“I twisted the knife
while she bled in the back room
I left her hanging
as sweet as spring rain
of the summer song
coming is the season
of the harvest
black in the back room
her shell barely torn
my knife in the hole
like a key in a socket
bleed and fly
hiding behind us
she spreads open her wings
of gold and pearl
lit by the shadow beneath her
into the dark we fit
so perfect her pieces of light
of our promise
to each other
I promised her death
and she promised me life
worn like the magic
of new love
and nobody understands
our gift of horror
until she visits their room
handing them the knife
the blade of giving
and the wrath of taking
sharing the love
Of Gods Cry”
I almost died 2 years ago this August. I may never know why or what it meant. I know the power of that threshold more deeply now. I became a phantom, a walking corpse, a shell of what was. What was- was a Me I never knew but kept going for some reason that seems to make sense to us all…neurotic attachment to what they made us into. We thought we broke out, and I thought so too….but after the surgeon got done slicing me open like a fish and sewing me back together again and after receiving many blood transfusions from souls I’ve not seen…life changed and so did how I see and relate to me and you. Our relationship has new eyes…at times these eyes are sadder, older, more weary from this submergence into the underworld. This time I know too much, maybe you do too. He took my innocence. He raped me with his knife and pillaged my body. Who do I think I am? He told me I was going to die. He told me I had no hope of survival. He was WRONG.
I may have looked like a walking skeleton because I was so thin (only about 100 lbs- and I’m almost 5’9) and I may have been pale. But when I told him I felt fine, I meant it…
My physical situation was not ordinary and it wasn’t without its supernatural components….
On the slicing table while I was out -He took pictures of me laying there with himself standing there in victory over me. Well I can’t relate to that and I never saw the picture. But he showed it to Bhagavan Das who was in the waiting room at the hospital and he said it was really ominous.
I never felt pain. I never suffered. Your prayers gave me strength. Bhagavan Das forced me to eat and eat to gain weight (no I wasn’t anorexic)
but who will feed the shell? I live with the wind blowing through me and how I see you is different. I know something else about us since we went to that place. I mean, yes, I’ve been to dark places with underworld people and I have seen many deaths of those I love probably more than most my age but this was DIFFERENT.
I opened the window
I opened the door
I opened the box
I opened the gate
I opened my eyes
I opened my heart
I opened my mind
it was all empty
you can stick a knife through
and borrowed yearning
twist the enemy buried deep
but no one is there
under your bed where you sleep
covered and closed and dreaming
of open pastures and open mouths
and ghosts that hide
away in those
yet to be opened places
stick out your tongue
and blind your night vision
close your mouth
it’s just a disguise
a pile of bones I left
behind when I heard
there was no one but you
I opened my ears last of all
when you said
“time is deep and silent.
I am below you.
humming and churning
I watched my father die at age 52. I hadn’t seen him in 15 years. I wrote to him but he never wrote me back. I guess he used to get drunk and read my letters over and over again (I was told)
but could never be a father and just respond to his daughter’s love. So intuitively I knew I needed to go to Idaho (where my parents lived) I saw him. I knew he’d been doing drugs. Soon after I got there he was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.
It was the most horrifying experience that changed my life forever. After the chemo didn’t work -He chose to die at home. No doctors, nurses nothing. Just a big tube of morphine straight into his stomach and a tube for food.
He became very thin and his hair turned white then mostly fell out. He loved me in his own way.
He was wounded to the depths of his soul.
I stayed with him the last 3 days and that’s when it got really graphic and surreal.
I won’t go into too much detail but let’s just say it wasn’t clean. We weren’t protected by the doctors from seeing the brutality of the final descent from someone as haunted by demons as my father was. It was gritty and raw- filled with Mother Earth in all Her honesty and power.
He would call for me over and over “Where’s Michelle? Where’s Michelle?” I was the only one he felt who understood the demons and ghosts who were talking to him now-they told him they were coming to take him (he used to punch at them and yell “no not yet!” ) then shoot up in bed sweating and panicked…One day he started crying and so I hugged him…then he pulled me almost entirely onto top of his body squeezing me as he lay there and he began sobbing and wailing like you have never heard- I cannot describe my pain to you. I took everything from him. I wanted to end his fear. I sucked the Devil right out of him and straight into me. (somehow I was allowed to do this) I know it happened -the transfer of Satan from father to daughter. I loved him. I’ll do it.
I finally said “why are you crying?” He said
“I never want you to leave” I love him so much and wish he knew me…but it would never be…
we were torn apart from the beginning…as a child I couldn’t find him- I would walk through stores and parks looking for men and walk up to them and say “Daddy?” (My mom was so embarrassed)
And now we would never be together. I took the Devil and left my body. It got worse- his suffering.
