On the edge of night I fought the sun. Because no one can bring me down from my little wedge of heaven.
Will you meet me under the ruby lights?
There’s a viper on my back door step
Beneath the wrath and frost of home
my only body of destruction left is you.
We are the destruction of one another.
We are inside of each other looking out at the other. This bloodstain is where I left my only moment of you. I counted backwards to 10 until you disappeared.
You never said what you wanted to say.
This left me wandering and thirsty.
Left reacts to left. My darkness calls to yours.
I try to avoid Los Angeles because every time I go there some entity tries to possess me. It happens to us all and usually it’s a subtle eclipsing that you don’t really feel but this time was different. A few years back, we went to Topanga Canyon- one overcast and breezy summer afternoon (which many sources say Topanga is a big spot for human sacrifice and black magic) and we somehow ended up at this abandoned house that was for sale on a huge shady lot with overgrown trees and weeds, spiderwebs, creaking deck boards, rusty gates, dust and broken windows.
Walking through the heavy silence of the property, we all agreed something didn’t feel right and so we left. I forgot all about the eery feeling of being watched and followed by the time I went to bed that night. Suddenly at around 2am I shot up in bed and woke up Bhagavan Das and I said, ” something is wrong with me. I can’t stay in my body.” It sounds crazy but it was the scariest, weirdest feeling of vibrating and electricity and my head tingling and myself losing power over remaining inside my own body. Like something was pushing me out. It wanted to animate my features, control my actions, live through my body experiences. Where would I go if this shift succeeded? Into the background- possessed and controlled and not even aware of it having happened (most people are in this state of helplessness) Bhagavan Das started rubbing my feet and saying mantras (he never gets too ruffled about anything) and telling me I didn’t need to go to the emergency room and I would be ok. But he was wrong, this was serious…something was trying to push me out of myself. So after probably half an hour of him rubbing my feet I couldn’t take it anymore and I jumped up half insane and ran into the bathroom turned on the shower and sat cross legged on the shower floor and let the water wash over me.
(By this time Bhagavan Das maybe though I went mad, but he knows these things happen to me sometimes.) The water started to bring relief and after about 2 hours the assault subsided and I thought it would be safe to get out of the shower- and as I was moving dripping wet and worn out, I passed the toilet, at which time I walked over to it -without even knowing why -kneeled down and opened my mouth- and something shot out in the form of vomit but it wasn’t vomit, it was an entity leaving. I was horrified – it looked and felt just like a science fiction movie- and it shocked me -but I knew that it had now left -and I went immediately back to normal.
Was an unknown astral beast attempting to merge consciousness with me. I think so. Should we know when to move in and when to move out? I think so. Are we just a body and not
a universe? No way.
I’m telling you this because it happens all the time and it’s not paranormal- it’s ordinary life.
Don’t be a host for any ghost. Rise to meet the eyes of your possessor. He’s only going to tie you down if you let him, and let’s not forget the little pieces of Her hidden under the bed. That’s not tantra – left hand or any hand, that’s just extra work for everyone – so do your best to stay out of places where demons dwell. And don’t go around people who probably have already picked up a few. It’s not much different than a dog with tics and fleas. They can jump off the dog and right onto you. It’s a slow blood and soul drain. We have enough inside already to deal with it. Like our grandma who died in 1572. Like the big slithering snake we hate.
Like the love we lost last year.
As you can imagine, we’re heading deep into the desert veins of hallucination and penetration. Who sees into your mind anyway? Isn’t it me spreading a tapestry of love tears already? Isn’t it me on my magic carpet sending you a dream of me? Or are the monsters waiting to take you home?
We are in charge when we take charge. We can’t take charge until we accept the conditions.
I’m not demented. I’m aware. You caught my eye and now I see every hole inside and what you’re filling it with. What’s empty and whose crying.
Exorcism. Repentance. Purification. Bright Fire.
Smoky eyes. Lifted Wings. Looking down.
I was born left handed. Some of us are- and in the old days that signified that the child was sent from the devil and so the parents would tie the left arm behind the child’s back so she would use her right hand instead and could be a child from God. Otherwise, She could become a witch and then we’d have to burn Her or hang Her from a tree to die. We don’t want that.
Also, you don’t have to read this if you’re offended by me or if you’re a snake hater. As a matter of fact, you don’t have to own your sexuality at all. (even though it’s all you’ve got) You can lay there underneath him while he grinds and grunts and groans and you don’t have to feel anything -except for numbness, revulsion and anger -because even now, you can’t arrive at the union, the romance, the sensual completion. Let’s just say, there was no reaching any mountain peak on that journey. It’s just gross, sticky and empty, a meaningless upward climb….or maybe you’re just not sexy enough?? OR -there’s always the possibility you have risen to some sublime, spiritual state where love making is simply a cleaner more pure thing.
You know, holy. Less skin and minus the snake.
Do you think I’m obsessed. I’m practical.
That’s all. You’re always doing it with yourself.
How you’re doing it with others is the Ruby Light
of the Holy Ghost. Shining and Earth Shaking.
Wild Witches Naked in the Ashes.
I set you up and you set me free.
Blown away again and again.
Well I don’t know. I’m thinking this is a snag. This non -committed agreement to be polite and obliging. Say what you want to say. Say it now
because we don’t want to end up startled- after the fact- that we weren’t above and beyond anything. We just wouldn’t get it on with our left side. We let Her shrink and wither while we fantasized about a better place than where we ended up- which was in bed with a man we’ve never really seen because he married a woman who has no head.
