there was the bridge “om mani padme hum is the second book” a voice said, the return from dark water into the home of the blessed. “That home is me” she said and all her kinks fell out, she stopped blowing the boy underwater and took a stand to recover the heaven she held, stars fell that night straight from her hair into the wet sky below where we lay waiting for her to wake up. Stars that we caught and held until the morning of venus came. He held his breath for as long as he could and we never saw him again, our father who spun deep and low with us on his back slowly dying. He’s gone mad as sure as the swamp that holds dark girls underwater captive to penises larger than snakes, big snakes that hiss and pull hair. Starlit hair, sky held mirror, sinking deeper into the ecstasy of shyam. “There is nothing deadly below us,” I said to him, we’ve purged our soul of men that weep in guilt and spew light into throats of girls who can’t breath. I think the message here is to stop, and blow the candle to hell. The path of stars that lead over the bridge into the home of the long haired girl who saved us all with her dreams of “this could be the light that sees in me, that daddy was only a ghost under water, cold with fish for eyes.”

I get this, I really do sunrise…this was a dream and I have a long way to go to find you…my father wasn’t the devil, he was just the one who believed in sin, if the other side could win the war then god might let us in. So the dark mighty force of waters that might drown you brought to life the nightmare we call this vision, this vision who sees girls as dolls that float face down for $5 at happy hour…sucking out the wind and remembering all the lies, “get out of her mouth and forget her” I said, it’s still nighttime but she’s bound to wake up and bite you in two…

the force of black without a shadow is no consciousness at all, no moon to shake us loose. It’s a long dark night of opulence blinking star wounds as bright as dusk. The dawn is who I saw and named her aurora who came with the star that pulls the sun into the sky. But until then I can only remember what he sounded like before he shook his head and went down deep into my fettered soul and drug me to the bottom spinning…

he drove a big black car we called daddy and we never saw his face because he was too big. We only saw impressions of death under shadowy eyes. We saw a loop for a thought of his smile. We heard what we wanted to hear as his pants came down. Jungle bunny, python madness, moons that burn…zippers as jagged as the himalayan mountains and secrets as hidden as the caves that held gods…

I’ve got somewhere to go eight worlds below us, where she lie dreaming of everyone she left floating inside her…everything beside her, the bride sitting in the big black car next to him…

ropes with nooses dangle from the sky, anchors fall into the heavy, thick breath of himself. There is no light to see, only a flame as black as his shame. Me, make it me, I’m the one going down for 5 easy dollars of doom paralyzed. You’ll find out soon enough what I’m saying…easy does it big boy, as hard as a corpse under water with dead girls sucking on maggots, with me floating like a flower still calling your name…

can’t you see the star when she cries, she cries for the darkness who leaves her. We always think we love the one who hides us, reveals us and then goes as quickly as he came…look up at me from far below at the monsters you made in the bathtub…

I imply a lot with my words so that you can find the rest for yourself. If they find us here like this they will torture us for the rest of the story. Book number one, the book they came to find, the book I never named…is the book of her secrets. The witch stands over the cauldron while we float on our backs looking up into her starry kitchen ceiling. She stirs and she stirs him all up in her brew…black cats with golden diamond shaped eyes stare over the edge of the cauldron watching us stew in the dark night of our souls…who could forget me while she lies dreaming?

Psychic purging could be art. It’s not different than throwing up bad food, but we decide which words to use and we decide how to say our feelings held down until blackened, and we decide which lingerie to wear under water and we decide how to haunt him back…

beautifully said, I will always be the one who loved him no matter how many girls he bled and killed. I will be the bride of hades because I will be the queen of my own underworld. Under you, wherever I find myself I will be seeing only flames that don’t die. “The truth is nirvana kills the flame.” He always told the ugly truth. The truth is witches have to hunt. The truth is it’s all in the bathtub. The truth is boys don’t cry. The truth is I’m a sucker for words, words like you…

lost in the valley below are only dead bodies, not you, you aren’t the one that they left…you are the one that they buried under the covers in their bed…

wake up, the sun is shining and venus is making coffee for the ghosts… because her love never ends even after the stars have all left the sky and gone home…

making art is making love with the darkness…in the darkness making art is the love…making art is making the darkness love you more than the light…making love is the dark art of her sorcery…

psychic purging. two bodies merging. enlightened by the shadow of the killer flame…

remember that I was indeed born from the womb of a virgin, that I am an immaculate flower upon this dark water, that I am the one who brings and takes stars, that I will follow me wherever I go…

hypnosis regression. psychic purging. bonding to our bondage, drowning in the storm…telling everybody that death is only the dull byproduct of forgetting your roots…roots deeper than the tallest star, roots like tunnels that take you back into the crystal room where you lost your virginity and you promised never to tell, but god always knew you went there alone and your mother always said if you lie your face will melt off and the people always made you think that only dogs knew how to hug and so you abandoned the roots of your home in the stars and you went where everyone goes- to the dark world refrigerator of an imposter love and you ate yourself dead in more ways than one…cold corpse walking backwards back to your bedroom, body mind are one species, heart is the way back to shyam…go deep home to before you moved out of yourself and find out what you left in the water that night…

alchemy magical heart healing soul power…in the darkness of your forgotten, perfect face the muse makes heaven want her more than he wants the dead flame…can’t you see yourself in her bright, wild eyes anymore? her eyes that see the other brimming side of you…before they took you and filled you with their lesser world, you were made of her incantation, her spirit and her howling cats of wind…