I was standing there but really watching from the ceiling…it was so much bigger than me-these interludes with Satan….anyway, I alone watched him take his last breath on the morning of the summer solstice. I kissed his forehead and I don’t know why…I told my mother “He’s dead now” (which we’d all been hoping for at this point)
She called the “people who take you” and they came and zipped him up. As they carried him out the family was all over in the yard chain smoking and wailing (again more glamour) I walked alone way across the yard- over to the fence and sat down. My brother was screaming beating the sides of the house. I just sat there numb and alone. I felt nothing. Nobody was real. They were all just noise and smoke. My aunt said that all agreed that I was the saddest thing they’d ever seen. Me and the nothing I’d become….
They couldn’t find me after that. I couldn’t find me either. I would stare in the mirror into my eyes looking for her but she was gone. I had seen too much. I lost myself again…
On the last day of his life I laid down delirious with exhaustion and thought “I wonder what it feels like to for him to die” and suddenly it happened, I sank into the earth and started dissolving …it was a fear beyond description.
I decided that his death was just for me. That He was my teacher. He was The One I was eating now and I would do something about what I’d seen. His life would mean something heroic.
(He was a Vietnam vet-killer and alcoholic)
So at that moment -because of his death my existence took on a whole new life. I would not be afraid of the shadow. I would battle the Devil for him.
(11 years later)
Towards the end of my mysterious ailment that led up to my encounter with Him and His Knife- Life kept me alive even before I knew I might die.
Supernatural forces blew air into my nostrils at night and made me stronger than I should have been. Life protected me from Death’s Proposal even when I didn’t know I was already with Him. After all, I was his wife. This was a marriage for better or for worse. I needed to move to His Realm…deep in the center of the earth where the Ferry of the Dead await my decision.
Which way will I go? She is waiting at The Crossroads.
He will cut you up. She will help him. What’s so
undeniable and mind altering is that I know we planned this together. It was the honeymoon that follows the marriage. The blade is in my hand. Together we go down to find my heart’s plug -and pull- and empty- me into you.
What is this? Was I ever really even here with you? Why isn’t it ever enough that I tried to love you? I’m blinking but not seeing this Holy Trip I’m on. We keep thinking we need to eat Jesus because we’re just never enough. Now we need Him to save us. To make us fat and full again.
I’m talking about myself. “I don’t know you but my eyes see through your walls”
(I told Her this in the waiting room) I went there
drained and waiting to die. There wasn’t anybody else in the room. We know it’s true.
“As high as the sky
As vast as the sea
there is no me to enter
this hand that slips thru mine
this face that sees thru me
the empty skyway
the linear byway
the ribs are scattered everywhere
we breathe and the urchins in
the sea carry the notes
the letters to The Lord
She swims and she dreams
and she lights the lamp
she kills and she curses
and she hunts in the dark
I sway in her breezeway
whether as blood raining from sweat
or as sweet tea in the sanctuary
this room I’ve found that hasn’t a me
is filled with nothing that searches
or haunts or moans
is filled not with loves cherished reminders
it hasn’t a hole or lock on the door
there is no handle to turn
swept from the floor of my vessel
is everything that counts and lies
is everything that looks my way
is everything as anything
I hand you an answer to what can’t be asked. The hand is white and hollow. The flower is red on both sides.
And the reason is
The Dancer needs a friend.”
I diagnosed myself and then I pulled out the blade and started sharpening. I need to remove my Father’s Devil now…I was going to be Jesus. It was time. This trip is pulling my feet through the ices of hell and I’m thirsty and low on blood. I’m a killer and I don’t have a choice.
We drink His blood as if it’s not our own- as if He too wasn’t a vampire. Who are we kidding?
This blood is too sweet to deny.
Jesus knew the knot He tied. So did I. He was an Eater too. We belonged together. He knew we would never understand- so he called himself food and a religion sprouted. It’s very glamorous.
I get this. I’m starving and I’m a killer. Hungry and Hunting the Hungry and Hunting. We do love each other (in a cool sort of way) when we’re still frozen- before we’re thawed -before we can smell the blood- basically we love each other safely during the refrigeration of the corpse. But when it gets hot and fragrant, you know what happens next- we ALL go there ok-(lets stop pretending) animated, programmed corpses cold and looking for warmth somewhere else, inside someone else- but it isn’t there…so we keep drinking His blood with crackers and prayers… so Earth seems to be just a refrigerator to store us (until we expire) Who’s kitchen is this and what’s going on?