Bhagavan Das had a very wealthy friend several years ago who was disturbed by me. This man owned a huge winery and estate, was on his second or third wife by now -and the current young wife had two of his sons. Angry little boys who would throw things at their mother and call her stupid. She didn’t seem to be bothered by this. (I suppose that’s why they’re still together)
Anyway one day me and him had a moment of eye contact which I thought nothing of at all.
I just looked at him as I passed by him. Suddenly this guy is practically obsessed with me. He starts getting drunk and calling Bhagavan Das on the phone and saying, “She looked at me. She wants to stab me in the back with an ice pick. She’s the darkness. She’s overshadowing your light. If you leave Her everything will be yours….and on and on….He’s crying about me and offering Bhagavan Das riches if he leaves me because I’m the darkness Herself and I want to kill him with an icepick? This man made no impression on me whatsoever and he thinks I feel so passionately about him? It’s sad and narcissistic and not unusual at all when your own subconscious is stalking you. When you’ve ignored what you’ve been doing for so long it starts popping up everywhere and sometimes in someone else’s eyes. His Left Hand, through my eyes- was telling him about his own disowned guilt and making me the One responsible. (it happens to me all the time)
Projection is a huge ally of Repression.
Some of us just have a special power.
Maybe it’s called laserbeam eyes.
When we look- we see -and when we see- we
push and pull a little -and suddenly it’s you -and She’s got plans to destroy you once and for all.
You’re the reason for my open sore.
We thought it was all our idea- to get drunk, to beat our wife, to overeat, overspend. That we have a disease and need a cure. We aren’t diseased. We are possessed. Haunted by the past. The ghosts of ancestors and beyond- who never die. They drink from your whiskey. They fuck your wife. They smoke a pack a day. They stuff their face with french fries and donuts. They become strippers.
They are doing you. Not the other way around.
When we ignore, deny or suppress our left hand
our eyes lose their sparkle and our heart loses its magnetism. This is why automatic writing is so profound. It sets free your reality that’s just below the surface of awareness and it reconnects you to your dream mind. Creativity and answers to questions you haven’t even asked. She’s talking to us all the time but mostly we just don’t listen.
Are we afraid to truly love Her? I think so.
Words are meaningless without contact.
The left hand has always been seen as unacceptable because it’s the hand that opens the door to the dirty things, the nasty thoughts, the secret desires, the forbidden fantasies, all that is illegal, illicit, immoral, and everything that determines every move we make.
Tantra attempts to weave flesh to ether, dark to light. Left handed tantra is a path even more volatile, dangerous and wicked. It attempts to undo whatever you thought was not doable, not allowed. DO NOT ENTER signs. Skull and crossbones. Flashing red lights. But you have to go inside -and it happens, and you do it.
You will enter an alternate reality, a surreal floating space… but honestly, aren’t you there already?
How you do it cannot be planned. How it happens, when and why. It has to be you going to meet Her. Untie your arm. She, with Her danger rubbed in your face. She, with Her wicked engulfing you. He, with His volatile
exploding inside of you. There is no formula.
There is only self abandonment into the void of what ever will be will be and I love you.
There is only going to ever be He and She here on earth. Violently thrashing against each other
blissfully creating time and space. Either we
move or we don’t. Dead from the waist down isn’t more pure. It’s more cold.
You aren’t choosing how- it’s just happening and your mind is blown. I mean everything and everywhere is blown. It’s your worst and your most fierce ecstasy and your most precious enemy on the verge of complete madness. It’s psychedelic euphoria and it’s when hell flips to heaven.
Because we didn’t ever touch Her or see Her until just now.
Tonight we see the light.
Will you come back to be with me?
So what I feel is that we are born to walk where we walk and do what we do. We don’t choose tantra of any form or color. We just ARE IT, in our essence -and we know it -and need to come into ourselves. It’s time. Those we meet, those we love, those who die, that which rots,
diseased faces, sunken eyes, clammy hands, worms in our dinner.
Its the path of the cure.
We’re all love sick, that’s all.
The cure is my soft hand on a sharp nail.
The cure is my sordid desire.
To really get inside and feel Her as deeply as possible. To push and to burn. To writhe and to polish. To die and be born. And I’m not advocating brothels, XXX movie houses, pornography, drug use, or any wayward fascination because these places are already inside of your mind -as sanity toward the madness -not as obstacles. Do not take me literally. It’s subtle and it’s laced with gold. What we can claim and what we can master is our love that found the other. Is our love inside another.
Is our purity and our venom. Is our violence and our peace.
To live like you’re dying.
And what makes you feel your life pulse?
The danger of annihilation.
And what gets annihilated?
Your right hand’s rules and concepts.
Your right hand always trying to plan it out.
Your right hand control freak paranoia.
He’s so lonely without Her He becomes unmanageable anyway!
Life initiates you into Herself and you don’t have a choice. Take a ride with me into oblivion.
I don’t think we’ll find ourselves there anymore-
sitting legs tightly crossed, smothered in churches and bras. We wrap ourselves up in these awful clothes like mummies, paint our faces, squeeze in tight and bound. Don’t let anything out. Don’t let anything in. Cover yourself in nauseating fragrance and look in the mirror and smile at another day of absolute psychosis.
Take it off! Take it all off! I can’t take it anymore!
Don’t call me crazy. I don’t do it…
and say what you wanted to say.
Tell me everything,