“you have such a way with words” said the serpent who swallowed my father…

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I want you to sign up for this retreat in mount shasta because there is magic in the air and I can hear your love that’s calling…it’s not a social scene, it’s a baptism into the mother light, it’s about listening to the deep heartthrob of your aching soul, it’s about going within the words that you couldn’t find until now and it’s about finding the sacred space that sees with the eyes of the shaman that you are, I know that it’s exactly what you need, don’t think I don’t hear the world around you putting out your rebel flame, come and be cleansed by the crystal dagger…you don’t have to stay in the house with the others unless you want to…you don’t have to talk or sing out loud, you don’t have to do anything but surrender to mother nature beneath the moon of june and write down her song in your heart word for word…you can bring your own small tent and camp beneath the trees near the river and you don’t need to talk to anyone but me and bhagavan das or even no one at all…please come to the california sunshine and rise with the dawn that smiles at fear…mother light aka…

☀️devi, aka sharada devi

*now offering in person regression hypnosis and psychic purging therapy sessions: sharada@bhagavandas.com

17 thoughts on “psychic purging”

  1. The darkness calls us to the light. Go deep into the dark retreat to find the clear clean crystal light of your crazy mind between the thoughts in the GAP. This world is just your imagination, it’s your own private disneyland with all kind of rides. The love train is leaving the station, better get on board. Don’t you hear that whistle blowing? My grandpa Little Joe would stand up in the teepee in front of the sacred moon flame and with his eagle fan in his hand held high he would blow the eagle bone whistle and the eagle who lives on the top of the world would hear the whistle calling and come swooping down and circle again and again around the teepee and we would all just listen and pray to the sound of the sacred eagle wings flapping in the wind as the voice of god who had come as the eagle. This is the food of life, not taco bell. So when you get tired of the cotton candy and the hot dogs and you want to leave the party and go home, you just have to throw up over and over again and get down on your knees and cry the river of all your childhood pain. When you really know that Kali is your mother and not your step mother she will come in the new moon. She will open your inner eye of wisdom and you will see the mother light in your own heart-mind.
    See you in Mt. Shasta
    Heruka baba bhagavan das

  2. This is purge

    I am feeling dark. red. tumult
    and scream pulled down by the sticky
    mind
    laugh breaks
    the ice melts
    devi help

    and im a missile because I have nothing but
    me to keep going- into fantasy. breathing flesh

    REACH INTO MY HEART to let me feel the hurt of your words because
    i
    dont
    know

    purge
    wayne

        1. you do have a way,
          isn’t that right,
          and we’ll see you
          in the light of
          the shadow
          she casts…
          you’re coming wayne.

  3. The hawk cries from the treetop.
    In the silence, the darkness
    I offer her my ego, my pathetic prison-shack
    She smiles
    Throws it in the fire
    Throws her horrible head back and laughs
    I sink into her dark depths
    My Mother
    Flowing, a river of peace
    Merging into a dark, endless, still ocean
    Om Namah Shivaya

    1. For Gabriel the ocean bird…

      I offer her my ego,
      these little wings of me
      into eyes too dark to find
      anywhere but this place I lay
      in the dark flapping
      inside these prison walls…
      and a face smiles into mine
      and I see the horrible peace
      of secret letters well kept
      from the outside
      who never knew me,
      sinking into the hawk
      feather by feather
      I freed the wind
      into the ocean as
      waves coming
      from underneath her-
      from out of me
      as rage for the dawn…
      where she lives in birds
      and loves me as still
      as the salty sky.
      Om namah Shivaya
      Such a Beautiful angel you are…
      see you in june❤️

  4. I’m on day 6 of fasting, a physical and psychic purging. I felt like I was going to pass out earlier. I got a very uninspiring hotel room at the oceanfront until Monday morning. That will be day 8. I have to drink a lot of water it seems or I will start to develop a headache. It’s so hard drifting away from you. I know you already know. I miss you and your daily writing helps me. I heard that by day 8 you feel like a God. I want to go all the way. I didn’t expect to feel this bad. I love you.

    1. There’s nothing I can say to you.
      I’m not going to be your crutch.
      You will not be God on day 8.
      Self fulfilling isolation prophecy-
      Such a waste of your heart
      the sickness in your head
      poisons your soul
      even more than the hotdogs.

      PS. Go love the crooked mirror

        1. I got a very graphic porn ad connected with you your “thank you” post- and this has never happened before- ever on this site- with a very disgusting violent sexual message- just letting you know- the poison that fills you is deadly. I am so disappointed in you. Just so you know, it’s a big deal and I warned you. You’re really sick and 8 days won’t solve the depth of the sickness.

  5. If that’s true I had nothing to do with it. I just had an awful headache and had to lay down to nap. While I lay there I had many thoughts occur to me along the lines that you speak of. This is such an old topic. I’m sorry that it keeps surfacing.

    I hope this response isn’t infected with anything. I wouldnt do something like that. And I plan on doing 10 days. Not just 8.

    1. your demon haunts you and she follows you everywhere spreading her legs, but she’s not a woman at all. You feed the beast and its black magic and sorry you’re even more attracted when it’s denied but better see how your pastime infects the world around you…it’s serious poison. And there is a price much greater than the pleasure of relieving demonic lust-learn to find a better way- stop objectifying women and become a man. It’s about time-wouldn’t you say?

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