That’s what I went to find out….
I know I’m morbid. It’s a deep enchantment I feel between us brother and sister corpses..that we think we’re reading and judging one another. (or worse yet we think we’re not) I know nothing. I’m in a stupor -looking for my next fix of your blood my dear Jesus. I do love God as long as God is who I need Her to be. So She got out the knife. What’s wrong with that? It’s what we wanted after all isn’t it? It’s time to eat myself now and
finally clean the plate.
The glory is unparalleled.
I almost lived before I almost died-I wasn’t here or there. We better get out of the gray before it’s too late- maybe that’s what I should say- we don’t want to end up boiling in a pot somewhere.
It gets very vivid between His Hands.
Doctor Death saved my life. Jesus the Surgeon who never looks in your eyes after He tells you “It’s Over” Jesus was wrong. She handed ME the knife my friend. Not you.
Yes I’m still in charge. HaHaHaHa.
Cut cut cut. I can do this on my own. I will rise the Sun. I will eat the One…and I hear Her calling from the waters of the deep….She loves Him. They are finally together with my heart in their pot. I really don’t mind. I have nowhere else to go and the rest of me is so heavy and burdensome.
She tells me to come back and so I do.
Bhagavan Das is in the waiting room still praying
for my life.
And then I returned and I was put on morphine and oxygen and all sorts of horrible drugs (just like my father) I had to stay in the hospital for a week.
They had tubes in my nose and out my throat.
It’s was unbearably awful. I could only eat chipped ice cubes and they came in with horrible smelling hands and nauseating perfume stabbing me with needles all hours of the night. I never slept or laid flat. I was a soldier on duty.
They watched me and measured me and poked me. They weren’t real. It was just a dream. My body was strange. I was transparent. They definitely couldn’t hurt me now. She knew the way so I just followed Her back to my husband.
Children were afraid of me. I looked like Medusa.
I had no body. Only eyes. Eyes too bright from the Light of Death’s Gaze. I became the Other.
I could look at no one lest they be turned to stone.
This is called the Bliss of Death. I am with Him.
He is inside of me. She is sparking and spiraling.
The Dancer found Her friend.
I’m telling you these things because I am thinking I organized it all- every gross detail-
Kind of like how people plan their vacations or weddings..I’m thinking that’s how powerful and daring we are deep in our darkest minds. We set ourselves up to get hurt, horrified, mutilated even- so that we can see what’s true. So that we can become heroic. We can be the Queen in His Castle. It’s a real place you know.
So I didn’t live and I didn’t die. This is really a tight and quite uncommitted spot to be in.
My love is pale and I never meant it to be.
I’m in between me and you and it’s OK to tell the truth. The savage breaks our heart and leaves us
never enough. We are never enough. He doesn’t give us enough. He doesn’t take enough.
She talks about butterfly wings but what does She know? The Goddess on the broom can’t even tell her left from her right.
And I’m split between heaven and hell. Aren’t we talking like tomorrow might be an actual place?
This refrigerated love is dirty and ending. (we do have an expiration date after all) I know She’s showing Him how to do this. We can’t get confused in the Bardo-the long dark passages -the hallway leading to Him.
After all, everyone needs to eat. Everyone needs to die so that we can feed each other back to Her Son. And I get really stressed about our destiny here…but when I take a deep breath and surrender my exhale and when I slump down to bathe Her in the grief of my of tears I really do know they both love me and that everything is ok.
“I’m not a poet
I’m a prophet
I’m not a cloud
I’m the sky
I’m not a honk
I’m a bark
I’m not a cry
I’m a wail
I’m not life
I’m not an angel
I’m heaven above
and below I’m not stuck
in your turning
from light to dark
and back again
I don’t ride on the wheel
I’m the engine
because I made this up
I sang this song
I slapped the face
as a child
I was the One
who bore him
It’s me and it’s not me
It’s me and it’s everywhere
and if you turn me into words
holy cackles building walls
I’ll keep slamming and breaking
and burning and waking
the dead from the brink
of fierce life
and if you turn me into you
I’ll turn you into me
I’ll remember your sweet
I’ll walk with you and talk with you
I’ll twist all the screws til their loose
You’ll fall apart into my arms
knowing I am the lonely cradle
that rocks you back to me
I’m no poet. I’m the page before
the book was ever imagined.
I filled you with my dreams and pearly smoke.
I am the prophet of the diamond
that keeps spinning.
Her name is God’s Mother.”
The first time I ever sang in public was at my
Dad’s funeral (not very glamorous)
The answer is clear. I’ll be here.